The Commentator

This is an abridged version of a larger letter.  The full version can be found at http://www.kolhamevaser.com

Dear Noah,

            It was great to see you the other night. It reminded me of the good old days when you and I would sit in the upper deck behind home plate at Shea stadium and scream our lungs out over every bad call and every great play.  I really miss those times.  It’s amazing how three years of mutual silence has had no affect on our ability to laugh and converse. We can still have a great time together, and I suppose that’s the mark of true friendship.  It is because of this connection, this dedication and this brotherhood, that I feel able and permitted to speak to you candidly now.

            Noah, we spoke about everything the other night. We spoke about school, work, new movies, old movies, and our most precious memories. We did imitations of all the teachers from our past and reminisced about all the mischief we used to cause. But there was something we didn’t speak about at all, something we stayed away from as if it was leprous. This topic, which I felt was begging to be discussed and addressed, kept eluding us, and we kept eluding it. The topic I’m referring to is of course the topic of Judaism, more specifically your Judaism.

            I can tell that you and Yiddishkeit are engaged in your own mutual silence at the moment. It’s as if at some point over the last few years you decided that God, Torah, and Am Yisrael ran out of room for you. Alternatively, maybe you were the one who was unaccommodating. Either way, there was a break. A fissure formed between you and the Eternal, and I could see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice last Thursday night.

            Whatever the reason, I don’t really care that much. Your numerical reading on the religious barometer doesn’t interest me. I’m much more concerned about where you’re headed on the religious/spiritual map than where you are, and I care much more about what you want out of Judaism than what it has given you.  This preference of mine, call it ‘Destination over Location in Avodat Hashem,’ is not an original one, rather

it is actually a major theme in the Talmud and Sifrei Mussar[1].

            Noah, I fear that your Judaism is not one of movement, evolution, ascent, or struggle; I fear that it is a stagnant Judaism, devoid of life and vibrancy.  I get the impression that you view the Torah’s vision for you as a stifling and restrictive one, one that will suffocate your individuality and creativity if you fully embrace it.  And I also fear that your view of God has been tainted.  I imagine that you see the Almighty as a ruthless and nitpicking slave owner, who will punish his slaves (us) for even the most insignificant wrongdoings.  In your mind, you see God holding a whip in one hand and the Books of Life and Death in the other.  You fail to see the God who stands with His arms open and ready to embrace His beloved children. 

            If I’m correct, and your vision of Judaism is so limited, then your perspective of things is similar to that of the model Man of Fate, and far from the perspective of the Man of Destiny.  These two types of men and outlooks were contrasted by Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik zt”l in his essay “Kol Dodi Dofek:” 

What is an existence of fate?  It is an existence of duress, in the nature of ‘against your will do you live.’  It is a factual existence, simply one line in a [long] chain of mechanical causality, devoid of significance, direction, purpose, and subordinate to the forces of the environment into whose midst the individual is pushed, unconsulted by Providence.  The ‘I’ of fate emerges as an object.  As an object, man appears as acted upon and not as an actor.

What is an Existence of Destiny?  It is an active existence, when man confronts the environment into which he has been cast with an understanding of his uniqueness and his value, freedom and capacity; without compromising his integrity and independence in his struggle with the outside world.  The slogan of the ‘I’ of destiny is: ‘Against your will you are born, and against your will you die,’ but by your free will do you live.[2]

Although the Rav does not say it explicitly in his essay, I think I am right in assuming that the two types of men who experience these two divergent types of existences approach Avodat Hashem in totally different ways.

            For starters, their morning routines differ.  The Man of Fate opens his eyes in the morning and lets out a sigh of disappointment and despair.  It is the beginning of another day of restrictions, obligations, and fear for him; what does he have to look forward to? He drips out of bed and slimes his way to minyan.  He arrives at synagogue a few minutes late, throws on his Tefillin, and then mumbles his way through the prayers.  He doesn’t want to talk to God, and he doesn’t want to praise Him, but he will say the words every morning because it is his habit and obligation.  He thinks, “I am a slave to God; what can I do?  If I don’t obey, I will be punished in the next world and feel guilt in this one.”[3]

            In contrast, the Man of Destiny rises before the dawn and springs out of bed.  Full of purpose and joy, he prepares his mind and body to sing praise to his Creator.  He understands his mission this day, appreciates his unique role to play, and contemplates how he will leave his signature mark on the moment.  He eagerly awaits the sunrise, and when it finally arrives, he pours out his heart to the Almighty in petition and in song.  He learns Torah with vigor and sensitivity.  He tries to unearth a new gem of wisdom, to produce a chiddush!

          In short, the Man of Destiny meets the day with dignity and wonder, thrill and hope, whereas the Man of Fate meets the day with resignation, sloth, and gloom.  In fact, these two men never see things in the same light.  Where the Man of Fate sees burden, the Man of Destiny sees opportunity.  Where the Man of Fate sees religious shackles, the Man of Destiny sees the keys to life.  The Man of Fate wants to escape his Master’s whip, and the Man of Destiny wants to redeem his existence and come near to his Father in heaven.

            Both of these men are very human; they both have their struggles and hardships, and they both possess strong inclinations towards evil.  However, their varied visions of Judaism, and their opposing views of their missions in life, nearly make their existences antithetic.  By ascribing to them “opposing views,” I do not mean that one of these men views his life from the Fate perspective and that the other man views his life from the Destiny perspective.  On the contrary, both men, at their core, are Men of Fate, with a “Vision of Fate” and fully know and appreciate this fact.  They realize that they were both born against their will as Jews.  They know that they have to keep the mitzvot whether they like it or not.  They have no choice in the matter. God, in a way, has thrust Himself upon them, and they cannot escape their fate.  However, the Man of Destiny does one better.  He takes his Judaism to the level of purpose, choice, action, and direction; he builds upon the Fate Vision. Indeed, this act of ascent on the part of the Man of Destiny encapsulates and represents the essence of our task in this world.

          I mentioned earlier that I thought your separation from God, Torah, and Am Yisrael was a result of viewing the Torah’s vision for you as a stifling one. I think you feel that if you totally give in to Torah, you will be stripped of your creativity and lose your uniqueness. Well, Noah, if painting pictures of the Crucifixion is your idea of creativity, then yes, embracing the Torah will stifle you.  But I’m not talking about art.  Don’t get me wrong, art is obviously a branch of creativity, and artistic expression certainly has a place within the Jewish framework, but when I talk about creativity and individuality in Judaism, I’m not referring to a guitar-playing hippie who designs finger puppets.[4]  I’m talking about a much broader creativity and a more exalted individuality. I’m talking about the concept of every Jew having his own unique role to play in the drama of our people’s history and destiny.  I’m talking about how no Jew is superfluous, and how every Jew must use his or her God-given gifts and holy distinctiveness to hasten the coming of the Messiah.  I’m talking about how every man wishes to bring something new into his world, and how this is also God’s wish.  I’m talking about chiddushei Torah (new insights into the Torah).  I’m talking about how man is a partner with God in the creation of the world.  I’m talking about all these things.

           I suspect that this exalted vision of Avodat Hashem (founded upon the Vision of Destiny and the Call of Creativity) is one that is very foreign to you.  This is because you have never met the right people.  You have never learned Torah from someone who believed in this brand of Judaism, taught this brand of Judaism, and practiced this brand of Judaism.  Not only have you never learned Torah from such a man, but you have never observed such a man in an informal setting, playing with his children, conversing with his wife, laughing with his friends, walking in the park, etc.  Observing the mundane actions of a true Jew in a relaxed setting can be extremely educational and inspirational; it may even be more important and spiritually productive than formal Jewish education.

          I was fortunate enough to receive this informal Jewish education and this majestic vision of Judaism in Israel, in yeshiva.  It was there that I learned a Torah of destiny from men of destiny, and resided, conversed, and relaxed in an environment of destiny.  My yeshiva, Lev HaTorah, was one that stressed an active, ascending, creative, and vibrant service of God; a service of joy that demanded our uniqueness.  We were all encouraged to be ourselves, but to be ourselves within the framework of authentic halakhic Judaism.

         Noah, I hate to say it, but I think the only way for you to mend your relationship with God, Torah, your people, and yourself, is to spend some time learning in Israel.  I won’t quote any esoteric sources about the powers of the land to prove this to you, nor will I make any claims about the mysterious realms of the soul.  All I will tell you is the concrete facts: for whatever reason, be it sociological, economical, or psychological, the Torah educators in Israel are the best in the world, and our homeland’s environment is the most conducive for learning Torah and becoming acquainted with Judaism and holiness. No other country, state, or yeshiva compares.

          I remember the old days Noah, the days when you were the first to minyan, and the days when you would sneak peaks at your Pirkei Avot in the middle of history class. There was a time when your Judaism meant something to you, when it touched your heart, when it was alive in you, when you were excited about it.  You can’t just give up on it now; it hasn’t given up on you.  Like the proverbial “Beloved” in the Song of Songs, God and Torah still beckon you; still wait for you to open the door to your destiny, not your fate!   I too wait for you to open that door; and I know you can, with God’s help.

                                                                        Your friend,

                                                                        Seth

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