Posts from the ‘General’ Category

Rabbi Dovid Goldwasser

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

Defrosting Judaism

THE PROPHET CHABAKUK TELLS US “v’tzaddik b’emunaso yichyeh – the righteous person shall live through his faith” (2:4). R’ Nachman of Breslov notes that in the ikvesa d’meshicha (period before the Messiah) even the tzaddik (righteous) will need to have his emunah (faith) fortified.

We currently live in tumultuous times. Governments are crumbling, unrest is sweeping throughout much of the world, there is meaningless violence and unusual global weather patterns and events exact horrific casualties. The moral and ethical fibers of mankind are eroding, and the Jew’s only mainstay is his steadfast emunah.

The lack of any scientific studies or surveys makes it difficult to accurately assess the numbers of alienated or disenfranchised members of our community. However, an experiential analysis of calls, sheilos (halachic inquiries), deliberations and discussions reveals a marked increase in the percentage of individuals who lack a feeling of connectedness.

We face a significant challenge to meet the urgent need for “inreach” today as, undoubtedly, many yearn to rekindle the pintele Yid (Jewish spark) that once glowed within them. In fact, even those who remain within the fold seem to crave more relevance and purpose. Books dealing with the basic issues of emunah and bitachon are increasingly popular. The number of frum people attending kiruv Shabbatons is greater than ever before, and there is a seeming proliferation of Carlebach minyanim everywhere.

Unlike the earlier generations, when parents and grandparents successfully imbued their families with an unequivocal sense of emunah peshutah (simple faith), many today are not as confident and committed. When Moshe Yess introduced his song “My Zeidy” (circa 1980), it struck a chord in the hearts of many within Orthodox communities worldwide. The imagery presented in the lyrics tugged at the hearts of many who were seeking their own Zeidy – their own emotional link to Torah and Yiddishkeit.

I once heard an interesting impression of the subtle difference in each succeeding generation’s affiliation with Yiddishkeit. The individual noted, “When my grandfather would go away for Shabbos, he would say, ‘I am going away for the heilige (holy) Shabbos.’ My father would say, ‘I’m going away for Shabbos.’ Now, years later, I say, ‘I’m going away for the weekend.’”

The disconnect of today’s adults and teenagers could perhaps be classified based on the distinction between one who is a hostile dissenter (mumar l’hachis) and one who has veered from the path of his religion for self-benefit or self-gratification (mumar l’teavon). Is it simply one’s emotional feelings that lead him to stray from the Torah derech ever so slightly? Is it a mild corruption of true daas Torah that produces unsettledness in the individual, manifesting itself as rebellion? Or is it a combination of both? HaGaon HaRav Moshe Feinstein deems intellectual polemics preferable to the dissent of one who is seeking to self-indulge. It is very possible, though, that the Z Generation has become a victim of the sheer materialism available to them and have become mired in the self-indulgence of goods and services, electronics and exotic foods, and the fulfillment of fantasies.

Never throughout history has secular culture been able to make such pervasive inroads into our insular community. With the advent of the Internet, the information highway has, with unprecedented speed, breached our fortifications and penetrated the security of our homes. People who hitherto had little or no link with immodesty, drugs, movies, alcoholism, gambling, and immorality suddenly find themselves just a click away from the underworld. Anyone whose spirituality is even somewhat vulnerable is the most susceptible. In fact, it may be postulated that the escalating addiction problem within our community is attributable to the dearth of spirituality. People sense a void in their life and thirst to fill the vacuum.

The Torah describes how the Jewish nation grumbled about the blandness of the mahn; they pined for the fish and vegetables that they had in Egypt. Hashem addresses the issue by telling Moshe, “Gather for Me seventy men from the elders of Israel … and I will increase some of the spirit that is upon you and place it upon them.” (Bamidbar 11:16-17)

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains that although the dissatisfaction of the people was expressed as a physical deficiency, it actually reflected a void in their spiritual well being. Therefore, Hashem commanded Moshe to imparting some spirituality to them, i.e. to give them “spiritual food” so they would be content with the goodness of Hashem and would not be overwhelmed by a feeling of physical deprivation.

Perhaps the challenge is not to address the chitzoniyus (external), but to focus on the penimiyus (internal). The Mishnah states, “One who walks on the road while reviewing a Torah lesson but interrupts his review and exclaims, ‘How beautiful is this tree!’ – it is considered as if he bears guilt for his soul” (Avos 3:7). The Hegyonah Shel Torah questions the individual’s culpability, as he was, in fact, praising the wonders of the Creator. However, he notes, the individual only gave attention to the tree’s external beauty instead of considering the indigenous characteristics of the tree such as its roots, and its ability to produce fruits and provide shade.

Our personal level of excitement and enthusiasm for Torah and mitzvos is a key element in maintaining and strengthening the tenuous connection of those in our sphere of influence. Perhaps a stronger emphasis on the neshama, the soul, of the mitzvah would be more credible than highlighting its cosmetic aspects.

R’ Moshe Kubriner once saw someone vigorously swaying during his davening. The tzaddik commented that when one prays, the exterior doesn’t need to shake; it’s the inside that needs to shudder.

With reference to tefilah, HaGaon HaRav Chaim of Brisk addresses the issue of whether one may recite Hallel if he is sad. He notes that Hallel is a paean we sing before HaKadosh Baruch Hu. The intent is not merely to utter words of praise and acclamation; Hallel is an articulation of our internal elation. Similarly, heartfelt contemplation and reflection is required when reciting the Tachanun, sincere feelings of remorse are meant to accompany the viduy, and intense tears are to be evoked with the recitation of the Tisha B’Av Kinos. Anything less would be in the realm of perfunctory and passionless prayers.

Chazal tell us rachmana liba baiy – it’s the heart that Hashem desires (Sanhedrin 106b), not the mere mechanical performance of the mitzvah. Mitzvas anashim melumadah – the rote performance of mitzvos – is not stimulating; it may even become boring. It is possible that those who are no longer interested in living a life of Torah don’t feel a passion. Once the essence of the mitzvah is missing, it has little meaning; ergo there is no inspiration.

Perhaps a Mitzvos Maasiyos Program could be undertaken to foster a deeper appreciation for some mitzvos such as challah, tefillin, tzitzis and shatnez. Observing the attention, precision and dedication entailed in the production of tashmishei kedushah to ensure their sanctity would heighten our awareness of the profundity of these mitzvos. Learning taamei hamitzvos (explantions for mitzvos) and their ramifications both in heaven and on earth cultivates a special bond that connects the individual to the core mitzvah.

R’ Saadiah Gaon tells us that every mitzvah in the Torah corresponds to a limb in a person’s body. Such a personal attachment and link to the mitzvah facilitates our ability to internalize the mitzvah and make it more personal. It would perhaps be helpful and insightful for individuals to study various responsa to develop their understanding of and respect for others’ mesiras nefesh (selfless dedication) to fulfill mitzvos amid adversity. There are various accounts of self-sacrifice recorded during the times of the Inquisition, sheilos about lighting Chanukah candles or sitting in a makeshift sukkah during the Holocaust, and teshuvos from contemporary decisors with regard to mikvah and bris milah, to name a few.

Before Pesach one year, someone dropped off his neatly bound package of chametz with me and asked if I could burn it for him. Then he asked if it was possible that I could recite the necessary paragraph of kol chamira for him, as well, because he was so busy. As I looked up with a startled expression, I wondered if he also intended to ask me to eat the kezayis matzah for him at the Seder.

In truth, the lack of connection to Hashem that is expressed by adolescents and young adults does not develop overnight; it is a gradual disengagement. Psychologists note that childhood is the most impressionable time in one’s life. It is a period when everlasting memories are created and when an individual’s character is shaped. The Talmud, after recording Abaye’s comment that he wished he had learned the halacha of kavsah ein zakuk lah (if the Chanukah candle goes out, you need not relight it) earlier in life, asks what difference it makes when he learned it? The answer provided is that girsa d’yankusa – what you learn as a child – remains with you (Shabbos 21b).

We need to be more ardent in our transmission of the mesorah. In kiruv work – whether with the uninitiated or those within the fold – we cannot be indifferent or rigid. Thus, our love for Torah and mitzvos must be expressive and demonstrative, in a way that makes a positive impression. Moreover, our efforts to nurture a devotion and passion to Yiddishkeit in our progeny must be ongoing, as we ourselves strive to achieve the ultimate uvo sidbak – to cling to Hashem (Devarim 10:20).

We must strive to inculcate in our children the conviction and faith that dracheha darchei noam – the ways of Torah are pleasant (Mishlei 3:17). As we teach and educate our children, in school and at home, do we imbue them with simcha and ahavah (joy and love) for the mitzvos? Do we make the Yomim Tovim a meaningful experience for our family? Is davening a shlep, or is it suffused with spirit and an appreciation of its relevance?

The Mesilas Yesharim expounds on uvo sidbak – striving to cling to Hashem. It is a powerful principle that also incorporates “Hashem li v’lo ira”– that Hashem is with us and we need not fear. When these concepts become an integral component of our children’s Jewish education, they will be able to better deal with the vicissitudes of life. “Clinging to Hashem” includes many elements such as evaluating the ways of Hashem, emulating Him, and acknowledging all that Hashem does for us each and every day. This analysis and the mere cognizance of Shlomo HaMelech’s statement, “I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine …” (Shir HaShirim 6:3) – that we have been chosen as Hashem’s am hanivchar, chosen nation, will facilitate the growth of an ahavah for Hashem that supersedes all else in the world.

We could institute Yemei Iyun (study days) that would explore all aspects of a particular mitzvah – its halachos, how to correctly execute the mitzvah, the impact of the mitzvah on the world around us, and its rewards and benefits. The performance of mitzvos could be celebrated, i.e. to make an event that joyously marks the mitzvah’s accomplishment. Brachos gatherings, groups that meet on Shabbos to learn about kavod and oneg Shabbos (honoring and enjoying Shabbos), and a festive kevi’as mezuzah would raise the bar of chashivus (importance) and respect for the mitzvah. Likewise, reading and learning about how our gedolim conducted themselves in their meticulous devotion to the hiddurim (enhancements) of a particular mitzvah, and their demonstrable chavivus (affection) for a specific mitzvah, makes an unparalleled impression.

We should reintroduce the learning of the Sefer HaMitzvos, perhaps the Chofetz Chaim’s Sefer HaMitzvos HaKatzar, the Taamei HaMinhagim and contemporary sefarim such as Moadim L’Simcha or Nesivos Shalom. Such studies will stimulate a deeper understanding of the vitality of the mitzvos, their significance and their beauty.

Cleaning the house for Pesach is notoriously known to strike terror in the hearts of many. Nonetheless, the Ari HaKadosh cautions us to look forward to the work, and not to speak disparagingly of it – for each and every moment spent in the Pesach preparations is another matchless moment of eternal reward.

Our generation seeks chizuk (encouragement) and inspiration. Many adolescents and young adults lack the spiritual self-confidence and the wherewithal to reach higher in their avodas Hashem. The fire and brimstone of the past may not strike a responsive chord in many, and may often be counterproductive. I believe that the well-known parable of the power of the warmth of the sun versus the strength of the wind is most apt in our times.

The Mishnah states, “Aseh lecha rav – accept a teacher upon yourself” (Avos 1:6). I have become painfully aware that many of our people are like sheep without a shepherd. They have no rav, no shul with which they are affiliated, and no ties to their roshei yeshiva or rebbetzin. When a person doesn’t have a moreh derech (guide), he has little relationship with daas Torah (Torah perspective); he has no one to motivate his spiritual growth; he has no one to be his halachic decisor or his philosophical mentor.

The importance of establishing a close affiliation with a moreh derech, a rav or rebbetzin, is transcendent. A rav is the link in the mesorah (tradition), who ensures that the individual’s connection in the chain from Har Sinai remains unbroken. A Jew’s level of affiliation with the Torah is often defined by his association with a rav. For example, one’s tradition in mitzvos is not characterized merely by whether or not he eats in the sukkah on Shemini Atzeres. It embraces all the minutiae of details with regard to specific mitzvos, tefillos and minhagim that one’s rav/rebbe/rebbetzin practices.

Today’s moreh derech has also become his congregants’ “web-chaver,” so he is automatically kept abreast of the Internet activity of his congregants who have so requested. A rav who is an acquaintance of mine spends a good amount of time nightly reviewing these generated reports to verify that the conduct of his congregants is appropriate and acceptable.

Shalom bayis (i.e., marital) problems can be minimized, as well, when a husband and wife determine they will identify with and follow a designated rav. Such an association allows the couple to “nip the problem in the bud” if one arises, instead of beginning the search in a time of stress for a rav with whom they both feel comfortable.

I once received a call from a couple who presented a very complex sheiloh. After discussing the various aspects with the two of them, I rendered a psak. The husband then remarked, “Miriam, that’s exactly what Rav Cohen said.” I asked, “Have you already asked someone this sheiloh?”

“Well,” replied the husband, “in all honesty, we actually asked two people who gave us conflicting answers. So we decided to call you for the definitive answer.”

This couple does not have three rebbeim; they have none. In today’s day and age, a rav has many different responsibilities vis-à-vis the community. In fact, the job description of a rav grows daily. Every person/family needs a rav to whom they can turn at all times – someone who can provide direction, wise counsel, and who will surely be a lifelong source of inspiration.

Once, when the Chofetz Chaim immersed in the mikvah, he found the water to be very cold. He questioned the caretaker, who insisted that he had heated up the water before adding it to the mikvah and even showed him the kettle he had used. The Chofetz Chaim first felt the kettle, then he put his finger into the water of the kettle, and found the water to be lukewarm. He explained to the mikvah attendant, if boiling hot water is added to the mikvah then the water will become warm. However, he noted, if the water is only lukewarm when it is poured into the mikvah, the water will remain quite cold indeed.

Similarly, if we are trying to ignite within our children an excitement and fervor for Yiddishkeit, we ourselves must be piping hot with enthusiasm. If our ardor for Torah and mitzvos is tepid and unenthusiastic, how will our children be energized and invigorated?

Rabbi Shaya Karlinsky

How do we achieve this so fundamental, yet elusive, goal? In earlier times, significant effort combined with the study of mussar was a classic formula. With the right guidance, it remains a wonderful system. All of Abraham Twerski’s books are excellent resources for self-study. The ones that I have found the most compelling are “Let Us Make Man,” a treatise on developing self-esteem, “Lights Along the Way,” his penetrating and practical commentary on the classic mussar work “Mesilas Yesharim,” and “On Spirituality.”

There is another aspect of self-awareness uniquely fundamental to our personal relationship with Hashem:[2] To have a meaningful connection with our Creator, we must have authentic self-esteem, knowing our uniqueness and our importance. We need to be fully cognizant of how we make a difference in this world. The source of true self-esteem is the realization that one is created b’tzelem Elokim, as a reflection of the Almighty, endowed with a transcendent neshama. For this recognition to be nurtured in our children (and in ourselves!), we must recognize and value different talents and abilities and create frameworks for utilization of those qualities to advance goals that are connected with life’s purpose. A Judaism that offers a very narrow set of avenues to successful avodas Hashem (service of the Almighty) inevitably leads those who don’t’ fit the mold to become disconnected from Hashem and Torah. We must acknowledge multiple paths to becoming a first-class Jew.

The commentaries on the verse in Mishlei חֲנֹךְ לַנַּעַר עַל פִּי דַרְכּוֹ גַּם כִּי יַזְקִין לֹא יָסוּר מִמֶּנָּה, (educate the lad according to his path; even when he matures he will not deviate from it – Mishlei 22:6) illustrate the importance of rising to this challenge, and the potential cost of failing to do so.[3] The Malbim explains that “every person has different natural tendencies… (different) ways of thinking, [and] each one must be educated according to the foundation that he has. In actions, one is [naturally] prepared for a certain craft… and he will assimilate (training for) it easily. This is identified in the lad by his passion/enthusiasm. It is according to what he strives for himself in his unique manner that you must educate him – according to his path and according to the tendencies towards which he is naturally inclined. For then, he won’t abandon it when he grows old. This will not be the result, however, if he is educated to what is against his nature.” (emphasis added).

This is a great challenge to our educational system – both because of limited resources and because of the stigma that has developed for boys who have not demonstrated success in the path of gemara learning. But this is one of the most compelling investments we can make to enable our children to grow into adults connected to Hashem and his Torah.

In seeking solutions to the disconnection felt by many, it is incorrect to presume that the focus on certain mitzvos, the study of certain texts, or the teaching of certain hashkafos will create a greater connection with the Almighty. I suggest that it will take a very different focus to identify a promising solution.

In Hilchos Teshuva, the Rambam writes:

Do not say there is only repentance from sins that entail actions, such as sexual transgressions, stealing and thievery. Rather, just as one is required to repent from these, so, too, he must examine his evil character traits, and repent from anger, hatred and jealousy, from levity, from pursuit of money and glory, from gluttony, etc. From all these a person must repent. In fact, these sins are more serious than those that entail action, for when a person sinks into these [characteristics], it is difficult to change. (Hilchos Tehsuva 7:3)

Rather than focus on the traits emphasized by the Rambam, most of contemporary education focuses on the ritual aspects of Judaism and on teaching the “correct hashkafa.” And the social dynamics of our communities only reinforce this tendency. For example, compare our community’s reaction (on a religious level) to a person not following a modern chumra (stringency) or who espouses non-conforming hashkafos with the communal reaction to a person who exhibits the negative character traits about which the Rambam imposes a requirement of teshuva.

Hilchos Teshuva can be characterized as the laws that repair our disconnect from Hashem. The Rambam emphasizes teshuva of character traits because of the major role these traits play in our connection with Hashem.

We need to teach our children how to recognize their instinctual personality traits, to be aware of their strengths and weaknesses, and to understand how important it is to develop and refine those traits. And we must reverse the myth that the Torah giants whom we idolize did not have personality weaknesses as well that required much work to refine.

The importance of character development cannot be overemphasized. A few lines from Rav Chaim Vital should alert us to the possibility that our education may be missing the foundation on which our Judaism – and the ability of our neshama to connect to Torah and mitzvos – must be built:

“…good character traits are not mandated among the 613 commandments, but they are the fundamental preparation for the fulfillment or annulment of the 613 commandments… Therefore bad character traits are much more serious than violations of the commandments themselves… The consequence of this is that one must be more cautious about bad character traits than about the fulfillment of the positive and negative commandments, for one who possesses exemplary character traits will find it easy to fulfill all the commandments” (Shaarei Kedusha, Part 1, Gate 2). (emphasis added)

We teach “derech eretz kadmah l’torah” – good character traits are a prerequisite to accepting and properly fulfilling Torah. This is why there was a period of seven weeks between the redemption from Egypt and the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai – weeks used to transform the people of Israel into a People worthy of receiving the Torah[4]. But teaching it is not enough – we need to “walk our talk,” in our schools, our families and our communities. Beginning in the home at the youngest age, following through in school, and continuing in our communal behavior, children and adults with refined character must be accorded the highest honor and sense of importance.

Refined character means many qualities: simplicity, respect, politeness, the ability to delay gratification, willingness to compromise, etc.[5] Rav Chaim Vital means to teach us that a refined personality serves as the interface between one’s physical life and the transcendent neshama, and that it is the foundation upon which mitzvah observance must be built. We already have curricula that teach correct ideology and proper mitzvah observance. But, we must ensure that it includes – as a foundation and not merely as an afterthought – lessons and exercises for the refinement of character.[6]

Another critical ingredient for developing self-awareness, and thus true connections and relationships, is time. We cannot know ourselves, we cannot know others, and we cannot develop deep connections without the investment of time. Our culture and life-style certainly make finding the time we need an almost insurmountable challenge. Beyond the simple answer of creating priorities, I believe there are two periods legislated in Judaism that provide the opportunities to nurture more self-awareness and deeper connections with ourselves, with Hashem and with others. These two periods are davening times and Shabbos. We must invest more resources in utilizing these dimensions of our avodah in the way the Almighty intended.

Davening must be slowed down, with time and energy devoted to understanding what we are doing. Proper davening is a process of introspection – putting us in touch with our selves, with our true needs, and with our Creator as the source of fulfillment of those needs. If we zoom through a 27-minute shacharis (berachos to final kaddish), or a nine-minute ma’ariv, while periodically glancing at our smartphones, we have lost a major opportunity for self-awareness. Adding even a few minutes to our rushed davening can enable us to prioritize our real needs, to recognize how our resources should serve those needs, and to appreciate how Hashem fulfills our needs. We need to view our davening as a dialogue with Hashem, appreciate the potential connection this can create, and find ways to enable our children to share this experience.[7]

Shabbos is also an invaluable gift. During the week, we are “always on” and always connected – striving to control the harried world in which we operate. Shabbos, prepared for and enjoyed properly, nurtures our ability to “let go” – to disconnect from a world that isolates us from our inner self and ultimately from our Creator. It is our covenant with G-d to declare publically that we can relinquish control of a world created by Him, and that such a world has a greater purpose. We need to spend focused, undisturbed time within ourselves, as well as with our families and our friends.[8] We must learn to appreciate why Chazal call Shabbos a “matanah tovah” – a unique and wonderful gift that G-d reserved for the Jewish people. We must live Shabbos as much more than being simply a “day off” that Judaism happened to think of first.

A final aspect of our society that disconnects us from our true essence and that creates a barrier between us and the Almighty is rampant consumerism. Consumption ought to fill genuine needs only. Luxurious indulgences numb our spiritual dimension, which is where our true selves lie. When every chosson expects a dazzling new watch, when every kallah expects to enter her marriage outfitted with a wig costing four figures, when a basic kiddush must have fancier food than used to be considered lavish for a fully-catered Shabbos seudah, when the smorgasbord at a wedding must have a variety and quantity of foods that renders the actual meal completely unnecessary, it becomes extremely difficult, if not impossible, for the spiritual dimensions of our true selves to connect to anything real. This problem of lavish consumption may have been imported from the society around us but we must not ignore the corrosive effect it has on our spiritual essence. We need to ask ourselves what our consumption is accomplishing, and which part of our true essence it is nourishing. We may find that the need for such indulgences is actually the symptom of a deep, spiritual hunger – the result of lacking a real connection to Hashem. Breaking this cycle then becomes all the more important.

Many readers may justifiably think that in our society, in our culture, and in our financial system, the solutions proposed are simply not realistic. I alluded to this reaction in the beginning of the article. We have to decide whether solving the problem is worth the price we need to pay. Many people may decide it is not. I hope enough people in positions of influence decide it is. But we should not fool ourselves. As Albert Einstein is quoted to have said that the definition of insanity is “doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results.”

If we want to develop a true connection with Hashem, we may need to return to a simpler life, spend time getting to know ourselves and become students of Avraham Avinu – having “ayin tova, ruach nemucha, v’nefesh shfala” – a giving personality, a natural humility, and a modest life-style.[9]

Rav Ahron Lopiansky

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

Self-Inspiration: A Tool for Life

THE FIRST QUESTION THAT BEGS TO BE ASKED about “connectedness” is whether we are talking about a religious value and imperative, per se, or merely an element that is perhaps critical in furthering religious commitment and observance.

To determine the religious significance of “connectedness,” its Hebrew equivalent must be considered. Yet, while we have a very powerful experiential sense of “connectedness,” we struggle to translate it. It would be appropriate, therefore, to explore Torah terminology in search of parallels.

While many mitzvos predicate actions, others address understandings and perspectives (e.g., emunah), and still others mandate emotion, such as ahava (love), yirah (awe) and simchah (joy). These emotions are halachically requireded (e.g., simcha on Yom Tov, and ahava and yirah at all times), yet these obligations seem to go beyond mere halachic mandates. The Kuzari explains that the emotions of simcha, ahava and yirah form the basis of all of Judaism, bringing the individual closer to G-d. It would seem that the Kuzari is identifying these obligations as an added dimension of every other mitzvah, rather than as simply independent obligation among many others.

Under the Kuzari’s formulation, every mitzvah includes components of deed, of understanding of its conceptual structure, and of emotion (awe/love/joy). When we speak of “connectedness,” then, it is this emotional dimension of Torah. If so, the Hebrew word is “dveikus,” which, when broken down into its component parts, consists of “ahava, yirah and simcha.”

Though there are many sources that identify emotional experience as an integral part of Judaism, here are four examples:

Kuzari: The Torah teaches us that there are three foundations for Divine service: awe, love, and joy. Come close to G-d with all three of these. Indeed your contrition on days of fasting do not bring you closer to G-d than your joy on Shabbos and Yom Tov, if the joy emanates from understanding…. and if your joy in mitzvos elevates you to a state of song and dance, this too will become a form of Divine service, and through it you will cleave to G-d.  (Kuzari: II 31:50)

Maimonides: And what is the way to love and fear G-d? When a person contemplates G-d’s deeds and wondrous creations, and realizes the boundless wisdom inherent within them, he is filled with love and praise, and is overwhelmed by a great craving to know G-d, as David said, “My soul thirsts for the living G-d.” And as he is thinking these very thoughts he is thrown back with fear and realizes that he is an infinitesimal being, benighted, standing with his minute cognizance before the all-knowing G-d.  (Mishnah Torah, Hilchos Yesodei HaTorah 2:2)

Baal HaTanya: …when someone contemplates G-d’s boundless greatness, it produces awe in his mind and fear in his heart. The love of G-d is then ignited in his heart, and he craves and yearns with a burning desire to cling to G-d with all his heart and soul.  (Tanya: 1:9)

Chazon Ish: If a person is possessed of a most sensitive soul and it is a moment of tranquility, free of physical craving, and he scans the heights of the heavens and depths of the earth, he is overwhelmed and astounded: for the world appears as a closed secret, mysterious and wondrous. This riddle grips his mind and heart, and he feels faint, lifeless, for he is possessed by this mystery, and yearns with his entire soul to solve it. He would walk through fire and water for [this understanding]. For what is the use for life, if that pleasant life’s secret is withheld from him?  (Emunah U’Bitachon: 1:1)

As disparate as these sources are, they all point in one direction – that having an intense religious/emotional experience is a core Torah principle.

As central as this experience may be to the fulfillment of Torah, it remains elusive. The reason for this is that HaKadosh Boruch Hu has endowed us with a very powerful faculty called “habit, which usually serves a very positive function. This faculty controls our repetitive activities and frees our mind for the irregular situations that require original thought. Thus, can we brush our teeth, get dressed and drive to work with minimal thought. Unfortunately, however, the tendency to allow habit to control our behavior also affects routine activities that are important, such as those that are religious.

Because of the repetitive nature of our mitzvos, even prayer, study, charity etc. – which should be natural expressions of thought or emotion – become merely another pre-programmed act. Over time, these very positive activities become automatic processes, essentially “hardwired” into the psyche. Notwithstanding how powerful or passionate the original motivation, as soon as the action becomes a repetitive activity, there is a great risk that it will settle into a thoughtless routine.

The first to highlight this problem was the prophet Yeshaya, who castigated Israel with the words, “and their fear of Me was an act of habit (mitzvas anashim melumada)” (29:13).

In more recent history, the two movements of mussar and Chassidus were initiated out of recognition that, while Klal Yisroel’s commitment to observance and even study of Torah may have been sufficient, it had become habitual; the emotional dimension of avodas Hashem was lacking, if not absent. Here is a quote from each movement that reflects this goal:

There is a need for “beinonim” (people doing the requisite mitzvos but internally imperfect) to find a solution to the following problem: many times their hearts are as impassive as stone, and they cannot open their hearts to prayer. Also that impassiveness leaves them unable to distance themselves from mundane pleasures. (Tanya 1:29)

What is the real fear of G-d? …The mere knowledge thereof does not affect a person, as Chazal themselves have taught us, “the wicked know that they are on the way to doom, do not think that it is forgotten from them.”  (Ohr Yisroel 9)

Both Chassidus and the Mussar Movement emphasized the essential need for deliberate efforts to stimulate an emotional dimension to shmiras hamitzvos. Offering specifics about how poses a challenge, however, for the techniques developed to accomplish this are as diverse as the numerous subgroups within each of the movements. Slabodka and Novardok, Kotzk and Breslov, Chabad and Kelm share the conviction that a means to inspire emotion in avodas Hashem must be constructed out of the fabric of Torah and mitzvos, but each emphasized a distinct focus and approach. That merely adhering to the letter of the law and expecting ahava and yirah to “happen” spontaneously, however, was agreed to be generally ineffective.

For some people, a niggun (music) or hisbodedus (alone time) may be most effective, while for others it may be hisamkus in daas Elokim (delving into knowledge of G-d). Some respond to scathing mussar vaadim (groups) while others grow in response to poetic and lofty paeans to the gadlus (greatness) of Hashem. But regardless of the means adopted, each approach had the purpose of evoking that elusive emotional dimension of Torah.

This emotional dimension must be evoked for two reasons: First, as mentioned, ahava, yirah and simcha are core Torah values, and second, when Torah observance reflects solely a sense of duty and obligation, the commitment eventually withers and atrophies. Eventually, it simply dissipates entirely.

Both the Mussar Movement and Chasidus faced stiff opposition from other camps within the Torah world. In fact, two of the most significant gedolim of the past century – the Chazon Ish and the Brisker Rov – expressed criticism of both movements. These gedolim certainly did not contest the need for ahava and yirah. In fact, simply reading the excerpt from the Chazon Ish’s Emunah U’Bitachon, quoted above, reflects the deeply emotional dimension of his ahavas Hashem (which is confirmed by personal accounts of people who knew him). Similarly, the Brisker Rov’s yirah was legendary. His whole being was suffused with yiras Hashem.

Yet both gedolim had reservations about the formal approach of the Mussar Movement. They feared that formalizing an independent focus on mussar risked giving the impression that it was not a dimension of Torah. There was a risk that such an independent focus could result in “spirituality” being loosed from its Torah moorings. They believed that ahava and yirah could be achieved more safely and effectively through serious and intense Torah study in isolation from corrupting, outside influences, along with a fastidious adherence to the details of mitzvah observance. And each of them was certainly a paradigm of that vision.

Yet, even the Chazon Ish, between the lines of his criticism, acknowledged that it was the baalei mussar who succeeded in igniting the young generation with yirah. Moreover, it is difficult to imagine someone learning Torah and keeping mitzvos with the perseverance of a Chazon Ish or Brisker Rav without having achieved a powerful, emotional commitment.

The yeshivas in Europe that adopted mussar principles, tended to have a towering and inspiring figure as their Mashgiach Ruchani (Spiritual Advisor), such as the “Alters” of Slabodka, Novardok and Kelm, R’ Yerucham Levovitz, R’ Chatzkel Levenstein, R’ Isaac Sher, R’ Yosef Leib Bloch and many others. These giants were people whose own statures made them observable paradigms; their words and thoughts were inspiring, and they considered it their task to guide talmidim to spiritual elevation.

After World War II, a shift began to occur. There were increasing concerns that a strong emphasis on mussar risked distracting yeshiva students away from serious Torah study and potentially towards a “faux spirituality.” As a result, the role of the Mashgiach Ruchani lost some of its emphasis on promoting ahava, yirah, etc. and became focused more on enforcing the yeshiva’s expectations, both through rebuke and by imposing disciplinary action. Whereas the old Mashgiach had been a powerful mashpia (positive influence), the new Mashgiach reflected the more literal sense of the word (supervisor): in other words, the Yeshiva’s police chief.

During one of his Yom Tov visits to my brother-in-law, Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel, zt”l, R’ Shlomo Wolbe, zt”l – perhaps the leading mussar personality of recent times – lamented, “The Mashgiach is a dying profession. No one needs or wants them. Eight of my talmidim who worked as Mashgichim were fired this year. It was not because they were inept or ineffective, but possibly to the contrary.”

The spiritual void now being observed could very well be substantially due to this absence of true spiritual guidance. Though the few who are learning with the perseverance and intensity exemplified by the Brisker Rov and the Chazon Ish have not suffered as a result, they are in the minority. Most yeshiva talmidim today are learning due to a mixture of duty, competitiveness and social expectations. With no opportunities to develop the additional dimensions of ahava and yirah, it is almost inevitable that they will one day find themselves with a hollow and “disconnected” feeling.

I would like to offer two points in the direction of remedy. The first addresses the agent of change, and the second the necessary technique.

The most effective catalyst to change may be the parents of yeshiva students. As the “clientele” of the yeshiva, their demands can heavily influence the yeshiva’s policies. In considering a potential yeshiva, parents will frequently ask, “How smart are the bochurim?” Or, “how strong is the hasmada (constancy of learning)?” They may also ask, “Are there any bad chevra (peers)?” To impress the parents with the appearance of success, yeshivas will often retain a brilliant Rosh Yeshiva, and, to enforce their highly impressive rules, a tyrant of a Mashgiach. They will also adopt a fine-tooth admissions selection process and will then maintain an atmosphere of brutal competitiveness.

Perhaps things would change if parents began to ask as well (and perhaps primarily): “Is there someone in this Yeshiva who I would want as a paradigm for my son to emulate? Does the person have tools to convey his message to a young bochur? Is there someone who can guide a teenager or young adult through the ups and downs, and help him understand himself? Do the bochurim in the yeshiva exude a simchas hachaim (joy of life)? Is there palpable warmth in the davening? Do the mussar shmuessen (talks) merely seek to strengthen the structure of the Yeshiva, or are they intended to build the student?” These questions should be asked not only by parents of weaker students, but even by those parents fantasizing that their children will one day evolve into the most brilliant minds of the next generation.

Once parents appreciate that inspiration and personal development are not achieved automatically, but rather require high-level input, this input will be furiously sought. And once parents demand this dimension of chinuch from their sons’ yeshivas, those yeshivas will make sure to respond to this need. After all, kinas sofrim tarbeh chochmah (jealousy of scholars increases wisdom).

The second issue that deserves attention is the “technique” of inspiration.

Human anatomy provides a useful metaphor. Muscular stimulation happens in two ways: massage and workout. A person being massaged is a passive participant, while a person working out is the active agent. Both exercises have positive effects, but there are great differences. The massage must be administered by an outsider, its effects are of short duration, and repeated massages produce diminishing returns. A workout, by contrast, is self-administered, has a long-lasting effect, and is no less valuable when it is repeated.

Today’s “inspiration,” unfortunately, is too often analogous to the massage. Whether it is a tear-jerking “new” story, an engaging speaker with exceptional oratory skills or a singer with a penetrating new niggun, the inspiration that results may be genuine, but – like a massage – it has notable shortcomings: we are dependent on someone else who is not readily available, the inspirational effects are short-lived and, after a while, more of the same does not continue to move us.

Through his urging of the study of mussar, R’ Yisroel Salanter sought to introduce a far more substantive form of inspiration. The study of mussar, of course, was nothing new – nor was the presence of inspirational speakers, then known as maggidim. R’ Yisroel’s innovation was in how to learn mussar. Some elements of his approach were:

• Secluding oneself from others (the darkened beis hamussar was that environment);
• Picking an apropos pasuk or quote from Chazal, and visualizing it to make it as vivid as possible;
• Repeating that pasuk or Chazal with a singsong, many, many times, until its emotional impact is felt.

There is still much lip service given to R’ Yisroel’s teachings and to the mussar movement in general (today there are even self-identified mussar yeshivos), but the movement itself has all but disappeared. If we could have a genuine mussar experience today, we would have the tools to motivate ourselves constantly. We could replicate this process to improve our davening, and to properly prepare ourselves to perform mitzvos and celebrate yomim tovim with a special emotional note.

The similarity between this approach to mussar and the techniques suggested by the Baal HaTanya is astounding. His great tool for evoking ahava and yirah in the emotionally impassive is conducting a spirited dialogue with oneself. In general, the Tanya’s advice for progressing in avodas Hashem is either through deep contemplation of G-d, or by having a dialogue with oneself!

In summation: The challenge we face today is certainly not new. The giants of mussar and Chassidus struggled with it, as did so many generations, all the way back to Har Sinai. Those of us from the yeshivish/mussar tradition are guilty of neglecting almost completely the remedy we claim literally saved the Yeshiva World in the past: mussar b’hispaalus. And the best catalyst of change may very well be the wise and concerned parents who choose to seek this treasure for their children.

Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein

I was dead wrong. You can’t measure passion and connection to G-d in decibel levels and in quickness of dance steps.

One Simchas Torah, I met the two Briskers of the anecdote in the flesh. They may not have been Briskers, but they were alte Litvaks, and the crowd, which recognized both as talmidei chachamim of note, pulled them into the middle of the dancing circle. The two shuffled slowly to the tune of “Tzavei, tzavei, tzvaei yeshu’os Yaakov” – not a niggun known for its musical pyrotechnics. Those close enough could here them singing, although their tonal range was approximately two notes. Their eyes were half closed. Their faces were absolutely radiant. They were as connected as anyone of us would want to be. Real connection has to come from a deep place, and theirs was carved out through decades of learning.

It may very well be that one of our priorities should be generating more simcha shel mitzvah. But we have to recognize that there is no one way to achieve it or evidence it. For some people – many people – the path of the Sefer ha-Chinuch (Mitzvah 16) will be important: he-adam nif’al kefi pe’ulosov, the outward behavior will shape the inner man. Outwardly performing mitzvos more energetically may produce more inner enthusiasm. For others, the inner being needs to be accessed differently, and the external display may be unnecessary and even distracting.

This is not a screed by a disgruntled Litvak. I will admit to being closer to the former of the two groups described above than the latter. However, I have learned to respect and admire other models of connection.

In my younger years, I loathed Rabbi Soloveitchik’s examination of the mind-set of the perfect Jew (or so I wrongly assumed he was doing) in Halakhic Man, especially the following selection:[1]

When halakhic man comes across a spring bubbling quietly, he already possesses a fixed a priori relationship with this phenomenon: …it purifies with flowing water; it does not require a fixed quantity of forty se’ahs… Halakhic man is not overly curious, and he is not particularly concerned with cognizing the spring as it is in itself.

Excuse me? Where did the esthetic go? Why would I not want to listen to the poetry of the bubbling stream? I was moving away from some of the yekkishness of my upbringing (I never succeeded in moving too far), and was not particularly attracted to what I read. It got worse:

When halakhic man looks to the western horizon and sees the fading rays of the setting sun or to the eastern horizon and sees the first light of dawn and the glowing rays of the rising sun, he know that this sunset or sunrise imposes upon him anew obligations and commandments… When halakhic man chances upon mighty mountains, he utilizes the measurements which determine a private domain… When he sees trees, plants, and animals, he classifies them according to their species and genera… He gazes at colors and determines their quality: distinguishes between green and yellow, blue and white, etc., etc., “between blood and blood, between affection and affection.”

Was this to be my lot in life? I should ignore the majestic grandeur of a mountain range, and think only of the halachah of tel ha-mislaket (when a slope qualifies as a wall)? Mesmerized by a tapestry of color and texture of a tropical island vista, I should process it all in terms of mishnayos in Nega’im? I ran from there!

Rabbi Soloveitchik didn’t mean what I thought he did, but it took me years to realize it. Many more years would pass before I would be able to see the beauty of what he was saying – that the ba’al halachah could find instant connection with HKBH wherever he turned, even in regular events in the natural world. His gaze would see nothing but Elokus (G-dliness) – at least in its expectation of human response. Connection was everywhere to be found; nothing could be peeled away from Him to stand on its own.

I cannot say that I have come close to this madregah (level), but I can at least understand it and admire it. I can appreciate the converse as well: that for some the display of simchah shel mitzvah is an exercise of mawkish sentimentality – something resisted vigorously in the writings of both Rabbi Soloveitchik and Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch. The point is that different paths will work for different people. There is no one way to connectedness. Not everyone can or should become the Halakhic Man. Neither, however, should we all aspire to becoming Na-Nachs. Especially when we compare what we have to the millions of sincere people who desperately seek a way to connect with Divinity, we should realize how fortunate we are in not having to search for Hashem without an address to turn to, but having a way to discover Him wherever we turn. This realization alone might leave us feeling more privileged and connected.

Are there practical suggestions that will work, at least for many? I can think of a few.

We are not the first generation in crisis. We’ve been there before, and we’ve pulled through simply because HKBH’s covenant with us guarantees that His chesed will bail us out. That guarantee, however, never stopped us from doing what we could to check erosion of commitment. Key seforim played a role in that process. Works by Rav Saadia Gaon, the Ran, Rambam, Rav Yehuda ha-Levi, the Ramchal and Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch addressed doubts and captured imaginations in their respective times. No two were alike; the works of each of them, however, positively contributed to the inner experience of Yiddishkeit of their different and diverse readers.

In my yeshiva days, there was one sefer of relatively recent vintage that spoke to young people, both men and women: Michtav me-Eliyahu by Rav Eliyahu Dessler. Readers gobbled it up, finding new insights that were not provided in conventional classrooms and batei medrash. It seemed at the time that it grabbed hold of more people than any other sefer available.

Arguably, it is still an important sefer. But I believe that another, more recent work has become the sefer for our generation, if there is such a thing. Nesivos Shalom, by the Slonimer Rebbe zt”l, is the only modern work I know of that is popular bechol tefutzos Yisrael (in all corners). From shtreimlach to kippot serugot, rabbanim and ba’alei batim, you can find chaburos of Yidden devoted to Nesivos Shalom.

Why? Because he addresses head-on the issues that plague us. He speaks often and speaks practically about the quality of connection with HKBH, because that is what it is all about. He talks about ups and downs, about years of failure, of capitulation to weakness, to ta’avah (desires), to doubt. He writes about those who try so hard, and still cannot feel the sweetness of His presence. He speaks about Hashem’s soothing love throughout, about how giving up is the greatest kefirah (heresy). He teases out the different strands of our avodah (service) – always with practical advice, always with encouragement. He speaks from a position of strength, having heard the tales of success and the tales of failure for many decades.

We should not underestimate the boost that we can get from this set of seforim.[2]

About fifteen years ago, a member of the senior class at the Modern Orthodox school at which I taught Hilchos Shabbos responded to a back-page opinion column in the local Jewish paper. The author, far from being a halachically observant Jew, had made some silly statement about the small-mindedness and isolation that he presumed ran through the Orthodox world. The student challenged him in a letter to the editor, based on her own background. He replied; she kept at it. At one point, he announced that the debate was over, because it could only be continued through face-to-face confrontation, and he was certain that an Orthodox school would never let him in.

He was wrong. We took a calculated risk, and invited him to come. He had no choice but to accept. The class – not a particularly frum or “connected” one, at least so it seemed till then – ate him alive. They tore him apart on every assumption, every argument he presented. In his next column, he admitted that the hour he spent in that classroom had been his most difficult defense of his life and his beliefs.

From where did the girls get their passion and enthusiasm? It surprised them to hear themselves! They hadn’t realized how much they had absorbed in their tender years, how committed they were even as they saw themselves as skeptics. When attacked by an outsider, they went into attack mode themselves, and discovered more in their arsenal than they consciously were aware of.

We can broaden the model. When people have to defend a program or system to others, they often can reach inside and find hidden resources. Often, they are forced to answer questions they had subconsciously struggled with and suppressed, but now had to be addressed in order to convince others. Even when argument and defense are not called for, simply acting as a vigorous proponent of a cause connects one with that cause. I am suggesting that connection to Hashem can be revved up by shouldering more responsibility for His mission and work.

Again, we have nothing but anecdotal evidence to work with. But a good friend of mine who is a Chabad shaliach reports that in close to thirty families of shluchim in his locale, there are less than a handful of off-the-derech kids. Of all the shluchim in California a few years ago, 67% had kids who were becoming shluchim themselves. Working for a goal and purpose that goes beyond what is required can bond a person with HKBH, can establish a deep sense of connection.

We should, I believe, at least think of reverting to the practices we followed a few decades ago, in which young people were encouraged (or at least allowed) to spend some limited amount of time in activities outside of the key curriculum. Bitulo zu hi kiyumo (spending time away from Torah sometimes establishes it more firmly). I suspect that we will see good, life-long results from kids who put serious time into kiruv activities like serving as NCSY advisors, or difficult chesed tasks like being counselors at Kids of Courage.[3] To be sure, limitations and restrictions must be put into place by responsible Torah figures. It did work in the past; it can work again.

Without trying (or trying very little), we have really come full circle. The somewhat academic observation that consumed most of the space in this paper is not so academic. There is a reason why the paths to connection may be so different. What may really be important is their common denominator – the personal struggle.

We recite it with ease: “Who is rich? One who finds happiness in his portion” (Avos 4:1). The explanation rolls off our tongues as smoothly as a hockey puck on a freshly iced surface. Only a person who truly enjoys what he or she has – whether much or little – can be said to be happy.

This cannot be the pshat (explanation), writes R Chaim Yaakov Goldvicht, zt”l.[4] The proof-text in the mishnah reads as follows: “When you eat of the labor of your hands, you are praiseworthy and all is well with you” (Tehilim 128:2). The pasuk does not talk about happiness with what one has, but of what one has produced with his own hands.

You can’t really enjoy, explains R. Goldvicht, what you did not make yours through the expenditure of effort – through passing some test, or weathering some storm. Briefly put, you need to make a kinyan on it (acquire it) in order to appreciate it. A key to finding a satisfying sense of connectedness with HKBH may be personalizing the struggle to find it.

We have worked as a community for the last decade to streamline everything about observance: chinuch, dress, popular culture and literature. Making it easy was not a bad idea, but we perhaps made it too easy, removing any and all areas of personal struggle. We have therefore often produced people of a new generation who are outwardly loyal, but inwardly cruising on autopilot. They have not had to strive, and that means they have not had to invest themselves. Without a kinyan, they cannot be happy with their connection.

Serving as an ambassador for Hashem and His mitzvos allows people to make a kinyan on their own chelek of avodah (portion in G-d’s service). Setting goals in learning and having them monitored by others is another way to personalize the journey. Not so long ago, some yeshivos insisted on monitoring progress of chavrusos, and of subjecting talmidim to regular examinations. Perhaps it is time to take another look at the present system, in which those who learn are responsible only to HKBH, but not to the scrutiny of human beings. Perhaps we ought to actively encourage those in yeshivos to find areas of Torah – including halachah, Tanach, and machshavah – in which they can flower and develop in their own, individual way, thereby making a more personal kinyan on Torah.

None of these proposals will win us places on the walls of Reform Jews. But that, in the end, is really not what it is about.

Moishe Bane

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

Merely Coping

Is Connecting Real?

Enter one of the numerous batei medrash in Lakewood, New Jersey and experience the thunderous cacophony of Torah study.  The vigor and excitement are palpable.  Review the attendance rolls of incoming first-grade classes of Orthodox day schools, cheders and Bais Yaakovs across the United States; the annually increasing enrollment will inevitably impress even the cynic. Women’s Torah classes and Tehillim sessions abound.   Tens of thousands, representing yet thousands of others, will soon celebrate the upcoming Siyum HaShas, all committed to studying Talmud daily.  Halachic observance is also growing.  Kosher consumption rises, and even non-Orthodox communities increasingly embrace traditional ritual and observance.  True, there is a small percentage of Orthodox dropouts, and much of the community’s growth is attributable to a strong birth rate.  Yet, overall, the system apparently works.

Too many observant Jews, however, have a commitment to Torah and halacha that is impressively broad, but a relationship with G-d that is admittedly shallow.  They follow halacha with great care, and often sacrifice, but realize little meaning and even less fervor.  Like the tepid marriage of a deeply loyal, middle-aged couple, the commitment is there. But what happened to the passion?   Beneath the surface is the gnawing fear that such commitment is to a Judaism of culture, not of spirituality.  Connection to avodas Hashem has long been supplanted by an urgency to fit in and an eagerness for personal peace of mind and fulfillment.  But rather than in religion, satisfaction is typically sought in family and profession and, failing those, through entertainment and distractions.  Life is a struggle – but not a struggle to relate to G-d.

In light of the community’s apparent overall success, is there really a problem, at all?  Does the fading of passionate romance deem a marriage loveless?  Perhaps spiritual relations are unique, and fretting over a spiritual void is a wasteful lament, since a relationship between G-d and neshama (soul), though real, is imperceptible. Perhaps the coveted “spiritual high” is actually a cheap emotional sensation, devoid of authentic ruchniyus (spirituality).   Is not true Torah Judaism simply doing the right thing for the right reason in the proper frame of mind?  Could hoping to feel the Torah-induced growth taking place within our neshama merely be a primitive wish reflecting simple-mindedness, or even selfishness?

To the contrary – nothing can be more authentic and sophisticated than pursuing an intense and passionate relationship with G-d.  That relationship, called devaikus, is what Judaism is all about.  And, like any relationship, it is real only if perceptible, or at least potentially perceptible. Devaikus must be felt.  As in any relationship, the more intense the relationship the more intense the feelings. Sometimes the feeling is joy, sometimes exhilaration.  And sometimes a relationship makes you sad or troubled, and occasionally even pained. But, if there are no feelings and no passion – just a sense of obligation, it can hardly be called a relationship.

Shir Hashirim, the most poetic of love songs, presents the paradigm of the relationship between the Jew and HKBH. Passionate, thrilling, a sense of longing.  Devaikus is supposed to be real – not merely a concept – and the beauty of its journey is the music of Yiddishkeit, the Jew’s sustaining melody. Halachic Judaism is not intended to be merely a legal system or a behavioral discipline, but rather the essential parameters of a wondrous love story[1]. The search for a relationship with G-d is intended to be urgent, reflecting the intense longing for one’s beloved.  But when the heart is not broken but merely hollow, when the sole feeling is commitment (and perhaps guilt), when the marriage is one of mere pragmatism, how long can it last?

The Unspoken Factor

I enjoy an advantage not available to other contributors to this issue of Klal Perspectives in that I have been privy to the other submissions before writing my own. I marvel at the brilliant insights proffered by great minds, and hope that many readers will adopt the numerous valuable suggestions.  But the community that I see is vastly different from that observed by others.

Surveying the Orthodox disconnected, others see Jews who are, at best, insufficiently motivated and educated, if not self-absorbed and lazy.  Jews who appear to be connecting to G-d are lauded as the pious and focused, while all others are viewed as misguided, uneducated or simply self-centered. And the path to becoming connected is so obvious.  If only the disconnected would make the effort.  After all, a relationship with G-d is very accessible, if only they had been taught the correct lessons in grade school, or would now read the correct books, attend the correct minyan, or seek guidance from the proper mentor.  And the list of solutions goes on.

By contrast, the Orthodox community I see is neither lazy nor self-centered.  Rather, it is heroic and brave, though scared and wary.  The small cadre of American Jews still loyal to halacha – nary ten percent of American Jewry – aspire to connect to G-d. But they are scarred and they are pained.  They are spurned lovers. They feel abandoned by the very Creator whose relationship they crave, but whose presence and accessibility remains elusive.  They deeply believe in G-d and his Torah, and therefore willingly and consistently distinguish themselves from American society in profound manners of lifestyle and behavior.  But they feel distant. How can it be otherwise when they reflect on two thousand years of efforts to embrace G-d, only to have their reaching arms met with nothing but the assurance that the object of their yearning is responding, but in ways that they cannot feel, hear or even perceive?

And then there are the unspeakable tragedies. First, they must come to terms with a Father in Heaven who chooses to veil his face behind the curtain of hester panim (a “hidden face”).  But if the pain of abandonment alone is not sufficient to dampen the enthusiastic love of loyal children, the veil is accompanied by displacement.  Their Father’s home destroyed, they are separated brother from sister and dispersed throughout the world.  But, nevertheless, these loyal children long for their Father.  Rather than rue the source of their exile, they blame themselves.

And it gets far bleaker. The pain and suffering begins.  As weaklings among the bullies of time, the children suffer centuries of abuse and disdain, and much worse.  Ravaging their bodies and souls, the attacks persist and worsen. But, they do not blame their Father, who observes from behind the veil, allowing the abuse to continue. Rather, they turn to Him for comfort; they turn to Him.   And they blame themselves.  And then – the ultimate of unimaginable horrors.  In unspeakable tragedy of incomprehensible magnitude, they watch as their parents, siblings and children are slaughtered in an indescribable Holocaust.  Yet among the survivors there are still those who continue the search for devaikus.  These loyal Jews do not blame their Father, who observes from behind the veil.  In fact, they continue to seek His comfort and approval.  They study His words and follow His precepts.

But beneath the dutiful observance, and deep in their hearts, the children wonder – why is Father allowing this all to happen to us? No doubt we misbehave, but are we really so wicked?  No doubt we can do better, but to allow them to slaughter us? And our children, as well? One million of our children!   And the wondering turns to resentment, the resentment to anger, and then to rage.  And then to numbness.

Over the centuries of exile, many Jews simply could not tolerate the persistent abandonment and pain. The oppression was simply too harsh to bear and they forfeited the relationship altogether.  Many sought to meld into the fabric of humanity through assimilation, hoping to shed the Jewish identity that had imposed so much pain.  Others pursued secular Zionism, hoping that nationalism would supplant religion, and thereby deflect the animosity thought attributable to their Jewish uniqueness.  Akin to the child whose violent behavior is precipitated by baseless accusations of destruction, perhaps these Jews were trying to validate the libelous accusation that they had earlier killed a god, and so were doing so now.  Others also abandoned authentic Judaism but, rather than declare religion forfeited, they converted Judaism into an antiseptic and humanistic practice, thereby reducing reliance on an elusive and unresponsive god.

But for some, the relationship is just too precious to abandon. They appreciate that G-d’s ways are incomprehensible, but that Father knows best and humans are but pawns in G-d’s greater plan.  All that occurs is ultimately for the good, and true reward and punishment are reserved for the World to Come.  Despite the tragedies and hardships, despite the sense of frustration and abandonment, these Jews remain loyal to G-d and his Torah.  But the challenges facing this small cadre of committed Jews must always be considered in the context of a two–thousand-year exile of bitterness and pain which culminated in the Holocaust. Only by recognizing that the contemporary Jew lives in the unnatural state of hester panim, and that such hester panim has repeatedly resulted in pain and oppression, can there be a serious exploration of the relationship between the Jew and his Creator, and how that relationship can be enhanced.

In America, observant Jews enjoy unprecedented freedom and religious accommodation. Communal wealth is staggering, and physical luxuries are accompanied by extensive religious conveniences.  But as is often the case, there is pain beneath the surface, often imperceptible to even the players themselves. The tragedies of this bitter golus are embedded into the very core of the Jew – even the spoiled and contented American Jew. The depth and intensity of the hester panim shapes our choices and our behavior. And thus, consideration of this hester panim and appreciation for the communal scars that cannot possibly have yet healed must play a central role in the exploration of the disconnect being felt by so many.

No doubt, many must believe that referencing the inquisitions, the pogroms and even the Holocaust in addressing American Jewry’s contemporary relationship with G-d is questionable, if not misguided.  They may argue that the horrors of the past two thousand years play little role in the minds and attitudes of younger American Jews, who relate to these events as mere historical references, such as the destruction of the holy Temples.  Moreover, they may assert, including past persecutions are distracting, and reflect a persecution complex that is better left behind, and while these terrible episodes in our history should be taught and remembered, the tragic past is neither relevant to, nor influential on, the psyche and behavior of the contemporary American Jew.  I vehemently disagree.

The commonality of the disconnect experienced by large segments of American Orthodoxy cannot be viewed on an individual basis because its expression is so broadly manifest.  Rather, the disconnect is a communal experience that is reflective of a communal psyche.  A behavioral or psychological study of a previously-abused and battered individual must necessarily consider such earlier experiences and assume that the past abuse continues to play a profound role in the individual’s subsequent behavior and attitudes, even when the beatings have subsided and safety assured. Though the subject may appear to have transcended the past completely, a professional knows that this is rarely the case.  Dramatic and repeated abuse will continue to affect the individual to his core, even when the threats have subsided, and even when the subject believes he is healed. To proceed otherwise in studying an abused individual would be irresponsible.  The study of an abused community is no different.  

Coping

Each observant Jew struggles through golus in a desperate attempt to cope with hester panim, and to sustain a connection – any connection at all.  There are many strategies.  Some seek spiritual sustenance in intensive personal improvement, while others embrace charismatic leadership.  Frenetic charity or goodness allows some to cope with their doubts and pain, while others pursue outreach, finding an outlet in vehement advocacy.

Some escape the opaqueness of G-d in history by delving into Torah study, embracing the world of Ravina and Rav Ashi, of Bais Hillel and Bais Shamai.  Their spiritual life dwells in the world of Torah, supplanting the painful challenges of survival and with the manageable challenges of a difficult Tosfos and a perplexing Rambam.  They may not understand G-d’s ways, but they can seek to comprehend his Word. The realities and challenges of a dark and threatening golus retreat as they cope by the glow of Torah’s fire.  The Talmud advises that in the times of hester panim there is nothing other than the daled amos (four cubits) of halacha.  That is where their reality resides, and there is no other.

While also observing halacha and studying Torah, religious Zionists cope by adopting the State of Israel as their focus, and its protection as their cause.  They see golus as fading, and are confident that an accessible relationship with G-d is imminent.  Rather than retreat from the dark threats of golus into the esoteric realm of Torah’s academic spirituality, they confront the excruciating history of golus in their conviction that the dreadful exile is nearing completion. The era of aschalta d’geula (the advent of redemption) has commenced, and we need only hang on to our holy aspirations through this last period of terror.  The hester panim is finally about to conclude.

Yet another small segment of the observant community proclaims that the messianic era is well underway.  As was declared by others in previous periods of the dark exile, this group declares that the Moshiach has arrived, and that it is solely the failure to recognize his arrival that imposes a barrier to redemption.

And finally, there is a group of observant Jews that employs that most classic of coping techniques – avoidance.  They refrain from questioning G-d’s role in the community’s past suffering.  In fact, they refrain from questioning just about anything. It is safer that way.  Though they may appear to be apathetic and disconnected, they generally adhere to the rules and observe the rituals.  They deeply wish to retain their affiliation and commitment, but fear that looking deeper into their souls and asking the more probing questions may force issues that are too scary to confront.  Like a spouse in a long-standing, yet tenuous relationship, it is often thought wiser to refrain from asking “do you still love me?”  Better to leave well enough alone.

Community

From as early as Moses leading the Jews out of Egypt, the intensity of the connection between the Jew and his Creator has been intrinsically intertwined with the degree of unity of the Jewish People.  Even the receipt of Torah at Mount Sinai was conditioned upon the Jews accepting the Torah collectively –   as one person with a single heart.

The first step in unity is collective identification. Though each individual has a personal relationship with G-d, nevertheless, accessibility to devaikus is facilitated by being an integrated member of the community. If this was true at Mount Sinai when each individual heard G-d directly, as it were, how much more so this must be true today.  In our era of hester panim, we no longer see the direct and irrefutable influence of G-d. We know of His love only through the lessons we are taught by others, through our mesorah. For some, these truths are learned mostly from parents, while others are taught mostly by teachers. But beyond the actual lessons, our allegiance to this mesorah is sustained primarily through the communal consciousness in which we are immersed, since absent a deep and sustained integration with a community that shares this adherence to the mesorah, one is unlikely to assume and sustain the perspective necessary to maintain loyalty.

Without these connections with other committed Jews, we have nothing – no understanding of G-d, no appreciation for G-d’s role, and no way to know how to seek devaikus.  In golus, the integration of the Jew into the Jewish people is not merely a sociological technique for the preservation of Jewish identity while a stranger in a foreign land.  Far more significantly, it is a spiritual technique.  Absent integration into the community of observant Jews, the weary, scarred and lonely soul of the Jew can hardly aspire to relate to G-d.

And thus, throughout Jewish history, connecting to the community has assumed a critical role for the Jew.  For many centuries of exile, belonging to the formal Jewish community was essentially mandated by external forces – sometimes sociological influences and other times governmental.  But, for the observant Jew in golus, whose relationship with G-d was always vulnerable, this communal integration was vital.  And when the compelled integration was compromised, the results were devastating.  For the observant Jew in America, this became a terrifying challenge. 

The American Community    

As observant Jews increasingly immigrated to America, it quickly became apparent that American culture was inhospitable to Jewish communal integration. No longer encountering non-Jews as particularly boorish and unethical, even the Orthodox Jew in the United States found enticing the American values of democracy, individuality, entrepreneurship and human rights. While halachic observance was facilitated by America’s spectacular and perhaps unprecedented religious freedom, the melting-pot environment strained fidelity to Orthodoxy.  Observant Jews suddenly enjoyed enormous social, environmental and professional opportunities, and relationships between Orthodox Jews and others thereby became common and normative.  Throughout the periods of golus, the observant Jew confronted ideas and values alien to Torah Judaism.  But in America, the friendships that naturally blossomed with non-Jews and non-believers made these alien ideas and values increasingly familiar and far less threatening.

The greatest impact, however, came from the ubiquitous American value of equality. After centuries of persecution and prejudice, the American idea that “all men are created equal” was most welcome to the Jew.  And as the Jew embraced the principle of human equality with regard to economic opportunity and before the law, the spiritual distinction between Jew and gentile began to wither.

Adopting a strategy that had been utilized in far less threatening lands, the American Orthodox community of the twentieth century focused extensively on the creation of an internal Orthodox culture and community.  Orthodox culture became an increasingly dominant dimension of the observant lifestyle, in some regards on a broad, communal basis, but even more intensely through the encouragement of Orthodox community segments. These smaller communal units assumed a broad array of cultural norms, ranging from wardrobe style to lingo, from shidduch accessibility to educational models. Each segment distinguishing itself from not only the non-Orthodox community but from the other observant segments, members of each Orthodox segment embraced an internal sense of “frum” identity and connection.  Segment members may live in close proximity but more importantly they dress and speak alike, think alike, and share an intense sense of culture and identification.

A series of cultural ghettos was constructed, whether adorned by streimlach, black hats or kippot srugot.  The cultural indicia were often frivolous, and many isolationist characteristics were harmful.  But the insular camaraderie and pride of belonging to a cultural ghetto served as the glue that bonded Orthodox Jews to religious commitment, despite being otherwise engaged in the norms and practices of general American society.  The attitude of “us and them” that was nurtured by these cultural ghettos created significant disharmony among factions of American Orthodoxy. But this haughtiness also blunted the identification of community members with non-Orthodox society, and provided a cultural comfort zone which defined people’s choices and tendencies.  No longer was the focus on theology and G-d’s role in suffering, but on the small, insular community which marked one’s identity.  Moreover, the intense sense of belonging allowed the community members to assume the validity of Torah and halacha, notwithstanding the powerful waves of secularism that pervaded American society, and which captured the souls of the less observant and less integrated Jews.

The Current Threat

For most Orthodox Jews, the walls of the cultural ghetto are wearing thin, and their sense of insular, frum identity is fading.  A culture dominated by chulent, Borsalino hats, unsophisticated music and kosher cruises can be attractive and engaging for only so long. The lines of demarcation among the segments of American Orthodoxy are blurring, and pride in one’s distinctive communal or yeshiva affiliation is increasingly ineffective in blunting the allures of secular society.  Moreover, rather than ultimately facilitating Jewish unity, the imposition of communal segments is increasingly serving as a barrier among Orthodox Jews.

Potentially more consequential is the waning of the observant Jew’s exclusive identification with the Orthodox Jewish community.  Human equality increasingly resonates. The distinction and uniqueness alleged to belong to frum Jews is further compromised by the pervasive unethical, and often illegal, behavior and standards of community members and institutions.  Compromised moral standards are alienating and embarrassing, and recognizing their pervasiveness shakes the very foundation of the conviction that Torah study and Torah Jewry represent moral superiority.

In addition, as Orthodox men and women both realize greater integration and professional success in American society, the scope and familiarity of their personal friendships beyond the community have expanded. Though the frum Jew often does not view these relationships as his or her “inner circle” of friends, the increased familiarity and comfort with those of different backgrounds and values dilutes the exclusive identification with a community that assumes the axioms of Torah and halacha.   Simultaneously, the unprecedented intrusion of the media’s influence into the minds of even the most isolated American Orthodox Jews has created a further sense of familiarity and identification with norms and attitudes antithetical to Torah values, even for those who have few personal relationships outside the frum community.

Finally, the observant Jew’s integration into the frum community is further compromised by the diminishing social interaction among Orthodox Jews – a trend that permeates contemporary Orthodox society.  Today’s Orthodox lifestyle simply leaves little time and energy for developing close friendships. Social encounters tend to be rushed, and casual socializing deemed frivolous. Getting together “with the boys” for reasons other than Torah study, fundraising or attending a simcha reflects a lack of seriousness (or of being underemployed). For women, chatting with friends only exacerbates the work-induced guilt over inadequate child-rearing time or homemaking. And for most healthy, thoughtful couples, mindful that, similar to religion, marriage also requires attention, precious free time is best spent alone as a couple. Even caring for a fellow Jew in need is often relegated to writing a check rather than extending a hand.  While people may compile lengthy lists of necessary invitees to their simchas, true friendships that reflect frequent contact and the sharing of intimate concerns are increasingly rare.

Greater piety and sensitivity to religious considerations have also reduced social interactions.  Shul attendance is far less social for those who refrain from talking during davening, and certainly from joining the Kiddush club.  Concern over violating hilchos loshon horah has made a dent in casual schmoozing (I suspect women paying greater heed than men).  And heightened sensitivity to co-gender socializing has precluded many social activities outside the family, with some communities discouraging even Shabbos visits among families.  No doubt, these developments reflect an admirable increased appreciation for halacha. But the costly social price being paid must be recognized and addressed.

The critical social bond among community members is thus rapidly loosening, naturally compromising the Jewish religion along with Jewish peoplehood.  Diminishing connection to the Jewish community thus undermines the connection to G-d and Torah, as well.   Though a tighter and more exclusive identification with other frum Jews will not, alone, ensure passion and meaning in Torah observance, their absence certainly intensifies the challenge.

Steps Toward A Remedy

To survive this horrid golus, the connections among Torah Jews must be reinvigorated and intensified. The strategy of the cultural ghetto has run its course, disunity abounds, and so a new approach is needed.

The observant Jew must be encouraged to embrace a deeper identification with Torah Jewry, without viewing this exclusive identification as parochial, if not bigoted.  The theological premises of Jewish uniqueness must be explained in a manner that will resonate for the contemporary Jew, who is inculcated with the values of equality, and who sees non-Jews as decent and wonderful human beings. The special role of the Jewish people must be illustrated in the context of an elevated respect for the humanity of others, as well as a deep and authentic respect for others’ rights, intelligence and goodness.

In addition, Jews’ identification with the observant Jewish community is sustainable only if the community is a source of pride.   If community conduct and ethical standards are compromised, many will abandon their social allegiance, ultimately resulting in a theological abandonment, as well.  These are the fundamental principles of chillul Hashem, and the implications are enormous.    Ethical business practices, family harmony, and basic menchlichkeit must become hallmarks of being a frum Jew, as one would expect authentic Torah to mandate.  If accomplished, frum Jews could then take pride in their community, and see the community’s values as demarcations with which to identify.

Finally, and perhaps most significantly, there must be a renewed emphasis on deepening the basic social connections between members of the Orthodox community. The importance of friendships with others who share one’s values must be emphasized and facilitated.  Time spent with others within the community must be encouraged.  It is critical that the expansive role that observant people play in their professional and business environments does not redefine them socially, as well.   Connecting with G-d begins with connecting to Klal Yisrael, and these efforts must be forged through shuls, schools and other communal organizations.  Attending shiurim or learning in chaburas often provide the needed camaraderie, as do chesed endeavors, but not all Jews have access to these opportunities.  Ordinary social interaction, per se, among frum Jews must also play a critical role.

American society is a very lonely place.  Older singles and divorcees are often socially abandoned, and even fulsome families, starved for broader social interaction, are constrained by multiple demands on time.  But the vital influence of friendship needs to regain a prominent role in the community’s religious agenda.  Communal leaders need to re-examine the efforts necessary for all communal members to be included in the “in crowd.”  Not only is a bais haknesses (synagogue) a place of prayer and Torah study, but, as implied by its name, it should also provide social context, encouraging the development of relationships and camaraderie.  If the large, communal shul with its many important functions cannot facilitate the necessary degree of personal identification, allowing its members get lost in the crowd, then smaller units must be created to allow frum people to feel connected to each other. Perhaps the popularity of shteiblach and break-away minyanim reflects this growing need.   Other dynamics must be similarly lauded if they lead to a greater integration and intimacy among members of the Orthodox community.

Conclusion

The golus in which we live is long and painful.  We have suffered unbearable tragedy, and yet we remain loyal to G-d, and we yearn for his presence. We indulge in the comforts and accommodations of the American dream, but we cannot escape the darkness and the absence of the revelation that is veiled during hester panim. And so we try.  We each choose an approach, hoping that Moshiach arrives before we or our children grow too weary.  We beseech G-d to stop testing us, since we are weak and our stamina is growing thin. And in the interim, we lean on each other – as siblings enduring the absence of their parents.  And if we cease being there for each other, no doubt our future is in peril.

To view the other responses in this issue, CLICK HERE.

Moishe Bane is a partner at Ropes & Gray, LLP and is the Chairman of the Board of Governors of the Orthodox Union.

Rabbi Shalom Baum

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

Looking Inward to Move Upward

THE ACCEPTABLE HASHKAFOS of Orthodox Judaism are held by deeply committed men and women of all ages. At the same time, however, I agree with Rabbi Chaim Dovid Zweibel, who wrote that there are “increasing numbers from across the spectrum who feel no meaningful connection to Hashem, His Torah, or even His people.” In fact, the complexity of the human experience and the diversity of the Orthodox community require us to look not only at external stimuli that may be causing this trend but to look primarily at what seems to be the decreased value placed on serious internal reflection and cheshbon hanefesh (self analysis).

The focus of my analysis will be on individuals who identify with, and generally act within the framework of, our halachic system. In theory, these people are loyal to the entire corpus of the halachic system and identify with Orthodox theology. Many of these individuals regard halachic codes such as the Mishna Berura as axiomatic, view contemporary rabbinic mentors as authoritative links in the mesorah and identify the thirteen ikarim (fundamentals) of the Rambam as their theological anchors. However, a closer look at this population will reveal two distinct groups.

The first one, which I have labeled the Keenly Observant for purposes of identification, includes people who have consciously and deliberately chosen their observant lifestyle. The other, which I have labeled Culturally Observant, includes those who clearly self-identify as Orthodox and generally follow the halacha, but either they have never willfully considered or committed to the full spiritual breadth of their observant lifestyle or they have chosen to set aside some of its components over time.

Both of these groups, as well as the many variations of these somewhat contrived categories, could benefit from an evaluation and reconsideration of their strengths and weaknesses. The goal of this process should not be to further fragment the Orthodox community or to be judgmental of our fellow Jews. Rather, increased self-awareness should contribute to a greater integration among Orthodox Jews who are spiritually disconnected from one another, while simultaneously elevating the self-esteem of many disheartened Orthodox constituents.

The Keenly Observant consist mostly of those within our ranks who were born into Orthodoxy, as well as baalei teshuva. Through both thinking and acting, they undergo a continuous process of spiritual elevation. They see the ongoing process of reflection, self-evaluation and improvement as part of their religious commitment. This group may be best positioned to confront the seemingly unending challenges of living a halachic lifestyle in the face of a conflicting secular culture, and they are more likely to maintain, or even intensify, their religious bonds at times of personal or family crisis.

While some of these individuals are stimulated by music and other experiential aspects of Judaism, I find that their long-term devotion is based primarily on a more cerebral approach. The healthiest and most stable of these individuals are able to raise themselves up within the context of a broader community without succumbing to elitism or to denigrating those less religiously committed than they are. Ultimately, the Keenly Observant may have a positive influence on less passionate individuals, including members of their own families.

However, there is one area in which the Keenly Observant are, at times, lacking. Despite the ever-increasing numbers of Torah publications that are available, precious few are devoted to matters of introspection. An increasing number of Keenly Observant individuals do not publicly acknowledge the value of the existential struggle for inner growth. Their focus is outward – concerned with protecting the purity of Orthodox life from an outside world and external forces they view as the “enemy.” While these dangers are real and we must guard against them, an attitude that over-emphasizes threats from without can be consuming – distracting substantially from the importance of internal and individualized religious struggle. Too often, the yetzer hara is viewed as an outside evil force that seeks to taint us, rather than as a dimension of our personality with which we must contend throughout our lives.

The Keenly Observant would benefit from reading, for example, the works of Rav Eliyahu Dessler, zt”l, (e.g Kuntras Habechirah, Michtav MaEliyahu, Vol. 1, page 111-119), Rav Hutner, zt”l, (Pachad Yitzchak, Letters, page 28) and Rav Yosef Soloveitchik, zt”l, (Halachik Man, pages 139-143). These should draw their attention to the value and legitimacy of religious struggle and enable them to communicate these concepts with those within their own families and communities who are less motivated. Allowing and facilitating the entry into our lexicon of terms such as victory, defeat, success and failure, along with classical terms such as aliyah, yerida, koach and gevura, may help recalibrate the intellectual, emotional and sometimes judgmental energies of the Keenly Observant and redirect them to more reflective pursuits.

An additional benefit of promoting these ideas would be increasing the awareness throughout the general community that many deeply committed coreligionists experience spiritual and emotional challenges as a natural part of their growth. There seems to be an unhealthy aversion today to addressing emotional and practical struggles with matters of difficulty in maintaining perfect Torah observance, for example, or with powerful desires or persistent character flaws. In large part, this attitude can be attributed to a lack of disclosure by those facing spiritual difficulties, primarily out of fear of not measuring up to ones ambitions or of being judged by others. Aside from presenting a false and inauthentic view of observant individuals, this lack of revelation denies others experiencing such struggles the opportunity to view them in perspective and to realize that they are a natural part of Torah life.

In fact, this image of Orthodoxy expecting and imagining perfection may be inhibiting the Culturally Observant from associating as much with the Keenly Observant or from making their own deeper commitment to Torah. Acknowledgment of these challenges, whether through print media or Torah websites or in more personal encounters between the Keenly and Culturally Observant, may bridge gaps between the two, and at the same time disabuse the Culturally Observant of their perception that the Keenly Observant lifestyle is overly simplistic and its adherents obedient followers who walk in religious green pastures. These misperceptions not only generate a distorted vision of observance, they prevent Culturally Observant Jews from believing that they could be full devotees of the Orthodox enterprise.

Unfortunately, all current hashkafos tend towards increased and excessive isolationism and elitism. Individuals tend to elevate their own accomplishments and beliefs, while actively or subtly moving away from, and judging, those with other hashkafos, or who seem less accomplished. While this may be perceived as an issue only for the religiously “right wing,” in reality, even the Keenly Observant in the more “modern” community tend to cluster and to distance themselves from the less observant, becomimg especially suspicious when their own children are attracted to a different hashkafa.

Culturally Observant Jews are defined as individuals who identify as Orthodox primarily because they were brought up that way and/or they believe that there is an appropriate traditional fit between themselves and the Orthodox community. They may be a bit looser in their observance in the long term, they may never have mastered Orthodox theology and they are generally more likely to abandon the system in the face of crisis.

These individuals are present within every hashkafic grouping of Orthodoxy; although not clearly visible in all groupings, a below-surface investigation will reveal them. Culturally Observant Jews send their children to day schools and to the full range of Orthodox sleep-away camps and affiliate exclusively with Orthodox synagogues or shtiebels. However, they tend to regard themselves as stuck in the status quo of their religious compliance, no longer gaining emotional fulfillment from their actions. This may be accompanied by a growing suspicion toward rabbinic leadership and a tension with loyalty to their lifestyle. They do not see serious and in-depth Torah learning as an anchor of their lives and they tend at times to regard the detailed demands of Orthodoxy as a burden and as exaggerated manifestations of rabbinic control. Many within this group have never considered the basis of their cynicism or skepticism about engaging in a more experiential and embracing Orthodoxy. Similar to many others in modern society, they are influenced heavily by the secular culture that tends to define and drive them.

I believe, however, that many of these individuals have never properly regarded a more intense religious lifestyle as an option. This may be due in part to a lack of awareness that Judaism embraces struggle and of the role of what the baalei mussar see as gradual steps and not compromise (see Rav Matisyahu Salomon, With Hearts Full of Faith, pages 264-266). In fact, many believe that their laxities in observance have defined them as no more than Orthodox-affiliated. Unfortunately, this at times becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. This attitude has been reinforced by the tendency of many among the Keenly Observant, including teachers and parents, to utilize condescending labels such as half-Shabbos Jews.

While never compromising the totality of the halachic system, Hashem still rewards every proper step that we take, especially as part of a higher goal. The writings of many rishonim such as the Rambam (Peirush Hamishnayos to Makkos 3:17), the Meiri (Beis Habechira, Berachos 30b), and the Mabit (Beis Elokim, Chapter 12 Teshuva Chelkis), as well as acharonim, such as the Chazon Ish (Maaseh Ish, page 84) and the Mishna Berura (siman 1, s.k. 12), and baalei machshava such as the Chovos Halevovos (Shaar Cheshbon Hanefesh 5) contain citations that place value on sincere even if non-perfect levels of observance as a practical step in the right direction. These sources cover various areas of ritual including prayer, repentance and Torah study. Without legitimizing non-observance, this approach acknowledges that, especially in an environment in which compliance is difficult, all legitimate efforts are rewarded and should be celebrated. Many so-called “adults at risk” are unfamiliar with such an approach and many of the more observant view this attitude as succumbing to mediocrity or as legitimizing nonfeasance.

Secular culture and its multiple attractions have become easy targets to blame for the spiritual crisis in our communities. Although living in a modern society has obvious challenges, I believe that, by regarding technology and other attractions as the enemy, we avoid the importance of being more inwardly focused. This spiritual crisis is ongoing, but many victories may be attained by self-examination and self-confidence. I believe that both the Keenly and Culturally Observant have huge burdens and great opportunities. They must imagine and embrace a vision in which religious experience is more complex than how we relate to the outside world; it includes delving more deeply into our inner tendencies, viewing them objectively and learning to grow through our struggle with them. This approach should be combined with a more embracing and sensitive vision of the religious condition and of the spiritual accomplishments of our fellow Jews.

Rabbi Dovid Goldman

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

Whose Torah Is It?

CONSIDER FOR A MOMENT: which of the following two approaches to learning Torah sounds like the better strategy? Option one: Begin with the foundations, principles and outlines of what the Torah is all about, then proceed to the next level with introductions to general mitzvah categories, such as the elements of belief, Shabbos and holidays, mishpatim and interpersonal relationships, and finally, begin filling in the myriad details and explanations as presented in the gemara. Option Two: Open a meseches, start from daf beis and keep learning as much as possible until everything starts coming together. Include Chumash, halacha and other subjects as needed.

Clearly, Option One makes more sense. Equally clear, however, is that Option Two is the traditional approach that has always been followed. One example:[1] the gemara says in the name of Rava, “A person should always learn the Torah first before starting to think about it, as it says ‘…rather, [his occupation shall be] in the Torah of Hashem, and in his Torah he shall think day and night’ (Tehillim 1:2)” (Avoda Zara 19a). The verse is taken to imply that Torah should be studied first as G-d’s word and only once it is “his” should one think about it and attempt to make sense of it.

Based on the same verse, in fact, Rava offers a related insight: “At the beginning of one’s learning, the Torah is known as G-d’s Torah, but eventually, it will be known as his own Torah, as the verse begins with ‘the Torah of Hashem’ and concludes with ‘his Torah.’”

When speaking about a “meaningful connection to Torah,” we are likely referring in large part to the successful transition from a distant relationship to Hashem’s Torah to a Torah that is meaningful and relevant to us on a personal level – thoroughly our own. It is a transition that, according to this gemara, is intended to evolve naturally, over time.

In recent centuries, however, it became necessary to introduce intensive efforts to facilitate this transition. Chasidus and mussar, as well as a renewed emphasis first on Torah lishma under Rav Chaim of Volozhin and later on intellectual analysis under Rav Chaim of Brisk, were designed in response to the many who were finding Torah learning to be dry and of questionable relevance to them.

In order to understand our generation’s relative connectedness to Hashem and to His Torah, we must explore whether we are successfully transitioning from Hashem’s Torah to “our” Torah. If a substantial percentage of our population is feeling disconnected, this is the fundamental challenge that must be explored. Solutions that are not based on this dynamic – that offer general inspiration and connection instead of personal connection to genuine Torah – will ultimately be treating the symptoms instead of the illness. They may be necessary efforts – and I believe there are many that are – but they will not be sufficient.

In seeking to understand the struggle to achieve and to promote an authentic connection, there are many, many areas to consider. I offer a discussion of one such area which I believe goes to the heart of the relationship between Yisrael and Torah.

The Torah Preceded the World – But Yisrael Preceded the Torah

There is a common distortion to the relationship between Yisrael and Torah which tends to create distance where there should be intimate connection. Many people believe that Jews exist to keep the Torah. This is simply untrue – it is precisely the reverse. The Torah exists for us – for Yisrael, to lift us up, to make us whole and to enable us to become such extraordinary beings that we can see our Creator “face to face.”

If this makes you uncomfortable, consider the words of Rebbi Shimon bar Yochai in Midrash Koheles (1:4): “v’chi mi nivra bishvil mi? Torah bishvil Yisrael o Yisrael bishvil Torah? – Who was created for whom – Torah for the sake of Yisrael or Yisrael for the sake of the Torah? Lo Torah bishvil Yisrael? – Was it not Torah that was created for the sake of Yisrael?”^[2]

And in fact, one of the first midrashim in the Torah (Midrash Rabba 1:4), after noting that Torah and the ‘Kisei Hakavod’ (the Great Throne) were created prior to the creation of the world, states that nevertheless, ‘machshavtan shel Yisrael kadma l’chol davar’ – the idea to create Yisrael preceded everything.” The Midrash offers a mashal of a King who bought things for his son before his son was born; so too, the Torah was created first, but only in anticipation of Yisrael’s need for it.

Perhaps the greatest damage caused by the misperception that Yisrael’s role is to serve the Torah, rather than the reverse, is that this misconception has turned our attention away from people. Rav Shlomo Wolbe, zt”l, in Alei Shur, defines mussar as the “bridge that connects Torah to people.” We have lost this bridge – this connection – and without it, the average person fails to see himself within the Torah he is learning. Torah becomes detached from him and he becomes detached from it. As a result, the story of our generation has been about Torah learning in the abstract (e.g., daf yomi and the explosion of Lakewood) without being about people – an ultimately empty proposition.

One example: too many talmidim are driven by a fear of “bittul Torah” as an independent evil. Bittul Torah is a tragedy not because an obligation to Torah has not been met but because with those hours or minutes, you could have become a greater you and now that opportunity is lost – that bit of you is lost. Bittul Torah is evil only because it is a bittul of you.

If I could encourage one change in our thinking it would be to revive the primary emphasis on gadlus haadam (greatness of man) that was at the heart of the chinuch of almost all the gedolei Torah who built our yeshivos^[3]. We must place people at the center of our attention – and that means, especially, recognizing them as they really are and striving to understand and meet their needs.

Today, we hardly think about people’s true personal needs. We focus on the “need” to be in a good yeshiva or seminary and the “need” to know how to learn a certain way, and the “need” to get a good shidduch and the “need” to live up to others’ expectations, etc. etc. These are actually merely chitzoniyus (appearances) and the focus on these external needs, therefore, represents a tragic bizayon haadam – a disgrace to the dignity of man, which is about his or her penimiyus (inner experience). If we are to turn a corner, I believe our educational institutions, especially at the more advanced levels, must focus their attention less on standards and expectations and more on the intrinsic, personal needs of their talmidim and on teaching talmidim about the personal needs of others – in all areas of life. When Rebbi Akiva and Hillel Hazaken taught that the great principle of the Torah was v’ahavta l’reacha kamocha and “don’t do unto others what you don’t like done to you,” they really meant it. Appreciation of Torah must begin with appreciation of people, no matter how much additional lomdus (analysis) you want to teach.

As a community, as parents, as principals, rabbeim and moros, we must look honestly at individuals and families, adults and children, and pay much closer attention to all their needs – their educational needs, social needs, psychological needs, emotional needs, future financial needs and of course, most of all, their spiritual needs. If we do not appreciate how good the Torah is for us – and how it is good for us – we will not have the drive it takes to learn and to grow as we must. If we don’t have a sense of direction in our lives, including how we will provide for ourselves and for our families, we cannot look forward to our future. And without these, we will not have the confidence we need to give Torah over to our children effectively. All these are basic needs that yeshivos used to recognize^[4]; not meeting them is bittul Torah in its most tragic form.

We must not satisfy ourselves with giving over what we learned and assuming it will work for this generation as well, or with providing opportunities and assuming people will take advantage of them. This generation is not responding successfully because their basic needs are skipped over. If we care enough, we must reach out to them wherever they are holding. This would represent the greatest possible honor to the Torah, even if it results in a lesser focus on academic achievement.

Included in this is that each of us should be taking our own needs more seriously. If you need answers, seek them. If you need opportunities for self-expression, find them. If you’re not in a good place in your life, change something. One of the most basic human needs is the need to believe in yourself. Do not view your relationship to Torah and to Hashem as one of sacrifice or plain subservience. The Torah is here for you to become someone great. Sometimes that takes painful sacrifice and years of patience but someone should always be sure it is for your greater good. We have wasted far too much of our infinitely valuable time by failing to be honest about our basic needs. Every one of us deserves better.

To view the other responses in this issue, CLICK HERE.

Rabbi Dovid Goldman is the managing editor of Klal Perspectives and works as an attorney in Baltimore, Maryland.

Jonathan Rosenblum

To the extent that a child perceives his world as a basically good place, he is much more likely to seek to draw close to He Who brought the world into being and sustains it. If, one the other hand, those who represent “religion” in the child’s eyes are cruel or abusive, his interest and feeling of connection to the “religious system” is likely to be very attenuated.

Products of dysfunctional families, especially where the parents or other family members are physically, sexually, or verbally abusive, will obviously have great difficulty identifying with a religious system that has not protected them in their most vulnerable years. In the rarer cases where the abuse is at the hands of an authority figure representing the “system” outside the family, the natural reaction of a vulnerable child will be to distance him or herself from that system.

Familial dysfunction and severe abuse, while growing problems, are far from the norm. Less dramatic but more pervasive messages can also distance children from identifying with life as observant Jews. Even when a child is already capable of beginning to think about Hashem, his or her general comfort level and satisfaction with his life as a frum Jew will have a lot to do with his or her ability to relate to Hashem.[1]

Let us say, for instance, a boy finds Gemara difficult from the beginning, or he concludes that he will never be one of the outstanding students in the class. If he is also told that the only future in store for him is full-time Torah learning, he will feel that he has been trapped for life in a system in which he can never excel.

Over the course of his years in yeshiva, he may hear dozens of times the supposed ma’amar Chazal: “eleph nichnasim v’echad yotzei l’hora’a – a thousand enter the beis medrash and one [of them] merits to become a great halachic authority.”[2] The implications of that statement are never fully spelled out, but the youthful listeners could be forgiven for concluding that the remaining 999 are cannon fodder for the production of the one great talmid chacham, and that their lives are of no intrinsic significance. That is not a message designed to attach children to the religious world in which they have been born.

By contrast, it is hard to imagine a more empowering message to Jews of all ages than that each Jew has a unique role to play in the Creation – a way of proclaiming Hashem’s glory, by virtue of his unique circumstances, talents and challenges – that no one else ever had or ever will have. Rabbi Chaim Volozhin’s classical work Nefesh HaChaim is an explication of how every action, word, and even thought of a Jew has the power to connect Hashem to our world, and to open up the conduits of Divine blessing. I cannot think of a greater antidote to unhappiness than the realization of the ultimate significance of one’s life and everything one does. What Jew would not wish to attach himself to a system that invests him with such power to bring about tikkun olam?

That sense of empowerment should not be confined to the purely conceptual level. Concrete activities that draw out youthful idealism – and which, incidentally, often provide opportunities to shine to those who might not do so in the classroom – reinforce the sense of one’s life as of great significance in the cosmic scheme of things. Those activities draw the child into the religious world that nurtures the feeling that one’s life counts. I once asked a great-grandmother, who had been one of the teenage volunteers working long hours under the leadership of Elimelech “Mike” Tress on wartime rescue activities, whether things were better then or now (when religious standards are so much higher and knowledge greater). She did not hesitate: “Then we really lived; today we only compete.”

The more the religious environment in which our children mature provides them with a sense of the importance of everything they do, the more they will want to develop and deepen their connection to Torah and the Ribbono shel Olam. Or so it seems to me. As others have pointed out, informal education activities can be as important as formal ones in creating this awareness of the contribution every Jews has to make.

There is one more crucial “environmental factor” that must be mentioned in the context of developing our relationship with Hashem and His Torah. More than a decade ago, the Sunday morning session at the annual convention of Agudath Israel of America devoted a session to the topic, “Living a Life of Ruchnius amidst Gashmius.” Rabbi Ephraim Wachsman practically blew me out of my seat below him on the podium, when he bellowed out the first line of his speech, “This topic is a mistake. There is no ruchnius amidst gashmius. The two are in inherent conflict with one another.”

The Vilna Gaon explains in numerous places that ta’ava and chemdas mammon are the great impediments to a life of Torah and mitzvos. As Chazal say (Yalkut Shimoni Devarim 830), “Before a man prays that the words of Torah be absorbed into his innards, let him pray that food and drink not be absorbed therein.” A person can be blessed with great wealth and nevertheless attain a high spiritual level, and poverty is no guarantee of spiritual success. But to the extent that we are absorbed by the pursuit of material pleasures, we will not be involved in the pursuit of spiritual riches, and may even deaden ourselves to them.

Nearly every mechanech in Israel who deals with American students comments on the devastation of the too-great materialism from which many of the students are coming. When teenagers hear their parents discussing the wealth of others, getting excited about brand names and fascinated by every new gadget, those tend to be the things that become important to them as well. Before the Torah can even begin to get through, the mechanchim must devote much time to breaking the “idols” of America. Easier said than done.

Being Comfortable with “G-d talk”

Every student who ever spent any time at Aish HaTorah heard the founder, Rabbi Noah Weinberg, relate a frequent conversation with his father as a young boy. His father would ask him, “Noah, who loves you more than anyone in the whole world?” The invariable answer: Not Tatte, not Mommy. Hashem loves you more than anyone else.

The message itself is one of crucial importance. The principal attraction of Breslav chassidus today is the need that so many have to hear a message of unadulterated Divine love. One avreich, for instance, firmly believed in G-d; the only problem was that the G-d he believed in was one with whom he found himself in an antagonistic relationship. He viewed Hashem exclusively in terms of punishment for any failure in thought, word, or deed.

The point I’m making is that it is possible to instill a “G-d consciousness.” But it requires constant reinforcement. And in this respect, it is possible to apply Reb Noah’s techniques with young-adult ba’alei teshuva to those fortunate to have been born into the Torah world. One of the major presenters of Aish HaTorah’s Discovery Seminar – the son of a European-educated talmid chacham and a product of the most intense, American yeshivos – told me that he only learned in his mid-30s from Reb Noah that it is possible “to be a totally erliche Yid and yet still daven every tefillah with kavannah.”

Providing the Tools

In general, there is a certain imbalance in Torah chinuch today – too much emphasis on covering ground and too little on providing the context for all the information. Students may know a lot of halacha, but have given little thought to what the goal of the mitzvos is and what kind of human being Hashem seeks to fashion, i.e., what Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch called “Divine anthropology.” Nor are we providing our students with the full range of resources within the tradition for dealing with the questions in emunah that will at one time or another trouble every thinking person – e.g., tzaddik ve’rah lo.

Rabbi Dovid Sapirman begins A Mechanech’s Guide to Why and How to Teach Emunah (published by Torah Umesorah, with the haskomos of two of North America’s leading poskim, Rabbi Shlomo Eliyahu Miller and Rabbi Moshe Mordechai Loewy) with a startling statement: “Emunah is not usually included in the curriculum of our educational system. Yeshivos and Bais Yaakovs rarely address the thirteen ikarim (principles of faith), and most students don’t even know what they are.”

These subjects are not taught, he asserts, because it is assumed, wrongly, that our children have somehow absorbed emunah by osmosis, as a consequence of being raised in “homes permeated with emunah, trained in Torah institutions, and immersed in a frum atmosphere.”

The result is that our children “accept the doctrines of emunah superficially, because this is all that they know.” But they have not internalized those doctrines and made them their own. “A large percentage of our youth are religious only because they were brought up that way, and they believe only because that is what religious people do,” writes Rabbi Sapirman.

To the extent that our children lack firm convictions in the basics of our faith – Hashem’s existence; Divine Providence, the truth of every word of Torah – they are handicapped. Even if they sail along perfectly comfortable as frum Jews – we are denying them the excitement of an intense relationship with HaKadosh Baruch Hu.

The effects of the absence of a deep connection may only manifest themselves later in life. The much discussed phenomenon of “adults-at-risk,” generally results not from any particular trauma, but from waking up one day in mid-life and suddenly discovering that one has no idea of why one is doing the things that one has been doing all one’s life. Rabbi Sapirman describes speaking to many people of various ages who are tormented by fundamental emunah and hashkafah questions that could and should have been answered shortly after the age of bar mitzvah.

To the extent that our children have not internalized the fundamentals of emunah, they are vulnerable to the myriad temptations with which they are bombarded. The average bochur in his late teens, for instance, says he believes, “but truthfully, he neither believes nor disbelieves. He is simply moving along the conveyor belt that leads him from cradle to kollel.” While he may continue on the belt indefinitely, “woe to him . . . if he is every confronted with fundamental questions. . . . Woe to him, too, if [he is] ever faced with a serious nisayon, like the temptation for something immoral or dishonest.” Confronted with temptation, the simplest path is to succumb and console oneself that he doesn’t really believe – especially if, in fact, such belief as one professes is not the result of any serious reflection.

A maggid shiur in one of the major yeshivos in Eretz Yisrael recently confirmed the truth of Rabbi Sapirman’s description and the dangers posed. American bochurim coming to learn in Eretz Yisrael, he told me, have in general heard many shmuessen on ameilus b’Torah (striving in Torah learning), but have only a very hazy knowledge of the principles of our faith. That is one of the reasons, he said, that so many fall victim to the lack of supervision they experience when studying in Eretz Yisrael.

If one speaks to yeshiva bochurim, one finds that even the best and most diligent among them have very little grounding in the classic texts of Jewish thought. They may have learned Mesilas Yesharim in mussar seder, and a bit of Sha’arei Teshuva in Elul. But of Chovos Halevavos, Derech Hashem, Tomer Devorah, Da’as Tevunos, and even the yeshiva classic Nefesh Hachaim, they know little.

And that is a tragedy. As one who came to many of these seforim later in life, I can remember the exhilaration that comes from suddenly finding clarity where before all was murky. Upon learning Derech Hashem for the first time, I kept asking myself, “What did I think until now?”

Reb Shraga Feivel Mendlowitz included all or most of the seforim listed above in the curriculum of Yeshiva Torah Vodaath, in his day, along with Maharal, Tanya and Oros Hateshuva of Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook.  At the most basic level, they validated the basic questions of emunah that will arise, at one point or another, for most students. If the greatest Jewish thinkers addressed these questions, one need not feel guilty about asking them. As Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe used to say, “There are no apikorsus questions, just apikorus answers.”

One or more of these seforim, or more contemporary works dealing with the same issues, will likely provide the inquiring student with the answers to the questions that trouble him. There is no single sefer to which every Jew will respond but I do believe that there exists a sefer that will speak to every questing Jew. We owe it to our young to expose them to the treasures of Torah thought so they can find an approach that speaks to them.

The Importance of an Example

In my experience, nothing strengthens emunah like exposure to a real ba’al emunah. With respect to this topic, I have no choice but to resort to personal experience.

For well over a decade I attended the Thursday night shiur of Rabbi Moshe Shapira (and still try to read the write-ups of the shiur), and I was also privileged to be part of a small va’ad of his on Perek Chelek for many years. I will confess that I never once dreamed that I had fully understood Reb Moshe, and there were times when I wondered whether I had understood anything at all. Yet I never doubted the value of the shiurim or vaadim. Because from each one I came away with an overwhelming sense that for Reb Moshe everything fits together in a perfect unity, from the letters of lashon hakodesh to the most obscure midrashim. And the knowledge that all is clear to him was always comforting to me.

I have also attended a morning shiur for fifteen years or more, with Rabbi Chaim Raff, a maggid shiur from a major Yerushalayim yeshiva. Those attending include a few, like myself, with more traditional yeshiva backgrounds, and many who identify with the national religious community in Israel. Yet each member of that shiur will attest, without hesitation, that the daily exposure to Rabbi Raff has changed their lives and their avodas Hashem. It is impossible to be in his presence without wanting to lift oneself up and be more like him.

Rabbi Raff shines. And the sense of amazement and awe that he brings to every word of the Mesilas Yesharim or the commentary of the Gaon on Mishlei, not to mention his evident joy in Gemara uplifts us and attaches all of us to these texts. I am filled with pity whenever I talk to a yeshiva bochur and he tells me that he has no one in his life who inspires the same awe and, yes, love in him that Rabbi Raff inspires in me and in the other members of my shiur.

Rabbi Lopiansky describes in this issue the change from the mussar yeshivos of Europe – where the dominant figure was often the Mashgiach (e.g., the Alter of Kelm, the Alter of Slabodka, Rabbi Yerucham Levovitz) – to the present day when the role of Mashgiach has been devalued to that of a policeman. Sadly, at least in Eretz Yisrael, the situation is worst in the most elite yeshivos, which also tend to be the biggest. Not only do even the best bochurim have no figure of whom they are in awe, they often do not feel that there is any authority figure in the yeshiva who knows them well enough to guide them personally.  Roshei yeshiva are too frequently more involved in ensuring that their top talmidim receive an appropriate apartment upon marriage than in providing individual guidance to those same talmidim on how to develop their kochos.

This is a tragedy for yeshiva bochurim, many of whom do not even fathom what they are missing.

Let’s Not Forget the Positive

As we noted at the outset, there always has been and always will be much room for improvement in our avodas Hashem. At the same time, it is important to mention that there is a tremendous thirst in our generation for a closer relationship to Hashem and a great deal of spiritual striving in all segments of the Torah world.

No piece on spiritual connection can ignore the explosion of Torah learning among those no longer in full-time learning, particularly of daf hayomi. The commitment required to complete the daf hayomi itself bespeaks a quest for spiritual growth, and it is hard to imagine anyone successfully completing daf hayomi, even at a superficial level, without becoming a more elevated person than when he began.

For women, “Amen groups,” and various other initiatives reflect the same desire for spiritual growth. The proliferation of works on tefillah, and the popularity of works like Rabbi Heshy Kleiman’s Praying with Fire, also show the desire of many Jews to strengthen one of the crucial connections with HaKadosh Baruch Hu.

Many are drawn today to more esoteric realms of Torah thought. Rabbi Moshe Shapira, Rabbi Zvi Meir Zilberberg, Rabbi Avrohom Schorr, the Tolner Rebbe, Rabbi Asher Weiss – each with his own distinctive style –  all give numerous shiurim every week and attract hundreds of seekers. Rabbi Yisroel Reisman’s shiurim on Tanach draw nearly a thousand people on a weekly basis.

I have been in a number of shuls in which the rabbi has succeeded in lifting up entire congregations and instilling within them a new enthusiasm for Torah learning and mitzvah observance. Rabbi Moshe Weinberger has created in upscale Woodmere a congregation worthy of the name Aish Kodesh. Rabbi Zev Cohen in Chicago and Rabbi Moshe Hauer in Baltimore have succeeded by offering an astounding array of Torah shiurim to their congregants. I can think of at least two networks of mussar vaadim for lay people that have come into being in the last decade or so.

Many years ago, I heard the late Rabbi Simcha Wasserman say, “Don’t become a salesman for Torah; the Torah doesn’t need salesman.” That remains true today. All that is needed is to make the Torah available – taught by those who have experienced its power – and it will pierce the heart of any Jew who opens him or herself up to hear.

Jonathan Rosenblum is a columnist, author, biographer and lecturer.

Chaya Newman

Restoring Balance in the Jewish Home

For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die… I learned never to underestimate someone’s capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected: denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed… When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here is one of the most common five: I wish I didn’t work so hard. This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners.

– REGRETS OF THE DYING, Bronnie Ware. Republished on aish.com

In the future, this sentiment might become the number one regret for our working mothers, too.

“Working mothers” have been commonplace for years. Whether the work was for the family’s financial need or for altruistic reasons, however, Mom’s hours were usually shorter than a full day. When the children came home, Mommy was there to prepare supper or to help with homework, or just to lend an ear to the children so they could share their day in school.

I vividly remember my children playing “Mommy and Totty” with “Totty” putting on a hat and saying, “I have to go to Yeshiva to learn” or “I don’t have time now, my chavrusa (study partner) will be here any minute.” The pseudo-mommy answered, “That’s O.K. ‘cause I have so many papers to grade!” How proud I was that they were growing up in an atmosphere of learning and teaching. This classical family paradigm is fading at a faster pace than ever anticipated.

Our high-school girls are well educated by our strong Bais Yaakovs. They absorb and integrate into their life a strong commitment to marry a “learner,” and they are ready, and dare I say more than willing, to accept the role of breadwinner. I, too, fit into this category when I got married: wife teaching, husband learning and a life that revolved around the yeshiva schedule. After six years in kollel, my husband accepted a position as a Rebbe yet I continued teaching; what started as a need had evolved into a “calling.” We embarked on a new partnership, and continued teaching despite the low pay.

While teaching was never a very high-paying job in those years, it had never plunged to today’s dismal lows. Following a family member’s salary, I discovered that after 14 years of teaching, and being considered an unusually effective teacher, she finally crested the $20,000 plateau, while her husband – in his first year of teaching – earned $35,000! Speaking of fair! Aside from the unfairness of female salaries being so low, the real tragedy is in the serious consequences: just a minimal number of young ladies are now turning to teaching as a career.

While on a personal mission to promote teaching, I asked the principals of high schools and seminaries to have at least one or two sessions on the topic of becoming a teacher. To my dismay, one distinguished leader of a major complex in Israel, which houses half a dozen seminaries, flatly refused my request to promote the teaching profession. “If you pay peanuts,” he said, “you get monkeys.” Of course, he was not disparaging the teachers who are teaching now, despite the low salaries. He just couldn’t see himself promoting teaching because of the often dismal pay.

So, where have all the potential teachers gone? They’ve chosen the therapies, accounting, computers and now nursing. Why? Higher pay – but it comes with a heavy price. While it is true that the standard hours for the above work choices pay at least double or more what a teacher receives, they necessitate a full 9-5 day of work away from home. This forces mothers to relegate care for her children to the hands of strangers, and too often they are not even Jewish. Is this the way to raise a family, year after year?

What must happen to change this growing reality?

When Rav Aharon Kotler, זצ”ל, instituted a kollel and encouraged others to do the same, it was because he recognized the great need to build Torah scholarship in America. It was a social imperative. He was so right! It changed the world of Torah learning. Who could foresee that thousands of talmidim (students) would yearn to join this kollel? Nevertheless, as today’s wives do not have an alternative to being the breadwinner of the family, they are left with minimal time to be the akeres habayis.

As a certified family therapist, I deal with a fair number of “newlyweds” in their second or third year of marriage. It is the wife who presents the issue: she gets up in the middle of the night for the baby, and then gets up early to catch the bus to New York for her well-paying accounting job. She is also the one who rushes home to prepare supper, but only after stopping at the grocery store. “I didn’t know that supporting the family was going to be so hard,” she says. “But I do want him to continue learning in kollel!” How she wishes that her husband could be there to help with putting the kids to sleep.

So again, what must happen to change this generally complicated reality of women being the breadwinner in the marriage?

Night seder in most kollelim, though not mandatory, is very well attended, nonetheless. Kudos to our eager learners! Is there some way to encourage the husbands to consider at least some of this time as family time, thereby helping the family and wife immensely? Homework and putting to bed can become the routine of both the husband and wife. What a welcome help it would be!

Is it permissible to indulge in some wishful thinking and roll back time to once again have the practice that after the first 3 or 4 children it might be time for the husband to find a part-time job? He can still attend kollel the full morning or afternoon and bring in a salary from that job. That might enable the wife to reduce her hours and be there when the children come home from school, and possibly even pick up the little ones from their play group.

If you roll back the years even more, there had been a time limit to how long an average young man would stay in kollel. In my husband’s time, it was 5-6 years. I understand from my oral research that there are yeshivas which now have a kollel limit of 8 years. Students then go to work while, of course, continuing to learn regularly.

Before I end, I would strongly support the notion of a mini-course being given to high school seniors, or at least to seminary students – both here and in Israel – about the halachos and proper outlook when entering the workplace. There are many pitfalls out there and it behooves us to prepare the girls properly. A suitable curriculum can be designed by Torah Umesorah.

In conclusion:

I strongly support husbands learning full time for a number of years. I strongly support mothers working part time, whether it is out of need, altruism or personal desire. I strongly recommend that the mother should have a work schedule which allows her to still be a role model to her children בדרך ישרא-ל סבא (according to the time-honored ways of Israel)!

As it says, מרבה תורה מרבה חיים: מרבה ישיבה מרבה חכמה, פרקי אבות פרק ב משנה ז’ – The more Torah, the more life; the more yeshiva the more wisdom (Pirkei Avos 2:7).

Mrs Chaya Newman is the Director of Torah Umesorah’s National Council of Yeshiva Principals for Women.

Tzivia Reiter

How Does She Do It?

Many years ago, after I had my first child and prepared to go back to work, I wondered about the answer to this question: How do women do it? How do working mothers in the Jewish community manage all of their responsibilities? From my viewpoint as a newly-minted working mother, it seemed an impossible task, albeit one that I was undertaking with hope, optimism – and not a small amount of anxiety.

More specifically, I wanted to know: How could I be the warm, nurturing and influential Jewish mother I wanted to be while spending so many hours of the week with my attention and energy focused outside of my home? How could I make the most of my time with my children after a long day of work? How could I make Shabbos when I worked on Friday? How could I be an eizer k’negdo [helpmate] to my husband when my physical and emotional energy was already depleted between my job, my house and my children?

In order to find out, I interviewed more than twenty working women in the observant Jewish community, which became the basis of a book I wrote on the same topic (to be released by Feldheim Publishers in March 2012). What I discovered were many women with different personal variables and environmental conditions that contributed to their need to work, who employed as many different strategies to manage their myriad responsibilities. Yet there were common themes that emerged as well.

A good percentage of the women interviewed were not fully at peace with their decision to work. In some cases, there was a strong desire to remain home with their children, but economic or idealistic considerations compelled them into the workforce. In other instances, women were comfortable with their decision to work (many having them validated by da’as torah), but were forced to defend themselves against condemnations by others, or the insinuation that they were less-devoted mothers to their children than their stay-at-home counterparts.

In almost all instances, the women interviewed presented with a genuine and heartfelt desire to “do right” by their children, striving to fill their homes with the warmth, spirit and nurturance that is the hallmark of the Jewish mother, despite spending so many hours of the week at their place of employment. These women were working exhaustively to juggle the needs of their children, marriage, household and place of employment – not to mention community and chessed obligations – and being made to feel guilty and apologetic about it to boot. The mother of eight who supported her husband in kollel while still managing to be close and connected to her well brought up children, was rewarded for her efforts with these accolades at her son’s high school graduation valedictory speech: “Even though you worked and were never home, he still turned out so well.” This was by no means an isolated incident, as most of the women routinely faced similar comments and judgments by others.

The paradoxical pressure placed on the working mother in today’s Jewish community: to be the self-sacrificing mother completely devoted to the needs of her home and family, while at the same time becoming a career woman who spends much of her time in the workplace. This can take a tremendous toll on the working mother, and can detract from the emotional energy and simchas hachayim (zest for life) that are so vital for her to cultivate and bring into her home.

While some women choose to work for personal fulfillment, most others are driven into the workforce by sheer necessity. Dialogue about whether or not it is right for a woman to work may no longer be constructive, as the train has already left the station. The dialogue, in my opinion, should instead focus on the following: How can we support these working women and strengthen their role as mothers, wives, nurturers and builders of the Jewish home?

Seeking Solutions

Many of the working women I interviewed were overwhelmed and were experiencing an inordinate amount of stress. Others had a successful routine in place that allowed them to effectively juggle their multiple responsibilities. The majority of the women, however, fell somewhere in the middle, managing one day at a time and figuring it out as they went along.

There did seem to be a number of factors that promoted more effectiveness as a working mother and a greater amount of menuchas hanefesh (inner peace) in doing so, which can be instructive in guiding and educating the next generation of women who find themselves in this position. Feeling some sense of meaning through working, and being able to convey that sense of meaning to one’s children, was an important factor in some women’s ability to handle the accompanying challenges as well as the judgments of others.

Rebbetzin Shelia Feinstein, who was an interview subject, worked for over thirty years as a teacher and principal. She advised that “children should feel that there is a tachlis (constructive purpose) to their mother working that goes beyond buying the newest-model car.

“My children knew that I worked for a reason — so that my husband (HaRav HaGaon Rav Reuven Feinstein, shlit”a, Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshiva of Staten Island) could grow in Torah. Each family’s tachlis is different, but no less worthy. Perhaps Mommy works so Daddy shouldn’t have to take a second job and instead he is able to learn at night. Maybe she works to help out so there is less financial stress in the house and so that all the children can have what they need. If there is this attitude and feeling in the house that ‘my mother is working to help our family grow in some way,’ then everyone will be in it together and will be able to feel good about it.”

Having a Rav to turn to for guidance, as well as a mentor to provide support and a “reality check,” was extremely helpful to many mothers. Working at jobs that they genuinely loved, that allowed them to do chessed and make a kiddush Hashem, also seemed more positively correlated with a successful experience.

It can be postulated that “forewarned is forearmed.” Some women seemed to be simply shell-shocked. Not at all prepared for what was in store, they often resorted to self-blame if they couldn’t pull off what they felt was expected of them. One woman, “Yehudis,” acknowledged: “I learned how beautiful it would be to support my husband in kollel. But I never learned how hard it would be. I didn’t realize the effect that being out of the home for so many hours a day would have on my home.”

Too many women like her described their days as running around like chickens without heads, starting with tension-filled mornings with their children, trying to get everyone (including themselves) up and out on time, squeezing in errands and/or phone calls during their work day, coming home and managing the demands of supper time, bath time and homework while physically exhausted and sometimes falling asleep in their children’s rooms or with their clothes on, only to wake up and start the whole thing over again the next day. Yehudis shared, “For a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me that I could not run the home of my dreams.”

The women who seemed more at peace were generally more experienced and had the benefit of perspective, with many acknowledging, “if I knew then, what I know now (i.e., my children are resilient, my home does not have to be perfect, it is normal to have some hard days, etc.), it could have saved me a lot of agmas nefesh (aggravation).” Yehudis did not think that she would have made a different choice, but she would have been more prepared.

Additional variables that eased some of the stress included a shortened commute and flexible work arrangement. Women who had flexibility in their employment situations for, say, a sick child or school play, found that it eliminated a good deal of the stress of being pulled in multiple directions at the same time. Many women actively sought out a flexible work arrangement – even relinquishing salary, position and prestige in the process – and found that it was well worth the sacrifice.

A woman’s working outside the home gave rise to some ambiguity between the roles of husband and wife. This was exacerbated when the woman was the primary breadwinner and/or when she was working in a worldly, secular environment that her husband could not relate to. It helped many of the couples to be attuned to this issue and to make active attempts to maintain a healthy equilibrium in the marriage. Strategies that worked for some included creating rigid boundaries between themselves and their male colleagues at work, respecting their husbands’ time learning Torah as sacred and certainly not viewing the time as dispensable, including their husbands in their work lives as appropriate, asking his advice for work-related issues, discussing and problem-solving any tznius issues or dilemmas together, and tapping into feminine pursuits regularly, such as engaging in a crafts project or a women’s tehillim group.

The women who had the support of their husbands fared far better than the ones who felt they were essentially a one-woman show. The importance of this support cannot be overstated, as one woman shared: “I have no pressure from [my husband] to live up to certain standards. I don’t have to convince him how difficult it is. He gets it, and that makes everything okay for me and my family.” I was privileged to interview some children of working mothers who validated this perspective, sharing that their father’s support and respect for their mothers was a key factor in making things work for their families.

The lure of technology and round-the-clock availability presented another challenge to many working mothers. It made it difficult for them to give their families their absolute focused attention when they were home with them. Many jobs expect 24/7 availability and working mothers need help setting limits and navigating the constant demands that technology imposes on its workers.

Last, but certainly not least, the issue of separation from their children was a painful and personal one for most mothers. As one mother described, “I felt a lot of sadness over leaving my children. It is a sacrifice. You lose something you can never recapture.” This is a painful reality and it is helpful to acknowledge it, mourn the loss that this sacrifice entails, and make active attempts to compensate for it. Working mothers need to make up for not being there in those moments when their children come home from school to see them, hug them, laugh with them, feed them and hear what trips off their tongues.

Based on my interviews with both working mothers and their children, it seemed that these effects were mitigated if the children felt that they were their mothers’ absolute priority, and that she would always strive to give them time and attention whenever and however she could. Many of the mothers interviewed made a tremendous effort to be attuned to their children and spend meaningful time with them. They were always looking for ways to give their children more time, and their kids felt that their mothers were always seeking them out and appreciating her time with them. This seemed to go a very long way to enhancing the children’s self-esteem as well as their connection to their mothers.

There were some mothers who expressed their belief that their personal temperaments were such that being out of the house for several hours per day and having the outlet of work, was the very thing that allowed them to shine and become the patient, loving mothers that they wanted to be. In fact, it was very heartening to unanimously hear all of the children that I interviewed express very positive feelings of love, closeness, pride and respect toward their working mothers.

In conclusion, it is not easy for women to fully engage in the workplace and still do justice to their home and family lives. It is challenging and stressful for all women, but with education, self-awareness, strategies and support, it can be both manageable and rewarding. However, women need education before they enter this stage of life so they understand the realities of this lifestyle. They will need to relax their expectations in many areas of their home lives, and will need support and concrete assistance to make it work. They should seek out halachic and hashkafic advisors as well as mentors who have been through similar challenges.

Husbands play a crucial role in their wives’ ability to manage their multiple responsibilities effectively. They, too, need to be educated and taught about the demands of working motherhood and how they can be helpful. What expectations are realistic for a husband to place on his wife given her schedule? How can he preserve his role in the husband-wife relationship when his wife has assumed the burden of parnassah? What can he do to support his wife and children? What should a man do, halachically, if his wife is exhausted and needs his help when he is heading out to daven or learn? Is this bitul Torah? Halachic and hashkafic guidance should be offered.

So how does she do it? There are no easy answers to this dilemma, but there should be support, empathy, direction and chizuk readily available, both on an individual and communal level, to those many women who struggle with the question.

Tzivia Reiter, LCSW-R is a Director at OHEL Bais Ezra. She is the author of the soon to be released book, “Briefcases and Baby Bottles: The Working Mother’s Guide to Nurturing a Jewish Home.”