Posts from the ‘General’ Category

Rabbi Moshe Weinberger

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

“Just One Thing is Missing: The Soul”

 THE REBBE OF PIACEZNA, R’ Klonymous Kalman Shapiro, z”ya, was approaching his fortieth birthday:

“My heart pounds from my impending fortieth birthday, my entire body shakes from my oncoming declining years. Still, I will try to muster all my strength to commit myself and my life to G-d. Perhaps, perhaps, something will remain. But to what shall I commit myself? To learn more? I think that as far as possible, I don’t waste any time. To abstain from physical pleasures? If my own desires are not fooling me, thank G-d, I am not so attached to them. So what am I missing? Simply to be a Jew. I see myself as a self-portrait that shows all colors and features real to life. Just one thing is missing: the soul.” (Tzav V’ziruz, To Heal the Soul, page 45)

I have often reflected upon these searing words penned by the Aish Kodesh a decade before his holy body was consumed by the inferno of the Holocaust. The post-Holocaust generation has come of age. We have prospered financially and religiously. The self-portrait of our Torah community “shows all colors and features real to life.” Soon, the Siyum HaShas will take place before an anticipated audience of 90,000 people. Our institutions are bursting at the seams. We have a formidable array of daily and weekly publications filled with our own current events and advertisements for the latest, non-gebrokts, Pesach getaways. Many neighborhoods take pride in their “minyan factories” where a Maariv can be caught until the wee hours of the night. We have morning kollels and evening kollels and gemachs for everything under the sun. “Just one thing is missing: the Soul.”

R. Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev once called all the Jews of the city to a massive “asifa” (gathering) in the main shul. A hush fell over the “oilam” (crowd) as the Tzaddik climbed to the top of the bimah and cried out, “Yidden (Jews), don’t forget! You must always remember that the Ribbono Shel Olam (G-d) exists! He really exists!!” The Kedushas Levi was appealing to a shul filled with strictly observant Jews. Apparently, he felt that despite all the “colors and features” of Yiddishkeit, something very precious was slipping away. Real davening cannot be manufactured in a “minyan factory;” it longs for a soul. True tznius (modesty) is not just a matter of stockings and sleeves. It has a neshama, a soul. Torah learning that does not lead to a meaningful Torah life filled with sincere joy, authentic yiras shomayim and simple human decency, is without a soul.

In the seforim hakedoshim (holy books), this intangible ingredient, this soul, is often referred to as “ohr,” light. A couple might enjoy the security that comes with a marriage in which mutual responsibilities are taken seriously. But if that is all the marriage consists of, it is a dark and dismal home they share. When a relationship is “lichtig” (“lit up”), when it has a neshama, even the “C minor” of everyday life is illuminated by the light that binds them together.

The Noam Elimelech (Yisro) teaches that when Hashem gave us the Torah, He gave us infinitely more than the actual words and commandments. “And Hashem spoke all these words saying, ‘I am Hashem your G-d…’” (Shemos 20:1). “All these words” means not only the actual words, but all their implications, as well – even from the white space of the parchment surrounding them. According to Chazal, “I am” – in Hebrew “anochi” – is an acronym for ana nafshi kesavis, yehavis – “I have inscribed My very soul [in this Torah] that I’m giving you!”

In davening, we say, “with the light of Your face, You have given us a Torah of life.” It is impossible to define this light, but when it’s missing from a marriage, a family, a friendship, or from one’s Yiddishkeit, it is painfully obvious. Some might admit to remembering the lyrics of an old song, “Something inside has died, and I can’t hide it, and I just can’t fake it.”

Our communities – spanning the entire spectrum of Orthodoxy – are swarming with Jews of all ages and backgrounds who feel little, if any, connection to Hakadosh Baruch Hu (G-d). This is not a conclusion reached by way of scientific study or formal assessment, and it cannot be proved in a laboratory. It is, I believe, glaringly apparent to anyone who has taken a peak outside the bais medrash.

It is obvious to anyone who is not fooled by the billboard brand of frumkeit that is as shallow and empty as the so-called “Jewish” music blasting at our simchos. Forget about data. The “defectors” who simply couldn’t go on hiding and faking have shed the external uniforms of Yiddishkeit to become the object of our latest outreach efforts. These individuals comprise but a fraction of those who are simply unable, or who are afraid, to disengage, who listlessly drag their feet through the motions of avodas Hashem (service of G-d), while waiting desperately for the next “bain hazmanim” (intercession), “break in davening,” or any other distraction from the monotony of the charade.

This type of “disengagement” or “disconnection” has little to do with the intellect or with matters of theology. Thus, enjoying a fascinating shiur provides little assurance that one will find meaning in davening, or even behave in shul. It does not even prove that he believes in anything at all. Attending a seminar on the meaning of davening and the structure of the siddur, while important, has little to do with passionate tefilah. Many of our grandparents knew much less about davening than we do. They, however, knew G-d, cared deeply about Him and lived in an ongoing dialogue with Him.

This void is wreaking havoc upon the spiritual integrity of our communities. Yet, this very same void is itself responsible for a resurgence of spiritual longing among those who are honest enough to admit that something is so terribly wrong and broken that something must be done about it.

We are all familiar with a number of wonderful kiruv initiatives that were initially established as a means of reaching out to the assimilated and unaffiliated. While these are still the populations officially being targeted by kiruv seminars and shabbatons, a large percentage of attendees are actually (forgive me) FFB’s of all stripes and colors. Last year, I was asked to speak at such a convention and prepared a drasha geared for the uninitiated and newly observant. Upon arriving, it became quite apparent to me that the great bulk of those attending were Chassidish, Yeshivish, Heimish and Modern Orthodox. Their common denominator? The intense longing they had to connect to Hashem and the sincere need they had to understand why they were keeping mitzvos and making sacrifices for Yiddishkeit.

Many shared with me a sense of “lamah nigara” – why should we be kept back and denied the rich spirituality and the open and honest discussions about emunah typically offered to our secular brothers and sisters? Mind you, these were intelligent, observant individuals – most graduates of our finest yeshivos and seminaries. Why do so many of our fold flock to Carlebach minyanim on Friday night, or try valiantly to introduce some of the song and spirit into their shul’s davening? And these are not a fringe element of “holy hippies.” To dismiss or misinterpret these and many other phenomena of this genre would be both wrong and dangerous. Jews – healthy, learned, and sincere Jews – are aching for meaning and inspiration. They are not, G-d forbid, rejecting traditional Torah learning and halacha, nor do they seek to stir some revolution against the old guard. They are simply searching for the soul and light they are missing.

These various trends and behaviors should cause us to wonder whether or not the latest technology is truly the greatest problem facing Klal Yisroel. Judging by the number of proclamations, as well as their content and tone, one might conclude that our world would simply be perfect but for the Internet and all of the accompanying gadgetry that comes along with it. Life would return to the simpler and more civilized sixties and seventies. It is quite obvious that technology creates a serious threat to all that we’ve worked so hard to achieve, and we must support every effort to combat this malady. Yet, there is something I find profoundly pathetic in the great search for the perfect filter.

The Nesivos Sholom (Tzav) cites a mashal (parable) in which a certain fellow would like to build a housing development on a huge piece of property that he owns. The property, however, is covered by a forest, so he grabs an axe and begins to chop away. After falling a tree or two, he realizes that even if he were to have a whole crew of lumberjacks, this effort would take many years. It dawns on him that what he needs is a fire – a powerful, controlled conflagration that can destroy the forest in a matter of minutes. The Nesivos Sholom explains that it takes a fiery, passionate, and soulful Yiddishkeit to overcome the vast forests of filth and confusion that dominate our environment.

In every generation, the outside world stands as a tempting alternative to Yiddishkeit. History and common sense prove repeatedly that wielding the axe can never provide more than a short-term, superficial respite from the onslaught of secularism. Hashem sent the Baal Shem Tov and R’ Yisroel Salanter to set Klal Yisroel on fire! Only a deep, introspective, passionate Yiddishkeit bursting with a tangible consciousness of Hashem’s presence can expose the emptiness of any alternative.

Let’s face it: if on Monday the anti-Internet convention takes a powerful swipe at the latest technology, by Tuesday the kids (and the “young at heart”) will discover something better and faster. Many express shock upon hearing about the latest fad of Shabbos text messaging. But was this not inevitable? What exactly does Shabbos mean for these kids? In fact, what does Shabbos mean for many of their parents? Aside from some fuzzy familiarity with the do’s and don’ts, what is it about Shabbos that would make the pastime of Friday night texting abhorrent in their eyes? The shock is usually followed by a shaking of the head and the comment “but he (or she) is learning in a fine yeshiva!?” It is true. The yeshivos are wonderful, and they are filled with many talented and sincere rabbeim and teachers. But there is Torah and there is Torah.

The navi (prophet) Amos said (8:11), “Behold days are coming, says Hashem, when I will send a famine in the land – not a famine for bread nor thirst for water, but for hearing the word of Hashem.”

One of Ramchal’s greatest disciples, R’ Moshe Dovid Valli, zt”l, in his commentary Mashmiya Yeshua, explains that, in Tanach, Torah is often referred to as bread and water. During our long galus (exile), there have been an astonishing number of seforim written and an incredible amount of Torah taught. Is it really accurate to describe our present state as a famine or drought? Whoever is hungry for Torah and thirsting for its wisdom can simply dive into the infinite resources at his fingertips! R’ Moshe Dovid answers that the key lies in the final words of the verse; “but for hearing the words of Hashem”:

ומ”ש: “לא רעב ללחם ולא צמא למים” וגו’, הטעם הוא, שהרי בזמן הגלות והסיתום אין שום רעב וצמא ממימיה ולחמה של תורה, כי אדרבא לא נתחברו ספרים כל כך ארוכים ורבים כמו בזמן הגלות שרבו הדרשנים בהם ועשו ספרים הרבה אין קץ. אלא שיש בהם פטומי מלין הרבה מאד, והאמת שהוא הנקרא ממש “דברי ה'” הנה היא מעט מזעיר בכל ספר וספר. וזהו הטעם שישראל שהם זרע אמת אינם מוצאים קורת רוח ברוב הספרים שכתבו המחברים שלהם לפי סברתם ורבוי המחלקות ותהיא האמת נעדרת בהם, מפני הקליפה הסותמת שלא הניחה לעבור אורות האמת בעת שליטתה. וזהו שגורם: לא רעב ללחם ולא צמא למים כמ”ש, אלא רעב וצמא לשמוע את “דברי ה'”, שהוא סוד האמת ממש

Yes, never before have as many Jews had the privilege to learn Torah. Neither a famine nor drought has befallen us. Our generation is starving for “divrei Hashem” – the clear, deep, penetrating and powerful divrei Hashem.

The kids “off the derech” or “on the fringe” are not running away from Yiddishkeit. They have never met it. Rebbe Nachman of Breslov once told an atheist: “I also don’t believe in the God you don’t believe in!” Look into the eyes and hearts of the kids on the streets and in the clubs. You will see the hunger and thirst for the “divrei Hashem” – for the truth and nothing but the truth. Rav Kook wrote of the “chutzpah,” the insolence, that Chazal predicted would be rampant before the arrival of Moshiach. The time has come when many are simply refusing to settle for merely bits and pieces of the truth. If this demand is not satisfied, if our schools and homes ignore or misinterpret this hungry chutzpah as rejection, it will claim countless more victims.

“The human soul relishes sensation, not only if it is a pleasant feeling but for the very experience of stimulation. Sooner sadness or some deep pain rather than the boredom of no stimulation. People will watch distressing scenes and listen to heartrending stories just to get stimulation. Such is human nature. So he who is clever will fulfill this need with passionate prayer and Torah learning. But the soul whose divine service is without emotion will have to find stimulation elsewhere. It will either be driven to cheap – even forbidden – sensation or it will become emotionally ill from lack of stimulation.” (Tzav V’Zeruz, To Heal the Soul, page 23)

It is easy to blame the Internet for all our problems. It is much more difficult and painful to consider the possibility that we have failed to communicate the true inner joy and light of Yiddishkeit to a generation that is anxious and ready to hear it.

Recently, a serious, G-d-fearing young man, who teaches math in a yeshiva high school, told me that his students shared with him (though not with their Rebbe) their skepticism about G-d’s existence and the truth of Torah. Many simply admitted that they do not really believe in anything. Mind you, this is an afternoon, secular class. The boys had spent the entire morning engaged in sophisticated “lomdus,” (Talmudic analysis) and by four o’clock in the afternoon they are candidly sharing with a teacher their doubts in Torah MeSinai (divinity of the Torah). The teacher, a Baal Teshuva who fought long and hard to become who he is, shared with his class some of the thoughts and insights that inspired him on his journey to Yiddishkeit. The boys were very inspired, and asked to continue the discussion after school hours. The teacher told me that he went to the administrator but was told that these are issues that are best left to the home. Unlike him, he was told, these boys come from frum homes and have a “mesorah” (tradition) about these matters (i.e., they can be presumed to have each picked up the correct beliefs they need). Those who are intimately familiar with the situation know that this is far from an isolated or extreme incident.

What is to be done? As the questions is posed: “Are there any proven methods to inspire observant Jews experiencing a gap in religious enthusiasm?” The answer, I believe, is a resounding YES! We must pursue two approaches in meeting this challenge: one experiential and one educational.

Rav Yosef Ber Soloveitchik zt”l, often agonized over what he felt was his inability to impart the emotional world of Yiddishkeit to his students. In a lecture delivered in 1968, he said,

“In the past, this great experience of the tradition was not handed down from generation to generation through the medium of words. It was absorbed through osmosis; somehow, through silence. We used to observe. Today in America, however, and in the Western world, this is completely lost. The father cannot pass it on to his son. The father does not possess these emotions, because he never observed and experienced them. He cannot expect his son to receive something he himself does not possess. Therefore, it is up to the Yeshiva and the teacher to open up the emotional world of Judaism to the student…”

In this lecture, Rav Soleveitchik insisted that the only way to inspire the observant is by having them actually observe inspired Yiddishkeit in the parents, rabbis, teachers, and mentors of the generation.

“…I do not believe that we can afford to be as reluctant, modest, and shy today as we were in the past about describing our relationship with the Almighty. If I want to transmit my experiences, I have to transmit myself, my own heart. How can I merge my soul and personality with the students? It is very difficult. Yet it is exactly what is lacking on the American scene” (The Rav. R’ Aaron Rakefet, Vol. 2, pages 168-169).

In essence, there needs to be a fundamental reconstruction of the traditional model of the teacher/rabbi.

On another occasion, the Rav explained that, “the disconnection of modern man from living examples of religious experience has made self-revelation an educational necessity.” It is fascinating that the most sought-after speakers and teachers generally are not known for their scholarship. Their effectiveness is in their ability to inspire – not by dazzling their audiences with brilliant insights, but by sharing their own experiences and struggles in Yiddishkeit. Self-revelation has become an absolute educational necessity.

Obviously, this is difficult to implement. How can a rebbe or rabbi transform himself into such a person? There are no guidelines for this; it is usually a matter of one’s personal charisma. Nevertheless, there must be constant encouragement in this area. Again, it would be helpful to make use of the methods commonly used in Jewish outreach: storytelling, music, shabbatons or other such venues of inspiration. All of these have proven to be astonishingly effective in the world of kiruv, and the observant are desperately in need of this warm, exciting brand of experiential Yiddishkeit.

On the educational front, our institutions must begin to bring the Infinite into the four Amos (cubits) of the classroom and of the shul. Rebbeim, morahs, and rabbonim must be trained to impart the heart and soul of Yiddishkeit in a lucid and inspiring way. There are many extraordinary mashpiim and mashpios (influential role models) whose talents have been mostly tapped by the world of Jewish outreach. We (the “FFB’s”) must admit that many of our rabbis and educators are simply unfamiliar or uncomfortable with the language of emunah. There seems to be an expectation that emunah will be miraculously conveyed to baalei batim and students by means of some mysterious osmosis that is perhaps complemented by an occasional shabbaton or seminar. But, it ain’t happening.

The thirteen fundamental principles of faith must become a basic part of the curriculum in all schools and shuls. G-d must be brought back into our institutions and into our homes. It makes no difference if one place prefers a Litvishe G-d and the other a Chassidishe G-d. Open and frank discussions about faith and doubt must be encouraged – not feared and stymied. To ignore these critical dimensions of religious growth by claiming that it would supplant the traditional format of chinuch is, I submit, a grave error. All the regular Torah learning must surely continue. If anything, such learning will be energized and uplifted when taught to individuals who are struggling to get to the bottom of what this whole undertaking known as Yiddishkeit is about.

It would be wonderful if seforim such as Nesivos Sholom, Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh (Rav Itamar Schwartz) and those of R’ Shimshon Pincus, zt”l, would be adapted as a means of developing a curriculum to teach emunah, beginning even with young children.

I have often been asked whether it is really possible to teach emunah as a subject. The answer is no. A rabbi, rebbi, teacher, and parent must begin with the belief that emunah is inherent to the Jewish Soul. The child/student/congregant is already a maamin (believer). Rather than actually being taught, faith already lies in the neshama, but must be nurtured and drawn out through Torah, tefilah, and kiyum hamitzvos. There is a great thirst for pnimiyus HaTorah (the inner light of Torah) that cannot be ignored. It is a healthy sign of revival that must be used as a tool of inspiration in classrooms and congregations. We must begin.

I conclude with a story that my daughter, Suri, shared with me. It is apocryphal, but it hits the mark. Years ago in London, a poetry recital was taking place in a large auditorium. The finalists in the competition were given one last poem to recite – the twenty third Psalm. The obvious winner was a young gentleman whose rendition of the Psalm was perfect. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want… He restores my soul… and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” The audience responded with thunderous applause.

Suddenly, an elderly, Eastern European Jew called out, “Judges! Would it be alright if I had a chance to say the Psalm?” The judges were amused and invited him up to the stage. In his heavy accent, the gentleman made his way through the kapitel (chapter). A reverent hush fell over the crowd, and many people were moved to tears. The winner received his prize but followed the old man out to the street. “Rabbi, you know that you really deserve the prize.” “Not at all,” he responded. “I wasn’t competing. You did a fine job and it belongs to you.” The young man continued: “But rabbi, perhaps you could explain to me why it is that when I concluded the Psalm the audience cheered, but when you concluded many people were crying?” The alter Yid replied: “The difference between you and me is that I know the Shepherd.”

Hopefully, the recitation of our Yiddishkeit will soon be accompanied by an honest – if somewhat accented and imperfect – outpouring of the soul. The Ribbono Shel Olam is waiting for us, and the prize is redemption, waiting right there in His outstretched hand.

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

Rabbi Moshe Weinberger is the Rav of Congregation Aish Kodesh in Woodmere, New York.

Rabbi Yaakov Glasser

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

The Vital Role of Experiential Jewish Education

STANDING IN THE DINING ROOM of a vibrant Jewish camp on a Friday night, many parents would be shocked to witness their own children, who are adverse to any sort of singing or ruach in their home, exuding the most intense passion in embracing the Shabbos experience. Seeing them sitting on the floor of a youth group kumzits, parents would be astonished by the pensive introspection teenagers display in reflecting upon their struggles for meaning and purpose within their lives. Walking into the beis midrash of a summer kollel, parents and educators would be amazed to discover hundreds of teens studying Torah with eagerness and passion, despite the resistance more commonly experienced in trying to motivate their extracurricular learning throughout the year.

In my fourteen years working with teenagers in NCSY – including seven of them as an NCSY Regional Director – I have had the great privilege to experience countless such moments (much of the time with children of Orthodox homes) and so I believe in the capacity of the Orthodox community to create religiously inspired, spiritually meaningful experiences. The pervasive sentiment that connectedness is elusive to our generation is counterbalanced by a number of environments that successfully inspire our youth, providing paradigms for spiritual engagement that could be incorporated into mainstream religious life.

It would behoove us to explore the underlying elements of these contexts, to better understand what accounts for their success, and to evaluate how some of the strategies and tools can be replicated in other areas of Jewish life.

Over the recent past, the “tuition crisis” has generated a well-understood singular focus upon the needs of our formal educational institutions. Without depriving these venerable institutions of their well-deserved stature in the priorities of our communal resources, financial concerns have overshadowed the absolutely critical role that informal educational experiences play in the spiritual development of our youth.

Camps, youth groups, international summer programs, synagogue teen minyanim and countless other opportunities for teens to explore the broader gamut of their talents and abilities beyond the world of academics are essential in addressing the crisis of inspiration affecting our youth.

Many Orthodox communities have been remiss in investing the financial resources necessary to establish more attractive and sophisticated programs of this nature. The decline of overall parental availability and the proliferation of portals to the online world demand that our community seek innovative extracurricular opportunities for our teenagers that motivate and inspire their religious growth. There is a myriad of models that can harness the creativity of local talent and produce an impactful program for minimal financial cost. Community leaders are in a position to galvanize local parents, educators, counselors and countless other professionals to unite in implementing a quality program for informal education.

Religious Growth vs. Religious Achievement

Many teens perceive the academic environment of formal education as largely judgmental. The core experience of school entails achieving measurable results. Schools cannot divest themselves of their responsibility to take attendance at tefilah, assess performance in talmud Torah, and hold students accountable for their overall progress. There is, however, an element of incongruence in nurturing the personal initiative of religious passion within an academic environment premised upon quantitative accountability.

We are holding the proverbial mountain over the students’ heads and asking them to say naaseh venishma (voluntarily embracing the Torah). As a result, many students find personal and spiritual growth to be too challenging in their academic environment. Since there is a natural predisposition for teenagers to experiment and explore, these students turn their attention to other environments that seem more accepting of whom they are. This search, however, can often lead to artificial sources of affirmation and self-esteem that are inconsistent with positive religious growth.

While many schools have developed informal educational programming within the larger framework of their academic institutions, the evaluative and thus judgmental elements remain fundamental to the school experience. It is naive to suggest that schools can maintain a record of educational excellence absent a fidelity to the essential components of academic success. Thus, it is absolutely crucial that exclusively informal educational contexts be developed that focus upon religious growth and not religious achievement. Such environments would provide students with the opportunity to ask fundamental questions, challenge basic assumptions, and search for greater meaning and purpose in religious life.

Individuality

Spirituality is a transcendent experience requiring one to focus upon something greater than oneself. Spiritual experiences are as diverse as the people grasping to embrace them. “Kesheim shepartzufeihem shonim, kach deoseihen einan shavos” – “as each human being is created with an individual face, so they have been endowed with an individual perspective” (See Berachos 58a).

The foundation of freedom in the United States, and its emulating democracies around the world, is the elevation and centrality of individual rights. Great controversy erupts when those freedoms are curtailed, even when in the name of safety and security. Globalization and the Internet have further amplified individuality as a primary value within American society. Despite attempts to stymie the inculcation of “limitless personal freedom” into the mindset of the Orthodox community, we cannot escape being impacted by this influence. However, in order to balance the relentless strategies being employed to resist this infiltration, there is a need for an equally positive focus on the more structural elements of religious life.

Our generation’s meticulousness in observing halacha is manifest in the unprecedented proliferation of practical halachic manuals and classes, as well as in the trend to embrace more stringent opinions from among the spectrum of halachic debate. Solidifying the structure of halachic observance and narrowing the gamut of halachic options serves to protect against the individual autonomy that may challenge the system. Nevertheless, the culture of individuality has seeped into the more structured frameworks of our religious life.

This trend is evident in the reorientation of large cathedral synagogues to multiplexes, where each individual can choose the prayer experience which most resonates for them. Large and venerable yeshivos are often passed over for smaller institutions that cater to the student’s individual needs. Some yeshivos are addressing these demands by compartmentalizing to create smaller, more individualized student experiences.

Communal leadership would be well served to recognize and address the needs of adults, as well, for individualized modalities of religious expression within the parameters of traditional halachic standards. Just as informal educational programs allow teenagers to spend their Friday night studying Torah, singing at a tisch, enjoying appropriate recreational activities or “hanging out” with inspirational mentors, adults would equally benefit from an expansion of appropriate options of community religious programming that recognizes the diversity in current dispositions to spiritual growth.

Religious Maturation

Instilling spirituality within young children is generally accomplished through positive reinforcement and habituation. Consider the extraordinary positive feedback a toddler receives upon reciting a bracha – even one they do not understand and can barely pronounce. We transform bircas hamazon into a festive musical and constantly reward the ongoing performance of mitzvos. As their development progresses, we must strive to reorient these rituals into meaningful religious experiences. A recalibration must take place. Absent the elevation of habitual ritual into meaningful actions, Judaism becomes primitive and hollow.

Often, the adult struggle with connectedness and spirituality is a natural extension of this unresolved element of religious immaturity. I often receive calls from Orthodox families hosting baalei teshuva for Shabbos for the first time seeking explanations for basic halachic rituals they may be asked to discuss. These fully observant adults lack a sophisticated and nuanced understanding of the underlying reasons for much of their observance, and, over time, such a void erodes passion and enthusiasm for religious growth. Aside from the current focus on what the halacha demands, adult education programming, shiurim, and drashos should be seen as opportunities to educate people of the depth and profundity that underscore our basic religious observance. The assumption that these fundamentals are addressed in our formative years is shortsighted and naive.

Mentorship

Parents, teachers, and rabbis are authority figures who play an essential role in the religious development of teenagers. However, adolescents exploring and asserting their independence often struggle with the notion of authority, in general. An informal mentor, however, can make invaluable contributions to the spiritual development of those less inclined to defer to formal authority. A mentoring relationship can develop naturally with an individual in the life of the teenager, or it can be established proactively through organizations and programs.

In either context, the mentor contributes three critical elements to a mentee’s development:

• Mentors model a value system and lifestyle;
• Mentors take an active interest in the life of the teenager beyond the framework of any particular program or goal. As a result, their insight and perspective is more palatable to a teenager than direction and guidance from an authority figure; and –
• Mentors validate the challenges facing the adolescent in developing their spirituality and religious commitment.

Informal educational contexts provide an ideal framework in which to introduce a mentoring relationship into the life of a teenager. Recognizing the benefits of mentorship as a vehicle for religious growth, a number of outreach organizations have developed mentoring models for the unaffiliated adult population. This paradigm, however, is equally suited for the frum community.

Numerous models of engagement could be explored that facilitate connections between adults and families who find religious inspiration more intuitive and those who are struggling to infuse their observant life with greater meaning and passion. Ceding the realm of religious inspiration to rabbis and scholars disregards the vast resources of community members who can play a guiding role in motivating others.

Cynicism

The humor and entertainment of modern culture is almost entirely devoted to the mockery of anything sacred. Religion, family and any type of authority figure are the most common targets of comic expression. This dimension of general culture has also infiltrated our own religious community. From the absurd comments often found on popular religious websites to the Shabbos table discussions of many families, one encounters an underlying sarcastic tone, and a penetrating cynicism towards many of our most sacred ideals.

Aside from the intruding values of outside culture, cynicism within the frum community has evolved organically, as well. In our zeal to edify the substance of our particular philosophical approach to Torah Judaism, we often turn to condemnation and ridicule of other approaches as a tactic of ideological rejection. Furthermore, in our paranoid fear that we might be perceived as validating an unacceptable approach, we choose to dismiss any alternatives to popular understanding rather than to engage such ideas maturely and debate them honestly. The internal communal attitudes of dismissiveness, reinforced by the culture’s trivialization of anything sacred, has metastasized cynicism to many areas of religious life. We filter the guidance and direction of our leaders through a lens of skepticism, often undermining their gallant efforts to guide and inspire our community.

Leaving aside the pitfalls of this developing culture for adults, its ills are particularly toxic to the spiritual development of adolescents. Teenagers engage the world through a polarity of extremes. Their developing abstract thinking produces strong convictions, but their lack of life experience restrains their appreciation for nuance. They may laugh along with the conversation taking place mocking the rabbi’s speech or the gadol’s most recent proclamation. However, they are internally constructing a characterization of hypocrisy relating to the world of religious life. This cycle further exacerbates the adolescent’s natural suspicion of authority, and ultimately erodes their confidence in the sincerity and veracity of religious life.

Youth groups and camps often provide an oasis from this cynicism. They are strategically constructed environments that celebrate and reward connections to authentic spiritual moments. Creative programming and music provide an atmosphere in which a teenager can express spirituality without the fear of mockery and sarcasm. The experimentation of religious focus and fervor is met with reinforcement from role models and peers. Most importantly, the environment provides teenagers with the opportunity to break beyond the parameters of perception that often develop within the home and school regarding their expected level of religiosity.

Similar environments could be creatively developed through synagogue and community programming that empowers adults searching for a more inspiring and reverent religious environment. Ultimately, it is through the active choices of individual families that a tone can be established that repels cynicism from their homes, thus fostering an environment that promotes religious growth.

 Questions

The quest for authentic spirituality requires confronting the issues that challenge an individual’s belief in themselves, in G-d, and in their capacity to connect the two. Our educational system celebrates questioning and innovation in the realm of textual analysis, but is less tolerant of such critical thinking in the realms of dogmatic philosophy and halachic standards. Within a few hours, a teen may be lavishly rewarded for innovation in his approach to a sugya (Talmudic topic), but then denigrated for raising similar questions about the halachic systems and belief structures that we hold fundamental to religious life.

This inconsistency generates an internal feeling of religious inadequacy in balancing the reality of these questions with the community’s disapproval of such fundamental doubts. In a world that encourages and celebrates unlimited intellectual inquiry, it is essential that we establish contexts for the exploration of fundamental religious ideals. While, it is not spiritually healthy to encourage the pursuit of every question and doubt to its absolute conclusion, the incongruence between the dogmatic approach to religious ideals and the critical thinking that underscores most academic and professional endeavors risks creating an unintended and often intense crisis of faith.

Forums are needed to address these issues, and to validate curiosity as a mature and passionate dimension of religious growth. For teenagers, informal educational programs provide these opportunities within a structure that can ensure the proper follow-up mentoring that transforms a challenge to religious ideals into a journey of discovery and growth. For adults, programs and opportunities should be innovated that provide non-judgmental environments for raising fundamental questions, and receiving guidance and direction in their resolution. Most importantly, our community must progress in validating this questioning as an authentic reach for deeper religious meaning.

Conclusion

Our goal in this discussion is to explore the factors that inhibit connectedness and spirituality within our community. I believe that communally addressing these impediments requires the innovation of local organizations along with ongoing programs that can address these critical issues. Nevertheless, each one of the elements discussed can be confronted and applied within the framework of an individual family as well. Encouraging religious growth, individuality in religious identity, maturation of religious ideals, the role of mentorship, expelling cynicism and embracing questions as an authentic search for religious meaning will all contribute to cultivating a more spiritual and connected religious community.

Rabbi Shmuel Silber

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

Struggling With Connection: Ancient Challenge, Contemporary Suggestions

THE WORD “CRISIS” HAILS FROM the Latin word meaning decision. Thus, a crisis refers to a condition of instability during which a highly consequential decision will be made regarding a course of action. Are the Jewish people currently in the midst of a “spiritual crisis?” I believe the answer is a qualified yes.

We live in incredible times. Torah is at our fingertips. Men and women (regardless of Jewish educational background) have unparalleled opportunities to learn a variety of Torah subjects – opportunities that just a generation ago would have been reserved for those fully and totally immersed in the study of Torah. Artscroll is readying to launch a Digital Library with a full database and amazing features that will make the journey through the Babylonian Talmud easier and unimaginably more attainable. Completing Shas is suddenly an aspiration within everyone’s reach.

This is but one example, as the opportunities for convenient and accessible Torah learning are too numerous to list. Yet, despite these increased opportunities for Torah advancement, there is also an emergence of a profound sense of religious apathy. Many within our community seem to be going through the motions without the love, enthusiasm and commitment that should accompany avodas Hashem. For many, religious activity has become behavioral in nature. Has this spiritual dynamic ever before been experienced by the Jewish people? I dare say, “yes.” To echo the words of Shlomo HaMelech, “V’eyn chadash tachas ha’shemesh” (there is nothing new under the sun.) One needs only to look through the Niviim and see prophet after prophet exhort the Jewish people for a lack of motivation, commitment and religious energy. Religious apathy has been one of our greatest challenges since the inception of our nation.

Nevertheless, each generation must seek its own remedy. We now appreciate that if many (however we choose to quantify this term) are feeling spiritually disconnected, then perhaps we need to examine how we are disseminating and transmitting our mesorah. As with most of life’s problems, true remedies require an understanding of the problem’s root cause. Why do so many seem dispassionate about their Judaism? After this question is answered, we can address the issues and lay the groundwork for a successful future.

While there are likely a number of causes, I would like to draw attention to a select few and provide suggestions for how they can be addressed:

1. We Focus on the Rules but not on their Meaning and Relevance.

Many can rattle off the complete list of 39 melachos of Shabbos; knowing well the does and don’ts. We may even know what is an av melacha and what is a tolda, what is d’oraysa and what is d’rabbanan. But few seek to understand what Shabbos really is. Do we appreciate the essence of Shabbos? Can we articulate why Shabbos is necessary for our spiritual well being? And Shabbos is just one example. We seem to miss the deeper meaning of many aspects of our Judaism, leaving much of what we do as ritualistic, rote behavior. I believe this challenge affects both adults and children (of all ages).

Our yeshivos and day schools do a wonderful job trying to instill the necessary knowledge to enable our children to become proper inheritors of the mesorah. However, they have a limited time in which to impart information, convey proper instruction, and to inspire. It is in the home where Torah knowledge must come alive. It is parents who must lead by their inspired example, and who must show their children the beauty and warmth of Judaism. It is the job of every parent to convey to their child that serving God and keeping His mitzvos is always a privilege and never a burden.

That being said, I believe that our educational institutions should examine their curricula to make sure that we are giving our children the meaning behind the things we ask them to do. It is important that we not just teach the rules but that we convey the deeper meaning, as well. Greater emphasis should be put on understanding rather than on covering ground. We must enable our students to see the applicability and usefulness of what they learn.

Many of us are products of a yeshiva/day school system that filled us with incredible amounts of information (and for that we must be eternally grateful); but we still lack the answers to the most basic of all questions, “why?” Why should I do this? Why should this matter? Why is this important (to me, my people, my God)? And as children grow up and assume multiple layers of responsibility – pressure, deadlines, expectations – they settle into routines, satisfied to “get-by” by going through the motions of halacha. A child has a lifetime to learn; but appreciation for and understanding of the Torah and mitzvos must be instilled at a relatively young age. We must create systems of adult education that enable members of our communities to continue their Jewish education in a significant and substantive fashion. Torah learning for adults should not consist of merely catching a shiur here or a dvar Torah there – or even being satisfied with an hour of daf yomi. We must create a system in which developing substantive Jewish knowledge and understanding becomes a real and life-long endeavor. Creation of an adult education model that focuses on the meaning and applicability of the various facets of Judaism will arm the learner with the knowledge to feel a sense of connectedness to, and meaning within, their Judaism. Communities must conduct an educational needs assessment for their adult populations, one which identifies the weak spots in communal understanding and then create an adult education system to address these needs.

2. We Don’t Know God.

In any relationship, passion requires knowledge of your partner. While we surely are incapable of comprehending the full profundity of God, the attempt to appreciate the Ribbono Shel Olam is a pre-requisite to spiritual inspiration.

The Rambam (Yisodei HaTorah 2:2) writes: “What is the path that leads one to love and revere God? When a person begins to contemplate God’s actions and awesome creations and through them sees the awesomeness of God … He will come to love and praise God.” Despite our inability to comprehend the totality of God, we must strive to appreciate whatever is within our grasp. In order to feel inspired/connected, we must know (at least in some small fashion) with whom we are trying to connect.

A relationship with God requires learning about God, and exploring issues of faith and the discipline of Emunah. Just saying “I believe” is insufficient. Nor is it realistic to assume that someone will just fall into belief simply because it is all around him or her. We must contemplate and cogitate in order to connect.

A relationship with God must begin in one’s formative years. As we begin to teach children the episodes and events of the Chumash, we must see these narratives as opportunities to teach pivotal lessons of emunah (Why did God create the World? What does He need from us? How was Avraham able to listen to the command of Lech Lecha issued from a God he didn’t know or see? What did Avraham think of God when he was commanded to sacrifice Yitzchak? Why does God always feel the need to test us?). This process must again be a parent/school partnership. From the school perspective, it may be of greater benefit to learn less commentary and use the episodes themselves as a foundation for launching age-appropriate, emunah-based discussions. Parents must be armed with a well-rounded understanding of the basic principles of emunah and use “teachable moments” to make sure our children are not just growing in their behavioral Judaism but are maturing spiritually as well.

Our children are questioning even when they don’t articulate those questions. Cultivating a chinuch approach that encourages an understanding of Hashem (recognizing that we will always fall short) will enable children to feel connected, not just to the Biblical personalities but to God, Himself. It is not enough to discuss Hashem with our children; we must help them understand Him.

Yet, again we are confronted with the above-mentioned dynamic – many of us lack the basic understanding of emunah-based principles. This must be part of the adult education framework discussed in the first section. We must always remember that it is never too late to acquire the necessary knowledge to build a meaningful relationship with God.

3. We are Looking for Instant Spirituality

We live in an age where everything must be “on-demand.” If it takes too long to get “something” a plan must be devised to circumvent the wait. While this may be beneficial in certain areas of life, it is highly counter-productive in the arena of spiritual development. An inspired Jewish life requires much work and exertion – there are no short cuts. As the famous adage states, “the greatest segulah to become a talmid chochom is to sit and learn.” Inspirational Judaism requires a daily commitment to Torah, tefilah and chessed, even though these activities often do not feel “uplifting.” In fact, perhaps it is these very moments of challenge that test the true mettle of our spiritual commitment. One must learn the art of commitment to the service of God even in the absence of spiritual fire-works. If a person maintains his commitment over time, all will coalesce, and the feelings of connectedness, inspiration and zeal will come. Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev extols the ability to self-inspire through diligent, sustained and committed work as the pinnacle of spiritual accomplishment.

In a culture dominated by instantaneous results, it is difficult to promote the virtue of perseverance. Nevertheless, it may be the key to spiritual growth.

This is the most difficult challenge to overcome because the values we need to become spiritually successful are counter-cultural. However, I do feel that if the first two issues are handled in a methodical, thoughtful fashion such that people begin to see the meaning and beauty in their Judaism and begin to feel connected to a God they are struggling to understand, we will begin to develop the staying-power for the life-journey ahead.

We must remember that our people has faced these challenges throughout the generations, but we remain strong, committed and filled with beautiful and holy potential.

Let us hope that in the merit of trying to raise the level of spiritual consciousness throughout the ranks of our people we will be privileged to come closer to God and to one another as well.

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

Rabbi Bentzion Twerski

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

Is Serving Hashem Still a “Jewish” Ideal?

THE CHAZAN BEGINS TO SING a beautiful, heartfelt melody of Lecho Dodi. While several musically inclined congregants join the singing, the majority are engrossed in Parsha sheets or are peering deeply into a sefer. In fact, the more “true Bnai Torah” in the room, the more open seforim will be seen. Have you observed this in your shul?

Is learning Torah a problem? Heaven forbid! Does this practice speak of a larger problem in our Yiddishkeit? It sure does!

I recall davening in Bobov one Friday night, when I was still a bochur (single). At that time, my great uncle, the Bobover Rav, zt”l, was still in excellent health. During Lecho Dodi, he came upon a chossid learning, and, reaching from behind him, closed the sefer. Not realizing who had invaded his space, the chossid jumped up, ready to challenge the intrusion – and was greeted with the Bobover Rav’s words, “zman Torah l’chud, zman tefilah l’chud;” there is a time to learn, and there is a time to daven.

I recall this incident as illustrating the Bobover Rav’s understanding of a fundamental lack of balance in the practice of our Yiddishkeit. Almost 300 years ago, the talmidei Baal Shem Tov described a generation unable to find feeling and fulfillment in tefilah or mitzvos. These giants of spirit despaired for their generation – a generation of Torah scholars who were only able to relate to the intellectual pursuit of Torah study, such that service of the heart was relegated to the generally uneducated masses. In response, the talmidei Baal Shem launched a movement designed to expose the majesty and depth of Torah study, tefilah and mitzvah fulfillment, and to make this majesty accessible to all Jews, regardless of their level of formal Torah education.

History repeats itself. The only difference between then and now is that in our day, we know – at least deep in our hearts – that we should be yearning though we are not, singing, when we do not. We realize that we have surrendered to laziness – or worse yet to apathy – in all too many areas of Jewish life. Yet, how can we expect anything of the masses when so many of our leaders themselves have succumbed to the same indifference with regard to their avodah?

These attitudes are so pervasive that they are institutionalized. It is quite common for minyonim in all segments of the Torah world to have imposed time limits, making it virtually impossible to have a true avodah experience. A baal tefilah who extends the davening time by even a few minutes will not be asked to lead the davening again.

And though we might readily admit our difficulty in elevating our tefilah to an appropriate level, we must acknowledge the need to strengthen the seriousness and passion that we bring to our observance of other mitzvos, as well. Perhaps a significant cause of our disconnect with mitzvos is the absence of “hachana l’mitzvah” (preparation for the mitzvah). Perhaps the thought and energy in preparing to perform a mitzvah is the exact exercise necessary to create the mind-set and energy that allow us to actually feel the mitzvah experience. Today, such preparations are no longer necessary, and thus not pursued, and our connection to mitzvos suffers. It has gotten to the point where virtually every mitzvah item can be purchased – from pop-up sukkahs to pop-off olive-oil Chanukah candles, pre–tied tzitzis to pre-baked challos and matzos – and, the list goes on and on. How many still take pride in dirtying their hands in the baking of matzos or grating the horseradish for the seder? What sort of satisfaction can we expect from mitzvos when our investment in them is practically non-existent?

Baruch Hashem, Torah learning has become a central dimension of our Yiddishkeit. The number of people learning Torah, regardless of background, is astounding. Yet, many forget that without integrating avodah into our daily regimen there can be no mitzvah of limud HaTorah. It is no wonder that Chazal strongly condemn those who learn Torah without an emphasis on yiras shomayim (e.g., Yuma 72b). Our chachomim understood that Torah study unaccompanied by a focus on connecting to HKBH leads to wholesale abandonment of all aspects of avodah (service), including limud HaTorah (learning Torah) itself. There have even been examples in history of the Jewish people of brilliant Torah scholars delighting in the give and take of pilpul haTorah (Talmudic analysis) – on Shabbos while puffing away on a cigar.

To be very candid, there must first be an acknowledgment of the problem before any available solutions can be accessed. As long as we deceive ourselves that Torah study alone is adequate, we will not have any reason to change. The moment we are willing to confront our emptiness with an honest admission of our lack of balance, we can begin to take steps in the right direction.

Avodah means to serve. Avodah also means hard work. Avodah requires preparation and toil. Even if we decided to commit to changing our attitudes towards avodah, it is extremely hard to find time for serious preparation. There are no shortcuts. Yet it will be one of the most rewarding investments of time we will ever make.

Let us look at ideas and solutions offered by those who have had success and who lived with tremendous passion, vibrancy and excitement in their avodah. This process begins with a fundamental understanding and awareness that Torah study, tefilah and mitzvah performance represent an awesome privilege. The very fact that a mortal human being can “serve” the Infinite Creator offers a “mind-blowing” perspective. An obvious benefit of “the privilege perspective” is the added desire to perform as much of the preparation for a mitzvah as we can with our own hands. Preparation is not an issue of necessity; rather, it is a vital manifestation of our excitement about the amazing opportunity we have to serve Hashem!

The most successful medium to ignite the passion we seek is to join a chevra, a supportive group of mivakshim (seekers), who offer much encouragement and occasional rebuke, all of which helps each individual in the group grow and flourish. Each of us can identify these souls in our circle of influence and invite them to create a vaad (group) wherein we commit to invigorate one another, and inspire each other to reach for deeper, more meaningful avodah.

Similarly, we must choose, if possible, a serious and balanced place to daven, where passion and excitement toward tefilah and mitzvos create a contagious atmosphere for consistent and enthusiastic insights toward a “holistic” approach in avodas Hashem. If our weekdays are just too rushed, we must utilize Shabbos and Yom Tov to their fullest to allow our neshomos to experience the connection for which it is so starved.

Perhaps the most valuable resource at our disposable is the wealth of avodah-geared divrei Torah we can learn in order to prepare for these amazing encounters with our Creator. Individuals must find the unique flavor that meets their individual taste. Oftentimes, this involves trial and error. What’s more, our tastes will evolve over time, requiring different and more developed guidance as we grow and develop. Seforim such as Nesivos Shalom, Ohr Gedalyahu, and Shem Mishmuel are but a few examples of seforim that have appealed to thousands of searchers and have inspired growth in avodah. The list of quality hashkafic material, now available in English, can keep us interested and fascinated literally for a lifetime.

Every mitzvah has a wealth of literature written about how to fulfill it in both halacha and hashkofo. When one learns the halachos in preparation for each mitzvah, the experiential rewards are immeasurable. I have found insights in seforim written hundreds of years ago that are so penetrating and relevant – that are addressing challenges that are so timely – that it seems they were written expressly for our generation alone, offering us guidance about where we should be headed and how we should get there.

This is especially true in the case of tefilah. If we had benefited from the many seforim helping us to understand that tefilah is a vehicle to take us from point A to point B, providing us with a deep understanding of the mechanics in conducting this journey, we couldn’t possibly interrupt our davening with idle conversation. We certainly would not allow are tefilah to be disrupted by other forms of avodah, such as Torah study, that have no place in the midst of our davening. I have recently come upon a set of seforim called Lilmod Eich L’hispallel that offers great advice and insight into each section of davening and what it is designed to accomplish.

Ultimately, we need to go back to the sources for direction. The roadmap is before us; we just need to seek it out. Join a chevra, get a guide, acquire a particular mehalech and embark on this wondrous adventure. Utilize the seasons before us to delve into the halachos of each timely mitzvah. Become familiar with some of the fascinating controversies surrounding the fulfillment of these mitzvos. We will be amazed how a Shabbos or Yom Tov table can be transformed by a meaningful debate regarding the different opinions held about the issues at hand.

Get physically involved in some form of preparation for each and every mitzvah.

Delve into the depths of machshova and hashkofoh that each majestic encounter with Hashem offers us. In order to succeed in our quest for connection, we must garner our energy and focus – we must give it our all!

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

Rabbi Yitzchok Feigenbaum

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

Been There, Done That: Why Being Frum Is So Boring

“SO YOUR PARENTS PUSH YOU into the right Bais Yaakov, you go to the right camp and seminary and build your resume. Then your father buys you some cliché to marry, you have a daughter that you push into the right school, camp and seminary and you build her resume so she can marry a cliché. Then we all die.” This overview of Yiddishkeit did not come from visibly “at risk” teens. The above summation of life’s goals comes from your establishment, “good family, good girl” Bais Yaakov girl. And there are hundreds like her. It is the girl’s equivalent of “Rebbe – another day, another daf – till I snag a good shidduch, live off my shver and then get out.”

It was in a very insular and protected frum community where I was asked by the senior class, “Doesn’t everyone do Yiddishkeit just because everyone else does? No one really knows if it is true – right?” Then there was a lively discussion about goyish music – with the students all well versed in the latest singers. Underneath the (double-starched, designer) white shirts and buttoned up uniforms, we have a generation with too many teens who are disconnected, disenchanted and who firmly believe (as one teen put it) that “the emperor has no clothes.”

These young people have no vision; they don’t even have any pride in being contributing members of Klal Yisroel. On the whole, we may be successful in ensuring that our teenaged children do nothing terribly bad, but we are failing to inspire them to doing anything terribly good either! Just surf through the social media. Speak with your children’s camp counselors, and it will be evident that the pervasiveness of cell phones, Internet, and boy-girl relationships are merely external manifestations of a spiritual malaise more severe than any in our memory.

In truth, Klal Yisroel actually had the exact same situation over 3,000 years ago. Chazal tell us that Bnei Yisroel in Egypt were idol worshippers and on the “49^th level” of impurity. Yet we are also told that they did not change their Jewish names, language or dress. Thus, you had a Jew named Moishele, with the “gantze levush” (overt Jewish clothing) singing karaoke in an Egyptian bar on Friday night – in lashon hakodesh! To rephrase that in today’s terms, they walked the walk and talked the talk, but they had all but severed their connection with their source. And as a result, they were rotting inside, with no morals and skewed hashkafos (beliefs and perspectives). That is much of today’s generation!

To Take it Deeper

Chazal tell us that ain haShechina shoreh ela mitoch simcha – the Divine Presence will not rest on someone unless they are in a state of simcha – joy. And Chazal tell us that ain simcha k’hatoras hasefaikos – there is no greater joy than resolving one’s doubts. The greatest doubts we all have are doubts about ourselves. Do I make a difference? Where do I fit in? And, this is especially true for teenagers. Without addressing these issues and resolving these doubts – we can all DO Judaism (walk the walk) but may never connect to the Divine. That is the state we are in today.

Why Today?

• Western culture today puts its primary emphasis on external accomplishments and on “the bottom line,” downplaying the importance of the process: we think too little of our personal struggles, private milestones and small, yet significant, victories. This attitude has seeped into Torah society.
• The outside world is much scarier than ever before. I tell my students all the time that I am in awe of how they handle nisyonos (challenges) that never existed in my days or ever before. However, the Torah community has reacted to this new reality by “circling the wagons,” attempting to insulate our children through a patchwork of rules and regulations. In the process, we have lost sight of positive education. With all the focus on form and externals, the content, beauty, and hashkafa of Yiddishkeit is taken for granted.
• The elephant in the room – shidduchim. We put form over content here as well, directing our children to do what is best for their shidduch resume rather than what is best for their neshama. As a young lady once told me, “I always thought I would marry someone who liked me. It appears that I am supposed to marry someone who likes my school.” This focus, and its inconsistency with our assertion that our foremost concern is avodas Hashem, is not lost on our teenagers, who view the world in black and white and are quick to cry hypocrisy.
• A student once exclaimed to me, “I wish I would have been alive during the Holocaust – I could have been a hero and someone would have written a book about me. Now I am just another good girl who does chesed.” Everyone wants to move up a step, improve on the past, and feel they have conquered new heights and done something for the greater good. But what is left today? Taliesim will never slip again, no one is forced to work on Shabbos, everything is kosher, and chesed is institutionalized. Where is the next Torah frontier to conquer? The easiest way to get that feeling of growth is to focus on the external – anything you can do I can do stricter, and the school with the most rules wins. Why? Because internal growth is hard to measure and, for societal reasons, frum people are not comfortable talking about “connections to Hashem” and “spiritual growth.”

Possible Solutions

Sara Shneirer was quoted as saying that the reason she started Bais Yaakov was: “To make frum girls from frum homes proud and excited about their Yiddishkeit.” This must be the goal of our Yeshivos and Bais Yaakovs. We cannot take for granted that just because our children speak and dress Jewishly – just like the “lo shinu es l’shonam etc.” in Egypt – that somehow they will magically find Yiddishkeit more pulsating, exciting and satisfying than the outside world (which they all know about). Mechanchim (educators) now understand that the key is to give our talmidim and talmidos (students) a sense of accomplishment, uniqueness and individual self-worth as a contributing member to Klal Yisroel in their own unique way. The question is – how?

Encourage Individualism: We must each appreciate our respective, unique roles in Klal Yisrael, and this must begin with how we are educated. “She (Frau Sara Shneirer) loved her girls and respected their differences. She did not wish to transform the seminary into a melting pot. She instilled behavioral rules . . . but she respected the students’ distinctive characteristics and lifestyles.” How many of our yeshivos and Bais Yaakovs are perceived this way by their students? Educators and parents must have the confidence to articulate to their students and children that Klal Yisroel is made up of twelve different shevatim (tribes). Each had its own path through the Yam Suf (Red Sea), with its own distinct flag, role, color of stone on the choshen (breastplate of the High Priest), and its own Nasi (leader). If teens see just one path available to them (or if teens sense that any other path, though theoretically open, will disappoint the adults who are important to them) their only alternative will be to opt out. Simply put, if chinuch is experienced by teens as “beds of Sodom” (which had one size – anyone too tall would have their feet amputated and anyone too short would be stretched out to fit), many of them will necessarily emerge crippled.

Validate their Struggles: Rav Dessler, in his essay “Nekudas Habchira,” points out that true growth comes only from conquering struggles. As great as Lot’s mesirus nefesh (self sacrifice) for hachnosas orchim (welcoming guests) was, such hospitality came naturally to him and was not a zechus (merit) that could save him from the destruction of Sodom. The merit that saved him in Sodom was his struggle to keep Avraham and Sarah’s secret (that they were not brother and sister) when he entered Egypt with them, though that information could have earned him favor and riches from Pharaoh. Though not betraying his sister and brother-in-law was hardly an impressive feat when view objectively, it was a monumental challenge for Lot personally, and he was rewarded for overcoming it.

As adults, we must view our avodas Hashem in this manner, and once again it begins with how we are taught while still young. Our children must be made aware, through every means available, that their worth is NOT the package they were handed as a gift from Hashem (last name, intelligence, financial status, appearance, etc.) but rather what they do with those gifts. In our homes and schools, we must emphasize that the stars and leaders are those who conquer their struggles, not those who rest on their laurels and naturally rise to the top by virtue of their gifts.

Embrace Failure: A major cause of our lack of simcha is our inability to cope with life’s inevitable failures and shortcomings, and the overall feeling of impotence that follows. We must learn to cope with, and grow from, failure. This learning must begin with youngsters, who also need much more room to exercise their decision-making muscles. No one learns anything without practice. How will they learn to make decisions, and to take responsibility for both successes and failures unless they are encouraged to make such decisions? How will they learn to handle failure if they do not have opportunities to fail and get back up?

Our community must reintroduce the emphasis on sheva yipol tzaddik v’kam (seven times the righteous falls, and gets up) – the tzaddik is not someone who never falls, but rather someone who gets back up. As Rav Hutner, zt”l, explains, it is actually the very falling that creates a tzaddik! One who confides in a friend or Rebbe of a yerida (fall) should be made to feel like a hero! He should be told that the pain this causes him is a sure reflection of a serious connection to the Shechina (presence of G-d) and that he is surely on a good path. This attitude would encourage real internal growth; even without ever having a book written about us, we can each be a true Jewish hero. As a student once told me, “You let us make dumb mistakes without feeling dumb for making them.”

Honesty in Chinuch: This demands a change in the culture of our schools and in our entire education system. Schools today are judged by whom they admit (or better – whom they reject) rather than by the type of student they produce. We all smirked when we heard Rav Shteinman, shlit”a’s comment that if Avraham Avinu or Rivka Imeinu were applying to school today, no yeshiva or Bais Yaakov would take them. But it is true. Parents need to stop using schools as vehicles to create an image. Principals are forced to betray their educational values for fear of losing their parent body. All this reinforces in our children (who know very well how the system works) that form and externals are key, thus increasing their sense of emptiness.

Principals must be allowed to educate freely without fear of reprisal by parents. School rules must be made for the good of the students, not for the image of the school. Kids smell that. Rules that cannot be enforced should not be introduced, and children should not be required to sign declarations that are known to be false. These practices reinforce the destructive culture of form over content. The structure of hashkafa, mussar and halacha classes should be designed to ensure that our students will be prepared to live with kedusha once they have moved beyond high school. They should know the sources for what we ask them to do, what is d’oraysa, what is minhag, what is a school rule, and what is simply community shtik (i.e., unimportant). They should be taught the reasons and beauty behind what we ask them to do. And if we don’t know – we must admit that we don’t know.

Encourage Questions: Rav Wolbe, zt”l, (as quoted by his son-in-law at a Torah Umesorah convention) said: “There is no such thing as an apikorsus (heretical) question – there are only apikorsus answers.” Students and adults alike throughout our community are finding that there are serious questions that require discussion. Yiddishkeit cannot remain in the “fairytale” state of elementary school, which was based on The Little Midrash Says. They must see the depth and truth – and their thinking must be encouraged and validated. When questions are avoided, the result is not increased commitment. To the contrary – it promotes the assumption that there are no answers, – and THAT is apikorsus.

One Last Concept: In the gemara in Bava Basra, we find that a sale forced upon a seller against his will can sometimes be ruled a valid sale, while a sale imposed on a buyer will never be enforced. The Ketzos HaChoshen explains that this halacha reflects a truth of human nature. A person can adjust to losing something he wanted to keep but something can never become his if he does not want it.

The same is true in Yiddishkeit. Our students and children can adjust to restrictions and can be forced to give things up. But it is impossible to acquire a connection to Hashem if they do not choose it for themselves. There is no means to make Yiddishkeit our own unless we appreciate it on our terms, perceiving its beauty, absorbing its value and developing a personal connection that will define our existence.

One Last Suggestion: Though a broom is crucial to the upkeep of a shul – and without it, davening in the shul would not be appropriate – I have never seen a broom with a silver handle. The Sefer Torah, by contrast, is beautifully adorned with silver and is treated with the utmost kavod. The message is unmistakable – we come to shul to honor the Torah, not the appearance of the building.

Whether we intend them or not, such messages are communicated about the importance to us of the inner experience of ruchniyus in similar ways – by the relative emphasis we place on the various elements of our lives. If we want ruchniyus to have the pride of place it deserves in the lives of our children, we must ensure that these values are noticeably honored and respected above others.

Thus, rebbes and moros must have the availability to stay after class and talk to our children because, thanks to their sufficient salaries, they are not rushing off to other jobs at our children’s expense. They should be able to spend time at night calling parents or preparing differentiated worksheets for different students, because Baruch Hashem, we have taken care to provide for their worldly needs. Furthermore, our children should see their rebbes and moros treated as royalty by laymen, boards and parents. Only then will our children believe the words we mouth to them about the beauty of Torah, the value of getting a good chinuch, and of acquiring good midos.

Jean Piaget, the noted educational psychologist, was known for espousing the concept that education means giving students the tools to figure things out on their own. L’havdil, we find a similar concept in the davening. In every shemoneh esrei (and in many other tefilos), we say “Elokeinu vElokei Avoseinu” – in that order, identifying Hashem first as our Elokim and only then as Elokei Avoseinu – that of our forefathers. We recognize our own relationship with Hashem before we say Elokei Avoseinu – a reference to our mesorah. If we want our children to follow in our footsteps, we must give them the space and encouragement to first create their own personal relationship with ruchniyus so they can appreciate their priceless heritage.

Until that happens, don’t be surprised if the speech you give your daughter about the length of her skirt, or your son about his quick davening, will only elicit in their minds the observation that “this emperor has no clothes.”

Rabbi Dr. Dovid Fox

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

The Abandonment of the Soul: The Struggle of Dispirited Observant Jews

THERE ARE SOME SADLY CONSISTENT FINDINGS in clinical work with those who voice disenchantment with religion: religious observance does not guarantee a spiritual experience, spirituality is hard to define, we don’t talk about or teach spirituality. This can be a clinical and an existential issue for Orthodox Jews, of all backgrounds.

Disappointment may surface among those who have adopted the Torah lifestyle by choice, such as gerei tzedek (sincere converts), baalei teshuva, and chozrim b’teshuva (those who left observance, only to return). It seems more common among individuals from these groups whose original quest for religious affiliation centered on a search for spirituality. That is, among those who have run to Torah in search of existential meaning and fulfillment of a sense of numinous void, a familiar complaint is that strict practice of Judaism is dominated by a halachic emphasis. Halachichally-bound Judaism prioritizes a cognitive focus, which seldom promotes sensory, intuitive and affective experiences during religious practices (picture for example how people pull out their watches during tekias sofer to make sure the blast is timed precisely long enough for them to “hear it correctly”).

For those who have come to Torah running from personal conflicts, such as life stresses, or histories of poor interpersonal adaptation – where spirituality or lack of it has not been a significant prior concern – later disappointment with Judaism does not tend to center on complaints of experiential sterility or hypoactive spirituality. So, among those who are new to Orthodoxy, the degree of spiritual letdown is positively correlated with the poignancy of their original search for spiritual fulfillment.

There is an emerging element among long-term, religious “FFBs” (Frum from Birth) who also struggle with the recognition that they have become dispirited. In the 1970s, a popular bumper sticker proclaimed “I Found It!” Predictably, there were counter-stickers asserting, “I Never Lost It!” I had a neighbor back then who in turn stuck a bumper sticker on his car proclaiming “I Lost It.” There are those within the Orthodox world, once invested in the fervor of their traditions, and comfortable with their grasp of its theological tenets and mysteries, who report that they have noticed a diminution of spiritually-inspired practice. In contrast with the “Adults at Risk” whom some have identified as Orthodox Jews who grew up without any spiritual ties to their observant behavior, the Dispirited Observant (DO) are Jews who struggle to rediscover the now-absent passion and palpable faith which once directed their religious behavior. In the “War against Spiritual Attrition,” these are the “Walking Wounded.” They are still “on the derech.” They continue to conduct themselves along halachic and traditional guidelines, yet with the troubling recognition that their “observant behavior” is mediated by automatic pilot.

The DO finds him or herself drifting between two worlds. Propriety and avoiding prisha min ha’tzibur (separating from the community) demand that they maintain their level of ritual observance, for diminished practice means alienation of, and alienation by, their religious peers. At the same time, however, aligning themselves with a newly-inspired “baal teshuva” milieu can create its own discomforts. A DO can drift on the margin of both groups, knowing too much to fit in with the latter group, and “feeling” too little to identify with the former.

To ponder spiritual questions, to wonder aloud about the mystical meaning of various commonplace practices, to disclose a yearning for greater inspiration, to insist on long, focused davening in an effort to transcend the distractions of both secular preoccupations and congregational chatter when in shul, risks branding one as a “BT,” as alienating others or as veering from the norm. As the old joke goes, when does a baal teshuva know that he has finally made it in the frum world? When he talks during chazaras ha’shatz (repetition of the Amidah). The long-term religious often are not perceived by the neophytes as spiritually invested, and often do not perceive themselves as such.

Working with DO’s in both clinical and rabbinic practice, a common theme is that spirituality was never well defined and was never really talked about either at home or in yeshiva education. In my examination of the dispirited and disillusioned, I have noted that the large majority of DO’s – and most of the religious-by-habit – have not thought about, much less restructured, their “god concept” since childhood. Thus, the understanding one has about the Divine and His relationship with mortal man, including one’s subjective sense of personal interaction with the Above, is often frozen in the preconscious ice of early childhood when children first begin hearing about the notion that there is One Hashem in the heavens.

Consider this: In healthy development, our values, our moral sense, our ethical sense and our psychosocial standards mature over time with reflective contemplation, with experience, with study and with clarification of what we believe. Ideally, our spiritual development should do the same. If we do not contemplate our sense of the Sacred, if we do not peer into the nature of our beliefs, if we do not reflect on our experience of hashgachic (providential) encounter, and if we do not discuss our religious process with others – at least with those with whom we are close and with those who mentor us – then our spirit stagnates, fixated somewhere back in earlier life where holiness was amorphous, primitive and possibly predicated on an ignorantly pagan understanding. As the mind grows and the spirit is neglected, the resultant asymmetry leads to affective constriction, disenchantment and psychological atrophy of the soul.

Where do we turn to in our flailing efforts to find spiritual succor? In the yeshiva world, it may be the sifrei mussar (mussar books) and the shmuezin (talks) offered by luminary teachers. It may be the power-point presentations availed by one or another kiruv outfit. It might be sought out in English texts, moving CDs of religious-sounding music, niflaos haBorae (wonders of the Creator) nature walks, or as more than one rabbi has confided to me, by listening to evangelical broadcasts on the car radio. One may seek out spiritual arousal in pilgrimages to Berditchev, Uman or Auschwitz. Some look for it in Tzfas, at the Kosel or in Ponevezh. Some try meditating, some feel emotionally charged through various practices which may have nothing to do with spirituality, and some end up seeking a sense of connection through means which are decidedly antithetical to our Torah’s way of life. The Torah forecasts (Devarim 4:29) u’bikashtem mi-sham – once you find yourselves in exile, you will start seeking out G-d – and this has begun happening within our own ranks.

I have suggested in other articles that our best efforts to find spirituality must begin with our candid recognition that we do not necessarily possess it merely because we behave religiously. We need to look at our questions, we need to assess what we are missing internally – be it something emotional or something lacking in our formal education about our faith and practices – and then we can work on u’bikashtem mi-sham. We need to identify our needs and then seek guidance on where to search for answers.

Learning a mussar sefer is far more productive when one first hungers for a specific form of enlightenment. It is even more productive when the sefer selected actually addresses that aspect of spiritual enlightenment. That is, if I know that I want to broaden my grasp of the profound mystical resonance between my behavior and the heavenly spheres, I am better off studying Nefesh HaChaim than Orchos Tzadikim. If I seek to better sensitize myself to caring deeply about Jewish people, I might do better with Orchos Tzadikim than with Mesilas Yesharim. If I want to devise a system for internal cultivation of the soul, I might then study Mesilas Yesharim before Moreh HaNevuchim. Learning any mussar can be a catalyst for change, but is maximally helpful at a spiritual level when focused, directed and personalized. Like the light bulb in the therapist’s office, we have to want to change, and we must determine what kind of enduring change can be accomplished and how.

Cultivation of the spiritual senses also requires dialogue as well as monologue. If we allow our colloquial “baruch Hashem”s and “b’ezras Hashem”s to comprise our psycholinguistic efforts to talk about the Divine, we relegate our G-d sense into unmindful reflex. If you want to test this out, try saying “Blessed is G-d” or “With the helping will of the One Above” next time you speak with your Jewish brethren and you will find them puzzled, yet find yourself beginning to feel more faithful. You may be teased that you sound like a preacher, or asked if you are a baal teshuva. Choosing words that give us pause to take them seriously, to mean them, facilitates internal movement. We need to develop an internal monologue that puts Hashem in the forefront of our consciousness, and we need to share openly our feelings and thoughts about Him if He is to become for us a reality rather than a word.

We read about “small miracles,” we are “touched by a story,” and we are often swift to comment about the hashgacha or the yad Hashem (hand of G-d) implicit in some anecdote, whether our own or someone else’s. But do we let it stop there? If so, we are giving lip service to the orthopractical notion that when something works out – or doesn’t – it is not mere coincidence. However, that has as much spiritual impact as typing LOL when someone sends you a joke. You sidestep the potential experience of a moving encounter, whether humorous or numinous, by using a cliché in lieu of actually processing the experience mindfully. No one has actually laughed out loud before typing LOL. They are responding with the expected word formula in lieu of an actual experience.

When King Solomon speaks about mussar haskel (Mishlei 1:3), I believe that he intends this as “being moved internally through thorough processing of a lesson.” We need to move ourselves, and that requires mindful processing of our psycho-spiritual moments. I must confess that many years ago, I was invited to participate in a psycho-spiritual group of Jewish mental health professionals, to discuss ways to develop greater spiritual feelings in our personal and professional lives. The group limped along for about a year, with the dropouts complaining that discussing faith, trust, deep yearnings and transcendence was too “goyish” or it was “bitul Torah.” Others said that these are things you keep private. I believe that if we claim to keep them private, they may not actually exist. The Taoist saying that “he who knows does not tell; he who tells does not know” is not consistent with our outlook. Whereas one’s inner growth may involve tznius (privacy) and the concealing of some material, our professed beliefs are not a secret and belong in mindful dialogues with those who are similarly in search of religious meaning.

Kol Dodi Dofek. God In Search Of Man. The Strife of The Spirit. Jewish thinkers have long explored the neglected sense of the Sacred, perhaps in anticipation of the dead-end experience many in our camp have begun to encounter. Struggle is healthy. It is important. Wrestling with the malach (angel), including the internal malach, is part of being a person of faith. Conflict is also healthy, for it signifies a thinking and discerning person who has become self-aware and honest. We can help ourselves and our students by remaining honest and encouraging honesty about the phenomenological quest for a Torah-true spiritual experience. “Fortunate is one who finds strength in You, through different paths to the heart” (Tehillim 84:6). Surely this process belongs in the home and in the yeshiva, so that it is does not end up in the therapist’s office.

Chaya Newman

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

A Time for Inspiration

THE ALLEGED PERCEPTION that there is an “increasing number of Jews across the spectrum who feel no meaningful connection to Hashem, His Torah or even His People” is unfortunately more than a perception – it is reality. It is the latest manifestation of a struggle that dates all the way back to the time of the Prophets.

בנים גדלתי ורוממתי והם פשעו בי. ידע שור קנהו וחמור אבוס בעליו, ישראל לא ידע, עמי לא התבונן …ישעיה א–ג

“Children have I raised and exalted, but they have rebelled against Me. An ox knows his owner and a donkey his master’s trough; but Israel does not know! My people do not comprehend.”

כי תבאו לראות פני מי בקש זאת מידכם רמס חצרי?… ישעיה א–יג

“When you come [without feeling] to appear before Me (with offerings), [I say,] ‘who sought this from your hand? You trample My courtyards.’”

Again and again Hashem said that Bnei Yisrael have distanced themselves from Him, and by rote they bring Him offerings.

In these times, when tefilah is in lieu of offering, we find the same disconnect between from the words of our mouths and the feelings in our hearts.

Yet, today as in yesteryear, we have impressive meals on Yom Tov, elaborated seders on Pesach and lots of dancing on Simchas Torah, but Hashem still asks:

החפץ לה’ בעולות וזבחים..כשמע בקול ה’?’ שמואל א טז:כב

“Does Hashem want the multitude of offerings after the sins were committed… as He wants us to listen to His voice”?

Does He only want an elaborate seder table or does He want us to experience the thrill of newfound freedom from slavery as if we were part of the Exodus from Egypt? Sadly, it is human nature to overemphasize the externals and almost completely neglect the internal.

For some unclear reasons, mitzvos are too often observed by rote. Tefilah and a facade of genuine Jewishness is a masquerade, behind which very proper, even Haimeshe people daven and keep mitzvos, though they are on autopilot.

איכה היתה לזונה קריה נאמנה? ישעיה א:כא

 “How has the faithful city become a זונה?”

זונה/זנות in many places in Navi does not refer to illicit relationships, but to idol worship. Idol worship is not an issue today, so what is זנות? I dare say it refers to the new god – the god of money, luxury, and accumulations of goods. That is the god that is worshipped assiduously, more often, I dare say, than Hakadosh Boruch Hu Himself.

G-dliness is no longer felt in the home; “observances” are mostly done as cultural identification. G-d feels that emptiness behind the tefilos and customs. There is so little heart-and-soul in the daily and Yom Tov tefilos and traditions. (On Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, I would like to believe that most are genuinely praying for their life and health). But generally there is a disconnect between “action” and meaning.

The following is a true story, which is a particularly sad illustration of how badly some are suffering from this problem. Some details have been changed to protect identities.

A frum young lady, of marriageable age, entered an online chat room (after her parents went to sleep) and came across a question, “Is there a frum female person online?” She responded to the inquiry and soon discovered that she shared many mutual thoughts and feelings with her interlocutor – a young man. They agreed to make a date, and though they liked each other, it turned out that she wasn’t “the one” for this young man.

The girl, let’s call her Chana, enjoyed this whole experience of meeting new people this way and was interested in doing more of the same. It wasn’t hard to find young men who were interested and she began meeting more and more new people. While all these young men identified and indeed dressed frum, some of them were not satisfied just talking to each other and she allowed them to do most of what they wanted. This went on for months. That first young man was still in touch with Chana from time to time and she was open with him. Ironically, he was very concerned with her self-destructive behavior and prevailed upon her to see a therapist.

Chana went to a frum female therapist and they were interacting successfully in discussing her loose behaviors. The sixth session was right before Yom Kippur and the therapist asked her “How are you going to deal withעל חטא  and with ווידוי  (the confessions)?”

Chana was perplexed so her therapist elaborated. “How are you going to approach the mitzvah to confess to G-d what you have done wrong, experience regret and accept upon yourself that you will not continue in the same path?”

Chana was even more perplexed. “What does my dating activity have to do with the confessions or with G-d?”

What is the connection between what she does with these young men and G-d on Yom Kippur?!! Did no one ever communicate this to her?

This is but one of many confessions of people who are frum on the outside, speaking and dressing the part, but are not emotionally connected to Torah or halacha whatsoever. This may be an extreme case but it highlights the reality that the fundamentals of our faith are not necessarily reaching our children, despite the behaviors we observe.

Another illustration: There used to be a women’s theater group which produced very professionally plays as a fundraiser for a particular tzedaka institution. Since kosher entertainment is scarce, these plays drew crowds of religious women from all walks of life.

One program started with a few chapters of Tehillim. In the words of an observer, “As we were saying Tehillim, there was a whole group of very modestly-dressed women who were laughing and whispering amongst themselves. When someone asked them about their behavior, their response was, “What is Tehillim doing at an entertainment event?”

It is my strong feeling that we should use the same approach in teaching our own children as we use in the context of kiruv. We must face up to the fact that there is much lacking in the degree of religious fulfillment within our community and that we are suffering as a result. Worrying about money in particular – whether how to make it or how to spend it –seems to be the number one ambition of far too many of us.

I run a Saturday night program on behalf of Torah Umesorah for 10^th– and 11^th-grade high school girls from some of the top Bais Yaakov schools in my area. The emphasis for the twenty motzoei Shabbos that we get together is “Inspiration” and we have been drawing an average of more than fifty girls a week. Why? Because they are craving inspiration and emotional connection. As much as their schools teach them, they do not focus on being inspirational and, unfortunately, it doesn’t always happen by itself.

Perhaps it is time for all schools and yeshivas to create a curriculum whose main goal is inspiration and emotional connection. Moreover, every lesson should strive to include material they will view as relevant to them. Schools should ask themselves, “If I were doing kiruv, how would I reframe and adapt this lesson?” And they should do it! Of course, not every student needs it, but today, Klal Yisroel needs this urgently. Chinuch must be relevant to their life!

As to the question whether a reliable assessment can be made and the questions answered, I don’t see how this would be possible. There is a much larger group of alienated Jews who cannot fully articulate their disenfranchisement and discontent. Too many have never said it or thought it in their mind; they just act without emotion and feeling. How do we know that? Because their children come out flat, with no warmth for Yiddishkeit or halacha.

It is time for a serious consideration of Kiruv Krovim – reaching out to those close to us.

We are now in the generation of the “footsteps before the coming of Mashiach.” – a time expected to pose seemingly impossible challenges.

ועל מי יש לנו להשען – and on whom can we depend while surviving these difficult times? Only on אבינו שבשמים – our Father in Heaven.

Judith Cahn, EdD

Human development reflects the interaction between the individual and the individual’s environment.[2] For an adolescent, this includes the interrelationship of the individual with his neighborhood, community and school. Positive developmental outcomes increase dramatically when there is a good fit between the needs of individuals and their social environments. Conversely, studies evidence the negative effects of an absence of social connections.[3] In essence, a mismatch between the needs of the individual and the opportunities afforded by his social environments may predict greater risk for future psychological difficulties.

Connectedness to Family

Clearly, family environment exerts a powerful influence on the developing child, which continues through adolescence. Literature abounds on the family milieu as both a risk factor and a protective factor in adolescence, with much attention paid to the impact the parent-child relationship, the family structure, and the parenting style have on the development of the child.

The parent-child relationship begins at birth, with bonding typically occurring between parent and infant. Infants are biologically preprogrammed to form close attachments. The attachment between caregiver and child serves as the secure base from which an infant can begin to explore the world.[4]^,[5]

Deficient parental bonding and insecure attachment impact a child’s mental health and well-being.[6]^,[7]^,[8] Research has extended beyond just the parent-child relationship and has also examined the impact of the broader family structure and family dynamic on the adolescent, such as how cohesive the family is and parenting style. Family cohesion is defined as the “emotional bonding that family members have toward one another.” [9] An optimal cohesive family structure has been associated with greater well being in adolescents[10]^,[11] and has been shown to buffer negative psychological effects.[12] Overall, increased family cohesion is related to reduced risk among adolescents, suggesting that it acts as a protective factor.

However, there are varying levels of family cohesion, and extreme in any direction can also be detrimental. Families operate within invisible boundaries. Family systems can range from disengaged to enmeshed, where either extreme may prove to be a handicap for family members.

In disengaged families:

• members function separately and autonomously;
• there is minimal interdependence and minimal emotional support;
• communication is often tense and guarded.

In enmeshed families:

• family members are overly involved with each other;
• autonomy of individuals is inhibited.

While a disengaged family system may accept and protect individuality of family members, actions of one family member do not cross over rigid boundaries. In disengaged families, individual members are involved with their own work, community events, and other issues and are disconnected from each other’s lives. In an enmeshed family, by contrast, family members are over-involved with each other, and actions of one family member immediately reverberate throughout the rest of the family. Either family structure, if taken to an extreme, can be detrimental – especially to an adolescent – who is seeking to individuate developmentally, despite needing appropriate support. The ideal, therefore, is to achieve an appropriate balance of connectedness: a measured degree of cohesion, ensuring connection while fostering individuation. Parents must be present for their children, interested and involved – but not overly involved, leaving room for adolescent children to spread their wings.

Connectedness to School

One of the significant manifestations of inadequate community integration in adolescents is compromised academic achievement. Parents of adolescents reporting inadequate community integration, or connectedness, tend to describe their teenagers as lacking persistence in achieving goals.[13] This refers to an adolescent’s motivational level and the ability to follow through on tasks in school, or in general. The literature is replete with empirical evidence of the relationship between a sense of belonging in school and academic achievement.[14]^{,[15],[16],[17],[18]} Sense of belonging, a component of relatedness and connectedness, has multiple, strong effects on emotions and cognitive processes, and a lack of it has been linked to a variety of health and adjustment problems. Lack of community integration and poor experiences with the community have been shown to have long-term influences on young adult educational attainment.[19]

The intensity of peer connections for teens is evident even on a neurological level. Brain scans show how teens respond more strongly to social connections, commonly known as “peer pressure.” In fact, brain activity demonstrates that social rejection or peer exclusion are perceived by adolescents as a fundamental threat to their basic physiological existence.[20] The neurological findings explain why psychological and physical health problems and behavioral pathologies are more common among people who lack social attachments.[21]

Connectedness to Community

In light of the benefits of connectedness to community, it is critical to identify how such connectedness to community is formed. Youth connectedness to community is influenced by the quality of youth-adult exchange, availability of outlets for creative engagement, well-advertised opportunities for meaningful input, safety, perceived inclusion, knowledge of community events, and awareness of youth impact on community policies. Positive relationships and group involvement promote a healthier sense of connectedness,[22] as does religious involvement.[23]

In addressing the experiences of those who return to Orthodox Judaism (baalei teshuva), Danzger[24] describes social integration as the inclusion in the fabric of community life, shedding one’s former lifestyle and associations and becoming part of the new community. It includes adopting and conforming to the community’s norms and standards, and ultimately achieving acceptance within the group.

In analogous studies of immigrant acculturation, the need to belong is examined through the lens of how immigrants are received within communities and perceived by their communities.[25] Inclusion requires a joint commitment from both the newcomer and the community. The community needs to be in a position to accept and accommodate the new community member. Both quantitative and qualitative studies show that marginalization and exclusion have negative consequences,[26] which points to the impact of community reception of members. A study examining the perception of baalei teshuva regarding their social integration into Orthodox communities found that “…baalei teshuva often feel marginalized and develop a variety of strategies to deal with alienation by hiding their baal teshuva status or adapting to the requirements of the community in an effort to integrate, or associating primarily with other baalei teshuva to form separate communities.”[27]

In studies about how youth acculturate and how well they adapt, it is evident that those with an integrated acculturation profile had the best psychological and socio-cultural adaptation outcomes. This finding was equally evidenced in the recent study of adolescent children of newly-Orthodox Jewish parents in the United States. The study showed that adolescent children of baalei teshuva who feel well integrated into their religious community are reported by their parents to exhibit lower levels of emotional and behavioral difficulties than those who report low levels of integration. [28]

Although results from the study indicated that only 15% of the sample population reported feeling poorly integrated in the community, nevertheless, our focus should be on reducing that number and preventing any increase. It is important to note, however, that by virtue of participant recruitment, respondents, to some extent, were already connected to the Orthodox Jewish community through the Association of Jewish Outreach Programs (AJOP), the National Council of Synagogue Youth (NCSY) or included on a shul or Jewish community list. The study may not have reached those who do not feel a sense of community connectedness.

A similar study examining family functioning among returnees to Orthodox Judaism in Israel yielded comparable findings that lack of integration is related to longer-term difficulties.[29] It is evident that community integration, feelings of connectedness and a sense of belonging play a protective role for families, their children and adolescents. Community awareness that the culture in its shuls, schools, and organizations will inevitably impact the lives of families is a first step to creating a welcoming, accepting environment that yields positive results for all.

Implications for the Orthodox Jewish Community

The conclusions of the research pose serious implications for Orthodox Jewish communities. It is critical that strategies be developed and implemented to provide every opportunity for families to successfully connect with their communities. In the case of adolescents, educators and community leaders should focus on the frequency and nature of youth-adult exchanges, as well as the environments within which teens congregate. Is the community inclusive? Welcoming? Warm? Accepting?

As Jewish day schools and yeshivot tend to serve as a center of the Jewish community, school leaders must provide information and guidance to parents about how to best support their children, as well as all children within the community, on an academic, social and emotional level. Jewish educational institutions need to maintain environments that encourage student feelings of connectedness. These feelings can be achieved through student outlets for creative engagement, opportunity for meaningful input, and activities to promote positive social interactions. Given that our Torah legislates acts of kindness and inclusion, providing students with the chance to practice social skills can promote v’ahavta l’reacha kamocha, treating people the way you want to be treated.

Teachers and school administrators, who have become increasingly more educated about bully prevention, should have a heightened awareness of particular stresses that adolescents experience. We should work proactively toward the goal of creating a sense of belonging among students and their families, to ensure that all remain included and connected.

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

Shifra Rabenstein

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

The Good Old Days

DO WE HAVE A PROBLEM?

It is often true that aberrations are more pronounced than norms. We tend to notice that which diverts from the pattern the most, magnifying the problems. At the same time, identifiable problems can sometimes indicate more widespread concerns that lie beneath. Query, however, whether anyone has empirical data to quantify the problem. But, that there is some degree of problem is evident.

While the large numbers of healthy, interested, growth-oriented Jews should not be ignored, the significant numbers of disinterested, disconnected Jews living within the Orthodox community clearly deserve our attention.

Ours, of course, is not the first generation to struggle with the challenge of spiritual disconnection. The prophet Yeshaya rebuked the people of his day for trampling the courtyards of the Temple, for bringing korbanos (offerings) without proper feeling in their hearts (Rashi to Yeshaya 1:12). In fact, the Torah itself warned of this development. Amidst the admonishment in Parashas Bechukosai, we find the warning, “If you behave casually with Me…” (Vayikra 26:21). Later, in Parashas Ki Savo, the Jewish people are condemned with the words, “Because you did not serve Hashem with happiness and with goodness of heart” (Devarim 28:47). The reference is to a period during which the community is worshiping Hashem, but happiness, or enjoyment in doing so, is absent. These words seem to apply to many around us.

Much of the deterioration in various aspects of Torah life, mitzvah observance, and general sensitivity is merely symptomatic of a larger issue. We are simply less growth-oriented in general, often satisfied with a religious status quo. Inquiries focus on identifying the minimum requirement, an attitude that reflects wanting less, not more. Even the tendency for stringency in some areas reflects a desire to flow with current societal trends more than it does a desire for thoughtful, personal growth. There is much Torah observance, but little enthusiasm. There is much Torah learning, but little evidence of growth.

Priorities often indicate true values and desires. It is no secret that we find time for that which we find either enjoyable or necessary. I encounter many young women who are able to find time to exercise and shop but express an inability to find time to attend a Torah class. While physical exercise is of great importance to one’s physical health, connection to Torah learning is no doubt critical for one’s spiritual health. If only it was recognized as a priority, time would be found. I encounter too many young women with little interest in attending Torah classes or participating in learning groups once they are no longer in a formal setting. Too often, I observe Jewish holidays experienced in practice – with davening in shul and meals at home – but without thought to their significance and meaning. Too many Orthodox Jews seem to be observing mitzvos without connection or excitement.

Possible Causes

All of the following seem to be contributing factors: the basics of emunah are insufficiently addressed, the intrusion of secular culture affects our thinking, interests, and priorities, and effective changes are needed within our educational systems. I wish to identify two areas in which the root cause of the growing disconnect between individuals and their Creator may be found.

The first is in the context of our schools. Torah observance has become so routine that many have lost sight of the overall goals in avodas Hashem (service of G-d). The great opportunity to have a relationship with the Ribono Shel Olam (Master of the world) is often ignored. Numerous factors relating to the standard presentation of G-d and His Torah contribute to this unfortunate reality. First, schools often place great emphasis on technical skills. While this is a valuable approach for many reasons, it sometimes sacrifices the need for hashkafah. Second, the nature of learning Torah in a school setting is that the teacher-student relationship envisioned by the Torah cannot be prioritized. As a result, we impart information but fail to give over the warmth of Yiddishkeit, which tends to emerge through relationship. Third, it is difficult and undesirable to connect to G-d when He is often portrayed as angry or punitive.

The second is in the context of the broader Jewish community. American Jewry is blessed with exceptional religious freedom and opportunity, particularly when considered in the context of others in time and place. Torah can be learned while driving, commuting on a train or sitting at a computer. Shabbos observance is relatively easy, as is keeping kosher, with cholov Yisroel and yoshon readily available in most communities. Sukkahs can be constructed in less than an hour with pre-fab kits and rolled out schach, pre-filled, disposable, oil capsules can be inserted into our Chanukah menorahs and more kosher for Passover products appear on the shelves every year. But this ease and convenience comes at a price.

Accessibility and opportunity are accompanied by widespread apathy. Many suffer a lack of enthusiasm for what we have and who we are as Torah Jews. Perhaps it is the ease of access itself that allows for religious practice without much depth or connection. A reduced investment of time and energy may very well translate into a weaker attachment. While the community surely does not seek a return to a life in which religious observance is a struggle, the passion that often accompanies the struggle is sorely missed. When there is a need to go against the grain, we strengthen ourselves to push forward; rarely do we find apathy in those who were forced to fight for their values.

Of additional concern is that along with our community’s growth, we have seen an increase in community fragmentation. While the broader implications of this segmentation and polarization are beyond the scope of this article, these trends leave many community members living within a narrow social cocoon with little exposure to Torah observant Jews with different standards or ideas. As a result, they are not forced to examine their own thoughts or reconfirm their own beliefs and commitments.

Possible Solutions

Three substantive avenues might be considered to address the identified areas of weakness.

1. Torah education is intended to inspire students towards continued learning and personal development over the course of a lifetime. Our goal is to see these students grow in their connection to Hashem and in their desire to be connected – not simply to know a lot of information. What follows are four recommendations for our schools to work towards this desired goal.

a. Avodas Hashem is a constant balance between ahava (love) and yirah (fear). Our educational system needs to place a greater emphasis on the ahava component, showing children that they are loved by G-d and helping them to create a greater sense of simcha. I am not in a position to say whether this was always the case but it seems to be the case in our generation. We need to speak more of how much Hashem loves us and less of the tragedy that befalls us when we do not adhere to His will.

The world around us is very enticing. We need to paint a picture of Judaism as the wonderful, meaningful and exciting experience that it is. We need to create and model the passion and the “geshmak” (delicious enjoyment) that we want our students and children to have.

b. Connection to the Ribono shel Olam is often developed through a personal connection to individuals who we perceive as being close to Him. Students need opportunities to spend time with teachers outside of a formal classroom setting. This can be accomplished by interacting informally between classes or at school activities, such as Rosh Chodesh, Chanukah, and Purim celebrations. Most effective, though difficult to require, is when teachers invite students into their homes for Shabbos meals, to help with Shabbos preparations, or to host class gatherings.

c. We need to model a relationship with Hashem by speaking to Him and about Him so that mitzvos are not seen as separate from Him, our loving Father.

d. Hashkafah should be introduced in a more robust manner, imbued with encouraging messages in general, and specifically regarding personal accomplishment – the ability to struggle in an area and overcome.

2. It may be helpful to encourage the creation of smaller learning groups within the community that can stand as a stronghold as we seem to sail through life. When encouraged, individuals sometimes join together to hire a teacher for themselves. Alternatively, individuals sometimes agree to learn a stimulating text together without a formal leader. In some cases, a shul rabbi or rebbetzin can form or even lead such groups. Topics can include either inspiring lessons to improve connection through regular mitzvah activity such as Shabbos and yom tov, or specific areas of struggle. The presence of others focused on growth, the ability to absorb Torah thought on a regular basis and the discussion of Torah ideas in a social setting can be very powerful.

3. One of the most profound experiences is functioning in the role of religious mentor. Being the individual to whom another individual looks for support and guidance is a particularly powerful experience. It forces one to examine one’s own life. It allows for one to stand in the role of giver, which brings with it a sense of responsibility for another. Having to answer casual questions about why we do what we do forces one to contemplate these questions in a meaningful way. It forces one to stand a little taller. In addition, such experiences allow us to come into contact with, and to be inspired by, people who made decisions to live Torah lives despite their struggles, igniting a passion within ourselves for who we are and what we do.

This suggestion may have different applications in different places and for different age groups. For some it may be Partners in Torah. For others it might be inviting secular neighbors for Shabbos meals. For teenagers it might mean involvement with JEP, or similar organizations, or even simply finding a struggling child a few years younger and offering to function as a “Big Brother” or “Big Sister.” For all, it means taking what we have and expressing a desire to transmit it to others.

May it be that this sharing of ideas in an effort to bring us closer to Hashem will result in the closeness that we seek both as individuals and as a nation.

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

Shifra Rabenstein teaches in Bais Yaakov of Baltimore and Maalot Seminary, and lectures for women across the country.

Rabbi Gidon Rothstein

Klal Perspectives, Spring 2012 Symposium on Connectedness

To read this issue’s questions, CLICK HERE.

Searching for God Where God is Found

AT FIRST GLANCE, the terms “religious fulfillment,” “spiritual connection” and “service of God” would appear to be reasonably interchangeable. On the other hand, within the nuances in their shades of meaning we find the seeds of concern laid out for discussion by the editors of Klal Perspectives. I’d like to explain how, and then show that elucidating the problem also leads us to the solution.

In one sense, religious fulfillment refers to observing a religion properly; in the case of Judaism, that would mean serving God as revealed to us in the Written and Oral Torah, and as Hazal, our Sages, have explicated. But to me, the term ‘religious fulfillment’ risks implying that each of us is best qualified to judge our success. Whatever fulfills me is the goal; my fulfillment is the focus.

I stress that ‘religious fulfillment’ can also be another expression for “doing what God and Torah tell me to do.” Done right, these can be, and ideally are, very personally and immediately fulfilling – physically pleasurable at times, solemn at others, or simply serving as a background joy to life, leaving the servant of God with a sense of deep satisfaction, knowing that he or she is fulfilling the purpose for which God created us. If we recognize that fulfillment properly comes from serving God as prescribed, there will be no distinction between religious fulfillment as a lived and felt personal experience and the true service of God.

In my experience, however, many Jews – even highly observant ones – seek only ‘personal religious fulfillment,’ which to them means ridding themselves of obligations, thereby freeing themselves to act largely as they wish. Some such people might think of the religion as revolving around Sabbath and holiday observance and kashrut, some include thrice-daily minyan attendance in their list, some even engage in regular Torah study and some might be among those who are most flamboyant in their Jewish dress and ways of comporting themselves.

But regardless of the degree, the common denominator is that their sense of fulfillment comes from having checked the necessary observances off their list, from not having to experience a sense of failure, and from then being allowed to spend their time and focus on what they really want – so long as it does not run afoul of a particular prohibition. As Rabbi Joseph Baer Soloveitchik, zt”l, pungently commented, “The problem with American Jews is that they don’t want to daven; they want to have davened.”

To daven is to speak with God – to pour out one’s heart to the Master of the Universe. To have davened is to have performed an act of necessary life-maintenance, such as shaving or getting a haircut.

That approach, however, is not the only one in which religion is interpreted subjectively. Another approach seeks religious fulfillment – and spiritual connection – in extreme and often purposely countercultural activities not mandated by the Torah or halachah, but which provide an immediate sense of connection with God. They will observe mitsvot in unnecessarily dramatic ways or gravitate towards practices and experiences that move them (obvious examples include wearing peyot longer than necessary, davening for extended periods of time or wearing distinctive garb that is not more halachically valid than other clothing). These Jews seek a connection with God but find satisfaction in shallow performances that reassure them of their excellence in God’s eyes.

To the extent that they expect to feel that connection immediately, or even in the short term, I think they differ from what tradition tells us that even our loftiest figures can expect. In the view of Ta’anit 30b, Moshe Rabbenu spent 38 years in the desert without significant prophecy from God (not to mention that his first prophecy did not occur until he was in his late seventies). At a crucial juncture in the Book of Yirmiyahu (chapter 42-43), an expected prophecy is delayed ten days, leading the people to renege on their promise to listen to Yirmiyahu, which may have doomed him to live the end of his life in Egypt. Countless rabbinic figures have lived lives when the spiritual connection, as we like to think of it, would have been hard to see or feel.

Again, some might intend the words “spiritual connection” to refer to doing exactly what God wants of us, so that the knowledge that we are acting as our Creator directed us fills us with joy and awe in the presence of the Holy One, but I think the more common use of the term is the satisfaction of feeling that connection to God, immediately or soon thereafter.

I prefer the term avodat Hashem, service of God, to reference religious devotion, since it takes the individual and ego largely out of the picture. The path to such service is both short and long. It is short in the sense that it involves many clear and simple acts such as studying Torah – both to know better how to behave and because the act itself molds us into better servants of God, keeping mitsvot with joy – confident in our knowledge of how best to express our Jewish version of humanity, celebrating the many happy occasions in our religious year, and generally acting on our study in as many of the prescribed ways as we can. While it is certainly more enjoyable when we find actions that provide satisfaction and fulfillment, we cannot use those feelings or their absence as the barometer by which we judge success. We do our part – intellectually, emotionally, and in our actions – and hope and pray that God is pleased with our service.

And yet the path is also long in that we have to always check ourselves in a number of ways. We must guard against rationalizations that God “won’t mind” if we indulge ourselves in a certain undesirable way. We must not allow ourselves to gravitate towards expressions of the religion that emphasize what God did not call for, misusing time and energy that might have better gone towards what God actually did call for.

Moving ourselves in that direction, as individuals and communities, and as rabbis and educators, involves a gentle but consistent process of putting God in the center of our decisions. Not the God we imagine or prefer, but the God revealed to us in the two Torahs – written and oral – as transmitted, protected, and interpreted by Jewish tradition. That means, at each juncture in life, instead of asking ourselves what we want to do, or what would feel most fulfilling, we ask what a clear-eyed consultation with Torah tells us is within the range of what God would want us to do.

Particularly for rabbis and educators, that involves resisting tempting challenges. When a student or congregant comes to us wanting to know the laws of some relatively minor but psychologically resonant area of Jewish practice, the temptation is to simply to answer the question – yes, you can do this, no, we don’t do that. What needs to constantly be remembered is that people tend to focus on those issues that are building their personal sense of religious fulfillment, which is often at odds with how God and Torah would define the term.

If a mechalel Shabbat, a public desecrator of Shabbat, asks how many dishwashers she needs to keep a kosher kitchen, for example, there might be good reasons to answer only the question asked. It could be she is asking to accommodate a more observant relative, and has no real interest in religion. To try to shift that discussion to deeper religious issues might be counterproductive.

But assuming the rabbi or educator knows this person, and has a relationship with this person, that question might be an opening to say: “Well, let’s see what God wants from us in this context,” and to move the conversation away from a technical detail – however important – to a broader assessment of what a relationship of service entails. Such a conversation, I submit, would find a way to suggest that true worship of God compels a focus on achieving Sabbath observance before addressing possible stringencies in kashrut.

The same is true in the context of synagogue decorum, educational curriculum and the choice of how to invest our limited days and years in this life. We can build shuls that are model communities, in which all social and cultural aspects of the shul serve to bring congregants closer to God and His Torah. Or we can allow those subsidiary aspects of a community to dominate and become that community’s nature. There are shuls, I am suggesting, where congregants find themselves inspired to joyfully grow in their service of God, whether through Torah study, acts of hessed, or some other avenue, and there are other shuls that are glorified country clubs. We can build shuls where our representative grouping of the Jewish people succeeds at investing the place with the Divine Presence, or we can build batei kenesset, gathering places for many Jews, where, sadly, da lifnei mi atah omed, know before Whom you stand, is only an adornment for the top of the Aron Kodesh.

When we turn to schools, we have the same challenge. Educational institutions across the spectrum of Orthodoxy present students with a welter of material. In some, that material comes packaged such that the students absorb it in the larger context of an awareness of God. Too often, in my experience, that vital framework is lost whether because of how the material is taught or in the rush to teach as much material as technically possible. Reminding ourselves that we seek the service of God and nothing less would also encourage us to develop curricula and teaching methods where that focus on God is always central to what students learn, and how they learn it.

And so too, with whatever endeavor a Jew undertakes. As Rambam (Hilchot De’ot 3:3) points out in his explanation of Mishlei 3:6: Bechol derachecha da’ehu, in all your ways know Him. Any action a Jew takes (other than prohibited ones) can be an act of service, if it is approached in the right way. I go to work to make shoes, so that people can walk more comfortably and build up God’s world. I eat and sleep to be healthful, to have more energy to serve God.

Service in which we engage humbly and consistently leads to connection, and connection to fulfillment. The only requirement is the starting point, and that has to be God and God’s Will, as defined in the Torah and the traditions with which it comes.

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