Influence
Once a month for many years, Sunday at 9 a.m. promptly, the community of Baltimore was privileged to hear a chabura delivered by the Rosh Hayeshiva of Ner Israel, HaRav Shmuel Yaakov Weinberg, zt”l. While the official topic of the chabura was the Rambam’s Mishneh Torah, when a yom tov was in the near horizon, the Rosh HaYeshiva would discuss it at length. One spring morning, just after finishing an eye-opening exposition of Pesach, he then turned to the chabura and calmly stated, “From the sources we have available to us, it is clear that the shibud, the slavery, that we suffer today, is worse than that suffered by our ancestors in Mitzrayim.” He then walked out, leaving everyone to ponder the implications of these words.
It is one of my great regrets that I did not jump out of his seat, run in hot pursuit of the rapidly-disappearing Rosh HaYeshiva, and get an explanation. In the years since that morning, the Rosh HaYeshiva has travelled to the Mesivta D’rakiyah, and his statement has been relegated to the status of “hameivin yavin.” Time and reflection, however, have provided one possible elaboration of the Rosh HaYeshiva’s message.
Every generation faces its own unique challenges. In our hodgepodeged, cyberspaced world, what is ours? On one hand, we are blessed worldwide with the ability to obtain all the physical accoutrements of Yiddishkeit. Every Jewish community of at least modest size has access to a full smorgasboard of kosher food; top—quality tallesim and tefillin are readily available; and the stories about the incredible difficulties of bringing esrogim -– tropical fruit –- to half-frozen European cities, are part of our past. What’s more, while we still suffer from the sinah of the nations, rarely do they attempt to attack our ability to perform mitzvohs; at this point (and may it continue) government decrees against Torah are few and far between. In other words, today we are physically freer to serve Hashem than in any time since the churban bayis.
Certainly, we have taken advantage of this window of opportunity. Yeshivos and Bais Yaakovs are springing up all around us; shiurim at all levels are available in nearly every shul (and over the telephone and computer, for those who prefer to stay home). We might ask, “Where is the yetzer hara during all this? Isn’t he supposed to keep us from serving Hashem?”
One answer might come from an analysis of the current status of certain minhagim. For example, the Shla”h HaKodesh (as cited in SIddur Otzar HaTefillos) tells us that before saying Bircas HaMazon, we have a minhag to recite Tehillim Chapter 137, Al Naharos Bavel, which gloomily describes the churban and our longing for Yerushalayim. However, on Shabbos, Yom Tov, and other days when Tachanun is not said, we are to say Chapter 126, Shir HaMa’alos, which cheerfully predicts our return to Tzion. Why are we to make this change? Says the Eshel Avraham: normally, we would say Al Naharos Bavel, but it is inappropriate to directly mention the churban on days of joy. In any case, it is clear that the essential custom is to say Al Naharos Bavel, and Shir HaMa’alos is the exception. These days, however, Shir HaMa’alos is probably said unversally on Shabbos and Yom Tov, and Al Naharos Bavel is hardly said at all. We have kept the exception, yet dropped the rule, to the point that many modern bentchers (aside from those obviously intended for Shabbos-only use) include only Shir HaMa’alos and actually omit Al Naharos Bavel! Lack of space or ink certainly is not a factor, and nor is lack of time, for even during those weekday meals when we are not rushed, we go right into the first brocha of Bircas HaMazon. Why?
Another change – this one for the good, but with a questinable rationale -- comes from the Mishnah Brurah. The Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chaim 124:4) states: “When the Shaliach Tzibbur repeats the Shemonah Esreh, the rest of the congregation should quietly pay attention to the blessings that he makes. The Mishnah Brurah there (17) comments: “Therefore, one should refrain from saying tachanunim (personal tefillos) and from learning Torah durinjg the chazaras haShatz.” Now, when one looks around at a minyon at that point of davening, there is a fairly good possibility that he will see at least one person learning, in spite of the Mishnah Brurah’s strong admonition against it. On the other hand, has anyone in recent years been spotted reciting tachanunim during chazaras haShatz? (A disturbingly large proportion of us may not even know what tachanunim are – personal pleas to Hashem.) Yet from the Mishnah Brurah’s placing it before learning during that time, not so long ago, it seems to have been a serious problem, larger than that of learning. What happened in the century since the Chofetz Chaim wrote those words? Have we worked to overcome this desire to petition Hashem? More likely, we have simply lost that once-innate desire. Where has it gone?
Perhaps the reaction of HaRav Weinberg himself to a bizarre incident can provide an answer. A dozen years ago, as I was learning with with my chavrusa in Ner Israel’s main bais midrash, we heard an uproar from one front corner. Bochurim came running from all sides and held down a struggling man. It turns out that this fellow had sneaked into the bais midrash, approached HaRav Yissachar Frand shlit”a, pulled out a concealed knife, and stabbed him in the shoulder. After the attacker and Rav Frand had been taken out, each one to an appropriate place, learning went on, but the atmosphere was different. A criminal assault in Ner Israel, a world-class yeshiva kedosha? We felt vulnerable; how could this have happened?
That afternoon, HaRav Weinberg spoke to the entire yeshiva. “Perhaps we have allowed the outside world into our bais midrash, their attitudes, their jokes,” he thundered, “and now Ha Kadosh Baruch Hu has in turn allowed that outside world to walk right into our bais midrash!”
Until two hundred years ago, the nations shut us out from their society and their ways. With the political and the scientific revolutions of the nineteenth century came new challenges. Suddenly, we found ourselves staring at open access to the outside world. Certainly, the myriad technological advances have proven themselves useful; from planes that have turned months-long voyages to Israel into mere hours-long hops, to the broadcasting equipment that can beam a Siyum HaShas all over the world, we have taken advantage of the explosion of technology. The price we paid was great, however, for that technology brought with it the philosophies of the societies around us. Our minds have been adversely affected; so much information (even “kosher”) comes our way packaged in words and thought-patterns that are utterly alien to us. For example, how many times have well-meaning frum speakers and writers innocently described the essence of a Torah concept as “the crux of the issue”? Do we understand what we are saying?
The ghetto walls of Europe may have shut us in, but there was a tradeoff – they also shut the other societies out. Today, there is no “Judenstrasse” or “Judengasse”; no street, even those with frum-sounding names: Rabbi Akiva Street, Yeshiva Lane, etc. is a “Jewish street,” free from outside influence. Why is Gemara so hard these days, when a boy must spend over a decade – from fifth grade through bais midrash – of fulltime toil before he attains any real grasp of it? Not only must he train his mind to think along the Gemara’s system, but he must at the same time unlearn that of the outside world!
Likewise,
our relationship with the A-mighty has been greatly impaired; as HaRav Shmuel
Yitzchok Herman zt”l said, “The best of us these days have a dim awareness [of
Hashem].” In tandem, our sensitivity to this diminished relationship has dulled;
how many of us can admit to at least one good cry on Tisha B’Av? True, we
meticulously fulfill every detail of the laws of that day, fasting, sitting on
the ground, saying kinnos, and listening to Eichah, but tears, the keys to our
one remaining gate to Hashem, remain hard to find. As HaRav Avigdor Miller zt”l
so bluntly put it, “We have become gentiles with beards and sheitels!”
So where has the yetzer hara been all these years, while we reestablished the great institutions of Torah? He’s been right there with us all along. “Go ahead,” he sneers, “build that new shul. I’ll poison it with sinas chinam and loshon hara! Want a new yeshiva? No problem – I’’ll distract the boys with all sorts of gizmos – from fancy cellphones to the ‘Net – to pull their heads out of the Gemara!” More than ever before, we fight our war against the yetzer hara on an internal front.
Perhaps this concept is what HaRav Weinberg wanted to understand on that spring morning. Our ancestors in Mitzrayim may have suffered terribly from the slavery. Still, Chazel tell us that they managed to keep certain Jewish commandments and customs, such as the Hebrew language. They may have drifted into the 49th level of tumah, but their minds still retained a Jewish bent. We, on the other hand, have the opposite problem: While we may be free to fulfill any mitzvos we desire, our most dire need (and therefore greatest challenge) is to harness and retrain our minds to think truly in accordance with Hashem’s Will. The front of today’s war against the yetzer hara has shifted to inside of us.
Incredibly, our situation is more precarious than the bondage of our ancestors. Why? First, because the problem lies beneath the surface, we may be able to lull ourselves into thinking that everything is all right. Second, Hashem’s desire from us that we train our minds to function in accordance with His Will is actually greater than His desire for us to physically fulfill His Mitzvos (which in itself is tremendously important). How do we know that this inequality is true? When the Torah summarizes the Jewish nation’s responsibilities, it states, (Devarim 10:12-13) ”Now, Israel, what does Hashem, your G-d, ask from you? Only to fear Hashem, your G-d, to go in all His ways and to love him, and to serve Hashem, your G-d, with all your heart and all your soul, to observe the commandments of Hashem and His decrees.” Five requirements are listed; the first four involve primarily the mind, and only the last one gets the body involved along with the mind.
All this leads to a simple equation: The more we can sift through our inevitable contact with the outside world, keeping what is useful while discarding and expelling its unwholesome ideas and thought-patterns from our minds and replacing them with Torah concepts, the more spiritualized we can become, and the more successfully we can complete our missions in this world.
My Grandmother Still Teaches
The yahrzheit for my grandmother, Shifra Sabina Waldman (nee. Regenstreich) a”h, comes at this time of year. She lived a long and full life as a dedicated Jewish wife and mother. Just before her petira, I had a long talk with her and was zocheh to learn many fascinating facts about her life. She was born in Berlin, but her family soon moved to Tirgo Neamt, a small town in present-day Romania. When she was twelve, her family sent her, alone, to Youngstown, Ohio, to live with her half-brother, a widower whose young wife had died in the flu epidemic of 1919, and help care for his child.
On the way, she stopped in Paris and visited an open-air market. A strange fruit caught her eye. It was yellow, cylindrical, and curved. The stand’s owner explained to her that it was called a “banana.” After some more discussion (French and Romanian are both Romance languages, so they could rougly communicate) she bought a few, brought them back to her room, made a bracha, and ate one. Nearly sixty-five years later, she remembered how much she had enjoyed that banana!
A cute anecdotal maaseh, indeed. If, however, we analyze it using the Chovos Halevavos’s four-step technique (as described above, in Divrei Vayechi), a new universe emerges.
The first step is to recognize the complexity of what had just happened. The digestive system in itself is an open miracle that we witness three times a day, plus snacks. We are carrying within ourselves an incredible laboratory which can identify, evaluate, and process any substance in the universe.
To realize the greatness of this miracle through an analogy, take a look at history. In 1837, two Cincinnati brothers-in-law, a candlemaker and a soapmaker, founded Procter and Gamble. With the invention of electric light, the candle business waned. Finally, the company dropped candles and focused upon other products. Imagine if one day, the CEO of P&G were to walk into the plant and announce, “Sales of candles have taken off, especially in Jewish neighborhoods! I have a trainload of fats and string coming in today. Let’s get back into candle making!” Could this huge company, with tens of thousands of workers and thousands of laboratories, immediately churn out Shabbos candles? Of course not! P&G would need months to prepare. So it used to be in the business? It isn’t ready! What the hugest companies cannot do, we can, thanks to HaShem.
Step two is to see how this miracle meshes with the harmonious world of Hashem. In my grandmother’s case, probably no one in her family had eaten a banana in five hundred years. Tropical fruits were rare luxuries in Northern Europe. Certainly it was a foreign substance. Yet not only did her digestive system handle it, but it actually made eating it a pleasurable experience.
Step three involves recognizing how this miracle benefits us. First, it protects us from food poisoning. HaRav Avigdor Miller zt”l likened the digestive system to a well-defended castle. At the top of the watchtower, sentries can keep watch and warn of spies attempting entry. If a foreigner wishes to enter, several troops of soldiers, each one with his own system – sniffing dogs, visual and pat-down searches, etc – are stationed at various locations at the entrance and on in. They can inspect on the spot. The way to the castle’s inner chambers has a series of double doors which normally open inwards. When, however, an intruder is caught, the doors he has passed suddenly open outwards, and he is forced back out. Even if one manages to infiltrate to the castle’s interior before being discovered, another series of doors leading to the rear can suddenly open, pushing him out the back.
That castle is our own bodies. The enemies are rotten or unhealthy food. Like a watchtower, our eyes can constantly scan incoming food for its edibility. Our noses can smell the food, our tongues can taste it, and the many nerve endings all the way down can continue to test it as it passes a series of valves, the “doors” of our castle. If our stomach discovers the food to be a potential danger, these valves can reverse themselves, sending the food back up as vomit. Even if the food passes all inspections until past the stomach, it can still be rapidly pushed out and expelled. While the last two options are not pleasant in themselves, they certainly are better than the pains and dangers of food poisoning.
A second benefit of this system is that it enables us to be omnivores, able to live off a varied diet. In my grandmother’s case, she could travel far away and not worry, “Maybe there is nothing in Ohio for me to eat!” Furthermore, many animals must subsist off one particular food. If that food’s supply runs low, the animal starves. We, however, can survive off other food, embark upon journeys, and conquer the world, as Hashem has ordered us (Breishis 1:28)
The fourth step brings us to praise Hashem for this beneficial miracle. What would our brochos be like if we were forced to live off an extremely limited diet, like that of animals? What’s more, so many of our mitzvos – korbanos, kiddush, etc. – involve food. Clearly, the digestive system enables us to serve Hashem better.
There is yet another twist. HaRav Miller notes an irony. Sefer Hoshea ends with, “For the ways of HaShem are straight; the righteous walk in them, and sinners stumble in them.” The navi intends to tell us that the way up to Hashem is precisely the same way down from Him. A tzaddik and a rasha can look at the very same phenomenon; the tzaddik uses it to rise closer to HaShem, and the rasha uses it to fall further away. A rasha would look at my grandmother’s experience with a banana and declare, “Aha! Her ancient ancestors were banana-eating chimpanzees! Proof for us!” This is Hashem’s plan; Chazal tell us (Yuma 38b): “Ba letamei, poschin lo; ba litaher, misayyim oso: If one wishes to contaminate himself, he is allowed; if he wishes to purify himself, he receives assistance.”
May Shifra bas Avraham Yona HaLevi have an aliyas neshama.
Reason to Groan
“And the king of Mitzrayim died, and the Bnei Yisroel groaned because of the work” (Shmos 2:23). Rashi there brings the famous Midrash which says that Pharaoh did not really die, but was sickened by tzaraas (which leaves the flesh white and death-like). In an effort to cure himself, he bathed in the blood of murdered Jewish infants (boys and girls).
Rav Moshe Meir Weiss, shlit”a, who gives a parshah shiur in Staten Island, asks a kashyah in the name of the book Aydus Yehosef: The two parts of the posuk do not seem to go together! If Pharaoh was killing Jewish babies, the Yidden should have been groaning because of the children, not the work! Their slavery had not changed at all; they had been toiling before Pharaoh’s illness and “remedy,” and they still were afterwards?!?
The Aydus Yehosef answers with a yesod. Work in itself is not meaningful. What motivates people to toil long hours and endure sleepless nights? Their children. The extra effort is worth the pain – as long as they can see it as benefiting their children, who represent a better future.
Our ancestors in Mitzrayim willingly endured the Egyptian slavery. We marvel at their strength and stamina in building boring storage cities on soft ground that ensured the structures’ premature demise. Men were forced to do women’s work; women, to do men’s work. Still, as long as they had a house of children to return to at the end of the day, life – bad as it was – was still worth living. However, when Pharaoh took away their children – their hope – then the work became unbearable.
Their groan carried so much agony that the Torah testifies that it actually brought the redemption closer: “And Elokim heard their groan, and Elokim remembered His covenants with Avraham, Yitzchok, and Yaakov. And Elokim saw Bnei Yisroel, and Elokim knew (Rashi: He focused His attention upon them [to redeem them]).” (Shmos 2:24-25)