Same Highway, Different Shoes
an excerpt from the upcoming book Sparks from Breslov.
The institution of an organized religious movement presents a confounding paradox. On the one hand, the parameters of organization ensure the longevity of the original inspiration and ideological fire that existed at the movement’s genesis. Modes of behavior and dress, for example, serve the purpose of uniting the adherents and strengthening the bonds of the group. On the other hand, by setting those parameters, there exists the risk of restricting the ideological fire to the point that true emotional involvement is soon replaced by tired tradition and robotic rite. While the original members of a movement are compelled to join because they have all “seen the light” in so strong a manner that they felt they must band together and form an “us” against the “them” of whatever society, their children, though expected to follow in the footsteps of their parents’ religious convictions, may not feel those sentiments as strongly. While they may externally conform to the organized laws of the new movement, the soul of the matter is often lacking, the embers of rebellion extinguished.
For the most part, the Jewish nation has survived this paradox in a remarkable way. The essence of the mitzvos, the set of laws that we are instructed to follow, is such that they do not remain dry or mechanical. Permeated with the Will of Hashem, they elevate the soul of the Jew to communion with its Source and bring holiness and light upon every facet of his being[1]. They are pulsing with life, engendering incredible levels of passion — “Ki heim chayeinu[2]”, “for the Torah is our life”. For thousands of years, we have stayed faithful to the organized parameters of our religion, Torah and its mitzvos, receiving the living chain of our vibrant tradition from generations past while retaining the same enthusiasm and devotion as the earliest members of our holy nation. Indeed, Chazal teach us, “Whoever learns Torah from his grandfather, it is as if he received it on Har Sinai[3]”. Involvement with the mesorah we have received from earlier generations, ‘our grandfather’s Torah’, brings us to a state of such clarity and illumination that our emotional dedication mirrors that of the roughly 3 million men, women, and children who stood at the foot of Har Sinai and heard the voice of the Infinite One utter “I am Hashem your God.” Though it presents a set of laws that we are indoctrinated, so to speak, to follow from an early age, the Torah contains within it the power to inspire the strongest feelings of emunah in a spiritual reality and true love and awe for Hashem that are the basis of our religion. “From learning “shelo lishma”, one comes to “lishma[4]””. Our awareness and relationship with Hashem is soon elevated from the level of “Elokei avoseinu” “the God of our fathers”, the general belief system we have inherited along with its parameters of organization to “elokeinu”; “Our God”, the Being which, through the medium of the Torah, we are able to connect with in the most personal manner.
Still, though never powerful enough to snuff out the soul of yiddishkeit altogether, the dangers presented by the parameters of organization in yiddishkeit have reared their head throughout our history. Hashem charges klal Yisrael with falling prey to these dangers in a message transmitted through Yeshaya HaNavi, “They have honored Me with their lips but have kept their hearts far from Me. Their fear of Me has become rote…[5]” In every generation there have been those Jews whose involvement with Torah and mitzvos was on the level of “body” alone, lacking the “soul” of passionate feeling born of a deeper understanding. They viewed the mitzvos as parameters of organization like any other, missing out on the realization that far from being mere laws and rules, the mitzvos burst with enough illumination of divine light, relevance, and true depth to reconstruct the spiritual fire of Sinai in the heart of their guardian. They didn’t understand that the mitzvos were not 613 barriers that kept the light inside, but rather they themselves projected the light they so carefully contained. Woefully unaware of the treasure buried in their very own backyard, these precious souls suffered through a life of rote tradition feeling frustrated and trapped by a faith they didn’t truly believe in. They felt forced to continue practicing the parameters of organization handed down to them by the previous generation and expected of them by their religious society, but never having gotten in touch with the soul of yiddishkeit, it became one big drag. Assumed to be old fashioned and boring, the shuls became bastions of social chatter in lieu of heartfelt davening. Heteirim were sought in all areas of Torah so that these Jews could act as they chose while, in technically still adhering to halacha, keep their conscience at ease. Taking care to stay within the confines of Torah observance, they paid no heed to the startling reality that they were in fact locked out of her gates.
None of this was of any fault of their own. These Jews, like every other, also possessed the inner, yearning of the soul to connect to her Source. Their emotions longed just as strongly to be expressed in the arenas of ahavas Hashem and Yiras Shamayim. However, unfortunately, while yiddishkeit as a vibrant religion would have given wings to these voices and enabled them to speak up and guide, yiddishkeit as a social culture did just the opposite. “Mitzvos anashim milumada”. The footprints produced by the graceful dance of their jubilant grandparents were indeed being filled — by the mechanical motions of their robotic progeny.
While surely not on an absolute level, it is clear that our generation suffers from some level of this malady. The great campaigns to lower the talking in shul and raise the standard of tzniyus, for example, are merely treating symptoms of what is at once a much larger and ever more simple disease: the loss of the soul of yiddishkeit. Instead of being a vibrant and exciting experience, yiddishkeit has become, to many, a culture of which they happen to be a part. Their culture demands that they come to shul, so they do. But it is their religion that implores them to focus on tefillah and thus remain silent throughout the entirety of davening, so they do not. Even those whose cultural standard mandates that they daven with intensity and learn Torah for many hours with rapt attention may still miss the religious requirement of filling that service with utmost love, holy intention and joy. They have a firm grasp on the Etz HaDa’as Tov V’Ra, the mundane 6 days of the week of what is muttar and what is assur, what is tahor and what is tamei, what is kosher and what is passul[6], but they are lacking a connection with the Etz HaChaim, the day of Shabbos which imbues the week with its depth and holiness. This leaves them feeling unsatisfied and bitter. “B’sfasav kibduni, vilibo richak mimeni”.
What, then, can we do to begin tapping into the heart and soul of our hallowed tradition?
Let us learn a teaching from the holy master, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov[7]. There is a verse in tehillim in which David HaMelech proclaims “Ki ani yada’ati ki gadol Hashem” — “For I know that God is great.[8]” Rebbe Nachman focuses in on those words “I know”, noting an apparent difficulty. Why did David not include all of klal Yisrael in this knowledge? He should have said “For we know that God is great”! Surely David was not saying that only he knew the greatness of God to the exclusion of everyone else!
Rebbe Nachman answers in the most beautiful way. Certainly, everyone else in klal Yisrael also knew the greatness of Hashem. But David HaMelech’s relationship with Hashem was so personal, his yiddishkeit was so much his own, that the way he knew the greatness of Hashem was unlike anybody else. As a member of the society of yiddishkeit, David was bound to every member of klal Yisrael. But when it came to the religious nature of avodas Hashem, he was a lone individual. When he stood in prayer there was nothing in his world but himself and his infinite Creator. Yiddishkeit, for David, had nothing to do with social pressures, expectations, or demands. “For I know that God is great”; yiddishkeit had become a personal journey to himself; “lech lecha.[9]” He realized that, as R’ Shlomo Carlebach often quipped, “We are all walking on the same highway, but we are all wearing different shoes.”
Friends, we all yearn for this kind of avodas Hashem, for the ability to say “for I know that God is great”. We dream of a yiddishkeit of relevance in which our mitzvos are full of passionate heart and soul. The question is, how do we get there? What steps must be taken to attain this lofty goal?
I believe the answer is implicit in the phrase Rebbe Nachman uses to convey this lesson: “Ki ani yada’ati” — “for I know”. The way for avodas Hashem in our generation to become a personal love affair with the Master of the world is when we begin to attain “da’as”; our own understanding of yiddishkeit. When we delve beneath the surface of the “how”, the performance of practical law that is often absent of our heart to discover the “why”, the deeper concepts underlying the mitzvos and the general outlook of life engendered by the Torah, it begins to take on personal implications. When I am aware of the great fixing to both my soul and the world that is accomplished when I put on tefillin or light the Shabbos candles, this knowledge highlights the relevance that this mitzvah has to me and my personal relationship with the Master of the world. It stokes the embers of emotional fire within my heart and enables me to truly involve myself in the mitzva with my entire being[10]. Chazal teach that “the light within the Torah” has the power to return a person to Hashem[11]. When we encounter the light hidden under the surface of the Torah couched within the deeper understandings of the mitzvos and our purpose in this world, “machzirin bo limutav”, our yiddishkeit will take on the heart and soul of personal relevance[12]. On the level of “how”, I am bound with all of klal Yisrael in carrying the identical torch of yiddishkeit with the very same flame of Torah and mitzvos; “D’racheha darchei noam”, “Its roads are sweet roads”. But on the level of “why”, I am on my own personal journey of spirituality; “v’chol nesivoseha shalom[13]”, “and all of its paths are peaceful”. My relationship with Hashem is absolutely unique, forged through my own trials and tribulations, failures and victories, tears and laughter, broken dreams of the past and shining hopes for the future[14].
Today, this can be accomplished so easily. Ideas that in earlier generations had been discussed only among the greatest scholars and even then in hushed tones have been rendered into English in an easy and clear manner so that everyone can treat his soul to the depths of Torah. Thousands of shiurim sit literally at our fingertips if we only gave ourselves the time to find the ones that speak to us. For bachurim learning in yeshiva, making a seder outside of the regular yeshiva sedarim during one’s personal time in a sefer or book that speaks to him is a fantastic way to reaching the level of “Ki ani yata’ati”, “For I know”, of making yiddishkeit our own.
Chazal teach that “Ein adam lomeid elah bimakom shelibo chafeitz[15]”, a person can only truly connect to Torah that his heart is drawn toward. Each of our neshamos has its own unique path to avodas Hashem. What works for one may not work for another. What worked for a rebbe might not work for his student. We each must continue to search until we find the Torah that speaks to our individual soul. And when we do, the light with which it illuminates our yiddishkeit is beyond what words can express. We feel as if a divine breath has been blown into the unmoving form of our avodas Hashem, bringing it to life with the all the opportunities that life affords. It is then that in our heart of hearts we can treasure of personal connection with the Infinite One and whisper “ki ani yada’ati ki gadol Hashem”, in the way that I know Hashem’s greatness, no Jew ever did and no Jew ever will.
[1] See Likutei Amarim, Tanya, chapter 35
[2] Devarim 30:20
[3] Berachos 21b
[4] Sanhedrin 105
[5] Yeshaya 29:13
[6] See Likutei Moharan 31:5
[7] Sichos HaRan 1
[8] Tehillim 135:5
[9] Bereishis 12:1, see Kedushas Levi, parshas Lech Lecha, “Vayomer Hashem” (#2)
[10] See Likutei Moharan 21, 60, and 156 and Tinyana 82. See also Likutei Amarim, Tanya, chapter three.
[11] Yerushalmi Chagiga 1:3
[12] See Tzidkas HaTzaddik 59, See also Meor Einayim, Bereishis, “B’Gemara d’Sanhedrin”
[13] Mishlei 3:17. See the Malbim’s explanation.
[14] See Kedas Nefesh Meshivas page 63
[15] Avoda Zara 19a
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