The More I See, The Less I Know

This Shavuos seemed to drag on longer than those in the past. While the staying up on the first night did feel like it flew by, I think the following day-and-a-half took three days to pass. Initially, everything seemed to be going well: I had a nice, small meal followed by learning with one of my roommates. With the learning, I felt like I accomplished more than I have my whole time here, which was very inspiring. However, when it came time for shacharis (morning prayers), things took a turn…


Instead of staying in the yeshiva like most other people, I decided against the warnings of those around me, and my own reason, and opted to walk to the kosel. Once there, I realized just how much of a mistake I had made: I was confronted with not a sea, but a wall of people, thousands upon thousands, smashed into the area around the kosel. Not wanting to turn back, and completely exhausted, I fought the crowds to make it inside the kosel where there are bookcases normally holding siddurim (prayer books). Clearly, I knew that this wouldn’t be the case this morning, but I felt that something had to go well after such a night of learning. Finally, after digging and searching behind books that were behind books that were behind books, I found a small siddur. Having been awake for more than 20 hours, and being amongst a wall of people in the same state, the prayers were a mixture of exhaustion, frustration, and tiny glimpses of solace. After finishing, I walked back to my apartment totally alone with the sun rising around me, trying to beat the masses and get into bed.

Once back home, I got into bed only to have my roommate’s alarm go off three hours later, reminding us that we had a meal to attend. The meal was at the home of my favorite neighbor, and the lighthearted, relaxed nature of the meal (with the addition of lasagna, quiche, and cheesecake) was enough to alleviate my fatigue momentarily. After the meal, I committed myself to walking with my roommate to the kosel again. After the trek there and back, I finally got into bed at 4:30, and slept a whole three hours again. At night I went to a meal with people I didn’t know, only to find myself talking to the 30-something year old cousin of the hosts about annoying Israelis. After this meal, I went to Belz, which was packed beyond belief. Eventually, I made my way home and crawled into bed at 2:15. Through the rest of Shavuos (the second day of which was also Shabbos), I basically slept, only to wake up to feed myself and daven (pray).


While I was at the kosel, watching the interaction of the people and experiencing the way in which things were handled, I started thinking about something that I previously began to write about, but never finished. I could try to explain it on the basis that people were tired, but that wouldn’t explain other times in which the same holds true, and regardless, excuses only go so far. The issue is this: while religious people always seem ready, even proud, to take on stringencies in their religious practice, they never seem to want to take on any stringencies on the mitzvos dealing with interpersonal relations. This seems ridiculous to me, as human beings are the creations and extensions of G-d. Why would you miss a chance to engage with, be kind to, or express general love and compassion to such a creation? Indeed, the great sage Rabbi Hillel said that the whole point of the Torah can be summed up in the mitzvah to love another person as you love yourself, with the rest of the oceans of knowledge and practice meant to drive this point home. Many, however, sadly feel too proud that they keep more restrictions on themselves, bringing their religion to be about objects and stringencies instead of love and expressions of Divinity. This is something that I continue to struggle with, as I see it all around me, with people pushing, struggling to be first and right, and acting as if everything is going well in their learning and life. Can’t they feel that something is missing, or are they too far gone?

A story was told of the Satmar Rebbe, dealing with stringencies and the ways in which people view them. In the early 1930’s, a student from a more modern yeshiva came to visit the rebbe. This student, being from a more modern city and background, had his beard completely trimmed off, a leniency that no one in the yeshiva of the Satmar Rebbe would dream of taking. After the young man left, one of the rebbe’s students approached him, asking him how he could welcome and meet with a Jew who didn’t take his religious life seriously enough to be stringent in this area. Sensing the complete lack of understanding and truth in his student, the rebbe responded, “It is possible that when this young man reaches the World to Come, HaKadosh Baruch Hu will ask him, ‘Holy Jew, where is your beard?’, but it is also possible that when you come into the World to Come, you will be asked, ‘Holy beard, where is your Jew?’” The simple story speaks volumes.

Shabbos: Mekor HaBracha (The Source of Blessing)

This Shabbos was an "in yeshiva" Shabbos, which meant that we all had to stay in our diras (apartments), eat meals with each other in the cheder ochel (dining room), and daven (pray) at the yeshiva. At first I was a little disappointed that I would have to do all of this. I really wanted to go somewhere else, anywhere else, and have a Shabbos that was different from "everyday yeshiva". However, this Shabbos was far from "everyday".

The rosh yeshiva is famous for giving controversial speeches to the yeshiva. Often, he says that he makes a point to say what isn't allowed to be said anymore. Each speech that he gives challenges some accepted part of society, religion, or religious Jewish life. His talks this Shabbos were no different. As we were huddled together in a crowded little shul (synagogue) in the neighborhood, the rosh yeshiva spoke against mussar. Mussar is a style of giving detailed, often times harsh, speeches and lessons on how to curb morals. The mussar movement grew out of the Litvish (Lithuanian) Jewish world, and is often seen as the opposite of Chasidus (mystical, more positive school of thought).



Seeing as how the rosh yeshiva is himself Litvish, and attended some of the most prominent Litvish yeshivas, it might be assumed that he is very much in favor of the mussar movement. However, he has often stated that mussar is a replacement for real Torah, and this Shabbos was no different. He spoke from a sefer (book) written by R' Chaim Volozhiner, what many would think of as a true 19th century mussar authority. His words were very interesting. The Volozhiner's sefer says that the ikar (point) of Jewish life is not yira (the fear of G-d), but simply Torah, and anyone who tries to use mussar as the means to to establish real yira and accumulate Torah is wasting their time. According to the rosh yeshiva, yira is simply a container in which to carry the lessons of Torah, and without ever learning real Torah, all you have is a container, but how can something serve as a container with nothing inside? "Ein contents, ein container (no contents, no container)," he said. Really, if you focus your attention on only yiras Hashem, all you have at the end of your life is an empty jar.

The rosh yeshiva also held a post-meal "tish" of sorts. The rosh yeshiva sat at the head of a large table, while everyone else sat along the sides, with other people standing on benches on either side of the room. As I had walked to the kosel (Western Wall) with a friend immediately after the meal, I didn't get back to the rosh yeshiva's shmooze until it was almost over. When I walked in, the scene was a mini version of what one sees when they go to a Shabbos tish of a Chasidic rebbe. The room was full of people, those on the edges standing high on benches and chairs so they could get a good view, and those around the table leaned in so they could see and hear the rosh yeshiva clearly. My friend who went with me to the kosel commented that the yeshiva gets more and more Chasidish with regard to the rosh yeshiva as time goes on, and coming from a strong Chasidish background, his words clearly have truth to them; I felt the same way. After his shmooze, the rosh yeshiva took questions from any bochur (young guy) who had a question. His answers reflected his hashkafa (philosophic) strongholds of the essential reality of "Ein Od Milvado" (there is nothing at all except for G-d), that physicality is sheker (false), and people being trapped as "five-sense prisoners", as they fail to connect to real spirituality because they never move beyond their five physical senses.

One thing he said really touched me. When asked about the status of rabbis and rebbes, as well as people, who follow what seems to be a true derech (path), he said, "You must always assume that everyone you see is fake until proven otherwise. It doesn't matter the size of their beard or peyos, how intense their kavanadik (concentration-bringing) movements are during davening, or how much mussar or Chasidus they learn. You must operate with the assumption that they are fake, until you see them rubbing shoulders with the poor at least as often as with the rich."

The rosh yeshivas words over Shabbos were very inspiring, as everything that he says, he truly means and lives. The yeshiva that he runs is not a yeshiva for those who buy into the trappings of what is conventionally seen as what it means to be an ultra-Orthodox (or even Orthodox) Jew. The rosh yeshiva stresses the importance of learning Torah itself, for the sake of learning Torah. He also sees value in learning mussar and Chasidus, but only as an accompaniment of Torah, only at a pace that helps these ideas contain the Torah they were meant to contain, and only with the understanding that end result should be good middos (traits), not a nice levush (exterior).