Itamar is an academician who became a baal teshuvoh
just recently. He is brimming with a desire to learn and to
know more and more. And he is full of questions, as well.
He has embraced a new practice of accompanying the rabbi home
from shul on Friday evenings after prayers. As they
make their way leisurely to the far end of town, Itamar poses
his questions and the rabbi answers them. No one is in a rush
and sometimes, they even linger for a while in front of the
rabbi's house to finish their talk.
Itamar finds it difficult to wrench himself away, and when he
finally does proceed homewards, he is full of thoughts and
ideas. En route, he reviews all the details of the
conversation, in order to be able to tell his wife, who is an
avid audience for anything new to her in
Yiddishkeit.
Let us listen in on Itamar as he presents his current
question to the rabbi:
"In the many lectures I've heard in the various seminars and
the talks I've heard on Yiddishkeit, I've gotten the
clear impression that Judaism zealously preserves its hold on
the traditions transmitted through the generations, guarding
and revering the old and ancient precepts established in its
foundations by the Patriarchs of the nation and its ancient
Sages from time immemorial. Their wisdom fills the ancient,
most sacred works of Judaism. The general impression that
arises from this attitude is what we call today conservatism,
in its general, not religious, connotation; a reverence for
all that is ancient as opposed to what is new, modern and so-
called progressive.
"We believe that the ancient truth is solid, immutable and
eternal, whereas the new and modern is shaky and irresolute.
Whatever is good and true has already been established
centuries and millennia ago, while what is current is dubious
and dissatisfactory. I am talking about my general impression
without really getting down to the details of definitions and
designs.
"However, lately, in my recital of Tehillim and those
psalms which are included in our daily prayers, I seem to
discern a seemingly different direction. Let me quote several
examples: `Sing unto Hashem a new song; sing unto Hashem the
whole world.' `Sing unto Hashem a new song, for He has
wrought wonders.' And again, `Sing unto Him a new song; play
skillfully with shouts of joy.' `Sing to Hashem a new song,
His praise in the assembly of faithful followers.'
"In Tehillim, Dovid Hamelech pursues the same theme,
`And He shall put in my mouth a new song, a praise to our G-
d.' `Elokim, a new song will I sing unto You, with the harp
and ten-stringed osor shall I sing to You.' And in our
Shabbos zemiros, we sing longingly, `Yiboneh
hamikdosh . . . veshom noshir shir chodosh.' From all
this is expressed a deep yearning as well as the call to
innovate and rejuvenate the spiritual bond between us and
Hashem. And I cannot help but wonder: is there anything
lacking in the ancient songs and `poetry'-prayers composed by
our forefathers that there seems to be such an urgent,
unending call to sing anew?"
The Rov slowed down his steps as he thoughtfully said, "A
good question. A very good one! Is there anything lacking in
what we already possess? What is wrong, what is missing?
Interestingly, this week I happened to ask a similar
question, myself. I was asked to talk with a young man,
intelligent and talented, who seemed to have lost all zest in
life. We spoke at length and I saw him to be deep thinking
and logical. And I kept on asking myself: What is he missing?
What's wrong here? It took a long time until I was able to
formulate and define the answer. He lacked renewal.
Everything by him was trite, insipid, banal and tasteless.
Old, dried out, routine, devoid of freshness and flavor.
"This man gets up every morning reluctantly, half asleep, in
a torpor. He gets up because that is what is expected of him.
He expects to pass another day with the boring repetition of
the previous one. He has nothing to look forward to, nothing
new, nothing hopeful. And thus does he while away another day
and yet another day, devoid of vitality, zest, joie de
vivre, on a downward spiral of interest and
involvement.
"He is going through the motions, plodding the treadmill,
keeping pace without getting anywhere. Like a robot,
mechanically, doing what society expects of him but without
an ounce of energy and interest. Without a hint of a smile on
his face; no sparkle in his eye. No joy. Nothing.
"And I can't help but be reminded of elderly people I know in
the world of Torah. What especially characterizes them is the
constant sense of renewal, of vigor, of constant rejuvenation
that pours a vitality in their veins and spurs them to
innovate in every area of their activity. By them, the daily
prayer of one day is totally different from that of the
previous one, and the page of gemora of today does not
repeat itself dryly on the following day. Even the diurnal
activities that are repeated day by day have a freshness and
newness to them, a purpose that is different today than it
was yesterday and not a repeat routine performance that is
arbitrarily imposed upon them to execute through empty
motions.
"It is like a healthy person who eats today, not because he
ate yesterday and knows he must eat to keep on going -- but
because he has a healthy appetite and wants to eat now! He
takes pleasure in eating today. Such elderly-youthful
veterans always look happy. The renewal lends a sense of joy
to the future, to what lies in store, to new challenges and
opportunities as opposed to a dull repeat of the past. The
kaleidoscope of life does not recycle itself for them but
takes on fresh color and shape. And they march forward, keep
ascending.
"The young man who sat before me this week looked like he was
declining rapidly, going downward in contrast to those other
men I know. He is growing old, effete, stale and spiritually
depleted."
"What, actually, causes rejuvenation?" asked Itamar. "What
can a person do to create a sense of freshness, if he is
lacking it?"
The Rov reacted immediately. "Renewal is not an independent,
external entity which a person expects will suddenly appear
and spread its wings over him. He must create it himself,
from within. It is an expression of his will. It is his
conscious effort that produces the will to live which is
expressed through rejuvenation and renewal. Routine without
reinvigoration is lacking in vitality, and the depression and
despair which follow are a tacit negation of and resignation
from life. Renewal is identical to the very will to live."
"But how does this all connect to my original question?"
asked Itamar.
"Hischadshus of the spiritual bond between us and our
Creator is one of the central tenets of Judaism," replied the
rabbi. "While the foundations and form of this bond were
established by the Ovos of our nation even at its
inception, without a constant renewal, this connection would
wither and disintegrate altogether, like a plant without
water.
"Let us concretize this through the example of an average boy
in his teens. Whatever he possesses, from the very fact of
his being alive and down to his clothing, meals and
everything he uses, were given to him by his parents through
love, kindness and good will. Ask him when was the last time
he said `thank you' to his mother or father and he will raise
his eyebrows in wonder, not understanding what you want of
him. What he takes for granted is perfectly natural to him,
like the immutable laws of nature. If his parents were aware
of the value of true chinuch, they would aspire that
he thank them, not because they need his acknowledgement but
because they want him to be a mentsch, a decent
fellow, a person with a sense of gratitude, which is the very
basis of all good character traits.
"Make an attempt in these coming days to find within the
prayers, the blessings and the written texts the fact that
our Creator wishes us to thank Him for what we receive, that
we be aware of the constant, unending giving of His and our
need to thank Him for it. This is the proper bond expected of
us, the basic requirement of the Jewish soul towards its G-d.
The form of this bond was indeed established during ancient
times by the founders of our nations. But all this is
conditional to the fact that a Jew be aware and acknowledge
what he is receiving all the time, in a constant stream.
"Whoever is blind to that endless giving and whoever thinks
that everything that he is accustomed to getting must
necessarily and naturally continue to be channeled to him
feels absolved of the duty of gratitude and thanksgiving and
is completely severed from the Giver, for he doesn't see Him
at all. Opening one's eyes to see what he is getting -- this
is the renewal that is demanded of every single person in
order that the song his lips should be constantly murmuring
be a new song, a fresh, spontaneous, genuine song full of
feeling and vitality. This rejuvenation is what preserves the
bond between the created and the Creator, between the soul
and its Source, between earth and heaven.
"Each new day is a new creation that has never seen the light
of that day. Each day brings in its wake a new sky, new
light, a body that functions upon all of its marvels, that
renews itself each day with the restoration of the soul to a
lifeless body. A Jew must be aware of all these phenomena. He
must introspect; he must exert thought and feeling. One who
never saw the luminaries in the sky cannot possibly move his
lips in heartfelt thanks to the Creator of those heavenly
orbs.
"A Jew worthy of the name opens the shutters each morning to
behold the marvelous cerulean blue of the skies, the sun
illuminating the entire world, sees the green vegetation
opposite his window and hears the twittering of the birds and
in the distance, sees the horizon where heaven meets earth --
and cannot help but be overcome with emotion: These hands
and feet of mine are moving. I am breathing oxygen-saturated
air that vitalizes my whole being. I have been given a new
day as a gift. A new day in which I can do marvelous things
and progress in the fulfillment of my mission on earth. How
wonderful this is! I am alive!
"His heart swells with feelings of gratitude towards the
Creator Who gave all of this to him, today, together with a
brain to fathom His will. He will barely contain himself
until he reaches the synagogue to pour out his soul and
express his feelings in the ancient words that were chiseled
for his sake by the Ovos hakdoshim and established in
our prayer book.
"True, he is a conservative, a traditionalist, a throwback to
the ancients. But, nonetheless, he has been born anew. He is
alive to a new day! He is alive!"
