From Potential to Actuality

A few months ago, I lost my mailbox key. I put off requesting a new one from the apartment management office out of fear that I'd be charged an unreasonable fee (and any fee is unreasonable for a grad student). Instead, I opted to temporarily go without my paycheck, magazine subscriptions, and wedding and birthday invitations, hoping I'd magically discover the key poking out of the couch cushions someday.

One afternoon, I happened to be exiting the building as the postal worker was sorting mail into the appropriate boxes. My mailbox door hung open, its bulging contents gleaming like exposed treasure. Most notably was my subscription of Chayenu, a weekly Torah study magazine that I relied on to enliven my 45 minute commute to work. Lately I had felt disconnected and unreflective without Torah study as part of this routine, going through the motions of the daily grind without infusing a fresh spiritual consciousness into it.

This was my chance! With a brash "Excuse me," I impulsively reached past the postal worker for my mail.

She glared at me disapprovingly. "Uh-uh. You can't just take your mail, honey. You need to open your mailbox with your key."

I wasn't in the mood to try to explain myself. With a defeated sigh, I hurried outside to catch my dreaded train to the city.

During my commute, I mentally reviewed the mailbox incident. How did that just happen? Everything I needed was plainly visible, inches away from falling into my possession. But I couldn't have any of it. I needed to open my mailbox myself- with my own key. It wasn't good enough that someone opened it for me.

Until I took initiative to acquire a key- regardless of the financial sacrifice involved- my precious Torah magazines were worthless. They were trapped in a box, powerless and unbreathing. They couldn't affect me.

That's how a lot of Judaism is. We look to others to "open our mailbox." We go to shiurim and try to surround ourselves with positive influences, looking to the wisdom and conviction of our community leaders, schools, and mentors. They open the door to inspiration. But that's all inspiration is: An open door. We're shown what's there- a preview of what could be- and then it's left to us to internalize those teachings and integrate them into our lives.

It's crucial to know what exists in potential. Catching that initial glimpse of our beautiful heritage through another's guidance is what gives us both focus and motivation. But that can't be the end. It's only a beginning. And moving forward requires a lot of effort, and maybe even self-sacrifice. Only you can create real change within yourself.

It took a while, but I eventually got a new key and I didn't even have to pay for it. I emptied my mailbox and sifted through a month's worth of letters. The next day, the postal worker loyally returned with a new series of items addressed to me. Now, I was ready to receive them.

In life, our incoming flow of spiritual inspiration comes with responsibility: We must latch onto it, study its contents, and figure out how it can better the world. Only through our own efforts can we actualize the potential that awaits in our "spiritual mailbox."

I Drank the Kool-Aid (and I'm Not Ashamed of It)

I was recently at a shabbos meal when a teenage girl, raised in the Orthodox community, asked me "Who made you frum?"

I was pretty taken aback at the question. I didn't know how to respond at first. What did she mean, who made me frum? I made myself frum, thank you very much. Do I look like a product of brainwashing? After I stuttered for an answer, she rephrased the question in a less derogatory way.

Later, I thought about this interaction and my defensive response. Why did I feel this question was so derogatory? Why was I ashamed about the fact that a well-intentioned Jewish organization helped me become closer to my heritage?

It probably had a lot to do with the attitudes circulating around me.

Attitudes like:

"My Judaism is more real because I didn't come to it through some sort of contrived outreach program."

On the flip side, those who do become connected through a Chabad house or outreach center often struggle with others' appraisal of their observance. "Beware of the the Kool-Aid! Stop being naive. Don't let them control you." As a result, these baal teshuvas might later choose to disassociate with that community, organization, or individuals involved as a way to assert their independence. They maintain an observant lifestyle, but intentionally distance themselves from their starting line to prove they aren't simply a product of others' efforts.

I can certainly see this quality in myself. If I'm being painfully honest, there is something very self-satisfying about parading my independent thinking to those who offered me support in the beginning of my journey, showing them I've risen above their Kool-Aid.

What is "Kool-Aid," anyway? I was always a bit unclear about the intended meaning of this term. People refer to this metaphor and laugh cynically about it, their sarcasm laced with resentment toward their outreach communities.

Kool-Aid is not G-d or Torah or living an observant lifestyle, assuming these are all rooted in Truth. What I think is that when people accuse you of drinking the Kool-Aid, they're accusing you of buying into others' justifications for becoming frum. What people have labeled Kool-Aid can be defined as the body of reasoning that people employ to demonstrate the value of observance. Some of this reasoning is valid, some is misinformed. In many cases, criticism stems from others' interpretations of why you became frum- not the mere fact that you did so. If it appears that you are simply absorbing others' messages like a porous sponge without really thinking about anything, that's when people start accusing you of being brainwashed. They refuse to respect your choices when you can't substantiate them with conclusions you've drawn on your own.

I admit it. I drank the Kool-Aid. I marveled at all the new perspectives I was ingesting, gaping with wonder like a starry-eyed child. I initially found no reason to disagree with anything I heard. But the thing about Kool-Aid is that it didn't really quench my thirst. Yeah, it's marked "beverage," but it's mostly preservatives and food coloring. So it just bubbled inside me, compelling me to make some very pivotal choices but never becoming fully absorbed into my system.

At a certain point, my opinions and feelings began to stealthily creep out from under the woodwork. Suddenly, they wanted a say in everything I was doing! They didn't want to take a back seat to the foreign influence temporarily inhabiting me. So they rose up and protested the slimy red substance that had conquered their terrain, upon which an explosive chemical reaction occurred. The result was a new flavor of Kool-Aid: One that I had created through my own flesh, blood, heart and mind. But it couldn't have developed without first ingesting something from the outside.

Kool-Aid doesn't kill. It's simply meant to be an instigator. It's when you misuse it that the problems begin. If you don't integrate everything you've learned into YOUR mind, and you delude yourself into thinking that Kool-Aid is water, that's when you start being unhealthy.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that G-d guided you in a certain direction because He knew that's what you'd be responsive to. He orchestrated your contact with Jewish Outreach, or Chabad, or whatever channel "made you frum." Don't be ashamed of your journey. Don't disown the experiences G-d gave you. Remember that it's all hashgacha pratis- even the part where you "drank the Kool-Aid." It's not like some alien force came out of nowhere and force-fed you some perversion of Truth. Sure, Torah is sometimes distorted when people try to present it in a way that will be meaningful to you. But G-d led you toward those distortions too, because He trusted you could turn them into something real.

Chai Elul: Embrace the Details

Today I was sitting in one of my graduate courses, bored out of my mind. I had learned the majority of the content in a previous class, allbeit in a very general sense, and I saw no reason to fixate on the multitude of "fascinating" details my professor was drooling about. I knew my basic familiarity with the concepts would still permit an A on the final. But the teacher insisted on gnawing each detail to shreds, the original concept now fragmented into a hundred entities that bore no resemblance to their original singular form.

So rather than listen to my teacher drone on for the next two hours and forty minutes, I decided to buy time (and stay awake) by preparing a Dvar Torah for the coming shabbos. I quickly became engrossed in a sicha (a speech) I found online (thank G-d for the internet!) about Chai Elul, the date on which both the Baal Shem Tov and Alter Rebbe were born. These leaders founded revolutionary movements in Judaism: The Baal Shem Tov revealed the deeper, mystical dimension underlying Torah, and from that grew the Alter Rebbe's Chabad movement, a more intellectual application of the former.

The sicha quoted the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, who gave over two versions of an aphorism: "Chai Elul is the day which infuses vitality into Elul" and "Chai Elul is the day which infuses vitality into the Divine service of 'I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.'"

There are layers of meaning embedded in these phrases. What I'd like to focus on is the fact that the first aphorism speaks about Chai Elul energizing our Divine service in a general sense, accounting for any and every aspect of human-G-d interaction that occurs during Elul. In contrast, the second version specifies that Chai Elul enlivens our Divine service in a particular way, arousing us to approach G-d in the specific manner of "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine."

The mode of Divine service specified in the second aphorism is by default included within the first. The energy of Chai Elul is equally diffused throughout all aspects of avodah, naturally including "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine." So why the repetition? Why emphasize a detail that is already so obvious it should require no explanation?

In truth, details are more than just details. Their value extends beyond the fact that they are included within a significant main idea. Take Torah study, for example. Diving into the particulars of a topic not only substantiates one's understanding of the original idea, but it actually generates new knowledge. The process of exerting your intellect to understand the inner workings of an idea churns up a new experience inside you. New ideas are born, new feelings arise, a new perspective on G-d consolidates inside the psyche. Your new outlook motivates action. You commit to G-d and serve Him with sincerity. These developments must be preceded by a certain complexity of understanding.

The apparent repetition in the second version of the aphorism reminds us that feeling connected to G-d in a general sense is not enough. Divine service isn't only about acknowledging that vague, mysterious feeling that G-d is guiding your life. It's about understanding why you have that feeling, where it comes from, and what you're supposed to do with it. It means changing yourself so that you can change the world and change G-d's presence in the world. And in order to do all that, you have to REALLY understand G-d and REALLY understand His world. Only by knowing Him intimately through intellectual exertion can change flourish.

Sitting in class at that moment, I realized that I have a choice. I can go about life in one of two ways: I can seek the minimum knowledge necessary to get by. I can ace my counseling practicum without ever opening a textbook, without investing an ounce more effort than absolutely necessary. But will I really be able to help people? Will my expertise dwindle to mere "expertise," a bullet-point understanding of how things should be but with no real tools to make them that way?

Or, I can invest in a mission. I can formulate meaningful conclusions about how to transform the world using the detailed information I've absorbed.

Rather than letting yourself become "bored out of your mind," delve into your mind for a change. Details are only boring until you really think about them.

G-d is at Your Doorstep

G-d knocked on my front door this morning.

My first instinct was to panic. "I'm not ready!" I blurted as I fumbled through my dresser drawer. My head was spinning.

I need to look presentable. Brush my hair, put in my contacts. Down a cup of coffee. Horrified, I imagined all the ways in which I might make a bad impression. Surely I can't hide my irritable morning mood from Him. Or worse, He'll reprimand me for my untidy living space.

Why was He here, anyway? Shouldn't He have waited until I had something to show for myself? My life is a bit...under construction, at the moment. There are so many things I want to do that I haven't accomplished, so much I could have done differently in the past. So what does the Master of the universe want with me?

All at once, the thoughts whirring around in my brain slowed to a halt.

The King is at my doorstep. This is real.

It dawned on me that He wouldn't have come here unannounced at 6 am if He wanted me to look glamorous. G-d is a smart guy. Maybe He wants it this way. He wants to give me the choice to let Him into my life when I'm just being myself, moseying around the house in my pajamas or sorting through paperwork at the office. He transcends the context of a holiday and the walls of a synagogue. He's pretty much giving me an open invitation. "I'm available 24-7," G-d will assure me. "Even if we have to sit on your old, musty couch. There's no prerequisite for you to commune with Me."

It's like when guys are approached on the street and asked to put on tefillin. "I'm not Orthodox," they mistakenly protest. Or, "I just ate a non-kosher steak. I better not. One day, when I'm religious, then I'll put on tefillin."

We never think we're worthy of having a relationship with G-d. And yet G-d created us, so how backwards is that?! News flash: All those parts of us that we think G-d doesn't want or doesn't approve of? He created those too. He gave you that inclination to the leave the dishes in the sink for two days. He gave you that little voice that tells you doing a favor for someone can wait. And He also gave you the ability to change and become better and do the right thing. It's all from Him.

We think we have to become perfect, refined, "religious" individuals before we can be on G-d's team. But really, G-d is ready to be our King right now. We just have to decide to be ready too. So step up to the plate. Commit. Do a mitzvah. Fulfill G-d's desire, and that will make you better.

Oh, and by the way, G-d will keep showing up on your doorstep every day this month. 

In my opinion, it's hard to ignore that kind of devotion.

Why You Should Never Be Satisfied

I've noticed that people often defend their frumkeit by claiming that observance has rendered them immune to many of the problems that face secular society. They point to the worldwide epidemic of emptiness and dissatisfaction and sigh, "If only they knew the Truth, they would feel whole and content and not go on these reckless searches for fulfillment. Judaism fills the void."

They couldn't be any more wrong.

Because if you are a truly pious person, you are never satisfied.

The more you learn about G-d, the more you realize you can never know Him. The more you appreciate G-d's infinity, the more sharply you are confronted by your finitude. The more knowledge you acquire, the more nuanced and complex your questions become.

The hole just grows bigger.

So don't think becoming religious is going to solve all your problems and allow you to sleep soundly at night. 

You're going to be more dissatisfied than ever before.

What's different is that this time, you won't be tormented by that feeling.
You'll fall in love with it.

Your doubts will energize you, your fears will drive you forward. The crazy notion of infinity that used to jolt your nervous system like nails on a chalkboard will now be your greatest comfort. When you study that discourse about the most hidden parts of G-d that He shows no one, you'll be smiling.

Your deepest pleasure will come not from the answers you find, but the mystery that remains.

The Agony of (Non-)Existence

A few days ago, I stumbled across a beautiful article about the necessity of questioning your own existence. The author suggests that by doing so, we can free ourselves of emotional self-absorption and create space for G-d in our lives.

The article was moving, eloquent, and most importantly- true. But I couldn't totally relate to it. I don't always feel like I really exist. And I imagine that a lot of people feel the same way.

Let me explain. See, life has always felt a little alien. Contrived. An image superimposed on some other, truer reality. Like a shadow puppet performance against the backdrop of a lush, red curtain. What's behind the curtain? What goes on before the play? After? There is so much unseen, so much that no one knows and no one cares to talk about.

By the end of the show, everyone is bawling. Or rolling on the floor, laughing in hysterics. It dawns on me that maybe my emotions themselves are actors in the performance. They certainly don't feel real. After all, I can provide them with a new script and they reorient themselves at the discretion of my intellect.

The visceral feeling of existence should be enough to prove existence. But what if it's not? What if your problem is not that you are blinded by your own existence, but instead blinded by the fact that you know your existence isn't real? What if you live your life glazed over with apathy and uncertainty, incapable of committing yourself to anything? What do you do if you desperately want to feel that your existence is absolute just so you can be certain about something?

You might try to jolt yourself into awakeness through the euphoric experience of studying philosophy or listening to music. Or maybe, believing you'll never truly feel "alive," you surrender to the non-existence waiting for you with open arms where the sidewalk ends. You may find meaning in detachment, turning to a life of contemplation and detective work.

People tell you that by engaging in the world, by affecting it through action, you will become aware of the significance of your life. Transform yourself from the outside in. You'll start to care about your existence, because you realize you have a responsibility to G-d. Only through embracing your temporary, perceived existence can you reveal the scope of G-d's actual existence. So, just do what you're supposed to do and everything will be fine.

Wise words. But for those who can't get a grip on the fact that everything "contrived" is contrived with G-dly intention and therefore truth also lies within physicality and subjectivity, action is much more difficult than it sounds.

I don't have an answer to this dilemma. What I do have is a description of a phenomenon that I've observed in myself and in other people. In my opinion, people tend to possess one of two existential orientations, meaning that they relate in different ways to the notion of existence. This relationship affects behavioral and coping patterns as well as perception of G-d. I'll call the first perceptual orientation "quasi-existence," and its mirror-image counterpart "invested existence." The point of providing these descriptions is not to put people in boxes- these categories are general trends that I've observed and are by no means absolute nor comprehensive. It's more to give a language to a pre-existing experience and allot people a sharper awareness of how it affects them so they can ultimately overcome their "box." Here is a rough overview of my theory:

A Portrait of Moshiach, Pre-Revelation

This piece is what resulted when I tried to put myself inside the mind of Moshiach. As absurd as that may sound, that's where my imagination led me, so I just went with it. I admit that I felt like I was doing a "bad" thing by writing a "first-person" account. I felt like it wasn't my place (or anyone's, for that matter) to attempt to represent Moshiach from the inside out, when really we know nothing about him. It's impossible for me to look through his eyes, when he sees only G-d and I see everything but G-d. I'm afraid my portrayal will be a terrible insult to him. Maybe I'm portraying him as too human? Not human enough?

No one can really answer that. We can only wonder and dream and yearn without bounds. In the end I decided it would be good to post this, because the more we think about his arrival, the more real the redemption will become. 

***

I arrived yesterday.

Never before have I felt so drawn to a place, as though I lived here in another time. The texture of this life feels...familiar. I'm so far from home, and yet the light shines just the same here. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I never descended from my lofty abode at all. But here I am, a pint-sized messenger of the One above, cleverly fitted with sneakers and a toothy grin.

Life is difficult for people here. Everyone groans, "Oyy, nebach. Look at this fleshy existence, this barren desert. How repulsive to G-d we must be, in this dysfunctional cocoon of a body that is supposed to sprout wings. But they are mere stubs- pathetic little knobby things that only weigh us down. When will we see the sky?"

I'm absolved of my own struggles, but I take on theirs. I feel their sadness, their hunger. Others drag their feet in servitude to their apathy. A narrow beam of light trickles through their gritted teeth. Its rays overcome my senses like a headlight in a dust storm, yet they are numb to its heat. As their souls croon sweet melodies, the prayers of their lips remain embittered.

There is a purity within each person, a simplicity stowed away in a dark place inside. An infinite potential. But they are blinded by a simulated existence, confined by finitude. They have no idea who they really are.

That's why I'm here, I suppose. I'm here to irrigate the world with G-dly vision; to help water their wings. To bridge the gap between potential and reality, desire and fulfillment.

But it's not time yet.

I live among them, waiting. Working. In fact, you and I spoke yesterday.

We were in the library, swapping thoughts for a bit. You preached about Moshiach a lot. I couldn't really agree or disagree, I just nodded softly. Then you curled up with one of those mystical books, fiercely attempting to understand its content.

My gaze drifted to the hardwood floor, studying its current, humbled by the life force within it. I am fully conscious of the compressed Divine light all around us, beneath us, inside us. Why, though? Who am I to see G-d in things so far from His essence?

Why not you?

I feel your eyes lift in my direction. You mumble something, but the words fall dead and flat on your lips. You don't believe what you say. "May we one day consciously experience true revealed Godliness at every moment, in tables and chairs and heavens and musty boxes in the attic."

I respond "Amen." Truly.

You read aloud some more, but it is garbled. As I retreat back into my shadowy mind, your voice is reduced to an empty ring in the distance.

If only you knew the weight of your words.