Two
years ago, when I gave a sermon about the passing of my beloved
teacher, Rabbi Bernard Zlotowitz, I ended with one of the many funny
stories he would regularly share with us in class. I would like to
share another one this morning.
The
story is one from his days as a rabbinical student at the Reform
movement’s Hebrew Union College, HUC. His teacher walked into the
class one morning and announced, “Boys,” - and here Rabbi
Zlotowitz would add the observation that, in his day, HUC only
admitted men - “Boys, I want you to know that when I woke up this
morning, I felt the desire to put on tefillin. But I resisted!”
Now,
if you don’t find that story funny, it might be that you lack one
of two important pieces of information that it assumes you have.
First, you might not be aware that, particularly at the time that
Rabbi Zlotowitz was a student, the Reform Movement rejected all types
of prayer dress including head coverings, tallitim and tefillin.
Even today, one can walk into a classically Reform synagogue and see
bare heads in abundance. The Reform movement would, in time, soften
its stance on the use of these items, but Rabbi Zlotowitz’s teacher
- who was likely Orthodox trained (as was, I might add, Rabbi
Zlotowitz who had ordination both as an Orthodox and a Reform rabbi)
- was playing with the idea that wearing tefillin was a form of
heresy.
The
second piece of information you might lack is - what exactly are
tefillin? For that explanation you need to go back to Judaism’s
most well known prayer, the שמע.
That prayer refers to הַדְּבָרִים
הָאֵלֶּה אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם
-
these
words that I command you this day.
Regarding these words we are told וּקְשַׁרְתָּם
לְאוֹת עַל־יָדֶךָ וְהָיוּ לְטֹטָפֹת
בֵּין עֵינֶיךָ
-
you
shall bind them as a sign upon your hand and you will make them
symbols between your eyes.
Judaism takes these words literally and tefillin are the embodiment
of that literalness. They consist of small, leather boxes into which
are sealed pieces of parchment on which the words of the שמע
have
been written. These boxes are fitted out with leather straps that
allow you to bind them and the words they contain onto your arm and
your forehead.
Thus
the wearing of tefillin is a mitzvah. It is one of the 248 positive
mitzvot - to go along with the 365 negative mitzvot for a total of
613.
But
what exactly is a mitzvah? This word is absolutely central to
Judaism, and yet it is generally misunderstood by Jews. Ask
virtually any Jew what a mitzvah is and she will tell you that its a
good deed.
Such
an understanding fits well with our general attitude toward religion:
that it is, in a free country like ours, an association we enter into
voluntarily for the purpose of community or history or, in the case
of younger families, cultural and, maybe even perhaps, a little moral
instruction. We see religion as playing a primarily pastoral role.
Religion attempts to offer comfort during life’s crises, and it
seeks to to solemnize life’s transitions. And for Jews, religion
adds a touch of differentiation in our lives - a vague cultural and
historical exoticism that sets us apart from our overwhelmingly
Christian neighbors.
Contextualized
thus, the idea of mitzvah as good deed fits well. By asserting that
the central concept of Judaism is one that guides us toward good
citizenship and neighborliness, we justify our religious practices
and our decision to raise our kids as Jewish as a thoroughly modern
and American thing to do. In saying that a mitzvah is a good deed,
we assert that, though we identify with a particular religion, we
are, in no way, fanatical or irrational or otherwise given to the
craziness we often associate with those who wear their faith on their
sleeve. We are simply good people, seeking to inculcate good habits
in ourselves and our children. And we have extracted from our
ancient faith that essential core of human morality, casting aside
the superstitions, or consigning them to cultural color.
Against
this modern perspective, I want to offer a contrasting view of the
idea of mitzvah. It comes in the form of a story from the book Rebbe
by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin. As the title suggests, it is a biography
of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late leader of the
Chabad-Lubavitch Chasidim, known to his followers simply as, The
Rebbe. The story concerns a Londoner and devoted Chabad follower
named Bernie Rader. Mr. Rader was on a business trip to Detroit and
was having dinner with friends. A guest at dinner started asking him
detailed questions about tefillin - their requirements as to shape
and color. Mr. Rader understood that his interlocutor must be very
familiar with tefillin in order to ask such questions. When he asked
if the man put them on, he said no. But he said he would put on Mr.
Rader’s tefillin if doing so was so important to him. Rader made
arrangements to meet the man next morning where he expertly
negotiated the rather complicated procedure of donning tefillin.
Rader then suggested that the man should put on tefillin every day
and the man agreed that he would - on the condition that Rader buy
them for him. Rader said he would do just that - bringing the
tefillin to him when he returned to Detroit six weeks hence.
On
his way back to London, Bernie Rader stopped in New York where he
briefed the Rebbe on his business dealings and his curious encounter
with the man with the tefillin. He was looking forward to returning
to London where, the next night, for the first time in his life, he
would have his entire family - all his children and grandchildren -
gathered together for Shabbat. But the Rebbe had other plans for
him. “Do you think its right” he asked, “that a Jew who put on
tefillin yesterday for perhaps the first time in twenty years should
wait six weeks for you to bring him tefillin? He instructed Rader to
buy the tefillin immediately and “(i)f you can get the tefillin to
the man in Detroit so that he can put them on today, do so, but if
not, you yourself should go back to Detroit and put the tefillin on
him, even if this means you won’t get to be home with your family
for Shabbat.” The Rebbe reckoned that such a display from Rader
would impress upon the man the special importance the mitzvah of
tefillin had to him.
For
those of you familiar with the ways of Chabad, such zealotry over
tefillin will come as no surprise. The group has created what they
call Mitzvah Mobiles which they drive around various cities looking
for Jewish looking men whom they urge into the van to put on
tefillin. The first time I put on tefillin was under the guidance of
one of the Rebbe’s שלוחים
-
emissaries - who came to my home for a so-called “Jewish family
visit.”
Obviously
we are dealing here with a very different sense of the meaning of
mitzvah from that of good deed. Here each mitzvah is like a discrete
act that has its own infinitesimal, but nevertheless, real impact on
the universe. Each mitzvah performed moves the world one step closer
to the time of the messiah and redemption. The aim, then is to
multiply the number of mitzvot performed in order to hasten the
coming of the messiah. In the case of Mr. Rader, both he and his
family would observe Shabbat whether he was in London or Detroit.
There is no net gain in the number of mitzvot performed by him being
with his family. However, by delivering the tefillin, there is a net
gain in mitzvot performed - perhaps as many as six per week if the
man should put them on at all appropriate times. Plus, who knows how
many other mitzvot will be performed as a result of the man doing
this one? In this understanding, a Jew’s primary purpose in life
is the performance of mitzvot and whatever personal gains he or she
may derive from such performance are incidental to the cosmic gain of
bringing the world a tiny step closer to redemption.
יהושע
בן פרחיה
taught
that we are to דן
לכף זכות
-
judge with an eye toward merit. So let me try to do that with these
two very different ideas of mitzvah. First, the idea that a mitzvah
is a good deed has the merit of keeping this central Jewish concept
alive in the minds of millions of Jews who have little connection
with their faith. It reinforces the correct notion that Judaism
emphasizes behavior over belief, thus making it a religion focused on
this world, rather than the next. This is very appealing to those of
us who approach all religions with great skepticism. As the son of
such a skeptic, and as someone who followed a slender thread of
Jewish identity all the way to the rabbinate, I cherish those ideas
that make Judaism’s eternal truths approachable to a broader Jewish
public. Mitzvah as good deed is one such idea.
As
to the idea of mitzvah as the path to redemption of the world, this
too is one of great merit. It affirms the idea that, small though we
may seem in our own eyes, our actions have consequences that impact
the entire world. Amid the prevailing nihilism of our culture, such
an attitude affirms the value and sanctity of each life and, for that
matter, each drawn breath. And, in affirming a transcendent quality
to the idea of mitzvah, it bears out that observation, often ascribed
to the British geneticist J.B.S. Haldane who said that, in his own
estimation, “the universe is not only queerer than we suppose, it
is queerer than we can suppose.” For someone like myself who
thinks himself fairly rational, a reminder of rationality’s limits
is always a useful tonic.
That
said, whatever merit these opposing concepts of mitzvah might have,
they each suffer serious weaknesses. Reducing the concept of mitzvah
to that of good deed effectively hollows Judaism out. It negates one
of Judaism’s central insights: that the ethical and the ritual are
inextricably linked to one another. To lose one is, in fact, to lose
the other; that without the ritual, the ethical will quickly
degenerate into the popular or the emotional. By the same token, the
idea of mitzvah as vehicle for world redemption dehumanizes this most
intimate source of contact between us and our companions, and between
a Jew and his God. In the example I cited, it takes a man from his
family, not even for the sake of the stranger, but for the sake of
the slenderest of hopes.
I
believe that we need a different concept of mitzvah; a concept that
affirms both its centrality to Judaism, and its role in shaping the
character of individual Jews.
Such
a concept must begin with the meaning of the word. A mitzvah is a
commandment. It is what God wants us to do. At any given moment in
our lives when a mitzvah can be performed, we face the choice between
doing what we want to do and doing what God wants us to do. It is a
mitzvah, for instance, to be mindful of our neighbor’s property.
So if we are driving down the street on a windy day and we see that
our neighbor’s trash can has been blown over, we should stop and
turn it back upright. Now it may be that we like our neighbor or we
take pride in our neighborhood or we’re just considerate folk and
so we want to stop and turn the can upright anyway. None of that
matters. We do not turn the can upright because it is a good deed,
but because God wants us to do it. We do not turn the can upright
because doing so will hasten the messiah, but because God wants us to
do it. A mitzvah is a commandment and we do them because God tells
us to. And we do what God tells us to because we want to be close to
God; because we want to be holy.
The
decision, then, to take on a mitzvah is a highly personal one. It
reflects where we are in our own journey as Jews. We do not live in
a shtetl where the community’s will can impose itself on us, nor in
a politically oppressive state where our freedoms are curtailed on
account of our religion. Each of us has been raised to be largely
free agents in our lives. The restrictions we have placed on our
freedom through the associations and commitments we have made have
been those of personal choice.
The
restriction Judaism asks us to place upon ourselves is greater by far
than any other commitment we might make. It is לקבל
על מלכות שמים
-
to take upon ourselves the yoke of the kingdom of heaven. The
rewards it offers too are greater: an element of transcendence; the
possibility of holiness; the chance to feel near to God. I believe
there is only one way to take on such a commitment: slowly,
thoughtfully, step-by-step, one mitzvah at a time.
How
do we begin? My suggestion: start with the fallen trash can. Or a
visit to a sick friend. Or a morning spent cooking at a soup kitchen.
Or any of the other hundreds of actions that the rest of the world
thinks of as good deeds. Only, don’t tell yourself its a good
deed. Say instead, ברוך
אתה יי אלהינו מלך העולם אשר קדשנו במצותיו
וצונו
Blessed
are You, Lord our God, Sovereign of the universe, who makes our lives
holy through Your commandments and has commanded us to do this thing.
I
will not tell you that from there, the adoption of new mitzvoth
becomes easy, because it doesn’t. Each mitzvah that one takes on
makes one’s path steeper and more trying. But I will say that from
the adoption of one single mitzvah, the next becomes more natural.
Each mitzvah we take on changes us; it pushes us emotionally,
intellectually and spiritually forward. It becomes the next step in
our striving toward union with the divine image in which we are
created. And it is this striving
that I believe is the true substance of holiness. Indeed, I believe
that if a mitzvah has the power to bring on the messiah, it does so
by making us strivers after holiness. For this reason, I believe
that anyone who has taken on a single mitzvah and is sincerely
striving toward the next, stands as close to God as the most pious
among us.
As
for me, I have of late felt the desire to put on tefillin, and I have
not resisted. Not every day; maybe once or twice a week. It adds a
few minutes to my prayer time and they are not particularly
comfortable to wear. They are also easier to put on in the summer
when one is wearing short sleeves, so whether this practice will
survive the coming colder weather is anyone’s guess. But they are,
for me, the latest chapter in my own, personal struggle to do God’s
will. However this particular chapter will play out, I am grateful
for the struggle and the striving and the hope for the transcendence
and holiness and redemption that they bring.
