It's All in the Details

And the Body Your Handiwork - Rabbi Elie Weissman
To “the Chinuch” who reminds me on this painful, angst-ridden morning “ki aharei hapeulot nimshakhim ha-livavot.” (For after the actions, the heart is pulled). {Mitzvah 16}
This morning I wake, and belong to Wordsworth and not Ramban. Not because one’s philosophy speaks to me more than the other’s, but because one was required to put on tefillin each morning, and the other wasn’t. That manifold complex of tradition, with its limitless chambers and corridors, shaping my life (and not William Wordsworth’s), and usually injecting it with meaning, now acts as a burden upon me; it binds me.
My mind, clinging to the fantastical, rebellious illusions of the previous night, conjures images of freedom. I wake at ten without the guilt of “seder“ or “zmanim.” I decide, at ten, where I wish to go, and just go. Today I walk slowly through the park, perhaps sitting under a tree and reading a story with no particular message or meaning. I spend the day following my whims as they peak. More importantly, my actions, good or bad, retain no Divine ramifications.
This morning, I pull the covers back over my head, hoping that I will fall back to sleep for only a few minutes, granting me the privilege of arriving late to minyan, and hopefully sparing me the full service; my will is not His.
Still, despite (and in spite of) my will, my body carries me lazily from my bed, allowing the words “modeh ani lifanecha” to slip unconsciously from my lips. My bare feet touching the cold bathroom floor wake me from my trance and remind me of the day ahead. I am unprepared to deal with an agonizing morning of learning, staring blankly at texts that don’t need the embarrassment of my half-thought sevaras.
My thoughts break; and I discover that I am dressed and ready for minyan. My hands pour water over each other three times and my lips recite a blessing that my conscience had not yet agreed to. New words begin to flow from my mouth: “asher yatsar es ha-adam behakhma u-vara vo nikavim. “I cannot prevent their emergence; I will ignore them. My mouth continues: “E-lokai neshama shenasata bi tehora hi.” I wish to cry out “stop;” but the words, having broken through the dam built by my mind, flow ceaselessly, becoming louder and louder as my feet walk me into the Beis Midrash for minyan.
My lips, ignoring my protests and cries for freedom, plow forward in their praise of God. A revolt ensues. Body, with its legions of limbs and organs, defies its master in favor of its Maker. Antagonists and enemies on all sides, my intractable mind is overwhelmed by the sheer might of the magnificent and imposing tradition which fuels and captures my body. My arm, brandishing the black mark of the King, and my head, adorned with His crown, do His bidding, denying my mind’s objections, now drowned out by the rising voices of commitment. Contemplative mind succumbs to a simplistic body, trained to serve Him and invigorated by the multitudes of committed servants surrounding, similarly lauding their Creator.
The conflict ends in tranquility. I yield to my body, swaying rhythmically to the sweet sounds of subjugation.