Our Judaism, Life's Mission and Tombstones

All of us have gone through yeshiva: elementary school, high school and beis medrash. However, what generally happens to people when they leave the yeshiva?

Here are my observations. [Realize that my experience is limited to yeshiva bachelors. Nevertheless, I’m sure the same could be said for Beis Yaakov graduates]. While in yeshiva a bachelor is interested in growing into becoming a talmid chocham and prodigy. He’s working on his character development, davening and becoming a ben torah. The same bachelor gets married. Perhaps, he spends several years in kollel, but then leaves the four walls of the beis hamedrash and begins a new stage of his life. It’s almost inevitable that his focus changes. Now he has to worry about making a living, tuition, mortgages, building a career or a business and the myriad of responsibilities that come together with today’s busy life. Long gone are the days when a bochur’s main concern was getting the Rebbe’s lecture or understanding the difference between the two answers in tosfos.

It’s my observation that people fall into one of three categories:

1. Some in spite of all their responsibilities want to grow as a Jew and person. Their learning and davening are not perfunctory, rather they are still in the growth mode of shteiging (to work one’s way up).
2. At the other end of the spectrum, there are those whose major drop off is in their performance of Judaism. They remain, of course, shomrei torah u’mitzvos, but their Judaism is sorely lacking.

Examples:

• They no longer daven three times with a minyan and may open a seifer on Shabbos if at all.
• They come to shul to socialize or for the “kiddush club.”
• The corrosive effect of the non-Jewish working world is apparent in them in the way they talk, act and what they think about.

I would like to think that this represents a small percentage of yeshiva graduates. Then, there is the third group which falls somewhere in the middle:

3) They come to minyan, attend daf yomi, go to shul to learn with their children and go through the “motions.” However, that is precisely the problem. It’s just going through the “motions”. A Ba’al Teshuvah once remarked to the author, “There’s nothing wrong with being a FFB – (Frum From Birth). Rather, it’s becoming FFH (Frum From Habit), that one has to be concerned about.” There is very little “passion”, “feeling” and “enthusiasm”. Eventually, a person is left with a feeling of emptiness and of a hollow Judaism. It’s not surprising if that hollow Judaism begins to deteriorate.

(See We’re All in This Together by Rabbi Yissocher Frand, pages 149-169 and Rav Schwab on Chumash by Rabbi Myer Schwab, pages 463-464)

So, what’s the solution? How do we inspire and desire within ourselves to keep on growing after having been out (i.e. of yeshiva) for twenty or thirty years? There are two suggestions that I would like to offer. One has to do with our children and one has to do with our souls.

I’m confident in saying that we all want the same for our children. We want to derive nachas from them. In addition, we aspire that they will grow up, to be honest and decent human beings who serve Hashem and are working on their character traits.

There are no silver bullets, magic formulas or segulos in life. However, the Maharil Diskin shows us that there is a verse that gives us a solution of how to ensure such children. Oddly enough, it is a verse in the middle of the tochechah in Parshas Ki Savo. At first glance the verse seems like a terrible curse:

Meaning, “You didn’t do mitzvos in a way that made a lasting impression (ad olam) on your children!”

Why is that? The Maharil Diskin explains that’s the next verse:

Your Judaism lacked simcha, passion and enthusiasm. If that’s the case, it doesn’t last with your children. If you were fortunate to have a father, mother, grandfather or grandmother who performed a particular mitzvah with great zeal, chances are you also perform that mitzvah in that fashion. You know much is made about how women clean for Pesach, most of which is not halachically mandated.

There’s an old joke, “What’s the difference between a terrorist and a woman making Pesach? A terrorist you can negotiate with.” However, when one tries to explain to the ba’alas habayis that she doesn’t have to do this, the answer invariably comes back, “This is the way my mother did it, this is the way my grandmother did it and that is the way I’m going to do it.” That, if not the cleaning itself, is enviable and admirable.

I know someone’s father z”l, who worked physically a whole week. On Friday night, after the meal was over, he would be ma’aver sedra and he would fall asleep. He would wake up, read another parsha and fall asleep etc. His son who is a friend of mine says that this is how he fell asleep Friday night listening to the voice of his father being ma’aver sedra. That sticks with him because it was done with simcha, passion and feeling.

Someone told me once that it was the first night of Sukkos and it was raining. His father-in-law sat by the window “crying” because he couldn’t fulfill the mitzvah of Sukkah. Why was he upset?

When Avraham Avinu wanted to invite guests into his house, Hashem made it unbearably hot so as not to trouble him with guests.

If there are no guests, then there are no guests.

Sometimes the greatest measure of one’s passion for mitzvos is when one can’t do the mitzvah! Does one say, “Thank you, Hashem, I’m exempt” or does he sit there like that Jew and “cry”?

That is the question we have to ask ourselves, “How will our children remember our relationship to Hashem?” If for no other reason, that is why we must put passion and feeling into our Judaism! Because if not for ourselves, then do it for our children. If all Judaism is by rote, then what can we expect from them? The other question that I think can inspire us is one of the oldest in the world, “What am I doing here? Why did Hashem put me here?” After we settle into the quotidian life of paying the mortgage and raising the kids, we become drugged by a narcotic called complacency. Then it hits us and we begin to wonder, “Isn’t there more?!” The answer is yes, there is more and that “more” is the reason why we are here.

Ramban says, “The verse should have said, ‘A generation comes and a generation goes?’”

To which the Medrash answers, “The last generation that came here (i.e. this world) was reincarnated because they corrupted their actions and therefore they came back to this world to rectify its sin.”

What this Medrash is telling us is that most of us, if not all of us dwelling in this world, were here before; perhaps once, twice or several times. That’s the dor holeich, the generation that already came and the generation had to come in their stead because they did not complete their mission on this world. All of us have a mission, which is why we are here. If we don’t complete our mission the first time, we will have to come back to this world again and again.

W. C. Fields said, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

Rav Moshe Alshich articulates this verse even more sharply:

We are here for a mission. In the end, we are going to be accountable for it and no excuses will help. Many of us are familiar with the famous story of Elazar ben durdayah, who lived a life of decadence and promiscuity:

All of a sudden, he had an epiphany and decided that he must try to save his soul, by appealing for mercy:

Rabbi Moshe Bogomilksy explains:

Each of those objects that the Gemara mentions are the excuses we come up with in life. The mountains and hills symbolize his parents, “Declare it was not my fault. I was not disciplined; I was spoiled. You were too busy to take care of me and did not have the time or patience to supervise me properly.” However, his plea was rejected. Heaven and earth are symbolic of the society in which he lived and the people with which he associated, “I could not have been anything else; my environment molded my total identity. Had I lived in another society and been exposed to a ‘purer air’ I would have been different. Why am I to blame?” The sun and the moon are the symbols of affluence, as the Torah says, “With the bounty of the sun’s crops, and with the bounty of the moon’s yield.”

He cited the affluence of the society in which he had lived: “All I knew was material things; I was brought up in the ‘good life.’ I wanted pleasure; I was taught no other values. Was I to blame?” The stars and planets are symbolic of a predestined fate of evil within him. He also blamed his problems on ‘the good luck excuse - I did not have mazal.’ You tell them… I could not help living the way I did… tell them it was not my fault.’ Little did he realize that our Sages have said, ‘The celestial signs hold no sway over Israel’ - through prayer and merit one can prevail over the fate they foretell. Do not blame it on mazal - blame it on yourself!”

[Vedibarta Bam Tishrei by Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, pages 173-176. The original wording can be found in Sefer HaDrash V’HaIyun Al Chamishah Chumshei Torah volume 1 by Rabbi Aharon Lewin zt”l, Bereishis, Ma’amer 95, pages 119-122, third paragraph].

When his final plea was rejected, Elazar ben Durdaya probed deeply into his heart and soul and found the truth, ‘There is no one external factor to which I can shift responsibility.’ This echoes the Mishnah:

Rav Chaim Friedlander writes:

At the end of the day, it’s always about the person and his responsibility to himself. That is what we all must realize. We will be held accountable for that mission that Hashem put us on the face of this earth to accomplish. Rav Chaim Friedlander concludes:

…Indeed, the true salvation of a person is when he arrives at the realization “that the matter depends only on me” (i.e. it’s my responsibility). Then, it will be clear that all of the rationalizations were false, and that he will not be able to claim all this before the Holy One Blessed be He” [Sifsei Chaim Al HaMo’adim volume 1, page 9, entry אין הדבר תלוי אלא בי, third paragraph].

How do you know what your mission is? What does G-d want from me?

Everyone has a specific mitzvah that their passionate about doing and that’s why they were put into this world. However, if they don’t accomplish it the first time, they will have to be reincarnated repeatedly until they accomplish that specific mitzvah.

Now the question is, “What do I get my enjoyment out of? What am I drawn to? What do I have a talent for? Is it learning, saying a shiur, doing chesed, bringing up my children or a specific mitzvah?”

IT DOESN’T HAVE TO CHANGE THE WORLD. It only has to change YOU. The same thing applies to learning.

Rav Yisrael Meir HaKohen Kagan recommends the following:

Rav Chaim of Volozhin advises us:

“It is better for a person to have expertise in a particular area of Torah rather than to know a lot but not as well.”

Rabbi Yissocher Frand said the following story:

I have a student, who’s from Chile that’s involved in kiruv in central and South America. He went to Costa Rica to be m’kareiv people. While residing there, he meets a fellow man. He says to him, “Your size six.” The man says, “A size six?” Yes, “You’re a size six tzitzis.” He told the man, “It’s my goal in life to give a pair of tzitzis to every Jew in Costa Rica who wants one. This is my mitzvah.”

That’s his mitzvah. He spends thousands of dollars fulfilling that mitzvah.

I know another fellow who took it upon himself to get people to stop talking in shul. His friend had fallen ill. As a merit for his friend’s recovery, he asked a group of friends to accept upon themselves to talk during davening. He didn’t yell at people or harass them. He merely quietly and calmly asked if they would be willing to sign a pledge, which read, “I so-and-so accept bli neder, not to talk during davening from date ‘x’ to date ‘y’. In this merit may ploni have a refuah shleimah b’soch sha’ar cholei yisrael.” He’s gone from shul to shul, bungalow colony to bungalow colony, getting people to sign that pledge. He wrote to me, “I have been doing this for two months now. When I daven in shul and hear people talk and I was one of them, not a short time ago. It sounds so strange how can anyone talk while davening to Hashem. What would be the best way of getting Klal Yisrael to stop talking?” That became his mitzvah and mission!

Rav Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter says:

Define what your mitzvah is.

When you go to a cemetery, do you ever read the tombstones? I like to read tombstones. You know what one of the most moving, if not the most moving tombstone I ever read? It was on the tomb of Rav Yosef Karo. It’s not a long tomb פֹּה נטמען רב יוסף קארו בעל השולחן ערוך, here lies Rav Yosef Karo who wrote the Shulchan Aruch.

That’s all that need be said. It’s so short and eloquent. I find it fascinating what people chose to write on their tombstones or what their children choose to write on their tombstones. Do you know what the first thing written on Rav Chayim Soloveitchik’s tombstone is? Not “Roshei Yeshiva” or “Ba’al Chiddushei Rabbeinu Chayim HaLevi,” but “Rav HaChesed!” For he was a Ba’al Chesed.

Do you know what Rebbe Akiva Eiger wanted to be written on his tombstone? What would you write? “Ba’al Teshuvos Rebbe Akiva Eiger” or “Derosh V’Chiddish Rebbe Akiva Eiger.” Rebbe Akiva Eiger told his children to leave this on his tombstone סבל יסורים כל יומם, [he] was afflicted with suffering his entire life. I can safely predict that no one in this room will ever come to the level of Rebbe Akiva Eiger. You can forget that. There are people that have to live with suffering but have to keep on going. We can emulate that.

There is an incredible tombstone located in the Har HaMenuchos Cemetery in Yerushalayim. It’s not someone who’s famous, but the inscription says, “Here lays Rabbi Eliezer Yosef Lederberg, of blessed memory. He taught Torah to the masses. He learned and reviewed the tractates of Rosh Hashanah and Beitzah four thousand times.”

Who was Rabbi Eliezer Yosef Lederberg?

He lived in Batei Warsaw in Jerusalem, ran a business to earn a living, and spent all the time that remained studying Torah. Once he became sick and needed surgery to his head. The doctors told him that after the operation, which was needed to save his life, he might never see again.

“How long can I delay the surgery?” he asked his surgeon.

He was told that the maximum was six months. During this time he learned the two tractates, Rosh Hashanah and Beitzah, by heart, so he would be able to review them constantly if he went blind. The surgery was a success and not only did it save his life, it also saved his vision. He kept reviewing the two tractates wherever he was until he died on the 23^rd of Sivan in the year 1954.

“How long can I delay the surgery?” he asked his surgeon.He wrote in his will that perhaps the fact that he had reviewed the 4,000 times should be out on his tombstone, to serve as a model for others.

(Excerpted from My Father, My King by Zelig Pliskin, pages 29-30)

We have to ask ourselves, “What are our children going to write on our tombstone? What are they going to write about me and about you? How will they remember us? What will our children think about us?” When I see somebody doing something magnificent I say to myself, perhaps morbidly, “That’s tombstone material.” Nevertheless, that’s what we all have to think about. What will stand out in their minds is who we were. Hopefully, it’ll be that mission, that we one day realized what we were here for. With Hashem’s help, we will accomplish that.