Contemporary Impediments to Yirat Shamayim
Other participants in this year's Orthodox Forum colloquium have been assigned the stimulating and inspiring task of coping with one of the most central and august aspects of the religious life, in general, and of yahadut, in particular: yirat shamayim. Theirs is the analysis of content, both denotative and connotative; the nice perception of nuances, carefully honed and delineated; the definition of the phenomenon per se as well as the description of its interactive relation to proximate concepts; the limning of its own contours and the determination of its position within the broader spiritual landscape.
Mine is, alas, a sorrier lot. I have been charged with the survey and analysis of impediments to the attainment of this lofty goal – presumably, of such as exert this influence perennially as well as those which are characteristic of the contemporary context. I am not, however, complaining. Would that this were, at the practical plane, a non-topic. Would that adherence to familial and communal spiritual patrimony were the order of the day and deviant defection from the traditions of knesset Israel, a rare exception. However, one need not be steeped in sociology to perceive how tragically different is our current reality. Even unencumbered by statistics, any knowledgeable observer, residing בתוך עמי, "within my [own] people," is painfully aware of the magnitude of the problem and its ramifications, whether in Israel or the Diaspora. Ignoring the issue would thus constitute irresponsible pretense, and its confrontation becomes a matter of duty – painful, but duty nonetheless.
Moreover, at issue is not only possible desertion but, equally, the impact upon dilution and desiccation of religious experience of those firmly entrenched within the fold. And here, I find myself in excellent company. Students of Rav Mosheh Haym Luzatto's classic, Messilat Yesharim, will recall that his discussion of the qualities of zehirut and zerizut – of care and alacrity, respectively – is capped by a survey of the elements which impede the optimal attainment of these virtues and of the need to avoid these. Ramhal could, in turn, have looked for precedent, amongst rishonim, to that premier blend of mussar, pietism, and philosophy, Rabbenu Bahyya's Hovot Halevavot, which follows a similar procedure with respect to its topics.
Finally, my charge does entail a modicum of definition, however cursory and rudimentary, after all. Obviously, we can hardly identify and analyze impediments without some elucidation of what is being impeded. Hence, in our case, this self-evident proposition impels a preliminary discussion of the meaning of yirat shamayim.
Broadly speaking, the term admits of three distinct senses. At one plane, it denotes a specific mizvah – catalogued as such in familiar pesukim: את ה' א-לקיך תירא ואתו תעבד ובשמו תשבע – "Hashem, your God, you shall fear, Him you shall serve, and by His name you shall swear." Or again: את ה' א-לקיך תירא אתו תעבד ובו תדבק ובשמו תשבע – "Hashem, your God, you shall fear, Him you shall serve, unto Him you shall cleave, and by His name you shall swear"; enumerated amongst the list of taryag; defined with reference to content and characteristics, and contradistinguished from parallel norms, such as the commandments to emulate the Ribbono Shel Olam, to love Him, and to serve Him. והמצוה הד', the Rambam predicates, היא שצונו להאמין יראתו ולהפחד ממנו ולא נהיה ככופרים ההולכים בשרירות לבם ובקרי אבל נירא ביראת ענשו בכל עת וזהו את ה' א-לקיך תירא. "And the fourth [positive] commandment is, that He has commanded us to affirm His awesomeness, and to fear Him, and we shall not be as infidels who pursue their hearts' desires wantonly. Rather, we shall fear His retribution at all times; and this is the import of 'Hashem, your God, you shall fear'."
At a second plane, the term refers to the impetus motivating overall religious experience and observance. In this sense, yirah is posited as an alternative to ahavah; and it is generally perceived as an inferior alternative, love being deemed as preferable to fear or even awe as an incentive to the religious life. Thus, while in dealing with love and fear as specific mizvot, the Rambam in no way grades them, but simply postulates, הא-ל הנכבד והנורא הזה מצוה לאהבה וליראה אותו – "This august and awesome God, we are commanded to love and fear" – when, in the concluding chapter of Sefer Maddah, he discusses their respective roles as energizing and moving worship he emphatically endorses avodah me-ahavah, "service out of love" as the prime and desired mover, and relegates avodah mi-yirah to the religiously unsophisticated and uninitiated. The invidious comparison, we note, has its roots in Hazal. It appears, for instance, with regard to different levels of teshuvah; and, in a personal vein, is the focus of discussion concerning the quality of Iyov's and Avraham's service of God.
At yet a third plane, yirat shamayim does not merely denote the impetus to religious being but, rather, refers, comprehensively, to its overarching scope – to a life of faith, service, and obedience, actualized in accordance with divine will. Thus, Rav Yohanan cites Rabbi Elazar's sweeping assertion, אין לו להקב"ה בעולמו אלא יראת שמים בלבד – "In this world, the Kadosh Barukh Hu has only yirat shamayim," the gamut of specific norms certainly not being excluded. Similarly, the statement that הכל בידי שמים חוץ מיראת שמים – "All is in the hands of Heaven, but for yirat shamayim" – obviously embraces the totality of religious observance as beyond the pale of deterministic fiat. Indeed, the Rambam went so far as to postulate that the exclusion refers to the totality of freely willed human activity, even palpably neutral choices being presumably weighed in the light of spiritual alternatives, and with an eye to possible ramifications:
וכל מעשה בני האדם בכלל יראת שמים הם וסוף כל דבר ודבר ממעשה בני האדם בא לידי מצוה או עבירה
"The entire range of human activity is included within yirat shamayim, as, ultimately, each and every human act entails [an aspect of] mizvah or averah."
Hence, in dealing with impediments to yirat shamayim, we shall need to approach the topic from a multiplanar perspective. That perspective is also in order with reference to the historical period under consideration. Probably, the formulation of my specific topic, "Contemporary Impediments to Yirat Shamayim," was obviously grounded with an eye to the modern era. And this, I presume, for two possible reasons. First, it is the scene within which we live and work – and, hence, of greatest interest and relevance to ourselves. Second, the formulation was probably also based on the supposition that the phenomenon was particularly prevalent in the modern world, so much more secularly oriented than the preceding Renaissance, medieval or classical periods. The issue is therefore more pressing, and the need to cope with it especially challenging and urgent.
The factual assumption is, obviously, a virtual truism. The assertion of man at the expense of God (to invert a phrase once coined to encapsulate Jonathan Edwards' thought) characteristic of much modern culture and the concomitant emphasis upon the attainment of personal gratification within the temporal world, as that within which, in Wordsworth's terms, "we find our happiness or not at all," has palpably and radically altered the context of religious existence and influenced the conditions for its realization. Moreover, the post-Emancipation emergence of most of Jewry into the mainstream of general – and, particularly, Western – culture, has changed the character and direction of much of klal Israel, specifically, and therefore has impacted upon both its disaffected and committed components. Hence, the pursuit of yirat shamayim and the barriers to its achievements have assumed a more acute dimension.
These observations border, again, on the platitudinous. And yet, we need beware of exaggeration. Impediments to religious faith, sensibility, and lifestyle were not patented by Voltaire or Comte, by Spinoza or Y. L. Gordon. They are inbred within human nature, inherent within patterns of culture, the primary categories familiar from time immemorial. They are endemic to the fabric of the soul, part and parcel of כי יצר לב האדם רע מנעריו – "For the desire of his heart is evil from his youth," or of Kohelet's observation, כי הא-לקים עשה את האדם ישר והמה בקשו חשבונות רבים – "God made man upright, but they have sought out many complexities," on the one hand; and toדרך ברייתו של אדם להיות נמלך בדעותיו ובמעשיו אחר ריעיו וחבריו ונוהג כמנהג מדינתו – "It is natural for man to be drawn, with respect to his traits and actions, after his friends and peers, and to conduct himself in accordance with local practice," and we need not exposure to Augustine or Aristotle to acknowledge these facts.
Indeed, the course of danger has been clearly anticipated and described by the Torah. Within the exposition of the significance of the mizvah of zizit, we encounter a pasuk, familiar from our recitation of keri'at shema: והיה לכם לציצת וראיתם אתו וזכרתם את כל מצות ה' ועשיתם אתם ולא תתורו אחרי לבבכם ואחרי עיניכם אשר אתם זנים אחריהם – "It shall constitute zizit for you, and you shall see it, and you shall remember all of Hashem's commandments, and you shall not stray after your heart and after your eyes after whom you fornicate." The Rambam, followed by the Sefer Hahinukh and the Semag, read the conclusion of the pasuk, upon which he comments, as a negative imperative:
ועל ענין זה הזהירה תורה, ונאמר בה ולא תתורו אחרי לבבכם ואחרי עיניכם אשר אתם זנים כלומר לא ימשך כל אחד מכם אחרי דעתו הקצרה וידמה שמחשבתו משגת האמת
"And with respect to this matter, the Torah has admonished us, as is stated in it, 'And you shall not stray after your heart and after your eyes after whom you fornicate.' To wit, that each of you should not be drawn after his own limited understanding and imagine that his thought has attained the truth;"
and he enumerated it, accordingly, within the list of mizvot lo ta'a'seh. His predecessor, Rav Sa'adya Gaon, had not included it in his list, and it has been reasonably suggested that he interpreted the reference to possible straying as a rationale for zizit, in light of pitfalls it helps avoid, rather than as an independent admonition. On either reading, however, the anticipatory concern over a lapse in commitment is evident.
With an eye to a point I suggested earlier, I believe the concern here expressed is not confined to apostasy or the abjuration of Halakhic commitment, fundamentally and comprehensively. There are, of course, contexts, which admonish against such extreme developments, aptly represented by a pasuk familiar from the parshah of shema: השמרו לכם פן יפתה לבבכם וסרתם ועבדתם אלהים אחרים והשתחויתם להם – "Beware for yourselves lest your heart be diverted and you shall deviate and worship other gods and prostrate yourselves before them." To my mind, this is not the case, however, with respect to our pasuk. It includes, rather, impact upon the quality of religious life – attrition which erodes the vitality of faith and observance, allure which saps content and conviction. It includes, that is, the gamut of contemporary impediments under our consideration.
Of particular note is a second exegetical detail. Rashi, possibly on the basis of a midrash, explains: העין רואה והלב חומד והגוף עושה את העבירה – "The eye sees, and the heart desires, and the body enacts the transgression." According to this interpretation, the pasuk deals with a single continuum, visual allure tempting the viewer into passional desire – and, thence, possibly into Halakhic violation. However, the gemara in Berakhot cites a different view:
דתניא אחרי לבבכם זו מינות וכן הוא אומר אמר נבל בלבו אין א-לקים אחרי עיניכם זה הרהור עבירה שנאמר ויאמר שמשון אל אביו אותה קח לי כי היא ישרה בעיני אתם זונים זה הרהור עבודה זרה וכן הוא אומר ויזנו אחרי הבעלים.
"'After your heart' – this [refers to] heresy, as is written, 'The knave says in his heart, "There is no God." 'After your eyes' – this [refers to] sinful [sexual] rumination, as is written, "And Shimshon said to his father, take her unto me, for she has found favor in my eyes." 'You fornicate' – this refers to idolatrous rumination, as is written, 'And they fornicate after the Baalim.'"
This is likewise paralleled by a comment of the Sifre, ad locum (presumably, the gemara's source), albeit with a different exemplifying prooftext.
On this reading, the pasuk does not deal with sequential phrases of a single failure, but, rather, with multiple dangers, relating to varied areas of religious life and different wellsprings of religious lapse. The Ramban adopted this interpretation, with slight modification, but localized it:
ואמר ולא תתורו אחרי לבבכם זו האפיקורסות, להזהיר ממנה שלא יטעו בה... שלא יהרהרו מן התכלת באפיקורסות או בעבודת גלולים, אבל יהיה לכם הכל לציצית וראיתם אותו וזכרתם.
"And it states, 'And you shall not stray after your heart, as referring to heresy, to forewarn us with regard to it… that the tekhelet should not induce heretical or idolatrous thought, but, rather, that it should be all as fringes which you will see and be stirred to remembrance.'"
Surprisingly, the Ramban understands that the projected danger is not that of general religious failure, but, rather, that which might, prospectively, derive from the tekhelet. To these strings – given their unique character, to which the Ramban addresses himself earlier, as the fusion of all colors (much as physical science regards white light today), as endowed with profound teleological significance, and out of its azure affinity with sea, sky, and the kissei hakavod – one might attach problematic mystical and metaphysical qualities, associated with pagan culture; and it is against this tendency that the Torah forewarns.
It is a strikingly original interpretation, but one which, for our purposes, largely eviscerates the pasuk as a relevant source. Given the more conventional understandings of the gemara and the Sifre, however, we are here introduced to the psychological and existential patterns which will help us classify impediments to yirat shamayim; to ideological wanderlust and passional concupiscence, respectively. I assume, for our purposes, that the terms, hirhurei averah or zenut need not be understood in their narrower senses, as denoting thoughts of fornication or sexual license, but can be read as referring to libidinous lust, generally – or, even beyond that, to material desire, which competes with the committed religious life, distracts a person from its realization, and distances him from the Creator. At one plane, the Jew, as homo religiosus, is confronted by the allure of material gratification, by the beck and call of the flotilla of sirens of the order of hayyei sha'ah, the realm of temporal bliss. These vary greatly. They of course include carnal experience in the narrow sense of the term, the satisfaction of physical needs and aspiration, in response to urges, both bestial and human, at the level of need, comfort, or luxury. However, they also include less visceral elements, more social or passional than appetitive – power, status, opulence, leisure – as well as the blend of the carnal and the passional typified by sexuality. At a second plane, the aspiring Jew encounters obstacles more closely related to the quest for hayyei olam, whether the attraction of alternate religions, enticing by dint of ritual pageantry or social provenance, or the impact of ideology and speculation which poses philosophic difficulty.
These are the archetypal impediments, material and spiritual, to the optimal attainment of yirat shamayim. To these may be added elements, such as esthetic pleasure, especially music, which straddle both realms. Taken collectively or even independently, these are formidable dangers under the best of circumstances. However, each unquestionably has been reinforced within the modern context. On the material side, the concern with creature comfort, and the faith – at least, within the West – that it could be significantly attained, have increased measurably; and the scientific and technological revolution, animated by Bacon's conviction that "knowledge is power" and the relative mastery of nature as the fruits which that revolution has wrought, are self-evident as agents of that concern.
That revolution, more than welcome per se, has, however, exerted an ancillary negative impact upon instinctive religious sensibility. Religious existence is significantly interwoven with a sense of dependence. At the philosophic and theological plane, it manifests itself in the Rambam's assertion that only divine existence is independent, in contrast with all else: שכל הנמצאים צריכין לו והוא ברוך הוא אינו צריך להם ולא לאחד מהם – "For all existent [entities] need Him, and He, blessed be He, does not need them or any of them." Existentially and psychologically, it expresses itself in a sense, alternately, of need and reliance. Emphasis upon this factor is frequently related with Schleiermacher, who almost identifies religion with absolute dependence, but antecedents are plentiful, and roots in our tradition are clear. The Maharal, for instance, in explaining why tefillah is denominated avodah, dwells upon its link to dependence:
אבל התפלה מורה שהאדם נתלה בו יתברך... שכל ענין התפלה שהוא מתפלל אל השם יתברך לפי שהוא צריך אל השם יתברך נתלה בו ית' ואין קיום לו בעצמו כי אם בו יתברך ולכך מתפלל אליו על כל צרכו
"But prayer indicates that man is dependent upon Him, blessed be He… For the whole substance of prayer is that he [i.e. the mitpallel] prays to Hashem, blessed be He, because he needs Him and is dependent upon Him, and has no independent personal existence but through Him, blessed be He. Therefore He prays to Him with respect to all his need."
He, in turn, may very well have looked to a familiar pasuk in Tehillim:
הנה כעיני עבדים אל יד אדוניהם כעיני שפחה אל יד גברתה, כן עינינו אל ה' א-לקינו עד שיחננו
"Behold, as the eyes of servants unto the hand of their masters, as the eyes of a maidservant unto the hand of her mistress, so our eyes are unto Hashem, our God, until He will grace us."
At the human plane, Dostoyevsky's Grand Inquisitor could have opted for rejecting the trade-off of liberty for economic security. Vis-à-vis the Ribbono Shel Olam, however, the basic human condition – and a fortiori, the basic Jewish condition – is defined by the terms of a servitude which holds man in bondage to his Master and Provider.
Scientific progress, has, however, eroded the sense – and, from a certain point of view, possibly also the reality – of human dependence. As Bonhoeffer noted, "The world which has attained to a realisation of itself and of the laws which govern its existence is so sure of itself that we become frightened." In an admittedly lesser vein, according to some rishonim, a similar problem arose millennia ago, and spiritual leadership took steps to cope with it. The gemara in Pesahim, citing a passage from the Tosefta, states that among the initiatives undertaken by Hizkiyahu which earned the approbation of contemporary Torah scholars, was the banning of medical books. The gemara gives no reason, but Rashi explains:
לפי שלא היה לבם נכנע על חולים אלא מתרפאין מיד
"Because their heart was not subdued over the sick, as they were cured immediately."
The Rambam went out of his way to criticize and even ridicule this attitude; and we are inclined to agree with him, as I presume few if any today would readily assent to abandoning state-of-the-art medical care, when available. However, the basic religious issue is real, and positive as we may be about the humanitarian benefits of science, we cannot but lament the concomitant illusion of self-reliance and the vitiation of the sense of dependence.
The erosion of this sense is, in part, endemic to the modern scene as a whole – a function of the infrastructure which, in industrialized societies, enables even the poor to reap some benefits of a system which confers upon them, in areas such as health and sanitation, benefits of which the Croesuses of two centuries ago could barely dream. For many, however – particularly, in the West – the process is often both accelerated and exacerbated by affluence. I have neither the inclination nor the right to indulge in railing against the pitfalls of opulence. Nevertheless, without risking the hypocrisy of such moralizing, one can simply note the obvious fact that the amenities afforded by affluence as well as the self-image buttressed by it, may often reduce one's reliance upon divine sustenance. The theme recurs in Sefer Devarim, whether as anticipatory admonition – פן תאכל ושבעת... ורם לבבך ושכחת את ה' א-לקיך – "Lest you eat and be sated… and your heart shall then be uplifted, and you shall forget Hashem, your God" – or, as prophetically retrospective narrative: "And Yeshurun waxed fat, and rebelled" וישמן ישרון ויבעט . And it appears, enunciated by a suppliant anxious to avert spiritual lapse, in the penultimate chapter of Mishlei: ראש ועשר אל תתן לי...פן אשבע וכחשתי ואמרתי מי ה' – "Give me neither poverty nor riches… Lest I be sated and abjure, and say 'Who is Hashem?'" The scenario I am herewith discussing, does not, again, necessarily deal with outright apostasy or religious defection. The prospect of attrition induced or stimulated by material prosperity is, in its own right, grave enough. Optimally, in tefillah, even the wealthiest are suffused by a sense of need, as the archetype of תחנונים ידבר רש, "A pauper pleads," prescriptive as well as descriptive, characterizes their prayer no less than that of the indigent. That reality requires, however, an exercise of will and imagination not always readily attainable.
The extension and amelioration of life has been accompanied, moreover, by a change in outlook and sensibility. Other-worldliness which could be expressed to the strains of a danse macabre while a plague decimated Europe, has been largely supplanted by affirmation. Bentham's identification of happiness and the good with the pursuit of pleasure has not gone without serious challenge; but, at the popular plane, utilitarian ethics are inlaid to an extent unthinkable in medieval culture. For all the levity and the traces of ribaldry in some of the Canterbury Tales, and despite Arnold's complaint over the lack of "high seriousness of noble purpose," Chaucer could conclude with a prayerful epilogue, in which he expresses the hope that he will attain divine forgiveness for "my giltes, and namely of my translacions and enditinges of worldly vanities, the which I revoke in my retraccions." Two centuries later, Sir Philip Sidney, his career as an Elizabethan courtier notwithstanding, could open his final sonnet with the exhortation, "Leave me, O love which reachest but to dust, / And thou my mind aspire to higher things;" and conclude it with a parting assertion: "Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see; / Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me." Modern counterparts would strike a very different note.
The possible impact of this change upon the level and quality of yirat shamayim should be obvious. It may be sharply exemplified by reference to remarks of Rabbenu Bahyye ben Asher. Under the rubric of yirah in his compendium, Kad Hakemah, he addresses himself to the relation between Kohelet's initial nihilistic assessment that all is havel havalim, "vanity of vanities," with the concluding affirmation, סוף דבר הכל נשמע את הא-לקים ירא ואת מצותיו שמור כי זה כל האדם – "In sum, when all has been considered; Fear God and observe His commandments, for that is the whole of man;" and he comments למדך בזה כי לא תתכן היראה זולתי אם יהביל ויבזה ענייני העולם הזה – "This is to instruct you, that yirah is inconceivable unless one contemns and despises the matters of this world." Few modernists would accept this sweeping assertion in toto. Precisely for that reason, however, it is, for our purposes, noteworthy.
The change in the philosophic climate is even more marked; and here we confront not only issues concerning the quality of yirat shamayim within the context of commitment but the loss of religious identity, ranging from "honest doubt" to secularization and apostasy. Arnold's contrast between a culture in which "The Sea of Faith / Was once, too, at the full," and his own context, of which he asserts, "And we are here, as on a darkling plain / Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight / Where ignorant armies clash by night," is, in its lament over the loss of certitude, both familiar and typical.
Here, too, the impact of science has been crucial; and this, in several respects. At one level, it has often challenged the verities of Torah across a broad front, particularly with regard to factual issues. Harnessing the methodology and claims of various disciplines – physical, historical, and linguistic – its practitioners and advocates have often sought to cast a pall over the integrity and veracity of sacral texts and classic tradition; and while much of the battle was fought in earlier centuries, from Spinoza to Spencer, and has, to an extent, subsided, its echoes are still part of the current scene.
The influence of scientism has, however, extended beyond factual assertion and has encroached upon sensibility. As cultural historians have not tired of noting, as Dante's neat three-story geocentric cosmos has given way to modern conceptions, the prospect of the tyranny of Tennyson's "hundred million years and hundred million spheres," often arousing more stupor than wonder, has, quite apart from issues concerning the age of the universe, undermined the sense of man's worth and of his relation to ultimate reality. And this has often affected yirat shamayim directly. Confronting a universe supposed by Einstein to be thirty-five billion light years in diameter, it is difficult to experience the sense of direct amidah lifnei hamelekh, of standing directly before the Ribbono Shel Olam, so essential to yirah.
In a third vein, the scientific approach has imprinted upon the minds of many a kind of practical empiricism, whereby the canons of judgment are identified, be it subliminally, with palpable proof, logical or sensual. In principle, such a mindset is inimical, if not antithetical, to emunah, as is manifest from a passage in Baba Bathra. The gemara narrates that, in the course of a homiletic discourse, Rav Yohanan projected that, at some future juncture, the Ribbono Shel Olam would bring huge precious stones and place them in the gates of Jerusalem. The size seeming to him fantastic, a student ridiculed him. Subsequently, the latter embarked on a voyage, in the course of which he encountered angels hewing precious stones of the predicted size; and upon inquiring as to their destination, he was informed that they were to be positioned at the gates of Jerusalem. Upon his return, he approached his master and exclaimed:דרוש רבי לך נאה לדרוש כאשר אמרת כן ראיתי - "'Hold forth, my rav! It is befitting for you to hold forth!' Just as you stated, I have seen." Whereupon Rav Yochanan responded: ריקא אלמלא ראית לא האמנת מלגלג על דברי חכמים אתה – "Scoundrel! Had you not seen, you would not have believed. You ridicule the words of the sages." While yahadut does not foster fideism, it clearly rejects positivism. It is precisely that, however, which many modernists, even such as to whom the philosophic nomenclature may be totally foreign, imbibe from the passive and symbiotic absorption of prestigious scientific premises and habits. Hence, in this respect too, scientism may impede yirat shamayim.
The potential straying "after your heart" is not confined, classically or contemporaneously, to sciences, however. The minut in question may also derive from humanistic culture – indeed, more directly so. The possible ravages of philosophy, as decried by variegated pietists, are too familiar to require elaboration; but, in our connection, we may nevertheless single out two distinct dangers to yirat shamayim. The first is full-fledged minut proper, raising the banner of skeptical inquiry as a point of departure and, at times, adopting heretical or agnostic theses at conclusion. At this level, the upshot may be total defection. Absenting that, however, there still lurks the lesser danger of spiritual or emotional desiccation, inhibiting profound religious experience, whether out of an erosion in the capacity for awe and wonder – that "cold philosophy" of which Keats lamented that it "will clip an Angel's wings / Conquer all mysteries by rule and line / Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - / Unweave a rainbow" – or whether the restraint it often preaches brakes all powerful spiritual experience. As regards the last point, literature – particularly, "the literature of power" – presumably poses no problem and should even serve to compensate. Obviously, however, authors have their own agendas, explicit or implicit, which may not coincide with a Torah hashkafah; and literary imagination is often currently harnessed for the production of so much which is both religiously and morally deleterious.
At the heart of the contemporary accretion to both aharei levavkhem and aharei eineikhem lie two distinct and yet related factors. The first is the homocentric character of much modern culture – even of its religious component. At one plane, we are witness to an overwhelming emphasis upon human welfare and desire, however, defined, as the telos of the good life. At another, liberal doctrine ensconces man – preferably, individual man – as the arbiter of moral and theological truth, in the face of traditional authority. Quite apart from the specifics of a particular contretemps, the concomitant defiance may be inconsonant with fostering the humility so critical to meaningful yirat shamayim. This tendency is greatly exacerbated by the thrust of postmodern theory and practice. While its character may intensify certain modes of religion, the subjectivist bias encourages a heterodox elu v'elu which leads to an unbounded doctrinal no man's land, devoid of dogmatic content or commitment. Yirat shamayim, however, demands both.
The second factor is that which the mizvah of zizit is explicitly intended to counteract. The Torah explains that it is geared to inculcating remembrance of the entire complex – וזכרתם את כל מצות ה' ועשיתם אתם - "And you shall remember all the mizvot of Hashem and implement them." The implication that the spiritual dragon to be confronted is obliviousness is clear. The Torah addresses itself to this issue in various contexts, through both normative admonition and narrative rebuke: השמר לך פן תשכח את ה' א-לקיך – "Beware, lest you forget Hashem, your God," at one pole, and צור ילדך תשי ותשכח א-ל מחללך – "The Rock who begot you you ignored, and forgot God who bore you," at another. The topic has, however, a distinctly current dimension. Secular modern culture does not so much rebel against the Ribbono Shel Olam as it ignores Him. Its model is not Hazal's portrait of Nimrod – so called, they suggest, because יודע רבונו ומתכוין למרוד בו – "He knows his Master and [yet] intends to rebel against Him;" nor Aeschylus' Prometheus, or Milton's Satan. It is, rather, that of less heroic and less magisterial figures, engrossed in serenely, perhaps complacently, conducting their affairs, without reference to divine order. "Je n'ai pas besoin de cette hypothèse," replied Laplace when asked why he had omitted God from his treatise, Mécanique Celeste. For religious modernists who do not, of course, wholly omit, the core besetting sin is היסח הדעת, obliviousness – not that which, Heaven forfend, denies heretically, but such as is content with feeble fulfillment of the Rama's opening codicil in Shulhan Arukh: שויתי ה' לנגדי תמיד הוא כלל גדול בתורה ובמעלות הצדיקים אשר הולכים לפני הא-לקים - "'I have always set Hashem before me' – this is a grand principle regarding Torah and the levels of the righteous who walk before God." The feebleness per se constitutes, however, a serious impediment to yirat shamayim.
I have focused upon spiritual impediments – in part, because of personal orientation and predilection, and, in part, because I regard them as the most critical. Unquestionably, however, one can note others as well, of a more sociological character. Just how attractive the world of yirat shamayim is – culturally, ethically, even, to a point, esthetically – may impact significantly. How young people, in particular, are treated by family, teachers, peers, or the general community; the nature of the interpersonal stimuli and/or provocation to which they are exposed; the kiruv of embrace without conquest, the degree of understanding and empathy they encounter on their religious odyssey – all may exert profound influence upon the course of their experience and development. None of this can or should be denied. At the extreme, these may make the difference between sustaining or abandoning commitment. However, even where basic identity does not hang in the balance, here too, the quality and level of Torah existence frequently does. "If one is angry at the hazan," runs a Yiddish adage, "one does not answer amen."
Hazal were well aware of this element; and they counseled accordingly: לעולם תהא שמאל דוחה וימין מקרבת לא כאלישע שדחפו לגחזי בשתי ידיו - "One should always distance [a disciple] with the left and draw [him] near with the right, unlike Elisha who pushed Gehazi with both hands." Moreover, I was once struck by the addendum of a mashgiah of one of the preeminent haredi yeshivot ketanot, to the effect that, given our prevalent cultural climate and rising student expectations, the guideline should be amended to dictate two-handed kiruv.
I freely acknowledge the relevance of these factors; and any attempt to cope with religious attrition at the public plane must clearly take them into serious consideration. However, they raise a host of Halakhic, educational and communal issues which lie, I believe, beyond my present mandate and, to some extent, possibly, beyond my expertise. I return, therefore, to my more narrowly defined area of primarily personal confrontation.
In this connection, with an eye to both the narrower and the broader senses of yirat shamayim, we may distinguish between four separate levels of contemporary impediments to its attainment. The most comprehensive is emotional atrophy, the inability to feel deeply and sensitively about almost anything – especially, of a spiritual nature; the personality of a lotus-eater of sorts, unruffled and uninspired, marked by lassitude and insouciance, issuing in, or bred by, radical ennui.
At a second level, we may note an individual fully capable of powerful emotion, both positive and negative, but tone deaf to the quintessence of yirat shamayim: reverence. He may love and hate, he may aspire and labor, he may even admire and appreciate – but all under a low ceiling. If he is pragmatically oriented, and if he believes sufficiently in the cardinal tenets of natural religion, the existence of God and reward and punishment, he may attain yirat ha'onesh, the fear of retribution. But if he lacks the capacity for reverence, for anything or anyone, he is, with respect to the higher strains of yirat haromemut, the "awe of majesty," a spiritual cripple.
One rung higher, we can encounter a person endowed with the capacity for reverence, but lacking the ability or the desire to perceive its unique content within the context of the divine and transcendental. Awed by the grandeur of human creativity, cosmic mystery, or, like Kant, by the moral law, he is nonetheless insensitive to sui generis response to sui generis reality. He does not fully appreciate the import of yihud Hashem, in its qualitative sense, and, hence, does not apprehend the sense of the singularly numinous.
Finally, within our own community, there exist those who, whether floundering or assertively self-assured, may be religiously motivated in universal terms, but not attuned to the particularistic context of yahadut, not sufficiently convinced that Mosheh emet v'torato emet. Whereas the previous class is marked by taints of idolatry, these decline or defect, tinged by skepticism or agnosticism.
Modes of response to these levels, and strategies capable of coping with them, obviously vary. One cannot compare a loyal but superficially complacent votary with a troubled and teetering soul, perhaps anxiously seeking to find God and to believe in Him, but riven by philosophic doubt and unable to make the leap of faith. Attitudes need to differ, the means to vary, and in counseling individuals or groups, we clearly take this into account. However, if a general comment may nonetheless be advanced, across the board, we need to pay special attention to the spiritual – or, if you will, the experiential – dimension. It is not that we have over-intellectualized faith. It is, rather, if such a term exists, that we have under-emotionalized it. Oblivious to Coleridge's crucial distinction, we have often been satisfied to identify it with belief. I trust that I shall not be misunderstood. I am deeply committed to serious talmud Torah, crucially important per se, as both a major aspect of avodat Hashem and a means to its enhancement. The sense that בראתי יצר הרע בראתי לו תורה תבלין - "'I have created an evil desire, and I have created Torah as its antidote," ascribed to the Ribbono Shel Olam, is, for me, not just an authoritative dictum but an existential axiom. Ule'avdo zeh talmud -"'To serve Him – this refers to [Torah] study." Its value and effectiveness is, however, very much a function of its experiential character; and that, in turn, depends, in no small measure upon its emotional quotient. Ambivalence and shallowness flourish when devekut has withered or passion has waned.
We are particularly challenged by a simple fact – upon reflection, perhaps obvious, and yet, in a sense, singular and incongruous. I introduce it on a semi-homiletic note. With respect to the commandment to love God, bekhol levavekha, the mishnah, noting the use of levav as opposed to lev, observes: בכל לבבך בשני יצריך ביצר הטוב וביצר הרע – "With your whole heart, with both the good and the evil desires." Its intent is clear. Even potentially destructive and aggressive energies, properly sublimated and channeled, can be harnessed into service as an element in the soul's quest for ahavat Hashem. Analogously, the admonition against being misled by straying after levavkhem, may be equally inclusive, urging us to beware not only of what tempts our darker visage but of what appeals to the child of light in us, as well; of what may be grounded in positive virtue and yet, in sum, may affect yirat shamayim adversely, nonetheless. Paradoxically, at times we sow gentle breezes and reap the whirlwind.
The phenomenon is manifest in a number of areas – and this, with respect to values which may either clash with yirat shamayim or compete with it. A case in point, at the most fundamental level, is the premium upon the development of personality. We – more the ben Torah in us, than the modernist – are not content with training our children or ourselves to bring our faculties to bear upon coping with the quandaries of life and its vicissitudes. We strive to mold the self, proper – to maximize ability, to extract and exploit the potential immanent, by divine gift, in our inner core. We share the Greek passion for paideia, as an educational and civic ideal – and this, out of religious aspiration, as an end in itself, rather than merely as a means to inculcate or improve the capacity for dealing with issues. Ba'alei hamussar speak incessantly of the responsibility to build kohot hanefesh, beyond activating or energizing them; and this emphasis is an integral part of our authentic collective tradition.
Moreover, we encourage, as part of this process, a stress upon dynamism and vibrancy: man as agent – gavra in contrast with object – hefza. This is reflected in the extraordinary emphasis upon will as the epicenter of the self; and, in the tradition of the Rambam, free will, postulated as both experienced reality and desideratum, and not just as a dogmatic tenet. Free will is the linchpin of the entire Halakhic universe, the basis of the normative demand which confronts the Jew or Jewess at every turn. The exercise of choice, with respect to a plethora of minutiae is central as both means and end. In the process of energizing consciousness, we mold it. Not for us is the immolation of the will idealized in certain mystical traditions. The capacity for choice, is, to us, a quintessential aspect of that humanity which enables us to serve the Ribbono Shel Olam and submit to Him.
And yet, alyah v'koz immah. The course may boomerang. The capacity for chosen spiritual aspiration may issue, instead, in vaulting secular ambition. The more powerful the personality, the graver the potential for rebellion, the stronger the passion for independence, the greater the reluctance to submit. The kabbalat ol malkhut shamayim of the docile may be less attractive or even significant, but it is probably more secure.
Moreover, an energized but undirected or misdirected will is a dangerous loose cannon. This prospect is graphically reflected in a remarkable passage in Yirmeyahu. In the wake of a passage full of dire prognosis, it is anticipated that knesset Israel will respond by inquiring how or why it has incurred divine wrath; and the navi is instructed, speaking on behalf of God, to expound the causes:
והיה כי תגיד לעם הזה את כל הדברים האלה ואמרו אליך על מה דבר ה' עלינו את כל הרעה הגדולה הזאת ומה עוננו ומה חטאתנו אשר חטאנו לה' א-לקינו. ואמרת אליהם על אשר עזבו אבותיכם אותי נאם ה' וילכו אחרי אלהים אחרים ויעבדום וישתחוו להם ואותי עזבו ואת תורתי לא שמרו
"And it shall come to pass, when you will tell this people all these matters, and they shall say to you: 'Wherefore has Hashem pronounced all this great evil against us? What is our iniquity and what the sin that we have committed against Hashem, our God?' And you shall say to them: 'Because your fathers have forsaken Me, speaks Hashem, and they have pursued strange gods, and they have worshipped them and bowed to them, and Me they have forsaken and disobeyed my Torah.'"
This brief catalogue – including idolatry, the abandonment of God, and the obliviousness to Torah – would seem reason enough. And yet, the navi continues, there is a further overshadowing surfeit:
ואתם הרעתם לעשות מאבותיכם והנכם הלכים איש אחרי שררות לבו הרע לבלתי שמע אלי.
"And you have done worse than your forefathers, each directed by the inclination of his evil heart, so that you didn't listen to Me."
Arbitrary will, evidently conceived as not merely the perpetrator of specific sins but, rather, as the dynamic engine of rebelliousness impelling to sin, is placed beyond idolatry and the rejection of Torah, in toto.
Much the same message is projected in an earlier context, at the personal plane. Within the context of his farewell address, Mosheh Rabbenu anticipates a prospective rebel whose self-assured response to threatened punishment will be insouciance:
שלום יהיה לי כי בשררות לבי אלך
"Peace will be with me, as I shall pursue the inclination of my heart."
The imprecations anticipated for him in the subsequent pesukim attest boldly to the gravity with which the Torah regards a life governed by sherirut lev. Hence, inasmuch as the stronger the "heart," the greater the potential for just such a life, the bolstering of personality and of will, as its dynamic principle, engenders the risk of enabling rebelliousness. This is not to imply that such a result is inevitable. Properly channeled, a rich personality can be invaluable towards both sustaining fundamental fidelity and enhancing the quality of religious experience, its reverential component included. As the semantics of the adjective "strong-willed" attest, the danger is there, however, and it suffices to warrant the inclusion of our cherished development of personality and its volitional powers as a possible impediment to the advancement of yirat shamayim.
In a kindred vein, a similar scenario may be envisioned with respect to the intellectual sphere. Here, too, we deal with abilities much valued by ourselves, in the Torah world no less than in the academic. Even those who do not subscribe to the Rambam's equation of zelem E-lokim with intelligent da'at, accord it a central place in the definition of humanity and recognize its contribution to religious existence. Explaining the position of the plea for da'at as the first of the petitional berakhot in shemoneh essrei, the Yerushalmi observes: אם אין דיעה תפלה מניין - "If there is no reason, whence prayer?" Hence, the overriding emphasis upon study as a value, and the development of the capacity and the desire to study as central to spiritual growth.
Moreover, this emphasis is not confined to passive learning and the accumulation of knowledge. It includes the ability, so plaintively sought in the berakhah preceding keriat shema, lehavin u'lehaskil, "to understand and to perceive." Almost inevitably – particularly, in the modern context – this entails inculcating and encouraging a modicum of critical perspective, as regards both the reading of texts and the analysis of concepts, which, in turn, fosters a measure of independence.
Here, too, then, we risk encounter with a golem who may turn upon his creator and/or mentor; with forces which, once unleashed, may reduce an educator to the role of the sorcerer's apprentice. As the primeval serpent well knew – and this was crucial to his temptations, as appealing to spiritual pride, no less than to sensual appetite – da'at opens access to knowledge, and knowledge is power, not only in Bacon's sense, as enabling a measure of human mastery over man's natural environment, but as providing and possibly encouraging spiritual autonomy. That autonomy is, however, precisely what possibly distances man from the Creator, undermining yirat shamayim at its root.
Within the modern context, the phenomenon is all too familiar, probably requiring no explanatory exemplification. Nevertheless, I cite one incident which has stuck in my memory. Addressing a Mizrahi audience in the fifties, the Rav z.t.l. almost waxed lyrical as he sang the praises of critical analysis as a central aspect of the process of lomdut; expounding how, upon encountering an opinion of, say, Rabbenu Tam, the aspiring lamdan is not content with integrating the material, but confronts Rabbenu Tam with the need for a supportive rationale, etc. Then, evidently intuiting whence this trend could lead, he raised his voice, and, interceding, exclaimed:
רבותי, ציהט נישט קיין פאלשע מסקנות!
"Gentlemen, don't draw any false conclusions!"
He did not amplify and he did not qualify, but the brief interposition put the concern with maintaining the tensile balance between different and potentially conflicting values into bold relief. It is a concern which any surveyor of current impediments to yirat shamayim inevitably shares.
The same pattern is evident in yet a third realm – the moral. Morality, natural or revealed, is central to our Weltanschauung, and its organic integration with the world of faith a primary tenet. It relates to the Scriptural description of the Ribbono Shel Olam – א-ל אמונה ואין עול צדיק וישר הוא – "A God of fidelity without iniquity, righteous and upright is He." And, at the human plane, it constitutes a prime telos of personal growth and educational effort. Moreover, in this area, we are not content with assuring response to normative charges. We seek to mold ethical sensibility – a feeling for both justice and mercy, a sense of tragedy, compassion for suffering and deprivation. Yet, this very sensibility and its attendant scruples may make it difficult to understand, or to come to terms with, details or even whole areas of Halakhah which, prima facie, may be jarring, as inconsistent with it.
Similar considerations are germane with respect to an ethic of a different character. I have previously touched upon the issue of excessive worldliness, and noted its negative impact upon spirituality, in general, and yirat shamayim, in particular. The perennial question of how to relate to the world bears, however, a more fundamental aspect; and, at that plane, we – certainly, those of us with some modernist inclination – are basically positive. Despite significant nuanced differences, both the Rav and Rav Kook, the twin polestars of our hashkafah, shared this perception. The Rav, in particular, distanced himself from the polarities of James's categories of world-acceptance and world-rejection, and insisted upon world-redemption. That, too, however, is grounded in fundamental affirmation. We categorically reject Augustine's view of the natural order as massa perditionis, regarding that conception as inconsonant with the declaration,
וירא א-לקים את כל אשר עשה והנה טוב מאד
"And God surveyed all that He had made and, behold, it was very good"
– that evaluation remaining valid even after human lapse into sin. Our admiration for the Kad Hakemakh notwithstanding, we certainly do not share its author's contention that meaningful yirat shamayim can only be attained by disengagement from the temporal world and refusal to ascribe any value to it.
Involvement we do not treat as a neutral option but as a sacred challenge, as part of our duty to discharge the universal mandate of le'avdah u'l'shamrah, to advance the divine goal – לא תהו בראה לשבת יצרה – "He created it [i.e. the world] not as a waste; He formed it to be inhabited." And we both heed and take heart from the authoritative voice of the Rambam: שאין ראוי לאדם שיעסוק כל ימיו אלא בדברי חכמה וביישובו של עולם – "It is not fitting for a man to engage all his days in anything but matters of wisdom and the development of the world." Yet, here again, this charge, so appealing to us, ideologically and psychologically, may open the door to the excesses of worldliness, inviting the lament of Wordsworth's familiar sonnet: "The world is too much with us; late and soon, / Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; / Little we see in Nature that is ours." That we assuredly reject. No Jew could accept the sonnet's subsequent preference for being "a pagan, suckled in a creed outworn." But the concern over the loss of spirituality – "We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!" – we surely share.
In one sense or another, the foregoing quartet can be subsumed under the comprehensive rubric of religious humanism; and what has been said of each component, with reference to our commitment and the relevant caveats regarding the respective concerns, might be stated with an eye to the category as a whole. Yahadut is, in one sense, profoundly humanistic. This quality is reflected in at least three distinct areas. Perhaps foremost among them is the esteem accorded man, whether considered independently, as expressed in the doctrine of zelem E-lokim, or as regards his position within the created cosmic order. Second, we note the centrality accorded human needs and aspirations within the core Halakhic corpus. Finally, the sensitivity to human welfare is manifested in the criterion for defining exigencies which warrant deviation from that corpus. "Ha lamadta," as the Rambam explains with regard to pikuah nefesh overriding Shabbat,
שאין משפטי התורה נקמה בעולם אלא רחמים וחסד ושלום בעולם
"Hence, you have learned that the ordinances of the Torah are not [meant to serve] vengeance in the world, but, rather, [to serve] mercy, lovingkindness, and peace in the world."
And yet, that humanism, fraught with possibly dangerous overreaching, is guarded. Esteem is tempered by the contrast of frailty bordering on nothingness with transcendental majesty and power; and the danger of anthropomorphism is proactively anticipated by the preventive prohibition against graven images. Regard for human welfare, for its part, is constantly pitched within the context of man's servitude to God. And so the axiological balance is struck, charting a course subsequent generations would do well to follow.
We need to note, additionally, however, another recent impediment, regarded by its devotees not as a dilution of avodat Hashem but as its optimal realization; one which does not challenge basic commitment to Torah and mizvot but undercuts the specific strain of yirah, in favor of an overriding and almost exclusive concern with ahavat shamayim. As previously noted, the priority of ahavah to yirah as the motive force of the religious life is grounded in Hazal; and it is conceivable that some rishonim held that this superiority obtains even when we deal with the two as independent mizvot. However, at times, the relative neglect of yirah stems from the human psyche more than from textual and theological sources. The sense of proximity and warmth and the desire for it – in part, the basis of ahavah and, in part, its product – is far more comforting and reassuring than the sense of distance and recoil experienced in yirah; hence, the gap in emotional appeal. Many, C. S. Lewis has somewhere noted, do not want a Father in Heaven, but rather a Grandfather in Heaven. Oblivious to Hazal's critique of חברותא כלפי שמים, "familiarity with respect to Heaven," they are, in Carlyle's phrase, "at ease in Zion."
The phenomenon has numerous manifestations, ranging from great leniency with respect to Halakhic issues concerning utterance of divine names or berakhot to pronouncements regarding the respective identities of God and man which, to say the least, border on the blasphemous. Perhaps the most prominent, however, is the trend towards neo-Hasidic modes of worship, focused upon a quest for spirituality to which the strains of ahavah are most conducive. As I have written in a previous Forum volume, I do not regard this quest as problematic per se; and, properly channeled and balanced, it can be quite positive. However, in the absence of such balance – and it is to such absence that we are often witness – the negative impact upon yirat shamayim can be grave.
Given the data, we – individually and communally, as ovdei Hashem and as spiritual mentors – are confronted with a serious dilemma. If values to which we adhere and attitudes we advocate contribute to the contemporary impeding of yirat shamayim, ought we change course or, at least, reduce the degree of our advocacy? Perhaps, one reflects, we need to reexamine and reorient our hashkafah; or, falling short of that, acknowledge that, while we continue to regard it as valid and deeply Jewish, it is possibly insufficiently suited to meeting the challenge of contemporary conditions, intellectual and social.
Self-evidently, the upshot of such a possible assessment can, a priori, move us in one of two antithetical directions. One option, perhaps not so much focused on the values I have noted as with an eye to the impact upon practical Halakhic observance, is to challenge the thrust of this paper – and, in a sense, of this conference. We have posited yirat shamayim as a major desideratum and, hence, have sought avenues to enhance and encourage it. We have not, by and large, correspondingly explored possible negative religious fallout. It is sometimes contended, however, that the persistent pursuit of such a sublime but abstract ideal may undercut Halakhic commitment, as punctilious attention to minutiae may be disdained as paltry in comparison with lofty and comprehensive goals. Consequently, it is argued, religious stability and fidelity is better served by greater stress upon observance, even at the expense, conscious and subconscious, of concomitant diminution of harping upon yirat shamayim.
I acknowledge that this prospect is indeed possible, and, moreover, that it has, at times, materialized. Nevertheless, such a contention, while well-motivated, is, from our standpoint, essentially misguided. It is grounded upon a Christian, and possibly antinomian, conception of the composite spiritual self and of the character of the Halakhic order. Yahadut is not content with a self-image which assigns a premium to law, to the neglect of spirituality. It contends that, fundamentally and ultimately, the spiritual cause proper is advanced by normative response and discipline. Admittedly, it doesn't always work out as such, but that is part of our abiding faith: פקודי ה' ישרים משמחי לב – "The commandments of Hashem are right, rejoicing the heart"; לא נתנו המצות אלא לצרף בהן את הבריות – "Mizvot were but given in order to purge [human] creatures." Whatever our perception of local pitfalls, any grand spiritual strategy grounded upon the opposition of the harmony between catharsis and discipline is, from a Torah standpoint, objectionable.
The alternate reassessment, the possibility that cherished humanistic directions should be toned down in the interests of promoting yirat shamayim raises fewer issues of principle, but the prospect of the need for it is painful to contemplate; hence, the sustained hope and even faith that it can be averted. On this point, no one who knows me needs to be told where my predisposition lies. The values in question are such as I have imbibed from childhood; which during the span of over half a century, I have sought to internalize and disseminate. My instincts and aspirations, as both a striving oved Hashem and as a mehanekh, are all very much in favor of retaining these emphases; and, as I survey the educational and sociological landscape, in Israel as well as in the Diaspora, I sense that the need for them has magnified rather than lessened.
And yet, there is a proviso. Ever mindful of Hazal's priority, yirat het'o kodemet lehokhmato, both temporally and axiologically, we need to insure the proper balance between the components I have cited and the overarching ideal, both normative and experiential, of dominant yirat shamayim. It shall profit us little, as individuals or as a Torah community, if we build worlds but dilute the unum necessarium.
Ideally, therefore, we ought opt for sustaining and enriching our multifaceted spiritual and cultural heritage, while concurrently taking heed that it flourish within the context of abiding and pervasive yirat shamayim. If I may invert Carlyle's comment upon the quest for happiness, we shall maintain the denominator but seek to increase the numerator.
We shall persist in our adherence to religious humanism, but in a spirit of utter humility, never lapsing into the mode of apotheosis which Toynbee rightly criticized as the fatal flaw and besetting sin of Greek culture. We shall be faithful to the spirit of the whole of the eighth tehilla – to the query of מה אנוש כי תזכרנו ובן אדם כי תפקדנו – "What is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man that You think of him?" and the concluding declaration, ה' אדנינו מה אדיר שמך בכל הארץ – "Hashem, our Lord, how mighty is Your name throughout the earth," no less than the intervening catalogue regarding human majesty and dominion: ותחסרהו מעט מאלהים... בל שתה תחת רגליו – "You have made him barely lower than the angels… You have put all under his feet." We shall preach the dignity of man, but ever mindful, as were the great Renaissance humanists, of the potential for evil inherent in freedom and of the need to maximize striving towards realizing his sanctity.
We shall persist in cultivating moral sensibility, but with the profound sense that where we encounter difficult terrain, after we have walked the extra mile, we humbly but thoroughly submit to divine norm and wisdom. That is the gist of the crucial test of the akedah, the conjunction of responsive hineni with tremulous fear and trembling. Recognizing that Avraham was commanded to sacrifice his judgment as well as his son, we note it was only this total readiness which earned him the designation of yarei:
כי עתה ידעתי כי ירא א-לקים אתה ולא חשכת את בנך את יחידך ממני
"For now I know that you are a God-fearer, inasmuch as you have not withheld your son, your only son, from Me."
We shall continue to shy away from the perception of life, and of the world within which it is realized, as largely an interminable minefield; viewing it, instead, as an arena of opportunity – in Keats' celebrated phrase, "a vale of soul-making." Hence, we shall encourage and celebrate human creativity, while constantly internalizing and instilling the awareness of its source: וזכרת את ה' א-לקיך כי הוא הנתן לך כח לעשות חיל –"And you shall remember Hashem, your Lord, for it is He that gives you the strength to accomplish." We shall drill home the message that success does not negate dependence, and that total self-reliance is a snare and a delusion. טוב לחסות בה' – "It is good" – morally, psychologically, and, above all, religiously - "to rely upon Hashem."
Further, we shall not denigrate yirah in the interest of spiritual ease and psychological comfort. Rather, we shall live and act out of the profound sense that fear and joy, tremor and love, are, vis-à-vis the Ribbono Shel Olam, intertwined and reciprocally fructifying. This sense was one of the linchpins of the Rav's religious thought and experience; and, as such, its ample and nuanced elucidation served as one of the foci of Uvikashtem Misham. Moreover, it has been developed with reference to another spiritual quality – in certain respects, quite distinct from ahavah, and yet, in others, closely allied with it, so that it provides a measure of analogy: joy.
שמחה מיט יראה געפלאכטען אין איינעם – mori verabbi, Rav Hutner z.t.l., was wont to sing on Purim, אחוץ ביי אידען נישטא ביי קיינעם.  One might entertain some question regarding the claim to exclusiveness, but the genuineness of this fusion within Torah is beyond doubt. And it was well formulated by one of the Rosh Yeshiva's polestars, Rav Avraham Eliyah Kaplan:
היראה לא צער היא, לא כאב, לא דאגת תמרורים. ומשל למה היא דומה? לרטט יראתו של אב על בנו הקטן האהוב לו, בשעה שהוא מורכב על כתפו והוא רוקד עמו ושוחק לפניו, להיות נזהר בו שלא יפול... יש כאן שמחה שאין דומה לה, עונג שאין דומה לו. והיראה הנעימה כרוכה על עקבם.
"Yirah is neither anxiety, nor pain, nor bitter worry. What does it resemble? The tingle of the concern of a father for his beloved young son while he carries him on his shoulders, dances with him and plays with him, to be careful of him lest he fall… You have here incomparable joy, incomparable gratification. And pleasurable concern is entwined with them."
The semi-frolic conjured up in the description may seem exaggerated. But the basic theme is essentially sound. It is a clear reflection of the conjunction implied in twin pesukim: עבדו את ה' ביראה; עבדו את ה' בשמחה – "Serve Hashem with fear;" "Serve Hashem with joy."
Finally, we shall of course persist in immersing ourselves in serious talmud Torah, and revel in the dialectic of passive absorption and energetic creativity therein. We shall do so, however, pervaded with Hazal's sense that its worth and even legitimacy is conditioned upon its conjunction with yirat shamayim, serving not only as a prelude and context but as a suffusive concomitant component;
מה להלן באימה וביראה וברתת ובזיע אף כאן באימה וביראה וברתת ובזיע
"Just as there [i.e. at Sinai], with trembling and fear, with tremor and trepidation, so here [the process of learning Torah] too."
Sans yirah, on their view, Torah study may be not only worthless but inimical.
It is a tall order: a large agenda, and an equally large proviso. Yirat shamayim is a key value in its own right and the key to so much else. The wisdom – and, to an extent, the right – of maintaining a rich and variegated spiritual and cultural life is, in great measure, conditioned upon the quotient of awe and awareness of divine presence which suffuses it. At the educational plane, perhaps a differential approach to programming should be more seriously considered, with the ability to maintain an appropriate level of yirat shamayim a central variable. At the personal and communal plane, we pray daily for divine assistance in neutralizing impediments to yirat shamayim. May we do our share, that we may be worthy of His.
. This paper focuses upon my assigned topic with reference to the specific context of Jewry, and utilizes much Halakhic material, accordingly. The core issues are, however, by no means insular, and I trust that much of the discussion, mutatis mutandis, has universal bearing as well.
. See chs. 5 and 9, respectively.
. See, e.g., 2:6, 4:7, 7:7.
. Devarim 6:13 and 10:20.
. Sefer Hamizvot, assei, 4.
. Yesodei Hatorah, 2:1.
. See Teshuvah, 10:1-2, 5-6.
. See Yoma 86b.
. See Sotah 27b, 31a.
. Shabbat 31b.
. Ketubot 30a.
. Teshuvot Harambam, ed. Y. Blau (Jerusalem, 1960), 715.
. Bereshit 8:21. I find some difficulty in translating yetzer, which I have rendered as "desire." J.P.S. has "imagination" while Artscroll, similarly, renders "imagery." These, however, miss the passional and/or moral element, so prevalent in Hazal's use, entirely. The Septuagint has dianoia while the Vulgate, analogously, has cogitatio. These, however, strike me as too intellectualistic. I have therefore preferred "desire," to be understood as the capacity to will rather than as a specific wish.
. 7:29. The term חשבונות, which I have translated as "complexities," may also have ethical connotations of an element of deviousness.
. De'ot, 6:1.
. Bamidbar 15:39. In other contexts, the verb, תור, is neutral, denoting exploration. However, here it clearly implies spiritual deviation, and I have translated it, accordingly. The last term in the pasuk, זנים, can have narrow literal meaning, regarding lascivious sexual behavior – more specifically, adultery; see Yevamot 61b – or broader metaphorical import. I have rendered it more literally, but with the intent that metaphor should be read into the translation.
. Avodat Kokhavim, 2:3.
. See Rav Y. F. Perlow's remarks in Sefer Hamizvot Lerav Sa'adya Gaon, 2:6b.
. Regarding similar interpretations of such a construction in other contexts, see the Rambam's Sefer Hamizvot, Shoresh 5, and the Ramban's comments thereon.
. Devarim 11:16. The apostasy anticipated in this pasuk is not quite identical with the modern sense of the term, abandonment of faith, as dual allegiance was, in Biblical times, much more common, although not, as Eliyahu's challenge amply attests, a legitimate Halakhic option.
. Ad locum. For possible antecedents, see the texts cited in Torah Shelemah, ad locum; Yerushalmi, Berakhot, 1:5.
. Berakhot 12b.
. Sifre, Shlah, ch. 9, on Bamidbar 15:39. Commenting on this text, the Netziv notes:
"אין לפרש שלא יהיה מין ממש שהרי כבר כתיב וזכרתם את כל מצות ה' קלות וחמורות אף כי עון מינות... אבל לפי הפשט ה"פ שלא ילמדו דברים הבאים לידי מינות המושכים את האדם... וכל לימוד הפילוסופיא וחקירה בדברים המסוכנים נקרא בשם זה" (עמק הנצי"ב, על אתר).
. The interpretation of the pasuk may be intertwined with a specific Halakhic issue, as to whether it contains a single injunction, with two alternate details, or a pair of independent prohibitions. The Behag, in his list of personal mizvot, only cites aharei levavkhem, and this has invited some discussion amongst aharonim as to whether two issurim might have been counted. See Hakdomat Sefer Halakhot Gedolot, in Sefer Halakhot Gedolot, ed. N. Z. Hildesheimer (Jerusalem, 1987), 45-6, and the notes thereon. However, the question may also depend on premises concerning the principles which govern the count of mizvot. See the Rambam's Sefer Hamizvot, Shoresh 9. In this connection, note that the Rambam cites both aharei eineikhem and aharei levavkhem, and yet only enumerates a single injunction.
. Ad locum.
. See Menahot 43b.
. Yesodei Hatorah, 1:3.
. Netivot Olam, "Netiv Ha'avodah," ch. 3. The link between servitude and service, as two senses of avodah, is pervasive in this netiv, and implicit in this passage.
. Tehillim 123:2.
. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison (London: Collins, Fontana Books, 1959), 107.
. Pesahim 56a, s.v. veganaz.
. See his Perush Hamishnayot, Pesahim, 4:10. Ordinarily, this commentary is of course confined to the mishnah. However, the Rambam states that the issue is so crucial and the view under discussion, [i.e. Rashi's], so grievously erroneous, that he cannot but denounce it.
. Devarim 8:12,14; and cf. ibid, 6:10-12.
. Ibid, 32:15.
. Mishlei, 30:8-9. Cf. Mesillat Yesharim, ch. 1.
. Ibid, 18:23. At the level of peshat, the pasuk is of course commenting upon ordinary interpersonal discourse. Hazal, however, applied it to tefillah, as well. See Devarim Rabbah, 2:3.
. The epilogue, entitled under the heading, "here taketh the makere of this book his leve," follows the Tales and, in standard editions, is printed after them. Its sincerity has been much debated; but even if it be read as lip service, which I doubt, it stands as a sign of the times.
. "Astrophel and Stella," sonnet 108.
. Kitvei Rabbenu Bahyye, ed. Rabbi C. B. Chavel (Jerusalem, 1970), 192-3.
. "Dover Beach."
. Baba Bathra 75a.
. "Lamia," 2:234-7.
. Bamidbar 15:39.
. Devarim 8:11 and 32:18, respectively.
. Rashi, Bereshit 10:8.
. In Halakhic nomenclature, this term has a fairly defined meaning, denoting a situation in which a datum is left untended, unattended, and out of mind, for whatever reason. Thus, one is enjoined from hesah hada'at with respect to tefillin while wearing them. Or, even more rigorously, sacral food, such as terumah or kodshim, which is the subject of hesah dada'at, may not subsequently be eaten; and a parallel standard disqualifies a red heifer from serving as a parah adumah if it has been similarly ignored. In our context, however, I use the term in its broader attitudinal sense, as insouciance grounded in distance, the absence of attention reflecting, if not disdain, at least a lack of relation or need.
. Orah Haym, 1:1. The pasuk cited is from Tehillim 16:5.
. These issues have been discussed extensively in a recent book by Faranak Margolese, Off the Derech (Jerusalem, 2005).
. Sotah 47a. Gehazi, whom Hazal regarded very negatively – see Sanhedrin 90a and 106b – is a more extreme example, but the principle has broad application. The depth of Hazal's feelings on the issue may be gauged from their readiness to single out Elisha for criticism.
. Kiddushin 30b.
. Sifre, Ekev, sec. 5, on Devarim 11:13. The remark is paralleled by adjacent comments which posit karbanot or tefillah as the referents of avodah.
. Berakhot 54a.
. Yirmeyahu 16:10-12.
. Devarim 29:17. It is noteworthy that no modifying adjective appears here, willfulness as such being excoriated.
. See his Guide, 1:2.
. Yerushalmi Berakhot 4:4.
. The phrase also recurs in the Rambam's characterization of Talmud; see Talmud Torah, 1:11.
. Devarim 32:4.
. Bereshit 1:31.
. Bereshit 2:15 and Yeshayahu 45:18, respectively.
. Gezelah V'avedah, 6:11.
. Some have suggested – in certain respects – not without justification – that this facet is more acute in Israel than in the Diaspora, inasmuch as ideals of national service and visions of historical destiny compete with more narrowly religious commitments. On this view, the potential inherent in presence in erez hakodesh and its proximity to shekhinah may, for some, be counterbalanced by other factors. I believe that this is indeed the case; but the topic and its possible ramifications require fuller treatment than I can give here.
. Shabbat 2:3.
. Berakhot 34a.
. See my contribution, "Law and Spirituality: Defining the Terms," in Jewish Spirituality and Divine Law, edd. A. Mintz and L. Schiffman (New York: Ktav, 2005).
. Tehillim 19:9, and Bereshit Rabbah, 44:1, respectively. Cf. Rambam, Guide, 3:26; Ramban, Devarim, 22:6; and Maharal, Tiferet Israel, ch. 7, who, in contrast with the Ramban's moral thrust, casts the purgation in question in largely metaphysical terms.
. Avot 3:9. The mishnah speaks of yirat het rather than yirat shamayim. The relation between the terms requires exploration, although, at times, they appear to be used interchangeably; see, e.g. Shabbat 31b. This issue lies beyond my present scope, however. It is noteworthy that the mishnah is not content with asserting that, while the wisdom will flourish, the religious dimension will be deficient. It states that the wisdom itself will, in due time, decay.
. Tehillim 8:5-10. The intermediate description could be read as part of the question – i.e. the Psalmist marvels why, given the relative insignificance of man, he has been so graced. Even on this reading, however, the admiration for man's station is manifest.
. The word, hineni, appears in the text before the reason for God's call has been specified. In light of the sequel, however, it can be understood as total readiness nonetheless.
. Bereshit 22:12. The relevant issues are self-evident and they have spawned a substantial literature. I content myself with calling attention to a particularly stimulating and incisive chapter in Emil Fackenheim's Encounters between Judaism and Modern Philosophy (Northvale, N.J., 1994), ch. 2.
. Devarim 8:18.
. Tehillim 118:8.
. "Joy and yirah, intertwined as one / Other than by Jews is found in no one." The text was composed at a relatively early stage, but was printed in ספר הזכרון למרן בעל "פחד יצחק" זצ"ל (ירושלים, תשד"מ) קב-ג.
. בעקבות היראה: דברי מחשבה (ירושלים תש"ך), יב
. Tehillim 2:10 and 100:2, respectively. Of course, the specific manifestations of the two qualities may, and often should, vary, depending on circumstances or temperaments; see the comments in Midrash Shohar Tov, 100. However, the encompassing conjunction is a fundamental value.
. Berakhot 22a. The question of the proper mindset for Torah study is highly interesting and important, but requires further treatment than I can give here.
. See, particularly, Yoma 72b and the comments of Rabbenu Bahyye on Devarim 30:15.