I was in line at the bakery some time ago behind an exceedingly wide individual, and upon his belt, which served as the horizontal height of curvature of his enormous girth, was clipped a small electronic device. Figuring there’s no way this guy is on Hatzolah, I asked him what it was, to which he responded that his doctor kindly threatened to kick him out of the practice unless he starts wearing a pedometer and complying with his orders.
This guy continued to tell me that he takes less than 2,000 steps a day, even though the average American male of his age takes about 4,000 steps — doctor’s orders were for him to double his steps per day and he had a month or so to get going.
So I did a little research into pedometers, and it seems as though the data is pretty sketchy — but it appears as though even 4,000 steps a day is too few for a healthy adult male. In doing my cursory research, I found that Japanese adults take about 10K steps a day! And even though the sketchy data supports that 10,000 steps is a bit much, 4K steps a day does seem way under ideal, even if it is average.
So it got me thinking — when we find ourselves lacking in something, and we convince ourselves to change, do we aim for the ideal or do we aim for the average?
Assuming one recognizes himself or herself below average, it’s true that we need to get to average before we can get to ideal. Ideal may seem too far away, too unrealistic. So maybe average is a good direction for the below-average, but it shouldn’t be the proposed destination.
Haeckel might have endorsed the view that “ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny,” but it was Rabbi Judah Loew, the Maharal, who promoted that “physicality recapitulates spirituality.” He said that everything we see in the physical world emanates from a similar, and perhaps equivalent, spiritual origin; the physical world is but a magnified and more revealed form of the spiritual world that lies deep to it.
Many may feel spiritually removed and recognize the benefit of bringing themselves up. Who doesn’t desire sometimes to raise themselves to a level of greater devotion and more enthusiastic worship? But what is the goal…to meet the mean? The median? Or perhaps the mode? Shouldn’t we be shooting for ideal instead of average?
In this weeks Torah portion, we are introduced to Jacob and Esau (Genesis 25:27). Right from the start, it reads like a telling novel of good vs. evil, in which the good appears really good and the evil, well, really evil. Isaac’s twin sons are painted in such a way as to make it as though they each epitomized the full glory of their respective paths in life. If nothing else, perhaps such examples can be taken to establish benchmarks of objective ideals — what does the Torah want us to learn from its description of Jacob other than suggesting we use it as a template for our service to God and humanity?
In today’s times, I’ll leave the ideal to someone else to define — but suffice it to say that there can be at least a subjective ideal, if not an objective one, and how many people permit themselves to fall among the masses, trying to do no better than the guy next to them? And I’m not talking about taking a holier-than-thou approach to your neighbor in the synagogue — I’m talking about people who say to themselves, “Eh, it’s good enough for him, so it’s good enough for me.”
I remember being in the synagogue on a Jewish holiday and the close descendant of an esteemed, well-regarded rabbi was sitting a row behind me. He was sitting there with his tallis dragging on the floor, too busy to notice because he was talking with the guy next to him. Now I don’t talk when prayers are going on, because my father doesn’t talk when the prayers are going on and that’s always been important to me ever since I was a little boy sitting next to my father. But seeing this rabbi’s grandson chatting away really ticked me off, because I could sense that other people regarded him as a model Jew — “if he slouches, I can slouch. If he talks, I can talk.”
Yesterday was the 29th anniversary of my birth, and because I usually can’t wait for the High Holidays to come to rethink who I am, what I’m doing with my life and where I’d like to take it, I take other yearly milestones and try to imbue them with some meaning — almost like a spiritual beacon, after which I’d like to be a better, more refined individual. And I’d rather not fall into the trap of trying to get my spiritual pedometer to just match that of the average person — because perfection is a direction, not a destination.
{ 14 comments… read them below or add one }
Best post I’ve ever seen from you!
Good work!
Thanx!
good one
I don’t talk in shul any more. When I returned to shul after years of mothering etc I decided that all I wanted to do there was doven. If I don’t want to doven I don’t have to go. It really annoys me that some of the most distinguished people talk which is an awful example for others. So I shush them at times when it’s really bad.
Just mind your own business. Stop trying to find faults in everyone else.
Great post and Happy Birthday!
What a bunch of micecosity!
> the good appears really good and the evil, well, really evil
Only if you read it with the midrashim. A straight reading of the chumash shows Yaakov and Eisav as more complex than the archetypes of good and evil that they were later made out to be.
Happy Birthday
Even if one accepts the midrashim as merely Chazal’s unified message to be gleaned from the lives and actions of the biblical characters rather than pure extra-textual historical documentation, one can see that the characters of the early biblical stories are generally portrayed as very good or very bad — my point: there are hardly any Severus Snapes in Genesis. Nearly everyone serves as a paradigm. So sure, everyone has faults. But the midrashim paint these characters as largely unattainable levels of righteousness and piety — so what are we to do with that? I suggest we take as a goal towards the ideal, even if we know we’ll never get there.
To be clear, the Snape analogy means someone who may be a nasty piece of work, but in the end still was a good guy, right? That no one is all good or all evil…
Exactly — the Torah seems to make it out as though you’re thoroughly good or thoroughly bad. Later on, though, we get to more human-like people: Moses, Aaron, Saul, David, etc. — but initially, we have (with slight exceptions for those like Noah in his generation + the brothers selling Joseph) Abraham, Isaac + Jacob vs. Esau, Besuel and Lavan.
I dunno, man. Perhaps we were taught that the Avoth were perfect in Grade School. But I, for one, lament the fact that most Yidden out there have a Grade School understanding of the Avoth. My Rosh Yeshiva in Israel strongly encouraged us to all learn Shnayim Mikra Ve’Echad Targum; after he and most of his cohorts came back from KBY, he attested that they could all learn any given blatt of Gemara no questions, but if you asked them a simple question about Chumash and Rashi, plenty of them would falter. I, for one, am amazed how plenty of my Christian friends (no matter which denomination) know the Old Testament better than a typical frum Yid out there, esp. Daniel (which is very important to them in proving that Yeshua is Moshiach).
I propose a few thoughts about the Avoth. Maybe I’m out of line here (feel free to tell me if I am), but here’s what I think about the perfection of the Avoth.
a) typically, we have Ishmael, Esav, Besuel, and Lavan. Most of what we have of Besuel is from the Midrash, but they paint him in a pretty bad light. Lavan cheated Ya’akov out of his intended wives and his wages. But I’ll save my questions about him for next week’s parasha.
Ishmael and Esav. Let’s not forget that they were sons of Avoth too, respecively Avraham and Yitzchak. Although Hagar and Ishmael were initially cast from Avraham’s house, I find it hard to believe that Avraham was COMPLETELY negligent altogether. And Esav, we know for a fact had a kesher with Yitzchak. We know for a fact that his virtue was that he honored his father.
Ergo. Does it not stand to reason that something about their personalities rubbed off on their sons? The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, the saying goes. Avraham still did raise Ishmael, and Yitzchak still did raise Esav. SOMETHING about their personalities must have influenced the way their sons turned out!
I remember in the past learning that it has to do with Avraham being the avatar of “Chesed” and Yitzchak being the avatar of “Gevurah”. Ishmael is Chesed gone awry (whatever he was doing with Yitzchak that caused Sarah to demand that he be banished), and Esav is Gevurah gone awry (all the hunting he was into).
b) Let’s not forget that the 3 avoth lived respectively 175, 180, and 147 years. The Torah obviously doesn’t cover the entirety of those years, but only what it feels is important. Hell, Yitzchak–for a man who lived to be 180–really doesn’t have much devoted to him at all! Tradition has it he was 60 when Ya’akov was born, so when he died, Ya’akov was 120, with only 27 years left. He moved to Egypt at 130. To make a long story short, Yitzchak was clearly still alive when Yoseph was sold into slavery! And we are told nothing of him during the narrative, as if he’s completely out of the picture! In fact, the Torah tells us of his death before we even get to this narrative. Why not?
My suggestion: Whatever the Avoth really were, the stories that were kept in the narrative were those which would establish this paragon for how the Jewish people should behave–who they should emulate? I don’t see the Torah as a History book in the slightest bit, but rather as a Guide (Ho’Ra’ah, the root of the word Torah).
c) I’ll make this point quick. The Avimelech story, both Avraham and Yitzchak (and similarly, Avraham in Egypt). COME ON! Why the dishonestly?
You bring up some good points. Sure, we can talk all day and all night about the characters from Genesis, but my point was that Genesis is called Sefer HaYashar – the “Book of the Upright,” and in it we find prototypes of good and evil, whom we are bidden to emulate (or not) and look to for insight (either positively or negatively). So we have Esau, and we are told that he tricked his father into thinking he was such a great guy that he was puzzled in his quest to tithe salt. And we have Jacob who tricked his brother. But, whether from the text or the midrash, all is explained in line with the overall rabbinic approach that these guys are all good or all bad. So even though Ishmael became a returnee, and we see R’ Ishmael in the Talmud, we don’t name our kids Ishmael — and I don’t think it’s entirely because of our attempted dissociation with Islam. It’s because the message is meant to be clear: there is good and there is evil, there is a path to follow and there is a path to steer clear of, and let me tell you what it is. We don’t really see that sort of message by, for example, Miriam. She sins, she’s punished, everyone knows about it, and life goes on. It’s another message, a different one, an important one, but not the same one as Genesis. You may disagree, and that’s fine…but my aim was less an attempt to simplify the stories told of the Avos as it was to simplify the intended, general message as I see it.
Notice: There was no R’ Esav, and I sincerely doubt any Jew ever has named their kid Esav to begin with. Any takers here?
Yes, given that I am a moral relativist to begin with, I believe we have respectfully reached a deadlock here. But before I curtsy, one final point:
Sefer HaYashar indeed. Is this to say that this is how the Avoth themselves really were? Or rather these are the actions that the Avoth performed that we are supposed to emulate? It’s one of those “trees for the forest” paradigms here. Of course, I am content to say that some content selection was done for our Sefer HaYashar. Who knows what the Avoth were really like? If we accept the Midrashim as fact, then we have a much better picture. But again, I am pretty critical of the way these stories are colored in typical Jewish day schools, and equally critical of the typology used by Christian scholars (which is another Torah for another time, as is the Islamic approach…)
As am I.