Finding Yiddishkeit: The Inner Life of a Yid — Uv'chukoseihem Lo Seileichu and V'chai Bahem

Topics

• Finding Yiddishkeit: The Inner Life of a Yid
• The Warning of Parashas Acharei Mos
• Even What Is Mutar Must Have a Yiddishe Tzurah
• The Piaseczner Rebbe: "I Simply Want to Become a Yid"
• "K'ma'aseh"—Even the Flavor of Mitzrayim
• The Same Yesod in Kiyum HaMitzvos
• The Chiddushei HaRim: Living Through Torah and Mitzvos
• Putting Your Whole Life Into a Mitzvah
• Mr. Ziegler: A Living Mussar Sefer

Transcript

# Finding Yiddishkeit: The Inner Life of a Yid

## The Warning of Parashas Acharei Mos

Rabosai, I want to speak about a point in this week's parashah which I believe is very important, very relevant, and very uplifting. It is something we can walk away with that can change our entire perspective—the way we look at Torah, the way we learn Torah, and the way we perform mitzvos.

I would like to begin with the pesukim at the beginning of Vayikra, perek yud-ches. The Torah introduces this parashah with the words, **"דבר אל בני ישראל ואמרת אלהם אני ה' אלקיכם"**—"Speak to Bnei Yisrael and tell them: I am Hashem, your G-d" (Vayikra 18:2). The Ribbono Shel Olam first tells us who He is in relation to us: *Ani Hashem Elokeichem*. That is the hakdamah to everything that follows.

Then comes the warning: **"כמעשה ארץ מצרים אשר ישבתם בה לא תעשו וכמעשה ארץ כנען אשר אני מביא אתכם שמה לא תעשו ובחקתיהם לא תלכו"** (Vayikra 18:3). Do not behave as they behaved in Mitzrayim, the land in which you lived, and do not behave as they behave in Canaan, the land to which I am bringing you. And do not walk in their chukim.

Why is the Torah warning us about both lands? Because *hashpa'ah* is a dangerous thing. A person is influenced by the environment in which he lives. We already lived among the Mitzriyim; now we will be living among the Canaanim. The Torah is telling us to be careful of the influence of both.

But there is a kashya here. The Torah already tells us, "Do not do the ma'asim of Mitzrayim or Canaan." Why does it then add, "Uv'chukoseihem lo seileichu"—do not follow their customs? Isn't that the same thing?

Rashi asks this very question: **"מה הניח הכתוב שלא אמר?"** What was left for the pasuk to tell us? His answer is that the additional warning concerns **"נימוסות שלהן, דברים החקוקין להם, כגון טרטיאות ואצטדיאות"**—their established customs and social practices, with theaters and stadiums among his examples (Rashi to Vayikra 18:3, drawing on the Sifra).

Notice the difference. The beginning of the pasuk deals with the conduct of Egypt and Canaan, including the grave aveiros for which those societies were known. The end of the pasuk speaks also about their *nimusim*: the way a society conducts itself, its customs and cultural patterns.

I am not going into the detailed halachos of what is permitted and what is prohibited in any of these particular cases. That is a complicated halachic discussion. But I want to focus on the yesod. There is more to how a Yid lives than simply asking whether an individual act is an aveirah. The Torah is speaking about *hanhagah*—about a way of life.

## Even What Is Mutar Must Have a Yiddishe Tzurah

The sefarim bring out another depth in Rashi's question. Even where the act itself is *mutar*, permitted, the way a Yid does it must reflect Yiddishkeit.

The first part of the pasuk warns against the deeds of Mitzrayim and Canaan. But what about something that is not an aveirah? Is that the end of the discussion? No. The pasuk adds *Uv'chukoseihem lo seileichu*. Even in permitted matters, the *tzurah*, the manner of behaving, makes a difference. A Yid does not live by simply copying the surrounding culture.

I saw this brought out beautifully in the **Nesivos Shalom**, in *Nesivei Daas*, in a discussion of what it means to be a Yid. The key expression is **"בקדושה ועדינות יהודית"**—with holiness and Jewish refinement. [Exact wording and location in the printed Nesivos Shalom remain to be checked.]

What a language! *Adinus Yehudis*. A person may ask: "Show me the halachah. Is it asur? No? Then it is mutar!" He may be right in the narrow sense. But there is a whole approach, a *gishah*, an eidelkeit, a Yiddishe ta'am. Not everything about a Yid's conduct can be reduced to black-and-white questions of mutar and asur.

The question is also, *Past far a Yid dos ton?* Does this befit a Yid? Does this action, and the way I am doing it, reflect my identity?

The Nesivos Shalom speaks about the words **"איש יהודי היה בשושן הבירה"** (Esther 2:5), "There was a Jewish man in Shushan the capital." What does it mean, *ish Yehudi*? It is more than a person's ancestry or outward label. It describes the person himself.

Yahadus is **atzmiyus u'pnimiyus**. It is the essence and inner life of the human being. When a Yid is a Yid through and through, then whatever he does—even when performing a mitzvah—he does *vi a Yid*. His Yiddishkeit is not an external list of rules. It is who he is.

## The Piaseczner Rebbe: "I Simply Want to Become a Yid"

To illustrate this, the Nesivos Shalom brings a remarkable passage from the **Piaseczner Rebbe**, Rav Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, Hy"d. He was a great Rebbe who gave extraordinary chizuk during the terrible years of the war and left us beautiful writings of mussar and hashkafah. As a bochur I used to learn his *Chovos HaTalmidim*. It is a wonderful sefer.

In his own writings, **Tzav V'Ziruz, os 19**, the Rebbe describes reaching the age of forty. He wanted to make a kabbalah for his fortieth birthday. What new avodah should he take upon himself?

Should I learn more? He examined himself and said, to the best of his knowledge, he was not wasting the time available to him.

Should I distance myself more from physical taivos? Baruch Hashem, he wrote that he did not believe himself to be enslaved to those desires.

Then what am I missing? What should be my avodah for the years ahead?

And he writes: **"ומה חסר לי? פשוט להיות יהודי, חסר לי"**—What am I missing? Simply being a Jew. That is what I am missing!

He says he feels like a picture of a human being, a picture that has every color and every feature. It looks like a whole person. But **"רק אחת חסירה, הנשמה חסרה"**—one thing is lacking: the neshamah. And he cries out to the Ribbono Shel Olam: **"פשוט רוצה אני מעתה להתגייר, ולהיות מעתה יהודי"**—I simply want, from now on, to become a Jew, to truly be a Yid.

Can you imagine? A gadol baTorah and a gadol b'yirah, a person immersed in Torah and avodas Hashem, asks himself what remains to be done. His answer is *zayn a Yid*! To become a Yid on the inside!

It is no wonder that such an understanding of Yiddishkeit gave such strength during the terrible years of persecution. When Judaism is only a series of things we do or avoid, it remains something external. But when Yiddishkeit is the mahus of a person, when it is his very pnimiyus, it cannot simply be broken by circumstances. [This is my reflection on his teachings, not a separate quotation from the Rebbe.]

And that is how I understand the chizuk of the pesukim in Acharei Mos. Why does the Torah say not to act like Mitzrayim and Canaan? Is it simply telling a Yid not to commit aveiros? Certainly there is that plain meaning. But the *chizuk* is deeper: **Who are you?**

*Bist a Yid, nisht kein Mitzri, nisht kein Canaani.* You are a Yid, not an Egyptian or a Canaanite. Their ways are not yours. *Uv'chukoseihem lo seileichu*—their culture is not your identity.

And now we appreciate why the parashah begins **"אני ה' אלקיכם"**. I am Hashem, your G-d. Understand whose people you are. Understand what you are. This is not only about what a Yid may or may not do. It is about *being* a Yid.

## "K'ma'aseh"—Even the Flavor of Mitzrayim

Let us look more carefully at the language of the pasuk. The mefarshim ask: Why does the Torah say **"כמעשה ארץ מצרים"**—*like* the conduct of the land of Egypt? Why not simply say, "Ma'aseh Eretz Mitzrayim lo sa'asu"—do not perform their deeds?

I want to tell you a ma'aseh which illustrates the point. They once came to the Tzanzer Rebbe and told him about a chassid who apparently was not behaving as he should. The Rebbe called the chassid in. "Dovidel," he asked him about what had been reported.

The chassid said, "Rebbe, s'nisht emes! It isn't true."

The Rebbe responded, **"Vilstu az s'zol zayn emes?"**—Would you want it to be true?

Of course not! Chas v'shalom. But then a person has to think: Why am I behaving in a way that can even give that impression? [The precise original source and wording of this Tzanzer story were not identified.]

That helps explain the Torah's language. If the Torah is warning us about the grievous aveiros of Mitzrayim and Canaan, a Yid knows already that those deeds are not for him. Why should the pasuk need to say it again and again? The Torah says *k'ma'aseh*. Even behavior that has a resemblance to, or gives off the flavor of, that way of life does not belong to you.

As we would say in Yiddish: *Es shmeckt fun ma'aseh Eretz Mitzrayim.* It has the scent of the conduct of Mitzrayim. It does not fit. *Past nisht far a Yid.*

That is the point, rabosai. A Yid should not ask only, "Is it mutar or is it asur?" He has another question: **"Is this Yiddish? Is this the right way for a Yid to conduct himself?"** The two questions are not identical. We are not making up new prohibitions. We are speaking about a higher standard of refinement and identity, even within what is permitted.

This is why the pasuk opens with *Ani Hashem Elokeichem*. You represent the Ribbono Shel Olam. You are a different kind of briah. That understanding changes the way you approach ordinary conduct.

## The Same Yesod in Kiyum HaMitzvos

And I want to add another nekudah. All of this is not only about *divrei reshus*, the ordinary permitted things a person does. It applies even to the way he is *mekayem mitzvos*.

A person can point to the Shulchan Aruch and say, "I fulfilled the halachah. I did the mitzvah." And that is certainly important. But how did he do it? What did he feel? What kind of Yid was present in that act?

Look at the next pasuk: **"ושמרתם את חקתי ואת משפטי אשר יעשה אתם האדם וחי בהם"**—"You shall keep My laws and judgments, which a person shall do and live by them" (Vayikra 18:5).

The Torah tells us what not to do—do not imitate the ways of Egypt and Canaan. Then it tells us what we *should* do: keep Hashem's mitzvos, **"וחי בהם"**. Live through them!

Now, we all know the familiar halachic interpretation: *V'chai bahem, v'lo sheyamus bahem*. The Torah's mitzvos are given for life, which underlies the rules of pikuach nefesh, subject to the well-known exceptions of the three cardinal aveiros (Yoma 85b; Sanhedrin 74a). But I want to look at another understanding, one that brings out our entire subject.

Rashi also explains *v'chai bahem* as referring to **Olam Haba**. Rashi writes **"לעולם הבא, שאם תאמר בעולם הזה והלא סופו הוא מת"**—in the World to Come; if the verse meant life in this world, a person ultimately dies (Rashi to Vayikra 18:5).

There is a great sugya in all these interpretations. We do not have time now to go through all of it. Instead, I want to share how the **Chiddushei HaRim** explains these words, because it sheds light on everything we have been saying.

## The Chiddushei HaRim: Living Through Torah and Mitzvos

The **Chiddushei HaRim** brings several beautiful ways of understanding *v'chai bahem*. They show us that a mitzvah is not merely an action a person finishes and checks off his list. There is a whole life that has to be present in the mitzvah.

He begins by quoting what he calls **"הטובי ישראל"**, the good Yidden, the tzaddikim. They explained **"וחי בהם"** to mean **"שיחיה בהם, היינו שלא יהיה לו עצבות"**—a person must *live* in the mitzvos, without atzvus, without a spirit of sadness. When you do a mitzvah, do it with chiyus. It should bring life into the person.

I told you this story before, but it belongs right here. My brother had a friend who was suffering from depression. He went to **Rav Chaim Kanievsky** to ask for a brachah. It was Chanukah. He said, "I need a brachah; *ani atzuv*. I am sad."

Rav Chaim looked up at him, opened his eyes wide, and said, **"Atzuv? Chanukah hayom!"** Sad? But today is Chanukah! How could that be?

That was all Rav Chaim said.

And I know the fellow; I spoke to him. He told me that from that encounter onward he did not suffer from that depression again. That is how he related his own experience. It was those few words from Rav Chaim: How can a person be overcome by sadness on a day of such kedushah and simchah?

Now, I am not presenting this story as a medical treatment for depression. I am telling you what this particular person described and how the exchange brought him chizuk.

This is the first meaning brought by the Chiddushei HaRim: a mitzvah ought to be alive. It should not be an act a person performs while remaining inwardly lifeless.

Then the Chiddushei HaRim says: **"ואני אומר"**—And I say another meaning. **"וחי בהם, באופן שיחיה בהם, שכל חיותו יתלה רק בתורה ובמצוות"**—a person should live by them in the sense that all his life and vitality depend on Torah and mitzvos. **"כי הם חיינו ואורך ימינו."** For they are our life and the length of our days.

Understand the difference. The first meaning is that I do a mitzvah *with* chiyus, with joy and spirit. The second meaning is that **the mitzvah itself is my chiyus**. It is the source of my life. I don't merely find time for Torah and mitzvos amid everything else; my whole existence is built around them.

He brings a wonderful observation about the morning brachos. Why do we speak about the neshamah—*Elokai neshamah shenasata bi* and *hamachazir neshamos lifgarim meisim*—in proximity to Birchos HaTorah, according to the ordering he discusses? It teaches that my neshamah and my vitality have their proper fulfillment in Torah. The Torah is not something added onto my life. Torah is what my life is about. [The liturgical ordering varies by siddur and custom; this explanation follows the cited Chiddushei HaRim teaching.]

And then there is another aspect which he develops: the mitzvah itself must be performed with life, not with a cold, stale, mechanical feeling of "*I have an obligation; I did my obligation; finished.*" A person has to put chiyus into the act. [The original transcription becomes unclear in this particular phrasing; exact wording of this additional distinction needs audio or text review.]

So we already have different depths to *v'chai bahem*: do not do mitzvos in a spirit of atzvus; recognize that Torah and mitzvos are your very life; and bring living energy into the mitzvah itself.

There is another powerful point about *v'chai bahem* that I want to bring, and it takes us even further.

## Putting Your Whole Life Into a Mitzvah

There is another way of understanding *v'chai bahem*: when you are doing a mitzvah, **put your whole life into that mitzvah**. Be entirely there. Not simply to do the act and move on, but to bring your heart, your kochos, your whole mahus into it.

In the material printed with the teachings of the Chiddushei HaRim, the *Siach Sarfei Kodesh* brings a beautiful ma'aseh associated with the Kotzker Rebbe and the Alexander Rebbe. I want to tell it to you. [The precise version, dramatis personae, and printed location of the story need verification.]

You know, Alexander was a tremendous Polish chassidus before the war. People nowadays think mainly of Ger, because after the war Ger became so well known. But Alexander, in its time, had an enormous following.

There is a story about the Kotzker. Toward the end of his life he spent much of his time in his room, and on occasion would come out and offer a brief, piercing vort or instruction. On one such occasion, the story relates, he asked the Alexander Rebbe about the meaning of **"וחי בהם."**

The answer began with the familiar understanding: serve Hashem with chiyus and simchah. But another dimension was added: **when you perform a mitzvah, put your whole life into it**. At that moment, your whole self should be invested in the mitzvah.

And this is not only a chassidishe yesod.

I heard a similar thought from my zeide, who heard it from **Rav Elchonon Wasserman**. Rav Elchonon asked about the din **"העוסק במצוה פטור מן המצוה"**—one who is involved in a mitzvah is exempt from another mitzvah (Sukkah 25a).

Why? Let him do both! If the second mitzvah would actually prevent him from performing the first, I understand. But there are situations where it looks possible to do both. Why should involvement in one mitzvah be a reason to exempt him from the other?

And Rav Elchonon related that when he saw the **Chofetz Chaim** davening, he understood something new. The Chofetz Chaim was *zich araingelegt*—completely immersed—in his tefillah. His whole being, his thoughts, feelings and strength, were invested in the davening. There simply was nothing left of him to turn to some other activity at that moment.

That was the yesod he learned from the Chofetz Chaim: when a person is truly engaged in a mitzvah, the mitzvah occupies his entire person. [This story and its explanation are preserved as Rabbi Walkin's family-transmitted account, not as an independently verified legal explanation of all applications of the sugya.]

Rabosai, what do I learn from this?

A mitzvah is not only **what** you do. It is **how** you do it. How much feeling is in the mitzvah? How much chiyus? How much of yourself are you giving to it? The hiddur of a mitzvah is not only a matter of what someone else sees. There is an inner hiddur: the way the person himself lives within that mitzvah.

Now we can put the whole parashah together. In permitted matters, we have been saying that a Yid asks whether his conduct has a *Yiddishe tzurah*. Do I do this as a Yid should? And the same thing applies to mitzvos: **"אשר יעשה אתם האדם וחי בהם"**. How does a Yid perform them? With simchah, with chiyus, with the recognition that Torah and mitzvos are his life, and with his whole self invested in the act.

I want to tell you one more ma'aseh. Believe it or not, rabosai, we are going to finish on time. You see? *Nissim happen!* Miracles do happen. And I will tell you why: because I am making it a point to finish these weekly shmuessen on time.

But I really want you to think about what we have learned and to apply it. I do not come here to deliver mussar just for the sake of saying another shmuess. It is not about me; it is all about the Eibishter. If there is one idea here that can change how we think and how we live, then the entire shmuess was worthwhile. And that brings me to a Yid I remember from my zeide's shul.

## Mr. Ziegler: A Living Mussar Sefer

I want to tell you a ma'aseh about a Yid in my zeide's shul. His name was **Mr. Ziegler**, zichrono livrachah. A pashuter Yid—at least that is how people might have described him.

He had lived through the war. I was young and I never heard him speak much about what he had experienced then. But I knew something about the way he lived afterward.

At the age of **thirty-nine**, he suffered a stroke. Half his body became paralyzed. Even walking was terribly difficult for him. To go from his home to the shul he had to climb a steep hill. Every step required enormous effort.

And you know something, rabosai? **He never missed a minyan. Never.** Shacharis, Minchah and Maariv. Rain, snow, whatever the weather—he made sure to daven with a tzibbur.

Think about what that means. For most people, you get up and go to shul. For this Yid, arranging how he would get to shul was his entire day. From morning to night, that was what he was occupied with: how am I going to make Shacharis? How will I make Minchah? How will I make Maariv?

I remember seeing him arrive in the snow, barely able to breathe. He simply could not catch his breath. Sometimes he managed to take a taxi. But there were days, particularly for early Selichos, when a taxi was not available at five in the morning. So he walked. At times it took him **two hours** just to get to shul.

And when he arrived, what was the first thing on his mind?

**Brachos!** Someone had to answer amen to his morning brachos.

That is why I had to be in shul at five-thirty, quarter to six in the morning—to be there for him, to answer amen. And sometimes, if I came even a minute late, he was already knocking on the door.

"Where are you? Open the door!"

Here was a man who had dragged his paralyzed body up a hill, who could hardly breathe, and what was he concerned about? That someone should be there to answer **amen**.

All day long, if you met him, that was what he would talk about: *Gezogt di brachos? Ge'entfert amen?* Did you say the brachos? Did someone answer amen?

A pashuter Yid, you might say. Maybe he never went to a yeshivah. I do not know how much learning he had; from the way he spoke, he did not give the impression of someone who had spent his life in the great yeshivos.

But let me tell you something: **there is no such thing as a pashuter Yid**. It is not so simple to be a Yid!

When I look back on Mr. Ziegler, I see a living mussar sefer. I do not know everything he knew. But there was one thing I knew about him: **he knew that he was a Yid**.

And he did mitzvos **"וחי בהם"**.

For him, tefillah b'tzibbur was not something he fitted in when convenient. This was his life. It was what he lived for from morning until night. He put his whole heart into making that minyan, into saying those brachos, into hearing amen. There was nothing more important to him. It was not merely an obligation; there was life, simchah and mesirus nefesh in the mitzvah.

*At dos iz Yiddishkeit!* That is Yiddishkeit.

Where do you learn something like that? You cannot learn it just by reading the dry list of what a person is obligated to do. The Shulchan Aruch teaches the halachos, and we need every word of it. But to absorb what it looks like when a Yid lives with a mitzvah, you must also look at good Yidden. Watch how tzaddikim conduct themselves. Watch the way a father or mother performs a mitzvah. See how they take it seriously, how they love it, how they feel it. That gives you a whole different understanding of what a Yid is.

And now we return to our parashah. The Torah could have told us simply, "Do not do this and do not do that." But it also wants us to understand our *pnimiyus*. What is a Yid? How does he do a mitzvah? What does he feel when he does it? What kind of person is he becoming?

**"אני ה' אלקיכם ... ובחקתיהם לא תלכו ... וחי בהם."**

Rabosai, here is something practical I would like you to take away. Think about the mitzvos you do every day. Ask yourself: **Which mitzvos do I do with my whole heart? Which mitzvos do I perform with real simchah? Which mitzvos do I truly love?** How can I bring more chiyus into them?

That is Yiddishkeit. That is the limud from the parashah. *Zayn a Yid.*

And, rabosai, forgive me—we finished one minute late!