During the terrible days after last year’s Hamas attacks on Shemini Atzeres/Simchas Torah – what the world refers to as October 7th – there was a sense of dejection in the Jewish air. This was not helped by the following onslaught of anti-Semitism and denunciation still being heaped upon us, as if we were the perpetrators of genocide instead of the obvious victims.
Although I am no psychologist, I am convinced that the trauma of this pernicious pattern has caused serious despondency in our midst. As Rav Nachmasn of Breslov (Likkutei Maharan 1:8 and many other places) often points out, atzvus is an illness and must be treated. Indeed, many rabbonim and Torah-based teachers – including some of those published in this paper last week – have tried to inject some cheer and upbeat optimism into our collective veins. Yated writers correctly utilized such terms as “Everyone can succeed…what they [the IDF] have accomplished is absolutely incredible…amazing…Yad Hashem…the exalted nature of the Yiddishe neshamah”…etc.
All of this is true and correct. However, I would humbly suggest that the time has come for stronger medicine to enter those damaged Yiddishe veins. No, I don’t mean any drugs or medications at all. Since we have already bentched Rosh Chodesh Kislev and the Chanukah glow is looming just ahead, let’s insert a bit of gaavah d’kedusha – holy pride – into each other to counteract the pain and elevate our spirits. If I am not mistaken, one of the primary sources for obtaining this spiritual elixir is the collective wisdom of the Vizhnitzer rabbeim.
Let us begin with a few vignettes from the Imrei Chaim, Rav Chaim Meir Hager. He writes (Imrei Chaim, Bereishis page 46) that “sometimes we need a dose of gaavah d’kedusha so that we don’t make ourselves subservient to those who have thrown off the yoke of Heaven.” He references the phrase about the righteous king Yehoshafat: “His heart was elevated in the ways of Hashem” (Divrei Hayomim 2 17:6). As he explains elsewhere (Imrei Chaim, Vayikra, page 128), “Rebbi (Rabbeinu Hakodosh) gave this advice to his son as well: ‘Conduct your leadership role with the proper pride’ (Kesubos 103b). By this, Rebbi meant that although Yaakov Avinu, Moshe Rabbeinu, and Dovid Hamelech were exceedingly humble, when necessary, they exhibited the trait of nobility and toughness.”
His son, the Kedushas Moshe (Divrei Elokim Chaim, Drashos, page 185), goes even further, declaring that “gaavah d’kedusha is an essential tool of Judaism.” He explains that without this middah, we can fall prey to the power of the street and prevailing values and trends. On another occasion (ibid., Parshas Noach, page 49), he warned, “We should not be weak-kneed and meek, because then the yeitzer hara will take advantage of our weakness.” The Damesek Eliezer of Vizhnitz (Sichas Chulin, page 214) admonished some of his young chassidim who were going to Eretz Yisroel that they should be careful not to diminish their Chassidishe look. In those days, there were few Chassidim in Eretz Yisroel, and the danger of becoming influenced by the majority was strong. The rebbe quoted from the first Mishnah in Gittin: “One who brings a get from overseas must state, ‘It was written and signed before me.’” The rebbe applied this to the “writing and signature” upon a Chossid’s face, stamping him as a religious Jew. “When you divorce yourselves,” he counseled, “from the nations, be careful to walk proudly as the Chassidishe Jews you are, so that you are not influenced by your surroundings.”
On still another occasion, the rebbe articulated his inner thoughts about parents who allowed their children to fall into modern ways. “L-rd of the universe, what do these parents want from their children? Why don’t they strive harder to create generations of Torah and Chassidus? In any case, even if the parents did not do the right thing, the young people themselves should realize that they should be proud of their Jewish look and not settle to be called Orthodox or even chareidi. You must develop the trait of gaavah d’kedusha before it is too late” (Yechezkel Geiger, Halichos Hayeshuos Moshe, page 305).
To change directions a bit, let us explore what the Litvishe gedolim teach about this subject. The Netziv (on the Haggadah Shel Pesach “Bechol Dor Vador” and commentary to Shir Hashirim 7:13) teaches that just as a Jew must believe that “the world was created for me” (Sanhedrin 37a), so must he accept that the entire exodus from Mitzrayim was for him alone. The purpose of this is so that we should serve Hashem out of a sense of our personal dignity and grandeur. Rav Aharon Kotler was known, from the very nascence of Bais Medrash Govoah of Lakewood (see Rabbi Aharon Sorasky’s Aish Hatorah: The Story of Rav Aharon Kotler, page 422) to instill in his talmidim a sense of greatness far exceeding that associated with presidents and world leaders.
Interestingly, the Steipler Gaon (Igros, page 106), based upon the teachings of Rav Yisroel Salanter, notes that there are essentially two paths that a talmid chochom can follow. One is to be maavir al middosav, meaning to be extremely forgiving and never be upset at anything that may be done to him. On the other hand, the approach of gaavah d’kedusha and vayifga libo require that a Torah scholar conduct himself on a higher level than the general populace and cannot always forgive and look away. He proves that not only is this a disagreement between the greatest Tannaim, but that each situation requires its own appropriate response.
As we do very often, I will give my rebbi, Rav Yitzchok Hutner, the final word. Although he often used the term gaavah d’kedusha, he reserved the term primarily for what he considered to be its source in the Jewish calendar and the Torah, the seventh day of Pesach. Although it’s not that time of year, luckily he also taught us that the Torah is above time. One year, at the mesibas chasal – the last night of Pesach – the rosh yeshiva explained how gaavah d’kedusha flows from the shirah of Krias Yam Suf. He revealed to us that the pursuit of kavod – glory or honor – actually exposes lowliness in a person. The need to feel respected or validated because someone has smiled at him or approved of him is in and of itself a flaw of his soul.
However, a person who is truly a baal avodah, who has developed his sense of self in a healthy way, needs no one else to offer him kavod. Man is inherently the purpose of creation and the most important creation of all. His sense of importance stems from the posuk we quoted earlier about Yehoshafat: “His heart was elevated in the ways of Hashem,” meaning that he requires no outsiders to convince him of the primacy and majesty of being human. The rosh yeshiva demonstrates that this comes from the shirah in the following way:
The Gemara (Chagigah 13b) tells us that there are three kings in the animal world and a fourth above them. The ox is the king of the domesticated animals, the eagle of the birds, the lion of the wild beasts, and man is above all of them. However, Hashem is described as “ga’oh ga’ah”—above them all (Shemos 15:1). The handmaiden who saw more than Yechezkel (Mechilta, Beshalach, section on the Shirah, 3) witnessed the “ga’oh ga’ah,” while Yechezkel saw only the animals and man, but no higher. Yet that maiden perceived what even the great Yechezkel could not.
The name of this sublime greatness in a person is gaavah d’kedusha. Let us now attempt to understand the rosh yeshiva’s teaching on the most basic of levels. As human beings, and especially as Jews, we have the ability to ignore all the evil around us and rise above it. However, in our current situation—being surrounded by those who clearly despise us, wish us harm, and actively seek our destruction—it is impossible to remain completely oblivious. What we can do, however, is retreat into our own private world, both as a nation and as individuals, to comprehend and accept our true greatness. This approach is far removed from arrogance or empty pride.
What exactly is this crucial approach to life? The Kuzari provides us with the answer. In Rav Yehudah Halevi’s story, the king of the Khazars becomes convinced that he is practicing the wrong religion but has not yet discovered the correct alternative. After rejecting the teachings of a Greek philosopher, a Christian, and a Muslim, he reluctantly approaches a rabbi. One of the rabbi’s key teachings is that just as there appear to be four levels of existence—domeim (the inanimate), tzomeiach (the vegetative), chai (the animal), and man—there is an additional level called Yisroel.
The king, anticipating Darwin and even Thomas Jefferson, is willing to admit that man is a different species than a cow or horse but struggles to accept that there could be any difference between a Jew and a non-Jew. After much discussion, the king ultimately accepts this distinction and converts, along with his people, to Judaism.
We, too, must engage in such a process and truly believe that we are inherently different. Perhaps the traumatic past year or so has been, at least in part, a divine lesson plan designed to help us internalize the idea that we are hated because we are, indeed, different. Once we accept that this is the ultimate compliment, we can hold our heads high and serve Hashem proudly, with the knowledge that we can change and uplift the world simply by being who we are—the Am Hashem and His Chosen People.
The more we shy away from this mandate, the less we can fulfill our destiny and the harder life becomes. Conversely, the more we embrace our gaavah d’kedusha and our vayigbah libo, the sooner we will bring the geulah sheleimah, im yirtzeh Hashem.
