First, a confession. I used to live next door to Superman. Well, sort of. When I was a rov in Cleveland, our neighbor was a sadly unhappy woman. A non-religious Jewish lady, there was nothing we seemed to able to do to make her happy or cheer her up. We couldn’t even get to the kiruv part, because she was so discontent with her life. Then we found out the secret. Her former but now divorced husband was once of the two young Jewish boys who invented Superman. At the time, in 1938, not too many people were interested in this new cartoon character and the boys sold the rights to the copyrighted hero for $130. Now, I understood her disposition. I probably wouldn’t have been very happy either knowing that I could have been at least a billionaire.
Nevertheless, because of our proximity to this somewhat historical figure, I learned more about the Jewish writer and his illustrator friend who created one of the most popular and iconic cultural phenomena. I actually met someone who wrote a book about this process, who was obsessed with some of the Judaic symbolism of this “visitor from another planet.” First of all, the fact that he was adopted as a baby came from the pair’s limited Torah knowledge at the Talmud Torah they attended in Cleveland. It is entirely possible that some of their teachers were even frum, since a few of the Telzer rebbetzins taught at the Talmud Torah in those days. To Jerry and Joe, the baby from Krypton was based upon – lehavdil – the baby Moshe Rabbeinu being “adopted” by Paroh. Interestingly, the two “bochurim” added an “El” to the names of many of the foreign baby’s forbearers, because they thought that many Biblical words and names used this cognomen to signify G-dliness or power.
The reason this has just come up is that people have told me that there is a new version of Superman. That is where my interest in the fictional character ended, but I was reminded of a line in the Kuzari. Rav Yehudah Halevi tells the story of the gentile king who is told in a dream that he means well but is practicing the wrong religion. After interviewing a Greek philosopher, Christian cleric and Moslem imam, he finally rejects them all and reluctantly turns to a rabbi. The initial discussion does not go well, but eventually the king and his people, the Khazars, convert to Judaism and he takes the chover as his rebbi. The king learns much about Yiddishkeit, but finds out that there is something higher than a regular Jew, known as the chossid. He now wishes to discover how to attain that level as well (Kuzari, Genizi ed., 3:3-5 pages 165-167).
The chover (his title in the Kuzari) answers that to be a moshel, he must do certain things. The king objects, “I asked how to become a chossid and you’re telling me how to be a ruler. I’m a pretty good ruler already.” But the rabbi has set him up. “In order to be a true ruler, you must first be a moshel over yourself.”
To understand the depth of Rav Yehudah Halevi’s teaching, we must go back a bit to the time before the king’s geirus. The chover first got the king to agree to the concept that there are four levels of existence—the inanimate (rocks), the vegetative (flowers, fruits), animal (cows, horses), and finally man. But the rabbi now claims that there is something that is even higher. The king accepts the challenge but cannot think of anything that is intrinsically different, only comparatively better, such as smarter, stronger, etc.
Then, in one of the most important teachings in hashkafah, the rov asks the king, “What would you call someone who goes through fire, and goes without food for forty days and nights, and eventually dies when told to do so without, G-d forbid, committing suicide?” He admits that that would intrinsically be different specie than a regular human being. The rov proves that this is the description of Moshe Rabbeinu (Kuzari ibid., 1:41, page 29) and this demonstrates irrevocably to the king that there is specie of existence that is Klal Yisroel. Of course, although the king accepted this proof, many throughout history have not, and anti-Semites have always thrown at us our ostensible arrogance at claiming superiority over them.
It is important at this point to share one my favorite convention moments. I had the zechus to relate, in my ArtScroll book Blueprints, what happened one night at the Torah Umesorah convention. A somewhat impudent gentleman stood up at the question-and-answer session with the gedolim and addressed Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky. “Could you please explain to us the difference between the Nazis claiming that they were the Aryans and our claim that we are the Am Hanivchar?”
Rav Yaakov answered immediately and calmly that the difference is simple. The Nazis made these claims to attain power, fame and fortune. We, on the other hand, want nothing from the world other than to be left in peace so that we can be denied many things. There are countless things that we may not eat, we cannot work or travel dozens of days in the year, and we are forbidden myriad pleasures that the rest of the world readily enjoys. That is our concept of being exceptional.
To add to Rav Yaakov’s brilliant answer, we are also the nation that understands that to be of a higher order means to be able to be in control of our yeitzer hora. Rav Nosson Wachtfogel (Leket Reshimos) understands this to be one of the cornerstones of being a Yid. The rest of the world follows its inclinations, proclivities and, of course, desires. We, on the other hand, will often go out of our way to establish “who’s the boss.”
One famous example is one of the Novardoker roshei yeshiva, who was uncertain if he had the obligation to do something or not, got out of his sickbed, traveled to the person’s house, and turned around without even knocking on the door. The point was that he was unsure whether his reluctance to go was laziness or a halachic reservation. The only way to solve the problem was to make sure that he, and not his evil inclination, was in charge.
This can be understood by turning to one of the masters of mussar, Rav Yechezkel Levenstein (Ohr Yechezkel, “Middos,” page 36). He explains that we tend to make the mistake of thinking that all middos are divided into good traits and bad traits. Chazal, however, teach differently. “When Hashem declared that He had created something that was tov me’od, extremely good, they said that this refers to the yeitzer hora, the evil inclination.” Rav Chatzkel asks the obvious question: How can we claim that the evil inclination is actually good? He answers that the human being is so great and sublime that he can utilize everything, such as kavod (honor) and kinah (envy), for self-improvement and goodness. This is the essence of being a good person—that he is able to control each middah, even one that could harm him. One fascinating source for this is the language of the Yerushalmi (Brachos 9:5): “Avrohom Avinu made the evil inclination good.” This is actually the superpower of an adam.
As a footnote to this definition, the story is told of my rebbi, Rav Yitzchok Hutner, when he first entered the Slabodka Yeshiva as a very young boy. The Alter of Slabodka noticed that he was learning alone. As it turned out, he was initially so young that no one wanted to be his chavrusa. “Itche,” the Alter inquired, “where is your chavrusa?”
The future rosh yeshiva answered, “He’s right here.”
“I don’t see him,” the Alter responded, to which the new talmid answered, “I’m learning with my yeitzer hora.”
The Alter enjoyed the riposte, but asked, “Why not the yeitzer tov?”
Apparently, the rosh yeshiva had the last word in that conversation by claiming, “Because the yeitzer hora is a lot smarter.”
Leaving aside the many other aspects of the conversation, I believe the rosh yeshiva was already somewhat precociously referring to our ability to “convert” the yeitzer hora into a partner and companion.
The evil philosopher Nietzsche invented the concept of an ubermentch. By this he meant a person who would be a superman, able to conquer countries and enslave other people. Our idea of being a superman is one who is in charge of his personal drives, can sacrifice himself for others, and, of course, totally subjugate himself to his Creator. We saw that the Kuzari refers to Moshe Rabbeinu as the crown of creation, the Superman who proves that Klal Yisroel is capable of rising above even the exalted status of being human.
Rav Chaim Friedlander (Sifsei Chaim, Bereishis, page 52) goes even further in explaining Moshe Rabbeinu’s greatness in a way to which we can all relate. He quotes the Medrash (Yalkut Shimoni, Bereishis 61) that states, “Moshe was more beloved than Noach. Noach went from being called ‘a tzaddik of a man,’ but eventually was called ‘a man of the earth.’ Moshe, on the other hand, was initially called ‘a man of Egypt’ and later was called ‘a man of G-d.’ Rav Friedlander explains that we judge a person by where he has been and where he has arrived. A human being has the potential to grow tremendously, but he is ultimately identified by how much he moved himself and in what direction.
The story is told of the Chazon Ish toward the end of his life. He was already bedridden and rarely got up for anyone. A father came in for a brocha for his Down-Syndrome child and the Chazon Ish, with great difficulty, rose from his bed. “Please don’t stand up for me, rebbe,” the father begged. The Chazon Ish responded, “I am standing up for your son. He has made so much progress since the last time I saw him that he is now a gadol.”
We don’t need Superman, his capes or the ability to fly. We can grow and change. We can go from mourning the Bais Hamikdosh to being consoled for seven weeks and then do such a powerful teshuvah that we are even greater than one who was always good. That is what is so super about this season and what can make us all the Super people Hashem created us to be.
