In our efforts to educate our children, we are often caught between a rock and a hard place. We want to impress upon them to direct their kochos to senseful and important endeavors, so they should not get caught up in the type of nonsense that captivates so many young people these days, such as mind-numbing video games or online activity. On the other hand, we cannot constantly push them towards learning and accomplishing, because we then risk losing their interest altogether.
The last few weeks, we discussed a method to relate to our children and bring our worlds closer together, by investing our efforts into noticing the nuances of their everyday life. We can then use the opportunity to impart our perspective and our priorities. However, we pointed out that this requires us to relate to the world in a mature way, in the first place. If we accustom ourselves to notice the significance in all aspects of our lives, we will discover a richer and more meaningful way of relating to ourselves, the world around us, and then to our children.
This is easier said than done. We are, de facto, advocating the need for serious self-work and contemplation. In other words, we should learn mussar! This is how we can elevate our lives and develop our spiritual senses – or so we are told. This is clearly a problematic suggestion, because we must face an uncomfortable yet obvious reality: In our generation, mussar does not live up to its purported goals. Most people do not find satisfaction in reading classic mussar works, and when they do, they often do not perceive any substantial, positive effect.
I believe that our entire approach to learning mussar is rooted in misconceptions. Let us take a few moments to contemplate what limud mussar is supposed to look like, and then we might find a practical way to incorporate its essence into our current day and age.
Sifrei mussar are typically written using quite strong language. They tell us clearly, without mincing words, exactly what our obligations are, and the myriad ways we fall short of them. The question becomes what exactly we are meant to do with this information.
We might be surprised to hear the correct answer: We are not supposed to do anything! In fact, the Alter of Kelm commented that he grew so much from learning mussar precisely because he did not attempt to change his behavior immediately. The ba’alei mussar of yesteryear had a healthy sense of self, and they were not quick to negate the reality of their daily experiences because of something they learned in a sefer. They did not pressure themselves into adopting new practices. So, how did they benefit from the sefer?
Their goal was to gain a new perspective. They learned the sefer very seriously, and it opened their eyes to how the Torah views their lives, their behaviors. Instead of relating to the text as a set of absolute demands, they learned what was expected of them and the spiritual heights they could achieve, and they engaged in honest soul-searching, evaluating how their avoda measured up to these expectations.
It is an unfortunate reality that most of us cannot engage in this sort of learning productively. We think we are made of weaker stuff, and we are not properly aware of our own strengths and abilities. Since we are uncomfortable being told that we are not living up to some external standard, our immediate reaction is to adopt any suggestion for improvement on the spot. We lack the confidence to reflect on our own lives, instead. Rather than implementing immediate change, we might ask ourselves: “Why did I not act this way until now? What internal conflict does this matter represent? How can I make my own life more consonant with these values?” And the same is true for the reverse, as well. If we excel in a certain area, we should not merely congratulate ourselves on our practical accomplishments. We should ask ourselves: “Why does this work for me? What kochos do I use towards this end? Is this only a matter of practical convenience, or does it display some inner strengths and resources?” We assuage our conscience by trying to be as obedient as possible, without taking the effort to see things differently, to try to view the world through the Torah lens offered by the sifrei mussar. Is it any wonder that we are not excited by learning mussar? When approached in this way, it is indeed a cold, demanding work, instead of an interesting and exhilarating journey to our inner selves.
How are we to respond to this reality? We must not fall into the trap of seeking to recreate the experiences of generations past. Firstly, if we are only trying to do the ratzon Hashem, we must be open to the possibility that He no longer desires or expects the very same type of avoda as he did in earlier times. In general, we are quick to understand that we should not attribute any physical misfortune to mikreh, to mere happenstance. We know and believe that Hashem is behind everything that happens to us, and all events carry a message to us. Why do we not react the same way regarding spiritual misfortune? If the generations experience a spiritual decline, do we really think that the yad Hashem is not directing this, as well? Just imagine the ludicrous scenario of someone investing effort into developing nevuah in Klal Yisroel these days! Why is this so foolish? Because we all understand that the hester panim we experience is a new reality, engineered by Hashem Himself. We do not waste time on wistful yearning for such madreigos, because we understand that they are out of our reach. In other words, we are convinced that this is not what He wants from us, and so we direct our efforts elsewhere. In a similar vein, we should not be so sure that He still wants us to engage in the form of avoda that was appropriate decades or centuries ago. If our reality dictates that a certain form of avoda has passed its usefulness, we should be open to the possibility that He wants something new from us.
Furthermore, we must admit that we are simply not the same people as the original ba’alei mussar. As R’ Hutner ztz”l once told Rav Mendel Farber: “If you have ever heard, even once, the shriek of the F train, you will never reach the level of the menuchas hanefesh of the earlier ba’alei avoda.” We were born into different times, and this changes who we are. It is foolish to direct our kochos towards a futile attempt to imitate their avoda.
Should we conclude that mussar is no longer relevant in our times? Certainly not! The external form of learning might not work so well, but its essence, the way it can shape and influence our world, is certainly applicable. We can learn to study the world around us with interest, to view it with chochma. We are not referring to developing deep ideas or psychological insights. Chochma means to notice a mehalech, to detect patterns, and to see through the superficiality that masks most of what occurs around us.
Rav Aron Leib Shteinman ztz”l was an adam gadol who personified this trait. He was not distracted by externalities, but rather recognized the straightforward reality of every phenomena. Yeshivos were not accepting boys from certain families? Ga’avah! All the explanations in the world did not sway him. Ga’avah! He was a chochom, and he saw the plain and simple truth in every situation. We need to observe everything that happens to us through the lens of such chochma.
This is the solution to our dilemma: To apply the chochma of mussar in our everyday life. Not with a sefer, not through any formal study. Simply by being tuned in to observe and understand the world around us.
The great puzzle that remains is the how. How are we to develop such an approach to life, to begin to relate to the world in this way? Surely, the answer will not be simple, but it is crucial for us to explore this further, because here lies our capacity for self-improvement and our ability to relate to our children.
Rabbi Leuchter
