04 Jun ENTERING INTO THE WILDERNESS THE FEEL-GOOD JUDAISM OF THE MODERN JEW

The Desert
What was the
significance of the
fact that Torah was
given in a
wilderness, in a
barren and infertile
desert, not in a civilized terrain, nor on
soil conducive to human living and
nature’s blessing. Why did G-d
communicate His blueprint for life and
enter into an eternal covenant with the
Jewish people in the aridity and
desolateness of a desert?
Here are a few explanations. 1. The
Torah was given on soil not owned by
any particular people or community, to
signify that the Torah belongs to every
single Jewish soul. 2. The giving of the
Torah in the wilderness represents the
idea that Torah is not a product of a
particular culture and genre. It enriches
all cultures, but transcends them. 3. The
function of Torah is to confront and refine
the “barren wilderness” within the human
psyche and the world.
Today we will explore a fourth and
deeper dimension, articulated by the
Lubavitcher Rebbe in a pre-Shavous
address, 1972. It is a message that may
be particularly relevant to the modern
Jew.
Feel-Good Religion
One of the errors that a Jew living in the
modern era is likely to make is that
Judaism makes no existentially profound
demands on its believers. Judaism is a
feel-good religion, and its objective is to
make one feel comfortable about ones
self. For many religious leaders and
teachers today, the primary objective is to
present a version of Judaism that will fit
nicely into the mind-set and living
patterns of their constituents and will
reassure them that they are wonderful
people. Many rabbis are committed
above all to teach a Judaism that will not
shake up our comfort-zones.
In many ways this has become the
hallmark of the American version of
Judaism – designed to conform to the
paradigms of modernity. “In the image of
the modern, American Jew, have we
created Judaism.”
“My goal is to study and practice a
Judaism that does not interfere with my
conveniences,” a man once told me. “I
have my lifestyle, philosophy, schedule,
habits, and social patterns; as long as

Judaism can fit into this, I will make
room for it and enjoy it too.”
But if we communicate a Judaism just to
make people feel good, why do we really
need it? Why not just figure out what
works best for our lives and pursue that?
Therapy, yoga, exercise, suburban living,
meditation, nutrition, sports, the arts,
music, etc. If Judaism is merely here to
nurture my pre-defined identity and
satisfy my ingrained appetites, why
bother with it all together?
And can the feel-good Judaism inspire a
future? Can such a type of Judaism take
root in the hearts of the youth? Can it
appeal to the idealistic dimension of the
human soul, searching to touch the
Divine?
A Tale of Two Images
But suppose that Judaism was real — it
was the authentic blueprint for life from
the living G-d — then the question should
not be, “How do I find a Judaism that
does not disturb me too much,” but rather
– what does Judaism really say about my
calling? What does Judaism believe
about life, death and everything in
between? What does Torah have to say
about the most important question and
dilemmas facing the human mind and
heart? The question must be not how I
can mold Judaism in my image, but how
I can mold myself in the image of Torah?
How can I revisit my image and recreate
myself based on the visage of man
articulated in Judaism?
If Torah is true, I must have the courage
to take a hard, deep look at my
preconceived notions, thoughts and
behavior patterns, ready to discover truth
that may challenge me.
This is why Torah was given in the
barren desert, in uncivilized wilderness,
where it had no predefined culture to
contend with and to be compared with.
Only in the physical and artistic silence
of the desert can we open ourselves to a
radical search for truth. Only in a desert,
can we walk into something with our
whole being, ready to find anything.
If Torah would have been given in a city
or amidst a beautifully natural terrain, it
would have, by definition, conformed to
the culture prevailing in those particular
areas. In the great river lowlands where
civilization began (the Tigris-Euphrates
rivers and the Nile), the eye is captivated
by the shifting scenes of nature; in cities,
the eye is overtaken by the works of man

— art and architecture. In
such environments, Bnei
Yisrael would only be
able to absorb a religion
that would fit into their
psyches, patterns, and
sensibilities, like all the
Pagan religions of the
time. The Jews could
never attune themselves
to the word of a G-d who
transcends nature.
Sinai challenged the
Jewish people to revisit
all of existence from its deepest genesis;
to reexamine life and history from its
very nucleus; to see the world not from
the human perspective, but from the
perspective of G-d who cannot be
confined in human modalities. A
revolution of this magnitude cannot take
place in a populated environment, not
even in an environment where life
blossoms and nature flourishes. Only in
the emptiness and desolateness of the
wilderness is the ego subordinate to the
search for truth. Only in the silence of the
desert, can a person bid farewell to all of
his or her paradigms and allow his soul to
absorb radical transcendence.
A Rash People
This explains a deeply enigmatic
episode which occurred at Sinai.
The Torah relates that when Moshe
presented the covenant before Bnei
Yisrael, they responded, “We will do and
we will listen” (Shemos 24:7). This
expression has always been a source of
wonderment and surprise to rabbis and a
refutation of the anti-Semitic portrayal of
Jews as calculating and self-protective.
“We will do and we will listen” implies a
commitment to observe the covenant
even before the Jews heard its details and
understood its ramifications.
The Talmud (Shabbas 88b) tells a story
about a Sadducee who once saw one of
the great Talmudic sages, Rava, so
engrossed in learning that he did not
attend a wound in his own hand. The
Sadducee exclaimed, “You rash people!
You put your mouths ahead of your ears
[by saying “we will do and we will
listen”], and you still persist in your
recklessness. First, you should have
heard out [the covenant details]. If it is
within your capacity, then accept it. If
not, you should have rejected it”!
His argument was logical. Imagine

somebody offers you to invest a large
sum of money in a developing company.
To respond, “Sure, here is the money, and
then afterward I will listen to the details,”
is ridiculous. If you do not know what the
company is all about, why subject your
money to possible loss? And yet, in this
case, the Jews declared that they were
ready embrace a life-altering covenant,
even before they heard all the details and
knew what Judaism was all about! Why?
How?
Rava answered the Sadducee with these
words: “We walked [into it] with our
whole being.”
What Rava meant was this: By
definition, a relationship with G-d cannot
be created on our terms; it must be on His
terms. If there is something called Truth,
if there is something called Reality, we
cannot define it; it must define us. We
cannot accept it on condition that it suits
our senses and expectations. On the
contrary, we must realign our condition
to it. Once the Jewish people knew that
G-d was communicating with them, they
did not want to fit religion into their
imagination; they had no preconditions
for a relationship with truth. It was in the
desert that the Jews can declare, “We will
do and we will listen.”
This process must occur each year anew.
To receive Torah, we must have the
courage to walk into a desert; we must

strip ourselves from any pre-defined self-
identity. We need to be ready to hear the

sound beneath the sounds we are
accustomed to. Torah is not merely a cute
and endearing document filled with
rituals, to satisfy nostalgia or tradition.
Torah demands that we open ourselves
up with our whole being and declare,
“We shall do and we shall listen!”
(This essay is based on a talk delivered
by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, on Shabbas
Parshas Bamidbar, 29 Iyar, 5732, May
13, 1972.)