05 Mar IT DOESN’T DO ANYTHING FOR ME

At the request of his
parents, I recently met
with a young man who
had stopped going to
Shul on Shabbos
morning. (People
think when we get
semicha, Rabbis get a magic wand that we
can wave and make their spouse or children
or neighbor or friend do exactly what they
want.) I asked the young man, someone who
keeps Shabbos and Kosher and is observant,
why he stopped going to Shul on Shabbos
morning. He told me, “I only get to sleep late
one day a week and I don’t want to wake up
early.” I told him we have a Teen Minyan that
begins at 9:45, he could at least come at
10:30 and catch Mussaf and the Kiddush and
still sleep in. He said, “10:30 am? That’s not
sleeping late. I want to sleep until 1:00 or
2:00 pm.”
I pressed on. “I understand you want to
really sleep in but isn’t coming to Shul on
Shabbos important to you, doesn’t it matter?”
He answered, “Rabbi, the bottom line is this
– I don’t go to Shul on Shabbos morning
because it doesn’t do anything for me.” I was
somewhat stumped.
“It doesn’t do anything for me” and so I

don’t do it.
For a long time, Jews didn’t have the option
of saying “it doesn’t do anything for me.”
Some did “it” – whatever “it” was at the time
– because their father or mother said so and
some did it anyway because their Father in
Heaven said so. For a big part of our history,
for most of my lifetime, “doing something
for me” was not part of the consideration.
Responsibilities were obligations, not
options.
But we live in a different world, we live at a
different time. We live with different
expectations, different assumptions, and
different entitlements. In today’s world of
on-demand and instant gratification, of
comfort and convenience, young people and
adults alike bring a mentality to relationships
with spouses, friends, and with Hashem of
“what does this do for me” and the impact is
showing.
Had our ancestors considered this question,
we may not be here today. When they
confronted pogroms, extermination attempts,
expulsions and forced conversions they
didn’t ask what does this Judaism do for me.
When our grandparents came to America and
often were forced to choose between keeping
Shabbos and keeping a job, they didn’t

consider what this observance does for them.
Make no mistake, this isn’t just a question
of the non-religious or unaffiliated, nor is it
the challenge of the “modern.” It is a
question that affects every segment of the
Jewish community, including those who
outwardly keep Torah and mitzvos but
inwardly are deeply disaffected and barely
holding on.
So how would you answer? What would
you say to someone who doesn’t want to do
a mitzvah or keep a Halacha, doesn’t want to
sacrifice or compromise for his or her
Yiddishkeit, isn’t truly invested in the
lifestyle they are living, because it doesn’t
do anything for them?
Why be committed to a life and lifestyle
that don’t do anything for me? Why does
Judaism even matter, why continue to fight
for it? Why does Israel matter, why not pack
it in, set up shop in Uganda or accept the
invitation of America and the West to
assimilate, integrate and leave our
separateness and apartness behind?
These questions have been brewing for
some time and our failure to formulate a
meaningful, compelling and persuasive
response have been a growing challenge. But
then October 7th happened and it woke
something up inside us, it stimulated a
feeling and connection. In some ways it
provided an answer without words.
As Hamas attempted to eliminate Israel,
as antisemitism rises and pledges to
extinguish the fire of Torah, an identity that
had been suppressed or struggling became
firm and proud. For some it is simply a
Jewish identity while for others it is the
central role of Torah and proudly bringing a
fervor and feeling to davening and learning
that had become stale or sour.
This war has awakened something inside
us, from the secular to the Satmar, from the
elderly to the young, from the unaffiliated
to the fanatic, something bigger than us is
happening, something that we feel part of
and connected to, something that matters
and that means something and that is in fact
doing something for us, or better yet, it
doesn’t even need to.
This is an important moment for our
generation, this is a window that won’t
remain open forever or even for long.
Some segments of the Jewish people are
realizing they had confused other
movements and ideologies with Judaism
and while environmentalism, feminism, or
social justice may matter to them, their
Judaism must return to its roots, be true to
itself, stand alone for what it is and not be
defined by or associated with people and
movements that betrayed Israel and the
Jewish people in our moment of truth.

For others, it is the recognition that it isn’t
enough to be Jew-ish, we must be strong
Jews, proud, practicing and passionate. The
rise of the y’dei Eisav, the threat of the hands
of our enemies, has made us lean into the
power of our Kol Ya’akov, the influence,
impact and responsibility of using our voices
for Torah, Tefillah and our traditions.
Some have put flags on their cars and others
dog tags around their necks. But, please
God, this war will be won and the hostages
brought home, those flags and necklaces will
come off… and then what? So many have
started putting tefillin on their arms or tzitzis
under their clothing, they have started
lighting Shabbos candles or practicing
something meaningful, but will it continue?
We have unaffiliated brothers and sisters all
around us who feel betrayed by movements
they stood with and who feel connected to a
heritage and a homeland in a way they
haven’t before. What are we doing about it?
Are we reaching out and reaching in with the
goal of all of us better reaching up? Are we
making Torah more accessible and available
to them than ever? Are our communities
warm, welcoming, accessible and supportive
of those who have more limited education
and background?
If these feelings are to endure, if these
changes in our identity, our mission and our
lifestyles are to last, we must take advantage
of this moment, capture the pervasive
sentiment, not of what does this do for me,
but what can I do for my people, my country,
my Torah, and my Creator. We need to have
these conversations, find the vocabulary and
language for why being Jewish, keeping
Torah, remaining in our land matter, why we
must do even that which doesn’t do anything
for us.
It is time for us to focus not only on how do
we get out of this situation, but also on what
can we get out of this situation. Hopefully
the answer is a renewed passion, commitment,
connection, and unity that endures.