In the Aftermath…
(continued)

“Ki Nafalti Kamti -
Because I Fall, I Shall Arise”

A Story of Two Towers

Rabbi Kagan teaches in several yeshivos and seminaries in Jerusalem. He is slated to head Midreshet Tehillah, a new seminary, under the auspices of Neve Yerushalayim, in September ’02. Feldheim recently published his book, The Jewish Self: Recovering Spirituality in the Modern World. His essay, “Purim and Prayer,” was featured in The Jewish Observer in Feb. ’99.

“Rejoice not against me, my enemy: because I fall, I shall arise; when I sit in darkness, Hashem shall be a light to me” (Mishlei 7,8). Had I not fallen I could not have arisen; had I not sat in the darkness, He would not have been a light to me (Midrash Tehillim 22).

The author acknowledges Rabbi Moshe Shapiro shlita, as a source for many of the insights and interpretations that follow.

A Matter of Involvement

Although Hashem controls everything that happens in the world, He exercises that control in a manner that mirrors our attitude towards Him. When we are genuinely aware of His presence in our lives and conduct ourselves in a manner consistent with a divine relationship, Hashem responds with recognizable involvement and intervention. Should we, however, ignore Hashem and understand reality as a self-contained, natural environment, He honors our interpretation. He organizes the world so as to permit it to seem to function as a directionless, causal process. This reveals itself in galus (exile) and tragedy, allowing us to recognize Hashem from His back, after we refused to see His face.

Never before has there been a time in history when society was as dedicated to a natural vision as today. And we, as exiles deeply integrated into this society, are profoundly committed to this view also.1 This produces our random world, with its meaningless violence, where Hashem’s primary message is the randomness itself. Perhaps, then, we might be tempted to view the Twin Towers savagery as nothing more than another madness in an increasingly mad world, if on a startling scale.

But even when Hashem is hidden, He is masterminding the precise flow of events. When He deems it necessary, He even makes that obvious, as in the Purim Story. The leveling of the Towers and the human devastation that is buried in their rubble is an incident that cries out for interpretation as an event of overt, Divine Hashgacha.

An Extraordinary Expression of Evil

The act’s singular depravity rather than its global effect reveals its significance. The public murder of thousands of people in the wink of an eye for no reason other than participation in a specific economic system is shocking and has altered mankind’s understanding of what one human being is capable of doing to another. Though harnessing the force of man’s desire for G-d, the perpetrators of this deed use it to unleash a profound depth of evil from within themselves, an evil so debased that it rivals benchmarks set in the previous century.

Today’s extremists resemble the enemies of the past in their callous voiding of all human value in anyone who does not fit neatly into their particular vision of correctness. This is what allows them to coolly plan efficient mass murder. They are different, however, in the form of pridefulness that allows them to commit their outrages. Whereas state socialists and communists eliminated G-d and appropriated to themselves the role of defining morality, the religious focus of this new group retains G-d, arrogantly projecting their own skewed desires onto Him. These fanatics then add a damning level of hypocrisy by blinding themselves to the image of G-d in each individual, purportedly for the sake of G-d. We have the unsettling clarity that people capable of this perversity would joyfully kill on a truly massive scale, were they but to possess the capability.

When evil arises in so absolute a form, it is an event of significance in Hashem’s relationship with history. This is especially true here, where it has such a direct impact on the Jews. For the perpetrators of this evil claim to be motivated by the defining ideology of Yishmael, Klal Yisroel’s primary adversary of the last fifty years, and their intent is to intensify Yishmael’s extremism. Also, though directed at the heart of America, the attack on the Towers probably struck down more Jews than all the terrorist activity of the last 30 years combined.

When we include the realization that the uncannily flawless planning and execution of the assault was a Megillas Esther in reverse, we cannot ignore that there is a message here for us beyond the deep tragedy of the incident. Focusing on it as the opening of a renewed struggle between Edom and Yishmael or Gog and Magog – which it may be – only detracts from its direct impact on us. When we frame events within the sweep of historical forces, we tend to turn ourselves into spectators of the events, while, in fact, something is being required of us that is sufficiently pressing to warrant this horror. What, then, are we expected to hear from it? Perhaps we can pick up some clues from the calendar date of when this event took place.

When the King Established His Sovereignty

The timing of an event can be as important as the event itself for revealing the purpose and meaning of what happened; this catastrophe’s occurrence a few days before Rosh Hashana, then, is telling. Rosh Hashana is the day on which Hashem renews His kingship over creation. This brings judgment in its wake.2 “King,” in its classical, absolute sense – in contrast to today’s figurehead – is a title given to one who rules over a people; it signifies a relationship where the king determines the appropriate structure of his domain, and his people give that structure expression in the world. For kingship to be renewed, the people must be brought into line with the will of the king – a hand cannot fit into a four-fingered glove. Therefore the expression of kingship is always accompanied by the process of properly aligning the kingdom to the king – a process that we call judgment.

On Rosh Hashana, we ask Hashem to reveal the full depth of His kingship – “Hashem echad.”3 This means that we are subject to the full heat of Hashem’s judgment on that day. We attempt to provide a buffer against that judgment by invoking Hashem’s covenant with the Jewish People.4 He has made a commitment that He will not put His imprint on history except through Klal Yisroel.5 Since He will not achieve His goal in creation without us, He should judge us mercifully.

We rely on the covenant in our moment of judgment. But we often forget that a covenant is an agreement between two parties. Hashem obligated Himself to the Jewish People only because we made a reciprocal commitment to Him. Covenant is not entitlement, it is essentially responsibility. The Hebrew term for covenant, bris, comes from the term, bri’ah, which means creation.6 A covenant does not merely form a partnership; rather it creates a new entity that arises from the fusing of the parts that were originally separate. In order to genuinely connect on this level, each party must recognize himself as incomplete unto himself. Thus, though a covenant binds its members together, the verb for entering a covenant is koreis, which means to cut. Each entrant in a human covenant had originally viewed himself as a distinct whole; but he then virtually cuts himself so that he is no longer complete as an individual, and becomes whole only through his connection with the other.

Hashem, although perfect and complete, bound Himself kaveyachol (so to speak) to the Jewish People through covenant because we bound ourselves to Him. We defined ourselves as existing only through our relationship with Hashem; He therefore agreed that He would have no expression in the world except through us. This goes back to the birth of Klal Yisroel in Egypt, when we emerged as a distinct people through our offering of the Pesach sacrifice. Since we were born through that act of worship, it forms the basis of our existence. When we stray from that service, we perforce disappear as an independent people. Thus we eat the Paschal sacrifice with both the matza of freedom and the marror of slavery. Our national birth through service brought with it the freedom represented by the matza, but also the possibility of a return to exile and slavery represented by the marror. Because our freedom is not self-sustained – it is dependent upon our upholding our responsibilities of relationship – we can lose it.7 The sword that cuts the covenant cuts both ways. For us to invoke the covenant, we must recognize our utter dependence upon Hashem.

Though dependence upon Hashem was essential at the birth of our nation, the degree of that dependence has deepened profoundly over time. The destruction of the Temple and its continuing absence signify our failure to adequately recognize our utter dependence on Hashem. We can therefore only ask Him to remember our covenant out of mercy. We cannot invoke it on the basis of our righteousness; it must come totally from Hashem’s chanina, His willingness to bestow His gifts for free.8 He grants these gifts only in response to our awareness of how undeserving we are. Genuinely ceding our fate to Hashem on this level is the essence of bitachon.9

The Western Vision of Reality

The Western World, which has hosted much of Klal Yisroel for the past 2000 years, is defined by its vision of reality as a predominantly physical environment whose function is governed by a specific set of immutable laws. According to this vision, man can control his world to the degree that he understands these laws and learns how to manipulate and manage them. To that end, Western society has devoted the bulk of its resources for centuries to increasing its knowledge of how the world works, and then applying that knowledge – resulting in unprecedented economic wealth and economic security for its citizens. It has also laid the foundations for the spiritual barrenness of our age. The more man has a sense of control over his existence, the less space he leaves for G-d.

On a deeper level, our true goal in life is not to make a place for Hashem in our world, but for us to recognize our presence in His world. This brings with it an awareness of our utter dependence upon Hashem as the singular source of all existence. When we, as members of Western society, have a sense of our own control, we cannot reach this level of realization. At best we imagine G-d as sharing power with us. G-d appears to be in our world, resulting in declaring: “Hear O Israel, the L-rd is our G-d, the L-rd is One,” while in our mindset, we see ourselves as asserting power along with Him. More accurately, since our first reliance is upon ourselves, we are living with a perspective of Hashem as being there in the background to rely on, with a loyal assist, should we slip.

The prophet Yishayahu states, “Enter into the rock and hide in the dust because of the fear of Hashem and from the glory of majesty. Humankind’s haughty eyes will be brought low, and men’s arrogance will be humbled, and Hashem alone will be exalted on that day.”10 This statement is directed at a wayward Klal Yisroel. Because of our pridefulness we feel compelled to hide from the pachad (fear) and hadar gaon (glorious majesty) of Hashem – both aspects of Divine Presence that we ask to be revealed on Rosh Hashana11 – because Hashem’s singular majesty is in conflict with our arrogance. To the extent that we exalt ourselves, Hashem cannot be “exalted alone.”12

Yishayahu continues, “For Hashem L-rd of hosts has a day [for retribution] against every proud and arrogant person, and against every exalted person – and he will be brought low;… and against every high tower, and upon every fortified wall.”13 For Hashem to be Echad, our sense of independent security – the edifices that we have built to defend ourselves – must come down.

The Torah’s listing of curses in Ki Savo were read the week before the slaughter of the Trade Center. The Ramban explains that these curses, as opposed to those in Vayikra, prophesy the sufferings of Klal Yisroel in and following the destruction of the Second Temple; they are the ones that are relevant to our generation.14 They reveal that relinquishing our sense of control over our security is the specific challenge of the final exile. It states there that our enemy will besiege us until “the high fortified walls you trusted in fall down,”15 meaning the churban came about as a result of our relying on our own strength and the strength of our creations, rather than on Hashem. The prophet Hoshea states that when redemption comes, we will no longer call the works of our own hands “god”;16 we will no longer substitute our creations for Hashem. Hashem’s full kingship cannot be realized until the fall of the objects that we have made to protect ourselves in His stead. He will not stand alone as long as we equate our own strength with His.

And it was precisely our sense of human strength that tottered when the Twin Towers crumbled. The buildings themselves were awe-inspiring tributes to human engineering – hundreds of thousands of tons of material rising 110 stories above the ground. One who saw them could not imagine them ever being moved.

But far more impressive than the buildings themselves was the economic power they projected. “The World Trade Center” was an appropriate name. Those buildings were the epicenter of an international economic order that has given man unprecedented control over his sustenance, and therefore an unprecedented sense of independence from Hashem.17 We Jews also had come to trust in that system and its extreme focus on man’s manipulation of natural law. We had become confident in our ability to direct essential aspects of our lives. Though we turned to Hashem in prayer, it was not necessarily in good faith. We had fallback positions – if Hashem did not come through, we knew we could provide for ourselves.

The Role of Intellect, The Power of Prayer

The verse in Mishlei states, “Trust in Hashem with your whole heart and do not rely on your intellect.” Hashem endowed us with intellect for reasons that reach back to the very roots of creation. We must use it. But we must discern clearly that our efforts are no more than vessels to receive the blessing of Hashem, that our success is dependent upon the prayer that precedes our action, and that action is nothing more than a possible means for the answer to our prayer.18 That subtle but essential distinction had blurred more than a little. We saw independent strength in ourselves. The fall of the Towers shook this sense of strength and uncovered our root vulnerability.

At the same time, this event has, in a curious way, reunited the Jewish People. Religious and non-religious, exile and Israeli, each in his own way has shared an intoxication with his independent power. Israel built its entire national ethos around human empowerment, raising her children with the understanding that Israel is the one place where Jews can take charge of their own protection, the highest form of national service coming through the military. Israel’s conscious focus on this hollow support resulted in a quick revelation of the folly of human power. After finally achieving her goal of overwhelming military strength, the intifada arrived to confront Israel with a foe against whom she could not use that strength – the more force was applied, the worse the situation became. The fall of the Towers has now made a mockery of the exile’s more subtle economic version of this illusion. Religious and non-religious lived a dream of economic security that has been shattered, lumping us all together in our collective vulnerability.

Reaching For The Ultimate

On Rosh Hashana, as we strive to bring the full weight of Hashem’s kingship upon the world and ourselves, we read the story of the Akeida, Avraham’s near offering of Yitzchak as a sacrifice to Hashem. Hashem asked Avraham to do this because it absolutely challenged Avraham’s root character of chessed, opposed all that Avraham had understood throughout his life, and was anathema to everything he had thought Hashem represented.19 Every element of Avraham as a person was stripped away – his character, his intellect, and his understanding of his connection to Hashem. All that remained was Avraham, the rarefied servant of Hashem. Through this act, Avraham demonstrated his total commitment to his covenant with Hashem.

As Avraham passed this test, he created within every member of Klal Yisroel the ability to reach this level of purified service. It is this capability that showed itself when a father turned to his children as they lay bleeding together after the Sbarro bombing, and told them, “Children, say Shema with me now.” When Yitzchak returned to Sarah after the Akeida to tell her what had happened, she wept to death. Her cries, the Midrash says, became the source for the shofar blasts on Rosh Hashana.20 Rabbi Yitzchak Kirzner l”xz, no stranger to suffering himself, explained that according to this Midrash, when Sarah heard the extent to which Hashem had tested Avraham, she understood that this set the standard for what He would expect from Klal Yisroel throughout history. Her tears were over the prospect of how forcefully her grandchildren would be pressured to perfect their relationship with Hashem.21 In the merit of her cries, the shofar brings Hashem to judge us mercifully as He decrees our assigned challenges for the coming year.

Though He is merciful, the level of service that Avraham achieved as an individual remains the level of service that we must attain as a nation. This is the goal Hashem has set for us and Hashem’s words do not return emptyHis goal must and will be reached.22

Return to the Realm of the Spirit

The Midrash23 states that Yishmael is Hashem’s chosen instrument to drive us to absolute purity of worship. After many of us have spent the last 2000 years hosted in the spiritual desert of Edom, where our task was to hold on to whatever degree of spirituality possible, we now return to our homeland where we must confront a far more spiritual enemy: Yishmael. His name reveals his closeness to G-d – “Yishma E-l, G-d will hear.” In our struggles with this foe, it is not enough to retain a relationship with Hashem; Yishmael also has a connection, however perverse at times. When confronting his challenge, we will have to realize the potential for purified service that Avraham created within us. What makes this so difficult is that we come to this effort profoundly weakened by the centuries we have spent under Edom – entrenched in the physical world of action and control, alienated from our spiritual sources. Hashem’s expectations are great: He demands the ultimate when we are critically depleted.

The Purim Paradigm

How are we to meet this challenge? Purim comes at the conclusion of the calendar year; it commemorates events at the end of the prophetic period of our history, and presages the situation at the end of history. It can thus serve as a suitable guide for our current situation.

At that time, we also had found ourselves distant from Hashem, spiritually weak. That weakness, however, became a springboard for national repentance on an unprecedented scale. The termination of the Jewish People was at hand, and there was absolutely nothing we could do. So we prayed, and our prayers were genuine. Our awareness of our complete powerlessness and vulnerability allowed us – compelled us – to turn completely to Hashem for salvation.24 From Purim we learn that weakness, when it is truly recognized and accepted, becomes its own kind of strength.

But we are gifted with intellect and free will to give form to our world, and we must take some kind of action. Purim also provides us with a model for the kind of human action we must now strive for as the end of history approaches. Throughout the Megilla, nothing was done by any of the human players in the course of events to directly bring about our salvation; there was only fasting and repentance to move Hashem to intervene on our behalf. The single exception to this was Esther’s request that Achashverosh step in and save the Jews: “If I have found favor (chen) in your eyes, O King, and if it pleases the King, let my life be granted to me by my asking, and my people through my entreaty.”25

Yet, Esther recognized Achashverosh as her enemy as much as Haman.26 Why was she appealing to him to save the Jews? The Midrash teaches that whenever the word “king” appears in the Megilla without specification, it is actually referring to Hashem.27 If we look closely at Esther’s words to Achashverosh, we realize she was not really talking to him. Though her words had meaning for Achashverosh, as she attempted to rally him to her assistance, she was actually talking through him to Hashem, for He alone would determine her success or failure. Esther was davening. Her action, the only productive action of the entire Megilla, was on its deepest level a prayer.

When Actions Become Prayers

Until our actions also become prayers, or at the very least vehicles for our prayers, Hashem’s total control over reality and the true nature of His unity – that He is “exalted alone” – will remain hidden. The exile that has enveloped us for the last 2000 years has trained us from our first breath to understand ourselves as governing our surroundings. It has, therefore, been difficult to imagine our ever coming to an awareness of the true parameters of human action. That was before the fall of the Towers. For all the unspeakable carnage left in their wake, their collapse also brought us a stride towards recovering our sense of vulnerability, which is a prerequisite for recognizing our dependence upon Hashem. As we witnessed the proud and powerful edifice in which we had invested so much trust disintegrate into a cloud of dust, something inside us moved. A possibility was created within, a possibility that had not previously existed.

We now find ourselves in an extraordinarily delicate position. The future could either bring solutions to practical problems we have been struggling with for decades, or it could make our present difficulties look like a birthday party. The modern-day equivalent of Haman, a situation that would face us with instantaneous national extinction and force teshuva on a scale comparable to that which occurred in Persia, is chilling to contemplate. And yet it seems more possible than ever. Would it not be better for us to realize our potential before it came to that? We dare not be spectators of history at this juncture. Now is the time.

But for what? It would be nice to end with a particular chapter of Tehillim to be read every morning upon awakening, to solve the problem. But our present exile was not caused by a specific shortfall in our actions; when the Romans destroyed the Second Temple, we were learning Torah, and doing mitzvos and good deeds. 28 What was missing was bitachon – genuine trust in Hashem.29 Yes, we do need to do more. But, more important, it is the manner of our acting that needs transformation. We would do well to recover the ability to truly pray, recognizing Hashem as the sole source of our success and salvation, and structure around those prayers our attempts to directly influence our world. We must strive to restore to Hashem the control over our lives which He exercises anyway. The fall of the Twin Towers has both started this process of change, and reminded us that if we cannot achieve this realization on our own, Hashem has ample resources to help us along.

Back to Homepage