The simple explanation is that Hashem alone leads us. We are not relegated to the stewardship of an angel. In his Haamek Davar, the Netziv, zl, explains that Hashem led us through the wilderness in order to establish and define for us the tzurah, image, of what a Jew should be. He does not want us to intermingle in the gentile world more than necessary. Thus, Klal Yisrael’s Heavenly mandate is to be an Am levadad yishkon, to be alone, to be distinct, to stand out among the nations as children/representatives of Hashem should be. Hashem badad yanchenu, the Almighty leads us to be badad, alone. Chazal (Sanhedrin 104B) comment on the pasuk in Eichah, Eichah yashvah badad, “Alas, she sits in solitude” (Eichah 1:1). Ani amarti, (Hashem says), “I said, V’yishkon Yisrael l’vetach badad, and Yisrael should dwell alone”(33:28), and now they are alone. This means that the will of Hashem is that Klal Yisrael should be distinct, not under the alien influences of the gentile world. He does not want us to intermingle and be comfortable in their world. Now, since we did not listen, and instead assimilated with them, we are compelled to be badad, alone, because they want nothing to do with us. When we do not preserve our own distinct identity, when we attempt to endear ourselves to the outside world by acting like them, Hashem “directs” the very same people with whom we are trying to ingratiate ourselves to repel and rebuff us.
Does this mean that we cause anti-Semitism? While the anti-Semite definitely is responsible for his own actions, we have no question that, throughout the millennia, whenever we have tried to break down the walls that should separate us, we always receive a Divine reminder that we must remain distinct.
From a strict linguistic standpoint, the term badad/levado, meaning alone and separated, is not generally considered related to the halachic term of lavud, which allows for a gap of up to three tefachim to be treated as closed or connected. Yet, homiletically, we often explore conceptual relationships between words that share the same letters, even when they are not etymologically isolated. I would like to present such a homiletic rendering.
When the Torah (Bamidbar 23:9) describes Klal Yisrael as an am levadad yishkon, levadad appears to emphasize separation from the nations. This is the point at which I would like to cite the halachic term of lavud, which connects two objects whose gap between them is less than three tefachim. Lavud means connect; levado means separate/distinct. Perhaps the lesson to be applied is,in order for Klal Yisrael to have the ability to remain levado externally, they must first be lavud internally. When Jews are bound together despite the small gaps and differences that separate them, they achieve true unity and maintain their true Jewish identities. When internal divisors surface and widen to the point that we are no longer internally connected, however, our capacity to remain a distinct nation is threatened. Thus, lavud may be viewed as a prerequisite for levadad: only a nation that is connected internally can remain separate externally.
The Talmud (Sukkah 53A) quotes Hillel HaZakein’s famous declaration: Im ani kan, ha’kol kan. Im eini kan, mi kan; “If I am here, everything is here; and if I am not here, who is here?” This ambiguous statement, coming from a Torah leader whose level of humility was without peer, begs elucidation. Many commentators understand Hillel to be speaking in the Name of Hashem (so to speak). “If Hashem is present, everything is present; if Hashem is not present, what significance does anything have?” Others view this statement as a lesson and directive to personal responsibility, “If I do not show up to fulfill my role, who will? My presence and contribution matter.”
Horav Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, zl, addresses the concept and phenomenon of Jewish bedidus, separation, exclusivity, distinctiveness. V’yishkov Yisrael botach badad ; “Yisrael dwells securely alone” (Devairm 33:25). We are secure in our standing alone; we are able to separate ourselves from foreign cultures, because we possess our own source, our own wellspring of life. The spiritual separateness of the Jew exists only with respect to the outside world, but (as mentioned) not with respect to that which is within. The moral compass and spiritual outlook which permeate the Jewish home and the Land which is its home reflect a harmonious blend of all Jews as one.
Indeed, it is our duty to connect with our fellow Jews, to remove ourselves from a life of detachment, and to take root in Jewish life – to participate as one in our nation’s peaks and valleys, joys and sorrows. Every Jew is family. Thus, the Rosh Yeshivah explains Hillel’s statement: “With regard to the outsider, a person may declare, ‘If I am here, everything is here.’ I can be satisfied with myself, with my Jewish observance and commitment to Hashem. I need nothing from others; my own spiritual world is sufficient for me. With regard to the Jewish community, my brothers and sisters, however, ‘If I am not here, who is here?’ I, too, must align myself with the Jewish community, and, if I fail to do so, both of us lose – the community and me.”
Ha’yotzei midevareinu, in conclusion, withdrawal from the outside world should not stem from animus towards them, but rather, from inner contentment and spiritual fulfillment. One who is secure in his own people, neither despises others, nor diminishes their honor. One whose heritage is precious to him and who finds satisfaction in his own circle, can also appreciate the virtues of others (without feeling threatened by them), even while remaining firmly attached to his own people. Jewish separateness is meant to apply outwardly toward foreign influences, but, inwardly, Jews must be deeply connected to one another.
In order to maintain such a strong-willed commitment to Judaism, one must understand and believe in the privilege and responsibility of being part of Hashem’s chosen people. When one delves into the spiritual uniqueness of the Jew and his special relationship with Hashem, only then can he maintain the deep-rooted sense of pride necessary to resist the destructive allure of the outside world. A person who appreciates the singular mission and destiny of Klal Yisrael is better equipped to remain steadfast in his values, unmoved by the passing attractions of foreign cultures and ideologies.
The following vignettes underscore this idea. Horav Moshe Shternbuch, shlita, relates the emotional tension that consumed many of the students (his chaveirim) in Horav Moshe Schneider’s yeshivah in Frankfort (moved to London) during the Holocaust years. Many of the students were from Poland and Hungary, separated from their families. They were acutely aware that the lives of their family members at home hung in the balance. They heard reports of the brutality and murder to which they might be subject. They had no clue whether their families were alive or victims of the Nazi beast.
Succos in the yeshivah was normally a festive time. This year, the bochurim asked the Rosh Yeshivah how they could celebrate the festival of joy with such a cloud of gloom hovering over them. Were their families still alive and, if they were, they were certainly subjugated to the most cruel privation. It was too much to grasp and remain happy. Becoming emotional, Rav Schneider said, “Hitler may take away our Olam Hazeh, mortal lives, but he cannot deprive us of our Olam Habbah. We will fulfill Hashem’s mitzvos with the greatest hidur, beautification. We will put in extra effort to see to it that the mitzvah is carried out to the highest spiritual standards. Even when we will be in our last mortal moments – in the gas chambers – we will continue to be filled and uplifted with joy, because we are Yidden! The Nazis will not take the joy of the Festival from us. We are the Am Segulah, treasured nation.”
A Kretchnifer chasid was an experienced mohel, and, during the years prior to the fall of the Iron Curtain, he would travel to the former Soviet Union to perform clandestine brissim. This endeavor was dangerous for both him and the parent. On one of his trips, an elderly Jew approached him and begged him to perform a bris on him. The mohel politely said no, fearing that, at his advanced age, his blood would not clot properly, and he might lose too much blood. This could kill him.
The man looked at him with pleading eyes and said, “What do I have from remaining alive if I cannot live as a Yid? Besser shtarben vi a Yid. Better I should die as a Jew – even if the procedure costs me my life, but I will have at least died as a Yid!” Yet, some bend over backward to ingratiate and emulate the goyim. Do we know of a greater shame?
