The Torah is Hashem’s greatest gift to Klal Yisrael. It is more than our guide for living – it is our life. One would think that the giving of the Torah, which was a seminal experience like none other, would have occurred in a thriving metropolis, a cultured capital – not in a desolate wilderness. Everything that Hashem does and how He does it is to teach us lessons for life and living. Obviously, the giving of the Torah in the desert is no different. Chazal teach that it was, indeed, deliberate. Each commentator explores his own approach. Perhaps we may add a thought of our own.
It is quite possible that embedded within the wilderness is the very definition of a Jew. While, sadly, many of our disenfranchised brothers and sisters believe that world acceptance and embrace will ultimately define the Jew, that cannot be further from the truth. Only a single factor defines a Jew: his relationship with Hashem. As such, a Jew understands that, regardless of the circumstances, he is never alone. One who either forgets or disregards this verity can stand amid a group of people and still sense a feeling of utter abandonment.
Unfortunately, we are not the guests most welcome in the world community. Whether one places the tag of anti-Semitism on this blatant animus, or simple envy that we are still around and living while most of our tormentors are extinct, the bottom line is that we are at best tolerated, at times even persecuted, but, most often, misunderstood – we are just not welcome. This is, of course, Heavenly choreographed to maintain our spiritual status. The distance has preserved us. We are unable to live within a society whose morals are bankrupt, whose spiritual affiliation is practically non-existent. The friendlier we become, the greater our chance of assimilation. Our national identity has been tempered through the crucible of self-containment and singularity. It would be nice to preserve that feeling of independence.
Some of us, however, need — and thrive on — public approval. Their fragile self-esteems long for validation from the outside world. While the desire for acceptance is human and should not be denigrated, need for affirmation drives some individuals towards groups and societies whose moral and spiritual compass leaves much to be desired.
To these sorry people, the Torah intimates, “You were chosen in the wilderness. No applause, no crowds, only Hashem and the rest of the nation under His protection. We were one family, standing apart from the rest of the world. We learned that, when one stands alone with Hashem, he is never alone.”
This is with regard to our national persona. It is not much different concerning our personal lives, our personal ascensions to spiritual acceptance. In some moments in a Jew’s life, the voice must cease, the conversations come to an end. No phones – even on vibrate. Even family fades into the background, allowing for the individual to be misbodeid, alone with himself. This aloneness not only allows for calm introspection but it also intimates a powerful truth: a Jew is never alone. Likewise, one who seeks to acquire Torah must render himself similarly open and unencumbered.
Furthermore, one has the opportunity to be alone with his Creator without any distractions, no applause or audience, no support system – only man with Hashem. How ironic it is that one person can be surrounded by crowds and remain profoundly alone, while another person can sit in a quiet room with no human being in sight, yet feel enveloped by Divine companionship. The difference is not about proximity to people, but about proximity to Hashem.
The Baalei Mussar, Ethicists (especially Novoradok), encourage periodic hisbodedus as a medium for returning to one’s identity. When no one is watching, when there is no cacophony of sound in the background, one is able to ask himself, “Who am I?” The correct answer is, “I am an eved Hashem.” Now he is no longer alone.
We have survived galus after galus, because we have preserved our inner identity. It is not about language, land and political sovereignty. It is about remembering that we are one with Hashem. Nothing else matters.
If one were to search the globe for an area so desolate and devoid of life that it could be compared to a midbar, Siberia would clearly be recognized as such a place. Siberia is a vast, frozen wilderness where the cold feels relentless and the horizon endless. It is a land locked in permafrost, swept by cutting, blistering winds across a barren tundra. Whatever settlements exist there cling to survival amid the silence, dwarfed by an unforgiving landscape that is harsh, desolate and immense. Now why would anyone want to live in such a place if they had an alternative? Obviously, some people are made of different mettle. For one who has been raised in the Novoradok mussar approach, wilderness does not present a challenge. If one’s husband and his students are exiled to Siberia, the wife goes along. Wilderness plays no role when it challenges the growth of Torah.
Apparently, Horav Yehudah Leib Nekritz, zl, son-in-law of Horav Avrohom Joffen, zl, Rosh Yeshivas Novoradok, was sent to Siberia together with a group of students. As Polish citizens, they were subject to Soviet rule, and, for refusing to accept Russian citizenship, their punishment was banishment to Siberia. Wives and children were not permitted to accompany their spouses. Rebbetzin Menuchah Nekritz, granddaughter of the Alter of Novoradok, asked/begged to accompany her husband. She was the only one who acted in this manner; she even took her two young daughters with her. Sadly, the other women who remained in Poland were soon murdered by the Nazis.
Siberia was beyond desolation. The Nekritzes lived in a 10 X 15 foot hut – plus two others and several animals. The temperature remained a chilling 40 below zero. The furniture was the floor. They had little to no food. After working all day, Rav Nekritz would give shiur to the ten students who joined them. The Rebbetzin cooked whatever she could for them. The Russians were suspect of everything the Rosh Yeshivah did. They could not tolerate the Jews’ adherence to Shabbos observance, and, above all, that these wretched Jews remained stoic in the face of such physically and emotionally decimating conditions was an anomaly.
They were unaware of the tenacious faith of the Jew, especially one steeped in the Novoradok approach to mussar and faith. To them, bitachon – radical, living trust in Hashem as the axis upon which life revolves was a cornerstone of their avodas hakodesh. They lived beyond nature, reaching out to build yeshivos in towns where Torah was not even a hope – without money or contacts and with no clear plan, other than complete selfless devotion to Hashem. They understood that as the Torah was given to us in a desolate wilderness, a place where one’s illusion of self-sufficiency became reality. One confronted the reality that it is all about Hashem. He is the only One upon Whom we can rely, because He is the only One Who can (and does) sustain us. With this attitude and faith, a young woman and her two young daughters can follow and support their husband and father’s Torah, even in the frozen tundra of Siberia.
