Access the Contents for this entire series.

 

Note: This is a word-for-word transcript of an oral lecture and has not been edited to be read as a standalone text. Often the Rav’s tone, pauses, and vocal inflections impart meaning not discernable in the written version. The transcript is provided to accompany the audio lectures in order to help the listener catch every word.

Transcript: [opening sentence(s) missing]

Review of previous lecture’s distinction between loneliness and aloneness

Many a time he is rejected by the community he wants to join, but still, of course, we have to experience both loneliness and aloneness. Loneliness, I said before, using an Adlerian term, is a disjunctive emotion, [a] very excruciating emotion, a very destructive emotion; aloneness can become a very creative emotion. Of course, we experience both. There is not a single person under the sun who did not experience a loneliness, rejection, non-acceptance; you know that; and, on the other hand, who also experiences aloneness, his uniqueness, his incommensurability with others, the fact that others don’t understand him; but not as a destructive emotion – he feels it, he experiences it more as part of his personal dignity, that I am so different, that I cannot be replaced, I am indispensable – I don’t mean indispensable as far as my contribution to society, but indispensable – my inner world is indispensable; there is not another inner world, inward world, which is commensurate with mine. So of course he experiences both.

Different kinds of people experiencing loneliness and aloneness differently

But, nevertheless, not all people experience loneliness and aloneness equally. Some are so engrossed in their objectivating mission, in passing down their kerygma, their message, in living for others, in externalizing themselves, that they simply have no time to dally in themselves, to exist for themselves, in a unique, unrepeatable manner, that the feeling of aloneness is almost alien to them. This is modern man. He is so busy to, somehow, to make the other self, the thou, understand him, to impress the thou, to impose himself upon society. He is so busy doing all that – an externalization of himself; an externalization means always universalization; it means also standardization, to show that I am like others; I am a regular fellow, so to say; I am one of the crowd – that he forgets to live for himself, that finally, of course, the feeling of aloneness is almost alien to him; and if disappointment comes, and disappointment is bound to come, so he is a lonely being – not a being alone – he is a lonely being.

There are always those people, and I am speaking to you as a rabbi now, because this mental disposition is particularly very discernible among rabbis. I don’t know other professions, but I know pretty well my profession, I mean, people who are engaged in my profession. They are always haunted by the malaise of modern society, perhaps by the fear they would not find recognition, by uncertain pre-sentiments they will be not wanted. They are so busy; they are so preoccupied with this idea, to such an extent, [that] they forget the numinous facets of their own experience.

They lack self-rootedness. Basically, Judaism spoke of man in terms of a tree. Ki ha’adam eitz hasadeh, and man is like the tree in the field. What does it mean? And in the Bible, particularly in the Psalms, in Jeremiah, you will find this metaphor – man-tree – a very popular one, employed by the prophets and the psalmist. What is the tree? First of all, tree means that man is an organic creature, an organic being, but more; man must be rooted. A tree is rooted in soil. Man is also rooted. Where is he rooted? Of course, the final place where man strikes roots is infinity, but Judaism was not metaphysically orientated; Judaism was very realistic. So, before man strikes roots in infinity, he should also find himself rooted in finitude. Where is the finitude he can strike roots? Where? – in himself; in himself; in his depth personality; in the deep recesses of his consciousness. And many people lack rootedness completely. And of course, if they lack rootedness, they have no self-experience. They have experience of many things – their minds are sharp, their vocabulary is rich, I mean, they are very – the sense of esprit is very developed in them. They are cultured, educated; they are excellent technicians – but they experience the outside world; they don’t experience themselves.

This is basically – for Judaism, this is the termination of the religious experience; self-experience. They identify themselves with their objectivated or objectified reflection. They identify themselves with the reflection they see in the mirror – and of course, this mirror is society, the thou, the other fellow; what he thinks of me; not what I am, but how I impress others; this is the I – with their public picture, without knowing that there is a private world of their own, and the public picture is never commensurate with the private world, and usually, the private world is much richer and more comely and lovely and more graceful than their public world.

Of course, these people are susceptible, very susceptible to public criticism and indifference. A remark by the thou about their abilities or talents may shatter their existence, may bring the people to almost – may bring on despair, despair and hopelessness; and their loneliness experiences – if they experience loneliness – these loneliness experiences, if and when they cease to fascinate others, are a real torture. Everything in them is bolstered by external authority; they need authority to bolster their assurance. Their philosophy is built on expediency; their actions are eclectic, not original, and they try to enhance their shattered personality by leaning on others. When these others thrust them off, there is nothing left for them but despair and defeat, but it’s a bitter defeat. They resemble the old wife of an oriental potentate who gave everything she had – beauty, devotion, love – to her master, and who discarded her for the sake of a younger girl.

If you’ll take the Bible – I always like to quote the Bible – what did the concubines mean to Achashverosh, after he married Esther? – because this person is a shifting personality, and a shifting personality is the loneliest being on earth, and a shifting personality cannot be a good Jew, not a good man, and certainly not a good Jew. It’s out completely.

We rabbis – let me say this as a confession – we rabbis are very bad in this regard. We try to be everything under the sun, but not ourselves. We try to be orators, promoters, even social workers, psychiatrists, psychologists, play the role of scholars, of publicists, of journalists, of authors. It’s very nice, but in the first line we must be ourselves, be a rabbi. We have no confidence in ourselves. We lack our self-experience as a rabbi. That’s why the rabbinic profession many times fails, not because the people are not sincere, no – no, the rabbis fail, not because they are insincere – I know many rabbis that are very sincere, and very devoted, and have a sense of commitment – simply, they are not rabbis because they are not themselves. They are trying to imitate someone, to find grace with society, to get approval of society, and one [who] is out for approval, for applause, cannot be a rabbi. He can be an artist, perhaps, on the stage, a movie actor, but not a rabbi. This is the main trouble with the American rabbinate –when I speak of American rabbinate, I mean all shades included: Orthodox rabbinate, Conservative, Reform rabbinate. We are everything under the sun but ourselves. This is reflected in our language, this is reflected in our sermons, this is reflected in our articles, this is reflected in our approach to life. We do many jobs, and badly, because we cannot attend to the many needs of the person. If there is social need, he is a social worker. If there is mental distress, he is a psychiatrist. The rabbi has to deal with one aspect of the personality, and this aspect is completely misunderstood by the rabbi for a certain reason, because he is not himself. This is exactly – of course it applies to other professions as well; I cannot talk about other professions; the rabbinical profession is certainly affected by this.

On the other hand, gentlemen, there are persons who, despite their commitment to the outside world, many a time bordering on the sacrificial – to be oneself does not mean egotism, under the circumstances – many persons, despite their commitment to the outside world, many a time bordering on the sacrificial, never forget their own private world, what I call the charisma, the specific endowment of uniqueness and solitude, the numinous, the mysterious, that can never be thrust outside of the I. Their kerygma, their message, is fashioned not after the demands of society, but after an inner urge flowing from the mysterious and unknowable source. The story they tell, although somehow objectified and universalized to the medium of the abstract language of the logos, has not rid itself of the paradoxical and singular. On the contrary, their message is strange. There is originality. You find people, when they say a sentence, one single sentence, there is nothing exciting about the sentence, but the syntax of the sentence reflects originality; and you have people who have a beautiful vocabulary, almost unlimited, and they use the most beautiful words, but you’ll take a look at the structure of the sentence, one sentence, you’ll find just commonness and reflection, copying, and what I call mental plagiarism. On the contrary, you find people – on the contrary, their message is strange, peculiar; even the lingual symbols used by them in their dialogues and monologues are different from the vernacular. They betray original creative powers. There are no clichés in their language, no phrases, no flowers. It is simple, straight. But there is some – you’ll find between the lines the fingerprints of a unique personality. Their kerygma is not syncretic, nor eclectic, not just collected.

You see, I have the impression, when I read sometimes the sermon of a rabbi, that he collected just sentences from many books. That’s my impression. I don’t know whether I’m wrong or right, but this is my impression. Apparently his mind is eclectic. It’s just a storehouse where he opens one compartment and finds phrases. The phrases don’t have to represent thought; the phrase is a purpose for itself; because the man, who has, so to say, who does not experience himself, his uniqueness, his numinous character, of course, basically operates with phrases, not with ideas.

They, on the contrary, the numinous person, does not plagiarize, nor copy popular slogans, nor does it attempt to serve the existent and the accepted. The numinous I, with all its vigor and strangeness, although remote and uncommunicated, inspires indirectly whatever – the numinous I in them inspires whatever they do, their sermon, their speech, their writings, their activities. The kerygmatic Adam betrays, to some extent, the secret of the numinous, solitary Adam. They are always for themselves, even when they preach at market squares and at the corner of busy streets. The numinous I remains for himself.

These people know, of course, of loneliness, when their message is scoffed and disdainfully condemned; yet, their loneliness is caused not by a capricious crowd, which the individual tried to please, at the highest cost of losing his own self, but their message is scoffed, when it is scoffed, because their message is too unique, very independent, charts its – it is scoffed at because the one who delivers the message lives for himself, even when he attempts to establish communication with others. At the root of this feeling lies the great experience of aloneness.

Prophetic loneliness

If I should try to coin a name for this feeling of aloneness, I would call it the prophetic loneliness. It would be an equation between prophetic loneliness and aloneness. Prophetic loneliness is not the loneliness of the person, as I said, of the concubine, who was thrown away by the oriental tyrant or potentate, by Achashverosh. It’s prophetic loneliness – the isolation of Abraham carrying the message of the unknowable, invisible God; the isolation, the aloneness of Abraham not condoning social evil and demanding the eradication of entrenched wrong; the solitude of Moses following the episode with the golden calf, when he took his tent and pitched it without the camp, far off from the camp. You have the Bible? This is not the ordinary feeling of loneliness. If you open the Bible, it is Exodus 33, I mean I mentioned it with – Exodus 33, verse 7.

“And he took the Tabernacle and pitched it without the camp, far off from the camp, and called it the Tabernacle of the congregation. And it came to pass that everyone which sought the Lord went out unto the Tabernacle of the congregation, which was without the camp.”

It’s aloneness, not loneliness. Not [that] the crowd rejected Moshe, [but that] Moshe retreats from time to time from the crowd. It’s a big difference. And it’s interesting.

“And it came to pass when Moses went out unto the tabernacle that all the people rose up…”

He was respected by the crowd, admired by the crowd, although misunderstood by the crowd.

“…and stood every man at his tent door and looked after Moses until he was gone into the Tabernacle. And it came to pass as Moses entered into the Tabernacle, the cloudy pillar descended and stood at the door of the Tabernacle…”

It means complete isolation, complete aloneness. The cloud separated between him and the people.

“…and the Lord talked with Moses.”

Of course, if one is alone, the Lord talks with him; if he is lonely, the Satan ridicules him, not the Lord talks with him. This is the difference.

Or, for instance, the aloneness of an Elijah who fled to the Chorev mount, when summoned by God to come outside the cave and answer a few questions. If you’ll just be so kind and you’ll take Kings 1 – you mentioned it – Kings 1, chapter 19, and verse 9.

“And he came thither unto a cave and lodged there. And behold, the word of the Lord came to him. And He said unto him, What dost thou here, Elijah?”

It means, why did you retreat in a cave? Why don’t you mingle with the crowd? You are a prophet.

“And he said,” and Elijah answered, “I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of the hosts, for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with a sword. And I” – even I, only – “even I only am left” –  levadi, alone – “and they seek my life to take it away.”

Again, [an] expression of loneliness. The prophet Moses was, Moses – the aloneness was due to the fact that there was no liaison between Moses and the people. Moses, I mean, was disappointed. The people – I mean, Moses towered above the people; the people couldn’t understand him. Moses felt that from time to time he should retreat from the camp into himself, and the pillar of the cloud separated him from the people. In Elijah the story is a little different; he was persecuted, because he was the champion of truth, the champion of the God of Israel, the champion of justice. He fought against all these heathen, heathen corruption, pagan habits, and idolatrous cults. He was persecuted; he fled. Moses didn’t flee; Elijah fled. But, not the lonely person who is in despair, but the person who is alone, is proud of his aloneness.

The prophet is not lonely, he is rather alone. To be alone, as I have stressed before, is identical with being the only one. The Greek monos, the Latin solus, the Hebrew yachid, would convey the aloneness experience. Elijah said that he was a lonely prophet, but that was – he did not say that he was a lonely prophet, but that he was the only prophet – levadi, nisharti ani levadi. Prophetic – if you’ll ask me – and all prophets were, I would say, in a sense, lonely. Why? Why? You will find the description of Jeremiah, Isaiah, Ezra, all of them. There was a certain air of loneliness, a certain sense of loneliness hovering in the air.

Why were they lonely – in the sense, I mean rather alone? Why? – because prophetic loneliness or aloneness is a result of kerygmatic incongruity, of prophetic strangeness, of an existence which is desecrated to something. The existence of the crowd is a non-desecrated existence, basically. It was true in olden times, it is still true today. The crowd is not desecrated. It’s an existence with commitments to a singular goal. It’s a result of an ideal which is unique, and a result of an outlook which is strange. The human being is alone when he cannot exercise his powers to engage in conversation, to impart his aspirations, longings and visions to the crowd, because the receptive capacity is either limited or the crowd does not understand him. He tries to give of himself, to teach, to exhort, to guide. He wants to share his existential experience with others, to join up with his fellow man, but all his efforts are rejected, since he is misunderstood. While at the first level of loneliness, about modern man, the individual becomes useless to the crowd because his creativity and ingenuity have dried up, have run dry, at the prophetic plane the aloneness is not a result of, let’s say, of sterility; on the contrary, the giver abounds in all these talents. There is no recipient. The recipient is absent. Either he is incapable of or unwilling to grasp the prophetic message which refutes tradition, invalidates accepted standards, and revolutionizes truisms and commonplaces, and philosophical outlooks, thinking and action.

God is alone, but He is not lonely; the prophet is alone, but he is not miserably lonely. And let there be no mistake; prophetic solitude is a very painful and tormenting experience, yet it is frequently a stimulating experience as well, and which drives man to creativity, to carry on, while loneliness in the general sense paralyzes or immobilizes all capabilities, all talents, all attitudes in man.

And I want you to understand, when I speak about the prophet, I must say the prophet may be a very useful man. It doesn’t mean a man who doesn’t participate in society. He may be involved in the cooperative effort of society. He may participate in the reciprocal arrangements which are responsible for the flow of goods and exchange of services within a respective community. He is not a hermit. I’m not speaking about a hermitage. Yet this fervent activity in the realm of the utilitarian order of things does not dispel the tragic being-alone experience. He belongs to society, at the same time finds himself at an endless distance away from it, alien and strange, to his friends and acquaintances. He belongs, cooperates, meets them every day; he is a very productive person. He is not a schlemiel; he is not a misfit in the society. He is not crazy; it’s not madness on his part; he is active in society. He can contribute the most, I mean greatly toward the general welfare, but still, he doesn’t submerge in society. He has a world for himself.

The life story of Abraham or the other patriarchs, or even Moses or Elijah, pictures this paradoxical ambivalence. Abraham negotiates with the Hittites, purchases land from them, concludes treaties with kings and princes. His mannerism does not differ from theirs. His routine is the same. And yet, reading the story of Abraham – he is the same person, the same Hittite, the same Jew, the same member of the Canaanite society, yes; his speech, his dress, his manners, his habits of eating; I mean, he also observes the etiquette, the general rules of etiquette, of courtesy and politeness. He talks like one of them. And still, between the lines, you feel Abraham is different; he is unique. He is not like Ephron the Hittite, or Avimelech the king of the Philistines, or like Pharaoh the king of the Egyptians; he is different. It’s hard sometimes to define in what respect he is different. What is exactly this mark of distinction? He is a figure who towers above them, but not so much above them as a figure who is both at the same time. He is within society, and at an endless distance from society. This is – just a moment – this is Abraham, and this is also Moses, and this is also Elijah.

You see, our picture of the prophet is not commensurate with the picture of the Saint in the Gospel. It’s not the Father of the Desert. The Fathers of the Desert simply condemned society; society stands for a sinful order of things. They condemned, they simply said goodbye, and retreated into the cave, into the caves or into the desert. They were, as far as the Fathers of the Desert are concerned, and they are the fathers of the Church, of the Christian church, we may say, they simply cultivated, either odium seculi, hatred of the interim period –because the Christianity – history is just an interim period between two arrivals of Christ, the historical arrival, which took place nineteen-hundred-and-so-many years ago, and the second arrival of Christ, when he will sit in judgment over the world – what happens between is nothing but a between, just an interim period, so it means – this means seculum – and that’s when you say secular – when we use the word secular, it doesn’t mean mundane; it means more interim, but it is – interim, interim. It means – it is like we call twilight, the Hebrew word bein hashmashot, twilight, it’s neither day nor night. So you have to live, of course, in the interim, and many generations are, I mean, kept on living, dying in the interim, but Christ hasn’t come yet, so, but – it is odium seculi. Odium seculi means, I hate it, because it’s no existence, it’s existence is corrupt, sordid, it has no meaning – meaningless, insensate, paradoxical, odium. It’s simple, yes, odium seculi. At best you can say, [if] they didn’t cultivate odium seculi, at least [they cultivated] contemptus seculi. They had contempt for it, I wouldn’t say they hated it, they had contempt for it.

Nothing of that sort can you find among the Jewish prophets. Neither odium seculi nor contemptus seculi. There was neither hate nor contempt for this world, because the prophets fought for this world. They fought for this world, for this social order; I mean, they wanted to change it, they wanted to reform it, they wanted to rehabilitate man, they wanted to raise man to a higher level, but man is good, basically; at least he has potentialities, great potentialities. So it’s not the aloneness of the Fathers of the Desert, gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen; it is the aloneness of a father who does not find contact with his son. Many times fathers don’t find contact with their sons. They can’t communicate their ideas to their sons. It’s not a curse, I mean, an old curse; it’s very modern. Sometimes we feel there is a gap between ourselves and our sons and our daughters. Would you say there is odium or contemptus? No. Our love for them is not affected, but still we are at a certain distance from them. This is exactly the relationship of the prophet to the world, to society. He loves society. He sacrifices himself for society. He gives everything he has to society, everything he has, and he preaches ideals for society, for this interim society, for the seculum, not for world to come, for the seculum, for this interim period. But, on the other hand, he finds himself at a distance, and he is one of them, and nevertheless, a mysterious and unknown figure.

Perhaps, I would say, the two introductory words that were uttered by Abraham in his speech, in his addressing himself to the Hittites, reflect this dichotomy. If you’ll take the Genesis – just a moment; I’ll tell you where it is. It’s interesting. Genesis, Chayei Sarah, yes.  Genesis, it is 23, verse 3, verses 3 and 4, very interesting.  Genesis 23, 3-4. “And Abraham stood up from before his dead,” when Sarah died, “and spake unto the son of Heth, saying, I am a stranger,” it’s interesting, “and a sojourner with you.” And the translation is not correct. It’s “I am a stranger, and an old resident.” I mean, you are then both, a stranger, and an old resident. “Sojourner” is a little, has the character, this, some would say, this meaning of – semantically means more temporary, a temporary state. But toshav means an old-timer. I am a stranger and an old-timer with you. Ger vetoshav anochi imachem. It’s a funny introduction. He is either a stranger, an immigrant, a newcomer, or he’s an old-timer, a citizen. How can one – old – both, I mean – [have] the status of a citizen and also at the same time the status of a stranger, of an alien? But Abraham told the Hittites, I am both; I am alien to you, and also a friend of yours, an acquaintance of yours. It’s very strange. This is exactly what he said, reflected [..]. Keygmatic man, man in society, he was a member of their society, of course. As numinous man, he was for himself. In particular with the prophet, his inner world was so apart from their world, that he was a stranger. On the contrary, the way he expressed himself, he acted, his mannerisms, his speech, his dress, his knowledge, his background, they were identical, as the externals which were cultivated by the Hittites.

Fate and destiny manifesting themselves in loneliness and aloneness

Now, let me see, it’s very important for our problem, our Jewish problem, and, I’ll tell you, I’m trying – as I told you, I’m not preaching here, but I’m coming, I’m beginning to tread on dangerous ground, you see. Up to here, you see, I’ve explored areas in which there is no disagreement. There is no disagreement, alright – I mean, as far as [a] Jewish social ethic is concerned, we are all unanimous; even the non-Jews are – there is unanimity even among Jews and better non-Jews, the real scholars, what Jewish social ethic means, and the great contribution it made to the understanding of men. But here I’m venturing a little bit in a parochial realm, so I mean, I’m not preaching; I told you before, I’m sharing my own experience with you. It was both a personal experience to me, as a person, as an individual, and also as a Jew. My life story is the one of the wandering Jew; I mean, I’ve been in so many lands, and I had to establish contact with so many cultures and languages, that simply I had to come to grips with this problem of loneliness and aloneness, and I had to solve it. Otherwise I thought, I mean, many times that I was ready to commit suicide, as I told you last time. So all I say is, I’m sharing my experience as I understand myself as a Jew and as a man.

I want to say something else. Loneliness and aloneness represent or symbolize two aspects in our lives. Fate manifests itself in loneliness, destiny in aloneness. What’s the difference between fate and destiny? What’s the difference between fate and destiny, ladies and gentlemen? If there is no difference – of course we use it in our colloquial – we just, we substitute fate for destiny, destiny for fate; but I don’t believe that they are both equivalent at the level of semantics, if you analyze the words carefully. In Hebrew, the words are more beautiful. Fate is goral, in Yiddish too, goral. It’s like throwing lots, you see, when I draw lots out of a basket. And destiny – there is another word for it, a beautiful word, ye’ud, ye’ud, something prepared, ye’ud. Yud, ayin, vov, dalet. It means, yoed, it means to prepare, to commit, to commit, to obligate, to accept, or to designate.

Fate, goral, denotes – if you’ll ask me what I understand by fate, and what a Jew should understand by fate – denotes what the famous German existentialist before the Second World War, who later turned a Nazi, the famous Martin Heidegger – he was immoral; I studied under him; he was immoral – and called the state, calls [it] the state of being-thrust-in. A man is always in a state of being – he called it in German hineingeworfen, being-thrust-in, or cast in, or thrown in. Where? Where is man cast in? Where? – in an order which is neither sympathetic, nor even – [neither sympathetic] to, nor even tolerant of one’s questing for meaningfulness and greatness. Man somehow is taken by his lapel and thrown in into a world which he did not choose – certainly not; he was not consulted before he was born – and into an order of things and events, mechanical order of things and events, which has neither sympathy nor understanding for man and his needs. Fate denotes the tragic conflict between two orders, the meaningful and the nonsensical, because nature around ourselves is nonsensical, simply nonsensical. There is no purpose, there is – it’s a mechanical occurrence, nothing else, guided by the laws of physics, mathematical formulas, which don’t make any sense, basically. The law of gravitation – does gravitation make sense? It doesn’t make any sense. There is no purpose to it, there is no telos to it, there is nothing; it’s a law; it’s a mathematical law. Yes. There are no values in this order, no values. And man cannot live without values, without ideals, and there’s always a clash between the insensate, or absurd order, mechanical order, and the axiological values, axiological order, which man pursues, and which man wants to attain. It is the conflict between the teleological order, set by a free creative personality, and the mechanical order of the cosmic occurrence. This is fate.

What is destiny? What is destiny? Of course, destiny denotes also the state of being cast in, because you cannot speak of human destiny unless you say that destiny represents also this tragic, so to say, experience, man feeling that he didn’t choose the life he is living, but it was foisted upon him, imposed upon him, and he was thrown in into a certain environment, and the environment determined everything he is, and everything he stands for. As to the first, so to say, the point of departure, fate and destiny are identical. Also, destiny also denotes the state of being cast in into an unfriendly world, the clash between spirit and matter, between man and nature, between machine and telos, between fullness, meaningfulness, and emptiness, between a blooming garden and a desert, also. But – the point of departure is the same – however, fate and destiny differ not as to their point of departure, but as to the problem, what should men do with it? This is exactly the existentialists’ problem. They don’t even answer problems. What should men do with it? True, he was thrown in. He was cast in into an unfriendly world. There isn’t much to speak of. Freedom of will is a very precarious job. So, shall I give up, or shall I carry on? Shall man become, as theologians say it beautifully, shall man, shall human existence become a factum, a fact only, or shall it become an actus, an act, a creative act? This is here the problem.

While fate – they give – fate and destiny, they give two solutions to this problem – while fate denotes the tragic sequel to that epic struggle, the defeat of man by absurdity and nonsense, destiny closes the chapter with a great finale, with man’s – not complete victory, as I said before, there is no complete victory – at least partial victory. Fate is reflected –you’ll ask me for two metaphors in the Bible, where one event reflected fate, helplessness of man, complete defeat, crushing, and another event which reflected man’s destiny, man’s ability to tower above circumstances, above this mechanical, crazy order of things and events, call it the scientific order, call it anything you want, doesn’t matter; I would quote two episodes – fate is reflected in Moses’ defeat on the threshold of the Promised Land he wanted to go into. He was standing on Mount Nevo, glancing at the land, and simply, simply, craving, yearning to cross this narrow Jordan river, and put his foot on the soil of the Holy Land. That’s all that he wanted, and the angel of death ridiculed his dream, his great vision, and blocked the way. This is fate. Moses somehow couldn’t triumph over the angel of death. This is fate. Then Moses’ life, the last minute, Moses’ life was not a free creative act; it was a factum. He accepted [it]; he bowed his head before this unalterable fate, and died a lonely person.

You’ll ask me where is destiny? Destiny is reflected in Moses’ victory over the rock. And Moses took his cane, and hit with the cane over the rock, and the rock yielded water. This symbolizes the great triumph of the spirit over matter, of men over insensateness, nonsense and absurdity in nature, of man infusing some logic in his environment, or some semblance of coherence and orderliness in a crazy, friendly – unfriendly environment. Moses dying on the Mount Nevo, glancing at the shores of that land of Canaan, not being able to cross the Jordan River, is a manifestation of fate.

Jacob struggling – again, another event – Jacob struggling with the divine antagonist – Martin Buber said that this chapter dealing with the struggle is perhaps the highlight of the Jewish experience; I’m inclined to agree with him in some respect. If you’ll just open the Bible, and you’ll take the Bible, and you’ll just take 33 [it’s 32 – ed.], verse 25, Genesis [32], verse 25. Here is dramatized the struggle between man and fate, and triumph of man over fate.

“Vayivater Yaakov levado, and Jacob was left alone.”

Not a lonely person; [a] lonely person is defeated. The person who is alone sometimes is triumphant.

“And there wrestled a man with him,” [a] very mysterious man, “until the breaking of the day. And when he saw,” it means the man saw, “that he prevailed not,” he cannot prevail over Jacob, against him, cannot prevail not against him, “he touched the hollow of his thigh.”

And then 27:“And he said,” the man said, “let me go.” Jacob was so triumphant that he simply kept the man, held the man in his grip. And the man not only didn’t defeat Jacob, but couldn’t free himself. And when the dawn, and the day, when it was daybreak, he wanted to leave, I mean, so to say, Jacob, he couldn’t free himself: “Let me go for the day breaketh. And he said,” Jacob said, “I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.” You must concede defeat.

“And he said unto him, What is thy name? And he said, Jacob. And he said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel. For as a prince hast thou power with God and with man, and hast prevailed.”

This is exactly man wrestling with his destiny, and somehow emerging from this struggle, triumphant, of course, not in terms of absolute victory; Jacob also then had his defeat with Joseph; let’s not fool ourselves; but he is triumphant sometimes.

Jacob bowing – and you want to ask me again, where did Jacob reflect an event, reflect, again, fate in Jacob’s life? – because Judaism does not consider that a human being can completely convert his fate into destiny. Of course, at certain moments, he rises to great heights, and he forges his own destiny; at certain moments, he’s so helpless and weak that he just bows to fate. Jacob himself who struggled with the antagonist – it was a divine antagonist, somehow mysterious antagonist – and displayed so much heroism, so much fortitude and courage – Jacob himself, a while later, a while later, in the same chapter, chapter 33, verse 3, “And he passed over before them,” when he met his brother Esau, “and bowed himself to the ground seven times until he came near to his brother.” Where is the courage in Jacob? Why did he bow to Esau? Why didn’t he engage Esau in a struggle and defeat Esau as he defeated the divine antagonist? This is the tragedy of man. Man fluctuates between fate and destiny. But of course, I mean, at certain moments, even the greatest among us bows to fate, has no courage, simply to forge his own destiny and to become the master of his environment. Yes, sir. I mean, Dr. Eisenberg asked me before. You wanted to ask me something?

[audience member:] I wanted to ask you whether in light of what you said before, Judaism rejected Essenism as a way of life.

[the Rav:] I’ll tell you, as a matter of fact, it’s hard to say. We know so little about the Essenes that it’s hard to judge them. I don’t believe that the Essenes were cultivating, what do you call, odium mundi, a hatred of the world. It’s more in the sense of an order, of course – they developed practices of, I mean, I wouldn’t say self-torture, but at least of self-discipline, but to say that the Essenes are like the Fathers of the Desert, or the medieval monks, would be unjust to them. As to our attitude, the Talmud does not mention them, you know very well, and the fact that the Talmud ignores them means there isn’t complete approval of their practices. This was one of the methods…huh?

[audience member:] How about […] monasticism?

[the Rav:] I beg your pardon?

[audience member:] The monasticism of the Catholics.

[the Rav:] Of course, I mean, we reject all kinds of monasticism, all kinds of monasticism, because monasticism means complete disengagement. It’s all a question of degrees, but of course, I mean, monasticism preaches disengagement from society. Prophetic solitude never preached disengagement from society; complete engagement in social activities, giving of oneself as much as possible, but, from time to time, retreat on the part of the individual into himself. Monasticism means complete retreat. There isn’t a dialectical movement. I always speak of dialectical movement like a pendulum which swings back and forth, back and forth. This should be actually – I mean, this is the philosophy of Judaism with regard to man. Monasticism is not a pendulum swinging back and forth. I mean, all forms of monasticism, the minor forms and the more extreme forms, preach just movement in one direction, away from. Judaism says away from and back to.

[audience member:] Were the Essenes celibate?

[the Rav:] It’s hard to say. It looks like that. It looks like that. It’s hard to say. We know very little. Perhaps these documents which were discovered later in the scrolls perhaps will shed more light upon the Essenes. Yes, sir. What did you want to ask, Mr. […]?

[audience member:] On the difference between fate and destiny – is one a question of defeat and the other one a question of victory at all times?

[the Rav:] No. I said no. One is defeat, complete defeat, and the one is victory whenever possible, but there’s no promise of victory, I want you to know, there’s no promise…

[audience member:] Is victory always connected with the supernatural?

[the Rav:] No. No. Did I mention it?

[audience member:] Well, you didn’t say it that way.

[the Rav:] I know. So why should you suspect me of implying…

[audience member:] Well, I have a right to imply certain things…

[the Rav:] No, I’m joking. All I said, of course, if you call the help of God supernatural, certainly, but God can intervene, you see, in a very natural way through the cosmos.

[audience:] But is it possible for man to determine his own destiny or to help himself?

[the Rav:] To some extent.

[audience:] Without the aid of God?

[the Rav:] No, I wouldn’t say that. I’ll come – as far – I know your point. I’ll come later to your point, the question of the secular Jew. For the time being when I speak of the Jew, it is the Jew not for himself but before his Creator. This is – yes ,sir – this gentleman asked me…

[audience member:] When you first started to speak you talked about that man is bound to be defeated in life…

[the Rav:] Yes. Finally. Finally. In death. In death. Man, when he dies, is not the man of destiny but the man of fate. Every man – Moses, Jacob, Abraham – there’s no man on his death bed who forges his destiny, but man who succumbs to fate, to cruel, insensate, crazy, I mean, simply – yes?

[audience member:] I’m trying to translate this psychologically in terms of what it does to any man.

[the Rav:] You mean in practical terms, as to consequences? In my opinion – yes, please.

[audience member:] Also, whether or not there is sufficient difference between the Jewish as against the Christian attitude where man is doomed almost from the beginning…

[the Rav:] Yes. There is only one difference. Yes. I understand very well. In Christianity, man cannot act. All man can do is wait for God to intervene and receive His Grace, nothing else. Man cannot change himself, man cannot triumph over circumstances; it’s only the Grace of God. I’ll come to it later. Judaism insisted on freedom of will. Whether scientists of today agree with it or not, it’s a basic tenet of Judaism, freedom. Man is free to act. God may be helpful, but God never takes the initiative. Man has to take the initiative. God perhaps clinches, completes the job, consummates his endeavor, but the initiative must be taken by man. Christianity is on the contrary. The initiative is God’s. Perhaps man can participate later, but the beginning belongs to God. This is the basic difference. That’s why Christianity –Judaism preached activism. For instance, take for instance the question of disease. Christianity couldn’t cope with disease. Christian Science, until now, cannot understand the problem of healing a person who is inflicted by a disease; yes, if God inflicted evil, some men should suffer. That Catholics have hospitals now, or trained doctors, is just a concession to the so-called seculum, to the interim period. Nothing else. A concession, nothing else. Nothing else. Judaism and the Bible, thousands of years ago – there were still people who thought of sickness in terms of spirits and ghosts – so the Bible said, verapo yerapeh, and the doctor should heal. The physician should heal. Activism – active combat of evil – I’ll come back to the problem of evil. I mean, it does not interfere with Jewish activism. But there is only one thing – activism does not imply an assurance, ipso facto, an assurance of success, and that’s exactly what I think is wrong with modern man. When he is active, when he gives his best, so to say, to a project, to an ideal, he wants to be assured of success, and if success does not come his way – many times it happens so, in our individual lives, in our national, with regard to our national problems – so man is completely shattered.

Let’s continue for a while. Yes, sir?

[audience member:] You talk about this world not being the world of the interim. What about the discussion of the Talmud, about whether it is better that man be created or not be created?

[the Rav:] That’s a different problem. I’ll tell you frankly, I am still in doubt about it. I am still in doubt about it. This problem has not been resolved for me yet, whether man should be created or not. What does the Talmud say? It would have been better if man hadn’t been created at all; but, since he is created, he was created, let him act. That’s what the Talmud says. Yefashpesh bema’asav; Let him act. Metaphysically, perhaps, the best solution, the best exit, I mean, from all our, so to say, paradoxical situations would be nihility, of course, complete non-existence of man. But since man exists, so the Talmud says, yefashpesh bema’asav, let him act; let him understand himself and act.

Let me continue. Each one, gentlemen, can convert fate into destiny if he infuses into a seemingly stupid situation some sense and purposefulness. When directedness is added to fate, to fate – fate is not directed, does not aim at anything – when directedness and purposiveness is added to fate, destiny is born, and loneliness turns into aloneness or prophetic solitude. Then the frustrating element is eliminated, anxiety can be conquered, and the disjunctive emotion of worthlessness may be converted into an elevated feeling. What is needed is the courageous act of re-centering the personality and shifting emphasis from the without to the within.

The two stages of majesty and dignity

At the first stage of loneliness, anxiety – at the first stage of loneliness-anxiety, the afflicted person goes out of himself into the surrounding world. His self-appraisal revolves not around the unique inner self, the unfathomable individuality, in all its charismatic singularity, but about a pale reflection against the backdrop of externalization. His self-esteem is measured by conventional outside standards of accomplishment and conquest. Majesty is the keynote of self-valuation for modern man. He wants to appear majestic. Majestic usually is equated with power – power, powerful – I don’t mean only political power, in the sense of Hitler, Stalin, or Khrushchev. What I mean is, he should make an imprint upon society. His footsteps should not be lost, completely erased, when he disappears from the stage. I have a hold of a society, somehow. This is majesty. It’s a very worthy objective. Yes, majesty is the keynote of self-valuation, and majesty is measured by success, and success is the determining factor.

And in the second phase, when man is within himself, for himself, when it’s not fate anymore, he’s not fate, he doesn’t represent fate but destiny, majesty takes a secondary place to another, to a much higher objective – dignity. There’s a difference – dignity, not majesty. Before you become majestic, you should be a dignified being, and a dignified being – dignity cannot be realized if man looks into a mirror constantly and wants to see his reflection. And of course the mirror is the thou. He’s not a dignified person; on the contrary, he lacks dignity. He’s copying, he’s plagiarizing, he’s imitating. Dignity goes hand in hand with originality, creativity, being himself, being what he is, not what others think of him.

I’ll still come back when I’ll speak about the Jewish observance, about the problem of dignity and majesty. It’s a very important problem, because David called man, vechavod vehadar te’atereihu; it means you surround him with majesty and dignity. I’ll show you where it is in the Psalms. I exactly don’t remember the chapter, the number of the chapter, but it’s somewhere in the beginning. No, no, no. It is ki ereh shamekha ma’asei etzbe’osekha yare’ach vekokhavim – here I have it. I’ll read it, just a moment. Here, it is Psalm 8:

“When I consider Thy heavens the work of my fingers, the moon and the stars which Thou hast ordained; what is man that Thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that Thou visitest him? For Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels,” not than the angels; than God, actually, “and Thou crownest him with glory and honor.”

It’s a wrong interpretation – translation. Kavod in Hebrew means majesty. Barukh shem k’vod malkhuso means his majesty. K’vod malkhuso, what does it mean k’vod malkhuso? – His royal majesty. Kavod means majesty, and hadar does not mean beauty, but dignity. So David actually has defined man as a being who can be both majestic and dignified. It’s only a question of order, of priority, what comes first, majesty or dignity. Man can attain both, but it depends how he starts out on his way. What’s the point of departure? The point of departure is not majesty; it’s dignity, and dignity is not outside of man, but within him.

[audience member:] Isn’t procreation just an act of destiny?

[the Rav:] You mean natural procreation? It’s both. It is fate and destiny, and man can actually act as a father both according to the states of fate, and he can also – this fatherhood convert into an aspect of destiny – both. Man procreation is animal; it’s an animal function; on the other hand, fatherhood is a concept already, which is closely knitted to his humanity. Of course, man can act as a father both at the level of fate, and at the level of destiny. I’ll come to it.

Prophetic solitude, I want to say, is not the share of the few. It is not an esoteric endowment. It belongs to man in general, because his charismatic election manifests itself mainly in dignified appearance rather than in majestic triumphs, or in majestic winning. Even the old, the sick, the crippled, the simpleton, the anonymous person, the lonely person may elevate himself from the awareness of loneliness to that of being alone. The abandoned, the deserted, the isolated person is lost. The inmate of an institution is lost; he is a number. The prisoner in a cell is lost; he is a number, but to the outside the world, he is nothing; there is no kerygma which he is able to pass on; there is no message which society desires to hear or to accept. But if it’s a question of – no majesty to the prisoner, no majesty to the inmate of a home for the old, there is no majesty to the sick person in a hospital for incurable diseases – but there can be dignity; for dignity is within. All he has to do [is] to withdraw; he has got to accept a little bit of defeat, defeat by society and then withdraw from the craving for majestic living from the outside – from his craving for outside recognition, and turning his glance toward a worthy, dignified existence.

Now, gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, let us speak about the Jew a while. For the Jew of today – just a moment, please – and basically, it means – when I speak about dignity – man should exile himself for a while, I mean, mentally, inwardly, from society and its standards. But this exile results later in return, basically. If man is proud of himself, and he can exile himself from society, it results later in return. You know, in the Bible, there is always – there is no exile without return – exile, political exile; always exile, return. Man himself can go through this experience of exiling himself. I lost with society […].

As a rabbi, you know, I deliver a speech; the speech is not accepted by the crowd. I am in despair. I mean, I’m old, so I don’t care too much about it; but a young rabbi can – when I meet one of my students – so, of course, usually I come into New York on Tuesday or Wednesday, and I see, your speech was bad on Saturday morning. All you have to do is take a look at his face; and then I read the speech; sometimes the speech was bad; but sometimes it was a wonderful speech, but the people there in the congregation were stupid, they couldn’t understand; but to the rabbi doesn’t matter. He never asks himself this simple question: Did I fail because I didn’t prepare a good speech? Then it means it’s a lack of dignity; it was not creative. Actually, his dignity is affected. Or did I fail because the speech was too good? It was above their heads. In the end it’s not my fault. There’s no majesty, of course, involved. Majesty means when the orator establishes contact with the crowd, with the audience, of course, but dignity should not be affected, and as long as one’s dignity is not affected, the personality can have a wholesome experience of self-worth and self-centeredness.

The problem and solution of the alienation of the Jew from society

Now let us tackle this problem of the Jewish loneliness. In this transition from loneliness to prophetic solitude, to unique existence, may lie the answer to our perennial problem of our loneliness as Jews, as a community and also as individuals – we experience it quite often – which has not disappeared with the birth of the Jewish state; on the contrary, the loneliness of the Jew was emphasized with the emergence of the Jewish state, the State of Israel. It has become more pronounced and more frightening. This was one of the mistakes of Herzl and political Zionism. They thought we are lonely because we are a people in exile, but the moment we’ll establish a state, we’ll send delegates to the United Nations, to any international assembly, and we’ll have our ambassadors, and we’ll exchange diplomatic notes, so we’ll be equals. This is the basic philosophy of Herzl in the Medinat HaYehudim, The State of the Jews. This is the basic philosophy. This is, so to say, the undertones, so to say, of Medinat HaYehudim.

Of course, I mean, I don’t have to preach too much about it. Not only did the individual Jew not gain a normal status in society, but even the Medinas HaYehudim as a state, is the loneliest state on earth, the loneliest state. I can tell you, of course – it was – the representatives of the Jewish state of the United Nations – how they feel, as one of the leading representatives, I don’t want to mention him, told me, people think that there is glory in it. How foolish they are. It is such an excruciating experience to be a representative of the Jewish state; I am the loneliest creature in the United Nations, and I said, you know, when I felt lonely? – when America, the American representative, and the British representative, and the French representative – France is supposed to be a good friend of Israel – the French representative, support my viewpoint and speak in favor of Israel, I feel how isolated I am. In the lobby, I feel that the representative of Nasser has friends; he is a part of society; I am outside. I am just quoting verbatim; I didn’t experience it, but I quote verbatim. It’s a fact. One of the leading representatives, I don’t want to mention.

What is it? I want to understand. It may become a neurosis with Jews, absolutely. Many times it assumes forms of a neurosis. The Jew is so afraid of being isolated that he visualizes, that he pictures ghosts of himself. It is just a figment of his imagination, yes, but somehow, I would like to discuss this problem, to analyze it a bit deeper, not just to leave it, to say, to dismiss it with a movement of our hand and say it doesn’t exist. There is a problem. I know it and you know it. Everybody knows it.

I would say that the Jew is lonely because he is too much bent on majesty. He wants to be too majestic, too impressive. If the Jew would cultivate dignity instead of majesty, many of his problems would be solved. We are too kerygmatic; it means we want to pass on a message, and we want society, general society, to appreciate our message, to praise us, to give at least lip service to us, lip service, compliments. We are like a prima donna who likes always to be in the limelight and always to hear the critics praise our performances. We have a complex; we suffer from a prima donna complex, a nervous, capricious prima donna many times. And of course a nervous, capricious prima donna – what’s the name of the one who’s contract has been canceled by so many opera companies – it is – I would say, does not display a sense of dignity; perhaps majesty, I don’t know; dignity, certainly not. We are like a prima donna.

I believe when the Jew would re-center himself, re-center his personality as individual and as a community around the aspect of dignity, many of his problems, I wouldn’t say all his problems, but many, would be solved. Then the whole community will be called upon to experience, of course also, a crisis, but not a disjunctive, so to say, in a disjunctive manner, but something which is creative.

For the Jew of today, the problem can be formulated as follows – and I’ll be very, so to say, very ruthless in formulating this problem. There’s no use of hiding the problem. Shall Jewishness remain a fate, or shall Jewishness become a destiny for the Jew? – very simple – in terms of our previous definition of fate and destiny. Shall the Jew act like Moses on the Mount of Nevo, feeling weak and helpless, not being able to triumph over the angel of death, who tried to frustrate his highest ambition? Or, shall the Jew be like Moses hitting the rock with his cane, and make the rock yield water? Shall the Jew bow before fate, as Jacob bowed before Esau seven times? Or, shall the Jew struggle with fate, and forge his own destiny, the way the same Jacob struggled with the divine antagonist through the night, and emerge victorious? This is the problem. Shall Jewishness be a factum, to be accepted? Or, shall Jewishness be a free actus, an act on the part of man? Shall Jewishness be considered, as Heidegger says, the state of being thrown in, of being hineingeworfen, as Heidegger says – I was thrown in into the Jewish fold, without the Creator consulting me before birth? –  I was thrown in into a minority community, insecure and self-conscious, haunted by fears and uncertain presentiments? Shall we reconcile with this state of affairs? Then Jewishness becomes a nightmare, let’s not fool ourselves, a nightmare, a curse, a monstrosity. The Jew is tossed – then, the Jew is tossed by the Satan nowhere, along empty and dark spaces, into tohu vavohu, like the autumn wind that drives the withered leaf along uncharted routes, into the haze of nothingness.

Jewishness, as a fate – then the Jewish God, you know what His name is? It’s very interesting. If Jewishness is a fate, de facto Jews, Jewishness as a facticity, has also a God, perhaps a destructive God; you know what His name is? I’ll show you in the Bible.

Will you be so kind and open the Bible, Exodus chapter 5? Exodus chapter 5, verse 1, “and afterward Moses and Aaron,” Exodus chapter 5, verse 1, verse 1, 2, 3:

“And afterward Moses and Aaron went in and told Pharaoh, Thus says the Lord, God of Israel, let My people go, that they may hold a feast unto Me in the wilderness” – Elokei Yisroel – “And Pharaoh said, Who is the Lord that I should obey His voice to let Israel go? I know not the Lord, neither will I let Israel go. And they said,” they repeated the request, but they did something very peculiar. They changed the name of the God. First they called Him, the Lord, havayah, Jehovah, the God of Israel, the Eternal, the Everlasting One, the God of Israel. Then they said: “And they said, Elokei ha’ivrim, the God of the Hebrews, hath met with us.”

What’s the difference between Elokei Yisrael, the God of Israel, and the God of the Hebrews? You know what in Hebrew ivri means? It means lonely. Ever hanahar – why was Abraham called ivri, Abraham the Hebrew? – because he was from the other side of the river. He was from Mesopotamia. He came from Mesopotamia into Israel. He was always a stranger. So it actually means a Jew, if the Jew accepts fate, then he accepts God, but a strange God. I wouldn’t like to be in his company. This is the God of the Hebrews, Elokei ha’ivrim, the God of loneliness, the God of strangeness, the God of not belonging, or of belonging nowhere. This is the difference.

If the Jew views himself in terms of his acceptance into general society, in categories of the thou, in terms of his reflection in the mirror of the press, politics, and artificial appraisal, then he feels isolated, expelled, and abandoned. Such a state of mind leads to all kinds of mental anomalies, including self-hatred. You must hate God, because God isolated you; He’s the God of loneliness, of suffering and cruelty; and if one hates God, he must, ipso facto, hate himself.

Of course, what I want to interject now is perhaps homiletical; I know Dr. Eisenberg is very particular about it, but still it fits beautifully into that. If you’ll – when I see a modern Jew who does not try to forge his Jewish destiny, but accepts it – not accepts it, it was foisted upon him by his parents, and his parents didn’t do it on him voluntarily either – he was thrown in, hineingeworfen – and how he’s tossed by the wind of circumstances, of accidents, by the wind of a capricious fate, blind, cruel, capricious fate, and he tries to hide himself, I always remind myself of the story of Jonah the prophet. It’s – a strange prophet. When Jonah was fleeing God; and the trouble is that the God of loneliness is hard to flee. He catches up with you. And the question – the book of Jonah, the book of Jonah, it is one of the Twelve Book. Jonah chapter 1, verse 5:

“But Jonah was gone down into the back of the ship, and he lay and was fast asleep.”

He wanted to forget about the fact that he’s traveling on a ship, and the people somehow are trying to examine his background.

“So the shipmaster came to him and said unto him, What meanest thou, O sleeper? Arise! Call upon thy God, if it so be that God will think upon us, that we perish not.” And then you’ll take verse 8. “And then he said unto him, Tell us, we pray thee, for whose cause this evil is upon us: What is thine occupation? And from whence comest thou? What is thy country? And of what people art thou?”

Sometimes we are pressed by the shipmaster, whoever he is, to acknowledge something about ourselves. It’s a very embarrassing question. I lived in Germany, gentlemen, many, many years. I knew assimilated Jews in Germany very well. And this question used to come up, time and again. Whence, what is thy occupation? Whence comest thou? Why should they ask the Jews? The Jews lived in Germany longer than the Germans themselves, perhaps, at least as long, as a civilized community; in the 9th or 10th century there were Jews in Germany, certainly. Charlemagne, even Charlemagne already had dealt with Jewish communities. And still the question came up, and what people are thou? When this question is asked, there is only one answer to be given. And this answer can be given only by the person who accepts Judaism not as a fate, but as a destiny, and this answer gave Jonah the prophet, and he said – he understood that impossible to escape from God – “And he said unto them, I am a Hebrew,” I am a lonely person, “and I fear the Lord, the God of heaven, Which hath made the sea and the dry land.” The moment he gave this answer, there was a change in his philosophy, a complete change in his philosophy.

However – there is no need for it; there is no need for it – however, Jewishness should be raised, and can be raised, by every Jew, from the plain of nonsensical facticity to that of an intelligent destiny. When fate is filled with sense – and you just take and infuse a little sense into fate – and meaning, teleological motives and directedness, then the Jew exchanges loneliness, I wouldn’t say for companionship, but at least for aloneness, for prophetic solitude. And his God is already not an Elokei ha’Ivrim, but Havayah Elokei Yisrael, the God of Israel; the Everlasting One, the God of Israel. Which denotes, what does Israel mean? And I told you, why was Jacob called Israel? When was he called Israel? – when he triumphed over the antagonist. Israel means the triumphant personality – man triumphs over circumstances and fate – which denotes the charismatic community of victory, of spiritual power, of triumph over men and divine antagonists. Genesis 33, 28. I read this.

However, in order to perform this metamorphosis of fate into destiny – and I would use the Greek expression, […], it means a jump into a different class, and it’s not an easy jump, [but] it’s quite possible – a Jew must become aware of his inner worth; this is number one – as a Jew, not only as a person, he must be aware of his inner worth, of his numinous character, of his uniqueness as individual, of his singular position with regard to God and to man, in a manner reminiscent of the spiritual personality in general. He has got to discover his greatness within his own existential experience, within himself.

When I say uniqueness of a Jew, and I want you not to misunderstand me, I mean it in the same sense which I employed with regard to Abraham; Abraham was a Hittite externally; I mean it not in terms of the external appearance, under no circumstances. I don’t mean it in terms of dress, speech, mannerism, education, and also political, economic, and social commitment. You should be committed, involved – this was a Jewish tradition – involved in every institution of learning, in every institution of charity, in every institution of endeavor, of collective endeavor, in the country in which we live. This was the tradition of Abraham. This was the tradition inherited from Moses, who was an Egyptian prince. We don’t preach – perhaps there are some – I wouldn’t say – there is a lunatic fringe within Orthodoxy – I mean I’m not trying to hide the fact – which preaches separation – complete withdrawal, even external withdrawal; I’m very far from this philosophy, for a simple reason; I mean, I don’t have to go into detail, for a simple reason; you cannot practice it. This is the best reason. It’s impossible. The Jew is integrated now in the general society, more or less. In spite of his feeling of loneliness and isolation, he’s still integrated. You cannot change that fact. You cannot go back into the ghetto. It’s out. Any Orthodox movement which preaches return to the ghetto, it simply preaches suicide, national suicide. I don’t mean that. I don’t mean it; I’ve never meant it. Dress, speech, education, political, social, economic, even patriotic commitment – the Jew is a citizen of the country. With regard to all the things belonging to the sphere and activities of kerygmatic man, of man in society, who externalizes a part of himself, he makes a contribution to the general welfare, the Jew is equal to anybody. The uniqueness of the Jew is related to the numinous aspect of him, to his inner world in which he finds himself strange and incomprehensible, to his questing for and addressing himself to God, to his emotional life, his depth personality, his yearnings and strivings, his love for others, his world view, his private life, his sentimental relationships with his family, with his wife, with his children. There the Jew is unique and should discover in himself the experience of aloneness.

It’s a great experience, gentlemen. I’ll show you later how it expresses itself. I’m speaking in vague terms now. But probably in the next lecture I’ll take up this problem.

If you will ask me, how can I characterize Jewish uniqueness? I’m speaking of Jewish uniqueness; you’ll ask me, what is Jewish uniqueness? For instance, if you’ll ask the Satmar Rebbe, he’ll tell you what Jewish uniqueness is; a long kaftan, payos, I mean, this and that; alright, I mean, the terms he’ll use will not be vague or equivocal in any sense, but my terms will be […] But I don’t want to employ these, so to say, dubious terms; I want to speak in very – spell out my philosophy in unequivocal terms and categories. You’ll ask me what is Jewish uniqueness; I won’t be able to finish that, but I just want to start now.

How can Jewish uniqueness be expressed, gentlemen? Of course, I want you to say that more – I’ll have to speak as an Orthodox Rabbi, not preaching my experience – later, I’ll come to that; you can take it, you can reject it, but it’s a philosophy; now, what I have – and I’m not speaking…

Jewish uniqueness, in my opinion, expresses itself in one thing. We are a unique community because we are a covenantal community; the word covenant, brit in Hebrew, brit, covenant. Covenant is the basis of our historical experience. The covenant – our Patriarch Abraham already concluded the covenant with God. And Genesis 15, verse 18. Genesis 15, verse 18 says:

“On the same day the Lord made a covenant with Abraham, saying, unto thy seed have I given the land.” Then, Genesis 17, 7. Chapter 17, 7. “And I, the Lord said, and I will establish my covenant between me and thee and between thy seed after thee in the generations, for an everlasting covenant.” What does covenant mean, of course? I just substituted one vague term for another vague term. What does covenant mean? I’ll tell you what covenant means. Covenant basically – and I have to introduce here a halakhic motif, but it’s true – it means a contract; a contract; nothing […].

[An] interesting [thing] is, the famous philosopher, sociologist, actually, who created the discipline of sociology of religion, Max Weber, probably you’ve heard of him, the German –he understood it. He wrote a book about the covenant concept. He understood it. He was a gentile. He understood it very well. Covenant means a contract, and it is correct from a halakhic viewpoint. Covenant means a contract, an agreement. It’s a contractual arrangement, nothing metaphysical about it; a contractual arrangement.

Of course – like any other contract – but any contract, what does any contract, from a juridic viewpoint, what does it imply? What does a contract imply? If I sign a contract with you – of course, bilateral, but not unilateral commitment – a contract implies commitment, bilateral taking on of obligations. This means a covenantal community, a community which is bound by certain commitments made at the dawn of its history, and still binding upon generations to come. In a word, the Jewish people form a community of the committed.

If you’ll ask me, what are the Jewish people? A community, but not of free men completely – and I am using not free in the metaphysical sense, more in a derogatory sense – not of, men just free to do anything they want, [but] of people who are committed; not slaves, but people committed, committed to something. We are a community of the dedicated, of the dedicated ones, of the committed ones.

A historical and metaphysical load has been placed upon our shoulders, and it’s up to the Jew, it’s up to him, either to consider this strange burden as something unwanted and undesired, while trying to cast it off – and of course if he tries to cast it off like Jonah, he, not being able to cast off, to throw off this burden, Jewishness turns into fate, into a curse – or, he can do – he can accept this commitment freely, the load freely accept, and dedicate himself to carry on, and pass on. In this case, Jewishness becomes elevated to destiny.

Yes. In what did our commitment express itself, our historical commitment? I believe in two levels, and I believe basically we have accepted two obligations. About it I’ll speak next time.

End of lecture 7