Why Are Torah Jews So Happy?
Over the last five years, Gallup has interviewed hundreds of thousands of Americans about their lives. On the basis of those interviews, Gallup constructed a "well-being index." Religious people typically ranked higher than secular, and religious Jews highest of all. Gallup even composed a composite of the happiest man in America – an Oriental living in Hawaii of above average height, over 62, married and with children, earning over $120,000 per year, and, oh yes, an Orthodox Jew. Alvin Wong, an Orthodox convert living in Hawaii, fit the portrait.
Part of the explanation of the higher levels of general "well-being" experienced by Torah Jews lies in the scientific research we cited before Pesach contrasting the long-range impact on physical health and mental acuity of "fun" activities versus that of a general feeling of purpose and fulfillment.
The pursuit of happiness in the form of hedonistic pleasures is like the pursuit of kavod (honor): the more one pursues it, the faster it recedes before one. As society increasingly turns towards the pursuit of hedonic pleasures, so have rates of depression risen. The reasons are not hard to discern. At most, moments of fun consist of a sudden jolt from the mundane, a certain tickling of the nerve-endings. But such moments are inevitably a small percentage of one's life. When they become the goal, the majority of one's life is inevitably spent in the negative column. Life then resembles an endless cycle of waiting a half an hour in line for a minute-long roller cycle ride.
Most of what we experience as unhappiness comes from a certain emptiness inside. The cure requires filling that emptiness. But that cannot be done by either material goods or physical pleasures. A Lexus cannot be somehow amalgamated to one's being; it cannot fill up what is lacking inside us. Even when we attain the Lexus, the inner disquiet remains. Failing to recognize why, we convince ourselves that two Lexuses will do the trick, or perhaps a Maserati.
Finally, the pursuit of pleasure cuts us off from others. Other people become competitors over limited material goods; or objects for our use; or important only insofar as they honor us. "Jealousy, desire, and honor remove a person from the world:" They literally make life not worth living.
By contrast, a feeling of connection to others offers the possibility of a constant state of well-being. In the language of our Sages, happiness is expressed as overflow, as a expansion of one's private boundaries to include others, and ultimately to connect with Hashem. The more one feels the interconnectedness of being, the more one is led back to recognition of Hashem.
A fascinating Rabbeinu Bachye links the "men of the city [Sdom]" to the Generation of Separation, who said, "Come, let us build a city." The latter proposed to build a tower to the very heavens and wage war against Hashem – i.e., to sever the lower and upper realms. The former forbade anyone from seeking help from another or tendering help to another; they rejected the existence of any fundamental human connection and mutual dependency.
In a Torah society, there is a constant emphasis on every member's responsibilities and duties with respect to other members of the community and to the community as a whole. It is axiomatic that a full Torah life can only be lived in a communal context and not in isolation. Those who would be joined to Hashem must also be bound to their fellow men.
Belief in G-d necessitates belief that life has meaning and purpose. If an Infinite Being, perfect unto Himself, brought the world into existence, then He had a purpose for doing so, and the world He created is filled with purpose and meaning.
Not only does life, in general, have meaning, but so do each of our individual lives. Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, in Nefesh HaChaim, stresses that everything we do is fraught with purpose. Every time we perform a mitzvah, do an act of chesed, learn Torah, we open up the conduits of Divine blessing to the world. And, writes Reb Chaim, it should be our intention to open up those pipelines of blessing. In addition, each of us has a unique role to play in the Divine plan for revealing Himself: No one else was every born into identical circumstances, with the same abilities, or confronting the same challenges – and thus no one else can reveal precisely what we can.
The more these ideas of our singular importance, and concomitant responsibilities, become ingrained within us, the easier it is to maintain a base feeling of well-being, even in the face of the vicissitudes of life.
Where Does President Peres Stand?
Ron Pundak, director-general of the Peres Center for Peace, played a prominent role in the recent J Street Conference. J Street, it will be remembered, is the "pro-Israel" organization that urged the United States not to veto the recent UN Security Council resolution condemning Israeli settlements, has opposed sanctions against Iran, and is currently opposing a congressional petition against Palestinian incitement.
Pundak told the conference the current Israeli government "was doing all it could to thwart a peace agreement," and that Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas and PA Prime Minister Salam Fayyad are a "dream team" for peace, who unfortunately lack any Israeli counterpart. He called for President Obama to impose a solution on Israel.
Pundak's remarks represent the familiar self-flagellation of the Jewish Left: If only we were more magnanimous peace would suddenly spring forth. It's a peculiar form of Jewish hubris that believes the Jews can do everything and the Palestinians are irrelevant. Perhaps Pundak forgot that it was the "dream team" that refused to negotiate with Israel during the Netanyahu government's ten-month settlement building freeze, including in post-1967 Jewish neighborhoods of Jerusalem, preferring to rely on American pressure on Israel, or that the same "dream team" regularly visits the mourning tents of deceased terrorists and hails them as martyrs, and names town squares after arch-terrorists.
What is most problematic about Pundak's remarks is that he is perceived as a spokesman for President Shimon Peres. Pundak was actively involved in the secret negotiations leading to Oslo, and could never have been tapped to head the Peres Center without the President's imprimatur. He contrasted for his J Street audience, "Peres [who] believes in pursuing peace in any way" to the current Israeli government.
Peres himself sent official greetings to the J Street Conference, in which he said the "remaining gaps [with the Palestinian's] are small." He did not say which gaps have been bridged. Like J Street, Peres does not like to highlight Palestinian incitement. As Foreign Minister, in the heady early days of Oslo, Peres tried to prevent congressional screenings of Yasir Arafat's speeches in Arabic calling for a jihad on Jerusalem.
All of which raises the worrisome question: What did Peres tell President Obama, when the latter recently received him for a long chat at the White House, with a warmth never shown Netanyahu?
A Tasty Metaphor
On the nights she works late, my wife usually prepares dinner for me. My input rarely exceeds lighting the stove. Recently, however, it included purchasing a carton of soy milk and adding it to the chicken curry. When I opened the newly purchased soy milk container, it was missing the usual inner seal with a plastic ring.
I wondered whether a disgruntled store employee could have tampered with the soy milk. But I had no wish to return to the store, which would likely receive my claim that I found the seal missing with skepticism. On the other hand, I had no wish to lose the ten shekels spent on the soy milk.
So after sniffing the contents a few times, I added the soy milk, in smaller than normal amounts. I hoped that whatever poison was in the soy milk would not prove fatal once absorbed into the chicken. After consuming less curry than usual, I headed for Maariv and my weekly constitutional around the neighborhood with my brother.
During Shemoneh Esrai, I could not escape the thought that I had ingested poison to save ten shekels. And before embarking on the walk, I told my brother that if I collapsed while walking, he should go to my home and take the soy milk on the counter to the hospital for analysis.
Why do I share this story that makes me look like a loony-toon? Because using soy milk that might have been poisoned to avoid wasting ten shekels seems like such a good metaphor for all the idiotic daily decisions we make where the downside risk is overwhelming and upside gain is infinitesimal. Sometimes those decisions are in the physical realm – rushing a left turn in front of oncoming traffic; sometimes in the spiritual realm – failing to calculate the pleasure of an aveirah (sin) against the eternal loss.
By the way, when my wife returned home, she was able to calm her still anxious husband. That particular brand of soy milk, she informed me, does not come with an inner seal.
Related Topics: Biographical - Jonathan Rosenblum, Chareidim and Their Critics, Jewish Ethics, Social Issues
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