In the pursuit of personal growth, we often find ourselves caught in a tension between two worlds: the sacred and the mundane. The yetzer hara - the inclination toward what’s not best for us - has an uncanny ability to even use our desire for Kedusha— holiness and sanctity—to pull us away from the very essence of what life is truly about: the present moment. This subtle distortion of our intentions keeps us from being fully engaged in the world as it is, concealing the deeper meaning of every moment.
I recently reflected on how, even after leaving yeshiva to visit family, I struggled with this dynamic. In yeshiva, I was immersed in Torah study for hours each day, and when I came home, I felt the urge to keep learning, to keep my eyes focused on sacred texts as often as possible. For the first week, I couldn't stop myself from doing this—even at home, surrounded by family, including my nephews from Israel, in the midst of the normal flow of life. My actions reflected a habit to continue in the yeshiva mode, but this carried its own subtle danger.
Though the Torah and its study are undoubtedly holy and transformative, the intense focus on learning, even with the best of intentions, became a form of escape—a way of not fully entering into the present moment and experiencing life as it is. It was as if I was still “in yeshiva” even though I had physically left. The soul craves the sacred, but there’s a risk that the environment of Torah study can become a crutch, a means of avoiding the complexities of real life.
This experience mirrored something much deeper and more profound: the story of the Jewish people leaving Mitzrayim/Egypt. While they physically escaped the land of slavery, it took much longer for them to get the slavery mindset out of themselves. The habits, mindset, and fears of Egypt lingered long after their exodus. This is alluded to by the word Mitzrayim, which is derived from the Hebrew word Meitzar/limitations.
The same can happen in our spiritual journeys. We may leave a place of spiritual confinement, but we must make an active effort to transform our inner world, to shed the old patterns and habits that no longer serve us. Leaving yeshiva or a place of intense study doesn't necessarily mean that the study itself has been integrated into our daily life. We must be vigilant not to allow it to become a crutch from the challenges of and opportunities in the present moment.
Don’t Let Yeshiva Become a Crutch
The danger of relying on Torah study or spiritual practice as a form of escapism is a subtle one. Rabbi Shais Taub’s speech at Hakhel 770 a few years ago resonated deeply with me, particularly his powerful insight from a story of Gordon Zacks and the Lubavitcher Rebbe. In the conversation between Mr. Sacks and the Rebbe, the discussion took an unexpected turn when the Rebbe quoted a passage from Zorba the Greek, the famous novel by Nikos Kazantzakis. The Rebbe quoted, "What good are your fancy books if you don’t know how to live life?" The message was clear—one cannot simply hide behind books, rituals, and intellectual pursuits without grounding them in real-world application.
The essence of our relationship with Hashem is not something that can be learned merely through thought or study. As Rabbi Taub pointed out what the Rebbe told Gordon Zacks, “You can’t think your way to Hashem. It has to be experienced.”
While this philosophy may seem to run counter to Torah learning, there’s an essential parallel. Torah study, like Zorba’s question, can become an intellectual exercise that distances us from the experience of living life. It’s crucial that we don’t fall into the trap of using our learning or spiritual practice as a barrier from facing the challenges and complexities of everyday existence.
The key to spiritual growth, and indeed to living fully, lies in the integration of our knowledge and our actions. It is not enough to be intellectually immersed in Torah or to live in a state of perpetual study. We must learn to live with the Torah, not just in it. Just as Zorba challenges his friend to break free from the confines of intellectualism, we must learn to break free from the confines of spiritual escapism.
The lessons of the exodus, of Rabbi Taub's words, and of Zorba’s insights all point in the same direction: true spirituality isn’t about hiding in the sanctity of books or sacred spaces. It’s about embracing life as it is, with all its messiness, imperfections, and beauty, and finding Hashem within it.
So the next time you’re tempted to retreat into the comfort of your learning or spiritual practice, ask yourself: Am I using this to connect with Hashem and the world around me, or am I hiding from it? The challenge is not to forsake Kedusha, G-d forbid, but to ensure that it enhances our experience of the present moment, rather than keeps us from it. Only then can we truly live the Torah we study.
Furthermore, it is taught that in the Messianic Redemption, there will be no need for books to teach us about Hashem because we will look at the world around us and see nothing but His presence. The deeper wisdom of Torah will be known not in words, but in the way we live, in the way we interact with the world and each other.
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