Jewish Pirates and the nature of galut

Rav Weinberger on Rav Kook in Chadarav: "[Man] wants only greatness and cannot tolerate anything less than that. But because he appears incapable of reaching greatness, rather than accepting a pedestrian existence, he sinks all the way down into the mud."

I wrote this last August before this blog was started.  One of my friends asked recently to clarify what do I mean by the word galut, does this have to do with the physical place or the spiritual state, and I showed her this piece, that hopefully somewhat clarified the concept.                

             In a remarkable coincidence the women’s book club at my shul was reviewing “The Jewish Pirates of the Caribbean” on Shabbat before the Tisha B’Av.  The narrative of the book starts with the exile from Spain in 1492 and the simultaneous departure of Columbus towards the new land.  The main narrative revolves around the history of the Jews who became famous pirates, dedicating their lives to revenge on the Spanish empire. This was a convergence of the deep dark galut with the flickering pre-dawn hope of geula, a singular point in time and space when crucial decisions in the lives of millions of people were made seemingly irrationally, based on passions and coincidental match of petty circumstance. 

                  How did the Jews become outlaws, criminals, how is it possible that nice Jewish boys rendered by loving, overprotective Jewish mothers dared to step on the path of crime?  This was the question asked during the last book club when we were discussing “The River Midnight”, looking at the lives of Jews in tsarist Russia, during the dark time of the pogroms, revolution and the first wave of emigration in early 1900s. 

                  One important thing we need to understand about galut is that when we live in it long enough we start believing that we belong in the galut, that this is our true home and that to wish anything else will be a treason.  Our captors are very adept at exploiting our very virtues and taking advantage of the so called “Jewish guilt”.  We grow to believe in galut, in the righteousness of our captors,  to the point where we don’t know anymore the difference between right and wrong.  After the state of Israel was founded and many Jews wanted to leave Russia we were shamed and treated as traitors, as being unfaithful, disloyal to the motherland, and many people believed it, however they still wanted to leave.  This creates a ripple in one’s heart, when you want to be free, but at the same time you believe that your act of setting yourself free is a betrayal.  You start seeing yourself as someone immoral, someone whose desires are completely illegitimate.  Your heart grows cynical, and when you believe yourself to have reached the bottom, seeing yourself through the eyes of your captors, then anything becomes allowed. 

                  Through the goodness of our hearts we cannot see our captors as irreversibly corrupt people, beyond redemption.  We believe that we have to stay to redeem them, to somehow influence and improve, or at least to show mercy, but the harder we try the more they hate us and the harder they enslave us, the deeper becomes the mutual dependency between the captor and the captive. 

                  So when you do tear away or get cast out, or even come out and openly acknowledge your desire and intent to set free, you feel a deep sense of shame of what you’ve done.  You are shamed and disgraced by your captors, your name and reputation is ruined, and at that point when you have nothing to loose all prohibitions are lifted and you can choose any path – either a path of sainthood or a path of crime.  When the person becomes convinced that he is the lowest of the low, with no honor to his name and no reputation to guard, the path of crime becomes an easy, liberating choice.

                  We enter galut voluntarily, driven to survive in this world.  We enter galut gladly, happy to get a well paying job, or a loan to buy a house, or secure a relationship that would give us stability and comfort.  In galut we are busy struggling to survive or live cocooned by material wealth and interests to acquire various possessions, and then one day we wake up and realize that we live in the galut.  In Buddhist tradition awakening brings nirvana, serene happiness led by abandonment of desires, imagined as a light hearted bliss.  But when we, Jews, awaken, we wake up in the dark, in the middle of the night, realizing that we are in the galut, and the glimmer of light is only the glimpse of the future redemption.

                  One thing you notice in the places or situations of intense galut is the harsh speech.  If you ever had a chance to visit Russia, or even watch modern Russian movies, after you passed the shock of seeing food lines or extreme poverty and violence, an ear attuned to catch intonations would notice that people speak very harshly to each other.  This lack of tender, gentle speech, this void signifies galut, like the iron gates of Aushwitz, more than any other deprivation, regardless of whether you live in the slums or in a mansion.

                  When you live in a hostile environment of an intense galut your loyalties clash between the reality of your life and a dream.  Your reality as a converso in the medieval catholic Spain or as a law abiding Soviet citizen requires you to pledge allegiance to the world of galut every day, and this is the only world you know, the only people who feed you and care about you.  Judaism and the laws of Torah are a dream, the G-d himself is a dream, an idea in your mind, and your loyalties clash between the dream and the only reality that you know.  To choose a dream means to rebel against your reality, to rise against your world, to become an outlaw, a traitor, a criminal.

                  We can set ourselves free by tearing up our hearts, by bringing destruction to the only life we know, by uprooting ourselves and starting anew.  Or we can open our hearts and let Hashem guide us, listen to His voice and let Him lead.  And then slowly and gently we can feel the bonds of galut getting looser.  One day you’ll sit in your favorite restaurant, surrounded by luxury, enjoying music and good food and all of a sudden you realize that you can do without it, that you don’t need it.  Or suddenly you stop thinking of getting a new car and realize that the one you have is just fine for now.  You stop fantasizing of how to remodel your home and sit down to read the commentary on the weekly parsha. It could be as simple as putting away half of your meal, feeling full already.  It happens subtly, step by step, and then you realize that you can bring the light to the world, or at least to your family, you can try to speak gently instead of expecting others to be perfect.  And even in the most intense, darkest galut you can be happy, because you’ve seen the glimpse of olam haba, as in your childhood dream, you know what it looks and sounds like, even though you can never touch it.

                  The geula will come with the tender speech, with the soft voice that caresses your soul like the southern wind.  It is in the prophecy of Isaiah “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem” dibru al lev Yirushalayim “speak to her heart and declare to her that her time of service is over, that her iniquity is expiated”.  We know that it will come, we see and hear its approach in the gentle voices and radiant faces of our children, in the genuine kindness we show to each other, in the beauty of the creation that brings G-d’s love and mercy to the heart.  May we be granted the merit to hear the tender voice of the prophet in our lifetime and witness the final redemption.