You don't need a catchy tune to determine your inner life 

Living in historic times means that we’re blessed with an abundance of Mashiach predictions. Random quotes from medieval Kabbalah seforim are passed around with urgency, undeniable evidence that a rise in oil prices or a heavy snowstorm was foretold as the indicator. Sometimes, these messages are accompanied by imaginative gematrias and dazzling remazim that leave no room for doubt.

They are beautiful, of course, fragile constructs that don’t tell much about when Mashiach will arrive, but say so much about how badly he is wanted.

You don’t have to forward these messages to ten people. I promise that when he does come, Mashiach won’t penalize you for not heeding the prophets of WhatsApp.

Chazal, however, did give us indicators, training us to read the pattern of history.

Quoting the pasuk in Yeshayahu (59:15), “Vatehi ha’emes ne’ederes — And the truth is lacking,” Chazal (Sanhedrin 97a) tell us that in the Ikvesa D’Meshicha, the period before Mashiach’s arrival, truth will be formed into adarim, flocks, and go away. (The words for absent and for a flock share the same root of eder.)

A flock doesn’t vanish in a flash; one sheep drifts away, then another, followed by a third, and suddenly, the field feels empty. The truth is gone, off to the side grazing quietly, as life in the field goes on.

But some mefarshim understand this gemara differently. Like flocks of sheep walking in different directions, there will be many claimants to the title of truth, each one claiming that they are the essential truth.

Emes will not retreat — it will fragment, partial truths mistaking themselves for the whole. So instead of a shared field, we get rival pastures, all of them holding on to half-truths. When each flock feels that it alone carries the truth, then there is no truth, and this is the tragedy.

But it’s also a signpost, marking the generation of destiny, and thankfully, that is us.

In America, a civil war has erupted, masked ICE agents waving guns facing off against equally zealous protestors brandishing megaphones; each side is convinced the other is ruining the country.

We don’t do civil war, baruch Hashem. We are a people raised on color war, so our battles play out on 24/6, theme songs proclaiming our vision and values.

The thing is, like in color war, the themes are not competing truths, but parallel loyalties that were never meant to cancel each other out.

There are certain realities that are built into the fabric of creation.

1) Shulchan Aruch, and its every word, is absolute. Learning Torah, horev’ing in learning, is the purpose of the universe, and the oxygen that sustains it.

2) Simchah shel mitzvah is a prerequisite for hashra’as Shechinah, the source of all blessing.

Both are true, and can easily be proven.

Now, bear with me for a moment.

Last week, my children had midwinter break, which is what it’s called here in Montreal, rather than “yeshivah week.” (Even though I know what a yeshivah is and I also know what a week is, I don’t get the shidduch that led to this very mudneh term.)

I was happy for my kids to have an opportunity to relax during what has been a particularly brutal winter, and we spent Shabbos in Orlando under the “Parents know what’s best for their children and don’t judge the decisions they make, even if you think they’re wasting money or spoiling their children” act.

It was beautiful.

Children (and parents) who, for the past three months, have walked with hunched shoulders under heavy coats, suddenly felt not the slap of frigid air, but the steady warmth of sunshine on the back of their necks.

And then it stopped being beautiful. It got a bit cold, then even colder. In case we didn’t realize that it was freezing, funny friends back home, having access to up-to-date information about Florida weather thanks to frum websites with a mission of Schadenfreude keeping us hashkafically informed, sent us all sorts of jokes.

Along with this, those of us visiting Orlando from Montreal had to keep our faces in a permanent smile to accommodate the hilarity of the “You brought the weather with you from Canada?” brigade, farginning them their laughs as well.

Standing on the Orlando sidewalk after Shacharis on Sunday morning, I heard an interesting exchange.

Most of the parents gathered chose to be positive, focusing on the fact that there was no snow, it was still warmer than back home… that sort of stuff.

“Thank You, Hashem!” one man exclaimed emphatically as the wind lifted his yarmulke off his head.

Someone else turned to him and said, “Oh, you’re Thank You, Hashem?” asking the question as one might ask, “You’re Israeli?” or, “You’re Vizhnitz?”

It was odd, because l’maiseh, we’re all Thank You, Hashem — every single Yid (as hinted by that very word, a derivative of Yehudi, a name we carry because we live with gratitude) ascribing to the basic ideal of a movement that encourages us to be conscious of His steady kindness and love.

One story.

Another story from Orlando. (Once you’re going, you might as well get your money’s worth, right?)

On Sunday morning, one of my children ended up in a minyan that was a bit more new-age, lots of singing, clapping, dancing, a flow of aggressive warmth in protest against “cold” shuls. It was all very nice; they davened, and then it came time for Tachanun. It was no special occasion, and there was no chassan in attendance. Yet the baal tefillah beamed at the crowd and waved his hand: “No Tachanun on vacation, obviously,” he said, and quickly moved on. No one protested.

That’s frightening.

A person who, under the banner of “shul has to be a happy place” and “Yidden have suffered enough, it’s time to laugh,” breezily waves away a tefillah, is not choosing Yiddishkeit, but something else.

The good Yidden who launched and carry the Thank You, Hashem movement, and certainly the talmid chacham of extraordinary depth, breadth, and humility to whom they have bound themselves, would no doubt get nauseated from that sort of thing; as soon as you start editing Shulchan Aruch to fit your mood, you’re in crisis.

If you’re getting that message from someone, then they are impostors; they aren’t Thank You, Hashem, but a different group called We Are Grateful, Hashem, but Please Don’t Micromanage Us.

As soon as mood, uplift, and vibe become the goal of a religious endeavor, there is a risk that some sense of obligation will be forfeited.

“Zeman Krias Shema is just too early! Aren’t you supposed to enjoy davening?”

Just like the right color and decor can only beautify a home built on a firm, well-structured foundation, emotional vitality and joy can only enhance and elevate an experience based on halachah.

Boredom is to say “be happy when things are good and sad when things are bad and holy when you’re feeling it.” The opposite of boredom is to find one of the tools Hashem gave you — a blatt Gemara, doing a favor for another Yid, immersing yourself in a mitzvah, or even enjoying a beautiful sunset or piece of music — whatever it is, and to discover joy. That takes strength.

There are four words that epitomize this balance: Mishenichnas Adar, marbin b’simchah (Taanis 29a, Magen Avraham 686:3).

“How can the dry, precise calendar tell me what to feel? Emotions don’t come with a switch you can flip off or on!”

The answer is that the Torah is teaching you that you can control your inner life; you don’t need the right music, weather, or ambience, because it’s already there, if you’re ready to work.

That’s why halachah, black-and-white letters with no animations, graphics, jingles, or catchy beat, can instruct us: Be happy!

It’s what the Torah says, to each and every one of us. That’s the most important thing, and it’s the only thing.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1099)