Q

uiet has been restored to our streets after two days of noise and tumult, of deafening music, of drunken yeshivah bochurim letting loose — two days of behavior that seemed, at first glance, like a black-and-white contrast to the framework of “normal life.”

There are those who are displeased by this behavior on Purim. “These are bnei Torah?” they ask. “True, it is Purim today, but to celebrate to such an extent?”

But it’s not only about normal youthful exuberance that needs to have an outlet once a year. What looks like wild behavior on the surface is actually channeled into remarkable activities — an outpouring of tremendous chesed, of building responsibility toward others in need.

These yeshivah bochurim, costumed and inebriated, spread out in droves throughout the chareidi neighborhoods, knocking at every door. As they sing and dance and offer tidbits of Torah (and it’s a pleasure to watch how they maintain clean language despite their intoxicated state), they collect money for tzedakah and for support of Torah in their yeshivos, to help their needy friends in yeshivah and those about to get married. Millions of shekels are collected on this day, amid dancing and singing in the streets. Yet as the liquor flows, not a single knife is drawn, not a single apartment torched. No fights leave wounded or dead on the street, chalilah. And to hijack the Israeli anti-drinking slogan “K’she’shotim lo nohagim,” (“We don’t drive when we drink”): “K’she’shotim, davka kein nohagim. Nohagim le’esof kesef l’tzedakah.”

They beg us, “We have friends who need our help!” How can you turn down a plea that comes from such a deep, uninhibited place in the heart, when all the layers are peeled back, and all that’s left is love?

This year, I learned a new meaning for matanos l’evyonim, because poor doesn’t only have to do with money, and a gift isn’t always about financial charity.

This year, as in years past, over a hundred American avreichim, in cooperation with the Ayelet Hashachar organization, spread out all over the country, in kibbutzim and other secular strongholds, and made a friendly suggestion to people they encountered: “Do you want to hear the Megillah?”

Jews who had never been asked such a question accepted the offer enthusiastically, bringing their families along and taking the avreichim quite by surprise. These people have, in their self-proclamation, full, unfettered lives — yet they jumped at the chance to connect to the Jewish nation by hearing Megillas Esther. We’ve unfortunately been led to believe that the true state of the masses is the way it is reflected by media reports and the blather of “elected representatives” from each faction. Time and again, it emerges that in reality, the sentiment is very different.

You might never know it by reading the papers and listening to the news, but the Israeli public is actually searching for real roots. They feel disenfranchised, forsaken, lonely, disconnected from the past. The present is mired in the swamp of the political reality and the despair they feel when they observe their “leaders” wrestling for power. And the future along that life path? Who can predict...

Here is just one more proof of what every Torah true Jew is able to do when a simple avreich — and an American at that — can kindle a spark with such a simple question as “Would you like to hear the Megillah?” And that’s how they gave new meaning to the mitzvah of matanos l’evyonim — a gift to those who are spiritually poverty-stricken.

TWICE EACH DAY, we accept upon ourselves the Yoke of Heaven, during Krias Shema morning and night. And this acceptance symbolizes, more than anything, the huge gaping abyss between the outlook of Torah and the worldview of secular society. We are consciously and joyously renewing our pledge to serve the King of Kings, while secular society and its representatives are constantly tossing out the last few crumbs that connect them to this Jewish yoke. Yet they refuse to understand that accepting the Yoke of Heaven is the only surety that makes living in this land possible.

What, in fact, is this yoke all about?

Rav Shlomo Wolbe ztz”l directs us to the laws of the Parah Adumah — the Red Heifer — to help us fully understand the meaning of the concept of a yoke, a burden. The halachah regarding putting any kind of burden on the back of the cow states, “If he spreads his cloak [on the heifer] against the flies, then it is kosher. For another need, it is pasul” (Rambam, Parah Adumah 1:7).

This halachah makes it clear that even a heavy burden on the back of the heifer is not considered a burden — on condition that it is for the need and benefit of the heifer herself. But if that burden — even if it is light — is for another purpose, then it is considered a burden. Regarding accepting the “yoke” of Heaven, we can understand this to mean that if a person performs mitzvos because he enjoys them, then he is serving himself and not HaKadosh Baruch Hu. And we know that “mitzvos were not given for us to enjoy” (Rosh Hashanah 28a), as Rashi says, “that their performance should not be for pleasure’s sake, rather they were given to be a burden on their necks.”

Thus, for a person without a yoke, the “I” is always at the center of his world. He is the sovereign over himself. He has created himself. His personal needs, pleasures, and desires are the center of his life. His pride, envy, and desires are what motivate his life in every direction. Even mitzvos, if he does them, will always be accompanied with the same thought: “What’s in it for me?”

Even as he matures and learns to restrain himself externally, it’s because that’s what benefits him; society would maul him if he behaved like a baby and grabbed everything the way his pride, envy, and desires urged him to. In his world, there is no room for truly loving another person and reaching a lofty level of chesed. Just look around at the society we are living in for proof.

Accepting the Yoke of Heaven means breaking out of the prison of the “I,” a liberating exit from the personal bubble of pride, to the recognition that there is a Creator in the world — and that I was created due to Heavenly benevolence.

It means that “the world is not mine — I’m just an honored guest, here to carry out certain tasks. There is a Leader, and I must restrain my conduct, my pride, my envy, and my desires.” Accepting this yoke means liberation from the shackles of subjugation to the instincts and tendencies that lead most of humanity to the brink of the abyss. On the other hand, keeping mitzvos helps a person fight against the innate selfishness within himself.

That’s the whole story — the line between us and the world that surrounds us. We joyfully enter this yoke, which revives and nurtures our soul and appeases us both in our relationship with the Creator and toward our personal and societal ills. We know there’s no other way. Purim showed us what it looks like when all the layers are pulled back.

Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 754