The Non-Observant Orthodox Jew

By Rabbi Gershon Schusterman for COLlive

We are a community-family. Figuratively, כולנו בני איש אחד אנחנו, we are all the children of one man, our Rebbe. The Rebbe’s big tent is open to all, regardless of one’s image or level of commitment. This does not mean that the Rebbe settled for varying levels of commitment. The Rebbe’s one acceptable level of commitment was — more.

There will always be varying levels of commitment. Reuven’s character and temperament is different than Shimon’s. That people’s outlooks are not alike, is a Talmudic dictum; אין דעותיהם שוות. We have בחירה, the freedom to choose, and vive la differénce.

There have recently been discussions about “Chabad lite.” I see Chabad lite as a concept rather than a description of individuals, who clearly should not be stereotyped. To the extent that a Chabad lite grouping exists, the level of observance and of compromise spans an enormous range. One size does not fit all.

What unites us as Lubavitchers is our Hiskashrus connection to the Rebbe and our adherence to the Lubavitcher family’s creed. We should not ―indeed, we cannot― write anyone out of the family.

The question is, are there standards? Can anyone and everyone who wants to call himself or herself a Lubavitcher do so with impunity? I am not talking about others deciding about me or me deciding about others; I’m talking about me answering the question for and about myself.

Being a Jew, like being a member of a family, is a fact; one can be a good Jew or a renegade Jew; one can bring honor to one’s family or one can disgrace it, but one cannot drop in or drop out at will. We’re in; like it or not.

However, being a Lubavitcher is quite different. Being a Lubavitcher is voluntary. As such, more is required than wanting to be one or declaring oneself as one.

The highly esteemed Rabbi David B. Hollander O”H once said: “I do not call myself a Lubavitcher chossid; it is too lofty a designation of which I am unworthy. I humbly call myself a chossid of Lubavitch.” We, worthy or not, choose to identify as Lubavitchers.

Being a Lubavitcher confers on its devotees many benefits, not the least of which are a heightened sense of purpose and joy in being a Jew and a sense of belonging to a cause greater than one’s self and, of course, Hiskashrus. But, the title is conferred, “with all rights and responsibilities thereto appertaining.” The rights and responsibilities are interdependent; we can’t have one without the other.

What are the responsibilities that go with being a Lubavitcher?

The definition of an Orthodox Jew is one who is committed to the truths of Torah. The definition of an observant Orthodox Jew is one who is committed to actually practicing the Torah’s laws in daily life. A non-observant Orthodox Jew is one who believes in the Torah’s truth but compromises in his practice, a little or a lot.

Do not scoff at the designation “a non-observant Orthodox Jew.” If we are not Tzadikkim we sometimes compromise. We all fit that bill at times.

We should not allow those inconsistent moments to derail us from our course by telling ourselves, “It’s too hard; I am a being a hypocrite; why try?” Rather, we should acknowledge our occasional weakness as the price of being human, and stay the course.

Now what would happen if we got together with others like ourselves, acknowledged our periodic lapses and decided to associate only with like-minded-periodic-lapsers? It is much more comfortable to live with those of one mind, but that wouldn’t be good.

The existential struggle between right and wrong, compromise and confrontation is here to stay. He who gives up the struggle, loses.

Relating to those whose very presence challenges us to have higher standards induces guilt. However, associating primarily with those whose standards are similar to ours is to guarantee that our standards will sink even lower.

Guilt, like pain, unpleasant as it may be, is good for us. It is the sense which allows us to maintain the balance between the idealism of our better self and the compromise of expediency. One’s guilt-tolerance standard often determines one’s behavior.

Judaism has a body and a soul. The body is Torah study and its laws. The soul is our faith in and our passion for G-d and our consciousness of the active role He plays in our lives. This body and soul need to be integrated harmoniously. Physically, a body can’t carry on without a soul. Spiritually, the soul can be dormant while the body carries on for a while ― but it is a passionless, soulless existence.

When the enthusiasm is gone, being Jewish becomes simply boring. Where there is no passion, indifference sets in. One is then vulnerable to seeking one’s passions elsewhere.

Our most important mission is to raise our children to be mentchen and good Jews. Our children incubate in our homes. Our children look up to us and emulate us. We are setting their values by who we are. Passion is contagious, just as one candle kindles another. Our children know where our passions lie and where they don’t. We must look at ourselves and ask: is what they see in us the legacy we want to pass on to them?

To be a Lubavitcher and to be recognized as such requires that our public and observable persona brings honor to our Lubavitcher family.

We don’t live in a vacuum. Everything is public. When a Lubavitcher walks in the street, people should say, there walks a dignified, proud Lubavitcher. Look at the way he or she dresses; S/he stands for something. Look at his or her wholesome, aidel appearance; note his or her inner beauty, which is more than skin deep.

In summer 1963, two searching Israelis came to 770 to check it out. For six weeks they lived the life of yeshiva bochurim, etc. After their stint was up, one decided that the Lubavitcher way was for him. The other —I’ll call him Meir— remained uncertain.

Shortly before Meir returned to Eretz Yisroel he had a Yichidus audience with the Rebbe, with whom he shared his ambivalence. The Rebbe asked him, may I make one request? Meir responded that although he was not committed to being frum, out of respect for the Rebbe, he would do any one thing that the Rebbe asked of him. The Rebbe asked him to always wear a kippa (yarmulkah). He thought, in Eretz Yisroel that is not a problem, and gave the Rebbe his word.

Meir told me years later that heeding the Rebbe’s request to wear a kippa channeled him away from settings inappropriate for a kippa-wearing person. Though not committed yet to be observant, he had enough respect for his kippa to stay away from many of his regular haunts. Lightly, almost imperceptibly, he was guided towards observance and eventually made the lifelong commitment.

Today, that young bochur is a respected Lubavitcher grandfather, having lived in Kfar Chabad for almost 50 years.

One’s outer image is not insignificant; it is not mere, superficial, chitzonius. Rather, it is all-telling statement about who one is. Remember the adage, the clothes make the man. One would not stand before a judge wearing jeans and flip-flops. When one dresses decorously one’s sense of self is enhanced, and in a deep and pnimius’dike way.

Recognize that how any one of us comports himself in public reflects on each of us, and on all of us, and on the Rebbe. What we do privately may arguably be our own business; our public image is all of our business.

Why does it appear to me that there are those who flagrantly flaunt their inner rebel with the intent to provoke? People are not stupid; they read body language. If that is the image that is on display, we are all demeaned by it.

And there are other public issues which are integral to one’s identifying as a Lubavitcher:

Using, or not using, an Eruv is not a problem for a non-Lubavitcher, as a Halachic issue; respectable Rabbonim okay it.

Trimming one’s beard, or [non-razor] shaving is not a problem for a non-Lubavitcher, as a Halachic issue; respectable Rabbonim trim, shave and okay it.

Wearing a tichel or a fall or a hat which covers all of a married woman’s hair and is fully Tznius’dik in public is not a problem for a non-Lubavitcher, as a Halachic issue; respectable Rabbonim okay it.

There are many respectable observant Jews who aren’t Chassidim who would say, “So, what’s the problem?”

For a Lubavitcher, however, it is a problem, a real problem, because our family doesn’t do this. Our father told us not to. No one is excluding anyone, but there are things that one does or doesn’t do in order to earn the right to be identified as being one of our family.

I’m not arguing that the Alter Rebbe’s Eruv standards are not met in citywide Eiruvin; which they aren’t. I’m not arguing that the Tzemach Tzedek paskens that trimming one’s beard in any manner is an Issur D’oriesa; which he does. I’m not arguing that wearing a tichel or a fall or a hat does not cover all of a married woman’s hair and is in some manner not Tznius’dik; because it does and is. I’m simply saying that our Rebbe spoke out and wrote passionately against all of these (and regarding the instruction to wear only a sheitel all the time in public the Rebbe used the unique term Bakasha Nafshis, a heartfelt request). If my brother or sister flaunts his or her disregard for that which our father truly and fervently cared about, it can’t help but affect family relations.

I am painfully aware that there are Shluchim and Shluchos to whom these descriptions apply. One can choose to say that there are no standard bearers and there are no standards, or one can decry their weakness. I choose to do the latter. What is true and what is real is not determined by the weak.

The Rebbe lived with the times. He was very contemporary and fully integrated into modern life. He pioneered utilizing the 20th century technology to bring the Torah message to the Jewish and entire world. The Rebbe was not afraid of the modern world; he embraced it and used it for Torah’s purpose.

But the Rebbe’s values and message were classic ― and eternal.

If being modern relates to aspects of one’s lifestyle but not to one’s values, then, boruch Hashem! If, however, modern is a description of one’s values and outlook on life —one’s Chasiddishkeit is modernized— we have a problem.

One does not have to give up one for the other. We can be in the modern world as long as we’re not of the modern world.

— Rabbi Gershon Schusterman is originally from Brooklyn, NY. He was a Chabad Shliach in So. California for 20 years. He is currently in business, and serving as a mashpia in Los Angeles, giving shiurim and lectures to Anash and writing on Jewish topics.

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