Matti Friedman, in his book, Who by Fire, describes a few week period in the life of Lenord Cohen’s life. Leonord Cohen was born to an Orthodox family in Montreal in 1936. He attended a Jewish school and was a member of Shareo Shomayim, and Orthodox shul. However, Leonord did not follow in his parents’ footsteps. He was not observant, nor did he have an especially close relationship to the Jewish People.
Matti’s story focuses on a short period of Leonord Cohen’s life in 1973. Leonord was 39, which at the time, was kind of old for a folk singer. He was an icon, having produced numerous hits that made him wildly popular. He was wealthy; his songs were used for the soundtracks of blockbuster films. Most normal people would be thrilled. He was miserable.
He was vacationing on a Greek island, surrounded by opulence, by women, drugs, everything that normally made him happy, but he felt empty. He wanted to write more poetry, but he felt like he had nothing left to say. He wanted to compose more music, but he felt like he exhausted his capabilities.
Instead of kicking back and enjoying his life, he jumped on a plane and flew to Israel. He arrived in Israel in the middle of the Yom Kippur war. He had intended to do what so many of us have done this past year; he had hoped to volunteer on a Kibbutz. But he was spotted by some Israeli musicians who begged him to come along with them to visits soldiers on the front line. He acquiesced. Leonord Cohen and this improvised band of Israelis traveled from army base to army base with no fanfare. They’d show up at a base, sometimes a small outpost, and just start playing music. The soldiers would grab some flashlights and shine them on Leonord Cohen and his band, they’d play for a few hours, often without an amp, and then they’d leave.
He was there for only a few weeks, but it literally changed his life. In Israel, he found his missing inspiration. Shortly after his trip, he put out a new album, which included the classic “Who by Fire” a nod to the Yom Kippur davening. The album was titled, New Skin for the Old Ceremony, an allusion to a circumcision, a reference to his own spiritual rebirth. Instead of retiring at 39, he continued composing music until his 80’s.
Leonord Cohen was a complicated man, and I would not describe him as a role model. But that experience of being on top of the world, yet feeling broken, and then reinventing himself into something even greater, speaks to an important ideal – the importance of imperfection and brokenness in the process of personal growth.
Yosef, your parents describe you as a renaissance man. You are an exceptional runner on the Beth Tfiloh track team, you play trumpet – not an easy instrument, you just came in first place in BT’s Chidon Hatanach, you learn the daf!!, you are a leader, you cook, you are polite and kind and thoughtful. You have it all. And that’s amazing. But there is also a danger in having so many talents.
Rav Menachem Mendel of Kotzk used to say, “There is nothing as whole as a broken heart.” I think an even more accurate statement would be, “There is nothing as broken as a whole heart.” Meaning, the individual who thinks they are perfect, who thinks they have it made, who thinks they have no room for improvement, that is not perfection, that is brokenness. The individual who realizes that there is so much more to do, that there is so much room for growth, that there is so much that is incomplete, that is whole.
When G-d gave us the Torah, it was the greatest moment in human history; G-d communicated with 2 million Jews! G-d came down to earth! The Talmud describes the zuhama, the spiritual filth that entered the world through the snake in the garden of Eden, as being banished from the world in that moment. We were at the top.
But being at the top creates an illusion of perfection, thinking that we have it made is the worst possible mindset. And so, those original holy tablets had to be broken. And only then, with those shattered tablets in hand, could the Jewish People start again, and this time succeed.
The recognition that something is incomplete, that we are lacking, that we are in need, is the essence of our relationship with Hashem. There is a famous question that many ask – how can it be that the peak of Jewish prayer is so self-serving, it’s filled with personal requests? The Shemoneh Esrei is a laundry list of the things we need. Yes, we say thank you, we say, G-d, You’re great, but the climax of the Amidah, is, “Please, G-d, I need something from You.” Health, wealth, whatever. That’s prayer?! That’s the meeting point between man and his Creator? When we ask for things?!
Rav Yitzchak Hutner, one of the great Jewish philosophers of the 20th century, responds, yes, that is precisely how we meet G-d. He writes as follows: “Af al gav d’b’chol ha’inyanim yecholto shel adam nimneit al tzad shleimuto, even though with all other matters, a person’s ability is defined by their perfection… Mikol makom, b’inyan hat’filah, when it comes to prayer, y’cholet ha’amidah lifnei hamelech nizonet davka mei’chesrono, our ability to stand before the King is nourished specifically from our deficiencies. V’lu yetzuyar adam she’eino chaser lo klum, and if, in theory, there were a person who was not lacking whatsoever, harei shleimut zu shel amidah lifeni hamelech neu’lah l’fanav, the ability and the perfection of standing before the King would be locked before him.”
Meaning, Shemoneh Esrei is not about asking for our needs. It is an exercise in acknowledging that we have needs. And that takes an incredible amount of emotional and spiritual maturity. Spiritual greatness, Rav Hutner is explaining, is defined not by what we have, but by the recognition of how much more we need.
That’s what Leonord Cohen realized on that Greek island. There is no such thing as being whole, there is no such thing as being complete, there is no such thing as having made it. There is nothing more broken than a whole heart. It was only when he saw his brothers in distress, fighting for their lives, fighting for the Jewish future, it was only when he realized that he was so small, so insignificant, so incomplete, it was only then that he was able to continue to build and to grow. Because there is nothing as whole as a broken heart.
Had Leonord Cohen not traveled to Israel he would never have composed the song that I imagine we all know, Hallelujah. In that song, which he wrote after his trip to Israel, he echoes the sentiment of the Kotzker Rebbe and he sings, “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”
The other week, the lights above my head were not working. Some people were embarrassed, why are things never running smoothly around here?
But that’s my favorite part of our shul – we don’t sugarcoat the fact that things are not always perfect. And that’s what allows this shul to be one of the most authentic places on earth. That’s what allows us to be a growth-oriented community. Because growth can only take place by acknowledging the cracks, by acknowledging the brokenness. Those moments of darkness can propel us to blinding heights.
It is normal to feel lacking from time to time, to feel hungry for more. Most often we try to silence that hunger. With food, with movies, with a bunch of other stuff I won’t mention – whatever it takes to silence that uncomfortable gnawing feeling. What a tragic mistake.
Because that feeling is the greatest gift of all. When we feel unsettled, when our soul is rumbling, when we feel lost and yearning for something else, that is the crack we need to let the light in, those moments of existential crisis, if we acknowledge them, can propel us to the greatest of spiritual heights.
And that is my hope and blessing for you, Yosef. Because Yosef, you have it all; brains, skills, heart. You can coast to an amazing life. But I hope and pray that you do not coast. I hope and pray that you do not forget the lesson of your parsha, how the Torah given on a mountain is not half as potent as the Torah rebuilt out of shards, how we need to climb and climb and climb. And then, when we reach the top, we need to start all over again. How we need to constantly ask ourselves, in what way am I broken, in what way am I missing, in what way am I dependent on others. And then in those cracks, I am confident, you will let in the most brilliant light.