Ari, I am going to present to you a scenario about a particular person and you’re going to let me know what you think of him. Okay?
Imagine a Chassid, with long peyos, streimel, a bekeshe, the whole nine yards. He wakes up one day and decides to travel to South Dakota. Do you know how many Jews live there? Let’s just say it’s not the best place to find a nice Jewish wife. Sure enough, he meets a young Protestant woman and decides to marry her on the spot. His parents are understandably appalled. They try to dissuade him. “What do you see in her?” they ask him. And he replies, “She’s pretty.”
It gets worse. Much worse.
This Chassid meets a bunch of good old South Dakotans who are friends of his bride’s family. They get to talking and eventually they decide to make a bet. The friends cheat on this bet. The chassid finds out and murders 30 of these young men.
How are we doing with this guy, Ari? Thumbs up or thumbs down?
He then gets into a fight with his fiancée and so she decides to marry someone else. As soon as the Chassid hears that she got married to another guy, he lights a fire which destroys a significant section of this city’s business sector.
Should we keep on going?
He’s now a convict. He goes into hiding. And one day he is tracked down by representatives from major Jewish organizations and they confront him. “What are you doing? You’re making us all look bad?!” He replies, “They messed with me. I mess with them.”
These Jews do the right thing and bring him to the authorities – this Chassid is a danger to society. When he gets to the police station, he manages to break free and starts attacking the police officers.
Ari, what’s the verdict? What do you all think? It’s a good thing it’s not a real story; this would be the Chillul Hashem of the century. Right?
Only that it is a real story, and the “Chassid” is a Jewish hero.
We read in today’s Haftorah how over three thousand years ago, there was a young man by the name of Shimshon. He travels to a neighboring non-Jewish town inhabited by Pelishtim. He finds a beautiful non-Jewish wife, makes a bet with her friends, they cheat, he kills them, she marries someone else, he lights the Pelishti fields on fire. The people of Yehuda turn him in to the Pelishtim, and then he kills more Pelishtim.
What a bizarre story. Shimshon seems deeply unwell. How do we celebrate this person’s life and accomplishments?
The Malbim makes the following amazing observation: The Pelishtim were terrorizing the Jewish People during this era. They were also far more powerful than the Jewish People. If the Jews chose to fight against their enemies, they’d be decimated. In steps Shimshon with a brilliant plan.
As long as his attacks on the Pelishtim are a personal vendetta, as long as everything that Shimshon does are the actions of one lunatic seeking his own vengeance, the Pelishtim will not take out their anger against the Jewish People because he’s not representing them.
And so Shimshon is not a raving psycho; he is a brilliant strategist. He creates personal arguments and uses them as a pretext to fight and defeat the enemies of the Jewish People. By making it personal, he protects the Jewish People from any retribution.
But in the process, Shimshon becomes the most misunderstood Biblical character. Not only misunderstood by us, but even in his lifetime, in order to not blow his cover, he has to pretend he is someone he is not. The community does not understand him – “What are you doing?” they ask him. His own parents don’t understand him. At every turn, he is hiding, he’s literally hiding on his own from the Pelishtim, but he’s also hiding his true self from everyone around him.
Do you know what type of strength of character that takes – to do what you know is right even when the whole world doesn’t understand you?
In Chabad literature, they characterize people in three categories – a chitzon, one who is superficial and are easily swayed by what others say and think, a penimi, one who strives to be real to themselves, and an atzmi. An atzmi is completely independent of others. The atzmi is not swayed by criticism or even compliments. The atzmi is entirely self-motivated, doing what’s right because it’s right. The whole world may point and laugh, but the atzmi does not care. Shimshon was an atzmi. He did what’s right because it was right, even when no one saw it and even when no one understood.
Let me tell you a story about an atzmi. A number of years ago, a fire broke out in an apartment in Baltimore in the early morning. If I was driving by, I would call 911 and wait. But Ari, your father, Moshe Topas a’h, was driving by and he realized time was of the essence. He pulled over, ran into the burning building and started knocking on doors. He woke people up who would have otherwise been stuck inside. They all escaped. Now if I had the bravery to do that, I would probably stick around until the news showed up and would happily give an interview to the local news station. Moshe jumped back into his pickup truck and drove off before anyone even knew who saved them.
The Rambam (Makkos, Peirush L’mishnayos) writes that most of us go through our whole lives doing Mitzvos for ulterior motives; to fit in, to look good, so we don’t get zapped by G-d. He explains that G-d gave us so many Mitzvos so that if we do Mitzvos every day, maybe, maybe, we will end up doing one Mitzvah with no ulterior motive. That one pure Mitzvah is our ticket to Olam Haba. Ari, your father was an atzmi, he did what’s right for no reason other than the fact that it was right. You’re your father is looking down from Olam Habah right now and shepping so much nachas from you.
Another story – I remember years ago having a conversation with your mother, Esther, about your schooling. She was thinking of switching you out of the school you were in, but all her friends sent their kids to the school you attended. The school she wanted to send you to wasn’t the best for her socially. But she realized that it would be good for you in this new school. So she made the switch lishma, for the right reason, ignoring all those around her. Thank G-d, she made the right choice.
But being an atzmi is not easy. It could be very lonely constantly swimming against the tide. Shimshon, the quintessential atzmi, can’t handle living on his own and being misunderstood, and he eventually crumbles. Because even the most independent person needs a sense of belonging, a sense of connection to a community.
Over the years, your mother, Ari, has contributed greatly to our shul. She’ll tell you she does nothing, but it’s not true. Despite having her hands full as a single mother, she has used her talents and wisdom to help the shul, most recently serving as an officer on our board and has made Ner Tamid her community. We all need to find a balance between not being swayed by the community on the one hand and finding our place within a community on the other.
Ari, you have been blessed with many talents and a powerful legacy of atzmiut. But you have also demonstrated that you understand the importance of connecting to others. Whether it’s your younger sister who you care for, or whether it’s your friends who you spend endless hours not only hanging out with but helping, you are deeply connected to others.
The story of Shimshon is a cautionary tale; yes, those of us who are swept up by the trends and approval of our surroundings risk a life of superficiality. But those who are not swayed in any way by their surroundings risk a life of utter loneliness. It takes courage to be misunderstood but it also takes courage to be connected. Ari, may you find the balance between being true to thyself while feeling connected to a community that cares about you ever so deeply.