I’m writing for myself here. Feel free to listen in
My parents remember exactly where they were when JFK was assassinated. Most people of that generation do. I remember where I was sitting when I discovered that terrorists flew into the Twin Towers. But here’s the thing — I have no recollection of when this corona thing started. Because it happened so gradually but also so quickly. So, here I am, trying to find words to organize my thoughts. When the great baalei mussar would speak, they would often preface their words, “I’m talking to myself, but everyone can listen in.” It’s been generations since someone said this sincerely, but, if you’ll allow me, I’m writing for myself here. Feel free to listen in.
People have been struggling how to find meaning. Maybe meaning is the wrong word. People have been struggling to find stability. One way we’ve found stability is through meaning. We’ve been sent powerful messages from rabbanim, stories of the struggle of previous generations. Others have been sending around jokes. If we can joke, maybe we can make this feel normal? Still, few things were bringing me any sense of stability in this crisis. The jokes were recycled, the inspiration wasn’t reaching me. I did, though, have one clear moment of profound comfort. I got a letter from my rebbe. Well, not really a letter and not really from my rebbe. But Rav Hershel Schachter began circulating teshuvos on different halachic issues people are facing this year. The first one was about tevilas keilim in a town where the mikveh is closed. I looked at the teshuvah with its familiar letterhead and Rav Schachter’s signature font — he writes in Rashi script (see Rema on Yoreh Deiah 284:2). There is something deeply moving about Rav Schachter’s writing these past few weeks. It’s immediate, takes into account contemporary technological developments, but it also feel very old. In his words, you can feel him reliving the crises, dilemmas, and considerations of previous generations. In general, I am not one to be inspired solely from a novel ruling in halachah. But these have felt different to me. It’s less about his conclusions and more a reminder about where our Torah can reach. I’m tired of getting rabbinic announcements from websites and WhatsApps. Just seeing his letterhead brought me comfort, knowing that a talmid chacham, nearly 80, is sitting alone in his apartment trying to figure out how the Jewish People will toivel their dishes this Pesach, deal with taanis bechoros, and kasher their dishwashers.
It’s Rav Schachter, and a whole stream of contemporary poskim, many of them not feeling well and in isolation — Rav Asher Weiss, Rav Dovid Cohen, Rav Shlomo Miller and so many others — transforming mundane objects in extraordinary circumstances. These past few weeks everyone seems to be struggling like the ben she’eino yodeia lishol, the child at the Seder who does not even know how to ask. Will this meme bring a smile? Is it too soon for this joke? And I looked at Rav Schachter’s letterhead and found comfort that people are still asking questions and he is giving answers.
In 1778, Rav Akiva Eiger, just 17 years old, got married. Unfortunately, his parents couldn’t be present at the wedding. Most of his family couldn’t make it. His beloved uncle, Rav Wolf Eiger, one of the eminent Jewish leaders at the time, could not make it either. Instead he sent a letter, later printed in his nephew’s responsa on Orach Chaim 29. He writes, “All of the leaders of the city are rejoicing together at the celebration made on your behalf.” Rav Wolf Eiger couldn’t be at his nephew’s wedding, but he celebrated anyway.
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