Drive, Dammit!
As so many of these stories go, there was once a wagon driver. Business was not too great, but it was enough to live on, and what more could one demand? Living conditions in those days didn't allow the luxury of an extended education, so when his son was 12 years old the wagon driver decided to teach his son the profession. He began by teaching his son how to harness the horses to the wagon. The son was quite intelligent, and caught on quickly, but being a on the lazy side, preferred to travel inside the wagon instead of up on top with his father. Unfortunately, the wagon driver passed away young, passing the reigns of the family business into the young, inexperienced hands of his son.
The big day arrived. It was time for the son to take his first passenger. At the crack of dawn the passenger was ready to go. They loaded the wagon, and the son went about the familiar task of harnessing the horses. After he finished, he jumped up onto the drivers seat, the passenger safely in the back. After a few seconds, the son jumped off his seat and went back to the harness. He untied and retied, pulled here and there, and after making a few adjustments, climbed back up. A minute or two later, still not having moved an inch, he jumped down again. To the puzzlement of the passenger, the previous scene repeated itself. After checking over the harnesses and making a few superficial adjustments the driver jumped back up to his seat. Still, the wagon is immobile.
Seeing the scene begin to repeat itself yet again, the passenger called out "What's the problem?".
"I'll tell you the truth," confided the son. "This is the first time I am taking the wagon anywhere myself. When I went with my father, may his memory be blessed, we would harness the horses and then my dad would jump on his seat and off we went. Just like that. I don't understand why the horses are not moving today... The harnesses are fine!"
"Listen closely, my dear friend," the passenger responded, "You can harness the horses from now until hell freezes over, but until you tell the horses when and where to go - you are no wagon driver."
----
I am that foolish son.
I once thought the son was the "Mashpiyim" of the 21st century, so intent on creating and affirming our connection with the Rebbe that they neglected, whether out of negligence or sheer ignorance, to do anything with that strongest of connections, to teach when and where to go. I have since realized that that son is me.
So full of ideals, so convinced, so connected. Yet, strangely immobile. Constantly strengthening my convictions but never going anywhere. Never changing myself, becoming more than I am. Never leaving the barnyard. Instead, I busy myself with the harness - my own, as well as others. Fixing something that was never broken.
To make it worse, my paralysis does not result from preoccupation. My preoccupation is the result of the paralysis. I don't want to leave the barnyard. And so, I make myself busy.
On Shlichus in Frankfurt-am-Main Germany the thought would often occur to me: People will do anything, even go to a warzone, to avoid looking themselves in the mirror. It is easier to give a Shiur, or get busy with the not-yet-Frum youth, then to look myself in the mirror and change myself.
Enough.
To be a true wagon driver, one must drive.
PS I originally wrote this in the plural, including you as a companion in my foolishness. In all honesty, I don't know that you are one. So I rewrote it in the singular. But if this does describe you, take it to heart. To persist in folly knowingly is a crime unparalleled.
The big day arrived. It was time for the son to take his first passenger. At the crack of dawn the passenger was ready to go. They loaded the wagon, and the son went about the familiar task of harnessing the horses. After he finished, he jumped up onto the drivers seat, the passenger safely in the back. After a few seconds, the son jumped off his seat and went back to the harness. He untied and retied, pulled here and there, and after making a few adjustments, climbed back up. A minute or two later, still not having moved an inch, he jumped down again. To the puzzlement of the passenger, the previous scene repeated itself. After checking over the harnesses and making a few superficial adjustments the driver jumped back up to his seat. Still, the wagon is immobile.
Seeing the scene begin to repeat itself yet again, the passenger called out "What's the problem?".
"I'll tell you the truth," confided the son. "This is the first time I am taking the wagon anywhere myself. When I went with my father, may his memory be blessed, we would harness the horses and then my dad would jump on his seat and off we went. Just like that. I don't understand why the horses are not moving today... The harnesses are fine!"
"Listen closely, my dear friend," the passenger responded, "You can harness the horses from now until hell freezes over, but until you tell the horses when and where to go - you are no wagon driver."
----
I am that foolish son.
I once thought the son was the "Mashpiyim" of the 21st century, so intent on creating and affirming our connection with the Rebbe that they neglected, whether out of negligence or sheer ignorance, to do anything with that strongest of connections, to teach when and where to go. I have since realized that that son is me.
So full of ideals, so convinced, so connected. Yet, strangely immobile. Constantly strengthening my convictions but never going anywhere. Never changing myself, becoming more than I am. Never leaving the barnyard. Instead, I busy myself with the harness - my own, as well as others. Fixing something that was never broken.
To make it worse, my paralysis does not result from preoccupation. My preoccupation is the result of the paralysis. I don't want to leave the barnyard. And so, I make myself busy.
On Shlichus in Frankfurt-am-Main Germany the thought would often occur to me: People will do anything, even go to a warzone, to avoid looking themselves in the mirror. It is easier to give a Shiur, or get busy with the not-yet-Frum youth, then to look myself in the mirror and change myself.
Enough.
To be a true wagon driver, one must drive.
World conquest starts at home.
-- Fardak
PS I originally wrote this in the plural, including you as a companion in my foolishness. In all honesty, I don't know that you are one. So I rewrote it in the singular. But if this does describe you, take it to heart. To persist in folly knowingly is a crime unparalleled.
posted by Getzel | 9:12 PM
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