My relationship with the concept of *“accepting the yoke”* (“Kabbalat Ol”) is as long as my life itself. It has been complex and complicated, responsible for quite a few frustrations and challenges that I experienced throughout most of my life. And when the Torah portion of Bechukotai arrives — a portion that suddenly defines all the commandments of the Torah with one single word: *“statutes”* — this feels like the right time to look at it honestly and courageously, and truthfully also to admit that something has changed. Something good is happening.
The foundation of Jewish life is built upon *Kabbalat Ol*, upon *“Na’aseh VeNishma”* — “We will do and we will hear.”
This week, an educated Christian man visited me and asked to discuss several topics. The first was kashrut, and he presented various rational arguments against refraining from eating pork. My answer was simple: I do not eat or avoid something because I understand the reason for it. God did not give us reasons; He simply told us what we may and may not eat. The explanations and rationalizations are human intellect — we avoid non-kosher food because of Divine wisdom.
I watched his reaction, and honestly, I was genuinely surprised. He was positively shocked. He said he had not expected such an answer: “I came to speak with you on level one, and you’re speaking to me on level one hundred.” He put aside the rest of the questions he had brought with him, and the conversation moved elsewhere — if I may use his wording, the discussion became “level one hundred.”
But that is the easy part of *Kabbalat Ol*.
The difficult part is doing things that are genuinely hard for you — things that require enormous effort and painful inner struggle. Like getting up every single morning at the time you are supposed to get up, even though you were not the one who chose that hour; the *Shulchan Aruch* chose it for you hundreds of years ago without consulting you. Finishing the daily study sessions you are expected to complete even when you are tired and exhausted, even though you did not choose those lessons; your Rebbe chose them for you.
Doing things that go against your familiar nature simply because you must. Saying “yes” to someone joyfully when what you really want is to say a very big “no.” And vice versa — saying “no” when it feels deeply uncomfortable and you desperately want to say “yes.” Asking someone for help or a favor when emotionally and mentally you feel incapable of doing so. Dealing with things that stress you to the point of losing your breath because they simply must be dealt with. Holding yourself back from hurting or insulting someone even when you yourself were deeply hurt. Accepting the ruling of your rabbinic authority even when you were truly hoping he would somehow “arrange” a leniency for you.
I once wrote an essay about “the person of Tohu” versus “the person of Tikun.” There are certainly people who came into this world with built-in self-discipline, and for them it is easier to cope with life. Opposite them stand the “people of chaos,” who came into the world with tremendous inner disorder in both mind and heart — and for them it is a little (or a lot) harder to cope with life.
But even if we put that distinction aside for a moment and include everyone together, coping with *Kabbalat Ol* is not simple at all.
Over the years, I discovered that my central difficulty came from believing there was no room whatsoever to listen to the heart. No room for desire, longing, passion, dreams, or aspirations. There was only *Na’aseh VeNishma*, only *Kabbalat Ol*, only “the mind ruling the heart.” No “want,” only “must.” And of course the famous Chassidic expression: *“Azoi un nisht andersh”* — “This way and no other.”
Slowly, with a great deal of audacity and fear — almost as if I were bordering on heresy against everything I had been taught — I realized that this approach was not entirely accurate. Not only for me, but for human beings in general, it is simply not suitable. So I found for myself a slightly broader approach, one that allows me to truly accept *Kabbalat Ol*.
Here is the approach:
Imagine you are sitting around a round table in a meeting held to make a decision about something important. Until now, only the head, the logic, the intellect — essentially the “must” — were invited to the table. From now on, bring the heart to the table as well: the passion, the joy, the attraction, the longing — essentially the “want.”
When the meeting begins, allow everyone equal space to speak: both the heart and the mind; both sound logic and emotional desire; both what I must do and what I genuinely want to do.
Truly listen to the heart — to the desire, the passion, the attraction, the “I feel like it,” and everything that arises. Then listen to the mind, to healthy reasoning, to what is necessary and required.
In the end, the decision should still be made through intellect and reason, because that is what distinguishes human beings from animals. But when the intellectual decision comes only after giving space to the heart as well, it will probably be gentler, more fitting, and much easier to accept.
The mind absolutely should rule the heart — but the heart most certainly deserves a seat at the table and the opportunity to express itself.
Try this at home. There is a good chance you will be pleasantly surprised.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Zalman Wishedski