When the Soul Whispers: Lessons of Ruth and Shavuos

I once met a woman broken and crushed by the fact that her only son had married a non-Jewish woman. She told me then of the moment that shaped her life.

She and her husband had been living peacefully in New York when he received an especially attractive job offer, both in salary and prestige. The only problem was that they would have to move to a remote town with no Jewish community.

“Our son was five years old at the time. My husband and I deliberated for weeks. Did we really want to leave our families and the life of the big city? How would we adjust to the new environment? What would we lose, and what would we gain?

“Among the other considerations, I also thought about the fact that our son would have no Jewish friends, no support of any kind for his Jewish identity. I remember sitting there with the list in front of me and, after a moment’s thought, ‘throwing’ that fact into the column of disadvantages, where it stood no chance. It was easily outweighed by all the advantages.

“The evening my husband gave his positive answer, we opened a bottle of champagne and drank to our exciting new adventure. We had no idea, then, that we were celebrating the end of a long chain of distinguished Jewish lineage on both sides of our families. That chain was destined to be severed by our son’s perfectly reasonable decision to marry a wonderful non-Jewish woman, whom he met at the non-Jewish college he attended, after a comfortable childhood, devoid of Judaism, in a non-Jewish environment.

“That small voice that had troubled me about my son having no Jewish friends—the quiet nudge of my soul—was drowned out by the voice of reason, ‘Don’t give up an opportunity like this,’ and by the voice of practicality, ‘We’ll send him to Sunday school.’”

Common Sense Is Not Always the Richest Sense

A relationship with God often complicates our practical and pragmatic calculations. It may require us to give up a brilliant career in order to remain faithful to our values. A friend of mine recently resigned from an excellent position because the spirit of cynicism and gossip that blew through the workplace chilled her. It may require us to reach into our pockets and give maaser to charity, even when we ourselves are in a difficult financial situation and giving to others feels profoundly inconvenient.

There were periods in our history when choosing a relationship with the Holy One, blessed be He, meant standing before the interrogators of the Inquisition or being trampled under the boots of the Crusaders. Being burned at the stake certainly qualified as “not especially worthwhile on the practical level.”

And beyond the lack of practical gain and the silence of the trumpets, choosing a relationship with God does not guarantee a life encircled by Clouds of Glory. Not only is the world around us generally unaware of the courageous decision we have made, but we ourselves can easily forget what moved us to choose such a difficult path in the first place. The momentary clarity that prompted our brave decision is often obscured beneath an avalanche of routine, forgetfulness, and second thoughts.

Not only is the world around us generally unaware of the courageous decision we have made, but we ourselves can easily forget what moved us to choose such a difficult path in the first place.

Had that woman and her husband remained in New York, most people would likely have seen them as just another unsuccessful family, unable to move forward in life. And had their son married a Jewish woman, they would never have connected that wedding to the brief and critical moment when earthly contingency and eternity brushed against one another.

The Difference Makes All the Difference

Megillat Ruth is, among other things, a book of decisions. Ruth and Orpah both set out intending to accompany Naomi on her way back to the land of Yehuda. But only Ruth continues with her to the end. At the border of Moav, Naomi manages to persuade Orpah to return to her mother’s home. It is the only sensible thing to do, Naomi explains. Indeed, there is no practical benefit in going with Naomi. She is likely to become destitute, gathering stalks of grain in foreign fields. No chance of remarriage, no chance of rebuilding a life. To go with Naomi to Yehuda means a life of loneliness and poverty.

It was not an easy decision for Orpah. The verse tells us that Orpah wept when Naomi tried to persuade her to turn back. It seems that Orpah’s soul, at least at first, yearned to cling to Naomi, to grasp greatness. But in the end, she listened to Naomi’s logic and left. The trumpets did not sound, and the lights did not flash. Did Orpah have any idea what her decision would mean?

The parallels between Ruth and Orpah—both Moabite princesses, sisters married to two brothers—cast this moment of difference in sharp relief. Ruth and Orpah both stand on the threshold of greatness. Both hesitate. Should they listen to that inner longing, or turn away? Should they obey the stirrings of the soul, or be practical? Orpah made a simple, prosaic decision: she turned her back. The distance between ascent and collapse can be a matter of mere minutes.

Centuries later, that tiny difference would grow into a clash of civilizations, expressed not only in the inner worlds of the two sisters, but in the vast physical difference between their descendants: Goliath and David.

Centuries later, that tiny difference would grow into a clash of civilizations, expressed not only in the inner worlds of the two sisters, but in the vast physical difference between their descendants: Goliath and David. Goliath, the son of Orpah, a brute of colossal proportions, the embodiment of the doctrine that might makes right, contemptuous of the raw murmur that rises from the depths of the human soul, stands opposite David, “the sweet singer of Israel,” the great yearner, the grandson of the woman who clung to Naomi even when reason dictated otherwise.

In describing this collision of opposites, Chazal say: “Let the children of the kissed one come and fall into the hands of the children of the one who clung.” It is striking that Orpah is identified here as the one who was kissed, when in the Megillah she is the one who gives the kiss; she is the one who chose to kiss Naomi goodbye. Orpah did not suffer from spiritual numbness. Her heart longed for the closeness to God that Naomi represented. She kissed because she had been kissed; her soul had soared before the possibilities that stood before her. But practicality prevailed. Orpah turned her back and closed the door.

Chazal reveal to us that Orpah’s inner struggle left additional traces. As a reward for the forty steps that Orpah walked with her mother-in-law, Goliath was granted forty days in his battle against David. As a reward for the four tears she shed for her mother-in-law, she merited four mighty warriors among her descendants. Greatness had stood within a hair’s breadth of Orpah, and slipped away. And greatness that has veered from its path and missed its purpose gives rise to greatness that veers from its path and misses its purpose.

Welcome In

Shavuos is the day on which the Holy One, blessed be He, extends His hand and offers us the opportunity to enter that frightening place called relationship, a place whose purpose is closeness to God, not necessarily practical benefit.

A student of mine who came closer to Judaism once told me that doubts occasionally overwhelm her. The life of Torah had not been a bed of roses. When she began keeping Shabbat, her relationship with her parents was stretched almost to breaking point. She ended a promising relationship with a young man because she believed he was moving in the wrong spiritual direction. And the community she moved into was less sparkling than it had appeared from the shop window before she became religious. “Was it worth it?” she wondered.

On the days when the answer to that question is no, she is angry. Why didn’t anyone warn me it would be so hard? Why did I have to complicate my life? Why did I “buy into” all this warmth and sweetness, when life is not warm and sweet most of the time?

It is about the willingness to listen to the whisper of the soul, a reminder to our pragmatic selves to stop making so much noise, because there is an entirely different layer of reality. It may not be able to compete in volume, but it floods our lives with light.

But on Shavuos, she said, things always become clear to her: a relationship with God is worth everything. It is not about convenience. It is about the willingness to listen to the whisper of the soul, a reminder to our pragmatic selves to stop making so much noise, because there is an entirely different layer of reality. It may not be able to compete in volume, but it floods our lives with light.

The revelation at Har Sinai was an invitation to make the leap into that joyous and frightening place: a relationship with the Holy One, blessed be He. When we sinned with the Golden Calf, God used the root of Orpah’s name when He called us an am kesheh oref, a stiff-necked people. At the moment of truth, we chose the easy way out and turned our backs on relationship, bowing instead to an idol that makes no demands.

And every year on Shavuos, the gates open wide once more.

Orpah did indeed turn her back. But Ruth, mother of Mashiach, stepped through the gate. The trumpets did not sound there, the music did not build toward a crescendo, at least not loudly enough for Ruth to hear. What awaited her was only contempt, poverty, and humiliation.

But in the end, the Holy One, blessed be He, promises us: You shall be holy, for I am holy. It may not be practical, easy, or especially logical. But Ruth, suffused with longing, chose life.