In Judaism we talk a great deal about mitzvot, although we talk about them in very different ways. Those on the orthodox side of the scale begin with those things we are commanded to do by the 613 mitzvot proclaimed in the Torah. On the more liberal side, we refer more to “good deeds” that improve our lives, the lives of those around us, and society in general. Those good deeds are grounded in the mitzvot of the Torah. But rather than regulating our lives according those mitzvot, Reform Judaism encourages us to incorporate those that will enrich us, and help us be our better selves both for our own good and the good of those around us. This is quite challenging, because it demands that we examine — honestly and continuously — our motivation and our actions. As those who take seriously the self-examination of the High Holy Days know, there is no easier person in the world to deceive than ourselves.
The idea of honest self-examination is crucial not only to preventing ourselves from straying from a righteous path, but in determining the best way for us to be forces of good in the world. We admire people who do great work and oftentimes we are tempted to push ourselves to imitate them. There is nothing wrong with finding inspiration in the good deeds of others; but attempting to imitate them can actually keep us from doing our best work.
When I was a conducting student at the University of Washington, I was fortunate to study with the great Abraham Kaplan, formerly the choral director for the New York Philharmonic and assistant to Leonard Bernstein. Kaplan’s musicianship was astounding and his conducting style rather dramatic. Performing one of the great late-romantic oratorios, the orchestra, choir, and soloists would approach the climactic moment and, just when you thought the sound had reached its apex, Kaplan would leap in the air and land on the podium — the musical forces exploding beyond what one imagined possible. Later, I would watch in conducting class as students attempted to reproduce that dramatic leap…and absolutely nothing would happen. They imitated the action but were unable to translate the principle behind it in a way that became their own.
When you see greatness, wanting to imitate it is understandable. But another person’s strengths, talents, and personality are not ours to appropriate. Understanding our own personality traits is key to finding a path to our own great success.
When I moved to Seattle, one of my fellow conducting students in the masters program was the founder and director of the Seattle Pro Musica, a semi-professional community chorus and orchestra. His specialty was early music, and the group had become an important part of the city’s classical music scene. A couple of years later when he left the organization to start a professional choir, I was selected as the new Artistic Director and Conductor, a position I held for five years. While we continued to be one of Seattle’s more successful community musical organizations, I discovered that this position was not a good fit for me. I was quite comfortable with shaping the musical direction of the group, but I found being responsible for the overall success of the organization — guiding the Board, working out budgets, fundraising — were out of my comfort zone. I learned that I am best suited to work within an organizational structure where others manage the business end and I can focus on making the organization successful by advancing the quality and creativity of the musical or spiritual mission. I truly admired and sought to emulate the founder of Seattle Pro Musica, but my temperament would only allow me to grow to be my best self in a very different environment.
These same considerations of personality and temperament come into play not only in our professional lives but in the ways we fill our Jewish mission to make the world a better place. Some people are destined to lead pioneering organizations while others make a difference away from the limelight, one person at a time. Some people rally others to action, while others are the steadfast volunteers that so many rely upon. I absolutely hate making phone calls, but am perfectly comfortable sitting calmly with someone facing life-threatening illness. While I know people who are devoted to caring for the elderly or are energized by teaming up with public officials, I thrive when diving head first into a room of kids.
When we understand and embrace our own personal predilections and gifts, we are more likely to bring forward our best selves and achieve the greatest success in the work we do. One of my favorite stories is about the sage, Zusya. As he lay dying, his students were surprised that he was afraid. “Why should you fear the Eternal One, for you have always led an exemplary life?” they asked. Zusya explained, “When I face the Eternal One, I am not afraid that He will ask me, ‘Why were you not like Abraham?’ — for I am not Abraham; nor am I afraid that He will ask me, ‘Why were you not like Moses?’ — for I am not Moses. I fear that he will ask me, ‘Why were you not Zusya?’” While we appreciate and admire — and maybe even envy — the impressive work of others, we achieve our utmost success and make our most profound impact on the world when we find ourselves.
