Ever since the Emancipation, religious Jewry has suffered a constant attri­tion. This deterioration in numbers and intensity of commitment has been most noticeable the past two or three decades. How have we reacted to it? What ought be our policy? Several tendencies are worthy of mention. The first is the way of despair. One contemplates the unfavorable circum­stances and merely posts an obituary notice. But nothing is done; one goes about the old ways without any change. In the face of hopelessness, fear drives one to dull, mechanical repetition. Thus, heavily endowed American Jewish organ­izations continue in the same rut, repeat the same tired formulae, and chant the same irrelevant litanies. They bravely fight anti-Semitism, while Semitism is dying within them. They are heroic partisans of “the wall of separation” between Religion and State, at a time when Religion is being drained of its vital sap. Today's “liberals” often fight yesterday’s battles; it is a sign of despair in today’s campaigns. They have given up on tomorrow.There is a second tendency. There are some who maintain a stubborn refusal to yield, who have high resolve and persistent determination to continue on the highest level of Judaism, but in ever-shrinking circles. Theirs is the gesture of withdrawal, of isolation, of a conscious and conscientious ignoring of the rest of the world, of all other Jews. The prize they want to capture is “tomorrow”; the price they are willing to pay is “today.”As between these two attitudes, I would much rather choose the second. 1 do not for one moment believe that the Jewish people and the Torah will ever disappear. If I were faced with the choice of totally embracing this world or totally rejecting it — I would reject it. Our civilization, never let us for one moment forget, is the one which sired an Auschwitz and other such illegitimate obscenities; it is a civilization which, without any affront to its conscience, produced a Hiroshima. Our culture is neither…

However, fortunately, we are not called upon to make this tragic choice between the ghetto and the wasteland. We are not restricted to the two options of either “Neturei Karta” or assimilation. This contemporary dilemma is at the core of the famous story of the cave, related in the Talmud (Shabbat 33b). R. Simeon bar Yohai and his son R. Eliezer made slurring remarks about their contemporary Roman civilization. By an indiscretion, they were found out and condemned to death. They fled and eventu- ally hid in a cave, where they were forced to spend some twelve or thirteen years. During this time they lived on nothing more than carobs and water. This long interval was spent by them in growing spiritually, in the study of Torah, and, according to tradition, in achieving tremendous mystic insights which were later incorporated in the book Zohar. After the end of this period, they were told that Caesar was dead, and it was safe for them to leave their hiding place. When they emerged, they saw people — their compatriots — occupied in the normal business of living: planting, reaping, buying, selling. They were shocked: Is there no one who studies Torah all his days? Wherever and whatever they looked at was immediately consumed by fire! At which a bat koi, a Heavenly voice, issued forth and exclaimed: “Have you left your cave only to destroy My world? Return to your cave!”This they did, remaining in the cave another twelve months. Then another bat koi called forth: Leave your cave. The two scholars left, and, surveying the scene about them, were again deeply distressed. R. Simeon said to his son: apparently you and I are the only ones left; the two of us shall have to continue Judaism by ourselves. But then something remarkable happened: it was Friday afternoon, just before the beginning of the Sabbath. They saw an old man rushing, and carrying in his hands two bunches of myrtle twigs. “What are you doing this for?” asked the two scholars. He answered: li'khevod shabbat, I …

What does the Talmud mean to tell us in this parable of the cave? R. Simeon and R. Eliezer are the symbols of the gedolei Yisrael of all generations. They recog­nized the rot and the decay of their contemporary civilization and hence preferred to retreat into their own enclave of Torah and piety. They would not pollute the pure spirit of Torah and piety with the corruption of the world. When they did ventuie forth to meet the rest of the world, they were dismayed. Their own standards had grown during their isolation, while the rest of the Jewish world had remained static. Everywhere they turned their fiery gaze, the institutions they beheld were “burned” — they saw through them, they reduced the pretense of “normal” life to ashes. They had honed their own spirits to a keen edge, so they could not tolerate people engaged in their dull, regular, profane pursuits of business or professions or universities — anything, indeed, but the Yeshivah, the Beit Ha-Midrash, the Kollel. From that vantage point, the rest of the world was, indeed, nothing!Rut — the bat koi calls out: this can destroy the Jewish world! Back to your cave! With an attitude of this sort, you are not yet ready to venture into the wider community. Neturei Karta may be fit for Meah Shea/rim, but the rest of the Jewish world cannot live this way. Such attitudes are dangerous, precisely because they are too holy, too remote, too demanding. Jewish society cannot abide such a perspec­tive — and God wants to save His world even as He wants His Torah to prevail.But then R. Simeon and R. Eliezer leave their cave again and are finally reconciled with the world. They learn that Judasim can survive outside the cave, even in the Roman environment.How are they reconciled? How are we — who consider Torah absolute and modernity relative, who yearn for the beauty of pristine pure Jewish life and fear contamination and pollution in our semi-pagan technological society — how are we to be reconciled with the rest of the wo…

It is easy enough to point to religious youth and the growth of day schools and Yeshiva University. True, these are the symptoms of a revival. But without a special kind of attitude by the mature generation, the elders of our community, our whole enterprise is doubtful. Hence, the Talmud tells us: the giants of Torah who emerged from the cave beheld a most remarkable sight — an old man in the dusk of his life, the Friday night and the twilight of his career, was racing and running. Where to and what for, old man? Preparing for a new Shabbat! Carrying that which will make Torah sweet, which will endear Yiddishkeit to all! When questioned closely as to why he had two myrtle branches, his answer was illuminating; one for zakhor, remembei-ing, and one for sha- mor, observing. The old man not only perfonns the commandment to remember; he not only entertains ancient memories, espouses a religion of murky sentiments, and recalls faded glories. No! It is true that there are hosts of noble memories worth cherishing, but the old man at the dusk of his life also affirms shamor, “Observe the Sabbath!” Guard your heritage for the future, transmit Judaism to a new generation, prepare for posterity. The old man does not despair, does not give up and return to the womb of yester-year’s memories. He is oriented to a future which he wishes to sweeten and to adorn today. His Shabbat is not a relic of the past, but a symbol of the future.That old man’s indomitable optimism is something we dare not fail to learn. It is a source of optimism for us that we have progressed beyond the experimental stage, that there are already some of us in this country who have reached full maturity and have survived with their Judaism intact despite their willing encounter with contem­porary society. But this mature generation must also be sufficiently motivated to provide for the future, for shamor. If it will do so with sweetness and not with bitter­ness; if it is confident and working and striving, ev…

In the Ethics of the Fathers (Chap. IV), we read a paradoxical remark. The Rabbis say that one hour of repentance and good deeds in this world is more beautiful than all the life of the world-to-come. However, by the same token, one hour of satisfaction in the world-to-come is worth more than all the life of this world. Is this a contradiction? No, it is not. What the Rabbis meant to tell us is that “this world,” outside the cave, is the arena of progress and action, of repentance, of conviction, of growth, of good deeds, of unceasing effort. The “other world,” inside the cave, is the arena of satisfaction and warmth, of spiritual rewards, but not much opportunity to convince and to persuade and to build and to transform.R. Simeon bar Yohai craved his cave; he found gratification there. I confess: I would too! The world we live in is false, it is evil and corrupt, it is often unspeakably cruel and mean. Every once in a while it is good to retreat into the cave of the Beit Ha-Midrash, the totally Jewish atmosphere. We need occasionally to shut out the harsh and jairing noises of the market-place and return to the cave. Certainly we will derive from it a great deal of spiritual satisfaction and emotional happiness.But it is in this world, outside the caves and enclaves, in the world of business and the professions, of science and the schools — in this inhospitable and alien and difficult and spiteful atmosphere — where we shall indeed work out our eternal destiny! It is here where Judaism will stand or, Heaven forbid, fall. Assuredly, it is not always a serene world of quiet satisfaction. Often it is filled with frustration and disappoint- ment and irritations of all kinds. But Judaism cannot grow in caves. It must have a whole world in which to flourish.

Orthodox Judaism in our generation is beginning to emerge from its cave. It must never reject that cave entirely. There will and always should be some who will guard it and prefer to live in it. G-d bless them. But, as R. Simeon and R. Eliezer learned 1800 years ago, that cannot hold true for the entire people of Israel. To insist upon it is to diminish the Jewish people and particularly the Jewish State. If there are those who prefer this type of existence, then the divine voice commands them: return to your caves, and do not impose your wish upon the community. As a people we must leave our self-contained caves and risk the great perils — and they are many and tragic — of attempting to live the life of Torah in the wide community, joining the rest of the world in the daily pursuits of all mankind, and endeavoring to be mekadesh shem shamayim be-rabbim, to sanctify the Name of G-d in public.Our G-d-ordained duty is to bring the trei medanai assa, the two myrtle twigs of Judaism, to the entire world; to offer all Jews and all mankind the sweetness and pleasantness of Torah; to challenge them both to recall the glories that were and prepare for those that yet will be; to inspire teshuvah u-maasim tovim wherever we are; to look confidently towards what destiny is yet to bring us; to acknowledge the mitzvot as our most precious and most beloved possession.Then indeed we shall be able to live out our lives Jewishly and beautifully and meaningfully, and in dignity and respect and pleasantness.