Jews are often stereotyped as a hopelessly unsatisfied people who can be difficult to please. If there is sociological evidence to warrant and support this portrayal it is rooted not in a sophisticated palate or sensitive disposition but rather in an underlying and intractable spiritual restlessness. According to the Gemara (Sanhedrin 76b) the parchedness mentioned in the pasuk, "that the quenched shall be added to the thirsty" (Devarim 29:18), refers to the Jewish people, who Rashi tells us "are eternally eager and hungry to fear their Creator and fulfill His mitzvos". Rav Shimshon Pincus (Tiferes Shimshon) concludes from this identification that a Jew should be driven by a relentless thirst and craving to come closer to Hashem such that it prevents him from ever being satiated or truly at peace with the status quo. For this reason, in certain circles, pious Jews are approvingly referred to as "chareidim" - "those who are anxious," because their religious observance is defined by a controlled and reasoned but at the same time eager and anxious ambition for greater and more intense degrees of spirituality.
In this sense, an appropriate dose of religious uneasiness is a healthy sign and a reason to be optimistic about the overall spiritual trajectory and possibility for future growth. This message surfaces from the reconciliation of the different themes of Rosh Hashanah which at first glance seem to be inconsistent. On the one hand, the sense of trepidation inherent in being judged precludes the recitation of hallel, as the Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 32b) asks rhetorically, "is it possible that while the King is sitting on the throne of judgment and the books of life and the books of death are open before Him, the Jewish people should sing joyous songs?" At the same time, the Tur (Sec. 581) rules that it is appropriate to eat, drink, and rejoice on the day of Rosh Hashanah for the Jewish people are confident that Hashem will vindicate them in judgment. How can one be apprehensive while simultaneously unwaveringly secure? Perhaps one emotion yields the other. If the fear of judgement is internalized, and worry over the verdict generates an earnest pursuit of improvement, then there is ample reason to feel assured about the prospects for the coming year.
An animated religious approach demands that there be some disruption to the serenity of complacency. The Beis Yaakov of Izhbitza (Parshas Noach) writes that a drunk is prohibited from praying (Brochos 31a) not only because of his lost inhibitions and slurred speech, but rather because he is numb to the tensions of life and devoid of inner conflict, as the Gemara (Yoma 75a) observes, "whoever casts his eye on his cup the whole world seems to him like level ground." Prayer, and indeed all religious growth, is a response to some measure of personal turmoil. Alcohol can induce an oblivious state of ignorant bliss which is empty of any sense of striving or yearning to discover transcendence and therefore incompatible with prayer. Similarly, Chazal (Chagigah 13a) comment that the design of the Chariot may only be transmitted to one whose "heart inside him is concerned." Rav Tzadok Hakohen of Lublin (Pri Tzaddik, Beshalach) explains that only when there is a sense of confusion can a deeper understanding be found. It is precisely the troubled quest for answers that serves as the impetus for greater knowledge and intimacy.
This outlook is the basis for the statement which the Mitteler Rebbe attributes to the Maggid of Mezritch (Kuntres HaHispaalus, 5) that "a man cannot possibly receive the true secrets of the Torah and the deepest comprehension of the light of the Ein Sof unless he possesses a natural essential melancholy." Certainly, the Maggid is not endorsing or encouraging a depressed state, for Rav Chaim Vital (Shaarei Kedushah 2, 4) and later the Baal Shem Tov (Tzavaas Harivash) emphasize that sadness and dejection are the primary tools of the yetzer hara and have no place whatsoever in authentic and productive avodas Hashem. Elaborating on their words, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (Likutei Moharan 282) made famous the notion that "a person must find some good point within himself and take care to be happy always and keep away from depression." It is more likely that the Maggid was referring to an inner discomfort, prompted by a voracious appetite to ascend, that creates a brokenness through which the light of the Ein Sof can enter. As opposed to the tranquil soul, who is not searching or seeking, and therefore happy, content, and closed.
Perhaps, this awkward and unsettled spiritual state, which is the trigger for further exploration and enrichment, began at Har Sinai. From the dawn of the Jewish people, they have been distinguished by three hallmark traits, as the Gemara (Yevamos 79a) states, "There are three qualities of the Jewish people. They are merciful, they are shamefaced, and they perform acts of kindness." The Baal Shem Tov (Mekor Mayim Chaim, Parshas Shemos) claims that these three attributes can be traced back to the period of the avos; kindness to Avraham, shamefacedness to Yitzchak, and mercifulness to Yaakov. However, elsewhere we are told that the characteristic of being shamefaced developed as a result of the revelation at Har Sinai, about which the pasuk states "that His fear may be upon your faces" (Shemos 20:17). The Gemara (Nedarim 20a) comments, "this is referring to shame, one who does not have the capacity to be shamefaced, it is known that his forefathers did not stand at Har Sinai." Did the tradition of shamefacedness begin with the avos or was it only acquired later after Har Sinai?
The Beis Yaakov of Izhbitza (Parshas Yisro) resolves that there are two distinct sources and modes of shamefacedness. The earliest form, and the one that is innate to the Jewish people, comes as a response to sin. Since the time of Yitzchak, Jews have embodied the strength of character to acknowledge failure and embrace an honest moment of embarrassment, instead of retreating behind the embankment of indifferent disregard or brazen obstinance. However, in the wake of Har Sinai, when the pinnacle of spirituality became visible and the potential for Divine attachment was unleashed, a second kind of shamefacedness emerged. This genre of embarrassment is not a reaction to a specific incident but a pesty nagging sense of shame that arises from the frustrated reality of unrealized potential. Har Sinai changed the Jewish people's expectations for themselves and cast a shadow of disappointment over their regular existence. Attempts to recreate and recapture that experience invariably produces a holy anxiety which is a function of the confident conviction that greater spiritual engagement is always possible.
There are some mechanchim today who are uncomfortable using the word "potential" in their yeshivos. If their hesitation is solely intended to underscore that each talmid is valued and cherished for who they are presently, and not only for who they have the potential to become, their initiative is valid and laudable. But the nature and formulation of their opposition suggests another element as well. It seems that they consider even mentioning the word "potential" in connection with a talmid to be a disheartening insult because it implicitly connotes an incomplete work in progress. While in years past, talmidim were inspired by the bold belief that they have the "potential" for gadlus, today, talmidim are coddled and reassured that they are already big tzaddikim, from their head to their toe. However, this philosophy which obfuscates the need and nobility to maximize potential, while perhaps warranted in limited circumstances, should not be adopted broadly, because it extinguishes any motivation to develop and achieve. Instead, we should stress that spiritual growth is spurred specifically by recognizing the delta between who we are and who we want to become and that genuine greatness resides in the ambitious struggle to bridge the gap between them.