The Observant Jew
By Rabbi Jonathan Gewirtz
The Thin Black Line
Growing up in Waterbury, Connecticut, I remember walking to shul and looking forward to “the white wall.” On the corner of Columbia Boulevard and Lawncrest Road there was a house which had a little white brick wall. I used to walk on it like a tightrope with the exhilaration that only a young child can experience. Going back years later I realized that it wasn’t really that high of a wall, though to me as a boy it seemed huge.
You’ll often see kids walking on the curb, trying to balance on this thin beam. As adults, we see little point in it, except perhaps if you’re trying to break an ankle, but they find the thrill of challenging themselves to see if they can do it without falling off irresistible.
I mention this because of an experience I had recently. This past winter, they’d been doing work on the roads in my neighborhood, replacing gas mains and tearing up the streets and lawns. The trucks arrived early, like 7AM, and caused noise, snarled traffic and inconvenience. When they finished, they patched up the streets without actually repaving them.
So, one day, when the endless winter of 2018 finally seemed to break and I was able to walk outside and see the ground beneath my feet, I found myself treading upon this area of the road which they’d patched up. Down each street is a scar, perhaps 18 inches wide, and I began to walk on it. I could have been anywhere on the road but I gravitated to this newly-paved piece covering up the replaced pipes.
I imagined myself on a tightrope, or a thin bridge, perhaps, walking along towards my destiny, or at least my destination. I began to hear the words of a famous song in my head: “Kol Ha’olam kulo, gesher tzar me’od,” the whole world is a narrow bridge. “V’ha’ikar lo lefached klal,” and the main thing is not to be afraid.
I never understood that. If you’re in a precarious spot, with danger to each side, wouldn’t you have to be a fool not to be afraid? Every step could be your last. You’d better be very afraid.
But finally, I now had an insight that I could use. Here I was, walking on my imaginary bridge, and I wasn’t afraid that I would fall off. The path I was on was plenty wide enough for walking, and I didn’t have to stick my arms out to balance.
If I’d been walking on an eighteen inch wide bridge strung across the Grand Canyon, though, even though there was plenty of room for walking, you can be sure that I’d have been frightened out of my wits. So what was the difference?
The obvious difference is what’s at stake. If I, in walking on the asphalt of my neighborhood, accidentally veered off the path I was on, nothing much would happen. I was walking on the same level as the rest of the road. I had no downside, literally! That was enough to make it easy to stay on track.
If I were walking on a bridge over the Grand Canyon though, even if it were eighteen feet wide I would have been terrified. A person falling from that height would surely die and what sane person would make the crossing?
In China, there’s a popular trend of building bridges with glass floors across canyons. Though they are made to withstand high winds and earthquakes, as well as hold the weight of hundreds of visitors at a time, they terrify people. Even with high side walls and a guide leading them by the hand, people have been known to pull away from the guide, fall to the floor in tears and begin crawling, even refusing to move forward. They are literally paralyzed by fear!
They are frightened by the concept of what might happen, even if it is almost impossible to happen. Our brains see the height differential between our feet and solid ground and they start panicking. The fear won’t let us proceed on the path that is perceived to be so dangerous. Which brings us back to the song and the word of R’ Nachman of Breslov.
The world is like a narrow bridge. A bridge is intended to take us places we could not otherwise get. It is narrow, because in order to reach our destination, we have to keep moving and not get side-tracked or distracted. But walking on a bridge can be scary, as we’ve discussed.
The main thing, says R’ Nachman, is to realize that walking on this bridge is no different than my walking down my street. I have a path delineated for me but there’s no downside. As long as I live I can keep moving forward towards my goal of Olam HaBa, the next world, and the further I make it on the bridge the better.
HaShem didn’t put us here to falter and fail, at least not without strengthening ourselves and getting up again. He put us here, on this bridge called life, with railings made of Torah and mitzvos to protect us from falling. He gave us teachers and leaders to guide us, who take us by the hand and show us it can be done.
The only thing that can stop us is the fear of falling. If we don’t have faith in the structure of the Creator and the fact that He has no intention of letting us down, then we won’t be able to move forward. Truly, the main thing is to not be afraid. Then we can get where we want to go.
Best of all, when we lose that inhibition, then we, like the children challenging themselves to be daring and prove they can do it, will feel the thrill and pleasure of moving forward through life while relishing every step, and grow to realize it’s not such a scary feat after all.
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