The following article was written by Rabbi Moshe Weinberger, Rav of Congregation Aish Kodesh in Woodmere, New York.

THE REBBE OF PIACEZNA, R' Klonymous Kalman Shapiro, z"ya, was approaching his fortieth birthday:
"My heart pounds from my impending fortieth birthday, my entire body shakes from my oncoming declining years. Still, I will try to muster all my strength to commit myself and my life to G-d. Perhaps, perhaps, something will remain. But to what shall I commit myself? To learn more? I think that as far as possible, I don't waste any time. To abstain from physical pleasures? If my own desires are not fooling me, thank G-d, I am not so attached to them. So what am I missing? Simply to be a Jew. I see myself as a self-portrait that shows all colors and features real to life. Just one thing is missing: the soul." (Tzav V'ziruz, To Heal the Soul, page 45)

I have often reflected upon these searing words penned by the Aish Kodesh a decade before his holy body was consumed by the inferno of the Holocaust. The post-Holocaust generation has come of age. We have prospered financially and religiously. The self-portrait of our Torah community "shows all colors and features real to life." Soon, the Siyum HaShas will take place before an anticipated audience of 90,000 people. Our institutions are bursting at the seams. We have a formidable array of daily and weekly publications filled with our own current events and advertisements for the latest, non-gebrokts, Pesach getaways. Many neighborhoods take pride in their "minyan factories" where a Maariv can be caught until the wee hours of the night. We have morning kollels and evening kollels and gemachs for everything under the sun. "Just one thing is missing: the Soul."

R. Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev once called all the Jews of the city to a massive "asifa" (gathering) in the main shul. A hush fell over the "oilam" (crowd) as the Tzaddik climbed to the top of the bimah and cried out, "Yidden (Jews), don't forget! You must always remember that the Ribbono Shel Olam (G-d) exists! He really exists!!" The Kedushas Levi was appealing to a shul filled with strictly observant Jews. Apparently, he felt that despite all the "colors and features" of Yiddishkeit, something very precious was slipping away. Real davening cannot be manufactured in a "minyan factory;" it longs for a soul. True tznius (modesty) is not just a matter of stockings and sleeves. It has a neshama, a soul. Torah learning that does not lead to a meaningful Torah life filled with sincere joy, authentic yiras shomayim and simple human decency, is without a soul.
In the seforim hakedoshim (holy books), this intangible ingredient, this soul, is often referred to as "ohr," light. A couple might enjoy the security that comes with a marriage in which mutual responsibilities are taken seriously. But if that is all the marriage consists of, it is a dark and dismal home they share. When a relationship is "lichtig" ("lit up"), when it has a neshama, even the "C minor" of everyday life is illuminated by the light that binds them together."...

"This void is wreaking havoc upon the spiritual integrity of our communities. Yet, this very same void is itself responsible for a resurgence of spiritual longing among those who are honest enough to admit that something is so terribly wrong and broken that something must be done about it."...

"Yes, never before have as many Jews had the privilege to learn Torah. Neither a famine nor drought has befallen us. Our generation is starving for "divrei Hashem" - the clear, deep, penetrating and powerful divrei Hashem.

The kids "off the derech" or "on the fringe" are not running away from Yiddishkeit. They have never met it. Rebbe Nachman of Breslov once told an atheist: "I also don't believe in the God you don't believe in!" Look into the eyes and hearts of the kids on the streets and in the clubs. You will see the hunger and thirst for the "divrei Hashem" - for the truth and nothing but the truth. Rav Kook wrote of the "chutzpah," the insolence, that Chazal predicted would be rampant before the arrival of Moshiach. The time has come when many are simply refusing to settle for merely bits and pieces of the truth. If this demand is not satisfied, if our schools and homes ignore or misinterpret this hungry chutzpah as rejection, it will claim countless more victims."...

"It is easy to blame the Internet for all our problems. It is much more difficult and painful to consider the possibility that we have failed to communicate the true inner joy and light of Yiddishkeit to a generation that is anxious and ready to hear it.


 
What is to be done? As the questions is posed: "Are there any proven methods to inspire observant Jews experiencing a gap in religious enthusiasm?" The answer, I believe, is a resounding YES! We must pursue two approaches in meeting this challenge: one experiential and one educational.

Rav Yosef Ber Soloveitchik zt"l, often agonized over what he felt was his inability to impart the emotional world of Yiddishkeit to his students. In a lecture delivered in 1968, he said,
"In the past, this great experience of the tradition was not handed down from generation to generation through the medium of words. It was absorbed through osmosis; somehow, through silence. We used to observe. Today in America, however, and in the Western world, this is completely lost. The father cannot pass it on to his son. The father does not possess these emotions, because he never observed and experienced them. He cannot expect his son to receive something he himself does not possess. Therefore, it is up to the Yeshiva and the teacher to open up the emotional world of Judaism to the student..."
In this lecture, Rav Soleveitchik insisted that the only way to inspire the observant is by having them actually observe inspired Yiddishkeit in the parents, rabbis, teachers, and mentors of the generation."...

"Obviously, this is difficult to implement. How can a rebbe or rabbi transform himself into such a person? There are no guidelines for this; it is usually a matter of one's personal charisma. Nevertheless, there must be constant encouragement in this area. Again, it would be helpful to make use of the methods commonly used in Jewish outreach: storytelling, music, shabbatons or other such venues of inspiration. All of these have proven to be astonishingly effective in the world of kiruv, and the observant are desperately in need of this warm, exciting brand of experiential Yiddishkeit. 

 
On the educational front, our institutions must begin to bring the Infinite into the four Amos (cubits) of the classroom and of the shul. Rebbeim, morahs, and rabbonim must be trained to impart the heart and soul of Yiddishkeit in a lucid and inspiring way. There are many extraordinary mashpiim and mashpios (influential role models) whose talents have been mostly tapped by the world of Jewish outreach. We (the "FFB's") must admit that many of our rabbis and educators are simply unfamiliar or uncomfortable with the language of emunah. There seems to be an expectation that emunah will be miraculously conveyed to baalei batim and students by means of some mysterious osmosis that is perhaps complemented by an occasional shabbaton or seminar. But, it ain't happening.

The thirteen fundamental principles of faith must become a basic part of the curriculum in all schools and shuls. G-d must be brought back into our institutions and into our homes. It makes no difference if one place prefers a Litvishe G-d and the other a Chassidishe G-d. Open and frank discussions about faith and doubt must be encouraged - not feared and stymied. To ignore these critical dimensions of religious growth by claiming that it would supplant the traditional format of chinuch is, I submit, a grave error. All the regular Torah learning must surely continue. If anything, such learning will be energized and uplifted when taught to individuals who are struggling to get to the bottom of what this whole undertaking known as Yiddishkeit is about.
It would be wonderful if seforim such as Nesivos Sholom, Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh (Rav Itamar Schwartz) and those of R' Shimshon Pincus, zt"l, would be adapted as a means of developing a curriculum to teach emunah, beginning even with young children.

I have often been asked whether it is really possible to teach emunah as a subject. The answer is no. A rabbi, rebbi, teacher, and parent must begin with the belief that emunahis inherent to the Jewish Soul. The child/student/congregant is already a maamin (believer). Rather than actually being taught, faith already lies in the neshama, but must be nurtured and drawn out through Torah, tefilah, and kiyum hamitzvos. There is a great thirst for pnimiyus HaTorah (the inner light of Torah) that cannot be ignored. It is a healthy sign of revival that must be used as a tool of inspiration in classrooms and congregations. We must begin.

I conclude with a story that my daughter, Suri, shared with me. It is apocryphal, but it hits the mark. Years ago in London, a poetry recital was taking place in a large auditorium. The finalists in the competition were given one last poem to recite - the twenty third Psalm. The obvious winner was a young gentleman whose rendition of the Psalm was perfect. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want... He restores my soul... and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." The audience responded with thunderous applause.

Suddenly, an elderly, Eastern European Jew called out, "Judges! Would it be alright if I had a chance to say the Psalm?" The judges were amused and invited him up to the stage. In his heavy accent, the gentleman made his way through the kapitel (chapter). A reverent hush fell over the crowd, and many people were moved to tears. The winner received his prize but followed the old man out to the street. "Rabbi, you know that you really deserve the prize." "Not at all," he responded. "I wasn't competing. You did a fine job and it belongs to you." The young man continued: "But rabbi, perhaps you could explain to me why it is that when I concluded the Psalm the audience cheered, but when you concluded many people were crying?" The alter Yid replied: "The difference between you and me is that I know the Shepherd."

Hopefully, the recitation of our Yiddishkeit will soon be accompanied by an honest - if somewhat accented and imperfect - outpouring of the soul. The Ribbono Shel Olam is waiting for us, and the prize is redemption, waiting right there in His outstretched hand." 

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