#MyOrthodoxLife
Everything
We all cherish those moments of unanticipated inspiration, the ones that happen at the most random of times in the most random of places. And if you were to argue that the parking lot of the University of Cincinnati seems like the least inspirational place on the planet, I’d fully agree — if not for the following story.
It was after a long day in law school about three years ago, and I was heading toward my car, an old, overused Honda Odyssey. Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming from behind me. I turned around and saw my classmate Elizabeth walking quickly in my direction.
“Hi,” I said, with just enough question tucked in my voice.
Elizabeth didn’t answer. She just stared at my car. This made me kind of uncomfortable; my car is not exactly eye candy.
“This your car?”she asked. “Uh, yeah.”
I had no idea what she wanted. She stared some more.
“How many kids you got?”
“Three,” I smiled to hide my uncertainty; I still had no idea where this was headed. “Under the age of five.”
She was quiet for another moment.
“You heading home now?”
I nodded and fingered my keyring.This was getting weird.
Then she swallowed. And blinked.
Sam,” she suddenly burst out. “You’re so lucky. You’ve got a home. And a family. And I —” her voice faltered as she looked down— “and I’ve got nothing,” she whispered. Then she turned around and walked away quickly.
“And I’ve got nothing.”
Those words echoed in my mind all the way home. Suddenly, I was a teenager again, just beginning to recognize the nuances of the brilliant world around me. I loved music and, at the time, a young Justin Bieber was emerging as America’s newest sensation. I’d watch clips of him packing Madison Square Garden in a record-breaking 22 minutes, throngs of fans being treated to the likes of “One Time,” Beauty and a Beat,” and “Despacito.” I watched, but I couldn’t join. I was in a yeshiva high school at the time, and neither schedule nor religious conviction would allow for me to engage in such an environment. And when I watched the videos or looked at the pictures, all I could think was, “These guys have everything.
And I’ve got nothing.”
“And I’ve got nothing.”
The years passed. I graduated adolescence and entered adulthood, slowly understanding that lurking beneath the scintillating glare of celebrity culture lies the ugly face of endless desire, individualistic obsession, and self-absorbed arrogance. I began to take pride in my religious identity, the beauty of its simplicity, the truth of its sincerity.
I married and founded a family based upon those very ideals. And if I had any questions about my decision, the striking irony in my conversation with Elizabeth dispelled that entirely. Elizabeth had been there, in the thick of it, enjoying everything America has to offer, and here she was, pointing to my rundown Odyssey and telling me that it was I who had everything.
Elizabeth, wherever you are, thank you for the compliment. I am so proud of who I am, and your words mean the world to me. But Elizabeth, it breaks my heart to hear you say, “I’ve got nothing.” Because it isn’t true. You have the sensitivity, and the clarity, to look at an old beat-up minivan and see the beauty of a young family. You have the depth of understanding to recognize that the sacrifices in building a future far outweigh the conveniences of a blissful, fleeting present. You have the courage to admit that while Hollywood may be dazzling and Silicon Valley may be brilliant, truth and meaning lie entirely elsewhere.
It is upon these very beliefs that Orthodox Judaism is based, and you seem to have come to them intuitively. Elizabeth, if you got that, then you have everything.
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Samuel Botnick is an attorney who focuses on real estate and corporate healthcare transactions. He lives in Cincinnati with his wife and four children.