Head in the Ground

Here is a mashal—a parable. Once upon a time there was a prince….
 
Do you notice that there is always a prince in a lot of these parables? I always picture the same prince, I just put him in different settings. Sometimes, the mashals seem to take place in a time so far removed from us, that we say, “Yeah, but what does that have to do with me today?” So after hearing a great mashal (involving a prince, of course) in one of Rav Zechariah Wallerstein’s shiurim, I decided to give it over—but with a bit of a twenty first century twist. (Thanks goes to Rav Wallerstein ,from www.Torahanytime.com for giving his prince a Blackberry—and inspiring this modern rendition).
 
Once upon a time there was a prince—we shall call him William. Prince William had just been banished by his father, Prince Charles, from Buckingham Palace. Prince Charles is not really a king, but is the son of a queen, but for the sake of our story, we will give him the power of a king, okay?
 
So anyway—William gets banished from the palace. What did he do? Maybe he put little squirrels underneath those tall black hats the Queen’s royal guards wear just for kicks? Or maybe he threw a royal party for all his friends and accidentally shattered the Queen Mother’s most favorite tea service? These details are not so important—the bottom line is—he was thrown out. Banished.
 
As Prince William is making his way out of Buckingham Palace, he neglected to pay attention at the ‘Do Not Cross’ banner encircling a deep pit. What was the pit for? Some speculate it was going to be the Queen Mother’s new underground bunker in case of an unforeseen nuclear attack—some say it was going to be the Royals new swimming amusement park which they would open for tourists in order to pay their tremendous royal stipends. Financial hardships abound, yes—even in Buckingham Palace. But the reason does not really matter. The bottom line is—Prince William fell into this pit. A very deep pit.
 
After recovering his wits, Prince William looked around. How in the world was he going to get out of this one? In his haste to leave the palace, he forgot his Blackberry. He couldn’t even call for help. But then he suddenly remembered his father saying that there was going to be a photo shoot on the lawn of the palace tomorrow. He knew his father would be there, and he would use that opportunity to announce his, er, fall from grace.
 
Next day, around noon, Prince William, who had managed to fall (ha, ha) into a fitful sleep perked up his ears. Was that the Paparazzi he heard on the lawn? For sure he could make out his father’s voice amongst the crowd, extolling the virtues of the new Super Swim Royal Theme Park that would be opening that summer. His father was describing the huge water slides and wave pools that were to be a part of this state of the art recreational extravaganza. At no extra expense to the English taxpayer, of course. As he was describing the Queen Mother’s plan to ride an inner tube on opening day to inaugurate the grand opening(while dressed in full royal regalia, of course) he moved to the pit to show the cameras the starting point of this great underwater undertaking.
 
At that same moment, a cry was heard from the pit, startling all those gathered. Prince Charles  made his way to the dark and gaping hole and cried out, “Who’s there?!”
 
“Father, it is I!” answered the Prince.
 
A great shock ran through the crowd, and within two minutes, CNN , BBC, and any other news outlet worth their while assembled on and around the pit in order to capture the latest royal scandal.
 
“What are you doing in the pit, son?” asked Prince Charles, feeling incredibly benevolent with all the cameras rolling.
 
“I fell, father, after you banished me from the palace!” came the pitiful echo.
 
“I see,” answered Prince Charles. “Well my son, in order to make up for this, eh, falling out, shall we say, I am willing to give you whatever you desire, my son.”
 
It was quiet from inside the pit.
 
“Really father?” replied the Prince suddenly.
 
“Really,” answered his father.
 
“Well, “ said the prince, “could you possibly throw me down my thermal blanket  and  silk pillow? And Thomas, my teddy? And maybe some nosh and water?”
 
“Anything else?” asked his father.
 
“Oh yeah, some good English tea. And maybe can you hook me up with satellite TV?”
 
“Is that all?” asked Prince Charles, wearily.
 
“Oh—and my Blackberry, of course. And my iPod. And my laptop.”
 
Prince Charles, with a grieved and disappointed look, commanded his royal aides to fulfill his son’s wishes. After seeing that the satellite dish was installed, and his son’s needs were taken care of, Prince Charles slowly made his way back to the palace, shoulders hunched.
 
The next day, as one of the Royal family advisers passed by the pit on the way to the palace, he couldn’t resist looking down. There, ensconced comfortably in the pit, was prince William, leaning on silk pillows, iPod in his ears. He was munching on BBQ potato chips, while catching the latest soccer match between Manchester United and Chelsea.
 
The adviser could hold himself back no longer. “Fool!” he yelled into the pit. Startled at the echo reverberating from the walls of his new abode, the prince looked up, and even had the decency to remove his ear buds.
 
“Fool!” repeated the adviser. “You could have asked your father to forgive you, to bring you back into the palace! Instead you had your father bring in an interior decorator and fix up your pit! Instead of basking in your father’s love, you sit in this pit of dirt, eating potato chips, and watching a game! You could have had everything! Everything! And you gave it up for this pit!”
 
Now here is where Prince William’s story ends—and our story begins.

We are the Prince. And the pit is the galut (diaspora and exile) we have created, and which we continue to create each day.
 
We are each so comfortable in our ‘pits’. Hashem is waiting for us to cry, “Tatty, Abba—we want You! Just You!” He stands over the pit of exile each day, looking down at His children. And He asks us, “My children—what do you need?”
 
And we look up at our Father and say, “Could you please send a shidduch for my cousin? And make my Grandma all better? And while You are at it, Tatty, can You send me parnassah? And please make sure that the stock market doesn’t  crash again? And oh yeah—we would really like to take the kids to Disney this winter—can You make it happen, Abba? And if You can—a new upgrade on my phone, a few more zeroes in my bank account…..”
 
And just like the adviser in our story, we should be screaming out, “We are fools! Fools! If only we would ask Hashem to bring us Home—not for any reason, but just because we want our Father. We want Him! We want His love, His benevolence, the benevolence of a Father Who knows He is loved by His children…..
 
A couple of weeks ago, my husband asked our preschooler who her best friend was. She answered Mommy (okay, since then she has given a different answer, but still….) At that moment, I was willing to give her everything (I always am, but that’s another article…). That my daughter should value me so much—she loved me that much?! I know my kids love me (I hope) but to hear them articulate it is another matter. Do we ever give that kind of nachas to Hashem? Or do we just stand there reading off our laundry lists to Him each day, without so much as an “I miss you Tatty—can You please pick me up and bring me home?”
 
We are so wrapped up in our galut that it doesn’t even occur to us to ask for our Tatty. We are so busy asking for everything else that if we would only realize that once we are safely ensconced in our Father’s embrace, in the courtyards of His house—then we will have everything. Unfortunately, most of us forget that He is there. And so He has to send us some very hard reminders—like rockets fired into the South of Israel, and chaos and uncertainty everywhere else. And still, we put up the satellite dish, decorate our pits, and tsk tsk at the state of the world. And our Abba, he makes His way slowly back to His palace each day, waiting for us to call Him from our pit in exile, asking Him to just bring us home.