A Heartbeat in the Mountains: Never Out of Range
One of the greatest rescues in modern history happened two weeks ago when an American F-15E Strike Eagle was shot down in Iran. The Weapons Systems Officer was left behind injured and alone hiding in mountainous, hostile terrain. He had lost communication and had no visible signal but, somehow, they needed to find him before the Iranians, who were already hot in the pursuit. The US used a cutting-edge technology called ghost murmurs, which can pick up a virtually imperceptible signal—a heartbeat—at 40 miles away. Although he was completely isolated, his most basic sign of life was still being detected. He couldn’t call out or make his location known but his heartbeat spoke for him and was ultimately the catalyst responsible for bringing him home.
This technology sheds light on an idea in this week’s Parsha. The Torah describes the metzora, someone who has contracted a unique skin condition similar to leprosy that occurred in ancient times when someone spoke lashon hara (malicious or nonconstructive speech). The person was sent outside the camp and dwell alone; he was temporarily cut off from community and normal life. On the surface, the person might feel rejected and forgotten but the truth is that he is being placed in a space where everything external is stripped away; neither noise nor interference will distract him from pondering the damage his speech caused and the steps he will take to ensure it won’t happen again. He’s alone, outside the camp, but he is not lost.
Just like the pilot hidden in the mountains who is unable to communicate in any normal way, the metzora may feel completely cut off but, even in that place, his inner heartbeat—the neshama (soul)—remains and has the ability to return him to his people. His quiet but persistent desire to be connected and return to the Jewish community is the hope that keeps him during this dark time. Others might not see him but the Almighty does because our soul’s inner signal never disappears. The pilot wasn’t found because he was visible, he was found because his heartbeat could still be detected. The same is true for us; we need to know we are never out of range. Some people feel detached and isolated but they should tell themselves that no matter how many mistakes they’ve made, no matter how many situations in life they’ve messed up, Hashem is still listening for that faint but real sign of life within us.
Rabbi Shlomo Katz tells a story about his friend Sol that took place over 20 years ago. Sol was standing next to a phone booth when a police officer walked over with a little girl by his side. She was lost when the officer found her wandering and brought her to a payphone so she could call home. With a trembling voice she said, “Mommy, I got lost. I didn’t mean to wander so far. I’m so sorry.” Her mother, relieved, asked, “Where are you?” The girl answered, “I have no idea where I am but please come get me right now.” Her pure and innocent words describe an emotion many of us feel at some stage in life. One might be lacking clarity, direction, and control but no one can take away an individual’s ability to pray (I don’t know where I am, but please come find me). And the truth is that we are never alone in that cry. Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (Sefer Hishtapchus HaNefesh, pgs. 29-30) adds that even when a person gives up on having inner peace and a meaningful and pleasurable life, we are often not completely lost, just slightly off course. Like a sheep that has wandered but can still hear the shepherd’s voice, we too can still hear that call guiding us back.
The metzora (‘leper’) has been isolated but not abandoned. He has an opportunity because in seclusion everything external falls away, which allows one to realign with his or her inner voice—the neshama (soul) because that quiet longing, that spiritual heartbeat, never fully disappears.
An American airman can be stranded in enemy territory 7000 ft. high and be alone and injured with little hope for survival but as long as his heart is beating, his presence can still be detected from miles away. The same is true in our spiritual lives. Even when we feel outside the camp, even when we feel lost and even detached, as long as our heart is beating, Hashem hears our soul’s yearning. And sometimes all it takes is a faint, sincere inner cry—God, I don’t know where I am, but please come get me—and that itself is the ‘heartbeat’ that brings us back home.
Good Shabbos