Reflections, the Pursuit of Truth, and Sunscreen

To the class of 1999: If I had one piece of advice for you, it would be sunscreen. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been scientifically proven while the advice that I here tender is nothing more than the reflections of my own meandering experience.

WARNING: The following piece rambles in the way only a very personal expression can. There are, however, some invaluable kernels of truth nestled within the sentimentality.

Well, it's been one hell of a ride. I can say with sincerity that my time here was well spent.

I believe the sixty-third volume of The Commentator has met with a substantial measure of success. I am heartened to have had the opportunity to serve the University community as the paper's editor during the course of the preceding year. Despite its incomprehensibly taxing demands, my Commentator experience has afforded me much fulfillment and it is with acute reluctance that I depart my present post. I extend my gratitude to my fellow editors and the dedicated staff members without whom the effectiveness of this enterprise would have been a mere fantasy. The back-to-back all night layout festivals punctuated by occasional debate, incessant obscenity, and unmistakable camaraderie will not soon leave my consciousness.

To next year's Commentator team: As this venerable paper enters its sixty-fourth year, make certain to take seriously the magnitude of the responsibility you have assumed. Yours is an important mission whose effectiveness is nothing short of a requirement for the health of this institution. Whatever the impediments, the threats, the administrative obfuscation, you must persevere in the interest of students and the genuine needs of this university. I trust you will do just that.

To the Yeshiva administration: I advise you to recall that the quality of the students at this university is what has earned it the favorable regard of The U.S. News and World Report rankings deity in recent years. Students on this campus do not organize demonstrations and issue thoughtful critiques merely to satisfy a diabolical need to complain. In many respects, the Yeshiva house is not in order. If for no other reason than self-interest, heed the call of concerned students for reform. Continue to ignore the plight of students at your own peril.

To the students of Yeshiva: You are among the most capable men and women in this country. The rigor of your training here will afford you competitive advantages when you leave the hallowed academy for other experiences. Always trust in the sanctity of your dreams. Pursue your ambitions with alacrity. You cannot be defeated so long as you believe in yourselves and the value of the missions you choose to undertake.

But alas, this pulpit from which I have sermonized to 15,000 people twice a month, this bearer of truth, this beacon of hope to the downtrodden, this last vestige of constructive and free expression within a despotic bureaucracy, this salvation of student interests, this scourge on corruption, this defender of principle, this enlightened voice of reason amid the darkness, this path amid the mighty waters, this veritable panacea to the world's ills, can only bear so much of my didactic, self-righteous, magniloquent pedantry. (Note on style to those still confused: My columns frequently employ an unnecessarily pompous tone and gratuitously ornate verbal constructions primarily FOR MY OWN TWISTED ENTERTAINMENT. Lighten up a bit. Take it seriously at your own risk.) It is time for me to move on.

The Commentator, of course, has been but one element of my time here at Yeshiva.

The experiential mosaic of my Yeshiva days, with its rich depth, may not be justly distilled to a single pithy column. Nor do I have the sort of creative hubris required to attempt such a construction. But I believe some general observations are in order.

I arrived at Yeshiva almost three years ago jetlagged with a post-Israel consciousness overlay, what I might at present characterize as an intuitive confidence in the possibility of discovering convincing meaning. While I will leave this university without my erstwhile existential naivete, having sharpened the sophistication of my thought considerably, I maintain the same sort of unfettered sanguinity that characterized the blissful hopefulness of my less thoroughly examined youth. This disposition to optimism despite apparent obstacles is, perhaps, the essential paradigm my undergraduate years at Yeshiva have yielded: Seek and actively confront life's challenges. Let not the challenges that will surely beset your path be a source of consternation to you; for in the challenges reside the only possibilities for fulfillment. It is the engagement, the process, the dialectical exchange--not the answers--that afford a fleeting glimpse at ever-elusive meaning.

But alas, I'm not George Santayana--yet--and you probably care less for my epiphanies than I do, so I will turn to more mundane reflections.

I will take with me many a fond memory of this place and my years here. The eclectic personalities that populate the Yeshiva sphere, that perform in this awkward institutional conflation of oft disparate notions are the source of the University's identity, what keeps it real, what lends it its enduring character. These actors, more than any incoherent institutional slogan, will serve as the basis for my lasting memories of Yeshiva.

My Yeshiva is an unparalleled inner circle of quality people. I consider myself truly privileged to call you my friends. Thank you for extending your wise counsel to me and lending me a great deal of undeserved patience. Your support, more than anything else, has propelled me through my undergraduate years more or less intact.

My Yeshiva is Dean Rabbi Michael Hecht's quirky journey through American Constitutional law amidst a fierce battle with his bedeviled eyewear. His is an edifying world in which Chief Justice Marshall professes Brisker leanings and the gemora and case law know no division. Dean Hecht's enthusiastic support for students who have elected to embark on law school odysseys, his lectures fraught with amusing anecdotes, his uncanny ability to cut directly--at times brusquely--to the heart of matters under discussion (i.e., "the ultimate fishing expedition" and supplemental commentary on Bowers v. Hardwick) are hallmarks of Yeshiva. But of greater importance than his jocularity, candor, or professorial prowess is Dean Hecht's genuine concern for the students to whom he has devoted his professional life. For his contributions, Dean Hecht has earned my deep respect.

My Yeshiva is Dr. Ross Zucker's ability to awaken in me an appreciation for scholarship while equipping me with the resources necessary to undertake meaningful academic work. Dr. Zucker was something of an academic savior during my formative first year here. His skillfully woven lectures, bountiful base of knowledge, and insistence on serious student contribution were the rudder that directed me away from the quagmire of undemanding pseudo-courses for the path of academic productivity in the tradition of liberal education. Dr. Zucker is also a man of principle whose compassion and warmth have inspired my admiration.

My Yeshiva is Rabbis Willig and Tendler (chronological order) who, through their shiurim, have shared with me their devotion and dedication of purpose. They are both men of sterling integrity whose sincerity impresses me.

My Yeshiva is Stan Watson's unbridled joviality. This man's pharmaceutical-free joy ride over the pratfalls of angst-ridden New York City has proven to me that the constricting shackles of this great town need not bind us unless we permit them to do so.

My Yeshiva is Dr. William Lee's unending classroom tirades against The Commentator for its (read: my) "pompous writing." Dr. Lee, your intemperate sniping was the catalyst that drove me to previously unattained, previously unimagined levels of bombastic pretentiousness. I thank you for being a man and confronting me directly with your weighty aesthetic concerns rather than deprecating me in the privacy of your classroom.

My Yeshiva is Dean Norman Adler's fixation with bondage and the Internet's erotic possibilities. Perhaps most impressive though is Adler's belief that any thesis may be convincingly proved by appeal to the behavior of rats.

My Yeshiva is President Norman "I am far too important, I mean, busy to interact with students" Lamm's aloof indifference. I must, however, acknowledge an abiding appreciation for your favorite word weltanschauung and two hours of amusement with your creative work of short fiction entitled Torah U'Maddah.

My Yeshiva is the settler zealots for whom the "sandals and jeans but no deodorant" thing still seems to work even though they are in Israel no longer. For these righteous post-Hesderites in need of a legitimate purpose and some reliable Middle East scholarship, Arik is one level below God, surrendering an inch of West Bank territory is akin to inviting apocalypse upon the world, and the development of Tsomet grama products represents an impressive theological accomplishment.

My Yeshiva is the neo-Haredis among us whose machine washable white shirt-white socks ensembles would earn them the scorn of any self-respecting Moe Ginsburg hocker within a ten mile radius of Brooklyn's Avenue J. These men of valor are among the unheralded saints whose valiant efforts saved the University from the possibility of fraternities and sundry other forms of student enjoyment. I applaud your principled resistance to social progress. May your battle continue to bring meaning to your lives.

I love all of you!! We may scarcely find ourselves in agreement, but your presence at Yeshiva has enriched my experience here immeasurably and contributed to a campus culture rife with possibilities. I sampled some of these possibilities while at Yeshiva and I am the richer for it.

But don't forget the sunscreen.