The Test of Truth
To Begin Here is a simple question. It may also be the most painful one: Who are you living for? I don’t mean the answer you give when someone asks you. I mean what hides behind all your daily choices. It hides behind the worry, “What will people say?” It hides behind the way you shape every word to make a good impression. A person pours his best strength into this: his time, his dignity, and sometimes even his health. He does it to impress people who would not care at all whether he was here or gone. As the source puts it, this is “insanity.” We need to stop and look at how strange and how sad that is. The Test of Truth There is a simple test. It is sharp, but it is simple. Imagine for a moment that the news has gone out: you are no longer alive. Who feels the shock? First, the soul itself stands before its Maker and takes an honest account. Did I use the time I was given? Did I carry out my mission, or did I lose whole days to wasted time? This is the first pain, and the deepest. After that come the people closest to you: your parents, your husband or wife, your children. Their lives are truly woven into yours. They will feel the empty place every moment. A little farther out are your relatives and your real friends. They will feel it too. And then there are the people you “break” yourself to impress. You work so hard to win their approval and to hear a word of praise from them. Them? They will scroll right on and go on with their lives. That is the test. It is not a theory. It is an exact map. What Hasidic Teaching Says Chasing what the crowd thinks of you is not only a waste of time. The books of Hasidic teaching have a name for it: “imaginary honor.” Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, author of the Tanya, the classic book of Hasidic thought, looks deeply at this harm. At its root are ego and self-importance: the wish to be seen, to be admired, to have people say that I am someone. That wish is the direct opposite of inner work. Honor is not bad in itself. The truth is the opposite. True honor means seeing the worth of every Jew’s soul, and honoring others out of that recognition. But imaginary honor, the kind I chase for myself from the “outside,” is empty. As King Solomon wrote: “Emptiness of emptiness… In the end, when all has been heard…” The Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Hasidic movement, taught us that what is inside matters more than any outward show. What counts is the intention of the heart and the truth inside you. The “outside” passes away. The “inside” lasts forever. So every person must ask himself what our Sages ask: “Who is honored? The one who honors others.” The honored person is not the one who looks for honor. He is the one who gives it from the depth of his heart.
Putting It into Practice
Take the test now, and take it seriously. Ask yourself: Where does all the time go that I spend on being seen, and on managing my image in the eyes of people who would not even notice I had died? And what is left for my family, for my close friends, and for the mission my soul came down into this world to fulfill? This test is not meant to make you lose hope. It is meant to set you free. It frees you from the heavy load of “What will people say?” It turns your strength back inward. It turns you toward the people who would mourn you and whose lives are woven into yours. It also turns you toward Hashem, Who stands and waits for your truth, not for the role you play in front of a crowd of strangers. Our Sages teach: “Make His will your own will.” That is the mission. That is the honor. That is the truth.
Questions and answers
Q: Who am I really living for, behind the worry about what people will say?
Rabbi Landau answers: Here is a simple question. It may also be the most painful one: Who are you living for? I don’t mean the answer you give when someone asks you. I mean what hides behind all your daily choices. It hides behind the worry, “What will people say?” It hides behind the way you shape every word to make a good impression. A person pours his best strength into this: his time, his dignity, and sometimes even his health. He does it to impress people who would not care at all whether he was here or gone. As the source puts it, this is “insanity.” We need to stop and look at how strange and how sad that is.
Q: What is the test of imagining your own death, and what does it reveal?
Rabbi Landau answers: There is a simple test. It is sharp, but it is simple. Imagine for a moment that the news has gone out: you are no longer alive. Who feels the shock? First, the soul itself stands before its Maker and takes an honest account. Did I use the time I was given? Did I carry out my mission, or did I lose whole days to wasted time? This is the first pain, and the deepest. After that come the people closest to you: your parents, your husband or wife, your children. Their lives are truly woven into yours. They will feel the empty place every moment. A little farther out are your relatives and your real friends. They will feel it too.
Q: What does the Tanya call chasing the crowd's opinion of you, and why is it harmful?
Rabbi Landau answers: Chasing what the crowd thinks of you is not only a waste of time. The books of Hasidic teaching have a name for it: “imaginary honor.” Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, author of the Tanya, the classic book of Hasidic thought, looks deeply at this harm. At its root are ego and self-importance: the wish to be seen, to be admired, to have people say that I am someone. That wish is the direct opposite of inner work. Honor is not bad in itself. The truth is the opposite. True honor means seeing the worth of every Jew’s soul, and honoring others out of that recognition. But imaginary honor, the kind I chase for myself from the “outside,” is empty.
Q: What painful question does Rabbi Landau ask about the purpose of your life?
Rabbi Landau answers: It may also be the most painful one: Who are you living for?
Q: How can I take the test of truth about the time I spend managing my image?
Rabbi Landau answers: Take the test now, and take it seriously. Ask yourself: Where does all the time go that I spend on being seen, and on managing my image in the eyes of people who would not even notice I had died? And what is left for my family, for my close friends, and for the mission my soul came down into this world to fulfill? This test is not meant to make you lose hope. It is meant to set you free. It frees you from the heavy load of “What will people say?” It turns your strength back inward. It turns you toward the people who would mourn you and whose lives are woven into yours.