THE STIFF-NECKED ADVANTAGE – CHUTZPAH D’KEDUSHA?
As we enter the Three Weeks, one of the most emotionally complex seasons of the Jewish calendar, we deliberately lower the volume of joy – “Mo’atim b’simcha.” We remember the breached walls of Jerusalem, the burning of the Beis HaMikdash – the Holy Temple – exile, loss, and shattered dreams. Nearly two thousand years have passed, yet every year we return to these memories through fasting, Eichah – Lamentations – Kinos, our mournful prayers, and the whispered longing: “Next year in Jerusalem.”
To an outsider, this may seem excessive. Shouldn’t healing require moving on? Judaism offers a different possibility: perhaps remembering is itself part of healing. Memory is not merely about preserving the past. It is about preserving identity.
This brings us to one of the Torah’s most surprising descriptions of the Jewish people. Again and again, Hashem calls us an “Am k’shei oreif – a stiff-necked people.” Usually, we understand this as criticism, and rightly so. Stubbornness can resist correction, harden the heart, and make growth difficult. Rashi emphasizes Israel’s resistance to rebuke, while the Ramban sees the phrase as describing a people slow to yield.
Yet perhaps the Torah is revealing something more. What if the very trait that frustrated Moshe Rabbeinu – Moses our teacher – also enabled the Jewish people to survive history itself? What kind of nation could endure Egypt, Babylon, Rome, the Crusades, the Inquisition, expulsions, pogroms, the Holocaust, Soviet oppression, and the resurgence of antisemitism in our own time? Perhaps only a stubborn people. Of course, stubbornness is not automatically holy chutzpah. Fire can warm a home or burn it down. Gevurah, strength or restraint, can become courage or cruelty. Passion can become devotion or addiction. Likewise, stubbornness can become arrogance – or unwavering loyalty. Chassidus, the inner dimension of Torah, teaches that Hashem does not ask us to erase our strongest traits, but to sanctify them. The question is not whether we possess stubbornness, but whether it is directed toward ego or toward covenant.
ENJOY MY SUNO SONG – STIFF NECKED ADVANTAGE
Modern psychology echoes this idea. Personality traits are often morally neutral; their value depends on direction and regulation. Angela Duckworth’s research on “grit” describes passion and perseverance toward long-term goals. But Torah asks the deeper question: perseverance toward what? A criminal may have grit. So may a tzaddik, a holy and righteous person. Persistence alone does not define a life well lived. Torah requires and adds purpose.
Perhaps we can understand this on three levels: stubbornness is temperament, grit is psychological capacity, and faithfulness is stubbornness sanctified by Torah. Viktor Frankl deepens the point. He observed that those who endured unimaginable suffering were often sustained not by constant optimism, but by meaning. Hope fluctuates; meaning endures. Jewish history bears this out. We did not survive because every generation felt hopeful. We survived because every generation knew it belonged to an eternal story moving toward the time of Moshiach – the Messianic Era.
Neuroscience offers another layer. Perseverance involves brain networks that maintain goals, tolerate frustration, and evaluate whether something is worth continuing. In other words, the brain is always asking: “Does this matter enough to continue?” Judaism has answered that question for thousands of years through Torah, mitzvos – commandments and sacred actions – memory, ritual, and community. This is why mitzvos of remembrance are so psychologically powerful. “Remember that you were slaves in Egypt.” “Remember Amalek.” “Remember Shabbos,” the Sabbath. These are not merely historical reminders. They form identity. Every Kiddush, every Pesach Seder, every mezuzah kissed, every page of Gemara – Talmudic learning, studied, every Jewish song sung to a child quietly answers: Who are we?
The Alter Rebbe, in Tanya, distinguishes between atzvus – depression or despondency – and merirus, a bitterness that awakens change. One says, “Nothing can change.” The other says, “Something must change.” Holy stubbornness is the quiet voice that says, “I am getting up anyway.” Even Jewish humor belongs here. We cry, then laugh. We bury our dead, then celebrate a wedding. We lose a Beis HaMikdash and build a beis midrash, a house of Torah study. Pain becomes scholarship. Loss becomes music. Exile becomes commentary. Tears become prayer. The Torah does not call us stiff-hearted or stiff-handed. It calls us stiff-necked. The neck determines where the head turns. As my dear, beloved boss, friend, and mentor, Rabbi Jacob J. Hecht, ob”m, once said to me: “I am the head of the household, but my wife is the neck, and whichever way the neck turns, the head goes.” 😁 A neck that turns toward every passing ideology loses its bearings. A neck that refuses to turn away from Sinai becomes steadfast. Once oriented toward covenant, the trait that once appeared as obstinacy becomes extraordinary fidelity. The challenge, then, is not to become less stubborn. It is to become stubborn about the right things. During these Three Weeks, may our necks remain strong enough to withstand the winds of history, and may our hearts remain soft enough to carry Torah, compassion, humor, and hope into the future Hashem has prepared for Am Yisrael – the Jewish people.
READ A MORE IN-DEPTH ARTICLE ON SUBSTACK BY CLICKING HERE
With Gratitude,
Rus Devorah
