The Sound of Silence

Twelve years ago, I realized I had a problem.

I was finishing an accounting degree in college and learning Torah on the side with a study partner. After a few hours, I suddenly felt my voice becoming tired. We paused for a bit, then resumed.

But the problem came back and it kept getting worse. I would have to take a break or ask my study partner to read the material for both of us. I had always loved singing in synagogue and at the Shabbos table, but I couldn’t do it anymore. “Maybe God wants me to pay more attention to the words,” I joked.

But it was no joke. For the next three years, as I took a job as a CPA, the problem came and went. Sometimes I could manage a 20-minute conversation, but I never knew if I’d be up to a visit from a friend or going on a date. I avoided long conversations. Once or twice people hit or scraped my car, but I just waved it off, as the thought of exchanging phone numbers and insurance information was too intimidating.

I must have gone to 20 different doctors. Each one had a different idea but no one could really get to the root of it—or find a cure. I tried speech therapists to no avail. As things got worse, I was unable to speak to anyone for more than a few minutes. It was so embarrassing and disruptive that I simply started avoiding people. I kept my dates short. I once went to a speed dating event where I was going to spend a few minutes talking to 25 different women. I don’t know what I was thinking. By the time I got to the second speed date, I couldn’t speak anymore. She saw me struggling.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I managed to say, and got up and left. It was mortifying. Eventually, I stopped dating altogether.

I’d often even ignore texts from friends or family because it was starting to feel like we spoke a different language. Someone suggested a warmer climate would be better for my voice, so I moved to Los Angeles where my grandparents live. But I couldn’t spend much time with people. I often spent Shabbos and holidays alone in my apartment. Sometimes I would linger in shul after Shabbos services and eat the leftovers from the Kiddush after everyone else had left, along with a few homeless people who came in for a free meal. I felt more at ease around them as we were all outcasts in our own ways.

There were times when I felt so excruciatingly lonely I thought I would be just as happy to go to bed and not wake up the next morning.

My Search for Meaning

Knowing I had to find a path forward or perish emotionally and spiritually, I began to delve into Jewish and secular sources to figure out how I could be happy in my imposed isolation.

I listened to TED talks about philosophies like stoicism; I read Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning and Rabbi Akiva Tatz’s Letters to a Buddhist Jew. I started a new cycle of learning the Talmud from the beginning and Jewish classical works and books by contemporary Jewish thinkers. It’s one thing to learn about happiness when it’s an abstract issue, and quite another to dive into it because you’re desperate for answers.

Jewish holidays were hard for me. I often spent them alone. Yet one Shavuot I had an epiphany. I went for a walk and it was a gorgeous, sunny day, and I realized, This is crazy but I feel pretty content! Who’s to say the life I’m living is a bad one?

Samuel Haft

I realized that until then I had been relying on a faulty definition of happiness, one that focused on fun, comfort, excitement, financial success, status, popularity. Being forced out of the running for these rather superficial goals I realized that it’s more meaningful and satisfying to pursue a life of serenity, peace of mind and spiritual growth. By redefining happiness, I can indeed live a happy, gratifying life.

While many desire immediate pleasure and minimal effort, my goal would be precisely the opposite. My new goal would be to maximize effort and minimize lesser pleasures. I would no longer need to rely on external circumstances to make me happy.

No matter my present situation, I can always focus on life’s primary goals – to serve God and others, while maintaining a healthy peace of mind. As the Mishna states, “Who is wealthy? One who is happy with his lot” (Ethics of the Fathers, 4:1).

Once I made that paradigm shift, my life changed. Little by little, I was able to stop worrying about the future. I focused on maximizing my Torah learning and spiritual growth rather than the pursuit of lesser pleasures. I even began to eat healthier foods, replacing pizza and cookies with whole grain bread, vegetables and chicken, and tried to fritter away less time on entertainment and social media.

I don’t know how my story will end (who does?). I pray that my voice will be restored completely, that I’ll get married and have children, and live an otherwise “normal” life. But I know that even without these things, I can still live the greatest life in this world – one of serenity, meaning, and self-development.