Change the World

I waded through the crowd clutching my Tefillin bag, searching for someone to put Tefillin on. The demonstrators were protesting a Mexican restaurant caught selling unsustainable tacos.

“Hey, Rabbi, where’s your sign?” a boy shouted at me.

“Let’s see what your sign says: ‘Sustainability. Renewability. More Hot Sauce.’”

“You look familiar,” the boy said.

“I’m Rabbi Isaac Zilbershtein, the spiritual leader of Congregation Bnei Jacob Yankel here in Laredo, and the director of the Charles and Edna T. Zohar Kabbalah Center of South Laredo.”

“I’m Gary Weinstock, activist and friend of the golden hamster.”

“I see you’re inspired by environmental causes.”

“Not really. I’m just doing this as a favor for a friend who hates tacos. What really gets me going is technology.”

“You think it’s evil?”

“Yes. Like how on Gmail they group emails together. You get an email from your friend Steve, and the the next thing you know you're talking about your rash with his Aunt Ida. Or on Facebook how they try to get you to make friends with some guy you’ve never seen before who reminds you of your cousin Finbar, the one who has the  nasal spray addiction. I want to lead a revolution against such tyranny. I want to change the world.”

“Would you like to change the world right now?” I asked him.

“Do I have to give up tacos?” he said.

“No, just put on these Tefillin.”

“OK, but how’s that going to change the world?”

“Put them on, then I’ll explain.”

I began wrapping the black leather strap around his left arm. Just as he finished saying the Shema prayer, we heard a terrifying crash. We rushed over and found a statue of the inventor of the taco, Juan Ortega Bell, lying on the ground in pieces, toppled by some of the more zealous protesters.

            We were the only ones there. All the other protesters (and rabbis, if there were any) had fled. As I looked down at the face of the taco’s creator, I heard the wail of a police car grow louder and louder. Two policemen wearing sunglasses, one skinny, one burly, burst out of a police car and snapped handcuffs on our wrists.

            Back in the car, the skinny cop said wistfully, “I remember when I was a little boy, I would climb up that statue and rub his nose for extra tacos.”

            The burly cop read us our Miranda rights.

            “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law …”

            “Yes, with my luck,” Gary moaned.

            “Don’t worry, G-d will find a way to lift us out of our predicament,” I assured him.

            “Hey, you never told me how putting on Tefillin can change the world,” he said.

“Before you were born you were given a G-dly Soul and an Animal Soul,” I began. “The G-dly Soul was sent down here to transform the world into a holy place. But the G-dly Soul can’t change the world by simply waving a wand.”

            “Why not? It worked for Harry Potter,” Gary pointed out.

            “You see, the G-dly Soul is housed within the Animal Soul and the body. To do a Mitzvah, like wearing Tefillin, lighting Shabbos Candles or eating Matzah the night of Passover, the G-dly Soul must employ the power of the body. And to harness the body’s power, the G-dly Soul must enlist the Animal Soul, which animates the body.”

            “So what do the body and the animal soul gain from the Mitzvah?”

            “The divinity of the Mitzvah descends on the Animal Soul and the body, as they put on Tefillin or light Shabbos Candles.”

            We arrived at the police station. The burly policeman put us in the same cell, where Gary and I continued our conversation.

            “OK, the Animal Soul and the body are affected when someone does a Mitzvah, but how does that change the world?” Gary asked.

            “The G-dliness introduced into the physical word by the performance of Mitzvahs throughout history will become revealed in the era of Mashiach,” I explained. “Then the material world and its resources, through which all 613 Mitzvahs were accomplished, will be transformed to good and remade into a dwelling place for G-d.”

            Just then a young woman entered the station. She had taken a video of the whole taco desecration: the fall of the statue; the protestors leaving; Gary and I arriving on the scene. She had heard of our arrest and was kind enough to come and testify to our innocence. The policemen, now realizing what had happened, told us we could go free. I called the musical director of my synagogue, Cantor Wasserman, to pick us up.

            Cantor Wasserman dropped Gary off first. Gary started up the walkway to his parents’ house then turned around.

            “Rabbi, I promise I’ll do all 613 Mitzvahs before I see you again,” he declared.

            “Gary,” I said, “I have a saying. Change the world one Mitzvah at a time.”

            Folks, it’s time to say goodbye. I think we all learned something from our little adventure. Gary learned that there’s another way to generate change. I learned that I shouldn’t get excited every time a statue falls. And the police learned that above them is “an eye that sees” (Ethics of the Fathers 2:1). Well, that’s the whole enchilada. I mean, the whole taco.