November 24, 2025|ד' כסלו ה' אלפים תשפ"ו Toameha and the Soul: Culture, Identity and the Path of Yaakov By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

There were two highly publicized stories this week involving Orthodox Jews and alcohol. First, the OU announced that beginning January 1, caterers under its hashgacha will only be allowed to serve beer with kosher certification – which apparently still leaves you with only about a thousand choices. Second, a video circulated of Rabbi Yaakov Bender, Rosh Yeshiva of Darchei Torah, delivering a sharp warning about the growing drinking culture in frum communities, especially the phenomenon of toameha.

If you never heard of toameha before this week, it refers to Friday afternoon gatherings where men “taste” the Shabbos food – but in practice it often becomes an excuse to socialize, eat, and especially drink. I remember speaking a few years ago to a rabbi in another community who was deeply opposed to the practice, yet felt compelled to host one because the shul down the block was doing it and he didn’t want to lose the younger crowd. 

Rabbi Bender spoke forcefully. Fathers who should be helping at home instead go drinking. Some come back intoxicated. Children see it, absorb it, normalize it. He argued that these gatherings should be banned. Hopefully, at the very least, starting January 1, they won’t be able to serve beer without hashgacha at the toameha gatherings.

His comments reminded me of a debate in our shul years ago: should we become a dry shul? Some argued that we must model a healthier culture for our children; others argued that eliminating alcohol entirely is unrealistic and that teaching moderation is more responsible. As many of you know, alcohol doesn’t do much for me. Someone once told me that when I buy scotch, I should buy anything that starts with the name “Glen,” and that’s where my expertise ends. And when it comes to beer, I really don’t get it. But I don’t have to get everything.

Because this isn’t really about alcohol.
It’s about culture. 
It’s about identity.
It’s about what shapes our lived Judaism in 2025.

A century ago, American rabbis faced a huge challenge: how to remain relevant to American-born Jews who no longer felt connected to Eastern Europe. These Jews wanted to be fully American, so rabbis worked to create an American Jewish experience. For some movements that meant mixed seating; for the Orthodox it meant congregational singing, aesthetic synagogues, social programming.

Ramaz is a classic example. Founded in 1937 by Rabbi Joseph Lookstein, it was built as an Orthodox prep school – a way to make yeshiva day school appealing to upper-class American Jews who valued cultural polish and academic excellence. Secular studies were robust, graduates went to elite universities, and winter vacation lined up with Christmas break. You could be fully American and fully Jewish.

After the Holocaust, a wave of Orthodox survivors arrived who rejected the idea of Americanization and worked to transplant East European culture to America. Yet over time, even the Yeshiva community developed its own version of a lived American Jewish culture: bracha bees like spelling bees, gedolim cards like baseball cards, a Siyum Ha-Shas in a football stadium like a major sporting event.

And today we have our own layer of culture: the kumsitz culture, the food-centric culture, the scotch culture, the toameha culture. Different styles – but all forms of culture to shape identity.

So the question facing us is: What kind of Jewish life are we building?
If the emotional center of our Judaism becomes kugel or scotch or social scenes – or on the opposite extreme, constant talk about antisemitism and communal threats – something essential gets lost. Yes, Mamdani and these issues matter. But they cannot be the core of what Judaism feels like.

And that brings us to the heart of this week’s parsha.

The Torah presents two contrasting archetypes:

Esav – ish sadeh, a man of the field.
A life of movement, reaction, excitement, and distraction.
Rashi calls him a batlan – idle, unfocused.

Yaakov – ish tam yoshev ohalim, someone rooted in depth.
Yonatan ben Uziel translates it as t’va ulfan – a yearning to learn.
Radak notes the plural “tents”: he sought out every teacher he could.
His identity was not brilliance but aspiration.

Rav Yerucham Levovitz explains that the Torah tells us nothing about Yaakov’s achievements – only his orientation. His greatness lay in being a “dweller of tents,” a mevakesh, a seeker. Once a person is oriented toward seeking, all future growth is already contained within that identity. And the same is true for Esav: his failures flow from his underlying lack of aspiration.

The central question of a Jewish life, Rav Yerucham says, is:
Are you a mevakesh, a seeker, or not?

This is the Torah’s definition of character.
Not talent. Not achievement.
But whether one has the heart of a mevakesh.

Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz once asked his uncle, Rav Avraham Yaffen, to show him the best bochur in the Novardok Yeshiva. Rav Yaffen pointed out boys who were brilliant, diligent, pious, knowledgeable – but insisted none of them were “the greatest.” Finally, he pointed to a quiet boy in the corner and said: “This one is the greatest. He is a mevakesh.” That boy became the Steipler. His greatness began not with his mind, but with his orientation – he lived as a seeker.

And now the question returns to us:

Are we building communities of seekers?
Or communities of consumers?

Do our children walk away from Jewish life thinking Judaism is about depth, aspiration, and closeness to Hashem?
Or about food, alcohol, social events, and fear of the outside world?

Culture is not the enemy. Every community has culture.
But culture must serve identity – not replace it.

A lived Judaism of substance rests on:
• Torah that inspires
• Tefillah that elevates
• Chessed that shapes character
• A mission rooted in confidence, not fear
• And above all, a heart that seeks depth, not distraction

Judaism is richer than kugel and deeper than politics.
We are meant to be mevakshei Hashem, not consumers of Jewish programming.

Parshat Toldot places before us two identities:

Esav – reactive, noisy, externally driven.
Yaakov – centered, yearning, seeking.

Greatness begins by asking the question that defined Yaakov Avinu:
What do I seek?

May we choose the path of Yaakov.
May we become seekers.
And may we build a Jewish life filled with substance, aspiration, and purpose.