And let everything with a neshama (soul) proclaim, “Hashem Is King...” (Rosh Hashanah Prayers)
One of the fascinating creatures in the natural world is the brown bear. Standing near the top of the food chain, it would appear to live with ease. Its diet is remarkably varied, consuming berries, grasses, insects, carrion, fish, and more. To all appearances, the bear has little difficulty finding sustenance.
Yet its great challenge is not variety, but scarcity. For months on end, in the starkness of winter, the landscape offers virtually nothing. To survive, the brown bear hibernates, withdrawing into a state of near immobility, living off the fat reserves it amassed during the warmer seasons. But Hashem, in His wisdom, implanted within the bear an instinct to prepare. As soon as it emerges from its winter refuge, it begins eating relentlessly. In the spring, it consumes berries and shrubs; and as summer advances into late August and September, it enters a state of hyperphagia, an almost unquenchable hunger. During this period, bears have been observed eating continuously for twenty-four hours at a stretch: two hundred thousand berries in a single day, or tens of thousands of moths in one sitting. In autumn, when the salmon run begins, the bear positions itself at the river, swiping fish mid-leap, devouring them whole.
Now imagine, for a moment, what it would feel like to inhabit the body of such a bear. Imagine your own mind, your own personality, placed inside, but driven by the bear’s insatiable hungers. You wake in spring with a gnawing need to eat, pulling termites from a log and swallowing them, only to recoil in disgust at what you have just consumed. You chew grass, scavenge through garbage, seize fish with your claws and gulp them down, revolted yet compelled. Hour after hour, day after day, you are driven by an overwhelming appetite.
That, I believe, is the parable for human existence. Hashem placed the neshama, holy and pure, into a body, into a “bear.” The body possesses instincts, hungers, and appetites that at times can horrify the soul that inhabits it. Yet this is precisely the condition into which Hashem placed us. Our task is not to despise the body, but to harness it, to master its urges, and to elevate its drives toward higher purpose.
There are, however, two common mistakes we make.
The first is to look at one’s desires and say, “What’s wrong with me? I’m disgusting.” But the truth is, you did not create your body. Hashem did. The drives for pleasure, for honor, for power, for jealousy, for anger are universal. They are not a verdict on your essence. They are the “bear” that every human is given. The question is not, “Why do I have these drives?” but rather “How do I contend with them? How do I train them, channel them, master them? Am I growing year by year?”
The second mistake is even more dangerous: to identify with the bear. To say, “This is me. I am nothing more than my appetites, my failures, my sins.” That is false. No matter what one has done, the soul remains distinct from the body. You are not the bear; you are the one inside the bear. The body will clamor and pull, and at times it will overpower you. But your essence, your neshama, remains separate and untarnished.
When a person recognizes this truth, life becomes clearer. The battles of the spirit are many and often bitter, and there will be victories and losses. Yet the mission remains constant: to keep fighting, to keep growing, to keep striving for mastery. Hashem, in His kindness, gave us the Torah—the ultimate nourishment for the soul—and a system of mitzvos that trains and elevates.
This is the reality of human existence: a soul of infinite holiness placed into a body of insistent demands. And our task is lifelong. We are to harness the bear, to never confuse ourselves with it, and to grow, step by step, into the person Hashem intended us to become.
