Symptomatic Myopia

Symptomatic Myopia: Seeing Beyond the Surface

The ultra-Orthodox Jewish community, or Haredim, faces many challenges. One that I’ve noticed is physical myopia—nearsightedness—which is remarkably common in this population. Why might this be? There are a few theories, but one compelling idea relates to their lifestyle. Ultra-Orthodox Jews spend a great deal of time studying texts, often with tiny letters, held close to their faces for hours on end. This habitual close focus may lead to a physical condition where they can see what’s right in front of them but struggle with long-distance vision.

But this issue of nearsightedness isn’t just physical. I’d argue it extends metaphorically into their worldview and even into how many of us approach life. I call this phenomenon symptomatic myopia. It’s a condition where we focus so much on immediate symptoms that we fail to see the bigger picture or the root causes of the problem.

The Trap of Symptomatic Thinking

Let me give you an example. Have you ever gotten into an argument with your spouse about something as seemingly trivial as how to load the dishwasher? If so, you probably know the fight isn’t really about the dishwasher. It’s about something deeper—misplaced frustration or unresolved emotions elsewhere in the relationship. Fixating on the surface disagreement about dish placement misses the real issue, and until you address that, the arguments will keep coming back.

This kind of myopic focus happens in other areas too. Think about weddings. Some couples get so obsessed with planning the “perfect” wedding—every detail of the event, every flower arrangement, every menu choice—that they forget to nurture their relationship. They end up with a spectacular celebration but a shaky foundation for their marriage.

This tendency to focus on symptoms rather than underlying causes extends to health as well. In the 1980s, Dr. Jonathan Sarno conducted a study on chronic back pain. His findings were groundbreaking: many patients with persistent, unexplained back pain were actually suffering from unresolved emotional stress. Their bodies manifested the pain as a distraction from their inner turmoil. Sarno’s patients often sought relief through medications or physical therapy, but these approaches rarely worked because they targeted the symptom, not the root cause.

This principle—that addressing symptoms without tackling the core problem leads to frustration and failure—appears everywhere in life.

Lessons from Pharaoh

Let’s look at Pharaoh in this week’s Torah portion. Pharaoh’s refusal to free the Israelites is a textbook case of symptomatic myopia. He sees the escalating plagues as a challenge to his gods’ power rather than a call to resolve the deeper issue: the injustice of slavery. His focus on maintaining control blinds him to the broader moral imperative.

One particular plague sheds light on this myopia: the plague of frogs. Or, as the Torah puts it, the plague of tzfardea—a singular “frog.” The Hebrew word for frogs is tzfardaim, but here, the text uses the singular form, sparking centuries of rabbinic debate and creative interpretation.

I’ll admit, I love one particular midrash about tzfardea. Imagine a massive, Godzilla-like frog terrorizing Egypt. The Egyptians, understandably terrified, attack the giant frog, hoping to eliminate the threat. But every time they strike it, the frog splits into more frogs. They hit those frogs, and even more appear. Soon the land is overrun by tzfardaim, an infestation far worse than the original giant frog.

What’s fascinating about this midrash is how it illustrates symptomatic myopia. The Egyptians are so fixated on attacking the frogs that they don’t stop to consider why the plague is happening. The frogs are a symptom of a deeper problem: Pharaoh’s stubbornness and refusal to let the Israelites go. By focusing only on eliminating the frogs, the Egyptians worsen the situation instead of addressing the root cause.

Spiritual Myopia in Our Own Lives

This tendency to miss the bigger picture isn’t just Pharaoh’s problem—it’s ours too. Even within the Haredi community, where I grew up, I’ve observed another kind of symptomatic myopia: spiritual myopia. This manifests in an overemphasis on the minutiae of halacha (Jewish law) at the expense of its broader purpose.

Take Shabbat, for example. Some in the Haredi world become so preoccupied with avoiding minute violations—like tearing toilet paper or ensuring no threads on a towel might rip—that they lose sight of what Shabbat is supposed to be. Shabbat is meant to nurture our souls, provide rest, and deepen our spiritual connection. When we hyper-focus on the details to the point of stress or inconvenience, we risk missing the point entirely.

Many of us grew up in homes where we pre-tore toilet paper before Shabbat. While that might be a valid way to observe the laws, it’s also a striking example of how focusing on the letter of the law can sometimes distract from its spirit. In striving to avoid technical violations, we might lose sight of the joy and peace Shabbat is meant to bring.

Seeing Beyond Perfect Vision

Here’s an interesting note about vision: I have 20/15 eyesight, which is better than the standard 20/20. Despite this, I wear glasses for reading. Why? As I’ve aged, the lenses in my eyes have become less flexible. Even with perfect vision, my eyes sometimes struggle to adjust. The glasses help me focus, reducing fatigue and headaches when I read.

This experience has taught me something profound. Even with “perfect vision,” I can miss things. And the same goes for life. We might think we see clearly, but without stepping back to consider the broader perspective, we risk missing the root causes of the challenges we face.

The Challenge of Shabbat

This Shabbat, I invite you to reflect on your life through this lens. What are the things causing you stress, frustration, or anger? Are you focusing too much on symptoms, like Pharaoh with his frogs, instead of looking at the bigger picture?

Try to zoom out. If you’re feeling stuck in an argument or situation, ask yourself: What’s really going on here? What’s the deeper issue I’m not addressing?

Symptomatic myopia isn’t just a condition of the eyes; it’s a condition of the soul. And like physical myopia, it requires intentional effort to correct. Let’s use Shabbat as an opportunity to step back, refocus, and see the bigger picture.

Shabbat Shalom.

The Finger of God

The Finger of God: Finding the Divine in Everyday Life

This week’s Torah portion introduces the ten plagues, one of the most dramatic stories in the entire Torah. Each year, I find myself revisiting the plagues, seeking new angles and lessons. While the final plague—the slaying of the firstborn—commands the most attention, I like to reflect on the earlier plagues and consider their significance.

Let’s pause and examine the first three plagues: blood, frogs, and lice. The first two are particularly fascinating because the Egyptian magicians were able to replicate them. When Aaron turned the Nile into blood, Pharaoh’s magicians performed a similar feat. The same thing happened with the frogs; they summoned their own amphibian swarms. It’s as if the magicians were saying, “See? We can do that too.”

But then we get to the third plague—lice—and something changes.

The Plague of Lice

For the third plague, Aaron strikes the sand with his staff, and it transforms into lice that infest both people and animals. This plague is overwhelming, relentless, and entirely unique. The magicians try their tricks but fail to replicate it. Frustrated and defeated, they finally admit, This is the finger of God” (etzba Elohim).

This moment is pivotal. The magicians, who had confidently mimicked the first two plagues, now confront something beyond their abilities. They recognize that this plague is no trick, no sleight of hand, but rather a phenomenon that cannot be explained by human means. This realization marks a turning point not just in the story of the plagues but in the broader tension between science and faith.

The Intersection of Science and Faith

As science advances, it uncovers explanations for phenomena that once seemed miraculous. We understand the laws of nature in ways that were unimaginable centuries ago. For some, this progress makes faith seem less relevant. If science can explain the “how,” why do we need the “why”?

I would argue that science and faith are not in competition. Instead, they complement each other. Science reveals the mechanics of the natural world, while faith reminds us to marvel at its beauty and purpose. There are moments in life that science can’t fully explain—moments that feel like they’re touched by the divine.

The magicians’ admission during the plague of lice is a perfect example of this. They were experts in their craft, skilled in illusion and manipulation, but they reached a point where they had to acknowledge something greater at work. They called it the etzba Elohim—the finger of God.

A One-in-a-Million Encounter

Let me share a story that illustrates this idea. After seventh grade, I lost touch with my best friend. His parents had divorced, and he moved away. This was before cell phones and social media, so when he left, I had no way of finding him. For years, I wondered about him. Where had he gone? Was he okay?

Fast forward to my college years. I was visiting family in New York City and found myself at Grand Central Station. Out of nowhere, I heard someone call my name. I turned around and couldn’t believe my eyes—it was my best friend from childhood. I hadn’t seen him in over a decade.

What makes this moment even more remarkable is that he wasn’t living in New York. He had moved to Florida and was visiting the city for the first time in years. I wasn’t living there either; I was attending college in Massachusetts. Yet, at that exact moment, in a station filled with thousands of people, our paths crossed.

We reconnected, exchanged numbers, and caught up on everything that had happened in our lives. The odds of this happening were astronomical—one in a hundred million, perhaps. But here’s what makes the story even more extraordinary: that very day, I had been thinking about him, wondering what had happened to my old friend.

Was this pure coincidence? Or was it something more? I believe it was the finger of God, guiding us to that moment.

Recognizing Divine Nudges

Stories like this one happen all the time. You might call them coincidences, but I see them as divine nudges. There are moments in life when everything aligns in ways that defy logic. These are the moments that remind us of the divine fingerprints in our lives.

The magicians in Pharaoh’s court recognized this during the plague of lice. When they failed to replicate it, they realized they were witnessing something extraordinary, something beyond human capability. They named it for what it was: the finger of God.

Finding God in Everyday Life

As we navigate our modern world, it’s easy to dismiss moments of wonder as coincidence or chance. Science has given us tools to understand much about the universe, but it hasn’t diminished the presence of the divine. Faith reminds us that not everything can be explained, and that’s okay.

For me, faith is about recognizing the sacred in the everyday. It’s about seeing the hand of God in a chance encounter, a meaningful coincidence, or even an unexplainable moment of connection. These are the moments that remind us there is something greater guiding our lives.

A Shabbat Challenge

As Shabbat approaches, I invite you to reflect on your own life. What moments stand out as more than just coincidence? Have you ever experienced something that felt divinely guided?

Open your eyes a little wider this week. Pay attention to the nudges, the moments that seem too perfect to be random. When you do, you might find yourself saying, as the Egyptian magicians did, This is the finger of God.”

Not everything can be explained by science, and that’s okay. Some things are meant to remind us of the divine, to draw us closer to faith and wonder. The finger of God is always at work in the world—we just need to learn how to see it.

Shabbat Shalom.