The Company Men (2010), directed by John Wells

Posted on March 11, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

As a person in the professional rabbinate, both pulpit and educational, for most of my life, I have developed many friendships over the years. It is part of the job that I befriend people, and people generally respond positively to a rabbinic presence. For that I am very grateful. But there is another side to the professional rabbinate: it is a lonely profession. At times of crisis, the rabbi is not at ease going to the layman for comfort and counsel. Therefore, the strength of the rabbi’s family relationships are key to weathering a storm. In truth, this is what happens when anyone goes through a trying time. When his relationship with his spouse and family are strong, it is likely that challenges of any type can be overcome. When they are not, things can deteriorate quickly. A case in point is what transpires in The Company Men, an engrossing look at what happens to men who suddenly are fired from their highly paid jobs and find themselves trying to reinvent themselves in a very competitive job market.

The film opens with panoramic views of beautiful suburban homes occupied by the company men. They are decorated tastefully and contain the latest technological innovations for the home. Expensive cars line the driveways, and prosperity is in the air. In the midst of this affluence, many of the company men are given their walking papers due to downsizing in a turbulent economy. The two case studies in the film are Bobby Walker, played by Ben Affleck, an aggressive and successful account executive, and Phil Woodward, played by Chris Cooper, a middle manager who has moved up from the shop floor to corporate office. Woodward, in his 50s, finds himself unemployable. It is sad to watch him as he faces many rejections. His malaise deepens because his wife is not present for him emotionally. She lives in her world of affluence and comfort, while he retreats into depression. Walker, in his late 30s, at first finds it difficult to give up the accoutrements of wealth and is especially upset with the loss of his country club membership, his expensive car, and eventually his home. However, his wife is a pragmatist who deeply loves him. She understands the reality that the family faces and takes charge, readily cutting expenses to preserve that which is important in their lives: love and family.

In a touching scene in which Walker reveals his darkest fears of failure and inadequacy, his wife embraces him and reminds him of the blessing they have in their children. She looks him straight in the eye and forcefully tells him: “You are going to find a job….You have your parents. You have me.” She, through her encouragement and love, enables her husband to refocus and understand what our Sages have said hundreds of years ago: “Who is wealthy? He who is content with his lot.” The aphorism reminds us that who we are is more important than what we possess. The Midrash (Kohelet Rabbah 5:20) speaks of man entering the world as a baby with fists clenched and leaving the world with open hands as emblematic of life’s arc. As young people, we want things. We identify ourselves with what we own. As we mature, we understand that things cannot come with us to the grave; therefore, our palms are open, no longer holding on but letting go.

The Company Men is a cautionary tale, which calls to mind that the most important things of life are not what we own but the intangible, loving relationships that give every day meaning.

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Buck (2011), directed by Cindy Meehl

Posted on March 4, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

When I was about ten years old, my father surprised me by taking me to a veterinarian’s office to pick up a dog. It was a “mutt,” a mixed breed, part collie and part something else. The visit was one of my “wow” moments growing up. I named the dog Shep, and we became fast friends. He would sleep at the foot of my bed, chew at the bedpost, and wake me up every morning with a happy look. My father taught the dog to go the newsstand a block away and to bring home the paper in its mouth. I thought that was really cool. When my day did not go well, Shep was always there to cheer me up. He was my dependable friend. But, like many kids, I was not diligent about walking the dog and taking care of all the stuff that goes with caring for a pet. Eventually my mother gave the dog away, and I spent that fateful day crying over my lost Shep.

The whole experience, in retrospect, gave me an appreciation for the value of pets in people’s lives. The presence of a pet, in a sense, is therapeutic for the owner. He is a reliable friend, never critical of you, lacking artifice, and always anxious to please.

These human qualities of animals form the subtext for Buck, an arresting documentary about Buck Brannaman, a horse whisperer with an uncanny ability to understand and train, not “break,” wild horses. As we watch him work with horses, he reveals how close his work is to child-rearing. The same principles are operative. Be gentle, be kind, be a good listener, show tough love when you have to, and don’t scare them. Interestingly, he describes the act of placing a saddle on a horse as a potentially frightening experience for the horse, which may see it as a lion attack. Therefore, the issue of trust between horse and rider is critical for training progress to be made. The same holds true in parenting children. The more trust between parent and child, the more communication and the more effective is the parental guidance.

It is noteworthy that the most prestigious Biblical figures who serve as role models for posterity began their careers as shepherds, people who care for animals. Their job of caring for sheep made them more adept at caring for human beings. Moses, Abraham, Jacob, King David—all had shepherd on their resumes. Similarly, Rebecca, one of the matriarchs of the Jewish people was selected as a wife for Isaac because of her kindness to animals. When Abraham’s servant asked for water, Rebecca brought water not only for him but for his camels as well. This was the litmus test of her character and Rebecca passed with flying colors.

In the Bible, God tells the Jewish people not to muzzle the ox when it is doing work in the field. Moreover, if we see an animal laboring under a heavy load, we are required to relieve the animal of its burden; and when we finish our day’s work, we should first feed our animal before we sit down to eat. Furthermore, if we come across a mother bird and want to take its eggs, we must first chase away the mother bird so that it does not suffer any psychological distress. All these sensitivities apply to the human realm as well. We permit workers to eat from the crops they are harvesting. We assist people who are struggling to support a heavy load, and we avoid causing psychological pain.

Buck reminds us of the many life lessons we can learn by being attuned to the needs of animals. Understanding their needs and their fears can make us more sensitive human beings.

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Tootsie (1982), directed by Sydney Pollack

Posted on February 26, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

I grew up in a home where my father had a great deal of respect for my mother. I never heard them argue although I am sure they had disagreements from time to time. My father appreciated the fact that my mother worked and helped out financially, but he always saw himself as the primary wage earner and never pushed my mother to enter the workplace. He not only loved her; he revered her. Furthermore, a hallmark of my home was the total absence of crude language. There was a certain sense of propriety that governed family behavior. All these things contributed towards my own attitude towards women as I grew up. I always took women seriously; and even when I was in ninth grade, I dated a girl thinking that she would be my wife one day. I never thought of women in a casual or demeaning way and didn’t fully realize that others did until many years later.

A cavalier attitude towards women is the subtext of Tootsie, a hilarious look at what happens when an out-of-work actor, Michael Dorsey played by Dustin Hoffman, assumes the role of a woman on a daytime soap opera. Callous towards women himself, Michael, for the first time in his life, observes how women are often treated in the workplace. The director calls him Tootsie instead of Dorothy and treats him as a cipher with no intellect, always presuming to know what’s best for her and the show. Moreover, the director treats other female cast members as familiar sex objects, not as independent people with brains and sensitivities. This discovery begins to affect Michael so much that his fictional counterpart, Dorothy Michaels, becomes a champion of women’s rights on the show. She is an assertive hospital administrator who will take no offense from any man. Dorothy veers from the script to be true to herself as a woman and the public idolizes her for it. She appears on magazine covers and becomes the talk of New York. In true comedic fashion, complications ensue when Dorothy’s contract is extended and when Dorothy/Michael falls in love with one of the actresses on the show.

Eventually, there is a day of reckoning and Michael’s hoax is revealed. In the last scene of the film, he confesses to Julie, his love, that he has become a better man by being a woman. Seeing things from the other side of the table has made him a more sensitive human being, better able to empathize and understand the perspective of a woman on love and life. This sensibility is hinted at in the Hebrew term for intimacy which is Yadah, to know. The Bible says that Adam knew Eve. He knew her intimately, say the Bible commentators, not only in a sexual sense but in an emotional sense. He understood her as a person and therefore the intimacy expressed a profound knowledge and understanding of the other. Sex was not exploitative but rather an expression of two souls comprehending one another in the deepest way possible.

Tootsie reaffirms the notion that for there to be true love, there must first be respect for the other. Romeo and Juliet are not the Jewish paradigms of love. Rather the paradigms are the patriarchs and matriarchs: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah and Rachel. In all of these matches, what counts is character, not appearances. Proverbs tells us that outward beauty is false; what really counts is inner beauty, beauty of character and beauty of soul. It is this that enables relationships to blossom and endure, and this finally is what enables love to take root in Tootsie.

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The King of Comedy (1983), directed by Martin Scorsese

Posted on February 19, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

When I was 11 or 12 years old, I visited a Times Square Army recruiting booth at which Audie Murphy, a celebrated war hero who won the Congressional Medal of Honor and a movie star in Grade B westerns, spoke and gave out autographs. He was an early role model and I left the recruiting station elated that I had in my hands the autograph of an American hero. Many years later, I introduced my sons to a sports celebrity. I ran a 2-week camp for a synagogue in Atlanta, and arranged for admittance to an Atlanta Hawks practice session where we could watch the great Pete Maravich in action. He was very accommodating to the campers and signed their scraps of paper with his name. It was a heady moment for many of the kids to be in the presence of a basketball legend.

Flash forward to the year 2012, and our adulation of celebrities is no longer so innocent. Just ask any parent or educator. Celebrities, actors, politicians often grab our attention due to their nefarious activities, including dishonesty of all types, illicit sex, drugs, and the list goes on. The King of Comedy, appearing in 1983, gave us a prophetic hint about the craziness surrounding celebrity that was to come.

In a brilliant opening scene, Jerry Langford, a late night TV host, is bombarded with fans as he exits the studio. One obsessed fan tries to get close to him, but Rupert Pupkin, ostensibly trying to protect him, slams the door in her face, and we are left with a freeze frame of hands pressing against the window of the limousine. It is an image representing the intense longing of an obsessed fan for access to a celebrity. Life is nothing unless there is connection with fame. It is sad and it is frightening when the entire thrust of one’s life is to live through others.

Rupert Pupkin is determined to become a TV celebrity like Jerry and the movie chronicles his fantastical and obsessive quest for fame. Rupert keeps cardboard figures of Jerry in his basement and has imaginary conversations with him and Jerry’s guests. His friend Masha, a celebrity stalker, will stop at nothing to get close to Jerry, her idol. She ultimately helps Rupert break the law in order to compel the studio to grant him a guest appearance on Jerry’s show.

Rupert receives a prison sentence of six years for his crime, but is freed after serving less than three years. He goes on to write his memoirs and becomes a celebrity in his own right, which echoes what happens so often today. The criminal is released, writes a book, and becomes a fixture of talk shows as he rehabilitates his public image.

The Torah view of celebrity is clear. The Ethics of the Fathers instructs us that fame is elusive. The more one chases it, the more it eludes him. Gaining celebrity is not a Jewish goal. Moreover, the object of Torah adulation is not the actor or the athlete. Rather it is the scholar or the doer of good deeds. In the end, we cannot live vicariously through others. Each of us is an image of the Divine, totally unique with our own respective missions. No one else can live our life for us because we are accountable for our own destinies. God only wants us to be ourselves, not an imitation of someone else. At the end of 120 years, God will not ask me if I was as great as Moses or Abraham; instead He will ask me if I was the best “me” I could possibly be.

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The Untouchables (1987), directed by Brian DePalma

Posted on February 12, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

I was in the middle of my afternoon prayers when the doorbell rang. My guests had arrived and I was faced with a dilemma: continue to pray or interrupt my prayers to welcome guests? I took my cue from the great patriarch Abraham, who stopped his conversation with God to tend to his guests. The Sages comment that this was a good thing, for Abraham was setting a paradigm for how we should welcome the stranger. The Codes of Jewish Law express this concept succinctly: if we are busy with one commandment, we are exempt from the other. Ideally, we should do both if at all possible. But if we cannot, then we have to prioritize and perform the time sensitive or more important one.

The best cinematic example of this dilemma of facing two tasks at the same time and having to choose between them occurs in The Untouchables, a violent crime drama about the war between Eliot Ness, an FBI agent, and Al Capone, the king of the Chicago mobsters during the Prohibition Era. Capone’s street-wise philosophy reveals a ruthless approach to anyone who stands in his way. In a stunning opening scene that reveals a bevy of lackeys surrounding Capone as he gets a shave, he tells them: “I live in a tough neighborhood, and we used to say you can get further with a kind word and a gun than you can with just a kind word.”

Ness is portrayed as a family man, honest, and morally untouchable. He lives by a code of personal integrity. But he faces an enemy who lives by corruption and brute force. It is a classic confrontation between good and evil. In this often brutal story is a scene that encapsulates more than any other the quandary of Eliot Ness: can I retain my humanity in the face of an overwhelming evil that wants to break the law and murder innocent people?

The critical scene takes place in a train station where Ness has gone to intercept Al Capone’s bookkeeper, who possesses information that could send Capone to prison for tax evasion. Suspense builds as the train is due to arrive momentarily. Before the train arrives, a young mother burdened with two suitcases attempts to negotiate a baby carriage with a crying infant up a steep flight of stairs. Ness, ever the family man, decides to help her. The young mother is appreciative and tells Ness “You’re such a gentleman, so kind.” At that moment, the accountant finally appears with an escort of armed thugs. Here is Ness’s challenge: he wants to help the mother and child up the stairs and get them out of harm’s way. However, any delay could cause him to lose his prey. Putting Capone behind bars has been his all-consuming mission for months and this is his only chance for success. Ness tries to do both; and, in an amazingly choreographed scene, he loses control of the carriage and guns begin to fire all around him. Will the baby be another innocent casualty in the war against Capone or will Ness apprehend the accountant with no harm to the child or its mother?

The movie does not provide clarity or solutions to his dilemma; rather it illustrates in a dramatic way the dilemma we all face at different times in our lives. We have two worthwhile things to do, and we have time for only one of them. Jewish law mandates that a preoccupation with one deed exempts us from the other. Although we should try to do both, we recognize that this is not always possible. Therefore, the lesson is to stay focused and prioritize our choices.

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About a Boy (2002), directed by Paul Weitz and Chris Weitz

Posted on February 5, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

I do some work as a volunteer matchmaker for an international website. Primarily, I work with 40-year olds, and occasionally I encourage some of my bachelor friends to join the website. I am surprised at their reluctance to join considering the fact all of them tell me about their desire to settle down and have a family. One tells me he is too busy, another that he prefers to meet real people and not to meet people on an impersonal website. Another says that friends are setting him up and this is not a good time for him to put his profile on the website. Time marches on and I still hear the same refrains. As a rabbi and personal friend, I feel sad and troubled. I cannot say it with certainty, but it seems that these friends want no responsibility, even if the alternative is to be alone. They may not say it, but their actions speak louder than their words. They enjoy a life where they are accountable to no one, where there is no emotional investment in any significant other.

Such is the life portrayed by Will Lightman in About a Boy, a hilarious look at the self-indulgent life of the career bachelor. Will narrates his own story. He has no job and lives off the royalties of a popular holiday song that his father wrote in 1958. He goes to a single parents’ group to meet single mothers, fabricating a story about a two-year old son of his to gain their sympathy and trust. He spends his time shopping, watching television, and exercising, which to him means playing pool. To Will, he leads a full life. He exclaims: “A person’s life is like a TV show. I was the star of the Will Show, and the Will Show was not an ensemble drama. Guests came and went. It came down to me.”  Considering how “busy” he is, he wonders if he really would even have time for a job.

Will’s life begins to change when he meets Marcus, a young boy with a suicidal mother. Through a series of improbable events, he befriends Marcus and slowly starts to think of the welfare of others. Will buys Marcus sneakers and marvels that “I made a boy happy, and it was only 60 quid.” At a Christmas party, he begins to understand the importance of human connection. He leaves the party with a “warm, fuzzy feeling.” The stark realization that his present life is meaningless occurs when Will meets the love of his life and discovers he has nothing to say to her. He has no job. He is a blank slate.

Ultimately, Will concludes that Marcus is the only thing that means something to him and Will finally comes out of his self-centered self to help Marcus at a moment of crisis. Connection with Marcus leads to connection with others, and Will becomes a more rounded individual at the story’s end.

King David writes in Psalms that “those that sow in tears will reap in joy.” The commentators suggest that this means we should be mindful of the pain of others in order to feel true joy. Living an isolated life, without feeling the travail of others, is leading a life without meaning; for it is only in connection with others that our own life becomes meaningful. The Ethics of the Fathers states it differently: if I am only for myself, what am I?” About a Boy reminds us that leading a life of meaning requires one to think of others, not just of oneself.

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The Terminal (2004), directed by Steven Spielberg

Posted on January 29, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

When I came to Israel a couple of years ago as a recent oleh (immigrant), I arrived with a rudimentary speaking knowledge of Hebrew and no Israeli cell phone. Yet I had arranged from America to meet old friends, now living in Israel, at the airport, who would take my wife and me to our home in Beit Shemesh. The challenge: how to make contact with him if I had no cell phone and no Israeli money to use a pay phone. Moreover, even if I had money for a pay phone, I was unaware that I had to dial city code prefixes before the actual phone number.

Fortunately, I found my friends and everything worked out, but I was reminded of my unsettling airport experience as I watched an early scene in The Terminal, in which Viktor Navorksi, a citizen of an Eastern European country in the midst of a violent coup, arrives in the United States and is unable to leave the airport. His passport is no longer valid and he cannot enter the USA until his situation is resolved. While stuck in the airport, airport security gives him food vouchers and a 15-minute phone card, but Viktor does not have the language skills to know how to use them. Viktor is confused and I understood his frustration.

As his temporary stay at the airport extends into weeks and months, Viktor, a building contractor, uses his skills at construction to get a job with a renovation crew at the terminal. This enables him to earn money to buy food, clothes, and other necessities. These crafting skills and his modest personality slowly ingratiate him with the airport staff, who admire his resourcefulness and his innate kindness towards others.

A turning point occurs when a foreign national wants to bring in medicine for his deathly ill father. He threatens airport personnel and Viktor, because of his language skills, is brought in to diffuse the situation. He successfully resolves the tension by calming the foreigner and creatively suggesting to him that he claim that the medicine he brought in from Canada is for goats and, therefore, needs no special clearance. Viktor, originally seen as a buffoon, now is perceived as a savvy negotiator, which brings him the admiration of many who work at the airport.

Our first impression of outsiders may be akin to seeing Viktor for the first time as simply a foreigner; but once we mentally engage another human being, we are peeling an onion, discovering new layers every time we speak with him. I have found that the more I get to know people, the more interesting they become.

When my wife and I have guests over for a Friday night Shabbat meal, I always ask the invitees to introduce themselves for a moment. I sometimes suggest that each guest tell us something we may not know about them. Surprisingly, I learned that one of our guests celebrated her 70th birthday by parachuting out of a plane. There is clearly more to people than what meets the eye. Viktor Novarski reminds me of the innate complexity of people, and that we should give people a second chance to make a first impression.

The Bible instructs us many times to remember our sojourn in Egypt when we were strangers in a strange land. I am no longer a recent immigrant but I remember how good it felt when I was greeted with a smile, when someone asked me what my name was and where I was from, when someone clarified a confusing moment. It is a good thing to be kind to the stranger. After all, one day the stranger may be you.


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Page One: Inside the New York Times (2011), directed by Andrew Rossi

Posted on January 22, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

Two friends of mine do not use email. One is a synagogue rabbi and one is a school principal. Both are in the twilight of their careers and they see no need to update their familiarity with new modes of communication. If people want to contact them, there is always the telephone. To be sure, they are not philosophically opposed to progress; they just don’t feel at ease with the computer or the Blackberry and are reluctant to make the leap into today’s world of technology. I never had that aversion to technology. My late wife was a math teacher at my school and she introduced computer literacy into the curriculum many years ago. She and my kids kept me abreast of the latest technological advances and I was able to use them throughout my career, enabling me to communicate with people efficiently and quickly. The more techie stuff I used, the more productive I became. Years ago, I had a secretary who wrote drafts of my letters; now, without a secretary, I could do my own correspondence with Microsoft Word and respond to my constituency faster than ever before.

This perspective gave me an appreciation for Page One: Inside the New York Times, an engaging documentary giving an insider’s view of the state of print journalism today. The key factoid is that the advertising revenue that was central to a newspaper’s success is no longer present. Newspaper classifieds have given way to Monster.com and CraigsList and a myriad of internet alternatives to get out the word about a business, a job, or any new initiative. This leaves the paper in crisis mode, trying to survive in the face of decreasing revenues. There are scenes of layoffs, of columnists trying to learn new skills, and of media people justifying the uniqueness of what the New York Times does on the total informational landscape.

What emerges are intimate portraits of talented, mostly older, people coming to grips with radical change in their industry. It is a cliché that change is the only constant in life, and that is clearly what happens in Page One. The question is how we deal with unavoidable change. Does it crush us or does it create new opportunities for us?

A passage in the Talmud is instructive: “Who is a wise man? He who sees a future development.” Similarly, Ecclesiastes writes “the wise man has eyes in his head.” The Sages say that this means that at the beginning of something, the wise man foresees what will be in the end. This approach does not relate only to one’s career but to life itself. For successful living, we must be open to change and look beyond the immediate consequences of our actions.

David Carr, a New York Times journalist, is the film’s main character. His own history dramatically illustrates the ability to change. At a critical point in his life, he realizes that to see a different ending to his life, there must be a new beginning. Although the film does not deal with his past, Carr mentions that he was a single parent and former crack addict who left his wasteful life behind and reinvented himself as a reporter. No longer afraid of new challenges, he possesses the sobriety and wisdom to deal with failure. He understands that he has to change in order to survive and prosper. Indeed, the film shows him learning to navigate the latest social media craze “Twitter” with the goal of becoming adept at gleaning news and information from this public forum.

Watching Page One may help us get to page two of our own lives.

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Zelig (1983), directed by Woody Allen

Posted on January 15, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

Going to grade school in Mt. Vernon, New York, I was a good student focusing on academics until my neighborhood changed almost overnight. Low income projects were built a block away and Jews fled the hood rapidly. We could not afford to move so we stayed and my education took a different turn. Surrounded by peers who wanted to be cool, I wanted to be cool too. As a result, I spent time combing my hair and listening to rock and roll instead of focusing on my studies. Over a period of several years in a junior high school of average achievers, I became average. No longer at the top of my class, I became one of the cool guys. I remember vividly going into the school restroom with Ernest, a buddy, and styling my hair just like Elvis, slicked back with a curl dangling in front. Hormones were raging and Ernest and I wanted to look good for the girls. It wasn’t until my high school years and my being “born-again” as an Orthodox Jew that I firmly realized that the most fulfilling way to lead a life is to be yourself, to think of larger issues than personal appearance, and not to construct a life determined by the expectations of peers. I finally understood that my goal in life should not only be to be liked, but to be holy, a goal of a totally different order.

I was reminded of this as I watched Zelig, the story of Leonard Zelig, a man whose only purpose in life is to be liked by others. It is an all-consuming goal, which even has physical consequences. If he is with Chinese people, he becomes Chinese and can even speak the language; if he is with people of color, the actual color of his skin changes; if he is with physicians, he becomes a doctor who can speak the medical lingo. He becomes whoever he is with. Through a protracted psychoanalysis with Dr. Eudora Fletcher, we learn that Zelig morphs into whoever he is in order to protect himself emotionally. When alone with himself, he has no identity.

The film traces Zelig’s journey towards personal self-actualization, which occurs because of the love of one person who deeply cares for him, who validates him, who thus enables him to change his life: Dr. Eudora Fletcher. This notion that a person who knows that he is loved feels valued is a Jewish sensibility. Parents understand this almost intuitively. Rabbi Akiva in the Talmud used to say that “Beloved is man, for he was created in God’s image. It shows even a greater love when God informed man that he was created in His image.” If we know God made us in His image and loves us, we feel special; and that is very good for us emotionally. Because we are all created in God’s image, all of us have infinite value. Moreover, God created the world, say our Sages, with only one man. This teaches us that one life is equivalent to the entire world. None of us is a mere number. Each one of us is an entire world.

Zelig reminds us that ultimately we achieve very little in life if all we do is imitate others. The key to emotional maturity and progress lies in our very individuality, in our ability to understand how we in our own special way can contribute to and enrich the world around us by being who we are, by celebrating our divinely-given uniqueness.

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The Young Victoria (2008), directed by Jean-Marc Vallee

Posted on January 8, 2012 by herbert j. cohen

A number of years ago, I wrote a book called Kosher Parenting, in which I pointed out that parenting is never finished. As one of my mentors once told me, “when you have small children, you have small problems and when you have big children, you have big problems.” The difference between parenting young children and parenting older children, however, is that small children generally listen to you and big children think for themselves. Older children will not simply follow your recommendations. They need to discover their own truth, their own path, not necessarily the one that well-meaning adults choose.

Nowhere is this more relevant than when children are choosing someone to marry. Jewish law wisely tells us that final decisions about marriage partners should be left to the principals, not to parents. Parents and elders can only provide guidance; children have to make the ultimate choice.

This dynamic is in evidence in The Young Victoria. Elders and wise men are ubiquitous, constantly theorizing about possible marriage choices for the young Queen Victoria. However, she thinks for herself and chooses a companion not based on political gain, but on emotional compatibility. Prince Albert, her chosen one, understands her origins, her aloneness, and her desire to be a good monarch and work for the welfare of her people. Their minds are on the same frequency, and it is instructive to observe their growing attachment to one another. They are honest with one another, they respect one another, they do not take advantage of one another, and they share common aspirations.

But their journey is not a smooth one. They have to learn to complement one another to achieve their goals and dreams. Victoria is a queen and initially expects obedience from her husband. Albert, however, does not see himself as a tourist or subject in the Queen’s palace but rather as her husband and life partner. It takes time for Victoria to appreciate this aspect of her married life; but once she does, she fulfills herself both as monarch and as loving wife. One of her trusted advisors counsels her: “The Prince is able, clever, faithful. Let him share your work.” She recognizes his wisdom and in a private moment with her husband tells him: “I hope you don’t mind. I had your desk brought in.”When she finally invites Albert to bring his desk into her office, it signals an understanding that they are in this together, that they willingly share their destinies, that they both want the best for England.

In a coda at the end of the film, we learn that Albert and Victoria championed reform in education, welfare, industry, and the arts, and that she reigned over England for almost the entire century, a remarkable feat for a monarch. Moreover, she was a mother to nine children.

The story of Albert and Victoria reminds us that enduring love is based not only on physical attraction but on shared goals and dreams, the feeling that a common destiny unites a couple. This is a Jewish approach to marriage. When I speak to my children about marriage, I remind them that when two people are ideologically on the same page, when they share a common goal, then all problems are solvable.

Albert and Victoria’s love represented the ideal synthesis of physical attraction and common purpose. As such it was the kind of love about which the Talmud writes: “when our love was strong, we lay on the edge of a knife.” No matter what adversities they faced, they were confident they could be overcome because they shared one another’s goals and dreams. This is a key component of a successful marriage.


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