The Need for Structure

“Internal harmony is dependent on living an ordered life externally too,”1 explains a handwritten note. If we improvise every day—waking up, working, studying, or socializing with no rhythm at all—our thoughts and emotions unravel as well.

“Naturally (and this can’t be changed),” reads a response to a man who wrote of his confused state of mind,

for a person to be successful in what they do—and in general, to act correctly, to know what they truly want, to make good decisions, etc.—one must have as much peace of mind and body as possible. This requires living a properly organized life in the literal sense of the word.2

Living with a structure is also vital for inner satisfaction. When we create a schedule, we dedicate time to what’s really important and commit ourselves to systematically pursuing it no matter our moods. (We don’t usually include hours for binging on social media…) Otherwise, it’s hard to escape the hollow feeling that much of what we do is motivated by fleeting impulses. In the Rebbe’s handwritten words:

For a person to feel that they are truly doing objective good (and not only satisfying their momentary desire)—self-discipline and a structured lifestyle are a necessity.3

“As to your request for actionable advice,” concludes a letter to a young woman,

based on how you described [your present habits], you should begin organizing your life in a manner that accustoms you to having a structured daily routine. Doing so will make it easier for you to embark on a stable course, practice self-discipline, and have your mind govern your emotions effectively…

It appears that a primary contributor to your present mental state is the disarray and instability in your life’s external facets—which then mirror themselves internally, [unsettling] your inner self, your emotions, and so on.

Since it is difficult to adjust to an orderly lifestyle after a long period of scatteredness, one strategy to ease this transition is to create an external motivator—by this I mean to take a job (or a similar commitment) where you know that you’re accountable to others to accomplish consistent work during established hours.4

Reading between the lines of your letter, it appears that you assume your state of mind is the symptom of serious subconscious issues. However, in my opinion, the primary causes are the above-mentioned two points—conduct in accordance with the Torah, and living a structured life. When you mend the above (little by little, at least), your disposition will significantly improve, perhaps even becoming completely restored.5

Ironically, our schedule may sometimes appear to us like the very factor that’s ruining our happiness (“If only I could live my day as I wish without these annoying commitments…”). However, such thoughts tend to backfire in the long run.

“My practical advice to you,” concludes a long, philosophical letter to a young woman on her existential questions,

is to order your life in a way that would commit you to a useful routine, so as not to have to think and decide each day what to do with it.

You should also bear in mind that the yetzer [see chapter 9] will try to counteract this effort by causing a depressed mood and planting the thought that by breaking your discipline your mood will improve. The truth, however, is that even if momentarily there seems to be a relief, it is only a fleeting one, attained at the cost of an ordered and regulated life, which alone can assure success and contentment of a lasting nature.6

It was 1961, and Jack Hanoka—a twenty-six-year-old New-Jersey-native-turned-beatnik, sporting a goatee and studying physics at Penn State University—noticed a sign from the local campus Hillel. It displayed an evocative painting of dancing Chasidim and the words “Join Us for an Experience.” He was intrigued.

Hanoka attended a Shabbat meal at Hillel that Friday night and was instantly captivated. A musician at heart, he was deeply moved by the Chasidic melodies they sang. Some tunes expressed the yearning of the soul, others expressed its ecstatic joy—all of them stirred him to the core.

In the following days, Hanoka couldn’t concentrate on his studies. He approached the Hillel rabbi, who offered to arrange for a meeting with the Rebbe. On a rainy Thursday two weeks later, they drove together to Brooklyn.

“I had no idea what to expect,” Hanoka recalled. “It wasn’t the kind of thing your typical college student was prepared for. But the Rebbe made me feel comfortable. He let me talk for a while about my life and some of the issues I faced. I then told the Rebbe that the Hillel rabbi recommended that I study in yeshiva to quench my thirst for authentic Judaism. The Rebbe agreed that it was a good idea, but advised me to first finish the semester.”

When the semester was over, Hanoka returned to New York to study in the Rebbe’s yeshiva. The Rebbe frequently checked up on him to make sure he was comfortable and progressing well in his studies of Torah and Chasidut. Seeing him once wearing a suit that was large on him, the Rebbe asked him if he had lost weight, reminding him that “Chasidisim is not asceticism.”

After a year of diligent study, the Rebbe encouraged Hanoka to return to university to complete his PhD in physics. He then shared with Hanoka an observation he had made in his own time in the University of Berlin in the 1920s. He had been taking a course with the renowned Nobel-prize winning chemist, Walther Nernst. However, he couldn’t understand: why would such a respected professor be teaching an introductory course? It turned out, the Rebbe continued with a broad smile, that the teachers were paid based on the number of students attending their classes. Many more students took the introductory courses than the advanced ones…

“I think he said that just to lighten the mood a bit,” Hanoka observed. But the conversation was serious, and Hanoka agreed that he should return to Penn. Before he left, the Rebbe imparted an important piece of advice to him.

“At that time, I had a lot of problems keeping an order to my day,” Hanoka recalled. “When I was in graduate school, before I came to study near the Rebbe, I had a very irregular schedule. I used to work in the lab until eleven or twelve at night, then meet my friends for a beer, after which I would read for a few hours. Then I would sleep for the better part of the morning, waking up at ten or eleven o’clock. Then I would have lunch, or rather brunch, and would eat supper a few hours later.

“Before I returned to school, the Rebbe emphasized to me how important it is to have a regular schedule—to eat at the same time every day, to do everything at the same time. And then he added something special: ‘I have found this to be very helpful in my own personal life.’”

“I don’t think he would say that to most people,” Hanoka reflected. “But I guess to make an American college student feel comfortable, he put a personal touch to his counsel.”7