A Serious Man Monologues

Larry Gopnik, a Midwestern physics teacher, watches his life unravel over multiple sudden incidents. Though seeking meaning and answers amidst his turmoils, he seems to keep sinking.

I don't want Santana Abraxis! I've just been in a terrible auto accident!

The Uncertainty Principle. It proves we can't ever really know... what's going on. So it shouldn't bother you. Not being able to figure anything out. Although you will be responsible for this on the mid-term.

Please. I need help. I've already talked to the other rabbis. Please. It's not about Danny's bar mitzvah - my boy Danny, this coming Shabbos, very joyous event, that's all fine. It's, it's more about myself, I've... I've had quite a bit of tsuris lately. Marital problems, professional, you name it. This is not a frivolous request. This is a ser- I'm a ser- I'm, uh, I've tried to be a serious man, you know? Tried to do right, be a member of the community, raise the- Danny, Sarah, they both go to school, Hebrew school, a good breakfast... Well, Danny goes to Hebrew school, Sarah doesn't have time, she mostly... washes her hair. Apparently there are several steps involved, but you don't have to tell Marshak that. Just tell him I need help. Please? I need *help*.

Well, you can't do physics without mathematics, really, can you?

You understand the dead cat? But… you… you can't really understand the physics without understanding the math. The math tells how it really works. That's the real thing; the stories I give you in class are just illustrative; they're like, fables, say, to help give you a picture. An imperfect model. I mean - even I don't understand the dead cat. The math is how it really works.

Well, I… I'm sorry, but I… what do you propose?

No no, I...

Well, the other students wouldn't like that, would they, if one student gets to retake the test till he gets a grade he likes?

No, I'm afraid…

No, that's just not workable. I'm afraid we'll just have to bite the bullet on this thing, Clive, and…

She seems to be asking an awful lot. But then, I don't know. Somebody has to pay for Sy's funeral.

His own estate is in probate, but why does it have to be me? Or is it wrong to complain? Judy says it is. But I'm so strapped for cash right now, carrying the mortgage, and paying for the Jolly Roger, and I wrecked the car, and Danny's Bar Mitzvah coming up, I…

I don't know where it all leaves me, Sy's death. Obviously it's not gonna go back like it was.

No, I- well, yeah… sometimes… or… I don't know; I guess the honest answer is "I don't know". What was my life before? Not what I thought it was. What does it all mean? What is Hashem trying to tell me, making me pay for Sy Ableman's funeral?

And did I tell you I had a car accident the same time Sy had his? The same instant, for all I know. I mean, is Hashem telling me that Sy Ableman is me? Or that we are all one, or something?

Well, you know, the way I look at it, it's an opportunity for me to really sit down and figure things out and look at the world afresh instead of just, you know, settling for the routine, tired old way of looking at things.

I feel like the carpet's been yanked out from under me.

You know Lee Sussman.

Did he ever tell you about the goy's teeth?

So... Lee is at work one day; you know he has the orthodontic practice there at Great Bear. He's making a plaster mold - it's for corrective bridge work - in the mouth of one of his patients, Russell Kraus. The mold dries and Lee is examining it one day before fabricating an appliance. He notices something unusual. There appears to be something engraved on the inside of the patient's lower incisors. He vav shin yud ayin nun yud. "Hwshy 'ny". "Help me, save me". This in a goy's mouth, Larry. He calls the goy back on the pretense of needing additional measurements for the appliance. "How are you? Noticed any other problems with your teeth?" No. There it is. "Hwshy 'ny". "Help me". Son of a gun. Sussman goes home. Can Sussman eat? Sussman can't eat. Can Sussman sleep? Sussman can't sleep. Sussman looks at the molds of his other patients, goy and Jew alike, seeking other messages. He finds none. He looks in his own mouth. Nothing. He looks in his wife's mouth. Nothing. But Sussman is an educated man. Not the world's greatest sage, maybe, no Rabbi Marshak, but he knows a thing or two from the Zohar and the Caballah. He knows that every Hebrew letter has its numeric equivalent. 8-4-5-4-4-7-3. Seven digits... a phone number, maybe? "Hello? Do you know a goy named Kraus, Russell Kraus?" Who? "Where have I called? The Red Owl in Bloomington. Thanks so much." He goes. It's a Red Owl. Groceries; what have you. Sussman goes home. What does it mean? He has to find out if he is ever to sleep again. He goes to see... the Rabbi Nachtner. He comes in, he sits right where you're sitting right now. "What does it mean, Rabbi? Is it a sign from Hashem, 'Help me'? I, Sussman, should be doing something to help this goy? Doing what? The teeth don't say. Or maybe I'm supposed to help people generally, lead a more righteous life? Is the answer in Caballah? In Torah? Or is there even a question? Tell me, Rabbi, what can such a sign mean?"

What would happen? Not much. He went back to work. For a while he checked every patient's teeth for new messages. He didn't find any. In time, he found he'd stopped checking. He returned to life. These questions that are bothering you, Larry - maybe they're like a toothache. We feel them for a while, then they go away.

Sure! We all want the answer! But Hashem doesn't owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn't owe us anything. The obligation runs the other way.

He hasn't told me.

The goy? Who cares?

Sy Ableman was a serious man.