Shades of Grey in the Purim Story

When we were young, we viewed the events surrounding us in black and white. Looking to categorize the confusion surrounding us, we searched for some level of simplicity in order to make some sense of the world. Our children are no different.
And yet, as we grow older we recognize that life is not always (actually almost never) black and white. We are often forced to decide between two competing values, both of which are good, or bad.
To my mind, Megillat Esther represents a perfect example of this phenomenon. At first glance, when we read the story of the Megillah, everything seems straightforward. There are heroes (Mordechai and Esther) and a villain (Haman). The "good" people do the right things, while the evil ones come dangerously close to genocide. Yet, when we take a deeper look at the Purim story with the assistance of the Midrash, we find that often the choices our heroes made were not at all clear at the time, and that they were forced to make difficult and agonizing decisions. I'd like to one example from the Megillah that I believe represents a good springboard for a broader discussion with our children about the choices that Mordechai and Esther face, and how not everything is as black and white as it seems.

Esther's Challenge
When Mordechai learns of Haman's plot to destroy the Jewish people, he rushes to the palace instructing Esther to approach the king and beg him to save the Jewish people. Esther demurs, suggesting that she wait until Achashverosh calls her himself. After all, everyone knows that anyone who appears before the king uninvited is subject to immediate execution. Mordechai insists that she not delay at all, telling her,

אַל-תְּדַמִּי בְנַפְשֵׁךְ, לְהִמָּלֵט בֵּית-הַמֶּלֶךְ מִכָּל-הַיְּהוּדִים. כִּי אִם-הַחֲרֵשׁ תַּחֲרִישִׁי, בָּעֵת הַזֹּאת--רֶוַח וְהַצָּלָה יַעֲמוֹד לַיְּהוּדִים מִמָּקוֹם אַחֵר, וְאַתְּ וּבֵית-אָבִיךְ תֹּאבֵדוּ; וּמִי יוֹדֵעַ--אִם-לְעֵת כָּזֹאת, הִגַּעַתְּ לַמַּלְכוּת.

Think not that you shall escape in the king's house, more than all the Jews. For if you remain silent at this time, then will relief and deliverance arise to the Jews from another place, but you and your father's house will perish; and who knows whether you did not come to royal estate for such a time as this?

In other words, "Go now. Don't delay, even for a moment."
And yet, was Esther's request so strange? Why indeed should she risk her life if the king was scheduled to call her soon? After all, Haman's plan was scheduled for almost a year later (it was Nissan, and the slaughter was scheduled for the following Adar). What's the rush? Moreover, the question grows even more complicated when we consider the relationship between Mordechai and Esther. Megillat Esther describes the relationship between Mordechai and Esther as אשר לקח לו לבת – "whom he took as a daughter". In essence, he adopted her. Yet, the Gemara (Megillah 13a) famously notes that, אל תקרי "לבת" אלא "לבית" – "Don't read it [that he took her as] 'a daughter'; rather [he took her as] 'a home'". According to the Gemara, Mordechai didn't just adopt Esther; he married her.
Until this point, every interaction that she had with the king was involuntary. Halachically, she was not responsible for the events that were beyond her control. If so, to approach the king on her own meant that she was voluntarily breaking the strictest laws of Judaism against immorality and adultery.
Considered from this angle, what indeed was the rush? Would it be so bad for her to wait a few more days? Even if we agreed that it was proper and appropriate to commit the worst types of sinful behavior to save the entire Jewish people, would that still be true if it was just a question of scheduling? After all, Esther would have eventually met with the king. Was it so important that she do so immediately?
Mordechai certainly thought so, and pressured her to act without delay, despite the halachic ramifications. I wonder whether a modern-day Esther, had she sent a quick hidden text message to a Gadol today, would have gotten the same message.

Modern Day Ramifications
The issue isn't that foreign to us, even today. The State of Israel faces adversaries and enemies who harbor the same desires as Haman to end the existence of the Jewish people. While we don't often think about it, our country asks young men and women to hide their true identities and commit sinful acts to protect and defend the Jewish people. Would we agree with Mordechai's psak today if it meant preventing a terrorist attack?
And, on a far more personal level, what if the Mossad knocked on our door, claiming that our daughter was the perfect candidate for a dangerous covert operation. Would we, as Mordechai did, agree to allow our beloved children – or even our wives – to engage in such behavior?
Things really are not as black and white as they often seem.

Shortening Shabbat Davening - What Are We Praying For? (Second in a Short Series)

Continued from this post.

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg of the Boca Raton synagogue recently asked on his Twitter feed (which I follow via Facebook):

How would u shorten shabbos morning davening within halachik boundaries in an effort to make it more enjoyable and meaningful?

In my last post, I addressed the challenge of adehering to frum culture, which prevents us from making substantive changes to the format of davening, no matter how legitimate or critical they may be. In this post, I'd like to address the problem underlying the question. What's wrong with Shabbat davening, and why should we want to shorten it?
Of course, the real question isn't how to shorten Shabbat morning davening. Everyone knows how to do that. Just look at every hashkamah minyan in the world. If you cut out all the singing, every misheberach, and all the speeches, you can cut davening down to a nice and tidy hour and forty five minutes. It's not rocket science.
What I believe that Rabbi Goldberg means is: how can we change the main minyan so that it's shorter, without paring it down to a bare-bones minyan that lacks resonance for many people. Are people really looking for hashkamah at 9am instead of 7am? That's not that hard to supply. Many shuls already have an 8am "beis medrash" minyan. Yet, I suspect that they're looking for a "main minyan" feel, without it going on for three hours. That's harder. Where do you cut and still maintain a sense of community, majesty and meaning?
But before we can really cut anything, the issue of shortening davening on Shabbat raises a deeper, more perplexing question that goes to the heart of Orthodox communal prayer. On some deep level, Shabbat davening doesn't resonate with many of us. Sure, we say the words. But given the choice, would we pray for the things that Chazal tell us to pray for exclusively on Shabbat? Are we really yearning for the "eternal Shabbat" that we pray for so fervently? To me, the problem of Shabbat davening reflects a deeper problem we struggle with surrounding the content of Shabbat prayer as Chazal designed it.
I have long felt that the Shabbat davening isn't really the best venue for a truly meaningful communal prayer the way that most American Jews expect it. Most people want to come to shul to grapple with the issues that they're struggling with. They want to pray to God for a good job and the ability to support their family. They want to pray for safety and security for the people of Israel. They want to pray for health and well-being. All of those things exist in traditional prayer, but not on Shabbat. They're right in the Amidah - of the weekday.
Three times daily throughout the week we communicate with God, asking for that which we need to live more meaningful lives: wisdom, Torah, forgiveness, redemption, health, well-being, sustenance. You name it, it's in the Amidah.
Perhaps ironically, on Shabbat, we specifically do not pray for our daily needs. We don't really daven for health, sustenance, parnassah - all the things that concern us during the week. On Shabbat we're supposed to let go of our daily worries, and focus on the more eternal issues. Even when we add the misheberach for the sick, we conclude the prayer by saying, שבת היא מלזעוק, וישועה קרובה לבוא - "on Shabbat we are prohibited from crying out, and salvation is near to come." It's almost as if we say, "Really, we know that we're supposed to ask for health today, but we're all here, and so we're going to do it anyway."
If anything, a careful examination of the Shabbat morning davening reveals efforts to try and insert meaning into the davening "between the lines" - in the spaces between the established parts of davening set by Chazal. The Misheberachs (that everyone hates - until it's time for their Bar Mitzvah) cater to the personal needs and joys of the individual. The yearning and power of the first paragraph of birchat Hachodesh express all of the elements normally missing from the Shabbat davening, as we pray for God's blessings during the coming month. Finally, the addition prayers for the State of Israel, the IDF and the United States of America, all reflect efforts to add necessary meaning and depth to the established davening that we find lacking.
If I was designing the davening today to reflect the needs of the members of a Western-cultured Orthodox community, who by and large does not assemble on a daily basis for prayer but only assembles communally on Shabbat morning, highlighting these elements would have to play a major role in the davening.

In my last post on this issue, I'll (finally) make some suggestions, reflecting the needs and desires of the people who still attend the Shabbat morning main minyan.

Kudos to the Robert M Beren Academy. But Not for Keeping Shabbat

I have very, very fond memories of playing varsity basketball during my high school years. I was a four year starter on our team, and scored an average of about twelve points per game. Pretty respectable, I think. (Although that might have had more to do with the fact that the school only had about sixty guys in the entire upper school.)
Looking back, almost every aspect of our team's very existence was unusual. The Yeshiva had a long history of varsity basketball, but in truth, having a basketball team at all isn't very "yeshivish." (Checking the Yeshiva website today, it seems that they still have a team, but you wouldn't know it from the main site.) Once the season began, we really never practiced at all, because the school wouldn't allow practices on weeknights. (We only finished classes at 6:15 in the evening, and if you added night seder - which I did - we left the building at 7pm on a normal weeknight, and on Thursday, mishmar went from 8pm until 9:15pm.) So, our coaches - and there was a new one almost every year - would schedule all of our games on both Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons, pretty much every weekend. I didn't think much of it back then, but looking back I now realize that we played every Saturday night game not having practiced for an entire week and every Sunday game still tired from the night before.
This might explain why we were generally terrible.
My junior year, we were actually respectable, almost reaching a .500 record. But other than that, we stank. Badly. Which was fine. Losing built our character. (I have a very vivid memory from junior high school of attending a varsity game once when the coach didn't arrive until the third quarter, by which time the team was losing by a score of something like 80 to 15. Our intrepid coach called a timeout, gathered the team together and proclaimed, "They're not going to score a single point more!" The entire team literally burst out laughing.) Thankfully, during my tenure, it was never that bad. Coaches arrived on time to games. But we were still never able to beat the hated Hebrew Academy during my tenure. (and when we finally did, they stopped playing us.) That still stings to this day.
Despite all the losing, I remember almost every aspect of playing on the Knights with great fondness. Somehow the sting of defeat has faded, and my mind recalls the great rides to games and practices; taking offensive fouls during practice, pizza at The Jaffa Gate (alav hashalom) after games (er, losses), and the great friendship and teamwork we enjoyed. 

Why the trip back down memory lane? My thoughts returned me to my high school basketball career reading a New York Times piece on the Robert M Beren Academy's decision not to participate in the semifinal game of the Texas state private school championships, for the simple reason that the game is scheduled for Friday night.
These stories appear every so often, and on one level, they do represent a kiddush hashem. In a time when too many people treat values as fungible, it's nice to be reminded that in the Orthodox world, we still treat Shabbat as Shabbat.
But I wonder: Is that really news? After all, isn't that why the parents of the Robert M. Beren Academy send their children to an Orthodox, shomer Shabbat school? To me, it would be more newsworthy if they did play - which would be startling and upsetting. Of course they shouldn't play.
No, what surprises me about the article instead is the fact that they made the state semifinals at all. You almost never hear about small, Orthodox schools with a record of...wait for it...23-5! And this is not a huge New York school that we're talking about either. The upper school has 71 students - boys and girls! Yeah! Go Jews! Go small schools! Go Orthodox yeshivot!
It's like Hoosiers, only Jewish. And that's great news to me.

Shortening Shabbat Davening - The Problem (First in a Short Series)

We love to think that this is a picture of "them".
But it's more like us than we're willing to admit.

Years ago, I heard about the amazing popularity of one of the Mega-Churches led by a famous pastor (I think that it was Joel Osteen), and wondered what he could possibly be doing to draw fifteen thousand people to a service on a weekend. So I decided to watch some of a service (available online) to see what I could pick up.
Truthfully, I didn't watch much. (I think that I was either bored, uncomfortable, or both). But at the beginning of the service, the pastor led the entire congregation in a recitation that they clearly repeated each and every week. I don't remember it word for word, but I remember that they all picked up their bibles, and declared their allegiance to the word of God, faith in the Bible and in God, and asked for the wisdom and blessing to find the answers that they were looking for through prayer and study.
I was astounded. There it was, so simple, in a sense. People are looking for a sense of faith. They want to reach out to a Divine God they know they cannot comprehend, but need to reach out for in any case.
Watching that video, a sense of frustration welled up inside me. All of those elements exist in Orthodox Judaism. The Torah offers all that, and more. And yet, how many people leave davening on Shabbat morning feeling that, they really spoke to God that morning, that they had a religious experience, and that they left davening with a greater sense of faith than when they came?
What would have happened hjad I tried to institute such a custom in my shul, where before Torah reading everyone picked up their Chumash and declared, together in unison, in English (which people understand),

"Hashem, this is the book that You gave to us through our prophet, Moshe. It contains the one and only truth. Please grant us the wisdom to seek guidance through the Torah. Give us comfort through its words, guidance through its commandments, and connection to You through its holy light. Amen."

I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I would have been laughed out of shul. No one would join me. The first week I'd get uncomfortable stares. The second week, a few might participate, but most would not. And I'm sure that by the third week, there'd be a hastily organized meeting with the shul's senior leadership to "discuss" sudden changes to the davening. It wouldn't be considered "frum" at all. Maybe Conservative. Maybe Reform. But certainly not Orthodox.
That's a tragedy, because we actually do say those very things throughout the tefillah: וזאת התורה אשר שם משה לפני בני ישראל. And this is the Torah that Moses placed before Israel." קדשנו במצוותך - "Sanctify us in your commandments." וטהר לבנו לעבדך באמת. "Purify our hearts to serve you in truth."
Somehow, when we translate all that into English and recite it together, it becomes less frum. And by removing these types of communal prayer experiences that would give many, if not most Orthodox Jews - who don't speak fluent Hebrew - true spiritual experiences, we rob them of a meaningful prayer experience that they badly need.

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg of the Boca Raton synagogue recently asked on his Twitter feed (which I follow via Facebook):

How would u shorten shabbos morning davening within halachik boundaries in an effort to make it more enjoyable and meaningful?

Shortening davening? Easy. A little harder is the second clause: "Within halachic boundaries." Still, with some creativity and finesse, finding halachic solutions is possible. But Rabbi Goldberg did not include the most important clause, which he perhaps assumed, but I believe cannot be taken for granted: "Which would be accepted by the Orthodox community."
That's a much tougher nut to crack. Because we can design a wonderful, meaningful service, that reflects the needs and desires of the broad majority of today's Main Minyan crowd.
But if they think that "it's not frum" and won't implement the changes, what have we really accomplished?

I have some suggestions to make that might help. Before I make them, in my next post I'll outline what I believe is the problem underlying the challenge of Shabbat morning davening. Finally, I'll suggest a number of changes that I believe are clearly within the boundaries of halachah, but will most probably be considered too radical to institute, and therefore ignored.

Excercise as a Torah Value - Updated!

In this post, I lamented the fact that the modern-day yeshiva system completely ignores the need for physical fitness and physical activity, instead encouraging students to spend as much time as humanly possible engaged in the study of Torah. I wrote in favor of living a healthy lifestyle as a Jewish value as well.
As it turns out, it seems that I was more correct than I first thought. Excercise might not be important just as a means to living a healthy life. No, according to the New York Times, regular excercise might also improve your Torah study.
In a piece entitled, Phys Ed: How Excercise Fuels the Brain, the author describes how researchers killed mice who had excercised regularly, to discover that the mice contained additional stores of special brain energy. (You can read the piece yourself. I might have gotten the biology wrong.)
The piece states that,

While a brain with more fuel reserves is potentially a brain that can sustain and direct movement longer, it also “may be a key mechanism underlying exercise-enhanced cognitive function,” says Hideaki Soya, a professor of exercise biochemistry at the University of Tsukuba and senior author of the studies, since supercompensation occurs most strikingly in the parts of the brain that allow us better to think and to remember. As a result, Dr. Soya says, “it is tempting to suggest that increased storage and utility of brain glycogen in the cortex and hippocampus might be involved in the development” of a better, sharper brain.

If that turns out to be true, if you really want to be able to study Torah better, excercise regularly. It will not only give you more energy during the day. It might actually make you smarter too.

The OU Wants You to Move to Houston. They're Wrong.

My first reaction, upon reading about the OU's new "Move To Houston" initiative - CHAT (Come to Houston And Thrive - but isn't that really CTHAT?) was, "What?! Really? The OU wants people to move out of New York...and not to Israel?" Really? We need more Jews in America?
Truthfully, we don't. If you're looking to solve your day school tuition problems, moving to Houston isn't going to help you. If you're willing to leave your family, job and community, and move thousands of miles to somewhere new and start over, do you really want to go to...Houston? Isn't that where the Texans play? And the Astros? Do you really want your kids growing up to be Astros fans?

Any reader of this blog knows that I believe strongly that every Jew belongs in Israel (where every Orthodox Jew believes we'll all end up anyway.) But I understand that not every person is willing and able to make the jump to move to Israel. They just find it daunting, which I get. Somehow, moving to Houston is less intimidating. At least it's the same language, culture (actually, it's not the same culture, but it's not as different as Israel), the same country. And people in America do need to spread out. There are simply too many shuls in Teaneck.
But I still think the OU is wrong. Sure, Houston may be fine. My good friend Rabbi Barry Gelman serves as the rabbi of a big shul there. But you shouldn't move to Houston. No, you should move to Michigan.
Why is Michigan better? Let me count the ways.

Orthodox community: If Houston has 500 frum families, Michigan has many, many more - well into the thousands. No contest. Just get a copy of the WOL (that's Women's Orthodox League - kind of like the Ladies Auxiliary of the Mikveh) directory, and you'll see what I mean. Advantage Michigan.

Schools: Sorry, but while the Houston list looks nice, Michigan offers a wide range of schooling options for families from Modern Orthodox to very, very Chareidi, serving many hundreds of children. And the tuition in Michigan really is more reasonable as well. From Akiva (where we sent our kids) to Darchei Torah to Yeshiva Beth Yehudah to the Bais Yaakov, Detroit offers a wide range of educational options for the Orthodox family. Truth be told, one lacking from my point of view was a more moderate boys-only high school. For years, the community lacked such a school due to ridiculous politics that I never fully understood. I hear that there's now an option in West Bloomfield, which I hope is true. It's a really important piece of the communal puzzle. Still, from the school perspective, Michigan wins!

Shuls: Michigan again. You can choose from three (really more) neighborhoods, with numerous shuls and about a zillion shtiebels. (But that's a different post entirely).

Sports: That's a tough one. Texans seem to like their sports. And while the Pistons used to be great when I was there, no longer. But the Lions seem to be doing well, which is something no one living in Michigan ever expected to see in their lifetime. And, being from Washington D.C., I could never really watch Redskins games anyway. And they've been awful for twenty years. Tie.

Restaurants: That one seems like a toss-up. I don't really know kosher Houston, but Michigan never had enough restaurants. Sure, Jerusalem Pizza is a must. (don't leave without trying my personal favorite, the Kishka Pizza. Really. Amazing.) But we could never support enough restaurants to satisfy the needs of the community. People used to blame the Vaad. But I sat on the Vaad, and while the Vaad was never perfect, it just boiled down to a lack of demand for higher end kosher food. I think that people in Michigan are just simpler; they eat out less, and maybe that's because they have less money to spend on eating out. Which brings me to the best part of Michigan:

The people: Again, I have no idea what people are like in Houston. Let's assume, for the purpose of this uninformed blog post, that they fulfill every stereotype of Texas that we've seen in the movies. They massacre people with chainsaws, talk funny, and you can't really understand them. Ah, I jest.
Not so in Michigan.
People from the Midwest are just laid back. They don't put on airs. There's no phoniness about them. They're kind, caring and unpretentious. If you're looking for a place where you come to shul to see and be seen; to dress up and hobnob at the fancy catered kiddush each Shabbat - then don't go to Michigan. But if you're looking for a city where the people committed to community; where they really do look out for each-other, and where you can not only grow yourself, but really make a difference, then Michigan might be for you.

One thing I would say: the Houston initiative is great. The Orthodox community in Michigan could learn something from CHAT: I love their organization; the website they set up organizes all the important information in one place. If the Michigan Orthodox community is serious about attracting new families, this is the model that it needs to follow.

So, to sum it up, if you're looking to move out of New York, Chicago or L.A., move to Israel! But if that's not for you, in addition to looking at Houston, as the OU wants you to do, look at Michigan. It's a great place to raise a family, and when you decide to move to Israel, the community will offer you warmth, support and friendship, long after you've left.

Oh, I forgot one more thing. If you do decide that Michigan is for you, give me a call. I've got a house for sale. Really.

Audio Shiur: Parshat Mishpatim - The Four Shomrim

Audio Shiur:
PParshat Mishpatim - The Four Shomrim

This shiur is exactly what it sounds like: the source for the laws of the four Shomrim emanates from our parshah. By analyzing the text of the Torah, we come to derive how the halachot of the different types of watchmen emerge. We conclude with a powerful thought from the Ohr Hachayim on the idea of Shemirah Bebaalim.

Click here to download the shiur, or here to navigate to the shiur on YUTorah.org.

Now you can subscribe to this shiur as a podcast, directly from iTunes! To subscribe, click here.

Introducing Underdos

I recently learned about a new series of web shorts produced by a small group of Israeli Yeshiva guys called אנדרדוס - in English, Underdos (I think it's a play on a combination of Underdog and Dos - which is a derogatory term in Israel that means "frummie." Ironically, if you yourself are in fact "dosi", you see it as a badge of pride.) These guys have put out a series of short videos that I find hysterical, and you can find them all on their official Youtube channel. They're very clever, and very wry - but they're also at times hard to hear, and in very fast Hebrew. But I find them riotously funny. Enjoy!
To get you started, I'm sharing what I consider an instant classic:

Audio Shiur: Parshat Yitro - The Challenge of Lo Tachmod

Audio Shiur:
Parshat Yitro - The Challenge of Lo Tachmod

The recent commercial frenzy surrounding the Super Bowl (an annual event) highlighted the degree to which Western society is obsessed with wanting things. In the attached commercial, Jerry will go to almost any length not just to get the car, but to be the first to get the care. This seems, at face value, to directly contradict the prohibition against "coveting" the possessions of others. What does Lo Tachmod mean? What's prohibited? And how are we supposed to follow this commandment in the stuff-hoarding society in which we live?

Click here to download the shiur, or here to navigate to the shiur on YUTorah.org.

Now you can subscribe to this shiur as a podcast, directly from iTunes! To subscribe, click here.

Guilt for Excercise? A Torah Value Taken to the Extreme

My weight and I have long engaged in a friendly, and sometimes not-so-friendly competition. It tries to the get the best of me while I struggle to keep it under control. I was never one of those people who could eat whatever I wanted and maintain a healthy weight (and found myself quite envious of those who were). For many years I adhered to a SugarBusters diet (though I fell off that wagon about a year ago), and since my college days I've been a regular runner. (Back in semichah, when I lived in Washington Heights, I used to run over the George Washington Bridge. It was a great, beautiful run.)
Aside from the issue of trying to stay healthy, I just feel better when I excercise, both physically and emotionally. Running helps me stay calmer, more balanced, and well-adjusted. I figured it was a good thing all around.
Then I received the OU's most recent Shabbat Shalom email, which contained an article entitled, "Why Do I Feel Guilty When I Run?" in which Rabbi Pesach Sommer, who lost about 100 pounds over the last year writes,

So when I began to vigorously engage in what seemed like a strictly physical pursuit, I felt guilty. I was uncomfortable with activities like sports and exercise. Running, with all the health benefits it had to offer, left me uneasy.
I tried to ignore the little voice in my head that told me that running was bitul zman, a waste of time. When that didn’t work, I tried to convince myself that my time in the gym was justified by the fact that it would allow me to live longer and fulfill the goal of v’nishmartem meod, protecting my life. I suppose that should have been enough, but somehow it left me less than satisfied. Not enough to get me to stop, but, still, I was determined to understand and hopefully get rid of the gnawing feeling I was experiencing.

Rabbi Summer ends his brief article concluding that his excercise was actually improving his spirituality, which is nice and true. But reading the article, I found myself wondering, "Why in the world did he feel guilty? What if he achieved no spiritual nirvana through running, but simply led a more healthy lifestyle? Where did we get the notion that excercise is "bittul zman"?
A commenter on the article states it this way,

I'm actually shocked and even horrified at the idea that we Jews have produced a culture that could leave someone feeling guilty for exercising.

I believe that the answer - and the source of Rabbi Sommer's guilt - lies in a good value taken to the extreme, which manifests itself in many areas of Orthodox life.
Judaism considers the study of Torah to be a core component of a religious, spritual life. In fact, halachah considers Torah study to be obligatory. One must study Torah. The question is: how much? For how long?
Boiling a complicated halachic discussion into a nutshell, two basic opinions emerge. The first, articulated by Rambam and actually encoded into the Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh Deah, 246:1), posits that one must, at a minimum, study Torah every day and night. They derive this from the verse where God tells Yehoshua, והגית בו יומם וליליה - "and you shall delve [Torah] day and night." (Yehoshua, 1:8) According to the most lenient position, one can even fulfill this obligation with the simple recitation of the Shema each morning and night.
On the other side of the spectrum - way, way on the other side - is a chorus of opinions that take the verse quite literally: one must study Torah at all times, always, day and night. According to opinions in the Talmud, this precludes any secular study (See Menachot 99b), learning a trade, (See Mishnah Kiddushin 4:14), and basically anything else. Any activity, other than the study of Torah, is a waste of time, and represents the shirking of one's spiritual obligation to study Torah.
Despite the fact that the Shulchan Aruch ruled leniently, the strict opinion - perhaps even the most extreme formulation of that opinion, has become the guiding mantra of the entire yeshiva world. Any serious yeshiva considers, as one of its founding principles, that the study of Torah is not only the most valuable endeavor in which a person can engage, but that as a direct result, any other endeavor is, by definition, a waste of time, and must be calculated as such.
Is it wrong to have such an attitude? Of course it's not wrong. But I don't think that it's right for everyone. In fact, it might only be the correct attitude for a very small subset of people who are capable of devoting every waking moment to Torah study. For them, the sense of obligation to learn all the time propels them forward, spurring them to achieve greatness in their learning. But what about for everyone else?
How would you feel if you were told, from the moment that you walked into school, that you must study Torah without pause for the rest of your life...and if you just couldn't do it, either because while you liked learning, the hours of sitting were just too long; or you weren't all that good at it; or you needed to get a job to support your family; Or you were 100 pounds overweight?
I can tell you how you'd feel, because I've felt it: You'd feel guilty. You'd feel like you were wasting your time. You'd feel that running, to stay in shape and be healthier, simply couldn't be justified, no matter how unhealthy you'd become. And that guilt is not a healthy thing.
More importantly perhaps, this guilt-fest does not accurately represent the only perspective on this issue. The Torah also conveys other values that Torah Jews must consider. Case in point: living a healthy lifestyle. It's not simply a matter of common sense. Rather, being healthy is a Torah value as well.
Rabbi Shlomo Ganzfried, in his "Kitzur Shulchan Aruch (Chapter 32) writes,

הואיל והיות הגוף בריא ושלם, מדרכי השם הוא, אי אפשר שיבין או ידע דבר מידיעת הבורא והוא חולה, לפיכך צריך האדם להרחיק את עצמו מדברים המאבדין את הגוף, ולהנהיג את עצמו בדברים המברין והמחלימים את הגוף, וכן הוא אומר ונשמרתם מאד לנפשותיכם. 

Since it is among the ways of God to have a whole and healthy body, and it is impossible for a person to have knowledge of God when he is sick, for this reason, a person must distance himself from things that destroy the body, and purport himself in ways that bring health and well-being tot he body, as it is written, "And you will carefully guard your lives."

They don't emphasize that halachah in yeshiva, because if they did, every bachur would take a couple of hours, a few times of week, to get some excercise. And he'd do it, not because he was overweight, and not because he couldn't feel his legs after hours of sitting in the Beit Midrash.
No, he'd do it because he saw his Rosh Yeshiva exercising too. And then, I am certain that he'd have no problem exercising without ever feeling guilty.