Deep concepts crop up in funny places.

A sentimental dollop of schmaltz garnished with "yubba buhs," Fiddler on the Roof has warmed Jewish hearts. Tevye the milkman sings an antic little jig: "Would it spoil some vast eternal plan / if I were a wealthy man?"

Not a theologian trying to discern G-d’s ways, Tevye’s question is rhetorical, a little dig at G-d’s apparent indifference to Tevye's poverty; will the cosmos be shaken if I came into a few rubles?

Actually, Tevye raises an enigmatic issue: What is the meaning of our finite existence? I inhabit a minuscule particle in an endless universe teeming with countless stars, galaxies, and planets of mind-boggling proportions. I share this tiny speck with six billion humans. I will live for a mere 80 or 90 years, less then a blink of an eye in cosmic terms. I am dwarfed by the endlessness of time and the boundlessness of space. How can what I do be of any consequence?

To address this question, we must first deal with a misconception: the size fallacy. A child stubs his toe and cries in pain; the same day a bomb scare at Kennedy International Airport delays flights and inconveniences thousands of travelers. Which of these stories will make the New York Times front page? Since, in either case, there was no lasting consequence, why is the airport closure news and the toe stubbing beneath notice? Why does the conquest of Mount Everest excite the imagination, whereas scaling half a dozen more challenging peaks attracts no attention? Why are the Eiffel Tower, the Rock of Gibraltar, and the Empire State Building major tourist attractions? Why spend time and money to see a stack of girders, a stone, or an office building? The answer is that all of the above are big, and we instinctively equate size with significance.

Tevye assumes that the "vast eternal plan" is modular, consisting of interchangeable, disposable parts. This misconception follows from the observation that when a prime minister dies or a multinational corporation collapses, celestial orbits continue unperturbed, the laws of nature remain in force and the world goes on as before. The world appears to comprise a multiplicity of autonomous, self-sustaining components engaged in an endless variety of unrelated events. Thus, replacing Tevye the pauper with Tevye the magnate would have no impact outside Anatevka and should easily be accommodated by the eternal plan.

Tevye doesn’t understand that creation is a form of language. The symbols of language are carefully chosen and arranged to reveal a thought or feeling. Every word, and its relative position in a sentence, contributes to the intent.

Consider the verse "Hear O Israel, G-d is our L-rd, G-d is One." This statement of faith expresses the unity of G-d that He is the only true existence. Suppose a scribe made a small error and substituted the letter alef for the letter ayin at the end of the word for "Hear," "Shma." Since the other 24 letters are correct, 96% of the verse is fine and the inadvertent substitution should have no effect.

In fact, this little alteration not only changes the meaning of the verse, it perverts it. The word "Shma" with an alef means "perhaps," so instead of "Hear O Israel, G-d is our L-rd, G-d is One" the verse now translates into "Perhaps O Israel G-d is our L-rd, G-d is One." This little change transforms the great statement of faith into a great statement of doubt. The substitution of other letters of the Shma may not result in such a dramatic distortion in meaning, yet the transposition, substitution, elimination, or deformation of any individual letter will render tefillin, a mezzuzah, or an entire Torah scroll invalid.

Just as every letter of Torah captures an essential aspect of divine wisdom, each detail of Creation is a vehicle or "letter" through which G-d's wisdom is introduced into our world. In the words of the holy Zohar, "He looked into the Torah and created the world." This is why Torah Law governs every minute detail of life, and why no object, act, or event is beneath consideration by the vast corpus of the Talmud. Inasmuch as each particular of Creation is mandatory for the realization of G-d's "vast eternal plan," Tevye has no case. He and the details of his life are critical to the purpose of creation.

Where does all of this leave Tevye, and the rest of us? Must we live under rigid predestination, locked into roles demanded of us by the eternal plan? We can not, after all, expect G-d to restructure creation to adjust to our individual desires, or can we?

Yes, we can change things through prayer. Prayer is not only an option, it is a Mitzvah. The Torah assures us that prayer does not go unanswered, although the results may not be readily apparent. We are thus not only characters in the Divine Drama, we are co-authors.

Although, as presupposed by Tevye's query, we are puny, feeble, vulnerable, fallible mortals, there are universal consequences to everything we do. Every mitzvah, every act of kindness redefines our role in life, and necessitates a corresponding refinement in the cosmos consistent with his or her new status. The divine plan is constantly being amended to adjust to our improvements, and we are, therefore, partners with G-d in the ongoing process of creating a perfect world. With each positive act and subsequent revision of the "divine script," we advance closer to the final draft.

Every time we place a coin in a charity box, don tefillin, or lift someone's spirits with a kind word or a smile, angelic vehicles of divine grace are created and channels are opened. Not only do our actions effect changes in the vast eternal plan, we were placed here specifically for that purpose.

Excerpted from an essay in Di Yiddishe Heim by Dr. Yaakov Brawer, Professor of Anatomy and Cell Biology at McGill University Faculty of Medicine, and author of two books of Chassidic philosophy, "Something From Nothing" and "Eyes That See"

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