Moreshet Shaul: Inability to Pass on Abandoned Tradition – part II | Various Rabbis | Beit Midrash

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[Last time, we saw Rav Yisraeli’s principle that idealistic values can stem from previous generations and, if not connected to Torah, can "burn out" before the next generation.]
If we see an unusually large flame, in a place where we are used to a normal, stable flame, we should assume that it is not good, but that it is a sign of catastrophe. There must have been an eruption – perhaps a storehouse of petrol caught fire. The great flame is a sign that in a relatively short time, there will be nothing left.
It is easy to waste resources that one did not toil to attain. It is pleasant to appear to be generous, on the account of others, but such a situation cannot last for long. A treasure house, even the richest one, must dwindle if there is no flow of new resources to replenish it and provide sustenance. There is a reason, of course, that pioneer spirit appears headed toward disappearing from the world. There is a reason that the writer who writes about a pioneer has to go back to heroes of the past, as we are running out of such people – the store house is diminishing.
The "worship" of the land and of physical work stems from the same pure simplicity with which the worshipper’s father would be excited when he prayed, "Because of our sins we were exiled from our Land." Ignoring one’s personal welfare and finding one’s essence in nullifying himself and embracing the life of the community occur because one of his forebears once left his wife, children, and possessions to travel to his spiritual mentor to "collect crumbs of clinging to Hashem." When one becomes ecstatic when dancing the Hora to the point of forgetting his senses, this stems from the forebear’s excitement when dancing at Kiddush Levana, from the joy of Simchat Torah, and from the delight in the rest-day of Shabbat. The modern contentment with justice and a life of honesty is an echo of the forebear’s prayers for a better world.
As long as the sublime feeling is still bubbling somewhere in the depths of the soul, such as when one remembers a Seder night with his father, or his grandfather’s crying during Tikkun Chatzot (prayer for the rebuilding of the Temple), or the holy atmosphere during the High Holy Days, or the joy of satisfaction on Sukkot, he can and will find excitement in that which replaces these memories in his present life. He "builds his gods" in the likeness of the service of Hashem that he lost. However, slowly, the memories fade. The purposeless festivities and dancing cannot create within him new strength. The chicken coup cannot take the place of the Temple and the reins of the plough cannot take the place of the straps of tefillin. The illusion must by force evaporate. If it will not occur to the first-generation pioneer, it will happen to his son. The son is born without knowledge, never experienced a Seder night, never got up for Selichot, and never trembled in anticipation of shofar blowing. He cannot reach back and have the ability to make new gods, because he does not feel a need for them, for he did not lose a connection to Hashem.
There is great disappointment among the previous generation’s intellectuals, as they are shocked by the emptiness of the new generation. A generation has arisen that does not find interest in a simple reading book. To them, football is as important as morning and evening prayers; it is a generation without yearnings, desire, or aspirations. They should just see the fruit of their leaving the Book of Books, which they disgraced in their interest in trying to build everything from anew, based on their foundations.