Gastronomic Universe

What is pleasure? We use the word in relation to so many and diverse things. What do a steak, a musical composition and an idea have in common? Yet “pleasure” is our word of choice in describing our experience of a meal, a concert, or an intellectual revelation. For as different as the sensations derived from these things may be, they share a common essence: the capacity to impart a sense of fulfillment to the human soul.

Indeed, all pleasures flow from the same font. The teachings of kabbalah describe the created reality in terms of a “chain of evolution” (seder hishtalshelut), whose uppermost link is G-d’s pleasure in His creation, which spawns the divine desire to create. This divine desire then passes through many stages and metamorphoses, evolving into “worlds” and realities of increased tactility. Every object, force or phenomenon is simply another form of the generic divine desire—the differences between them lie only in the manner and extent of their evolution. The higher a reality is in the “chain,” the greater its awareness of its source; it is thus more “spiritual”—more subservient to the divine will, less possessive of a sense of being and self. The further down it passes through the chain, the more “distant” it becomes from its source: the less aware and subservient, the more tactual and egocentric—the more physical.

Hence, the more spiritual a thing is, the more profound the pleasure it yields, for it is closer to the source of all pleasure. The ultimate pleasure lies in the experience of union with G-d through the fulfillment of His will—an experience that relates to the very first link in the chain, where pleasure resides in its most pristine, “unprocessed” form.

In its lowest reaches, the “chain of evolution” yields things that are unconducive—or even contrary—to what G-d wants. The capacity of these things to give pleasure is an existential paradox: all pleasure is but the embodiment of the divine pleasure in creation, while these “pleasures” are divine displeasures—things contrary to G-d’s will. Yet they, too, are products of the divine desire, since their capacity to give pleasure fills a certain function in G-d’s purpose in creation: G-d desired that we be confronted with a free choice between good and evil so that our deeds should be meaningful and significant. But G-d wants that these things should exist only in order that man should reject them as contrary to His will; so theirs is an existence whose inner essence—whose function and raison d’être—is not to exist.

Chassidic teaching employs the metaphor of “digestion” to explain this phenomenon. Digestion is the process by which food passes through the various organs which break it down and separate its finer elements from its coarser ones. At each phase of the process, this separation grows more and more defined; ultimately, the finer elements in the food evolve into body-building cells and energy, and its coarser elements are ejected by the body. Both the nutrients and the waste are “products” of the digestion process; but the former is generated to be used, while the latter is generated to be rejected and thereby enable the body’s absorption of the former.

By the same token, the “chain of evolution” is the cosmic digestive system in which the essence of creation is processed into the substance and energy of the universe that G-d desired. This process (like every process we know[1]) also generates waste—elements that must be separated and disposed of in order for the desirable product to properly develop. Of course, G-d could have evolved His world in such a manner that the good develops without any separation of “waste” (or, for that matter, He could have not “evolved” it at all), but He desired that the good in creation should be all the more sharply defined by its contrast with the rejected evil; that human life should be an exercise in refinement—in distinguishing between the calories of divine energy and the sludge of putrid waste in our own self and character, our environment and our world. Indeed, the very concept of “good,” as we know it, would be devoid of all meaning were it not for the challenge of rejecting the evil that vies for validation and indulgence.

Thus, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi explains the following incident related in the Talmud:

Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Akiva were traveling, when they heard the sounds of the crowds of Rome from a distance of one hundred and twenty mil. They began to weep, but Rabbi Akiva laughed.

Said they to him: “These barbarians, who prostrate themselves before statues and sacrifice to idols, dwell happy and secure, while we—the footstool of our G-d[2] was consumed by fire. Shall we not weep?

Said he to them: “That is why I am laughing. If for those who transgress His will it is so, how much more so is it for those who do His will.”[3]

Rabbi Akiva is saying: if the “waste” produced by the divine desire in creation can yield such pleasure for the hedonist, imagine the pleasure to be derived through the fulfillment of His will, which is the source and essence of all pleasure.

Therein lies the deeper significance of the idolatry of Pe’or, to which the Jewish people succumbed on the eve of their entry into the Land of Israel, as related in the 25th chapter of Numbers. The worship of Pe’or was a particularly repulsive form of idolatry, in which the worshipper exposed himself to the idol and defecated before it.[4] In truth, however, this was but the physical enactment of what a person does each time he prefers a mundane pleasure over a spiritual-G-dly one: he is worshipping the offal of creation, venerating something whose only significance is its need to be rejected in favor of the energies that were extracted from it.

This is why Israel’s vulnerability to Pe’or came about at the close of their forty-year sojourn in the desert as they camped on the eastern bank of the Jordan River poised to enter and settle the Land of Canaan. For forty years, the people of Israel had enjoyed a wholly spiritual existence. Manna from the heavens—spiritual food that yielded no waste[5]—sustained them; the miraculous “well of Miriam” sated their thirst; “clouds of glory” sheltered them from the harsh realities of the material world. Thus insulated, they were free to pursue the divine wisdom of Torah without distraction or interference. They inhabited a spiritual idyll, in which the “waste” of creation was unknown.

But now they stood at the threshold of a new era: they were to settle the land, till its soil, engage in commerce and politics—i.e., to live a physical life sustained by physical means. For the first time in their history as a nation, they were to be in direct contact with the nether levels of the “chain of evolution”—with that part of the cosmic digestive tract which separates the waste from the body of creation. For the first time, they were called upon to differentiate between vital matter—matter that nourishes a spiritual end—and mundane matter—matter as an end in itself.

Not all were equal to the challenge. There was an outbreak of Pe’or worship in the Israelite camp, as many were enticed by the pseudo-pleasures to found in the undesirable by-product of creation. Until one man—Pinchas—came, and with his selfless commitment, unclouded vision and decisive action, put a halt to the plague of Pe’or.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Parshat Balak, 5723 (July 6, 1963)[6]

There is a fashion in language as in almost everything else. One of the “in” phrases today is “Be Realistic!” Whether used as an exhortation, admonition or as gentle chiding, it is usually prompted by exasperation that the person to whom the remark is directed refuses to “see reason.” “Reason” in this case being that he refuses to forgo time honored values and traditions that have stood the test of time in exchange for the transient modes and mores of the moment. He is “old fashioned” because he refuses to swim with the tide, or irrational to cling to ideas and ideals which were given long ago and do not conform with “modern” trends. Another aspect of this call for realism is the argument that even if might is not right one cannot buck the establishment or “fight City Hall.” So, for instance, Israel, which is so dependant on the USA and others, must temper its actions accordingly, even though it may not be in its best interests.

What is a realist? A wit once defined a realist as “an optimist with experience.” This description may not be as cynical as it at first seems.

A valuable lesson in realism may be learned from the events which led up to the Chassidic Festival of Yud Beis Tammuz which we celebrate this week. The facts are well documented, not least of all in the lucid account from the prolific pen of the Previous Rebbe himself. Briefly stated they are that in 1927 the Soviet authorities, keen to stamp out Judaism in the USSR, arrested the Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn, on trumped up charges of activities against the State, intending to sentence him to death. Paradoxically, those who arrested him paid the greatest testimony to his stature. Intent on promoting a G-dless society and destroying the paraphernalia of observance, they saw in the previous Rebbe, and the followers he led and inspired, the greatest threat to their designs. Remove the Rebbe, they reasoned, and the organized promotion and observance of Judaism would end. The mighty Soviet machine that had toppled the great Czarist regime was afraid of this one great Jew and the influence he wielded.

Incarcerated under unspeakable conditions, tortured physically and mentally, the Previous Rebbe had to face a final interrogation by a committee of three who would decide his sentence. Ushered into a long room at the end of which sat his inquisitors, the Rebbe, physically abused and suffering injuries from which he never fully recovered, walked slowly towards them. Unbowed, he initiated the conversation by saying: “This is the first time that I recall entering a room without people standing up!” One of the interrogators jumped up, shouting remonstratively: “Quiet! Do you know where you are?” Still walking towards him, the Rebbe replied: “Yes! I am in a room which according to Jewish Law does not require a Mezuzah: a stable or a bathroom.”

The end of that chapter of the story was that the Rebbe was sentenced to death. Due to outcry by Governments abroad, the sentence was first commuted to exile, and, shortly afterwards, the Rebbe was freed.

Realistically, was the Previous Rebbe’s attitude not foolhardy? He knew that, on the face of it, these three men held his life in their hands. Would it not have been better to be more conciliatory? To, perhaps, compromise a little? Not to buck the establishment? To live to fight another day?

Now, over 70 years later, with 20/20 hindsight, one may evaluate and answer these questions.

His optimism lay in his bitochen[7]. He had perfect faith. In his own words on a previous occasion, he had “but one G-d and two worlds [this and the world to come] “ and could not be intimidated by those “who had many gods and but one world.” And his experience told him that one could not cede compromises or do deals with those who seek to eliminate you. By doing so one only helps fulfill their agenda: one becomes their agent in destroying what they seek to destroy. His experience also told him that in the preceding millennia, empires greater than the USSR had sought to wipe out the Jewish Nation and had failed: they had perished and the Jewish People had survived.

One chapter ended but the story continued. The Previous Rebbe left Soviet Russia soon after this, but his Chassidim, under pain of death, continued his work and kept the flame of Yiddishkeit there alight and alive. The Rebbe moved first to Riga and then to Warsaw where he experienced the horrors of the Nazi onslaught. Finally, he moved to the USA where he regrouped. He, and later his son-in-law and successor, enthused and inspired thousands of young men and women, many from secular and assimilated backgrounds, with their vision, purpose and leadership to help revitalize the Jewish condition throughout the world following the Second World War and the holocaust.

The USSR has disintegrated but the teaching and practice of Judaism there is once again thriving. On the foundations laid by his predecessor, the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, has built an empire that continues to grow, reaching out to tens of thousands of Jews worldwide. It is truly an “Empire on which the sun never sets”, an empire built not on fear and force but on love and enlightenment, not on compromise but on compassion.

In doing so, a new word has been added to the English language and to the lexicon of the world: Outreach. Translated into as many languages as exist, it connotes love, sacrifice of self, kindness and caring.

Unfortunately, though, even with perfect hindsight, there are those who still do not perceive the picture clearly. They are constantly looking over their shoulders to see what “the world” is saying. They are unable to discern the difference between what is real and what is ephemeral, fantasy or fad. Compare this with the Torah perspective, the Rebbe’s perspective: Look straight ahead, keep our eyes firmly on the road leading to the ultimate goal, never deviating to the left or right. Then, it is attainable and imminent. Which way is right? Examine the facts! Be realistic!

Amongst chassidim there were two dominant types: “intellectuals” (maskilim), who would spend hours contemplating the subtleties of chassidic thought; and “servers” (ovdim), who put the greater emphasis on their service of the Almighty, laboring to refine their character and perfect their behavior.

A maskil walks on his head; an oved walks with his feet. Walking on one's head is a spectacular feat. Everyone notices, and is extremely impressed by the skill displayed by the walking skull. But if you want to get somewhere, walk with your feet.

[1]. This is not to say that because, in our experience, the processing of a substance produces waste, this is how it had to be with G-d’s “processing” of creation. On the contrary: because G-d so chose to create the world, our reality reflects the dynamics of His creation.

[6]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. IV, pp. 1327-1328. See Torah Ohr, 81a-b.

[7] Bitochen is usually taken to mean a higher form of trust, belief, faith than that expressed by the word Emunah. In the words of the Rebbe, as explained once to the writer, “If confronted with a problem, one may have emunah (faith, trust, etc.) that the Al-mighty will help one to overcome it. With Bitochen one does not even countenance that a problem exists; it is only a challenge.”