Dreamworld

As the book of Genesis takes up the story of Joseph, the narrative meanders through a succession of dreams: Joseph’s dreams, which incensed his brothers and drove them to sell him into slavery (Genesis 37:5-11, 19-20); the dreams of the Pharaoh’s butler and his baker, which Joseph interpreted in prison (40:5-19); and Pharaoh’s dreams, which elevated Joseph to the second-highest office in the most powerful empire on earth (41:1-44).

The result of all this dreaming was the Egyptian galut (exile)—the first galut experienced by the Jewish people and the source of all their subsequent galuyot.[1] The Children of Israel settled in Egypt, where they were later enslaved by the Egyptians, and where they deteriorated spiritually to the extent that, in many respects, they came to resemble their enslavers.[2] When G-d came to redeem them, He had to “take a nation from the innards of a nation,”[3] entering into the bowels of Egypt to extract His chosen people from the most depraved society in the history of mankind.

A dream is perception without the discipline of reason. Here are all the stimuli and experiences we know from “real” life—sights and sounds, thoughts and action, exhilaration and dread. Indeed, everything in a dream is borrowed from our waking lives, for “a person dreams only of his daytime thoughts.”[4] But everything is topsy-turvy, defying all norms of logic and credulity. In a dream, a tragedy might be a cause for celebration, a parent might be younger than his child, and one might witness “an elephant passing through the eye of a needle.”

Galut was born out of a succession of dreams because galut is the ultimate dream—a terrible, irrational fantasy embracing the globe and spanning millennia. A dream in which crime pays, the good die young, and G-d’s chosen people are slaughtered with impunity. A dream in which what is right is seldom “realistic,” and non-existences such as “evil,” “ignorance” and “death” are potent forces in our lives.

The surreality of galut pervades our spiritual lives as well. Only in galut can a person arise in the morning, purify himself in a mikvah,[5] pray with ecstasy and devotion, study a chapter of Torah, and then proceed to the office for a business day of connivance, deceit and manipulation. “Hypocrisy” is not an adequate description of this phenomenon—in many cases, his prayer is sincere, and his love and awe of G-d quite real. But he inhabits the dream-world of galut, where antitheses coexist and inconsistencies are the norm.

In the real world, such absurdities were impossible. When the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple) stood in Jerusalem and bathed the world in divine daylight, no man with a residue of spiritual impurity (tum’ah) could approach G-d until he had undergone a process of purification. That G-d is the source of life and that sin (i.e., disconnection from the divine) is synonymous with death was no mere conceptual truth, but a fact of life.[6] In the real world that was, and to which we shall awaken when the dream of galut shall evaporate, the spiritual laws of reality are as apparent and as immutable as—indeed more apparent and immutable than—the physical laws of nature.

But there is also a positive side to our hallucinatory existence. In the real world, a true relationship with G-d can come only in the context of a life consistently faithful to Him; in the dreamworld of galut, the imperfect man can experience the divine. In the real world, only the impeccable soul can enter into the Sanctuary of G-d; in the dreamworld of galut, G-d “resides amongst them, in the midst of their impurity.”[7]

We daily await the divine dawn that will dispel the nightmare that, for much of history, has crippled us physically and spiritually. But in the moments remaining to our dream, let us avail ourselves of the unique opportunity to be “inconsistent” and “hypocritical” in the most positive way: by overreaching our spiritual capacity, by being and doing more than we are able by any sane assessment of our merit and potential.

[Upon reclaiming the Beit Hamikdash from the Greeks], the Hashmonians first made the menorah out of iron poles plated with tin. When they grew wealthier, they made a menorah of silver. When they grew wealthier still, they made a menorah of gold.

The people were poor, and all they could afford was an iron menorah. They scraped together some tin to give it a silver-like appearance and luster, but this was but a thin veneer, and obviously not the real thing. But they kept at it, iron-willed as their makeshift candelabra, illuminating their lives and their world with the oil lamps it held aloft.

Soon they could afford real silver—solid silver, supple and lustrous through and through. Their light now yearned sweetlythrough the night, complemented by the soft white gleam of the vessel that bore it.

Our sages have said, “There is no true poverty save the poverty of mind, and no true wealth save the wealth of mind.”[9] But even the poorest of souls need not relinquish his role as “a lamp of G‑d.”[10] He can build his menorah out of the iron of commitment and determination—something even the most impoverished of mind and spirit can muster.

And anyone can plate his menorah with tin, imparting to it at least a semblance of silvery feeling and desire (the Hebrew word for “silver,” kessef, also means “yearning” and “desire”). He need not worry that his emotions are shallow and contrived: if he keeps at it, doing luminous deeds and cultivating an understanding and feeling for what he is doing, his iron core will hold it all together until he develops into a wholly silver menorah.

Eventually, he will even attain the ultimate menorah—a luminous life in which the tranquil yearning of silver gives rise to the fiery passion of gold.[11]

Based on an entry in the Rebbe’s journal, dated “Chanukah 5696” (1935)[12]

The following are freely translated excerpts from a letter written by the Rebbe in September of 1964[13] to Israeli author Kaddish Luz:

When receiving a book from its author, it is my custom to presume that he did not send it to me for no particular reason, but rather that his intention was that I read it, and that if I have anything to remark, to accept my remarks in good cheer, even if I do not identify with his views. So, too, in the case of your book, I will allow myself to express a number of remarks, particularly regarding the primary focus of your book—to describe the commune (kibbutz) and the communal life there...

I trust that you will agree with me that the creation of a community is not an end in itself, and certainly not an ultimate end; rather, it is a means to the achievement, through a collective effort, of a desirable way of life.

In and of itself, the most apparent function of the commune is to equalize individuals of greater and lesser stature—something that runs contrary to human nature. For human beings, “Just as their faces are different from one another, so, too, are their minds and characters different from one another.”[14] A person thus finds satisfaction and fulfillment when he is given the opportunity to actualize his potentials not so much in those areas which he shares in common with his fellows, but rather in those areas in which he, as an individual, is superior to his compatriots and his society—for in these areas lie his uniqueness.

At the same time, man is not, by nature, a recluse, and “it is not good for man to be alone.”[15] The human being seeks a social life as the context and means by which to attain his personal fulfillment.

Indeed, a communal life enables a group of individuals to achieve far more than they could on their own—more, even, than the sum of their individual potentials. For as it is known, the output of two people working together is more than double the output of one person working on his own.[16] Another positive function of the commune is that it eliminates the jealousy and competitiveness that often brings a deterioration of the relations between a person and his fellows, while a communal effort usually draws people closer to each other.

On the other hand, the purpose of the commune must not be to eliminate all competitiveness, since challenge and competition are among the chief stimulants toward greater effort and advancement on a person’s part and an optimal and alacritous utilization of his talents and potentials. Rather, the commune should channel the competition to a higher plane. In other words, instead of the competition being for man’s most basic, material needs—which is where the competition begins in an individualistic society—to the extent that, in the words of our sages, “Were it not for the fear of the government (i.e., society’s enforcement of its laws) a man would swallow his fellow alive”[17]—in a communal society, the competition can be transferred to higher aims, whether to the procurement of supplements beyond one’s basic needs, or, on a higher level—to achievements in the life of the spirit.

What may be derived from all of the above is that the concept of community and communal life is not a goal and achievement in its own right, but a step, facilitator and path to the development of the individuality and uniqueness of its members and the realization of their individuality and uniqueness in the best and fullest way.

Such a basic appreciation of the function and goals of the commune is important not only after the commune has been established and a full communal life is set and running, and it now must be decided how to utilize its surplus resources and how to emphasize each member’s characteristics and talents to their fullest extent; rather, this appreciation is of utmost importance at the very beginning of the commune’s establishment. For often, and perhaps in most cases, the very establishing of a communally structured life will, by necessity, provoke an internal resistance on the part of its members to a regimen that attempts to suppress their individuality and turn them into parts of a mass. However, when the individual member appreciates that this is but a stage in his self-development and a path toward the expansion of his opportunities for greater achievement as an individual, by freeing him from lesser concerns (i.e., those regarding his basic material needs, which will be procured more easily and efficiently thanks to the collective communal effort)—this appreciation will not only eliminate his natural resistance, but will increase his enthusiasm and commitment in the fulfillment of his duties towards the commune.

Furthermore, such understanding and appreciation is important not only for the success of the commune, but also for the quality of life within it—an issue which you also touch upon in your book. For example, the quality of the relationship between parents and their children in the commune—an area in which the damage can far exceed the gains. For these relationships belong to the “spiritual” area of life, where a person’s individuality and independence is of paramount importance.

Another point, which I think important, is the difference in feeling and regard toward the commune on the part of its founders and on the part of those born into it. The founders of the commune, or those who joined it in its early stages, can derive a deep satisfaction from the fact that they have come to this (as you describe in your book) from a very different way of life and from a society with very different views, and have achieved this communal life through great toil, sacrifice and suffering—all of which serve to make one’s achievements that much more precious and admirable in one’s eyes. On the other hand, those born into the commune or raised in it regard it as a most natural way of life; to them, the limitations of communal life, such as discussed above, tend to be more pronounced than its positive aspects. This cannot fail to awaken in them a dissatisfaction, or even rebelliousness; it is inevitable that there will be dissent between them and those who enforce the communal regimen on them. Regarding them, it is even more important to emphasize the communal life as a stage and facilitator towards a higher goal.

Which brings me to the crux of the matter, to the burning question which, incidentally, I did not see addressed in your book: What goal or ideal is presented to the next generation as the objective to be achieved via the structure of a communal life, so that they should desire to achieve it even if this requires effort, toil and sacrifice on their part?

[6]. “In the Scriptures, and in the words of our sages, we find the concepts of karet (“cut off”) and mitah bidei shamayim (“death by the hand of Heaven”)—that if one transgresses a sin which carries the penalty of karet, one actually dies before the age of fifty; in the case of [a sin that carries the penalty of] mitah bidei shamayim, one actually dies before age sixty... (and in certain cases, immediately). So why is it that we find, in every generation, individuals who are guilty of [such sins], who enjoy long and pleasant years of life?

“The concept of karet is that the ‘cord’ that connects the soul to G-d and through which it receives its divine vitality is cut off... However, this was when Israel was on a higher plane, when the divine presence dwelt among Israel in the Beit HaMikdash. Then the vitality of the body came only via the divine soul, from the innermost aspect of the flow of vitality coming from G-d... But after they had fallen from their station, and their deeds caused the mystery of galut ha-shechinah (i.e., the divine presence is in a state of ‘exile’ and concealment)... and the flow of divine vitality passes through lowly and convoluted processes... also the sinner and the wicked person can receive life for their body and their animal soul...” (Tanya, Igeret HaTeshuvah, chs. 4-6).