On the Essence of Leadership

INSIGHTS: The World as You
“Also the world He placed in their hearts,” said the wisest of men. For bitter and for swee

A TELLING STORY:
That is the Question
We turn to our leaders and mentors for solutions to the dilemmas that plague our souls. But does every dilemma have a solution?
Flying Horses
A holy horse is still a horse
By the Book
Most of us learn to follow instructions, but some get it right on their own

On the Essence of Leadership

Moses is Israel and Israel is Moses.… For the leader of the generation is as the entire generation, for the leader embodies them all

Rashi, Numbers 21:21

What is leadership?

We expect our leaders to be wise: to be able to discern right from wrong and make the proper decisions on issues that affect our lives. To provide us with a vision of where we stand and where we are headed, and guide us toward the realization of our goals.

We expect our leaders to be caring and committed: to empathize with our needs and aspirations and devote themselves to their fulfillment.

We expect our leaders to be strong: calm and decisive in times of crisis, capable warriors and diplomats in the furtherance of our aims.

We expect our leaders to be individuals of high moral character and integrity, bearers of an ethical standard for young and old to emulate.

But the most important (and probably the most overlooked) function of the leader is to unite us: to knit diverse individuals into a single people and to inspire diverse--and often conflicting--wills to coalesce into a common destiny.

One of the first things we did together as a people was sing.

The nation of Israel was born on the 15th of Nissan in the year 2448 from creation (1313 bce)--the day that G-d “extracted a nation from the bowels of a nation,”[1] freeing the children of Israel from Egyptian slavery. Seven days later, the Israelites witnessed the destruction of their former enslavers when the Red Sea split, to allow them passage and drowned the pursuing Egyptians. The Torah relates how, upon beholding the great miracle,

Moses and the children of Israel sang this song to G-d, saying:

I shall sing to G-d for He is most exalted;
Horse and rider He cast in the sea.
G-d is my strength and song; He is my salvation
This is my G-d, and I shall glorify[2] Him
The G-d of my fathers, and I shall exalt Him...[3]

This song, known as Shirat HaYam--“Song at the Sea,”--goes on to describe the great miracles that G-d performed for His people, G-d’s promise to bring them to the Holy Land and reveal His presence among them in the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple) in Jerusalem, and Israel’s goal to implement G-d’s eternal sovereignty in the world. Its forty-four verses express the gist of our relationship with G-d and our mission in life, and thus occupy a most important place in the Torah and in Jewish life.[4]

Our sages also focus on the prefatory line to the Song at the Sea, in which the Torah introduces it as a song sung by “Moses and the children of Israel.” Moses was obviously one of the “children of Israel,” so the fact that the Torah singles him out implies that Moses took a leading role in the composition and delivery of this song. Indeed, the nature of Moses’ role is a point of much discussion by our sages: the Talmud[5] relates no fewer than three different opinions on exactly how Moses led his people in their song of praise and thanksgiving to G-d.

According to Rabbi Akiva, it was Moses who composed and sang the Shirat HaYam, while the people of Israel merely responded to each verse with the refrain “I shall sing to G-d.” Moses sang, “For He is most exalted,” and they answered, “I shall sing to G-d”; Moses sang, “Horse and rider He cast in the sea,” and they answered, “I shall sing to G-d”; and so on with all forty-four verses of the song. Rabbi Eliezer, however, is of the opinion that the people repeated each verse after Moses: Moses sang, “I shall sing to G-d for He is most exalted,” and they repeated, “I shall sing to G-d for He is most exalted”; Moses sang “Horse and rider He cast in the sea,” and they repeated, “Horse and rider He cast in the sea,” and so on. A third opinion is that of Rabbi Nechemiah: according to him, Moses simply pronounced the opening words of the song, following which the people of Israel all sang the entire song together. In other words, each of them, on their own, composed the entire--and very same--forty-four verses![6]

These three versions of how Moses led Israel in song express three different perspectives on unity, particularly the unity achieved when a people rally under the leadership of their leader. [7]

Rabbi Akiva describes an ideal in which a people completely abnegate their individuality to the collective identity embodied by the leader. Moses alone sang the nation’s gratitude to G-d, their experience of redemption, and their vision of their future as G-d’s people. The people had nothing further to say as individuals, except to affirm their unanimous assent to what Moses was expressing.

At first glance, this seems the ultimate in unity: more than two million[8] hearts and minds yielding to a single program and vision. Rabbi Eliezer, however, argues that this is but a superficial unity--an externally imposed unity of the moment, rather than an inner, enduring unity. When people set aside their own thoughts and feelings to accept what is dictated to them by a higher authority, they are united only in word and deed; their inner selves remain different and distinct. Such a unity is inevitably short-lived: sooner or later their intrinsic differences and counter-aims will assert themselves, and fissures will appear also in their unanimous exterior.

Thus, says Rabbi Eliezer, if the people of Israel achieved true unity under the leadership of Moses at the Red Sea, then it must have happened this way: that the people of Israel repeated each verse that issued from Moses’ lips. Yes, they all submitted to the leadership of Moses and saw in him the embodiment of their collective will and goals, but they did not suffice with a “blind” affirmation of his articulation of Israel’s song. Rather, they repeated it after him, running it through the sieve of their own understanding and feelings, finding the roots for an identical declaration in their own personality and experience. Thus, the very same words assumed two million nuances of meaning, as they were absorbed by two million minds and articulated by two million mouths.

This, maintains Rabbi Eliezer, is the ultimate unity. When each repeats the verses uttered by Moses on his own, relating to them in his individual way, the singular vision of Moses has penetrated each individual’s being, uniting them both in word and in essence.

Rabbi Nechemiah, however, is still not satisfied. If Israel repeated these verses after Moses, argues Rabbi Nechemiah, this would imply that their song did not stem from the very deepest part of themselves. For if the people were truly one with Moses and his articulation of the quintessence of Israel, why would they need to hear their song from his lips before they could sing it themselves?

No, says Rabbi Nechemiah, the way it happened was that Moses pronounced the opening words of the song, following which each and every Jew, including “the infant at his mother’s breast and the fetus in the womb,”[9] sang the entire song themselves. Indeed, it was Moses who achieved the unity of Israel, as evidenced by the fact that their song could not begin until he sang its opening words. Were it not for his leadership, they could not have risen above the selfishness that mars the surface of every character. Had not the people of Israel abnegated their will to his, they could not have uncovered the singular core of their souls. But once they made that commitment, once they unequivocally responded to Moses’ opening words, each independently conceived and articulated the very same experience of the historic moment in which they stood.

Each and every individual Jew, from the octogenarian sage to the unborn infant, expressed his deepest feelings and aspirations with the very same 187 words. For in Moses they had a leader in whom the soul of Israel was one.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Beshalach, Shevat 11,[10] 5748 (January 30, 1988)[11]

The World as You

They came to Marah. And they were unable to drink the waters of Marah, because they were bitter

Exodus 15:23

The simple meaning of this verse is that they, the people of Israel, were unable to drink the waters of Marah because they, the waters, were bitter. Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov offered another reading of the verse: The people of Israel were unable to drink the waters of Marah because they, the people of Israel, were bitter.

“Also the world He placed in their hearts,”[12] said the wisest of men. A bitter heart inhabits a bitter world.

That is the Question

Before his passing, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov said to his disciples: “You must seek a new master and mentor, for soon I shall pass on from this world.”

“To whom shall we turn for guidance?” they asked.

“I shall give you a sign,” said Rabbi Israel. “He who knows the answer to the query, ‘How can one overcome the pride in one’s heart?’--he is the man who can guide you in your service of the Almighty.”

“And what is the answer? How does one vanquish pride?”

“The answer is that there is no way in which to vanquish pride. All ‘techniques’ to achieve humility are only additional causes for pride, as their practitioner revels in how humbly he is behaving. One must simply pray to the Almighty that He humble our hearts before Him.”

Flying Horses

A man once complained to Rabbi Bunim of Peshischa:

“I saw it written in the holy books that if a person fasts a certain number of times, he will merit that Elijah the Prophet will reveal himself to him and teach him the mystical soul of Torah. Well, I fulfilled the regimen of fasts, exactly as prescribed, yet Elijah did not reveal himself to me.”

Rabbi Bunim told the man the following story:

Once, the holy Baal Shem Tov had to travel to a far-off destination on a matter of extreme importance to the welfare of a Jewish community. As was his custom on such trips, the Baal Shem Tov told his coachman, Alexis, to drop the reins and turn around in his bench. No sooner had the coachman turned his back on the horses than the road began to literally fly under their feet, and they traversed a many weeks’ journey in a few hours.

The horses, noticing that they were flying by the feeding stations without stopping, thought to themselves: “Perhaps we are not horses after all, but human beings. Otherwise, why are we not being given oats and water at the customary places? Surely we will eat with the men when they stop for their meals at the crossroads inns.”

But the inns, too, flew by, one after another, with dizzying speed. “It seems,” the horses now surmised, “that we are not men after all, but angels, who do not partake of earthly food at all.”

But then the Baal Shem Tov and his disciples arrived at their destination and rushed off to attend to their holy mission, while Alexis unhitched the horses and led them to the barn, where they guzzled water and devoured oats as the horses they were.…

“The purpose of a fast,” concluded Rabbi Bunim, “is to refine the person, to have him transcend, if only for a few hours, the gross materiality of the human state. But if the moment the fast ends he attacks his food with the fervor of a man who hasn’t eaten all day, what has been achieved?"

By the Book

In the years before he went public with his teachings and founded the Chassidic movement, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov would often wander about the countryside where the Jews of Eastern Europe lived in isolated hamlets or managed lonely wayside inns. Rabbi Israel would mingle with these Jews, drawing inspiration from their simple faith and dispensing words of encouragement in turn.

One day, the Baal Shem Tov arrived at a small crossroads inn, many miles distant from the nearest Jewish community. He was warmly invited in and served a refreshment by the innkeeper’s family. “Where is your father?” he asked the children. “He’s praying,” they replied, and Rabbi Israel settled down to wait for his host.

An hour passed, then two. It was late afternoon by the time the innkeeper emerged from his room. After greeting his guest, he apologized for his long absence. “I am an ignorant Jew,” he explained shamefacedly. “I can barely pronounce the words from the prayerbook, and deciphering its instructions, written in vowel-less Hebrew, is beyond me. So I have no choice but to recite the entire prayerbook, from cover to cover, every day.”

“Perhaps I can be of assistance to you,” said Rabbi Israel. For the next hour, he sat with the innkeeper, patiently instructing him on the proper use of the prayerbook. On small slips of paper, Rabbi Israel wrote out, in simple Yiddish, “morning prayers,” “special addition for Mondays and Thursdays,” “Grace after Meals,” “afternoon prayers,” “evening prayers,” “for Shabbat,” “for Rosh Chodesh,” “for Rosh Hashanah,” and so on, and inserted them to mark the proper place in the innkeeper’s prayerbook. “Thank you so much,” said the innkeeper when Rabbi Israel took leave to resume his journey. “Now I can begin to pray like a proper Jew.”

But the innkeeper’s joy was short-lived. Later that day, the prayerbook inexplicably fell from its shelf, and every last slip of paper inserted by the Baal Shem Tov fluttered from its pages. “Woe is me!” cried the innkeeper. “Who knows how many months will pass until a learned Jew will again come this way!” Determined not to let this opportunity to begin praying properly escape him, he grabbed the prayerbook and the notes and ran off in the direction that his guest had gone.

After several miles of brisk walking, he finally sighted Rabbi Israel far ahead. From the distance he saw the Baal Shem Tov reach a river. “How will he cross?” wondered the innkeeper. “This time of year, the water is too deep and swift to ford.” He was about to shout a warning, when he saw Rabbi Israel spread his handkerchief on the water, step onto it as if it were the sturdiest of rafts, glide smoothly across, and disappear into the woods on the opposite bank.

In a flash, the innkeeper was at the water’s edge. Spreading his handkerchief on the water, he stepped onto it and glided across, and ran down the path Rabbi Israel had taken. “Wait, Rabbi!” he called. “Wait! You cannot go until you mark my prayerbook again! All your notes have fallen out!”

Hearing the man calling out to him, Rabbi Israel stopped and turned to see his recent host running toward him, clutching his prayerbook in one hand and the slips of paper in the other. “H-how did you get here?” asked Rabbi Israel in amazement. “How did you cross the river?”

“With my handkerchief, same as you,” replied the simple Jew. “By the way, that’s some trick you’ve got there. I never would have thought it could be done that way.”

“I think,” said the Baal Shem Tov slowly, “that G-d is extremely satisfied with your prayers as they are. Perhaps you should continue to pray just the way you have up until now.”

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber