ESSAY: A Refreshing Death
Every day, some 43,200,000,000 man-hours spent in sleep. Why?

INSIGHTS: The Frog in the Oven
The ultimate test of faith is not whether a person is willing to die for his beliefs, but how he lives for them

DIALOGUE: Historical Fact
That our faith need not be proven is one of its essential qualities; that it cannot be proven is simply wrong

A TELLING STORY: The Blow
A bleeding heart in Paris strikes a feeling heart in Brooklyn

Every day, some 43,200,000,000 man-hours are slept down the drain.

That's 6 billion individuals, each sleeping an average of 7.2 hours every calendar day. One might argue that slumbered time is our most wasted resource.

Indeed, why spend 25 to 30 percent of our lives doing nothing? Why sleep?

To many of the planet's sleepers, this may seem a pointless question. Why sleep? Because our body demands it of us. Because that is how we are physiologically constructed---that we require so many hours of rest each day in order to function. But to the Jew, there are no pointless questions. If G-d created us a certain way, there is a reason. He could just as easily have created us without the need for sleep, so that every moment of our lives could be put to constructive use. If our active hours must always be preceded by the minor death of sleep, there is a lesson here, a truth that is fundamental to the nature of human achievement.

Growing By Leaps

Another intrinsic fact of life is growth. In the first two decades of life, our growth is at its most real and tangible. We daily gain knowledge and experience. We can even gage our growth by inches of height gained per year or by the steady maturing of our bodies. But growth is a lifetime endeavor. Indeed, it can be said that there is no stasis in life: that the mind that ceases to learn, forgets what it has learned in the past; that the heart that ceases to develop new feelings, atrophies emotionally. That in every area of life, one who ceases to progress, regresses.

However, there are two types of growing. One growth is a progressional growth, a growth in which each gain is based upon, and is proportional to, our past achievements. Here the past develops into the future, improving and perfecting itself in the process.

But there also exists another type of growth--a growth that is a complete departure from the past. A growth that is a leap upward for something that is beyond relation to all that has been previously achieved. For we have the capacity to not only improve but also transcend ourselves. To open a new chapter in life that is neither predicted nor enabled by what we did and were up until now. To free ourselves of yesterday's constraints and build a new, recreated self.

This is what the void of sleep contributes to our lives. If we didn't sleep, there would be no tomorrow--life would be a single, seamless “today.” If we didn't sleep, our every thought and deed would be an outgrowth of all our previous thoughts and deeds. There would be no new beginnings in our lives, for the very concept of a “new beginning” would be utterly alien to us. If we did not experience the obliterating passivity of sleep, we could not possibly conceive of a break from the past.

Because we sleep, we are accorded what is perhaps the greatest gift of life: morning.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Av 6, 5750 (July 28, 1990. Sefer Hasichot pp. 596-599) and on other ocassions.

The Frog in the Oven

The river will swarm with frogs. They will come up and enter your home, your bedroom, and your bed... your ovens and your kneading bowls

Exodus 7:28

The Talmud relates that when Chananiah, Mishael and Azariah (three Jewish officers in the court of Nebuchadnazer, emperor of Babylonia) faced the choice to either bow before an idolatrous image or be thrown into a fiery furnace, thy took their lesson from the frogs which plagued Egypt in Moses' time. If the frogs entered the ovens of the Egypt to carry out the will of G-d, they reasoned, we certainly should be willing to sacrifice ourselves for our Creator.

To the Jew, “self-sacrifice” is not only the willingness to die for his beliefs---it is the way in which he lives for them. It is the willingness to give up his “self”---his desires, his preconceptions, his most basic inclinations. Indeed, the Hebrew term for self sacrifice, mesirus nefesh, translates both as “giving of life” and as “giving of will.”

Thus, the lesson of self-sacrifice is learned from a frog, a cold-blooded creature, who enters a burning oven. The ultimate test of faith goes beyond the issue of life and death; it is the willingness to sacrifice your very nature and identity for the sake of a higher truth.

Dear Editor

I greatly enjoy your publication, and avidly read it whenever I come across it (I am not a subscriber, but my sister is). I am impressed that the Rebbe’s philosophy is both intellectually stimulating and spiritual at the same time. My question to you is as follows: everything the Rebbe says can be predicated on a single fact: that the Torah is the word of G-d, communicated to the people of Israel at Mount Sinai more than three thousand years ago. I understand that to every believing Jew this is a matter of faith, and that for the believer it makes no difference that there are many others who believe different or even opposite things. My question is: Is there any objective way that this can be proven as a historical fact? Has the Rebbe ever addressed the issue in such terms?

James Schechter
LA, California

Dear James

“Proving” the revelation at Sinai, or any of the other fundamentals of the Jewish faith, is not an issue in the Rebbe’s philosophy and teaching, or in chassidic teaching as a whole. Never did the Rebbe deliver an address or write an essay the objective of which is to prove G-d’s existence, the divinity of the Torah, the coming of Moshiach, etc. These are givens, as real and as absolute (indeed, more real and absolute) than the fact that “I am alive,” “I love my children,” “winter will end and spring will come,” and the countless other facts we never even consider the need to prove. Rather, chassidic teaching comes to illuminate these givens and integrate them into our lives. G-d exists; what can we understand of the nature of His existence and His relationship with His creation? G-d gave us the Torah; what is the nature of this “gift” and how do we receive it? Every word of Torah is the revealed wisdom and will of G-d; what is the deeper significance of this particular biblical verse or talmudic saying, and what is its relevance to our daily lives?

However, the Rebbe did address such questions on several occasions, in direct response to individual queries in writing or in person. In these cases, the Rebbe’s answer was usually based on the traditional Torah works that deal with these issues (R. Saadiah Gaon’s Emunot v’De’ot, Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed, Rabbi Judah ha-Levi’s Kuzari, etc.), punctuated, of course, with his unique style and approach. What follows is based on four letters [1] the Rebbe wrote in response to the question you raise: is there any way to “prove” the revelation at Sinai?

The first thing that must be established is what constitutes “proof.” Often, people requiring that something be proven to them (especially if it is something they would rather not accept) employ a double-standard: the degree of proof on which they rely in their daily lives, including their most crucial decisions, is suddenly insufficient.For example, people often say: “I don’t rely on what others tell me; I insist on seeing something with my own eyes before I’ll accept it as true.” But is this, in fact the case? Say you needed to fly from L.A. to London. You walk into a travel agency, pay several hundred dollars, and walk out with a slip of paper in return. How do you know that this slip of paper will get you a seat on the plane? This is the first time you’ve used this agency, but a friend has told you that it is reliable; furthermore, the travel agency has an established office in the center of town, and every day, many people rely on its credibility. Without even thinking twice about it, you have relied on the “hearsay” of a few hundred people, most of whom you have never met and probably never will. This was “proof” enough for you to part with a full week’s salary.

What’s more, you get on the plane! Did you check the engine, the fuel tanks, and the landing gear? Did you test the pilot’s ability, or even ask to see his certification? But this is a well-known airline, which flies thousands of people safely every day. You’re therefore convinced that there’s a qualified team of mechanics somewhere who have checked whatever there needs to be checked, that the pilot is properly trained, etc., etc. On the basis of the fifth or sixth-hand testimony of people you’ve never met, you put your very life on the line.

And what is “history” if not eyewitness accounts by anonymous individuals, passed by word of mouth and eventually set down in writing? A few hundred people saw George Washington crossing the Delaware River on the night of December 25, 1776, and the event’s repercussions were directly experienced by a few thousand others,  and two hundred years later no one “in his right mind” would contest that the event indeed took place. But we don’t even require that much evidence: it is enough that an archeologist unearths a tablet describing a battle purported to have occurred thousands of years ago, and that the said battle fits in with other similarly substantiated information we have about that period, for the event to be considered “highly probable”; if another tablet is unearthed in another part of the world in which another eyewitness describes the same battle in the same (or similar) way, it becomes historical fact.

To summarize: In both our daily lives and our knowledge of the past, we rely on the testimony of other people. The greater the number of witnesses, and the greater the consensus among them, the greater the certainty. A historian will devote years of his life to research a certain event, and an airline passenger will allow himself to be lifted 30,000 feet into the air, based on such “proof.”

Now consider the following event: six hundred thousand men between the ages of twenty and sixty, plus an equivalent number of women, plus at least that many children and elders, witnessed, firsthand, [2] the revelation of G-d at Mount Sinai and heard Him proclaim “I am G-d your G-d...” These included people from all walks of life—simple folk and scholars, rich and poor. They all saw and heard the same thing, and gave a detailed account of the event to their children, who, in turn, related it to their children, and so on to this very day. In the 3,308 years since then, there was never a single moment in which less than several hundred thousand individuals attested to a unanimous version of this event, including many who had been without contact with each other for centuries.

It can therefore be unequivocally stated that there exists not a single event in the whole of human history that is as thoroughly proven and corroborated as the divine revelation at Mount Sinai. [3]

Yanki Tauber

And then, in the wee hours of a sleepless night, Eli thought of the Rebbe. Both he and Sharon were raised in non-observant homes, but in recent years they had found themselves becoming more involved in Torah learning and practice. It all began at a lecture they had attended at the Chabad House in their Paris neighborhood, where they had first been exposed to the Rebbe’s teachings. For the first time in their lives, the faith of their fathers was presented to them as a vibrant guide to a life of meaning and fulfillment. While Eli and Sharon would scarcely describe themselves as “religious,” much less as “Chassidim,” they developed a deep respect for the Rebbe and began keeping several basic mitzvot such as Shabbat, kashrut, and tefillin.

Eli had heard the stories of those who had been helped by the Rebbe’s blessing. Now he grasped at the idea of writing to the Rebbe as his only hope in a sea of despair. If only the Rebbe would promise a speedy recovery for Menasheh!

A few days later, the telephone rang in Eli’s home. It was Rabbi Groner, the Rebbe’s secretary, who reported that the Rebbe’s reply to their note was, “I will mention it at the gravesite.”

“What does that mean?” asked Eli.

“It means that the Rebbe will pray for you at the gravesite of his father-in-law, the Previous Rebbe, where he prays for all of those who send in requests for a blessing.”

“But I wanted the Rebbe’s blessing... I wanted him to tell us that Menasheh will recover...”

“But the Rebbe has given you his blessing. This is his standard reply to such requests. Chassidim regard a promise from the Rebbe to pray for them as a guarantee that everything will be all right.”

Eli replaced the receiver somewhat reassured. Still, he had expected something more definitive, more committal. But if the Rebbe’s secretary says that he has received the Rebbe’s blessing...

Meanwhile, Menasheh’s condition continued to deteriorate. The treatments brought much pain and little relief. Soon he had to be hospitalized. Helplessly, the parents watched the life drain out of their child.

Eli called Rabbi Groner. “Look, I know that we already received the Rebbe’s blessing, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. Menasheh has gone from bad to worse. The doctors say that every day is a miracle... Perhaps we can ask again? Maybe the Rebbe can say something more definite...” Rabbi Groner agreed to send in a note.

The reply came within an hour, but it was the same reply as before—“I will mention it at the gravesite.” And the doctors had nothing good to report.

The following evening, Eli entered his darkened apartment for two hours of fitful rest. Sharon was at the hospital. Soon he would replace her, so that she could catch some sleep. He sank into the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and scanned the disordered room. Medical papers on the table, clothes strewn about, half-finished meals. Then his eyes lighted on the Rebbe’s picture, hanging above the mantelpiece. The Rebbe was smiling.

A great tide of rage rose in him. Menasheh lies dying in the hospital, and you’re smiling! Unthinkingly, Eli reached for one of the shoes on the floor. There was a crash, a spray of shattering glass, and the picture tumbled to the floor...

Two years later, on a Sunday morning in Brooklyn, a father and son stood in line together with thousands of others who were waiting to see the Rebbe. As the long line snaked past the Rebbe, the Rebbe handed each a dollar bill to give in his name to charity, uttered a few words of blessing, and turned to the next in line. In this manner, the Rebbe devoted a second or two to each of the tens of thousands who came from all over the world to meet him.

The Rebbe gave the father a dollar, and then turned to the child. “So this is Menasheh,” he said with a smile. “How is he?” It took Eli several seconds to respond. How does the Rebbe know them? This was their first time in New York, and except for those two brief letters back then... “He is fine, thank G-d,” Eli finally managed, “a complete recovery. The doctors said it was a miracle. Thanks to the Rebbe’s blessing.”

“Thank G-d, thank G-d,” said the Rebbe, and then, quietly: “But I still feel the blow...”

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber