January 26th, 2017
The self-help sections of most book stores make it look like succeeding in life is a complicated puzzle that only a select few are either clever enough or privileged enough to solve.
Most of us see success as unattainable. We compare ourselves to people who “society” heralds as successful, and we never measure up. We settle for less than living up to our potential, which is much higher than we know it is. But success is very simple. It is not magical.
To be successful in life, you need to be two things: Passionate and humble. Let’s look at those two emotional states.
How to Succeed in Life: Be Passionate
Apathy might be in style, but it won’t get you anywhere. When you are passionate, you are aflame with inspiration. You are driven by your purpose in life, a purpose much greater than yourself that without fail serves others.
How to Succeed in Life: Be Humble
Passion without humility can be dangerous — in a state of passion, one can intellectually justify doing things that are far below his dignity and that do not serve his true purpose in life. Humility means being a vessel for spiritual energy, and being solely focused on your true purpose in life. Humility means being totally present (as much as you can be). In the language of Jewish mysticism, humility is called “Bittul”. It means self-nullification. Note that it does not mean self-hatred, or self-abnegation. Instead, the ego takes a back seat to being fully present and embodied, ready to receive energy from Above.
Passion drives you forward, and humility keeps you focused. That’s why they are the two keys to how to succeed in life.
Exercise: Approach one task today with both passion and humility. Describe how it felt to do it. Record your answer in MyMLC.
Go deeper into this subject: Fire and Earth
SOULGYM I MASTERCLASS
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Choosing Humility in a Self Centered World
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Tags: passion, humility, focus, potential, bittul
Posted in Soul Gym, Personal Life, Emotions & Psychology | 3 Comments »
January 19th, 2017
I was always taken aback by the studies that show how many people will ignore a crime perpetrated before their very eyes. Stories abound about street muggings with passersby briskly running along, avoiding confrontation and disregarding the cries of the victim. “How could people be so insensitive?” I would wonder. “Would they like to be ignored if they were in such a predicament?”
Until the moment I found myself in this precise situation. Sometime after midnight on a cold winter night I heard muffled sounds through my window. Peering outside I saw two men assaulting a third, evidently in the process of robbing him.
My first reaction was fear. Are they carrying a weapon? If I go outside will I be placing myself in danger? Can I even help this person? All types of excuses were racing through my mind to justify not intervening. I could just call the police and wait till they came. But despite all my superhuman efforts to avoid the situation, I quickly realized that I was succumbing to being sub-human in ignoring the cries of a man in need. And regardless of my knee-jerk instinct to protect myself at the expense of another, I grabbed a shovel at the door and ran out of my house yelling at those guys. I ran down the steps and as I approached the crime scene, the men dashed off, leaving a trembling elderly man – whom I recognized as our neighbor – slumped on the ground and bleeding slightly. I helped him up, walked him into his home and attended to his needs.
And no, I do not consider myself a hero. I simply did the humane thing. But I will never forget the temptation to look the other way, which, frankly, was quite embarrassing.
How many crimes and injustices in the world – and in history – would have been prevented had some people – someone, anyone – protested and intervened?
How many people today standing right near you are being hurt and no one really cares?
How many of us are wounded with no one asking us how we feel?
From time immemorial gentle mystics and sensitive souls have pondered upon the disturbingly absurd paradox of a universe that is integrally connected and interdependent, and yet we can so easily ignore the pain of another (or even hurt another) even though it also injures us. The Jerusalemite Talmud succinctly captures it with this blunt question: If we humans are all part of one organism, how can one part of the body harm another? Does it make any sense that the left hand would strike the right hand if it was misbehaving?
The only conceivable answer is that we are not aware. We do not feel that we are all part of one entity. And this is one of the saddest elements of existential loneliness: The illusion that each of us is all alone. That each of us is self-contained and separate from everyone else. That your pain is yours alone. No one cares and no can even understand what you are going through.
All of Torah comes to counter this myth. As Hillel declared: “That which you dislike do not do unto others. This is the entire Torah. The rest is commentary.” This is consistent with and complements Hillels’ other statement: “If I am not for myself who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I?” We are each individuals, and at the same time interconnected and interdependent. When one of us is hurting all of us are hurting.
We may not feel it, but that does not diminish the reality.
One verse in this week’s Torah portion encapsulates this message. But first, a short introduction.
My father, journalist Gershon Jacobson, once went to the see the Rebbe. At some point in their conversation, the Rebbe smilingly said to my father: “Being that you are a newspaperman, would you like to interview me?”
My father hesitated and then inquired of the Rebbe whether he can ask him anything. “Yes, indeed,” the Rebbe replied. “Isn’t that the nature of an uncensored interview?”
Included among the questions my father asked was the following: “People wonder why the Rebbe takes on causes that others ignore, sometimes even seemingly impossible situations?”
The Rebbe responded by citing a verse in this week’s Torah chapter, which describes one of Moses’ first experiences: “It happened in those days that Moses grew up and he went out to his brethren and observed their burdens. Moses witnessed an Egyptian striking a Hebrew man of his brethren. He turned this way and that way and he saw that there was no man, so he struck down the Egyptian and hid him in the sand” (Exodus 2:11-12).
The Rebbe wondered: “Why did Moses look all around, and only when he so no man, did he strike the Egyptian? In this time of crisis, was Moses so concerned about his own well-being? And if so, why do we have to be told that detail? The fact is that despite Moses’ v caution, two men actually witnessed his act and later informed on him. So clearly this verse has some other message to tell us.
“’He looked all around and saw no man’ can be interpreted to mean that he saw ‘no man’ that cared – no one was concerned about the travesty being perpetrated against their fellow men. Moses however did care. So he proceeded to do what is necessary to protect innocent people from brutal genocide.”
“When we witness an injustice and look around and no one seems to care,” the Rebbe concluded, “we must act.”
That defines a leader. Someone who cares when everyone else is busy with their own interests. Certainly, important interests, but still self driven ones.
A leader is someone who doesn’t just empathize with another person. He or she feels the other person’s hurt as if it was their own.
We are all like one organism. Even when a tiny toenail is hurting the entire body feels it.
So look around. Injustice, pain, hurt – people are suffering. If you see “no man” – if you see no one caring – why don’t you become the man, and do something about it?
At this very moment, as you read these lines, there may be someone nor very far from you that can use a kind word, an embrace, a nice gesture. With modern technology we can make a phone call, send an e-mail, text message, tweet – whatever it takes – and soothe an aching heart, bring joy to a bleeding spirit.
Sometimes all it takes to change a world is (not a village, but) “simat lev” – one person to care.
Tags: empathy, Care, Rebbe, kindness, leadership
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Shmot, Personal Life, Torah, Emotions & Psychology | 15 Comments »
January 12th, 2017
12 Paths in Life
Diversity is a hallmark of the human race. We inherently have different personalities. Our distinctions are not meant to be ignored or repressed. They are to be embraced. For it is through our multifariousness that we create the most beautiful music, the most eloquent mosaic. However, the challenge is twofold: 1. How to identify your true personality type, and not try to assume another’s personality or force yourself to fit into the expectations of others, 2. How to ensure that our differences do not cascade into divisiveness, but instead create harmony within diversity.
One can argue that these two are interdependent: When you are secure and sure with your own self, you have the confidence to respect and celebrate the uniqueness of another.
This article offers us a template of twelve personalty types, based on wisdom that goes back over three millennia, to help you discover your distinctive character, and learn to express your unique voice, as part of the philharmonic symphony of the people that walk this earth.
***
In this week’s Torah portion – which closes the book of Genesis – we read how Jacob, in his last days, blesses his children, the twelve tribes. In these blessings lie many secrets foretelling events to come. As the verse tells us: And Jacob called to his sons, and said: “Gather together, that I may tell you what will happen with you in the end of days.”
As a blueprint for life these blessings have much to teach us. Each of the twelve tribes reflects a unique path in life. As the verse tells us at the conclusion of the blessings: All these are the twelve tribes of Israel… every one according to his blessing he blessed them (Vayechi 49:28). What is the meaning of the words “every one according to his blessing?” “Blessing” in Hebrew also means to ‘draw down’ (‘hamshocho’), from the root ‘mavrich.’ Every one of the tribes has his particular journey, his specific energy which he must manifest in this world.
Indeed, our sages teach that the Re(e)d sea split into twelve paths, providing a separate path for each of the twelve tribes.
To understand these twelve paths we must study the different ways that the tribes are described in the Torah. We find three descriptions for the tribes. First, when they are named by their mothers (Vayeitzei – Genesis 29-30; 35:18), each child/tribe is given a name with a particular meaning for a specific reason. Second, when Jacob blesses them (in this week’s portion). And finally, when Moses blesses them at the end of the Torah (Deuteronomy 33:6-25).
In addition the tribes are named and specified many times in the Torah – when they enter Egypt, when they leave Egypt, during their 40 year journey through the Sinai wilderness they travel and camp as tribes, their Temple dedication offerings are repeated twelve times (though they brought the same offerings) to emphasize the twelve unique paths.
Here is one of many applications of these twelve paths, based primarily on this week’s blessings.
Reuven – The First
Shimeon – The Aggressor
Levi – The Cleric
Judah – The Leader
Dan – The Judge
Naftali – The Free Spirit
Gad – The Warrior
Asher – The Prosperous One
Issachar – The Scholar
Zevulun – The Business person
Joseph – The Sufferer
Menashe – Reconnection
Efraim – Transformation
Benjamin – The Ravenous Consumer
Reuven – the first-born (‘bechor’) – represents the powerful energy of everything that comes first. The first fruit, the first moments of the day, the beginning of every creation – has enormous amount of energy. “Unstable like water,’ this power can go either way: If harnessed properly, the ‘bechor’/Reuven energy can change worlds; if abused it can destroy. Like water, it can be the source of life, but if left unchanneled it erodes its environment and can flood its surroundings.
Shimeon is aggressive gevurah – the antithesis of Reuven’s chesed/water. The fierce anger and cruel wrath that can result from unbridled gevurah must be eliminated lest it turns into weapons of violence that consume the person and all those he comes in contact with. [The lesson of this today is self understood].
Levi is the tribe chosen to serve in the Temple. “Levi” also means ‘attached’ or ‘joined’. Levi is the personality of dedicating your life to serving a higher calling. Of freeing yourself from your bounds to material survival and attaching yourself to Divine service (see Rambam, end of Hilchot Shemittah v’Yovel).
Judah means acknowledgement (‘hodaah,’ as in ‘modeh ani’). Judah’s name also includes the four letters of the Divine name Havaya. Judah is the leader; his descendants would be the kings of Israel, beginning with King David and concluding with Moshiach. Judah is the path of selflessness (‘bittul’) – the most vital ingredient in true leadership.
Dan is the path of law and order (‘dan’ means to judge). Objective justice is the heart of any civilization.
Naftali is the free spirit personality. Like a ‘deer running free’ – breaking out of the status quo – independence is a necessary component in growth. Yet, this free spiritedness must always take care to ‘deliver words of beauty.’
Gad is the warrior archetype. Expanding on the justice of Dan, Gad is ready to fight for his beliefs. The warrior is necessary to both defend our cherished values and to protect our freedoms.
Asher is both prosperity and pleasure. Asher is the dimension of blessing beyond the norm – to be given more than what is necessary for survival. Asher is the personality of not just getting what you need, but also enjoying it.
Issachar is the scholar. Scholarship provides wisdom, clarity and direction. It is the foundation of any system. Issachar is the dedication to immerse in study and education.
Zevulun is the merchant, the businessperson personality. His role is to enter the marketplace and redeem the Divine sparks within the material world (the ‘secret treasure hidden in the sand’ – Deuteronomy 33:19). Zevulun complements Issachar; they forge a partnership: Zevulun supports the scholar, he funds houses of scholarship, which earns him a right to partake in the reward of Issachar’s studies.
Joseph is the element of suffering in life. Yet, he not only survives; he thrives. He achieves greatness through his challenges. He overcomes all adversary and becomes a great leader, saving his entire generation. Despite his corrupt environment, he maintains his spiritual integrity. The powerful light that emerges from darkness in Joseph divides into two dimensions – his two sons: Menashe and Efraim:
Menashe represents the ability to not succumb to the powers of the ‘mitzraim-constraints’ that want to make you forget your spiritual roots. To remain connected regardless of the challenges.
Efraim takes it even further. It is not enough to just survive in an alien environment, but to thrive – to ‘be fruitful in the land of my affliction.’ Efraim is the power to transform the difficulties into Divine power.
Benjamin is hungry, hungry for the Divine sparks in all of existence. So, like a ‘ravenous wolf’ Benjamin recognizes that his mission is to passionately seek out the Divine energy embedded in matter, devour it, consume and elevate it.
Twelve tribes. Twelve paths. All necessary to reach our destination.
Which personality are you? What part do you need to develop?
May we discover our path and live up to it. And may that help us reach the time — at the end of days – when we will gain clarity as to who belongs to what tribe (see Rambam Hilchot Melochim 12:3). Perhaps the significance of this revelation is the crystallization that will come in the time when the ‘world will be filled with Divine knowledge as the waters cover the sea.’
Tags: purpose of life, Divine service, the twelve tribes, blessings, Moshiach, redemption
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Biblical, Personal Life, Torah Personalities, Torah, Emotions & Psychology, The Twelve Tribes, Vayechi | 2 Comments »
January 5th, 2017
What Will the New Year Bring? A Prediction
2016 was hardly the most dramatic year in history, but it sure feels like it reading the news, blogs, commentaries and analysis of the past year. The election of Donald Trump, Brexit, the spiraling crisis in Syria and the Middle East, the threats of global terrorism have defined this as a year of disruption. Many people are tentative and fearful. Many others hopeful and enthusiastic. Rarely do we see such a visible display of divergent attitudes.
What will happen in the coming year? Will the new United States President change things, or will we have just more of the same? How many more upheavals can we look forward to in 2017? What new revelations and corruptions will emerge? Are we headed toward better times or worse ones?
The questions are many. Answers few, if any. If we have learned anything over the last year it is that predictions are futile.
Yet, I will venture to make my prediction anyway. No, I don’t have a crystal ball. I have something far better. Read on.
By looking back we can see ahead. The greatest guide for the future is the past. We cannot predict the coming year’s events. But we can learn from those before us who have seen and experienced far worse than we will ever see, and rose above it. What is the secret of the resilience and power of heroic people who endured and thrived despite great suffering?
One of the most remarkable and overlooked stories of history was the transcendent ability of Torah scholars to produce an enormous volume of literature despite the harshest circumstances surrounding them.
Throughout the Early and Middle Ages, with Jewish persecution at its heights, sages like Rashi, Ramban, Rabbeinu Tam, Rashbam, the Tosafists and so many others – literally hundreds of scholars – wrote thousands of pages, containing the most brilliant and eloquent commentary you will ever read. And no where in their writings will you find complaints, bitterness, depression or demoralization. Pogroms, the crusades, persecutions, expulsions, inquisitions were ravaging Europe. But as much as you analyze their words, you will not uncover an iota of the tragic and difficult events taking place around them!
Quite the contrary. Page after page is filled with inspiration, uplifting words, enormous strength and powerful insights.
Usually, you would expect to find some mention or reference in a book to the personal challenges of the author. Often authors bare their souls and their life traumas in their writings. But even when they don’t, with a bit of deconstruction and analysis, we can uncover the author’s personal traumas. Indeed, entire studies today are dedicated to show us how to recognize in an author’s words his abusive father and dysfunctional mother, every grievance against society can be seen in his pages.
When it comes to our Torah sages, you find none of the sort. No fear, no tentativeness, nothing in their writings reflects the most trying challenges of their times! And what is even more amazing is that this is not an isolated case. Literally every scholar and sage, from the time of Moses, through all the ages, left us with a legacy of writings that reflect a higher world, not at all scarred or touched by the horrible events of the world below.
Where did they have the composure, the presence of mind, to focus and produce such clarity? How were they able to not be overcome by doubts and fears for themselves and their families welfare?
Take Joseph in this week’s Torah portion: Despite his travails – sold by his own brothers into slaver, 22 years away from his beloved father, orphaned from his mother Rachel – you would think that he would have retained some bitterness. In fact, when Joseph finally reveals himself to his brothers, instead of fury and revenge, despite his great suffering, Joseph ends up calming his mortified brothers: “Do not feel guilty,” he tells them, “for it is not you who sent me here, but G-d,” in order to save lives! (See this article).
Simply remarkable. A powerful lesson for all history.
Where did Joseph find such strength of character, such power, to not allow his circumstances to shape his life, and instead he shaped his circumstances?
Was Joseph – and all the Middle Age sages – out of touch? Hardly. They were keenly aware and sensitive to the welfare of their own children. Yet, they still were able to rise above the fray.
How?
The answer lies in a powerful expression: “az men iz tzugebunden oiben, falt men nischt unten.” When you are bound above, you don’t fall below.
This is the secret of transcendence: the ability to not be defined by the events around us; the recognition that we are products of our own perceptions, and we write the script of our own destinies.
Worship man-made devices below, and your life will be determined by your attitude. Connect to the sublime above, and you will be able to rise above the immediate events and move forward with fortitude and optimism.
Consider how much energy is spent trying to mathematically predict the unknown; one emerging analytics startup recently launched an algorithm that cross-references global commodity fluctuations with the daily odds on the best bitcoin sports betting sites just to offer investors a fleeting illusion of certainty. If you feel that mortals – or money – control the forces of your life, then you have delivered your own verdict: You will be subject to these forces, with all their unpredictability. If however, like Joseph, you recognize that the circumstances of your life are driven by a higher hand, and nothing, absolutely nothing that humans do can control your destiny, then you have freed yourself from the behavior of others, and can ride through the challenges and even discover how they have empowered you to “save lives.”
The very question – “what will be?” “what will happen?” – is our undoing. If you feel that things “happen” to you, or that you “find yourself” in a predicament or situation, then you have relinquished control, and surrendered your destiny to the “things” that you empower.
The secret to success in the new year is to not empower the weak forces that drive fear into our hearts. But to empower your own soul; to recognize that you have within yourself all the necessary strength to fulfill your life’s mission. To realize that things don’t happen to you; you make things happen. You don’t “find yourself” in situations; you place yourself in them.
We cannot control the events to come. But we can certainly control whether and how we will be influenced by them. Good ships are not those that can stop the storms or tame the waves; they are the ones that ride the swells, confident in their own ability to know when to thrust forward and when to slow down.
Not to minimize the challenges of our times, but we can hardly call 2016 the worst year in history. By looking back to far worse years we can learn how to proceed. And how much of our troubles are actually psychological? Imagine, if a critical mass would have a change of attitude, and learn from our predecessors how to “bind” ourselves to that which is “above.”
But for now, before we address the critical mass, let us look at ourselves.
No, we do not know what the new year will bring. But I will make confident prediction: Your attitude will define your year.
No matter what happens this year, whatever up and downs will be coming our way, your destiny will be shaped by your attitudes; you will experience exactly what you allow yourself to experience: You will either be dragged down by the gravitational pull of the earth that you worship, or you will be lifted on the wings of your soul that you believe in.
Tags: attitude, new year, transcendence, free choice, 2017
Posted in Bereishit, Weekly Parsha, Social, Torah, Vayigash, Current Events | 3 Comments »
January 4th, 2017
Who is the individual identified by the following clues?
A man known by a name not given to him by his parents.
Indeed, till this very day this man’s birth name remains unclear.
Though he led a great nation, his people saw him as a stranger.
A man of no words, yet his words become immortalized and are remembered forever like no other mans’ words.
He spent his most formative years away from home – on the water, in a foreign palace and then in a distant land. But he came to build the most powerful home in existence.
History’s greatest leader and humblest man.
He is the most famous man in history, yet no one knows where he is buried till this very day.
Who is this mysterious man, riddled with contradictions?
None other than Moses.
The mystery of Moses lies in his name: Though he was named by his parents (1), he is known by his name Moses – Moshe – given to him by Pharaoh’s daughter. Moses’ mother, to save him from Pharaoh’s decree that all newborn Jewish males be drowned in the Nile, placed her three-month-old infant in a basket and concealed it in the rushes that grew along the Nile riverbank. Pharaoh’s daughter discovered the weeping child when she went to bathe in the river.
She therefore named the child Moshe (“the drawn one”), “because I have drawn him from the water” (Exodus 2:10).
Why would the great Moses be known by this strange name based on this seemingly incidental episode? The name Moses actually captures the essence of his personality: A man drawn from water.
Water is a mysterious world. Unlike land where the terrain and the creatures are visible, the contours of the sea and all its inhabitants remain submerged and concealed in an unknown universe. This distinction is not merely quantitative. The fish in the sea are dependent and connected to their very source of sustenance, while land mammals remain separate from their source; their psyches are disconnected from their life source.
The mystics explain that Moses was a “man of no words” because his soul originated from the “hidden worlds” of water, the intimate world of the unconscious, which is more profound and intense than any words of land can express. But for this exact reason Moses introduced unprecedented revelation to Earth. Precisely because Moses is a “water man” living on Earth, he is able to draw from the inner worlds and bridge and express the language of the Divine and communicate it to the land people.
The Zohar teaches that there are tzaddikim (righteous individuals) who live their entire lives as “fishes of the sea,” wholly submerged within a perpetual awareness of and subjugation to the divine reality. Moses was the epitome of these “aquatic souls.” “Moses was the most humble man on the face of the earth.” He was certainly aware of his own greatness; certainly he knew that he was the single human being chosen by G-d to serve as the conveyor of the Divine wisdom and will to the human race. Yet Moses did not view his qualities as his “own” attainments, for he had utterly nullified and submerged his self within the sea of the divine reality. His own life was merely the divine plan being realized through a transparent channel; his teachings – the “Divine presence speaking from his throat.”
And that is why Moses was actually hidden in the water, and is consistently identified with water.
Thus Moses was an embodiment of paradox and contradictions. Drawn from water, Moses bridged two opposite worlds – the unconscious and the conscious, the world of spirit and the world of matter, the Divine and the human.
Outside of this world, Moses was able to transform this world and build the Holy Temple, a material home for the Divine, where “I will rest amongst you.”
Though Moses is the most famous person in history, he always remains a mystery – seemingly more at home in his 40 days in the clouds of Sinai than in his days on Earth. Even after death – by the kiss of G-d – Moses’ burial place remains unknown: “Below it appeared as though he was above and above it appeared as though he was below.”
Therein lays the secret of the enigmatic Moses: Moses was a “man of G-d.” To be a man and to be Divine is the ultimate paradox.
So, the next time you encounter a paradox in your own life or in the world around you – remember that paradox maybe the most natural state of a universe not fully in touch with its own essence.
* * *
One of the most moving verses describing Moses’ early days is often overlooked.
Moses’ life begins with a very gentle moment: a little sister watching over her baby brother. As the three-month old Moses lay floating in a basket on the riverbank, his seven-year-old sister, Miriam “stood at a distance to see what would happen to him” (2:4).
We may never know the full impact that Miriam’s gentle watch had on Moses’ great life. We do know that because Miriam patiently waited and watched over Moses, she later merits that the entire nation “did not move” and waits for her to heal and return home before they travel on (Numbers 12:15. Mishne Soteh 9b).
Oh, how we are in need of such sisters today?
Every one of us, at one time or another, will be floating on a “river,” feeling abandoned and left alone in foreign waters.
Which child is not in need of someone watching and protecting the child? And even as adults – our “inner child” and even our “outer adult” – needs to know that we are being watched over and protected.
A little girl just about 3400 years ago teaches us about our responsibility to protect the children around us.
Rise women, sisters and daughters. Protect your children. Watch over your men.
A little care today, even for a mere hour, results in a lifetime of reward.
All great events are borne out of small, unnoticed acts. All great people rise out of humble, quiet moments.
Every great person has a “sister” who watched over him.
Who will you watch over?
——-
(1) There are several opinions in the Talmud and Midrash regarding Moses’ name: Tov or Tuviah (Soteh 12a). Moses’ had ten names: Yorad, Chaver, Yekusiel (see Pirkei d’Reb Eliezer ch. 48), Avigdor, Avi Suko, Avi Zonuach, Tuvia, Shemayah, Levi, Moshe (Vayikra Rabba 1:3. See Megilah 13a). The Seder Hadorot (entry on Moshe) cites that Moses’ father, Amrom, called his son Chaver. His grandfather, Kehot, called him Avigdor.
* * *
Question for the week: What does water remind you of?
Tags: humility, revelation, names, family, Moses, water
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Biblical, Shmot, Torah Personalities, Moses, Miriam | 7 Comments »
December 22nd, 2016
Your Soul’s Secret of Secrets
Chanukah is the story of oil.
Despite the battles miraculously won by the weaker and fewer Maccabees against the mightier and larger Syrian-Greek army, the Talmud, in its description of the miracle of Chanukah, concentrates solely on the miracle of the oil and virtually ignores the military miracle. “What is Chanukah?” asks the Talmud.
“Over what miracle was it established? When the Greeks entered the Sanctuary, they contaminated all its oil. Then, when the Hasmonean Kingdom overpowered and was victorious over them, they searched and found only a single cruse of pure oil that was sealed with the seal of the High Priest—enough to light the menorah for a single day. A miracle occurred, and they lit the menorah with this oil for eight days. The following year, they established these [eight days] as days of festivity and praise and thanksgiving for G-d.”
We thus celebrate Chanukah by commemorating the oil miracle and lighting the menorah for eight days, preferably using olive oil because it is easily drawn into the wick, its light burns clearly, and the miracle of Chanukah happened with olive oil.
Why the focus on oil? One could argue that discovering the oil was incidental to the main miracle of winning the battle against the enemy. Had that victory not taken place the subsequent discovery of the cruse of oil would not have been possible. Why then is the miracle of oil the defining feature of Chanukah, with no mention of the battles won – unlike, for instance, Passover, when we commemorate and recreate the victory over the Egyptians?
Chassidus explains that the essential miracle of Chanukah was a spiritual victory. The Syrian-Greeks didn’t want to physically annihilate the Jewish people (as Haman did in the time of Purim); they wanted to kill their souls. The Greeks were not opposed to Torah as a body of human wisdom and mitzvoth as a set of ethical rules; they sought to “make them forget Your Torah and make them violate the decrees of Your will” – to divorce the Torah and mitzvoth from its spiritual and Divine nature. The battle was fought not for any material or political end, but for the very soul of Judaism (see The Transparent Body and The Physics of Chanukah). Thus the Talmud defines “What is Chanukah?” by its spiritual miracle—the discovery of the pure, undefiled cruse of oil and the rekindling of the divine light which emanated from the Holy Temple.
Even when the mighty materialistic Syrians-Greeks desecrated all things sacred, even as all sources of pure light (from pure olive oil) were gone, ultimately one crucible of purity remained, and revived the soul. The powerful quality of light – even a minimal amount – prevailed over the strongest forms of darkness.
This explains the significance of the flames. But why specifically oil?
The Midrash offers the following parable in explaining the use of olive oil for the Menorah in the Temple: It is comparable to a king whose legions rebelled against him. However, one of his legions remained faithful and did not rebel. The king said that this legion that did not rebel, from them I will take for my rulers and governors. So did G-d say, This olive brought light to the world in the time of Noah, as we see ‘the dove came…and it had an olive branch in its mouth’ (Vayikra Rabba 31:10).
One commentary (Rabbi Dovid Luria known as the Radal) explains that the corruption preceding the great flood did not affect man alone, but also the animal and plant kingdoms. Different animal species tried to interbreed; plants attempted to intergraft. Only the olive branch resists all forms of grafting. It thus it is considered the “legion that did not rebel.” It remained pure. Because it remained faithful to G-d, the olive was chosen to be the sign of rebirth and renewal after the flood. It was chosen to be the source for light in the holiest place in the world, and the source of light for generations to come.
But what is it about olive oil that immunizes it against corruptive forces? And how do we access its power?
The material nature of every physical entity evolves from its spiritual root. An analysis of the properties of oil can help illuminate its powerful spiritual significance.
The Talmud poses the following question: If an impurity touches oil floating on wine, does it contaminate the wine as well? Two opinions are offered: The Rabonon hold that oil is hydrophobic by nature and is therefore not considered connected to the wine, thus only the oil is contaminated, not the wine. Rabbi Yochanan ben Nuri disagrees. He holds that the oil is connected to the wine, and thus contaminates the wine as well (Tevul Yom 2:5).
Their disagreement applies to another law as well. On Shabbat we are prohibited from moving an object from a private area into a public area (or vice versa). The prohibition requires a two step process: lifting (akira) and placing (hanocho) – lifting the object from its resting place and placing it down in another place. The question is this: If oil is floating on top of wine, is it considered resting on the wine and thus prohibited to lift and place elsewhere. Rabbi Yochanan ben Nuri holds that the oil is connected to the wine, and thus is resting upon it. The Rabonon disagree and argue that oil is not connected, but completely separate from the wine. It is as if the oil is floating, and thus not considered to be lifted off the wine (Shabbat 5b).
The final ruling (halacha) follows the Rabonon, that the oil is completely separate from the wine.
The Rebbe Dovber (second Chabad Rebbe, son and successor of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi) in his profound work “Imrei Binah” (Shaar ha’Kriyat Shma ch. 52-56) wonders what the basis of the argument is in the first place. “Isn’t it a matter of empirical observation,” he asks, “whether the two blend together or they remain completely separate. We can test and see whether the oil and wine have mixed together in some way – both in substance and in taste. So, what defines the argument between the Rabonon and Rabbi Yochanan ben Nuri?”
Rabbi Dovber explains that the nature of oil can be understood only after we analyze olive oil’s spiritual personality.
The soul consists of three dimensions: The conscious, the unconscious, and the un-unconscious. The conscious divides into the revealed biological, emotional and intellectual faculties – corresponding to nefesh, ruach and neshomo (the first three of the five names/levels of the soul). The unconscious is chaya – the transcendent dimension, which remains unrevealed, but can surface through exerted effort. Finally – each soul contains the un-unconscious, yechida, which defies any form of expression.
The un-unconscious always remains essentially unknowable. It is the psychological parallel to the quantum-like state of fundamental probability, at the heart of Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle (see Beyond Structure, The Real You, The True You).
What distinguishes the level of the essential un-unconscious from the “regular” unconscious is that the unconscious is hidden, but can be revealed. In Carl Jung’s words:
“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”
This may be true on the level of the unconscious, but the level of the un-unconscious is fundamentally unrevealable.
Both are concealed, but the former is called “concealment of substance,” or the “defined unconscious,” and the other “concealment of no substance,” or the “undefined unconscious.” An example of the two is the difference between a white-hot coal and a flint stone. The fire in the coal is hidden, but it exists in the coal. All you need to do is fan the coal and the flame will emerge. In a flint stone no physical fire exists. However by striking it with force, you can release its spark (see The Power of Human Exertion).
These three dimensions – the conscious and the two levels of the unconscious – are embodied in the difference between bread, wine and oil: Bread (or water), conventional food, manifests the revealed faculties. Wine, concealed in grapes, reflects the unconscious – which is revealed by even slight pressure on the grapes. Olive oil represents the un-unconscious (which is much more locked in the olive, and therefore requires much more pressure to release, than wine in the grape). In the words of the Zohar: Wine is the level of “secrets” (a secret that can be revealed); oil is the level of the “secrets of secrets” – so secret that it is hidden even from the secrets, it is fundamentally secret and indefinable.
Oil itself also has two dimensions: One that interacts with the unconscious “wine” state, and leaves some impact on the unconscious. A higher level – the essential “oil” un-unconscious that remains detached and above all the levels it rests upon. [The paradox of oil is quite obvious: On one hand oil saturates all solids it comes in contact with. On the other hand, it rises and remains above any liquid it comes in contact with (see also Shemot Rabba 36:1. Ohr HaTorah Behaalotcho pp. 426)].
Rabbi Dovber explains that the two opinions of Rabbi Yochanan ben Nuri and the Rabonon, whether oil is connected or disconnected to the wine beneath it, reflect the two dimensions in oil: Rabbi Yochanan addresses the dimension of “oil” that comes in contact with and affects the “wine.” The Rabonon discuss the essential “oil,” which always remains not connected with the “wine.”
Now we can understand why oil plays such a primary role in the Chanukah experience: Oil represents the ultimate, essential soul connection to the Divine that is incorruptible and untouched by any impurity. It rises and floats above all existence.
It therefore has the power to transcend darkness – the materialistic challenge of the Greeks and their defiling of the Holy Temple and even the sacred oil. Like in “those days” so to today “at this time:” Even when our conscious and unconscious faculties may be temporarily compromised, one cruse of “pure oil” always remains, which is like a “pilot flame” that gives us the power to reignite the unconscious and the conscious that may have been extinguished (or concealed) for a while.
And the light that emerges from darkness is the strongest light of all. As the Ramban writes (beginning of Parshat Behaalotcho), that ‘these [Chanukah] flames will never be extinguished’ (unlike the Temple Menorah which ceased shining after the Temple’s destruction). Light that prevails after being challenged by darkness demonstrates that it is a light that can never die.
Chanukah is the celebration of oil – the oil within that lays in the deepest part of our souls – pure and innocent, untouched and untainted by all of life’s experiences, even the harshest ones. The pure oil of your soul floats above the din, which carries your secret of secrets – the part of you that transcends all defined forms of expression. The real you.
On all eight days of Chanukah, these lights are sacred, and we are not permitted to make use of them—only to look at them, in order to offer thanks and praise to Your great Name for Your miracles, for Your wonders and for Your salvations.
“We are not permitted to make use of them” – because they are beyond and to remain untouched by human needs, even our own. But we are allowed to look at them…
As we light the Chanukah flames let us study these flames and listen to their story – the story of our innermost lives, of our most intimate recesses of ours souls.
Chanukah tells the secret of secrets of your soul.
It’s comforting to know that despite all the darkness around us, despite the pains and losses we endure, despite the black night and the hostile streets – a quiet, little flame remains lit, untouched, unrevealable – hovering above, barely touching, yet firmly in touch with our regular lives.
This may be the most powerful message that we will ever hear: Your soul has a secret. A secret of secrets. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can touch, let alone hurt or diminish your soul’s secret oil.
On Chanukah the secret of your soul is revealed – the secret of all secrets.
On Chanukah you have the power to touch the untouchable, or better yet: to be touched by the untouchable.
* * *
Question for the week: What lesson or story do you learn from the Chanukah flames? What secret of the soul can you see in their light?
Tags: soul, wine, Jewish law, bread, neshama, oil, Beis Hamikdash, spiritual and material, Jewish history, essence, purity, concealment, halacha
Posted in Soul & Mystical, Months & Holidays, Chanukah, Faith, Beliefs & Concepts, Kislev, Miracles, Spiritual, Moshiach & Redemption, Torah | 5 Comments »
December 15th, 2016
Beyond Our Wounds and Limps
Russian Translation
One dark night 3586 years ago a mysterious battle took place, which left a great man wounded, but intact. This battle embodies the persecutions throughout history – the battles of life, the perpetual struggle with evil, both collective and personal.
In most dramatic terms, this week’s Torah portion relates the story how “Jacob remained alone and a stranger wrestled with him until the break of dawn. When he saw that he could not defeat him, he touched the upper joint of Jacob’s thigh. Jacob’s hip joint became dislocated as he wrestled with him.” As a result Jacob “was limping because of his thigh. The Israelites therefore do not eat the displaced [sciatic] nerve on the hip joint to this very day because he [the stranger] touched Jacob’s thigh on the displaced nerve” (Genesis 32:25-33).
Volumes have been written to explain this strange episode. The focus of this column will be on the psycho-spiritual application of this classic wrestle, between Jacob and the stranger – Esau’s guardian angel.
Jacob and Esau are archetypes of the two polar forces in existence which stand in perpetual battle: Spirit and matter, the scholar and the warrior – the body’s selfish survival drive and the soul’s yearning for transcendence.
Within each of us we have both these voices tugging at us in opposite directions. Virtually every choice we make poses two options: Should I take care of my own needs or should I help another? Should I be a taker or a giver? Am I here to serve myself or to serve a higher cause? Each of us is wrestling, in one way or another, with a “stranger.”
However, the battle is not always with the same intensity; it goes through stages – night and day. The dark night represents the sinister. The morning light epitomizes the bright. We live in a dark universe, which shrouds the inner light of spirit. Transcendence in this material world is not easily gained. Yet, each of us experiences sacred moments when we feel spiritually strong.
When darkness falls and our souls are in a lull, when we cannot see clearly and our senses are numbed – we then become vulnerable to the material forces that attack at our very integrity.
Jacob’s wrestling with Esau’s angel through the night represents all the battles of our lives, beginning with the biggest battle of them all – between the material and the spiritual.
The tension between matter and spirit is deep and difficult. Yet even then, the soul (Jacob) cannot be defeated. But the material forces are relentless. Even when the essence of our beings cannot be hurt, matter’s inherent narcissism “touches” our extremities – the part of your life which is vulnerable and exposed to the elements.
As the Zohar explains: The angel saw that Jacob was strong throughout – protected on both sides by his fathers, Abraham and Isaac, and he could not defeat him. So he attacked and wounded his thigh – the part that protrudes from and is outside of the body (Zohar I 146a. 171a).
The structure of the human body parallels our faculties. The body divides into three sections, head, torso and legs, corresponding to our faculties – mind, emotion and implementation.
[According to the spheratic structure of the mystics, the building blocks of all existence consist of ten spheres, divided into three categories: The mind, which entails Chochma, Binah and Daas (conception, comprehension and intimate knowledge). The heart contains the higher emotions – Chesed, Gevurah, Tiferet (love, discipline, compassion). And the legs – from the hips down – represent the lower emotions, Netzach, Hod, Yesod and Malchut (endurance, yielding, bonding and dignity), which are primarily on the implementation level].
The hip joint represents the link between our higher faculties (mind and heart) and our actions. The legs, which connect us to the ground, characterize our involvement with the material universe, our struggle to survive.
Optimally, true commitment requires a total investment, wholemindedly and wholeheartedly – with all our faculties. Only then, are we immunized against predators.
“When he saw that he could not defeat him” – because the higher faculties of Jacob were completely protected – “he touched the upper joint of his thigh”, which connects to the legs, representing our mechanical behaviors and commitments.
When a person acts mechanically, and his behavior is hollow – lacking intellectual intensity and emotional passion – he is at his most vulnerable. And that’s where the crass forces of materialism attack and have the power to injure.
The enemy always goes after our weakest link, our blind spots.
[In the Talmud (Chulin 91a) there are two opinions which of Jacob’s thighs were hurt – the right thigh or both thighs. The consensus is both thighs. The Kabbalists discuss the contradiction in the Zohar. In one place it states that the Jacob’s wound was in Netzach, the right thigh, and in another place it says that it was Hod, the left thigh (see Pardes gate 17, “Jacob’s Thigh.” Arizal – Taamei HaMitzvot on this week’s portion. Explained in Siddur Im Dach 304d. Derech Mitzvosecho, Mitzvat Gid Hanoshe)].
Spiritually and psychologically speaking: Nothing can harm you when you are on a spiritual high and feel strong and committed to your higher calling; when your mind and heart and actions are all aligned. But then there are times when we may feel overwhelmed by the struggle for material survival, overcome by material pressures, and spiritually disconnected. In times like this, we are vulnerable and prone to be wounded in the process of the struggle.
We therefore have to acknowledge this weak spot, by recognizing and remembering Jacob’s wound. The beginning of all healing is awareness of the problem. Thus we refrain from “eating the displaced nerve on the hip joint to this very day” (the sciatic nerve, the large main nerve of the lower extremity running down the back of the leg). We are sensitive to the fact that our mindless immersion in material existence touches a nerve which leaves us wounded.
But Jacob’s experience also tells us that despite the wound, we remain intact and cannot be defeated. Moreover, we ultimately will be healed. Just as the sun came out and began to heal Jacob, until he was entirely healed (see Rashi 33:18), we too will be healed in the dawn of redemption.
As it is in the microcosm of our personal struggles, so is it in the macrocosm of global battles: The stranger’s night-long battle with Jacob refers to the long history of Jewish persecution. In the words of the Midrash: During the night of Exile, the nations of the world and the kingdom of Edom (Esau) wrestle with Jacob, until the dawn of redemption (Midrash Lekach Tov).
When the “stranger” touched – struck – Jacob’s hip socket, “he touched the tzaddikim and tzidkoniyot (the righteous men and women), the prophets and the prophetesses, that will spring from him [Jacob] in the future, specifically in the generation of the Roman persecution after the Temple’s destruction (Bereishis Rabba 77:3). Jacob’s wound is a collective scar resulting from all the battles of history. As Nachmanides explains: This episode refers to all the suffering and persecutions that the children of Jacob would endure at the hands of the children of Esau. Despite their horrible suffering, and deep wounds, they would prevail. Even the wounds that they would endure would ultimately heal, as it was by Jacob, in the final redemption (Ramban 32:25. Chinuch Mitzvah 3).
The Zohar (I 170b) adds a fascinating dimension in explaining the verse “The Israelites therefore do not eat the displaced nerve on the hip joint to this very day” because he [the stranger] touched Jacob’s thigh on the displaced nerve.” The Hebrew original for “the displaced nerve” is “at gid hanoshe.” “At” (alef tof) is an acronym for Tisha b’Av – the saddest day of the calendar, when we fast to remember the destruction of the temple by the Romans, the descendants of Esau. Thus the verse contains a profound foresight: The stranger – the angel of Esau, ancestor of the Romans – “touched Jacob’s thigh on the displaced nerve,” and as a result destroyed the Holy Temple and displaced the Jewish people in the long exile. As a result of this wound, “the Israelites therefore do not eat – on Tisha B’av, which corresponds to – the displaced nerve on the hip joint, to this very day.”
The Akeidat Yitzchak (Vayishlach, gate 26) takes this a step further: The entire phrase, “at gid hanoshe,” alludes to the four fast days in the year which commemorate the Temple’s destruction by the children of Esau: “at” – Tisha b’Av. “Gid” is gimmel, yud, dalet – gimmel is the 3rd of Tishrei (the Fast of Gedalia), yud – the 10th of Tevet, dalet – the 4th month (Tammuz), referring to the 17th of Tammuz (“gid” the numerical equivalent of 17), and “hanoshe” is the same letters as “hashone” (the year). Thus the verse reads, that due to the wound left by Esau, we “do not eat” on these four days in the year, which embody in time the dimension of the “displaced nerve.”
Broadly speaking, the confrontation between Rome and Jerusalem, and in general the head-on conflict between matter and spirit, is a grueling battle, leaving us limping with deep wounds. More specifically, the wounds are in the “thighs,” because the primary work in exile is the refinement of the part of the historical “body” corresponding to the “thighs” (Netzach and Hod). The history of our long exile has left us bruised – all because of the touch of Esau’s angel displacing Jacob’s nerve.
Is there a person on earth that does not carry a wound or two? How many of us are limping – even if we may know how to hide the fact – from the imbalance in our lives, the dissonance between our spirits and our bodies, between our higher ideals and the pressures of survival? Each of us is wrestling with the conflicting forces in our lives.
But the dawn always comes. And after all the battles, the “stranger” recognizes that he cannot prevail over our spirit. So he attacks our weakest point; our doubts, our tenuous commitments, our mechanical activities. He wounds the part of us that is immersed in the “means” – in work and making a living, where we are most likely to be disconnected from our souls.
Yet, even these wounds will heal. Jacob forces the “stranger” to bless him, and all of us. Ironically, the “stranger” – the “angel” and power of materialism itself – even as it wounds us also blesses us with the name “Israel” – you will prevail over man and the Divine. Built into the very wound is the power to heal from any wound, whether it be man-made or Divine-made!
Where do we stand now?
After all the history of human suffering, we have prevailed. We are here – and the world has become a more refined place.
We are hurt but intact. Wounded, limping, handicapped, our nerves frayed, we are close to the finish line of our grueling journey.
A battle that began 3586 years ago is about to come to an end.
We are now asked to hold on, just as those before us have held on, to never become resigned, to know that despite all the challenges and the wounds, we will be victorious – both personally and collectively.
Sources: Zohar I 146a. 170a. Rekanti and Shaloh on this week’s Parsha. Shaloh Mesechta Taanis. Derech Mitzvosecho Mitzvat Gid Hanoshe.
* * *
Question for the week: Please share an inspiring story capturing the dignity of the human spirit to transcend a wound or handicap.
Tags: psychology, action, suffering, Spirituality, pain, Life's Challenges, life, Intellect, psycho-spiritual journey, spiritual identity, Jacob and Esau, persecution, matter and spirit, emotions, vulnerability
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Biblical, Soul & Mystical, Torah Personalities, Spiritual, Torah, Vayishlach, Esau, Pain & Suffering, Jacob | 6 Comments »
December 8th, 2016
As 2024 winds down, two major developments are in the air: transition and fear. Upheavals in the Middle East and Europe and the recent election of Donald Trump, not to mention the relentless march of technology and AI, all point to the onset a new era. The opinion of this writer is that these are just early tremors of tectonic shifts to come — for the good. But with transition comes fear. One can sense a palpable apprehension and tentativeness.
Peering through the prism of the famous ladder in Jacob’s dream, this piece gleans invaluable lessons and methods on how to navigate transition and overcome fears.
Transition and Fear
How would you respond to this question (from a letter we just received)?
I had plans to visit Israel this month for the first time. But with the unrest and volatility there, my family is frightened and pressuring me to cancel my trip. I am an avid viewer of your online classes which consistently offer clear and solid direction, and would deeply appreciate your advice on the matter.
Indeed, wherever we may be, we all face various fears in our lives. “All roads,” says the Talmud, “are assumed dangerous.” How then do you deal with the inherent risks and hazards you encounter on your journeys? Do you retreat, stay put or forge ahead?
The same dilemma, on a less glaring scale, applies to all aspects of life.
Take, for example, a common question may of us ask: Is it worth investing effort to reach great heights when there is always the risk of failing? How many of us avoid trying too hard because our fear of failure?
Have you ever felt that life’s disappointments have broken you to the point of no return? After falling again and again, you simply don’t have the strength to try again – fearing yet another fall. After continual failures, you finally throw up your hands and say the effort to climb is not worth the pain.
From fear, let’s move over to transition. How do you react when the ground beneath you begins to shift? When your comfort zones and the security you learned to depend upon undergoes change? Transitions unsettle us. Just look around at the current mood in the USA. Is there a way to ride the waves of change? Can we learn to maintain our balance even when the familiar begins to fade?
Jacob’s dramatic ladder provides us with a powerful lesson of hope and confidence. How to deal with fears and transitions, and how to develop the courage and fortitude necessary to take on any challenge.*
The Ladder
Jacob dreamed and saw a ladder standing on the ground and its top reached up toward heaven. G-d’s angels were ascending and descending on it (this week’s Torah portion, Genesis 28:12).
The sages explain that Jacob was shown the rise and fall of future empires that would rule the world. He saw the ascent and descent of the Babylonians, the Medes and the Greeks. But when it came to the Roman Empire (Edom) Jacob only saw their ascent, without any defined time span of their rule. Jacob thus was frightened – perhaps their power will not wane. At that moment G-d said “do not be afraid my servant Jacob,” though the Roman Empire will rise, it will ultimately also fall.
Then G-d invited Jacob to climb the ladder himself. But Jacob was afraid: “Just as the others ultimately descended,” Jacob said, “I fear that I too will fall.” “Suddenly he saw G-d standing over him,” saying, “do not be afraid my servant Jacob, I promise you that if you climb you and your children will not fall.” But Jacob still declined fearing that he was unworthy. Said G-d: “Had you trusted me and climbed you would never have fallen. But since you did not, your children will be ruled by the four empires. But do not be afraid, because at the end these empires will fall and you will finally ascend.” (1)
Everything that happened to the patriarchs [Abraham, Isaac and Jacob] is an indication for their children, (2) to teach us about the future. The patriarchs were shown what would happen to their descendants. (3)
The same is true with Jacob’s ladder:
Throughout the journey of each of our lives, especially as we embark on a new voyage, we will be shown a ladder. As we are ready to undertake a new challenge, we are presented with an opportunity to climb to higher places.
But at the same time we also see how others have climbed and fallen on the ladder of history. Because every ladder goes two ways: up and down.
So too collectively: At different points in history we will arrive at a juncture and been shown a ladder — a ladder that can either take us up or down. These are the precious moments when changes happen and when everything is possible. It is during these moments of transition, when the old order is shaken up and loses control, that we can effectuate fresh growth.
Both collectively and personally the ladder can either frighten us, causing us to cower and retreat, or empower us, providing us with an unprecedented opportunity to climb to another dimension.
Therein lies two critical lessons:
When we see our enemy in power with no end in sight, know that his day will come.
But the most important lesson is this: No matter how difficult it may be, we must never be afraid to climb, even if it means the risk of falling.
However, this is easier said than done. Why? Because we are “asleep” – as Jacob slept when he had his dream; and when we are asleep we are unaware of G-d’s presence. Jacob was disturbed when he fell asleep on the Temple Mount: “Surely G-d is in this place and I knew it not.” In this state of spiritual sleep, we do not have the confidence, the strength to overcome challenges. We – due to our own limited sleep consciousness – become part of the problem instead of the solution.
But then we awake, and “suddenly” we see G-d standing over us (“suddenly he saw G-d standing over him”), and reminds us to not be afraid. “I am with you. I will protect you wherever you go and bring you back to this soil. I will not turn aside from you until I have fully kept this promise to you.”
But even when we are “asleep” (or half asleep) we are often shown a vision – a dream of a ladder – upon which the powers of history have been climbing and descending from the beginning of time. And now we are invited to climb the ladder.
By showing us (the Jacob within each of us) this vision we are being prepared – as the original Jacob was prepared – for what is to come, and is giving all of us the tools to face these challenges and prevail.
The message for each of us today is clear:
To face the transitions and battles of life you must first fortify your inner life. You must build a strong inner core – a home and family that provides you with the security and confidence to handle any force or enemy from without.
As we face enemies – known or unknown, and especially the worst enemy of all, the enemy of fear and uncertainty – we must build inner security, by waking up and connecting to the Divine.
That will give us the power to climb and climb, and then… climb again.
Thus the answer to the opening question about fears of traveling to France and the Middle East: Travel well my friend. See your trip as a journey on Jacob’s ladder — climbing to great heights. Indeed, you are traveling to the place where Jacob walked –as did Abraham and Isaac, and all the generations of Jews. The place where Jacob was first shown the ladder, empowering him and all his descendants to use every experience, even ones that may seem threatening, as a springboard, a ladder to reach the heavens.
So you have nothing to fear.
Make sure to take along your body and your soul. Connect with the spirit of the Holy Land, the land upon which G-d’s casts His gaze and protects from the beginning of the year. Connect with the ladder that binds earth and heaven.
Travel well and celebrate with joy. You’re in the safest place on earth.
————-
(1) Midrash Tanchuma beginning of this week’s portion. Vayikra Rabba 29:2. Shemos Rabba 32:7.
(2) Midrash Tanchuma Lech Lecho 9. Bereishis Rabba 40:6.
(3) Ramban Lech Lecho 12:6. Bechayei on this week’s portion 28:12.
Tags: fear, anti-semitism, personal growth, Jacob's ladder, overcoming fear
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Good & Evil, Soul & Mystical, Beliefs & Concepts, Personal Life, Social, Spiritual, Torah, Vayeitzei, Emotions & Psychology, Current Events | 4 Comments »
December 1st, 2016
The Power of an Over 3600 Year-Old Tremble
A human shudder is mentioned three times in the Torah (and several more times in Tanach):
The first – in this week’s Torah portion: Isaac shuddered a great, very great, shudder when Esau approached Isaac to receive the blessing that Jacob had already “stolen” (Genesis 27:33).
The tribes shuddered when they discovered the money planted in their sacks (Genesis 42:28). “What is this that G-d is doing to us?” they asked with sinking hearts as they realized that they were being held accountable for the blood of their brother Joseph whom they sold into slavery.
At Sinai – the people in the camp shuddered (Exodus 19:16). Indeed, the entire mountain shuddered violently (19:18).
The sages actually connect these three shudders: According to Rabbi Judah (Zohar I 144b) Jacob’s anguish over the loss of Joseph was a punishment for causing his father Isaac to shudder.
The Midrash (Ohr Ha’afeilah in manuscript) says that due to Isaac’s shudder his children shuddered at Sinai.
What connection is there between these three events?
Every shudder reflects a serious disturbance. When we become aware that things are not aligned we shudder.
Our universe in general and each person individually, is dichotomous in nature – comprised of matter and spirit, body and soul – two forces driven in opposite directions. The battle between matter and spirit creates serious turbulence, which lies at the root of all existential loneliness and despair – more than enough reason to shudder.
However this dissonance is not always apparent.
The story of Jacob and Esau reflects the struggle of life itself resulting from the tension between matter and spirit. The twin brothers Jacob and Esau embody two personalities and two nations that are odds with each other from their moment of conception (in Rebecca’s womb): “Two nations are in your womb. Two governments will separate from inside you. The upper hand will go from one nation to the other.”
Esau and Jacob represent two forces in each of our lives and in the world as a whole: Esau, the “skilled hunter, a man of the field,” symbolizes the body, the material world, whose untamed elements need to be conquered. Jacob, the “wholesome man, who dwells in the tents,” embodies the soul, the spiritual world. Initially these two worlds do not co-exist. Matter and spirit are at war with each other. “When one rises the other falls.”
In mystical terms the struggle between Jacob and Esau represents the process called Avodat habirurim: Everything in our material existence contains Divine “sparks,” i.e. spiritual energy, and we are charged with the mission to extricate, redeem and elevate these sparks, to uncover the spiritual opportunity embedded in every experience, and thereby refine the material universe and transform it into its true purpose: a vehicle for spiritual expression.
Originally, Esau was to be Jacob’s partner in the endeavor to redeem the Divine “sparks.” Esau’s warrior was meant to tame the crass elements of materialism and shaping them into vehicles of the sublime. But the material Esau first needs the spiritual Jacob for direction and focus. To gain the material blessings that Isaac had designated for Esau, Jacob garbs himself in Esau’s clothes, to redeem the powerful energy within matter.
After Jacob camouflaged as Esau receives Isaac’s blessings, Esau returns from his hunt in the field and presents himself before his father Isaac. As Esau enters Isaac’s presence, Isaac senses the profound dissonance between matter and spirit, between Esau and Jacob. And he shudders violently: Something is wrong, terribly wrong.
What exactly caused Isaac to be seized with such a violent shudder?
One opinion is that Isaac shuddered when he realized that Esau was not who Isaac thought he was: Isaac “saw Gehennom [hell] open beneath him” (Rashi – from Tanchuma Brocho 1. Zohar ibid). According to this opinion, Jacob was not punished for this shudder (see Ohr HaChama Zohar ibid). A second opinion is that Jacob was also the cause of his shudder. So though G-d agreed that Jacob should receive the blessings, but because he caused his father such pain (i.e. he made him aware of the deep discord), Jacob would later be affected in turn with the loss of Joseph.
Joseph being sold by his brothers was another manifestation of the schism between matter and spirit.
And finally, Isaac’s shudder caused the Jewish people to shudder as they stood at Sinai. The Psalmist writes: “From heaven You caused sentence to be heard, the earth feared and was still” (Psalms 76:9). Explains the Talmud (Shabbas 88a), that until Sinai “the earth feared” because the universe’s material existence was tenuous without its connection to its spiritual purpose. When this connection was established at Sinai the earth “was still.”
It was therefore quite appropriate that standing before Sinai “the people in the camp – as well as the mountain – shuddered.” [Perhaps the mountain “shuddered violently” because the people were after all children of Jacob, and thus not quite distant from their spiritual calling. By contrast, the mountain was very much part of the material “earth” which stood in fear.]
Yet, even after the stillness affected by Sinai the battle rages on, but now we are armed with the formal tools to bridge Esau’s matter with Jacob’s spirit.
Over 3600 years ago our grandfather Isaac shuddered a violent shudder. He shuddered for the misalignment of the universe. He shuddered for every painful experience that would take place over the ages. He shuddered when he saw the terrible consequences of the battles between Esau and Jacob – the wars that would be waged between these two global powers, two forces in history – Rome and Jerusalem.
He shuddered as he realized how difficult, how enormously painful the struggle would be throughout history between the forces of matter and the forces of spirit.
His shudder continued to reverberate throughout the eons.
But the shudder of a Tzaddik is not mere fear. It absorbs some of the shock and pain – making it easier for us to weave our way through the challenges.
And weave we did. Through all the havoc, persecutions and expulsions, we stand today at the threshold of a new world: A world which will finally be “still” – at peace with itself, with its neighbors, and above all – with its Divine purpose.
Some shudders have such power.
* * *
Question: Please share any examples of how a tremble, a shudder in life has yielded something powerful.
Tags: divine sparks, history, Divine purpose, Jacob and Esau, the universe, matter and spirit, human behavior, Tzaddik, Joseph, Isaac
Posted in Biblical, Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Soul & Mystical, Beliefs & Concepts, Torah Personalities, Exile, Spiritual, Toldot, Moshiach & Redemption, Torah, Esau, Jacob | 14 Comments »
November 24th, 2016
Would He Recognize His Children?
A short while ago I went into a Synagogue for the evening prayers. In middle of the service I noticed one congregant behaving rudely to another. I was about to say something, when a man standing next to me whispers: “These two guys have been fighting as long as I am here. Don’t get involved.”
“No big thing,” you may think. “People everywhere have their petty fights.” But I couldn’t just dismiss this away. A personal childhood experience would not allow me to. When I was around 6 years old, I vividly recall – in a type of frozen image, the type that results only from a childhood experience forever etched in our memories – a fistfight that took place in my local shul. I never will forget my fright and horror watching these two big guys punching it out right in middle of the prayer services. When I asked my father what was going on, he simply waved it away and said “tzvai idioten” (two idiots)…
Years later, I have heard far too many people telling me how similar distasteful experiences have turned them off from religion and religious institutions: Having witnessed profound inconsistencies between people’s outward appearance (as devout individuals) and their actual behavior; having seen how a person can be obsessively committed to certain rituals and simultaneously be utterly unrefined and callous; how certain religious individuals are judgmental and condescending, playing “holier than thou,” and in their own personal lives, beneath the surface, they can stoop to pettiness, greed and even… fistfights; how divisiveness and just plain primitive acrimony has permeated so many communities of faith; how children in religious homes are being hurt by selfish adults, no different than their counterparts in secular homes. All these radical discrepancies and contradictions have contributed to much of today’s cynicism and rejection of religious life.
Obviously, this must be qualified by two important facts: The first is that this by no means is a blanket stereotype of religious individuals, many of whom are gentle, sensitive souls, people who continuously work on refining themselves precisely due to their beliefs. Some of the most noble, cultivated and spiritual humans on earth are people of faith. The second point is that a system should never be judged by any one or group of individuals. Religion establishes a particular standard for human virtue and justice. No person on this planet can live up to the highest standard; the committed life is one that always aspires to reach upward, while knowing our shortcomings and that there are always greater horizons to conquer. The fact that a few individuals may be hypocrites and behave in embarrassing ways does not reflect on the system as a whole, only on the reality that the system does not preclude foolish people making bad choices and behaving inappropriately or immaturely. No different than, say, a scientist falsifying data reflects on all scientists and all of science.
Yet, those few (or a bit more) individuals who glaringly behave contrary to the religious standard are sure able to give all of religion a black eye – and one that endures.
So at disturbing times like this, when corrupt religion and the ugliness of human nature rears its head, I for one like to take a trip – a journey that takes us back over three millennia to the birth of religion.
What would the man who gave us monotheism and embraced a life of virtue, justice and kindness say about religion in our times? Would he even recognize it? How would Abraham react if he entered a modern-day Synagogue? Would he readily join a board of trustees of one of our religious institutions, or become part of its faculty? And how would he respond to a Synagogue brawl between his great great grandchildren?
I would love to hear your thoughts on this. So please submit them (by commenting on this article below) and let us compare notes.
Here is my speculation as to Abraham’s attitude to religious life today:
Let’s begin with the brawl. If Abraham walked into a Synagogue and saw the fight that I witnessed, I have no doubt that he would cry. He would have the same reaction to all the other inconsistencies mentioned above.
But the bigger question is whether he would even walk into a 21st century Synagogue? Would he be comfortable there? And which exact Synagogue would he choose?
Abraham would be quite disturbed by any house of G-d that has been turned into a bureaucracy. I doubt that Abraham would be comfortable in any shul that did not welcome every individual equally, where every soul felt at home.
Perhaps that is why the Arizal and the Baal Shem Tov – as it was the custom of other sages and mystics – would recite certain (the Shabbat eve) prayers in the field… We read in this week’s Torah portion (Genesis 24:63), “Isaac went out to speak (pray) in the field.” Isaac must have learned that from someone before him – none other than his father, Abraham. [Commentaries reconcile this with the law stating that one should pray in a structure – see Tosafot Berochos 34b. Zohar Beshalach 60a. Mogen Avraham Orach Chaim 90:6]. Some prayer is perhaps most conducive in the field, amongst nature, with no distractions from man-made structures and institutions. Even the structures where prayers should generally be held require windows that allow us to see and reach beyond the structure, to heaven. Abraham would be looking for the windows…
The Baal Shem Tov once ran out of a relatively empty Synagogue, complaining that the place was too packed leaving him no room to pray. When his students wondered what he meant, the Baal Shem Tov explained: The Zohar says that love and awe are like the two wings of a bird that carry our soaring prayers to heaven. In this particular Synagogue the prayers were being recited without any feeling at all, leaving them all grounded, like trapped birds, unable to soar. The Synagogue was therefore so packed with these “dead” prayers, leaving no room for the Baal Shem Tov…
Abraham would be looking for the windows – for the soaring prayers and the airborne spirits.
Abraham was a pioneer of non-conformity. He defied his family and his entire society, rejecting their paganism and charting a new course that would change history forever (see The Greatest Journey Ever Taken). No doubt that Abraham, the father of individuality and non-conformity, would be quite shocked to see how the Divine path that he initiated – leaving behind all his comfort zones, and choosing for himself and his children a life of virtue and service – how religion has become so conformist today, often stifling the human spirit.
Abraham was a global thinker with a universal vision to lead people toward personal and collective redemption. He clearly would find it odd that some Jews today have become so parochial, and even divisive, focusing on their personal lives, and often forgetting that G-d gave us a universal blueprint to improve the larger world. And like musical notes in one grand composition, we need each other to realize our individual aspirations.
Abraham did not seclude himself in study, prayer and Divine devotion. He opened his home to all, he “created” (inspired) souls in Charan, he made it his life’s work to not only teach his children the path of righteousness and justice, but to inspire everyone he came in contact with. How, Abraham would surely wonder, did his confident and proactive attitude – as a driving force in human progress – become so defensive and tentative?
Abraham was a passionate, revolutionary soul who changed the world around him, instead of letting the world change him. What happened, Abraham would ask, that today so many people of faith lack passion and soul? Why are there so many mechanical people, who perform even mitzvos by rote? And why is it that religious people today are so affected by contemporary society (whether they know it or not) and the pursuit of money, that instead of them shaping the world, the world is shaping them? And where oh where are the revolutionaries?
But above all, Abraham would not retreat. He would not choose the easier path of protecting his “own skin” and give up on our generation. If Abraham prayed for the infidels of Sodom, he surely would do all he possibly could to help us free ourselves of our own lethargy.
Abraham would certainly find profound merit in us, his grandchildren. That despite all the persecutions and genocides, despite centuries of oppression, we, Abraham’s progeny are still standing. Albeit, perhaps weak at times, perhaps inconsistent, perhaps devoid of passion – but still trying.
But Abraham would not suffice with finding merit in our lives. He would engage us, challenge us, rouse and empower us – he would fire us up to cease acting like victims and take control of our lives and our destinies. He would imbue us with profound confidence (or better yet: ignite the confidence that lies dormant in our souls) to go out and change the environment in which we live.
Yes indeed, just imagine how Abraham would turn over our world! The thought alone can make you shudder.
Interesting to envision how a man who lived over 3700 years ago would react to our world and what he would do to improve our condition.
Then again, perhaps there is an Abraham here with us today. Perhaps that Abraham is inside of you and me…
Tags: hypocrisy, conflict resolution
Posted in Good & Evil, Religion, Beliefs & Concepts, Spiritual | 27 Comments »
