Equal Housing: Unity Of Sukkot

August 7th, 2016

When is something yours? When you control it? When you have a legal and moral right to its use? When it is yours alone, to the exclusion of everyone else? “Ownership” may imply many things, depending on the particular circumstances, society and individual identity that define it.

A difference of law between two observances of the festival of Sukkot–dwelling in the sukkah and acquiring the “four species”–is one example of the relativity of “ownership.” Regarding both these mitzvot, the Torah stipulates that the object of the mitzvah must be “yours”; but the definition of “yours” varies from mitzvah to mitzvah.

In the case of the “four species” the Torah states:

“You shall take for yourselves on the first day [of the festival], the fruit of the splendid citron tree, the frond of a date-palm, the thickly leafed sprig of the myrtle, and willows that grow at a brook…” [1]

Our sages explain that the words “You shall take for yourselves…” come to teach us that these must be the absolute property of their user: one who uses a stolen citron (or palm frond or myrtle or willow sprig), or a borrowed citron, or even a citron which he owns in partnership with another person, has not fulfilled the mitzvah of taking the “four species” on the first day of Sukkot.[2]

The verse “you shall make for yourself a festival of sukkot”[3] is likewise interpreted to mean that one’s sukkah must be one’s own. But here the designation “yours” is more broadly defined. In this case, the verse comes only to exclude a stolen sukkah: a borrowed or partially owned sukkah is considered to be sufficiently “yours” to satisfy the mitzvah’s requirements.[4]

To support this definition of ownership, the Talmud cites another of the Torah’s statements regarding the mitzvah of dwelling in the sukkah. In Leviticus 23:42 we read:

“Dwell in sukkot for seven days; all citizens of Israel shall dwell in sukkot.”

In this verse, the word sukkot, which is the plural of sukkah, is spelled without the letter vav. This means that the word can also be read as sukkat, “the sukkah [of],” and the verse understood as saying that “all citizens of Israel shall dwell in the sukkah.” Explains the Talmud: the Torah wishes to imply that the entire nation of Israel may, and ought to, dwell in a single sukkah! Aside from stressing the brotherhood and equality of all Jews, this also has the legal implication that a sukkah need not be exclusively “yours” in order for you to fulfill the mitzvah of dwelling in it. If all Israel may dwell in a single sukkah, then the requirement to make it “for yourself” cannot to be understood in the narrow sense of exclusive ownership, but in the sense of the right to a thing’s use.

Why does the “yours” of the sukkah-dweller differ from “yours” of one engaged in the mitzvah of taking the “four species”? Obviously, there is an intrinsic difference between these two Sukkot precepts, a difference that extends to the very identity and self-definition of their observer.

The Joy of Giving

Sukkot is the festival that celebrates Jewish unity. Unity is the underlying theme of the festival’s three distinctive elements: joy, the “four kinds,” and the sukkah.

Although all the festivals are referred to as “occasions for joy” (moadim l’simcha), only the festival of Sukkot is defined as z’man simchateinu, “The Time of Our Joy” (Passover is subtitled “The Time of our Freedom” and Shavuot, “The Time of the Giving of Our Torah”). Indeed, the Torah stresses the centrality of joy to the festival of Sukkot more than with any other festival.[5]

And joy, for the Jew, is an exercise in empathy and communal concern. “You shall rejoice on your festival,” enjoins the Torah, “you, your son, your daughter, your servant, your maid, the Levite, the stranger, the orphan and the widow…”[6] In the words of Maimonides:

“When one eats and drinks, one must also feed the stranger, the orphan, the widow, and the other unfortunate paupers. One who locks the doors of his courtyard and feasts and drinks with his children and wife but does not feed the poor and the embittered—this is not the joy of mitzvah but the joy of his stomach.”[7]

Selfish festivity is divisive, accentuating the differences between the haves and the have-nots, between the full and empty stomachs of society. But joy of mitzvah, joy as defined by Torah, unites. Master and servant, family man and loner, wealthy man and pauper, are all united by the giving and compassionate joy of the Jewish festival.

Nevertheless, joy cannot be said to effect a “union” in the ultimate sense of the word; at most, it introduces a relationship between disparate individuals. The pauper remains separated from the rich man by a gulf of status and economic station, as does the servant from the master and the stranger from the homesteader. Joyous hearts and giving hands extend across these gulfs, but the division and distance remain.

So to inspire a deeper and truer unity, the Jew acquires the “four species.”

Taste of Knowledge and Scent of Deed

The Midrash [8] explains that the “four species” represent four spiritual classes within the Jewish people. The citron, which has both a delicious taste and a delightful aroma, represents the perfect individual—one who is both knowledgeable in Torah and replete with good deeds. The date palm, which generates taste (dates) but no smell, personifies the learned but deed-deficient individual—the scholar who devotes his life to the pursuit of G-d’s wisdom but shuns the active sphere of Jewish life. The myrtle’s delightful scent and  lack of taste describe the active but ignorant Jew. Finally, the tasteless, scentless willow represents the Jew who lacks all outward expression of his Jewishness.

On Sukkot, the palm frond, myrtle, willow and citron are bound and joined together,[9] reiterating the underlying oneness of a topically diverse people. Whatever may divide the scholarly from the ignorant and the more observant from the less so, Sukkot is a time when all are held together in the single hand of Jewish identity.

So while the joy of Sukkot introduces a harmonizing give-and-take relationship between various segments of the community of Israel, the “four species” takes this unity a step further, integrating them into a single entity. By taking the “four species” in hand we reiterate that, despite our disparities, we are all one.

Self and Selves

Despite our disparities, we are all one. For disparities there are aplenty, as even the unifying “four species” express.

The palm frond towers above the lot in scholarship and erudition. The myrtle exudes its scent of good works, while the willow is marked by its obvious ignorance and fruitlessness. The citron, of course, outshines them all with its sublime perfection. Even as they symbolize the unity of the various segment of Israel, the “four species” underscore the differences between them—indeed, they stress these very differences as the complementary components of a one people.

There is, however, yet a higher form of unity that is realized by the festival of Sukkot: the unity of the sukkah. The unity embodied in a structure worthy of accommodating an entire nation within its walls.

“The entire nation of Israel may, and ought to, dwell in a single sukkah.”

For the sukkah represents a oneness so deep and all-embracing that all distinctions pale to insignificance before it.

“Sukkah is the only mitzvah that a person enters into with his muddy boots,” goes the chassidic saying, and this expresses the very essence of the sukkah. When a person enters a sukkah, its walls and covering encompass him entirely, and equally encompass his entirety. His mind is no more and no less in the sukkah than his toes; his heart is simply another occupant of its space, as are his “muddy boots.” So when the entire nation of Israel dwells in a single sukkah, the unity expressed is one that transcends all differences and distinctions between them.

This is not the unity that is created by our love and compassion for each other. Nor is it the deeper unity that stems from the way in which our individual roles, talents and strengths complement and fulfill one another, forming the organs and limbs of a single, integrated body. The sukkah brings to light the oneness implicit in our very beings, the simple and absolute oneness of a people rooted in the utterly singular oneness of their creator and source.

This explains the different ways in which our sages interpret the “for yourself” that the Torah requires for the “four species” and for the sukkah. The Jew taking the “four species” is uniting with his fellows in a manner which preserves–indeed, employs–his identity as an individual. Thus the Torah’s use of the word lachem, “for yourselves” (in the plural): in addressing the people of Israel regarding the “four species,” the Torah is speaking to many individuals, each with his/her own unique contribution to the communal whole. In this context, “yours” is something that is unique to your individual self; a borrowed or jointly owned object is not “yours.”

Regarding the making of a sukkah, however, the Torah addresses us in the singular lach (“for yourself”). For the mitzvah of sukkah touches on the intrinsic unity of Israel, a unity in which we are all seamlessly one. Here “for yourself” is the single, communal self of Israel; as long as your use of a sukkah does not violate the integrity of this unity (as does the use of a stolen sukkah), the sukkah of your “fellow” is no less yours than your own.

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Tags: Sukkot, joy, Yanki Tauber, giving, Jewish nation, unity, Talmud, Jewish law, four species, sukkah, individuality, etrog
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The Seasoned Life: The Etrog

August 6th, 2016

“You shall take for yourselves, on the first day [of Sukkot],” instructs the Torah in the 23rd chapter of Leviticus, “the magnificent fruit of a tree, the frond of a date-palm, branches from the thick-leaved tree, and willows of the brook.”

These are the familiar “four kinds”–the etrog (citron), lulav (palm frond), hadassim (myrtle twigs) and aravot (willow twigs)–that play a central role in the observances of Sukkot.

The Torah, however, does not explicitly name the four kinds, identifying them instead through allusions and double-entendres.[1] The Talmud reads the phrase pri etz hadar (“the  magnificent fruit of a tree”) as a reference to the etrog, since the Hebrew word hadar (“magnificent”) can also be read ha-dar, “that which dwells,” so that the phrase also translates as “the fruit that dwells on its tree from year to year.” Unlike other fruits, which wither and fall off after a single season, the etrog continues to grow on its tree throughout the year, seemingly unaffected by the annual cycle.

Weathering Change

The year is a microcosm of life. The bud and bloom of youth, the fruitfulness of maturity, the autumn of one’s later years, the wither of winter—all find expression in its seasons. The year includes mundane workdays and holy Shabbatot; masculine solar cycles and feminine lunar ones; and, of course, the moadim, the “appointments in time” that the festivals represent, each a fountainhead of its particular quality–freedom on Passover, joy on Sukkot, etc. The year incorporates the full spectrum of human experience; the next year can only repeat its cycles and phases, albeit on the higher elevation of accumulated acumen and achievement.

The year embodies all changes and transitions of life, which each annual cycle repeats.

Hence the Hebrew word for “year,” shanah. Shanah means both “change” and “repetition”: the year embodies all changes and transitions of life, which each annual cycle repeats.

This is the deeper significance of the Torah’s description of the etrog. The etrog, which represents the magnificence of the tzaddik, the perfectly righteous individual,[2] is one who “dwells in his tree from year to year”: one who weathers all changes and fluctuations, whose integrity, growth and connection with his source are not compromised by any of life’s vacillations.

Based on the Rebbe’s notes in a journal entry dated Chanukah 5696 (1935)[3]

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Tags: etrog, consistency, transition, Tzaddik, Jewish law, cycles, seasons
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The Four Species: Four Mysteries of King Solomon Explained

August 5th, 2016

Three things are wondrous to me, and four I do not know

Proverbs 30:18

Despite all the wisdom granted to Solomon… he was mystified by the Four Kinds. As it is written: “Three things are wondrous to me”—these are the Passover offering, matzah and maror [eaten at the Passover seder]; “and four I do not know”—these are the Four Kinds [taken on Sukkot]

Midrash Rabbah, Vayikra 30:14

On Sukkot, the Torah commands us to take the “Four Kinds”—the etrog (citron), lulav (unopened frond of a date palm), hadas (myrtle twig) and aravah (willow twig).

As is often the case, the “Written Torah” (the Pentateuch or “Five Books of Moses”) conveys the commandment in a few cryptic words, leaving it to the “Oral Torah” (the traditional interpretation of the Written Torah taught by Moses and handed down through the generations) to decipher the meaning implicit within the Written Torah’s instruction. In the Written Torah, the verse regarding the Four Kinds reads:

And you shall take for yourselves… the splendid fruit of a tree, fronds of dates, the branch of a thick-leafed tree and aravot of the river…[1]

King Solomon, the Midrash tells us, was mystified by this verse. “Who says that ‘the splendid fruit of a tree’ is the etrog?” he queried. “All fruit trees produce splendid fruit! [As for] ‘the fronds of dates,’ the Torah tells us to take fronds, in the plural… yet we take a lulav, the unopened heart of the palm. And who says that ‘the branch of a thick-leafed tree’ is the myrtle? … And concerning the ‘aravot of the river’—all trees tend to grow near water.”[2]

How, indeed, do we know that “the splendid fruit of a tree, fronds of dates, the branch of a thick-leafed tree and aravot of the river” are the etrog, lulav, myrtle and willow? The Talmud, which summarizes forty generations of the oral tradition of Torah interpretation,[3] identifies the “Four Kinds” through a series of homiletic exegeses of the Hebrew words employed by the verse. The clue to the identity of “the splendid fruit of a tree” lies in the word hadar (“splendid”), which can also be read as ha-dar—“that which dwells.” The etrog is unique in that while other fruits each have a particular season in which they grow, the etrog “dwells in its tree all year round,” continuing to grow and develop under a variety of climatic conditions.[4]

As for the lulav, the Torah indeed writes, “fronds of dates,” but the word kapot, (“fronds of”) is spelled without the letter vav, meaning that it can also be read kapat, “the frond of,” in the singular. In addition, the word kapot also means “bound,” implying that we are to take a closed frond (“the heart of the palm”).[5] Thus the Oral Torah identifies the second of the Four Kinds as the lulav.

There are many “thick-leafed trees” in whose branches “the leaves completely cover the stem”; but the Hebrew word avot (“thick”) also means “plated” and “ropelike.” Hence the “branch of the thick-leafed tree” (anaf eitz avot) is identified as the myrtle twig, whose overlapping leaves grow in knots of three, giving it the appearance of a plaited rope. There is another plant that meets this description—the hirduf (nerium oleander)—but the Talmud rejects that possibility as inconsistent with the rule the “[the Torah’s] ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its pathways are peace”[6] (the hirduf is a thorny and poisonous plant).[7]

The aravot of the verse are identified as willow branches because of the willow’s tendency to grow near water and the elongated shape of its leaves (like a river).[8] Another identifying mark of the aravah is that willow bushes tend to grow in close-knit groups (aravah is related to the word achavah, “brotherhood”).[9]

Surely King Solomon, the wisest of men,[10] was as proficient in the ways of Torah exegesis as the Talmudic sages whose analysis is summarized above. In any case, there are many cryptic passages in the Torah where laws are derived from double meanings and variant spellings of its words. Solomon’s dramatic declaration regarding the etrog, lulav, myrtle and willow—“[Three are wondrous to me] and four I do not know”—must bode a deeper meaning—a meaning that relates to the inner significance of the Four Kinds taken on Sukkot.

Four Species of Man

The Four Kinds, says the Midrash, correspond to four types of people.

Man’s mission in life consists of two basic challenges: learning and doing. The Torah is the vehicle by which we gain knowledge of our Creator and insight into the essence of life; the mitzvot, the divine commandments, are the means by which we build a better and holier world, developing the physical creation into a “home for G-d.” These two endeavors define the four personalities represented in the “Four Kinds.”

The etrog, which has both a delicious taste and a delightful aroma, represents the perfect individual who both learns and achieves. The lulav, being the branch of the date palm, produces fruit that has a taste but no aroma; this is the portrait of the reclusive scholar who grows in wisdom but shuns the world of action. The fragrant but tasteless myrtle is the activist whose profusion of good deeds consumes all his time and energies. Finally, the tasteless, scentless willow represents the person who neither learns nor does, actualizing neither his intellectual potential nor his capacity to improve the world. On Sukkot, concludes the Midrash, these “Four Kinds” are “all bound together in one bundle,” each an integral part of the community of G-d.[11]

The Tormented Fruit

In light of this, we can understand the four things that mystified the wisest of men.

If the “splendid fruit” in the Four Kinds represents the harmony of learning and accomplishment, why is this the fruit that “dwells in its tree all year round”? One would expect such perfection from a fruit maturing in tranquillity, in a climate that is singularly attuned to its nature and needs; not from one whose development is agitated by ever-shifting conditions. And yet, time and again we find that the greatest lives are those beset by travail and challenge, that the most balanced personalities are forged by the need to deal with changing circumstances and to constantly adapt to new climates and environments.

This, to King Solomon, was one of the greatest mysteries of life. How does vacillation fuel growth? Why is it that the individual who enjoys a tranquil existence is not nearly as “fragrant” and “delectable” as the one who is battered by the vicissitudes of life?

Pressed Leaves

The lulav, too, gave King Solomon pause. Is not the very nature of intellectual discourse that it produces varied opinions and conclusions? In the words of the Talmud, “Torah scholars sit in numerous groups and study the Torah. One group deems a thing impure, and another deems it pure; one group forbids a deed and another permits it; one group disqualifies something and another renders it fit.”[12]

So when the verse speaks of “fronds of dates,” we are inclined to understand these words in their literal, plural sense. For if the second of the Four Kinds connotes the Torah scholar, the human mind enfranchised to assimilate the divine wisdom, should it not consist of two palm branches, in keeping with the plural nature of the intellect? Should not their leaves be opened and spread, pointing to the various directions that the rational examination of a concept will take when embarked on by the mind?

And yet, the lulav commanded by the Torah is a single, closed frond, its leaves fused to a single rod pointing in a single direction. As the above-quoted Talmudic passage concludes: “Should a person then ask: How, then, might I study Torah? But all was received from a single shepherd.”[13]

This was the second of the two mysteries pondered by King Solomon. How do the flock of opinions and perspectives of Torah relate to their “single shepherd”? How can the divine wisdom be funneled through the multifarious world of human reason and remain the singular truth of a singular G-d?

The Plaited Twig

The third of the Four Kinds represents the “deed” aspect of life, the manner in which we fulfill the purpose of creation with the physical actions of the mitzvot, thereby constructing a “dwelling for G-d in the physical world.”[14] Thus, the Torah identifies the myrtle by alluding to its “plaited” appearance, given it by the fact that its leaves grow in clumps of three: the number “three” represents the realm of action, which is the third of the soul’s three “garments” or vehicles of expression (thought, speech and deed).[15]

Here lies what is perhaps the most profound mystery of all. How can the finite and mundane physical deed “house” the divine essence? Indeed, the plaited twig that comes to mind when thinking of the physical world is not the fragrant myrtle, but the barbed and poisonous hirduf!

Yet it is the material world where G-d elected to make His home. It is the physical deed to which He imparted the ability to serve as man’s highest form of communion with Him. Why? To the wisest of men, this was one of the four phenomena to which he could only say: “I do not know.”

A Brotherhood of Trees

The fourth of Solomon’s mysteries concerns the willow, a plant with neither fragrance nor taste, devoid of learning as well as deeds.

Why is this specimen counted among the “Four Kinds”? The verse itself answers that question by referring to the fourth kind as “aravot of the river.” The willow might not exhibit any positive qualities, but its roots are imbedded in the banks of its ancestral river and nourished by the waters of its heritage. It, too, is a child of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; in its veins, too, course the love and awe of G-d that they bequeathed to all their descendants.

Another hallmark of the willow is that “it grows in brotherhood.” This alludes to a unique feature of the human “willow”: taken alone, he might exhibit not a single positive trait or achievement; but when gathered in a community, the aura of holiness that suffuses each individual soul suddenly comes to light. Thus our sages tell us that the divine presence rests upon a gathering of ten individuals (the number that comprises a “community”), even if they are not engaged in the study of Torah or the performance of a mitzvah.[16] This is also the significance of the minyan (the quorum of ten required to recite certain prayers): ten individuals gathered together represent a quantum leap in holiness. Ten ignorant boors make a minyan, while nine pious scholars do not.

This is what mystified King Solomon about the willow. How does ten times nothing add up to something? If each on his own possesses no visible expression of his innate holiness, how does that change when ten of them come together? All trees grow on water, mused the wisest of men; what sets the willows apart, earning them a place among the Four Kinds”? Simply the fact that they grow close together?

Axiomatic Impossibilities

If we think of these mysteries, they are as enigmatic and elusive as when King Solomon pondered them thirty centuries ago. But we usually don’t think of them at all—so deeply are they ingrained in our reality. Despite their logical incomprehensibility, these are obvious and ever-present truths in our lives.

Why do vacillation and hardship fuel growth? How can contradictory ideas embody a singular truth? Why does a simple physical deed elevate us to levels of holiness and G-dliness unequaled by the most transcendent spiritual experience? How are a number of ordinary human beings magically transformed when knit into a community, greatly surpassing the sum of their individual parts?

King Solomon couldn’t explain these mysteries; certainly, we cannot. But we recognize these as axiomatic to our lives, as four cornerstones to our existence that bear the stamp of a Creator within whose infinite being opposites merge and paradoxical truths harmoniously reside.[17]

Based on an entry in the Rebbe’s journal dated “Simchat Beit HaShoeivah[18] 5702” (Sukkot 1941).[19]

 

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Tags: four species, midrash
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Sukkot Stories

August 4th, 2016

When Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi began to disseminate his teachings in White Russia and Lithuania (circa 1772), many young men flocked to him and became his ardent followers, despite the prevailing opposition to the Chassidic movement. They found that Chassidism injected a new vitality and joy in serving G-d that was lacking in “establishment” Judaism. Among the newly converted Chassidim were the two sons of one of the leading Torah scholars of the time.

One day, they approached Rabbi Schneur Zalman with a dilemma that had been occupying their minds for some time: should they try to win over their father to the Chassidic approach to serving G-d, or is he perhaps too set in his ways to change at this point in his life.

“Does he perform mitzvot with joy?” asked Rabbi Schneur Zalman.

“Every year,” related one of the sons in reply, “when we finish building our sukkah, father climbs onto a bench and kisses the sechach[1].”

“In that case,” said the founder of Chabad, “he is fine the way he is.”

——

[1]. The roof of branches (or other vegetation) that is the main component of the sukkah.

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Rainy Days

Rabbi Fishel of Strikov would sit in the sukkah even in the pouring rain. Once he was asked:

“Does not the Shulchan Aruch (The Code of Jewish Law) clearly state that, ‘If it rains, one should go back into the house’? And does not the Rama add, ‘Whoever is absolved from sitting in the sukkah and does not leave it, receives no reward for this and is nothing but a simpleton’?”

Said Rabbi Fishel: “I’d rather be a simpleton than leave the sukkah.”

Tags: mitzvot, sukkah, beauty, joy, etrog, Alter Rebbe, Sukkot, chabad, Chassidus, Frierdiker Rebbe, rain, Chassidic stories
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The Five Roots of Trauma

July 21st, 2016

Five things happened to our ancestors on the 17^th of Tammuz: 1) The tablets were broken, 2) the continuous [daily offering in the Temple] ceased, 3) The city [walls] were breached, 4) Apustumus burned the Torah, 5) A graven image [idol] was placed in the Sanctuary [by Menashe] – Mishne Taanit 26a-b

We now begin the saddest period in the year called ‘The Three Weeks’ – Tammuz 17-Av 9 – commemorating the destruction of both Holy Temples in Jerusalem, the first Temple over 2400 years ago, the second one over 1950 years ago.

Thousands of years have passed. Why would we still be mourning the destruction of a… building?! True, it was a holy edifice, the holiest on Earth. But it was still a structure of stone. What did this building carry that would cause millions of people to continue grieving over its loss, and praying for its restoration?

The answer is that the Temple wasn’t a mere structure of bricks and mortar. It was a window – a literal gate – between heaven and earth. “Build Me a Sanctuary,” G-d says, “and I will rest among you.”

There are those that see the symptoms of pain; and there are those that look for its roots. Many terrible tragedies have befallen people throughout history. Many important events to commemorate. However, by remembering and mourning the destruction of the Temples, we get to the root of all our troubles.

That root being: The dichotomy between our inner spirits and our outer lives. The Temple was a gate that bridged the two. Its destruction reflected – and exposed – the duality of our lives.

Awareness is the first step in healing from any trauma or abuse. Awareness is half the cure of an illness. Denial doubles its effects.

Should we ignore the destruction of the Temple and continue to live our lives oblivious of the destruction, we then would be forced to always suffer its symptoms, never getting to the cause. By acknowledging the root of the problems – and acknowledging it in real action: in this time period of “The Three Weeks” we are forbidden to make weddings, listen to music, purchase new clothing, and do anything that brings excessive joy – we make our first step toward complete healing.

Commemorating the destruction of the Temple is recognizing the root of all our problems – personal, psychological, interpersonal, national and historical. Were we able to bridge the dual forces that split us apart and discover the underlying unity within, all our problems would be gone.

But that is simpler said than done. We therefore cannot suffice in just recognizing that all forms of destruction are rooted in the split between the sacred and the secular manifested in the Temple’s destruction. We need ways to better understand this root, so that we can find ways to actually repair the problem.

The Mishne therefore tells us that five tragic events happened both on the 17^th of Tammuz and the 9^th of Av. These five events are actually a breakdown of the roots of all trauma and pain:

1)      The tablets were broken

The first of the five events offers us insight into the dual nature of all things that ‘break’ in our lives.  On one hand, a broken thing is not a positive experience. On the other hand, when something breaks it is a signal that warns us that there is an underlying problem. Had it not cracked and broke, we would never know that we need to repair the underlying damage.

By breaking the tablets, Moses actually was expressing the true nature of the people’s relationship with G-d as a result of them building the Golden Calf: They had broken their commitment and thus, compromised their relationship.

In other words: The breaking of the tablets was not the cause of the problems, it was the effect. These tablets represented G-d giving His Essence to the people. Just as the sacred words of the Ten Commandments were engraved on these stone (sapphire) tablets, so too was G-d engraving Himself into our very beings. By building the Golden Calf and worshipping a false G-d, the people in effect ‘broke’ this essential connection (on a conscious level at least). Moses was simply demonstrating in real life this spiritual break by physically breaking the tablets.

And in doing so, Moses brilliantly and subtly revealed the ‘cure’ [the cure precedes the illness]: Feel broken for your errors, and you are on your way to redeeming them. “Nothing is as complete as a broken heart,” says the Rebbe Yosef Yitzchak. The first step to healing and growth is humbly recognizing that you are broken. If you feel complete when you really are not, you are truly broken. When you are aware that you are broken, then you will look for ways to repair yourself.

This is why the broken tablets lay side by side with the complete ones in the holy Ark in the Temple. If they represented only the tragic event of Moses breaking them, why would we need to remind ourselves of that fact by preserving the broken pieces? But they always carry a positive message: A reminder that there is a break in our lives, and for something to be truly complete we must also feel how we are broken. Not a demoralizing feeling of being broken, but an uplifting one that motivates us to heal, grow and become greater than before.

Life breaks all people, but some are stronger in the broken places. Only when they acknowledge that something is broken. When you have hurt someone and broken something in your life, but you go on as if nothing happened, it is hard to imagine how you will ever heal the break.

The first root of trauma is when we break away from our inherent (‘engraved’) innocence, when we betray our inner selves and wander away from our inherent connection to our Divine Image. As G-d asks Adam after his sin: “Where are you.” I don’t recognize you – I don’t see your Divine Image; you have betrayed yourself, you have betrayed your essential self.

Being aware of this fact helps us find our way back. Allowing this break to perpetuate until it becomes the ‘status quo,’ the ‘natural’ state of affairs, is not only tragic, but leaves us with little hope for ever awakening.

The first event of 17^th of Tammuz wakes us up to the fact that there is something broken, and that we have the power to fix it.

2)      The continuous [daily offering in the Temple] ceased

The constants in our lives are those eternal experiences that are there for us even when all else is lost. Once a constant has ceased, the end is near.

There were many activities and services in the Temple. But the most enduring one was the “tomid,” the daily offering that was brought each day of the year, including Shabbat, holidays, even Yom Kippur, without fail. Once the enemy caused this constant to cease, the Temple’s fate was sealed.

We all go through many fluctuations in the vicissitudes of our lives. Ups and downs. But never allow a bad mood, a blip on the screen, to stop your good habits, the things that you do without fail.

Consistency is a very powerful force. Not the cramming all in one day, but the incessant and relentless persistence is what creates true and enduring change in the world. Witness all the greatest innovators: Persistence was the ultimate key to their success. Absolute belief in your cause and the determined commitment to make it happen.

From time to time we need a jolting new experience to ignite our spirits; but the key to success is always what happens the day after the inspiration: Can you maintain it?

Hay may light quickly, but it also burns out quickly. Logs, good dry logs, take a while to ignite, but once they do, they can be depended upon to warm you for an extended time.

3)      The city [walls] were breached

The wall around a city is only a wall, but it protects the precious city. Our skin consists of outer layers that are not nearly as life sustaining as our vital organs, yet they are the key to protecting our insides from infection, G-d forbid.

We build many walls in our lives to protect ourselves and our loved ones. Walls include small things we do for our beloved that may not be the essence of our relationship, but they express by far the deepest dimension of our relationship.

The deepest love, for instance, is expressed not in the things that you are required or asked to do; not even in the things that your beloved alludes that you do; but in the things that you do out of your sheer desire to please your beloved, the so to speak ‘optional walls’ you build that surround and protect the vital aspects of the relationship.

Walls also include special care we take to ensure that our weak and blind spots not get the better of us. When you are particularly prone, say, to bouts of anger, you have to build extra ‘walls’ – be extra careful, employ additional measures to prevent this part if you to burst out of control.

Each of us has areas of weakness where we need protective ‘walls’ and boundaries.

Never allow those walls to be breached. Never think, “hey who cares about the walls; as long as the inside is intact.”

This is another root of trauma: Breached walls. And the cure: To fortify the walls in your life.

4)      Apustumus burned the Torah

Torah is the mandate G-d gave us all as a blueprint for life. Burning someone’s books is a desecration often equal to burning the person himself. By burning his valuable books, you are in effect burning his passions, his beliefs, his very identity.

If this is true with many books, how much more so with the Torah – the Divine blueprint of life. Torah was often the target of those that could not stand the absolute devotion Jews showed to their Torah. Indeed, many a Jew risked his own life to save a Torah scroll from being burned in a torched synagogue. Why? Because Torah was not seen merely as a book; it is ‘our life and our sustenance,’ one with life itself. If you burn my Torah, you are in effect burning my past and my future. The Torah is my enduring link to generations past, who passed it on to me, and to generations to come.

Understanding the root problem helps us uncover its cure: Hold on strong to the Book. Ensure that you dedicate time to study Torah, recognize its relevance to your life and apply it. Strengthen your connection to its eternal power. This is why we intensify Torah study during the Three Weeks, as the prophet says: “Zion will be redeemed with law [Torah] and its captives with charity.”

5)      A graven image [idol] was placed in the Sanctuary

A true enemy always likes to strike at the heart of his adversary in order to humiliate and demoralize him. Placing a ‘tzelem’ – a foreign image – in the Sanctuary was the ultimate insult and humiliation.

Each of us has a very pure place in our heart and soul. It is the most beautiful spot in your life. Cherish and protect it. Never allow anything to desecrate it. Because after everything is said and done, this place is the key to your redemption.

The last and final of the five roots of trauma is desecration of your most intimate and precious side.

Ensure that your inner sanctuary always remains clean and pure of ‘foreign gods.’

By recognizing and focusing on these five roots, we can learn how to untangle the multiple mess of symptoms that plague our lives and society at large.

This is all about us; on a final note, we do have one request to G-d:

For thousands of years a nation has been mourning because of these five events.  We have not forgotten. We have searched for and found the roots of so many of life’s problems. We have brought civilization to this world. We have demonstrated the power of faith and hope, even under most severe circumstances.

How much longer do we need to cry during these Three Weeks?

Read on: The 5 Roots of Trauma Revisited.

Tags: body and soul, healing, fasting, roots, Holy Temple, tragedy, Three Weeks
Posted in Tisha B'Av, Soul & Mystical, Months & Holidays, Beliefs & Concepts, 17 Tammuz, Personal Life, Moshiach & Redemption, Spiritual, Pain & Suffering, Tammuz, Av | 18 Comments »

Adrenalin Rush

July 14th, 2016

Allergies and the Purpose of Life

Those beautiful brisk summer mornings, with an ideal barometer and a perfect breeze, also mark the worst possible day for an allergy sufferer. Nothing life threatening, but that first tickle in the throat, and the rub in the eyes signal yet another tormenting summer.

It begins with a tickle and a rub, but quickly deteriorates into a runny nose, and an itchy throat, stuffed ears, violent sneezing, until your entire upper plumbing system begins to drip and leak like the eroded pipes of an old house.

My particular ragweed intolerance began in summer camp in Detroit when I was 16 years old. I never got to the bottom of it, but I guess Fenton had an overabundance of overhormoned ragweed, which unleashed my latent allergic reactions. There went my summers. Year after year, I joined the ranks of those despising summer breezes, and desperately awaiting the arrival of the first freeze. Yes, like so many of my compatriots whom I would meet in bathrooms restocking on tissue supplies, I began researching ridiculous solutions to this annoying nuisance. Maybe I’ll move from mid-August to the end of September (the height of the ragweed season) to some area in New Hampshire, which has been cleared of these plants for hundreds of miles. Better yet: Why not escape to Alaska?…

I developed a new hatred for this invisible plant. What exactly is ragweed? Where can it be found? People call it ‘hay fever’ (why I still don’t know). As I would drive on the highways I would silently sneer at the slender, yellow dotted branches – all ripe and ready to launch their pollen attack. They seemed so proud of their conquest. Sometimes I would get out of the car, and crush a few plants just to make a statement. Hey, I won’t go down without a fight…

It got so bad that one summer day I had a borderline asthma attack, and needed medication to keep my constricted air passages open.

That was it. After the summer I went off to a famous allergist in New York. Dr. Redner must have been 85 years old when I went to see him (or so it seemed to a cocky 23 yr. old squirt). He tested my sensitivities with scratch tests to my upper arm. They scratch you with dosages of various foods, molds, dusts or plants to test your reactions. They then recommend a series of shots for an extended period to build up your immunity to your respective allergies (I don’t know if they still do this today, but that’s how it was in the good old days, ‘before the war’…).

The dust and ragweed scratches triggered in me a violent reaction. My arm swelled up and I literally began gasping for breath.

The dust and ragweed scratches triggered in me a violent reaction. My arm swelled up and I literally began gasping for breath.

Dr. Redner reacted immediately by injecting me with a shot of something that instantaneously cleared up all my symptoms. A miracle! Here I was in middle of a gorgeous August afternoon, with a pollen count who knows how high, which regularly would have boded serious aggravation, and all my passages are clear and unfettered. I feel free! Remarkable!

(If you never suffered an allergy attack you may not relate to this feeling. But if you have, you’ll know exactly what I mean. Yet even for you lucky non-allergic ones please read on for a fascinating lesson in life for all of us).

Highly curious – and quite desperate – I ask the good doctor, ‘What did you just inject me with that rid me of all my allergy symptoms?” “Adrenalin,” he answers. “Adrenalin?! Do you mean the same adrenalin that we humans produce when we get excited or panicky?!” “Yes sir,” the doctor responds.

At that moment a thought struck me. For some strange reason I never felt allergic symptoms on Sundays. I always thought that the reason for this was because Sunday was my busiest day of the week. At the time (beginning in 1979 and for 13 years, until the Rebbe’s stroke in 1992) I was the primary writer of the Rebbe’s talks. My responsibility was to listen and memorize hours of the Rebbe’s dense scholarly dissertations, which had to be memorized on Shabbat and Holidays (when recordings and note taking is not permitted), and then research, document, annotate and publish these talks for posterity. We had a small but powerful staff, and my role was the main writer.

Sunday, the day immediately following Shabbat, was my most intense day of work. I was completely inundated by the effort to reconstruct the words we heard on Shabbat. No words can describe the mental exertion necessary to both remember and then commit to paper these complex and diverse expositions.

I always felt that this was the reason that I didn’t experience allergic symptoms on Sundays. Not because I didn’t have any, but because I was so consumed that I was oblivious to them.

But now that the doctor mentioned adrenalin, a new thought came to me. So I asked the doctor: “Is it possible that intense focus and pressure would generate a natural adrenalin rush that would subdue allergic symptoms, just as your injection of adrenalin just accomplished?”

“Why, of course,” Dr. Redner replied. “Didn’t you ever notice that concert pianists, Broadway actors and opera singers never yawn or sneeze in middle of their performance, even if its hours long? A sneeze and a yawn are natural bodily reactions that can’t be suppressed. So how is it that they can maintain such control on stage for hours on end? Because the adrenalin rush produced by the intense pressure of performing on stage infuses a person with another level of control that one usually is unable to muster.

“Adrenalin,” the doctor went on, “in some mysterious way brings to the surface superhuman energy and abilities that are conventionally inaccessible. People in danger, for instance, have been seen lifting objects, fitting into spaces, reaching heights or achieving other feats that they naturally are incapable of.”

“Adrenalin,” the doctor went on, “in some mysterious way brings to the surface superhuman energy and abilities.”

“Why then,” I asked the doctor, “don’t you just give me adrenalin to inject myself with every morning when I feel the onset of allergic symptoms?” “Because you would eventually build up immunity to the adrenalin and continuously need stronger dosages to achieve the same result, which would ultimately burn out your system.”

This taught me – and this is why I am writing about it – a most powerful lesson in life:

Having a compelling mission in life is not just good for the soul; it’s good for the body. Health – physical health included – is not merely about oiling the machine, eating right and exercising; it’s about allowing your system to breathe.

It’s about waking up in the morning jumping out of bed with excitement to take on a new day. When was the last time that you felt that way?

We all need a passion, a mission in life – a calling that demands a sense of urgency. This passion not only keeps your mind and heart healthy but it also produces chemicals that actually strengthen your immune system.

Until that day at the doctor’s office I never connected our spiritual mission in life with our physical well-being. That day taught me that there is a profound link and relationship between your body and soul. Your strong and healthy commitments and passions open up new possibilities and access new strengths that otherwise lie dormant in your inner system.

Do we need a better example than this for bridging spirit and matter?

I wonder how many addictions would be prevented if we had a natural adrenalin flow generated by a passionate commitment to our life’s mission.

As we enter the care free and laid back summer days, there is much we can learn from the allergy season.

Was this why I was blessed with allergies in the first place?

Tags: drive, medicine, body and soul, purpose of life, purpose, focus, strength
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bamidbar, Personal Life, Social, Chukat, Balak, Torah, Medicine, Personal Stories | 5 Comments »

The Universal Message of Rosh Hashanah

July 11th, 2016

Rabbi Simon Jacobson: Welcome to another episode of Toward a Meaningful Life. Tonight, in the spirit of an article that I just wrote called, “A Voter’s Guide to

Rosh Hashanah,” and since we’re in the weeks that precede Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year and the High Holiday season, I felt it was opportune to talk about this topic.

So what exactly does “A Voter’s Guide to Rosh Hashanah” mean? Why would a voter need a guide to Rosh Hashanah? Well, first of all, in an interesting way, the greatest freedom of all perhaps, as they say in democracy, is the freedom of free elections; the freedom to be able to vote and appoint our leaders.

Well, Rosh Hashanah is also, in a sense, the same concept but on a more cosmic level because Rosh Hashanah is the day when human beings have the opportunity to elect and appoint G-d as our leader. I have always found that to be a very powerful message that Judaism teaches us—that our relationship with G-d is a two-way street. It’s not just that G-d imposes Himself upon us. We actually have the opportunity and the gift or the responsibility to bring G-d into our lives.

That actually is what the concept of Rosh Hashanah is all about, which is the idea of crowning the sovereign king, but in simple English it means introducing and inviting G-d into our lives. So in an interesting way, Rosh Hashanah, which comes right before the elections here in the United States in November, is the concept of an election, a voter’s guide.

Of course, one can’t help but mention the fact that Senator Lieberman’s nomination as Vice Presidential candidate to the Democratic party is also a big factor here because suddenly, in the glare and spotlight of the news, everyone is hearing about observant and Orthodox Jews. There’s no doubt that as the media follows Lieberman to the synagogues that he will pray in on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, it definitely is a great opportunity to satisfy the curiosity and educate all of us in what the deeper message of Rosh Hashanah is, and what the blowing of the shofar is all about, and so on.

So some of the questions I’ll pose to you tonight are: How can we use Rosh Hashanah to turn over a new leaf? What do we do when we feel stuck in our lives, when patterns seem to play themselves out in our lives again and again?

People tell me that they’ve been to Rosh Hashanah services year after year after year and it’s always the same old story, the same prayers. It always has some nostalgic effect, but every resolution for the New Year lasts about a day, a minute, or maybe an hour, so how can we make a Rosh Hashanah or New Year more meaningful?

Now my personal interest is in discussing it in a more general sense: what is the universal message, the national message, of Rosh Hashanah? Is there something there that all of us as a nation, the people of the United States, can learn from?

Out the outset I should begin with what a beginner or outsider might perceive as one of the strangest customs of Rosh Hashanah, which is that the shofar is blown. Now the shofar is a ram’s horn that is carved out into an instrument. Essentially, when you blow into it at one end, it emits a sound, a blast, that sounds not quite like a trumpet, but like a simple wailing type of cry.

The mitzvah of Rosh Hashanah, the commandment or tradition of the day, is to blow the shofar. There are many reasons given for this, but the real question of course is, what is the significance and the deeper meaning of the shofar blowing, and most importantly, what does it mean to us?

Unfortunately, we live in a time when religion has been rendered irrelevant to many people, meaning that we perhaps do it out of guilt or obligation or out of ritual or habit, or for our children. But the ritual has become divorced from the spiritual, which means that personal relevance isn’t always experienced through the traditions. I speak particularly from a Jewish perspective, because many Jews often find their spiritual inspiration in other pastures, perhaps more than they do in their Judaism.

So for me it’s always a personal challenge. Can we take a tradition, in this case Rosh Hashanah, and can we in some way glean from the holiday a message that has personal relevance?

I think the blowing of the shofar is a perfect challenge to us because here’s this seemingly odd type of custom, the mitzvah of Rosh Hashanah, where someone gets up and actually blows into this ram’s horn. What exactly is the significance of the shofar blowing? What message does it have for us?

Now if I were to say to you out there, “Did you ever hear the sound of your own soul? What does your soul sound like? What does your soul look like for that matter?” How would you like the opportunity to be able to hear the sound of your own soul?

I think most of us would be intrigued by that concept. The sound of our soul. Usually the soul is not identified with a particular physical sound. A soul is a soul, a spiritual entity.

But you do hear the terms “soul music,” music that touches the soul, or that a certain poem touched my soul. Or love is an experience of the soul.

So we do know about how the soul exercises and expresses itself in different ways in our lives. But actually, the sound of the shofar shows us the closest approximation of what our soul sounds like.

So let’s do a little Bible study here. In Genesis, you find that Adam and Eve are created on a Friday, which is, of course, Rosh Hashanah, the creation of the human race, man and woman, created equally.

In the short and succinct description of Adam and Eve is the story of all our lives. And what is the story? G-d took earth from the ground and blew into it, infused into it a soul of life (vayipach b’apov nishmas chayim).

In other words, the earth of the ground is the body and the soul of life makes it come alive. Our body, as we know, is approximately 80% water along with other elements. But what makes it alive, what distinguishes it from a corpse, G-d forbid, is a spirit.

I’m not getting into a discussion what kind of spirit, the fact of the matter is, it behooves us all, whether you’re an atheist or a non-believer, to understand the difference between a corpse and a live body.

From the Biblical perspective it’s a very simple difference. The difference is: the spirit, the soul of life (nishmas chayim or neshamah in Hebrew). The word for neshamah is spirit. Neshamah also means, interestingly, the word breath. In Hebrew, when you pronounce the word neshamah in a different way it means breath, because it says vayipach b’apov, G-d breathed the soul of man into the earth. So breath, as we know today with meditation and breathing exercises, is an expression of spirit.

What we do on Rosh Hashanah to recreate that moment is to use that breath that is within us, the breath of G-d, to blow into a ram’s horn and a sound comes out of it. That sound is the sound of your breath, the sound of your soul.

The obvious question is, why a ram’s horn? Why can’t we just get up and start crying or screaming with our own voices? That also has its own sound. And the interesting answer given in Jewish mysticism is that a ram is the most docile, the tamest, the most domesticated of creatures. It barely has any defenses of its own.

In an interesting way, by blowing into a ram’s horn, we don’t allow man-made activities, man-made speech, man-made expressions to get in the way. In other words, the ram becomes a channel for us as the purest form of soul expression, and that in essence is the significance of the blowing of the shofar.

Now this may be a little complicated for some because I am sharing with you a mystical dimension of the shofar blowing, the concept of soul, but suffice it to say that it is the concept of hearing your own soul, your own inner voice.

When a person actually accesses that part of themselves, that’s the secret to all life’s success. Everything in life originates from how you see yourself and what you really think is your inner voice. And that is the cry of the shofar.

So as a universal message of Rosh Hashanah, we have a message to all human beings on earth that what makes you tick, what makes you who you really are, is your soul. Rosh Hashanah, which is the creation and recreation and the commemoration of the beginning of existence, is an opportunity to get back to that point in our lives. That is what Rosh Hashanah is all about.

(Announcement break regarding obtaining a copy of “Meanings,” the free newsletter of the Meaningful Life Center. Call 1-800-363-2646 or write to us at wisdomreb@meaningfullife.com or write Meaningful Life Center, Suite 303, 788 Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn, NY 11213 to receive your free copy.)

Jacobson: Can we truly hope for real change in our lives? After much that we’ve gone through in our personal lives, the patterns, can we truly experience something new? New rejuvenation? Or do we just give in to the resignation that many of us have that the more things change the more they stay the same?

We have Bob on the line.

Caller: I wanted to discuss with the Rabbi the subject of souls. I’ve been having a lot of theories posted at me from people who discuss religion and I’m somewhat confused about the word “soul.” I know that people of all religious faiths talk about it, but what confuses me, Rabbi, is the fact that when we die, little is known about what happens to the soul. Does it go beyond our bodies, does it leave our bodies, or like a lot of people believe, does it go to heaven? What is your concept of a soul when a person leaves the earth?

Jacobson: Thank you for your call Bob. It’s a great question. So since we’re speaking about Rosh Hashanah and the description of the soul, the Bible puts it this way, “G-d breathed the soul of life into a human being.” There are different definitions of what a soul is. You hear people say that the soul is like a form of electricity, like electricity energizes an appliance, a soul energizes the body. Others describe the soul in the very spiritual sense of it. The best description I’ve ever heard, personally, of what a soul is is with the analogy of a musician or a composer. A composer of music has a vision within his or her spirit and in some way wants to capture or express that vision, that sense, that feeling, that emotion. So they express it through the different sounds of music.

The musical notes that they write are just the body, the vehicle or the channels of the expression. The soul of the music is the vision and feeling, the emotion and the spirit, the message, that the composer has.

So in a sense we can say that if the human race and the entire existence, our universe, is like many musical notes and G-d is the grand Composer, our souls are essentially like the musical notes, the vision of the Creator within us, what He wants of us, and what our purpose is. And that’s really our soul. Our soul is the energy that is a manifestation of the vision of the composer, and when we play out our particular musical note, we fulfill our soul’s purpose.

I think that’s the best definition of soul. So when people ask the question about where the soul goes after death, or for that matter where the soul comes from before birth, the question is based on a flawed premise. Let me ask you a question in reverse.

If somewhat pulls out an electrical plug, where does the electricity go when it leaves the appliance? The answer of course is, it doesn’t go anywhere. It just goes back to its original state. On the contrary, the appliance is where it travels to and it becomes contained in that container for a period of time. But that’s not its natural place.

So when you have electricity energizing an appliance—an air conditioner, a refrigerator, a light bulb—all that’s really happening is that the electricity is being contained, but the electricity is completely omnipresent, because electricity does not really occupy space as we understand time and space.

The same is with the soul and even more so. The soul doesn’t go anywhere. On the contrary, the soul goes somewhere from birth to death, it enters that container. But the soul is an energy, an energy of the musical composer, the Grand Composer, that enters into existence and energizes it.

Unfortunately, when you live on the level of the musical note, the level of the body, we don’t always get in touch with and we don’t always experience that soul dimension.

So let’s go to the next call. Jill, you’re on the air.

Caller: Hi Rabbi. I was wondering if you could tell me the story behind and anything else you can tell me about a person’s soul mate, your beshert or besherta?

Jacobson: Okay, thanks for the call. The fact of the matter is, that Rosh Hashanah is the first beshert, Adam and Eve, so your question is not that out of context. And since we’re talking about souls, of course the next question is about “soul-mate.” I think that getting in touch with your own soul is the secret to getting in touch with your soul-mate. Many people look for a soul-mate and they haven’t even mated (bonded) with their own soul don’t even have a mate of their own soul. In other words, if you’re not in touch with your own soul, how do you expect to find a soul-mate?

So the key here is to be able to identify what is your own spirit, your own soul, and what is G-d’s vision of your life? This is the question that each of us should ask, and I say this across the board to Jew and non-Jew. The question of Rosh Hashanah is international and non-denominational, one for all people. And that is, who are you and what is your calling? That really is the question of Rosh Hashanah. When Adam ate from the Tree of Knowledge and afterwards was ashamed, the Bible says, “G-d came into the Garden and Adam hid from G-d. And G-d said to him, ‘Ai’eka? Where are you?’” The question was asked actually by a Russian minister to Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (whose birthday we celebrate today, the 18^th of Hebrew month of Elul, as well as the birthday of the Baal Shem Tov). When Rabbi Shneur Zalman was arrested, the minister, who was an educated man, came to him and asked, “Why did G-d say, ‘Where are you?’ Doesn’t G-d know where Adam is?”

It’s a longer story, but just to make a long story short, Rabbi Shneur Zalman responded that G-d asks this question to every human being. “Where are you? What have you done with your life? You’ve been given so many and so many years. What have you accomplished?”

Sometimes you can be sitting near someone and they’re right there, but still, you ask them where they are because they’re spaced out. It’s like they’re not there spiritually, psychologically, or emotionally.

So “where are you” doesn’t always mean physically. Where are you means I don’t recognize you. You’ve disappeared. G-d said to Adam, “What is your calling? Why are you here on this earth?”

And that’s the question that each of us has to ask ourselves when we come to Rosh Hashanah. When you ask that question, that’s the way to begin to find your soul-mate.

Let’s go to Shifra.

Caller: Hello Rabbi. Well, Hashem is “in the field” now that it’s the month of Elul. My question is about the shofar you had mentioned and it has a connection with two parts: that there is wailing (this is a time for introspection, a time to look inside and to take a graphic look at what we were and how we spent the year) and there’s the court of din and the court of mercy rachmanus.

In terms of what shall be our pronouncement with the blowing of the horn and the different kind of ram horn and the shofar is that the Prosecutor that’s ready to prosecute us gets very confused, and when he does that, Hashem goes into the court of mercy, and the bottom line is and with His love and His mercifulness, He gives us another look and shows His love for us.

In other words, we go down in and do this work and we know that somehow at the end of Rosh Hashanah, we come out renewed as if it’s the beginning of a new creation.

My question is, where does the Akeidah come into this in terms of the ram’s horn and the sacrifice?

Jacobson: Okay, the Akeidah that Shifra is referring to is the binding of Isaac, when Abraham was told by G-d to bring Isaac as an offering. One of the reasons that we use a ram’s horn is that instead of Isaac, Abraham saw that there was a ram caught in the bushes, and he offered the ram instead. And the ram is a memory, a zicoron, of the binding of Isaac, which is considered to be one of the greatest acts of faith in history.

I would say briefly that when a person is committed to their soul, essentially they are ready to overcome any obstacle. It’s true that it’s a complicated and controversial question of how Abraham even considered to bring his son as an offering, but the point is that G-d never intended him to offer Isaac on the Akeidah. The intention was really to see if Abraham was truly committed all the way to G-d, to the point where he would even give up his love, so to speak, for his own son.

So the fact is, the commitment to one’s soul can make the entire difference in your life. The truth is, if you know what your calling is, then your life is not driven by the rhythms of social circles or other pressures outside of you. I often find people, who may be otherwise very intelligent, whose lives are really controlled by other people or, if not so much by other people, by a certain social trend.

And that’s a result of not having a grounding or an anchor of knowing your own calling. When you find someone who has really found their own personal voice, who knows what they’re here for, there’s nothing that can stop that, because they know that they’re here for that purpose and everything in life becomes focused.

You see sometimes a businessperson who’s really invested in making his or her business successful. Everywhere they go, every person they meet at a party, at a social scene, in the religion scene, they’re always looking to network and find how that person can help them in their business, which is a very interesting type of analogy. There it’s business.

But if you have your personal, spiritual higher calling, then everything you do becomes focused because you ask, “How does that help me fulfill what I have to do in this world?” which is really the Rosh Hashanah meditation and experience.

Let’s go to Chaim on the air.

Caller: Hello, how are you, Rabbi? I’d just like to comment on the question of the day, that some people make their resolutions every year on Rosh Hashanah and right after Rosh Hashanah they forget about it and go right on with their pattern of life. So at some point, some people are resigned to the fact that this is it, this is what I am and I can’t change. So I’d just like to comment that every time you put up a fight and even if you don’t win it, you have become uplifted. So one day you will be so uplifted from fighting every time that you will win, so you should not resign.

Jacobson: That’s a very good way of looking at it and I thank you for that insight. Let’s take a break and we’ll be back in a moment.

(Announcement break for Rabbi Jacobson’s weekly Wednesday Night class at 346 W. 89^th St., corner Riverside Drive in Manhattan at 8pm. Listeners are also invited to visit the website of the Meaningful Life Center at www.meaningfullife.com, call 1-800-3MEANING, or email at wisdomreb@meaningfullife.com for all the activities of the Meaningful Life Center, transcripts of the radio show, seminars, and other important information.)

Jacobson: Welcome back. We have David on the air.

Caller: Hi Rabbi Jacobson. I sent you an email the other day. My only fear sometimes is that when Hashem called out to Adam and when he calls out to me and says, “Where are you?” that He should only stop calling. I’ve been trapped at home a lot lately and going through a lot of anger about a painful condition I have. It’s kind of hard to get my focus on where my soul is and where I want to go when I’m in pain. I read your chapter in Toward a Meaningful Life several times and I read something in this week’s Haftorah which I read today after going through a terrible day yesterday, which says that in order to elicit true kindness from Hashem we have to conduct ourselves in a special way and that’s through acts of loving kindness amongst each other.

My mother is in a nursing home and I want to call her up and say, “How do you feel being abandoned like we were abandoned when we were children?” or to my brother who stole my youth, and when you’re angry, how do you get in touch with your soul? Especially now if you can’t walk to shul, what do you do for Rosh Hashanah and things like that?

Jacobson: Well, David, first of all, my heart goes out to you — a person doesn’t always have an answer to questions like that as you know. Sometimes it’s questions like this that defy any type of answer. A fellow came to the Rebbe once and the Rebbe said, “I don’t have answers for you but I can cry with you.”

I guess the fact is that no matter what situation you’re in, the hope that Rosh Hashanah infuses each of us with is the fact that life is recreated every year anew. No matter how seemingly hopeless the situation can be, even the worst of the worst, it means that there is a rebirth, and there’s a renewal that takes place. We don’t always feel it and we can’t always access it, but the only thing I can say to you is that you have to do your part and make your effort, as hard as you can, and G-d fulfills the rest. You don’t have to be too hard on yourself.

About the anger, the fact that you called in and you’re talking to me—I guess you could be talking to other friends as well—is a way of alleviating the anger through communicating with others. One of the things we do before the High Holidays is that we ask forgiveness of people around us, but it’s not just to ask forgiveness, it’s a way of airing out and expressing yourself as I spoke about last Sunday on the show: just being able to express yourself in some way relieves the tension by breaking the silence.

I’m sure you know, David, that anger is something that works against you, even if it’s justified. Ultimately it weakens your spirit and demoralizes you.

Caller: And it makes the pain worse, the mind-body tension.

Jacobson: What I would say is that it’s important to get out of the line of fire by connecting with supportive friends, and to get away from people who incite or in some way elicit the worst inside of you. Hang around and be around people who are really beautiful and who lift your spirit and help you connect.

Will it be easy? Not necessarily. It’s always a battle, especially when you’re in pain.

Now I’m not familiar with the kind of pain that you’re in, and I don’t know if you should even say it on the air, but the point is, whatever it is, you have to do every intervention possible to deal with it if it’s physical pain.

If it’s psychological and emotional, there’s no better solution and no better antidote than in some way connecting to one’s soul. I don’t find ultimately that there’s any other solution to real pain, real psychological loss, or personal loss, than to turn to G-d. Someone once asked one of the Holocaust survivors, “How could you continue to believe in G-d after the Holocaust?” So he answered, “My question is, how can you continue to believe in man after the Holocaust? I have no refuge except G-d.”

Caller: When I read stories like that, I say, what they went through, I can go through. And I have to deal with it.

Jacobson: Well, the key is not to allow yourself to get demoralized. You have to get out of your own space. It says that what one can accomplish on Rosh Hashanah through tears, one accomplishes on Simchas Torah through joy, and maybe you should start dancing now to bring a little joy into your life.

There’s a big misconception. People think that the “Days of Awe,” the High Holiday season, is a day of fright and terror and fear. In truth, it’s not that way at all. It’s actually days of spirit, a holiday, a day of simcha, meaning joy, but the joy of Rosh Hashanah is packaged within a certain seriousness. When you stand before a king, you don’t just dance and make somersaults. However, you have a deep joy inside that you have the opportunity to stand before G-d.

The joy comes out in an apparent way on Sukkot and the second half of the Holiday season. So the truth is, the season that’s coming up is really a two-sided one. It’s not all about the seriousness of judgment, it’s also about the spirit and the celebration of the spirit.

Look, David, you’re here, you’re alive. You have many beautiful qualities about you. The fact that you have the courage to call is I’m sure empowering to others as well. And I wish you a real kesiva v’chasima tova, a real blessed year. Do your little part and G-d will do His great part.

Caller: And hopefully I’ll see you in class.

Jacobson: Thank you David for the call.

On the other side of the coin, as I mentioned earlier, I’d like to address Mr. Lieberman’s bringing Judaism to a very prominent position. I have traveled to some places where I rarely get anyone’s attention and now they start asking me, “What is this thing called the Sabbath? Why do you have a beard? Why do you wear a yarmulke? And what is Rosh Hashanah?”

Of course there are also skeptics who are wondering whether putting a Jew in such a prominent position is even good for the Jews, because it opens up the opportunity for a scapegoat, and we find precedents in Jewish history that whenever a Jew rose to prominent power, it created all kinds of other problems.

So some are not so excited about it and we’ll dedicate the next part of the show to the issue of religion and politics, and whether it’s good to mix the two.

There was a fascinating article recently in the New York Times written by Michael Novack, called “The Founders and the Torah.” He writes that he’s a Roman Catholic who is not voting for the Gore-Lieberman ticket, yet he’s extremely excited and happy about what Lieberman is doing to raise the religious consciousness of this country.

I found it amazing that he basically makes a case that the foundation of this nation, as he puts it, “has Jewish roots.” Instead of using Christian terms like “savior” and “redemption” on our currency and on the dollar bill, the founding fathers used words like “the Creator, judgment, judge and providence” which, as he writes, are unmistakably Jewish words.

He cites John Adams who said that the Jews have done more to civilize the world than any other nation. It’s quite an interesting article, especially coming from someone who isn’t Jewish.

So here’s the question I’d like to ask the listeners: Is it good that a man like Mr. Lieberman can potentially be the Vice President and someday the President of the United States, or does it bring religion too much into the secular world, because it may intrude on the separation of church and state? Will having a religious person in one of the top positions in this country make America a better country, or is it dangerous because he can ultimately make it a fundamentalist one and so on.

Now regarding this issue of religion and politics, my take on it is that there is definitely a danger in the area of the separation of church and state and we don’t want to break that boundary because we don’t want any particular denomination or religion to dictate how we live as human beings. Freedom of religion is a critical freedom, as important as the freedom of expression and the freedom of speech.

However, it’s fascinating that the same founding fathers who instituted such a rigid separation of church and state also would allow the currency to make the statement, “In G-d We Trust,” and other allusions to statements which, while not necessarily religious, clearly have a distinct biblical sound: “All men are created equal.”

They could have written, “All men are equal, or all men are born equal.” So you find that these same founders who stated that there’s a necessity for the separation of church and state still allowed certain religious statements to become part of the overall universal message of this country.

My understanding of it is quite a simple one actually, that the founding fathers never meant to eliminate G-d from the dialogue, from our lives.

What they did want is a non-denominational G-d, so to speak. In other words, “all men are created equal” is critical because if they’re not created by G-d then perhaps they aren’t equal. The monarchs and the despots of the past said some people are more equal than others.

The fact that all the men are created equal (meaning all people of course) gives the right paradoxically and ironically to the atheists to deny G-d. So there’s a certain equality that comes as the result of the belief in G-d, and without it they felt that the Bill of Rights and the basic rights of the people are not guaranteed.

But they are Divinely guaranteed to each of us. Let’s go to Teddy on the air.

Caller: Hello Rabbi. I was listening to you in my car and I was so inspired by you. I’m so happy with the way you walked the last person through who’s in so much pain. It was an inspiration for anyone, and as far as religion and politics, I’m sort of in the middle of it, because I know we need G-d in our lives to keep some sort of balance…

I’m an African-American and I know very little about Judaism, but I’m always drawn to it because of the inspiration and life and the lessons and teachings. I was wondering how your community, yourself, can reach out to folks so that we wouldn’t feel alienated if we wanted to pursue that. Because as a people in this country, with our history, it’s so confused and so lost, and I’m sure there are people like myself who feel the same way and are yearning for that. But then on the other hand you look around and say to yourself, well maybe I wouldn’t be accepted.

Jacobson: Teddy, where are you calling from?

Caller: I’m in Brooklyn actually going to visit family. I’m in my car and I just pulled over; I just got off from work.

Jacobson: Well, when we’re finished with this call, why don’t you leave your name and number with Philip, and then I can call you after the show and answer your question in more detail. But I will say this on the air. First of all, thank you for your question and for your kind words. They are very encouraging and empowering.

I believe, as I was just saying about G-d and politics, that there is a non-denominational G-d who created as all, and no one has a monopoly over that G-d, not Jews, not Buddhists and not Christians and not Moslems. Nobody. Because it’s a G-d who created us all.

Adam and Eve are the father and mother of all human beings, black and white, men and women, whatever color, whatever race, whatever educational background. The key to embracing ourselves as a nation and world of brothers and sisters is recognizing, as I’ve been discussing tonight, the soul in each of us. Each of us has a calling. If someone questions the validity of another human being, no matter what background they have, even the validity of an atheist who doesn’t believe in G-d, they’re questioning the validity of G-d. Because G-d is the one who put that person there.

As I mentioned earlier with the musical notes, every one of us is a musical note. When Mozart presented his first great composition to the Archduke of Austria, the Duke, who was “a connoisseur of music,” said, “Mozart, beautiful, beautiful, but far too many notes.” Can you imagine, this “great expert on music” told Mozart that there were too many notes in the song?

So Mozart wisely replied to him, “Yes, your majesty. But not one more than necessary.” Meaning, every note is indispensable.

So, too, each of us, Teddy, myself, yourself, are needed, and we have to share that message with each other. I don’t know if there’s a more empowering and more relevant and more valid Rosh Hashanah message than that one.

We have Keith on the air.

Caller: I have two questions about Joseph Lieberman. Joseph Lieberman is an Orthodox Jew. Didn’t he read in Shemos (in the book of Exodus) that there was “a new Pharaoh who did not recognize Joseph”? And didn’t the Rabbis claim from that point on that Jews shouldn’t really become leaders over non-Jews? That’s question number one.

And question number two. The fact that the election is going to be during the week of parshas Lech Lecha, does that have any bearing?

Jacobson: Good questions. Do you have answers too?

Caller: I don’t have any answers. That’s why I’m calling you!

Jacobson: Well, briefly put, whether it’s in the Jewish tradition for a man to rise to such power in a non-Jewish world is definitely a question, and you find historical precedents that have caused problems, but on the other hand, you do find that Maimonides and other observant Jews, starting from Mordechai (who was well after Joseph), were clearly in a position of power and actually helped save the Jewish people as a result of that.

So it’s an argument that is not simple, because you could make the argument that Divine Providence has led a person to that position. Is it all right that he is in the Senate, because where do you draw the line? Should a Jew not be in any position? Should he not be a mayor, a governor, a senator? Or he should only avoid President and Vice-President?

It’s a general question of what level of power he should or shouldn’t access. So it’s complicated because there is a case to be made either way. And I don’t know if I’m in a position to render a legal decision on this, and I don’t know if there’s any rabbi in the world who can really say if it was prohibited for him to accept that nomination.

I think of it more in practical terms. The fact is, he made his choice—I’m not in control of his life. If he had asked me personally, if I were a friend of his, we’d weigh the different factors involved.

But the fact is, once he’s in that position and there’s a certain level of acceptance, I as a Jew would not undermine that; on the contrary, I celebrate it. I celebrate the opportunity to educate people about what Judaism is about.

And politically and economically speaking he may end up being a terrible Vice-President or President at some point. And they may blame him as a Jew for being such. But on the other hand, he may be a great leader who’s a great role model. How can anyone argue if he ends up being the type of role model that will actually change the face of this nation and how we view our leaders as role models after all the disillusionment that has taken place in the last 30 years in politics?

That may be a great blessing. And if he were a devout Catholic who was extremely moral, would that be better? I think the fact that he’s Jewish and a moral, ethical person is a really great tribute, and I really see that side of it as a great blessing.

Again, this is not an endorsement or non-endorsement of him, because that has to be judged on the merit of his own political leadership.

Regarding the election taking place during the section of Lech Lecha, I’m sure there’s significance. Lech Lecha is the chapter where Abraham begins to come out and spread monotheism and belief and faith in G-d in the universe, so one can say that Joseph Lieberman is in a way a form of an Abraham. In a way, you can say that if he makes a kiddush Hashem, which means that he sanctifies G-d’s name by demonstrating that he can be an observant Jew and not compromise his position, and at the same time be a good leader, that’s a great kiddish Hashem and in a way, yes, he would be like an Abraham who’s spreading the name of G-d all over the world.

Let’s go to a break.

(Announcement break. This show and all of the activities of the Meaningful Life Center activities are made possible by the contributions from people like you who wish to achieve a life full of meaning and purpose. We invite you to join us and become our partners in creating a better world. For contribution and sponsorship opportunities, please call 1-800-3MEANING, 1-800-363-2646, or write to the Meaningful Life Center, Suite 303, 788 Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn, NY 11213.)

Jacobson: Let’s go to Ellen.

Caller: Hello Rabbi. Something irritates me greatly. Joe Lieberman is a person, a man, and he happens to be Jewish. Until he became nominated, he was Joe Lieberman a person who happens to be Jewish. Now he is Joseph Lieberman the Jew. And I hate that. He’s still a person. He’s not identified by his religion, he’s a person, he’s not the Jew, and I wish they would stop making such reference to it.

Every person is a person regardless of his or her religion. It’s not Ellen the Jew or you the Jew, it’s a person who happens to be Jewish or Muslim or whatever. So it’s not really a question; I’m just venting my annoyance.

Jacobson: I’m glad that we can serve as a ventilation service to you and I understand what you’re saying. I think it’s part of the curse of our times where people stereotype one another. And we like to label. Labeling simplifies matters but it just ends up being a stereotype. Is that what you’re referring to?

Caller: I guess so.

Jacobson: Like a stereotype that names people with adjectives or words that, even if they’re not derogatory, definitely pigeonhole.

I appreciate your call Ellen, and by the way, that is the Rosh Hashanah message because it’s about cutting through the labels, the stereotypes, the divisiveness and the divisions that divide us, and getting to the essence of who we are as people.

So thanks for the call.

I want to say in the spirit of the issue, which is a very important one, that we’re all human beings looking for change in our lives—change for the better. No matter how good things are, there’s an expression in Yiddish, Oib gut is gut, is besser nisht besser? If good is good, is better not better?

So there’s always a restlessness that every human being has to grow and achieve and accomplish more in their lives. This time of the year is actually the perfect opportunity for that, but the key, as I was saying earlier, is to get in touch with your calling. Who are you? Ai’ecka—where are you? Where are you in your life? What have you accomplished? Have you come in touch with who your inner voice is, what you’re supposed to be achieving in this world?

The unfortunate fact is, as David said in his call, is that the pain in our lives—whether it’s physical or emotional pain—the fears, the material tentacles that hold us trapped are really our greatest enemy because they don’t allow us to access our inner soul.

That is one of the reasons we go into the synagogue to blow the shofar and to hear the shofar, because we yearn to cut through the barriers and pierce through the layers to be able to hear that inner voice.

There’s no greater blessing than to be able to hear your own soul or another person’s soul because that ultimately is the barometer that helps us navigate the realties of this world. Living in this world, we can easily be deceived and distracted by different side turns and detours that sidetrack us in our lives. Rosh Hashanah is a time to realign yourself and look at what you’re made of, who you are. To do so needs a certain measure of integrity, a certain measure of sincere introspection, but more importantly, it needs the recognition that you have something inside of you that’s uniquely yours that makes you unique and indispensable. I think that’s the critical message of Rosh Hashanah.

I want to say, this show has been sponsored by listeners like yourselves, and this show in particular has been sponsored by James and Georgeanne Garfinkel, James and Anne Altucher, Ivan Stux, Ted Doll, Sharon Gans, and Fred Mindel. Those are the people I’d like to thank for this week’s show and many of the other shows that they and their friends and others sponsor.

It’s your opportunity, your gift that you can give to others. This show can only be made possible through your grants. You can call us any time to help us out in that way at 1-800-3MEANING (1-800-363-2646).

On a personal note, every year has its own particular personality. I find this a very exciting time to be spiritual, to be a religious person, because there’s a credibility and a pride that has emerged in our society. So with all the cynicism and all the resignation, these are exciting times because people are asking questions, people are sincerely searching for deeper meaning and deeper purpose and as such, it becomes a great opportunity and a great gift for each of us to share.

I want to say this to all of the listeners, that we all have a responsibility. The responsibility is to open our voices, to open our souls and to create a grassroots “soul revolution.” We live in the time of the Internet, a time of a communications explosion, that defies anything that anyone could have fathomed 10-20-30 years ago. It’s an unbelievable opportunity for us to share a message of hope, of love, and remembering the message of Rosh Hashanah, the cry of the shofar, the call of your soul.

Each of us has a soul. Each of you has a very special, powerful, indispensable contribution to make and as a result, we need each other to complement one another: all races, all backgrounds, no matter who you are, no matter what education you have. So make sure to use this opportunity. In these days, this Rosh Hashanah, wherever you are, access your soul.

Transform your High Holiday experience starting with Elul through Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simchat Torah with best-selling 60 Days: A Spiritual Guide to the High Holidays.

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Tags: mitzvah, prayer, purpose, love, leader, neshama, religion, challenge, personal growth, Jewish leaders, body, meaning, Adam & Eve, internal, shofar, music, relationships, Spiritual growth, creation, traditions, freedom, crowning the King, politics, soul, inspiration, Spirituality, pain, new year, Rosh Hashana, Toward a Meaningful Life, festivals, G-d, hope, energy
Posted in Tishrei, Rosh Hashanah, Months & Holidays, Religion, Spiritual, Torah | No Comments »

Chanah’s Prayer

July 9th, 2016

…to love the L-rd your G-d and to serve Him with all your hearts and with all your souls

Deuteronomy 11:13

What is the “service of the heart”? This is prayer

Sifri, ibid.

The haftarah (reading from the Prophets) for the first day of Rosh HaShanah tells the story of Chanah, the mother of the prophet Samuel.

The “Prayer of Chanah,” as this reading is called, is one of the fundamental biblical sources for the concept of prayer, and many of the laws governing prayer are derived from it.

Chanah, the childless wife of Elkanah, came to Shiloh, where the Sanctuary stood before King Solomon built the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, to pray for a child:

She prayed to G-d, weeping profusely. And she vowed a vow, and said: “O L-rd of Hosts… If You will give Your maidservant a child, I shall dedicate him to G-d all the days of his life…” ¹

Eli, the High Priest at Shiloh, watched as she

prayed profusely before G-d… Only her lips moved; her voice was not heard.

Eli thought her a drunkard. And he said to her: “How long shall you be drunken?! Put away your wine!” Chanah replied: “No, my lord… I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink. I have poured out my soul before the face of G-d…” ²

Eli accepted her answer and blessed her that G-d should grant her request. That year, Chanah gave birth to a son, whom she named Samuel (“asked from G-d”). After weaning him, she fulfilled her vow to dedicate him to the service of G-d by bringing him to Shiloh, where he was raised by Eli and the priests. Samuel grew up to become one of the greatest prophets of Israel.

The “Prayer of Chanah,” as this reading is called, is one of the fundamental biblical sources for the concept of prayer, and many of the laws governing prayer are derived from it. Indeed, the dialogue between Eli and Chanah touches on the very essence of prayer in general, and of prayer on Rosh HaShanah in particular.

The Paradox

The concept of praying to G-d, as it is presented in the Torah and expounded upon in the writings of our sages, seems to contain an inherent inconsistency.

On the one hand, prayer is described as the soul’s communion with its Creator, its island of heaven in an otherwise earth-bound day.

“The pious would meditate for an hour,” say our sages, “and only then would they pray.” ³ “They would seclude themselves and focus their minds until they had totally divested themselves of the physical and had reached a supremacy of the spirit of reason, so that they attained a state close to that of prophecy.” ⁴ They “bound their souls to the Master Of All, in an overpowering state of awe and love and true attachment.” ⁵

Indeed, the Hebrew word for “prayer,” tefillah, means “attachment”; prayer being the endeavor to rise above one’s pedestrian concerns and connect to one’s source in G-d.

Yet the essence of prayer is our beseeching the Almighty to provide us with our everyday, material needs. This is the foundation upon which its entire spiritual edifice rests. Maimonides defines the precept of prayer thus:

…That every day a person should pray and beseech, speaking the praises of G-d and then asking for the needs which he requires with entreaty and supplication; after which he offers praise and thanks to G-d for the good that He has bestowed upon him… ⁶

The centrality of “asking for one’s needs” to prayer is also emphasized in the manner by which Maimonides traces the biblical origins of this mitzvah. “It is a positive commandment,” he writes, “to pray each day, as it is written: ‘And you shall serve the L-rd your G-d.’ We have it by tradition that this ‘service’ is prayer, as it is written: ‘…to serve Him with all your heart’; said our sages: ‘What is the service of the heart? This is prayer.’” ⁷

The obvious question that arises is: Why does Maimonides quote the first verse (“And you shall serve the L-rd your G-d”—Exodus 23:25) if, in any case, it is necessary to quote the second verse (“To serve Him with all your heart”—Deuteronomy 11:13) to establish that the “service” of which the Torah speaks is the service of prayer? Why not simply attribute the source of prayer to the second verse, which contains both the imperative to serve G-d as well as the allusion to the nature of this service?

The answer is to be found in the second half of the verse from Exodus. The full verse reads: “And you shall serve the L-rd your G-d, and He will bless your bread and your water.” Maimonides wishes to stress that this verse, not the one that speaks of serving G-d “with all your heart,” is the primary source for the concept of prayer. For prayer cannot be defined only as an outpouring of the heart of man in his quest to cleave to his Creator. It is this, too, but first and foremost it is man turning to G-d for his daily bread and water. In the words of another great Halachist, “The root of this mitzvah… is that [man] request from G-d, in whose hands lie power and providership, all his needs.” ⁸

But are not these two aspects of prayer incompatible, even contradictory? Would one who has “totally divested himself of the physical” sincerely “ask for the needs which he requires with entreaty and supplication”? Would one who has “attained a state close to that of prophecy” and “of awe and love and true attachment” to G-d, have bread and water on his mind?

The paradox of prayer is magnified a thousandfold when it comes to the prayers of Rosh HaShanah. On Rosh HaShanah, we are not only standing before G-d; we are crowning Him king, pledging to Him the total abnegation of our own self and its desires to His will. What place is there on this day for the very notion of personal need? And yet, a glance at the Rosh HaShanah prayerbook shows that it abounds with requests for life, health and sustenance for the coming year.

A Home on Earth

G-d created the world, say our sages, because “He desired a dwelling in the lower realms.” ⁹

The “lower realms” is our physical world, lowly because of its spiritual distance from its source, its illusion of self-sufficiency, its almost total blackout of anything transcendent and divine. But it is here that G-d wished to make His home, desiring that this “lower realm” be made to house and express His truth.

Seen in this light, our needs are not personal needs, and our requirements are not selfish requirements.

Thus the Torah describes our mission in life as comprised primarily of physical actions involving physical objects: to bind the tefillin—leather boxes containing parchment scrolls—on one’s arm and head; to eat matzah on Passover; to sound a ram’s horn on Rosh HaShanah; to observe the laws that govern our business dealings, family life, diet and dress. Indeed, virtually every material resource on earth and every organ and limb of the human body has its prescribed mitzvah—G-d’s way of establishing how it can be made to be the instrument of His will.

Seen in this light, our needs are not personal needs, and our requirements are not selfish requirements. Yes, we are requesting food, health and wealth; but we are requesting them as a servant asking his master for the means to better serve him. We ask for money to fulfill the mitzvah of charity; for strength to build a sukkah; for food to keep body and soul together so that our physical lives may serve as a “dwelling in the lower realms” that houses G-d’s presence in our world.

And Rosh HaShanah—the day in which we crown G-d our king—is the most opportune time to approach Him with our material needs and wants. Indeed, one who considers it “unbecoming” to entreat G-d for his physical needs on Rosh HaShanah rejects a most fundamental aspect of the divine sovereignty. Crowning G-d king means accepting Him as sovereign in all areas of our lives, including—and primarily—our most mundane needs and requirements. It means acknowledging our utter dependence upon Him not only for our spiritual nurture, but for the piece of bread that sustains our physical existence. It means dedicating ourselves not only to our soul’s quest for connection with Him, but also—and primarily—to fulfilling His desire for a home on physical earth.

An Accusation of Drunkenness

Therein lies the deeper significance of Chanah’s prayer and the exchange between Eli the High Priest and Chanah, the woman who teaches us how to pray on Rosh HaShanah—and on every day of the year.

Eli’s accusation to Chanah of “drunkenness” can also be understood as a critique of what he saw as excessive indulgence in the wants and desires of the material self. ¹⁰ You are standing in the holiest place on earth—Eli was implying—the place where the divine presence has chosen to dwell. Is this the place to ask for your personal needs? And if you must ask for them, is this the place to “pray profusely,” with such tenacity and passion?

You misunderstand me, replied Chanah. “I have poured out my soul before the face of G-d.” I am not merely asking for a son; I am asking for a son so that I might “dedicate him to G-d all the days of his life.”

Our sages tell us that Samuel was conceived on Rosh HaShanah. ¹¹ G-d’s fulfillment of Chanah’s prayer on this day encourages us to indeed avail ourselves of the awesome moment of G-d’s coronation to approach Him with requests for our everyday needs. For on this day, our “personal” needs and our desire to serve our King are one and the same.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Rosh HaShanah 5736 (1976) and on numerous other occasions. ¹²

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Tags: Rebbe, Power of Prayer, commitment, religion, Rosh Hashana, spiritual, Yanki Tauber
Posted in Tishrei, Rosh Hashanah, Biblical, Religion, Beliefs & Concepts, Eikev, Torah Personalities, Devarim, Spiritual, Torah, Prayer, Chana | No Comments »

Hope in the Abyss

July 7th, 2016

We would meet every few months in his book lined office on Madison Avenue. Despite him being almost twice my age, he would always greet me graciously at the door and lead me to the couch in his office where we would speak for hours on end.

Intimate would be the one word I would use to describe our encounters. With unusual warmth and concern he would discuss with me – primarily in his poetic Yiddish – world events, personal challenges, the trajectory of history – always infused with a sense of urgency and deliberate purpose.

Survivors of hell have an acute focus on the objective. They have little time for pettiness and wasting time. As Elie told me a number of times, “I cannot take my life for granted. My father, mother and sister died in the camps. Too many people died, and I could have been one of them. The fact that I am here is for a reason, and I never, ever forget that.”

Yes, our conversations were serious, very serious.

But we also laughed together. He would often recall is longstanding and unique friendship with my father, Gershon. How they both were fledgling journalists working out of the UN in the late 50’s. How due to their meager means, they both would groom themselves in the washrooms at the UN, and take some extra tissues with them for later use.

Elie shared with me how in 1960, when he went off to publish his book Night, he asked my father to replace him as correspondent for the Israel daily, Yediot Ahronot. My father would remain in that position until 1972, when he founded the Algemeiner Journal.

There are so many fascinating details to share about the deep friendship that developed between Elie and my father. The time will come for that. But for now allow me to note a few lesser known, yet major milestones.

In one particularly moving conversation, Elie shared with me how he had basically given up on life after the war and the atrocities and losses he witnessed. Even after meeting French author François Mauriac, who persuaded him to serve as a witness and chronicle his experiences, he still felt dead inside and could not bring himself to personally commit to any life affirming activities.

In Wiesel’s own devastating words on his book, Night:

“Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, that turned my life into one long night seven times sealed.

Never shall I forget that smoke.

Never shall I forget the small faces of the children whose bodies I saw transformed into smoke under a silent sky.

Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith forever.

Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence that deprived me for all eternity of the desire to live.

Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes.

Never shall I forget those things, even were I condemned to live as long as God Himself.

Never.”

But then things changed. Wiesel told me, “I credit your father as being one of the first people who altered my view and attitude to life. Though he had suffered himself under Soviet oppression, losing his parents at a young age, your father was a shining example of positivity and celebrating life and its possibilities.”

Elie paused, took a deep breath and continued: “And then in the mid 60’s your father introduced me to the Lubavitcher Rebbe. You father persuaded me to go see him, which I ultimately did. After hours of dialogue and subsequent correspondence, the Rebbe was the one who finally convinced me to marry and build a family. His most compelling argument – which I could not refute – was that the only and ultimate response to the “Final Solution” of the Nazi destruction was to build a family and perpetuate the memory of those they wished to obliterate.

“This changed my life, forever. In the single most important decision of my life I married Marion in 1969, and then in 1972 we had our son – our pride and joy – Shlomo Elisha, named after my father, who perished in Buchenwald.”

Clearly very emotional, Elie, walked me over to the photos on his desk. Pointing to pictures of his son and his grandchildren, he simply said: “Everything is worth this.”

Finally, after two decades of a night that seemed to never end, dawn broke.

Another thing that stood out in our conversations was Elie’s love for teaching. He would often say – especially when I would provoke him to respond to some recent controversy – “you know Reb Simon,” smile breaking out on his deeply lined face, “I am nothing but a simple melamed, a teacher. My love and my life work is teaching my students.“

Indeed, Elie leaves thousands of students who attended his classes first at New York’s City College, then at Boston University and Eckerd College, and most recently also at Chapman University. Many more came to listen to his memorable lectures at the 92nd Street Y in Manhattan.

Elie understood that the power of eternity lies in words, teachings, students. And the power of eternal friendships that withstand, transcend the impermanent vicissitudes of life.

No wonder then, that when my father died 11 years ago, the first person I called (outside of immediate family) was Elie. He immediately made his way from his home in Greenwich to the funeral in Brooklyn. Though our custom is not to eulogize, I asked Elie to share a few words, which he did – touching words from the heart of a friend bidding farewell to a friend.

And then during the shiva for my father, Elie was unequivocal in telling me: “The Algemeiner must go on. Your father’s legacy and my legacy – Elie was a regular columnist in the Algemeiner – will live on.”

True to his word, Elie threw his support behind the perpetuation of the Algemeiner, personally, financially and in every which way. He lent his name to chair our distinguished Tribute Committee.

And he told me not once: “I will help you in any way I can. I will never say no to you.” And again, true to his promise, he never said no. It is not an exaggeration to say that due to his support, presence and memorable lectures at our events the Alegemeiner exists and thrives today, as a powerful warrior for truth (in Elie’s words).

I once asked Elie is it true that marching into the gas chambers Jews would sing Ani Maamin, a heart stirring melody expressing one’s complete and unwavering faith in the coming of the Messiah who will usher in a new world order of peace. Elie replied, that the barracks where the Jews were held was a distance from the death chambers. But very often he did hear the whimpering prayers of the Jews near him. The cry of the Shema, the reciting of Kaddish, the Shabbat or holiday prayers, and also, the singing of Ani Maamin.

“If I may ask,” I continued, “how do you explain this devotion? In face of utter abandonment, of a God that was totally concealed, allowing His people, His children, to be decimated, the Jews had the total right to be angry at God. How do you explain the fact that instead they thanked God, they prayed to Him, they sang His praises, and declared their absolute belief that God will redeem them?!”

Elie’s response captures his essence:

“Things really don’t make sense. Life is mostly absurd. We have seen man at his worst. But for the Jew insanity is not abnormal. I can’t tell you what was going on in the minds, hearts and souls of the Jews who walked to their deaths. But I can tell you that every single one of these sacred people knew one thing. And they declared it with their prayers and their songs:

“You can take our bodies, but you can’t take our souls. You can take our lives but not our faith. We will prevail. If not today, tomorrow. If not tomorrow, the next day. If not us, our children. If not our children, our grandchildren. But we will prevail.

“Ani Maamin… I believe with complete faith…”

My friend, the dear and beloved friend of my father, Gershon, you have made your mark. You have served as a child of your father’s and mother’s, and of so many fathers and mothers. You have brought into this world a son and grandchildren – and millions of students, considered to be children as well.

You have prevailed, as has the Jewish people.

We will live to see the world as promised to us.

And if not today, tomorrow.

It was an honor to know you. Please say hello to my father.

Tags: gershon jacobson, algemeiner, algemeiner journal, nazi death camps, family, holocaust, hope, despair, elie wiesel, simon jacobson
Posted in Personal Life, Home & Family, Pain & Suffering | 2 Comments »

A Blast in Three Dimensions

June 28th, 2016

It is a positive mitzvah of the Torah to hear the blast of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, as it is stated: “it[1] shall be a day of blowing the horn to you.”

Mishneh Torah, Laws of Shofar, 1:1

Although the sounding of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah is a Torah decree, there is an allusion in it as well. It says: “Be roused, sleepers, from your sleep, and slumberers, wake from your slumber; search your deeds and return in teshuvah…”

ibid., Laws of Teshuvah, 3:4

Say before Me [verses of] kingship, so that you shall crown Me king over you… How? With the shofar.

Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 16a

A mitzvah is a commandment, a divine decree. The word mitzvah also means “connection,” for it connects its earthly observer with its supernal Commander.

Man is finite and mortal; G-d is infinite, eternal, and utterly beyond grasp or definition. Thus, nothing humanly generated can possibly relate to G-d. The possibility for connection can only come from the other direction: when G-d, who transcends all definition (including the categorizations “finite” and “infinite”) chooses to relate to man and to enable man to relate to Him. In commanding us the mitzvot, G-d made that certain physical deeds should constitute the fulfillment of His will. By doing these deeds, our bodies and souls become implements of the supernal will, and the human touches the divine.

Seen in this light, the particulars of a mitzvah are practically irrelevant. What is significant is not what G-d commanded us to do, but the fact that G-d commanded us to do it. In the words of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, “had G-d commanded us to chop wood”—i.e. commanded us an act that is devoid of all social, experiential or spiritual utility—this would be no less a mitzvah than the most “moral” precept or the most moving observance commanded us in the Torah.[2]

Return

The mitzvot create a relationship between man and G-d—man as realizer of the divine will. But G-d also extended to us a vehicle for even deeper connection: teshuvah.

Teshuvah is commonly translated as “repentance,” but the word actually means “return.” Teshuvah is the divinely prescribed remedy for one who has violated a mitzvah, and includes three basic stages: cessation of the transgression, acknowledgment and confession, and the resolve never to transgress again. Through proper teshuvah, the transgression is forgiven and the blemish it inflicted upon the transgressor’s soul wiped away. Teshuvah even has the power to “transform sins into virtues”[3] and raise the baal teshuvah (penitent or “returnee”) to a level at which “even the perfectly righteous cannot stand.”[4]

The fact that teshuvah can rectify a violation of a mitzvah means that it reaches beyond the parameters of the bond between man and G-d created by the mitzvot. From the perspective of the mitzvot, man connects to G-d by fulfilling G-d’s will. A violation of the divine will has the opposite effect: not only is the person no longer connected, but he has even further distanced himself from G-d. In this context, a transgression will always remain a negative event. It might be atoned for through punishment or even forgiven by G-d in His great mercy; the connection might be reestablished through a renewed commitment to the fulfillment of the mitzvot. But the fact remains that, in the past, there has been a disruption of the relationship. This fact cannot be undone, and it certainly cannot be considered a virtue.

Teshuvah, however, redefines the past, transforming the transgression from a break in relationship into an agent of even deeper connection. When a person regrets his sins and agonizes over his disconnection from G-d, his pain translates into a yearning for G-d more intense than anything the perfectly righteous individual can ever experience. As a mirror returns a ray of light that is far more potent than a ray shining directly from its source, so does the baal teshuvah return to G-d with a greater passion and intensity than that of one who never strayed from the straight and true path of connection to G-d through mitzvot. The transgression becomes a virtue, for the distance and disconnection it created have been converted into a force for greater closeness and deeper connection.

The Mitzvah and the Allusion

Therein lies the deeper significance of the two passages from Mishneh Torah (Maimonides’ codification of Torah law)[5] quoted at the beginning of this essay.

In the first passage, which is the opening law of the section entitled Laws of Shofar, Maimonides defines the sounding of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah as a mitzvah, a divine commandment. He gives no reason for this mitzvah, as indeed is the case with virtually all the mitzvot whose laws he codifies. (In the rare instances in which Maimonides does offer a reason for a mitzvah, it is because this “reason” is itself a halachah (law), spelling out or clarifying a legal detail of how the mitzvah is to be fulfilled).

But the sounding of the shofar is more than a mitzvah—it is also a vehicle for teshuvah. Its sound—the sound of a child sobbing in search of the father he has abandoned—wakens our hearts to return to G-d and restore and intensify the relationship we have damaged with our transgressions. As Maimonides writes in Laws of Teshuvah:

“Although the sounding of the shofar on Rosh Hashanah is a Torah decree, there is an allusion in it as well. It says: ‘Be roused, sleepers … search your deeds and return in teshuvah.’”

Note that Maimonides speaks of the shofar’s arousal to teshuvah as an “allusion,” rather than a “reason” or “function,” of shofar. For the teshuvah element of shofar, being far loftier than its mitzvah element, cannot be part of the mitzvah; at most, the shofar can only allude to it, as an allusion offers a hint of something that lies beyond its topical significance. This is also why the above passage appears in Laws of Teshuvah rather than in  Laws of Shofar.

Coronation

There is yet another, third, significance to blast of the shofar, which touches upon a level of relationship between man and G-d that runs even deeper than those forged by mitzvot and teshuvah. A level so sublime that it finds no halachic expression at all—not as a component of the mitzvah of shofar, not even as an “allusion.” In addition to being the fulfillment of a divine decree and a call to teshuvah, the sound of the shofar is also the trumpet-blast of G-d’s coronation as king of the universe.

Rosh Hashanah is described as “the day [that marks] the beginning of Your works, a remembrance to the first day.”[6] Actually, Rosh Hashanah marks the sixth day of creation—the day on which man was created. Nevertheless, it is considered “the beginning of Your works” and “the first day,” since the realization of the divine purpose in creation commenced with the first deed of the first man.

Creation includes creatures that are “lowlier” (i.e., less spiritual) than the human being (animals, inanimate objects), as well as creatures loftier than he (souls, angels, spiritual realities or “worlds”). But man is the only creature to possess free choice—a quality he shares only with the Creator. Thus, the appearance of man on the face of the earth introduced a new dynamic into creation—a dynamic which is the “beginning of Your works,” the purpose, end and essence of creation.

In the terminology of Kabbalah and Chassidism, until the first Rosh Hashanah, G-d was “ruler” of the universe but not its “king.” A king (melech, in Hebrew) is one whose subjects have freely chosen to submit to his sovereignty; a tyrant who rules by force is not a king but a ruler (moshel). When the first man opened his eyes, recognized his Creator, and chose to serve Him (as related in the Zohar[7]), G-d became king, and His purpose in creation—that a world from which He has concealed all but the faintest glimmer of His presence should choose, by its own volition, to unite with Him—began its realization.

Every year, on the anniversary of the day on which our first ancestor submitted to the divine sovereignty, we renew mankind’s crowning of G-d as king of the universe. We express our desire that He reign over us, reiterate our commitment to serve Him, and celebrate His acceptance of the kingship with the joyous awe that characterizes a coronation. This is the most basic element of our relationship with Him: more basic than that of the mitzvot, and more basic than the bond effected by teshuvah. For the concepts of “commandment” (the agent of connection via the mitzvot) and “transgression” (the impetus and dynamic of teshuvah) have significance only after one has accepted the authority of the one obeyed or disobeyed.[8]

The shofar sounds. The ear hears a clear, simple note, free of nuance and design; a divine decree has been fulfilled, a connection made. A more inner ear hears a sob of regret, a sob that bespeaks the pain of distance and the yearning to return that yield a deeper connection and a more furious bond. But the soul of souls hears the staccato blasts of the coronation trumpet, which annually lays the foundations of man’s relationship with G-d and the raison d’être of creation.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks, Tishrei 5723 (October 1962)[9]

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Tags: teshuvah, free choice, body and soul, concealment, Jewish law, Divine will, Rosh Hashana, shofar, infinite, creation, finite, mitzvot, connection with G-d, crowning the King, transformation, connection, relationships, purpose
Posted in Tishrei, Rosh Hashanah, Soul & Mystical, Months & Holidays, Religion, Beliefs & Concepts, Free Choice, Spiritual, Torah | 2 Comments »