According to Jewish tradition, weddings are not scheduled during this time of the year, the Omer period between Passover and Shavuot.

A strange episode is used to explain why.

In Talmudic times 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva died during this period “for not showing respect to one another” (Talmud Yevamot 62b). We, therefore, honor this “mourning period” by avoiding celebrations that can be scheduled at other times (Tur and Shulchan Aruch Orach Chaim 493:1).

How is it possible that such great students of such a great master should stoop to not respecting each other?! Especially considering that their teacher, Rabbi Akiva, taught that “love your fellow like yourself” is a “great fundamental in Torah”!

Their fate is equally, if not even more, disturbing: Disrespect is awful. But why did it cause them to all die? Isn’t that a harsh punishment for this crime?

And above all, why are we told about this sad story and asked to commemorate it by refraining from marriage and other celebrations? The past is the past; why the need to dwell on it?

The opening of this week’s Torah portion concludes a similarly mysterious event that took place three chapters back:

After the Sanctuary was finished, the Torah tells us, the two elder sons of Aaron, Nadav and Avihu, “offered a strange fire before G-d, which He had not commanded.” The result: “A fire went out from G-d and consumed them, and they died before G-d.”

Now, in this week’s portion, following the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, G-d specifically commands that their example should not be repeated: “And G-d spoke to Moses, after the death of Aaron’s two sons, who came close to G-d and died… Speak to Aaron your brother that he [be careful to] not come at all times into the Holy… so that he not die… [but] with this shall Aaron come into the holy place” (Leviticus 16:1-2), and the Torah continues with the conditions on how to enter the Holy of Holies. Rashi explains that this command comes immediately after the statement of the death of Aaron’s sons in order to warn him that his service of G-d should not be like that of his sons.

What lies behind Nadav and Avihu’s actions? Did they behave properly or not? On the one hand, they were clearly great men who “came close to G-d;” on the other hand, “they died” because they “offered a strange fire before G-d, which He had not commanded.” And G-d is warning Aaron not to behave like them.

And what is the meaning of the “strange fire” that they offered?

Above all, if Aaron’s sons behaved wrongly, why is it important to document their sad story which presents them in a negative light?

The key to the story lies in the word “fire.”

Fire is passion. All passion comes from the fire of the soul, “the soul of man is the fire of G-d.” Like a flame, a soul always reaches upward, licking the air in its search for transcendence, only to be restrained by the wick grounding the flame to the earth. The soul’s fire wants to defy the confines of life; the free spirit wants to soar ever higher, always reaching for the heavens.

Like fire, the spirit ablaze cannot tolerate the mediocrity and monotony of the inanimate “wick” of materialism. Its passion knows no limits as it craves for the beyond.

But, just as fire can be the source of our greatest strength, the fire of the soul, like any fire, can also be the cause of great destruction.

Therein resides the story of Nadav and Avihu, two extraordinary souls:

When the holy Sanctuary was finished Aaron’s sons, deeply spiritual individuals, were drawn to enter the holiest sanctum on earth. They wanted to bask in the ecstasy of the Temple’s pure spirit.

Indeed, the behavior of Aaron’s two sons was not a sin; it was an act of great sanctification, as Moses tells Aaron immediately following the tragedy: “This is what G-d spoke, saying: ‘I shall be sanctified by those who are close to Me.’” The sages explain: Moses said, “Aaron, my brother, I knew that the Sanctuary would be sanctified by those who were beloved and close to G-d. When G-d said ‘I shall be sanctified by those close to Me,’ I thought it referred to me or you; now I see that they – Nadav and Avihu – are greater then both of us.”

Rabbi Chaim ibn Attar (the Ohr Hachaim) explains that their death was “by Divine ‘kiss,’ like that experienced by the perfectly righteous. Only [the problem was that] the righteous die when the Divine ‘kiss’ approaches them, while they died by their approaching it…. Although they sensed their own demise, that did not prevent them from drawing near [to G-d] in attachment, delight, delectability, fellowship, love, kiss and sweetness, to the point that their souls ceased from them.”

Nadav and Avihu’s death was a result of their profound yearning for a Divine experience. Their error was that they initiated it at their own discretion, and “selfishly” allowed the ecstasy to consume them. Their sin was not that they got close to the Divine, but that they died doing so. In a sense, they wanted it too much, so much so that they rushed into the fire and got burned in the process. Their bodies could no longer contain their souls.

Thus, the Torah says “when they came close to G-d (with such passion), and they died.” Why does the Torah add “and they died” when it has already said, “after the death of the two sons of Aaron?” Although it is healthy to divest yourself of material concerns, at the moment when you stand poised at the ultimate ecstasy of the soul, you must turn again to the work that the soul must do to transform the physical existence. Nadav and Avihu achieved the ecstasy but not the return. This was their sin and the reason for their death. They “came close to G-d and they died.” They allowed their spiritual passion to override their task of transforming the world. They escaped beyond the world and beyond life itself.

If their motivation was pure, driven by the fiery passion of the soul, why then was it called a “strange fire?”

Because, even if their intention was a good one, it ultimately was driven by their personal desire, albeit a spiritual desire, but still defined by their subjective drives. It may have begun for Divine reasons, but they allowed it to become their own personal interest, mounting to a point of intensity that it destroyed them, thus rendering the “fire” into a “strange fire,” one which “He had not commanded.” They entered on their own terms, at their own pace, at their own choosing – not on G-d’s terms.

And this was the reason that they actually ended up dying in the process. Because the same G-d that imbued us with passionate souls also commanded us to use the passion not to expire in ecstasy and escape the universe, no matter how appealing that choice may be, but to channel the passion downward and transform the material world in which we live into a Divine home. This is the purpose of the Temple: “build me a sanctuary (out of physical materials) and I will rest among you.”

Thus, the ultimate test of Aaron’s sons’ intentions was their inability to integrate the experience: Had they patiently and humbly entered on Divine terms, they would have been able to integrate the experience into their lives and return to sanctify their world. Integration would have confirmed that they were doing it not for themselves but for the cause, for G-d. The fact that they allowed themselves to be consumed with their own spiritual fire, demonstrated that it was their “own thing,” not G-d’s, a strange fire not commanded.

Now, in this week’s Torah portion, “after the death of Aaron’s sons,” Aaron is warned not to enter the Holy of Holies like his sons did. Rather, “with this shall Aaron enter the holy place” – in awe, obedience and self-abnegation. And in this way he would be able to “make atonement for himself and for his house” on the holiest day of the year, Yom Kippur, and to say a prayer for the sustenance of Israel – acts of concern for the world.

In other words, the determining factor as to whether the soul’s fire will be a constructive or destructive force is dependent on the person’s motivation, how he begins his spiritual journey: If it’s a self indulgent experience, driven primarily by personal desire and interest, then you will not wish to turn back from your private ecstasy to the needs of the world, and the fire will inevitably consume you. If, however, it is driven by the selfless dedication and all-out surrender to the Divine, then within this ecstasy, the desire ultimately to return and sanctify the world will always be implicit, and the fire will lift you and your world to exalted heights.

In the famous Talmudic story of the “four that entered the garden” (a mystical experience) only Rabbi Akiva began the journey with the proper attitude: He “entered in peace and (therefore) came out in peace.” Because he entered with humility, in obedience to the Divine will and seeking to unite the higher and lower worlds, that is why he came out in peace. His intention of returning was implicit at the outset of his path to religious ecstasy. While the other three – Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma and Acher – all entered for other reasons, which determined how they emerged. Ben Azzai entered seeking ecstasy, not return; therefore he “looked and died.” Ben Zoma “looked and was stricken” (with madness). Acher “mutilated the shoots” (i.e., became an apostate).

In a similar way the 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva “burned” each other up with their great passion. Their disrespect for one another was not despite but because of their greatness: Each student was so consumed with his own brilliant opinion that he could not tolerate his colleague’s position. People who are not that powerful and intense in their positions can find it easier to compromise and co-exist with others. But exceptional students who are extremely passionate about their interpretations and opinions in Torah – require far more humility, care and sensitivity to ensure that they do not “destroy” the other with their intensity. And the “holier” the “fire,” the more one feels that he is representing Torah and G-d – the greater the danger. As the Kotzker Rebbe sardonically interprets the Mishne: “Every argument that is for the sake of heaven will last forever:” When both parties know that their disagreement is driven by self-interest or the likes, then there is hope that they will come to some agreement. But when each party thinks that he is representing heaven, dressing up their differences of opinion in “holy garments,” then there is no hope for reconciliation, with each side feeling that it cannot compromise “G-d”…

Had these students been of lesser stature, their disrespect for each other would not have harmed them as much. But precisely because their minds were on fire and their hearts were ablaze did they burn each other up.

We are told the story of Aaron’s sons – and that of the students of Rabbi Akiva – in order to teach us an invaluable lesson about our own life experiences, and the dangers of passion, zealousness and self-righteousness:

Each of us contains a powerful soul, with fire in its belly. Each of us will, at one point or another, encounter spiritual opportunities; passionate moments which will entice and light up our fires, craving transcendence – the urge to reach beyond the daily grind. Transcendence can take many shapes: Spirituality, music, romance, travel, or sexuality, to name a few.

How you act in these times – when the flames of your soul are ablaze – will define the destiny of your life.

This explains why this week’s portion is known by the name “after” or “after the death.” Why name a Torah portion with an odd title – “after the death?” Why emphasize their tragic death?

The Torah is telling us that the “death” of Aaron’s two sons – both the death itself, and “after the death” – teaches us a vital lesson, actually a twofold lesson:

1) The search and need for transcendence, the craving and yearning for a spiritual high is healthy and a necessary ingredient in the human journey. All of man’s greatest achievements, his noblest acts, his deepest loves – draw from the soul’s passionate fire.

2) Yet, as with all powerful things, great care must be taken that the spiritual experience doesn’t “burn you up,” but is integrated in your life.

The fire of our souls, like any fire, can be the source of sustenance (healthy fire), or… an inferno (“strange fire”). The challenge is great. The choice is ours.

Therein lies the twofold positive lesson from the children of Aaron, both from their death and “after the death:”

Their death teaches us how not to enter the Holy of Holies uninvited, not to enter at our initiative, at any time we so choose, not to enter as a result of our personal desire; “after the death” teaches us how to enter – “with this shall Aaron enter the holy place” – with utmost humility, with sensitivity and above all, total immersing and sublimating yourself into the experience.

The same is true when we have a strong opinion about a given manner. The smarter you are, the more powerful your resolve, the more convinced you are in the righteousness of your position, the greater the care that needs to be taken to not hurt others in the process.

This may be the greatest secret to a healthy relationship or marriage: Your ability to transcend your own powerful position and certainty.

24,000 students self-destructed in this period of time due to their inability to co-exist. Their fervent passion and their gifts were their undoing. We redeem their deaths during these 49 days by looking into our passionate hearts and learning the art of restraint: That ultimate greatness is measured not by how right you are and by how great is your light, but by how you allowed that greatness to be contained and integrated into other people’s lives.

What defines greatness? A closer look at the significance of Shabbat HaGadol (lit. the great Shabbat) – the traditional name for the Shabbat preceding Passover – can perhaps shed some light on the meaning of greatness. And also give us a laugh or two – hey who can’t use it a bit of humor?…

If you thought that long, drawn-out Rabbinic sermons are a modern phenomenon, think again. None other than the great 11th century scholar and commentator, Rashi, writes in his Sefer ha’Pardes (p. 343), in the name of a Rabbi Yitzchak Yuskuntu that the customary lengthy Shabbat HaGadol speech makes the Shabbat feel long and drawn out. Hence they called the day Shabbat HaGadol, gadol as in long and protracted – the long Shabbat. “When people do not move around, but stay in one place for an extended time and don’t have what to do, they customarily will say: ‘what a long day…’”

I tried researching the identity of Rabbi Yitzchak Yuskuntu that Rashi cites, but with no success. All Rashi writes is that he was a “katzin” (which usually means a prominent individual, a magistrate), and that he was from Hungary (“eretz hagar’). If anyone has any more information on this Rabbi, I would appreciate you letting let me know.

Just in case you think that this was an anomaly only in Rashi’s town (and in the vicinity of the above-cited Rabbi Yitzchak), this reason for Shabbat haGadol is brought down by quite a few other Torah authorities, like the 13th century scholar, R’ Tzidkiyahu ben Avraham in his Shibolei Haleket, R’ Yechiel in Tanya Rabsi and others.

I guess the difference between the Synagogue sermons in the Middle Ages and today is that people then stuck around even if the sermons dragged on and the day turned long and drawn out. While today most congregants would simply leave and not hang around too long… Was it the sermon or the people? Probably both: The sermons were better and the people were more committed. Today, on the other hand… – you can fill in the blanks.

Before drawing any bizarre conclusions that the Shabbat before Passover is so named (The Long Shabbat) simply due to people’s feelings about the lengthy sermons, we must qualify this statement with a very clear and loud declaration that our sages, including Rashi himself, offer other reasons for this Shabbat being called Shabbat HaGadol.

Primary among these reasons is the one given by the legal (halachik) authorities, namely the Tur, Shulchan Oruch (code of Jewish law) and the Alter Rebbe in his Shulchan Oruch (Orech Chaim sec. 430) – that a great miracle happened on this Shabbat a few days preceding the Egyptian Exodus. There are various opinions as to the nature of this great miracle. Here is a summary of them:

1)      The Jewish people were commanded by Moses to take a lamb and tie it to their bedposts on Shabbat, the 10th day of Nissan, five days before they were to leave Egypt. When the Egyptians inquired by the Jews why they were buying lambs en masse, they were told that these lambs were intended for the Paschal Offering, which would be sacrificed in preparation of the Plague of the Firstborn. For some reason, this information rattled the Egyptian firstborn, who immediately insisted that Pharaoh grant the Jews the liberty they demanded. When Pharaoh refused their request, the Egyptian firstborn waged war with Pharaoh’s army, and many Egyptians who were guilty of atrocities against the Jews were killed on that day.  This is the meaning of the verse (Psalms 136:10): “Who struck Egypt through its first born; for His kindness is eternal” (Alter Rebbe’s Shulchan Aruch, from Tosafot Shabbat 87b).

2)      On this day it was demonstrated that the Egyptians were powerless against the Jews. They were very disturbed by the fact that the Jews were planning to slaughter lambs, an Egyptian deity – but were incapable of doing anything to hamper their plans (Tur. Levush).

3)      The Egyptians wanted to kill the Jews for slaughtering their deity, and G-d miraculously spared them (Rabboseinu Baalei haTosafos Bo 12:3. Rashi in Sefer HaPardes cited above, as well as in Sefer haOrah and Siddur Rashi).

Despite these reasons, it still seems kind of puzzling that a sage on the caliber of Rashi should cite the above-mentioned reason that people felt that the sermon made the day seem so long. Why would it be important to tell us this? And why would anyone suggest such a satirical name to a day so special like the Shabbat before Passover?! Especially considering that there are many other very positive reasons for calling this day Shabbat HaGadol – reasons that reflect the special and great miracles that transpired on that day! In addition to the reasons cited above, many scholars over the generations have posited different beautiful insights into this name (like the Avudraham and the Pri Chadash. – Many are gathered in Rabbi Menachem Kasher’s Hagoda Shelemah. See also Bnei Yissachar and Shaar Yissachar, among others).

Another oddity about Shabbat HaGadol is the fact that this name is not mentioned in any Biblical or Talmudic literature.* The first time we find it mentioned is in the writings of Rashi (cited above) and his contemporaries, like R’ Simcha ben Samuel of Vitry in his Machzor Vitri (section 259). And they both write that the name is shrouded in mystery: “The Shabbat prior to Passover people are accustomed to call Shabbat HaGadol. And they don’t know why it’s called Shabbat Hagadol, [why it is distinguished as being] greater than the other Sabbaths of the year.”

And yet, they continue to provide the reason for this name due to the great miracle that happened on that Shabbat in Egypt! Since Rashi and the other sages know and are giving us the reason, why are they emphasizing the ignorance of the people in their time who call it by that name without knowing why?! And why is it that people at the time were not aware of the reason? Clearly the name of the Shabbat was quite popular, suggesting that it was passed on by word-of-mouth from generation to generation. Yet, the reason was not passed on except to a select few. The question remains: Where did this name originate? How far back?

The history of Shabbat HaGadol and its name seems to be muddled, almost intentionally, in obscurity. Not to say that Jewish law is unclear about the matter; the Shulchan Aruch is very lucid about the great miracle that happened on that Shabbat, and how we honor that every year on this Shabbat HaGadol. Many eloquent thoughts and yes, sermons, have been delivered over the years explaining the moral and spiritual lessons from these miracles. And yet, when we go back and explore the past, the origins of the name seem to fade in the annals of history.

I will not attempt to unravel the mysteries of Shabbat HaGadol. Instead, allow me to just point out that perhaps we may have here a full-blown manifestation of the paradoxes and absurdities of life, which is acutely reflected in Jewish life.

On one hand, Shabbat HaGadol celebrates the great miracles that preceded the Exodus. After years of oppression at the hands of the Egyptians, the oppressors finally got their due, as they turned on each other and witnessed their gods being destroyed, helpless to do anything about it. Year after year on this Shabbat throughout the millennia, sermons upon sermons were delivered, educating, inspiring, motivating, cajoling the people to honor these miracles, improve their lives and heighten their consciousness.

On the other hand, the Jewish people, though free at last, are never allowed to gloat and succumb to pride and self-importance.

To remind us of that fact, we don’t really know when and where the “Great Shabbat” got its name. Furthermore, in an almost tongue-in-cheek way – quite refreshing if you ask me – we are reminded that some of these sermons (even back then) may have gone too long; or if that sounds too harsh, that the long sermons made the people feel that the day was very, very long… “What a long day?”

They say that there is a very thin line between comedy and tragedy, as well as between intensity and lightness of being. Sometimes the only way to survive and not be trampled by existential loneliness and the contradictions of life is with a bit of humor and self-deprecation; not to take yourself too seriously. Not becoming smug in the face of success; and not to be depressed in the face of (perceived) failure.

Balancing the two – seriousness and cheerfulness, intensity and buoyancy, realism and optimism, sadness and laughter, pain and joy, success and humility – is the secret to resilience and success; the power to withstand all challenges and endure. The mystery of immortality.

And in some strange way, this is the secret of greatness. The mystique behind the Great Shabbat.

May everyone be blessed with a very meaningful, transcendent – and disarming – Passover.

———-

*) The term Shabbat Hagadol is mentioned Zohar II  204a and Tikkunei Zohar 40b. But it is not referring there (at least explicitly) to the Shabbat preceding Passover.

Perhaps the most intriguing, and definitely the most mysterious, character in the Purim Megilah is King Achashverosh, the Persian leader who ruled over the world.

Every story has its heroes and villains. Mordechai and Esther are the obvious heroes in the story; they came out triumphant at the end, celebrating Jewish victory. Haman and his cronies are the villains who were humiliated and hanged. But what about Achashverosh: was he a hero or a villain?

Initially he went along with Haman’s plot and issued the decree to annihilate the Jews in his 127-country kingdom. But then, after he wed Esther, she prevailed over him to reverse the decree and direct his wrath at Haman and his compatriots. Instead of Purim being a day of tragedy it became, at Achashverosh’s behest, a day of Jewish celebration as they prevailed over their enemies.

Was Achashverosh simply ambiguous and impressionable, or was there something else going on?

A closer look at Achashverosh’s life exposes unpredictable and erratic behavior – a man who appears at times to be a parody of sorts, demonstrating antics that range from one extreme to the other: First he loves Vashti, then he hates her and has her killed. He then begins an outrageously hilarious search for a new bride; women of all sorts line up, preening and perfuming themselves in quest of the King’s hand in marriage, finally he chooses Esther as his queen. He then is convinced by Haman to exterminate all the Jews. He suffers from insomnia, decides to reward Mordechai, and then, in response to Esther’s appeals, reverses his decree and has Haman hung and Mordechai rewarded and promoted to prominent leadership.

What’s with this Achashverosh? Was he a good or bad man? Was he a hero, a villain or just an idiot who can’t make up his mind?

Two opinions in the Talmud define the enigmatic personality of Achashverosh. Rav and Shmuel: One says he was wise, one says he was a fool (Megillah 12a).

Some feel that he was more hateful to the Jews than even Haman (Esther Rabba 7:20). “He was cruel from beginning to end” (Megillah 11a). Others feel that he was manipulated by Haman.

Perhaps Rabban Gamliel said it best when he described Achashverosh as “hafachfach” (lit. flip-flop) – a “fickle minded king” (Megillah 15b).

To understand Achashverosh’s conflicted psyche we need to probe into the deeper story of Purim and retrace its roots.

The story of Purim actually began 957 years earlier at Sinai. The Talmud explains (Shabbos 88a) that on Purim the Jewish people “established and accepted” (Esther 9:27) – they reaffirmed and upheld their acceptance of the divine law which they had received close to a millennium earlier at Sinai, but this time (Purim) they did so at their own volition, with no hint of “coercion” from Above.

Why was it so important for the Jews to reaffirm their commitment on Purim?

The Sinai experience was no small matter. It essentially represented the fusion of dichotomous worlds – the world of matter and the world of spirit, fulfilling the purpose of existence: To sanctify the universe and create a “Divine home” out of the “lowest states of existence.” Until Sinai a schism existed between “above” and “below;” Sinai infused us with the power to integrate the two. Transforming the material universe into spiritual energy is a partnership – a symbiotic relationship between the Divine and the human. Such a partnership requires not just Divine revelation, but complete human cooperation and acceptance.

Thus the need for Purim: Sinai was Divine revelation. On Purim the people, with their own initiative, embraced the Divine mandate, thereby consummating the Sinai experience nine-and-half centuries earlier.

However, the story of Purim doesn’t end there. Even if the Jewish people accept the Divine mandate, what happens with the rest of the world? There is no way to transform the physical universe into a “Divine home” if all the nations on earth are not part of the process.

Purim therefore influenced all the nations (Esther 9:2-3):

And all the ministers of the provinces, the satraps, the governors and the king’s functionaries honored the Jews, beginning with their leader, King Achashverosh. (1)

Yet, despite the happy ending, deep tensions still remained – as “we still remain servants of Achashverosh.” Purim provided a respite, but much work still remained to bridge the dichotomy between the Divine plan and the selfish world. Indeed, the harshest times were still to come.

Achashverosh, the leader of his time, reflected this duality in his own personality: One side of him gravitated toward Haman and genocide; the other toward benevolence, supporting Mordechai and Esther.

What Purim achieved, however, was not a temporary reprieve; it had a perpetual effect on all of history – empowering the nations of the world to tame their “Haman-like” tendencies and reveal their “divine” personalities.

This is the essence of the Purim celebration: “The Jews established and accepted upon themselves and upon their descendants” to annually celebrate Purim and to:

“commemorate and celebrate these days in every generation, by every family, in every province and every city. And these days of Purim will never pass from among the Jews nor shall their memory depart from their descendants” (Esther 10:27-28).

*   *   *

Purim contains many lessons for us today, not the least of which are related to current events originating in the Middle East– the locale where the original Purim story took place — and spreading to Europe, as evidenced in the latest brutal attack in Brussels, Israel, the USA and around the world.

[Modern day Iraq originates in ancient Babylon, which was conquered in 372 BCE by Cyrus, the ruler of the Persian Empire, with the slaying of Babylonian King Belshazzar, grandson of Nebuchadnezzar, who destroyed the First Temple. Cyrus was succeeded by King Achashverosh, who is equated with Nebuchadnezzar (Megillah 11a), and he also married Vashti, daughter of Belshazzar and granddaughter of Nebuchadnezzar].

The two-faced, split-personality of Achashverosh has his counterparts incarnate in our times, and can offer us fascinating insights into today’s global battles centered in the Middle East, including Iraq and Iran – ancient Persia and Babylon.

So let’s move the clock forward, from the original Purim in 356 BCE (2372 years ago) to our current 2016, with the challenges we face today.

Debates have been raging about what America’s role ought to be in this increasingly obvious global World War III. Especially after this week’s brazen terrorist assault in the capital and heart of the EU. President Obama is being seriously criticized, among other things, for his adamant refusal to have the USA enter this conflict, not to mention in his inexplicable unwillingness to name the enemy.

History has sadly taught us that avoiding a problem that threatens all free and innocent people is never a solution. Silence and neutrality simply doesn’t work when your way of life is under attack. And this is not just about the Middle East and Europe as 9-11 made abundantly clear.

The world looks to the USA for leadership. This country is based on the universal principles of justice and virtue, and when necessary, has stood up to fight for this cause.

If I were advising the President and the current Presidential candidates, I would succinctly define two key priorities that we must fight for today:

1) The values that the United States was founded and stands upon. Namely: All people are created equal,

“endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights… Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,” and “to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…”.

2) The need for Islam to mature and become tamed, like its elder cousin, Christianity did over the past few centuries.

By no means does this suggest that America and the Western world are the heroes and the Muslims and Arabs are the villains. Both of them have their virtues and vices, and both have the free will to choose their destinies.

Achashverosh of old, the leader of ancient Persia, illuminates for us the two personalities and the two options that our present day leaders face.

Like the two faces of Achashverosh, both the Western/Roman/Christian world and the Arab/Muslim world have their dual personalities.

A bit of genealogy first: You may recall reading in this column that the current crisis global confrontations – coined by some as a “clash of civilizations” – can be traced back to the battles in the home of Abraham (see How Far Are we From Sinai? Babylon Unplugged).

Abraham, the “father of nations,” had two sons, Ishmael and Isaac – ancestors, respectively, of the Arab/Muslim nations and the Jewish nation. Isaac in turn had two sons, Esau and Jacob. Esau would become the ancestor of the Western/Roman/Christian world.

The battles between these children of Abraham – an early citizen of southern Babylon/Persia (modern day Iraq) – foretold the clashes that would be waged between their progeny, essentially a battle reflecting the tensions between a material universe attempting to finds its spiritual direction.

Abraham learned and then taught his children his hard earned wisdom, that true peace, true inner harmony, true purpose, could only be achieved when we struggle and make our peace with G-d. When we learn how to overcome our natural egocentricity and become beacons of altruism and love; when we transcend our proclivity to self-interest and assume our responsibility to refine and spiritualize our universe.

At Sinai the children of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob formally received and committed their lives to fulfill the Divine mandate to build a civilized world, while the children of Ishmael and Esau rejected it.

But as the centuries rolled on, first the children of Esau (Rome), with the birth of Christianity two millennia ago, began to embrace Abraham’s original principles, followed by the children of Ishmael with the birth of Islam in the 7^th century.

But as children of Esau, Rome – and its European and American descendents – have two faces (see The Two Faces of Esau): One, aspiring to Abraham’s values. The second, following Esau’s predatory-like warrior instincts.

Haman, a grandchild of Esau (via Amalek) manifested Esau’s hatred to Jacob, grandfather of Mordechai (via Benjamin). Achashverosh had both faces of Esau: One that leaned more to Abraham’s legacy and the other to Haman’s aggression. The victory of Purim demonstrated and consummated the Sinai experience with Achashverosh’s better side prevailing.

But Esau’s “schizophrenia” – the conflict between his dual personalities – remained strong, and actually is one of the most powerful factors that define the story of history: Which one of Esau’s two faces will prevail?

Will Esau’s sword dominate, expressed in the brutal dominance of the church and the monarchies, terrorizing their populations and infringing on people’s personal rights, with special persecution of the Jews, epitomized in the Crusades that began in the 11^th century?

Or will Esau’s gentler Abarahamic genes prevail – through respect of personal dignity and individual rights, and commitment to the Divine mandate to civilize and refine our world, to live according to the higher moral code taught by Abraham, formalized at Sinai and consummated Purim?

It’s difficult to overstate or even fathom how this battle of Esau’s dual psyche has impacted history – causing untold agony, spilling the blood of millions, especially Jews, and tearing the world asunder in the past two millennia.

Finally, after many painful centuries, Abraham’s vision became manifest with the birth of democracy and America – a nation built on the Divine principles of morality given at Sinai, as well as other nations that have embraced and continue to embrace these bedrocks of civilization.

But Esau (the Western world) is only part of the story. Esau was not alone in his dual nature. Not to be outdone, his uncle and father-in-law, Ishmael, was no slouch when it came to duality. As a son of Abraham, Ishmael had many great qualities, which were passed on to his grandchildren. Just as Christianity brought a new spirit of G-dliness to the pagan children of Esau, Islam did the same for the pagan children of Ishmael.

Then there is another side to Ishmael – sadly coming to the fore in our own times: His aggression, intolerance and fanaticism aggravated by a suicidal philosophy, “justifying” the killing of innocent people in the name of “jihad.”

Like Christianity before it, Islamic countries (slowly spreading to Europe) have become a breeding ground for forces terrorizing the world. And like Christianity, these forces need to be tamed and reeducated in the teachings of Ishmael’s father Abraham.

America’s role in the Middle East is justified only if it serves as an “Esau” in search of Abraham, living up to Abraham’s principles and reminding his Middle Eastern uncles (as well as his European brothers) about Abraham’s message of virtue and morality.

But America and the West must never forget they (Esau) have another selfish, warrior-like side, and must therefore always be careful not to succumb to Esau’s imperialistic leanings and other self interests, financial or other.

Thus, even if Esau needs to justifiably enter the Middle Eastern fray to fight the cruel forces that have declared war against the West – it’s vital to maintain strong discipline and know when to get out of the quagmire of Ishmael’s maturing process and its own internal immunity checks and balances.

Let your Western presence be felt, but not to the point where you get too enmeshed and impede the growth of the Muslim world which must come from within.

Perhaps G-d blessed them, and us, by splitting their ranks into Sunni and Shi’ite – a schism that goes back to Islam’s infancy – as a “reality check” to keep each other in check and maintain a balance.

As Iran (Shi’ite) and Saudi Arabia (Sunni) face off, the Western Esau must keep a healthy distance, even as it uses its influence to shape a stable future.

Now allow the Muslims figure out how to make peace with Abraham’s standards and with each other. Let them be. Let the brothers work it out.

We should be placing pressure on them to reform, using various methods, including through freeing ourselves from being held hostage by oil blackmail. As their best customers we are in the unique position to challenge them to reform their education systems from within: Teach your children the beauty of faith, but also how faith should cause us all to love, not kill, yourself and each other. If you feel spiritually elevated inspire the so-called “infidels.”

The key for America is to find the proper balance of pressure and distance to allow Ishmael to work out its issues, while influencing them from afar, and not allowing its Esau personality to get distracted and seduced by oil revenue and other self-interests. By weakening our overdependence on Ishmael’s oil, we will only strengthen our options to influence that region.

As such, Esau will have done his duty to remind and awaken Ishmael to the truths of Abraham. Remember the great wedding between Esau and Ishmael. At the time, Esau was the one inciting his impending father-in-law, Ishmael, to join him in killing Isaac and Jacob, and being left Abraham’s sole heirs. Now Esau has the opportunity to correct the past and encourage Ishmael to better its ways.

And as it has been throughout history, Persia and Babylon of old stand center stage of this debacle. Ancient Babylon, the place of the Garden of Eden, the place where Abraham was born and began his journey – reflects the journey of Abraham’s descendants as well, from paganism to G-d.

Just as Abraham, father of all nations, embarked on a journey 3758 years ago, along the Euphrates, on his way to Israel, his children today need to journey though the same geographic location, and climb the path to make their peace with G-d, with Sinai and with Israel.

The message of Purim is that we have been given a Divine blueprint for life – a universal mandate for all human beings how to live our lives in the noblest way possible. Abraham, father of all nations, taught his children how to live up to their Divine calling and how to co-exist in total peace with their brothers and neighbors. This mandate was formalized at Sinai and consummated on Purim.

It took centuries for the nations of the world to first embrace the blueprint and then integrate it into their institutions. For over a millennium and a half the nations went through their “growing pains” and killed millions of Jews and others in the process.

Now, 3328 years from Sinai and 2372 from Purim, we are behooved to declare that the calling of our time is to finish the process – to empower each other with the responsibility that all peoples of the world, the children of Esau, Ishmael and all the other children of Abraham over the world, will embrace, once and for all, the Divine teachings of Abraham.

Happy Purim!

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(1) As the Megillah concludes: King Achashverosh levied a tax upon the mainland and the islands of the sea. And the entire history of his power and strength, and the account of Mordechai’s greatness, whom the king had promoted, are recorded in the Book of Chronicles of the kings of Media and Persia. For Mordechai the Jew was second to King Achashverosh, a leader to the Jews, and loved by his many brethren. He sought the welfare of his people and spoke peace for all their descendants (Esther 11:1-3).

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Question of the Week: Which character in the Purim story (Megillah) do you most identify with? Why?

The Building Blocks of Existence

Last week’s discussion centered on the two complementary roles and perspectives of Moses and Bezalel, as visionary and builder of the Mishkan, the portable Temple that traveled with the Jewish people through the wilderness.

The visionary sees the end in mind, while the builder appreciates the implementation process. Thus, Moses began with the purpose of the Sanctuary – the vessels that would serve the Divine, and then the actual structure that would contain the vessels. Bezalel built the Sanctuary in the order of “the way of the world: first one builds a home, and afterward one puts in the furnishings.”

Both elements are part of the Divine plan – both necessary components in the full picture of transforming our lives into a Divine home. Thus, even the visionary Moses, provides us with a detailed accounting of all the materials used to build the Sanctuary – as this week’s Torah chapter opens: “these are the accounts of the Tabernacle, which were calculated by Moses…”.

A visionary is someone not involved in the details. Why then, of all people, is Moses the one who invests so much time in offering this accounting? To teach us that the greatest vision is in the details. Some visionaries remain aloof from the practical process. The ultimate tribute to Moses is his unique and counterintuitive ability to fuse the vision with the details. Thus, his deference to Bezalel to build first the structure then the vessels, “perhaps you were under G-d’s shadow and knew what G-d intended.”

With all his vision, Moses understood that the Divine scheme also includes a practical plan. In other words, building the structure first was not just a practical issue; it actually reflected the Divine will. As the second verse in this week’s Torah portion emphasizes with a subtle, but powerful wording change: “Bezalel… fulfilled all that G-d had commanded Moses” (38:22).

This poses an obvious question: Bezalel did not hear what G-d told Moses. Instead, he received his instructions through Moses. The verse should have therefore more appropriately said: Bezalel fulfilled all that Moses had commanded him?” Explains Rashi: even in things that Moses had not said to him, Bezalel’s view coincided with what G-d told Moses. When Moses commanded Bezalel to first make the furnishings and afterward the Mishkan, Bezalel perceived G-d’s true intention that first the structure must be built and then the vessels.

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Besides for the practical lessons that we derive from Moses and Bezalel’s dialogue, discussed in last week’s column, there is actually much more to this than meets the eye.

The Temple’s structure reflects the magnificent architecture of the entire universe that we occupy – a complex and eloquent beauty that can only be fully understood when we uncover its inner spiritual makeup.

The mystics call this structure the “Seder Hishtalshilus,” the Cosmic Order, an elaborate development process that describes how existence came into being, developing stage after stage, from the ethereal to the tangible, the pristine to the mundane – from pure spirit into brute matter.

When you begin to study this process its’ sheer elegance strikes you with a profound resonance, as it captures an all-encompassing formula that can be applied to every aspect of our existence and lives, defining the model of literally every successful venture.

In the words of the mystics: Though the very existence of the material universe dictates a creator that put this existence in place, yet the manner in which He did so consists of a powerful and logical system, which explains the “gradual” process how spirit would manifest in matter.

The mystical terms used for this process is the transmission of Divine energy – light – and the development of containers serving as “filters” and “channels” that contain and manifest the energy. In the “higher” stages of the cosmic order the light-energy is the most dominant feature, while the containers are either non-existent or invisible as they lay submerged and eclipsed by the overwhelming light. As the cosmic order evolves, the light diminishes, allowing for the containers to emerge, up till the point where, in the “lower” stages of the process, the containers become dominant and the light is all but invisible.

The material universe in which we live is one large container, comprised of countless smaller containers, whose “gravitational pull” – the seductive forces all around us – is so powerful that it barely allows any spiritual light in or out. Matter is the governing force.

Life’s purpose and objective is to reveal the inner energy and light that lies buried within every aspect of existence.

Generally speaking, the process of the cosmic order, the spiritual DNA of all existence, works like a series of circles and lines – 0’s and 1’s – that the mystics call “iggulim” (circles or spheres) and “yosher” (lines), makif and pnimi, or in Chassidic terminology: Sovev and Memale – Sovev means a “surrounding,” outside energy; Memale is a “permeating,” internalized energy.

The Kabbalists explain that the actual process begins first with the “circles” and then within the circles enter the “lines” of energy – carried there by the “kav”, the thin thread (line) of light – that manifest internally, as “lights within containers.” Consistent with this was the way Bezalel built the Temple: First the walls and structure (makif), then the “furnishings,” the lights in vessels (pnimi).

Using the classic example of the transmission of knowledge from teacher to student, first the ideas “surround” the beginner’s mind. Concepts are communicated, but initially they remain outside and “above the head” of the student. Slowly the thoughts begin to seep in and become internalized by the student’s mind. With time, as the student’s mind expands and he absorbs more information, he will integrate the concepts until he owns them and they become one with him.

Similarly, the process of personal and spiritual growth begins, climbing from the bottom up, first makif and then pnimi. At the earliest stages of our lives, our first states of consciousness and awareness begin in a state of conscious ignorance. We only perceive that which our naked senses can experience. We may sense a deeper reality “outside” of ourselves as we begin to explore, but our earliest internal experiences are sensory in nature, even narcissistic, as we begin to get acquainted with a new world.

As we progress and grow, that which was beyond us begins to become part of our consciousness. We study, observe, learn and mature, allowing us to integrate deeper states of awareness both of our own inner selves and that of those around us, as well as of the inner, invisible forces within and that shape the universe at large. The very possibility of a mature, intimate relationship with another is possible only because we learn to recognize an inner self, and that we are able to transcend our own immediate needs and forge inner bonds with another. In one word: love.

In simple terms, this shift can be classified as moving from a physical “body” oriented perspective to a sublime “soul” oriented one; from a material consciousness to a spiritual consciousness.

However, all this is the actual process of creation. In contrast, from the perspective of the visionary – who sees the end at the outset, before the entire process even begins – everything begins with the purpose of the entire cosmic order, and that purpose is: Integration.

Given, the way to achieve integration in a world that initially conceals the light (and purpose) within requires an elaborate process that begins first with “surrounding” circles, which slowly allows us to acclimate ourselves and absorb deeper truths. But, with the end in mind, the visionary recognizes that it all begins with the internalization of the “vessels,” which then dictates that the process of building commence, first with the outer structure followed by the vessels.

Indeed, the vision of integration does not merely remain an abstract reality in the mind of Moses, but it actually has a practical application as well. As the Kabbalists explain: At the earliest stage of the cosmic order, even prior to the first “circles,” we have the “kav,” the thin thread of light, which pierces the great “Tzimtzum” (the utter concealment of the Divine light). And it is this ray of light that carries the Divine force that will shape the circles and the lines that will follow. In other words, metaphorically speaking, above the earliest circles, is a section of the “kav,” the line. Then, this line will proceed to create the first circle, followed by a continuation of the line, then another circle, and so on.

Thus, Moses’ visionary perspective actually manifests in the first step of the cosmic order: Even before the building process begins, integration – the light of the “kav” – stands supreme at the top of the picture. And this vision, which takes the form of the “kav” above the circles, informs and defines all the following stages.

For this reason Moses preceded the Temple’s vessels before the actual structure: The primary vessel was the Holy Ark, which contained the Torah. Torah is the level of the “kav” that precedes the “circles” and the “lines,” and, indeed, infuses them with the power to fuse as one.

Yet, when it comes to actual construction, Bezalel’s order defines the process: “circles” followed by “lines.” But, now they have the power to become one, due to the fact that Moses revealed the purpose of integration, which paves the way and empowers all levels, even the earliest stages of development, with the ability to ultimately internalize the highest levels of the Divine – in a total fusion of form and function.

As we conclude the book of Exodus and we read about the Temple’s assembly and Moses’ accounting of all the material used to construct it, this is the time for all of us to do an accounting of the personal Temple we are building in our lives – the very purpose of existence: To build a Divine home from our material universe.

We each have the surrounding “walls” of our personal Temple and the “vessels” within.

At all times, there are forces that surround and are beyond us, and then those that we absorb and assimilate. Growth = the ongoing process of internalizing new truths, while even newer ones emerge above us. As we climb the mountain of human development, we conquer new frontiers, as new horizons appear.

A vital component in steady and sustainable growth is to go at your own pace, to assess where you stand and know what higher truths are ready to integrate in your life, and what still remains around you. But at all stages, even at the earliest stage, integration is always the driving force and ultimate goal.

In today’s world of madness, chaos and tragedy, we each carry responsibility to act.

In addition, to the obvious deterrents and defenses that must be implemented, in addition to the physical Jerusalem and Israel that we must rebuild and fortify, we also have the ability and responsibility to rebuild our spiritual Jerusalem/Israel and Temple.

We are taught that by constructing the Jerusalem and Temple above, the Jerusalem and Temple below will follow.

Something to think about. But above all: Action is paramount.

May we all recommit to do something to fortify our inner Temple, through intensifying Torah study (the ark), prayer (the altar) and acts of virtue (the table), and inspiring and illuminating others in kind (the menorah). Surrounding it with strong walls of protection, trusting the Divine forces beyond us, and forging ahead with the confidence in the promise that “G-d watches” and protects the Land all year round.