Nature of Light – Part 2

August 6th, 2015

Chanukah Lite – It Takes Two to Tango

By Simon Jacobson

Editor’s Note: Click here for Part 1 of this article. This article was written during Chanukah 2002

Each day of Chanukah we progress in the amount of lights we generate. With each growing light, we have the opportunity to take a deeper look into the properties of light and its message to us.

The wave/particle nature of light – like everything in existence – has a body and a soul. The body is the physical dimension, which manifests as material properties that we humans can observe, study, measure and quantify. This is called the scientific method. The soul of the object is comprised of the spiritual properties that define and shape the essence of the object. In other words, every detail of an entity’s physical personality has a mystical – inner – counterpart. As the spiritual energy ‘evolves’ and takes on physical shape, its ethereal nature ‘translates’ into physical dimensions that reflect their spiritual insides.

Indeed, uncovering the root source of existing phenomena, can help us understand better and fuller their nature and properties, and also teach us how we can tap into these forces in a complete way.

So, what is the root source of the dual wave/particle property of light?

Kabbalah and Chassidus explain that the balance of life is dependent on the delicate dance between energy and container, light and vessel (‘ohr’ and ‘keli’ in the original Hebrew) – ‘wave’ and ‘particle.’ Light is essentially like a ‘wave’ – a large field of energy, connected to the source and emanating outward. The container is like a ‘particle’ – a discrete and defined entity, that grounds and compartmentalizes the energy. This cosmic dance requires an acclimation of these two antithetical forces – matter and spirit, form and function – which initially defy each other, but then learn to adapt, interact and finally fully unite into one cohesive unit. This acclimation requires many stages, which actually define the gradations and progression of the cosmic order (‘seder hishtalshilut’), as the light and the containers learn to fuse together.

However, one major dilemma remains. Ultimately, light and container are two opposite forces. How then can they ever be expected to join as one, with the container absorbing the light and the light manifesting in the container? This quandary is not merely an esoteric one; it affects every major decision and conflict in our lives: How can we ultimately integrate our material and spiritual lives, our need to survive and our need for transcendence? Is it possible to truly merge matter and spirit, the outer and the inner – our inner selves and our outer activities, who we are and what we do?

To resolve this paradox, the mystics teach us that in essence both light and container come from one and the same source – G-d – which is neither light nor container. Resultantly, both light and container are not mutually exclusive forces; they actually include properties of the other: Light has a dimension of ‘container’ (particle) within it, and the container has an element of ‘light’ (wave) within itself.

And here we will see the fascinating roots of the ‘wave’ and ‘particle’ properties in light.

Chassidus explains that light has two dimensions, which are first only subtly distinguishable, but later manifest in more defined properties. Beginning from its ‘earliest’ root stage (not in time, but conceptually), there is the light (energy) that flows ‘inward’ and the light that flows ‘outward.’ Projective energy and withholding energy.

On the next level, there is the ‘infinite light’ and the ‘finite light.’ These two dimensions will become the root on a lower level of the cosmic order of ‘ohr ha’sovev,’ the light that transcends the worlds (‘sovev kol almin’), and ‘ohr ha’memaleh,’ the light that fills the worlds (‘memaleh kol almin’).

The ‘finite light’ (according to some opinions) is the root of the ‘ten sefirot’ (the ten emanations of Divine attributes which will ‘become,’ once existence comes into being, the building blocks of existence). At this ‘root’ level these sefirot do not yet have defined shape and form (relatively speaking), and they are called the ‘ten hidden sefirot.’

All this is on the level of light as it is in its source, before it actually manifests itself in existence. On the next level, following the ‘great tzimtzum’ (concealment/contraction of the all encompassing light) which leaves ‘space’ for existence (and the containers/particles) to become, comes what is called the ‘kav,’ a thin ray of light which shines into the vacuum created by the tzimtzum. The ‘kav’ (lit. line) is light, but the light is not extending in all directions, but is in the shape of a narrow line, and like a line, the ‘kav’ is made up of points (‘particles’). The light of the ‘kav’ in other words combines both ‘wave-like’ (infinite) properties and ‘particle-like’ (finite) properties.

This dual nature of the ‘kav’ would allow the light to manifest and ultimately join with the container.

The Etz Chaim adds that “from the thickness [i.e. the particles] in the light the containers are conceived.”[1]

Finally, when the lights enter the containers and produce the actual ‘sefirot’ the dual nature becomes fully manifest [one of the roots of the word ‘sefirah’ itself is to shine: ‘sefirah’ from the word sapir, the luminous sapphire stone]: On one hand, the light of the sefirot cause them to be ethereal and wave-like. On the other, the containers give the ‘sefirot’ particle-like distinct shape and form.

In Kabbalah there are actually three general opinions as to the nature of the light, to what degree the light itself contains ‘particle-like’ qualities, and how much of the particle-like shape and form stems from the interaction of the light with the container.

Rabbi Menachem Rakanti is of the opinion that the light has no ‘particles’ shaping; the shape comes exclusively from the containers. The Maarechet (and the Avodat HaKodesh and the Radbaz) holds that the light has defined particles. The Ramak and the Arizal reconcile between the two and explain that the light on its own has no particles, it assumes them through its manifestation in the containers. However, the Arizal goes further and explains that light on its own also has ‘particles,’ yet in the light they are ‘wave-like’ and therefore, concealed and unrecognizable.

Though this may be quite esoteric and abstract for some of the readers (for which I apologize) I felt compelled to write this because I believe that understanding the soul of light (its spiritual dimension) can help us immensely in understanding the body of light, including its dual wave/particle properties. The different opinions, for example, on the extent of the ‘particle-like’ qualities in light and their reasoning, can help us learn more about the particle/wave-like properties of light, and the balance between them.

I hereby submit, that by tracing light’s most esoteric roots, by discerning the different levels of light and the various opinions on the nature of light, we will be able to both better comprehend our present knowledge of light, as well as open up hitherto unrevealed mysteries as to the nature of light in our universe.

As much – or as little – as we know about light, there is so much more to uncover. Indeed, I would be bold enough to predict that we will soon discover that light is an entity whose surface we have barely scratched. We have discovered that light has dual properties of wave and particle, but that is just the tip of the iceberg. The mystical teachings on light can shed new light (no pun intended) on the nature of light and help us appreciate the very stuff that makes up our existence.

I hope that this encourages and motivates scientists and laymen to further explore these teachings on light. If you are interested in learning more about these ideas, I will be happy to help direct you.

What does all this light-talk mean in practical terms?

Allow me to say this. Whether you do or don’t understand the nature of light, whether you are or are not interested in the topic, these two dimensions of light define the shape of your life. The balance between wave and particle actually can help you improve your life and your relationships.

Here’s how: You see, each of our struggles comes down to a battle between two forces, what we will call the ‘wave’ and the ‘particle’ elements of your life. Ask yourself the following questions:

1. Am I too consumed with the details of my life and have I lost focus? Does the small picture distract me, forgetting the big one?

2. Or is it the other way around: Am I lost in the big picture, seduced by my idealism, fantasy and dreams, and lacking implementation? Simply not getting the job done, as my whimsical imagination floats in space?

3. Does my intimacy or spirituality affect and permeate the rest of my day, my work, my mundane activities? Or conversely: Does my spirituality not allow me to enter the daily grind? Am I escaping into the world of spirit or burying myself in the world of matter?

4. Do I compartmentalize? And if yes, am I aware of its affects in my life?

Each of the mystical opinions on the amount of shape and ‘particles’ within light address another aspect of the balance between the diversity and unity of our existence. The ultimate goal is to integrate both elements: the distinct and discrete shape of the details of our lives and the unifying wave.

Wavy particles, particley waves. Perhaps these are the true 0’s and 1’s that make up existence. If we were able to master the wave/particle dance of light, our lives would become that much brighter.

Ahh, flames of Chanukah: I will try not to forget your warm and illuminating message…

[1] Shaar Ha’Akudim chapter 3. Shaar Seder Abiy’a chapter 1. Explained in the discourse Otah Ohr 5672. End of the discourse BaSukkot Teishvu 5710.

Tags: tzimtzum, Ten Sefirot, energy, Cosmic Order, relationships, light, fusion, kabbalah, transcendence, Chanukah, form & function, light and darkness, matter and spirit, body and soul, balance, unity, concealment, Chassidus, paradox, spiritual vessels, Physicality, science, spiritual
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The Angel and the Drunk

August 6th, 2015

Yom haKippurim (the Day of Atonement) is so called because it is a yom k’Purim, “a day like Purim.”

Zohar, Tikkunim, 57b

It would seem that one could hardly find two more dissimilar days in the Jewish calendar. Yom Kippur is the most solemn day of the year. It is a day of soul-searching and repentance; the day on which we connect with the inviolable core of purity within us—with the self that remains forever unsullied by our failings and transgressions—to draw from it atonement for the past and resolve for the future. So it is only natural that Yom Kippur should be a day of unfettered spirituality, a day on which we transcend our very physicality in order to commune with our spiritual essence. The Torah commands us to “afflict ourselves” on Yom Kippur[1]—to deprive the body of food and drink and all physical pleasures. Yom Kippur is the day on which terrestrial man most resembles the celestial angel.

Purim, on the other hand, is the most physical day of the year. It is a day of feasting and drinking—the Talmud goes so far as to state that “a person is obligated to drink on Purim until he does not know the difference between ‘cursed be Haman’ and ‘blessed be Mordechai.’ ”[2] As our sages explain, Purim celebrates the salvation of the Jewish body. There are festivals (such as Chanukah) that remember a time when the Jewish soul was threatened, when our enemies strove to uproot our faith and profane the sanctity of our lives; these are accordingly marked with “spiritual” observances (e.g. lighting the menorah, reciting the Hallel). On Purim, however, it was the Jewish body that was saved—Haman did not plot to assimilate or paganize the Jews, but to physically destroy every Jewish man, woman and child on the face of the earth. Purim is thus celebrated by reading the megillah,[3] lavishing money on the poor, sending gifts of food to friends, eating a sumptuous meal, and drinking oneself to oblivion.

On Yom Kippur we fast and pray, on Purim we party. Yet the Zohar sees the two days as intrinsically similar, going so far as to interpret the name Yom haKippurim (as the Torah calls Yom Kippur) to mean that it is “a day like Purim” (yom k’purim)!

Reason and Lots

And yet, as one delves beneath the surface diversity, similarities emerge. Purim means “lots,” and the festival of Purim is so named after the lots cast by Haman to determine on which day of the year the Jews should be slaughtered, G-d forbid. The casting of lots is also a central theme of Yom Kippur: in one of the most dramatic moments of Yom Kippur service in the Holy Temple, the kohen gadol (high priest) stood between two goats and cast lots to determine which should be offered to G-d and which should carry off the sins of Israel to the desert.

A lot expresses the idea that one has passed beyond the realm of motive and reason. Lots are resorted to when, in the final analysis, there remains no reason or impetus to chose one option over the other, so that the matter must be left to forces that are beyond one’s control and comprehension. Therein lies the significance of the lots cast by the kohen gadol on Yom Kippur. After all is said and done, the lots implied, no man is worthy in the eyes of G-d. We all stand before Him with our faults and iniquities, and by all rational criteria, should be found lacking in His judgment. So we impel ourselves beyond the realm of convention and reason, beyond the pale of merit and fault. We disavow all the accouterments of physical identity—food and drink, earthly pleasures, and our very sense of reason and priority. We cast our lot with G-d, confident that He will respond in kind and relate to us in terms of our quintessential bond to Him rather than by the existential scales of pro and con.

Haman’s lot-casting was his attempt to exploit the supra-existentionality of the divine to an opposite end. The Jewish people, said Haman, might be the pursuers of G-d’s wisdom on earth and the implementors of His commandments, thus meriting His favor and protection. But surely G-d, in essence, is above it all—above our earthly reason and its notions of “virtue” and “deservability,” beyond such concepts as “good” or “evil.” Ultimately, the divine will is as arbitrary as a roll of dice. Why not give it a shot? I might just catch a supernal caprice running in my direction.

As the Talmud relates, “when the lot [cast by Haman] fell on the month of Adar, he greatly rejoiced, saying: ‘The lot has fallen for me upon the month of Moses’ death.’ ”[4] This is what I’ve been saying all along, exulted Haman. Moses might have given Israel the Torah, the document that so endears them to G-d, but Moses, too, is mortal. Moses, too, is part of the physical, rational reality—a reality transcended by the “lot” reality I have accessed. My lots indicate that I have superseded Moses—superseded Israel’s merit in the eyes of G-d.

What Haman failed to realize, adds the Talmud, was that while Adar was the month of Moses’ passing, it was also the month of Moses’ birth. In the final analysis, the import of Haman’s lots was the very opposite of what he had understood. On the physical-existential plane, the lots were saying, there might be variations and fluctuations in G-d’s relationship with His people. At times, they might be more deserving of His protection and blessing; at times, less so.[5] On this level of reality, Moses might even “die.” But G-d’s relationship with His people transcends the fluctuations of the terrestrial reality. Also on the level on which “darkness is as light”[6] and “good” and “evil” are equally insignificant before Him, G-d chooses—for no reason save that such is His choice—the nation of Israel. In the words of the prophet, “Is not Esau a brother to Jacob?, says G-d. But I love Jacob.”[7] Also when reality seems as “arbitrary” as a throw of dice—for the righteous Jacob is no more worthy (for “worthiness” is a moot point) than the wicked Esau—the divine lot inevitably falls with His chosen people.

Thus, the festival of Purim derives its name from the lots cast by Haman. For this is not some incidental detail in the story of Purim but the single event that most expresses what Purim represents.

Does Matter Matter?

Yom Kippur is indeed “a day like Purim”: both are points in physical time that transcend the very laws of physical existence. Points at which we rise above the rational structure of reality and affirm our supra-rational bond with G-d—a bond not touched by the vicissitudes of mortal life. A bond as free of cause and motive as the free-falling lot.

But there is also a significant difference between these two days. On Yom Kippur, our transcendence is expressed by our disavowal of all trappings of physical life. But the very fact that these would “interfere” with the supra-existential nature of the day indicates that we are not utterly free of them. Thus Yom Kippur is only “a day like Purim” (k’purim), for it achieves only a semblance of the essence of Purim.

The ultimate mark of transcendence is when the transcended state is not vanquished or suppressed, but when it itself serves the transcendent end. The miracle of Purim was G-d’s assertion of His supra-existential choice of Israel, yet it was a miracle wholly garbed in nature. No seas split on Purim, no oil burned eightfold its natural capacity. Everything happened quite naturally: Esther’s beauty pleased Achashverosh, and he made her his queen; Mordechai happened to overhear a plot to kill Achashverosh, and years later, the event was remembered by the king on an insomnious night; Esther contrived Haman’s fall from grace in the royal court, had him hanged, and maneuvered Mordechai into his vacated position; and so on. Indeed, G-d’s name is not once mentioned in the Book of Esther! But it is for this very reason that Purim is the greatest of miracles—a miracle in which the natural order is not merely circumvented or superseded, but in which nature itself becomes the instrument of the miraculous.

The same is true on the individual level: the ultimate transcendence of materiality is achieved not by depriving the body and suppressing the physical self, but by transforming the physical into an instrument of the divine will. So “Purim” is the day on which we are our most physical, and at the same time exhibit a self-abnegation to G-d that transcends all dictates and parameters of the physical-rational state—transcending even the axioms “cursed be Haman” and “blessed be Mordechai.”

Yom Kippur is the day that empowers the Jew to rise above the constraints of physicality and rationality. Purim is the day that empowers the Jew to live a physical life that is the vehicle for a supra-physical, supra-rational commitment to G-d.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Purim 5718 (1958)[8] and on other occasions. By Yanki Tauber.

Tags: elevating the world, good and evil, angels, transforming darkness, Moses, higher reality, feast, Zohar, nature, cast lots, reality, Physicality, Yom Kippur, Jewish calendar, spiritual, Holy Temple, fasting, G-d, sacrifices and offerings, miracle, transformation, High Priest, transcendence, body, relationships, Haman
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Purim: Joy on Demand?

August 6th, 2015

Dear Rabbi Simon Jacobson,

Purim always intimidates me. Serious days I can handle – days of study or introspection. Fast days and days of mourning are also accessible – I can always find something to feel sad about. But Purim and Simchat Torah, these are the holidays that I find daunting. I’m supposed to be joyous, happy and exuberant! How do I access joy? Do I have joy inside of me that I can turn on like a tap for 24 hours – joy on demand? Happiness on demand! Bottled Joy! People may suggest using alcohol but I’m concerned that either I’ll fall asleep or be a melancholic drunk.

Sometimes I walk down the street and I say to myself, “Be joyous, get in touch with your joy,” and I immediately think of at least ten reasons not to be joyous: eg. “I’m not married, I’m not married, I’m not married … ” (ten times)

As I understand it, on Purim, I should be joyful because 2,500 years ago, a nice Jewish girl (Esther) married a non-Jewish king (Ahashverosh) whose viceroy (Haman) decided it would be a good idea to kill all the Jews. 2,500 years ago, the Jews were saved and so I am here today. I guess that’s a fair reason to celebrate – that I exist. But really 2,500 years is a long way to travel back in time in order to find a reason to be happy. Isn’t there an incident a little more current in Jewish history about which I can feel unadulterated Joy?

Seriously though, how do I access Purim?

Eda Rozensweig

—–

Dear Eda,

Great question. This would make for an excellent topic for discussion at the Purim table.

Here are some of my thoughts: For one, Purim allows us the opportunity to ask the questions you pose: how can we have joy in our lives, especially when we are not in the mood of it and have many reasons not to be joyful?

There is a short-term solution and a long term one. First the long term. The question is why are some people naturally happy and others not? Is joy genetic? Natural and inherent or acquired? Nature or nurture?

The answer of the Torah — which I believe is the blueprint for life — is that joy is natural and inherent to every person. Just witness the natural happiness and cheerfulness of a young child. The bright joyous face of a child is something that any adult vies for. A child begins to lose his natural cheer due to external causes. His inherent joy starts to erode when he begins to experience the disappointments and tragedies of life events, the despondent attitudes of parents, educators and other adults affecting the child.

Purim is the time of year when the window of opportunity of accessing our inner joy opens up. The celebration of Purim is not merely due to the historical events that occurred 2500 ago, but a celebration of an event that is happening in our lives today, on the day of Purim. (Time is a cyclical energy. Each day recreates the energy flow of that respective day in years past). The Baal Shem Tov puts it this way: If one reads the Purim Megillah as if it is an event that happened in the past and not in the present, the mitzvah has not been performed.

How do we access the inner joy innate in each of us? By accessing the cheer and enthusiasm of our inner child — the part of us connected to God that precedes the sadness that life circumstances imposed and continues to impose upon us. That is what Purim is all about: the celebration of our inner child. The enchantment and magic of our souls.

Purim is a day of joyous abandon that transcends conventional boundaries. We are told to celebrate “ad de lo yado” – which means to be joyous until you reach a place beyond the doors of perception, where we transcend dark and light, even the pains and disappointments of our lives. The story of Purim teaches us that despite how dark it gets, even when all hope seems to be lost, the joy of the inner child surfaces in an eruption of joy. It is a delight that transcends any pain you may be dealing with in life, whether it is the lack of a marriage or a challenging marriage.

Long term — one needs to cultivate the inner soul child. Purim is a day when a window opens up that allows us deep inside of ourselves. Meditating and internalizing the feeling that God put you on Earth for a unique purpose, that you have an indispensable contribution to make, realizing that all else in life pales in comparison to the essential power of your soul — is a sure cause for being joyous. Short term — on Purim day listen to the Megillah, participate in a Purim festivity meal, send food gifts to friends, and give charity to the needy. These are all methods and tools to excavate the inner resources of our soul child that are available to us on Purim.

Joy is contagious. Often when we can’t access it on our own, a way of igniting it is by celebrating in dance and song with others. Behavioral change, acting joyous (even when you don’t feel like it), coupled with the fact that deep inside (or not so deep) lies a reservoir of pure joy, is a way to actually become joyous.

May God give you the strength to see your child, to access the inner joy, and to celebrate.

Happy Purim,

Simon Jacobson

PS. Please feel free to email me with further questions at wisdomreb@meaningfullife.com

Tags: transcendence, happiness, meaning, soul, celebration, time, inner child, suffering, questions, pain, internal, purpose of life, dance, cycles, illuminate darkness, song, transforming darkness, charity, emotions, Torah, joy
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Beyond Structure

August 6th, 2015

We must believe in free will; we have no choice – an old saying

Is the universe indeterministic or deterministic? Random or designed? Are our lives predestined or not?

At first glance, one would assume that the answer to these questions is dependent on belief in G-d. Acceptance of G-d as Creator of the universe would seem to imply that the universe was created with design and purpose. If however, one does not accept that premise, than existence could very well be a result of a random set of circumstances, with no particular plan and direction.

Religion too would appear to be predicated on a clearly defined and even absolute structure: Immutable laws that define and regulate human behavior. By contrast, many secular schools of thought embrace a more relativistic approach, e.g. moral relativism, which rejects rigid guidelines.

Yet, upon further thought the lines are not that clearly drawn; both approaches overlap. Even according to the circumstantial argument, the universe is clearly driven by an extraordinary inflexible order. From the physiological to the cosmological, we live in a world of fundamental systems ruled by defined and unwavering laws (the so called “laws of nature”). Conversely, belief in G-d and religion dictates the concept of free will, that our choices are not predestined, allowing for surprises and an unexpected future.

Indeed, a strong argument could be made that a world controlled by “natural law” is airtight with no room for spontaneity. As French philosopher Laplace and others have written in advancing the probability theory, if we were to know all the data about any phenomenon we could accurately predict all the events that were yet to come. Since we live in a causal world, defined by cause and effect, there is no room for true randomness. In other words, randomness and probabilities are not an objectively measurable phenomenon but rather just a measure of our lack of knowledge. A coin toss, for example, is not necessarily characterized by randomness: if we knew the shape and weight of the coin, the strength of the tosser, the atmospheric conditions of the room in which the coin is tossed, the distance of the coin-tosser’s hand from the ground, etc., we could predict with certainty whether it would be heads or tails. However, as this information is not available to us, it is convenient to assume it is a random event and ascribe probabilities to heads or tails.

Yet, paradoxically there are those that use this same scientific approach to see all of existence as random. It would seem logical that thinkers who leave no room for randomness in existence should also embrace the fact that existence itself was put in place by a Grand Designer…

Ironically, a G-d based approach to life allows for indeterminism based on free will more than a scientific approach does.

So how do we make sense of these contradictory approaches? What part of our lives is predetermined and what part is determined by our choices?

The question most relevant to us, of course, is whether we are victims of circumstances or whether we can control the destiny of our lives.

Purim provides us with the fascinating answer. Purim – the name of the holiday – is so called because Haman cast lots to determine the date to kill the Jews. “Pur” in Persian means “lot.”

Strange name to call a holiday: Lots. Is there anything more random than a lottery? Why would we give such a name to a holiday that commemorates the salvation of an entire people from genocide?

It is because Purim teaches us a radical message. Not order but indeterminism is the essence of existence. G-d, Creator of the cosmic order and of all rules of nature, is not bound by these or any laws and structures. On His essential level, G-d transcends any form of structure and definition. Yet, this same G-d and His inherent indeterminism chose to create and manifest in a highly deterministic universe. Indeterminism chose a very determined set of laws. The essence of G-d is beyond determinism and indeterminism, and therefore can combine both.

There is randomness and there is randomness. There is a randomness that is beneath structure and laws – when things get out of control and result in an arbitrary type of existence, directionless. This is what we call being a victim of circumstances – circumstances have taken control of your life and you are left lost and aimless. But then there is a randomness that comes from a “place” that is not bound by laws, a place that transcends and is beyond structures.

The structure of existence, the mystics tell us, originates from the Essence of Reality that is beyond any structure. Sometimes our own structures block us from seeing that essence. Our plans, schedules, organized systems can get in the way of experiencing the core. Our challenge is to discover the transcendent within the systems.

Purim embodies this power. Purim reaches a place that is “beyond our structured perception” (“ad d’lo yoda”). Logic and the rules of existence should have dictated a tragic end for the Jews in Persia. After all Haman was in power and he had persuaded the King Achashveirosh to annihilate the Jewish people. Yet, it doesn’t work out that way. Despite all odds, defying all logic, the tables are turned and instead of tragedy the day becomes one of great celebration, with Haman hung on the gallows he built for Mordechai. Suddenly, unexpected, darkness is transformed to light.

Purim is the true story of life – as it is behind the scenes. Not man-made plans but a Divine hand is at work. Amidst the seemingly random events of life, underlying forces are the true shapers of destiny.

The same Purim force has been working throughout history. Many great nations have come and gone. They had great plans, powerful armies, super wealthy coffers, breathtaking culture – each empire in its heyday thought that it had it made. Yet, not one has survived. Not the Egyptians, not the Assyrians, not the Babylonians, not the Persians, not the Greeks, not the Romans, not the Byzantines, not the Spanish, not the Portuguese. What happened with all their structures, systems and plans for permanent world dominance? Man-made mortal plans can only create mortal, impermanent structures. Survival, eternal survival is dependent on a force that originates from a place that is beyond logic, beyond the odds, beyond defined structures.

The consequences of this idea are far reaching. No matter how your life has been shaped, no matter how you may have been scarred by parents, peers and social attitudes, no matter what experiences have defined you – you are never a victim of circumstances; you always have a window to a place that defies structures. With all the determinism of life, with all its causes and effects, there is no conclusive, airtight determinism that controls your life. You always have an opening to an indeterministic place that opens you up to new possibilities.

Purim tells us that it is not our logic and plans that runs the world. It is a higher force that may manifest in random experiences, but within the randomness lies the greatest power of all.

Yes, we live in a world of structure. Yes, we are bound by its rules. But, at the same time when we learn to navigate we can use the structure to transcend structure. We must do everything we can within the laws of nature, within our parameters. Yet, simultaneously we must remember that the essence within is beyond our plans. When we do everything in our natural power, the deeper essence emerges.

That’s what Purim is all about: Take your structures, take your defined reality and turn it inside out and upside down, and see new things emerge.

Your life is dark, truly dark. Purim teaches us that in one moment darkness can be transformed to light.

You feel limited, locked. Purim opens up new opportunities.

You feel hopeless. Purim suddenly give you hope.

You have a great life, but you wonder how high can you reach? Can we mortals touch the sky? Can we achieve immortality, create eternity? Purim tells us we can.

All this – because within the inflexible structure lies a fundamental indeterministic freedom, that is not bound by any structures, laws and definitions.

This paradox has now become recognized in modern physics. According to quantum mechanics a fundamental indeterminism exists on the microscopic level. On that level entities don’t have shape or form, they are in a “state of probability,” with the potential to go different ways. This probability or uncertainty is not a result of lack of knowledge, but it has been proven to be an inherent probability.

What makes this even more fascinating and strange is the fact that, while the basic, subatomic structure that comprises all of existence is fundamentally indeterministic, simultaneously macroscopic existence is fundamentally structured and deterministic! How is it possible that an indeterministic core should produce such deterministic results? A key component, for instance, of computer chips is driven by the uncertainty principle of subatomic indeterminism. Yet, the computer chip produces absolutely deterministic results that we depend on daily.

Where do the two worlds of determinism and indeterminism meet? Science has yet to find out.

What science does not yet know, Purim has always known.

So where does indeterminism meet determinism? At your doorstep. And on Purim the door opens between these two realities.

Tags: purpose of existence, existence, structure, transformation, empowerment, transcendence, higher reality, purpose, purim, destiny, G-d, divine providence, free choice, Cosmic Order, free will, physics, transforming darkness, belief, Mordechai, the universe, science, Haman, cast lots, Persia, meaning
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A Singular People: Jewish Uniqueness

August 6th, 2015

Purim is about being different.

Haman complained to King Achashveirosh that “There exists a singular nation, scattered and divided among the nations in all the provinces of your kingdom, whose laws are different from those of all nations….”[1] A “singular nation,” Achashveirosh agreed, different and unique despite their dispersion, cannot be tolerated; he concurred with Haman that “it is not worth that the king let them be… it must be decreed that they be destroyed.”[2]

The Jewish response to Haman’s decree was to intensify their singularity. Instead of continuing the assimilationist trends that began with their exile from the Holy Land three generations earlier,[3] they rallied under the leadership of Mordechai with a renewed commitment to their uniqueness as G-d’s people.

After relating the story of Haman’s downfall and Israel’s victory, the Book of Esther sums up the miracle of Purim in one sentence: “To the Jews there was light, happiness, joy and prestige.”[4] The Talmud interprets these words as a reference to the four primary distinguishing features of the Jewish people: “‘Light’ is Torah, ‘happiness’ are the festivals, ‘joy’ is circumcision, and ‘prestige’ are the tefillin.”[5] There are, of course, 613 mitzvot (divine commandments) and numerous principles, laws and customs that comprise the Jewish faith; but these four are singled out as the matrices of Jewish singularity.

Distinguishing Similarities

On the face of it, it would seem that the very opposite is the case—that these four precepts actually reflect Israel’s similarity to other nations.

Scholarship is not unique to the Jews: virtually every community and culture has its creed and philosophy, a canon of writings on which they are based, and an army of scholars and jurists to study, interpret and apply it. Furthermore, even the Torah qua Torah is not confined to the people of Israel; several faiths are based on it, including two that embrace more than half the human race. Even some of the specifically Jewish expositions of Torah (such as the Talmud, the writings of Maimonides or the teachings of Kabbalah) are universally known and studied.

Festivals are also a common feature of all societies. It is true that only Jews eat matzah on Passover and sound the shofar on Rosh HaShanah, but the concept of a festival, or a date designated for commemoration and observance, is universal. Every nation, culture and religion has its calendar of dates that mark the historical events that forged them, and commemorates these dates with appropriate rituals and customs.

The same is true of tefillin: only the Jew binds these leather boxes and straps on his arm and head as the symbol of his commitment to G-d, but again the concept is a universal one. The married woman’s ring, the soldier’s uniform, the Indian chief’s headdress—all these are signs worn as a demonstrations of one’s allegiance to a certain group or cause. As for circumcision, it is a fairly common procedure, practiced by many for health and other reasons.

And yet, Torah, the festivals, circumcision and tefillin—or, as the Book of Esther refers to them, “light,” “happiness,” “joy” and “prestige”—are the cornerstones of Jewish distinction. True, other nations and societies have similar, or virtually identical, elements in their doctrine and lifestyle; but the Jewish experience of these selfsame elements is different from—even antithetical to—their universal counterparts.

Indeed, this is the ultimate mark of distinction: how one differs from his fellows is not in those areas in which he is obviously different, but in those areas in which he is externally similar but internally worlds apart.

Female Wisdom

How does the Jew’s Torah differ from the universal concept of learning and scholarship? The key lies in the Book of Esther’s choice of the Hebrew word orah—which is the feminine form of or, “light”—as a reference to Torah.

All wisdom, whose function is to illuminate and enlighten, is light; but there is masculine light and feminine light. Masculine light is self-generated, original and aggressive; feminine light is receptive. Masculine intellect is the mind exploring the unknown, originating new ideas, debunking old misconceptions. Feminine intellect is the mind opening itself to receive from a higher source, ingesting a seed of revealed wisdom and developing the myriad of details and applications inherent within it.

Torah study employs both the masculine and feminine functions of the mind, but the greater, defining emphasis is on the feminine. Indeed, for all its Talmudic hair-splitting, Torah is not about intellect at all; the intellect is but a “garment,” a medium by which to convey the supra-rational essence it enclothes. To study Torah is, first and foremost, to surrender to a revelation of divine truth, to make one’s mind a receptacle for the wisdom and will of G-d. The mind of the Torah sage is not a generator of ideas but a womb that receives the divine truth and then develops it as a rationally structured principle or law.

The Present Past

The universal function of the festival or holiday is to celebrate and commemorate the past. The function of the Jewish festival is to reexperience the past—or rather, to unearth the timeless essence of a past event that makes it real to one’s present existence.

The Jew does not merely remember the Exodus on Passover. Through his observance of Passover’s divinely ordained mitzvot, he accesses the divine gift of freedom that the Exodus is, thereby achieving a personal “Exodus”—a liberation from the constraints that enslave his own life. The same is true of the giving of the Torah on Shavuot, the attaining of forgiveness on Yom Kippur, and so on: the Jewish festival is a timeless window in time, making “past” events accessible and realizable.[6]

A festival is a “happy” occasion. But, again, the happiness experienced by the Jew, while superficially similar to the happiness of the non-Jewish celebrant, is radically different. To the non-Jewish celebrant, a festival is an escape: immersing himself in a joyous and rosy past, he can safely disregard the trouble- and responsibility-burdened present. Little wonder that holidays inevitably include lavish spending, moral laxity and barroom brawls.

The Jew also transcends the present on his festivals, and for him, too, this is a source of joy. But his is not an escapist joy. On the contrary, it is the joy of penetrating to the essence of his present-day self to discover the timeless self within. So his is a disciplined joy, a joy that shatters external barriers while amplifying internal focus. His is a joy that makes him more responsible, more caring, more committed.[7]

The holiday on which the distinction of Jewish festival celebration most vividly comes to light is Purim. On Purim the Jew is commanded to “drink until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed be Haman’ and ‘blessed be Mordechai.’”[8] Drinking, especially drinking to the point of irrationality, is generally anathema to the Jew; it is on Purim that we are accorded the rare sight of a drunk Jew. And the Purim drunk is a sight worthy of beholding: emotionally uninhibited yet morally controlled; rationally incoherent yet spiritually true.

The Joy of Sacrifice

Circumcision is a fairly common practice. Many undergo it for reasons of health, others for religious reasons. In either case, the decision to circumcise is a question of weighing the pain against the gain. The procedure is painful, there is an element of risk involved (as with all surgical procedures), and it is said to lessen sexual pleasure. The American who decides to circumcise his son might say: “Certainly, there are disadvantages, but the health benefits make it worthwhile.” The Moslem boy might say: “Sure it hurts, but it gains me entry into heaven.”

What is unique about the Jew is that to him, the circumcision itself is perceived as something positive and desirable. Anyone who has ever attended a bris understands why the Book of Esther refers to it as a “joy”—one does not get the impression that we are “paying a price”[9] for some future reward. It is the giving of self for G-d that the Jew joyfully desires, not the results or rewards of his sacrifice.

Indeed, circumcision can be said to be representative of all “sacrifice”—it is a giving of oneself in the most physically literal sense. The concept of sacrifice is, of course, a universal one—man is forever making sacrifices for the sake of his future, his loved ones, his country, his convictions. But sacrifice is always either for the sake of some future return (in one’s lifetime or in the hereafter) or an inescapable duty. For the Jew, sacrifice at G-d’s behest is a joy.

Hence the amazing, rationally inexplicable phenomenon: virtually all Jews, regardless of religious commitment, practice circumcision. Jews who define themselves as “atheists” and “nondenominational citizens of the world,” as “progressive” and contemptuous of “primitive religious ritual,” circumcise their sons. Jews who emerged from seven decades of Soviet rule bereft of any knowledge or appreciation of Judaism immediately arranged circumcisions for themselves, their children and their grandchildren. Circumcision, to the Jew, is about what he is, not about what it does for him.

Black Boxes

The fourth definer of Jewish uniqueness is the tefillin—black leather boxes, containing scrolls inscribed with selected chapters from the Torah, that are bound on the arm and head as the symbol of our relationship with G-d.

Every community and culture has garments and adornments that are worn as symbols of its identity. Because of what they represent, these naturally reflect their wearers’ conceptions of beauty and prestige: the shimmering gold of the bride’s ring, the impeccable tailoring of the general’s uniform, the rainbow of colors in a people’s national dress—all embody a person’s or group’s pride in who they are.

The tefillin stand out in their austere simplicity. Two spartan boxes, which Torah law mandates to be unadorned and painted black. For the tefillin convey not pride, but the Jew’s subjugation of his mind, heart and deeds to the Almighty.

Yes, tefillin are the prestige of the Jew, but the Jew’s prestige does not lend itself to aesthetic depiction. His prestige lies in his servitude to G-d, in the binding of his intellect, emotions and talents to the supernal will.

Purim celebrates the salvation of a singular people: a people whose learning, festivities, sacrifices and badge of honor are so common, yet so unique, in the family of man.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Purim 5719 (1959)[10]

One who reads the Megillah backwards has not fulfilled his obligation

Talmud, Megillah 17a

On Purim we read the Megillah (Book of Esther), which recounts the events which led to the establishment of the festival. Among the laws which govern the reading procedure is a requirement that the chapters of the Megillah be read in order. In the words of the Talmud, “One who reads the Megillah backwards has not fulfilled his obligation.”

Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, offered an alternate interpretation for this dictum: “One who reads the Megillah backwards”—one who reads it as a record of some past occurrence—has missed the point. The purpose of the festival is that “These days are to be remembered and enacted.”[11] Purim is more than an inspiring piece of history to be “commemorated”; it is an ongoing event, to be perpetually reexperienced and reapplied to our daily lives.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Purim 5742 (1982)

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: sacrifice, truth, light, jewish identity, joy, Torah, Intellect, exile, circumcision, Jewish nation, Israel, wisdom, cultural differences, self, internal, mitzvot, Mordechai, male and female, commitment, Haman, tefillin, Divine feminine, Achashverosh, festivals, assimilation, individuality, Divine will
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A Roll of Dice: The Purim Lots

August 6th, 2015

For Haman the son of Hammedata the Agagite, the enemy of all the Jews, had schemed against the Jews to destroy them, and had cast a pur—that is, the lot—to consume them, and to destroy them…

Therefore they called these days “Purim” after the pur…

Esther 9:24-26

Many developments contributed to the salvation of the Jewish people from Haman’s decree: Esther’s replacement of Vashti as queen; Mordechai’s rousing the Jews of Shushan to repentance and prayer; Achashveirosh’s sleepless night, in which he is reminded that Mordechai had saved his life and commands Haman to lead Mordechai in a hero’s parade through the streets of Shushan; Esther’s petition to the king and her confrontation with Haman; the hanging of Haman; the great war between the Jews and their enemies on the 13th of Adar.

Each of these events played a major role in the miracle of Purim. And yet, the name of the festival—the one word chosen to express its essence—refers to a seemingly minor detail: the fact that Haman selected the date of his proposed annihilation of the Jews by casting lots (pur is Persian for “lot”).[1] Obviously, the significance of the lot lies at the very heart of what Purim is all about.

Why, indeed, did Haman cast lots? Why didn’t he simply choose the first convenient day or days on which to carry out his evil decree?

The Angel and the Drunk

There is another day on the Jewish calendar associated with the casting of lots: Yom Kippur. In one of the most dramatic moments of the Yom Kippur service in the Holy Temple, the Kohen Gadol (High Priest) stood between two goats and cast lots to determine which should be offered to G-d and which should carry off the sins of Israel to the desert.[2]

It would seem that one could hardly find two more dissimilar days in the Jewish calendar. Yom Kippur is the most solemn day of the year. It is a day of soul-searching and repentance; a day on which we connect with the inviolable core of purity within us—with the self that remains forever unsullied by our failings and transgressions—to draw from it atonement for the past and resolve for the future. So it is only natural that Yom Kippur should be a day of unfettered spirituality, a day on which we transcend our very physicality in order to commune with our spiritual essence. The Torah commands us to “afflict ourselves” on Yom Kippur[3]—to deprive the body of food and drink and all physical pleasures. Yom Kippur is the day on which terrestrial man most resembles the celestial angel.

Purim, on the other hand, is the most physical day of the year. It is a day of feasting and drinking—the Talmud goes so far as to state that “a person is obligated to drink on Purim until he does not know the difference between ‘cursed be Haman’ and ‘blessed be Mordechai.’”[4] As our sages explain, Purim celebrates the salvation of the body of the Jew. There are festivals (such as Chanukah) that remember a time when the Jewish soul was threatened, when our enemies strove to uproot our faith and profane the sanctity of our lives; these are accordingly marked with “spiritual” observances (e.g., lighting the menorah, reciting Hallel). On Purim, on the other hand, it was the Jewish body that was saved—Haman did not plot to assimilate or paganize the Jews, but to physically destroy every Jewish man, woman and child on the face of the earth. Purim is thus celebrated by reading the Megillah,[5] lavishing money on the poor, sending gifts of food to friends, eating a sumptuous meal, and drinking oneself to oblivion.

On Yom Kippur we fast and pray, on Purim we party. Yet the Zohar sees the two days as intrinsically similar, going so far as to interpret the name Yom HaKippurim (as the Torah calls Yom Kippur) to mean that it is “a day like Purim” (yom ke-purim)![6]

Reason and Lots

The casting of lots expresses the idea that one has passed beyond the realm of motive and reason. A lottery is resorted to when there is no reason or impetus to choose one option over the other, so that the matter must be surrendered to forces that are beyond one’s control and comprehension.

Therein lies the significance of the lots cast by the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur. After all is said and done, implied the lots, no man is worthy in the eyes of G-d. We all stand before Him with our faults and iniquities, and by all rational criteria, should be found lacking in His judgment. So we impel ourselves beyond the realm of nature and reason, beyond the pale of merit and fault. We disavow all the accouterments of physical identity—food and drink, earthly pleasures, and our very sense of reason and priority. We cast our lot with G-d, confident that He will respond in kind and relate to us in terms of our quintessential bond to Him rather than by the existential scales of pro and con.

Haman’s lot-casting was his attempt to exploit the supra-reality of the divine to an opposite end. The Jewish people, said Haman, might be the pursuers of G-d’s wisdom on earth and the implementors of His will, thus meriting His favor and protection. But surely G-d, in essence, is above it all—above our earthly reason and its notions of “virtue” and “deservedness,” beyond such concepts as “good” or “evil.” Ultimately, the divine will is as arbitrary as a roll of dice. Why not give it a shot? I might just catch a supernal caprice running in my direction. As the Talmud relates,

“When the lot [cast by Haman] fell on the month of Adar, he greatly rejoiced, saying: ‘The lot has fallen for me upon the month of Moses’ death.’”

[7] This is what I’ve been saying all along, exulted Haman. Moses might have given Israel the Torah, the document that so endears them to G-d, but Moses, too, is mortal. Moses, too, is part of the physical, rational reality—a reality transcended by the “lot” reality I have accessed. My lots indicate that I have superseded Moses—superseded Israel’s merit in the eyes of G-d.

What Haman failed to realize, adds the Talmud, was that while Adar was the month of Moses’ passing, it was also the month of Moses’ birth. In the final analysis, the import of Haman’s lots was the very opposite of what he had understood. On the physical-existential plane, the lots were saying, there might be variations and fluctuations in G-d’s relationship with His people. At times, they might be more deserving of His protection and blessing; at times, less so.[8] On this level of reality, Moses might even “die.” But G-d’s relationship with His people transcends the fluctuations of the terrestrial reality. Also on the level on which “darkness is as light”[9] and “good” and “evil” are equally insignificant before Him, G-d chooses—for no reason save that such is His choice—the nation of Israel.

In the words of the prophet, “Is not Esau a brother to Jacob? says G-d. But I love Jacob.”[10] Also when reality seems as “arbitrary” as a throw of dice—for the righteous Jacob is no more worthy (for “worthiness” is a moot point) than the wicked Esau—the divine lot invariably falls with His chosen people.

Thus, the festival of Purim derives its name from the lots cast by Haman. For this is not some incidental detail in the story of Purim, but the single event that most expresses what Purim represents.

Does Matter Matter?

Yom Kippur is indeed “a day like Purim”: both are points in physical time which transcend the very laws of physical existence. Points at which we rise above the rational structure of reality and affirm our supra-rational bond with G-d—a bond not touched by the limitations of mortal life. A bond as free of cause and motive as the free-falling lot.

But there is also a significant difference between these two days. On Yom Kippur, our transcendence is expressed by our disavowal of all trappings of physical life. But the very fact that these would “interfere” with the supra-existential nature of the day indicates that we are not utterly free of them. Thus Yom Kippur is only “a day like Purim” (ke-purim), for it achieves only a semblance of the essence of Purim.

The ultimate mark of transcendence is that the transcended state is not vanquished or suppressed, but that it itself serves the transcendent end. The miracle of Purim was G-d’s assertion of His supra-existential choice of Israel, yet it was a miracle wholly garbed in nature. Everything happened quite naturally: Esther’s beauty pleased Achashveirosh, and he made her his queen; Mordechai happened to overhear a plot to kill Achashveirosh, and years later the event was remembered by the king on a sleepless night; Esther contrived Haman’s fall from grace in the royal court, had him hanged, and maneuvered Mordechai into his vacated position; and so on. But it is for this very reason that Purim is the greatest of miracles—a miracle in which the natural order is not merely circumvented or superseded, but in which nature itself becomes the instrument of the miraculous.

The same is true on the individual level: the ultimate transcendence of materiality is achieved not by depriving the body and suppressing the physical self, but by transforming the physical into an instrument of the divine will. So “Purim” is the day on which we are our most physical, and at the same time exhibit a self-abnegation to G-d that transcends all dictates and parameters of the physical-rational state—transcending even the axioms “cursed be Haman” and “blessed be Mordechai.”

Yom Kippur is the day that empowers the Jew to rise above the constraints of physicality and rationality. Purim is the day that empowers the Jew to live a physical life that is the vehicle for a supra-physical, supra-rational commitment to G-d.[11]

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Physicality, relationships, cast lots, repentance, Yom Kippur, good and evil, transcendence, jewish survival, Moses, Esther, G-d, soul, Mordechai, Jewish nation, prayer, Haman, miracle, Israel, angels, High Priest, reality, nature, Holy Temple, body, Divine will, elevating the world, Jewish calendar, purim, feast, fasting, Spirituality, Achash, sacrifices and offerings
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You Are What You Write

August 5th, 2015

Editor’s note: Eliezer Steinman was a leading figure in Israeli literary circles in the ’50s. His contact with the Rebbe began when he was researching his famed Be’er haChassidut series, a many-volume work on the history and philosophy of Chassidism. At the time, the chassidim he approached refused to aid him in his research, because of his extremely secularist and anti-religious stance; the Rebbe, however, instructed a Lubavitcher chassid who lived in Jerusalem to open his library to him and assist him in every way. It was through this chassid that the Rebbe began his many years’ correspondence with Mr. Steinman, in the course of which the latter changed his entire outlook, publicly retracting his earlier writings and becoming a believing, practicing Jew. What follows is an excerpt of a letter from the Rebbe to Mr. Steinman, dated Shevat 26, 5716 (February 8, 1956):[14]

… Thank you for your consideration in sending me your recent works… Regarding the series Be’er haChassidut, I have the following comments…

When writing about concepts and schools of thought in Torah, which is a living teaching and a teaching of life, particularly about that part of Torah which has a distinct emotional-experiential side,[15] and especially if one is writing for a readership to whom these concepts are new and even alien to their world, it is not enough for the author to read the said Torah works, study them in-depth and transmit their gist; rather, he must immerse himself to the greatest possible extent in the spirit of Torah and in the experience of the founders and leaders of these schools. This is doubly so if the author’s aim is to derive practical conclusions relating to contemporary life.

I don’t know you personally, but I hope you will not take it amiss if I allow myself to suggest that in order to achieve your stated aim, as you yourself express it in your introduction to Be’er haChassidut, you ought to adopt and internalize the way of life you describe in your books, that is, life according to the Torah in thought and practice, as expounded upon in your books’ sources, the works of Chassidut. Sincerity and good faith is not enough; although they are of foremost importance, in no way do they suffice.

Perhaps you suspect that I am saying all this only to influence a Jew to become fully observant of the Torah and the mitzvot, and the standards of chassidic teaching. Indeed, I confess, our sages’ words, “A person is not suspected of something unless there is some truth in the suspicion,”[16] do apply in this case. However, the “some truth” of my ulterior motive does not in any way detract from the utility, indeed necessity, of what I have said, to your aim of transmitting the teachings of Chassidut in the medium of your writing, in a manner that is optimally true to their essence.

Perhaps you also wonder at my hope to influence, with a mere letter, a writer and thinker whose way of life is doubtless founded upon a philosophy that is interwoven in the threads of his soul—to the point that I expect that the receipt of this letter will influence changes not only in his thinking but in his behavior as well.

My reasoning, however, is that I am not suggesting anything that is new or my own, but an ages-old idea, which is, at the same time, also pristinely new and recreates worlds every day—namely, the Torah and its mitzvot. And one who believes in a person and his infinite potential—for the Jewish soul, to quote the author of the Tanya,[17] is “literally a part of G-d above”[18] Who is infinite—also believes that in a single turn and in a single moment, each and every man can attain the deepest heights, regardless of where he stood a moment earlier. The impetus might be nothing more than the smallest matter and the smallest spark, since it serves only to unleash the infinite treasures that lie in the soul of the listener or reader.

With esteem and blessing
[M. Schneerson]

Tags: Torah, Rebbe, faith, Chassidus, inspiration, Rebbe's letters
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Rebbeitis

August 5th, 2015

Rabbi Sholom DovBer of Lubavitch (Rebbe and leader of Chabad-Chassidic movement from 1882 to 1920) suffered for many years from ill health. A leading European physician, who had spent many hours in conversation with Rabbi Sholom DovBer, categorized the Rebbe’s ailment in the following manner:

“This is a man,” said the professor, “whose heart craves something that is beyond the capacity of the mind, and whose mind understands more than the heart can bear…”

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Rebbe, suffering, Yanki Tauber
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Inspiration

August 5th, 2015

The following is a freely translated excerpt from a letter by the Rebbe, dated Cheshvan 25, 5713 (November 13, 1952):[11]

Many times I have heard my father-in-law[12] repeat the teaching by the holy Baal Shem Tov[13] that:

“from everything one sees or hears, one should derive a lesson in one’s personal life.”

Also your occupation – the automobile business – is replete with such “pointers.”

A fueled automobile has all the necessary parts and potential energy to move from place to place. Still, the first impetus must come from a spark, generated by the “starter”; all subsequent movement of the automobile is dependent upon this spark. Nevertheless, it is not desirable to repeatedly activate the starter to stimulate each new movement of the auto. Once moving, the auto should run on its own, without the need for any further sparks.

The same applies to the inner motor of man. G-d created us complete with all the necessary parts and resources to drive our lives – our body, our G-dly Soul and our Animal Soul have all been supplied with everything that we need to serve G-d and fulfill our purpose in creation. Nevertheless, we all need, from time to time, a “spark,” an inspiration from Above, some revelatory moment to turn us on and get us moving. But one must take care not to grow too dependent on such sparks and come to require a new boost at every turn in the road. The first spark should be enough to get us started, after which we should draw on our own internal resources, which we possess in abundant supply, to continue moving toward our destination.

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: inspiration, Rebbe's letters, Yanki Tauber
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The Traveling Inquirer

August 5th, 2015

In his early years, before he went public with his teachings and disciples came from far and wide to learn from him, the founder of the chassidic movement, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, was an incessant traveler. Dressed in the clothes of a simple villager, he would travel from town to town and from hamlet to hamlet, asking questions. “How are things?” he would inquire of the water-carrier yoked to his pails, of the market-woman minding her stall, of the child playing in the doorway of his home. “Is there enough to eat? Is everyone healthy?” “Baruch Hashem, blessed be the Almighty, all is fine” or “Thanks to the Almighty, things are improving,” these simple, G-d-fearing and G-d-trusting Jews would reply, and the traveler would depart with the gratified step of one who has found what he was seeking.

One day, Rabbi Israel arrived in a village and made his way to the study hall. There, in a corner, sat an ancient Torah scholar over his books, wrapped in tallit and tefillin. This was the village porush (“ascetic”), who led a life of holy seclusion. From sunrise to sunset, not a morsel of bread nor a sip of water would pass his lips; he spoke to no one and never lifted his eyes from the sacred tomes. For more than fifty years he had kept to this regimen, utterly removed from the mundane cares of material life.

So why was this stranger pestering him? “How are things?,” he was inquiring, “Is there enough to eat? Is everyone healthy?” The ascetic made no reply, hoping the stranger would go away. But the stranger only leaned closer, and his questioning grew more insistent. Impatiently, the ascetic waved him away, pointing him to the door.

“Rabbi,” the stranger now asked, “why are you denying G-d His livelihood?”

The words had their desired effect: the old man was roused to indignant attention. G-d’s livelihood?! The audacity of this uncouth peasant! “What are you saying?” he demanded in a thunderous voice. “How dare you disturb me with such blasphemous babble!”

“Only what King David, the sweet singer of Israel, proclaims in his Psalms,” replied the Baal Shem Tov. “Tell me, Rabbi, what is the meaning of the verse, ‘And You, the Holy One, who dwells by[14] the praises of Israel’[15]?”

“We mortal beings,” continued the Baal Shem Tov when the porush made no reply, “subsist on the sustenance that G-d provides us in His great kindness. But what does G-d ‘subsist’ on? On the praises of Israel! When one Jew asks another, ‘How are things’ and his fellow responds by praising and thanking the Almighty, they are nourishing G-d, deepening His involvement with his creation.”[16]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Rebbe, materialism, Baal Shem Tov, spiritual, Yanki Tauber
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