The Lamplighter’s Credo

July 29th, 2015

And G-d spoke to Moses, saying: “Speak to Aaron and say to him: ‘When you raise the lamps…’”

Numbers 8:1-2

A daily feature of the service in the Beit Hamikdash (Holy Temple) was the kindling of the menorah. Each morning, a Kohen (priest) would prepare the menorah’s lamps for lighting. In the afternoon, the lamps would be lit, to burn through the night in expression of the Beit Hamikdash’s function to illuminate a spiritually dark world.

While many of the Torah’s laws are time- and place-specific, their significance is always eternal and universal. Physically, the mitzvah to kindle the menorah applies to a specific point in space (the Beit Hamikdash), and was implementable in specific periods of our history (the 1,309 years in which G-d’s manifest presence dwelled amongst us in a Mishkan or Beit Hamikdash[1]); spiritually, the imperative to “raise the lamps” applies to all locales and to all generations.

“The soul of man is a lamp of G-d.”[2]

G-d’s instruction to Aaron to “raise the lamps” of the menorah is also a command to kindle the souls of his people—to ignite their latent potential to radiate light and warmth to their surroundings. Thus, Aaron is our model for man’s responsibility for the spiritual elevation of his fellows; in the words of the great sage Hillel, “Be of the disciples of Aaron: A lover of peace, a pursuer of peace, one who loves his fellow human beings and brings them close to Torah.”[3]

The equating of the stimulation of a dormant soul to the lighting of a lamp holds an important message to the lamplighter: do not think that you are achieving anything that your fellow could not, that you are giving him something he does not already possess. The soul of your fellow is a ready lamp, filled with the purest oil and equipped with the means of converting its resources into a blazing flame. It only lacks the proximity of another lamp to ignite it. If your own soul is alight, its contact with his will awaken its luminous potential, so that it may illuminate its surroundings and ignite other souls, in turn.

The Long Pole

The eternal relevance of the mitzvah of “raising” the menorah’s lamps extends to its every aspect and detail: each of the many laws governing the lighting of the menorah in the Beit Hamikdash has its corresponding significance in the imperative to bring to light the potential of a fellow soul. Indeed, there are laws that can be truly understood only in light of their spiritual import.

Let us examine three such laws:

(a) Although the commandment to light the menorah was directed to Aaron, the most exalted and holy of the Kohanim, every Jew, including one who is not a Kohen, is qualified to perform this mitzvah[4].

(b) On the other hand, the task of preparing the lamps is entrusted solely to those whom G-d elected to serve Him in the Beit Hamikdash: only a Kohen is qualified to ready the lamps for lighting[5].

(c) From its outermost courtyard to its innermost chamber, the Beit Hamikdash consisted of eight domains, each imbued with a greater degree of divine immanence. The designated place of the menorah was the heichal, which was second only in this hierarchy of holiness to the kodesh hakadashim (“holy of holies”). Only Kohanim were allowed to enter the heichal[6].

Laws (a) and (c) result in a legal paradox: Since a non-Kohen could not enter the heichal, the only way for an ordinary Israelite to light the menorah was if he did so with the aid of long pole, or if the menorah was carried out to him by a Kohen and then replaced in the heichal. Hence, the obvious question: If the Torah intended that the mitzvah of lighting the menorah should be observable by every Jew, why didn’t it place the menorah in a less sanctified part of the Beit Hamikdash, to which the ordinary Jew has access? On the other hand, if the holiness of the menorah is such that it requires the sacred environment of the heichal, why did the Torah permit someone for whom this represents a higher standard of holiness than he is himself capable of attaining, to light it?

Law (b) is likewise puzzling: Should not the qualifying criteria to light the menorah be equal to, if not greater than, that of its preparation? If any Jew can light the menorah, why is only a Kohen qualified to prepare it for lighting?

The Material Teacher

A Kohen is a descendent of Aaron, designated by G-d to lead a wholly spiritual existence. “The Kohanim of the tribe of Levi,” G-d told Moses, “and the entire tribe of Levi,[7] shall have no share and lot [in the Land] with Israel… G-d is their lot.”[8]  Excluded from all earthly cares, responsibilities and privileges, the Levite’s is a life utterly devoted to “serve G-d, and teach His law to the community.”[9]

But there is also a broader sense to the station of Kohen.

“Not only the tribe of Levi,” writes Maimonides in his Mishneh Torah, “but any man of all the inhabitants of earth whose spirit has moved him… to stand before G-d, to serve Him, to worship Him, to know G-d and walk justly… and he cast from his neck the yoke of the many calculations that men seek—such an individual becomes sanctified, a holy of holies, and G-d shall be his portion and his lot…”[10]

Therein lies the eternal lesson in the law that the menorah can be lit also by an ‘ordinary’ Israelite. One might think that the task of igniting souls had best be left to the spiritual practitioner, to those whose entire lives are devoted to G-dly pursuits. What can the ordinary businessman, craftsman or laborer, himself enmeshed in the material and mundane, offer the spiritually wanting soul?

Says the Torah: Every soul is a “lamp of G-d,” regardless of the spiritual station of the life it animates. Every individual has the capacity to generate light and to ignite a fellow lamp. And if G-d has given you license and ability for the task, it is your sacred duty to do so. Never mind that the bulk of your life is taken up with the mundanities of a material existence; you too can, and must, serve as a teacher and lamplighter to your fellows.

However, one might take this to the other extreme, and say: if G-d allows, and instructs, that I, too, light the menorah, despite the material nature of my life, then I am free to do it on my terms—to interpret the Torah as I understand it and to spread its light in the manner that I see fit. Says the Torah: only the Kohanim, those chosen by G-d as the nation’ spiritual leaders, are qualified to prepare a menorah for lighting. Only they can decide the content of the message and the means of its dissemination. In all matters of Torah law and teaching, you must “come to the Kohanim, the Levites, to the judge that shall be in those times… and you shall do as they instruct you.”[11]

The place of the menorah is in the heichal, and while your natural place might be a less sacred environment, your license to light it is not a license to compromise its holiness. In Hillel’s words, a disciple of Aaron is one who “brings his fellow human beings close to the Torah,” not, G-d forbid, the other way around—one who brings the Torah down to the level of those he seeks to uplift.

On the other hand, the fact that the menorah’s standards are loftier than your own does not absolve you from your duties as a lamplighter. Your light must be employed to illuminate others, even if it means reaching into the heichal with a ‘long pole’—extending your reach to heights your ‘ordinary’ self cannot aspire to. Even if it means that the menorah must be ‘carried out’ to you by a Kohen to enable you to realize your potential as a luminary and an illuminator.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Shavuot 5717 (1957) and on other occasions[12]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Aaron, growth, love, kohanim, Levi, Holy Temple, judgement, Torah, peace, soul, menorah, time, potential, Jewish law, Holy of Holies, teachers, Maimonides, Illumination, Divine service, mitzvah
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The Doorway of Choice

July 29th, 2015

And when Moses would enter the Sanctuary to speak with [G-d], he would hear the voice speaking to him from above the cover of the Ark of Testimony, from between the two kruvim; and it spoke to him [only].

Numbers 7:89

One might think that this (the fact that only Moses heard the voice of G-d) was because the voice was low. So the verse stresses that it was “the voice”—the same voice that spoke to him at Sinai. But when it reached the doorway it stopped, and did not extend outside of the Sanctuary.

Rashi, ibid.

A basic tenet of the Jewish faith is that man has been granted the freedom to choose between good and evil, between adherence to his divinely ordained mission in life and rebellion against, or even denial of, his Creator. As Maimonides writes,

“Were G-d to decree that a person be righteous or wicked, of if there were to exist something in the essence of a person’s nature which would compel him toward a specific path, a specific conviction, a specific character trait or a specific deed…how could G-d command us through the prophets ‘do this’ and ‘do not do this,’ ‘improve your ways’ and ‘do not follow your wickedness’…?  What place would the entire Torah have?  And by what measure of justice would G-d punish the wicked and reward the righteous…?”[12]

This is the deeper significance of the divine voice’s “short stop” at the doorway of the Sanctuary. At Sinai, the words “I Am G-d your G-d” resounded throughout the universe, permeating every creature and creation.[13] At that moment, there was no possibility of doubt in G-d’s reality or of nonconformity to His will.[14] But then the world fell silent, and the voice retreated to hover about the “Ark of Testimony” that contains G-d’s Torah and confine itself to the four walls of the Sanctuary that houses it.

The volume was not lowered—the voice is no less infinite and omnipotent than it was at Sinai. One who enters the Sanctuary hears a voice that penetrates and permeates all, a voice that knows no bounds or equivocations. But one can choose to remain outside of the domain of Torah, to deny himself the knowledge and the way of life in which G-d makes Himself heard. One can choose to remain outside, in the field of G-d’s self-imposed silence. It is this choice that creates the challenge of life, making our every moral victory a true and significant achievement.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Naso 5725 (June 12, 1965)[15]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: rebellion, Maimonides, Life's Challenges, good and evil, G-d, silence, Mt. Sinai, your mission, Mishkan, Torah, free choice
Posted in Good & Evil, Weekly Parsha, Behalotcha, Beliefs & Concepts, Free Choice, Bamidbar, Torah | No Comments »

Hammered Gold

July 29th, 2015

And G-d spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to Aaron and say to him: When you light the lamps, the seven lamps shall give light toward the body of the menorah… And this was the work of the menorah: it was of a single piece of beaten gold, from its base to its flower…

Numbers 8:2-4

When G-d spoke these words to Moses, He had already given him detailed instructions regarding the construction and the lighting of the menorah in the Holy Temple.[8] Here, G-d reiterates two laws:

a) That the menorah’s lamps should all be turned in the direction of the “body” of the menorah (the central stem from which the menorah’s arms extend).

b) That the entire menorah—eighteen handbreadths high, its body and six arms embellished with twenty-two goblets, eleven balls and nine flowers—be hammered out of a single block of gold.

The menorah represents the people of Israel—G-d’s “light unto the nations.”[9] Its multiple limbs and forms attest to the fact that the Jewish nation is comprised of br turned tribes and includes individuals from all walks of life. But they all form an integral whole, a single people with a single calling: to illuminate the world with the light of G-d.

The menorah’s integrity was expressed on two levels: in the making of the menorah and in the way it was lit. An artifact of such complexity is usually fashioned by first molding its various parts and then welding them together. The menorah, however, was hammered out of a single piece of gold, originating as a single object and remaining a single object through the various stages of its construction to the finished product. Its second mark of unity concerned the manner of its lighting: although the menorah shed its light with seven lamps, each supported by its distinct stem or branch, they all faced the body of the menorah.

There are nations and communities that are a coalition of variant groups, each formed by its own genealogy and experience and welded together by common interest and habitat. Not so the Jew: all souls of Israel are of a single essence, and their division into distinct individuals is merely their investment into different bodies and physical lives.[10] And while the singular soul of Israel shines not with a single light, but via a seven-lamp candelabra representing the various prototypes of human character, all lamps of the menorah face the body from which they extend, emphasizing their singular origin and their singular goal.

These are the two essential laws of the menorah: that it should be forged of a single piece of gold, and that its diverse lights should face each other in harmony with their source. As we strive to illuminate our surroundings, there must be the ever-present awareness of our intrinsic oneness, coupled with an assertion of our individual talents in concert with each other and in fidelity to our mission and identity.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Parshat Behaalot’cha, 5730 (June 20, 1970)[11]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: community, Illumination, Jewish nation, individual, soul, characteristics, unity, source, Israel, form & function, menorah, essence
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The Servant and the Minister

July 29th, 2015

Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa came to study Torah under Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, when Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai’s child fell ill. Said Rabbi Yochanan to Rabbi Chanina: “Chanina, my son, pray for mercy for [my child], that he may live.” Rabbi Chanina placed his head between his knees and prayed, and the child lived.

Said Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai: “Had the son of Zakai rammed his head between his knees all day, they still would not have been merciful toward him.” Asked his wife: “Is Chanina greater than you?” Said Rabbi Yochanan to her: “No, but he is like a servant of the king (who enters into the king’s presence all the time, without special permission), while I am like a minister of the king (who sees the king only by appointment, when the occasion warrants).”

Talmud, Berachot 34b; Rashi, ibid.

The minister serves his king with his mind; the servant serves him with his body. Therein lie their respective advantages over each other.

The minister’s contribution is based on his qualities: qualities that differ from individual to individual, and from time to time and from circumstance to circumstance in a single individual. Thus, the relationship of the minister with his king is of a higher “quality” than that of the servant; but it is also a fluctuating relationship which shifts in accordance with his capacity to contribute in his particular field.

The servant, on the other hand, attends to everyday, commonplace things. He serves the king not with his mind or his character, but with his elementary being. His role might be less prestigious than the minister’s, but its very simplicity is what makes it constant and unchanging and places him in the king’s presence at times when no one else would be admitted.

Our service of the Creator includes both these elements, as embodied by the two basic endeavors of Jewish life: the study of Torah, and the observance of the divine commandments, the mitzvot.[1]

With the study of Torah, we serve G-d as a minister serves his king: with our mind and intellect. We strive to comprehend the divine wisdom, and have even been given a mandate to develop and apply it.[2] The mitzvot, on the other hand, are physical deeds: giving money to charity, binding tefillin on the arm and head, eating matzah on Passover, and sounding the shofar on Rosh Hashanah. Of course, the study of Torah is not confined to prodigies and intellectuals, and a mitzvah should be performed with an awareness of the significance of man’s fulfillment of the divine will in general, and the qualities of the specific mitzvah in particular. Nevertheless, the essence of Torah study is the mind’s effort to assimilate the supernal wisdom, while the observance of a mitzvah is, first and foremost, the commitment of one’s physical being to the serve one’s Master.

Created and Formed

The Ethics of the Fathers quotes Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai as one who would always say[3]: “If you have learned much Torah, do not take credit for yourself—it is for this that you have been formed.”[4]

A similar saying appears in the closing mishnah of the Talmudic tractate Kiddushin, where Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar states: “I was created to serve my Creator.”[5] Both these sayings express the concept that the purpose of our existence is to serve G-d, whether through the study of Torah or as a “servant” who carries out his master’s commands. It is significant, however, that each of these sayings use a different word to describe our coming into being. Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai, whose primary  role was that of a “minister of the king” (as in the story quoted above),[6] tells us that we have been “formed” in order to study G-d’s Torah. But when the Talmud speaks of our duty to serve G-d, it tells us that this is the purpose for which we have been “created.”

There are two aspects to every existence: its “substance” (chomer), which is the “thing in itself,” and its “form” (tzurah)—the various qualities and attributes it possesses. The Hebrew word beriah (“creation”) is a term that relates exclusively to the creation of something ex nihilo (something from nothing)—i.e., the coming into being of the essence of the thing.[7] Yetzirah (“formation”) means the forming of a substance into a particular shape and configuration. Thus, we were “created to serve our Creator,” for it is with the most basic aspect of our being that we serve G-d through the fulfillment of his commandments. Our study of Torah, on the other hand, is the way in which we utilize our uniquely human “form”—our capacity for intelligence and speech—to relate to G-d; hence, “If you have learned much Torah… it is for this that you have been formed.”

Both these venues are indispensable to the optimal fulfillment of our mission in life. Obviously, it is our “form” that sets us apart from all other creations, and which represents the highest actualization of our potential. On the other hand, our faculties and talents are always in a state of flux, forever subject to the myriad conditions that affect our inner lives. It is the basic, simple fact of our being that is absolute and immutable, and is the source of our deepest, truest manner of connection with G-d: as servants whose intimacy with their king is greater than that of the most accomplished minister.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Av 1, 5737 (July 16, 1977)

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Intellect, creation, body, mitzvot, Torah study, mind, individuality, commandments, form & function, purpose of existence, relationships, Divine will, body and soul, Physicality, spiritual, Power of Prayer
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Menorah Meditations

July 29th, 2015

1) Become a flame
Something that comes easy for you, may be a huge struggle for another. Harness your natural abilities to help a friend, co-worker, or family member.

2) RISES: Don’t be satisfied with the status quo.
Identify an area in your life that you wish to improve or an area where you can be improved, even if just a tiny notch.
IE. Such as your patience or your bedtime.

3) ON IT’S OWN: Become a perpetual source of illumination
Establish a routine that will positively impact your day and those around you.
IE. Saying hi to a co-worker, refilling the water container, listening to your partner in earnest, or making healthy eating decisions.

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: action, self-improvement, advice, personal growth, self-development, self-control, self awareness, meditation, personal refinement
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Lighting Instructions

July 29th, 2015

Our sages tell us that the Holy Temple in Jerusalem-and its forerunner, the Sanctuary built by Moses in the Sinai Desert-was a physical, three-dimensional model of the spiritual architecture of the soul. The Temple consisted of numerous domains, chambers and “vessels”; each of these corresponding to another element of the inner life of man and illustrating that element’s function and purpose.[1]

The menorah, the seven-branched golden candelabra which was kindled each afternoon in the Holy Temple, represents man’s potential to “kindle lamps”: to generate sources of illumination within his own self, in his fellow man, and in the material resources at his disposal.

The Torah devotes a number of detailed chapters to describing the menorah’s construction and the various laws governing its lighting. Each of these details has its corresponding “law” and lesson in the menorah’s spiritual significance. By way of example, let us examine a phrase in one of the commentaries on one of these chapters:

The eighth chapter of Numbers opens with G-d’s instruction to Aaron: “When you raise the lamps, they should shed their light towards the face of the menorah.” In his commentary on this verse, Rashi[2] dwells on the Torah’s use of the phrase behaalotecha, “when you raise.” Why does the Torah employ this obscure synonym for “kindle”? Rashi explains that the Torah wishes to refer to the flame’s nature to gravitate upward and rise, and also to instruct the kohen (priest) who lights the menorah’s lamps to hold the fire to the wick until “the flame rises on its own.”

These three words-shalhevet olah me’eileha (“the flame rises on its own”)-contain some of the basic lessons to be derived from the menorah.

“The Flame…”

The menorah’s lights are usually referred to as its neirot, “lamps.” Here, Rashi uses the word shalhevet, “flame.” While the term neirot can apply to both lit and unlit lamps, shalhevet means a “live,” light-producing flame. Indeed, for many hours of each day, the menorah’s lamps were without flames.[3] Each morning, the lamps were cleaned, filled with the purest olive oil, and given new wicks. In this state they stood most of the day, awaiting the flame-bearing kohen who came to kindle them in mid-afternoon.

In those interim hours, the lamp was in its most complete and perfect state: its gold pristine, its wick fresh, and filled to capacity with the finest oil. Nothing of substance was lacking. Indeed, lighting it only sullied its luster, charred its wick and used up its fuel. But in its unlit state, the lamp was dark, its luminary potential locked within. It might have been perfect in itself, but it was of no benefit to that which lay outside of itself.

Man, too, can be a ner without a shalhevet, a lamp without a flame. He might achieve a personal perfection – an ornate vessel, fine-tuned talents and abundant potentials. But the purpose of life is to be a blazing lamp – to ignite one’s talents and potentials so that they illuminate one’s surroundings.

This is the first lesson of the menorah: that the goal of personal perfection alone will never suffice to satisfy the striving of our soul. Intrinsic to our nature is the quest to be a “flame”-an illumination to our surroundings.

“Rises…”

“The spirit of man gravitates upward.”[4] While the space we inhabit possesses three dimensions and six directions, our deepest strivings tend upward. When children compete over who is “bigger,” it is their vertical height which they compare. When men and women of all ages speak of their desire for self-betterment, they do so in terms of “climbing the ladder,” “reaching upward,” and “raising” themselves to “new heights.”

Thus King Solomon describes the human soul as a “lamp of G-d.”[5] Of the Four Elements (fire, water, air and earth), only fire gravitates upward. Like a flame forever straining at its tether, the human soul is forever pulling upwards, straining at the wick (i.e., the physical body) which binds it aground.[6]

What is the deeper significance of this “vertical” striving? Certain achievements can be described in terms of growth “length” and “breadth.” We might expend much effort and toil to extending and broadening our accomplishments – but all on the same plane, all along the lines which define our present reality. The spirit of man, however, thirsts for more. The “lamp of G-d” within us does not allow us to reconcile ourselves to our present reality, whether it is a reality bounded by habit and convention, or even by the most basic dictates of our nature. Intrinsic to the human condition is the quest for transcendence, the striving to “break the mold” in which we are formed and remake ourselves as something more-something “higher” than what we are.

This is the second lesson of the menorah: that life is not only a “flame” but also a flame that “rises.”  That no matter how extensive our gains in the space we have carved for ourselves in this world may be, we must constantly search for new areas of achievement. Personal perfection is not enough; nor is leadership as a “luminary” in any defined field. Our inner essence as a “lamp of G-d” demands that we perpetually reinvent ourselves, that we constantly strive to break free of our present plane of existence to reach for something “higher.”

“On Its Own”

A lamp cannot ignite itself: it requires a fire, an external source of energy to set it aglow. But the objective is that its flame should “rise on its own”-that it be transformed into an independent source of light.

This is the third lesson of the menorah: that when we act as “lamplighters” – whether in the endeavor to ignite our own potentials, to ignite the “lamp” in our fellow man, or to create luminaries out of the materials of our environment-the objective must be to generate a flame which “rises on its own.”

In terms of our effort toward self-improvement, this means not to suffice with “resolutions” and behavior changes which must be constantly imposed by force of will.  Rather, one should strive for a transformation of one’s nature and character, so that the new behavior becomes the natural, instinctive way to act.

In teaching and influencing one’s fellow, the objective should be to establish him or her as a self-sufficient luminary in his own right: to assist in developing his talents and abilities so that his lamp independently glows and, in turn, kindles the potential in others.

The same is true concerning our effect on the physical world. When we utilize the materials and resources of our world toward good and G-dly ends, we  imbue them with sanctity and G-dliness.[7] Here, too, a physical object can be made not only into a passive vessel of light, but into a “lamp” that is an independent source of illumination.

For example, instead of just talking to our children about charity or involving them in our own charitable activities, we can help them fashion a pushkah (charity box) and install it in their room. Each time the child places a coin in the box, it is assisting him and training him in an act of charity. A piece of wood or plastic has thus been formed into a “luminary.”

Furthermore, even when it is not actually being used to perform a charitable deed, the charity box continues to act as a “lamp” which illuminates its surroundings. As a permanent fixture in his room, it acts as a constant reminder to the child of his responsibility towards others. A physical object has become “a flame which rises on its own,” an independent source of guidance and enlightenment.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Behaalotecha 5751 (June 1, 1991)[8]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: spiritual vessels, menorah, fire, potential, life, higher reality, personal growth, King Solomon, personal refinement, Holy Temple, Aaron, Illumination, kohanim, Rashi, Mishkan, internal, Moses, teaching, soul, transcendence, Jewish law, independence
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A Humbling Thought

July 28th, 2015

When the kohen entered the chamber where the menorah stood in the Holy Temple to kindle its lamps each afternoon, he found them fully prepared for lighting: earlier in the day, the lamps had been cleaned and filled with oil, and fresh wicks had been inserted. All he had to do was bring near the flame he carried, so that by its mere proximity to the waiting lamp it would ignite the latent energy and luminary potential which the lamp already held.

Therein lies an important lesson to the spiritual “lamplighter”: do not think that you are achieving anything that your fellow could not, in truth, achieve on his own; do not think that you are giving him something he does not already possess. The soul of your fellow is a ready lamp, filled with the purest oil and equipped with all that is required to convert its fuel into a blazing flame. It only lacks the proximity of another lamp to ignite it. If your own soul is alight, its contact with another’s soul will awaken its luminous potential, so that it may illuminate its surroundings and ignite other souls, in turn.

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: kohanim, humility, menorah, potential, oil, illuminate, Holy Temple, soul
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The Long Pole

July 28th, 2015

And G-d spoke to Moses, saying: “Speak to Aaron and say to him: ‘When you raise the lamps…’ “

Numbers 8:1-2

Be of the disciples of Aaron: A lover of peace, a pursuer of peace, one who loves his fellow human beings and brings them close to Torah

Ethics of the Fathers 1:11

The appearance of Moses’ older brother, Aaron, in both these citations is not coincidental: the fact that Aaron is cited as the prototype for man’s responsibility for the spiritual elevation of his fellows is a reflection and outgrowth of his role as the kindler of the menorah in the Holy Temple.

Many of the Torah’s commandments are specific to certain locations and to certain periods in our history; the lighting of the menorah, for example, can be performed only in the Holy Temple. But every mitzvah also has a “spiritual” dimension – a timeless and universal application within our internal self. One of the spiritual applications of the mitzvah to kindle the menorah’s lamps is the imperative to kindle “The lamp of G-d, the soul of man”[9]– to ignite a fellow human being’s potential to radiate light and warmth to his or her surroundings.

A Legal Paradox

Each of the many laws governing the menorah’s physical lighting in the Holy Temple has its counterpart in the spiritual significance of the menorah. In fact, there are laws that can be truly understood only in light of their inner-personal import. A case in point are the following three rules:

a) Although the commandment to light the menorah was directed to Aaron, the most exalted and holiest of the kohanim, every Jew, including one who is not a kohen, is qualified to perform this mitzvah.[10]

b) On the other hand, the task of preparing the lamps (cleaning them, filling them with oil, and inserting their wicks) is entrusted solely to those whom G-d elected to serve Him in the Temple: only a kohen is qualified to ready the lamps for lighting.[11]

c) From its outermost courtyard to its innermost chamber, the Holy Temple consisted of eight domains, each imbued with a greater degree of sanctity. The designated place of the menorah was the heichal, which was second only in this hierarchy of holiness to the Temple’s innermost chamber, the “Holy of Holies.” Only kohanim were allowed to enter the heichal.[12]

Laws (a) and (c) result in a legal paradox: Since a non-kohen could not enter the heichal, the only way for an ordinary Israelite to light the menorah was if he did so with the aid of a long pole, or if the menorah was carried out to him by a kohen and then replaced in the heichal. This raises an obvious question: if the Torah intended that every Jew should be able to perform the mitzvah of lighting the menorah, why didn’t it place the menorah in a part of the Temple to which every Jew has access? And if, on the other hand, the holiness of the menorah is such that it requires the more sacred environment of the heichal, why did the Torah permit someone who cannot obtain this standard of holiness to light it?

Law (b) is likewise puzzling: should not the standard for lighting the menorah be equal to, if not greater than, that of its preparation? If any Jew can light the menorah, why is only a kohen qualified to prepare it for lighting?

Standards

“The kohanim of the tribe of Levi,” G-d instructed Moses, “and the entire tribe of Levi,[13] shall have no share and lot [in the Land] with the people of Israel…. G-d is their lot.”[14] Excluded from all earthly cares, responsibilities and privileges, the kohen’s life is utterly devoted to “serve G-d, and teach His law to the community.”[15]

But there is also a broader definition to the status of kohen.

“Not only the tribe of Levi,” writes Maimonides, “but any man of all the inhabitants of earth whose spirit has moved him … to stand before G-d, to serve Him, to worship Him, to know G-d and walk justly … and he cast from his neck the yoke of the many calculations that men seek-such an individual becomes sanctified, a holy of holies, and G-d shall be his portion and his lot.”[16]

Therein lies the deeper significance of the law that the menorah can be lit also by an “ordinary” Israelite. One might think that the role of igniting souls had best be left to the “spiritual leader,” to one whose entire life is devoted to G-dly pursuits. What can the ordinary person, himself burdened by the mundanities of life, offer the spiritually wanting soul?

Says the Torah: Every soul is a “lamp of G-d,” regardless of the degree of spirituality in his life. Every individual has the capacity to generate light and to ignite a fellow lamp. And if G-d has given you license and ability for the task, it is your sacred duty to do so. Never mind that the bulk of your life is taken up with the demands of a material existence; you too can, and must, serve as a teacher and lamplighter to your fellows.

However, one might take this to the other extreme and argue: If G-d instructs that I, too, am qualified to light the menorah, then I am free to do so on my terms-to interpret the Torah as I understand it and to spread its light in the manner that I see fit. Says the Torah: only the kohanim, those chosen by G-d as the nation’s spiritual leaders, are qualified to prepare a menorah for lighting. Only they can decide the content of the message and the means of its dissemination. In all matters of Torah law and teaching, “You shall come to the kohanim, the Levites, to the judge that shall be in those times … and you shall do as they instruct you.”[17]

The place of the menorah is in the heichal; and while your natural place might be a less sacred environment, your license to light the menorah it is not a license to compromise its holiness. In the above-cited words of Hillel, a disciple of Aaron is one who “brings his fellow human beings close to the Torah”-not, G-d forbid, the other way around; one’s fellow must be brought close to the Torah, but the Torah must never be brought down to the level of those one seeks to uplift.

On the other hand, the fact that the menorah’s standards are loftier than your own does not absolve you from your duty as a lamplighter. Your light must be employed to illuminate others, even if it means reaching into the heichal with a “long pole” – extending your reach to areas that your ordinary self cannot aspire to. Even if it means that the menorah must be “carried out” to you by a kohen to enable you to realize your potential as a luminary and an illuminator.

In other words, you must grapple with the distance between the lowliness of your own spiritual state and the loftiness of the ideals you are duty bound to teach. You must do so not by compromising their loftiness, nor by escaping your duty, but by finding ways to bridge that distance and become a bearer of light even if it is a light that is loftier than your own.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Shavuot 5717 (1957) and on other occasions[18]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Aaron, Maimonides, kohanim, Illumination, Priestly service, spiritual, judgement, mitzvah, teaching, Levi, Holy Temple, light, internal, Torah, peace, soul, menorah, Jewish law, potential, Holy of Holies
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Soul & Mystical, Behalotcha, Torah Personalities, Bamidbar, Spiritual, Torah, Emotions & Psychology, Education | No Comments »

Vayigash: 2006

July 28th, 2015

The Year in Review

As we conclude the calendar year – my 50^th on earth – it’s an appropriate time to examine the past year’s events, and attempt to place them in perspective.

One of the most vital lessons in life is to both live in the moment but never forget that the moment is part of a continuum. As a period comes to a close, connect the small steps of your day to day life with your larger ones; align the small picture with the bigger picture.

After all, our lives are like one running film, which we must live frontward, but can only be understood backward (as Kierkegaard said).

Highlights of the small picture of 2006 include:

• Confrontation with Iran as a nuclear threat, with the rising prominence of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and his inciting words.
• A bottomless pit called Iraq.
• The Middle East quagmire remains “intact.”
• The threat of radical Islam and worldwide terrorism.
• The Hezbollah Israeli War in Lebanon during last summer.
• Midterm elections – with the Republicans losing control of both houses to the Democrats.
• Accelerated battle between science and religion.
• Radical atheism emerges – with best-selling books The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins and Open Letter to a Christian Nation by Sam Harris.
• Warren Buffet’s unprecedented $35 billion charitable donation.
• North Korea, under President Kim II Sung, rattles its nuclear sabers.
• Unprecedented wealth generated by the financial markets.
• Technology speeds ahead at a breathtaking pace.
• YouTube and MySpace lead the Web 2.0 revolution of personal empowerment, with Time magazine designating “You” as its 2006 Person of the Year.
• Our dependency on oil and gas controlled primarily by despots only continues to grow.

What stands out among all these events is a gnawing paradox impossible to ignore: While prosperity grows profound unrest is brewing below.

On one hand, Warren Buffet demonstrates an unheard of level of giving. Charity, in general, continues to grow. On the other, narcissism is also on the rise. Frank Rich makes the case (in the NY Times) that Time magazine’s choice of “You” as Person of the Year is actually a condemnation – reflecting today’s narcissistic pastimes of the Internet.

As technology advances and individual expression finds a universal platform, is the world – and our personal lives – improving?

The continued battle between a faith and atheism is merely another reflection of the dichotomy of our times: Dawkins and Harris passionately argue, with a tone no less fundamentalist and dogmatic than that of their religious compatriots, how religion and God have caused all the world’s problems. Simultaneously, religion continues to dominate people’s lives. The mega-churches are routinely turning out 20,000 plus people each week. Just look at the successes of pastors like Rick Warren (best selling author of The Purpose Driven Life) and Joel Osteen (Your Best Life Now), and best sellers like the “Left Behind” series selling over 100 million copies. With 2.5 billion Christians and 1.5 Muslims religion is hardly on the decline.

Indeed, the battles originating in the Middle East – which is also the source of most of the world’s oil – are religious in nature.

Yet another paradox: Freedom steadily grows around the world. Most nations today proclaim (though not always practice) universal human rights as an ideal. Yet, in Iraq and in the Muslim Middle East it seems that tribal passions and religious fervor takes precedent to personal freedom which many Westerners see as a God given right, ”written in the hearts” of all peoples and “the permanent hope of mankind,” “the longing of the soul.” Some Asian countries, like China, with only 2.5 billion people, might also disagree with the Western definition of individual rights that they feel disturbs the collective good.

So with all the empowerment of “You” – YouTube, MySpace, Facebook, blogs and, of course, Google – the globe is not exactly embracing individual power. And one can strongly argue, that placed in corporate hands (MySpace owned by Rupert Murdoch’s media empire, YouTube bought by Google) commercialism, not individualism, lies at the heart of their business plans. Only now “individuality” carries powerful marketable equity. Are you feeling empowered?…

Don’t get me wrong. I firmly believe, that despite corporate cynicism, the “individual” will rise, but only when individuality will be fused with higher purpose and a sense of a higher calling (see Individualism and G-d).

The fact remains: Unprecedented technologies, which dramatically have improved our standard of living, cannot protect us from our deepest vulnerabilities exposed by primal religious wars being waged against us. The profound tensions festering fermenting simmering in the Middle East casts a long shadow of global uncertainty. All our medical and scientific advancements have not improved the quality of our emotional and intimate lives, only amplifying the growing dissonance between our outer and inner lives, between material progress and spiritual regression.

2006 can be summed up as a year of pronounced disparity between prosperity and uncertainty. It’s as if success and bankruptcy are growing hand in hand.

Placed in context, the paradox of our times is nothing new. Nothing more than a manifestation of the millennia-long battle between spirit and matter. As our material lives continue to prosper our souls beckon for equal time. And therein lays the tension and anxiety of our age – crying out from the rift between our material and our spiritual lives.

The Zohar states: “Strong body, weak soul.” Material dominance equals spiritual weakness. This however does not mean that material success is a curse. It is a challenge – the challenge that has vexed mankind form the beginning of time continues to vex us today: How do we reconcile matter and spirit?

Global tensions – driven today primarily by the clash between the Muslims and the West – reflect the battle between different world views on the meaning of human progress and how we must make our peace with G-d.

Technology – with its inherent contradiction between uniting us as people in unparalleled ways, while depersonalizing us in the process – creates its own form of existential tensions.

As we enter 2007 these conflicts will only intensify. It is vital that we see the small picture in context of the big one – the universal friction between our outer and inner lives. Only when we begin to bridge the two will we find some peace.

Tags: Torah, spiritual and material, Middle East, empowerment, Spirituality, good and evil, mysticism, individualism
Posted in Israel, Personal Life, Social, Business, Work & Money, Government, The Gulf War 2003, Emotions & Psychology, Science & Technology, Current Events | No Comments »

Lech Lecho: Iraq – Yesterday and Today

July 28th, 2015

The First Iraqi Emigrant

Who was the first documented emigrant from present day Iraq?

The answer lies buried in the beginning of history. 3819 years ago a man was born in the locale of modern-day southern Iraq, and his journey changed the world forever.

The chaos of that geographical region goes back to the beginning of time, and continues to this very day.

This essay explores the roots of the Iraqian quagmire, and ancient lessons that are relevant today more than ever.

As America is about to elect new officials in an election whose greatest factor is the Iraqi war we would do well do learn from Biblical events that took place four millennia ago in the Tigris-Euphrates River Valley.

Who would have imagined just several years ago that a country called Iraq would dominate headlines and influence the elections in the mightiest country on Earth?

But indeed, at the dawn of the 21^st century, the Middle East and Iraq in particular, is shaking up the entire world, and affecting events in all hemispheres. As Americans are about to go to the polls, what is the number one factor concerning voters? Not the economy, not crime, not terrorism. Nothing as much as the war in Iraq.

As Iraq spirals into total chaos, affecting events all over the world, it’s wise to recognize that this same area is where chaos prevailed 4000 years ago and over the millennia and has in turn shaped all of history.

Though hardly a consolation, the current mess in Iraq is nothing new. As Iraq dominates the headlines and is about to affect the elections in a nation thousands of miles away, it’s hard to ignore that the exact same region also dominates this week’s “Torah” headlines.

Where does Abraham’s journey in this week’s Torah portion take place? You guessed it: In no other place but in what is today Iraq!

In this week’s Torah portion we read about G-d’s commandment to Abraham Lech Lecho – Go to you, away from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you.

Abraham was the first Iraqi Jew, born in the city of Ur Casdim in the Hebrew year 1948 where he lived for at least 48 years [The Ramban disagrees with Rashi and holds that Abraham was born in Charan]. Ur Casdim, in the land of the Chaldees (Genesis 11:28), an ancient city of Sumeria and later Babylonia, was located in the lower Tigris-Euphrates River Valley in the region known historically as Mesopotamia, approximately 200 miles (320 kilometers) southeast of the Iraq’s modern capital city of Baghdad.

The Ur Casdim area formed the eastern arm of the Fertile Crescent stretching from the Persian Gulf northwestward through the Tigris-Euphrates River Valley toward Syria and then southwestward along the Mediterranean to Egypt and southward along the Nile River Valley. In Abraham’s times Semitic tribes settled in the Mesopotamian region to farm, to tend flocks, and eventually to create the great empires of Babylonia and Assyria.

Abraham was 48 years old when the Tower of Babel was built (Seder Olam), which resulted in the confusion of languages and the beginning of the first major population migrations (Genesis 11:9). Sometime after that Terach, father of Abraham, moved from Ur Casdim “heading toward the land of Canaan [Israel] and they came [as far as] Charan and settled there” (11:31). They traveled apparently along the Euphrates River (to ensure access to water). Charan, a city in ancient Mesopotamia, is situated somewhere near the Western border of Iraq and Syria, up the Euphrates approximately 600 miles northwest from Ur Casdim, and 400 miles northeast of Israel.

Then when Abraham was 75 years old he was commanded Lech Lecho. He picked himself up and left Charan and traveled to Canaan. [Actually Abraham left Charan twice, once when he was 70 years old, when he experiences the Divine Covenant of the Promised Land, and then returns to Charan for five years, after which he takes his final Lech Lecho journey (Tosafos Avodah Zorah 7a. Daas Zekeinim M’Baalei Ha’Tosfos Genesis 12:4)].

Many more major historical events took place in the same region. About three a half years ago, when the current war in Iraq began (March 2003), this column explored the roots of chaos in the region which was Babylon of old. Indeed, the name Babylon (Babel) means “confusion.” Here are some links to those articles, which include a list of the events that occurred over the millennia in that part of the world.

But here we will concern ourselves with Abrahams’ journey from Ur Casdim in southern Iraq to Charan, and then from Charan to the Holy Land.

Being that Lech Lecho is the first mitzvah, the first commandment in the Torah to Abraham, “father of all nations,” it clearly is a major event: Abraham’s journey from Iraq to the Promised Land launches all the subsequent Biblical events, which would define the course of history. Indeed, the Arizal explains that Lech Lecho marked the beginning of the Sinai revelation.

What is the significance of Abraham’s journey? Lech Lecho is the secret to transcendence and all forms of growth and achievement. As long as Abraham remained stuck in his “land,” “birthplace” and “father’s house” in Ur Casdim and Charan he would not fulfill his true potential.

True growth, Abraham was told, is only possible when you leave the environment that influences you, especially when that environment is defined by chaos (Babylon) and wrath (Charan). And the Chaldean/Babylonian/Charanian quagmire affects you in three ways.

“Your land” – social conformity and peer pressure, which affect your standards and mind-sets.

“Your birthplace” – your inherent bias and self-love, which distorts your views and judgments.

“Your father’s house” – parental attitudes that shape and influence your life.

Thus G-d’s first commandment to Abraham: “Lech Lecho” – Go to you, away from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you. “Go to you” and discover the “real” you by leaving the subjective influences of your inherent bias, your parents and society. Then you will go “to the land that I will reveal you,” your true self.

Everything that happened to the patriarchs is an indication for their children (Midrash Tanchuma Lech Lecho 9.  Bereishis Rabba 40:6). All the events that happened with the Patriarchs [Abraham, Isaac and Jacob] come to teach us about the future…they were shown what would happen to their descendants (Ramban Lech Lecho 12:6).

Like our father Abraham – who G-d took and “made him Yours, bringing him from Ur Casdim, and giving him the name of Abraham” (Nechemia 9:7) – each one of us is brought forth from Ur Casdim and called to Lech Lecho:

We are all born into a chaotic world (Babylon), a dark, wrathful universe (Charan), out of touch with its higher purpose. The mission of our lives is to not remain stuck in our subjectivity – our natural self-interest, our habits, patterns and parental influences. Thus we receive the call of Lech Lecho – our calling to leave our wrathful environment and go on a journey; to travel toward the Promised Land and discover our true selves – our essential beings.

War in Iraq today brings our attention to that region in the world. It compels us to realize that the entire human experience began in that area, and that above all, the actual geography of Iraq tells us the story of our own lives.

Regardless of our opinions about the American presence in Iraq today, it is clear to any student of history that this region in the world – the cradle of civilization – has been a center of chaos from the beginning of time. Indeed, even the Garden of Eden, whose Tree of Knowledge is the origin of confusion, is situated in Iraq, by the Euphrates and Tigris Rivers (see In Search of Eden).

Perhaps the real battle is rooted in the eternal struggle to find Divine purpose in an aimless world. What we are truly facing is a battle that has been raging in one form or another for thousands of years. This battle can be understood only in a historical and Biblical context. There is no short-term solution to the war. Even after removing Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden, the region is a boiling pot of stewing forces within a population of over 1 billion (and growing) Muslims, many driven by fierce ideology, which is not going away. His has become a breeding ground for radical and violent martyrdom. The battle is about the tension created by the clash between the secular and the sacred, between the material and the spiritual, between the universe and G-d.

Though I am not pro-war, this war is an inevitable – even tragic – necessity to get out of our complacent reverie and begin confronting the real issues facing our lives and the world today. September 11 was the first wake up call; this is the second.

History is a continuum. Peace in our lifetime will only be possible if we make peace with the rifts of our past. Today, we are confronted with forces that have been unleashed thousands of years ago.

Yet, we gather profound strength from our pioneering father Abraham, who paved the way to travel from the depths of the Mesopotamian abyss to the Promised Land. And with Abraham’s eternal legacy we forge ahead in our Lech Lecho journeys, transcending our own comfort zones and mechanical patterns, to… reach heaven and beyond.

*  *  *

A related letter received today:

Dear Rabbi J.

Last week you asked the question “Are you for or against the war in Iraq? Why?” Then I proceeded to read an article you write close to three years ago when the war in Iraq began. I quote:

“As foretold, the war that began in Iraq on Shushan Purim (March 19) ended in the days of Nissan (April 9 is when Baghdad was officially taken displacing the power of Saddam Hussein), just as all major victories in history took place in this month of redemption.

“The question is what happens now? Is the world safer? Are our lives better? What will it take to make this world a secure place? Do we have to attack Syria, Saudi Arabia, Libya… and then what happens next? And what about all the greed and corruption in America – does this country have the right to preach to others and dictate terms when it as guilty as anyone?

“Now that Saddam Hussein has been removed from power, is Iraq free, as promised in “Operation Iraqi Freedom”? Will it become free? And what does freedom actually mean – freedom by whose definition? Will Iraq’s majority of 60% Shiite Muslims rule, will it be controlled another faction or will civil war break out. At least three quarters of Iraqis are members of one of the country’s 150 tribes – what exactly will constitute freedom in this country of so many driving forces?”

I commend you for your foresight back then in questioning the consequences of the Iraq invasion – chaos that we are now tragically witnessing, escalating each day. Yet, you conclude in your article that the battle in Iraq is an inevitable part of a historical quagmire.

Interestingly, this parallels Elie Kedourie’s essay, “The Kingdom of Iraq: A Retrospect,” published in 1970 – and cited by David Brooks in today’s NY Times – that disorder is endemic to Iraq. Iraq is a bomb of a nation and crisis there is perpetual. “The record of the kingdom of Iraq is full of bloodshed, treason and rapine,” Kedourie (a Baghdad-born Jew) wrote. It is “a country riven by obscure and malevolent factions, unsettled by the war and its aftermath. The collapse of the old order had awakened vast cupidities and revived venomous hatreds.”

Can you please elaborate on this topic?

[signed]

* * *
Question for the week: Please share any practical suggestions that can help each of us get out of our “comfort zones” and experience Lech Lecho, a journey beyond our own propensities? What can we do on a daily basis that would allow us to get beyond our own selfish needs?

Tags: Middle East, war, politics, journey, history, Abraham
Posted in Bereishit, Biblical, Weekly Parsha, Beliefs & Concepts, Lech-Lecha, Abraham, Torah Personalities, Social, The Gulf War 2003, Current Events | No Comments »