July 23rd, 2015
Words delivered by Simon Jacobson at the 2nd Annual Gershon Jacobson Memorial Lecture, introducing Dr. Elie Wiesel – June 11, 2007, at the Museum of Jewish Heritage – A Living Memorial to the Holocaust, in NYC
Ladies and gentlemen, rabbonim and rebbetzins, friends, family and people from all over and, of course, our honored and special guest, Dr. Eli Wiesel:
I welcome you to the second annual Gershon Jacobson memorial lecture in honor of my dear father, Gershon. I speak here on behalf of my entire beautiful family, my mother Tzivia, and my siblings, Freida, Boruch Shalom, Chanie and Yosef Yitzchok. Acharon acharon chaviv, Yosef Yitzchak, who assumed the position of editor of the Algemeiner Journal after our father’s passing, and some feel, even though it might sound blasphemous, that he doing a better job than my father himself.
The Rosh Yeshivah of Ponovitch, who was known for his wit and wisdom, was once invited to be the final speaker at a dinner. He began by saying (in Yiddish):
“Morei v’Robbosai. Biz itzt hoben ale redner geredt Torah, ober meinen hoben zei gemeint gelt. Ich vel mit aych itzter redden vegen gelt, ober meinen mein ich Torah.” “All the previous speakers spoke about Torah, but their kavannah, their intention, was really money, raising money for their institutions. I will speak to you about money, but my intention is really Torah…”
There are many people — less than it used to be — who speak Yiddish. They speak Yiddish but their message is an English one, a secular message.
“Ich vel mitd aych itzt reden oif English, ober meinen meine ich Yiddish.” I will now speak to you in English, being that it is the language of our nation (for good or for bad), but my neshamah, my intention – and the soul of this entire evening – is the eternal spirit of Yiddish.
Indeed, when you work hard enough you can convey the Yiddishe neshomo in other languages.
* * *
Yeshaya ha’novi, the great prophet Isaiah, declared: Libcho yehgeh eimoh, ayeh sofer? Your heart will meditate dread, where is the scribe?
What did Isaiah mean with these words? Why should the search for a scribe cause such fear?
A scribe is a storyteller. And to tell a story, to truly tell a story, is not a simple feat.
To understand the power of a storyteller, let us begin with a story. Actually a story about a story. They say that the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the Chassidic movement, had an interesting custom. Every year right before Rosh Hashanah he would go to a particular area that only he knew, he would light a fire in a special way, and would say a prayer in the his inimitable style. He beseeched heaven to grant a blessed year to the Jewish people and to the entire world.
His student, the Maggid of Mezritch, continued the custom in the next generation. But due to yeridas hadoros (the diminishing spirit of generations), things get diluted and the secrets of the past are lost. The Maggid would go to the same place, but he didn’t know how to light the fire. He would go to the place to say a prayer for a blessed New Year.
The Maggid had many students, and they too inherited this custom. They would also go to the location, but they didn’t know the prayer, nor did they know how to light the fire, so they would just stand there.
What about us today, generations later? We don’t know how to light the fire, we don’t know the prayers, we don’t even know the location. What do we do? We tell the story.
The only power we have is to tell the story. We don’t have more power than that. Thus, by telling the story in our own humble way, standing on the shoulders of giants before us, we can achieve the same results as our parents and grandparents achieved through their powerful revelations.
By no means is telling the story an easy task. Because the Jewish story – and the story of life in general – is a complicated one. It spans thousands of years of history and it spans not only through good times but many difficult times. Times when you don’t want to speak. Times of anguish, when you have no power to speak. And even in the best of times, the beauty may be too intense to ever convey in a story comprised of mere words. Indeed, the story of life – in all its true colors – is almost impossible to capture.
Yet through all the ups and downs, one thing our parents and grandparents were committed to was mitzvah l’sapeir, v’yegadata l’vincha – no matter what, we must always tell the story.
And tell the story they did, in many different ways. By doing so, they ensured that the chain of mesorah would not be broken. In many ways, that’s what kept the people together – their absolute commitment to never allow the story to be forgotten and the chain be severed.
That is why Isaiah the navi lamented, Libcho yehgeh eimoh, ayeh sofer? Your heart will ache with dread, where is the scribe? Telling the story is not an optional pastime; it is a critical need – it is the link that connects the past to the present to the future. So the heart trembles: Will we have a scribe to tell the tale?
It’s relatively easy to tell the story in good times, But in bad times – when we are trembling in fear – Ayeh Sofer?! How can we speak, how can we find the strength to tell the story?
To tell the real story a storyteller must reach into his deepest self, into his soul, into his guts. Often he must tear his insides – his kishkes – open, and release deeply-held secrets. The sofer invests his very essence into the story.
Ayeh sofer? Where will we find a scribe and a storyteller who will capture the essence of the story? It’s hard to find people who can tell the tale. And it’s a difficult task to tell the tale with integrity, with commitment to the past.
“Melech b’yofei techzenoh einecho, tirenoh eretz merchakim,” Isaiah begins. Your eyes will behold the king in his glory, You will see a land from afar.” Then too, your heart will tremble: Ayeh Sofer? Where is there a scribe to tell the story of such beauty? And the story of distant lands?
Yet, the tale must be told. Just as our parents and grandparent passed on the story to us, we must do the same, no matter how hard it may be.
This in essence, my friends, is the mission of the Gershon Jacobson Jewish Continuity Foundation (GJCF) – the sponsor of tonight’s event – which we established after my father Gershon’s passing. My father was one of the great storytellers of our time. His life was dedicated to tell the story, and the story behind the story.
But telling the story is not as simple as it sounds. Ayeh Sofer? The word sippur in Hebrew is more than just more than just “story.” It means sefirah, to count; sapir, to illuminate (like the sapphire stone). Kabbalists will tell you that sefirah refers to the cosmic forces at work.
The Sefer Yetzirah, the Book of Formation begins: With three seforim, with three books did G-d create the universe: b’sefer, b’sofer ub’sippur. With a book, a scribe and a story.
So a story is more than a story. It captures the tear and the twinkle of Jews throughout history. It manifests the highest and lowest points, and everything in between, it reflects not only the dramatic moments but also the seemingly insignificant ones – life in all its nuances, hues and colors. The story is actually a Divine narrative.
We therefore established the GJC Foundation dedicated to continue telling the story with passion, with integrity, without compromising its spirit, and at the same time, in a language that speaks to people of all backgrounds.
So, today, when someone’s heart is concerned with the question Ayeh Sofer? – who will tell the story today while maintaining its personality and soul? We can assure you that the GJCF is committed to do just that.
And we do so, and continue to grow, thank G-d, through five vehicles:
1) The weekly Algemeiner Journal, which we intend to develop so that it can reach audiences far greater than just Yiddish speakers.
2) Our website, Algemeiner.com, which I invite you all to visit.
3) Tools to digitalize and preserve the legacies of people and institutions that have built and shaped Jewish life – continuing to tell the story of the Jewish people in our own time.
4) Publishing materials that help us put life in perspective – like the supplement we distributed tonight – Witness: A pictorial story of forty years since the Six-Day War (June 1967-2007).
5) And the Annual Gershon Jacobson Memorial lecture, delivered by a prominent individual addressing vital issues facing the Jewish people and Israel.
We intend to create more such beautiful evenings that celebrate Judaism in its full glory and majesty, in the greatest way possible, for people of all backgrounds.
I invite you all to partner with us in this effort. Help us tell the story – our story, your story, the story of all the Jewish people, the story of history, the story of G-d Himself. Each person’s story is a Divine narrative, each of our lives another chapter in “zeh sefer toldos odom” – B’sefer, B’sofer Ub’sippur.
The GCJF offers many excellent dedication opportunities that will immortalize your contribution toward perpetuating The Story.
* * *
Dr. Elie Wiesel and my father go back many years, long before I remember. Though they come from different parts of the world, their stories are very similar. Dr. Wiesel was born in Sighet, Romania, pre-World War II in a beautiful town saturated with Yiddishkeit, with the spirit and neshomah of everything Jewish. And then, at the young tender age of 15, together with his family and with hundreds of thousands of others, he was torn away form that pure world.
My father was born close to that time in another city called Moscow. There they had to contend with another monster. At age five my father witnessed his father being arrested by the NKVD, the so-called KGB of the time, and sent off to Siberia.
Both my father and (yibadel bein chaim l’chaim) Elie survived, and they met in the halls of the U.N. Interesting place to meet. They met as journalists, storytellers, but storytellers in the fullest sense of the word.
For ten years, as many of you know, Dr. Wiesel, was silent. He did not tell the story. He was quiet, locked in a self-imposed silence. Shtikeh. And that itself is a story. And then, came the time for him to break his silence and speak. G-d works in mysterious ways, helping people reach and follow their destiny. Dr. Wiesel too was led on a course from silence to words – he began to speak, to write. His first book was in Yiddish, “Un di velt hot geshvigen” (“and the world was silent”). Words, instead of silence, became the story that had to then be told.
As one of the Rebbe’s said, “es iz shver redden; ober es iz shverer shveigen.” “It’s hard to speak, but it’s even harder to remain silent.”
And in such a faithful way, Dr. Wiesel conveyed the story of the world that was before, what happened in between, and the world of today.
These are sacred words, a sacred story, because it actually captures the story of every one here in this room, of every Jew on this planet – an unfolding Divine story.
And so when we are faced with the concern of the prophet Isaiah, Ayeh Sofer, where will we find a person who will tell the story? We can say and be consoled: Thank G-d we have a man like Dr. Wiesel in our midst.
I want you to all join me in welcoming him and honoring him as he honors us, and as he honored my father, two men who shared many similar destinies, and maintained their commitment to the sacred work and the blessings that G-d gave them to tell the story. Yibadel bein chaim l’chaim. Dr. Wiesel should be blessed with many long and healthy years to continue being a sacred witness, a witness in words and in silence.
I have the distinct honor to welcome Dr. Elie Wiesel, who will speak to us, being that it’s 40 years since the Six-Day Way, about remembering the Six-Day War — another major story of our time.
Ayeh Sofer? I present to you Dr. Elie Wiesel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Click here for full coverage of the 2nd Annual Gershon Jacobson Memorial Event.
Tags: immortality, silence, Rabbi Simon Jacobson, Chassidus, Rosh Hashana, Baal Shem Tov, jewish survival, life, Cosmic Order, history, story, Maggid of Mezerich, light, soul, words, holocaust
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Baal Shem Tov, Torah Personalities, Bamidbar, Modern, Social, Korach, Torah, Racism | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
Be humble before every man.
Ethics of the Fathers, 4:10
Let’s be realistic. Is there no one out there who is less intelligent, less accomplished or less virtuous than yourself? Okay, discount the half-dozen degrees by which your ego inflates your self-perception. Still, is there no one on earth who is less worthy than you? So what does it mean to “be humble before every man”? Is the mishnah telling us that it is our moral duty to underrate ourselves? To do so would be a sinful waste of our G-d-given talents, which can never be optimally realized unless we are aware and appreciative of what we have been given and what we have accomplished. In the words of Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch: “Just as it is imperative that a person recognize his own shortcomings, it is no less crucial that he recognize his advantages and strengths.”
How, then, does a person make a true evaluation of himself, for the worse and for the better, and at the same time experience a genuine feeling of humility before every other individual?
The Larger Picture
Chassidic teaching offers two approaches to develop a true feeling of humility toward someone whose character or behavior is obviously inferior to one’s own: a) the “mutual dependency” approach and b) the “relative expectation” approach.
The first approach begins with the recognition that we are all one, that together we comprise a single organism whose various cells, limbs and organs complement and complete one another. A body includes both the sophisticated brain and the “crass” functional foot; but, ultimately, the brain is dependent on the foot just as the foot is dependent on the brain. If the foot is indebted to the brain for its vitality and direction, the brain is dependent on the foot to realize many of its goals.
Together we comprise a single organism whose various cells, limbs and organs complement and complete one another.
The humble man looks at the larger picture rather than the particulars, at the unified purpose of life on earth rather than only at his function within this purpose. No matter how lofty his own role may seem in relation to his fellow’s, he is grossly limited without him. The knowledge that his own life’s work is incomplete without his fellow’s contribution arouse feelings of humility and indebtedness toward his fellow: he recognizes that even the coarsest “limb” of the mutual body fulfills a deficiency in himself.[11]
Defining Humility
In this approach, humility is not equated with a sense of inferiority. Rather, it stems from a feeling of equality and mutual need. In becoming humble, a person first realizes that any greater measure of intelligence, refinement, spiritual sensitivity, etc., that he may divine in himself in relation to his fellow is nothing to feel superior about: these are only the tools that have been granted him for his individual role. He also recognizes the limitations of his own accomplishments, and the manner in which they are fulfilled and perfected by the communal body’s other organs and limbs. So he is humbled by the ability of his inferior fellow to extend and apply their shared mission on earth to areas that lie beyond his individual reach.
The second approach, however, defines “humility” in the more commonplace sense—as a feeling of inferiority in relation to one’s fellow. How is this truly and truthfully achieved in relation to every man? By conducting a thorough evaluation and critique of his own moral and spiritual standing. In doing so, one is certain to find areas where he has failed to prove equal to what is expected of him. That his fellow may be guilty of the same or worse is irrelevant: concerning his fellow’s behavior he is in no position to judge. “Do not judge your fellow until you are in his place”[12] say our sages, for you have no way of knowing how his nature, his background and the circumstances surrounding any given deed may have influenced his behavior. However, regarding your own behavior you are “in his (i.e., your own) place” and in a position to know that, despite all the excuses and justifications you may have, you could have done better. With such an approach, a person will “be humble before every man” in the most literal sense of the term, perceiving his every fellow as superior to himself.[13]i
Fighting Fire with Fire
Which approach to take? On the whole, the Torah tells us to accentuate the positive in ourselves. True, soul-searching and self-critique are important, for a person must never delude himself. However, excessive dwelling on one’s shortcomings and failures leads to a down-spiraling vortex of depression, despair and inertia, resulting in the very opposite of constructive action.
On the whole, the Torah tells us to accentuate the positive in ourselves.
So, generally speaking, the precept “Be humble before every man” should be employed in the first manner outlined above: not by disparaging oneself in relation to another person, but by recognizing the indispensability of each of one’s fellows to the completeness of one’s own attainments.
But there is also a time and place for the second approach. The soul of man is a “spark of G-dliness,” inherently and utterly good; yet man must also contend with the egocentric drives of his “animal soul.” Physical life is basically the struggle between these two selves, between the divine-seeking G-dly self and the material-seeking mundane self.[14]
In the course of this struggle, a person may encounter a lack in his character that proves especially resistant to all his efforts. He may find this negative trait reinforced by a sense that “this is the way it is, there is nothing to be done”—a “humility” and a self-depreciating despair that actually stem from the ego-driven arrogance of his animal self.
In such a case, one must “fight fire with fire” and administer a dose of its own medicine to his animal soul. He must humble himself by contemplating the lowliness of his animal nature, and that his compliance with its drives and arguments renders him inferior to even the lowliest of men.[15]
This is the constructive side of the second approach to humility, as a sense of inferiority. For at times, this is the only way for a person to break the arrogant “humility” of his animal self and proceed with the lifelong quest for self-refinement.
From a responsum by the Rebbe 5706 (1946)
This is an excerpt from “Beyond the Letter of the Law” published by The Meaningful Life Center. To order contact wisdomreb@meaningfullife.com
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[11] As one wise man put it, “The test of humility is in your attitude to subordinates” (Orchot Tzaddikim, Sefer Ha-Middot, 15c, ch. 2).
[12] Ethics of the Fathers, 2:4.
[13] “A sage said: ‘I never met a man in whom I failed to recognize something superior to myself: if he was older, I said he has done more good than I; if younger, I said I have sinned more; if richer, I said he has been more charitable; if poorer, I said he has suffered more; if wiser, I honored his wisdom; and if not wiser, I judged his faults lighter.’ ” (The Testament of Judah Asheri)
[14] See opening chapters of Tanya.
Tags: judgement, humility, positivity, equality, self awareness, Yanki Tauber, animal soul, G-dly soul
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Soul & Mystical, Personal Life, Pirkei Avos, Bamidbar, Korach, Spiritual, Torah, Emotions & Psychology | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
Who doesn’t wish for a better world? A world wherein all our wishes would be granted, and all our dreams come true. But what is the substance of this fantasy? What is it that we are wishing for? Are we yearning for a life of comfort and pleasure, free of pain and suffering? A world of devotion and empathy, friendship and love? Or perhaps our desire is for deeper perception and awareness; to comprehend the mystery of creation, to enter into a mystical union with the Divine?
No two people have the exact same concept of a “better world.” Apparently, our dreams and fantasies are products of our personalities, emotions, and experiences. Against this backdrop, how are we to understand the concept of the “Messianic Era,” a very fundamental topic in Judaism. Is it a childish fantasy, a useful but escapist tool to deal with the travails of persecution and general hardships of life? Or does it in fact represent something far more profound than that–the key to the whole mystery of creation; the why and wherefore of all existence?
Anyone well versed in Jewish traditional thought and philosophy would likely argue the latter view. Great Kabbalistic and Chassidic works have been dedicated to expounding upon the deep mystical significance and meaning of the Messianic era. But one could hardly be blamed for believing that the whole Messianic concept is nothing more than a nice story for children. After all, traditional Jewish educational practice has always been to describe the Messianic era to children in the most glorious, fantastical manner possible. There are those references to sweets growing on trees, lions and wolves being led around like pets, and streets littered with diamonds and jewels.
The scholar will be quick to rejoin that the literal interpretation of those stories represents nothing more than a very primitive understanding of a very lofty and delicate concept. With maturity, the child will begin to understand the depth and profundity surrounding the whole topic. He will outgrow his childish cravings for candy and easily accessible comforts, and start to focus more on the more ethereal but permanent joys of life.
He will understand the famous quote of Maimonides[1], “and all delicacies will be freely available as dust,” to mean exactly that. All earthly pleasures and delights will be about as interesting to us as dust.
Yet if that is the case, why should the concept of Moshiach be introduced at such an infantile stage? Why bother enticing children with images of candies growing on trees, when we can focus on developing a more sophisticated appreciation for the true values of life? Perhaps we should delay introducing the concept until the child is already mature enough to properly appreciate its profundity? Especially disconcerting to our rational selves is to hear children belt out a song with a refrain like: “We Want Moshiach Now!” roared as eagerly as if they were cheering for their favorite sports team. Is this the proper expression of such a lofty and divine concept? Is it not a desecration of something holy and sacred?
To put the issue into a proper Torah perspective, let us examine the structure of one of the most important vessels in the Holy Temple, the Ark. The Ark was placed in the Holy of Holies, the most important location in the entire Temple, and contained the very tablets which G-d presented to the Jewish people through Moshe. Being that the Ark was a hollow structure, a golden covering was fashioned for it, called the kaporet. It served as a protection for the contents of the Ark. It also served another purpose. The word Kaporet in Hebrew comes from the root of kapper, which means atonement. So the kaporet actually served to atone for the sins of the Jewish people.
Carved out of the kaporet were the figures of two cherubim, a male and a female child. These two cherubim have deep Kabbalistic significance, representing the union of G-d’s masculine and feminine energies. Yet these energies are not represented in the form of a patriarchal grandfather with a long white beard and his no less matronly counterpart. The form chosen was specifically that of two children, to strikingly demonstrate to us G-d’s great love of children, as in the verse “for Israel is a child, and I love him.”[2]
Describing spiritual concepts in terms palatable to children is not a “profanation” of something sacred. G-d, in His great love for children, willingly “lowers” Himself, so to speak, into those areas that even a child can appreciate. But actually, the very fact that the figure of two children is placed in such a prominent location in the Temple indicates something far more profound. We tend to believe that childhood represents an early stage of life; one to be outgrown as we mature and develop intellectually. We are expected to shed our childishness and move on into adulthood. But the covering of the Ark sends a very different message. What is placed above the holy Ark, as a shield, protection and atonement? The Jewish child. So childhood, in G-d’s perspective, represents the ultimate and holiest stage of life.
Why is it that as adults, we no longer feel the same pleasure in candy, games and toys? How is it that a child’s consumption of worldly delights is looked upon benignly, while in an adult, it would be frowned upon as immature, gluttonous, or careless? Have we gained a new awareness, or have we lost a special gift? The answer is a combination of the two. We gain intellectual awareness. We begin to understand that everything was created with a purpose, and must be utilized for a higher end. We begin to feel shame if we merely indulge in pleasure for our own selfish purposes. Yet our very sophistication causes us to lose touch with that essential divine side of our nature. A dichotomy is introduced into our thinking.
In our perception, the physical and spiritual represent two antithetical worlds. What feels good physically must be rejected, or at least suppressed or relegated to secondary status, in order to advance spiritually. However, in an integrated, harmonious world, no such fragmentation exists. All of existence is a reflection of one unified truth. Thus, the most profound spiritual experience is deeply satisfying on a physical level as well.
Imagine all your drives and desires finding fulfillment in one unified purpose. Imagine being able to actualize your inner potential with no conflict from any outer or internal source. In such a world, eating a pleasurable food and appreciating the divine benevolence that brought this food into being would be no less sublime than meditating on the deepest mysteries of creation. And this awareness is what every child essentially has from birth. The child may not have a cognitive awareness of this; that is achieved through maturity and education. But the child’s ability to revel unabashedly in the delights and pleasures of this world are actually an indication of a lofty spiritual status, where the physical does not threaten or negate the spiritual.
It’s time to take a new look at childhood. Let’s try to suffuse our worldly needs and indulgences with an awareness of the Divine. Remember that the ultimate is being able to synthesize all the components of our personality, from the most base to the most sublime, into a harmonious unit. Skip the guilt. G-d is not looking accusingly at you over your shoulder. Imagine, instead, the divine presence hovering lovingly and protectively above the cherubim. Imagine the Father of us all, the G-d who is smiling benignly down at all His children, for indeed, “Israel is a child, and I love him.”
Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Shabbat Terumah 5741 (February 7, 1981) and on other occasions[3]
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Chaya Shuchat.
[1] Mishneh Torah, Laws of Kings, Ch. 12:5.
[3]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXVI, pp. 175-182.
Tags: Moshiach, children, redemption, inspiration, G-d's love, Chaya Shuchat
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Terumah, Torah | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
After his release from imprisonment in Petersburg, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi passed through the city of Vitebsk, where he was received by the city elders and community leaders. “Tell us, Rebbe,” he was asked, “when will the tribulations of Israel end? When will the redeemer finally come?”
Rabbi Schneur Zalman lowered his eyes to the ground and said softly: “But how can he come? The Moshiach that everyone wants will never come, and the true Moshiach, no one wants….”
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: Moshiach, Rebbe, redemption, Yanki Tauber, questions
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Alter Rebbe, Beliefs & Concepts, Modern, Torah Personalities, Mishpatim, Moshiach & Redemption, Torah | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
Said Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch:
Their are many doors, but doors have locks. One needs keys, many keys, to unlock the doors.
But there is also a master key, a key that fits all locks and unlocks all doors. The master key is the chassidishe niggun, the chassidic melody.
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: chassidic melody, conflict resolution, music, Yanki Tauber, song
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Soul & Mystical, Shmot, Spiritual, Mishpatim, Torah | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
New Year
If you were able to have a glimpse of G-d’s innermost thoughts what would they look like? (Answer below. Please don’t peek).
* * *
Another year has passed. As can be said of every year: many good things as well as many sad events have transpired.
People have died, and new children born. Some have married and found love and bliss; others have experienced loss and heartbreak.
The cynic may conclude, paraphrasing Ecclesiastes: A generation has passed, a generation has arrived, and there is nothing new under the sun. Only the names and props have changed.
The faithful will, however, add that nothing is new “under the sun”, but “over the sun,” in the higher/inner world of spirit, new energy is always brewing.
As a new year approaches and a new and unprecedented energy is about to enter our lives, let us all rise a bit above “the sun,”
The choice is ours: Will we remain stuck breathing “recycled stale air” resulting from being trapped in the “greenhouse” of our tedious lives “beneath the sun.” Or will we transcend the earthy stratosphere and live dynamic, passionate lives.
Boredom, the monotony of the daily grind, is one of our greatest enemies. The vacuum that a monotonous life creates is extremely susceptible; desperate for something, anything, that will relieve the quotidian.
The dilemma was addressed by Moses over three millennia ago.
One of the most compelling and germane Biblical verses is in this week’s Torah portion, which we always read before Rosh Hashana. Moses, delivering his last words to the Jewish nation, dramatically tells them:
“The mandate that I am prescribing to you today is not beyond or distant from you. It is not in heaven…It is not over the sea… It is something very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, that you may do it.”
What exactly is Moses saying? Why would we think that the mandate is “distant” and beyond us? The answer becomes quite apparent when we look at our own lives: Living in a mundane world, inundated and consumed by material needs, the universal search for deeper purpose can be quite daunting. Where do we find direction? How do we access spirituality when we are surrounded by narcissism? Can we maintain higher integrity in a corrupt world? Is spiritual passion possible in a pedestrian life?
The spiritual mandate can seem very distant and inaccessible to us. It can appear difficult, something relegated to “heaven,” which we can access only when we climb the mountain, but not in our lives on earth, or across “the sea,” but not in our local lives.
As a true leader, sensitive to the needs of people, Moses anticipated this dilemma, and therefore stated, days before he passed away: Know that the spiritual mandate is not difficult, distant or beyond you. It is “very close” – close as in accessible and relevant – very close to you and your life.
These words resonate through the ages as the single most compelling challenge in life: How to access the spiritual path? How to live a meaningful life?
Indeed, the classic Tanya (authored by the Torah giant, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, 1745-1812) is based on this verse, “to explain clearly how it is exceedingly near.” Tanya – the Bible of Chassidic thought – lays out a comprehensive psycho-spiritual outline how to actually discover the profound relevance in the Torah mandate.
If spiritual relevance is the challenge of history, today it is especially acute.
In this writer’s opinion, two major crises loom above them all and will only continue to haunt us: Divisiveness and education.
Conflict plagues every segment of society. From global confrontations considered to be a “clash of civilizations” to the accelerated battle between faith and atheism. Within religion itself, and within each individual religion, irreparable rifts separate denominations of every garden variety, cultivating distrust, discrimination and often worse.
Things are not much better on the personal and interpersonal front. How many people do you know that you can honestly say are at peace with them selves? One out of two marriages fail. And how many are failing without a legal divorce? The story of personal dissonance (I’m afraid to say: misery) consuming our lives is reflected in the colossal sales of books and products (healthy or unhealthy) offering wholesomeness and inner peace, coupled with the billions spent on therapy – is anybody not in therapy today? Not to mention the multi-billion industry of self-medication (literal or figurative).
The plague of divisiveness is especially glaring against the backdrop of technological unity we are experiencing in the increasingly shrinking global village. With all the advances in communications – instantaneous connection to anyone anywhere anytime – are we actually communicating better? Is there more trust between people?
The second crisis is in the area of education, namely the values taught in our schools and homes. The best education will teach a student the skills to earn a respectable income. But what about life skills? How to love and be loved. How to be a giver and not just a taker. How to fulfill your life’s mission and leave a permanent mark, rather than just survive, entertain yourself and perpetuate the temporal. These lessons are almost completely dependent on circumstantial factors – a good family (and that too may not be enough), bumping into the right mentor, often hitting rock bottom and learning from the upturn of life’s curve.
With the average American child annually spending 900 hours in school and nearly 1023 hours in front of a TV, watching an average 8000 murders on TV before finishing elementary school – what will counter the balance?
These crises of divisiveness and education are especially acute in the Jewish community.
Strange as it may sound, the comforts of our modern lives not only don’t bring us together, they actually divide us further.
The good news is that both challenges are rooted in the same place: A lack of soulfulness.
When we see ourselves as mere material creatures we have no other recourse than drawing “lines in the sand” that define our boundaries and differences. The cardinal law of matter, after all, is that each of its pieces occupies its own space, distinct from others. However, when we recognize our spiritual commonality, then we are more like limbs of one organism, fundamentally and inherently connected, each complementing and depending on the other.
Same with education: The only force that will infuse our children (and ourselves) with higher values and empower them to face the challenges of a material world is not more materialism, but (surprise: what is the opposite of matter?)… spirituality: A deep sense of the soul within each of us and the mission of the soul’s journey in this life. No child on earth should be deprived of the need to discover meaning in life. Every boy and girl must know to ask the question, ingrained in his or her psyche from the youngest age: What is my calling?
Spirituality has to be become an essential ingredient in the education of every child, and an absolute prerequisite study for any aspiring leader, teacher or clergyperson.
The message of the soul is the single most relevant message you will ever hear – and it is renewed each Rosh Hashana, the collective birthday of the human race:
You are indispensable. Every one of us was created in the Divine Image with an exclusive imprint, unique to you and you alone. Only you can fulfill your role and play your special music. And the whole world apprehensively waits – and cannot be complete – until you actualize your life’s calling and make your unique mark and contribution.
* * *
Now, back to the initial question: What do G-d’s innermost thoughts look like?
The Divine essence is hidden from view and from every form of expression. Yet in creating existence G-d did reveal Himself. Different aspects of the universe manifest and express different aspects of the Divine personality.
Like it is with any structure, there are the means and the ends. Even though a building may have a particular purpose, it still is comprised of sections and rooms that are peripheral but necessary for the function of the entire entity. The primary objective of a library, for instance, is to house books. Yet, the library building will have lobbies, doors, halls, offices, cafeterias, restrooms and other areas that all serve as means and secondary roles to support the main function of the building.
The same is with our own lives: Whatever our primary mission in life may be, we also have many peripheral activities necessary to survive and fulfill our goals: Eating, sleeping grooming, shopping, exercising and entertaining. (Actually, except for rare instances, the means consume most of the time of our days).
This is all a metaphor for the Divine: The large material universe is the elaborate stage upon which the primary purpose of existence plays itself out, and the human being is the central character charged with the mission to fulfill this purpose: To transform the physical world into a Divine abode.
The “means” – all the props on the grand stage of the universe – are considered to be created through Divine speech, which is detached from its source and communicates the message to an entity outside of itself. When you direct workers to do a job for you, the workers only hear your verbal instructions, the immediate needs of the small picture, without necessarily knowing or appreciating your innermost thoughts and objectives.
Thought, on the other hand, expresses your inner goals and objectives – the big picture. The most intimate dimension of Divine thought is reflected in the creation of the human being. This is the meaning of the statement that the human is created in the Divine Image: Though every fiber of existence was created by G-d and therefore in some way reflects elements of the Divine “personality,” they are only “means.” But the Divine Image – the big picture – manifests in the human – the primary objective and end purpose of it all.
Rosh Hashana celebrates this Image.
So, what do G-d’s innermost thoughts look like?
They look like you and me. You are G-d’s expression of His innermost thoughts,
And what is G-d thinking about right now?
About you.
I don’t know about you, but when I think of myself as just a piece of ancient, evolved bacteria, I don’t feel that good about myself. It makes me feel cold and detached, from myself and from everyone around me. When I think that I look like G-d’s thoughts, engraved in His Image, it makes me feel warmer, more in touch – belonging, nurtured and embraced.
Now that we know what G-d’s thoughts look like, maybe it’s time to ask: What do our thoughts look like?
Imagine if you were able to access your deepest thoughts and then build something accordingly, what would it look like?
Tags: spiritual, emotions, Divine light, psychology, Moses, Rebbe Rashab, Tanya, divine image, Samech Vov, education, Rosh Hashana
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Tishrei, Rosh Hashanah, Months & Holidays, Social, Devarim, Torah, Science & Technology, Netzavim, Vayelech, Education | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
Torah law stipulates that “a person cannot grant ownership over something that has not yet come into existence.”[1] Thus, if a person sells the fruit that his tree is expected to produce, or a house that he is planning to purchase at some future date, the “sale” has no legal validity.
The reason for this has to do with the nature of kinyan (“acquisition”), a halachic term that refers to the point at which the ownership of an object is transferred from party A to party B. The method of kinyan varies (payment to the seller, drawing up a bill of sale, transferring the object into the domain of the buyer, etc.), but the bottom line is that the act of kinyan effects a change in the object: instead of belonging to A, it now belongs to B. Since a kinyan relates to the object itself, there can be no kinyan unless there is an object in the seller’s possession to which the kinyan can apply. A person might enter into a commitment to deliver a certain object to his fellow at a future date, but this remains a personal obligation rather than an actual “acquisition” (there are many legal differences between a personal obligation and an actual transfer of ownership).
However, there does exist a legal way for the buyer to fully acquire “something that has not yet come into existence”—the future fruits of a tree, for example—short of purchasing the tree outright. In the words of Maimonides, “A person can sell ‘a thing for its fruit’… This is not considered to be selling something that has not yet come into existence, since the thing exists, and he is selling the fruit-producing aspect of it. This is comparable to one who rents a house or field to his fellow, where he does not grant him the thing itself but rather the use of the thing.”[2]
In other words, just as a person can purchase half a tree, or one branch of a tree, he can purchase a certain aspect of a tree—its productivity. The tree itself has not been sold, but a certain “part” of it has. Thus, there is an “object” to which a kinyan might apply. The future yield of the tree is now unequivocally and irrevocably that of the purchaser (as opposed to a personal commitment of limited legal value). So if a person contracts to sell “the fruit that this tree will produce,” he has sold nothing; but if he stipulates that he is selling “the tree for its fruit,” the buyer acquires ownership over all future fruit, though the tree itself remains the property of the seller.[3]
The Torah, says the Zohar, consists of both a body and a soul. The “body” is its legal-pragmatic (“halachic”) aspect—the laws that regulate our physical lives. But every law has its spiritual counterpart in the soul of Torah (also referred to as its “mystical” or “esoteric” teachings), which relates the nature of G-d’s relationship with our reality, the “spark of G-dliness” that is the soul of man, and the purpose of life on earth.
The same is true regarding the laws of kinyan discussed above. Indeed, the concept of kinyan is often cited by the Torah in reference to man’s dedication of his life to G-d.[4] For though G-d is the creator and master of the universe, He has given man freedom of choice, granting him full possession of and jurisdiction over his life and environment; so when man chooses to devote his life to G-d, G-d is considered to have “acquired” or received a kinyan in His creation. Thus, the legal differences between selling future (non-existent) fruits, the tree itself, or “a tree for its fruit,” all have their counterpart in the spiritual dimension of Torah, particularly in man’s endeavor to serve his Creator.
The Human Tree
Tanya, the “bible” and most basic work of Chabad-Chassidic thought,[5]was named by its author, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, “The Book of Intermediates.” In this book, Rabbi Schneur Zalman defined a new spiritual personality, that of the beinoni or “intermediate man,” which revolutionized the manner in which a person could approach the task of refining his character and dedicating himself to the service of G-d.
Prior to Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s “intermediate man,” it was generally assumed that there exist two types of moral character: the perfected individual and the non-perfected man; one who has eradicated the evil from his heart and one who has not done so. A person was either one or the other; and since the one is quite difficult to achieve, most were the other.
To illustrate these two types, let us examine the following two scenarios:
Scenario #1: Someone insults you, and you are seized with a strong desire to punch him in the face. With great effort you restrain yourself.
Scenario #2: Someone insults you, but you feel no urge to strike him. You see that your assailant is extremely upset, and you empathize with his frustration. You understand that a great many factors—from the way he was raised to the way his wife treated him this morning—have conspired to cause him to behave as he did. And who are you to be insulted, anyway? Come to think of it, there is a certain truth to what he has said about you, if only on the most subtle level. Instead of getting angry, you search your own heart: Why has divine providence led me to hear myself described in these terms? What can I learn from the experience?
The two scenarios have one thing in common: in both cases, you did not strike the man. You did not transgress the divine command, “You shall not avenge yourself on your fellow.”[6] But as far as what has transpired within you, they are worlds apart.
There is also a practical difference. In the first scenario, your self-control was a one-time occurrence. Two forces struggled within you—your anger and ego on the one hand, and your moral sense and altruistic self on the other. The fact that the latter overpowered the former was wholly incidental: nothing guarantees that this will again be the case should you again find yourself in the same situation. In the second scenario, however, there was only one possible outcome. Because you have uprooted the negative tendencies of your character, your behavior was the natural outgrowth of your inner state, and is certain to follow suit on all future occasions.
This is the spiritual equivalent of the law that “A person cannot grant ownership over something that has not yet come into existence.” The perfectly righteous individual is one whose very self has been dedicated to G-d. It is not only that his actions conform with the divine will; also his feelings, desires and mindset are utterly consistent with the divine desire. G-d has a kinyan not only in the product of his life but also in its very essence. And since the “tree” is divine property, the “fruits” it yields—and is destined to yield for all time—are likewise in the supernal domain.
But one who has not made over his mind and heart as the exclusive province of G-d, is limited by the here and now. He can choose to act righteously and dedicate the product of his life (his thoughts, words and deeds) to the Almighty. But his future deeds cannot be considered as “sold” to G-d. Since the “tree” has not been deeded over, no divine kinyan can be effected in its yet-to-materialize fruits.
According to this, there are two paths through life. There is the sure, tranquil path of the perfectly righteous man who has succeeded in remaking his very character and personality—a path that few can aspire to and even fewer achieve. And there is the path of the imperfect soul whose life is an endless battle—a battle in which defeat is always a possibility and, in the long run, a statistical inevitability. A path which runs along the edge of a moral precipice, in which the slightest misstep or lapse in vigilance sends one hurtling into the abyss.
Is there no other way? Is there no middle ground between utter perfection and perpetual self-doubt? Is there no way to gain control over one’s life short of remaking one’s inner self?
Such was the moral landscape of man until Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi wrote the Tanya and introduced us to the “intermediate man.”
Between Perfection and Iniquity
In Tanya, Rabbi Schneur Zalman describes how by a process of inculcation, meditation and prayer, the “intermediate man” neutralizes the evil in his heart. He does not eliminate his negative impulses and desires—only their ability to dictate his behavior. When the insult is hurled in the face of the “intermediate man,” the desire to retaliate is as strong as in any ego-driven heart; but it is countered with an awareness of what constitutes his own true good that is so strong and deep that the negative desire is certain to be repulsed.
Imagine a smoker who has been most blatantly confronted with the fact that his habit is killing him. Imagine that he studies the facts and the statistics, meditates upon them at length, and so completely identifies with this knowledge that he most graphically sees with his mind’s eye the cigarette smoke eating away at his lungs each times he draws a puff. He also devotes many hours to contemplating his pleasures and joys, his love for his family, his desire for life. Will this person smoke? His craving for cigarettes remains—nothing has altered the physiology of his nicotine-addicted body. But the depth of his awareness ensures that this craving will never translate into deed.
The “intermediate man” is one who has enlisted his mind[7]—his capacity for learning, understanding, contemplation, affirmation, awareness and identification—as a potent weapon in the battles of the heart. By studying, contemplating and appreciating the divine reality and what constitutes his own ultimate good, the “intermediate man” secures his integrity with a mental fortress certain to repel the evil in his character.
The “intermediate man” must still wage a perpetual battle against his negative traits and desires, struggling to sustain the degree of awareness that prevents their actualization on the behavioral level. Every day, he must refurbish this awareness, worn down by the onslaughts of material life, with new hours of meditation and prayer. But he is secure in the knowledge that as long as he maintains this state of mind, he will yield no ground to the (still undiminished) forces of darkness in his soul.
Thus, the “intermediate man” is one who, in the words of the Tanya, “has never sinned, and will never sin in his life.”[8] Of course, a person might reach the state of “intermediate” after an iniquitous past. Nor is it categorically impossible for the “intermediate man” to fall from his station—the Talmud tells of a High Priest who became an apostate after eighty years of perfect righteousness.[9] What Rabbi Schneur Zalman is saying is that the “intermediate man” is one who has attained a degree of moral security in which the possibility of sin does not exist. This is not merely a person who does not sin, but one who cannot sin.
In other words, the “intermediate man” is one who has granted G-d akinyan also in the future product of his life by deeding over to Him “the tree for its fruits.” He has not granted Him the “tree” itself, for he has not conquered and transformed “the inclination of the human heart for evil from birth.”[10] But he has made over that aspect of self that is the immediate source and determinant of his behavior, creating a state of mind that guarantees his conscious thoughts,[11] words and actions as the exclusive province of his Creator.
The state of “intermediate,” says the author of Tanya, is the requisite “state of every man, to which every man should aspire; for every man can, at any time and hour, be an ‘intermediate.’” Not every man can achieve perfection; not every man can reconstruct his natural self and present to G-d the “tree” in its entirety. But every man can grant G-d a kinyan in his life that is rooted in his inner self. Every man can gain absolute dominion over his moral life by asserting the inherent supremacy of mind over heart and instituting an internal dynamic that allows only his positive drives to come to fruition.
Based on the Rebbe’s talks on various occasions[12]
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. Talmud, Yevamot 93a.
[2]. Mishneh Torah, Laws of Sales, 23:1.
[3]. For a full discussion of the laws related above, see Talmud and commentaries, Yevamot 93a and Bava Metzia 16a; Mishneh Torah, ibid., chs. 22-23; Tur/Shulchan Aruch and commentaries, Choshen Mishpat 209; Talmudic Encyclopedia, vol. VII, pp. 30-37, 53-57.
[4]. See Ethics of the Fathers 6:10—“G-d has acquired five acquisitions (kinyanim) in His world…”—and the verses cited there; Talmud, Kiddushin 82b: “I was created to serve my Acquirer (koni—He who has a kinyan in me)”; et al.
[5]. This past Kislev 20 (December 1, 1996) was the 200th anniversary of the Tanya’s first publication in 1796.
[7]. His CHaBaD—an acronym for the mental faculties of chachmah, binahand daat (conception, comprehension and application)—hence the name of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s philosophy and the Chassidic movement he founded.
[9]. Talmud, Berachot 29a.
[11]. As opposed to his instinctive thoughts, which are still fed by both the good and evil elements in his character.
[12]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXVII, pp. 176-182.
Tags: commitment, internalize, self-control, Yanki Tauber, Rebbe, personal growth
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Beliefs & Concepts, Free Choice, Mishpatim, Torah | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
The Lost Art of Prayer
After several weeks of discussing “heavy” intellectual topics, which as some of you have reminded me “can strain any mind,” my heart is in need of some soothing.
Thank G-d that we are, after all, in the month of love and compassion – the month of Elul, when “I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me.”
It was a difficult week, but then which week is not. When your life is blessed with trying to help people, you will see much joy, but will also inevitably be exposed to much pain.
So much pain, so much senseless loss. Far too many tears. Just this week two grieving parents asked me to visit their dying son – a gentle soul of 12, his insides being eaten up by the disease whose name we dare not speak. Another day brings me to the home of a student who has lost all faith and hope witnessing his father’s deterioration as his mind succumbs to Alzheimer’s.
In one community a family is grieving for a child who committed suicide. In another, a woman, single and alone, shares with me how her parents have abandoned her from the youngest age (it doesn’t help to tell her that they have abandoned each other and themselves as well).
Each soul a universe. Each sufferer reflecting not one person’s pain, but all our pains. Death, loss, hopelessness – abundant commodities wherever you go.
And then, every week brings its share of singles (or ex-singles) desperate for a working relationship. Years go by, careers built, money earned, portfolios diversified – but all alone, unhappy, compensating in all possible (often destructive) ways, anything to relieve some of the loneliness of life.
Mentioning money – I look around and wonder if all the wealth generated today are bringing families closer, adding love or calming souls?
So much selfishness and insecurity, and all the complex mechanisms that obscure the ugliness of it all.
Lest we forget, there is much beauty around us. My week was not just consumed by misery. I also attended several weddings. Seeing families and friends dancing away gives one much hope. Ahh, how glorious to witness beaming parents and grandparents reaping the rewards of walking their children to the chuppah.
But then, someone can’t resist reminding me of the divorce rate…
If one is to look at the face of all the pain suffering of the world it would be impossible to bear. We must have distractions, selective hearing and denial to cope. But from time to time, a sensitive soul senses the agony beneath the thick shrouds. And it weeps. The Arizal says that:
“one who does not cry in the ten days of Teshuvah (between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur) his souls is not complete.”
Tears bathe the soul; balm for the spirit.
I am sorry if my words cause anyone to be sad. My intention is actually to share from the heart some of the feelings we all experience from time to time, and try to find ways to deal with the emotions that affect our daily existence.
Because, after all, real life plays itself out not in the realm of the mind, but in the recesses of the heart – the complex, inconsistent, subjective feelings that carry all our life’s experiences, both conscious and unconscious.
Is it possible to develop our feelings and emotions? We all know that we can cultivate our minds through study and education, through books and conversations, through mental challenges and rigorous work. But can we learn how to love? Can we expand the horizons of our emotional lives, or are we bound to their pre-wired personalities?
The answer is: Yes we can grow emotionally and nurture our hearts. The way to do so is through prayer. And the best time in the year to begin is now – in the month of Elul, preceding the New Year.
In the current month of Elul, over 3,000 years ago, Moses climbed the mountain (Sinai) to pray and beseech G-d for forgiveness. He finally prevailed on Yom Kippur.
Time is like a spiral. Every year during this period the same energy flows imbuing us with the power to recreate Moses’ journey. During Elul we can learn how to pray.
“What is prayer?” asks the Talmud, and answers “service of the heart.” Prayer – that most elusive and necessary tool – is emotional exercise, teaching us how to emote, how to access our feelings, how to communicate and develop them.
Our schools, at best, teach us how to think, how to formulate and organize ideas, how to nurture our strengths. Conventional education is primarily about developing the mind, with some (if at all) focus on behavioral improvement. Usually, emotions are dealt with when crisis strikes. If we grow up in healthy homes, healthy emotions of our parents and families affect us by osmosis. But if not, our education systems don’t really address our emotional wellbeing, unless there is a problem.
But just as intellectual development requires hard work, so does emotional development. And even more so considering the shrouded, subjective, tangled world of our feelings.
Love is emoting. Prayer teaches us how to emote; how to express feelings – to G-d, to our own souls, and by extension – to others.
In my life I have seen – not often enough, but enough to make an impact – a Chassid pray. Wrapped under a talit (prayer shawl), for hours on end, the Chassid would be transported to another world. Sometimes with a gentle melody and sometimes with a tear, the praying Chassid would pour out his heart and soul – in deep longing and yearning for something higher.
This was no lip service; no mechanical program. This was the real thing.
I actually composed, many years ago, a few words to describe the scene:
Midst forests of green
Of beauty serene
Echoes of silence vibrating the scene
‘Twas tranquil and clear
Birds perched in fear
For strange did the quiet appear
A man sits alone
On a throne of stone
His heart calling out
With neither cry nor shout
I long
I search
I yearn
And the heavens above
Respond to his love
They open their doors
To the souls’ outpours
Blessings and tears
Mix into one
As above and below
Merge in one glorious flow
From whom do we learn how to pray? From Moses who was trained to pray by G-d Himself in the month of Elul and Tishrei. The first forty days on Mt. Sinai Moses learned how to study Torah. The next eighty days he learned how to pray.
And the Torah documents in powerful detail what he learned. How G-d taught him the secret of reaching the deepest recesses of the heart and soul, and access the deepest dimensions of Divine compassion. G-d revealed him the mystery of the thirteen Divine attributes of compassion, which contain enormous power. G-d showed Moses the Divine “personality.”
As the Midrash explains: King David was aggrieved for the sake of Israel and asked: “How will they attain atonement for their iniquities?” G-d answered:
“David, do not be distressed, for I already disclosed to Moses the sidrei selichah [the orders of prayers for forgiveness] and I said to him: When troubles come upon Israel because of their iniquities, let them stand before Me as one band and utter the seder selichah, and I will respond to them.” “How did G-d disclose this? [With the verse] ‘And G-d passed before him and proclaimed…’ (Exodus 34:6). This teaches that G-d came down out of His thick cloud like an emissary of the congregation who wraps himself in his talit and descends to face the Ark [to read the prayers], and thus disclosed to him the seder selichah” (Eliyahu Zutta, ch. 23).
From Moses we learn and glean power how to pray. For this reason, “during Elul, even those immersed full time in Torah study, take off some time from their study to increase their prayers and supplications” (Birchei Yosef, cited in Mateh Efraim, Elef l’matoh 581:13).
Now is the time of year when we need to train ourselves to pray, to emote – to speak from the heart, not merely from the head or mouth.
So when we feel pain and despair (our own or of others) it is time to pray. [Obviously, in addition to anything we can do to alleviate the problem].
In deep pain perhaps we can begin to understand just a bit Moses’ plea to G-d “show me your glory.” Requests like that can only be made in deep anguish. And that’s when they can find answers.
As we stand in the final days of the month of compassion (Elul) and we recreate the journey of Moses, we can find empathy and a bit of mercy on our tortured souls.
Read closely and personalize the special Psalm recited during this period:
“G-d is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear? G-d is the strength of my life. Whom shall I dread?”
When faced with adversaries and oppressors, ready to “devour my flesh,” they will “stumble and fall.”
“My head will be raised… I will sing and chant… Lord, hear my voice as I call; be gracious to me and answer me. 8. In Your behalf my heart says, ‘Seek My countenance;’ Your countenance, G-d, I seek. Do not conceal Your countenance from me.”
And if you have issues with your parents –
“Though my father and mother have forsaken me, the Lord has taken me in. Lord, teach me Your way and lead me in the path of righteousness, because of my watchful enemies.”
“Do not give me over to the will of my oppressors, for there have risen against me false witnesses, and they speak evil. [They would have crushed me] had I not believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.”
Immortal power comes from trust in the Higher force of the Divine –
“Hope in the Lord, be strong and let your heart be valiant.”
If you were to ask for one thing, “achas sho’alti,” ask for this: “One thing I have asked of the Lord, this I seek: that I may dwell in the House of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the pleasantness of the Lord, and to visit His Sanctuary.”
* * *
Several years ago, on Rosh Hashana night, a good man, who recently passed away, shared with me his childhood memories of Rosh Hashana back in Europe in the late 1940’s. As a child he was watching different devout Jews praying on the first night of the Jewish New Year – a night known for special devotion, as it sets the tone for the entire year.
One man, he tells me, was shaking and crying. Another was in deep thought, his eyes tightly clenched. And finally – the one that made the greatest impact on his impressionable heart – was a man who seemed to be having a conversation; a conversation with G-d.
“That man,” he tells me, “was your grandfather and namesake.”
Lump. If only I could have a conversation like that. I have a few things to discuss.
Tags: Rosh Hashana, money, Yom Kippur, psychology, Trust in G-d, suffering, pain, prayer, compassion, human behavior, Elul
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Month of Elul, Months & Holidays, Personal Life, Love & Marriage, Home & Family, Devarim, Ki-Tavo, Business, Work & Money, Emotions & Psychology, Pain & Suffering, Elul | 3 Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
To Become Divine
To get a small taste of the radical impact of the different views on the Tzimtzum (the Divine concealment in existence discussed here in the past few weeks) just read Mark Lilla’s cover article in last Sundays New York Times Magazine.
In a comprehensive fashion Lilla maps out the history and evolution of religion and its role in running the world. The tense relationship between faith and governance, and the terrible bloodshed that it brought about, among other reasons, resulted in the development of new philosophies regarding the role of religious belief in modern society.
Lilla describes the fallacy of the Enlightenment’s expectations and predictions that society was on a:
“one-way track toward modern secular democracy and that other societies, once placed on that track, would inevitably follow.”
Promoters of modernization took it for granted that:
“science, technology, urbanization and education would eventually ‘disenchant’ the charmed world of believers, and that with time people would either abandon their traditional faiths or transform them in politically anodyne ways.”
This simply did not happen, and may never happen. On the other hand, political theology in the West no longer dominates modern society as it once did.
In the last few centuries different approaches developed to find some way to relieve the tension between faith and modernity. For Thomas Hobbes the rules of daily life must be separated from the laws of the Divine lest we risk rousing radical passions that will overrun society.
“In order to escape the destructive passions of messianic faith, political theology centered on God was replaced by political philosophy centered on man.”
Rousseau believed that religion ought to remain a potent force, but it must be stripped of its primitive principles and extreme political theology.
From West to East the shadowy ripples of the grand Tzimtzum’s black hole leave their mark in the rifts and tensions exposed by virtually every philosophy and school of thought. Whether it is Hobbes (and his descendants) compartmentalization between church and state (“the great separation” as Lilla coins it), or Rousseau’s (and his descendants) religious reform, tailoring it to contemporary standards. Or on the other extreme, radical religious passions, which now come in the shape of Muslim fundamentalism, mimicking its earlier Christian cousin, which for millennia dominated, if not terrorized, political life. All these positions – from one end of the religious spectrum to the other, and all the variations in between – make one thing very clear: No one seems able to make peace between a Divine mandate and the political realities on the ground.
And G-d will simply not go away.
However you twist it, G-d and daily life simply doesn’t get along. Is there a simpler way to define the grand Tzimtzum? Is there a more tangible expression of the Tzimtzum? Whether it is the literal or non-literal interpretation of the Tzimtzum, the Divine has a tenuous relationship with existence. The concealment and inaccessibility of the Divine defines the very nature of our political and religious history. When an entity (life) is out of touch with its mission, when substance is detached from spirit, when what you do is misaligned from who you are – you have a fatal rift.
Yet, as discussed last week, the Tzimtzum is after all merely a state of concealment, not removal. Albeit, a profound and powerful concealment, which unleashed complicated tensions, but still, we have the power and role – our unique mission – to puncture the “black hole” and reveal the light within. We have the ability to bridge substance and spirit, to reveal their inherent unity and reconnect our material lives with its Divine purpose.
Last week we reviewed how the cosmic order allows us to recognize the Divine properties within our material existence and actually enables us to integrate and align the two into one seamless flow. Substance and spirit – containers and light – join as one. Thus creating a full relationship between the human and the Divine – “I am to my beloved and my beloved to me.”
The question we left with last week remains: How can we achieve total fusion of “I am to my beloved and my beloved to me” when the Divine Essence is a non-existential, independent, reality (metzius bilti metzius nimtza), completely beyond and diametrically opposite, in every way, of our existential, dependent, mortal existence. How then is it possible to unite these opposite realities? Given, we can unite with the Divine as it manifests in existence, but can we actually connect to the ultimate reality – the innermost essence of Divine reality, which we have absolutely no way of relating to?
The answer in one (Hebrew) word is: Bittul. This may be a foreign expression to some of us. Indeed, “bittul” is hard to translate into English, perhaps because the concept is outside of our mind-set.
Bittul is a combination of humility, modesty and selflessness. Bittul is the single most important ingredient in all growth and excellence, and the only way to achieve immortality: The ability to suspend your self – and self-interest – in order to channel that which is greater than you.
Every birth must undergo a metamorphosis in which a previous state of being recedes in order to allow a new state of being to emerge. A seed rots in the ground before it blossoms. Creativity is the child of frustration. Raw metal must be melted in order to shape it into a beautiful ornament. One layer of skin has to be shed before a new one replaces it. As the Kabbalists put it: Between two states of “being,” “itness” (“yesh”) there is a vacuum, a state of suspension (“ayin”). As long as the previous state remains intact, it can never fully access a completely new level of experience. The past will shape and (often) haunt the future.
This is what “thinking out of the box” truly means. All of us are defined by our subjective perspectives: The combination of our education, experiences and viewpoints. As great as that perspective may be, it still is our own defined perspective. Bittul is the ability to suspend your perspective – now matter how hard earned and developed – and allow in the possibility of another, fresh perspective.
In the language of the Chassidic masters: “Bittul” is the entity called “ohr” – light or energy. Light/energy is the powerful metaphor that the Kabbalah uses to describe Divine transmission. The Divine Essence (Atzmus) is beyond expression and definition, a “non-existential” reality (metzius bilti metzius nimtza). Light is the way the Divine expresses and manifests itself. Just like light is merely a reflection of its luminary, so too Divine light has no substance of its own, but it merely reflects and expresses its Source.
Any entity that has its own presence will express itself, and in doing so, it must conceal any other (higher) presence. Because it has no substance of its own, light illuminates, rather than darkens, the landscape with the presence of the luminary it reflects.
In other words: Light is bittul. The epitome of an entity that combines both substance and no substance: it has no substance of its own and always reflects its (luminary) source. Yet, by virtue of its utter and total bittul the Divine Light assumes and emanates the “personality” of its source. (see Light: Where the Existential Meets the Non-Existential). Precisely because of its transparent bittul (selflessness), with no “personality” of its own to get in the way, light purely reflects and channels the deepest “substance” of the source, including the “non-existential” “nature” of the Essence. In effect, the utter bittul of light becomes one with its source (“kodum ke’kadmuso), thus “carrying” the non-existential Essence into existence.
So this completes the circle: Light is the manner by which the Essence imparts its qualities to existence. This light will go through many stages of evolution: It will divide into the infinite light and the finite one, and then experience the radical “quantum leap” of the Tzimtzum, which conceals the light and allows for our independent consciousness. The light will then pierce the Tzimtzum as a narrow thread of light (kav), which in turn will undergo further stages of concealment and revelation.
And this light is also the manner by which we climb the ladder, reversing the steps and returning from matter to spirit, from the containers to the light. The defined “lights” and “containers” of the cosmic order allow us to pierce the Tzimtzum’s concealment and fuse the personality of our material existence with the Divine “personality” (in whose “image” we were created). We then climb via the kav into the pre-tzimtzum light, and that in turn leads us into the infinite (Ein Sof) elements of the Essence reflected in the light. Since light is completely selfless and only reflects its source, it ultimately bridges the final gap between the existential and the non-existential Essence. Ohr (light) is the final stepping stone bridging our mortal existence with the Divine.
Truth be told, bittul is necessary on all levels, to transform every level from the human to the Divine. But it is absolutely imperative, and in its ultimate form, in order to rise from the existential to the non-existential.
For us to fuse with the Divine – “I am to my beloved and my beloved to me” – we too must become like light. The process begins by first recognizing that every aspect of our material existence is a “means” – a “container” – for Divine light. We then transform and sanctify our material belongings and activities into spiritual forces, e.g. donating money to a good cause. Slowly we expose the Divine properties in every detail of the fabric of existence. The containers then become an extension of light, in turn becoming an extension of the Divine Essence. We thus convert the entire material world into a home for the Divine – a magnificent Divine tapestry reflecting the beauty of the Divine in the multifarious nature of existence.
Imagine how wonderful such a world would be.
The most critical ingredient to achieve such seamlessness is through bittul – to be like light whose entire being is to reflect a truth greater than itself.
All the attempts to either ignore or integrate religion into modern life, Lilla writes, conveniently avoid the single most important message of faith: You must change your life. But this message is the one people don’t want to hear. And therein lays the undoing of all the philosophies – from radical atheism to radical religiosity, from compartmentalization to liberal theology: As long as you want to live on your own terms, and even religion must fit into your defined framework, you will be left solely at the mercy of your limited resources; the most that you can expect is what your mortal life and subjective experience can offer. You, thus, can never truly integrate with the Divine (let alone with the Divine Essence). Absolute self interest simply does not allow in (in any complete way) anything beyond your self.
Bittul, however, selfless dedication to a cause greater than your self, opens up the door to the Divine, and ultimately to the Divine Essence.
Through bittul – absolute and utter devotion to the cause for which we were created, rather than our own myopically perceived need – allows us to become part and extension of G-dliness.
Then and only then do our otherwise pedestrian lives take on eternal, immortal and absolute meaning.
Is there a greater gift than that?
Tags: religion, change, traditions, bittul, Divine light, faith, tzimtzum
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Social, Devarim, Ki-Teitzei, Torah, Government, Science & Technology | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
The challenge of bridging modernity and faith, which was exposed by the Emancipation, is based on the (mis)understanding of Divine unity, as discussed in my column “Orthodoxy Vs. the World.”The ideological root of this dilemma can be traced to a Kabbalistic argument about the very nature of existence.
To explain the possibility of our independent existence in the face of Divine omnipresence, the Arizal (Rabbi Isaac Luria), the great mystic of Tzfat, taught the mystery (sod) of the Tzimtzum. The Lurianic doctrine of Tzimtzum explains that existence is a result of Divine concealment. In the memorable words of the Arizal: “First the Divine infinite energy/light (ohr ein sof) filled all existence and there was no ‘room’ for the creation of finite worlds. Then came a Tzimtzum, which contracted and concealed the light, allowing “space” for our existence,” a reality that feels independent of its divine source.
A classic debate arose in attempting to understand the meaning of this Tzimtzum. Some interpreted the “Tzimtzum” literally (Tzimtzum k’peshuto), that the Divine actually “removed” Himself from our existence. They explained that this is the only way to reconcile our inferior realm with the Divine presence. G-d would be defiled were we to say that He is present within the “filth” of our universe. Instead, G-d’s presence and providence in this world is like a “king who watches the grime through a window” (an actual quote).
Others, however, felt that a literal application of the Tzimtzum is a misinterpretation of the Tzimtzum doctrine. Apart from the fact that a literal Tzimtzum would be applying corporeal phenomena to G-d, the literal “departure” of the Divine ultimately implies that the Divine presence cannot be found directly in our existence. This contradicts the fundamental principle of Divine unity, with the many verses that clearly describe G-d’s omnipresence within all of existence.
Instead, they interpret the Tzimtzum not literally (shelo k’peshuto). The Divine is not “removed” from existence; It is only concealed. Even though we cannot perceive His presence, the Divine is within every fiber of existence, sustaining it with a steady flow of renewed energy. Since the Divine is not bound by any properties – “physical,” or “spiritual” or any other – we cannot fully understand how the Divine can be present in “filth,” while not be “bound” and defined by it.
These two interpretations of the Tzimtzum are not merely academic or philosophical. Their implications are far reaching; their consequences profound.
According to the first opinion, which was held by some great mystics, the Divine can ultimately never be truly integrated into the material world and surely not in modern life. According to them the Divine is experienced by denying the world. Even when engaging secular life, there always remains a fundamental tension between the “inferior” finite universe and the “superior” infinite Divine. Inevitably, this leads to compartmentalization – the duality so aptly captured in Noah Feldman’s “Modern orthodox” experience, as discussed last week at length.
The second opinion, however, leads to an entirely different approach. The Divine is present everywhere all the time, in every micro-detail of time, space and soul. The mission of our lives is to reveal the Divine in every aspect of our daily activities, refining and spiritualizing the material, converting it into sacred fuel.
Evil must be denied, rejected and destroyed. But the universe itself is not evil. Neither are the people of the world. It is a state of concealed spirit. Even evil is the absence of good, which can take on a damaging life of its own through our choices and actions. When we choose to resist destructive temptation, or to “break” it and make amends once manifest, we reveal the inner good within the material universe – the Divine light that always remained dormant, waiting to be awakened by us.
This approach makes it very clear that total integration of matter and spirit, faith and the universe, is not only possible but necessary.
Ironically, at first glance, the former interpretation of the Tzimtzum would seem to give more credence to modernity. Since the Divine literally “departed” from this world, we are then left to a certain measure “on our own” when dealing with modern challenges. Yes, the “king is peering through the window,” but since the Divine immanence is literally “removed” from our corporeal beings, we are left with no recourse but to negotiate with the “rules” of society. The statement of our sages “when you come to a city follow its customs – “when in Rome do as the Romans do” – takes on the meaning that Noah Feldman described as “a Jew in the home and a man in the street.”
By contrast, the opinion that the Tzimtzum is not literal understands this phrase to mean, that you “follow its customs” not because they have power, but because the Divine edict dictates that you spiritualize these customs and you elevate the city, reveal its inner G-dliness and transform it into a Divine home.
But upon deeper scrutiny, the former opinion, by giving credence to the modern, actually limits our ability to transform it. At best, you have to tailor faith to social standards, and attempt to lift the social norm to a higher, halachik model (“the Halachik man”). At worst you have to conform to these standards. But being within and bound by these rules, you can never master them. While the latter position, which recognizes the Divine as being above it all, paradoxically allows us the power to transform the material and integrate the two.
Four Opinions
More specifically, the two opinions about the Tzimtzum actually break down into four opinions:
1) The Tzimtzum is literal and also in the Divine Essence (the source of the light), not just in the Divine light.
2) Literal Tzimtzum but only in the Divine light.
3) Tzimtzum is not literal, but also in the Divine Luminary.
4) Tzimtzum is not literal, but only in the Divine light.
The four opinions differ in two areas. Whether the Tzimtzum: is 1) Literal or not literal, meaning whether the Divine is actually “removed” or only concealed from existence, 2) In the Divine Essence or only in the light, which means whether the “removal” or concealment is only on a conscious level (light), or also affects the Essence (unconscious).
In context of our present discussion on integration, these opinions can perhaps be interpreted in the following manner:
The first opinion is the most radical form of “disconnect” between the Divine and the secular. Both the Divine light and the Essence (the conscious and unconscious) are “removed” from our existence. Divine unity is achieved primarily through rejection of the mundane. Not only is it impossible to integrate Divine revelation in this universe, but even the Source is “removed” and can only be accessed through denying the material. [Psychologically speaking, this means that both the unconscious and the conscious cannot be accessed].
Opinion two recognizes that an element of the Divine Source manifests in our physical lives, but its does not appear in any revealed way; the conscious light is “removed” from existence. The Essence expresses itself on its’ own terms, not on ours. Due to its inferiority, we cannot fuse the personality of our existence with Divine manifestation. We experience Divine awareness not within our parameters, only outside of them. [In psychological terms, this would be like an unconscious experience, which does not express itself in any conscious fashion].
The third opinion (a modified version of the radicalism of opinion one) feels that the Divine Source remains “detached” from our existence, but not “removed” to the extent of the first opinion (which holds that the Tzimtzum is literal). The Divine Essence is present but concealed. Because the Essence is affected by the Tzimtzum (even if only being concealed), ultimately, it has some subtle (albeit distant) relationship with the creation, thus unable to fully transform the modern world. [Psychologically this means that the unconscious is concealed from existence].
The final opinion realizes that the Divine Essence is altogether unaffected by the Tzimtzum. It is beyond revelation and concealment, and its own essential way is very present in existence. At any moment, in every situation, a person can access G-d. Beyond that: Even the Divine light, the conscious experience of the Divine (and only its lowest level) is merely concealed (not “removed”), waiting to be revealed.
In other words, the integration between matter and spirit is possible for two reasons: 1) The Essence, unaffected by the creation of the universe and the Tzimtzum, empowers us to fuse the two. 2) This fusion is not just on an essential level, but also permeates our conscious experience, as we spiritualize our lives and reveal the hidden Divinity in the world. [1]
Psychologically, we have here a model of total fusion of all dimensions – the Divine unconscious and conscious joined together with the human unconscious and conscious.
The Tzimtzum concealment is just one component of a magnificent system that allows us the ability to achieve Divine Unity (Hashem Echod) in the universe. Beyond the Tzimtzum, the mystics fluently map out an elegant structure that teaches us how to marry heaven and earth; to integrate every aspect of our beings with higher purpose, ultimately with the Divine itself.
The Kabbalistic themes of reshimu and kav (the residue and thin ray of light following the tzimtzum), “lights” and “containers” (orot and keilim), the sefirot and the “worlds” – all make up the Cosmic Order, which helps us develop and expand our own material “containers” and fuse them with the “lights” of spirituality.
Practical Conclusions
In practical terms all this means that we can unite the two worlds of faith and modernity.
Each of has been charged and empowered to spiritualize our specific talents, professions and opportunities. We do this by utilizing them not just for personal gain but to help others and improve the world around us.
A spiritual experience does not need to be very dramatic. It can be generated through a simple act of kindness. A small effort today that goes a bit beyond yesterday’s effort.
That’s all it takes. Remember always that the duality of our universe is only in our perception. Underneath it all, concealed, lays enormous reservoirs of energy and light. Within it all lies the Essence, untouched, unaffected, by all the commotion.
The Essence – and all the revelations throughout history – is together with us, every moment, in every corner, in every experience of our lives!
All it takes is for us to open our eyes and see through the shrouds.
And act.
———
[1] On a personal level perhaps these two dimensions are expressed in the two aspects of human potential, discussed in Tanya: 1) The conscious power of self control; the natural ability of the reflective mind to control impulsive desires. 2) The unsconscious, “hidden love,” which lies at the heart and is the innate nature of every soul. Tanya is concerned with the dilemma how the human being can overcome his narcissistic drives and access the Divine. The Tanya explains that with the power of self control and with the unconscious “hidden love” the soul is able — both on a conscious and unconscious level — to connect with the Divine.
Since the Tzimtzum is not literal (not even in the light) it does not in any way 1) affect the unconscious, allowing us to always access the unconscious “hidden love,” nor does it 2) fundamentally alter the conscious (only in a form of concealment), allowing us the power of self control. Both human consciousness and unconsciousness, thus, remain essentially connected and can always fuse with the Divine.
Tags: concealment, Divine light, tzimtzum, Divine energy
Posted in Kabbalah, Weekly Parsha, Faith, Beliefs & Concepts, Re'eh, Devarim, Spiritual, Torah | No Comments »
