July 22nd, 2015
And G-d said to Moses: “Come up to Me to the mountain, and be there; and I will give you the tablets of stone, the Torah, and the commandments which I have written, so that you may teach them”
Exodus 24:12
According to Torah law, your neighbor is not just the fellow on the other side of the fence, but someone toward whom you have certain responsibilities and obligations. One of these is spelled out in the law of bar mitzra (literally, “the one on the boundary”), which states that when a person wishes to sell his field, his neighbors (i.e., those who own land bordering the land being sold) must be given first priority to purchase it. This law is enforced by the court, to the extent that if the property is sold to an outside buyer without first being offered to a neighbor, the neighbor has the right to pay the purchase price to the buyer and evict him from the land.[1]
Halachah (Torah law) is more than a code of behavior for life on earth: it also describes G-d’s own “code of behavior,” the manner in which He chooses to relate to His creation. Thus, we find G-d observing Shabbat,[2]donning tefillin,[3] and otherwise fulfilling the requirements of Torah law. In the words of the Midrash, “G-d’s way is not like the way of flesh and blood. The way of flesh and blood is that he instructs others to do, but does not do so himself; G-d, however, what He Himself does, that is what He tells Israel to do and observe.”[4] If G-d commanded us the law of bar mitzra, He conforms to it Himself.
Thus, the Talmud tells us that when Moses “ascended to heaven” to receive the Torah from G-d,
the angels protested to G‑d: “What is a human being doing amongst us?” Said He to them: “He has come to receive the Torah.” Said they to Him: “This esoteric treasure, which was hidden with You for nine hundred and seventy-four generations before the world was created, You wish to give to flesh and blood?… Place Your glory upon the heavens!”
Said G‑d to Moses: “Answer them.”
Said [Moses]: “Master of the Universe! This Torah that You are giving to me, what is written in it? ‘I am the L‑rd Your G‑d, who has taken you out from the land of Egypt.’” “Have you descended to Egypt?” asked Moses of the angels. “Have you been enslaved to Pharaoh? So why should the Torah be yours? What else does it say? ‘You shall have no alien gods.’ Do you dwell amongst idol‑worshipping nations? What else does it say? ‘Remember the Shabbat day.’ Do you work? … What else does it say? ‘Do not swear falsely.’ Do you do business? What else does it say? ‘Honor your father and your mother.’ Do you have parents? What else does it say? ‘Do not kill,’ ‘Do not commit adultery,’ ‘Do not steal.’ Is there jealousy among you? Do you have an evil inclination?”[5]
As the commentaries[6] explain, the angels had a legal claim on the Torah—the neighbor’s prerogative stipulated by the law of bar mitzra. For the Torah is G-d’s “esoteric treasure”: before it was given to us at Sinai it was a wholly spiritual manifesto, “written of yore before Him in black fire upon white fire,”[7] relating exclusively to the spiritual infrastructure of creation. Thus we are told that at Sinai G-d spoke to us “from the heavens,”[8] and that Moses “ascended to heaven,”[9] entering into a spiritual state of being in order to receive the Torah.[10] We, argued the angels, are the Torah’s natural neighbors; it should be offered to us before it is translated into a doctrine for physical life for some distant earthly customer.[11]
Five Answers
G-d acknowledged that the angels had a basis for their claim in Torah law, telling Moses to “answer them” before he could receive the Torah and take it down to earth.[12] How, indeed, might Moses defend the legality of the contract between G-d and Israel? The commentaries[13] offer the following halachic solutions:
1) The law of bar mitzra applies only to a sale, not to a gift—the owner is obviously free to make a gift of his field to whomever he desires.[14] Since G-d granted us the Torah, the angels’ claim has no basis.
2) The law of bar mitzra applies only to real estate, not to transportable objects.[15] The Torah, which is a portable entity (as evidenced by the fact that it was “transported” to earth), is thus exempt from this law.
3) If a person wishes to sell his field to a family member, he is permitted to do so without first offering it to his neighbor.[16] The people of Israel are G-d’s children[17] and His “close relatives.”[18] Thus, the law of bar mitzra is not applicable to Israel’s purchase of the Torah.
4) A sale to a partner is likewise exempt from the bar mitzra requirement.[19] The Talmud states that “Any judge who judges law with an utter exactitude of truth becomes a partner with G-d in creation.”[20] Moses, being such a juror of Torah law,[21] is thus considered G-d’s partner, and may purchase property from Him over the objections of the property’s supernal neighbors. (Keeping Shabbat also renders one “a partner with G-d in creation.”[22] Since the Jewish people had been given the mitzvah of Shabbat several weeks before Sinai,[23] they, too, are G-d’s “partners,” and thus free to “purchase” the Torah).
5) The Torah refers to Moses as a “man of G-d”—half mortal, half supernal.[24] So he was no less a “neighbor” to the spiritual Torah than his celestial competitors. (Again, the same could be said of the people of Israel, whose souls are “carved from beneath the Supernal Throne” of G-d.[25])
However, each of these defenses has its difficulties. Regarding the first defense, while it is true that the Torah is called a “gift” from Above (as in Numbers 21:18[26]), it is also called an “inheritance” (Deuteronomy 33:4), and a “purchase” (Proverbs 4:2; Midrash Rabbah, Shemot 33:1). As we have elaborated on another occasion,[27] these three metaphors describe three distinct elements in Torah and the manner of its “possession” by the people of Israel. Thus, the angels’ claim to the Torah stands, at least in regard to the “purchase” aspect of Torah.
As for the second defense, the reason why the law of bar mitzra does not apply to a portable object is that a portable object has no defined place, and thus no true neighbors: anyone can acquire it anywhere and transport it to his property. In our case, however, the Torah’s defining “place” is the very issue at hand. The angels were insisting that it should remain “in heaven” and spiritual in essence, while Moses’ purchase would mean its removal to earth and the redefinition of its primary function from a spiritual manifesto to a doctrine for physical life. Indeed, after we received it at Sinai, the Torah is expressly “not in heaven,” and completely under terrestrial jurisdiction.[28] The “sale” of Torah to Israel meant that the angels would no longer have access to the Torah—at least not as something of their own environment (in the same way that the Torah’s remaining “in heaven” would have meant that we could relate to it only on the esoteric level, not as a sanctifier of physical life[29]). It follows, then, that as regards the law of bar mitzra, the Torah is indeed supernal “real estate,” and ought to be subject to the neighbor’s prerogative claimed by the angels.
Finally, all five explanations beg the question: Where is there mention of any of this in Moses’ response? If the basis of the angels’ argument to G-d, “Place Your glory upon the heavens!” is the law of bar mitzra, then Moses must explain why this clause is not applicable in this case. Yet nowhere in Moses’ words do we find a sign of any of the five defenses enumerated above. Indeed, as far as the third, fourth and fifth defenses are concerned, Moses seems to be saying the very opposite. The gist of Moses’ response is that, unlike the angels, the Jewish people are physical beings inhabiting a profane and even heretical world—a world marked by jealousy, dishonesty and idolatry—and thus they have need of and right to the Torah. Instead of refuting the angels’ claim by speaking of Israel’s innate spirituality (defense #5) or their relationship or partnership with G-d (#’s 3 and 4), Moses seems to be confirming their claim by emphasizing Israel’s distance from their divine origins and the spirituality of the heavens.
The Home
Our sages teach that “The purpose of the creation of all worlds, supernal and ephemeral,” is that “G-d desired a dwelling in the lowly realms.”[30]G-d desired to created a “lowly realm”—a world that is virtually devoid of all manifest expression of His truth—and that this lowly realm should be made into a home for Him, a “dwelling” that serves and facilitates His presence.
Thus, the world was created “for the sake of the Torah and for the sake of Israel”[31]: the people of Israel are the builders of this home for G-d, and the Torah is the instrument of its construction. The people of Israel inhabit the physical universe—the “lowly realm” where G-d desires to dwell. The Torah instructs the Jew how to transform material things such as animal hides, palm fronds and coins into holy and G-dly things such as tefillin, a lulav, and charity. With the Torah as his blueprint and empowerer, the Jew transforms a mundane world into an environment that is receptive and subservient to the divine reality.
Why is the sanctification of the physical world referred to as the making of a “dwelling” for G-d? Because the home is the human model which most expresses the significance of what we achieve through our fulfillment of the Torah’s blueprint for life.
There are many environments and structures that “house” a person and serve his needs. A person might spend many toilsome hours in a field, tilling its soil to derive sustenance from the earth; others mark time in offices, factories and laboratories to earn a livelihood. Man also constructs buildings to serve his educational, medical, legal, and entertainment needs, and vehicles to move him across land, sea and air. But what all these “containers” of man have in common is that they each house a specific aspect of the person, as opposed to the person himself. They shelter and facilitate the farmer, the businessman, the student, the patient, the art critic and the vacationer, rather than the man. All these are places where a person fulfills a certain role or fills a certain need; only at home is he himself. Echoing the Talmudic adage, “A man without a homestead is not a man,”[32] Chassidic teaching defines the dwelling as “a place that houses a person’s very essence.”[33]
This is what is meant when we say that “G-d desired a dwelling in the lowly realms.” G-d has many venues for the expression of His reality—He created many spiritual worlds or “realms,” each of which conveys another face of His infinitely faceted truth. But only the physical world can be His home, the environment that houses His essence.
For the wisdom of the sage is not revealed in his scholarly discourse with his colleagues, but in his ability to explain the loftiest of concepts to the simplest of minds. The benevolence of the philanthropist is seen not in his generosity to his family and friends, but in his kindness toward the most undeserving of recipients. The power of the torch is expressed not by the light it sheds upon its immediate surroundings, but by its illumination of the most distant point its light can reach. By the same token, the infinity and all-pervasiveness of the divine is expressed not in the spirituality of the heavens, but in the sanctification of material earth. When the physical world—“whose workings are harsh and evil and the wicked prevail there,” for it is dominated by forces that seem indifferent and even opposed to the divine will[34]—is made to express the divine truth, it becomes a “dwelling” for G-d. When the lowliest and most profane of G-d’s creations is made to serve Him, a true home has been constructed for Him, an edifice that houses His very essence.
Therein lies the ultimate refutation of the angels’ claim on the Torah. The law of bar mitzra states that “If the outside buyer wishes to build homes on the land, and the neighbor wishes to seed it, the outside buyer retains the land, since the habitation of the land takes precedence, and the law of bar mitzra is not applied in this case.”[35]
Thus Moses said to the angels: Do you have an evil inclination? Do you deal with the mundanities of the marketplace? Do you dwell in a pagan world? So to what end should you be given the Torah? To cultivate another lush garden of spiritual delights? But we will build a home with the Torah—as only we can. Only we, who daily grapple with the deceit, the strife and the profanity that mark the lowliest stratum of G-d’s creation, can construct with the Torah a dwelling for Him, a place to house His quintessential self.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shavuot 5718 (1958)[36]
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. Talmud, Bava Metzia 108a; Mishneh Torah, Laws Regarding Neighbors, chs. 12-14; Shulchan Aruch, Choshen Mishpat 175:5-63.
The Talmud cites this law as a classical case of “one profits, while the other suffers no loss” (the buyer profits in that he can cultivate both properties as a single contiguous field, saving him the added expense of cultivating two fields in two separate places; the seller suffers no real loss, since he gets his price; nor does the prospective non-neighboring buyer, who can purchase a field of equal quality and value somewhere else). Thus, the court enforces the precept, “You shall do what is just and good” (Deuteronomy 6:18—i.e. it is forbidden to act maliciously, even if it is within your “legal” rights).
[2]. Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 11:5.
[3]. Talmud, Berachot 6a.
[4]. Midrash Rabbah, Shemot 30:4.
[5]. Talmud, Shabbat 89a.
[6]. Shetei Yadot, Terumah; She’eirit Yaakov, Bamidbar; Chida (Penei Dovid and Rosh Dovid, Yitro; Chasdei Avot, 3:14); Be’er Yitzchak, Yitro (2); Maarchei Lev, Mattan Torah (12); Berit Avot, Yitro; Sefat Emet, Yitro; Nachal Yitzchak, Pesach, Shaar I & II; et al.
[7]. Rashi, Deuteronomy 33:2.
[8]. Exodus 20:19; Deuteronomy 4:31.
[9]. Talmud, Shabbat ibid., and in numerous other places.
[10]. “And he (Moses) was there (atop Mount Sinai) with G-d for forty days and forty nights; bread he did not eat, and water he did not drink”—Exodus 34:28.
[11]. This also explains why Moses could not simply reply to the angels: “Open up the Torah and have a look: virtually every section is prefaced with the words, ‘Command the children of Israel,’ ‘Speak to the children of Israel,’ and the like.” For the law of bar mitzra gives the neighbor the right to purchase the field even after it has been sold to the “distant” buyer.
[12]. According to Rashi on Bava Metzia, ibid., the law of bar mitzrapertains primarily to the prospective purchaser, forbidding him to purchase a field desired by its neighbor and obligating him to resell it to the neighbor should he actually purchase it (see Likkutei Sichot, vol. XIX, pp. 55-57). This explains why G-d directed the angels’ claim to Moses, who, as the purchaser, was the alleged violator of the bar mitzra law.
[13]. See sources cited in note 6 above.
[14]. Talmud, Bava Metzia 108b; Mishneh Torah, ibid. 13:1; Shulchan Aruch, ibid. par 54.
[15]. Mishneh Torah, ibid., 13:4; Shulchan Aruch, ibid., 53.
[16]. Rif, cited in Shitah Mekubetzet on Talmud, ibid.; Bahag, cited by Beit Yosef on Tur, Choshen Mishpat 175; Shach on Shulchan Aruch, ibid. sub-section 30.
[18]. “Kerovim”—Deuteronomy 4:7.
[19]. Mishneh Torah, ibid. 12:5; Shulchan Aruch, ibid. par 49.
[20]. Talmud, Shabbat 10a, as per Exodus 18:13.
[21]. Indeed, the verse from which the Talmud derives this is speaking about Moses.
[22]. Talmud, ibid., 119b.
[23]. During their encampment in Marah, as per Talmud, Sanhedrin 56b. See also Exodus 16:29-30.
[24]. Deuteronomy 33:1; Psalms 90:1; Midrash Rabbah, Devarim 11:4.
[25]. Zohar, part III, 29b.
[26]. “From the desert, it is a gift”; thus, in the daily blessing on the Torah we say, “Blessed are You G-d, who gives us the Torah” and the festival of Shavuot is called “The Time of the Giving of our Torah.”
[27]. See “Property Rights” in Beyond the Letter of the Law (VHH, 1995).
[28]. Deuteronomy 30:12. See Talmud, Bava Metzia 59b.
[29]. As it was prior to the Giving of the Torah—see The Breakthrough, in last week’s issue of WIR.
The law of bar mitzra applies only when comparable fields are available at other locations, and the issue is only who should be subjected to the trouble of purchasing elsewhere (see note 1 above). This is consistent with the debate between Moses and the angels as to whether the Torah might be “sold” to earth: in either case, both the angels and the people of Israel would still be able to study the Torah, but only one of them would enjoy the Torah as something that is of their own element.
[30]. Midrash Tanchuma, Nasso 16; Tanya, ch. 36.
[31]. Rashi, Genesis 1:1.
[32]. Yevamot 63a, as per Tosafot.
[33]. Ohr HaTorah, Balak 997; Yom Tov Shel Rosh Hashanah 5666, p. 3; et al.
[34]. Tanya, chs. 6 and 36.
[35]. Mishneh Torah, ibid. 14:1; Talmud, Bava Metzia 108b; Shulchan Aruch, ibid. par. 26.
[36]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XVIII, pp. 28-34.
Tags: Yanki Tauber, Jewish law, Matan Torah, Torah, angels, purpose of existence
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July 22nd, 2015
Chassidim ask: Why were the ears created in the form of two handles attached to the sides of the head?
So that even if a person has sunk in mud up to his neck, he could by grabbed by the ears and yanked out.
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: future, positive thinking, transformation, Yanki Tauber, body
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July 22nd, 2015
And these are the laws which you shall set before them: If you purchase a Hebrew servant… If a man strikes his fellow with a stone or with his fist… If a person’s ox gores the ox of his fellow… If a person gives his friend money or utensils to watch over and they are stolen from the [guardian’s] home…
Exodus 21-22
The commandments of the Torah are commonly divided into two categories: laws that govern the relationship “between man and G-d,” and those that legislate the proper conduct “between man and his fellow.” Even the “Ten Commandments,” which are an encapsulation of the entire Torah, were inscribed on two separate tablets: one containing commandments such as “I am G-d your G-d” and “Remember the day of Shabbat,” and the other proclaiming laws like “Do not kill” and “Do not steal.”
But the two categories are deeply interrelated. The Zohar states that the divine instruction, “I am G-d your G-d… You shall have no other gods before Me,” is the essence of all 613 commandments and prohibitions of the Torah.[1] On the other hand, the Talmud tells the famous story of the great sage Hillel, who told a man who asked to be taught the entire Torah while standing on one foot: “What is hateful to yourself, do not do to your fellow. This is the entire Torah—the rest is commentary.”[2]
Ultimately, there is no essential difference between the Torah’s “civil” laws and its so-called “religious” laws. A crime against man is also a crime against G-d, and a crime against G-d is a crime against all of His creations. A kindness to a fellow human being is a kindness to Him who created us all and desires that we live in peace and harmony with each other; and a positive “personal” relationship with G-d has a positive effect on His relationship with creation as a whole and with each and every citizen of His world.[3]
Chassidic teaching takes this a step further, showing how the deeper significance of a mitzvah extends beyond its basic classification to the other category as well: a mitzvah whose most immediate application is of a “ritualistic” nature is also an instruction in how to behave toward a fellow man; and a mitzvah whose literal meaning places it squarely within the Torah’s “civil code” also addresses the internal world of the human soul and its mission and purpose in life.
The Ox, the Pit, Man and Fire
Many of the Torah’s civil laws are enumerated in the section of Mishpatim(Exodus 21-24), which immediately follows the Torah’s description of the revelation at Mount Sinai. This, say our sages, is to emphasize that “Just as the previous ones are from Sinai, these, too, are from Sinai”[4]; that in Torah, even the most utilitarian social law is a “mitzvah”—a divine commandment, a revelation of divine will.
The Talmud, which analyzes the biblical verses and deduces the laws encoded within them, devotes its largest tractate, Nezikin, to the civil laws of Mishpatim. Because of its size, Nezikin is subdivided into three parts, each of which has come to be regarded as a tractate in its own right: Bava Kamma (“First Gate”), Bava Metzia (“Middle Gate”), and Bava Batra (“Final Gate”).
Each of the three “Gates” deals with a different category of civil law; together, they describe humanity’s progress toward a more peaceful and harmonious existence. The same is true of the spiritual dimension of these legal tracts: each “Gate” represents a different stage in our inner development, as our soul matures toward the ultimate realization of its potential.
A reading of the opening lines of each of the “Gates” will serve to illustrate the types of cases they each deal with. Bava Kamma, the “First Gate,” begins:
There are four primary classes of damages: the ox, the pit, man and fire.
The “First Gate” goes on to discuss a person’s responsibility for these four categories of damages:
1) damages inflicted by one’s personal property (e.g., a person’s ox goring his neighbor’s ox);
2) by hazards placed on public property (e.g., digging a hole in middle of the street);
3) damage inflicted directly by the person himself;
4) failure to prevent damages arising from potentially dangerous actions (e.g., a person starts a fire on his own property which spreads to that of his neighbors).
In addition to defining the four categories of damages and the numerous sub-categories and particular laws they each contain, Bava Kamma also legislates the reparations and penalties for theft and robbery. In other words, the “First Gate” of Torah’s civil law deals primarily with criminal, even violent, attacks on a fellow’s property and person, addressing the most crass form of disharmony among men.
Finders, Keepers and Partners
The laws discussed in Bava Metzia, the “Middle Gate,” include: laws pertaining to the return of lost objects; disputes arising out of loans, sales, and employment; and the responsibilities of the “Four Guardians”— the paid and unpaid bailees, the borrower and the renter—for the objects entrusted to their care.
Like the first Bava, the “Middle Gate” also deals with disputes between people. But these are, for the most part, more benign conflicts, arising out of honest disagreement rather than malicious or blatantly irresponsible behavior. The first law discussed in this tractate is a case in point:
Two people are holding onto a garment. One says, “I found it,” and the other says, “I found it”…
To be sure, the laws of Bava Metzia hardly reflect the ideal in interhuman relations. The court’s verdict inevitably satisfies but one, and at times neither, of the claimants. But unlike the cases discussed in the “First Gate,” there are no overtly anti-civil acts involved. Rather, in the course of their normal, day-to-day dealings, two people find themselves in disagreement with each other. In many cases, each party honestly believes himself to be in the right.
On the other hand, the “Final Gate,” Bava Batra, includes an entirely different genre of civil law: laws which come not to settle disputes but to lay the groundwork for a socially just and harmonious existence between man and his fellow. This tractate discusses the laws outlining property rights, neighbor relations and responsibilities, partnership, commerce, inheritance and charity. A case in point is Bava Batra‘s first scenario:
Partners [in a courtyard] who wish to divide, should build a wall in the middle… In everything they follow the local custom. [When they build] with uncut stones, one gives three handbreadths and the other gives three handbreadths [of space for the wall]… With bricks, one gives one-and-one-half handbreadths and the other gives one-and-one-half handbreadths… Thus… the area and the stones belong equally to both.
This law is typical of the laws that form the backbone of the “Final Gate”: its function might be to define and divide, but this is a division desired by both parties and beneficial to them both. Indeed, the very wall which divides them becomes a joint undertaking, linking them and attesting to their mutual desire to live as neighbors who respect each other’s rights and privileges.
The Three Gates of History
On the cosmic-historical level, the three gates of Nezikin can be seen as three phases in the social development of man, as a barometer of Torah law’s progressive influence upon society.
In the “First Gate,” we encounter human society in a base and barbaric state: “law” is an institution whose function is to deal with criminal and violent behavior among its members. In the “Second Gate,” we progress from criminal to non-malicious conflict. Finally, the “Final Gate” describes a strife-free society—a society in which the role of the law is not to deal with dispute but to establish guidelines for a greater cooperation and a deeper unity in the community of man.
The three Bavot tell the story of history itself: the story of mankind’s progress toward the perfect and harmonious world of Moshiach. As humanity learns to disarm and unite, beating the swords of war machinery into the plowshares of aid to the needy, we near the day when the “Final Section” of Torah’s civil and civilizing law will forever abolish conflict and animosity from the human experience.
Between Man and G-d
As discussed above, the social mitzvot of the Torah have their counterpart in the life of the soul. Thus, the “three gates” of progress from barbarism to harmonious coexistence on the social level also describe three corresponding stages in our spiritual development and our quest for connection with G-d.
In the “First Gate,” we contend with the negative forces that actively undermine our spiritual integrity. These fall under four general categories, corresponding to the “four primary classes of damages”: our animal lusts and desires (“the ox”); our propensity for anger and other violent emotions (“fire”); the destructive effect of “passive” vices such as sloth and inertia (“the pit”); and our misleadingly sophisticated vices, which are all the more harmful because they exploit our elevated, distinctly human talents (“man”) to spiritually destructive ends.[5]
The “Middle Gate” describes a stage in our spiritual development at which these overtly destructive forces have been overcome and our internal conflicts are of a more subtle and “civilized” nature. The spiritual also includes the laws of “Four Guardians”: the unpaid guardian, the paid guardian Bava Metzia deals with issues such as “finding lost objects,” and the responsibilities and privileges of the “Four Guardians.”
The Talmud defines a “fool” (shoteh—a legal term referring to someone who lacks the intelligence and understanding to be held responsible for his actions) as “one who loses everything that is given to him.”[6] The Hebrew words for “everything that”—kol mah—also translate as “all the what”; “what” (mah) is a Kabbalistic term for the soul’s capacity for receptiveness and self-abnegation. On the spiritual level, a “fool” is one who loses all the mah that has been given him—a person whose self-absorption prevents him from being receptive to all that is greater and loftier than his present comprehension and experience.
This is the “between man and G-d” significance of the laws that deal with the recovery of lost objects. Even after we have cleansed our souls of the blatantly destructive traits enumerated in the “First Gate,” we must labor to recover our lost mah and resolve the internal dissonance that occurs when our ego obstructs our spiritual development.
Bava Metzia, the borrower and the renter. These laws define the degree of responsibility that each guardian has toward the object entrusted to his care as it relates to the amount of benefit he derives from his guardianship. As applied to our internal lives, the laws of the “Four Guardians” describe four types of spiritual personalities who vary in the degree of “reward” they expect in return for their toil to improve G-d’s world and the corresponding degree of “responsibility” they must assume for the hazards of life.[7]
The Partner
Our sages tell us that “In the manner in which man measures himself, so is it meted out to him.”[8] In other words, G-d leaves it to us to define our vision of life and our relationship with Him, and then relates to us accordingly. Indeed, there are several ways in which a person may perceive the labor of life.
One might see himself as a slave of an autocratic master. I didn’t ask to be born, goes this line of thinking, nor was I consulted when the laws of life were formulated. All this was imposed on me. As the Talmud puts it, “Against your will you are born, and against your will you die.”[9] My master is all-powerful, so I had best carry out His commands.
Or one might adopt the more involved attitude of the employee. I have a job to do, says this approach, and I’ll give it my best effort. And has G-d not promised to reward my toil? A vision of life as a job is expressed by the Talmudic sage Rabbi Tarfon in the second chapter of Ethics of the Fathers:
“The day is short, the work is much, the workers are lazy, the reward is great and the Master is pressing… It is not incumbent upon you to finish the task, but neither are you free to absolve yourself from it. If you have learned much Torah, you will be greatly rewarded, and your Employer is trustworthy to pay you the reward of your labors.”[10]
Finally, one can experience life as a partnership with G-d. True, we are “slaves” in the sense that we acknowledge G-d’s absolute mastery over us, and we are “employees” in the sense that He has defined our life’s assignment and has promised to reward our labor. But we have been granted the ability to elevate the toil of life into a partnership with our Creator. In the words of our sages, “A judge who judges a case with complete truthfulness… becomes a partner with G-d in creation”[11]; “One who prays on the eve of Shabbat and recites Vayechulu[12] … becomes a partner with G-d in creation.”[13]
As G-d’s partners, we develop our self and world in accordance with the divine will not only because we must, nor merely to “do our job,” but as an intensely personal enterprise. Life becomes our joint venture with G-d—a venture conceived and enabled by Him but fueled by our own initiative and ambition.
The spiritual version of the “Final Gate” describes this venture. As in any joint enterprise, there is need for “walls” that delineate the terms of the partnership; the domain of each partner must be defined, as well as his rights and responsibilities. These walls are of several types: some are wholly divine institutions (“uncut stones”); others are products of man’s development of divinely provided resources (“brick”).[14]
But while these walls divide and define, they are not divisive walls. There are no saboteurs in this relationship (as in the “First Gate”), nor even benign conflict (as in the more spiritually mature “Second Gate”). Rather, they are uniting walls, jointly constructed walls that galvanize our relationship with G-d and impart meaning and fulfillment to our lives.
Based on the Rebbe’s works, including a journal entry (undated)[15] and an address delivered on Shabbat Mishpatim 5752 (1992)[16]
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. Zohar, part II, 276a. Cf. Shaloh, beg. Parashat Yitro; Tanya, ch. 20.
[2]. Talmud, Shabbat 31a. Cf. Jerusalem Talmud, Nedarim 9:4: “Said Rabbi Akiva: ‘Love your fellow as yourself’ (Leviticus 19:18)—this is a cardinal principle in Torah.”
[3]. In the words of Maimonides: “A person should always view himself as equally balanced: half good and half evil. Likewise, he should see the entire world as half good and half evil. By committing a single transgression, he tips the scales for himself—and for the entire world—to the side of guilt, and brings destruction upon it. And with a single good deed, he tips the scales for himself—and for the entire world—to the side of merit, and brings it salvation” (Mishneh Torah, Laws of Repentance, 3:4).
[5]. Cf. Sefer HaSichot 5701, p. 64.
[6]. Talmud, Chaggigah 4a.
[7]. For a detailed discussion of the “Four Guardians” as four approaches to life, see Responsibility and Reward, WIR, vol. IV, no. 21. For the spiritual significance of other Bava Metzia laws, see Working Conditions, WIR, vol. VI, no. 2 (employer-employee relations); The Resourceful Oath, WIR, vol. V, no. 21 (the law of “admitting partial culpability”), and The Supernal Capitalist, WIR, vol. VI, no. 38 (loans and usury).
[8]. Talmud, Megillah 12b.
[9]. Ethics of the Fathers, 4:22.
[11]. Talmud, Shabbat 10a.
[12]. The verses (Genesis 2:1-3) that describe G-d ceasing of His work of creation on Shabbat and His sanctification of that day as a day of rest.
[13]. Talmud, Shabbat 119b.
[14]. See The Brick Factory, WIR, vol. VII, no. 17.
[15]. Reshimot #31, pp. 5-8.
[16]. Sefer HaSichot 5752, vol. II, pp. 369-371.
Tags: Divine service, Yanki Tauber, Rebbe, purpose of life, Jewish law, love your neighbor
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Soul & Mystical, Shmot, Mishpatim, Torah | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
Part I of this two part essay reviewed the different approaches offered in how to deal with the challenge of reconciling faith and modernity. We have either intolerant faith, faithless liberalism, or some form of compromise in between. All the opinions don’t address the core issue, and they all are reacting to each other – leaving us polarized with seemingly no way out.
What is one to do? What does the Torah advocate?
Now, here is part II.
Often a problem seems impossible to solve because it is based on a false premise, which in turn has become a “given fact” defining, hijacking, the context of the discussion. Presumed solutions, then, are not true solutions; they are more like cosmetic band-aids, and band-aids upon band-aids, which not only don’t solve the problem; they become part – and an extension – of it. To solve a problem we have to get out from under any false premises and look at the issue with a fresh eye.
Hardly will you find an issue where this distortion is more apparent than the challenge of balancing faith and modernity, especially when it touches intimate matters of love and marriage. The dissonance between these two worlds, so powerfully captured by Noah Feldman’s experience, is built on a false premise, which completely dominates and directs the discussion, obfuscating the heart of the issue.
The false premise is this: We live in a compartmentalized world in which faith and modernity can never be truly integrated. Out of this premise stem all the different positions in the debate around faith and tradition: Some feel that the only way to live in the modern world is to reject many elements of ancient tradition. Others, in fear and reaction to the former, go to the other rigid extreme, preaching dogma, protectionism and intolerance. And yet others react strongly to religious condescension and ostracism, and compromise the standard.
Noah Feldman’s experience is obviously not the root of this misconception. Neither is his education at the modern-Orthodox Maimonides School. Even the birth of modern Orthodox Judaism in 19th-century Germany is not the cause for the distortion.
The conflict can be traced back to the early stages of the Jewish emancipation in the 18th century. The primary challenge facing the Jewish people following the emancipation was how to benefit from their newfound freedoms while not compromising the integrity of millennia-old Jewish tradition. Indeed, modern assimilation was birthed as a result of a people unprepared for the challenges of accelerated emancipation. The challenge would take on different forms in the subsequent years – the battle between religion and science, between church and state and between faith and reason. Some chose insulation to protect from these progressive forces; others compartmentalization, and yet others assimilation.
The problem with all these options is that they all are based on, what they saw as, a fundamental rift between the secular and the spiritual. Thus, the only choice is to either opt for one or the other, or to find partial solutions to balance the two.
As centuries passed, this compartmentalized flaw became ingrained in the consciousness, and has shaped the thinking and education systems of hundreds of schools (by the name Maimonides or by other names), affecting the minds of millions, and has by now, understandably, taken on many lives, which control and define the dialogue – with each position reacting to the other.
Once a fundamental misconception becomes a “fact,” it is extremely difficult to dislodge its power without radical rethinking of the initial premise. Often, we have to hit “rock bottom” to shake us out of our presumptions and recognize the logical missteps that led to the distortions.
Though Feldman’s article doesn’t offer any new thoughts, its mere content and the reactions to it – including that which is omitted from the dialogue – reflect the current mindset and sheds a powerful light on the present predicament. It gives us the opportunity to revisit the stereotype, about the unbridgeable gap between faith and modern life.
[It reminds me of the powerful words of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev to a self-proclaimed atheist: The G-d you don’t believe in, I also don’t believe in. Once the definition of G-d has been hijacked, we can never discover G-d’s true meaning until we revisit the initial premise].
What is the philosophical flaw – exposed by the challenge of emancipation – in compartmentalization? Why is it problematic to say that faith and modernity cannot be bridged?
The problem is that compartmentalization implies a duality, which challenges the very notion of G-d Himself and His purpose in creating the universe.
The root issue is not just how we cope with balancing both worlds and what attitude we should have to intermarriage (these are but symptoms), but question missing from the discussion is: What does G-d want of us? Is Torah actually inconsistent with modern, secular life?
Earlier in history people lived in secluded environments, insulated and protected from outside influences. The challenges were internal. The question of a pluralistic (or dualistic) universe was more philosophical than practical. As the world broadened due to emancipation, the issue of reconciling G-d with the modern world became very real, with far reaching consequences. The question of duality stormed to the fore with enormous force.
But “the cure precedes the illness:” When the duality challenge arose the spiritual masters of the time, anticipating the great battles it would spawn, began emphasizing, like never before, the deeper spiritual nature of Torah and G-d’s plan with creating this seemingly dualistic universe.
And here lies the “new” option that upsets the very premise of the discussion on faith and modernity (not new at all, just going to back to the original Torah and recognizing its relevance today):
The Torah approach is based on the cardinal principle of Divine unity. As we declare in the most famous of all liturgy – the Shema: Hashem Echod. G-d is One does not merely mean that there is one G-d and not many. In its fullest, richest sense, it means that there is only one reality; the Divine permeates all of existence. So though on the surface the universe seems fragmented and multi-faceted, in truth there is no duality or plurality. Underneath it, all everything is permeated with Divine Unity. It is our role and mission in life to expose and reveal the inherent unity in every fiber of creation.
The Torah offers us a comprehensive system to bridge the schism between the material and the spiritual – presenting a dynamic blueprint for Jewish life today, one that makes the spiritual journey personally relevant to contemporary times.
Briefly, the Torah teaches that within all of matter lies potent spiritual energy. Each of us is charged with the mission of discovering the Divine “sparks” allocated to us in our respective corner of the world and sphere of influence.
We relieve the tension between matter and spirit by spiritualizing the material, releasing the Divine energy embedded in every person, object and experience. Redemption is the natural culmination of this process. Recognizing the Divine soul in each person naturally leads to a loving attitude toward every individual, regardless of background, persuasion or faith.
This seamless interface between the Divine and the human allows us to enter the emancipated world without compromising timeless values. On the contrary: it begets the opportunity to integrate both freedoms, material and spiritual, by refining and spiritualizing material secularism, turning the world into an intimate home for the Divine. The Torah offers man the tools to perceive and reveal the Divine in every aspect of life: to integrate personal independence with the highest moral standards of Torah, to blend fiery passion with profound intellect.
There are, however, two conditions for effective integration: 1) A system of guidelines and boundaries how to achieve this fusion. Living in a complicated world of rich diversity, with each of us facing the battle between narcissism and soulfulness, affected, if not consumed, by our own individual subjective desires and needs – the right choice isn’t always clear. We therefore require a roadmap to navigate the complexities of life, directing us to make the right choices in allowing spirit to dominate over matter, while respecting the uniqueness of diverse aspects of existence.
The second requirement is 2) Spiritual maturity. We don’t throw a young child into the world to face its cruel challenges until s/he is fortified with the wisdom and resources to face life’s battles. The same is true collectively: Before the 18th Century, communities were insulated from many outside forces. But the challenge of a modern world requires a particular level of spiritual maturity, so as not to be overwhelmed by the newfound freedoms and the endless options that prosperity offers; a fortitude that allows one to generate spiritual passion that will parallel and surpass material passion; spiritual strength to counter ego-strength.
And this is where the Torah comes in: Torah is a roadmap that instructs us how best to fuse spirit into our material and modern lives, and to so at the right pace, with the appropriate boundaries honoring the diversity of our lives.
The Torah in effect offers us a comprehensive spiritual vision of life that teaches us how to infuse soul into every aspect of our lives. It tells us that the way to look at life is not from the outside in: First there is a material universe and a modern world, then we try to find ways to fit spirituality and G-d’s laws into the pre-existing framework of life. No. First there is G-d. He chose to create a universe, and our mission is to align the universe with His plan. A universe on G-d’s terms, not ours.
The do’s and don’ts of Torah are not merely about commandments and prohibitions. They reflect a universal spiritual vision of life, while respecting the rich diversity of different souls in our universe.
This, of course, includes the issue of marriage: The Torah view on marriage is highly sophisticated – defining the dynamics of a true spiritual union. It is about the mysteries of every soul’s unique journey and destiny, It highlights the spiritual compatibilities necessary in marriage, even more than physical, emotional and intellectual commonalities.
When you appreciate the spirit of Torah you also come to understand that G-d created all humans, Jews and gentile, in the Divine Image. The Torah’s prohibition against intermarriage is not about petty discriminations and parochial concerns. It is not due to elitism, exclusivity, or plain, primitive superstition – all juvenile concepts that are as foreign to Torah as idolatry itself. It is also not merely about protecting Jews from gentile influences.
Without entering into an elaborate discussion on intermarriage (which deserves its own focus to do it true justice), suffice it to say that it has nothing to with the narrow interpretations heard from the reactionary right or the dismissive propositions heard from the progressive left. The tragedy is this: As long as we do not know the Torah’s spiritual approach to marriage, we in a way are all “intermarried,” in the sense of confusing spiritual roles and adventures in life.
Let us now return to Noah Feldman’s story, which vividly captures the approach of so many of us today desperately trying – without success – to make sense of and bridge a dualistic universe, in which G-d and existence are two distinct entities, rendering faith and modernity as two dissonant forces, unable to fully meet.
If we look upon the Torah only as a book of laws, as grand as this legal corpus may be, we will ultimately never be able to overcome the rifts, some more subtle than others, between the Torah view and the world view, as Feldman so accurately describes. And ultimately, a rift between our ideals of love and marriage and the Torah’s expectations.
A pluralistic or dualistic material world, and by extension – modern life – poses a profound challenge: What to do when the world of spirit conflict with the world of matter? How much of modernity do we allow into our spiritual lives? Or how much spirituality do we allow into our material lives?
We are left with either those dismissing Torah’s relevance to our modern lives, or the opposite extreme – “ultra-orthodox” insulation and intolerance (reacting to ultra-liberalism), or some compromise in-between. [1]
However, if we see Torah as a spiritual blueprint our entire attitude is different: In a unified world, with inherent Divine unity running through every fiber of existence, there is no such challenge, because everything – matter and spirit, faith and reason, the secular and the sacred – is driven by the Divine energy within. The only challenge is this, and it is a great challenge: Will we have the discipline and fortitude to overcome personal desires and be able to recognize and reveal the Divine purpose latent in all of existence, as outlined in the Torah and its guidelines?
In such a spiritually cohesive world the challenges of modernity actually do not even exist. We don’t need to be “modern” to engage in the world and its beauty. From the outset we should be engaging the world and its gifts in order to reveal the Divine sparks within.
For one who has lived in a “ghetto,” isolated from the larger world, emancipation becomes an “eye-opener,” offering many new seductive options (both positive and negative), leaving one to make personal decisions: “how much” to let in and at what point am I compromising my Judaism (or it may even come to a point where one doesn’t care).
But one whose world outlook encompasses all of existence will not be seduced by modern options; on the contrary he sees the world as channel, a tool to express the Divine. His spiritual life is therefore not challenged by modernity – he does not see it as emancipation nor as compromise; simply as a development that needs its Divine sparks revealed and elevated. His only question is: How? What are the Torah guidelines that define the best way to align any new discovery with the Divine plan?
If, for instance, Torah’s prohibition of intermarriage is no more than another “legality” (which may be seen outgrown in modern times), then yes, “modernity” may include marrying anyone, even outside your own faith. Aren’t we all part of one human race? But if you study the universal and timeless spiritual nature of Torah’s guidelines, you come to appreciate the beautiful diversity of souls, and not every soul must unite with another to respect its majesty and reveal its Divinity.
Who is more hip and modern? The one who sees the modern world as a novelty, and is perpetually trying to juggle with the dissonance between faith and modernity; or one who initially sees the entire universe – with all its cutting edge developments – as a Divine “playground,” for us to tap and access its Divine energy?
To his credit Noah Feldman does sense the need for true unity. He was taught “to see the world and the Torah as profoundly interconnected.” But clearly, he does not have a method and strategy how to implement a workable integration.
How else is it possible that someone so erudite in Torah, able to “recite the better part of the Hebrew Bible from memory,” should be able to disconnect to the extreme and not see how his marriage out of the faith is a major statement?
But ironically, Feldman does us a service by accurately observing that his own dissonance – which ultimately resulted in his ability to intermarry while not feeling that he rejected his Jewish upbringing – was a result from the ultimate duality of his Modern Orthodox education, an “attempt to bring the ideals of Orthodox Judaism into dialogue with a certain slice of late-20th-century American life,” whose goal it was, as Feldman sees it, to “strive to be, as a poet of the time put it, “a Jew in the home and a man in the street.” [Though this statement, I believe was used by the original leader of Reform Judaism, its quite prescient of Feldman to describe Modern Orthodoxy in this way].
“Even as we students of the Maimonides School spent half of every school day immersed in what was unabashedly a medieval curriculum, our aim was to seem to outsiders — and to ourselves — like reasonable, mainstream people, not fanatics or cult members.”
But only to “seem” that way. Since faith and modernity ultimately are two different, conflicting worlds, any attempt to normalize Judaism (“to normalize the observance of traditional Jewish law — to make it possible to follow all 613 biblical commandments assiduously while still participating in the reality of the modern world”) will ultimately fail. The only question is to what extent it will fail. For some the dissonance would be simple compartmentalization, driven by
“the desire to inhabit multiple worlds simultaneously and to defy contradiction with coexistence.”
For others it would widen into a deep rupture leading to marrying out of the faith and bearing non-Jewish children.
Which is why Feldman could have experienced the ultimate dissonance –
“not felt myself to have rejected my upbringing, even when some others imagine me to have done so by virtue of my marriage.”
Feldman’s conflict saddens the heart: How does he possibly balance his deep-rooted “respect and love for the wisdom of the tradition,” which so profoundly impacted his life, with his life choices? How does he reconcile his education which influenced him so deeply and “informs every part of my inner life” with his ongoing effort to “reconcile Jewish faith with scholarship and engagement in the public sphere” – how he remains “of the community even while no longer fully in the community?”
So though on one hand he was taught how “to see the world and the Torah as profoundly interconnected,” at the same time the two worlds ultimately remain apart. While he learned how
“Maimonides taught that accurate knowledge of the world — physical and metaphysical — was, alongside studying, obeying and understanding the commandments, the one route to the ultimate summum bonum of knowing God. A life lived by these precepts can be both noble and beautiful,”
yet as Feldman concludes, as tantalizing a prospect the consilience of faith and modernity appears within the reach of modern Orthodoxy,
“it can be undermined by the fragile fault lines between the moral substructures of the two worldviews, which can widen into deep ruptures on important matters of life and love.”
The only way to explain such dissonance is by realizing that with all his academic Torah study and all his brilliance, when the unified spiritual vision is missing integration is impossible. It is therefore not surprising that in the entire article Feldman does not discuss souls and spirituality – which lies at the core of the entire Torah.
Truth be told, Feldman does make one meager reference to soul, but in doing so he demonstrates how little he knows about actualizing the soul. Quoting Maimonides, “who understood the soul pretty well,” “He once characterized the true love of God as all-consuming — “as though one had contracted the sickness of love.” But how do we integrate love of G-d into our personal love?
How could someone so brilliant, so well educated in an excellent Jewish school, be unaware of Judaism’s spirituality? This should not surprise anyone. This major omission plagues almost every Jewish school today, even the best ones.
The sad fact remains that Mr. Feldman – and millions of others – never learned about the spiritual dimension of Judaism and Torah. Perhaps even sadder, is the fact that many of Feldman’s orthodox critics share this ignorance.
How about all those that didn’t receive any Jewish education? Some may say that they are better off, based on the maxim that “knowing half of something is worse than knowing nothing.” But regardless, all of us are suffering.
I like to see every experience as positive: Seeing what is lacking ought to inspire us to do something about it.
Feldman’s story vividly captures the tragedy of our times, and teaches us what we need most: A true cohesive view of Torah that embraces all souls while appreciating their differences. An understanding of Torah that is neither dogmatic nor diluted, neither Orthodox nor Secular – it is about one G-d, and how the drama of life unfolds in expressing the Divine unity, in all its beautiful diverse manifestations, or sadly not.
Our challenge today – and a formidable challenge it is – is to teach people of the Torah personal relevance to our lives. From psychology to relationships, from pain to joy, from the moment we are born to the moment we die and beyond, every aspect of life, every nuance and dimension can be realized to its fullest through Torah.
Feldman’s article and its aftermath should serve as a wake up call. The best reaction to it is to create a true revolution in Jewish education – insisting on the infusion of soul and spirit in the Jewish dialogue and curriculum of our schools. Explaining to our children not just “juxtaposing traditional and secular curricula,” how “a rigorous secular curriculum” should follow “alongside traditional Talmud and Bible study… to try to be at once a Lithuanian yeshiva and a New England prep school,” not merely to find ways of “reconciling the vastly disparate values of tradition and modernity — of Slobodka and St. Paul’s,” but teaching us to recognize Hashem Echod – that all of existence is one reality, not duality, both actually part of one seamless whole.
The ultimate way to preempt “intermarriage” is not only by invoking law or ostracizing transgressors, but to address the root of the issue: A lack of awareness as to the true nature of a spiritual union (marriage) and the soul of intimacy; how to balance a universal vision with the unique spiritual journey of the individual. Without this awareness, there ultimately is no reason (besides for guilt or fear) not to marry outside of the faith. Or, even if a reason can be found, it may not be more powerful than the reason to marry.
So to answer Feldman’s concluding question:
“Would we be the same people, in essence, had we remained completely within the bosom of modern Orthodoxy.” “Couldn’t the contradictory world from which we sprang be just as rich and productive as the contradictory life we actually live? Would it really, truly, have made all that much difference? Isn’t everyone’s life a mass of contradictions?”
In the final analysis, Judaism’s ultimate answer is: Yes, our lives are full of contradictions, because the universe is a diverse, multi-faceted fragmented world. But through our choices we can connect to Hashem Echod – the oneness and unity of G-d, and that can allow us to transcend the differences
But to do so requires putting an end to our compartmentalized life choices. G-d and Torah must permeate not just the food we eat, the holidays we keep, but our choices in love and marriage, in the “important matters of life and love.”
———–
[1] This bizarre distortion also manifests in the irreparable rift between the “denominations:” As a reaction to those rejecting the Torah’s Divinity, Orthodoxy has laid claim to the Torah. And for good reason: The other denominations, by rendering Torah into man made literature, have in effect emasculated the Torah of its absolute authority.
The problem is that the Torah belongs to the Orthodox no more than it does to any group or individual. The reason Torah was given in the wilderness – not in a beautiful civilized city – was to declare its autonomy: Torah was given in a no man’s land to show that no one, no city, community, denomination or group, has a monopoly on Torah.
The Torah – and the soul – is not orthodox, conservative or reform. It is a Divine entity, that cannot be quantified by man-made definitions (see Was Moses Orthdox?).
Tags: Torah, divine image, intermarriage, traditions, love, spiritual, marriage, Divine light, faith
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Faith, Beliefs & Concepts, Eikev, Devarim, Torah | 1 Comment »
July 22nd, 2015
There is no free man, save he who occupies himself with the study of Torah
Ethics of the Fathers 6:2
Among the great technological achievements of the last half-century is the development of the laser beam. The nature of light is such that it scatters as it moves away from its source, thereby lessening its intensity and effect. The laser overcomes this limitation by concentrating its energy in a straight line, so that it retains its potency even at a great distance from its point of origin. Thus its utility (as a source of light, heat, or other uses) can be exploited in ways previously unimaginable.
We often hear the argument that a life that is faithful to the precepts of the Torah is greatly “constricted” and “confined.” Why limit myself in any way? Why not give free reign to my thoughts, feelings and inclinations, and let them lead me where they may? Why categorically exclude certain pursuits and experiences from the possible paths my life might take?
On the face of it, any code of behavior is limiting—something that detracts from the great variety of possibilities that life has to offer. In truth, however, the very opposite is the case. A life without parameters is a life that quickly dissipates in the cosmic heterogeneity in which we exist, draining it of all power and impact. As the example of the laser beam demonstrates, it is precisely the “limitations” imposed on a force that extend and amplify its potential and enable its optimal realization.
Based on an address delivered by the Rebbe on Chanukah, 5730 (1970)
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: discipline, light, limitations, potential, Yanki Tauber, Rebbe
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Months & Holidays, Shmot, Pirkei Avos, Ethics of Our Fathers, Yitro, Chapter Six, Torah, Nisan | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
And it came to pass on the third day, when morning came, that there were thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud upon the mountain, and the sound of the shofar exceeding loud; and the entire people within the camp trembled. And Moses brought the people out of the camp to meet with G-d, and they stood at the foot of the mountain…
And G-d came down upon Mount Sinai, on the top of the mountain. And G-d called Moses to the top of the mountain, and Moses ascended.
Exodus 19:16-20
The most momentous event in Jewish history took place on Shabbat, the sixth day of the month of Sivan, in the year 2448 from creation (1313 bce). On that day, the entire people of Israel—more than 2 million men, women and children,[1] as well as the souls of all future generations of Jews—gathered at the foot of Mount Sinai to receive the Torah from G-d. Ever since, the event has been marked on our calendar as the festival of Shavuot—the “Time of the Giving of Our Torah.”
But the Torah we received at Sinai had already been in our possession for many generations. Shem, the son of Noah, headed an academy for the study of Torah together with his great-grandson, Eber;[2] the Patriarchs—Abraham, Isaac and Jacob—established “yeshivot” for Torah study;[3] all through the Egyptian exile, the tribe of Levi (who were not enslaved) occupied themselves with the study of Torah.[4] Our ancestors “fulfilled the entire Torah even before it was given,” observing its every law and ordinance—including the obligation to make an eiruv tavshilin when a festival falls on the eve of Shabbat.[5] No new document was unveiled at Sinai, and no hitherto unknown code of behavior was commanded there. What, then, was given to us at “The Giving of Our Torah”?
The Midrash[6] explains the significance of the event with the following parable:
Once there was a king who decreed: “The people of Rome are forbidden to go down to Syria, and the people of Syria are forbidden to go up to Rome.” Likewise, when G-d created the world He decreed and said: “The heavens are G-d’s, and the earth is given to man.”[7] But when He wished to give the Torah to Israel, He rescinded His original decree, and declared: “The lower realms may ascend to the higher realms, and the higher realms may descend to the lower realms. And I, Myself, will begin”—as it is written, “And G-d descended on Mount Sinai,”[8] and then it says, “And to Moses He said: Go up to G-d.”[9]
For the first twenty-five centuries of history, there existed a gezerah—a “decree” and “schism”—which split reality into two self-contained realms: the spiritual and the material. Torah, the divine wisdom and will, could have no real effect upon the physical world. It was a wholly spiritual manifesto, pertaining to the soul of man and to the spiritual reality of the “heavens.” While its concepts could, and were, applied to physical life, physical life could not be elevated—it could be improved and perfected to the limits of its potential, but it could not transcend its inherent coarseness and subjectivity. Nor could the spiritual be truly brought down to earth—its very nature defied actualization.
At Sinai, G-d revoked the decree which had confined matter and spirit to two distinct “realms.” G-d came down on Mount Sinai, bringing the spirituality of the heavens down to earth. He summoned Moses to the top of the mountain, empowering physical man to raise his physical self and world to a higher state of existence. The Torah could now sanctify physical life.
The encounter between G-d and man at Sinai introduced a new phenomenon—the cheftza shel kedushah or “holy object.” After Sinai, when physical man takes a physical coin, earned by his physical toil and talents, and gives it to charity; or when he bakes flour and water as unleavened bread (matzah) and eats it on the first night of Passover; or when he forms a piece of leather to a specified shape and dimensions, inserts into it parchment scrolls inscribed with specified words, and binds them to his head and arm as tefillin—the object with which he has performed his “mitzvah” (divine commandment) is transformed. A finite, physical thing becomes “holy,” as its substance and form embody the realization of a divine desire and command.
The mitzvot could be, and were, performed before the revelation at Sinai. But because they had not yet been commanded by G-d, they lacked the power to bridge the great divide between matter and spirit. The mitzvah could have its spiritual effect in refining the soul of man; it could even, to a certain extent, perfect its physical object by making it the agent of a good and virtuous deed. But only as a command of G-d, creator and delineator of both the spiritual and the physical, could the mitzvah supersede the natural definitions of these two realms. Only after Sinai could the mitzvah actualize the spiritual and sanctify the material.
Thus Maimonides writes:
Pay attention to the major principle expressed by this Mishnah when it says, “It was said at Sinai” … For everything from which we refrain or which we do today, we do only because of G‑d’s command to Moses at Sinai, not because of any communication by G‑d to earlier prophets. For example, that which we do not eat a limb from a live animal is not because G-d forbade this to Noah, but because Moses forbade it to us by commanding at Sinai that the prohibition of eating a limb from a live animal should remain in force. Similarly, we do not circumcise ourselves because our father Abraham circumcised himself and the members of his household, but because G‑d commanded us through Moses that we should circumcise ourselves as did Abraham…[10]
An Absorbent World
Therein lies the significance of a curious detail related by our sages regarding the revelation at Sinai.
The Torah tells us that G-d spoke the Ten Commandments, which encapsulate the entire Torah, in a “great, unceasing voice.”[11] The Midrash[12] presents various meanings for the word “unceasing.” One explanation is that the divine voice did not confine itself to the holy tongue but reverberated in mankind’s seventy languages. A second interpretation is that the voice did not cease on that particular Shabbat morning some 3300 years ago: throughout the generations, all prophets and sages who taught and expounded upon the wisdom of the Torah are the extension of that very voice, for they added nothing that was not already inherent in the Ten Commandments. Finally, the Midrash offers a third explanation of the voice’s “unceasing” nature: the divine voice at Sinai was unique in that it had no echo.
The first two interpretations obviously point to the universality and timelessness of Torah. But what is “great and unceasing” about the fact that the voice had no echo? Why should it have been distinguished in this manner from all other sounds?
In truth, however, the echoless nature of the divine communication conveys the very essence of what transpired at Sinai. An echo is created when a sound meets with a substance which resists it: instead of absorbing its waves, the substance repels them, bouncing them back to the void. Prior to Sinai, the voice of Torah had an “echo.” Belonging to the spirituality of the heavens, it could not truly penetrate the physicality of the earth. The world might “hear” of Torah and be affected by it; but there remained a certain degree of resistance, as each remained bound in its respective “higher” and “lower” realm. At Sinai, however, G-d rescinded the decree which had severed the heavens from the earth. The world could now fully absorb the divine voice; a physical object could now become one with its mission and role.
Therein lies an important lesson to us as we pursue our mission in life to implement the ethos and ideals of Torah in our world.
At Sinai we were charged to serve as a “light unto the nations”[13]—to actualize in our own lives, and to teach all of humanity, that no matter what the conditions of a particular time, place or society may be, there is an all-transcendent, unequivocal, divinely ordained truth and moral code of behavior to adhere to. At times, however, we might be confronted with a seemingly unresponsive and even resisting world. It may appear that one or another of Torah’s precepts does not “fit in” with the prevalent reality. So the Torah tells us that the voice which sounded G-d’s message to man had no echo.
The voice of the Ten Commandments permeated every object in the universe. So any “resistance” we may possibly meet in implementing them is superficial and temporary. For at Sinai, the essence of every created being was made consistent with, and wholly receptive to, the goodness and perfection which G-d desires of it.
Up and Down
The divine edict which had originally separated the spiritual from the physical is described by the Midrash as a double decree: the heavens were proscribed from descending to earth, and the earth was prevented from rising to the heavens (or in the analogy, “The people of Rome are forbidden to go down to Syria, and the people of Syria are forbidden to go up to Rome”). The annulment of the decree at Sinai was likewise two-fold: a) “The higher realms may descend to the lower realms,” effected by G-d’s descent upon Mount Sinai; b) “The lower realms may ascend to the higher realms,” achieved by G-d’s summons to Moses to ascend the mountain.
Both are necessary if a true union of spirit and matter is to be achieved. If the Torah only brought heaven down to earth, or only raised the earth to the heavens, the resultant union would be a one-sided one—a marriage that is defined by the nature and character of only one of its partners. If only the heavens had descended, their union with earth would be typified by the ethereality and transcendence of the spiritual; if only the earth had ascended, its union with the heavens would be characterized by the finiteness and tactility of the physical. A true marriage is a two-way relationship, in which each partner not only relates to and connects with the other, but also participates in defining the nature of the relationship between them.
The Torah is a true marriage of the supernal and the earthly because it is at the same time spiritual and physical, transcendent and tactual. It is the wisdom and will of G-d, but as apprehended by the human mind and actualized in the physical life of man.[14] It is timeless and universal, but detailed and precise in defining the particulars of the mitzvot—the times for the onset of the weekly Shabbat and for the morning reading of theShema, the place of the altar in the Holy Temple, the dimensions of thesukkah to be constructed for the festival of Sukkot and the quantity of matzah to be eaten on the first night of Passover. While actualizing the spiritual, the Torah retains the spiritual’s boundlessness and purity; and in sanctifying the physical, it employs the tactility and finiteness of the physical object as the vehicle of its sanctification.[15]
Collision
Our sages tell us that “Man is a miniature universe.”[16] Within man, too, there is a heaven and an earth, a spiritual “higher realm” and a material “lower realm.” In man, too, these were once separate and distinct. And in man, too, the revelation at Sinai empowered us to unite substance and spirit, body and soul.
Through the mitzvot of the Torah, the soul of man finds purpose and utility, inspiration and majesty in physical deeds and material achievements. And through the mitzvot of the Torah, man’s mundane, everyday pursuits become holy and divine.
Here, too, the marriage of spirit and matter must be accompanied by a descent of the spiritual and an ascent of the physical. The soul, whose first inclination is to avoid the coarseness and mundanity of the material, must gravitate downward and strive to express itself in the physical life of the body. And the physical self, which tends towards being and actualization, must strive to raise itself higher, to transcend its selfhood and immanence.
Only in the collision of these counter—and contrary—strivings can we attain a true union of body and soul, and ultimately achieve a union of heaven and earth, of Creator with creation.
Based on the Rebbe’s talks on numerous occasions[17]
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. A census taken eleven months later counted 603,550 males between the ages of 20 and 60 (excluding the tribe of Levi).
[2]. Rashi on Genesis 26:5.
[4]. Rashi on Genesis 46:28; Chizkuni on Exodus 5:4.
[6]. Midrash Tanchuma, Va’eira 15; Midrash Rabbah, Shemot 12:4.
[10]. Maimonides’ commentary on the Mishnah, Chullin 7:6.
[12]. Midrash Rabbah, Shemot 28:4.
[14]. As exemplified by the following incident related in the Talmud (Bava Metzia 59b):
Rabbi Eliezer and his colleagues were debating a point of Torah law. Rabbi Eliezer maintained that a certain type of oven was not susceptible to ritual impurity, while the others disagreed. “On that day,” the Talmud recounts, “Rabbi Eliezer brought them all sorts of proofs, but they were rejected… Finally, he said to them: ‘If the law is as I say, may it be proven from Heaven!’ There then issued a heavenly voice which proclaimed: ‘What do you want of Rabbi Eliezer—the law is as he says…’
“Rabbi Joshua stood on his feet and said: ‘The Torah is not in Heaven!’
“(What does this mean? Explained Rabbi Jeremiah: We take no notice of Heavenly voices, since You, G-d, have already, at Sinai, written in the Torah to follow the majority).”
The Talmud continues: “Rabbi Nathan met Elijah the Prophet and asked him: ‘What did G-d do at that moment?’ [Elijah] replied: ‘He smiled and said: They have triumphed over Me, My children, they have triumphed over Me.’”
[15]. Thus there are, in fact, three stages to the union of heaven and earth: a) the descent of the “higher realms” to the lower; b) the ascent of the “lower realms” to the higher; c) the “collision” or merger of these two movements in a single “marriage” and union.
On the historical level, the first millennium, which was characterized by an abundant flow of life and nurture from Above, was a time in which the relationship between heaven and earth was defined exclusively by the “higher realms.” The second millennium, which saw the refinement and self-elevation of earth, was a time of upward striving on the part of the “lower realms.” And the third millennium, which commenced the “age of Torah,” saw the union of matter and spirit in the convergence of the two (see The Third Millennium, WIR, vol. V, no. 6; The Era of the Rainbow, WIR, vol. X, no. 5).
In the immediate events leading to the revelation at Sinai, these three stages were actualized in: a) the Exodus, which was a unilateral, divinely initiated revelation and redemption from Above; b) the seven-week period of preparation and self-refinement between the Exodus and the revelation at Sinai (re-enacted each year with our “counting of the omer”); and c) the Giving of the Torah, in which G-d came down on Mount Sinai and Moses ascended the mountain (see Running After You, WIR, vol. VII, no. 31; The Journey, WIR, vol. IX, no. 26).
On another level, the revelation at Sinai, though it included elements of the “lower realms ascending,” was primarily a revelation from Above. This is followed by many centuries of self-refinement and self-perfection on our part, to be followed by the Era of Moshiach and its ultimate union of heaven and earth.
[16]. Midrash Tanchuma, Pekudei 3.
[17]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. III, pp. 887-892; vol. IV, pp. 1092-1098; vol. VIII, pp. 105-113; et al.
Tags: Torah, matter and spirit, Yanki Tauber, Rebbe, mitzvot, Matan Torah
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Soul & Mystical, Shmot, Yitro, Spiritual, Torah | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
The following is a freely translated excerpt from a letter by the Rebbe dated Sivan 25, 5712 (June 18, 1952):[15]
… From your letter I surmise that you are an engineer, though it is unclear to me whether your work involves the construction of buildings or is in the field of measuring distances or areas or the like. In any case, fundamental to all of the above is the science of geometry. And what is one of the things that the nature of this science can teach us?
Geometry has the characteristics of an exact science as well as of an applied science. The same is true of our holy Torah (lehavdil ad infinitum). For though the Torah is the wisdom of G-d–the ultimate in truth and exactitude–and “no man can know its worth… and it is hidden from the eyes of all living,”[16] nevertheless, as its name, Torah (from the word hora’ah, “instruction”), implies, its purpose is to instruct our daily lives in this physical and material world. Thus, the difference between these two disciplines (Torah and geometry) can enlighten us as to the fundamental and infinite difference between the Torah, of which it is said “for it is your wisdom and understanding before all nations,”[17] and the wisdom and understanding of the nations and also of the intellect of the “animal soul”[18] of the Jew.[19]
All human sciences, including the “exact sciences,” are founded upon axioms that are wholly unscientific. For science, especially exact science, accepts only proven facts, while the axioms of all sciences, mathematics and geometry included, are not proven in any way, so that a person is free to accept them or reject them. This is most apparent in the science of geometry, which has three different systems, each of which is founded upon a number of axioms, with the axioms of one system being contradictory to the axioms of the others.
In other words, no science can present to a person anything definite, only a series of contingencies. It can only say: if you accept a number of axioms as true, and you accept a particular method of deduction from them, the results will be such and such.
There are two points here: a) It is the person’s prerogative whether to accept the axioms or not. b) Also in the case that he does accept them, there is nothing to compel him to act in a manner that is consistent with the results of the particular method. For all the method says is, “If you act this way, the result will be such and such.” But if the person is willing to accept the adverse consequences, there is nothing that compels him not to act in any way he desires. In other words, science does not instruct life, but only narrates–as a sort of fortune-teller–a sequence of events, maintaining that according to past experience, and based upon certain axioms which we fancy to accept as true, things will unfold in such and such a manner.
Utterly different is our holy Torah. As the wisdom of the Absolute Existence–the Almighty–it is absolute. Its axioms, as well as the rules that dictate the manner in which laws are to be derived from these axioms, are utterly true. And since this is the wisdom of the Creator of the entire world, man included, it is self-understood that these laws obligate a person to act in concurrence with them, and in no other way.
This is one of the points that you, as a scientist, ought to engrave in your mind: there can be no refutation of Torah by science, since the Torah is absolute truth, while science itself attests that it is not absolute, but dependent upon the person’s willful acceptance of certain givens; that the science has full license to establish several contradictory systems, all legitimized by the person’s choice to accept their axioms, as is the case with the three systems in geometry–the Euclidean, Lobachevskian and Riemannian….
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[15]. Igrot Kodesh, vol. VI, pp. 145-146. See also Reshimot #3, pp. 48-49; Likkutei Sichot, vol. II, p. 561.
[17]. Deuteronomy 4:6; cf. Midrash Rabbah, Eicha 2:17: “If a person says to you, ‘There is wisdom among the nations,’ believe it; [but if a person says] ‘There is Torah among the nations,’ do not believe it.”
[18]. See Tanya, ch. 1, pp. 6-8.
[19]. The best way to demonstrate the difference between two things is to compare them at the points at which they are most similar. So the science of geometry, which resembles the Torah in that it is both an exact and applied science, can best serve as the model that demonstrates the difference between Torah and human wisdom.
Tags: Divine knowledge, Torah, axioms, Tora and science, Yanki Tauber, Rebbe
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Beliefs & Concepts, Torah Personalities, Modern, Social, Yitro, Torah, Science & Technology, Rebbe | 1 Comment »
July 22nd, 2015
Undoubtedly, many have by now read Noah Feldman’s article in last weeks Sunday New York Times Magazine, “Orthodox Paradox.” Feldman, a Harvard law professor, movingly describes how his marrying out of the Jewish faith caused him to lose recognition in the Orthodox Jewish school which shaped his life.
He elaborates about the rifts and tensions that exist between faith and secular life. The essential theme of Feldman’s article is the great struggle and difficulty inherent in reconciling the “vastly disparate values of tradition and modernity — of Slobodka and St. Paul’s.”
I read Noah Feldman’s article with special interest. After all, my life work is dedicated to bridging the two worlds of the spiritual and the secular. Wherever I turn I try to find ways to demonstrate how Torah is a blueprint for life. When deciphered properly and personalized, it offers us a sophisticated and comprehensive guide in every aspect of our lives – private and public, at home, work and play, addressing our emotional and psychological needs.
I therefore was looking to Feldman’s article for some fresh insight, perhaps a new way to speak to people who are struggling with the conflicts of faith and modernity.
But alas, this article simply repeats and confirms the same old stereotypes that have captured the minds of the last few generations. Orthodoxy is simply unable to contain and respect modernity, so vividly expressed in the modern equivalent of “excommunication” of their own alumni, Noah Feldman, due to his “intermarriage” with a Korean American woman.
But even more intriguing to me were the responses to Feldman’s article, or rather the lack of response.
From condemnations to commendations, from rebuttal to compassion, different writers, pundits and bloggers have been weighing in each with their passionate opinion. Not surprising: Jews are known to be fierce “opinionaters” – a tradition that goes back to Talmudic, and even Biblical times, and surely earlier. Especially a hot button item like intermarriage, and Orthodox standards in a modern world, is sure to evoke strong responses from all corners of the Jewish community and outside of it.
Glaringly missing, however, from all the discussions is the search for a solution of the problem: Can we actually integrate Torah into our modern lives? Or will the two remain forever at odds with each other? And what about intermarriage: Why are 50% of Jewish people marrying out of their faith? How do we solve the problem at its root? Some (not I) even ask: Is it a problem, or simply a modern reality that we must learn to accept?
Everyone has a position, from one extreme to the next, but no one offers a solution.
Let’s begin with Feldman’s actual argument. Essentially, he contends that despite all the attempts of modern Orthodox Judaism to reconcile and negotiate the two worlds, there remains a fundamental dissonance and compartmentalization. No where is this more pronounced then when it comes to marriage – the defining factor in Jewish commitment, and for Feldman, his “most personal aspect of coming to terms with modern Orthodoxy.”
Feldman explains that the Orthodox must resist acceptance of intermarriage and ostracize those that transgress. The way he sees it, based on his “intimate understanding” gained in his yeshiva education, is because
“a religious community that seeks to preserve its traditional structure must maintain its boundaries.” “Although Jews of many denominations are uncomfortable with marriage between Jews and people of other religions, modern Orthodox condemnation is especially definitive. The reason for the resistance to such marriages derives from Jewish law but also from the challenge of defining the borders of the modern Orthodox community in the liberal modern state… When combined with the traditional Jewish concern for continuity and self-preservation — itself only intensified by the memory of the Holocaust — marriage becomes the sine qua non of social membership in the modern Orthodox community… For those who choose to marry spouses of another faith, maintaining membership would become all but impossible.”
Clearly, Modern Orthodoxy (in the version of the Maimonides School of Brookline, Mass.), despite its progressive attempt “to try to be at once a Lithuanian yeshiva and a New England prep school,” following a “rigorous secular curriculum alongside traditional Talmud and Bible study,” ultimately fails in reconciling these two disparate worlds.
Reactions to Feldman’s position vary.
On one hand Feldman’s article was, predictably, attacked by the religious Orthodox whom he takes on in his article. In their typical untrusting fashion, the religious critics, instead of addressing the issues at hand, dismiss his arguments as another attempt to break away from Torah tradition that has endured over the centuries. As is so often and so sad the case, many religious simply invalidate and ostracize an individual like Feldman, writing him off, without any interest in engaging him. And the more orthodox, the less tolerant.
Where will this approach lead? To completely and tragically cutting off the majority of the Jewish people… Is this what the Torah advocates? Is this consistent with the cardinal mitzvah love thy fellow as thyself? Can any one person be complete if other “limbs” of the collective organism are ailing?
On the other extreme, we have the defenders of Feldman, and some who go even farther than him with their critique of Orthodoxy as archaic, close-minded, unwilling to embrace the modern age of free inquiry. Intermarriage, in particular, is seen by them as a throwback to primitive beliefs of exclusivity and self-protection, unnecessary in an evolved world like ours. Essentially, this extreme renders tradition obsolete, a position that Feldman would reject.
Finally, we have – in between the extremes – the reconciliators, who advocate acceptance of those that may have intermarried or otherwise wandered outside of the “traditional” Jewish fold. Author Shmuley Boteach, for instance, argues that the conventional method of rejecting those that married out of the faith, has not worked. Treating them as traitors to the Jewish cause as a deterrent has not prevented intermarriage reaching 50% of the Jewish population.
But let’s take this argument to its logical conclusion. What will result from accepting these Jews? Millions of non-ostracized intermarried Jews, who may or may not embrace Judaism. Will this stem the tide of assimilation and intermarriage?
Besides, how does one make a strong statement about a religious standard – as in intermarriage – if we embrace everyone equally? How do we show love and acceptance without compromising the integrity of our standards?
I’m not suggesting alienating anyone; but simply that a “loving” solution alone is quite lame. And above all, it only addresses the symptoms, not the roots.
Without addressing the education or re-education of Jews, nothing will really stem the tide of assimilation.
So we seem to be stuck. Without finding the core issue, we have either Feldman experiencing alienation from his own roots, others advocating total acceptance of Feldman and his choices, or one step further – Rabbis condoning and even performing intermarriages.
We have either the ultra-orthodox intolerance, astringent and unable to deal with a Jew that makes choices outside of the system. Or the other extreme – those calling for abolishing these “ancient laws” based on “primitive” notions of discrimination and exclusivity.
In between, we have those searching for reconciliation, and desperately trying to find a middle ground. Some argue that we can’t accept intermarriage, but once someone does marry outside of his or her faith, we must embrace them, and even try to convert the gentile party to Judaism. Has anyone considered that to be a form of elitism and exclusivity? Why are you imposing your religion (Judaism) on a gentile spouse? Would you like if someone imposed their religion (say Christianity) on you? Isn’t it fair to allow the gentile spouse to make that decision for themselves?
Others attempt reconciliation through interfaith dialogues, workshops and therapy. Yet another form of attempted reconciliation is ignoring the whole thing.
Even worse is the fact that each “philosophy” doesn’t stand on its own feet; it is responding to the other arguments – in one vicious, unending cycle: The ultra-orthodox become more inflexible in response to liberal permissiveness. The anti-religious become more radical, and even fanatic, in reaction to religious fanaticism. And the centrist reconciliators, many thinking people, are repulsed by the religious extremism of the mindless Orthodox, who ostracize those they don’t agree with, lacking the knowledge of how to love without compromising Torah. They oppose the Orthodox ”blind” rejection of Jews that are “not in your club.” But in turn, they go to the other extreme, some more than others, and confuse the standards and blur the boundaries between.
What is most disturbing is the polarization and that no one seems to notice that we need another option.
What is one to do? What does the Torah advocate?
The answer lies in a fascinating approach that introduces the soul of Judaism. As long as Judaism remains a body of law, a system of do’s and dont’s, divorced of its inner spirit, we will never be able to integrate it into modern life.
To be continued… Part II – next week.
Tags: intermarriage, private vs. public, education, psychology, faith, religion
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Ve'etchanan, Personal Life, Love & Marriage, Devarim, Torah | No Comments »
July 22nd, 2015
Thousands of Year Old Tears
On Tisha B’Av 1967, tears flowed out of the eyes of a Tzaddik, the Rebbe, a man of great holiness.
Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av is the saddest day of the Jewish calendar. On this day the two holy Temples were destroyed: the first Temple – by the Babylonians over 2400 years ago, the second one by the Romans over 1900 years ago. We mourn these and other losses every Tisha B’av.
Yet, 1967 was unique. One witness described the scene:
“Never did I see the Rebbe cry like that. His entire body was shaking as he recited Kinus [a series of lamentations said on Tisha B’Av]. The Rebbe was weeping so strongly that we could not hear one clear word of the Haftorah the Rebbe was reading that morning.”
Why was the Rebbe crying so? Tisha B’Av, every year, is a sad day. What distinguished Tisha B’Av 1967 that elicited such a strong reaction?
We can only speculate. But it doesn’t seem that difficult to infer that the tears were related to the events of that summer.
That summer the Rebbe was heralding in the great spiritual awakening that took place as a result of the smashing victory of the Six-Day War. This was the beginning of the “great shofar’s” call touching souls everywhere, even those “lost in the land of Ashur” and “banished in the land of Mitzrayim.”
But then, despite the initial revival, people began gravitating back to their own machinations. Instead of the shofar’s sound leading people to “come and bow down to G-d on the holy mountain in Jerusalem,” the miracles were taken for granted, and even explained away as a result of mans’ self-made strength.
Perhaps the Rebbe was crying over the unprecedented awakening that summer, waiting to be actualized.
People cry over many things. Some of us weep when we are in pain or experience loss. Others cry when they stub their toe or lose money. Yet others cry over their own dashed hopes and broken dreams.
But how many people cry over the suffering of others? How many cry over unfulfilled dreams of a nation? How many are saddened by the cosmic pain that affects the entire universe?
The tears of a Tzaddik are very holy and pure. They do not come out of weakness, insecurity or fear. They carry the power of history and reflect cosmic dissonance. A Tzaddik’s tears can teach us volumes.
Tears, the mystics say, bathe the soul in their warm waters. And they open doors.
“The gate of tears is never closed.”
For a moment let us put ourselves in the Rebbe’s shoes (if that is possible):
Imagine seeing with your own eyes the call of the “great shofar” awakening the world. Imagine that you can feel G-d calling to you and to people everywhere, imploring, beseeching us: Please, please, act upon the call of the great shofar. Please use this great spiritual awakening and channel it into your day to day activities. Sanctify your corner of the material world.
Then imagine how, as the days pass, the call is ignored, the awakening forgotten, the miracles dismissed, replaced by “self-made” delusions of power.
Would you not cry?
The deepest tears come from missed opportunities and lost hopes; from unactualized potential and unfulfilled dreams; from defeated idealism and broken promises. These tears express both the great possibilities and the anguish of those possibilities not being realized.
That summer of 1967 Jerusalem was redeemed and the entire nation was inspired. In direct contrast to this miraculous background the stark reality of a lonely Jerusalem sitting alone, waiting for the people to “come and bow,” could not have been more pronounced.
As the Rebbe was sitting alone reading the Kinus lamentations – which begins with the saddest description, “Woe, she [Jerusalem] sits alone” – perhaps the Rebbe was weeping over the way Jerusalem’s lonely sadness was playing itself out that summer: Would Jerusalem be abandoned, or would the people recognize the hand of G-d and allow the “great shofar’s” call to lead them to “come and bow down to G-d on the holy mountain in Jerusalem”?
Was he weeping for the great possibilities and the doors that opened in the summer of ’67? And then, for the deep concern that the great gifts may be left unfulfilled?
All tears ever shed on Tisha B’Av are rooted in the first tears which were shed over three thousand years ago over the Promised Land. Tisha B’av that year the Biblical scouts returned with their slanderous report about Israel, causing terrible tears –
“the entire community rose in uproar and begin to cry; the people wept that night”
– because they were afraid to enter the Promised Land slandered by the scouts (discussed also in this week’s Torah portion). As a result of these tears, ever since, Tisha B’av became a night of tears and grief – a “bechiya l’doros,” a “weeping for generations” (see Numbers 14:1. Talmud, Taanit 29a).
Many events in history brought forth those tears – the Temples were destroyed, Beitar was vanquished and Jerusalem plowed. The Spanish Expulsion of Jews (in 1492) and World War I (in 1914) began on that day.
In 1967, just as 3318 years ago, tears again flowed over the Promised Land. This time the sadness took on another shape: Tears of joy over the historic victory and redemption of Jerusalem, and tears of pain over the latest rejection of the Promised Land.
Perhaps the Tisha B’av 1967 tears were over a Promised Land that was again being “slandered,” as it was 3318 years earlier on the first Tisha B’Av.
As the Rebbe read the words of the Haftorah was he crying over Jeremiah’s lamentation:
“There are no grapes on the vine and no figs on the fig tree… the whole land trembles…”?
Or was it the words:
“I would attempt to overcome sorrow, but I am sick at heart… Is G-d no longer in Zion…”
And then “The harvest is past, summer is ended, yet we are not saved” – was that running through the Rebbe’s mind that summer day in 1967?
“Oh that my head were water and my eye a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of people… For the mountains will I raise a weeping and wailing, and for the pastures of the wilderness a dirge… for a voice of wailing is heard out of Zion, ‘how have we become devastated.’”
And finally, G-d’s words of warning against vanity:
“Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, and let not the vaunt his power, and let not the rich man boast of his riches. But if one indeed take pride, let him take pride in this: that he understands and knows Me, that I am G-d who renders kindness, justice and equity in the earth for in these attributes do I take pleasure, says G-d.”
Taking these words to heart, can bring a tear or two to your eyes.
Look around today, some decades later. Some are now arguing that the entire Six-Day war was a mistake. Israel should never have conquered – or in the commonly held distortion: “occupied” – the so called “West Bank” and Jerusalem. As if that would have solved the conflict between the Arabs and the Jews…
“Occupied” is a false word. Most of the territories are “disputed,” but not “occupied.” The land never belonged to any “Palestinians, and for that matter there was never such an entity called “Palestinians.” Israel conquered the land from Jordan, Egypt and Syria – in a justified, defensive war, responding to Nasser’s menacing actions and Arab belligerence at the time, threatening the very existence of Israel.
Yet, some continue to insist that the events of 1967 were a mistake. That alone can make you weep.
The Rebbe saw the great victory as the beginning of a new, unprecedented spiritual revival. And he weeped.
Now, as we approach Tisha B’Av many years later, there is much to think about:
Where does Jerusalem stand today? Does she sit alone?
Where do we stand today? Do we appreciate the gifts we are blessed with?
This is the time of year that we shed a tear. Not a tear of weakness and despondence. A tear of strength – sensitive to the losses and pains of the world in which we live. A tear of hope – that opens up doors.
Tisha B’Av is the most sensitive, the most vulnerable, day of the year, exposing the most vulnerable parts of our lives.
A day like this must be honored and serve as a source of motivation. It is a day that should serve as a wake up call to appreciate the Divine blessings in our lives.
That we must act on the awakenings and inspirations in our lives.
After all these years it’s about time that we should have the power to finally appreciate and respect the Promised Land given to us, and finally stop crying…
And it shall be on that day, that a great shofar shall be sounded, and those who were lost in the land of Ashur and those who were banished in the land of Mitzrayim shall come and bow down to G-d on the holy mountain in Jerusalem.
Tags: Israel, Jerusalem, politics, Tisha B'Av, Six day war, Rebbe, suffering, pain
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Devarim, Israel, Torah Personalities, Modern, Social, Devarim, Rebbe, Current Events | 1 Comment »
July 22nd, 2015
The Power to Create
— Samach-Vav Part 18 —
“Every year there descends and radiates a new and renewed light which has never yet shone. For the light of every year withdraws to its source in the Essence of the Ein Sof on the eve of Rosh Hashana, ‘when the moon is covered.’ Afterwards, by means of the sounding of the shofar and by means of the prayers, a new and superior light is elicited… a new and more sublime light that has never yet shone since the beginning of the world. Its manifestation, however, depends on the actions of those below, and on their merits and penitence during the Ten Days of Teshuvah” (Tanya Igeret HaKodesh ch. 14).
Did you ever wonder what actually happens to a seed planted in the ground? Or a fertilized egg in the womb? What mysterious process allows for the emergence of a new fruit, the conception of a new life, the birth of a new child?
The mystery of birthing is revealed in the Chassidic discourse of Samach-Vav delivered a century ago this week, and along the way it teaches us about the enormous power each of us carries even, and especially, when we feel that we are floating in the unknown, with no inspiration or clarity.
* * *
The past year has been complex. Profound unrest brewing in the Middle East has cast a long shadow of uncertainty across the globe. With the unpredictable cancer of terrorism threatening the entire world, the challenges ahead can be quite daunting. If we stare into the face of reality, we cannot help but be confused by the ultimate paradox of our times: 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. 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.
All this can leave us feeling quite powerless, with no sense of control over the future course of our own destinies.
Yet despite the unknown, we are blessed with an approaching new Rosh Hashana, which holds the secret to renewal. The New Year, now and throughout history, has always been a source of newfound hope and direction.
As we stand at the dawn of the 21st century, with an uncertain future, it’s wise to remember that one hundred years ago, the dawn of the 20th century was far more difficult, only to decelerate and bring us the most deadly period in all of history. But then, just as now, we had a gift called Rosh Hashana, and we had an invaluable companion, called the Torah – the Torah of life and direction – a co-traveler through history that has always been at our side through thick or thin, through the worst of times and the best of times, to illuminate and inspire us. And above all – to help us transcend the immediate challenges and see the bigger picture, and in the process – gather strength and clarity to forge ahead.
A century ago, the Rebbe Rashab (Rabbi Sholom Ber), delivered the classic series of discourses, called Samach-Vav (short for the Hebrew year 5666). Over the past year, every few weeks, this column has attempted to tackle the central developing themes of this fundamental series of 61 discourses. (The entire series of articles, plus a running summary and related commentaries, can be found in our special Samach-Vav section on our website).
This week’s Samach-Vav discourse, in true style, illuminates the deeper meaning and enormous power of Rosh Hashana.
What is higher, the Rebbe Rashab asks, heaven or earth? Which is superior: spirit or matter? The Talmud offers two opinions: The school of Shammai argues that heaven precedes and is greater than earth. The school of Hillel disagrees and feels that earth precedes and is superior to heaven.
Samach-Vav explains that both opinions are correct, each addressing a different perspective. On the conscious level of existence, the “cosmic order,” heaven precedes earth. But from the perspective of the purpose of existence, earth is the ultimate purpose, while heaven is only a means to an end.
The process of implementing any plan (say, real-estate development) consists of various stages, from abstract strategizing to written designs and charts, from the skeleton layout to the final product. Obviously, the early planning stages must precede the actual building. But the initial purpose of the entire plan, and all its stages, is fulfilled only with the final finished structure. As we sing in the Friday night Lecho Dodi prayer:
“Sof maaseh b’machshovo techila,” “Last in action, first in thought.” Or in the expression of the Sefer Yetzirah (Book of Formation): “The end is wedged in the beginning; the beginning in the end.”
The entire purpose of all of creation, including the highest levels of heaven and the loftiest dimensions of spirituality, is that the human being should transform the material earth into a Divine home. In doing so, each of us creates something entirely new – something possible only on earth, not in heaven.
All the spiritual dimensions, even the highest revelations, are ultimately nothing more than just that: revelation. They only reveal higher states of consciousness. Nothing new is generated. But the selfless act in a selfish world, the kind gesture in a callous environment, like the lowly seed planted in the ground, can give birth to new fruit. The inedible seed can produce a delicious crop.
In the mystical language of the sefirot: All the sefirot are spiritual expressions of the Divine, which do no not innovate or create anything new, only reveal that which is higher than them. Malchut, however, is rooted in the Essence (“The end is wedged in the beginning”), which is beyond any revelation, and includes many things that are not transmitted in the light. Therefore Malchut has the power to actually create anew, while even Keter creates levels that are relatively new, but they are still sublime. Malchut carries the power of creating the material existence, which is a truly new entity.
The same is true in our work of refining the sparks: The primary objective of refining the material universe is fulfilled on earth, in our “lowest” world, where the Divine is completely concealed. Here, you have to create a new state of being; matter must be converted into spirit, the inclination to narcissistic survival must be transformed into becoming a selfless channel that serves a higher calling.
In earlier discourses, Samach-Vav discussed the two types of souls and two types of service: The soul of Atzilut which is an extension of the Divine, and therefore serves like a son who has access to the inner revelations of the Divine. The soul of B’iya, which is a “new” entity outside of the Divine and serves like a simple servant through hard work and earns its right to the divine through exertion (unlike a son that naturally inherits his father’s wealth).
Despite the greatness of the Tzaddik (the soul of Atzilut), the true innovation and the purpose of creation is fulfilled by the “simple servant,” for only he truly creates a new energy.
In probing the dynamics of innovation and creation, Samach-Vav defines two conditions necessary for true innovation: 1) The simple servant is under the control of the material domain and has no natural spiritual inclination. Thus his choice of Divine service is a complete and unprecedented transformation from a materially driven individual to one totally subjugated to the Divine. 2) The effort – and its results – is completely self generated, not due to any other infusion or help, or a result of a ready-made product. When someone else does the work for you, you are getting a ready made product. And it therefore does not contain the innovation, and resulting pleasure, of self-initiated effort.
Higher souls, who have an innate sense of the Divine, do not create real transformation, only revelation. Only by the self-generated hard work below fulfills the ultimate purpose of existence: To transform the material universe into a Divine home – a truly new innovation, drawing down unprecedented energy from the very Essence of the Divine.
One of the biggest questions of life is whether it’s all worth it. After all the difficult challenges that life presents, after all the pain and loss, what do we ultimately achieve with our lives? Do we actually have the power to generate something worthwhile, or is life one aimless battle to make ends meet? Is there something to life that is more than just mere survival? Do our choices and actions make a difference in the world, or are they merely arbitrary?
Rosh Hashana – as illuminated by Samach-Vav – offers us a powerful and unique answer: Precisely through the difficult challenge of overcoming darkness, with no Divine revelation, our self-generated effort draws down new, unprecedented energy and fulfills the purpose of all existence.
Many of our activities are about reshaping the old. We tinker with what we are given and try to produce something nicer. But our greatest achievement, one that gives us the most satisfaction, is when we create something new.
Yes indeed, we have the power to create. Not just reveal, expose, actualize potential, but to innovate – to birth something utterly new, never before experienced. Each of us has a unique contribution to make, to a play a song that has never ever been played before.
As this complicated year comes to an end and we are about to enter the unknown of a new year, it is quite refreshing and empowering to know that this Rosh Hashana brings with it “a new and more sublime light that has never yet shone since the beginning of the world.” Its manifestation, however, depends on our initiatives.
As this new, unprecedented energy enters into our universe, the big question we must ask ourselves is this: What will my new contribution be this new year? What exclusive energy will I generate?
You are an original.
What will be your unique creation? What will you birth this coming year?
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Question of the week: What are your wishes for the New Year?
Tags: Rebbe Rashab, terrorism, Middle East, Samech Vov, birth, Rosh Hashana, Creativity
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Rosh Hashanah, Beliefs & Concepts, Free Choice, Devarim, Moshiach & Redemption, Torah, Netzavim, Vayelech | No Comments »
