Twilight

July 17th, 2015

Ten things were created on the eve of Shabbat at twilight. These are: the mouth of the earth[1]; the mouth of the well[2]; the mouth of the donkey[3]; the rainbow; the manna; the staff[4]; the shamir[5]; and the writing, the inscription, and the tablets [of the Ten Commandments].

Ethics of the Fathers 5:6

“Twilight” (bein hashemashot) is a halachic (Torah-legal) term for a time-period that marks the transition from day to night and from one calendar day to the next.

According to Torah law, the calendar day runs from nightfall to nightfall;[6]thus, Shabbat begins Friday evening at nightfall and ends at nightfall on Saturday night. “Nightfall” is when the light of day has faded to the point that three middle-sized stars are visible in the sky. The halachists calculate this to be the point at which the sun has descended 5.9 degrees below the horizon; this occurs approximately 30 minutes after sunset, depending on the location and the time of year.[7]

Nightfall, however, only marks the point at which the night—and the next calendar day—is certain to have begun. Between sunset and nightfall is the period defined as “twilight,”[8] a time-period with laws and rules of its own. The previous day has ended (or perhaps ended), yet the following day has not yet (or perhaps not yet) commenced.

Talmudic and halachic literature present three definitions of “twilight”:

a) It is a period that is “possibly day, possibly night.” According to this definition, the concept of “twilight” is wholly a product of our ignorance of the precise point at which one day ends and the next begins. Nevertheless, our ignorance results in special laws that apply to this period.

b) It is an admixture of day and night; a time-period in which day and night “overlap,” so that it possesses both qualities.

c) It is neither day nor night, but an entity of its own which effects the transition from day to night and from one day to the next.[9]

The Mediator

The above-quoted mishnah from Ethics of the Fathers enumerates ten things that G-d created in the closing moment of the six days of creation, “on the eve of Shabbat, at twilight.” But if twilight is a product of our ignorance as to the precise moment at which the day ends, it follows that for G-d, the creator of night and day, there is no “twilight.” Obviously, then, the twilight of which our mishnah speaks is an actual entity, a time period that is some sort of intermediary between one day and the next, as in definitions “b” or “c” above.

In truth, “b” and “c” are essentially the same definition. Chassidic teaching explains that an “intermediary”—a thing or force that facilitates a transition from one state to another—must include elements of both states, as well as an overriding element that effects the transition. Thus, a poet who wishes to translate a poem from English into French must possess mastery of both languages; indeed, if his translation is to capture the full power and beauty of the poem, his mastery of the two languages must be greater than what would be required to write such a poem in either language.

Another example of this principle: A child psychologist must be familiar with the world of childhood. A psychologist who counsels adults must have knowledge and insight primarily into the psyche and experiences of adults. But a psychologist counseling adolescents—people who are struggling with the transition from childhood to adulthood—must have intimate knowledge of both worlds, and more so than either of his colleagues.

Each and every day of time was created by G-d for a specific purpose; each possesses qualities and potentials uniquely its own.[10] Thus, the days of our lives do not simply begin where the previous day leaves off. Rather, there is a “gap” between them that must be bridged, a transition that must be effected. Hence the special quality and function of “twilight”—the period that possesses qualities of both days and can thus bridge this gap and facilitate this transition.

This is especially true of the transition from Friday to Shabbat—a transition from work to rest, from achievement to repose, from flux to tranquillity. A transition between two time-periods which differ greatly in their function, nature and very essence.[11]

The Cosmic Week

Our sages tell us that the original week of creation embodies the whole of history, which likewise constitutes a “week”: six “workday” millennia, followed by a seventh, sabbatical millennium.

Thus, writes Nachmanides, the first day of creation, which saw the creation of light, embodies the first millennium of history—the millennium of Adam, “the light of the world,”[12] when the world was still saturated with knowledge of its Creator and was sustained by the indiscriminate benevolence of G-d[13]; the second day, on which the Creator distinguished between the spiritual and the physical elements of His creation, yielded a second millennium of judgment and discrimination—as reflected in the Flood which wiped out a corrupt humanity and spared only the righteous Noah and his family; the third day, on which the land emerged from the sea and sprouted forth greenery and fruit-bearing trees, encapsulates the third millennium, in which Abraham began teaching the truth of the One G-d and the Torah was given on Mount Sinai; the fourth day, on which G-d created the sun and the moon, “the two great luminaries: the greater luminary… and the lesser luminary,” corresponds to the fourth millennium, in which the First Temple (2928-3338) and the Second Temple (3408-3829) in Jerusalem served as the divine abode “from which light emanated to the entire world”[14]; the fifth day, the day of fish, birds and reptiles, unfolded into the lawless and predatory Dark Ages of the fifth millennium[15]; the sixth day, whose early hours saw the creation of the beasts of the land, followed by the creation of man, is our millennium—a millennium marked by strong, forceful empires, whose beastly rule will be followed by the emergence of Moshiach, the perfect man who brings to realization the divine purpose in creation and ushers in the seventh millennium—the “World to Come”—a time of perfect peace and tranquillity.

Nachmanides also notes that each thousand-year “day” is preceded by a “twilight”—an “overlapping” period which, while technically belonging to the previous millennium, contains the beginnings of the next. Thus, Abraham was born 52 years before the third millennium, King Solomon built the First Temple 72 years before the fourth, and so with each millennium.[16]

Therein lies the special significance of the twilight following the sixth day of creation, on which G-d created the ten things enumerated by the mishnah. For on the macro-historical level, this is the twilight which facilitates the transition from the six millennia of history to the age of Moshiach.

The significance of this time is of primary relevance to our generation. For it is we, who have entered the final quarter of the sixth millennium,[17]who are living in this most crucial juncture of history—the twilight that translates six thousand years of human toil and achievement into “the day that is wholly Shabbat and rest, for life everlasting.”

The Dichotomy

In his parting words to the people of Israel, Moses enjoins: “You shall keep the mitzvah, the decrees and the laws which I command you today to do them.”[18] The Talmud interprets this to imply:

“Today to do them”—and not to do them tomorrow;

“Today to do them”—and tomorrow to receive their reward.[19]

In other words, our present-day world and World to Come represent two different modes of existence, each of which is confined to a world all its own. Our present world is the environment for deed and achievement, but without the possibility to enjoy, or even envision, the fruits of our labor. On the other hand, the World to Come is a world of ultimate reward, tranquillity and bliss, but one that precludes any further achievement on the part of man. The Talmud goes so far as to quote the verse,

“There will come years of which you will say: I have no desire in them,”[20] and declare: “This refers to the days of the Messianic era, in which there is neither merit nor obligation.”[21] As one chassidic rebbe expressed it, “In the days of Moshiach we will yearn for the hardships and challenges of galut.”

Intrinsic to our nature is that we derive true satisfaction only from what we achieve in the face of challenge. Yet it is the paradox of life that true satisfaction can be experienced only under conditions of tranquillity, and that true challenge can exist only under conditions in which the satisfaction of achievement lies hidden and unknowable beyond the horizon of one’s goal.

Hence the delegation of the reward of our deeds to an unknowable “tomorrow,” and delegation of achievement to a strife-ridden “today.” Were the first six “workday” millennia of history to include more than the merest hint of the satisfaction implicit in our attainments, its challenges, and thus its achievements, would be greatly diminished. On the other hand, were the seventh millennium to include the conditions that allow for true achievement, it could not serve as the arena for true satisfaction.

Thus reality consists of two worlds locked into dichotomy by their very natures and their most basic functions.[22] In the words of the Ethics,

“A single moment of teshuvah[23] and good deeds in this world is greater than all of the World to Come. And a single moment of bliss in the World to Come is greater than all of this world.”[24]

Yet there also exists a third arena, an environment in which these two worlds overlap, a reality that incorporates both deed and reward, both struggle and tranquillity; a twilight that mediates between the six work “days” of creation and the ultimate Shabbat.

Graven Words

How does a person experience tranquillity while in the pith of struggle? How can a person enjoy perfection while still grappling with his shortcomings? When he is completely one with what he is doing.

“This is the law of the Torah,” proclaims the verse introducing the laws of the Red Heifer.[25] The chassidic masters point out that the word chukat (“the law of”) used by the verse derives from the word chakikah, “engraving”; thus the above verse may also be rendered, “this is the engraving of the Torah.” Indeed, the Torah was first given to us in the form of Ten Commandments engraved into two tablets of stone.

Chassidic teaching explains that a person’s relationship with the truths he bears can be like that of a parchment scroll with the words written upon it, or like that of a stone tablet with the words engraved in it. The scroll, too, serves as a platform and medium for its words, yet the substance of the scroll and the substance of the words remain two distinct entities, however strongly the ink might adhere to the parchment. The stone tablet, on the other hand, is one with its message: the words are the stone and the stone is the words. The Torah is telling us that its words should be engraved words rather than written words to us: words that are the very form and substance of our lives, rather than something superimposed upon its surface.[26]

This is the significance of the last three of the ten things created “on the eve of Shabbat, at twilight”—the “writing, the inscription, and the tablets” of the Ten Commandments.[27] On the twilight between the six days of creation and the first Shabbat, G-d bestowed upon us the capacity to not only carry out His blueprint for creation, but to engrave it in our very selves, so that everything we do is in full harmony with who and what we are.

As “tablets” of Torah, we transcend the dichotomy of deed and reward. For when a person is completely one with his path through life, his most arduous climb is a tranquil flight of soul and his most painful deficiencies are the building blocks of an integral and perfect self. In such a person, the sharp defining line that divides achievement from satisfaction is muted, creating a “twilight” in which the two distinct, mutually exclusive worlds are merged.

Today, we stand at this most unique moment of history. At this time of transition, on the threshold between today and tomorrow, as six millennia of human endeavor approach their climax into the tranquil perfection of the eternal Shabbat, we are, in a sense, in possession of the best of both worlds. Let us seize the moment.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Elul 23, 5742 (September 11, 1982) and on other occasions[28]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: World to Come, Shabbat, Moshiach, transition, Torah, purpose, Jewish history, The Ten Commandments, time, Cosmic Order, worlds, Jewish calendar, creation
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Pirkei Avos, Bamidbar, Ethics of Our Fathers, Chapter Five, Chukat, Torah | 2 Comments »

On Feats and Feet

July 17th, 2015

Amongst chassidim there were two dominant types: “intellectuals” (maskilim), who would spend hours contemplating the subtleties of chassidic thought; and “servers” (ovdim), who put the greater emphasis on their service of the Almighty, laboring to refine their character and perfect their behavior.

On one occasion, Rabbi Sholom DovBer of Lubavitch said:

A maskil walks on his head; an oved walks with his feet. Walking on one’s head is a spectacular feat. Everyone notices, and is extremely impressed by the skill displayed by the walking skull. But if you want to get somewhere, walk with your feet.

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Rebbe Rashab, Divine service, action, Intellect, perspective, Chassidus
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Torah Personalities, Bamidbar, Modern, Rebbe Rashab, Torah, Balak | 1 Comment »

Mister Menachem

July 17th, 2015

Editors note: In 1995, William Morrow & Company published the first widely-distributed book of the Rebbe’s teachings, Toward a Meaningful Life, by Rabbi Simon Jacobson, editor-in-chief at Vaad Hanachot Hatmimim/The Meaningful Life Center. Among the many responses received at our office was a letter from a woman who, as a child of five had met the Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneersohn. That letter described her first meeting with the Rebbe in 1946, “When he was not yet the Rebbe and … walked freely around the neighbourhood (of Crown Heights).”[17] Below is an extract from a second letter that describes subsequent “sidewalk conversations” with the Rebbe.

Dear Rov[18] Jacobson,

Kol hakavod[19] on Toward a Meaningful Life. The book is a beautiful kiddush Hashem,[20] and does full justice to the Rebbe himself.

As a yiddishe maidele[21] who was born into a traditional family in Crown Heights in 1940, and who had the great zchus and mazal[22] from Hashem[23] to know the Rebbe as a beloved childhood friend – whose name was Mister, or so I thought then –  the book brings tears to my eyes and overwhelming feelings both of joy and loss to my heart. Since I read Toward a Meaningful Life, I have been deluged with memories of events that I’d forgotten for approximately 45 years…

I knew the Rebbe first as Mister, and then when I learned that Mister was not his name (as I thought it was when I was 5) I asked him his name. But I just couldn’t get the name that he told me – he must have been saying Schneerson – so he told me that we had similar names, and could I say Menachem. That I got immediately, and so he told me to call him Mr. Menachem. Which I did.

It was not until I saw a picture of him, taken about 1950, that I realized that my beloved Mr. Menachem was also the Rebbe. I had been praying for the Rebbe forever, or so it seemed, but I never knew that I was also praying for one of the dearest friends I ever had…

Mr. Menachem always asked me what books I was reading. When I was seven – Spring of ’48 I think – I discovered Science Fiction in the library on Schenectady. I loved it. I gave him rave reviews of two authors, Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov. He was intrigued by the idea of teaching children science through fun-to-read novels. I always told him he should read them, that he would love them. He always told me that he only read Jewish books. Then one day, a year or more later, I told him about Asimov’s book “Foundation”. If you haven’t read Asimov’s Foundation Series then I should tell you it’s about a secret foundation set up by a psychohistorian named Hari Seldon. The purpose of psychohistory and the Foundation was to perfect the Universe. Which is basically what I told him.

Anyway, Mr. Menachem later told me he read the book – which floored me – and told me to concentrate on Asimov, not Heinlin. [And he was right.] He then went on to tell me he’d written to Asimov and had gotten a reply. I was thrilled – that Asimov thought enough of him to write back [Told you I didn’t know who I was talking to. At that point I had no concept of what he truly was, much less what he would become.] He was corresponding with Asimov, and as far as I was concerned that was even better than writing to Jackie Robinson[24], which I think I told him.

Then he asked me what I thought of the idea of setting up a foundation. I thought it was better than Asimov and Robinson combined and told him so. He then told me he was setting up a foundation. I was so excited I started jumping up and down, telling him I wanted to join, please, please please. He said I could. Well, he did set it up, and I did join for a while. He was talking about Chabad and his shluchim. Maybe other things that I haven’t found out yet. Who knows?

Kol tuv,[25]

Nechama Cohen
Tamiment, PA

Tags: Rebbe, perspective, chabad, innocence, story, childhood
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Modern, Torah Personalities, Bamidbar, Korach, Torah, Rebbe | No Comments »

One-Liners On Truth and Falsehood

July 17th, 2015

The Only Fool

Said Rabbi Moshe of Kobrin: “It is impossible to fool G-d. It is forbidden to fool one’s fellow man. The only one that one can fool is oneself.”

“A liar,” said the Maggid of Kelm, “is worse than a thief or robber. A thief steals at night, but is afraid to steal by day. A robber robs night and day, but only robs a lone individual or a few people—he is afraid to rob too many at once. The liar, however, lies both night and day, both to the individual and to the world.”

“The worst thing about falsehood,” Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch would say, “is not that it is not true, but that it presents itself as truth.”

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: perspective, truth, honesty, lying
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bamidbar, Balak, Torah | No Comments »

The Zealot

July 17th, 2015

And G-d spoke to Moses, saying: “Pinchas, the son of Elazer, the son of Aaron the Kohen, turned away My wrath from the children of Israel, with his zealotry for My sake… Therefore… I shall grant him My covenant of peace…”

Numbers 25:11-12

Pinchas’ deed evokes many associations – courage, decisiveness and religious passion are several that come to mind – but “peace” hardly seems one of them. Pinchas, after all, killed two people. True, what he did was allowed, and condoned, by Torah law, and his doing so saved many lives; still, one does not usually think of homicide as a peaceful act.

As the Torah tells it, the wicked prophet Bilaam, having failed to undermine Israel’s special relationship with G-d by harping on Israel’s past sins, had an idea. “Their G-d abhors promiscuity,” he said to Balak, the Moabite king who had hired him to place a curse on Israel. Corrupt them with the daughters of your realm, and you will provoke His wrath upon them.

This time Bilaam succeeded. Many Jews, particularly from the tribe of Shimon, were enticed by the Midianite harlots who descended upon the Israelite encampment in the Shittim valley, and were even induced to serve Baal Pe’or, the pagan god of their consorts. When tribunals were set up by Moses to try and punish the idolaters, Zimri, the leader of Shimon, sought to legitimize his tribe’s sins by publicly taking a Midianite woman into his tent, “before the eyes of Moses and the eyes of the entire community of Israel.”

Moses and the nations’ elders were at loss at what to do. Torah law does not provide for any conventional, court-induced punishment for such an offender. There is a law that gives license for “zealots to smite him,” but this provision escaped Moses and the entire Jewish leadership. Only Pinchas remembered it, and had the fortitude to carry it through. He killed Zimri and the Midianite, stopping a plague that had begun to rage as the result of G-d’s wrath against His people.[1]

The Grandfather Issue

The Talmud, referring to G-d’s opening words to Moses quoted above, asks: The Torah has already told us who Pinchas is, back in the sixth chapter of Exodus and again, but a few short verses before, in Numbers 25:7. Why does the Torah again refer to him as “Pinchas, the son of Elazar, the son of Aaron”?

Rashi, quoting the Talmud and Midrash, explains:

“Because the tribes of Israel were mocking him, saying ‘Have you seen this son of the fattener, whose mother’s father fattened calves for idolatrous sacrifices, and now he goes and kills a prince in Israel?!’ Therefore, G-d traced his lineage to Aaron.”[2] (Pinchas’ maternal grandfather was Jethro, who prior to his conversion to Judaism, was a pagan priest).

This explanation, however, seems to raise more questions than it answers:

(a) What set “the tribes of Israel” against Pinchas? The animosity of one tribe, the tribe of Shimon, would be understandable: he killed their leader and put an end to their pagan orgy. But why was he condemned by the entire community of Israel, most of whom were outraged by Zimri’s act and were doubtless grateful for Pinchas’ stopping the plague?

(b) Of what possible relevance is Jethro’s past? If Pinchas acted wrongly, then he is guilty of much worse than having a grandfather who fattened calves for slaughter. “Murderer” would be more apt than “fattener’s grandson.” And if it was acknowledged that killing Zimri was the right thing to do, why was the young hero and saviour of his people being mocked?

(c) If, for whatever reason, Pinchas is to be faulted because of Jethro’s idolatrous past, why dwell on the fact that he “fattened calves for slaughter”? What about the fact that he was a pagan priest who had “served every idol in the world”? [3]

(d) Whatever the complaint against Pinchas was, how is it refuted by the fact that he was Aaron’s grandson?

Who Is A Zealot?

The nature of Zimri’s crime made his killing an extremely sensitive moral issue. On the one hand, the Torah deems what he did as deserving of death. On the other hand, it does not entrust the carrying out of the sentence to the normal judiciary process, ruling instead that “zealots should smite him.” Who, then qualifies as a zealot? When a sentence is carried out after the “due process” of a trial and conviction, there is less of a need to agonize over the motives of the judges and executioner: they’re going by the book, and we can check their behavior against the book. But the motives of the zealot who takes unilateral action are extremely important, for his very qualifications as a “zealot” hinge upon the question of what, exactly, prompted him to do what he did. Is he truly motivated to instill G-d’s wrath, or has he found a holy outlet for his individual aggression? Is his act truly an act of peace, driven by the desire to reconcile an errant people with their G-d, or is it an act of violence, made kosher by the assumption of the label “zealot”?

The true zealot is an utterly selfless individual – one who is concerned only about the relationship between G-d and His people, with no thought for his own feelings on the matter. The moment his personal prejudices and inclinations are involved, he ceases to be a zealot.[4]

Thus, the above questions answer each other. The “tribes of Israel” knew that the case of Zimri warranted the law that “Zealots smite him.” But they were skeptical of Pinchas’ motivations. Why is it, they asked, that no one–not Moses, not the elders, no one in the entire leadership of Israel – was moved to assume the role of zealot, save for Pinchas, the “youngest of the band”?[5] Was Pinchas the most caring and selfless one of them all? Far more likely, said they, is that what we have here is an angry young man who thinks he found a Torah-sanctioned outlet for his aggression. A bit of digging around in the skeletons of the Pinchas family closet only re-enforced their initial doubts. Of course! Look at his grandfather! Few professions are as inhumane as the fattening of calves for slaughter. The fact that Jethro was an idolator is not what is relevant here, but his nature and personality – Pinchas must have inherited his grandfather’s natural cruelty, and proceeded to clothe it in the holy vestments of zealotry.

So G-d explicitly attached Pinchas’ name to Aaron, the gentlest, most peace-loving man that Israel knew. Aaron, the “lover of peace and pursuer of peace, one who loves humanity and brings them close to Torah.”[6] In character and temperament, G-d was attesting, Pinchas takes after his other grandfather, Aaron. Not only is he not inclined to violence – it is the very antithesis of his natural temperament. Pinchas is a man of peace, who did what he did with the sole aim of  “turning away My wrath from the children of Israel.”

Two Hypocrites

This also explains the significance of another statement by Rashi. After emphasizing that Pinchas was Aaron’s grandson, the Torah writes

“And the name of the smitten Israelite, who was smitten with the Midianite, was Zimri the son of Salu, a tribal prince of the Shimonites,” on which Rashi comments, “On the same occasion that the righteous one’s lineage was cited in praise, the wicked one’s lineage was cited in detriment.”

But what “detriment” is there in Zimri’s being a Shimonite prince?

Those who looked with a negative eye on Pinchas’ motives, saw his “cruelty” even more strongly underscored when contrasted with the motives of the man he killed. Pinchas slew a man, while that man was engaged in an act of “love”; Pinchas was giving vent to his own violent passions, while Zimri acted out of a selfless concern for his constituents, putting his own life on the line (for surely he knew that some “zealot” might take it upon himself to kill him) to save his tribe through his bold attempt to legitimize their sins. If Pinchas did the right thing, he did it for all the wrong reasons, while Zimri might have done a wrong thing, but was motivated by an altruistic love for his people.

G-d, who knows the heart of every man, spoke to dispel this distorted picture. Pinchas, He attested, inherited the peace-loving nature of his grandfather, while Zimri was every inch a descendent of Shimon, whom Jacob rebuked for his heated and violent nature.[7]

Indeed, the Talmud describes a hypocrite as “one who does the deeds of Zimri, and asks to be rewarded like Pinchas.”[8] Zimri’s “kindness” was the ultimate hypocrisy: instead of fulfilling his role as the leader of his people by prevailing upon them to cease the behavior that was destroying them, he pursued the fulfillment of his own passions, without regard to the terrible consequences to their spiritual and physical well-being – all the while disguising his act as selfless and self-sacrificial. In contrast, Pinchas’ deed was “hypocritical” in the positive sense: ostensibly violent and cruel, but in truth a selfless act of peace.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks, Shabbat Pinchas 5725 (July 24, 1965)[9] and on other occasions

Tags: Aaron, selflessness, the twelve tribes, hypocrisy, peace, Pinchas, idol worship, Moses, zealotry, leadership, lineage, murder
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Religion, Bamidbar, Spiritual, Torah, Pinchas | No Comments »

Two Problems

July 17th, 2015

The story is told of two of the Maggid’s[24] disciples who met and proceeded to lament their spiritual ills. “I don’t know what shall become of me, with all my sins,” said the one. “What shall I do with my sins?”

“My sins are the lesser of my problems,” countered his fellow. “For sins one can always repent. I’m far more troubled by the sorry state of my mitzvot. What shall I do with my mitzvot?”

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Maggid of Mezerich, repentance, mitzvah, sadness, sin, conflict
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Maggid, Modern, Torah Personalities, Bamidbar, Torah, Pinchas | No Comments »

On the Essence of Leadership

July 15th, 2015

Moses is Israel and Israel is Moses.… For the leader of the generation is as the entire generation, for the leader embodies them all

Rashi, Numbers 21:21

What is leadership?

We expect our leaders to be wise: to be able to discern right from wrong and make the proper decisions on issues that affect our lives. To provide us with a vision of where we stand and where we are headed, and guide us toward the realization of our goals.

We expect our leaders to be caring and committed: to empathize with our needs and aspirations and devote themselves to their fulfillment.

We expect our leaders to be strong: calm and decisive in times of crisis, capable warriors and diplomats in the furtherance of our aims.

We expect our leaders to be individuals of high moral character and integrity, bearers of an ethical standard for young and old to emulate.

But the most important (and probably the most overlooked) function of the leader is to unite us: to knit diverse individuals into a single people and to inspire diverse–and often conflicting–wills to coalesce into a common destiny.

A Chorus in Three Versions

One of the first things we did together as a people was sing.

The nation of Israel was born on the 15th of Nissan in the year 2448 from creation (1313 bce)–the day that G-d “extracted a nation from the bowels of a nation,”[1] freeing the children of Israel from Egyptian slavery. Seven days later, the Israelites witnessed the destruction of their former enslavers when the Red Sea split, to allow them passage and drowned the pursuing Egyptians. The Torah relates how, upon beholding the great miracle,

Moses and the children of Israel sang this song to G-d, saying:

I shall sing to G-d for He is most exalted;
Horse and rider He cast in the sea.
G-d is my strength and song; He is my salvation
This is my G-d, and I shall glorify[2] Him
The G-d of my fathers, and I shall exalt Him…[3]

This song, known as Shirat HaYam–“Song at the Sea,”–goes on to describe the great miracles that G-d performed for His people, G-d’s promise to bring them to the Holy Land and reveal His presence among them in the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple) in Jerusalem, and Israel’s goal to implement G-d’s eternal sovereignty in the world. Its forty-four verses express the gist of our relationship with G-d and our mission in life, and thus occupy a most important place in the Torah and in Jewish life.[4]

Our sages also focus on the prefatory line to the Song at the Sea, in which the Torah introduces it as a song sung by “Moses and the children of Israel.” Moses was obviously one of the “children of Israel,” so the fact that the Torah singles him out implies that Moses took a leading role in the composition and delivery of this song. Indeed, the nature of Moses’ role is a point of much discussion by our sages: the Talmud[5] relates no fewer than three different opinions on exactly how Moses led his people in their song of praise and thanksgiving to G-d.

According to Rabbi Akiva, it was Moses who composed and sang the Shirat HaYam, while the people of Israel merely responded to each verse with the refrain “I shall sing to G-d.” Moses sang, “For He is most exalted,” and they answered, “I shall sing to G-d”; Moses sang, “Horse and rider He cast in the sea,” and they answered, “I shall sing to G-d”; and so on with all forty-four verses of the song. Rabbi Eliezer, however, is of the opinion that the people repeated each verse after Moses: Moses sang, “I shall sing to G-d for He is most exalted,” and they repeated, “I shall sing to G-d for He is most exalted”; Moses sang “Horse and rider He cast in the sea,” and they repeated, “Horse and rider He cast in the sea,” and so on. A third opinion is that of Rabbi Nechemiah: according to him, Moses simply pronounced the opening words of the song, following which the people of Israel all sang the entire song together. In other words, each of them, on their own, composed the entire–and very same–forty-four verses![6]

Submission, Identification…

These three versions of how Moses led Israel in song express three different perspectives on unity, particularly the unity achieved when a people rally under the leadership of their leader. [7]

Rabbi Akiva describes an ideal in which a people completely abnegate their individuality to the collective identity embodied by the leader. Moses alone sang the nation’s gratitude to G-d, their experience of redemption, and their vision of their future as G-d’s people. The people had nothing further to say as individuals, except to affirm their unanimous assent to what Moses was expressing.

At first glance, this seems the ultimate in unity: more than two million[8] hearts and minds yielding to a single program and vision. Rabbi Eliezer, however, argues that this is but a superficial unity–an externally imposed unity of the moment, rather than an inner, enduring unity. When people set aside their own thoughts and feelings to accept what is dictated to them by a higher authority, they are united only in word and deed; their inner selves remain different and distinct. Such a unity is inevitably short-lived: sooner or later their intrinsic differences and counter-aims will assert themselves, and fissures will appear also in their unanimous exterior.

Thus, says Rabbi Eliezer, if the people of Israel achieved true unity under the leadership of Moses at the Red Sea, then it must have happened this way: that the people of Israel repeated each verse that issued from Moses’ lips. Yes, they all submitted to the leadership of Moses and saw in him the embodiment of their collective will and goals, but they did not suffice with a “blind” affirmation of his articulation of Israel’s song. Rather, they repeated it after him, running it through the sieve of their own understanding and feelings, finding the roots for an identical declaration in their own personality and experience. Thus, the very same words assumed two million nuances of meaning, as they were absorbed by two million minds and articulated by two million mouths.

This, maintains Rabbi Eliezer, is the ultimate unity. When each repeats the verses uttered by Moses on his own, relating to them in his individual way, the singular vision of Moses has penetrated each individual’s being, uniting them both in word and in essence.

… and Unity

Rabbi Nechemiah, however, is still not satisfied. If Israel repeated these verses after Moses, argues Rabbi Nechemiah, this would imply that their song did not stem from the very deepest part of themselves. For if the people were truly one with Moses and his articulation of the quintessence of Israel, why would they need to hear their song from his lips before they could sing it themselves?

No, says Rabbi Nechemiah, the way it happened was that Moses pronounced the opening words of the song, following which each and every Jew, including “the infant at his mother’s breast and the fetus in the womb,”[9] sang the entire song themselves. Indeed, it was Moses who achieved the unity of Israel, as evidenced by the fact that their song could not begin until he sang its opening words. Were it not for his leadership, they could not have risen above the selfishness that mars the surface of every character. Had not the people of Israel abnegated their will to his, they could not have uncovered the singular core of their souls. But once they made that commitment, once they unequivocally responded to Moses’ opening words, each independently conceived and articulated the very same experience of the historic moment in which they stood.

Each and every individual Jew, from the octogenarian sage to the unborn infant, expressed his deepest feelings and aspirations with the very same 187 words. For in Moses they had a leader in whom the soul of Israel was one.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Beshalach, Shevat 11,[10] 5748 (January 30, 1988)[11].

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.

Tags: love of G-d, Yanki Tauber, Moses, redemption, leadership, song, Rabbi Akiva, Exodus from Egypt
Posted in Biblical, Weekly Parsha, Passover, Shmot, Miracles, Beliefs & Concepts, Torah Personalities, Beshalach, Social, Prayer, Torah, Government, Nisan, Moses | 3 Comments »

Fruit for Thought: Kabbalah of the 7 Species

July 15th, 2015

Our sages tell us that, originally, all trees were fruit-bearing, and that this will also be the case in the Era of Moshiach.[1] A fruitless tree is a symptom of an imperfect world, for the ultimate function of a tree is to produce fruit.

If “Man is a tree of the field”[2] and fruit is the tree’s highest achievement, there are seven fruits that crown the human and botanical harvest. These are the seven fruits and grains singled out by the Torah as exemplars of the Holy Land’s fertility: wheat, barley, grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives and dates.[3]

The fifteenth day of the Hebrew month of Shevat is the day designated by the Jewish calendar as the “New Year for Trees.” On this day, we celebrate the trees of G-d’s world, and the tree within us, by partaking of these seven “fruits,” which typify the various components and modes of human life.

Food and Fodder

The Kabbalistic masters tell us that each and every one of us has not one, but two souls: an “animal soul,” which embodies our natural, self-oriented instincts; and a “G-dly soul” embodying our transcendent drives, our desire to escape the “I” and relate to that which is greater than ourselves.[4]

As its name implies, the animal soul constitutes that part of ourselves that is common to all living creatures: the instinct for self-preservation and self-perpetuation. But man is more than a sophisticated animal. There are qualities that are unique to us as human beings—the qualities deriving from our “G-dly soul.” The point at which we graduate beyond the self and its needs (“How do I survive?” “How do I obtain food, shelter, money, power, knowledge, satisfaction?”) to a supra-self perspective (“Why am I here?” “What purpose do I serve?”) is the point at which we cease to be just another animal in G-d’s world and begin to realize our uniqueness as human beings.

This is not to say that the animal self is to be rejected in favor of the divine-human self. These are our two souls, both of which are indispensable to a life of fulfillment and purpose. Even as we stimulate the divine in us to rise above the merely animal, we must also develop and refine our animal selves, learning to cultivate the constructive elements of selfhood (e.g., self-confidence, courage, perseverance) while weeding out the selfish and the profane.

“Wheat,” a staple of the human diet,[5] represents the endeavor to nourish what is distinctly human in us, to feed the divine aspirations that are the essence of our humanity. Barley, a typical animal food,[6] represents the endeavor to nourish and develop our animal soul—a task no less crucial to our mission in life than the cultivation of our G-dly soul.[7]

Excitement

Wheat and barley, the two grains among the “seven fruits,” represent the essentials of our inner make-up. Following these come five fruits—“appetizers” and “desserts” on our spiritual menu—that add flavor and zest to our basic endeavor of developing our animal and G-dly souls.

The first of these is the grape, whose defining characteristic is joy. As the grapevine describes its product in Yotam’s Parable, “…my wine, which makes joyous G-d and men.”[8]

Joy is revelation. A person ignited by joy has the same basic traits he possesses in a non-joyous state—the same knowledge and intelligence, the same loves, hates, wants and desires. But in a state of joy, everything is more pronounced: the mind keener, the loves deeper, the hates more vivid, the desires more aggressive. Emotions that ordinarily show only a faint intimation of their true extent now come out into the open. In the words of the Talmud, “When wine enters, the concealed emerges.”[9]

A joyless life might be complete in every way, yet it is a shallow life: everything is there, but only the barest surface is showing. Both the G-dly and the animal souls contain vast reservoirs of insight and feeling that never see the light of day because there is nothing to stimulate them. “Grape” represents the element of joy in our lives—the joy that unleashes these potentials and adds depth, color and intensity to everything we do.

Involvement

We might be doing something fully and completely; we might even be doing it joyously. But are we there? Are we involved?

Involvement means more than doing something right, more than giving it our all. It means that we care, that we are invested in the task. It means that we are affected by what we are doing, for the better or for the worse.

The fig, the fourth of the “seven fruits,” is also the fruit of the “Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil”—the fruit of which Adam and Eve tasted, thereby committing the first sin of history.[10] As Chassidic teaching explains, “knowledge” (daat) implies an intimate involvement with the thing known (as in the verse, “And Adam knew his wife”[11]). Adam’s sin derived from his refusal to reconcile himself with the notion that there are certain things from which he must distance himself: he desired to intimately know every corner of G-d’s world, to become involved with every one of G-d’s creations. Even evil, even that which G-d had declared out of bounds to him.[12]

Adam’s fig was one of the most destructive forces in history. In its equally powerful constructive guise, the fig represents our capacity for a deep and intimate involvement in our every positive endeavor—an involvement which signifies that we are one with what we are doing.

Deed

“Your lips are like a thread of scarlet,” sings King Solomon in Song of Songs, his celebration of the love between the Divine Groom and His bride Israel, “your mouth is comely; your temple is like a piece of pomegranate within your locks.”[13] As interpreted by the Talmud, the allegory of the pomegranate expresses the truth that, “Even the empty ones amongst you are full of good deeds as a pomegranate [is full of seeds].”[14]

The pomegranate is not just a model for something that contains many particulars. It also addresses the paradox of how an individual may be “empty” and, at the same time, be “full of good deeds as a pomegranate.”

The pomegranate is a highly compartmentalized fruit: each of its hundreds of seeds is wrapped in its own sac of flesh and is separated from its fellows by a tough membrane. In the same way, it is possible for a person to do good deeds—many good deeds—yet they remain isolated acts, with little or no effect on his nature and character. He may possess many virtues, but they do not become him; he may be full of good deeds, yet he remains morally and spiritually hollow.

If the fig represents our capacity for total involvement and identification with what we are doing, the pomegranate is its very antithesis, representing our capacity to overreach ourselves and act in a way that surpasses our internal spiritual state. It is our capacity to do and achieve things that are utterly incompatible with who and what we are at the present moment.

The pomegranate is “hypocrisy” in its noblest form: the refusal to reconcile oneself to one’s spiritual and moral station as defined by the present state of one’s character; the insistence on acting better and more G-dly than we are.

Struggle

For most of us, “life” is synonymous with “struggle.” We struggle to forge an identity under the heavy shadow of parental and peer influence; we struggle to find a partner in life, and then we struggle to preserve our marriage; we struggle to raise our children, and then struggle in our relationship with them as adults; we struggle to earn a living, and then struggle with our guilt over our good fortune; and underlying it all is the perpetual struggle between our animal and G-dly selves, between our self-oriented instincts and our aspiration to transcend the self and touch the divine.

The “olive” in us is the part of ourselves that thrives on struggle, that revels in it, that would no more escape it than escape life itself. “Just like an olive,” say our sages, “which yields its oil only when pressed,” so, too, do we yield what is best in us only when pressed between the millstones of life and the counterforces of a divided self.[15]

Perfection

As the “fig” is countered by the “pomegranate,” so, too, is the “olive” in us contrasted by our seventh fruit, the “date,” which represents our capacity for peace, tranquillity and perfection. While it is true that we’re best when we’re pressed, it is equally true that there are sublime potentials in our souls that well forth only when we are completely at peace with ourselves—only when we have achieved a balance and harmony among the diverse components of our souls.

Thus the Psalmist sings: “The tzaddik (perfectly righteous person) shall bloom as the date palm.”[16] The Zohar explains that there is a certain species of date palm that bears fruit only after seventy years.[17] The human character is comprised of seven basic attributes, each consisting of ten sub-categories; thus, the tzaddik’s blooming “after seventy years” is the fruit of absolute tranquillity, the product of a soul whose every aspect and nuance of character has been refined and brought into harmony with oneself, one’s fellow and one’s G-d.

While the “olive” and “date” describe two very different spiritual personalities, they both exist within every man. For even in the midst of our most ardent struggles, we can always find comfort and fortitude in the tranquil perfection that resides at the core of our souls. And even in our most tranquil moments, we can always find the challenge that will provoke us to yet greater achievement.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on the Fifteenth of Shevat, 5750 (1990) and 5752 (1992), and on other occasions[18]

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: fruit, meaning, Seven, Yanki Tauber, redemption, trees
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Kabbalah, Tu B'Shvat, Months & Holidays, Shmot, Beshalach, Shvat, Spiritual, Torah | 1 Comment »

The Three Loves of His Life

July 15th, 2015

The following is a free translation of an excerpt of the Rebbe’s words at a farbrengen (chassidic gathering) on the Shvat 10, 5711 (January 17, 1951) – the gathering at which he formally accepted the leadership of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement.

Upon his arrival in America, the Rebbe[12] quoted the Midrash, “When you come to a city, do as its custom.”[13] Here in America people like to hear things expressed in the form of a “statement” – preferably a provocative and shocking statement. I don’t know if this is how it should be done, but “When you come to a city, do as its custom…”

A statement, then. The three loves – love of G-d, love of Torah and love of one’s fellow–are one. One cannot differentiate between them, for they are all one, of a single essence. The Baal Shem Tov quotes the early sages, “When you grasp the part of an essence, you grasp it all.” Since the three loves are of a single essence, each one embodies all three.

If there is love of G-d without love of Torah and love of one’s fellow, this means that there is something lacking in one’s love of G-d. On the other hand, if there is a genuine love of one’s fellow, one will eventually attain a love of G-d and a love of Torah.

So if see a person who has a love of G-d but lacks a love of Torah and a love of his fellow, you must tell him that the love of G-d alone cannot endure. And if you see a person who has only a love for his fellow, you must strive to bring him to a love of Torah and a love of G-d; that his love toward his fellows should not only be expressed in providing bread for the hungry and water for the thirsty, but also to bring them close to Torah and to G-d.

When we will have the three loves together – “a threefold thread” that “is not severed”[14] – this will achieve the redemption. For just as this last galut was caused by a lack of brotherly love,[15] so shall the final and immediate redemption be achieved by love for one’s fellow.[16]

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.

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Tags: Rebbe, unity, love your neighbor, love of G-d, Torah, Yanki Tauber
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Religion, Beliefs & Concepts, Torah Personalities, Beshalach, Modern, Spiritual, Moshiach & Redemption, Torah, Rebbe | No Comments »

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

July 15th, 2015

When dealing with adversity there are four different approaches:

1. Escapists
2. Conformists
3. Fighters
4. Believers

Would you believe that all four options are limited?

The first time in history when a people were “stuck between a rock and a hard place” was when the Jewish people stood before the Reed Sea with the Egyptians pursuing them close behind. What to do? The people were divided into four groups:

1) Some said: “Let’s jump into the sea; it’s simply not worth the effort.”

2) Others argued with resignation: “We should return to Egypt where we lived for so many years. A known evil is better than an unknown one. True, we were enslaved, but anything is better than this place where we will either be killed by the Egyptians or drown in the sea. The challenges of life are just too overwhelming. Conformity, surrender, assimilation is the only realistic option.”

3) Yet another group felt: “Let us go to war with the Egyptians.”

4) And finally the religionists: stated: “Let us pray to G-d”

All were wrong. Not only escapism and conformity, but also battle and prayer are not complete options. Was life given to us so that we spend most of our time doing battle, involved in conflict and strife? And is prayer enough when faced with challenge? We are blessed with resources to deal with every challenge. So coupled with prayer we must do our utmost to rise to the occasion.

What was the correct approach?

“Move forward.”

And when they did, the sea parted before them.

G-d told them: I who have given you life, and promised you that you can and will achieve your objectives and reach Sinai and the Promised Land, have also given you all the faculties and resources necessary to fulfill your life’s mission.

When faced with challenge, with adversity, with the difficulties each of us encounter in life, instead of spending time ruminating about any or all of these four options, instead of being paralyzed by doubt –  FORGE AHEAD. Movement is the key to success. Moving forward will bring a breakthrough. How, we may not always know. But move – and things will open up.

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Tags: Redepmtion, prayer, challenges, war, Egyptian slavery, miracles, adversity
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Faith, Soul Gym, Months & Holidays, Passover, Shmot, Miracles, Beliefs & Concepts, Personal Life, Free Choice, Beshalach, Torah, Prayer, Nisan, Emotions & Psychology | No Comments »