June 25th, 2015
Rabbi Binyomin Kletzker, a chassid of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, was a lumber merchant. One year, while he was adding up the annual accounts, he inadvertently filled in under a column of figures: TOTAL: ein od milvado (‘There is nothing but He’).
Upon hearing of Reb Binyomin’s slip of the pen, a fellow chassid berated him for his absentmindedness. “Don’t you know, Reb Binyomin, that everything has its time and place?” he admonished. “There’s a time for chassidic philosophizing, and a time to engage in worldly matters. A person’s business dealings are also an important part of his service of the Almighty and must be properly attended to.”
Said Reb Binyomin: “We consider it perfectly natural if, during prayer, one’s mind wanders off to the fair in Leipzig. So what’s so terrible if, when involved in business, an alien thought (‘mach-shovo zoro’) regarding the unity of G-d infiltrates the mind?”
From a letter by the Rebbe, dated Adar 20, 5718 (3/12/1958).
Tags: Alter Rebbe, Chassidus, Chassidic stories, existence, chassidim, G-d
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June 25th, 2015
Rabbi Hillel of Paritch (1795-1864), who served as rabbi of the towns of Paritch and Babroisk in White Russia, was one of the many great scholars of his day to join the Chabad chassidic movement. For many years, he was a devoted disciple and follower of the second and third rebbes of Chabad, Rabbi DovBer (1772-1826) and Rabbi Menachem Mendel (1780-1866).
As a young man, Rabbi Hillel heard of the founder of Chabad chassidism, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812) and sought to meet with him. But the opportunity seemed to forever elude the young prodigy: no sooner did he arrive in a town that Rabbi Schneur Zalman was visiting, that he was informed that the Rebbe had just left. Finally, he managed to locate Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s lodgings before the Rebbe was due to arrive. In order to ensure that he would not, once again, somehow miss his opportunity, Rabbi Hillel crept into Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s appointed room and hid under the bed, determined, at last, to make the acquaintance of the great Rebbe.
In anticipation of his encounter with Rabbi Schneur Zalman, Rabbi Hillel had “armed” himself with some of his achievements in Talmudic study. At that time, the young scholar was studying the tractate Erchin, or “Appraisals,” the section of the Talmud which deals with the laws of how to appraise the value of one’s pledges to charity. Rabbi Hillel had an insightful question on the subject which he had diligently rehearsed in order to discuss it with the Rebbe.
From his hiding place, Rabbi Hillel heard the Rebbe enter the room. But before he could make a move, he heard Rabbi Schneur Zalman exclaim: “If a young man has a question regarding ‘Appraisals,’ he had best first evaluate himself.”
The prodigy under the bed fainted on the spot. When he came to, Rabbi Schneur Zalman was gone…
How are we to apply this story to our lives?
The tractate of “Appraisals” discusses the laws presented in chapter 27 of Leviticus: “…If a man make a singular vow, to give to G-d the estimated values of persons, then the estimation shall be as follows: For a male from twenty to sixty years old, the estimation shall be thirty shekels of silver…” In other words, if a person pledges to give to charity, but instead of citing a sum he says “I promise to give the value of this individual,” we are to follow a fixed rate table set by the Torah, in which each age and gender group is assigned a certain “value.”
But why employ a flat rate which lumps together so many diverse individuals? Should not an accomplished scholar be considered more valuable than a simple laborer? The Torah (Deuteronomy 29:9) states that we all stand equally before G-d, “from your heads, the leaders of your tribes, your elders… to your wood choppers and water carriers.” But can a person truly view his fellow as his equal when he is so obviously superior to him in talent and achievement?
This is the gist of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s remark: If you have a question regarding “Appraisals,” if you find it difficult to relate to the Torah’s evaluation of human worth, you had best take a long hard look at yourself. An honest appraisal of your own character and behavior will show you how much there is for you to emulate and learn from those who are supposedly ‘inferior’ to yourself.
From an address by the Rebbe, Shabbos Nitzavim 5710, September 9 1950.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
Tags: chassidim, Torah, charity, Alter Rebbe, Talmud, Jewish law
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June 25th, 2015
Thirteen years is the age at which the Jewish male becomes bar mitzvah (“son of [the] commandment”). At this point in his life, his mind attains the state of daat—the maturity of awareness and understanding that makes a person responsible for his actions. From this point on he is a “man,” bound by the divine commandments of the Torah, individually responsible to G-d to fulfill his mission in life.
The age of daat is derived from Genesis 34:25, in the Torah’s account of the destruction of the city of Shechem by Shimon and Levi in retaliation for the rape of Dinah. The verse reads: “On the third day… the two sons of Jacob—Shimon and Levi—brothers of Dinah, took, each man his sword, and confidently attacked the city.…” The term “man” (ish) is used to refer to both brothers, the younger of whom, Levi, was exactly thirteen years old at the time.[1]Thus we derive that the Torah considers a male of thirteen years to be a “man.”[2]
But the context in which this law is derived is surprising. Shimon and Levi’s act seems hardly an exemplar of daat; indeed, Jacob denounced their deed [3] as irrational, immature, irresponsible and of questionable legitimacy under Torah law.[4] Yet this is the event that the Torah chooses to teach us the age of reason, maturity, responsibility and commitment to the fulfillment of the mitzvot!
The Foundation
As Shimon and Levi replied to Jacob,[5] the situation that prompted their action did not allow them the luxury of rational consideration of its consequences. The integrity of Israel was at stake, and the brothers of Dinah could give no thought to their own person—not to the jeopardy of their physical lives, nor to the jeopardy of their spiritual selves by the violence and impropriety of their deed. In the end, their instinctive reaction, coming from the deepest place in their souls—deeper than reason, deeper than all self-consideration—was validated; G-d condoned their deed and came to their assistance.[6]
This is the message that the Torah wishes to convey when establishing the age of reason and the obligation of mitzvot. Rare is the person who is called upon to act as did Shimon and Levi. This is not the norm; indeed, the norm forbids it. But the essence of their deed should permeate our rational lives. Our every mitzvah should be saturated with the self-sacrifice and depth of commitment that motivated the brothers of Dinah.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Parshat Vayishlach 5725 (November 21, 1964)[7].
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
[1] To the day; see Reshimot #21 and the sources cited there.
[2] The sages calculated that the equivalent age in a female, who matures earlier than a male, is twelve years.
[3] “And Jacob said to Shimon and to Levi: “You have besmirched me, making me odious among the inhabitants of the land…. I, being but few in number, they shall mass against me and smite me, and I shall be destroyed, I and my household” (Genesis 34:30); “Shimon and Levi are brethren: instruments of violence are their wares. Let my soul not come into their council, let my honor not unite with their assembly; for in their wrath they slew a man, and willfully they have maimed an ox. Cursed be their wrath, for it is fierce, and their fury for it is cruel….” (ibid., 49:5-7).
[4] See Likkutei Sichot, vol. V, pp. 150-152, and the sources cited there, for a discussion of the halachic pros and cons of the destruction of Shechem.
[6] Cf. Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 99:7; Tanchuma, Vayechi 10.
[7] Likkutei Sichot, vol. V, pp. 150-162; ibid., p. 421.
Tags: wisdom, Shimon, Levi, spiritual maturity, bar mitzvah, daat, mitzvot, Torah
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June 25th, 2015
The 19th of Kislev is celebrated by the Chabad community as the “Rosh Hashanah of Chassidism.”[8] Farbrengens—informal gatherings at which expositions of Chassidic teaching and words of inspiration mingle with melody, dance and l’chaims—are held in every community, and chassidim wish each other a “good year in the learning of Chassidut and the ways of Chassidut.” [9]
The 19th of Kislev marks the day, in the year 5559 (1798), that the founder of Chabad Chassidism, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, was released from imprisonment in Czarist Russia. Rabbi Schneur Zalman had been arrested on charges, put forth by opponents of Chassidism, that his activities, and the movement he founded, contained treasonous elements. His exoneration and release marked Chassidism’s victory over those who sought to destroy it; following the 19th of Kislev, the movement gained many new adherents, and its teachings were far more broadly and freely disseminated. Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s style of teaching also assumed a new form: he now expounded on the “soul of Torah,” previously presented only in the form of terse Kabbalistic formulas, at greater length and in a manner that more readily allowed their intellectual assimilation.[10]
On a deeper level, the arrest and liberation were interpreted by Rabbi Schneur Zalman and his followers as the earthly speculum of a supernal drama, in which the movement itself was on trial before the Heavenly court. Is it proper to reveal the most intimate secrets of Torah, which had been the exclusive province of a select few in each generation, to the public at large? Is it proper to clothe them in garments of reason, so that these essentially supra-rational truths should take the form of a rational philosophy and creed? Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s release from earthly prison signified his vindication above: the Heavenly court had ruled that the time had indeed come for the inner light of Torah to be revealed and to illuminate the world.[11]
The following is a freely-translated excerpt from a letter by the Rebbe to Mr. Shneur Zalman Shazar (president of the State of Israel in the years 1963-73),[12] dated Tevet 14, 5714 (December 20, 1953), in which the Rebbe touches on the parallels between the spiritual light unleashed on Kislev 19 and modern-day lighting methods.
“It was with pleasure that I received the news that electrical power has been installed in Kfar Chabad, and that farbrengens were already held by its light on the luminous day of the 19th of Kislev. I am told that the matter was arranged thanks to your effort and vigor, and I thank you and congratulate you on this.
It is an age-old Jewish custom to seek a deeper meaning and instruction in every occurrence, as per the saying of the Mishnah, “Who is wise? He who learns from every man”;[13] to which the Baal Shem Tov adds that one must also learn something from every event and its every detail. From the day of his redemption on the 19th of Kislev, the double [14] light of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi began to spread, free of all disturbances and obstructions, and in a manner that could reach also the simplest of folk. Indeed, this is the elementary principle of Chassidism: to draw down and connect the ultimate heights with the lowest depths…
The electrical force is one of the hidden forces of nature. It cannot be perceived by any of the five senses—we know of its existence only through its causations and effects. Yet this hidden force most potently banishes darkness and illuminates the night. Thus, electricity is a physical analog for the spiritual force of Chassidism, whereby the hidden element of Torah and its most arcane secrets—as revealed via Chassidic teaching and the Chassidic way of life—banish the darkness of the material world and illuminate the murkiness of the physical existence.”[15]
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
__________________________________________________
[10] Likkutei Dibburim, vol. I, pp. 21-28. See also Sefer HaToldot Admor HaZaken, pp. 771-787.
[11] Torat Shalom, loc. cit.
[12] ] As his name indicates, Mr. Shazar was a descendant of Chabad chassidim. He maintained a close relationship with the Rebbe and greatly assisted the Chabad community and its institutions in Israel.
[13] Ethics of the Fathers 4:1.
[14] The name “Schneur” is an acronym of the Hebrew words shnei ohr (“two lights”), a reference to Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi’s achievements in both the exoteric element of Torah (Halachah) and its esoteric dimension.
[15] Igrot Kodesh, vol. VII, pp 101-102
Tags: divine providence, freedom, Alter Rebbe, Yud-Tes Kislev, chassidism
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June 25th, 2015
One Torah aspect in which American Jewry has consistently excelled is the mitzvah of tzedakah (charity). Jews are globally known and respected for their great philanthropy–American Jews most of all.
Charity is a universal ideal. We humans seem to have been endowed with an intrinsic moral compass, an ingrained sense of compassion that seems to underlie much of what we do. But the problem with this attitude, although purely humanistic, is that as wonderful as charity is–generosity which instinctively flows from one’s nature–it often leaves G-d out of the equation: “I’m being good because I want to be good.” For example, when I flip some coins to a pauper simply because of some primal empathy, where does G-d fit into the picture? The answer is that He doesn’t. Animals follow their instincts, and I’m simply an animal of a higher sort–following my moral tendency to help a person in need.
But tzedakah is after all a mitzvah, a “commandment,” which presupposes a Commander (G-d). If we’re fulfilling G-d’s mandate, it would be foolish to forget Him in the process, and/or to ignore the depth inherent in His command. What does the Torah teach us about tzedakah?
The Talmud (Bava Basra 9A) proclaims: “Tzedakah is equivalent to all the other commandments combined.” The Rabbis of the Talmud are not given to empty hyperbole. What are they trying to tell us? They certainly can’t mean that a charity-giver can ignore all the other commandments. Rather, they are trying to say that tzedakah best epitomizes what we are trying to accomplish through mitzvos. Indeed, whenever the euphemism ‘the mitzvah’ (without specifying which mitzvah) is used throughout the entire Jerusalem Talmud, the reference is to tzedakah: the mitzvah which represents and symbolizes all the others. How is this so?
We work hard for our money. A great deal of thought, emotion and effort goes into earning a living, and much of our lives revolves around this pursuit. We invest a significant part of our lives in the quest for wealth, and spend a good portion on life’s needs and luxuries–things which raise the “quality of life.” When we look at it this way, money isn’t just green bills–it is life’s energy. We invest our energy into generating the money, and use the money to generate an enriched life.
The goal of Torah is to elevate the mundane dimension of our personalities. Through observing the Torah, we become more than mere intelligent mammals, we refine ourselves into beings created “in the image of G-d.” Every mitzvah sublimates a different nuance of our persona. Tzedakah does more than any mitzvah to accomplish this end. After investing our very beings into earning our money, and transcending the deep-seated pleasure we can buy with that money, by giving it away selflessly for a G-dly purpose, we elevate the soul energy represented by the money, and basically our entire mundane selves.
This may be a lot to ask of a person, but the Torah expects nothing less. The word tzedakah has been translated into English as “charity,” indicating a benevolence or kindness done for another. That’s true, but it doesn’t tell the whole story. The word tzedakah comes from the root word tzedek, meaning justice. The Torah considers giving ‘tzedakah’ to be a wonderful thing, but not something that’s really beyond the call of duty (as we’d prefer to think); it is after all only just, or “fitting,” that we give tzedakah.
Look at it this way. We thank G-d for the positive elements of our lives. We realize that there’s only so far our efforts can take us, while the rest is up to G-d. For example, a self-made millionaire will admit that his long hours, ingenious ideas and business savvy did not guarantee him success–the road of history is, figuratively speaking, littered with the bodies of hard working geniuses who didn’t succeed in business. Our millionaire worked hard and smartly, and G-d blessed him with some positive breaks (that one account or contact that put him over the top). Since G-d trusted us with money, since He granted us guardianship of this vital resource, we are obligated to use it as He’s directed us (after all, He is a partner) and give tzedakah. He’s not even asking for a fifty percent cut; Jewish Law directs that a ten percent tithe be given. So it’s only “just,” only right, that we use some of the money entrusted to us by G-d in the way He sees fit.
Interestingly, we find that for His share, G-d guarantees that He’ll do His part for the business. Nevertheless, even though we believe in reward and punishment, it’s not always immediate. It’s dangerous to expect your stocks to go up because you put on tefillin this morning.
But it’s a different story with tzedakah. In Malachi 3:10, G-d exhorts us to give tzedakah and says: “…test Me in this, [and see] if I don’t open for you the heaven’s windows and rain down endless blessing upon you.”
So, is giving tzedakah nice and praiseworthy? Of course, because you have the choice to do otherwise. But G-d expects nothing less–it’s the just thing to do.
By Rabbi Mendy Herson.
Tags: morality, energy, self-development, compassion, empathy, Rabbi Mendy Herson, charity, tzedakah
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June 25th, 2015
And [the angel] said: “No longer shall your name be called Jacob; rather, Israel shall be your name. For you have struggled with the divine and with men, and you have prevailed.”
Genesis 32:29
So said the angel with whom Jacob wrestled for a night prior to his historic encounter with Esau. Later, we read that G-d Himself appeared to Jacob and reiterated the change of his name to Israel.[1]
Abraham, too, had his name changed (from Abram) by G-d. But with Abraham, the change was absolute; the Talmud[2] goes so far as to say, “Whoever calls Abraham ‘Abram’ violates a prohibition of the Torah, as it is written, ‘No[3] longer shall your name be called Abram.’” Jacob, too, was told, “No longer shall your name be called Jacob,” yet the Torah continues to call him by both names, often alternating between Jacob and Israel in a single narrative, or even a single verse.[4] The Jewish people, who carry the name of their exclusive ancestor,[5] are also called both “Jacob” and “Israel.”
Abraham’s name change, which came about when he circumcised himself by command of G-d, marked his elevation from Abram (“exalted father”) to Abraham (“exalted father of the multitudes”). The name Abraham includes all the letters, and meaning, of Abram; the change was the introduction of an additional letter (the letter hei) and role.[6] Thus, to call Abraham “Abram” is to reduce him to his prior self and significance.
On the other hand, Jacob and Israel are two different names, with two different meanings. While it is true that Israel represents a loftier state of being than Jacob (thus the Israel element in Jacob is “no longer Jacob”), there are certain virtues to the Jacob state that the Israel state cannot possess. So Jacob remains a name for both the third Patriarch and for the Jewish people as a whole. Israel might represent a higher stage in the Jew’s development than Jacob, but the greatness of the Jewish people lies in that there are both Jacob Jews and Israel Jews, and Jacob and Israel elements within each individual Jew.
The Spiritual Warrior
One insight into the difference between the Jacob and Israel personalities is offered by Balaam, the pagan prophet who was summoned to curse the Jewish people and ended up mouthing one of the most beautiful odes to Jewish life and destiny contained in the Torah.
In the second of Balaam’s curses-turned-blessings there is a verse in which he proclaims: “[G-d] sees no guilt in Jacob, nor toil in Israel.”[7]
This implies that Jacob does experience toil, though his struggles and difficulties do not result in his guilt in the eyes of G-d. Israel, on the other hand, enjoys a tranquil existence, devoid not only of guilt but also of toil.
The Torah gives us two interpretations of the name Jacob. Jacob was born grasping the heel of his elder twin, Esau; thus he was named “Jacob” (Yaakov, in the Hebrew), which means “at the heel.”[8] Years later, when Jacob disguised himself as Esau to receive the blessings that Isaac intended to give the elder brother, Esau proclaimed: “No wonder he is called Jacob (“cunning”)! Twice he has deceived me: he has taken my birthright,[9] and now he has taken my blessings.”[10]
Jacob is the Jew still in the thick of the battle of life. A battle in which he is often “at the heel”—dealing with the lowliest aspects of his own personality and of his environment. A battle which he must wage with furtiveness and stealth, for he is in enemy territory and must disguise his true intentions in order to outmaneuver those who attempt to ensnare him.[11] Threatened by a hostile world, plagued by his own shortcomings and negative inclinations, the Jacob Jew has yet to transcend the axiomatic condition of his humanity—the fact that “man is born to toil”[12] and that human life is an obstacle course of challenges to one’s integrity.
G-d sees no guilt in Jacob, for despite all that Jacob must face, he has been granted the capacity to meet his every detractor. Even if he momentarily succumbs to some internal or external challenge, he never loses his intrinsic goodness and purity, which ultimately asserts itself, no matter how much it has been repressed by the travails of life. But while he might be free of sin, he is never free of toil, of the struggle to maintain his sinless state. For Jacob, the war of life rages ever on, regardless of how many of its battles he has won.
Israel (“divine master”), on the other hand, is the name given to Jacob when he “has struggled with the divine and with men, and has prevailed.” Israel is the Jew who has prevailed over his own humanity, so completely internalizing the intrinsic perfection of his soul that he is now immune to all challenges and temptations; who has prevailed over the divine decree that “man is born to toil,” carving out for himself a tranquil existence amidst the turbulence of life.
Thus, Jacob is the name reserved for us when we are referred to as G-d’s “servants,”[13] while “Israel” is G-d’s name of choice when He speaks of us as His “children.”[14] The defining element of the servant’s life is his service to his master. The child, too, serves his father, but their relationship is such that his service is not toil but pleasure. What for the servant is work, imposed upon a resisting self and environment, is for the child the harmonious realization of his identity as the extension of his father’s essence.
The first part of Jacob’s life was consumed by his struggles with his brother Esau—a struggle which began in the womb,[15] continued through their contest over the bechorah (firstborn’s birthright) and their father’s blessings, and culminated in Jacob’s all-night battle with the angel of Esau and the brothers’ face-to-face encounter the next day. In the interim, Jacob also spent twenty toil-filled years tending the sheep of Laban “the Deceiver”—years during which “heat consumed me by day and frost at night, and sleep was banished from my eyes,”[16] and he was forced to become Laban’s “brother in deception.”[17] Jacob’s name-change to Israel marked the point at which he graduated from a servant of G-d to G-d’s child, from an existence defined by struggle and strife to a harmonious realization of his relationship with G-d.
Sweet and Sour
Yet even after he was named Israel, Jacob continued to be Jacob as well. The Torah continues to use his old name along with the new. The events of his life now include periods of tranquillity (such as the nine years from his return to the Holy Land from Charan until the sale of Joseph and the seventeen years he lived in Egypt[18]), but also periods of strife (i.e., the 22 years he mourned his beloved Joseph).[19]
As the father of the people of Israel, Jacob was the model for both states of the Jew: the tranquil child of G-d, at peace with himself, his G-d and his society, whose harmonious life is a beacon of light and enlightenment to his surroundings; and the embattled servant of G-d, grappling with his self and character, his relationship with G-d and his place in the world. For the Jacob state is not merely a prerequisite stage toward the attainment of the Israel state, but an end in itself, an indispensable role in the Creator’s blueprint for life on earth.
In the words of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi: “There are two types of pleasure before G-d. The first is from the complete abnegation of evil and its transformation from bitterness to sweetness and from darkness to light by the tzaddikim.[20] The second [pleasure] is when evil is repelled while it is still at its strongest and mightiest… through the initiative of the beinonim[21]… The analogy for this is physical food, in which there are two types of delicacies that give pleasure: the first being the pleasure derived from sweet and pleasant foods; and the second, from sharp and sour foods, which are spiced and prepared in such a way that they become delicacies that revive the soul.”[22]
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shevat 10, 5718 (January 31, 1958)[23].
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[5], Abraham fathered seven additional sons, progenitors of various Semitic nations, in addition to Isaac, from whom the people of Israel are descended; Isaac fathered Esau, ancestor of the Edomites, in addition to Jacob. In contrast, Jacob’s progeny were exclusively Jewish, and his twelve sons fathered the twelve tribes of Israel.
[6]. See The Irremovable ‘R,’ Week in Review, vol. VII, no. 7.
[11]. See The Duplicity of the Jew, WIR, vol. IX, no. 9.
[13]. As in the verse, “Hearken to Me, My servant Jacob” (Isaiah 44:1; cf. ibid., 44:2, 45:4, 48:26; Jeremiah 30:10, 46:27-28; et al).
[14]. “My firstborn child, Israel” (Exodus 4:22).
[15]. Genesis 25:22-23; Rashi, ibid.
[17]. See Rashi on Genesis 29:12.
[18]. See Baal HaTurim on Genesis 47:1; Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXX, p. 180.
[19]. Cf. Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 84:1 (cited in Rashi on Genesis 37:2): “Jacob wished to settle in tranquillity, when it pounced upon him the trouble of Joseph.”
[20]. Perfectly righteous individuals.
[21]. “Intermediates”—Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s term for the “Jacob” personality, who is perpetually engaged in the battle of life.
[23]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. III, 795-799.
Tags: Divine service, purpose of existence, Jacob, Life's Challenges, purpose of life, Israel
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June 25th, 2015
Land animals, which were created from the soil, are rendered fit to eat by the severing of both vital passages (the windpipe and the gullet). Fish, which were created from the water, do not require any shechitah to render them fit to eat. Birds, which were created from a mixture of soil and water, are rendered fit to eat with the severing of either one of the two vital passages.
Talmud, Chulin 27b
In the terminology of kabbalah and chassidism, “soil” and “water” are analogs for materiality and spirituality. Aside from the usual association of soil with earthiness and mundanity, and of water with purity and sublimity, soil and water express one of the basic distinguishing characteristics between matter and spirit. Soil is comprised of distinct granules, while water forms a cohesive expanse. When two types of soil (or any two solids[1]) are combined, they remain separate entities, however thoroughly mixed; liquids, on the other hand, blend to the point of indistinguishability.[2] Indeed, the way to fuse solid particles to an integral whole is either to introduce a liquid element (as in the kneading of dough), or to heat them to the point of liquidity (as in welding).
By the same token, materiality tends to plurality and divisiveness, while the hallmark of the spiritual is unity and oneness. The material world presents us with a great diversity of creatures, elements and forces, each bent on the preservation and enhancement of its individual existence. The material being is egocentric in essence, striving to consume whatever it needs (or merely desires) for itself, and resisting all attempts to consume it. While there are instances of cooperation and symbiosis in the material world, these are always toward the aim of mutual benefit rather than altruistic unity; furthermore, even this usually represents a triumph of mind over matter, and must be enforced upon a resisting egocentric instinct (witness the clash of egos in a marriage or the race and class-related tensions in a society).
On the other hand, spirituality, like water, is characterized by unity and cohesiveness, and, like water, is an agent of unity when introduced into the soil of the material. The soul amalgamates a diversity of cells and limbs into a “life”; the idea connects a myriad of disjointed facts into a cogent whole; love (that is, spiritual, altruistic love) supplants the instinctive “me” with a common “we.” And when man shifts the focus of his life from the pursuit of material gratification to the service of his Creator, the diverse and belligerent granules of material life coalesce to singular flow, as his every act and endeavor becomes an exercise in bringing harmony to the world and uniting it with its supernal source.
Beast, Fowl and Fish
The laws of kashrut, commanded by the Torah (primarily in Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14) and interpreted and expounded upon in the Talmud (particularly in the tractate Chulin), establish which foods are permitted to the Jew, and which are forbidden. In regard to the consumption of animals, the laws of kashrut distinguish between three categories of animal: a) land animals, b) birds, and c) fish.[3]
One of the halachic distinctions between these three groups regards the requirement of shechitah, “slaughtering.” Once an animal is determined to be kosher,[4] an array of laws govern how it may be slaughtered—the smallest nick in the knife, or the slightest deviation from the prescribed manner of slaughtering, renders the animal tereif and unfit for consumption. However, these laws differ from category to category. The most stringent shechitah requirements pertain to the “land animal”: the slaughtering knife must cut through a majority of both of two vital passages, the windpipe and the gullet. At the other end of the spectrum are fish, which require no shechitah at all. Birds occupy the middle ground between land animals and fish: they do require shechitah, but the severing of (a majority of) only one of the vital passages—either the windpipe or the gullet—is sufficient.
The Talmud explains these differences as related to the primordial origins of these three categories of animals. Land animals were created from the earth (Genesis 1:24), and thus require a full-fledged shechitah; fish were created out of water (ibid., verse 20), and therefore do not require anyshechitah; birds, which were created from a mixture of earth and water (ibid., and 2:19[5]), require the “lesser” shechitah prescribed for them.
What is the connection? Why is it that the “earthier” a creature is, the greater the need for shechitah? To understand this, we must first examine how all of the above applies to the inner world of the human soul. Our sages have said:
“Man is a universe in miniature.”[6]
This echoes King Solomon’s adage:
“Also the world He placed in their hearts.”[7]
If there are three categories of animal life on the macro-cosmic level, the same is true of man—our interior biosphere also includes the land beast, the water creature, and the earth/water composite that rides the winds. Here, too, apply the laws of kashrut and shechitah, instructing us how to distinguish the desirable from the undesirable in our psyche, and how to make its “kosher” elements fit for consumption and metabolization in the daily process of life.
The Three Souls of Man
In the opening chapters of Tanya, the “bible” of Chabad chassidism, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi establishes that we each possess two distinct souls: the “animal soul” (nefesh habehamit),[8] and the “G-dly soul” (nefesh ha’elokit).[9] The animal soul is the essence of physical life. Its focus is entirely self-oriented, its every act and desire motivated by the quest for self-fulfillment and self-enhancement; in this, the animal soul shares the nature of every physical being, whose most basic tendency is the preservation and betterment of its own existence. In contradistinction, the essence of the “G-dly soul” is the striving to unite with its source, to be nullified within the all-pervading reality of G-d. Were this striving to be fully realized, the G-dly soul would cease to exist as a distinct entity;[10] nevertheless, such is its nature and desire. This makes for the perpetual struggle of life: the struggle between matter and spirit, between self-assertion and self-transcendence. Any thought, desire, or act of man stems from either of his two souls, depending upon which has gained mastery over the other and is asserting itself in the person’s mind, heart and behavior.
Chassidic teaching also speaks of a third, intermediary soul in every man—a soul less subjective than his animal soul, though not quite as transcendent his G-dly soul. This is the nefesh hasichlit, the “intellectual soul.” The intellect of man is the most transcendent element of his natural self, capable of objective thought and self-examination. This is not to say that the intellect is entirely free of the inhibitions of ego and self-interest; but it at least possesses the capacity to conceive of greater realities, and thus perceive the insignificance of the self before a higher truth. The intellectual self is thus the bridge between the G-dly soul, which strives toward a self-obliterating union with G-d, and the animal self, which is blind to everything save the gratification of its egocentric instincts. It is via the intellectual soul that the G-dly soul can influence the animal soul: when a person gains a recognition of the divine truth and an appreciation of the purpose to which he was created, this very knowledge and understanding serves to refine his character and behavior. [11]
These are the beast, bird, and water-creature within man. The animal soul of man is the “land animal” in man[12]—a wholly material being, individualistic and self-engrossed as the soil from which it is fashioned. At the other end of the spectrum is the wholly spiritual G-dly soul, characterized by the unity and adhesiveness of the water from which it derives. The G-dly soul of man also resembles the water creature in that it lives wholly immersed in its source—just as a fish cannot survive outside of the water that spawned it, so, too, the G-dly soul cannot conceive of an existence apart from its divine source.[13] In the words of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the G-dly essence of man:
“Never desires, nor is it ever capable, of distancing itself from G-d…”
So that:
“Even at the very moment a person sins, his quintessential self remains loyal to G-d.”[14]
It takes no part in the deed—it has merely been suppressed and overwhelmed by his animal self.
Then there is the “bird” in man: a creature fashioned from soil and water, an admixture of matter and spirit. A creature that is capable of soaring to the most sublime heights, though it repeatedly returns to earth to rest and feed between flights. This is the intellect of man, capable, on the one hand, of raising itself above the materiality of earth and attaining a higher vantage point on life and self, yet nevertheless bound, in many ways, to the physical reality of which it is part.
Drawing Forth
Before an animal can be eaten, to become the stuff of our bodies and the motor of our lives, two conditions must be met: it must be determined to be kosher, and it must undergo shechitah as dictated by Torah law. The Talmud states:
“Shechitah is only to draw forth.”[15]
The most basic meaning of this rule is that the slaughtering knife must be drawn across the “vital passages”—pressing downward, or other deviations from the required back-and-forth movement, disqualify the shechitah. Chassidic teaching, however, uncovers the deeper significance of this law: that the function of shechitah is to “draw forth”—to draw the animal out from its beastly state and into the domain of a life consecrated to the service of the Creator. This is achieved by “slaughtering” the beast—i.e. taking its life. The material world is not, in itself, a negative thing; what is negative is material life—the passion and zeal for things material. The Jew knows that while:
“The entire world was created to serve me…I was created to serve my Creator”[16]
The reason why man has been granted mastery over the physical world is so that he utilizes it in his fulfillment of the divine will. Man was created to live a spiritual life that is sustained by the material, not a material life which his spiritual prowess have been harnessed to serve; to crave the physical for its own sake, is to become part of it rather than to make it part of you and a partner to your transcendent goals. So even after man has separated the “kosher” aspects of life from non-kosher ones, rejecting all that is irredeemable and corrupting,[17] he must still “slaughter” the material beast before it can be consumed. Only after its “life” has been taken out of it can it be sublimated as an accessory to the life of the spirit.
Hence the differing shechitah requirements for the three components of inner life of man. The “animal soul” requires a full-fledged shechitah: comprised solely of the soil of materialism, it must be drained of all vitality and passion so that its substance might be “drawn forth” into the realm of holiness. The “intellectual soul,” comprised of both “soil” and “water,” requires a partial shechitah—its material and egotistic elements must be subdued, but there remains much about the intellect that is desirable also in its “animated” form.[18] Finally, the wholly selfless, wholly transcendent “G-dly soul” requires no shechitah at all, for both its substance and spirit are desirable and “digestible” elements in the life of man.
Based on the Rebbe’s writings, including a letter dated, Tishrei 25, 5703 (October 6, 1942) and a journal entry marked “Shechitah. Vichy. 5700” (1940-41) [19]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. The four basic elements, soil, water, air and fire, also represent the four states of matter—solid, liquid, gas and energy.
[2]. This mechanical fact also has halachic implications—see Shulchan Aruch and commentaries, Yoreh Deah, 109.
[3]. These three groups each have a different set of criteria for distinction between kosher and non-kosher animals. For a land animal to be kosher, it must chew its cud and have split hooves; in practice, this means that the only ten species of land animal are permitted for consumption. With birds, the situation is reversed: the Torah lists twenty species on non-kosher birds, and permits all others. Finally, kosher fish are distinguished by two “signs”—fins and scales.
[5]. See Talmud, Chulin 27b.
[6]. Midrash Tanchuma, Pikudei 3.
[8]. The word beheimah actually means “beast” or “land animal” (see Rashi on Deuteronomy 14:5); thus, a more precise translation of nefesh habehamit would be the “beastly soul” or the “land-animal soul.”
[9]. The concept of a “good inclination” (yetzer tov) and “evil inclination” (yetzer harah) in the heart of man abounds in the Talmud and the Midrashim (cf. Talmud, Berachot 61a). What is unique about the Tanya’s thesis (which is based on the teachings of Rabbi Chaim Vital, a disciple of master kabbalist Rabbi Isaac Luria) is that it speaks of two souls—two entire personas, each with a full set of traits and faculties. The two “inclinations” are actually the drives and desires of their respective souls.
[10]. This is the deeper significance of what happened to Nadav and Avihu, who “came close to G-d, and died” (Leviticus 16:1; see ibid., 10:1-7). In the words of Rabbi Chaim ibn Atar, theirs was “a death by divine ‘kiss’ like that experienced by the perfectly righteous—it is only that the righteous die when the divine kiss approaches them, while they died by their approaching it… Although they sensed their own demise, this did not prevent them from drawing near [to G-d] in attachment, delight, delectability, fellowship, love, kiss and sweetness, to the point that their souls ceased from them.” (Ohr Hachaim commentary on verse).
[11]. Likkutei Torah, Bechukotai 47c-48a; Sefer Hamaamarim 5702, pp. 106-109.
[13]. See Talmud, Berachot 61b.
[14]. Tanya, ch. 24. See Mishneh Torah, Laws of Divorce, 2:20.
[15]. Ein v’shachat ela umashach—Talmud, Chulin 30b. Thus shechitah is equated with the halachic concept of meshicah, which effects the transfer of an object from on domain to another.
[16]. Talmud, Kiddushin 82a.
[17]. Indeed, there are non-kosher elements in all three categories, including the utterly selfless “fish.” For while the G-dly soul’s self-abnegation before G-d is its highest virtue, there also exists a negative type of self-abnegation, as in the case of one who lack the pride and self-assurance necessary to resist those persons and forces that seek to prevent his doing what is right. In chassidic terminology such a tendency is called askufah hanidresses, or a “doormat personality.”
[18]. This is also why there are more non-kosher land animals than kosher ones, while the reverse is true of birds (see note 3 above).
[19]. Igrot Kodesh, vol. I, pp. 46-48; Reshimot #23, pp. 5-10
Tags: Yanki Tauber, soul, inner self, Jewish law, Chassidus, spiritual and material, transcendence, kosher, Spirituality
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June 25th, 2015
I am humbled by all the kindnesses and by all the truth that You have done Your servant
Genesis 32:11
A student of Torah should possess an eighth of an eighth[24] of pride… which crowns him as the husk does the kernel
Talmud, Sotah 5a
To grow and develop, the kernel requires sunlight and rain. But sunlight and rain are also the greatest threats to its survival: if the kernel were to be completely exposed to its sources of nourishment, it would be scorched by the heat of the sun and rotted by the moisture falling upon it.
Hence the husk—a hard, tough shell which encases the kernel or fruit, bearing the brunt of the sun’s rays and deflecting the drops of water falling from above. The husk shields the kernel from the sun and rain while absorbing enough energy and moisture to sustain it and fuel its growth.
Then comes the day of harvest. The grain has ripened, the fruit has matured, and is now fit to fill its function as food, fodder or seed. The husk, no longer an asset but an impediment, is broken open, peeled off, and discarded.
The Analogy
A student of Torah, says the Talmud, requires a certain degree of ego and self-regard, which serves him as the husk serves the kernel.
A person’s spiritual development is fueled by two primary nutrients: love and fear. Wherever we turn, we encounter the heat and light of the love which G-d radiates into His world, and are alternately dampened by the dread that keeps man from evil. But if we were to indiscriminately expose ourselves to these forces, we would be destroyed. Unchecked passion invariably disintegrates into a consuming lust, while unmitigated fear results in soul-corroding timidity and inertia.
Hence the ego—a hard, tough shell which encases the soul, bearing the brunt of life’s passions and deflecting its fears. Our sense of self prevents us from indiscriminately submitting to desire and insulates us from the terrors that would otherwise petrify us into inaction. The inner voice that insists “I am” resists and filters the passion and awesomeness of life, enabling the kernel within to grow and mature.
Ultimately, however, the ego is an impediment to the fulfillment of the purpose for which we were created. Ultimately, it must be discarded to reveal the selfless commitment to our Creator that is the core of our souls.
Every spiritual quest is launched by a stirring of the ego—by a selfish desire to make something of oneself, to achieve, to conquer the citadels of truth and fulfillment. In his unripe, immature stages, the seeker’s ego remains an indispensable component of his growing self, feeding him with stimuli and experience while shielding him from their excesses. But there comes a point at which the armor of self becomes a prison to be breached, freeing the supra-self of the soul to serve its Creator uninhibited by the constraints of ego.
The View From Up Close
When Jacob left his father’s home in Be’er Sheva and set out for Charan, he was a lone, penniless pauper fleeing for his life. Twenty years later, he returned a wealthy man, with a large and growing family, an army of servants and immense flocks of sheep and cattle. G-d’s promise to him—“I shall be with you, and protect you wherever you will go, and bring you back to this land”[25]—had been fulfilled in every respect.
Instead of bolstering Jacob’s ego, instead of giving him confidence in his continued success and reassuring him that Esau’s new plans against him would come to naught, all this had the very opposite effect. G-d’s blessings made him more diminished in his own eyes, less sure of himself, more fearful of his enemies. “I am humbled,” he cried to G-d, “by all the kindnesses and by all the truth that You have done Your servant.”[26]
In 1798, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, founder of Chabad Chassidism, was arrested and charged with treason, on the basis of petitions to the Czar by opponents of Chassidism. After 53 days of imprisonment, he was exonerated of all charges and freed. The event—celebrated to this day on the 19th of Kislev—marked the decisive victory of the Chassidic movement over its foes, and the onset of a new, expanded phase in the dissemination of Chassidic teaching.
Upon his release, Rabbi Schneur Zalman dispatched a letter to all his followers warning them against any feelings of pride and superiority over their opponents as a result of their victory. He began his letter by quoting Jacob’s words, “I am humbled by all the kindnesses and by all the truth that You have done Your servant.”[27] It is natural that a show of kindness by G-d to a person should increase his self-regard; so why, asked Rabbi Schneur Zalman, did it evoke the opposite response in Jacob?
But this, explained Rabbi Schneur Zalman, is the difference between the person still ensnared in the labyrinth of self and the person who has gained a true perspective on himself and his relationship with G-d. To the self-absorbed person, a kindness from G-d is a favor to him, and proof of his own significance and worth. So the ultimate effect of the experience is a distancing of the person from G-d: a greater emphasis on himself and his own needs, and a diminished connection with the source of blessings that have been granted to him.
To the spiritually mature person, however, a kindness from G-d is, first and foremost, an act of divine love: G-d is drawing the person closer to Him. And the closer one comes to G-d, the more one realizes one’s own insignificance in the face of the divine infinity.[28]
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
___________________________________________________
[24]. I.e. one part in 64.
[27]. This verse appears in the beginning of the Torah section of Vayishlach (Genesis 32:4-36:43), which was the Torah reading for the Shabbat preceding the day of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s release.
[28]. Based on Torah Ohr, Megillat Esther 119c; Tanya, Iggeret HaKodesh, section 2.
Tags: love of G-d, awe of G-d, selflessness, spiritual evolution, pride, ego
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June 25th, 2015
And G-d made the two great luminaries… to give light upon the earth.
Genesis 1:16-17
And no plant of the field was yet in the earth, and no herb of the field had yet grown; for the L-rd G-d had not caused it to rain upon the earth, as there was not yet a man to work the land. [Then] there arose a mist from the earth and watered the surface of the land.
Genesis 2:5-6
On Her Own Steam
Sunlight and rain are both crucial sustainers of life on earth. Indeed, there are certain similarities in the manner in which these two gifts are bestowed upon our planet: they both “rain” down upon earth from the skies, drenching her with energy or moisture. In both cases, we seem but passive recipients to a showering of blessing from above. But a closer examination reveals a significant difference between them: while the sun’s gift is indeed a unilateral bestowal, rain originates as moisture which rises from the earth, forms clouds, and returns as life-giving waters. So unlike her relationship with the sun’s radiation, the earth is not a passive beneficiary of the rain falling from the skies; it is she who generates it in the first place, releasing columns of mist from her oceans and lakes to water the thirsting soil of her landmasses.
The earth, of course, could not do this on her own. It is the sun who stimulates the release and ascent of her watery stores; it is the sun who creates the weather patterns which carry them through the atmosphere and impel them earthward. In other words, the sun, ultimately, is the primary supporter of life on earth. But the sun’s gifts of nourishment fall under two categories: (a) those, such as its light – and warmth – purveying rays, which the earth simply absorbs from her benevolent provider; (b) those gifts, such as rain, which the earth herself generates, the sun serving as the catalyst who wakens her potentials for self-nurture and self-development and assists in their realization.
Ecology of the Soul
Also the world, He has placed within their hearts…
Ecclesiastes 3:11
Rabbi Israel Baal-Shem-Tov (1698-1760), founder of the Chassidic movement, taught: Everything that a person may observe should serve him as a lesson in his service of the Almighty. This is especially true with regard to the workings of the universe: man, say our sages, is a miniature world;[1] so in every natural phenomenon he can find a corresponding feature within himself. His observations of the universe and natural law can help him negotiate the physics and geography of his own psyche, and assist him in the perfection of his character and behavior.[2]
Man, too, is a recipient of both “rain” and “sunlight” from Above. Ultimately, of course, everything we possess, including our potentials to initiate and create, are granted us by the Creator. But the Almighty relates to the human soul in two ways: (a) with a direct and unilateral bestowal of sensitivity and enlightenment; (b) by enabling and encouraging the soul to develop and optimize her own resources, to gravitate upward in her own, self-initiated search for truth and meaning in life.
Both are crucial to the spiritual life of the soul. On the one hand, we recognize our inherent limitations. We understand that if we are to relate to a truth that is absolute and all-transcendent, we must resort to a bequest from a higher source.
At the same time, however, human nature dictates that we identify more with what we ourselves have achieved: something earned is more appreciated than a gift, an idea figured out independently is more poignant than a teaching from the greatest master. For an experience to be real – that is, to be incorporated as part of one’s essence and personality – it must stem from within.
In other words, to be truly “it” it must be granted from Above; yet to be truly meaningful it must be produced from below. We need them both. Indeed, the tension between these two needs is an ever-present feature of our growth and development in all areas, intellectual, emotional or spiritual. The real or the ideal? Mine or more?
These are the phenomena of “rain” and “sunlight” in the miniature universe that is man. Thus, as the Torah relates, the first rainfall in history did not commence until there was a human being to work the land. For rain is the expression, on the cosmic level, of human initiative and endeavor – the reflection of our ability to answer the Divine light which radiates into our lives with the product of our own resources and potentials.[3]
Two Dimensional Year
This explains a curious redundancy in the structure of the Jewish year – it is a year with not one but two beginnings! For there are two opening months in the Jewish calendar: Tishrei (which usually begins sometime in September) contains the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and the festival of Sukkot and is generally considered the “head” and beginning of the Jewish year; but six months later comes Nissan (late March-early April), the month of Passover and the Exodus, which is designated by the Torah as the “first month” and also serves as the “head” of the year for certain matters of Torah law and practice.[4] Why two “heads” to the year?
In the land of Israel, the rains are confined to the half-year between Tishrei and Nissan. Thus, this six-month period is referred to by our sages as the “Season of Rains” (y’mos ha’gshomim), while the six months from Nissan to Tishrei are considered the “Season of the Sun” (y’mos ha’chamah).
To the Jew, the calendar is more than a measure of time – it is a cycle that embodies the various elements of his relationship with the Almighty that are the essence of his life as a Jew. And this cycle is comprised of two basic parts: (a) the spiritually passive “Season of the Sun,” in which we mark and re-experience, the great unilateral acts of Divine involvement in our destiny (the Exodus, the revelation at Sinai); and (b) the self-generated “Season of Rains,” which open with the soul-searching and self-improvement which characterizes the month of Tishrei.
The Paradox of Peace
A scholar from the Galilee expounded before R. Chisdah: “Blessed be the Merciful One, who gave a threefold Torah[5] to a threefold people[6] through a third one[7] on the third day[8] in the third month.[9]”
Talmud, Shabbos 88a
Indeed, Torah embodies the very essence of the number “3”. For “Torah was given to make peace in the world”[10] and “3” is the number of peace.
The number “1” implies a monopolous individuality. Where “1” dominates, there cannot be peace; for “1” insists on its absoluteness and exclusivity of being – to the negation of all else. Where “1” dominates, everything else (if there is anything else) must surrender their identity before its intolerant singularity. True, there is no conflict, for there is only one; but neither is this peace, which is the harmonious integration of two (or more) distinctive elements.
“Two” represents diversity. As the number implies, we are dealing with two parallel entities. One may be infinitely superior to the other, yet they are equal if only in that each is a distinct existence. Two-ness is often the cause of conflict, but even when it is not, it still precludes true peace. As long as each insists on retaining its apartness and distinction, the most they can achieve is a peaceful co-existence; dichotomized by their respective individualities, they cannot merge into a synthesized whole.
So what is peace? If it is neither the affirmation of identity nor its surrender, what is it? Indeed, peace is a paradox – a paradox articulated in the number “3”. Peace is when two distinct entities find common ground in a third reality, one that transcends the differences between them. A third element that embraces them both, as they are, to serve a higher ideal. A third element within whose broader context the unique and even opposite features of each complement and fulfill one another. A third element which preserves their differences – and uses them as the very ingredients of harmony.
The “3” of the World
The Torah was given to make peace in the world.
The world – a chaos of diversity and randomness. Here and there we may discern patches of cohesiveness, systems and communities driven by a unanimity of purpose. But on the whole, the world seems a jumble of elements and forces, species, nations and individuals, each with their own nature and agenda. We know that there must be something that holds it all together; we know that somehow, underneath it all, we’re all on the same bandwagon, headed toward a unified goal. But on the surface, we seemed doomed to conflict, as each pursues his or its individualized aspirations.
If only we could somehow get a hold of the master plan, of the grand blueprint for the universe! If only we could read the Creator’s mind, to discern His intended use for each creature’s particular traits and tendencies. If only we had a vision of a “third element” of creation, a vision which incorporates them all as the component parts of a single organism. Then, we would no longer have to fight the losing battle to enforce some sort of balance between individual and communal desires to keep the world from tearing itself apart. Then, there would be no need to compromise differences for the sake of peace, since the proper application of each being’s and community’s differences will result in the realization of the quintessential harmony which underlies all.
Torah, given in a flurry of 3’s, is all that. It is the embodiment of tifferet, “Harmony,” the third of the seven Divine Attributes. Torah lays down the do’s and don’ts of life, not as a curb on individual freedom but as the description of every man’s deepest and truest aspirations. It outlines the manner in which every element of creation is to be developed and utilized, not as a program to change them but to bring to light their ultimate essence and function.
Chassidic Winter
As mentioned above, nourishment for the human soul comes in two forms: unilateral gifts from Above (akin to “sunlight”), or generated from below and within (the “rainmaking” powers of the soul).
Torah, the ultimate gift of life, has both a “light” and a “rain” dimension to it. Originally, we received Torah as a Divinely authored document; at the greatest Divine revelation of history, G-d descended upon Mount Sinai and granted us His blueprint for creation. But our reception of the Torah was based on the commitment that “We will do, and we will comprehend”[11] – that we will not suffice with accepting the Torah as the word of G-d but will also toil to understand and appreciate it. So immediately following Sinai began the process of converting sunlight into rainmaking mist: to assimilate the revealed wisdom of G-d so that it becomes something which rises from within to nourish and animate the soul.
This is also reflected in our calendar: the revelation at Sinai took place in the month of Sivan, the third month of the “Season of the Sun,” while an important landmark in the process of Torah’s internalization is Kislev, the corresponding third month of the “Season of Rains.”
Since 1798, the 19th of Kislev has been celebrated as the “New Year” of Chassidism. On this day the founder of Chabad Chassidism, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), was released from Czarist prison, upon being cleared of the libelous charges leveled against him and the Chassidic movement. This cleared the way for the uninhibited dissemination of its teachings.[12]
A hallmark of Chabad Chassidism is that man not only rely on instructions from Above; rather, his attainments must also involve his own effort and initiative. The teachings of Chabad guide man in utilizing his own mind and heart to comprehend and appreciate the true essence of his own self, the world around him, and his relationship with his Creator. It is therefore significant that the birth of Chabad Chassidism is linked to the third month of the “Season of Rains.” For Kislev is a month that emphasizes the “rain” element of Torah: man’s ability to make his achievements in bringing true peace into the world something that is truly his, a result of his own understanding and feelings.
Based on the talks of the Rebbe during the month of Kislev 5750 (December 1989) and on other occasions.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1] Midrash Tanchuma, Pikudei 3.
[2] Indeed the entirety of creation, which exists to serve and challenge man in his Divinely ordained mission in life, an outgrowth and reflection of the dynamics of the human universe.
[3] See previous footnote.
[4] See Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 2a.
[5] Consisting of the Torah (Five Books of Moses), the Prophets and the Scriptures.
[6] The Jewish people are comprised of Kohanim, Levites and Israelites.
[7] Moses, the third child (following Miriam and Aaron) of Amram and Jocheved.
[8] The Torah was given at Sinai after three days of sanctification and preparation on the part of Israel (Ex. 19:10-11).
[9] Sivan, the 3rd month from Nissan.
[10] Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah, Laws of Chanukah 4:14.
[12] The arrest and liberation Rabbi Schneur Zalman by the Czarist Government were but a reflection of what was occurring Above. The arrest came as a result of a heavenly challenge to the Rebbe’s approach of freely revealing the most intimate elements of the Torah. His exoneration and release “below” signified the heavenly approval and endorsement of the continued dissemination of Chassidism.
Tags: body and soul, Chassidus, rain, light, Torah, Spirituality, Divine
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June 25th, 2015
And an earthen utensil, which one of these falls into its inside…
Leviticus 11:33
And G-d formed man of the dust of the earth, and He blew into his nostrils a spirit of life.
Genesis 2:7
The laws of tumah and taharah (ritual impurity and purity) differentiate between an earthen utensil and utensils made of other materials. All utensils become impure through the contact of an impure object (e.g. the carcass of an impure animal) with any part of the utensil. An earthen utensil, however, becomes impure only if the source of impurity enters into its inside.
Said Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk: The value of a utensil of wood or metal is not only in its form—the material of which it is made is also worth something. So contact with any part of it, including its outside surface, has an effect upon its ritual state. An earthen utensil, however, has value only as a container; so it is affected only by what happens to its inside.
Man is an earthen vessel. His worth lies not in his material exterior, but in its content. He should therefore regard as significant only what pertains to his inner self.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: purity, Spirituality, Yanki Tauber, inner self, Jewish law, ritual purity
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