Terms of Termination

June 12th, 2015

I will give peace in the land, and you will sleep without fear; and I will terminate (v’hishbati) evil beasts from the land, and the sword will not pass through your domain.

Leviticus 26:6

The precise meaning of the Hebrew word hashbatah, rendered here as “terminate,” is debated by our sages. According to Rabbi Judah, the term implies the utter cessation of a thing’s existence. Thus, Rabbi Judah understands the divine promise to “terminate evil beasts from the land” to mean that in the harmonious world of Moshiach all destructive creatures and forces will be “removed from the world.” Rabbi Shimon disagrees: in his opinion, hashbatah implies only the termination of a thing’s particular characteristics—in this case, the destructive nature of “evil beasts.” It is this feature of their being that G-d will eliminate, while they continue to exist in their new harmless and gainful cast.[1]

This is the root of several other debates between Rabbi Judah and Rabbi Shimon. For example, regarding the mitzvah to destroy all leaven (chametz) in one’s possession on the day before Passover, Rabbi Judah rules that “the destruction of leaven can be achieved only by burning.” His colleagues, however, are of the opinion that “one can also pulverize it and cast it to the wind or throw it into the sea.” [2] Here, too, the issue is the definition of the term hashbatah, which the Torah employs in commanding us that

“on the first day, you shall terminate (tashbitu) leaven from your homes.” [3]

Rabbi Judah understands this as a commandment to utterly destroy chametz, while Rabbi Shimon and the other sages hold that as long as the edibility and profit-ability of leaven (i.e. those aspects of its being that pertain to its prohibition on Passover) have been eliminated, one has met the requirements of hashbatah. [4]

The Weekly Hashbatah

Another example is a dispute between Rabbi Judah and Rabbi Shimon regarding work on Shabbat.

There are thirty-nine melachot, or categories of labor, that are forbidden on Shabbat, embracing practically every creative and constructive act of man. However, in order for an act to be considered a full-fledged transgression of the prohibition to work on Shabbat, subject to the penalties the prescribed by the Torah, it must be a “conscious work” (melechet machshevet), in which the creative result is the intended outcome of one’s deed. A case in point: The first of the thirty-ninemelachot is choresh (“plowing”), a category that includes all forms of digging and landscaping. Nevertheless, one who drags a chair across his lawn on Shabbat, thereby cutting a groove in the earth, is absolved from penalty, since the “work” in question was unintentional.

But is it permissible to perform an unintentional melachah? This is the point of contention between Rabbi Judah and Rabbi Shimon. According to Rabbi Judah, such a deed falls under the category of  “absolved but forbidden”: while only “conscious work” carries a penalty, it is still forbidden to do something that might result in a creative deed, albeit a deed that does not meet the full criteria of melachah. Rabbi Shimon, however, is of the opinion that a person may go ahead and drag that chair, even if he knows that his doing so may carve a groove in the earth; if the Torah defines “work” as a deed that is consciously creative, only such work is forbidden us on Shabbat.[5]

Once again, their debate centers on the definition of hashbatah. “Six days a week you shall work,” commands the Torah, “and on the seventh day you shall desist.”[6] The Hebrew word for “you shall desist,” tishbot (commonly translated “you shall rest”), is but another form of hashbatah, as, indeed, is the word “Shabbat.” But to what extent is the Torah telling us to terminate work on Shabbat? According to Rabbi Judah, hashbatah implies the utter cessation of a thing’s existence—no trace of melachah is to be enacted on Shabbat, not even the pseudo-melachah of unintended work. According to Rabbi Shimon, however, as long as the defining characteristic of melachah, its conscious creativity, has been eliminated, though the body of the melachah remains, the hashbatah of Shabbat has been realized in full.[7]

The Future Shabbat

After citing Rabbi Judah and Rabbi Shimon’s differing interpretations of the verse “I will terminate evil beasts from the land,” the Midrash quotes the prophet Isaiah in support of Rabbi Shimon’s view:

“The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid… An infant shall play on the cobra’s hole, and a child shall reach into the viper’s nest. They shall neither hurt nor destroy in all My holy mountain, for the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of G-d as the waters submerge the sea.” [8]

Accordingly, the messianic ideal is not a world in which everything with a negative trait or potential disappears, but one in which these traits and potentials are eliminated, and the energies that sustain them redirected to positive and G-dly ends.[9]

Rabbi Shimon’s interpretation of the verse is also consistent with the time-context in which it is read and studied as part of the annual Torah-reading cycle. The Torah section of Bechukotai (Leviticus 26-27), which includes the divine promise to “terminate evil beasts from the land” in its opening verses, is read in the closing days of the sefirah-count, the seven-week process of self-refinement that leads from our annual re-experience of the Exodus on Passover to our receiving of the Torah on Shavuot. The objective of the sefirah process can be seen in the difference in our attitude toward leaven on these two festivals. On Passover, chametz is utterly rejected: we are forbidden to eat it, derive benefit from it in any way, or even keep it in our possession; there is even a special mitzvah to destroy all leaven that is in our possession on the eve of the festival. On Shavuot, however, not only is chametz permitted, but the Torah even commands that two loaves of leavened bread be offered on the altar in the Beit Hamikdash (the Holy Temple in Jerusalem—something that is strictly forbidden not only on Passover but all year round. Leaven, whose primary feature is that it rises and inflates itself, represents the source of all evil in the heart of man: arrogance and pride.[10] But the sefirah-count is the process by which we sublimate the forty-nine adverse derivatives of pride, until we reach the point that it is divested of its negativity and can be included in the G-dly environment of the Beit Hamikdash—the environment that constituted a “taste” of a future world that shall be “wholly Shabbat and tranquility, for everlasting life.”[11]

Based on the Rebbe’s talks, Kislev 19 and 26, 5730 (November 29 and December 6, 1969)[12]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Hebrew, Definition, Bechukosei, Moshiach, Vayikra, Talmud, Jewish law, passover, Shabbos
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The Eighth Dimension

June 12th, 2015

Six years you shall sow your field, and six years you shall prune your vineyard and gather its fruit. And the seventh year shall be a sabbath of rest for the land, a sabbath for G-d…

And you shall count for yourselves seven sabbaths of  years, seven times seven years… a total of forty-nine years…. And you shall sanctify the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout the land and to all inhabitants thereof….

Leviticus 25:3-10

The number “seven” figures prominently in our reckoning and experience of time. Most familiar, of course, is the seven-day work/rest cycle that comprises our week, in reenactment of the original Seven Days of Creation when “in six days, G-d made the heavens and the earth… and on the seventh day He rested.”[1]

Each Shabbat thus completes a full revolution time’s original cycle, following which we start anew from yom rishon, “the first day”—as “Sunday” is called in the Holy Tongue.

This is why many Jewish life-cycle observances are seven-day affairs. Two seven-day festivals[2] frame our year—Passover, which runs from the 15th to the 21st of Nissan, and Sukkot, occurring exactly six months later, on Tishrei 15-21. A marriage is celebrated for a full week of sheva berachot(“seven blessings”), and the death of a loved one, G-d forbid, is mourned for seven (shivah) days.[3] Thus the freedom of Passover, the joy of Sukkot, the bond of marriage and the coming to terms with loss are assimilated in all seven dimensions of created time.

Our years, too, follow the cycle of creation: six “workday” years are succeeded by a sabbatical year of shemittah (“suspension”). In the Land of Israel, all agricultural work is suspended on the seventh year and the land’s produce is declared free for the taking for all. Also suspended on the shemittah year are all private debts and the terms of servitude of indentured servants.

Finally, our sages describe the whole of human history as a seven-millennia “week,” consisting of 6,000 years of human labor in developing G-d’s world and a seventh millennium “that is wholly Shabbat and rest, for life everlasting” [4]– the era of Moshiach.[5]

The Kabbalists explain that the Seven Days of Creation embody the seven sefirot (divine attributes) which G-d emanated from Himself to define and characterize His relationship with our existence.[6] So seven is not only the elemental number of time, but of every created thing and of the created reality as a whole. This is especially true of the human being, who was created “in the image of G-d”[7] : the human character is comprised of seven drives (love, restraint, harmony, ambition, devotion, connection and receptiveness), mirroring the seven “attributes” which G-d assumed as creator of the universe.

Matter and Spirit

Each of the seven units of the “week” embodies the particular characteristics of its respective sefirah. But in more general terms, the cycle consists of two primary phases: “mundanity” (chol) and “holiness” (kedushah). Six days of mundane labor are followed by a day of spiritual rest; six years of working the earth, by a year of “suspension” and disinvolvement from the material; six millennia devoted to struggling with and developing the physical world, by a seventh millennium in which “the sole occupation of the entire world will be to know G-d.”[8]

The Torah’s word for “holy,” kedushah, literally means “removed” and “apart.” Its names for the seventh day, shabbat, and for the seventh year, shemittah, respectively mean “cessation” and “suspension.” For holiness requires complete disengagement from all material involvements. In order to experience the holiness and spirituality of Shabbat, we must cease all material labor; in order to touch base with the holiness of the land in the shemittah year, we must suspend all physical work upon its soil and all claims of ownership on its produce; in order to experience the divine goodness and perfection of our world in the age of Moshiach, we must first achieve a state in which “there is no jealousy and no competition”[9] over its material wealth.[10]

Yet despite their transcendent nature, the seventh day, year and millennium are constituent parts of the cycles of creation. Materiality and spirituality might differ greatly—to the point, even, of mutual exclusivity—yet both are part of “nature”: both are governed by the framework of laws which define the created reality.

Indeed, the very fact that “holiness” demands the cessation and suspension of all things mundane, indicates that it, too, has its limits. It means that just as there exists a physical nature which defines and delimits the scope of physical things and forces, so, too, does the realm of the spiritual have its “nature”—its own set of laws which define what it is and what it is not, where it can exist and where it cannot, and how, and in what manner, it can make itself felt beyond its inviolate boundaries. So while the concept of “transcendence” seems the antithesis of definition, transcendence is itself a definition, for it defines (and thus confines) itself as beyond and distinct from the material.

This offers insight into of a key passage in the Torah’s account of creation. In Genesis 2:2 we read:

“And G-d concluded on the seventh day the work that He had done.”

This seems to contradict the second part of that very verse, which reads:

“And He rested on the seventh day from all the work that He had done.”

If the work of creation was concluded on the seventh day, then the seventh day was one of the days of creation; but if the seventh day is the day on which G-d rested “from all the work that He had done,” there were only six days of creation, and a seventh day of Shabbat—cessation from work.

Our sages explain: “What was the world lacking? Rest. When Shabbat came, rest came.”[11]

Rest—transcendence and spirituality—is itself a creation. Though removed from the nature of the material, it is part of a greater “nature”—the nature of the created reality, which includes the realm of the spiritual as well as the realm of the material.

Eight

If the “seven” defines the natural reality, “eight” represents that which is higher than nature, the “circumference” that encompasses the circle of creation.[12]

“Seven” includes both matter and spirit, both mundanity and holiness, both involvement and transcendence, but as separate, distinct components of the cycle of creation; the “seventh dimension” will exert its influence on the other six, but only in a “transcendent” way—as a “spiritual,” “other-worldly” reality that will never be truly internalized and integrated within the system. In contrast, “eight” represents the introduction of a reality that is beyond all nature and definition, including the definition “transcendence.” This “eighth dimension” (if we can call it a “dimension”) has no limitations at all: it transcends and pervades, being beyond nature yet also fully present within it, being equally beyond matter and spirit and equally within them.

So the covenant of circumcision, which binds the Jew to G-d in a bond that supersedes all nature and convention even as it pervades every nook and cranny of life, is entered into on the eighth day of life. The Sanctuary,[13]whose role was to make the infinite reality of G-d an “indwelling” presence in the physical world, was inaugurated “on the eighth day”[14] following a seven-day “training” period. The festival of Shemini Atzeret (“Eighth Day of Retention”), whose function is to “internalize” the transcendent “encompassing light” of the sukkah, occurs on the “eighth day” that follows Sukkot’s seven days.[15]

Seven shemittah cycles are followed by a “jubilee” year characterized by “liberty” (i.e. freedom from all bounds) rather than just “suspension.” And the messianic seventh millennium of history will be followed by the supra-historical “World to Come” (Olam HaBa), in which the divine reality will unite with the created reality in ways that we cannot even speculate upon in a world in which “finite” and “infinite” are mutually exclusive. In the words of the Talmud, “All prophets prophesied only regarding the days of Moshiach; regarding the World to Come, ‘No eye can behold it, O G-d, save Yours.’”[16]

Fifty

The “eights” in our lives come in two forms: eight and fifty.

For example, the two seven-day festivals, Sukkot and Passover, each culminate in an Atzeret—a one-day “festival of retention” whose function is to internalize the festival’s achievements. But while the Atzeret of Sukkot immediately follows the festival, in effect constituting its “eighth day,” the Atzeret of Passover is the festival of Shavuot, observed fifty days after Passover, culminating a 49 (7×7) – day “counting of the Omer.”

For each of the seven components of the natural system has a “natural system” of its own—its own seven-phased cycle of immanence and transcendence, making a total of 49 elements and phases in the cycle of nature.[17] “Fifty” is an “eight” which follows a thoroughly detailed development of the seven dimensions of nature in all its 49 sub-dimensions. Shavuot, the Atzeret of Passover, is such an “eight”: our exodus from Egypt marked the onset of a 49-day process in which we refined and perfected the 49 drives and impulses of our souls, thereby liberating ourselves from the “forty-nine gates of impurity” into which we sunk in the course of our enslavement to the most debased society in the history of mankind and entering into the “forty-nine gates of understanding” of awareness of and commitment to G-d. This 49-day process (re-experienced each year with our seven-week “Counting of the Omer”) culminated in the revelation at Sinai on Shavuot, when we were granted the Torah—the divine 50th dimension which supersedes and integrates all 49 dimensions of creation.

Another “fifty” is yovel, the “Jubilee” year. Seven seven-year shemittah cycles, each culminating in a year of “suspension” and transcendence of the material, are followed by a fiftieth year of “liberty” in which all servants, including those who had sold themselves for lifetime labor, were set free, and all ancestral lands that had been sold reverted to their original owners. The Jubilee year represents a state of true freedom in which, rather than just “suspending” the earthliness of the land, we free it of all the restraints of materiality.

Thus our experience of time (which defines practically everything we do and achieve) comes in various forms and configurations. There are times and situations in which we live our lives completely within the natural cycle of “seven.” There are times and circumstances in which we relate to the supra-natural “eighth” dimension, but only in a general, abstract way. Finally, there are times and circumstances in which we access an “eight” that is a “fifty”—an “eight” that is experienced in all particulars and sub-particulars of our existence.[18]

Three States of Jubilee

The shemitta/yovel cycle itself comes in three different forms, as dictated by the variant spiritual climates of different epochs in our history.

The Torah instructs that the Jubilee year is to be proclaimed “throughout the land and to all inhabitants thereof.”[19] The Talmud interprets this as a stipulation that the special laws of the 50th year are enacted only when the land of Israel is fully populated by the Jewish people.[20] The only period in our history when this was the case was from the year 2503 from creation (1258 BCE), when the Jewish people under Joshua completed their conquest and settlement of the Holy Land, until they were driven from it by Babylon’s armies 836 years later, with the destruction of the First Temple in the year 3339 (422 bce).

Seventy-six years later, with the partial return of the Jewish people to their land under Ezra (six years after the building of the Second Temple) the yovel count resumed—but this time only for the sake of calculating and implementing the sabbatical year seven times in each 50-year period. Since much of the Holy Land was not resettled, and a large part of the Jewish nation remained in exile, the Jubilee year could not be observed. Nevertheless, a fiftieth year was counted following each seven shemittah-cycles,

“so that the sabbatical years should fall at their proper time.”[21]

In other words, after the seventh sabbatical year, on year 49, of Ezra’s count, the next seven-year cycle could not begin until after a theoretical Jubilee was proclaimed; thus, the next sabbatical year came eight years later (on year 57), not seven years later (on year 56).

Upon the Second Temple’s destruction in the year 3829 from creation (69 CE), this yovel count also ceased. The sabbatical year continues to be observed every seventh year (5754 (1994) was a shemittah year); but because we are in a state of galut (exile), deprived of the divine presence that manifested itself in the Holy Temple, we lack even the “theoretical” Jubilee of the Second Temple Era. Today (as was the case in the period between the two Temples), our seven-year cycles run consecutively, without the half-century landmark of yovel.

Applied to the “miniature universe” that is man and the 49 chambers of his soul, these three eras represent three levels in our quest towards self-refinement and self-perfection.

The ideal model, which defined the lives of our ancestors in the First Temple Era, is one of seven shemittah-cycles which yield a 50th Jubilee year. On the individual level, this means that a person’s struggles to “suspend” and transcend the negative in himself are experienced as stages in the process of the complete transformation and liberation of his soul.

A lesser state was that of the Second Temple Era, which represented a intermediate state between galut and redemption. While a large segment of the Jewish people lived in the Holy Land, for much of these 420 years they were under the dominion of other nations. And while the Holy Temple facilitated G-d’s presence in their lives, it was a lesser expression of the divine reality than the First Temple.[22]

Thus, the shemittah-cycles were not of the caliber to produce a full-fledged “liberation.” Nevertheless, they were permeated by the vision of perfection that the Jubilee year represents, as expressed by the fact that while the yovel was not actually observed, it set and defined the shemittah-cycles.

But in the more than nineteen centuries since the Holy Temple’s destruction, we have been fully engulfed in galut: ours is an existence that obscures all but the faintest glimmer of purpose and direction. Our lives are, by and large, consumed by the struggle with evil; not only are our efforts at self-improvement confined to the narrow, seven-phased cycle of nature—we lack even the vision to see and appreciate their place within the context of a liberating Jubilee.

Today, our lives are a seemingly endless chain of shemittah-cycles, with nary a Jubilee in sight. Yet this “blind” struggle will yield the final and ultimate Redemption, when

“Moshiach will arise and restore the sovereignty of David to it former glory and power, build the Holy Temple and gather the dispersed of Israel. In his days, all the laws will be restored: we will offer the sacrifices, and enact the Sabbatical and Jubilee years as commanded by the Torah.” [23]

Then, our cycles of seven will yield the ultimate “eight”—the all-embracing perfection of the World to Come.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Purim 5726 (1966), and on various other occasions[24]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: transcendence, passover, Shabbos, Bechukosei, Vayikra, Seven, Eight, kabbalah, Shmittah, sefirot, Sukkot, Behar, spiritual and material
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Destroying the World

June 12th, 2015

The world was created with ten utterances. What does this come to teach us? Surely it could have been created with a single utterance! But this was in order to exact payment from the transgressors who destroy a world created with ten utterances, and to better reward the righteous who sustain a world created with ten utterances.

Ethics of the Fathers, 5:1[1]

G-d is the essence of good.[2] He is benevolent and compassionate,[3] and merciful toward all His creations.[4] How, then, can it be said that the reason He created the world with ten utterances was “in order to exact payment from the transgressors”?!

The mishnah does go on to say that G-d’s purpose was also to grant greater significance to the good deeds of the righteous. G-d being the ultimate and only reality, the sole measure of how real and significant a thing is, is the extent to which G-d imparts being and meaning to it. By choosing to “invest” ten utterances in the creation of the world (“Let there be light,” “Let the earth sprout forth vegetation,” “Let us make man,” etc.—instead of simply saying “Let there be a world”), G-d made our existence that much more significant, and our development of the world in accordance with His will that much more worthy of reward. This, of course, also means that the destructive deeds of those who transgress His will are of greater consequence, as they damage a world made more significant by G-d’s greater involvement in its creation. But if this were the mishnah’s point, it should have begun by saying that G-d’s multiple enunciations were:

“In order to greatly reward the righteous, who sustain a world created with ten utterances.”

The negative fallout from this could have been noted afterward (if it need be noted at all). The fact that the mishnah first speaks of the greater possibility of “exacting payment from the transgressors” implies that this is the crux of the reason G-d created the world with ten utterances, and that its other point—“and to greatly reward the righteous…”—is secondary to the divine purpose. How is this to be reconciled with the concept, axiomatic to the Jewish faith, that G-d is the epitome of good and His creation an outpouring of His infinite benevolence?

The Perfect Number

It is no accident that we count and quantify things by tens, and that the number “ten” is a byword for completeness and perfection. Because G-d created the world with ten utterances, the reality we inhabit is a “decimal” one—a reality that is comprised of ten basic elements (embodied by the ten sefirot, the spiritual “building blocks” of creation), and in which every object, force and phenomenon possesses ten dimensions or attributes.[5]And the reason there were ten utterances, the Zohar tells us, is because the Torah, which is G-d’s “blueprint for creation,”[6] is also ten-dimensional.[7] G-d, of course, could have formulated His wisdom and will in any manner He desired; but because He chose to encapsulate them in the Ten Commandments, the number ten became the underlying structure of creation. No thing is whole, and no endeavor is complete, until all ten of its integral components are realized.[8]

A righteous individual (tzaddik) is one who pursues and realizes this perfection in his life. He fulfills the Ten Commandments and the Torah they embody; he refines and perfects all ten traits of his character, and all ten dimensions of his environment. He “sustains a world created with ten utterances,” preserving the elemental structure of creation and bringing to light the potential for perfection imbued in it by its Creator.

The transgressor (rasha) violates this divine order. He transgresses the Ten Commandments and its derivatives, corrupts the ten faculties of his mind and heart, disrupts the harmony in G-d’s ten-dimensional world. But in doing so he uncovers the opportunity for teshuvah (“return”). On the most basic level, teshuvah is the ability to repent of one’s transgressions and attain forgiveness for one’s past wrongs. On a deeper level, teshuvah is the capacity to transform a failing into a positive force, into the impetus for greater good. A wanderer lost in the desert achieves a thirst for water that no dweller in civilization can experience or even imagine; by the same token, the transgressor lost in the ruins of his destroyed world possesses a yearning for G-d that no tzaddik can attain. By unleashing this yearning and channeling it to agitate his life, the returned transgressor can achieve things that are beyond the capacity of the most perfect tzaddik.

The potential for teshuvah is not part of the “plan.” It comes about as a result of a violation of the divine will, as something that should never have happened; the Talmud even states that

“One who says ‘I shall sin and repent’ is not given the opportunity to repent.”[9]

It is not integral to the structure of creation—indeed, this structure must be devastated for teshuvah to be possible. When it does take place, a new element is introduced into G-d’s world: an element that transcends the ten utterances, transcends the Ten Commandments, relating instead to the primordial possibility of a one-dimensional reality (“it could have been created with a single utterance”) in which there are no “blueprints” or “structures,” no ten-dimensional codes or characters, no diametric realms of good and evil. A reality in which there is nothing save the singular, all-embracing truth of G-d, a truth in which darkness, too, is a source of light, and “evil” is but another opportunity for good.

The Price of Sin

The baal teshuvah thus destroys the world not once, but twice. First he destroys it in the negative sense, violating the divine order of creation. Then he destroys it in the positive sense, transcending its bounds and obliterating its numerical limits.

This is the deeper significance of the two reasons our mishnah gives for G-d’s creation of the world with ten utterances: a) “to exact payment from the transgressors who destroy a world created with ten utterances”;  and b) “to better reward the righteous who sustain a world created with ten utterances.”

One reason G-d formulated a ten-point code of do’s and don’ts for life on earth and created a world that is structured upon this code, is that he desired that man lead a righteous life, sustaining the divine order in creation and realizing its divine perfection  (reason “b” in the mishnah).

But G-d also had a deeper motive: He formulated this decimal structure in order that it be destroyed. In what King David calls “His awesome plot upon the human race,”[10] G-d made man vulnerable to evil so that man’s failings should impel him to surmount the created state, surmount the bilateral, ten-dimensional edifice of right and wrong. He created a world in which every sin has a price—in which the soul of man must experience the agony of disconnection from its source, so that its pain should fuel its quest for even deeper connection. (Thus the mishnah uses the expression “to exact payment” (lehipara), instead of “to punish” or the like—to emphasize that it is not speaking of a divine desire to avenge Himself of the wicked, but to provoke man to teshuvah in “payment” for his wrongs.)

This is G-d’s “first” reason: a motive that stems from a deeper place in the divine motive for creation—from the singular, “one utterance” level that precedes His desire for a ten-utterance world.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Tammuz 12, 5742 (July 3, 1982)[11]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: light and darkness, creation, Bechukosei, Vayikra, Baal Teshuva, Tzaddik, Ten Sefirot, Ten, kabbalah
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Months & Holidays, Vayikra, Pirkei Avos, Ethics of Our Fathers, Chapter Five, Torah, Nisan, Behar, Bechukotai | No Comments »

The Marriage Contract

June 12th, 2015

Tags: Mt. Sinai, golden calf, G-d, The Ten Commandments, idol, relationships, Moses, blessings and curses, galut
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Simchat Torah, Devarim, Torah, Vezot Habracha | No Comments »

Free Choice

June 12th, 2015

Free Choice

See, I have set before you this day life and goodness, and death and evil; in that I command you this day to love G-d, to walk in His ways and to keep His commandments…Life and death I have set before you, the blessing and the curse. And you shall choose life…

– Deuteronomy 30:15-19

With these verses, the Torah establishes what Maimonides calls:

“a fundamental principle [of the Jewish faith] and a pillar of the Torah and its commandments”[1]

– the concept that man possesses the capacity to freely choose his path through life.

However, the concept of “free choice” seems to contradict another fundamental principle of the Jewish faith—the belief in the ultimate triumph of good.[2] Indeed, this apparent contradiction can be discerned in the very verses which establish the concept of free choice. After stating, “I have set before you life and goodness, and death and evil,” and “Life and death I have set before you, the blessing and the curse,” the Torah proclaims: “And you shall choose life.” What is meant by these concluding words? Are they a commandment? A promise? A statement of fact? In any case, the Torah has no doubts about the ultimate outcome of man’s choice between good and evil. “In the end of days,” prophesies Moses, “you will return to the L-rd your G-d and you will obey His voice.”[3] No matter to what moral and spiritual depths we may fall, no matter how far we may stray from the fulfillment of our purpose, “G-d … devises means that the forsaken one be not forsaken.”[4] Ultimately, we will all rectify our wrongs and restore the innate perfection of our souls. How is this to be reconciled with the “fundamental principle” of free choice?

The same question could be asked on the cosmic level. The purpose of creation is that man should bring to light the innate goodness and perfection that has been invested within his own soul and in all of existence by the Creator. The ultimate realization of this purpose is the era of Moshiach, described by the prophets as a world free of evil and strife—a world in which man has overcome ignorance, jealousy and hatred to bring about the harmonious world that G-d envisioned at creation and outlined in the Torah.

A basic principle of the Jewish faith[5] is the belief in Moshiach as an absolute eventuality—the belief that man not only can, but actually will, attain this goal (indeed, can the possibility exist that G-d’s purpose in creation will not be realized?). But if man has been granted freedom of choice, how can we be certain of his eventual election of good? Does not “free choice” mean that it can go either way?

Choice in Three Dimensions

Since a choice, by definition, is not coerced, it would seem that the word “free” in the phrase “free choice” is superfluous. But there are various degrees of freedom that a chooser may possess in making his choice.

All told, there are three levels of choice: compelled choice, random choice, and quintessential choice.

a) Compelled choice

The first level of choice relates to the conventional, everyday usage of the term. We each make countless “choices” every day: Will you have coffee or tea? Should you paint the fence white or green? Should you take the job in New York City or the one in Missoula, Montana?

As long as no one is forcing your decision, yours can be said to be a “free” choice. But are you truly choosing freely? Each of the options confronting you is “armed” with an entire array of qualities to sway your choice. The taste of coffee draws you to it, while your sense of decorum dictates tea, which everyone else is having. White will liven up your gloomy backyard but will also show the dirt sooner than the green. The pay in New York is higher but so is the crime rate.

You will weigh all the factors and make your decision. But have you chosen? Or have the chosen thing’s qualities, together with elements of your upbringing, personality and past experiences, conspired to compel your choice? Ultimately, you chose what you did because there is something about the thing you chose that made you need it or want it. Even if the reasons for both options were equally compelling, the thing that you did choose was chosen because of its particular qualities. You made a choice as to which set of influences to succumb to—hardly the epitome of freedom.

b) Random choice

But suppose that you are above it all. Suppose that nothing about either of the choices has the power to hold you or sway you. That, to you, the taste of coffee and social amenities are equally irrelevant, and white and green are simply two cans of paint. That you are utterly immune to salary figures and the threats of a violent city.

Since the advantages and shortcomings of both options are of no significance to you, you are in a position to make a “free” (i.e., non-influenced) choice: to select one of two options for no reason other than that’s the one you’ve chosen.

Nevertheless, this is still not the ultimate in choice and freedom. True, you are free of the attractions and rationalizations which ordinarily influence the choices people make. But how did you choose? By a mental throw of dice? By some totally arbitrary surge of will? The choice could have gone either way—so where were you in all this? In what way have you exercised your freedom to choose? You have merely surrendered to something that is beyond your comprehension and control.

c) Quintessential choice

We seem to be in a catch-22 situation. Is there ever a free choice between A and B? If you choose A for a reason—if there is something about it that attracts you—then it is not really you who is doing the choosing; your “choice” has been determined by its qualities and by your own biases and behavior patterns. And if you choose it for no reason, again you are not choosing, only serving as a pawn to the capricious turns of fate.

But what if your choice is determined by the very essence of what you are? What about the choice to live, the choice to be free, the choice to have a child? Certainly, these choices are motivated by a reason. But theirs is not an external reason, nor is it a reason that is related to your “external” self (i.e., your mind-set, your emotional make-up, your personality). The “reason” for these choices is you. For what is “life” but the desire to be? And what is “freedom” if not the opportunity to express your most deep-seated potentials? And what are children if not the continuity of self? The quintessence of your being is what dictates that you choose life, choose freedom and choose parenthood.

The fact that the outcome of these choices is determined makes them no less free. On the contrary, this is the ultimate proof of their freedom. Because when a choice is truly free, when the quintessence of self asserts itself, then the other, anti-self option (death, enslavement, childlessness) is obviously rejected. In other words, we usually see the existence of more than one option as the hallmark of “choice”—choice, in the conventional definition of the term, means the ability to choose between A and B. But when it comes to the ultimate definition of choice, the very opposite is true. When your choice is free of all constraints and inhibitions, external or internal, there is no “other” option—any more than there is another you.

To summarize: On the first and lowest level of choice, our choices are determined by external factors—the qualities of the chosen thing and the mental and emotional baggage we lug through life. The only thing that makes this any sort of choice at all is the existence of more than one option: we can resist one set of influences to succumb to another.

A second, higher level of choice is one that is free of compulsion—at least, there are no identifiable factors, conscious or otherwise, that influence our decision. Again, there are two or more options (if there weren’t, it wouldn’t be a choice). But the very fact that the choice can go either way indicates that, ultimately, it is not the person himself—that is, his singular essence—who is doing the choosing.

On the third, highest level of choice, there is only one option: the course that represents the uninhibited choice of one’s deepest self. The ultimate criterion of “free choice” is not “Is it determined?” but “What determines it?” Every choice is determined by something, be it a rational motive or an intuitive flash of no traceable origin. True choice is when one’s course of action is determined by, and only by, the very quintessence of self.

Layers

These three degrees of choice are actually three aspects of the same phenomenon. Often, we experience only the most external layer of our power to choose. But there are also points in our life in which this outer layer is peeled away and we are in touch with a deeper—and freer—dimension of our choice. Finally, there are those rare moments when our most deeply rooted drives assert themselves, effecting a decision that is the very core and quintessence of choice.

Let us take the example of a choice we make countless times and in countless different ways every day: the choice to live. No matter how difficult and tiresome the effort may become, we continue to elect life and survival.

As we generally experience it (if and when we think about it at all), this is firstly a “choice” in the most commonplace sense of the term. We are faced with two options: to live, or not to live (G-d forbid). On the one hand we have the reasons for life: its joys and rewards, our commitments to our loved ones, and so on. On the other hand we have its burdens and heartaches. But in the end, we decide that it’s worth the effort. We have been swayed by the many compulsions for life.

But then there are those circumstances under which all the conventional “reasons” to live no longer apply, when life and death, stripped bare of their advantages and faults, are seen as equally significant (or non-significant). Yet something inside us says “Live!” Why? There is no why, only the simple fact that a choice has been made—a choice free of all the motives which compel it in its lower, lesser incarnation.

On this level, we experience choice as a completely arbitrary throw of dice, which could just as easily have fallen on the other, negative side. The chooser can offer no reason, no explanation for his choice. “This is what I chose,” is all he can say. “This is what I have drawn from the lottery of choice.”

In truth, these two experiences of choice are two perspectives on one reality. Also one who chooses life because of its positive qualities is, on a deeper level of self (a level of self to which life’s “benefits” are irrelevant), really making a “blind” supra-rational choice. His “compelled” choice is but an expression, on a more external level of consciousness and experience, of the “arbitrary” choice which transcends the external reasons for life.

Ultimately, however, both these dimensions of a person’s choice are outgrowths of a third, even deeper dimension which lies at their core: choice as the uninhibited assertion of his quintessential self. A person experiences choice on this level when he recognizes that, ultimately, his desire for life is not caused by its particular benefits, nor is it the lot he has drawn from the blue yonder of arbitrary impulse. Rather, it is an expression of his very “I”—an expression of a definitive, unequivocal choice to project his being and potentials into the arena of physical existence.

So when we choose life in many “little” and “ordinary” ways every day, we are actually making this choice on three different levels. On the rational and emotional level, we choose life because of its rewards. On a deeper level of self, where such mundane considerations are irrelevant, it is a “blind” supra-rational choice. Simultaneously, the very core of our being is choosing life, and it is this very choice that is being reiterated by the more external layers of our self.

The Choice(s) of the Jew

In light of the above, we can understand that there is no contradiction between the freedom of choice granted to man and the Torah’s certainty that man will indeed choose “life and goodness.”

As we said, choice is a three-tiered affair, consisting of three dimensions or experiences of the same act of choice. The same applies to our choice to pursue good and reject evil by following the commandments of the Torah.

On the most elementary, everyday level, we choose the path of Torah as the most beneficial course of life. We see how Torah refines a person’s character, establishes a harmonious social order, and imbues our lives with meaning and purpose. After all, G-d is the designer and creator of life; it stands to reason that His instructions on to how to live it are the surest path toward spiritual and material fulfillment. Not that a selfish and hedonistic life, unencumbered by morals and responsibilities, doesn’t have its enticements. Indeed, this is what makes our choice between good and evil a choice: we are faced with two options, each with its own attractions and compulsions. Our choice of good is because of its virtues: because we understand that “I have set before you life and goodness, and death and evil”— that good is synonymous with life while evil ultimately spells its destruction.

But not always are the advantages of good perceivable. There are times when “darkness covers the earth and a fog envelops the nations”[6]—when a world gone amok eclipses the vitality of good and the goodness of life. When “the way of the wicked prospers”[7] while the righteous suffer. When our sensitivity to the spiritual rewards of fulfilling the divine will is deadened. Such conditions serve to elevate our choice of good to a higher, freer level: no longer is our commitment to G-d advantageous in any perceivable way; no longer is it compelled by our reason and by our perception of reality. When we choose good under such conditions, it is a pure choice: beyond motive, beyond rationale, beyond anything save our “blind” faith in G-d and the fact that we have cast our lot with the fulfillment of His will.

What both these levels of choice have in common is that they share the “conventional” definition of choice: the existence of two options (good and evil). On both these levels, we could have conceivably chosen otherwise—we could have opted for the “advantages” of evil, or we could have failed to make the “leap of faith” that the second level of choice demands.

But on the highest level of choice there is no other option. Our quintessential identity as G-d’s chosen people breaks through all our secondary and superimposed personas, and freely translates into the unequivocal commitment to the fulfillment of the divine will in our daily lives.

This is the deeper significance of the three separate sentences, quoted above, in which the Torah sets down the principle of “free choice.” Indeed, there is a level of which G-d says, “See, I have set before you life and goodness, and death and evil”—a choice that is based on the fact that we see and sense goodness as beneficial, and evil as detrimental, to life. There is also a higher level of choice, on which “Life and death I have set before you”— when “life” and “death” are simply set before us as equals. But both these choices are merely echoes of the ultimate choice: “You shall choose life.” When you truly choose, that choice will be life.

Also, when you choose life because of its virtues, or when you choose it without apparent cause or reason, the true source of your choice is the fact that you are choosing—and you, the real you, always chooses life. And because this is the choice dictated by your quintessential self, it is the choice that will eventually assert itself in all your decisions. For your true self can only remain suppressed for so long: ultimately, inevitably, it must come to light.

So it is with absolute certainty that the Jew believes that there will come a time when the quintessential truth of every created thing will assert itself and opt for life. This is not in contradiction with the concept of “free choice”—it is its ultimate expression.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Shabbat Nitzavim 5725 and Rosh HaShanah 5726 (1965)[8]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: absolute truth, Rosh Hashana, self expression, Rebbe, good and evil, faith, accountability, creation
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Free Choice, Devarim, Torah | 1 Comment »

The Age of the Universe

April 16th, 2015

By the Grace of G-d

18th of Teveth, 5722

Brooklyn, NY
Greeting and Blessing:

After hot having heard from you for a long time, I was pleased to receive regards from you through the young men of Chabad who visited your community recently in connection with the public lecture. I was gratified to hear that you participated in the discussion, but it was quite a surprise to me to learn that you are still troubled by the problem of the age of the world as suggested by various scientific theories which cannot be reconciled with the Torah view that the world is 5722 years old.

I underlined the word theories, for it is necessary to bear in mind, first of all, that science formulates and deals with theories and hypotheses, while the Torah deals with absolute truths. These are two different disciplines, where “reconciliation” is entirely out of place.

It was especially surprising to me that, according to the report, the said “problem” is bothering you to the extent that it has trespassed upon your daily life as a Jew, interfering with the actual fulfillment of the daily Mitzvoth. I sincerely hope that the impression conveyed to me is an erroneous one. For, as you know, the basic Jewish principle of “we will do [the commandments]” (first) and “we will listen [understand the reason for the commandments]” (afterwards) makes it mandatory upon the Jew to fulfill G-d’s commandments regardless of the degree of understanding, and obedience to the Divine Law can never be conditioned upon human approval. In other words, lack of understanding, and even the existence of “legitimate” doubts, can never justify disobedience to the Divine commandments; how much less, when the doubts are “illegitimate,” in the sense that they have no real or logical basis, such as the “problem” in question.

Apparently, our discussion which took place a long time ago, and which, as I was pleased to learn, has not been forgotten by you, has nevertheless not cleared up this matter in your mind. I will attempt to do so now, in writing, which imposes both brevity and other limitations. I trust, however, that the following remarks will serve our purpose.

Basically, the “problem” has its roots in a misconception of the scientific method or, simply, of what science is. We must distinguish between empirical or experimental science dealing with, and confined to, describing and classifying observable phenomena, and speculative “science”, dealing with unknown phenomena, sometimes phenomena that cannot be duplicated in the laboratory. “Scientific speculation” is actually a terminological incongruity; for “science,” strictly speaking, means “knowledge,” while no speculation can be called knowledge in the strict sense of the word. At best, science can only speak in terms of theories inferred from certain known facts and applied in the realm of the unknown. Here science has two general methods of inference;

(a) The method of interpolation (as distinguished from extrapolation), whereby, knowing the reaction under two extremes, we attempt to infer what the reaction might be at any point between the two.

(b) The method of extrapolation, whereby inferences are made beyond a known range, on the basis of certain variables within the known range. For example, suppose we know the variables of a certain element within a temperature range of 0° to 100°, and on the basis of this we estimate what the reaction might be at 101°, 200°, or 2000°.

Of the two methods, the second (extrapolation) is clearly the more uncertain. Moreover, the uncertainty increases with the distance away from the known range and with the decrease of this range. Thus, if the known range is between 0° and 100°, our inference at 101° has a greater probability than at 1001°.

Let us note at once, that all speculation regarding the origin and age of the world comes within the second and weaker method, that of extrapolation. The weakness becomes more apparent if we bear in mind that a generalization inferred from a known consequent to an unknown antecedent is more speculative than an inference from an antecedent to consequent.

That an inference from consequent to antecedent is more speculative than an inference from antecedent to consequent can be demonstrated very simply:

Four divided by two equals two. Here the antecedent is represented by the dividend and divisor, and the consequent — by the quotient. Knowing the antecedent in this case, gives us one possible result the quotient (the number 2).

However, if we know only the end result, namely, the number 2, the answer permits several possibilities, arrived at by means of different methods: (a) 1 plus 1 equals 2; (b) 4 minus 2 equals 2; (c) 1 times 2 equals 2; (d) 4 divided by 2 equals 2. Note that if other numbers are to come into play, the number of possibilities giving us the same result is infinite (since 5 minus 3 also equals 2; 6 divided by 3 equals 2, etc. ad infinitum).

Add to this another difficulty, which is prevalent in all methods of induction. Conclusions based on certain known data, when they are implicative in nature, i.e. when they are extended to unknown areas, can have any validity at all on the assumption of “everything else being equal”, that is to say on an identity of prevailing conditions, and their action and counter-action upon each other. If we cannot be sure that the variations or changes would bear at least a close relationship to the existing variables in degree: if we cannot be sure that the changes would bear any resemblance in kind; if, furthermore, we cannot be sure that there were not other factors involved – such conclusions or inferences are absolutely valueless!

For further illustration, I will refer to one of the points which I believe I mentioned during our conversation. In a chemical reaction, whether fissional or fusional, the introduction of a new catalyzer into the process, however minute the quantity of this new catalyzer may be, may change the whole tempo and form of the chemical process, or start an entirely new process.

We are not yet through with the difficulties inherent in all so-called “scientific” theories concerning the origin of the world. Let us remember that the whole structure of science is based on observances of reactions and processes in the behavior of atoms in their present stale, as they now exist in nature. Scientists deal with conglomerations of billions of atoms as these are already bound together, and as these relate to other existing conglomerations of atoms. Scientists know very little of the atoms in their pristine state; of how one single atom may react on another single atom in a state of separateness; much less of how parts of a single atom may react on other parts of the same or other atoms.

One thing science considers certain – to the extent that any science can be certain, namely that the reactions of single atoms upon each other is totally different from the reactions of one conglomeration of atoms to another.

We may now summarize the weaknesses, nay, hopelessness, of all so-called scientific theories regarding the origin and age of our universe: (a) These theories have been advanced on the basis of observable data during a relatively short period of time, of only a number of decades, and at any rate not more than a couple of centuries.

(b) On the basis of such a relatively small range of known (though by no means perfectly) data, scientists venture to build theories by the weak method of extrapolation, and from the consequent to the antecedent, extending to many thousands (according to them, to millions and billions) of years! (c) In advancing such theories, they blithely disregard factors universally admitted by all scientists, namely, that in the initial period of the “birth” of the universe, conditions of temperature, atmospheric pressure, radioactivity, and a host of other cataclystic factors, were totally different from those existing in the present state of the universe. (d) The consensus of scientific opinion is that there must have been many radio-active elements in the initial stage which now no longer exist, or exist only in minimal quantities; some of them – elements the cataclystic potency of which is known even in minimal doses. (e) The formation of the world, if we are to accept these theories, began with a process of colligation (of binding together) of single atoms or the components of the atom and their conglomeration and consolidation, involving totally unknown processes and variables.

In short, of ail-the weak “scientific” theories, those which deal with the origin of the cosmos and with its dating are (admittedly by the scientists themselves) the weakest of the weak.

It is small wonder (and this, incidentally, is one of the obvious refutations of these theories) that the various “scientific” theories concerning the age of the universe not only contradict each other, but some of them are quite incompatible and mutually exclusive, since the maximum date of one theory is less than the minimum date of another.

If anyone accepts such a theory uncritically, it can only lead him into fallacious and inconsequential reasoning. Consider, for example, the so-called evolutionary theory of the origin of the world, which is based on the assumption that the universe evolved out of existing atomic and subatomic particles which, by an evolutionary process, combined to form the physical universe and our planet, on which organic life somehow developed also by an evolutionary process, until “homosapiens” emerged. It is hard to understand why one should readily accept the creation of atomic and subatomic particles in a state which is admittedly unknowable and inconceivable, yet should be reluctant to accept the creation of planets, or organisms, or a human being, as we know these to exist.

The argument from the discovery of fossils is by no means conclusive evidence of the great antiquity of the earth, for the following reasons: (a) In view of the unknown conditions which existed in “prehistoric” times, conditions of atmospheric pressures, temperatures, radio-activity, unknown catalyzers, etc., etc. as already mentioned, conditions that is, which could have caused reactions and changes of an entirely different nature and tempo from those known under the present-day orderly processes of nature, one cannot exclude the possibility that dinosaurs existed 5722 years ago, and became fossilized under terrific natural cataclysms in the course of a few years rather than in millions of years, since we have no conceivable measurements or criteria of calculations under those unknown conditions. (b) Even assuming that the period of time which the Torah allows for the age of the world is definitely too short for fossilization (although I do not see how one can be so categorical), we can still readily accept the possibility that G-d created ready fossils, bones or skeletons (for reasons best known to Him), just as He could create ready living organisms, a complete man, and such ready products as oil, coal or diamonds, without any evolutionary process.

As for the question, if it be true as above (b), why did G-d have to create fossils in the first place? The answer is simple: We cannot know the reason why G-d chose this manner of creation in preference to another, and whatever theory of creation is accepted, the question will always remain unanswered. The question, Why create a fossil? is no more valid than the question, Why create an atom? Certainly, such a question cannot serve as a sound argument, much less as a logical basis, for the evolutionary theory.

What scientific basis is there for limiting the creative process to an evolutionary process only, starting with atomic and subatomic particles – a theory full of unexplained gaps and complications, while excluding the possibility of creation as given by the Biblical account? For, if the latter possibility be admitted, everything falls neatly into pattern, and all speculation regarding the origin and age of the world becomes unnecessary and irrelevant.

It is surely no argument to question this possibility by saying. Why should the Creator create a finished universe, when it would have been sufficient for Him to create an adequate number of atoms or subatomic particles with the power of colligation and evolution to develop into the present cosmic order? The absurdity of this argument becomes even more obvious when it is made the basis of flimsy theory, as if it were based on sound and irrefutable arguments overriding all other possibilities.

The question may be asked. If the theories attempting to explain the origin and age of the world are so weak, how could they have been advanced in the first place? The answer is simple. It is a matter of human nature to seek an explanation for everything in the environment, and any theory, however far-fetched, is better than none, at least until a more feasible explanation can be devised.

You may now ask, in the absence of a sounder theory, why then isn’t the Biblical account of creation accepted by these scientists? The answer, again, is to be found in human nature. It is a natural human ambition to be inventive and original. To accept the Biblical account, the scientist must devise reasons to “justify” his doing so, and he takes refuge in classifying it with ancient and primitive “mythology” and the like, since he cannot really argue against it on scientific grounds.

If you are still troubled by the theory of evolution, I can tell you without fear of contradiction that it has not a shred of evidence to support it. On the contrary, during the years of research and investigation since the theory was first advanced, it had been possible to observe certain species of animal and plant life of a short life-span over thousands of generations, yet it has never been possible to establish a transmutation from one species into another, much less to turn a plant into an animal. Hence such a theory can have no place in the arsenal of empirical science.

The theory of evolution, to which reference has been made, actually has no bearing on the Torah account of Creation. For even if the theory of evolution were substantiated today, and the mutation of species were proven in laboratory tests, this would still not contradict the possibility of the world having been created as stated in the Torah, rather than through the evolutionary process. The main purpose of citing the evolutionary theory was to illustrate how a highly speculative and scientifically unsound theory can capture the imagination of the uncritical, so much so that it is even offered as a “scientific” explanation of the mystery of Creation, despite the fact that the theory of evolution itself has not been substantiated scientifically and is devoid of any real scientific basis.

Needless to say, it is not my intent to cast aspersions on science or to discredit the scientific method. Science cannot operate except by accepting certain working theories or hypotheses, even if they cannot be verified, though some theories die hard even when they are scientifically refuted or discredited (the evolutionary theory is a case in point). No technical progress would be possible unless certain physical “laws” are accepted, even though there is no guaranty that the “law” will repeat itself. However, I do wish to emphasize, as already mentioned, that science has to do only with theories but not with certainties. All scientific conclusions, or generalizations, can only be probable in a greater or lesser degree according to the precautions taken in the use of the available evidence, and the degree of probability necessarily decreases with the distance from the empirical facts, or with the increase of the unknown variables, etc., as already indicated. If you, will bear this in mind, you will readily realize that there can be no real conflict between any scientific theory and the Torah.

My above remarks have turned out somewhat lengthier than intended, but they are still all too brief in relation to the misconception and confusion prevailing in many minds. Moreover, my remarks had to be con- fined to general observations, as this is hardly the medium to go into greater detail. If you have any further questions, do not hesitate to write to me.

To conclude on a note touched upon in our conversation:

The Mitzvah of putting on Tefillen every weekday, on the hand – facing the heart, and on the head – the seat of the intellect, indicates, among other things, the true Jewish approach: performance first (hand), with sincerity and wholeheartedness, followed by intellectual comprehension (head); i.e. “doing“ first, then “understanding”. May this spirit permeate your intellect and arouse your emotive powers and find expression in every aspect of the daily life, for “the essential thing is the deed”

With blessing,

M. Schneersohn

Tags: Tora and science, creation
Posted in Beliefs & Concepts, Torah Personalities, Modern, Social, Torah, Science & Technology, Rebbe | 1 Comment »

Percentage of the Dough

April 16th, 2015

Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar ruled: “A woman may fill her entire oven with bread [when baking on a festival day] since bread bakes better when the oven is full”

Talmud, Beitzah 17a

The festivals are days of rest on which all creative work is forbidden, as on Shabbat. However, there is a major difference between the festivals and Shabbat: on the festivals it is permitted to do all work that pertains to the preparation of food (kindling a fire, cooking, etc.),[22] as long as it is food that is needed for the festival.

This applies also when the labor involved only improves or enhances the food, hence, the above-quoted law: since bread bakes better when the oven is full, it is permitted to bake an entire ovenful of bread, even if only a single loaf is actually needed for the festival.

Often, a careful study of one’s daily schedule can be extremely disheartening. So much time and energy expended on earning a living; so many hours each day devoted to eating, sleeping and other bodily needs; so much squandered on one’s social obligations-how much time is left to attend to one’s true needs and desires? How much time is left for prayer, study, and other spiritual pursuits, for which one’s soul descended into physical life in the first place?

Says Rabbi Shimon: If a dozen baking loaves contribute to the quality of a single loaf, they are all a legitimate part of the single loaf’s baking. If a person makes his spiritual moments the focus of his life, regarding all else as but the means to their end, then his entire day is a singularly holy endeavor.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Cheshvan 20, 5736 (October 25, 1975). [23]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: sanctification, purpose, elevate, means vs. ends, time, Jewish law, Shabbat, festivals, spiritual and material
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Toldot, Torah | No Comments »

Straw Man

April 16th, 2015

[Esau would ask his father:] “How does one tithe straw?”

Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 63:15

And the house of Jacob shall be fire … and the house of Esau, straw

Obadiah 1:18

Straw, being animal fodder, is absolved from the obligation of tithing,[15] which applies only to produce grown for human consumption. Esau inquired of Isaac as to how to tithe straw, wishing to impress his father with a demonstration of copious piety; in doing so, he also demonstrated a fatal flaw in his approach to life.

Man, the Kabbalists tell us,[16] is vitalized by no less than two souls: we each possess both an “animal soul” and a “G-dly soul.” The animal soul is the motor of physical life, incorporating the instincts, drives, desires and faculties that serve the survival and perpetuation of the physical self. In this, the human being is another animal, however intelligent and sensitive an animal. What distinguishes him from the animal world is his G-dly soul, which embodies his striving to transcend the animal state and relate to the Divine.

All endeavors of man are either “human food” that fuels the spiritual life of the G-dly soul, or “animal fodder” that nourishes the material life of the animal soul. Both are indispensable to our purpose in life, for the soul can operate and achieve its goals only via a physical self; but one must take care not to confuse the means with the end. One must always be able to distinguish between the sacred and the mundane in one’s life, and remember which exists to serve which.

Esau wished to tithe the straw of life, to attribute spiritual worth to animal fodder. Instead of exploiting the material to serve the spiritual, he wished to invest the material with a significance and value of its own.

The end, of course, was that the “dew of the heavens and the fat of the land”[17] intended for Esau was given to Jacob, who could be trusted to “tithe” or idealize only what nurtures the man in man—the G-dly drives and aspirations that distinguish the human from the animal.

Unfit Fodder

In the end of days, prophesies the prophet, when the purpose of creation will reach its fulfillment, “the house of Jacob shall be fire… and the house of Esau, straw.”

This is not the same straw of which Esau spoke to Isaac. The Hebrew word used in that connection by the Midrash is teven, while the prophet describes the house of Esau as kash. While both words loosely translate as “straw,” teven is more precisely the chaff that is harvested together with the grain and is subsequently fed to the livestock, while kash is the stubble that remains in the field and is too coarse even for animal consumption.[18]

Esau was initially entrusted with the teven, the straw symbiotically related to the grain—the straw that feeds the animal that serves man. But when he sought to reverse this relationship—to make straw the focus and object of life—his teven turned to kash, into a hollow husk depleted of all nutritive potential.

In the perfect world of Moshiach, such empty materialism will cease to be—the kash of Esau will be utterly consumed by the spiritual fire [19] of Jacob.Teven, on the other hand, will become the staple of the animal kingdom, as the prophet says, “the lion, like the ox, shall eat straw (teven).”[20]

Based on an entry in the Rebbe’s journal, circa 1942[21]

Tags: focus, spiritual and material, purpose, straw
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Toldot, Torah, Esau, Jacob | No Comments »

Redigging the Wells of Love

April 16th, 2015

“And all the wells that were … dug in the days of Abraham his father were stopped by the Philistines and filled with earth…”

“And Isaac redug the wells of water dug in the days of Abraham his father… And he called them by the same names that his father had called them.”

Genesis 26:15-18

Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are more than the forebears of the Jewish nation: they are the founding fathers of the Jewish soul. So we study their lives and analyze their every word and deed, for these are the foundations of our identity and the building blocks of our psyche and character.

In Abraham we see a fountainhead of Jewish generosity and social commitment. “I know him,” says G-d of the first Jew, “that he will command his children and his household after him, that they shall keep the way of G-d, to do charity and justice.”[1] Abraham, whose home and heart were open to every wayfarer, regardless of who he was and where he was coming from, offering food, drink, companionship and guidance.[2] Abraham, who challenged G-d’s decree of destruction on the evil city of Sodom.[3]  Abraham, who traversed the land bearing light and enlightenment to a dark and befuddled world.[4]

In Jacob we see a prototype of the Jew’s devotion to learning. “The voice is the voice of Jacob, and the hands are the hands of Esau”—Esau lives by the sword, while Jacob lives by the word.[5] For the first 77 years of his life, Jacob was “a dweller in the tents of study”[6]; his first act upon his arrival in Egypt—where he would live his final seventeen—was to establish a house of learning.[7] In Jacob we also find an archetype for the Jew’s epochal perseverance under conditions of exile and adversity: in a foreign Charan, in the employ of the deceitful Laban, he built his family and fortune; in an alien Egypt, he imparted a lasting legacy to the fledgling nation of Israel. If Abraham exemplifies love, Jacob epitomizes truth-the quest for truth, and the consistency and persistency of truth.

But who was Isaac? The longest lived of the Patriarchs, we are told the least about him. The Torah recounts the story of the Akeidah, the “Binding of Isaac,” but tells it as Abraham’s story, Abraham’s test. Then comes the long chapter describing the process of finding of a bride for Isaac; but it is Eliezer, Abraham’s servant, who is dispatched to Charan and who is the key figure in the drama of the choosing of Rebbeca, while Isaac’s whereabouts and activities at the time remain unknown.

What does Isaac do? Basically, he stays put. By divine command, he is the only one of the three Patriarchs never to set foot outside of the Holy Land.[8] And he digs wells.

The Torah devotes an entire chapter to Isaac’s well-digging activities. We are told that he reopened the wells that had been dug by Abraham and stopped by the Philistines after Abraham’s death, and of a series of new wells he dug himself. Then, although he has at least another 80 years to live, we are told nothing more of Isaac’s life other than his blessings to his children before his death.[9]

Awe

At his confrontation with Laban at Mt. Gilad, Jacob attributes his perseverance and success in Charan to “the G-d of Abraham and the awe of Isaac.”[10]

Therein lies the key to the enigma of Isaac: Isaac was awe to Abraham’s love, restraint to Abraham’s expansiveness, self-effacement to Abraham’s self-assertion. Abraham’s love of G-d and humanity took him on a journey from self outward, a journey etched in the roads of Mesopotamia, Egypt and Canaan. Isaac’s was an inward journey, a journey into the depths of self to the essence within.

Isaac is the fear of Heaven in the Jewish heart: the Jew’s self-censoring discipline, his silent sacrifice, his humble awe before the majesty of his Creator. Isaac was a digger of wells, boring through the stratum of emotion and experience in search of the quintessential waters of the soul. Boring deeper than feeling, deeper than desire, deeper than achievement, to the selflessness at the core of self.

Alien Love

Abraham, too, dug wells, but his were stopped by the Philistines.

“One opposite the other, G-d made,”[11] is a cardinal law of creation. Every virtue has its corresponding evil, every positive force its negative counterpart.

Love, too, has its rival evil. Love, after all, is an assertion of self-the extension of self to give and relate to another. Corrupted love is when the self asserts itself not to give but to take; not in Abrahamic love but in Philistine lust; not in caring compassion but in egotistic self-gratification.

As long as Abraham was alive, only pure love flowed from his righteous wells. But after his death, the Philistines commandeered the fountainheads of love he had established in the land. The Hebrew word plishtim means “open-ended ones”[12]; a plishtim love is an uninhibited, undisciplined love, a profane love bereft of the focus and commitment of Abraham’s holy love.[13]

It was Isaac who redeemed Abraham’s legacy of love. As redug by Isaac, Abraham’s wells became immune to Philistine corruption. For love that flows from a well of selflessness and fear of Heaven flows faithful to its source and true to its objective.

The Jewish Soul

Every Jew is the child of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Every Jew has their love, awe and truth encoded in the spiritual DNA of his soul.

The Abraham in the Jew rushes to embrace the world, to champion its downtrodden, to extend himself heart, soul and checkbook to his fellow man. But love, to be true, must be restrained: the father who embraces his child with the full intensity of his love will hurt rather than comfort him. And love, unchecked, eventually disintegrates to the destructive, everything-goes “love” of the Philistine. Isaac is the Jew’s source of discipline, humility and reverence; of his appreciation of the nullity of finite man before the infinity of G-d.

The issue of this marriage of love and awe is truth; truth that focuses the Jew’s outpourings of love in giving, holy expressions; truth that cultivates his inward retreat to selflessness toward creative and constructive ends. This is the legacy of Jacob, in whom the love of Abraham and the awe of Isaac alloyed into invincible truth.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Tishrei 5, 5735 (September 21, 1974)[14]

Tags: love of G-d, awe of G-d, love, wells, Phillistines, giving
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Biblical, Abraham, Torah Personalities, Isaac, Toldot, Torah, Jacob | No Comments »

Echoes

April 16th, 2015

Note to our readers: Each week, the Week In Review brings you a sampling of the Rebbe’s teachings—adaptations of his talks, essays and letters—that propose a way of life instructed by the Torah and illuminated by Chassidic teaching. Perhaps some of you have wondered: What would it be like to actually live this way? What happens when these teachings are embraced as a guide to daily living?

In this column, we bring you a glimpse into one such life. Jay Litvin is a 53-year-old husband, father, writer, filmmaker, public relations consultant and chassid. His articles are based not on any specific talk or essay of the Rebbe’s, but on his personal experience of the endeavor to incorporate the Rebbe’s vision into his life.

Echoes
By Jay Litvin

The little green room held three people, maybe four (if we in crammed really tight). There was a desk, some straight-backed chairs, a rabbi, and a collection of books lining the sill of a tall lead glass window overlooking a busy Milwaukee street. It was here that I put on tefillin for the first time some eighteen years ago. And for two years following, it was here, once a week on Tuesday afternoons, that I was to experience a most profound and life-transforming spiritual awakening.

It was a Tanya class.

The rabbi would read from the text in a mesmerizing sing-song voice. His monologue was so tightly knit and cohesive that no one interrupted him. He spun a remarkable web of what to me was pure revelation.

As I listened, the words seemed to enter through the totality of my body, not just my ears. They entered and nested in a place that was waiting for them, like tiny pieces of a puzzle that found the space, or impression, that was carved exactly to fit the dimensions of the word. Then the words would snap together like little leggo pieces, forming sentences and paragraphs and concepts. And as they did, mini-explosions would occur, small releases of energy that made my mind and body zing.

My response to the rabbi’s words was so absolute, so visceral, that my mind had no chance to speak. Questions, analysis, challenge—they all seemed irrelevant. There was simply a complete acceptance, an “aha” experience—a moment when somehow, magically, you just “get it,” when all the contradictory parts of yourself somehow find a point of unity that until that moment seemed impossible.

My comprehension grew to such depth that I both understood what was being spoken and simultaneously felt completely understood. I rarely spoke, yet I felt completely heard. Though the concepts were new and the language strange, the words reflected back something that I seemed to have always known, yet never knew I knew. Without my having to reveal who I was, the words described me to a “T.” The result was a sense of melding into a greater consciousness, a feeling that I both possessed an individuality and, at a deeper level, had no individuality at all. The words penetrated to a juncture in my personality that was absolutely impersonal, and at the same time so profoundly personal that my heart grew warm as I listened and tears often welled in my eyes.

The Midrash tells us that when G-d spoke the Ten Commandments at Sinai, there was no echo to the divine voice. The Rebbe explains that this was because there was no resistance to His words. The Ten Commandments penetrated so completely into every crevice of creation that there was no surface off which the words could bounce to create an echo.

In my own small way, I felt the Al-mighty’s words enter me in just such a manner during those Tuesday afternoon sessions. It was as if the Almighty had come down and more or less stuffed truth and revelation inside of me. It seemed that He had simply bypassed all my barriers—my clogged ears, my cynical, defensive mind—and jammed His jewels right into my heart.

There were no echoes in that little green room.

Later, after I left the little green room and returned to my “normal” state of mind, I would ponder the words and concepts I had heard there. I would review what I had learned with my intellectual faculties back in tact. But something in my thought-process had changed. Previously, I had approached all new ideas and information with a certain degree of skepticism and cynicism. I learned with a “prove it to me” attitude that I had developed from years of having been surrounded by empty words and false revelations, and having read so many books filled with delusional journeys of personal discovery.

But now, I opened the books with one simple goal: to better understand. The truth of what was being said was not in question. The only challenge was to better understand the truth, to let it further penetrate my being, and to find the courage to transform my life in accordance with it.

I know now that hearing G-d’s words so unconditionally was a rare gift—a momentary show of divine kindness. Like many others before and after me, I received during these two or so years what Chassidic teaching calls “an awakening from Above.” The Al-mighty had given me a glimpse—fleeting yet profound—into a treasure chest that was mine. But following this “awakening” came the demand for my own toil. The treasure chest was filled with the most sublime knowledge and understanding—but ultimately I would have to work to possess it.

In rousing me with this “awakening from Above,” G-d had slipped around and over my cynicism, my distrust, and all the contrary attitudes, values and judgments that had formed during my life. But He was not satisfied. He was demanding that I now go back and consciously refine each of these. It was now up to me to ensure that the light He had set shining so brilliantly within me would be used to illuminate every remaining pocket of darkness.

And so, I began to hear His words echo off the many layers that made up the totality of the self I had become.

After having heard without echoes, these echoes are now unmistakable. Like a trumpet, each echo has become a call to action; like a beacon, each echo illuminates an area of my life requiring transformation; like a signpost, each echo indicates another pathway to my inner soul. In the softest whisper, each echo bounces off a doorway to the place within me where I have always heard without echoes, where the treasure has always been mine.

The Week in Review is adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: self-development, self awareness, skepticism, Tanya, echo, barriers, revelation, self
Posted in Bereishit, Toldot, Torah | No Comments »