The Duplicity of the Jew

April 16th, 2015

When Esau heard his father’s words, he cried a great and very bitter cry; and he said to his father: “Bless me, too, my father!”

And [Isaac] said [to Esau]: “Your brother came, with cunning, and took your blessings.”

Genesis 27:34-35

Jacob, as the Torah attests, was “a guileless man, a dweller of the tents [of learning]”[1]—in contrast to his twin-brother Esau, who is described as “an adept trapper, a man of the [hunting] field.”[2] Thus we can appreciate the depth of Esau’s rage when Jacob bested him at his own game, gaining the blessings for “The dew of the heavens and the fat of the land” through cunning and stealth.[3]

The story of the stolen blessings is often understood as a contest between the two brothers for the legacy of Abraham and Isaac, with Isaac mistakenly taking Esau to be the worthy heir, while Rebecca, knowing the true nature of her elder son, devising the plan that would place Jacob at Isaac’s bedside at the crucial moment. However, a closer reading of the Torah’s account indicates that Isaac was well aware of the difference between his two children,[4] and that the blessing which he intended to grant to Esau was not the spiritual heritage of Abraham.

A most revealing passage is where Esau discovers that Jacob has received the blessings, and begs Isaac, “Bless me, too, my father!” “But I have made him your master,” says Isaac, “I have given him [the blessings of] grain and wine. What can I do for you now, my son?” “Have you only one blessing, my father?!” sobs Esau. “Bless me too, my father!” Finally, Isaac blesses Esau that “Of the fatness of the land shall be your dwelling, and of the dew of heaven above” (the fat of the land and the dew of heaven themselves having already been granted to Jacob), and promises him that should the descendants of Jacob sin and become unworthy of their blessings, they will forfeit their mastery over Esau’s descendants in material affairs.[5] But in the very next chapter we read how Isaac summons Jacob to him, and… blesses him. “May G-d Almighty bless you,” says Isaac, “make you fruitful, and multiply you, and you shall become a populous nation. And may He grant you the blessing of Abraham, to you and your descendants, that you may inherit the land of your dwelling, which G-d has given to Abraham.”[6]

So Isaac never intended to make Esau the father of the people of Israel, never thought to bequeath the Holy Land to him, never considered him heir to “the blessing of Abraham.” There were two distinct blessings in Isaac all along (Esau seems to have sensed this when he cried, “Have you only one blessing, my father?!”), intended for his two sons: Jacob was to be given the spiritual legacy of Abraham, while Esau was to be granted the blessings of the material world.[7]

In light of this, Jacob’s behavior seems all the more out of character. Not only did he resort to connivance and trickery to receive his father’s blessing, but he did so for wholly material gifts, tailor-made for his material brother, while a second, spiritual set of blessings had been reserved for him all along. Why did not Jacob reconcile himself to this division of roles and resources? Why did this “guileless man” dress himself in Esau’s clothes, cover his smooth skin with goatskins to feel like his hairy brother to his blind father’s touch, and deceive Isaac into granting him the material world as well?

Candor and Deceit: A History

Originally, “G-d made man straight”[8] and placed him in a forthright world: good was good and evil was evil, and Eden was a place on earth with clearly defined boundaries. There was no shame in this world, nor doubt, nor any of the other attendants of ambiguity.

One serpentine creature inhabited this rectilinear world. “The snake… the most cunning among all the animals of the field that G-d created,”[9]induced the first man and woman to taste of the fruit of the “tree of knowledge of good and evil” so that they might “be, like G-d, knowers of good and evil.”[10] But what in G-d is the ultimate sublimation is bedlam in mortal man. In G-d, the “knowledge of good and evil” is the knowledge of their singular essence, of the divine goodness that pervades the realm of good and hides behind the façade of evil; in man, to attempt to know both good and evil is to commingle the two, so that good becomes lost in evil and evil infiltrates good.

Adam’s sin compelled his banishment from the Garden of Eden, the sanctum of unadulterated good reserved for original man. It also spelled the collapse of the original structure of creation. No longer were “good” and “evil” the absolute demarcations they were before man tasted of the knowledge of evil. The purest and holiest things became susceptible to the baseness and selfishness of man’s animal self, while sparks of holiness were scattered throughout the realm of the profane.

From that point on, the material world has been both prison and lifeline for the soul of man, both quagmire and treasure trove. Materiality, with its brutishness, temporality and self-absorption, is the coarsest of veils to obscure the divine truth and distance the soul from its source; but it is also home to the “sparks of holiness” that had fallen and become embedded within it when the primordial serpent made our world a mishmash of good and evil. Externally, the material world opposes and counteracts all things spiritual; but trapped within it are the most lofty of spiritual potentials.

Jacob and Adam

“The visage of Jacob,” the Talmud tells us, “resembled the visage of Adam.”[11] For Jacob’s mission in life was to rectify the sin of Adam, restore the cosmic order it disrupted, and free the sparks of holiness from their corporeal imprisonment.

So Jacob could not content himself with the spiritual blessings which Isaac had reserved for him. It was imperative that he gain the dew of heaven and the fat of the land, that he receive the blessings of grain and wine. It was essential that he, not his material brother, be made master over the material world.

Originally, Esau was to be Jacob’s partner in the endeavor to redeem the “sparks of holiness.” Esau’s craftiness and hunting skills were to be employed in the task of outmaneuvering the primordial serpent and diverting the material resources of the earth to support Jacob’s spiritual endeavors, thereby exploiting their holy potential toward holy ends.[12]But Esau failed in his mission. He entered the field of worldly endeavor and became a material hunter rather than a hunter of the material. So Jacob had to assume both roles. He had to become both trapper and sublimater, both the crafty procurer of material things and the guileless tzaddik who utilizes them solely to serve G-d.

To gain the material blessings that Isaac had designated for Esau, Jacob had to garb himself in Esau’s clothes and assume Esau’s furtive manner. His own forthright nature could not have wrested the material domain from the serpent’s clutches any more than a straight-flying arrow can penetrate to the heart of a convoluted labyrinth. “With the pure be pure,” advises the Psalmist, “and with the devious be circuitous.”[13]

Such is the Jew’s approach to the material. This is a world which recognizes no master or authority, which relates no function or purpose to itself other than its own perseverance and growth. So he who enters this world—and enter it one must, by decree of He who invested our souls in a material body and environment—must master the Esauian artifices of duplicity and entrapment. He eats and drinks, ostensibly to nourish his physical life; he engages in business, ostensibly to increase his material wealth; he builds a career and a position in the community, ostensibly to amass prestige and power. For all intents and purposes, he is a full-fledged participant in the give and take of material life. But it’s only the “take” that he’s after; when it comes to the “give,” he’s unwilling to pay the price. Here he’s a shameless manipulator, claiming materialdom’s choicest bits for himself but refusing to relate to the material on its, the material’s, terms: refusing to care, refusing to become involved, refusing to pursue it for its own sake.

The Jew dresses in Esau’s clothes, but he refuses to allow the clothes to make the man. He disguises himself as a material being, but this is but a connivance, a ruse by which to ensnare the physical and exploit it toward a G-dly end.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shevat 13, 5711 (January 20, 1951)[14]

Tags: spiritual and material, sparks, deception, garments, materialism, purpose of life, Jacob and Esau
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The Determined Chooser

April 16th, 2015

Much ink has been spilled on the polemic of “Choice vs. Determinism.” How much control do we really have over our actions? Some people seem to be naturally good, while others are forever struggling with negative character traits and ominous perversions. One individual is raised in a warm and loving home and, from earliest infancy, is impressed by educators and role-models exemplifying integrity, compassion, and idealism, while his fellow has only violence and corruption to emulate. So can man be held accountable for his behavior? Is the good we do truly to our credit?  Is the evil our fault? Isn’t it all a matter of genes and environment?

Struggling Twins

From the womb, Esau and Jacob, twin sons of Isaac and Rebecca, seemed destined to vastly different paths in life. Rebecca, the Torah tells us, had a tumultuous pregnancy: “The children struggled within her.”[1] “Whenever she would pass a house of prayer or house of study,” explains the Midrash, “Jacob would struggle to come out… and when she passed a house of idol-worship, Esau would struggle to come out.”[2] Also, “They were struggling among themselves, fighting over the inheritance of the two worlds (i.e.Olam Hazeh, the “present world” of materialism, and Olam Habbah, the “future world” of divine perfection).”[3]

G-d then tells Rebecca: “There are two nations in your womb; two peoples will separate from your innards.”[4] When the children mature, Esau develops as a “cunning hunter, a man of the field,” while Jacob grows to be “a wholesome man, a dweller in the tents of study.”[5] Jacob’s descendents become the nation of Israel, chosen by G-d as His “kingdom of priests and a holy people.”[6] Esau fathers Rome and its culture of bloodshed, cruelty, gluttony and perversion.

There are several puzzling aspects to this account:

A. Esau is frequently referred to as “the wicked” while Jacob’s righteousness is extolled. But did either have a choice in the matter? Their fate seems predetermined from the womb.

B. Where do Esau’s “evil genes” come from? Abraham, too, had both a good son, Isaac, and an evil son, Ishmael. However, Ishmael’s mother was not the righteous Sarah, but Hagar, daughter of Pharaoh, ruler of Egypt, the most depraved society on earth. Esau, however, was Jacob’s twin. Both were born of the same saintly parents, both were conceived and raised in the same “good Jewish home.” Were Esau to turn bad later in life, we could attribute this to his freedom of choice. But why did he gravitate to paganism from the very start?

C. Indeed, there is a Midrash that clearly indicates that Esau also started out on the right path. “Also Esau was part of it – only later did he ruin himself with his deeds.”[7] The Zohar goes even further, interpreting the verse “And the children matured”[8] to mean that under the tutelage of their grandfather, Abraham, the two attained spiritual greatness.[9] Does this not contradict the Midrashim quoted above?

D. Why were they “fighting over the inheritance of the two worlds”? This would seem to be one area in which they have no quarrel: Esau wants the selfishness and the materialism of the physical world and shuns everything that is G-dly and spiritual, while the opposite is true of Jacob. So what were they fighting over?

The Crest and the Climb

In the famed “Eight Chapters” of introduction to his commentary on the Talmud’s Ethics of the Fathers, Maimonides describes two types of personalities: the ‘perfectly pious’ and the ‘one who conquers his inclinations.’ The ‘perfectly pious’ individual despises evil and desires only good; since evil does not entice him, his life’s work consists only of increasing and enhancing the good in himself and the world. On the other hand, the ‘conqueror’ struggles with the negative in himself and his environment and, in the struggle itself, sees his mission in life.

In this way, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (founder of Chabad), explains the deeper significance of the verse, “Prepare for me delicacies, such as I love.”[10] The Almighty is speaking to the community of Israel, telling them that there are two kinds of gratification (“delicacies”, in the plural) that He seeks from them. The analogy is to earthly food, in which there exist two kinds of relishes: sweet and luscious foods, and tart and sour foods that have been spiced and garnished so that they are made into delicacies which gratify the soul. Similarly, there are two kinds of gratification before G-d. The first is caused by the good accomplished by the perfectly righteous. But G-d also savors a second “delicacy”, the conquest of evil which is still at its strongest and most powerful in the heart, through the efforts of the ordinary, unperfected individual.[11]

The difference between the ‘perfectly pious’ and the ‘conqueror’ is not a matter of behavior: both are beyond reproach in this regard. Where they differ is in their character and in the focus of their lives. The ‘perfectly pious’ individual was either born with a flawless char­acter or has succeeded in refining it; he now concentrates on attain­ing greater heights within the realm of good itself. The ‘conqueror,’ however, is still struggling with his nature, constantly defeating his negative inclinations in order to maintain the integrity of his behav­ior. In fact, to him the struggle is not merely the means to attain a state of ‘pious perfection’ but an end in itself. Even if he never rids himself of imperfection, he has realized his mission in life. His contri­bution is a “delicacy” of the second sort – it is the very process of struggling with evil that G-d desires of him.

In the light of this, we can understand the Esau-Jacob phenomenon. Every man has been given the divine gift of utter free choice and volition: no matter how strongly the deck may be stacked against him, no matter what demons pervade his heart, he has been fortified with sufficient willpower and the necessary spiritual resources to overcome it all. As our sages have said: “One who is greater than his fellow, his evil inclination is also greater”[12] – conversely, for every challenge that man must face, he has what it takes to meet and over­come it. The fact the Esau had a powerful inborn inclination towards evil did not mean that he was doomed to a life of corruption. It meant that his challenge in life was to be a “cunning hunter, a man of the field,” a ‘conqueror’ who grapples with the mundanity in him­self and the world. It meant that unlike Jacob, whose goodness was “natural,” Esau possessed the potential for the “second delicacy” equally vital to G-d’s purpose in creation.

Isaac, as a ‘founding father’ of the Jewish people, incorporated within himself the potential for both the ‘perfectly pious’ and the ‘conqueror’ modes of life. His own life was one of pious perfection; but his twin sons embodied these two aspects of man’s service of his Creator. Esau, of course, had free choice, as does every man (even the per­fectly pious individual can regress or fail to fulfill his potential), a choice which he failed to exercised properly. But this happened later in his life. The fact that while yet in the womb he was strongly drawn to the pagan enticements of idolatry, the fact that he was intrinsically a cunning hunter in the arena of the material, did not prevent him from growing spiritually together with his brother Jacob. “The chil­dren matured,” each in his own ordained field of endeavor: Jacob in the tents of study, Esau in the challenges of the material world.

This also clarifies a puzzling passage in Rashi’s commentary on Torah. On the verse “And these are the descendents of Isaac…”[13] Rashi explains: “Jacob and Esau who are mentioned in the parsha (Torah section).”  But immediately following this verse, after a brief mention of Isaac’s marriage, the Torah recounts the birth of Jacob and Esau. So what need is there for Rashi to explain? Everything seems perfectly clear.

But Rashi is addressing the very issue raised above: how does an ‘Esau’ come to be a descendent of Isaac and Rebekah? How do these two perfectly righteous individuals produce an offspring who is evil from birth? Says Rashi: ‘Esau the Wicked’ is not a product of Isaac but a creature of his own making. The “descendents of Isaac” are the “Jacob and Esau who are mentioned in the parsha.” The Esau of the parsha, Esau as viewed from the perspective of Torah -in which everything is seen in its innermost and truest light- is not evil, but the instrument of its conquest. The Esau of the parsha is the pur­veyor of the ‘second delicacy’ and an indispensable element of the purpose of life on earth.

Means and Ends

If Jacob is the ‘perfectly pious’ individual, and Esau the potential ‘conqueror,’ we can now understand their pre-natal argument over the ‘two worlds.’

Olam Habbah, the perfect future world of Moshiach, is not a reality that is disconnected from our present existence. It is the result of our present-day efforts in dealing with and perfecting the material world. The world of Moshiach represents the ultimate realization of the divine potential invested in creation, the era in which the goodness inherent in man, and in all of the created existence, will come to light.

So for both the ‘perfectly pious’ and the ‘conqueror’ the present world is the means and the future world is the goal. Also the ‘perfectly pious’ man ‘needs’ the physical existence as the vehicle which leads to ultimate perfection. And the ‘conqueror,’ too, sees perfection as the goal to which his efforts lead. For although his pur­pose in life is defined by the process itself, every meaningful process must have a goal.

Thus, both ‘Jacob’ and ‘Esau’ lay claim to both worlds as part of their lives’ endeavor, but their priorities are reversed. To the ‘Jacobs’ of the world, the material world is but a tool, the means to an end. To the ‘Esaus,’ man’s material involvements and the struggles they entail are what life is all about. A futuristic vision of perfection is necessary, but only as a reference-point that serves to provide coherence and direction to the “real” business of life.

The tension between them over their differing visions of the “two worlds” is not a negative thing. It is the result of two world views, both positive and necessary, both indispensable components of man’s mission in life.

From an address by the Rebbe, Shabbos Toldos 1980

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Jacob and Esau, piety, struggle, determinism, purpose of life
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Biblical, Beliefs & Concepts, Torah Personalities, Free Choice, Isaac, Toldot, Torah, Rebecca, Esau, Jacob | No Comments »

The Rebbe on the Kibbutz

April 15th, 2015

The following are freely translated excerpts from a letter written by the Rebbe in September of 1964[9] to Israeli author Kaddish Luz:

When receiving a book from its author, it is my custom to presume that he did not send it to me for no particular reason, but rather that his intention was that I read it, and that if I have anything to remark, to accept my remarks in good cheer, even if I do not identify with his views. So, too, in the case of your book, I will allow myself to express a number of remarks, particularly regarding the primary focus of your book—to describe the commune (kibbutz) and the communal life there…

I trust that you will agree with me that the creation of a community is not an end in itself, and certainly not an ultimate end; rather, it is a means to the achievement, through a collective effort, of a desirable way of life.

In and of itself, the most apparent function of the commune is to equalize individuals of greater and lesser stature—something that runs contrary to human nature. For human beings, “Just as their faces are different from one another, so, too, are their minds and characters different from one another.”[10] A person thus finds satisfaction and fulfillment when he is given the opportunity to actualize his potentials not so much in those areas which he shares in common with his fellows, but rather in those areas in which he, as an individual, is superior to his compatriots and his society—for in these areas lie his uniqueness.

At the same time, man is not, by nature, a recluse, and “it is not good for man to be alone.”[11] The human being seeks a social life as the context and means by which to attain his personal fulfillment.

Indeed, a communal life enables a group of individuals to achieve far more than they could on their own—more, even, than the sum of their individual potentials. For as it is known, the output of two people working together is more than double the output of one person working on his own.[12]Another positive function of the commune is that it eliminates the jealousy and competitiveness that often brings a deterioration of the relations between a person and his fellows, while a communal effort usually draws people closer to each other.

On the other hand, the purpose of the commune must not be to eliminate all competitiveness, since challenge and competition are among the chief stimulants toward greater effort and advancement on a person’s part and an optimal and alacritous utilization of his talents and potentials. Rather, the commune should channel the competition to a higher plane. In other words, instead of the competition being for man’s most basic, material needs—which is where the competition begins in an individualistic society—to the extent that, in the words of our sages, “Were it not for the fear of the government (i.e., society’s enforcement of its laws) a man would swallow his fellow alive”[13]—in a communal society, the competition can be transferred to higher aims, whether to the procurement of supplements beyond one’s basic needs, or, on a higher level—to achievements in the life of the spirit.

What may be derived from all of the above is that the concept of community and communal life is not a goal and achievement in its own right, but a step, facilitator and path to the development of the individuality and uniqueness of its members and the realization of their individuality and uniqueness in the best and fullest way.

And What Is the Purpose?

Such a basic appreciation of the function and goals of the commune is important not only after the commune has been established and a full communal life is set and running, and it now must be decided how to utilize its surplus resources and how to emphasize each member’s characteristics and talents to their fullest extent; rather, this appreciation is of utmost importance at the very beginning of the commune’s establishment. For often, and perhaps in most cases, the very establishing of a communally structured life will, by necessity, provoke an internal resistance on the part of its members to a regimen that attempts to suppress their individuality and turn them into parts of a mass. However, when the individual member appreciates that this is but a stage in his self-development and a path toward the expansion of his opportunities for greater achievement as an individual, by freeing him from lesser concerns (i.e., those regarding his basic material needs, which will be procured more easily and efficiently thanks to the collective communal effort)—this appreciation will not only eliminate his natural resistance, but will increase his enthusiasm and commitment in the fulfillment of his duties towards the commune.

Furthermore, such understanding and appreciation is important not only for the success of the commune, but also for the quality of life within it—an issue which you also touch upon in your book. For example, the quality of the relationship between parents and their children in the commune—an area in which the damage can far exceed the gains. For these relationships belong to the “spiritual” area of life, where a person’s individuality and independence is of paramount importance.

Another point, which I think important, is the difference in feeling and regard toward the commune on the part of its founders and on the part of those born into it. The founders of the commune, or those who joined it in its early stages, can derive a deep satisfaction from the fact that they have come to this (as you describe in your book) from a very different way of life and from a society with very different views, and have achieved this communal life through great toil, sacrifice and suffering—all of which serve to make one’s achievements that much more precious and admirable in one’s eyes. On the other hand, those born into the commune or raised in it regard it as a most natural way of life; to them, the limitations of communal life, such as discussed above, tend to be more pronounced than its positive aspects. This cannot fail to awaken in them a dissatisfaction, or even rebelliousness; it is inevitable that there will be dissent between them and those who enforce the communal regimen on them. Regarding them, it is even more important to emphasize the communal life as a stage and facilitator towards a higher goal.

Which brings me to the crux of the matter, to the burning question which, incidentally, I did not see addressed in your book: What goal or ideal is presented to the next generation as the objective to be achieved via the structure of a communal life, so that they should desire to achieve it even if this requires effort, toil and sacrifice on their part?

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: individuality, fulfillment, achievement, socialism, purpose, kibbutz
Posted in Toldot, Torah | 1 Comment »

Father and Son

April 15th, 2015

And these are the chronicles of Isaac the son of Abraham; Abraham fathered Isaac

Genesis 25:19

Many of the Torah commentaries dwell on the repetitious phrasing of this verse: if the Torah identifies Isaac as “the son of Abraham,” what is added by informing us that “Abraham fathered Isaac”?

One of the Chassidic masters offered the following insight:
Often, we encounter what has come to be called the “generation gap”—parents and children in conflict with each other because they hold different world views and measure their lives against different value systems. At times, the enmity and disdain is reciprocal. In its less severe forms, it might be one-sided: the parents might be proud of their children’s achievements, while the children scorn the “primitiveness” and “backwardness” of their parents. Alternatively, the children might revere their parents and what they stand for, while their parents are deeply disappointed in their children and shamed by their behavior.

The Torah is telling us that, in the case of the first two generations of Jews, there was no “gap”: Isaac had no reservations about being “the son of Abraham,” while Abraham no less readily identified himself as the father of Isaac. Despite the fact that they embodied two very different approaches to life,[8] Isaac sensed that everything he is and has derives from Abraham, while Abraham saw in Isaac the fulfillment and realization of his deepest self.

Tags: respect, generation gap, relationships
Posted in Bereishit, Biblical, Abraham, Personal Life, Torah Personalities, Home & Family, Isaac, Toldot, Torah | No Comments »

A Legacy of Laughter

April 15th, 2015

Abraham named the son … whom Sarah bore to him, Isaac (“laughter”).

And Sarah said: “G-d has made laughter for me; all who hear shall laugh for me”

Genesis 21:3, 6

Then our mouths shall be filled with laughter, and our tongues with song

Psalms 126:2

The Torah is divided into 54 parashiyot (“sections” or “portions”), each of which is studied and publicly read in the synagogue on another week of the  year. Each parashah has a name, derived from its opening verses; yet no single rule determines which word or words are chosen to identify it. For example, the sections that begin with the words “And Korach took” and “And Balak saw” are named Korach and Balak respectively; but the section beginning “And Jacob went out” is called Vayeitzei (“and he went out”), and the section beginning “And Judah approached him” is called Vayigash (“and he approached”), rather than “Jacob” and “Judah.”

The Chassidic masters explain that each parshah name embodies a lesson that is connected to the primary theme of the section as a whole, and which is of eternal significance to every generation. Thus, each section receives the name that is most appropriate to it and which maximizes its relevance to our lives.[1]

A case in point is this week’s Torah reading, which is called Toledot(“chronicles” or “progeny”) after its opening words, “And these are the chronicles of Isaac.” But five weeks ago we read a Torah section that began “And these are the chronicles of Noah”—and that section is named Noach (“Noah”). Of course, the same name could not be given to two sections. But if the choice of the name Toledot were simply a factor of it being the first suitable word in a section’s opening verse, than the section of Noach should have been called Toledot, and our section, to distinguish it from that one, might have been called Yitzchak (“Isaac”). Obviously, then, there is something about the chronicles of Isaac that makes them a more fitting source for the parashah name “Toledot” than those of Noah.

The Beginning and the End

For Toledot is no mere word: it is a word that embraces the cosmos, spans the whole of history, and describes our purpose in life. After recounting G-d’s creation of the world in six days and His designation of a seventh as a day of rest, the Torah begins the story of man with the words: “These are the toledot of the heaven and the earth upon their creation…”[2]

Eighteen books and three thousand years later, the Torah concludes the Book of Ruth with the following verses:
And these are the toledot of Peretz: Peretz begot Chetzron, Chetzron begot Ram, Ram begot Aminadav, Aminadav begot Nachshon, Nachshon begot Salmah, Salmah begot Boaz, Boaz begot Oved, Oved begot Yishai, and Yishai begot David.

Says the Midrash:
The word toledot appears everywhere in the Torah with a deficient spelling (i.e., lacking the letter vav), except for two instances: “These are the chronicles of Peretz,” and [“These are the chronicles of the heaven and the earth upon their creation”]. Why are all the others lacking the letter vav? … Because of the six (vav)[3] things taken from Adam: his radiance, his life, his stature, the fruit of the earth, the fruit of the trees, and the luminaries…. For though the world was created perfect, these were ruined by Adam’s sin, and shall be restored only with the coming of [Moshiach,] the descendent of Peretz.[4]

The story of man is the journey from toledot to toledot, from the perfect world that G-d created to the restored perfection of the age of Moshiach.[5] In the simply stated words of Rashi, “The toledot of the righteous are their good deeds.”[6]

Noah and Isaac

The achievements of man come in two guises: the “chronicles of Noah” and the “chronicles of Isaac.”

The name “Noah” means “tranquility”; “Isaac” means “laughter.” Many dream of tranquility, and devote their lives to the goal of forging a tranquil world out of the chaos and strife that define its present existence. Indeed, “the Torah was given to make peace in the world”[7]—to knit its diverse forces and strivings into a harmonious mirror of the perfect harmony of its Creator.

But it can also be argued that the most tranquil existence is no existence; that if the goal of creation were tranquility, than this goal would have been equally (or better) served by not creating a world in the first place. Little wonder, then, that few of us derive any lasting satisfaction from tranquility. We want more from life than the absence of discord. We want joy; we want laughter in our lives.

Therein lies the ultimate purpose of creation: to make our world a source of joy to G-d and man.

So if there is to be a section in Torah named “Toledot,” it is Isaac’s toledot rather than Noah’s. If there is a “chronicle” that charts the saga of man and a “progeny” that sums up the fruit of his labors, it is a chronicle of joy and a progeny of laughter.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Toledot 5744 (1983)

Tags: laughter, tranquility, joy
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A Knowing Ignorance

April 15th, 2015

“I rejoice over Your words, as one who finds an immense treasure”

Psalms 119:162

Said Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov: One who finds an immense treasure … his distress is greater than his happiness. Because the treasure is so great, he is capable of carrying off only a small fraction of it; whatever joy he may experience over what he has gained is eclipsed by his distress over the far greater riches he was forced to leave behind.

This is the deeper significance of King David’s words. When I study Your Torah, I know that whatever I have comprehended is but a paltry fraction of the truths Your words contain. So my joy over my newly gained wisdom is the joy of one who has stumbled upon an immense treasure—a joy that pales to insignificance before the knowledge of what I cannot know.

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: joy, Torah, King David, treasure, knowledge
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Biblical, Torah Personalities, Chayei Sarah | No Comments »

The Return of Hagar

April 15th, 2015

And Abraham again took a wife, and her name was Keturah

Genesis 25:1

Keturah is Hagar. Why is she called Keturah? For her deeds were [now] as pleasing as the ketoret [incense].[1]

Midrash Rabbah on verse

Hagar was the Egyptian maidservant of Abraham’s first wife, Sarah. When Sarah had failed to conceive a child after many years of marriage, she implored Abraham to have a child with Hagar.[2] Hagar did give Abraham a child, Ishmael, who turned out to be “a wild man, whose hand is against everyone and everyone’s hand is against him.’’[3] Sarah ultimately demanded of Abraham that he banish Hagar and Ishmael from their home. When Abraham hesitated, G-d instructed him, “Whatever Sarah tells you to do, harken to her voice.”[4] Hagar drifted back to the paganism of her homeland and found an Egyptian wife for Ishmael.[5]

Years later, however, we find Ishmael back in the Abrahamic fold, accompanying Abraham and Isaac to the Akeidah.[6] And then, three years after Sarah’s death, Abraham remarries Hagar. The reconciliation is now complete—indeed it is Sarah’s son, Isaac,[7] who brings Hagar back for her marriage with his father.[8]

“Everything that happened to the Patriarchs,” say our sages, “is a signpost for their children. This is why the Torah elaborates on…the events of their lives…for they all come to instruct the future.”[9] The same is true regarding the shifts in Abraham’s relationship with his “barbarous” wife and son: his expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael and their subsequent readmission into his family represent the different stages in our history of dealing with the “Hagars” and “Ishmaels” in our lives—the raw and unruly elements in our nature, society and environment.

The Spiritualist, the Miner, and the Future

There are three basic ways of dealing with the mundane in one’s life: disavowal, refinement or sublimation.

The first approach is that of the ascetic, whose reaction to mundanity is to escape it. Repelled by the corporeality of physical life, he reduces his involvement in the material to the bare minimum and devotes his life to spiritual pursuits.

Then there is the “refiner,” who approaches the untamed wilderness of materiality as a prospector panning for gold. He knows that much of what passes through his hands is profitless sludge, but he is searching for the nuggets of sublimity embedded within. So he doesn’t disavow the material, but neither does he embrace it unequivocally. His life is an exercise in selectivity: to extract the sparks of potential while rejecting the irredeemable dross.

The third approach is that of the “sublimator,” who refuses to regard any element of G-d’s creation as “irredeemable.” He insists that every creature, every force, every experience, no matter how lowly, can be transformed into something positive and holy. There is nothing that is intrinsically negative in G-d’s world, he argues; evil and corruption are never more than skin deep. Everything can, and should, be transformed into a force for good.

These three approaches are actually three stages in the history of human potential. On the second day of creation,[10] G-d divided His creation into two domains, decreeing that “The lower realms shall not ascend to the higher realms, and the higher realms shall not descend to the lower realms.” ^[11] The breach between the spiritual and the physical was absolute: the spiritual could not be actualized, nor could the physical be sanctified. Man had a choice—he could either succumb to the mundanity of the material, or he could transcend it. “Refining” or “sublimating” the material was beyond the capacity of a world in which an inviolable boundary separated the holy from the profane.

This state of affairs prevailed for the twenty-six generations from Adam to Moses. Then G-d rescinded His decree. On the sixth of Sivan in the year 2448 from creation (1313 BCE), “G-d descended upon Mount Sinai,” setting the precedent that the supernal may permeate the earthly, “and to Moses He said: ‘Ascend to G-d,’ ” empowering the earthly to be elevated.[12]

The era of “refinement” (birur) commenced. At Sinai, we were enfranchised to extract kernels of holiness from the husk of materiality. We were given a guidebook, the Torah, to teach us how to distinguish between that which can be positively utilized and that which must be rejected. The Torah spells out which foodstuffs are elevated when they energize our positive deeds, and which coarsen our minds and hearts and deaden our spiritual sensitivities; which relationships can bring love, joy and sanctity to our marital lives, and which are exploitative and debasing. The same applies to every area of life: the Torah instructs us which elements of physical life we are to embrace and develop, and which we are to reject and disavow. ^[13]To attempt to go beyond this guide–to seek to sublimate that which the Torah decrees to be irredeemable–is futile and counterproductive. Just as pre-Sinai man was incapable of bridging the divinely imposed barrier between matter and spirit, so, too, are we capable of sanctifying only that which the Creator of life has empowered us to sanctify. ^[14]

Finally, G-d promises that there will come a time when “I shall remove the spirit of impurity from the earth.”[15] A time when all evil and negativity shall cease from the earth and the positive essence of every creature and phenomenon in G-d’s world shall come to light. No longer will we face the daily challenge of winnowing the holy from the profane; no longer will we know the pain of being compelled to relinquish potent areas of our lives because of our inability to properly and constructively channel them. Instead, we will inhabit a world in which everything will naturally lend itself to a good and G-dly end.[16]

Abraham’s Sinai

Abraham lived in the pre-Sinai era. This means that, ultimately, his achievements were confined to the spiritual realm. He forged the Jewish soul, developing his own life into a paradigm of lovingkindness and commitment to G-d, and bequeathing these qualities to his descendants. He battled the near-universal paganism of his time, prevailing upon many of his generation to renounce their idols and recognize the one G-d. But the physical substance of creation was largely unaffected; the divine demarcation between the spiritual and the material was still in force, precluding any human endeavor to sanctify the mundane.

Nevertheless, as “father” and archetype of the Jewish nation, Abraham embodied the entire history of our mission in life. So Abraham’s life also included a transcendent “pre-Sinai” period, a “refinement” period, as well as the futuristic “sublimation” era. These three phases in the life of Abraham are delineated by the three sidrot (Torah sections[17]) which the Torah devotes to Abraham’s life: Lech Lecha (Genesis 12-17), Vayeira (18-22) and Chayei Sarah (23-25).

The exclusively spiritual period in Abraham’s life lasted until his circumcision. The divine instruction to circumcise himself  was Abraham’s “Sinai”—the first (and only) occasion on which G-d commanded a mitzvah (Torah commandment) to him. For the first time in his life, Abraham could perform a mitzvah—an act that carries a divine empowerment to transform a physical entity (in this case, his own body) into a vehicle of spirituality and G-dliness, through its utilization as an agent of divine will.

[This explains a curious detail of Abraham’s behavior related by the Torah. When Abraham wanted his servant, Eliezer, to take an oath, he told him to “place your hand under my thigh.”[18] An oath is taken while holding a sacred object such as a Torah scroll or tefillin; here Abraham is telling Eliezer to swear on the part of his own body sanctified by the mitzvah of circumcision. Yet our sages tell us that “Abraham observed the entire Torah” though it was yet to be given [at Sinai] ^[19]—so Abraham studied Torah, put on tefillin, affixed a mezuzah on his doorpost, etc. It would therefore seem that he had no shortage of “sacred objects” available to him. Why, then, did he have Eliezer place his hand “under his thigh,” contrary to all common standards of modesty and propriety? ^[20] But as explained above, the import of  Abraham’s pre-Sinai mitzvot were of a wholly spiritual nature. Since G-d had not commanded him to do them, they remained human deeds, subject to the natural law that separated the spiritual from the material; while they had a profound effect on his own soul, the souls of his descendants, and the spiritual essence of creation, they had no impact on the material substance of the universe. The single exception was the mitzvah of circumcision, whose commandment by G-d constituted an empowerment to sanctify the physical. Thus, this was indeed the only sacred object available to Abraham.]

The significance of this watershed event in Abraham’s life is emphasized by the fact that, upon commanding him to circumcise himself, G-d changed Abraham’s name. Originally, the first Jew’s name was Abram; G-d added the Hebrew letter hei to make it Abraham. “Abram” is an acronym for the Hebrew words av ram—“exalted father”; “Abraham” stands for av hamon goyim—“father of a multitude of nations.”[21] Before he was granted the commandment of circumcision, Abram was an exalted father—a progenitor of spiritual achievements and a bequeathor of a spiritual legacy; his deeds, however, remained “exalted,” beyond the realm of the material. Upon his circumcision, Abraham assumed a role of influence upon “a multitude of nations”—a role that involved his refinement and elevation of the pedestrian and the mundane (to the extent that this was possible before Sinai).

The Refining Female

“Male and female He created them,”[22] is how the Torah describes G-d’s creation of  human life. Indeed, this duality extends to all forms of life, and to all elements of creation—heaven and earth, sun and moon, energy and matter, and the numerous other physical models of the masculine and feminine. The same is true of the spiritual essence of life—our relationship with G-d comprises both a “male” initiating and achieving aspect, and a “female” receptive and nurturing element.

Thus we find that many mitzvot are commanded solely to the man, while others are the domain of the woman: a husband and wife, our sages explain, embody the two halves of a single soul; the deeds of each contribute to their common soul’s fulfillment of both the “masculine” and “feminine” elements of its mission in life.[23] More specifically, each mitzvah is both a “male” and “female” act: it is an act of conquest, of aggressive appropriation of resources from an alien domain for holy purposes, as well as an act of nurture—of refining, purifying and developing the appropriated resource into a vessel of holiness. In the words of the Talmud, “Man brings home grain; but does he chew grain?” ^[24] Man wrests nutritive potential from the earth, but it is the woman who winnows the chaff from the cereal, sifts the fine flour from the coarse, and kneads, forms and bakes it to edible perfection.

Thus it was Sarah, the female half of Abraham’s soul, who effected the expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael. When Abraham hesitated, loath to relinquish the potent potentials implicit in his pagan mate and wild son, G-d said to him: “Whatever Sarah tells you to do, harken to her voice.” True, you are now Abraham, father of multitudes and elevator of the mundane, but in every refinement process there is the extractable ore and the unprofitable rubble. Hagar and Ishmael represent elements of My creation too crude, too volatile, to be redeemed by your efforts. Sarah, your feminine sense of differentiation, has rejected them—do as she says. ^[25]

However, Abraham’s life includes a post-Sarah era as well—an era in which the most savage of Ishmaels and the most foreign of Hagars have a place in Abraham’s family. ^[26] An era that is the forerunner and prototype for the age of sublimation, when “no longer will your Master be cloaked; your eyes shall see your Master” ^[27]—when the divine essence of creation will no longer be shrouded in a mantle of corporeality and the positive utility of every creature will be manifest and accessible.[28]

Based on the Rebbe’s talks and works, including an address delivered on Shabbat Chayei Sarah, 5737 (November 20, 1976) ^[29]

Tags: spiritual and material, circumcision, transcendence, sublimation, sanctification, refinement
Posted in Bereishit, Biblical, Abraham, Torah Personalities, Sarah, Chayei Sarah, Ishmael, Torah | 3 Comments »

Nothing II

April 15th, 2015

The story is told of a chassid who met with a childhood acquaintance after many years of disrupted contact. “So what is new in your life? What have you been doing all these years?” they asked each other.

“The truth be told,” sighed the chassid’s friend, “my life has turned out to be quite a disappointment.”

“What is the matter?” asked the chassid with concern, thinking that his friend might be suffering from ill health or financial difficulty. “Perhaps there is some way I can help?”

“Oh no,” said his friend, “it’s nothing like that. It’s just… You know, I’ve always believed that, one day, I’ll amount to something. I look around me at the people I grew up with, and I see professors, scientists, artists, writers, politicians, leading businessmen—people who have made a name for themselves. People who are somebody. And I? Zero. Nothing.”

“How I envy you!” exclaimed the chassid. “For thirty years I have been striving to be nothing, and I have yet to see even a glimmer of light in the suffocating darkness of my ego. How I yearn for the day when I can state, simply and honestly, ‘I am nothing’!”

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Chassidic stories, humility, achievement, nothing, somebody
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Chayei Sarah, Torah | No Comments »

Nothing

April 15th, 2015

And Abraham responded: “Behold, I have presumed to speak to the L-rd, and I am but dust and ashes”

Genesis 18:27

When Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov began gaining adherents to the Chassidic approach to serving G-d (circa 1734), many rabbis and community leaders of “mainstream” Judaism regarded the movement with suspicion and combated it with edicts of excommunication and other forms of persecution. Among the Baal Shem Tov’s opponents was Rabbi Chaim Rappaport, Chief Rabbi of Lemberg.

One day, a stranger entered the Lemberg study hall where Rabbi Chaim would spend the day immersed in learning and prayer. The Rabbi was drawn to the guest, whose luminous face and every movement bespoke a saintly character, and greeted him warmly:

“Shalom aleichem! Whom have I the honor to welcome to our humble town?”

The visitor responded by quoting Abraham: “I am but dust and ashes.”

“And with whom have I the honor to speak?” the visitor then inquired.

“I am but dust and ashes,” replied Rabbi Chaim.

“If such is the case,” said the stranger, “how can there be conflict and animosity between us?” With that, he walked out of the study hall, climbed onto his carriage, and departed from Lemberg.

Rabbi Chaim realized that he had just met the founder of Chassidism. From that point on, he ceased his battle against the movement and eventually came to be counted among the Baal Shem Tov’s foremost disciples.

Tags: Rabbi Chaim Rappaport, Lemberg, reconciliation, humility, disagreement
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Baal Shem Tov, Torah Personalities, Modern, Chayei Sarah, Torah | No Comments »

A Day in the Life of an Old Man

April 15th, 2015

And Abraham grew old and he came in days…

Genesis 24:1

The phrase ba bayamim, commonly translated “advanced in days,” literally means “he came in[to his] days.” Thus, it is not just another way of saying “old,” but a description of a certain type of agedness—a way of living in which one fully enters into one’s days, rather than merely “marking time” and allowing them to pass by without experiencing them and exploiting them to the utmost.

Human nature is such that our interest in life often wanes as our years accumulate. In our youth, life is exciting and replete with opportunity; we fully immerse ourselves in every moment, every encounter, every experience. But as we age, we become less involved in our days. We have experienced much disappointment; in any case, we’ve seen it all. Life’s joys become less exhilarating, its sorrows less acute.

It is Abraham’s greatness that as he grew old, he continued to enter into his days. A lifetime of seeking and achievement, of trials and triumphs, did not diminish his thirst for life. All his days were fully explored by him, fully possessed, fully utilized.

And that is the way to age. To live each day to its fullest. To live in the moment and to appreciate the moments.

Tags: old age, youth, energy
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Biblical, Soul Gym, Death, Grief, & Mourning, Abraham, Torah Personalities, Personal Life, Chayei Sarah, Life Cycles, Torah | 3 Comments »