April 8th, 2015
The following is a free adaptation of an excerpt from a letter by the Rebbe dated Elul 27, 5715 (September 14, 1954).[6]
… I was distressed to hear of the disharmony in the marriage of your daughter and son-in-law. My feeling is that all that is needed here is a bit of “glue.”
What is glue? Since two hard surfaces do not bond, one introduces a drop or two, or a thin veneer, of a fluid and flexible substance, by which the two hard surfaces are fused together. Employing this analogy, when two people have hardened themselves to the point of inflexibility vis-à-vis each other, what is needed is for a third party to privately speak to each of them individually as to how all their disagreements might be lessened and ultimately resolved through a show of goodwill on both sides. In this way, they can begin moving towards a reconciliation without feeling that they have compromised their dignity and pride.
May the Almighty grant that all the pain and heartache they have experienced in the past should suffice, and that the above approach should yield positive results speedily and without further difficulty; I hope to hear good news from you concerning this matter as well…
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[6] Igrot Kodesh Vol XI pp 417
Tags: harmony, disagreement, marriage, flexibility
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April 8th, 2015
“I wished to speak with G-d, yet I am but dust and ashes”
Abraham (Genesis 18:27)
The hospitality of Abraham is legendary, and an important part of his legacy to the Jewish people. One of the three signs which distinguish the Jewish character is a charitable and giving nature. To turn away a fellow in need is the most un-Jewish of acts.
Yet generosity may stem from two different and opposite traits. A feeling of self-importance often leads a person to give, for ego feeds and thrives on the dependence of others on oneself. On the other hand, extreme humility causes a person to feel that he is unworthy of what he possesses, that he is surely no more deserving of the piece of bread on his table than is the pauper on the street. Thus, the most generous of philanthropists are either the possessors of a mega-ego or those devoid of all self-consideration.
The charity of Abraham was free of the slightest traces of self-fulfillment and self-enhancement. In Genesis 18 the Torah relates how G-d appeared to Abraham. In the midst of this tremendous experience Abraham notices three wayfarers, dressed as pagan tribesmen, crossing the desert. “Excuse me G-d,” says Abraham, and dashes off to invite them in and to attend to their needs. So great was the humility of Abraham, that he saw their material needs as more important than his loftiest spiritual attainments. As he saw it, he had no right to enjoy the presence of G-d when a fellow human being was in need of food and shelter.
From the Rebbe’s talks, Tammuz 7 5740 (June 21 1980)and Tammuz 2 5741 (July 4 1981)
Tags: humility, generosity, charity
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April 8th, 2015
And it came to pass after these things that G-d tested Abraham. And He said to him “Abraham!” and he said “Here I am!”
And He said: “I beseech you: take your son, your only son whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah; and offer him there as a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I shall tell you of.”
And Abraham rose up early in the morning and saddled his ass; he took his two attendants with him, and his son, Isaac. And he broke up wood for the burnt offering and rose up and went to the place which G-d told him…
And Abraham built an altar there, and laid the wood in order; and he bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar upon the wood.
And Abraham stretched out his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son.
And an angel of G-d called to him out of the heavens: “…Lay not your hand upon the lad, neither do anything to him. For now I know that you fear G-d, for you have not withheld your son, your only son from Me…”
Genesis 22:1-12
The “Binding of Isaac” has come to represent the ultimate in the Jew’s devotion to G-d. Every morning, we preface our prayers by reading the Torah’s account of the Akeidah (“Binding”) and then say: “Master of the Universe! Just as Abraham our father suppressed his compassion for his only son to do Your will with a whole heart, so may Your compassion suppress Your wrath against us, and may Your mercy prevail over Your attributes of strict justice…” On Rosh Hashanah, when the world trembles in judgment before G-d, we evoke the Binding of Isaac by sounding the horn of a ram (a ram replaced Isaac as an offering) as if to say: If we have no other merit, remember Abraham’s deed. Remember how the first Jew bound all succeeding generations of Jews in a covenant of self-sacrifice to You.
Obviously, the supreme test of a person’s faith is his willingness to sacrifice his very existence for its sake. But what is so unique about Abraham’s sacrifice? Have not countless thousands of Jews given their lives rather than renounce their covenant with the Almighty?
One may explain that the willingness to sacrifice one’s child is a far greater demonstration of faith than to forfeit one’s own life. But in this, too, Abraham is not unique. Time and again through the generations, Jews have encouraged their children to go to their deaths rather than violate their faith. Typical is the story of “Chanah and her seven sons,” who, seeing her seven children tortured to death rather than bow before a Greek idol, proclaimed: “My children! Go to Abraham your father and say to him: You bound one offering upon the altar, and I have bound seven offerings…”[1]
Furthermore, while Abraham was prepared to sacrifice his son, in thousands of Akeidot throughout our history Jews actually gave up their lives and the lives of their entire families. And, unlike Abraham, G-d had not directly spoken to them and requested their sacrifice; their deeds were based on their own convictions and the strength of their commitment to an invisible and often elusive G-d. And many gave their lives rather than violate even a relatively minor tenet of their faith, even in cases in which the Torah does not require the Jew to do so.[2]
Nevertheless, as the Abarbanel writes in his commentary on Genesis, it is the Binding of Isaac “that is forever on our lips in our prayers… For in it lies the entire strength of Israel and their merit before their Heavenly Father…” Why? What about the many thousands who made the ultimate sacrifice in reiteration of our loyalty to G-d?
Of No Substance
The same may be asked in regard to Abraham himself. The Akeidah was the tenth and final “test” in Abraham’s life.[3] In his first test of faith, Abraham was cast into a fiery furnace for his refusal to acknowledge the arch-idol of his native Ur Kasdim, the emperor Nimrod, and his continued commitment to teaching the world the truth of a one, non-corporeal and omnipotent G-d. All this before G-d had revealed Himself to him and chosen him and his descendents to serve as a “light unto the nations” and the purveyors of His word to humanity.
So this early act of self-sacrifice seems, in a certain respect, to be even greater than the latter ones. A man, all on his own, comes to recognize the truth and devotes himself to its dissemination – to the extent that he is even willing to sacrifice his very life to this end. All this without a command or even sign from Above. And yet, the Binding of Isaac is considered the most important test of Abraham’s faith. The Talmud asks: Why did G-d, in commanding Abraham on the Akeidah, say “I beseech you…”? Answers the Talmud: G-d said to Abraham: “I have tried you with many tests and you have withstood them all. Now, I beg you, please withstand this test for Me lest they say that the earlier ones were of no substance.”[4]
Again we ask, Why? Granting that the Akeidah was the most demanding test of all, why are the others “of no substance” without it?
The Trailblazer
Once there was an untamed wilderness: not a trail penetrated its thick underbrush, not a map charted its forbidding terrain. But one day there came a man who accomplished the impossible: he cut a path through this impregnable land.
Many trod in his footsteps. It was still a most difficult journey, but they had his charts to consult, his trails to follow. Over the years, there were some who made the journey under even more trying conditions than those which had challenged the first pioneer: while he had done his work in broad daylight, there were those who stumbled about in the black of night; while he had only his determination for company, there were those who made the trip weighed down by heavy burdens. But all were equally indebted to him. Indeed, all their attainments could be said to be but extensions of his own great deed.
Abraham was the pioneer of self-sacrifice. And the first instance of true self-sacrifice in all of history was the Binding of Isaac.
Selfishly Altruistic
For to sacrifice one’s self is not the same as to sacrifice one’s life – there is a world of difference between the two.
The human story includes many chapters of heroic sacrifice. Every generation and society has had its martyrs – individuals who gave their lives for their faith, for their homeland, and for virtually every cause under the sun. They did so for a variety of reasons. For some it was an act of desperation: to them, their lives were not worth living unless a certain objective could be attained. Others believed that their deed would be richly rewarded in the hereafter, so they readily exchanged the temporal benefits of physical life for the soul’s eternal gain. Finally, there were those for whom their cause had grown to be more significant to them than their lives: they had come to so completely identify with a certain goal that it became more integral to their “self” than their existence as individuals. In all the above cases, the martyr is sacrificing his life, but not his self. Indeed, he is sacrificing his physical life for the sake of his “self” – be it the self projected by his obsession, the spiritual self of his immortal soul, or a broader, universal “self” he has come to identify with. Ultimately, his is a selfish act; “selfish” in the most positive and altruistic sense of the word – here is an individual who has succeeded in transcending the narrow, material definition of “self” which dominates in our corporeal world – but selfish nonetheless.
Breakthrough & Revelation
Abraham was a man with a mission. A mission for which he sacrificed everything, a mission more important to him than his own life.
For many years he had agonized over the fact that there was no heir to this mission, that his work of bringing the beliefs and ethics of monotheism to a pagan world would cease with his passing from the world. Then came the Divine promise: miraculously, at the age of 100, he will have a son, out of whom will stem the people of Israel. “You shall call his name Isaac,” said G-d, “and I shall establish My covenant with him for an everlasting covenant, and with his descendants after him.”[5] And then G-d told him to destroy it all.
When Abraham bound Isaac upon the altar, it was not in the service of any calling or cause. In fact, it ran contrary to everything he believed in and taught, to everything he had sacrificed his life for, to everything G-d Himself had told him. He could see no reason, no purpose for his act. Every element of his self cried out against it – his material self, his spiritual self, his transcendent, altruistic self. But he did it. Why? Because G-d had asked him to.
Abraham was the pioneer of self-sacrifice. Before Abraham, the self was inviolable territory. Man could enlighten the self’s priorities, he could even broaden and sublimate it, but he could not supersede it. Indeed, how could he? As a creature of free choice, man’s every act stems from within: his every deed has a motive (conscious or otherwise), and his every motive has a rationale – a reason why it is beneficial to his own existence. So how could he be motivated to annihilate his own self? The instinct to preserve and enhance one’s self is the source and objective of a creature’s every drive and desire – man could no more transcend it than lift himself up by pulling on the hair of his own head. Yet Abraham did the impossible. He sacrificed his self for the sake of something beyond the scope of the most transcendent of identities. Had he not done so, no other act of self-sacrifice – previous or subsequent, of his own or of his descendents – could be presumed to be of any “substance,” to be anything more than the expression of a higher self. But when Abraham bound Isaac upon the altar, the heavenly voice proclaimed: “Now I know that you fear G-d.” Now I know that the will of G-d supersedes even the most basic of your instincts, that all your deeds, including those which could be explained as self-motivated, are, in essence, driven by the desire to serve your Creator. Now I know that your entire life was of true, selfless substance.
So when we speak of the Akeidah, we also speak of those who trod the path this great deed blazed. Of the countless thousands who died for the creed of Abraham, of the many millions who lived for its sake. Their sacrifices, great and petty, cataclysmic and everyday, may, on the surface, seem but the outgrowth of their personal beliefs and aspirations: commendable and extraordinary, but only the fulfillment of an individual soul’s identity. But the Akeidah revealed them to be so much more than that. For Abraham bequeathed to his descendants the essence of Jewishness: that at the core of one’s very being lies not the self but one’s commitment to the Creator. And that, ultimately, one’s every choice and act is an expression of that “spark of divinity” within.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Kislev 21 5731 (12/19/1970)
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[2] According to Torah law, a Jew most give up his life rather than commit murder, certain sexual crimes (such as incest or adultery) or idol-worship, or where there is a deliberate attempt to force a renunciation of the Jewish faith.
[3] See Bartenurah commentary on Ethics of the Fathers 5:3.
[4] Talmud, Sanhedrin 89b
Tags: akeidah, Abarbanel, self-sacrifice, selflessness, faith
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April 8th, 2015
Said Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch:
Two life-sustaining influences radiate from the sun: light and warmth. Light may penetrate certain substances, but not others: a glass partition allows light to pass, but not a partition of rawhide. The warmth exuded by the sun is more powerful, and can be felt through the coarser and more opaque barriers.
The same is true of the luminary of Torah. Torah sheds light, illuminating and enlightening our minds with the divine wisdom. It also bathes the Jewish heart with the warmth of G-d’s love for His people.
The light of Torah will pass through certain barriers, reaching into many an alienated mind with its wisdom and truth. But if the barrier has grown too coarse—if a soul has sunk so deeply into material life that a corporeal hide seals the frontiers of its consciousness—the power of reason and the light of truth will not penetrate the folly and darkness of this life. But the warmth of Torah will. A kind and caring word will achieve what the most profound arguments and the most glaring truths will not. And once a little warmth seeps through, the hideous walls of mundanity will give way, and the light will come pouring in as well.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: sun, heart, warmth, light, Torah
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April 8th, 2015
Thirty-seven hundred years ago, a Jerusalem hilltop was the scene of one of the most dramatic moments in human history. There Abraham built an altar, bound his son Isaac, and was prepared to offer him as sacrifice to G-d. Three days earlier, G-d had spoken to Abraham and commanded him:
“Take your son, your only son whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah; and raise him as an offering atop the mountain which I will tell you.”[1]
G-d was testing Abraham, establishing the depth of the commitment upon which the nation of Israel would be founded. No sooner had Abraham arranged the firewood on the altar, taken the knife and stretched out his hand to slaughter his son, than “an angel of G-d called out to him from the heavens… ‘Lay not your hand upon the lad, neither do anything to him; for now I know that you fear G-d, as you have not withheld your only child from Me… Thus I shall bless you, and multiply your descendants as the stars of the heaven, and as the sand that is at the shore of the sea…’ ”[2]
Maimonides[3] explains that the akeidah (the “binding [of Isaac]”) served to establish two key axioms of the Jewish faith: a) the extent of man’s capacity to love, fear and serve G-d; b) the principle of “prophecy”—the fact that G-d communicates His will to man.
By binding Isaac upon the altar, Abraham demonstrated that man is capable of a love and awe of G-d that surpasses his every other feeling or commitment. For what greater love is there than the love of a parent for his child? What greater fear is there than a parent’s fear for the life of his child?[4] With the akeidah, Abraham set his commitment to G-d above these most basic truths of human nature, establishing it as the all-surpassing consideration in the life of man.
Beyond the Most Unreasonable Doubt
The second truth established by the akeidah is the principle of prophecy. There are many levels and degrees of human communion with the divine, from the scientist’s contemplation of G-d’s creation, to the Torah sage whose interpretation and exposition of Torah is guided and molded by divine inspiration (ruach hakodesh).[5] Prophecy, however, is the ultimate divine communication—a revelation that completely transcends the equivocality and subjectivity of its human perceiver, so that its truth is absolute, incontestable and immutable. A fundamental principle of the Jewish faith is that G-d communicates to man in this manner.
When Abraham was told to offer Isaac as a sacrifice to G-d, this was contrary to everything Abraham was and stood for, contrary to everything he knew and believed about G-d, and contrary to what G-d Himself had said to him. Abraham was the epitome of loving-kindness, of whom the divine attribute of chessed (benevolence) said, “As long as he was around, there was nothing for me to do, for he did my work in my stead”;[6] he knew and related to G-d as “the merciful and benevolent One, slow to anger, great in kindness.”[7] The prohibition of taking a human life is one of the seven basic laws of civilization communicated by G-d to Adam and Noah (the “Seven Noachide Laws”) which Abraham had been laboring for many decades to instill in a world where murder and promiscuity were the staples of religious worship. And G-d had promised Abraham that Isaac (unmarried and childless at the time of the akeidah) would father a great nation who would carry on Abraham’s work of conveying the truth of the One G-d to the world.
So when Abraham heard the words “Take your son… and raise him as an offering,” he had many reasons to doubt their divinity, to surmise that not G-d but some malevolent voice had uttered them in his soul’s ears. Had his certainty that G-d had spoken them been an iota less than absolute, he would not—indeed, could not—have acted on them. Thus, concludes Maimonides, the akeidah is the ultimate exemplar of the principle of prophecy—that G-d communicates His will to man in a manner that leaves no doubt as to its origin, meaning, or manner of implementation.
The akeidah, then, was a double milestone in the history of man’s relationship with G-d. It set a new standard regarding the priority that the love and awe of G-d can achieve in the life of man; and it raised to unprecedented heights the absoluteness of G-d’s communication and self-revelation to man.
Altar and Ark
For many centuries, the event saturated the space and soil of Mount Moriah. Then, in the year 2928 from creation (833 BCE), King Solomon gave physical substance and form to the akeidah, erecting the Beit Hamikdash (Holy Temple) on the very spot where Abraham had built his altar and bound his son as a sacrifice to G-d.[8] Solomon’s Temple embodied the two principles implicit in the Binding of Isaac: man’s supreme commitment to G-d, and G-d’s unequivocal revelation of Himself to man.
The Beit Hamikdash was the center of the universe in all that regards man’s service of G-d. Here was the altar on which were brought the daily and seasonal offerings in which every individual was a partner. Here the farmer brought the first fruits to ripen in his orchard[9] and the shepherd brought the first-born of his flocks.[10] If a person had a sin to atone for, a personal salvation to be thankful for, a vow to fulfill, or the simple desire to contribute something of his heart and fortune to the Almighty, he came to the Beit Hamikdash. Today, when prayer has taken the place of the offerings, the Beit Hamikdash remains the “gate of heaven”[11] toward which we thrice daily direct our lips and hearts.
The Beit Hamikdash was also the center of the universe in all that regards the revelation of G-dliness in our world. Following the akeidah, Abraham named Mount Moriah Har Hashem Yeira’eh (“The Mountain on which G-d Shall Reveal Himself”),[12] and from the Temple that Solomon built on the site “the divine light emanated to the entire world.”[13] This was G-d’s “home,” the place where He chose to house His manifest presence in the physical world.[14] Ten regularly occurring daily miracles attested to its divinity,[15] and three times a year the entire nation made a pilgrimage to Mount Moriah to “see and be seen by the face of the L-rd.”[16] At the heart of the Beit Hamikdash was the “Holy of Holies,” the chamber that housed the “ark of testament” containing the divine communication to man;[17] a place so suffused with the holiness of G-d that it was “spaceless space”—not physical, not metaphysical, but neither and both in one,[18] reflecting G-d’s simultaneous transcendence of, and immanence within, the physical reality.
The Beit Hamikdash had two primary components, the altar and the ark, each the axis of one of the Tenple’s two elementary functions. The altar was the heart of the Temple’s definition as “a chosen house in which to serve G-d” and “a house for G-d in which to offer the korbonot(sacrifices).”[19] The ark, which was the sole object in the Holy of Holies, defined the Beit Hamikdash as “the dwelling place of the divine presence,” and “the place from which He spoke to Moses[20] and commanded the children of Israel.”[21] Here was the akeidah incarnate in gold and stone.
Object and Actor
In his discussion of the laws pertaining to the construction of the Beit Hamikdash, Maimonides twice repeats the fact that the altar in the Holy Temple stood in the exact spot on which the akeidah took place.
In his Mishneh Torah (Laws of the Holy Temple, 2:1) Maimonides writes: “The location of the altar is very exactly defined, and is never to be changed… Isaac was bound on [the site of] the Holy Temple.” The following halachah (ibid. 2:2) reads: “It is a commonly-held tradition that the place where David and Solomon[22] built the altar [of the Holy Temple]… is the very place where Abraham built [his] altar and bound Isaac upon it…”
Maimonides’ codification of Torah law is known for its concise and exact language, which begs the question: Why does Maimonides repeat himself, and in two consecutive halachot at that? But upon closer examination we find a couple of significant differences between the two statements. In the first halachah, the akeidah is described in terms of the fact that “Isaac was bound”; in the second halachah, the emphasis is on Abraham’s deed—the specialty of the site being that it “is the very place where Abraham built [his] altar and bound Isaac upon it.” Another difference is that despite the fact that the first halachah begins by speaking of the location of the altar, it concludes with the general statement that “Isaac was bound in the Holy Temple”[23]; only in the second halachah is specific mention made that the akeidah took place precisely where the Holy Temple’s altar was located.
These differences reflect the two distinct elements in the akeidah and Beit Hamikdash: their role as vehicles of divine revelation and as monuments of man’s commitment to G-d. The first halachah relates to the element of “divine revelation,” which is a product of the event of the akeidah—the fact that Isaac was bound as a offering to G-d; the second halachah alludes to the tremendous love and awe of G-d implicit in Abraham’s deed.[24] Thus, the revelation of G-dliness derives primarily from the object of the akeidah(Isaac), while the service of G-d it exemplifies derives from the actor of the akeidah (Abraham).
Accordingly, the first halachah relates not to the altar per se, which is the hub of the “divine service” dimension of the Temple, but to the altar as a component of the “other” Beit Hamikdash—the Temple as revealer of the divine, centered on the ark and the Holy of Holies. In the second halachah, it is significant that Abraham bound his son on the site of the future altar, destined to embody the human commitment in the relationship between man and G-d.
Based on the Rebbe’s talks on various occasions[25]
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[3]. Guide for the Perplexed, part III, ch. 24.
[4]. Thus Abraham’s demonstration of faith far exceeds that of Isaac, for the sacrifice asked of Abraham “has no compare, not in the giving up of wealth, nor in the giving up of [one’s own] life, but is the ultimate of all possible sacrifices; one cannot even conceive that human nature would acquiesce to such a thing” (ibid.).
[5]. It is said in the name of the Baal Shem Tov that the works of the Torah authorities of all generations up to, and including, the Maharsha, (1555-1631) were written with ruach hakodesh.
[6]. Sefer HaBahir, cited in Pardes, portal 22, ch. 4.
[8]. Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Holy Temple, 2:1-2 (see below).
[9]. Bikkurim (Deuteronomy 26:1-11).
[10]. Bechorot (ibid., 15:19-20).
[12]. Ibid., 22:14, as per Rashi (see note 16 below).
[13]. Jerusalem Talmud, Berachot 4:5. Thus while windows set in thick stone walls are built narrow on the outside and broad on the inside in order the maximize the amount of light coming into the room, the windows of the Holy Temple were constructed the other way around—narrow on the inside and broad on the outside—to express the idea that it is a source of luminescence to the world, rather than its recipient (Rashi, I Kings 6:4).
[14]. Exodus 25:8; I Kings 8:13; et al.
[15]. Ethics of the Fathers 5:5.
[16]. Exodus 23:17. According to the Talmud (Chagigah 2a), the word yud, resh, alef and heh in this verse is to be read both as yir’eh (see) andyeira’eh (be seen), as in Genesis 22:14, cited above. Indeed, the Talmud’s basis for this interpretation is the verse in Genesis (Yad Ramah on Talmud, Sanhedrin 4b), further emphasizing the correlation between the “revelation” of the akeidah and the “revelation” of the Temple (see also Kli Yakar on Genesis 22:14).
[18]. The Holy of Holies measured twenty cubits (approx. 30 feet) by twenty cubits. In its center stood the ark, also of a specified size (“two cubits and a half should be its length, a cubit and a half its breadth, and a cubit and a half its height”—Exodus 25:10). Nevertheless, the ark did not occupy any of the space of the chamber that housed it, so that the distance from each of the ark’s outer walls to the interior walls of the Holy of Holies was ten cubits. In the words of the Talmud (Yoma 21a), “The area of the Ark was not part of the measurement.” This was more than mere transcendence of the physical: the ark did possess physical area (indeed, its spatial dimensions were prescribed by law and integral to its status as a holy object), yet at the same time, it did not occupy any of the area of the Holy of Holies. Thus it demonstrated the truth that G-d simultaneously transcends and pervades the parameters of His creation.
[19]. Maimonides (Book of Mitzvot, positive mitzvah #20; Mishneh Torah,Laws of the Holy Temple, 1:1).
[20]. The ark held the two tablets on which G-d had inscribed the Ten Commandments, as well as a Torah scroll written by Moses. In the Mishkan(the temporary and portable forerunner of the Beit Hamikdash that served the people of Israel during their journey in the desert), Moses would hear the divine voice issuing from atop the ark (Exodus 25:22, et al).
[21]. Nachmanides’ commentary to Exodus 25:1.
The question as to which of these two aspects of the Beit Hamikdash is the more basic one is a subject of dispute between these two great sages: Maimonides emphasizes the altar and man’s service of G-d, while Nachmanides sees the ark and divine revelation as the more fundamental element.
[22]. King David dug the foundations of the altar.
[23]. In certain editions of Mishneh Torah there is a gloss that suggests that the word bamikdash (“In the Holy Temple”) should be amended to “in the place of the altar.” The Yaavetz, however, rejects this suggestion, maintaining “Rabbi Moses [Maimonides]’ wording is extremely exact” and that the author of this gloss “simply did not understand its meaning.”
[25]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXX, pp. 68-75; ibid., vol. XI, pp. 116-126.
Tags: commitment, sacrifice, akeidah, prophecy, love of G-d, awe of G-d, sacrifices and offerings
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April 8th, 2015
One of the great rabbis of the time once happened to engage Rabbi Nechemiah Ginzburg, a chassid of the Tzemach Tzedek (R’ Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch, 1789-1866), in a halachic discussion. The rabbi was amazed by Rabbi Nechemiah’s knowledge and genius, and even more amazed to learn that his conversant was an anonymous merchant from the town of Dubrovna. “I have met the greatest scholars of our time,” he exclaimed, “and I can personally attest that few of them are as knowledgeable and brilliant as yourself. How is it that your name is not known among the Torah scholars of our generation?”
“In our town,” replied Rabbi Nechemiah, “there is a man who deals in rare and precious books. Once he visited the home of a sage and was amazed by the wealth of books on the sage’s bookshelves. ‘How is it,’ he wondered, ‘that no one has ever heard of your library? People come from far and wide to examine my wares, but my entire collection is not a tenth of the size and value of yours!’
“You collect books to sell them to the world,’ replied the sage, ‘so all the world knows about them. My books are for myself.”
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: books, library, Nechemiah, Dubrovna, scholar, humility
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April 8th, 2015
And Abraham arose in the morning… and he took his two youths with him… and he went to the place that G-d had commanded him
Genesis 22:3
Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov points out that the Hebrew words shenei ne’arav (“his two youths”) can also be read shenei ne’urav (“the years of his youth”). Not only did Abraham rush to fulfill the divine will with speed and alacrity, he also brought all the energy, passion and commitment of his youth to the deed.
Tags: youth, energy, passion
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April 8th, 2015
At a chassidic gathering in 1941, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok of Lubavitch related an exchange he had with his father, Rabbi Sholom DovBer of Lubavitch, over fifty years earlier, when he was a child of ten:
When I entered my father’s room in the early morning of Shabbos Lech-Lecha[1] of 5651 [1891], I found him sitting at his table in very high spirits, reviewing the Torah reading of the week. Tears were streaming from his eyes. I was very confused, for I was unable to understand how the two – an elated mood and tears – came together; but I did not dare to ask him.
That evening, father noticed that I very much wanted to say something and encouraged me to speak my mind. So I asked him about what I had seen that morning.
Father explained: “Those were tears of joy.”
“Once, in the early years of his leadership,” he continued, “Our ancestor, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, told his chassidim: ‘One must live with the times.’ The younger chassidim asked their elders to explain the Rebbe’s statement, but they, too, had failed to grasp its significance. Finally, Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s brother, our [great-great-great] uncle Rabbi Yehudah Leib, explained what the Rebbe had meant: ‘One must live with the times’ means that one should ‘live with’ and experience, each day of one’s life, the Torah portion of the week and the specific section of the week’s portion which is connected to that day.
“The Rebbe’s chassidim,” explained father, “young and old alike, would study the daily section of the Chumash with Rashi’s commentary. The Rebbe was telling them: One must live with the times. One should not only learn the daily portion, but actually experience it in one’s own life.
“The portion of Bereishit,” continued father, “is a happy portion. G-d is creating universes and creatures and is satisfied that ‘it is good.’ Its ending, however, [which describes the corruption of humanity and G-d’s ‘regret’ at its creation] is not so pleasant. Still in all, it is generally a happy Torah portion and in all Jewish communities there is joy and delight – we have begun the Torah anew. With the next week’s reading, Noah, comes the Flood. It is a depressing week, but with a happy ending – Abraham our father is born. “But the truly joyous week,” father concluded, explaining his mood that morning “is Lech-Lecha. Every day of the week we live with Abraham Our Father. Together with Abraham, the first to sacrifice himself to bring G-dliness to the world. Together with Abraham, who bequeathed his self-sacrifice for Torah and mitzvos as an inheritance to each and every Jew.”
Reading the above description of the first three Torah sections, Bereishit, Noah and Lech Lecha, an obvious question comes to mind: indeed, why are these weekly readings so divided? Why mar the “happy portion” of Bereishit with its depressing ending, especially since these last few verses (Genesis 6:1-8) actually begin the story of the Flood, the central theme of the next week’s reading? A similar thing happens at the end of Noah: after a detailed description of Noah’s life and the events of the Flood and the Tower of Babel, the portion concludes with a brief account of the birth and early life of Abraham, whose life is to fill, with rich detail, the next three Torah portions (Lech Lecha, Veyeirah and Chayei Sara).
Surely, a far more natural division would have been for Noah to begin with the final eight verses of Bereishit, and for Lech Lecha to open with Abraham’s birth, a scant seven verses before the end of Noah!
A World Made of Days
Six days, G-d created the heavens and the earth
(Exodus 31:17).
The Zohar (1:247a) points out that the above verse does not say that G-d created the world in six days, but that “six days, G-d created the heavens and the earth.” For the six days of creation are more than the time-span in which G-d created the world; they are creation, the six elements of which all existence is comprised. These six “days,” explains the Zohar, are the six middot or Divine attributes which the Creator invested in His work. In other words, they represent the various ways in which G-d chooses to relate to the world, and it is these relationships themselves that form the soul and essence of the created reality.
While the six middot are the spiritual ingredients of each and every created thing, a different one of them dominated in each day’s creation: light, created on the first day, is an incarnation of the attribute of chessed, “giving” or “bestowal”; the second day’s creation, the “firmament” which establishes the division between the spiritual and the physical, is a product of gevurah, “severity” or “restraint”; the creations of the third day are paradigms of tifferet, “harmony,” and so on. On a broader level, these six “days” are reflected in the six millennia of our present-day existence.[2] Thus, the first thousand years of the world’s existence were characterized by a giving and charitable relationship on the part of G-d toward His creation, in the second millennium the severity and exactness of gevurah dominated, and so on.
Three Teachers
The first Torah reading, Bereishit, describes the first millennium of human history. Noah deals with its second millennium: the Flood (in the year 1656 from creation), the breakup of mankind into nations in the aftermath of the Tower of Babel (1996 from creation), the birth (1948) and early years of Abraham. Lech Lecha opens with G-d’s call to Abraham – “Go to you, from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s home, to the land which I shall show you.” Abraham was 75 years old at the time; the year: 2023 from creation. Lech Lecha thus begins the story of the third millennium, a story that continues through the rest of the Chumash: the lives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, founding fathers of the Jewish people; the descent into Egypt and the Exodus; and the highlight of the millennium, the revelation at Sinai and G-d’s communication of His Torah to man. The difference between these three eras can best be understood via the model of the relationship between a teacher and a student.
A great master wishes to impart of his wisdom to his vastly inferior pupil. One approach would be to explain the idea to the pupil: if the teacher is wise enough, patient enough, and resourceful enough, he will find the words and illustrations by which to convey even the loftiest of concepts to the most mediocre of minds.
Another approach would be for the master to teach the pupil how to solve the problem. He will withhold the knowledge from his student and confine himself to providing him with the guidance and methodology as to how he, the student, can apply his own reasoning – no matter how tempting it may be to simply provide him with the answer. He will force the student to struggle and blunder on his own, compelling him to use his own limited faculties to arrive at his own insights – however meager they may be when compared to what he, the teacher, can give him.
Each of these two approaches has its advantages and shortcomings. In the case of the first approach, the student benefits from a level of understanding that is greatly superior to anything he is capable of attaining on his own. But such intellectual charity does little to develop the mind of the pupil. The pupil has gained only the specific concept that has been inserted into his brain; on his own, he could never repeat the exercise, never apply the basis, the reasoning and the process by which this idea was arrived at to another problem.
With the second approach, the master has a more meaningful effect on his pupil. His restraint pays off: by refusing to reveal anything which lies beyond the student’s intellectual range, by insisting that the student earn his every insight with his own mind’s toil, the teacher unearths his student’s true abilities, bringing to light potential powers which would never have been realized under the tutelage of a more benevolent master. On the other hand, however, the highest potentials of the pupil fall far short of the master’s; whatever understanding the student can attain on his own will always be but a shallow fraction of what the teacher could confer upon him as an “underserved” gift. There is, however, a third approach which combines the virtues of the first two. A truly great teacher can do more – more than communicate his superior wisdom to his pupil, more than develop the potential of his pupil’s lesser mind. A truly great teacher can change the mind of his pupil, stimulate it to overreach itself and make more of itself than it is. He can, by employing a combination of both the above approaches, feed the student’s mind with successively more profound ideas – ideas which will, in turn, nourish it and expand it from within. Ultimately, with his unique blend of benevolence and demanding exactness, he can elevate his pupil’s mind to the level of his own – at which point it will fully grasp and assimilate the most sublime thoughts its teacher has to offer.
Benevolence, Severity…
For the first thousand years of history G-d was a benevolent teacher who indulges the shortcomings of his pupil. Life was a free lunch. Righteous and wicked alike enjoyed long and prosperous lives. In a sense, this era was an extension of the original nature of creation: obviously, the world did not “deserve” to be created – its creation was an act of pure charity on the part of G-d, who gave it existence, purpose, and the potential for deservingness. Likewise, in the first millennia G-d gave indiscriminately, in order to provide humanity with the basis upon which to build and develop the world He had entrusted to their care. Then, after a thousand years of unilateral bestowal, the era of chessed closed.
In the second millennium G-d challenged man to make it on his own. On the surface, it was a harsh, even tragic, era, for everything, including life itself, was earned solely by merit. At one point, there were only eight deserving human beings. But this uncompromising severity on the part of G-d is what allowed the world to develop from within. To become a vital, productive world, a world whose deeds have consequence and significance, instead of a world that is the passive recipient of Divine charity. This was the era in which Noah and his descendents struggled (and often blundered) about, building a new self-made world on the foundation of the old bequeathed one. Thus, the closing verses of Bereishit describe not the beginning of the age of severity, but the closing years of the age of benevolence. They describe a morally immature world, a world in which all blessing, material or spiritual, is taken for granted. Indeed, it is the natural end of an era in which responsibility is neither assumed nor exacted, in which man has yet to be weaned from the apron-strings of creation.
…and Harmony
The final generation of the second millennium yielded Abraham, the ultimate spiritually self-made-man: the son of a Mesopotamian idol-maker, he came to recognize the truth of a One G-d with nothing but the majesty of the universe and his own inquisitive mind to go on. Single-handedly, he battled the entrenched paganism of his native land and won over a large following to the monotheistic faith and ethos he espoused. So Abraham – or rather the Abram of his first 75 years – is very much a part of the Noah era – indeed, he represents its culmination and redeeming element. If there is a single point to Abraham’s early years it is that yes, man can make it on his own.
But then came the Divine call: “Lech Lecha! Go to you… that I will show you!” After attaining the utmost in human potential, go on. Go on, to the place which I will show you, to a Divine you which I will show you how to attain.
In Abraham’s 75th year, a new era opened – the era of Torah. The era of tifferet, of the harmony and synthesis of the Divinely bestowed and humanly earned. The era in which G-d is to communicate to man His wisdom and will, enclothed in the garments of human reason and human endeavor. The era in which the Almighty is to breach the barrier between the G-dly and the terrestrial, allowing a Divine gift to become a human achievement, and a human effort to touch the Divine.
Based on an address by the Rebbe on Shabbos Noach of 1963.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
[1] The Shabbat on which the Torah section Lech Lecha (Gen. 12-17) is read.
[2] A 7th millennium, the age of Moshiach, will follow the 6,000 years of contemporary history, corresponding to the 7th element of creation – the Divine attribute of malchut, embodied in the tranquility and perfection of Shabbat.
Tags: teaching, divine benevolence, divine severity
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Biblical, Soul & Mystical, Abraham, Religion, Lech-Lecha, Modern, Torah Personalities, Social, Spiritual, Rebbe Rashab, Rebbe Rayatz, Education | No Comments »
April 8th, 2015
A man once came to Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov with a question: “The Talmud tells us that one is to ‘bless G-d for the bad just as he blesses Him for the good.’ How is this humanly possible? Had our sages said that one must accept without complaint or bitterness whatever is ordained from Heaven – this I can understand. I can even accept that, ultimately, everything is for the good, and that we are to bless and thank G-d also for the seemingly negative developments in our lives. But how can a human being possibly react to what he experiences as bad in exactly the same way he responds to the perceptibly good? How can a person be as grateful for his troubles as he is for his joys?”
The Baal Shem Tov replied: “To find an answer to your question, you must go see my disciple, Reb Zusha of Anipoli. Only he can help you in this matter.”
Reb Zusha received his guest warmly, and invited him to make himself at home. The visitor decided to observe Reb Zusha’s conduct before posing his question, and before long concluded that his host truly exemplified the talmudic dictum which so puzzled him. He couldn’t think of anyone who suffered more hardship in his life than did Reb Zusha. A frightful pauper, there was never enough to eat in Reb Zusha’s home, and his family was beset with all sorts of afflictions and illnesses. Yet the man was forever good-humored and cheerful, and constantly expressing his gratitude to the Almighty for all His kindness.
But what was is his secret? How does he do it? The visitor finally decided to pose his question.
So one day, he said to his host: “I wish to ask you something. In fact, this is the purpose of my visit to you – our Rebbe advised me that you can provide me with the answer.”
“What is your question?” asked Reb Zusha.
The visitor repeated what he had asked of the Baal Shem Tov. “You know,” said Reb Zusha, “come to think of it, you raise a good point. But why did the Rebbe send you to me? How would I know? He should have sent you to someone who has experienced suffering…”
Told by the Rebbe, Tammuz 26 5722 (July 29 1962).
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
Tags: happiness, Baal Shem Tov, Chassidic stories, Reb Zusha of Anipoli, appreciation, content
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Baal Shem Tov, Bereishit, Noah, Faith, Beliefs & Concepts, Modern, Personal Life, Torah Personalities, Torah, Business, Work & Money, Pain & Suffering | No Comments »
April 8th, 2015
[Abraham] established an eshel (wayside inn) at Be’er Sheva; and he called there in the name of G-d, L-rd of the world
Genesis 21:33
The Talmud explains that in addition to providing hospitality to desert wayfarers, Abraham’s inn also served as a center for bringing the truth of the One G-d to a pagan world. When Abraham’s guests wished to bless him for his generosity, he would say to them: “Has the food you have eaten been provided by myself? You should thank, praise and bless He who spoke the world into being!”[19]
For those who nevertheless resisted acknowledging G-d as their creator and provider, Abraham employed a less amiable tactic. The Midrash relates how Abraham would then demand payment for the food they had eaten. “How much do I owe you?” the guest would ask. “A jug of wine is one fulrin,” Abraham would say; “a pound of meat, one fulrin; a loaf of bread, one fulrin.” When the guest would protest these exorbitant prices, Abraham would counter: “Who supplies you with wine in the middle of the desert? Who supplies you with meat in the desert? Who supplies you with bread in the desert?” “When the guest would realize the predicament he was in,” the Midrash concludes, he would relent and proclaim: “Blessed be the G-d of the world, from Whose providence we have eaten.”[20]
But what value, we might ask, was there in such a unwilling proclamation, extracted under pressure? Was this not a mere mouthing of words, devoid of any conviction as to the truth of the One G-d or any desire to thank Him for His providence?
But Abraham had a vision of humanity which convinced him that every positive deed, word or thought does have value, no matter how “superficial” or “hypocritical” it might seem to a less discerning eye. When Abraham looked at his guests, he did not see pagans, idolaters and fetishists who “worshipped the dust of their feet”[21]; he saw creatures of G-d, men and women who had been created in the divine image and who possessed a potential, inherent to the very essence of their being, to recognize their Creator and serve His will.
Most often, a kind word and a helping hand will bring to light this inner potential. At times, however, a soul might be so encrusted by negative influences and a corrupted character that a certain degree of “pressure” must be applied to quell its resistance to a G-dly deed. (Of course, any use of such “pressure” must conform to the dictates of G-d’s Torah, whose “ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its pathways are peace”[22]—as in the case of Abraham’s fully legitimate demand for payment.)
Abraham understood that no human acknowledgment of G-d can ever be “hypocritical.” On the contrary: a pagan belief and behavior is the ultimate hypocrisy, for it is at variance with the person’s quintessential being and innermost will. When a creature of G-d proclaims “Blessed be the G-d of the world from Whose providence we have eaten,” nothing can be more consistent with his or her innermost self.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Sivan 2, 5730 (June 6, 1970).[23]
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[19]. Talmud, Sotah 10a-b.
[20]. Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 49:4; cited in Tosefot Shantz on Talmud, ibid.
[21]. See Rashi on Genesis 18:4.
[23]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XV, pp. 122-128.
Tags: true self, belief, inner self
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