Making an Eiruv to Allow Carrying

March 30th, 2015

By the Grace of G-d

Chol Hamoed Pesach, 5724

Brooklyn, N.Y.

Rabbi [name redacted],

New York, N.Y.

As you will surely recall, the matter was raised a few years ago, when I expressed my position, which has not changed. However, since I do not know if you are fully informed of it, I will reiterate the main points of my viewpoint relative to this matter.

Firstly, as a matter of principle, my opinion is that where according the din an eiruv can be instituted , it should be instituted. This is based on the opinion of many poskim, including  that of Admor HaZaken in his Shulchan Aruch.

Secondly, special consideration has to be given to the state of affairs and attitudes in respect of the observance of the mitzvos in the present day and age, which has a particular bearing on the problem under discussion. I have in mind the precaution which such an eiruv calls for under the best of circumstances , and certainly here and now, against the possibility of the eiruv becoming possul in the olden days, when there was a close contact between the Jewish community (“the man in the street”) and the Beth Din or Rav, the invalidation of the eiruv  and the consequent resumption of the pre-eiruv state of the prohibition of carrying on Shabbos, could be fairly easily communicated to the “man in the street” and no harm was done. Nowadays, unfortunately the position is different. While the institution of the eiruv would quickly become common knowledge, not only through various media of communication, but also by word of mouth, the suspension and temporary rescinding of it in case of its invalidation, would only reach those who are in contact with the Rabbinical authorities, or who attend the synagogue regularly, whereas many would remain in ignorance of the changed situation. Moreover, many of those who might get into the habit of carrying on Shabbos on the strength of the eiruv, might not so readily discontinue to do so even if they became aware of the breakdown in the eiruv; and this contingency is particularly to be considered in relation to the Jewish youth in this country.

In view of the above, it is an absolute necessity, in my opinion, that the eiruv, if one is feasible at all according to din, should be carried out in the utmost secrecy. This means that the purpose of the eiruv would be not to enable a Jew to carry his tallis to shul on Shabbos, but only to relieve those who already transgress the Shabbos by carrying things, from doing so b’issur.

Thirdly, and this too is an essential point in my position. The opinion expressed in the first conditional paragraph, namely, that where an eiruv is permissible according to the din it should be instituted, is based of course on the general principle indicated above. However, it expresses no opinion regarding any particular place, such as Manhattan in this case, as to whether or not it indeed qualifies for an eiruv   according to the din. This is a matter to be decided by the Rabbinical authorities who have thoroughly investigated the pertinent details in full accord with the Hilchot Eiruvin.

Fourthly, assuming that it be agreed that the eiruv should be instituted without publicity, as above, the question may be asked whether it would be warranted to follow the more lenient view of some poskim regarding the qualifications of the place, in order to remove the transgression of those who carry in any case (inasmuch as the eiruv would not be intended to induce the Shabbos observer to carry on Shabbos). However, this would not be right, in my opinion, for two important reasons: a) a Rov, or Rabbinical authority, should always act only in strict adherence to the Shulchan Aruchin in every detail, and b) it is inevitable that the existence of an eiruv should not become known to limited circles, with the result that some individuals would be tempted to accept it on its face value, especially in this country  where there is a strong tendency to find hetterim and make religious observance more “convenient.” Hence, it is my considered opinion that not only should the eiruv be done in the utmost secrecy, but that it should be done only if the place strictly qualifies for it in accordance with the din.

I take this opportunity to extend to you and yours my prayerful wishes for a continued kosher and happy Pesach.

With blessing,

(by reason of Chol HaMoed, this letter is left unsigned)

Tags: halacha, Jewish law, Shabbat
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From Bondage to Servitude

March 30th, 2015

By Chaya Shuchat

On Passover, we celebrate our freedom from Egyptian bondage. The Jewish people, enslaved under the mastership of Pharaoh for two hundred and ten years, left Egypt to finally become their own masters. Well, not quite! It would appear that the Jewish people left Egyptian slavery to accept upon themselves a different type of servitude. Moses was instructed: “When you take the people out of Egypt, you will worship G-d on this mountain”[1]. Would the Jewish people ever achieve total independence? Or would they forever be bound to an overseer, human or divine, defining and restricting their every movement and decision?

The redemption of the Jewish people from Egypt marks the birth of the Jewish nation[2]. However, it was not a birth only in the historical sense. Upon leaving Egypt, the Jews underwent a profound transformation, one that changed their very essence. During the Egyptian exile, the Jews, crushed under the burden of slavery, had gradually absorbed the spiritual coarseness of their Egyptian neighbors and masters. At the time of the Exodus, the Jews had sunk to the 49^th (of 50) levels of impurity. Yet a mere seven weeks later they accepted the Torah at Mount Sinai and became identified as a Holy Nation, a Torah nation whose entire existence was permeated with G-dliness. In order to accomplish this major shift, it was necessary for the Jewish people to completely annul their previous existence and then recreate themselves in a totally new form. This metamorphosis was effected by a three-step process involving self-nullification, followed by integration and finally transcendence.

To understand how this three-step process works, it is useful to consider the analogy of a student undertaking the adoption of a discipline radically different from, and opposed to, any previously encountered or experienced by him. At the outset, the pupil does not possess the tools to master the discipline on his own accord.  He must find himself a teacher and prepare himself to receive the teacher’s guidance and direction. Were he to approach the teacher with his previous conceptions intact, he would be unable to absorb the new concepts being relayed to him. Rather, he needs to clear his mind of its previous paradigm and allow this radically new thought-system to penetrate.

Yet once the new idea has taken root in his mind, the student must use his own tools of intellect and reason in order to fully integrate the new philosophy into his own thinking.  The ultimate goal of the student is to make the teaching a part of himself, and to attain a mastery of it to the same degree as his teacher. Initially, the master’s level of understanding seems far beyond the student’s. Yet with effort, the student can transcend the limitations of his own intellect and reach a level that previously seemed unattainable.

Upon their exodus from Egypt, the Jewish people were not merely absorbing a new teaching, they were redefining their very existence. These three steps, of self-nullification, followed by integration and finally transcendence, allowed them to shake the confining role that Egyptian slavery had imposed upon them and to adapt to their new role as G-d’s Holy Nation.

Self Nullification

The first step was undertaken when, as soon as they left Egypt, the Jewish people chose to subjugate themselves to G-d. This type of self-abnegation was necessary for them in order to erase the unholiness they had imbibed in Egypt, where many of the Jews had absorbed the idolatrous customs of their Egyptian masters. In order to be fit to receive the Torah, they needed to rid themselves of their previous existence, which was in direct opposition to the Torah. Thus, their first step was to bond with G-d unequivocally, through submitting to His Will with a sense of selflessness and complete trust. They pledged their acceptance of the Torah with the words “NaaseH veNishma”[3]: “We will do, and then we will understand.” Their primary response, “We will do,” was a pledge to unquestionably carry out G-d’s Will.

In Egypt, they were subservient to Pharaoh. In the desert, they would subjugate themselves to G-d.  On the surface, they were exchanging one form of servitude for another. But there is a profound difference between subjugation to a human master and submission to G-d. A human master is himself subject to the limitations of his own character and influence. G-d has no limitations, and thus, submission to Him is the first step toward overcoming one’s own human limitations.

Integration

At the same time, the purpose of service to G-d is not just to break our character and strip us of our identity. The aim is to fully integrate the Torah into our own personalities, as the Talmudic Sages state[4]: “There is no free person, but one who studies the Torah.” The more we grow in understanding of Torah, the more it becomes part and parcel of who we really are. The true nature of a Jew is defined by his soul, whose desires and needs are in perfect congruence with the demands of the Torah. A lifestyle outside the boundaries of the Torah may on the surface appear to be more “free,” but internally, in order to feel truly comfortable and liberated, the Jew’s soul needs the structure and discipline of a Torah lifestyle.

Transcendence

After these two steps of self-nullification and integration were complete, the Jewish nation was ready for its final transformation. Through receiving the Torah, the Jewish people completely transcended their previous existence. Before, they worshiped G-d as human beings attempting to bridge an unattainable gap between Creator and created, Divine and human. At Mount Sinai, G-d removed this final barrier[5]. The Jewish people became truly free of their human limitations, and made the full leap of uniting with G-d, without any obstructions whatsoever.

These three stages are reflected in the three names of Passover. The Torah refers to it as “Chag HaMatzot[6]– the festival of Matzot”. In the festival prayers, the festival is called “Zeman Cheiruteinu – the Season of Our Freedom.” The most commonly used title, though, is Pesach, or Passover, a reference to G-d leaping over the Jewish homes and saving them from the plague of the firstborn.

In the Torah, a name is not merely a reference used for the purpose of identification.  Rather, a name actually describes an object’s inherent characteristics. Each of the three names of Passover reflects on a different element of the festival’s inner meaning. Each name indicates a phase that the Jewish people passed through on their way to achieving complete independence and spiritual elevation. Matza, the flat, tasteless cracker, is the symbol of self-negation. “The Festival of Freedom” refers to the process of integration, as we come to appreciate that our servitude to G-d is not a denial or repression of our personality, but its consummate expression. This yields a feeling of profound liberty and pleasure in our divine service. The final step is “Passover,” the transcendence of human limitations to become one with the Divine.

It seems paradoxical that the path towards greater self-fulfillment and satisfaction begins with matza, representing self-negation. How can setting aside our own reason lead to greater wisdom? Can subjugating our passions and desires yield a feeling of freedom and liberty? The Torah teaches that every Jew is inherently righteous. Torah lifestyle does not demand any “breaking” of human nature; rather, it seamlessly blends with the innate desires of the Jewish soul. The ultimate freedom is when we follow G-d’s demands but no longer feel subservient. “Passover” indicates such transcendence – a leap beyond our human limitations so that the G-dly directives feel inherently right and proper: a leap that allows our G-dly soul to transcend our human fallibilities.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Acharon Shel Pesach, 5737 (1977)[7]             

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Tags: boundaries, freedom, soul, Jewish law, Divine service, transcendence
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On the Essence of the Ethics

March 30th, 2015

Rabbi [Judah Hanassi] would say:  Which is the correct path for man to choose?  Whatever is harmonious for the one who does it, and harmonious for mankind.
Ethics of the Fathers 2:1

At first glance, the above statement appears to go against the grain of the rest of the Ethics, and indeed, the essence of Judaism itself.

The very basis of the Jewish faith is that the Torah is G-d’s blueprint for existence. In the words of the Midrash Rabba, “An architect who builds a palace does not do so on his own: he has scrolls and notebooks which he consults how to place the rooms, where to set the doors. So it was with G-d: He looked into the Torah and created the world” (Bereishis Rabba 1:2).  Furthermore, when man orders his life according to the Torah, he is doing much more than following some helpful hints from the manufacturer; as the Talmud puts it, he is serving as “G-d’s partner in creation.” For the world that G-d created in the initial “six days of creation” represents not the completion of His works, but the installation of the raw materials of which man is to develop the finished product.  At Sinai, the architect delivered his plans to his contractors: G-d communicated the Torah to man, imparting His vision of reality to those whom He had charged to implement it in his creation.

Thus, one who refers to the “way things are” in his own nature, in society, or in the world at large for guidance as to how to live his life, is akin to the worker who consults the original state of his materials rather than the architect’s plan. “The blueprint calls for a square plank,” he muses, “but the log I have is round.  Perhaps we can edit the plans a little?” Why labor to change the world, if we can conform our moral vision to reflect it? To the Jew, the “correct path for man to choose” is determined by the Divine revelation at Sinai, not by what one is comfortable with or what goes down well in the prevailing moral climate. To be a partner in creation means that one must, at times, contest the opinion polls as well as his own nature. Thus the Ethics of the Fathers, the Talmud’s summarization of the Jew’s moral philosophy, opens with the words “Moses received the Torah at Sinai”: morality, for the Jew, is not product of man’s subjective thinking but of Divine revelation. And yet, the second chapter of the Ethics begins with the saying “Which is the correct path for man to choose?  Whatever is harmonious for the one who does it, and harmonious for mankind…”!

Within The Line

The Talmud, which is a detailed anthology of the entire body of Torah law, is comprised of sixty-three tractates. Sixty-two of them deal with the do’s and don’ts of life: laws which tell the Jew how to pray and how to study; how to marry and how to divorce; how to observe the Shabbat and the festivals; how and what to eat and how to bury his dead; how to punish criminals and how to conduct his business. The single exception is the Ethics of the Fathers, which discusses not the law (din) but the area defined as lifnim mishuras ha-din – that which is “within the line of the law.” “One who wishes to be a chassid (pious individual),” says the Talmud, “should study the Ethics of the Fathers.”

What does it mean to act “within the line of the law”? On the most basic level, it means going beyond the law’s minimum requirements. If the laws of charity mandate that one set aside 10% of his earnings for the needy, the “pious individual” gives more. He has stricter standards of kashrut, dons a higher quality pair of teffilin, and devotes more time to Torah study than the laws of the Torah require of him.

On a deeper level, the chassid is one who goes “within” the parameters of the law in the literal sense: he strives to perfect not only the externalities of his behavior but also his more internal self, his mind-set and character. The “letter” of Torah law deals primarily with the conduct, rather than the nature, of man. There is no law which obligates us to be of a generous disposition – only that we actually share our resources with the needy. Nowhere does the Torah demand of us to be revolted by the taste of pork – only that we refrain from eating it. The practitioner of the Ethics, however, is one who does not suffice with making his behavior conform to the Torah’s directives; he insists that all of him, his thoughts, his feelings – all the way to the very essence of his outlook and character – be permeated with the vision contained in the Divine blueprint for creation.[1]

Chapter II

Obviously, this represents a more advanced phase the effort to realize one’s partnership in G-d’s creation. His first objective must be to actually fulfill the directives of the Torah.  For man to seek to transform his nature without having first disciplined his behavior is as futile an endeavor as the attempt to train an unbridled horse or to draw energy from an undammed river.  First, the “animal” in man must be reined in and controlled; only then can it be refined and sublimated.

Both these stages were present in the manner in which we accepted the Torah at Sinai.  When Moses first told the people of Israel of G-d’s intention to give them the Torah, “the entire nation answered together, and said: ‘All that G-d has spoken, we will do’” (Exodus 19:8). Several days later, after a period of intense preparations for the great revelation at Sinai, the people reiterated their commitment to enter into their covenant with the Almighty. This time they said “All that G-d has spoken, we will do and we will comprehend” (Exodus 24:7). The foundation of the partnership between man and G-d must be an unequivocal “we will do” on the part of man. Only then can he proceed to internalize what is already ingrained in his behavior, transforming the most basic drives of his soul so that G-d’s will is not only what he does but also what he desires to do with every fiber of his being.

Thus, the first chapter of the Ethics begins with the words “Moses received the Torah from Sinai.” Not “discovered,” not “chose” nor “learned,” but “received” – the basis of Torah, including its “within the line of the law” element, is the acceptance of and commitment to the Divine plan for life on earth. Chapter two, however, opens with a second, deeper realization of G-d’s purpose in creation: that man himself choose the correct path. That his fulfillment of the Torah’s commandment be not only an act of submission to the Divine will, but something that is harmoniously consistent with his nature. In the words of Rabbi Judah Hanassi’s son, Rabbon Gamliel, quoted immediately following his father’s words, “make that your will shall be as His will.”

But one is not to suffice with the transformation of self: he must seek to influence his surroundings, so that the very conscious and character of society comes to embody the Divine ideal. When the “correct path” of Torah is not only “harmonious for the one who does it” but also “harmonious for mankind,” G-d and man’s “joint project” of creation is complete.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Tazriah-Metzora 5748 (April 23, 1988)

Excerpt from new book: Beyond the Letter of the Law: A Chassidic Companion to Pirkei Avot (the Ethics of the Fathers)

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Tags: Mt. Sinai, transformation, commandments, Talmud, Jewish law, creation
Posted in Months & Holidays, Chapter Two, Pirkei Avos, Ethics of Our Fathers, Torah, Nisan | 1 Comment »

Undervaluing Torah Education

March 30th, 2015

By the Grace of G-d
16th of Teves, 5727
Brooklyn, N.Y.

Mr. [name redacted],
New York, N.Y. 10017

Greeting and Blessing:

Thank you for your thoughtfulness in sending me a copy of …………. in which your letter was published, and which contained also some of my views on the question of college attendance.

May I suggest that while your letter is good as far as it goes, it does not emphasize sufficiently the role of Jewish parents in this program, which is mentioned only in passing. Since you have to do with Jewish youth, including of course your own children, surely you know that it is usually the parents who are pushing their children towards secular college education. Ostensibly the idea is to give the impression that the main reason for it is an economic one, that is in order to provide a source of livelihood for them, and perhaps some parents actually delude themselves in believing that their children could not get on in the world without a college degree. However, the fact that a substantial percentage of parents press their children towards college education not for economic reasons, but in the mistaken belief that it is essential to human perfection, as if one could not be a perfectly good man, or a good Jew, without a college education. Indeed there are parents (and I am talking about orthodox parents) who admit this openly, saying that the study of the Torah is only one of the 613 mitzvos, and there are mitzvos which some Jews observe with hiddur, and the learning of Torah is one of them. But when it comes to their son or daughter, they wish to see their children attain the highest spiritual advancement which, they think, is conditioned upon higher secular education. This unfortunate tendency has become almost a “normal” attitude even in Yeshivos and Day Schools, where the main emphasis is often placed on the secular department, and it is expressed in many ways, such as special recognition of achievement in secular studies, etc., whereas achievement in Gemoro and other Hebrew subjects merely merit a pat on the back, and sometimes not even that. It is therefore not surprising that when a Jewish boy graduates from high school, he receives gifts and acclaim, whereas his mastering of several Mesichtos goes by unnoticed by his parents, unless there is a Zeida in the family who could take pride in such achievement.

Needless to say, this tendency is reflected also in the comparative salaries of Hebrew and secular teachers, their general standing in the community, etc., as I pointed out elsewhere.

This is one of the basic ills of our Jewish community which has to be recognized and treated until cured.

With blessing,

Image: “Writing a letter in the Sefer Torah” by: Steven DuBois [CC BY-SA 2.0 ]

Tags: teaching, Torah, education, parenting
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The Last Jew

March 29th, 2015

On the seventh day of Cheshvan, fifteen days after the conclusion of the festival [of Sukkot], one begins to pray for rain. This is to allow the very last Jew to reach the Euphrates River.

Talmud, Taanit 10a

In many Chassidic communities, it was the custom that at the conclusion of the Tishrei festival season, the gabbai of the synagogue would ascend to the podium, pound on the table and, citing Genesis 32:2, announce: “And Jacob went on his way!”

When the Holy Temple stood in Jerusalem, the festival of Sukkot (Tishrei 15-21) was a time of pilgrimage for all Jews, when all came to “see and be seen” at the Temple,¹the seat of G-d’s manifest presence in the physical world. In the days following the festival, the caravans would stream from the holy city and make the long (physically for some, spiritually for all) trek back to plow and pruning hook, back to field, vineyard and orchard. The end of the first week of the month of Cheshvan found the people of Israel once more “each under his grapevine, each under his fig tree.”²

Today, too, Cheshvan marks the end of a period of spiritual focus and a return to the demands of material life. During the month of Elul and the “Days of Awe” that open the month of Tishrei, we occupied ourselves with “repentance, prayer, and charity,” striving to improve our relationships with our Creator and with our fellows. Immediately following came Sukkot, the festival of unity and joy, and Simchat Torah, when we celebrated our unique bond with the Almighty by rejoicing with the Torah. Cheshvan is the month in which we return to our pedestrian involvements after many weeks in which the spiritual was at the forefront of our lives. Indeed, the only “distinguishing feature” of this month is the fact that it is the only month on the Jewish calendar that does not have a single festival or special day.

In truth, however, the month of Cheshvan, by virtue of its ordinariness, represents the very purpose of life on earth. For the Jew does not live only for the spiritual experiences of the festivals, merely “tolerating” the stretches of ordinary days and weeks in between; on the contrary—the holy days which dot our year exist for the sake of the so-called “mundane” days of our lives.

High and Low

“G-d desired a dwelling place in the lower realms.” With these words our sages describe the divine purpose in creation.³

What are the “lower realms”? It is common to refer to the spiritual as “higher” than the material, and to the physical universe as the “lowest” of G-d’s creations. But are these designations truly justified? After all, G-d not only created all spiritual and physical entities but also the very concepts of “spirituality” and “physicality.” He transcends both realms equally and, at the same time, is equally present in both, for His all-embracing truth knows no limit or categorization. So why should the spiritual be deemed loftier than the physical?

To understand why the physical is indeed “lower” than the spiritual, we must first examine the meaning of the term olam, the Hebrew word for “world.” Olam means “concealment.” A “world” is a framework or context within which things exist; and in order for anything to exist, a concealment must first take place.

The reason for this is that the basic (and only) law of existence is that “there is none else besides Him”⁴ that G-d is the only true existence and that nothing exists outside of His all-pervading reality. In order for anything else to possess even the slightest semblance of somethingness or selfhood, this truth must be veiled and obscured. Hence G-d’s creation of “worlds”—concealments within which things may exist distinct and apart (at least in their own conception) from the all-nullifying reality of G-d.

G-d created both “higher” spiritual creations and “lower” physical ones. The difference between them lies not in their essential closeness to or separateness from G-d, but in the degree of the concealment their “worlds” provide. A lesser concealment may allow for things to “exist,” but these existences will be conscious of their Creator and utterly subservient to Him, acknowledging their total dependence upon Him. In this there are many gradations and degrees—the greater the concealment in any given world, the more of a “self” the creations of that world will possess.

In this sense, the physical world is the lowest world of all. So great is the physical world’s concealment of G-dliness, that the selfhood of its inhabitants is absolute: by nature, the physical object or creature strives only for its own preservation and advancement, regarding its own existence as the axis around which all else revolves. The world of the physical not only dims its divine source but obscures it entirely, even allowing for creations that deny their own origin and essence.

The Dwelling

It is this lowest of worlds that is the focus of G-d’s creation. G-d wished to create an environment in which His reality is almost entirely concealed, an environment so distant from its source in Him that it can even contain “evil”—elements which resist and deny His all-pervading truth, despite the fact that they are utterly dependent upon Him for their vitality and existence. And in this “lowly” realm He desired that we construct for Him a “dwelling”: a place in which He is at home, an environment in which He is openly and uninhibitedly Himself.

So He designed us as material creatures whose very survival demands a great deal of interaction with the physical reality. And He gave us the ability to direct our material lives to serve a G-dly ideal. Every time we use the yield of our field or business to help the needy, every time we utilize our workday involvements as the means by which to carry out the Creator’s will, we are vanquishing the self-centeredness which so dominates the nature of the material world. We are vanquishing the “I am” of the physical, thereby transforming its very essence: instead of being the world that most obscures the reality of G-d, it now becomes a “home” for Him—an environment that expresses and reveals how truly all-pervading His reality is.

Thus, the physical aspects of our existence are the primary vehicle for the fulfillment of our life’s purpose. The spiritual in ourselves and in creation was created only in order to assist us in the realization of this goal—to inspire and direct us in our interactions with the physical. So one who shuns involvement with the material world and pursues only spiritual and transcendent endeavors is abandoning his primary mission in life.

The same applies to the spiritual and material areas of time. The festivals of Tishrei—as all special dates and events of the Jewish calendar—are for the sake of the “Cheshvan” days of our lives. These spiritual days exist in order to supply us with fortitude and direction so that we may make proper and optimal use of the ordinary days of the year—the days in which we interact with the physical reality, each in his own occupation and field of endeavor.

The Trek to the Euphrates

There does seem, however, to be one breach in the ordinariness of Cheshvan: “On the seventh day of Cheshvan,” says the Talmud, “fifteen days after the conclusion of the festival [of Sukkot], one begins to pray for rain. This is to allow the very last Jew to reach the Euphrates River.” (To this day, Jews living in the Land of Israel add the prayer for rain to their daily prayers beginning on the 7th of Cheshvan.⁵)

But upon closer examination, the “specialty” of this day only further underscores the preeminence of the ordinary in the Jew’s life.

For the duration of the festival of Sukkot, the Jew left his field and field-related concerns behind and came to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, where the miraculous was the norm and the divine presence was openly perceived. But then began his journey back home—home to his homestead, home to his mission and purpose. For some it was a journey of several hours, for others, of several days, and for the “last Jew” farming his land on the most distant frontier of Jewish settlement in the Land of Israel, it was a fifteen-day journey to the Euphrates. On the 7th of Cheshvan, when every last Jew was home on his own land, the entire community of Israel began to pray for rain, beseeching G-d to bless their efforts to work the earth and the earthiness of the world into an abode for His presence.

On a deeper level, the “last Jew” is the most distant Jew in the spiritual sense—the one whose occupation is the most material of all. Yet all Jews, including those whose missions in life have placed them but a stone’s throw from Jerusalem, cannot pray for rain until the “lowliest” of pilgrims has reached home. For without this last Jew, their work is incomplete; it is he, more than any other, who represents what life is all about.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Cheshvan 8, 5745 (November 3, 1984)⁶

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: spiritual and material, Divine dwelling, concealment, sacrif, kabbalah, mysticism, Israel, existence, Beis Hamikdash
Posted in Bereishit, Weekly Parsha, Cheshvan, Noah, Soul & Mystical, Months & Holidays, Beliefs & Concepts, Exile, Spiritual, Torah | No Comments »

The Era of the Rainbow

March 29th, 2015

And G-d spoke to Noah and to his sons with him, saying: “… This shall be the sign of the covenant which I am making between Me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all generations.
My rainbow I have set in the cloud…. When the rainbow shall be seen in the cloud, I shall remember My covenant…. Never again shall the waters become a flood to destroy all flesh.”

Genesis 9:8-15

The rainbow, of course, is a natural phenomenon. Rays of sunlight pass through water droplets suspended in the atmosphere; the clear, crystal-like droplets refract the light, unleashing the spectrum of colors it contains and displaying them in an arc across the misty skies.

Yet before the Flood, this natural occurrence did not occur. There was something about the interaction between the moisture in the earth’s atmosphere and the light emanating from the sun that failed to produce a rainbow. It was only after the Flood that the dynamics that create a rainbow were set in place by the Creator as a sign of His newly-formed covenant with His creation.

The spiritual and the physical are two faces of the same reality. This change in the physical nature of the interaction between water and light reflects a deeper, spiritual difference between the pre- and post-Flood worlds, and the resultant difference in G-d’s manner of dealing with a corrupted world.

Contrary Differences

An examination of the Torah’s account of the first twenty generations of history reveals two primary differences between the world before the Flood and the post-Flood era.

The pre-Flood generations enjoyed long lives—we find people living into their 8th, 9th and 10th centuries (Noah’s grandfather, Methuselah, lived 969 years; his father, Lemech, 777 years; Noah himself, 950 years¹). The Zohar explains that this was an era of divine benevolence, in which life, health and prosperity flowed freely and indiscriminately from Above.

Following the Flood, we see a steady decline in the human lifespan.² Within ten generations, Abraham is “old” at the age of 100.³

The second difference is one that seems at odds with, and even contradictory to, the first: after the Flood, the world gained a stability and permanence it did not enjoy in the pre-Flood era. Before the Flood, the world’s very existence was contingent upon its moral state. When humanity disintegrated into corruption and violence, G-d said to Noah:

The end of all flesh is come before Me, for the earth is filled with violence through them; behold, I shall destroy them and the earth.⁴

Following the Flood, G-d vowed:
I will not again curse the earth because of man…. neither will I again smite everything living, as I have done. For all days of the earth, [the seasons for] seed time and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease.⁵

No longer would the cycles of life and nature totter on the verge of extinction whenever man strays from his G-d. The post-Flood world is a world whose existence is assured, a world that is desired by its Creator regardless of its present state of conformity to His will.

And the guarantor of this assurance, the symbol of this new stability, is the rainbow.

An Opaque World

Before the Flood, man’s role in creation lay primarily in reacting to G-d’s involvement in the world. The flow of divine vitality into the world was plentiful and uninhibited, enabling man to attain great material and spiritual heights; but these achievements were merely man’s acceptance of what was being bestowed upon him from Above, rather than the fruits of his own initiative.

The pre-Flood world was like a brilliant pupil who grasps the most profound teachings of his master, but who lacks the ability to conceive of a single original thought of his own. So once corrupted—once it had distanced itself from its Master and disavowed its relationship with Him—it lost the basis for its existence. When man ceased to respond, the world held no further use for the Creator.

After the Flood, G-d imbued the world with a new potential—the potential to create. He granted it the ability to take what it receives from Above and develop it, extend it, and expand upon it. The world was now like a disciple who had been trained by his master to think on his own, to take the ideas which he learns and apply them to new areas. Man was now able not only to absorb the divine input into his life but also to unleash its potential in new, unprecedented ways.

Such a world is in many ways a “weaker” world than one that is wholly sustained by divine grace. It is more independent, and thus more subject to the limitations and mortality of the human state. Hence the shorter lifespans of the post-Flood generations. But in the final analysis, such a world is more enduring: even when it loses sight of its origin and purpose, it retains the ability to rehabilitate itself and restore its relationship with its Creator. Because it possesses an independent potential for self-renewal, it can always reawaken this potential, even after it has been suppressed and lain dormant for generations.

Rising Mist

The rainbow is the natural event that exemplifies the new post-Flood order. Moisture rises from the earth to form clouds and raindrops, which catch the light of the sun. A less refined substance would merely absorb the light; but the purity and translucency of these droplets allows them to focus and channel the rays they capture in such a way that reveals the many colors implicit within each ray of sunlight.

The pre-Flood world lacked the rainbow. There was nothing in or about it that could rise from below to interact with and develop what it received from Above. Such was its spiritual nature; as a result, the conditions for a physical rainbow also failed to develop—the mist it raised could only absorb, but not refract, the light of the sun.

Lacking a creative potential of its own, the pre-Flood world was left without reason and right for existence when it ceased to receive the divine effluence from Above. Then came the Flood. The rains that destroyed a corrupted world also cleansed it and purified it, leaving in their wake a new world with a new nature: a world that rises to meet and transform what is bestowed upon it; a world with the “translucency” and refinement to develop the gifts it receives into new, unprecedented vistas of color and light.

When this world goes astray, G-d sees its rainbow, and the sight causes Him to desist from destroying it. For the rainbow attests to the world’s new maturity—its ability to ultimately rise above its present lapse and rebuild its relationship with its Creator.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks, Shabbat Noach 5721 (1960) 5724 (1963).⁶

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

Tags: creation, potential, flood, rainbow, water
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Walls

March 29th, 2015

A common conception is that human creativity, particularly artistic creativity, will flourish only under conditions of unbridled freedom. Limitations and inhibitions of any sort—goes this line of thinking—are anathema to art.

The history of man’s attempt to evoke beauty and meaning with the materials of life has shown the very opposite to be the case: that “oppressive” circumstances have stimulated humanity’s most profound and innovative creations, while conditions of unmitigated freedom yield lesser and shallower works. Indeed, working within bonds is intrinsic to the process and product of artistic creation: the challenge to reduce a landscape or personality to a two-dimensional surface of limited size is what makes a great painting; the need to express a thought or feeling with a limited number of words arranged in accordance with rigid laws of meter and rhyme is what makes a great poem. The very essence of art, it can be said, flows from the tension between the expanse-seeking spirit of the artist and the constraints of the medium and circumstances by and under which it expresses itself.

Galut

“Because of our sins,” we say in the Musaf prayer recited on the festivals, “we were exiled from our land and driven from our soil. No longer are we able to ascend to show ourselves and bow before You, and perform our obligations in Your chosen home, in the great and holy house upon which Your name is called.”

The 613 commandments (mitzvot) of the Torah are a bridge between the finite and the infinite, the means by which mortal man achieves connection with his Creator and Source. Today, however, we are capable of achieving only a limited fulfillment of the mitzvot: there are hundreds of mitzvot that can be observed only when the Holy Temple is standing in Jerusalem and the entire community of Israel resides in the Holy Land. Indeed, the Torah forbids their actual observance in our present circumstances.

So our current state of galut (exile) is much more than a physical displacement. Before we were driven from our land and the House of G-d was taken from us, all Jews would make the thrice-yearly pilgrimage (on the festivals of Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot) to the Holy Temple “to see and be seen by the face of G-d”¹ in the place where He chose to make Himself directly and uninhibitedly accessible to us. There we would observe the commandments associated with the Temple service, actualizing and experiencing those aspects of our relationship with the Almighty embodied by these mitzvot. But since the destruction of the Temple and our exile from the Holy Land, these venues of connection with G-d have been closed to us.

This is not to say that these mitzvot have been abolished or have “expired”—a fundamental principle of the Jewish faith is that “Something that is clearly specified by the Torah as a mitzvah endures forever, and will never be changed, abrogated or added to.”²

The commandments remain in force; it is just that we are prevented from fulfilling them by the circumstances of galut. Indeed, therein lies the ultimate frustration of our exile: these channels of connection with G-d exist, yet the limitations of galut prevent us from pursuing them.

The Poetry of Prayer

The Talmud cites an interesting rule of etiquette governing guest-host relations: “Whatever the host instructs, you must do, except when he says ‘Get out of my house.’“³

Chassidic teaching applies this to our relationship with G-d: As “guests” in G-d’s world we must obey all that He instructs us to do—except when He tells us to “Get out!” When He banishes us from His presence we are not to obey, but to persist in our efforts to come close to Him.

So even as we submit to its decrees, we do not reconcile ourselves with the phenomenon of galut. When G-d commands, “Do this” or “Do not do this,” we obey; yet we refuse to accept the galut per se, refuse to accept the closing of venues in our relationship with G-d.

And it is from this incessant struggle—from this unremitting tension between our acceptance of the curbs of galut and our striving to break free of them—that our most “creative” achievements in our relationship with G-d arise.

Prevented from performing many mitzvot in their actual, physical guise, we direct our energy and creativity to their spiritual essence, which remains unaffected by the circumstances of galut. For example, the deeper significance of the korbanot (animal offerings) that were offered on the altar in the Holy Temple is that man should sublimate the “animal soul” within himself, refining his naturally self-oriented drives and desires. Today, we achieve this through prayer: three times a day we contemplate the majesty of G-d, inspiring and reorienting our natural selves to strive for higher and more transcendent aims than the satisfaction of its animal instincts. In the words of the prophet: “Our lips fulfill [what was accomplished through] oxen.”⁴

Furthermore, we do not suffice with exclusively “spiritual” versions of these mitzvot: whenever possible, we accompany them with physical deeds that commemorate and evoke the manner in which the mitzvah was originally and optimally fulfilled. Thus, in commemoration of the Simchat Beit HaShoeivah (“Water-Drawing Festivities”) held in the Holy Temple on the festival of Sukkot, we conduct our own nightly Sukkot celebrations, “going through the motions” of singing, dancing and playing musical instruments, even though the heart and essence of the event—the drawing of water from a spring for pouring on the Altar—is absent from our celebrations. At the same time, however, we take great care to ensure that our actions do not in any way suggest that we are actually performing the mitzvah in violation of the laws that forbid their implementation in a galut environment.⁵

Pushing the Envelope

Daily we pray for and await the day that our lives will be freed from the confines of galut. Yet there is something very special about our present-day struggles and the unique potentials and achievements they exact from our souls.

To strain the bounds of galut, while taking care not to overstep these bounds; to onform to the will of G-d, while appreciating that it is G-d’s desire that we contest His will whenever it dictates that we limit our connection with Him—this has yielded the most profound and innovative achievements in the divine art of life.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Sukkot 5751 (1990) and on other occasions.

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.

Tags: exile, speech, Jewish law, mitzvot, sacrifices and offerings, transcendence, Divine will
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It’s Up To You!

March 29th, 2015

Editor’s note: On Thursday evening, Nissan 27, 5751 (April 11, 1991), exactly eleven months before the he fell ill, the Rebbe issued this impassioned call to his followers and to the entire Jewish and world community. This unusually strongly worded message, and the anguished voice in which it was delivered, shocked and roused his chassidim to a heightened initiative in the Rebbe’s campaign to bring the world to an awareness of and preparedness for the redemption .

How is it that Moshiach has still not come?! Why are we still in a state of galut (exile)?! Why is our world still a place in which evil and suffering prevail?!

Why is it acceptable that the redemption should not come tonight, nor tomorrow, nor the day after, G-d forbid?! The Jewish nation are “a stiff-necked people.” Were there to be found even a few individuals who would adamantly insist on bringing Moshiach, he would have certainly long arrived!

What more can I do?! I have done all I can to bring the world to truly demand and clamor for the redemption. But it seems that all my efforts have been in vain: we are still in exile and, more significantly, in an internal galut of clouded vision and distorted priorities.

I have done all I can. I leave it to you—Do all that you can to bring our righteous redeemer, immediately!

It is not sufficient to mouth slogans. It is up to each and every of you to bring the ultimate redemption with your actions. It is in your hands to bring about the harmonious, perfect world of Moshiach.

Tags: action, Moshiach, redemption, responsibility
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The Constructive Statement

March 29th, 2015

“Man was born to toil” (Job 5:7).

But man is more than a beast of burden or a clock-punching nine-to-fiver. Our sages tell us that we are “partners with G-d in creation.” As partners, our life’s work is driven by the initiative and industry of one who has a personal stake in the outcome of his toil.

What is the nature of this partnership? How does our investment in life collaborate with G-d’s to form an enterprise profitable to us both? The Talmud offers us the following example and prototype: “One who prays on the eve of Shabbat and proclaims Vayechulu … becomes a partner with G-d in creation.”[7]

Vayechulu is the three-verse passage (Genesis 2:1-3) recited in the Friday evening prayers and kiddush. It recounts G-d’s creation of the world in six days, His cessation of work on the seventh, and His sanctification of the seventh day to attest to these facts. By reciting Vayechulu, we observe the mitzvah to “Remember the day of Shabbat, to sanctify it” (fourth of the Ten Commandments, Exodus 20:8); the pronouncement of Vayechulu, corroborated by our cessation of work on Shabbat, is our weekly testimony that G-d is the creator of the universe.[8]

This is in keeping with the prophet’s proclamation, “ ‘You are My attesters,’ says G-d.”[9] And this, the Talmud is saying, is the essence of our partnership with G-d: our introducing an awareness of His truth into the spiritually mute world He created.

At first glance, this may seem an extremely imbalanced “partnership.” If one party conceives of, develops and manufactures a product, while the other party’s contribution lies solely in that he publicizes the identity of the product’s creator, would one consider them partners?

But if we examine the function and purpose of the universe, we see that our testimony is no less integral to the product’s development than the divine act of creation. G-d’s goal in creation, say our sages, is that “there be made for Him a dwelling in the lowly (i.e., material) realm.”[10] In other words, G-d desired that there be a “lowly” reality, one that is distant from its divine source, and that it be transformed into a “dwelling” for Him—an environment hospitable to and expressive of His truth. [11]

So the creation of heaven and earth was merely G-d’s preparation of the raw materials out of which the edifice of creation is to be constructed. It is we who complete the project, by imbuing the self-absorbed world with an awareness of its creator and source. This we achieve through our observance of the mitzvot: when we take a material object or resource and utilize it to fulfill a divine command, we are, in effect, changing its very nature—something indifferent or even in opposition to the divine truth has now been remade into an instrument of G-d’s will. A piece of leather becomes tefillin, wooden boards become a sukkah, a human brain becomes a reservoir of the divine wisdom of Torah. The very content and message of these objects has been transformed: instead of saying “I am, period” they now state “There is a master to the universe and I exist to serve Him.”

This is why the mitzvot are also called eidot, “attestations”—witnesses who attest to the divine source and function of our existence. The archetypical eid, the prime example of the testimonial quality of the mitzvah, is the mitzvah to “Remember the day of Shabbat, to sanctify it”: for twenty-six hours each week, our every deed and non-deed (beginning with the recitation of Vayechulu on Friday evening) attest to G-d’s creation of the universe. Ultimately, however, every mitzvah we perform is a testimony as to the essence and purpose of the created existence—a testimony whose delivery itself constitutes the realization of this purpose, making us full partners to the divine endeavor of creation.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks.

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Tags: wisdom, heaven and earth, Divine knowledge, creation, mitzvot, spiritual and material, partnership
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A Box of Life: The Meaning of the Teivah

March 29th, 2015

On that day, all wellsprings of the great abyss burst forth, and the windows of the heaven opened.

And Noah… entered the teivah, in refuge from the waters of the flood…

Genesis 7:11, 7

The literal meaning of the Hebrew word teivah is “container” or “box.” The teivah of the above-quoted verses is the floating ark which Noah constructed, at G-d’s behest, to shelter him and his family for the twelve months that the waters of the flood ravaged the face of earth.

Teivah also means “word.” Words are containers: they package ideas, feelings, sentiments and convictions. They house personalities, movements and communities, delineating their aims, defining their raison d’être.

Therein lies the eternal relevance of G-d’s command to Noah, “Enter into the teivah.” ^[1] When the abyss of earth overwhelms you with the burdens of material life; when the windows of heaven open to deluge you with spiritual ills; enter the teivah. Enter the word—there you will find refuge from the floodwaters of life.

Upon waking each morning, we envelop ourselves in words. “Modeh ani lefanecha…,” we say, “I offer thanks to You, living and eternal King, for restoring my soul to me…”

These first words of the Jewish day are followed by many more words—words of prayer, words of Torah—that amplify the profound particulars of the simple, potent truth the words of the Modeh Ani contain: that G-d is the exclusive source and objective of our life, and that each morning He restores our soul to us newly fortified to meet its every challenge. Nestled in this knowledge, we are insulated from the currents of fear, doubt and despair that threaten to overwhelm the teivah-less swimmer through life.

In and Out

The teivah, however, is more than a sanctum: it also holds the seeds of a post-Flood world. Noah was commanded to enter the teivah together with his extended family (“you, your sons, your wife, and your sons’ wives”) and to gather into it specimens of every living creature (“and of every living thing of all flesh, two of each, male and female… and from every edible food… to keep seed alive upon earth”).[2] Then, when the waters of the flood subsided, G-d commanded him to exit the teivah and recreate a world from the micro-universe he had assembled inside the teivah’s walls.

In the same vein, the teivah we create is not to remain a personal ark. We are to invite our ‘‘families’’–all fellow human beings to whom our influence extends[3]–into the words of sanctity and purpose with which we navigate the hazards of material life. Furthermore, our teivahs are to embrace also the non-human elements of our environment: every time we enlist one of the resources and forces of our world for a G-dly end, we make it part of the tranquil universe-in-miniature sanctified by the words of Torah and prayer. The bread and meat that provide the energy for prayer, the paper and ink that facilitate our Torah study, the resources and talents that earn the money given to charity—these are the “specimens” rescued from the flood of mundanity and brought into the sanctity of the divine words in which we enwrap our lives.

The divine call, “Enter the teivah” is followed by the command, “Come out of the teivah.”[4]

Having created an island of G-dliness in a mundane world, we are enjoined to transplant it outside the walls of our teivah. The inviolable hour of prayer in the morning should have a sanctifying effect on the business day that follows; the hour of Torah study should pervade our round-the-clock thought process and decision making; the dollars given to charity should influence the way in which we regard all our property and wealth. And ultimately, the private and communal sanctity of our teivah-contexted lives should translate into the universal harmony and perfection of  a world “flooded” in the positive sense—a world that is “filled with the knowledge of G-d as the waters submerge the sea.” ^[5]

Based on the Rebbe’s talks, Tishrei 24, 5717 (September 29, 1956)[6] and on other occasions.

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Tags: spiritual and material, sanctification, Noah's ark, flood, prayer
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