Steadfast Faith in the Face of Tragedy

March 25th, 2015

By the Grace of G-d

3rd of Nissan, 5738

Brooklyn, N.Y.

Mr. [name redacted],

Birmingham, Mich. 48010

Greeting and Blessing:

I am in receipt of your letter in which you write about happenings in the family and ask why such untoward happenings did occur, though you find nothing in your conduct and activities that would justify them.

I surely do not have to point out to you that the question of “why do the righteous suffer and the wicked prosper?” is a very old one, and was already asked by Moshe Rabeinu who received the Torah from the G-d and handed it over to each and every Jew as an everlasting inheritance for all times. As you probably also know, the whole book of Iyov (Job) is devoted to this problem and it has been dealt with ever since.

The point of the answer given by our Sages, as it has often been explained at length, is by way of the example of a small child who does not understand why his father who is such a wise and kind person sometimes acts in a way which causes a child pain and tears. It would not surprise any person that the child is not in a position to understand the ways of his father although, be it noted, only a number of years separate them in age, and also in intelligence. At the same time, the child instinctively feels and knows that his father loves him and surely it is everything for his benefit, and not for the benefit of any other child or for his own benefit, since it would be unthinkable that a father who has a one and only son, cause pain to his child for the benefit of a stranger or for his own benefit.

If this is so in the case of a child and his father, where the distinction between them is only relative, in terms of age and intelligence, as mentioned above, how much more so in the case of a created being and the Creator, where the distinction is absolute and unbridgeable. Indeed, it would have been most surprising if a human being could understand the way of G-d, except to the extent that G-d Himself, in His kindness, has revealed some aspects of His Divine Providence and in a necessarily very limited way. Moreover, our Torah, Toras Chayim and Toras Emes, assures us that when a Jew strengthens his bitochon and trust in G-d, Whose benevolent Divine Providence extends to each and everyone individually, and Who is the essence of Goodness, and it is the nature of the Good to do good – this in itself opens new insights into a better understanding of G-d’s ways and at the same time speeds G-d’s blessings in the kind of good that is revealed and evident.

And, as mentioned earlier, this fact that Moshe Rabbeinu already pondered this question, did not in the least affect his simple faith in G-d and did not in any way affect his observance of the Torah and mitzvos in his daily life and conduct, and this is also what he bequeathed to each and every Jew in all future generations.

It is surely also unnecessary to point out that this question that might arise under certain circumstances in the life of an individual can just as well be asked in connection with the long-suffering history of our people in exile for the past 1900 years and more. Yet, here too, despite the persecutions, martyrdom and suffering, our people tenaciously clung to the Torah and mitzvos as their only way of life and it has not weakened their belief in and confident hope of the ultimate true and complete geula through our righteous Moshiach, when it will become apparent that the whole long and dark exile was a blessing in disguise.

Much more could be said in this subject, but I hope that the above will suffice to help you regain fully your true Jewish perspective, especially as what has been written above is not intended to answer the question once and for all, but merely to help minimize the doubts and questions which might distract a Jew from his innate simple faith in G-d and in His infinite loving kindness and justice, which is an integral part of every Jew’s heritage.

At this time before Pesach, the Festival of our Liberation, I send you and yours prayerful wishes for a kosher and inspiring Pesach and a fuller measure of liberation from all distractions, so as to be able to serve G-d wholeheartedly and with joy.

With blessing,

P.S. It is customary in a situation where one is bothered by doubts and questions, to have the tefillin checked to make sure they are kosher and to be careful in putting them on every weekday morning, since the mitzvah of tefillin, as put on the arm facing the heart and on the head, the seat of intelligence, is conducive to purifying the heart and the mind and making them more perceptive. It is also customary in such a situation to observe meticulously the laws of kashrus of all foods and beverages consumed.

Tags: moshe, tragedy, Moses, faith, pain
Posted in Personal Life, Torah Personalities, Modern, Torah, Rebbe, Pain & Suffering | No Comments »

G-d’s Relationship With The Kohen Gadol

March 25th, 2015

And G-d said to Moses: … [a kohen] shall not contaminate himself [through contact with] the dead of his people. Except for his closest kin–his mother, father, son, daughter or brother. Or for his virgin sister… who has not married a man—for her, he should contaminate himself…

But the Kohen Gadol, the greater of his brethren… may not come in contact with any dead; [even] for his father or mother, he may not contaminate himself.

Leviticus 21:1-11

A heretic once asked Rabbi Avahu: “Your G-d is a kohen; so in what did He immerse Himself after He buried Moses?” Replied Rabbi Avahu: “He immersed in fire.”

Talmud, Sanhedrin 39a

G-d is the essence of life, and the ultimate definition of “life” is contact with the divine. Our sages have therefore stated that the righteous, even after their physical deaths, are, in truth, alive, while the wicked are dead even in their lifetimes.[1]

Death is thus an aberration, unnatural to a world intrinsically one with its Creator. Indeed, death became part of our reality only after man distanced himself from G-d with his transgression of the divine will. By the same token, the annihilation of evil and the restoration of perfect harmony between G-d and His creation in the era of Moshiach will bring the cessation of death from our experience.[2]

Until that day, contact with the dead (handling a corpse, visiting a grave, etc.) renders a person tameh–ritually impure–until he undergoes a process of purification that includes immersion in a mikvah.[3] A kohen (“priest”—one of Aaron’s descendants, who were chosen by G-d to serve Him in the Beit Hamikdash) is forbidden to become tameh in the first place, unless it is to bury a close relative, as detailed in the verses quoted above. The Kohen Gadol (“High Priest”), who is commanded to maintain an even higher standard of

ritual purity, may not contaminate himself even for his closest kin.

Our sages tell us that Torah law (halachah) is more than a divinely ordained behavior pattern for life on earth: it also describes G-d’s own “behavior pattern,” the manner in which He chooses to relate to His creation. In the words of the Midrash, “G-d’s way is not like the way of flesh and blood. The way of flesh and blood is that he instructs others to do, but does not do himself; G-d, however, what He Himself does, that is what He tells Israel to do and observe.”[4]

It would therefore follow that G-d, who ascribes to Himself the halachic status of a kohen,[5] is precluded by Torah law from “contaminating” Himself through contact with the impurities of mortality. Yet the Torah tells us that G-d Himself buried Moses, and the Talmud discusses how He subsequently purified Himself in a “pool of fire.”[6] Our sages explain: the people of Israel are “G-d’s children”;[7] Moses is thus one of G-d’s “closest kin,” for whom a kohen is permitted–indeed obligated–to become tameh.[8]

In the same vein, the prophet Isaiah describes G-d’s descent into the impurities of galut to redeem His people: “Who is this, coming from Edom? Of soured and reddened clothes, from Bozrah? … I (replies G-d), who speaks in righteousness, mighty to save… all My garments, I have soiled.”[9] What about the law that forbids a kohen to contaminate himself? The Zohar explains: Israel is G-d’s “virgin sister, who has not married a man”—who has resisted all the alien masters and influences she has been subject to throughout her exile. For her, G-d “contaminates” Himself, entering the morgue of galut to raise her from the dust.[10]

But one thing remains unresolved: surely G-d is no ordinary kohen, but a kohen gadol,[11] whose greater holiness proscribes any exposure to impurity, even for the sake of his closest relatives. How, then, could G-d “contaminate” Himself, even for His “children” or His “sister”?

Put another way: if, in His relationship with us, G-d assumes the role of an ordinary kohen, whose lesser holiness allows him contact with impurity for the sake of “Israel, His kin,”[12] G-d certainly transcends this role, possessing also the inviolable sanctity of the kohen gadol. Does this mean that only the kohen in G-d buried Moses? Or that G-d’s involvement in our redemption is limited to a lesser expression of His holiness, while the height of His “priesthood” remains aloof from the mortality of our galut-state?

An Analogous Universe

To address this question, we must first reexamine the very notion of attributing humanly-defined traits and roles to the Almighty. On what basis do we refer to G-d as a kohen or a kohen gadol, as a father or a brother, or, even, as a “being” and “existence”? These are all terms borrowed from the world of human experience and perception—what can they possibly tell us about He who invented this world and created it from naught?

Indeed, as the kabbalists repeatedly caution, none of this refers to G-d Himself, only to His manner of relating to our reality. G-d chooses to continually involve Himself with our existence, assuming the roles of creator, provider, ruler, judge, etc.; it is solely in regard to this dimension of His being that these anthropomorphisms are applicable. Still, the question remains: why should we assume that G-d’s relationship with us can be described in the same (or similar) terms that we perceive ourselves and our relationships? Perhaps G-d relates to us in a manner that has no model or parallel in our experience?

True, say the chassidic masters. We have no reason to assume that the divine reality parallels ours in any way. Yet we know that it does, for the simple reason that G-d told us so. In His Torah, G-d describes Himself as “merciful,” “benevolent” or “angry”; He states that He “spoke” to Moses, “heard,” the prayers of His people, and took them out of Egypt with a “mighty hand and an outstretched arm”; He tells us that we are His “children,” “servants,” “flock,” and “bride.” For G-d desired that His involvement in our existence should be comprehensible to us[13]—and the human mind comprehends only what it perceives or what it can abstract from what it perceives. So G-d created man “in His image, in His likeness,”[14] modeling us after the traits He assumes to create us and relate to us. He fashioned us, and everything in our world, as metaphors of the divine so that we could refer to our own existence for insight into the nature His presence in our lives.

Chassidic teaching takes this a step further. It’s not just that G-d “planted” analogs of His reality in ours, but that our reality is an offshoot of His, so that everything about it reflects the nature of its source as the grooves in a phonograph record mirror the structure of the sound waves that forged it. So when Job says, “From My own flesh I perceive the divine,”[15] he is not only saying, “G-d created me in such a way that my life should contain models that can be employed as metaphors for the divine reality,” but also that “I, and everything about me, evolved from the ‘self’ that G-d projected to create and relate to our reality. So the nature of this divine projection is imprinted in every detail of my nature and experience.”

The Dross of Translation

The story is told of a first-grade teacher who was experiencing some difficulty in his chumash class. He was attempting to teach a relatively simple verse–“And Noah fathered three sons: Shem, Ham and Japeth”– but one five-year-old mind found the concept too complex to comprehend. Finally, the teacher says: “Berel, you know your next-door neighbors, the Smiths? What’s the father’s name?”

“John,” replies the child.

“And how many sons does John have?”

“Three: Tom, Dick and Harry.”

“Great,” says the teacher. “You see, it’s not that difficult to understand. John Smith has three sons—Tom, Dick and Harry. Now, long ago, there lived a man called Noah, and he, too, had three sons. Their names were: Shem, Ham and Japeth.”

That afternoon, little Berel comes home from cheder. “Mama!” he proudly announces. “Today we learned about the three sons of Noah!”

“That’s wonderful, dear,” says his mother. “And who were the three sons of Noah?”

“Tom, Dick and Harry.”

The metaphor is a powerful and effective teaching tool. A skilled metaphorist can take an idea whose natural language is utterly intelligible to his student and translate it into terms the student can relate to and comprehend. However, unless the student understands how metaphors work–unless he learns knows to distinguish the garments of simile from the concept they enclothe–the metaphor will convey a diminished, or even distorted, version of the concept.

This is manifoldly so in regard to the endeavor to comprehend the Creator via the metaphor of His creation. Imagine a poem, written in a rich, graceful and versatile language, that is translated into a coarse, primitive language. The power of the poem (and of the translator) is such that this grossly inadequate vessel nevertheless conveys something of its beauty and profundity. In reading this poem, one must be ever mindful of the limitations and deficiencies of its adopted language, so as not to attribute them to the flawless original. In the same way, even as we are told that G-d created us in His image, enabling us to perceive His reality from our flesh, we are warned against attributing “a body, or any semblance of the bodily” to Him.[16] Our reality is finite, subjective and deficient, while G-d, and everything about Him (including His projected creator-self) is infinite, utterly free of qualification, and perfect. So the words and models we use when we think and speak of G-d must first be stripped of all the connotations of finiteness and deficiency that their human context imparts to them before we can enlist them to aid our comprehension of the divine.

The Essence of a Prohibition

The same applies to our references to G-d as kohen and kohen gadol.

The human kohen is one who has been imparted a greater measure of holiness than his more mundane fellows. His is a spiritual life, devoid of material endeavor and devoted to the service of the Creator.[17] Thus he is forbidden contact with death, the arch-symptom of the physical world’s distance from its divine source. Nevertheless, his station recognizes that, at times, exceptions must be made and his sanctity violated for the sake of his close kin. The kohen gadol embodies yet a higher level of holiness—a level on which these exceptions are not tenable, on which the kohen’s aloofness from mortality cannot be compromised.

If every physical reality mirrors something of the divine, this is certainly the case with the realities defined by the Torah, G-d’s blueprint for creation. Indeed, the Torah refers to itself as mashal hakadmoni–the “primordial metaphor” or the “metaphor of the Primordial One”[18]–and our sages have stated that every word of Torah is a “name” of G-d,[19] a description of His projected self. Thus, the earthly kohen and kohen gadol are the human analogs of two corresponding truths in the divine reality—the “kohen” and “kohen gadol” in G-d’s relationship with us.

The kohen in G-d is G-d’s “holiness”—His transcendence of the earthly, the finite, the mundane. And yet, as with the ephemeral model of His priesthood, there are “exceptions”: times that He permits Himself to “soil His garments” for the sake of His close kin, times of which G-d says, “I Am with him in his affliction, [to] redeem him.”[20]

Yet G-d is also a kohen gadol, possessing a holiness that cannot be compromised. However, this is not to say that the kohen gadol in G-d is “forbidden” contact with the material reality. As emphasized above, we must always divest our earthly metaphors for the divine of all shortcomings of the physical state before applying their quintessential significance to our understanding of their supernal source. Terms such as “permissible” and “forbidden” are part of a creature’s lexicon, not of an omnipotent Creator’s. We must therefore distinguish between the uncontaminatability of the divine kohen gadol and its not-to-be-contaminated earthly metaphor.

In other words, a kohen gadol is one who cannot be contaminated. Applied to a human being, the holiest of whom is still mortal and vulnerable to mortality’s tumah, this translates as a prohibition to come in contact with those elements that would contaminate him. But in its original, quintessential sense, G-d’s kohen–gadol-ness connotes His immunity from contamination, His utter transcendence of the material even as He pervades the most corporeal corner of His creation. It is only with its evolvement into a human state that the “cannot be contaminated” of the divine kohen gadol becomes the “may not contaminate himself” of a contaminatable son of Aaron.

Double Identity

Yet G-d chooses to relate to us not only as a kohen gadol but also as a “regular” kohen. If G-d had assumed His kohen gadol “self” to bury Moses, there would have been no need for Him to immerse in a mikvah of fire to purify Himself. If it were only the kohen gadol in G-d who “dwells amongst [Israel], in the midst of their impurities,” there would be no need to “atone for the divine holiness” over this.[21] If it were only the divine kohen gadol who empowered Moses to effect the redemption of Israel from Egyptian slavery, He would not have appeared in a thornbush in participation in His children’s suffering.[22] Had Isaiah beheld the divine kohen gadol coming from Edom, he would not have seen a figure in blood-stained garments. As kohen gadol, G-d effects all without being affected, pervading the lowliest tiers of His creation without being tainted by their deficiencies. Yet G-d chooses to also assume the more vulnerable holiness of the divine “ordinary kohen” (which translates, on the human level, into the ordinary kohen’s permission to contaminate himself in certain circumstances): to contaminate Himself by His burial of Moses, to suffer along with His people, to bloody Himself in the process of extricating them from exile. He wants us to know that He is not only there with us wherever we are, but that He also subjects Himself to everything that we are subject to.

At the same time, He is also there with us as a kohen gadol: transcending it all, and empowering us to also attain something of His inviolable sanctity.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Parshat Emor, 5724 (May 2, 1964)[23]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: Mishkan, transcendence, sanctification, divine image, Jewish law, Beis Hamikdash, kohanim
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Religion, Vayikra, Spiritual, Torah, Emor | No Comments »

The Meaning: You Shall Be Holy for I Am Holy

March 25th, 2015

Tags: sanctification, divine image, hypocrisy, free choice, potential, good and evil
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Religion, Beliefs & Concepts, Vayikra, Free Choice, Spiritual, Torah, Kedoshim | 2 Comments »

The Eruv: A Private World

March 25th, 2015

Turnus Rufus asked Rabbi Akiva: “If G-d honors the Shabbat, then He should not blow winds on it, He should not cause rain to fall on it, He should not cause the grass to grow on it!” Replied Rabbi Akiva: “If two people live in one courtyard, unless they both contribute to an eruv, would they be permitted to carry in the yard? But if one person lives in a courtyard, he has free reign in the entire yard. The same is true of G-d: since there is no other authority besides Him, since the entire world is His, He has free reign in the entire world.”

Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 11:6

On the face of it, Rabbi Akiva’s reply does not seem to truly answer the Roman emperor’s question. While it is true that a person is permitted to move things from place to place within a “private domain” on Shabbat, regarding all the other forms of forbidden labor, there is no difference between such a domain or some other place. For example, it is no less a violation of the Shabbat to water a garden than it is to water an open field. So if G-d’s “causing rain to fall” might be regarded as a violation of Shabbat, why would the fact that the entire world is His exclusive domain make this activity any more “permissible” for Him?

The Eruv

On Shabbat, it is forbidden to transfer an object from a “private domain” to a “public domain” or vice versa. A “private domain” is an enclosed area, such as a home, a fenced yard, etc.; a “public domain” is an open public thoroughfare, such as a street or plaza.

The laws of Shabbat also define another category: areas that are technically a “private domain” but whose function resembles that of a “public domain.” For example, an enclosed courtyard shared by several homes, or the lobby and hallways of an apartment building. Here, too, it is forbidden (by rabbinical ordinance) to transfer articles between “domains.” It is such a domain that Rabbi Akiva is referring to when he speaks of “two people living in one courtyard.”

There is, however, a procedure which makes it permissible to borrow a cup of sugar from the neighbor down the hall on Shabbat, or to take along a house key or baby carriage on a stroll to the park. This procedure, whose detailed laws take up an entire tractate in the Talmud, is called the eruv.

How is an eruv made? First of all, if the area is not already enclosed, it must be physically defined as a singular entity; a thin wire running along the tops of poles will transform a street, a neighborhood, even an entire city, into a halachically “private domain.” Then, something must be done to deal with its resemblance to a “public domain.” This is achieved by taking a loaf of bread, designating it as the common property of all the residents of the enclosed area, and keeping it in one of the homes or apartments. Because they all have a (potential) meal awaiting them in one place, the residents of this “domain” are now legally considered a single household. Hence the halachic term eruv, which means “combining” or “intermixing”: the various sub-domains in this physically enclosed area have been integrated into a single “private” province.

What exactly is an eruv? Is it a legal gimmick formulated by some ingenious Talmudic lawyer? Are we “outsmarting” G-d? If the divine  law intended that we should not carry from domain to domain, why are we devising ways of “getting off on a technicality”?

But the eiruv is no mere loophole. Not only does Torah law sanction its use, but it declares that “It is a mitzvah to pursue [the arrangement of] both a courtyard eiruv and one for the street.”[1] Indeed, on a deeper level, the effecting of an eruv relates to the very essence and function of Shabbat.

Work Defined

“For six days shall work be done,” commands the Torah, “but the seventh day shall be to you a holy day, a sabbath of rest to G-d.”[2] But what, exactly, constitutes “work”? The Hebrew word employed by the Torah, melachah, actually means “creative work.” Thus, writing a single word is a melachah, while dragging a heavy sofa from one end of the room to the other is not. Specifically, the Talmud[3] enumerates 39 categories of “creative work” that are forbidden on Shabbat, such as “sowing,” “baking,” “tanning hides,” “weaving,” “writing,” “building,” “igniting a fire,” and the like.[4]

This is in keeping with the function that the Torah attributes to Shabbat: “It is an eternal sign between Me and the children of Israel, that in six days G-d made the heavens and the earth, and on the seventh day He rested and He was refreshed.”[5] Obviously, G-d did not sweat and toil to create the world, and the “rest” and “refreshment” He experienced on the seventh day were not relief from exertion. Rather, for six days G-d created, and on the seventh day He ceased to create. So when we attest to G-d’s creation of the universe by emulating His work/rest cycle in our own lives, the “work” we cease from on the seventh day of the week is defined not by the degree of physical effort it extracts from us, but by its creativity: for six days we engage in creative involvement with the world, laboring to transform it into “a home for G-d,”[6] while Shabbat is a day of disengagement from the material and cessation of all physically transformative activity.

This difference between Shabbat and the other days of the week is expressed not only in what we do or do not do on Shabbat, but also in the way we do the things that we do.

A prime example is the manner in which we regard physical pleasure on Shabbat. During the week, we seek to remake our physical drives and resources into a “Sanctuary” that serves and expresses the divine. For example, when we eat, we do so with the intention of utilizing the energy we derive from the food to serve G-d. In this way, the material substance of the food and the physical act of eating are transformed into the energy expended in helping the needy, into the fervor of prayer, into the acumen of the mind studying the divine  wisdom in Torah. Transformed, that is, into an instrument of the divine will. Eating for no  purpose other than for the sake of physical pleasure is not a constructive—much less a holy—act. Instead of sublimating the material, it has the very opposite effect: it sinks the person deeper into the morass of self, even further distancing him, and the material environment he occupies, from their divine purpose and function.

Such is our approach to material life for the first six days of the week. On Shabbat, however, pleasure for the sake of pleasure is a mitzvah, a fulfillment of G-d’s will. There is no need for the physical to be developed and transformed into something that serves a “higher” purpose. Deriving pleasure from the material world is itself an act of holiness, a way of experiencing and bringing to light the divine nature of G-d’s creation.

In other words, during the week, we struggle to change the world: to divest it of its corporeality and direct it toward a higher goal. But on Shabbat we cease from the effort to transform the material reality; instead, we relate to the world as it is, to the divine essence implicit in our existence.

What happens on Shabbat to effect this drastic change in how we relate to the world? To understand this, we must again look at the nature of G-d’s “work” and “rest” in the seven days of creation.

Projection and Withdrawal

Chassidic teaching[7] likens G-d’s “rest” on Shabbat to what an artist experiences upon the completion of a work of art. While he labors, the artist’s prowess and vitality are invested in his work; he may actually feel drained of the energy that is flowing from his own soul into  his creation. But when he completes his work, this tremendous projection of mind and talent ceases; he now experiences the “return” of his creative powers and their re-inclusion into his own being.

The same may be applied to G-d: for six days of the week (every week, for creation is an ongoing cycle of divine involvement with our existence to grant it being and life) G-d projects His creative powers into our existence. On Shabbat, G-d ceases this outward flow, withdrawing back into Himself. This concept is alluded to by the Hebrew word vayinafash (“and He was refreshed”) in the verse quoted above (“in six days G-d made the heavens and the earth, and the seventh day He rested and He was refreshed”). Vayinafash literally means “and His soul returned to him.”[8]

There is, however, an important difference between G-d’s withdrawal and that of our hypothetical artist. When the artist pulls back his creative powers, he leaves the completed work behind—his creation is now an entity wholly separate from himself, no longer dependent upon his involvement. When G-d withdraws, He takes His work back with Him. For while the artist’s work is the result of his projection, G-d’s work is the projection itself. G-d does not take pre-existing paints and canvas, and work His creative energy upon them; what we experience as reality is G-d’s creative energy.

In other words, when the Torah tells us that “G-d said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light,” this does not mean that G-d’s words caused something else—the thing we call light—to come into being. It means that what we experience as light is actually the divine words “Let there be light.” By describing creation as G-d’s “speech,” the Torah is giving us its definition of reality. Speech is the projection of one’s ideas outside of oneself (as opposed to thought, which is a wholly internal articulation). What is the world? The world is G-d speaking—G-d’s continuous outward projection of His creative powers.

At least, that’s what the world is for six days a week. On Shabbat, G-d withdraws this projection back into an uncommunicating self. The world is no longer divine speech but divine thought. It is no longer an existence “outside” of G-d.

This is why the world is “holier” on Shabbat. Were G-d’s work to be “left behind” when He withdraws His creative energies, then the very opposite would be true—the world would now be further removed from G-d. But Shabbat is not G-d’s withdrawal from creation, but G-d’s withdrawal of creation. Shabbat is a “holy” day because, on Shabbat, the created existence is re-absorbed in its divine source.

Hence the different ways in which we relate to reality in the course of the week. For the first six days of the week, we labor to change the world into a “home for G-d.” True, the world is not an existence separate from G-d, and it is certainly not independent of Him—all it is is His “spoken words.”[9] Nevertheless, G-d relates to the created existence as an outward projection of His creative powers, and this is what allows it to perceive itself as something “outside” of the divine reality. So for six days we struggle to divest the world of the illusion and delusion of selfhood. We seek to demonstrate how things do not exist for their own sake, but to serve a higher truth.

On Shabbat, however, G-d ceases to speak the world. He now “thinks” it, relating to it as something that is wholly absorbed within His reality. In our own lives, our focus shifts accordingly: instead of seeking to change the world, we seek to reveal how the world, as it is, is one with its Creator.

Transfer and Transformation

In light of the above, we can understand the deeper significance of the melachah of transferring things between “private” and “public” domains.

At first glance, the melachah of “transferring from domain to domain” on Shabbat—the last on the Talmud’s list—hardly seems to qualify as a melachah. The other 38 categories of work are all tangibly creative endeavors: activities which visibly change something in a constructive manner. But the change effected by transferring an object from domain to domain is far more subtle—all that one has changed is the thing’s place. Or, to put it another way, there has been no actual change in the thing, only a change in the thing’s potential—its potential use, originally private, has now been made public (or vice versa).

For this reason, our sages refer to “transferring” as a “weak melachah.”[10] Nevertheless, the very first laws to be discussed in the Talmudic tractate Shabbat are the laws which define the various “domains” and the prohibition of transferring objects between them. For in truth, the prohibition to transfer from domain to domain lies at the very heart of what Shabbat is all about.

When we look at the world during the first six days of the week, we see two distinct “domains.” On the one hand, there are the objects and resources which we have enlisted to serve G-d, thereby transforming them into a “home” for Him—His own “private domain” where everything submits to His singular reality. On the other hand, we have the “street,” the world “out there”—a “public,” diverse and pluralistic domain which regards itself as separate, or even independent, from its divine source.

Six days a week, it is indeed our duty to “transfer from domain to domain.” We strive to bring things from the “public domain” into that sacred corner of our lives that is consecrated as G-d’s private realm (e.g., a coin given to charity, a piece of animal hide made into a pair of tefillin). We also seek to take from this “private domain” out into the “street,” to instill its holiness into the still “public” areas of the material existence (e.g., running a business in accordance with the ethics of Torah).

On Shabbat, however, there is only one reality: creation as the private domain of G-d. And the entire point of Shabbat is to express this truth in our daily lives. Any attempt to transform reality—even for the sake of serving G-d—is a violation of Shabbat, for it means that one is dealing with the world as if it were something outside of G-d.

In other words, all of the 39 melachot are, in essence, a form of the prohibition to “transfer from domain to domain” on Shabbat. By doing creative work on Shabbat, a person perpetuates the lie of a “public” world on this divinely private day.[11]

On a deeper level, it is the law of the eruv, rather than the laws pertaining to truly public domains, which expresses the essence of Shabbat. For even during the six workdays of the week, there is no such thing as a truly “public domain”—only a “private domain” which presents a public face and appearance. Ultimately, there is no corner of the universe that is outside of the exclusive province of G-d—only areas in which the surface reality obscures this truth. Thus it can be said that our world is comparable to the essentially-private-but-seemingly-public “courtyard” in which it is forbidden to carry things about on Shabbat without an eruv.

This explains Rabbi Akiva’s reply to Turnus Rufus. Of course G-d observes the weekly day of rest: on Shabbat He ceases to speak the world, thereby altering the very nature of reality. But while we inhabit a “multi-occupant courtyard” which has the appearance of a “public domain,” and in which it is therefore forbidden to “transfer” on Shabbat, G-d is the exclusive occupant of His courtyard. From His perspective, there is no such thing as a “public domain,” or even a “public-seeming domain.” So for Him, effecting changes within our world does not violate the Shabbat. Everything He “moves about” in our world is a movement within His exclusive domain; any “change” wrought by Him in our world on Shabbat is neither a “transformation” nor a “transfer,” since the entirety of existence is now wholly absorbed within His all-inclusive reality.

Effecting the Eruv

The ultimate function of Shabbat is to establish an eruv in our “multi-occupant courtyard”: to integrate the diverse forces and realities of our world as a singular, harmonious expression of the divine truth; to make the exclusivity of G-d’s “ownership” as real in our lives as it is from G-d’s own perspective.

Our present-day experience of Shabbat is only a “taste” of the era of Moshiach—“the day that is wholly Shabbat and rest for life everlasting.”[12] Each Shabbat, we assume a mode of being that reveals the innate “privacy” of G-d’s world. But this is mostly a reality manifest only in our individual lives and communities; the world without still shows a face of plurality and disconnection from its source. For while it is Shabbat in the weekly cycle, we are still in the six “workday” millennia of history.

With the advent of the seventh millennium, “The world will be filled with the knowledge of G-d as the waters cover the sea,”[13] readily perceiving itself as wholly submerged within the divine reality.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Av 20, 5722 (August 20, 1962)[14] and on other occasions

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.

Tags: Shabbat, private vs. public, Divine will, redemption, Talmud, Jewish law
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Religion, Vayikra, Spiritual, Acharei, Torah | No Comments »

Forty Nine Days Between Passover and Shavuot

March 25th, 2015

Today are sixteen days, which are two weeks and two days of the Omer

Counting of the Omer for Iyar 1

We are accustomed to thinking of time as a fixed yardstick against which our lives are measured. We “pass through” time (or time passes us by) at an unalterable pace. Time deeply affects everything about us and everything we do, but we have no effect upon it.

Physical science has since refuted this cursory perception of time, demonstrating how time, like any other physical phenomenon, is in fact quite malleable. It can be concentrated, stretched, speeded up, slowed down, or stopped altogether. This, of course, is achieved mostly on paper or by computer simulation. In practice, time’s dictatorial rule of our lives seems absolute. The irrevocability of the past, the uncompromising temporality of the present, the impregnable fog of the future—man still seems very much a creature subject to time, rather than the other way around.

Two questions come to mind concerning the manner of the count. If we are counting the days to Sinai, why don’t we state how many remain until Shavuot, instead of the number that have passed since Passover? Also, “Today are two days” seems awkward if not inaccurate; would it not be more correct to say, “Today is the second day,” “Today is the third day,” and so on?

But we do not merely pass through the days between Passover and Shavuot—we accumulate them. Each of these forty-nine days embodies another spiritual achievement—the refinement of another aspect of our personality and character. Each of these days becomes a component of our reborn selves, as we internalize the freedom obtained at the Exodus as the essence of our commitment to G-d as His chosen people. On the second day of the count, we possess two days of the Omer process; by its final day, we shall have amassed forty-nine units of time, and the specific qualities they embody, with which to approach this year’s experience of Sinai.

Based on numerous talks and writings by the Rebbe, including a letter dated Nissan 28, 5724 (April 10, 1964)[2]

Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber

Tags: time, Mt. Sinai, refinement, Counting the Omer, personal refinement, teshuvah
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shavuot, Months & Holidays, Counting the Omer, Vayikra, Tazria, Metzora, Torah, Nisan | No Comments »

Thoughts to Comfort the Bereaved

March 25th, 2015

By the Grace of G-d

28th of Nissan, 5712

Brooklyn 13, N.Y.

My Dear Mr. [name redacted],

I was deeply grieved to hear of the passing of your father and I take this means of extending to you, your sisters and all the bereaved family my heartfelt sympathy.

May G-d comfort you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.

It is the sacred custom of our people, in comforting the mourners at shivah, to say the above blessing of Nichum Avelim. This is not just a manner of phrase, but a true message of comfort which is contained in the significant inclusion of the mourners among the other mourners for Zion and Jerusalem.

Here we find the answer to a seemingly difficult question: inasmuch as the blessing of Nichum Avelim is given only during the period of Shivah, how can one comfort the mourner at a time when the grief is so fresh and acute? The consolation is to be found in the similitude between the mourner for a close departed and the mourners for Zion and Jerusalem.

For in mourning for the loss of the Beth Hamikosh and the glory of Jerusalem the Holy City, Jews have derived consolation from two sources. First, the Divine assurance through the medium of all our prophets that the Beth Hamikdosh  will be rebuilt again and its glory will surpass anything in the past. Second, the fact that spiritually the Beth Hamikdosh was never destroyed and is still in existence through its influence and inspiration in our daily life. That is why the mention of Zion and Jerusalem is so frequent in all our prayers daily and on Shabbos and Yomtov.

The same is true in the case of a mourner for a dear departed. Here, too, the consolation is twofold: First, the Divine assurance through all the prophets that the dead will rise to a life infinitely more glorious than formerly. Second, the memory of the departed is everlasting through their good deeds and especially through the upbringing, influence and inspiration left with children to carry on the sacred traditions of the Torah and Old Israel in everyday life. Here is a continuous and everlasting bond between the departed and those left behind which no outside force can destroy.

I cannot forego this occasion without mentioning the great and eternal memorial which you set up for your parents during their lifetime through the publication of the Tzemach Tzedek which is so widely studied and disseminated, rendering a public service to the highest order, this meriting Zechus Horabim.

May you not know of any sorrow in the future,

With blessing,

Tags: mourning, achievement, comfort, Moshiach, Holy Temple
Posted in Uncategorized, Personal Life, Torah Personalities, Modern, Torah, Rebbe, Pain & Suffering | No Comments »

Love in the Ice Age

March 25th, 2015

And Esther was taken to King Achashverosh, into his royal house, in the tenth month, the month of Tevet…
Esther 2:16

“And Esther was taken to King Achashverosh… in the month of Tevet”—a month in which a body derives pleasure from a body.
Talmud, Megillah 13a

“A body derives pleasure from a body”—because of the cold. It was arranged from Heaven that she be brought at such a time, in order to make her desirable to him.
Rashi’s commentary.

The Torah may be viewed as the ultimate historical work, chronicled by the Author of History Himself. It may be seen as the ultimate legal code, legislated by the Supreme Inventor of Law. These it indeed is. But it is also more: within the basic meaning of the laws and events it relates lie layer upon layer of significance, describing the essence of the human soul, of creation and reality, and of G-d’s relationship with our existence. In the words of Nachmanides, “The Torah discusses the ephemeral and alludes to the supernal.” ¹

Thus, our sages interpret the Book of Esther as more than a chronicle of the events of Purim. It is also the story of a relationship: in the “supernal” version, King Achashverosh is the “King Who the End and Beginning are His,” ² and Esther, His bride Israel.

In light of this, we can gain deeper insight into what the Talmud says about the month in which Esther was brought to Achashverosh’s palace. This is not only one of the many Divinely arranged “coincidences” which comprise the miracle of Purim; it is also a description of a most vital element of G-d’s bond with His people. Tevet, the coldest month of the year, ³ marks a time in our relationship with the Almighty in which “a body derives pleasure from a body.”

The Mortal Mirror

In human relationships, the union of man and woman has both a spiritual and physical dimension. There is the spiritual bonding of minds and hearts—the fulfillment each derives from the other’s intelligence, emotions, wit, character. But the “pleasure” in the relationship, in the most potent and palpable sense of the word, lies in its physical aspect, in the contact and union of their bodies.

The same is true of the ultimate relationship between man and woman–the supernal prototype that all male-female relationships are evolved from and mirror–the bond between G-d and Israel. Here, too, exist both a “spiritual” and a “bodily” aspect. Here, too, the most powerful element of the relationship is the one in which “a body derives pleasure from a body.”

The human body is often seen as nothing more than a physical container and tool of the soul. In truth, however, the body is also the soul’s counterpart and counterpole: while the soul is the seat of our spiritual identity–our sense of mission and purpose, of connectedness to a higher truth–the body is the source of our material self, our sense of distinctiveness and apartness of being. The soul is “part of G-d above” and ever conscious of its insignificance in the face of its Divine Source; it recognizes the cardinal law of existence that “There is none else beside Him.” ⁴ On the other hand, the body has been imbued with a concreteness and substantiality which, in effect, smother all awareness of its Creator. It is the body that creates the “I am” feeling which underlies the ego-centrism of physical life.

Comprised of both body and soul, we enlist them both in our relationship with G-d. We serve Him with our spiritual selves: with our Torah study, we inculcate our mind with His wisdom; in prayer, we meditate upon His greatness, seeking to develop a love and awe of Him in our hearts. In these and other ways, we strive to exercise the mastery of mind over matter, the supremacy of spirit over substance. We strive to subordinate the body’s selfish drives and express our soul’s self-nullifying attachment to its Creator.

Substance and Spirit

But this is only one side of the relationship. Also the body serves G-d, not only as an instrument of the soul but also with its own resources and the material identity it generates.

The purpose of creation, say our sages, is that “G-d desired a dwelling in the lowly realms.” ⁵  The “lowly realms” is our physical world, lowly because of its spiritual distance from its source, its illusion of self-sufficiency, its almost total blackout of anything transcendent and Divine. But it is here that G-d wished to make His home, desiring that this “lowly realm” be made to house and express His quintessential self. ⁶

Thus, we serve G-d primarily with physical deeds and objects: the mitzvos which govern our business dealing, family life, diet and dress; the physical act of binding the teffilin, leather boxes containing parchment scrolls, on one’s arm and head; eating matzoh on Passover, sounding a ram’s horn on Rosh Hashanah. Even the spiritual experience of prayer is to be verbalized as an audible sound formed by moving lips. Indeed, virtually every material resource on earth and every organ and limb of the human body has its prescribed mitzvah, G-d’s way of establishing how it can be made to be the instrument of His will.

But a “dwelling in the lowly realms” involves more than physical deeds and materials being used to fulfill G-d’s commandments. It also incorporates the very essence of physicality—the very features which deem it lowly. Ego, individuality, pride–the antitheses of the soul’s affirmation of the Divine truth–these, too, are forces which can be harnessed and directed to drive our efforts to build the world that G-d desires.

This is the physical aspect of our relationship with the Almighty. We may not be experiencing G-d the way we do in its spiritual dimension, but with our physical drives and deeds we relate to Him in a no less significant way—by fulfilling His desire in creation.

Body To Body

So much for the body and soul of the Jew. What about G-d?

G-d, of course, does not possess a “soul” or a “body” or any other component parts. But precisely because He is not divisible or definable in any way, we must distinguish between two things whenever we think about, discuss, or “experience” the Divine: G-d Himself, and our perception of His reality.

Because of the finite and definitive nature of everything human, any understanding we may have of His truth, any articulable perception we may have of His reality, belongs to the second category. G-d desired that we relate to and experience Him, so He projected various humanly perceivable manifestations of Himself (His “wisdom” in Torah, His “artistry” in nature, His “providence” in history) into our world. None of this is actually Him, any more than the sun’s rays are the sun. They are reflections of His being, not its substance.

When we serve G-d with our spiritual selves, we are actually relating to manifestations of G-dliness rather than to G-d Himself. This “Divine light” will always be an utterly “spiritual” (i.e. intangible) dimension of His reality, for our perception of G-d is as a being of absolute abstraction, infinity, omnipresence and omnipotence. A being before which everything submits and nullifies itself, before which any vestige of selfhood is in variance with the truth that “there is nought else beside Him.” Indeed, to perceive Him in any other way would be a gross definition of His indefinable being. But is this G-d Himself? Obviously not, if we are “perceiving” it or “experiencing” it.

But when we serve G-d with our physical selves, we are relating to more than a spiritual manifestation of His truth. We are in touch with the very essence and substance of G-d—to the “body” of His reality rather than its soul. For from whence do we derive our self, our sense of individuality and distinctiveness? From whence does the physical existence derive its brute immanence, its unyielding substantiality? Ultimately, G-d is the supreme source of all. And in this regard, the world of the body is superior to the world of spirit: the blatant “I am” that the physical exudes is a reflection of the unequivocality of G-d’s being. When we serve G-d with our body and bodily identity, we are expressing what our physicality and ego are really all about: the unexperienceable essence of G-d.

And it is in this “blind” coming together of bodies that the most profound pleasure of the relationship lies. G-d’s “mind” may be in the Torah, his “heart” may be in the yearnful notes of prayer, but His “desire” is in the dwelling that we make for Him out of our physical selves and world.

The Frigid Nights of Tevet

The history of our relationship has known spiritually sunny times. G-d’s involvement in our lives was openly perceivable. The Holy Temple stood in Jerusalem, a beacon of His manifest presence in our midst. The Divine “sun” shone brightly, and we basked in the warmth of its rays.

But on Tevet ⁷ 10th of the year 3336 from creation (426 B.C.E.) we were plunged into a winter from which we have yet to emerge. On that day, Babylon’s armies laid siege to Jerusalem; two and one-half years later they breached the city’s wars, torched the Temple, and exiled the Jewish people. Golus, the geographical and spiritual displacement of Israel, commenced. The sun came out for another four centuries in the time of the Second Temple, but this was a more reserved revelation of G-dliness: some of the Temple’s most overt signs of Divine immanence were lacking; [“Five things distinguished the First Temple from the Second Temple: the Holy Ark (containing the Tablets engraved with the Ten Commandment) with its cover and cherubim; the Divine fire (which descended upon the Altar); the Sh’china (Divine Presence); the Holy Spirit; and the Urim V’tumim (G-d’s communication and guidance via the gems of the High Priest chest plate)”—Talmud, Yuma 21b.] prophecy had ceased—the Divine Groom was no longer directly communicating to His bride. Then this, too, was taken from us.

Ever since, we have been out in the cold. But if the spiritual winter of golus all but eclipses the perceptive and experiential side of our relationship with G-d, it is a time of heightened pleasure in its physical aspect: the frigid nights of Tevet only intensify our bodies’ delight in each other. If a cold and dark world mutes the light of G-d and dulls our minds and hearts, it only accentuates the most basic and essential element of our relationship: the bond between the physical self of man and the quintessential being of
G-d.

Based on the talks of the Rebbe, Shabbos Vayeishev 5735 (December 7, 1974) and Shabbos Vayigash 5750 (January 6, 1990).

Tags: ego, Rebbe, materialism, body and soul, purpose of life, Jewish law
Posted in Purim, Months & Holidays, Tevet, Torah | 1 Comment »

Hemshech Tzaddik Dalet

March 25th, 2015

Commentary:
Part 1 Existence Unplugged
Part 2 From One Reality to Another
Part 3 Do You Want to Dance?
Part 4 Transitions
Part 5 Beyond Self-Interest

* * *

A running summary of the 9 discourses that comprise Hemshech Tzaddik Dalet:

Hemshech Tzaddik-Dalet dissects the very nature of existence, indeed, the very nature of reality itself. It’s central and most remarkable theme is that existence as we see and experience it is not real at all.

What is real? is the big question posed in this series. Is something real because you can touch and see it? Or is that simply a circumstantial reality, which has no validity outside of the world of our senses. If something were to be truly real, wouldn’t that dictate that it be real even if and when we don’t see or touch it? In other words its reality is based on it being fundamentally and essentially necessary, not because it just happens to exist.

Think of it this way: What is reality – the sub-atomic forces that energize and define all of matter, or the matter itself; the DNA that shapes your entire being, or your being; the electricity that runs through our appliances, or the appliances.

What is more real: The cause or the effect? The peel or the fruit? Your body or your soul?

Is existence energy or matter? And if you were to find out that matter was just a form of energy, and should that energy cease to flow all of matter would simply vanish – how real is that matter even while it looks so formidable?

Is power defined by its immediate or by its enduring strength? How much credence do we give to something that is powerful today but will disappear tomorrow?

How would you look at yourself and your vanities if you were to know that it is all based on a state of blindness: Our inability to see behind the curtain? What would feel like if you were to discover that the things we worship and control our lives are nothing more than a shell concealing a fruit within?

Hemshech Tzaddik-Dalet explains that material existence and even – which is more astonishing – spiritual existence has no true validity of its own. Nothing dictates that matter or spirit must exist. And even when they do exist, their entire being has no self-contained power; it is driven entirely by Divine energy. The only true Reality is the Divine Essence of all, which exists because it must exist. In the words of the Tanya: Everything has a cause. But G-d has no cause other than Himself; nothing preceded Him; His being derives from His own self. G-d’s existence must exist, for it is true reality. G-d is an existence that is unlike any existence, “a non-existential existence.” It is real because it is real; a reality that exists because it exists.

Tags: materialism, Chassidus, Frierdiker Rebbe, reality, existence
Posted in Soul & Mystical, Great Mystics, Spiritual | 1 Comment »

The Book of Light

March 25th, 2015

Lag B’Omer—the thirty-third day of the forty-nine-day “omer count” from Passover to Shavuot[1]—is the day most associated with the teachings of Kabbalah. It is the anniversary of the passing of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, author of the most basic Kabbalistic work, the Zohar (lit., “luminance” or “radiance”; commonly translated as “The Book of Splendor”). Rabbi Shimon instructed his disciples to celebrate the date of his passing, going so far as to refer to it as his “wedding day” (yom hillula). For the day of a person’s passing is the culmination of his life on earth; in the case of a righteous individual, it is also its highest point—the point at which a perfectly fulfilled mission in life attains its ultimate realization.[2]

Kabbalah is the mystic soul of Torah, the element of Torah that most intimately relates to its divine essence. All of Torah, including the Talmudic passages dealing with the laws of “two people holding on to a garment”[3] or “one who trades a cow for a donkey,”[4] are the wisdom and will of G-d, and the mind that contemplates them and integrates them into itself thereby cleaves to their divine conceiver[5]; but there one apprehends the divine wisdom as it is clothed in mundane “garments,” as it has invested itself within worldly, commonplace matters.[6]

On the other hand, in the soul of Torah, the form, as well as the essence, is divine: Kabbalah discusses not financial disputes and livestock trades, but spiritual worlds, supernal attributes and forms of divine energies. If the student of Talmud knows that the temporality of his subject matter is but a shell that hides the divine essence implicit within it, the Kabbalist’s mind ingests the G-dly wisdom in a more translucent capsule, in a vessel aglow with the spirituality and divinity of its content.

Sight and Hearsay

When the Talmud cites a proof to decide a dispute between two sages or to resolve a question of law, it often introduces it with the phrase Ta shema—“Come, hear” or “Come, understand” (the Hebrew word shema means both “hear” and “understand”). In contrast, the common opening phrase in the Zohar is Ta chazi—“Come, see.” For the difference between these two forms of Torah is akin to the difference between sight on the one hand, and hearing and comprehension on the other.

While sight and hearing are both tools of perception, absorbing stimuli and conveying them to the mind to interpret, there is a major difference in the manner in which they impress their “findings” upon us. Sight is the most convincing of faculties: once we have seen something with “our own eyes,” it is virtually impossible for other sensory evidence or rational proofs to refute what we now know. On the other hand, hearing and comprehension are far less vivid impressers of the information they convey. They will convince us of certain truths, but not as unequivocally as do our eyes. What we hear and understand are facts that have been “proven” to us; what we see is reality.

One who contemplates the “body” of Torah gains knowledge of the divine reality. But this remains “hearsay”—second-hand information conveyed via the medium of its mundane subject matter. Only by studying the soul of Torah does one come to “see” G-dliness, to perceive its reality in the most immediate and unequivocal manner.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Lag B’Omer 5711 (1951)[7]

_____________________

Tags: spiritual vessels, Divine energy, reality, light, higher reality, Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, death, kabbalah
Posted in Soul & Mystical, Months & Holidays, Lag B'Omer, Great Mystics, Spiritual, Torah, Iyar | No Comments »

24,000 Plus One

March 25th, 2015

There was once a man who had twenty-four thousand disciples. He taught them to love, but their love was too absolute, too true, to be loving. They died, and their death spawned a period of mourning that darkens our calendar to this very day.

This man had one disciple who devoted his entire life—literally his every minute—to the pursuit of truth. Yet his truth was true enough to love. He, too, passed from the world, and the anniversary of his passing is celebrated as a day of joy and festivity to this very day.

This, in a word, is the story of Lag B’Omer—the story of Rabbi Akiva (d. circa 134 ce) and his greatest disciple, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai.

A Celebrated Death

The seven weeks between Passover and Shavuot are a period of anticipation, preparation and self-refinement. With our daily “counting of the omer,” we retrace our ancestors’ journey from the Exodus to Mount Sinai, from their first glimpse of the face of G-d to their election as G-d’s chosen people and their receiving of the Torah.

It is also a time of sadness. No marriages are conducted during this period; like mourners, we don’t cut our hair or enjoy the sound of music. It was in this period that Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 disciples died in a plague because they “did not conduct themselves with respect for each other.”[1]

One day stands out as an isle of joy in these despondent weeks: Lag B’Omer, the 33rd day of the omer count. The laws and customs proscribing joy during the omer period are suspended,[2] children are taken out on outings, and the day is marked as a festive and joyous occasion.

There are two reasons for this joy. One is that the plague that raged among Rabbi Akiva’s disciples ceased on this day.[3] A second reason is that it is the anniversary of the passing of Rabbi Akiva’s greatest disciple, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. Before his death (many years later, without connection to the plague), Rabbi Shimon referred to the day of his passing as “the day of my happiness,” and instructed that it be observed each year as a day of joyous celebration.[4]

Love and Truth

Why is the passing of Rabbi Akiva’s other disciples mourned as a national tragedy, while the passing of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai is remembered with celebration and joy? Indeed, the very same day that celebrates the end of the dying of Rabbi Akiva’s disciples, celebrates the death of his greatest disciple! To understand the significance of these two Lag B’Omer events, we must first examine the root of the “disrespect” that caused the plague amongst Rabbi Akiva’s disciples.

Rabbi Akiva taught that “Love your fellow as yourself”[5] is a “cardinal principle in Torah”[6]; indeed, this is the most famous of his teachings. One would therefore expect that Rabbi Akiva’s disciples would be the foremost exemplars of this principle. How was it that they, of all people, were deficient in this area?

But their very diligence in fulfilling the precept “Love your fellow as yourself” was their undoing. Our sages have said that “Just as every person’s face differs from the faces of his fellows, so, too, every person’s mind differs from the minds of his fellows.”[7] When the twenty-four thousand disciples of Rabbi Akiva studied their master’s teachings, the result was twenty-four thousand nuances of understanding, as the same concepts were assimilated by twenty-four thousand minds—each unique and distinct from its 23,999 fellows. Had Rabbi Akiva’s students loved each other less, this would have been a matter of minor concern; but because each disciple loved his fellows as he loved himself, he felt compelled to correct their “erroneous” thinking and enlighten them as to the true meaning of their master’s words. For the same reason, they found themselves incapable of expressing a hypocritical “respect” for each other’s views when they sincerely felt that the other’s understanding was lacking, even in the slightest degree.

The greater a person is, the higher are the standards by which he is judged; in the words of our sages, “With the righteous, G-d is exacting to a hairsbreadth.”[8] Thus, what for people of our caliber would be considered a minor failing had such a devastating effect upon the disciples of Rabbi Akiva.

The Thirteenth Year

But there was one disciple of Rabbi Akiva who learned to overcome the pitfalls of uncompromising love and uncompromising truth, as exemplified by the following incident in the life of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai:

When the Roman rulers of the Holy Land placed a price on the heads of Rabbi Shimon and his son Rabbi Elazar, they hid in a cave for twelve years. During this time, they spent every minute of their day studying Torah. When they emerged from the cave, they were shocked to discover people plowing and sowing: How could people set aside the eternal life that is Torah and occupy their days with the transitory life of the material? So intense was their wrath at such folly that whatever met with their burning glance went up in flames. Proclaimed a voice from heaven: “Have you come out to destroy My world? Return to your cave!” Rabbi Shimon’s thirteenth year of study, while increasing his knowledge and appreciation of the eternal truth of Torah, also taught him the value of endeavors other than his own. Now, wherever he went, his look would heal rather than destroy.[9]

The 4,000-year history of Jewish learning has known many great and diligent students of Torah; yet none epitomized the absolute devotion to the pursuit of the divine truth to the extent exemplified by Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. Throughout the writings of our sages, his example is cited as the ultimate case of one “whose study of Torah is his sole vocation.”[10]

Certainly, Rabbi Shimon’s commitment to truth was no less absolute than that of Rabbi Akiva’s other disciples. Yet his truth was true enough to love. In his thirteenth year in the cave, he attained a dimension of the divine truth that tolerates, indeed embraces, the many and diverse avenues of connection that G-d has provided to a humanity whose minds, characters and temperaments are as diverse as their number. In his thirteenth year in the cave, Rabbi Shimon attained a level of truth in which he could utterly devote himself to the “eternal life” that is Torah and advocate such devotion for everyone else,[11] and at the same time appreciate and respect the path of those who serve G-d via the “temporal life” of material endeavors.

So the very same day that celebrates the end of the plague amongst Rabbi Akiva’s disciples celebrates the passing of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. The Chassidic masters explain that the passing of a righteous person marks the point at which “all his deeds, teachings and works” attain the pinnacle of fulfillment and realization and the point of their most powerful influence upon our lives.[12] And the “deeds, teaching and works” of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai are the ultimate rectification of Rabbi Akiva’s disciples’ tragic failure to achieve the proper synthesis of love and truth that would make their love true and their truth loving.

A Dual Lesson

As noted above, it was only among men of the caliber of Rabbi Akiva’s disciples that such a failing could bode such devastating results. But our sages chose to record this story for posterity and fix it in our lives by a series of laws that govern our behavior in the weeks between Passover and Shavuot each year. Obviously, we, too, have something to learn from what happened to Rabbi Akiva’s disciples.

The lesson is twofold: we must learn from their virtues as well as from their mistakes. We must learn to care enough for our fellow man not to indulge his errors and accommodate his failings. This might be the easiest and most socially comfortable way to behave, but, rather than “tolerance,” it bespeaks an indifference toward his welfare. On the other hand, we must never allow our commitment to his betterment to lessen in the slightest our respect and esteem toward him, no matter how misguided and unresponsive he might be.

If this seems paradoxical, it is. But in regard to regarding ourselves, it is a paradox with which we are quite comfortable—every psychologically healthy person loves himself unconditionally and, at the same time, incessantly strives to improve himself. This is the paradox that we must also cultivate in our relationship with others: on the one hand, we must never compromise our efforts to improve our fellow man out of respect for his views and feelings; on the other hand, we must never allow these efforts to compromise our love and respect for him. For to succumb to either compromise is to fail to love him as we love ourselves—a principle which Rabbi Akiva considered fundamental to G-d’s blueprint for life and of which Hillel said: “This is the entire Torah; the rest is commentary.”[13]

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Lag B’Omer 5740 (1980) and 5744 (1984), and on other occasions[14]

Tags: Rabbi Akiva, ahavat yisrael, absolute truth, Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, love, kabbalah, Zohar, love your neighbor
Posted in Months & Holidays, Lag B'Omer, Great Mystics, Spiritual, Torah, Iyar | No Comments »