January 20th, 2015
CAN I REALLY MAKE MY SELF BETTER?
One should strengthen himself like a lion to get up in the morning to serve his Creator, so that it is he who awakens the dawn
– Opening to Code of Jewish Law
We all desire to be better. Resolutions are one way to make the desire reality.
New Year’s resolutions come in many shapes and sizes. There are the fitness related – gym joining, eating healthy, jogging; and the relationship related – fall in love, spend time with family, have children. There are resolutions that aim to improve our professional lives – get organized, save money, start a new company; and resolutions geared to enhancing our quality of life – travel, learn something new, acquire a hobby.
Any one of these resolutions can better one’s physical, emotional, and intellectual attributes. Yet they don’t quite get to the root of the matter, which can be reached by making spiritual resolutions. To broaden the resolution pool, here are ten suggested spiritual resolutions – small practices that can have big impacts.
Committing to becoming more aware of our purpose in this world is no easy task. By following the natural patterns of the day, from waking in the morning to dreaming at night, we can indeed turn this upcoming year into a truly meaningful one!
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AWAKE THE DAWN
Conventional thinking would have you believe that dawn awakes you. But perhaps you are given another day so that you may awaken the dawn? Every morning, before you do anything, acknowledge that you are awake today so that you can wake up the world. This will automatically put sunshine into even the cloudiest of days.
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HANDS ON
Your morning routine is set. Yawn, stretch, shower, brush teeth, in whichever order you prefer. Add one more element into that routine: wash your hands from the night that was, creating a clean slate for the day that will be. Picture an artist painting on the same canvas over and over again. Washing our hands in the morning (a ritual in Jewish tradition called netilat yadayim) marks the transition to a renewed self – from last night’s used canvas to the fresh canvas of today.
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SHOE SOULS
Assuming that you wear shoes, you probably don’t put too much time into how you put them on. Try this for an exercise: put on your right shoe before your left. This simple routine achieves something monumental: It states that I will always put my right foot forward first, and I will constantly strive to walk on the right path.
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MORNING MEDITATION
Before you step out of the privacy of your home and into the public domain of the world, stop for two minutes to meditate on the fact that no matter how chaotic the outside world may get, you will always have the peaceful serenity of your home.
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CHARITY BOX
You have all sorts of gadgets, thingamajigs, and ornaments sitting on your desk, shelves, and counters – pictures of your children, paperweights, awards- all of which give you something. How about displaying something to which you give? Having charity boxes in your kitchen, office, home, and workplace is a perpetual reminder and inspiration that you are here in this world (not only to take but also) to give.
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AFTERNOON PRAYER
In many ways this resolution is the most difficult. But it is also the most rewarding. In the midst of the storm it is most difficult to achieve calm; but it is then that calm is most needed. Every afternoon, in work, at home, stop what you are doing and say a five-minute prayer. The prayer may come from a prayer book or from your heart. The point is, you are putting everything on hold for a few minutes to reach for something beyond your own self.
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STUDY HALL
Education is essential. Studying spirituality makes you more spiritual. Committing to daily, weekly, or monthly spiritual study is a huge resolution, and one that will have revolutionary results. Like the human life, it is much better to start small and to grow large than to start large and grow small. Perhaps read one inspiring sentence a day; or join a monthly class.
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DINNER PARTY
Dinner is when families can sit together after a hard day of school, work, or living. Turn one dinner a week into an occasion by sharing something meaningful at the table: a touching moment from your workday, or asking your child about something he or she learned in school. Every week another family member could prepare something soulful to share at these weekly dinners. This sort of dinner dish is, miraculously, both delicious and healthy.
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CLEAN SLATE
You had a hard day. Say you got a fleck of mud on your cheek. Would you go to bed without washing it off? The same is true with the emotional and spiritual flecks. If you hurt someone in the past 24 hours, wash that fleck of mud off before you go to bed by apologizing to the person and making amends. Or, if someone wronged you, forgive that person before you retire for the night. Going to bed with a heavy heart will only make the bed creak.
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LAST THOUGHTS
What is the last thing you think about before you fall asleep? That may very well be the first thing you feel when you wake up. Think bright thoughts when you go to bed and your morning will be a dream. The best kind of dream: the conscious kind.
VIVA LA RESOLUTION!
Resolutions, like money, are easier to make than to keep. But, also like money, resolutions can truly enrich your life and turn the most mundane exercise into a precious commodity.
May our resolutions enkindle a truly blessed, spiritual, and meaningful year!
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January 20th, 2015
It is rare to find a substance so utterly proscribed by the Torah. There are other foods whose consumption is forbidden; but this the Torah forbids us to eat, benefit from in any way, or even keep in our possession. Usually, a forbidden substance becomes “nullified” if it mixes with a much greater quantity of permissible substances;[1] of this, the Torah forbids the slightest trace—even if it blends with something a million times its volume, the entire lot becomes unfit for consumption.
We are speaking, of course, of chametz, or leaven, on Passover. In the weeks before the festival, the Jewish home is the scene of an all-out war of extermination. Floorboards are scraped, furniture dismantled, countertops boiled. On the night before the festival we conduct a solemn search for any survivors and consign them to the flames on the next morning. The enemy: the most minute bread-crumb, beer stain or pasta residue—anything in which grain and water have come together and fermented, rendering the product chametz and utterly intolerable for eight days a year.
On the spiritual level, leaven, whose primary feature is that it rises and inflates itself, embodies pride. This explains our uncompromising rejection of chametz. Other negative traits might be tolerable, or even useful, in small, greatly diluted doses. Depression, for example, has been declared “a grave sin,”[2] for man is commanded to “serve G-d with joy”;[3] but a small dash of melancholy, counterbalanced by a hundredfold helping of joy, may serve a positive function, reflecting a necessary concern over one’s shortcomings and the commitment to rectify them. The same applies to anger, stubbornness, chutzpa, and a host of other negative character traits: as a rule, they are undesirable, yet in the proper context and in the right proportions, each has its positive applications. Arrogance and pride, however, are of such spiritual toxicity (the Talmud states that G-d says of the arrogant one, “I and he cannot dwell in the same world”[4]) that we must forgo any attempt to exploit them, and must totally eradicate them from every crevice of our hearts.[5]
The 49-Day Difference
And yet, despite the severity of the prohibition of chametz, it is only forbidden for eight days and several hours a year,[6] while other, less “toxic” elements are forbidden year-round. In other words, there is a state of being, which Passover represents, in which arrogance and pride are objectionable in any context and quantity. After “Passover,” however, chametz becomes permissible and even desirable.
This duality is also expressed in the laws governing the offerings brought to G-d in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. In the Holy Temple, it was “Passover” all year round: all grain offerings had to be unleavened, in keeping with the divine command that, “No leaven … may be brought as a fire-offering to G-d.”[7] This, too, reflects G-d’s utter abhorrence of arrogance and pride. Nevertheless, on the festival of Shavuot, two loaves of bread, specifically commanded to be “baked leavened,”[8] were offered in the Temple.
Thus, Passover and Shavuot represent two extremes in the desirability of pride. On Passover chametz is wholly and utterly forbidden, while on Shavuot it is not only permitted but is a mitzvah, commanded and desired by G-d.
Passover marks our birth as a people, when G-d extracted a clan of slaves from the “forty-nine gates of depravity” of Egypt and set them on the journey toward Sinai, where He took Israel as His eternal bride on Shavuot. Connecting Passover and Shavuot is the forty-nine day “Counting of the Omer”: the Torah commands that beginning on the eve of the second day of Passover, we should conduct a daily count of the days that have passed from the day after the Exodus.
The Kabbalists explain that the human personality consists of seven basic attributes (love, restraint, harmony, ambition, devotion, connection and receptiveness), reflecting the seven divine attributes (sefirot) which G-d invested in His creation. Each sefirah contains elements of all seven, making for a total of forty-nine divine channels of relation to our reality, and forty-nine corresponding traits in the human heart.[9] Thus, the Kabbalists speak of the utterly corrupt society of Egypt as a moral nadir of “forty-nine gates of depravity.” These are paralleled by “forty-nine gates of understanding”—the ladder and process by which one achieves the refinement and perfection of all elements in one’s character.
Therein lies the significance of the forty-nine day count and climb from Passover to Shavuot. On the first day of Passover, we were physically removed from the land of Egypt; yet we still had to remove the “Egypt” from within us, to cleanse our hearts and minds of the residue of two centuries of pagan environment and practice. So on the second day of Passover begins a forty-nine-day count, chronicling a daily internal exodus from another of Egypt’s “gates of depravity” and entry into another of the “gates of understanding.” After forty-nine days, we attain the internal purity required to receive the divine election and communication of Shavuot.
Hence the difference between Passover and Shavuot regarding chametz. One who is still burdened with negative drives and emotions lacks the ability to sublimate the most potent and corruptible of the heart’s traits—pride. So immediately following the Exodus, chametz is banned. It is only upon attaining the full refinement of all forty-nine compartments of the heart on Shavuot that the offering of leaven to G-d becomes a mitzvah, appropriate and desirable.
On this level, pride is no longer the self-inflating chametz of the “Passover” personality, but the selfless pride of one who has cleansed his heart of every last vestige of self-interest and has dedicated it exclusively to the service of his Creator. This is a pride not in what one is or has achieved, but an expression of the majesty of He whom he serves and whose reality he conveys in his every thought, word and deed. [10]
Wet Matzah
This also explains an interesting law regarding Acharon Shel Pesach, the eighth and final day of Passover.
One example of the extremes to which we go to avoid the slightest trace and chance of chametz on Passover is the practice, in many communities, of refraining from eating matzah sheruyah (“soaked matzah”) on the festival.
Matzah is made of water and flour that have been speedily and thoroughly blended and baked, to avoid any chance of leavening. Once baked, the flour in the matzah will not leaven; matzah (or “matzah meal” made by grinding matzah to a fine “flour”) may now conceivably be mixed with water and other liquids in the preparation of food for the festival. However, there remains an extremely slight chance that some of the flour might have failed to mix completely with the water at the time of the matzah’s original baking, leaving a few particles of raw flour at risk of leavening should they come in contact with water. For this reason, many halachic authorities, including Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, rule that it is best to avoid the use of matzah sheruyah on Passover.[11] This ruling has been accepted by many communities, to the extent that there are those who are careful not to even place matzah on the table during mealtimes unless it is securely covered, lest a single drop of liquid alight on a piece of matzah. This is one of the many examples of the unparalleled lengths to which we go in the avoidance of chametz on Passover.
On the other hand, Rabbi Schneur Zalman permits the use of matzah sheruyah on the eighth day of Passover. Furthermore, his successors, the Rebbes of Chabad, made a point of wetting matzah at every course of the meals of Acharon Shel Pesach.
There are those who are wont to explain this leniency by the fact that the eighth day of Passover is a rabbinical institution, as opposed to the first seven days, which are biblically ordained. But the observance of the rabbinical “added days” to the festivals are just as binding for the Jew as their biblical sisters; in fact, Halachah is even more stringent regarding certain aspects of their observance, for the very reason of forewarning any inclination to treat them lightly.[12] Indeed, with the exception of the eating of “soaked matzah,” we are no less diligent in our rejection of leaven on Passover’s final day. Why, then, this exception?
A Taste of Future
As we have discussed, the forty-nine-day count from Passover to Shavuot represents the process of refining the seven basic attributes of the heart as each comprises elements of all seven, making for a total of forty-nine traits. This is why the Torah speaks of the count as consisting of weeks (“Seven weeks you shall count for yourselves…”[13]). In our daily count, we, too, emphasize its weeks: on the twenty-fifth day, for example, we say, “Today is twenty-five days, which are three weeks and four days to the Omer [count].” Indeed, Shavuot—the name of the festival that culminates the Counting of the Omer—means “weeks.”[14] For the internal “count” also consists of seven “weeks,” being the refinement of seven attributes of the heart that are each a unit of seven.
Thus, each week of the count is a microcosmic Omer Count of its own, involving seven “days” or sub-traits as they are reflected in the various nuances of that week’s “attribute.”
The eighth day of Passover is the seventh day of the count and the final day of its first week. It therefore represents the point at which elements of each of the seven attributes (as they are present within the attribute of “love”) have been refined and elevated. The eighth of Passover is thus a mini-Shavuot, and shares its leaven-tolerant quality. While outright chametz is still strictly forbidden, we mark this milestone on the road to perfection with the positive use of a chametz-vulnerable element, employing wetted matzah to enhance our festival meal.
This corresponds to another feature of the eighth day of Passover—its identification with the era of Moshiach. The haftorah (reading from the Prophets) for this day (Isaiah 10:32-12:6) describes the coming of Moshiach and the harmonious perfection of a time when “the world shall be filled with the knowledge of G-d as the waters cover the sea.” Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov instituted a special meal, “The Feast of Moshiach,” to be held on the afternoon of eighth day of Passover, as a time that is profoundly suited to “taste” and experience the divinely perfect world we are creating with our positive efforts—a world in which “the spirit of impurity shall cease from the earth”[15] and everything, including the pride so abhorrent to G-d today, shall be sublimated as a wholly positive and altruistic force.[16]
Therein lies the lesson of the eighth day of Passover: even if perfection seems a far-off goal, you possess the ability to create a “taste” of perfection in the here and now. Start with a single trait of your personality, with a small corner of your community. If you wholly devote yourself to it, you will find in it elements of your entire self, indeed of the entire universe. Your creation of this small model of perfection will serve as the catalyst for its realization on a holistic, and ultimately universal, level.
Based on the Rebbe’s talks on the eighth day of Passover in the years 5727 (1967) and 5737 (1977) and on other occasions [17]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. Certain forbidden substances are nullified if they constitute a minority of the mixture; others if they are less than one-sixtieth, less than one part in one hundred, or less than one part in two hundred. It should be noted that it is forbidden to intentionally nullify a prohibited substance.
[2]. From a saying by Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (Keter Shem Tov, section 169).
[3]. Psalms 100:2.; see Tanya, chapter 26.
[5]. Cf. Maimonides’ commentary on the Mishnah, Ethics of the Fathers 4:4.
[6]. From mid-morning of the day before Passover, until nightfall of the eighth day (seventh day in the Land of Israel).
[9]. E.g., loving in love, restraint in love, harmony in love, etc.
[10]. Cf. II Chronicles 17:6: “And his heart was lifted up in the ways of G-d.”
[11]. Responsa 6, printed at the end of Shulchan Aruch HaRav.
[12]. See Tur, Shulchan Aruch and commentaries, Orach Chaim, section 491.
[13]. Deuteronomy 16:9; see also Leviticus 23:15.
[14]. Deuteronomy, ibid., v. 10.
[16]. The “Feast of Moshiach” offers another, even more extreme example of Acharon Shel Pesach’s “tolerance” for chametz. On Passover (as on all other festivals) a special section—Ya’aleh Veyavoh—is added to the Grace After Meals recited at the conclusion of each meal; this section includes the passage, “Remember us for good, on this day of Passover.” The law is that if one begins his meal on the last day of a festival and continues it after nightfall, he is to recite the Ya’aleh Veyavoh at the conclusion of this meal, even though, for everyone else, the festival has ended many hours ago. Nevertheless, it is permissible to eat chametz immediately after nightfall of the last day of Passover, even in the middle of a meal that began before nightfall. Thus we have the amazing paradox of a Passover meal, at whose conclusion we still consider ourselves “on this day of Passover,” during which it is permissible to eat chametz! (Shulchan Aruch HaRav, Orach Chaim, 491:3. See also Mishnah Brurah, ibid.; Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXII p. 36, notes 62-64).
[17]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXII, pp. 30-38.
Posted in Months & Holidays, Passover, Torah, Nisan | No Comments »
January 20th, 2015
Our sages relate that when the Red Sea split for the Jewish people, fruit-bearing trees grew from the sea bed; the children picked the fruit off these trees and fed them to the birds, who joined the Jewish people in their singing of praise to the Almighty.[1]
We are told that G-d is loath to overturn the laws He established to define and regulate the natural order of the universe.[2] A miracle is thus an extraordinary occurrence, performed only when absolutely necessary. So what was the purpose of these instantly sprouting and fruiting trees?
Historical Opportunity
“Everything was created to serve me,” states the Talmud, “and I was created to serve my Creator.”[3] For man alone has been granted freedom of choice and volition; only his deeds have a moral and transcendent significance. So while every entity and being has a role in the Divine purpose in creation, they all depend upon man for the realization of this role through his development and utilization of them in accordance with the Creator’s design. It is man to whom the Torah, which outlines this design, has been given, and it is man who has been granted the franchise and ability to implement it.
When man performs an act that serves G-d’s plan for creation, he thereby “elevates” the myriad of objects and forces he involves in his deed. For example, when a person writes a check to charity, he elevates the paper and ink of his check, the entire array of tools and resources he drew upon, and the energy he expended, to earn the money, the food and drink which fueled this energy, the environment which produced this food, etc., etc. All these now become partner to a moral deed, a deed which transcends the mundane, self-oriented nature of all physical things–something they could never have achieved on their own.
Ultimately, every created thing has its particular potential to serve man in his service of the Creator. Our sages tell us that a brook running through a remote forest clearing may wait thousands of years for its single opportunity to be elevated; for the day that a Jew walks by and, upon proclaiming the blessing “Blessed are you G-d… Who everything came into being by His word,” drinks thirstily of its waters.
The Precedent
The crossing of the Red Sea was an important step in our journey from Egypt to Sinai, where we received the Torah—the document to define our mandate and mission in G-d’s world. So in this crossing, the nature of our role in developing and sublimating our environment was demonstrated to us.
The earth has been imbued by the Creator with the power to germinate a seed and nurture it from seedling to sapling to fruit-yielding tree. Yet here was a piece of land that, for thousands of years prior to this moment and for thousands of years to follow, would have no opportunity to realize this potential. And for the brief while that the sea parted to allow the people of Israel to cross, this narrow strip of land came to life, sprouting trees and yielding fruit—all so that birds should be fed and chirp, beautifying a Jew’s song of praise to the Almighty.
This was to establish a most powerful precedent in how we are to relate to the resources that have been placed at our disposal. No potential, no matter how fleeting or peripheral, should be discounted. For this may very well be the moment that a significant part of G-d’s creation will realize its Divine essence and purpose through its contact with your life.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shvat 15, 5723 (February 9, 1963).
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[1] Related in the name of the Maharal of Prague; see also Midrash Rabba, Shmot 21:9.
[2] See Jeremiah 33:25; Talmud, Avodah Zara 54b and Shabbos 53b; Drashot HaRan pg 8.
[3] Talmud, Kiddushin 82a.
Tags: trees, creation, miracles, potential
Posted in Months & Holidays, Passover, Torah, Nisan | No Comments »
January 20th, 2015
The number four figures prominently at the Passover seder: We drink four cups of wine, ask the Four Questions, speak of the Four Sons—to name but a few of the “fours” associated with the festival of freedom. Our sages explain this recurrence of the theme of four on Passover as deriving from the “four expressions of redemption” in G-d’s promise to Moses:
I will bring you out from under the hardship of Egypt, and I will save you from their bondage; I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments. I will take you to Myself as a nation, and I will be to you a G-d.[1]
As the commentaries[2] explain, the “four expressions of redemption” relate to the four aspects of our liberation from Egypt: 1) “I will bring out”—our physical removal from the geographical boundaries of Egypt; 2) “I will save”—our delivery from Egyptian hegemony;[3] 3) “I will redeem”—the elimination of any future possibility of enslavement because of the “great judgments” inflicted upon the Egyptians;[4] and 4) “I will take you to Myself as a nation, and I will be to you a G-d”—our election as G-d’s chosen people at Mount Sinai, the purpose of the Exodus.[5]
So why aren’t there four matzahs?
Matzah, the unleavened bread, is the most important item at the seder. It is the “bread of poverty” that symbolizes our hardship under Egyptian slavery.[6] It is also the “bread of haste” that did not have time to rise, reminiscent of the nature of our redemption—the sudden, drastic, overwhelming change that the Almighty wrought in our lives.[7] At the stroke of midnight on Passover eve, G-d instantaneously transformed a materially and morally impoverished clan of slaves into a free people—into the nation chosen to be His “light unto the nations”[8] and to play the central role in His purpose of creation.[9]
Virtually the entire seder centers on the three matzahs on the seder plate, from the recitation of the Haggadah over the smaller half of the middle matzah, to the eating of the “after matzah” (afikoman) at the meal’s end. Indeed, the biblical name for Passover is “The Festival of Matzahs,” for it is the matzah that embodies the essence of the Exodus.
So why aren’t the “four expressions of redemption” represented in the most basic symbol of the Exodus? Why are there only three matzahs arranged on the seder plate?[10]
Flash of Faith
The matzah, as we said, expresses both our poverty at the time of the Exodus and the haste with which the redemption came about. The two are interrelated: it was because we were impoverished—spiritually as well as materially—that our redemption had to be such a hasty affair. Our sages explain that we had become so entrenched in the paganism and depravity of Egypt that the Exodus came at the very last possible moment. Had we remained slaves in Egypt a moment longer, there would have been no “people of Israel” to redeem.[11]
Thus, we could not afford the luxury of an orderly, methodical redemption. We simply did not have the time to gradually divest ourselves of our slave mentality and pagan ways, to comprehend the significance of the role for which we were being chosen, or to develop the proper emotional response to the greatest event in human history. All we had was our faith in G-d—a faith that had persevered throughout our long and harrowing exile.[12] On Passover eve, G-d ignited this faith with a tremendous revelation of His might and truth, blasting our souls free of the chains that had imprisoned them in an internal slavery more nefarious than any physical bondage. It was this faith, and this faith alone, that took us out of Egypt and set us on the road to Sinai. The prophet Jeremiah describes the moment when he says: “So says G-d: ‘I remember your youthful love, your bridal devotion, following Me out to the desert, to an unsown land.’”[13]
But faith alone was not enough. Faith can move mountains, but it cannot remake the essence of man. For faith is a transcendent force, and therein lies both its power and its limitations: it can lift a person to unprecedented heights, but these remain “otherworldly” experiences, extraneous to his inner self.
Faith got us out of Egypt, but it could not get the Egypt out of us. To become truly and inherently free we had to change from within, by means of a gradual process of internal growth and development.
So following the instant exodus of Passover, G-d embarked us on a systematic regimen of self-refinement and transformation. Only at the end of a forty-nine-step[14] process (which we reexperience each year with the 49-day sefirah count) did He enter into His covenant with us at Mount Sinai.
Thus, while the “I will bring out,” “I will save,” and “I will redeem” elements of the Exodus were realized on Passover itself, the fourth element came to fruition seven weeks later, with the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai (marked each year with the festival of Shavuot). At Sinai, G-d’s promise that “I will take you to Myself as a nation” was realized, after we had internalized the faith of the Exodus, attaining an understanding and appreciation of our mission as G-d’s “treasured people among the nations … a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.”[15]
Flat Cake and Sensual Drink
These two stages in our redemption are personified by two staples of the seder—matzah and wine.
Matzah, the “bread of poverty” and the “bread of haste,” is the “bread of faith”[16] which represents the state of the Jewish people at the moment of the Exodus. The matzah dough must be kneaded hastily, and placed immediately in the oven—allowing it to rise and assume the richness and texture of full-bodied bread renders it chametz, forbidden for consumption (or even possession) on Passover. Also, in order to be valid for use at the seder, the matzah must consist of flour and water only: any innovative attempt at a gourmet matzah (e.g. mixing in eggs or fruit juice) disqualifies it for the mitzvah of eating matzah on Passover eve.[17] Matzah thus reflects the intellectual and emotional poverty of one who, roused by a flash of divine truth, follows G-d into the desert with nothing but his faith and commitment. One who understands nothing, feels nothing, “tastes” nothing save his awe before the majesty of his Creator and his firm resolve to serve Him.[18]
Wine, on the other hand, is the epitome of sense and experience. Wine, the palatable beverage that “gladdens G-d and man,”[19] represents the spiritual richness of the people who stood at the foot of Mount Sinai: a people who had undergone the process of internalizing the divine truth so that it invigorated every nook and cranny of their minds and hearts.
Thus we have three matzahs and four cups of wine at the Passover seder. With the three matzahs, we reexperience the event of the Exodus itself: the flash of faith that “brought out,” “saved” and “redeemed” us from Egypt, but which fell short of enabling us to “taste” the substance of our freedom. With the four cups of wine, we savor also the fourth dimension of the Exodus—the flavor and fragrance of the spiritual maturity attained at Sinai.
The Sensitive Servant
And yet, matzah is not the “tasteless” food that many an undiscerning palate would judge it. Indeed, the taste of matzah is mandated by Torah law.
Actually, we find two seemingly conflicting rulings in halachah (Torah law) regarding the taste of matzah. On the one hand, there is the law which states that even if a person does not taste the matzah he is eating, he has nevertheless fulfilled the mitzvah of eating matzah on Passover eve. For example, if a person grinds the matzah into a powder and swallows it, he has observed the mitzvah.[20] Another law, however, stipulates that the matzah must retain its distinctive taste; if, for whatever reason, the taste of matzah is suppressed or altered (e.g., it is cooked or mixed with other foods)[21] it is not valid for the mitzvah. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi explains: “Although one need not taste the matzah in his mouth, the matzah itself must possess the taste of matzah.”[22] Matzah need not be tasted, but it must be tasteable.
For matzah does have a taste: the taste of faith, the taste of commitment, the taste of self-abnegation. Matzah is not wine—it has not the keen tang of intellectual inquiry or the intoxicating high of passion. But the sensitive servant of G-d will savor its simple yet subtle flavor, its austere yet deeply satisfying consistency.
One who does not taste the matzah he is eating—one who does not appreciate the flavor of faith and the delectability of commitment—nevertheless fulfills the mitzvah of eating matzah on the seder night. For also our forefathers, beholding the truth of truths for the first time that night, were not in a position to “taste” their faith and experience its sublime delights. The overwhelming revelation of G-dliness which they experienced was just that: overwhelming and unreal to their yet unperfected selves.
But the matzah must have its distinct flavor, even if the one ingesting it is incapable, as of yet, of relishing it. Faith, true faith, always carries the potential for a deep and satisfying relationship with G-d—no less satisfying than the most luscious vintage of the mind and heart.
Matzah, Wine, and Matzah
So it is matzah, not wine, that is the symbol of the Exodus. The sensory austerity of matzah is not merely an initial phase to be overcome and surpassed on the road to Sinai; if this were the case, the robust cup of wine, rather than the flat matzah cake, would be upheld as the symbol of our freedom. But it is the matzah which embodies the ultimate goal of the redemption, the matzah that we are to refer to, “all the days of your life,”[23] for the ultimate significance of our freedom and nationhood.
Certainly, we should strive to stimulate our senses with an appreciation of our purpose in life and our relationship with our Creator. But the purpose of it all is a return to the genesis of our journey, a return to the unequivocal commitment that transcends reason and experience.
This is not a return to the “tasteless” faith of childhood, to a faith whose simplicity stems from the limitations of the unmatured mind; it is not a return to a sense-poor Exodus that was dictated by the circumstances of the Egyptian galut. Rather, it is a reaffirmation of the faith and commitment that comes after we have comprehended all that is in our power to comprehend and we have experienced all that we are capable of experiencing. It is the acknowledgment that no matter how high our sensory self might reach, there is always something higher, a truth to which we can relate only with the simple acceptance of faith. Having supplemented our matzah with wine, we must now graduate to a higher order of matzah, to a matzah that is not bereft of thought and feeling but which surmounts them and supersedes them.
Matzah hurriedly chewed on an empty stomach is virtually tasteless; but at the meal’s end, especially after a glass or two of wine, it is a feast for the senses.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, eighth day of Passover, 5742 (1982)[24].
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
[2] Nachmanides, Sforno, et al.
[3]. Egypt was a superpower that enslaved and oppressed many nations and peoples outside its borders.
[4]. Had Egyptians’ power not been broken by the Ten Plagues and the drowning of its army in the Red Sea, they would have posed a future threat to the freedom of Israel (indeed, no sooner had the people of Israel left Egypt than Pharaoh chased after them to try to force their return). Freedom that exists under the threat of slavery is not true freedom.
[7]. Exodus 12:39: “And they baked unleavened cakes of the dough which they brought out of Egypt, for it did not [have time to] leaven; for they were driven out of Egypt and could not tarry….”
[9]. See Rashi on Genesis 1:1.
[10]. The practical reason for the three matzahs is that the concept of “bread of poverty” is best represented by a piece of matzah, rather than a whole matzah; on the other hand, we honor each Shabbat and festival meal with lechem mishneh—two whole loaves of bread. We therefore place three matzahs on the seder plate. At the beginning of the seder, we break the middle matzah in two; the larger half is set aside for the afikoman, and the smaller half serves as the “bread of poverty” upon which the Haggadah (the “telling” of the story of the Exodus) is recited. To observe the mitzvah of eating matzah, we eat both from the broken matzah as well as from the top whole matzah. The third (bottom) matzah is used for korech, the matzah-and-maror sandwich.
But everything in Jewish life is significant, especially on the seder night, when everything we do is replete with symbolism and meaning. So in addition to any “technical” reason, there must be a deeper import as well to the matzah’s departure from the theme of “four” that pervades the seder.
[11]. Thus we say in the Haggadah: “If G-d had not taken our forefathers out of Egypt, we, our children, and our children’s children, would still be enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt…” If the redemption had not come when it did, it could not have come at all (see sources cited in the Rebbe’s commentary on the Haggadah, Haggadah Im Likkutei Taamim Minhagim u’Biurim, p. 30).
[12]. Yalkut Shimoni, Hosea 519; cf. Midrash Rabbah, Shemot 3:15. See Midnight, WIR, vol. VI, no. 19.
[14]. The human character consists of seven basic attributes, each of which contains elements of each of the others, making a total of forty-nine traits and nuances of personality. Hence the forty-nine-step program of self-refinement.
[16]. Zohar, part II, 41a (see the Rebbe’s notes on page 116 of Sefer HaMaamarim 5708).
[17]. Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim, 462:2; see also Magen Avraham, ibid., 461, sub-section 7.
[18]. Cf. Talmud, Nedarim 41a: “There is no true poverty save the poverty of mind.”
[20]. Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim, 475:3.
[21]. Ibid., 461:4 and sources cited in note 17.
[22]. Shulchan Aruch HaRav 461:12.
[23]. Deuteronomy 16:3, quoted at the beginning of this essay.
[24]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXVI, pp. 43-48.
Tags: faith
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January 20th, 2015
Preparations for Passover begin almost a year before the festival, when the wheat for the shemurah (“guarded”) matzah is harvested. Shemurah matzah is made from grain that has been meticulously guarded from the time of its harvest in order that it not come in contact with any moisture whatsoever, to avoid the slightest chance that it might ferment. In this memoir, the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe (Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, 1880-1950) recalls how the shemurah was harvested by the chassidim of his grandfather and father more than one hundred years ago:
The wheat for the shemurah matzah was taken from the fields of Reb Zalman Shcherbiner, whose homestead was in Shcherbina, a two hour journey from Lubavitch. The journey to Shcherbina, and the events surrounding it, made a deep impression upon me, and are engraved in my childhood memories.
Reb Zalman had a meticulous system for choosing the field with the highest quality wheat, and for choosing the day and hour of the harvest. The conditions for the harvest were: a clear and bright day on which the sun shone in its full intensity, and that no rain had fallen in the previous three days. The set hours for harvesting the shemurah were from noon to two o’clock or two-thirty in the afternoon.
When the time for harvest approached, Reb Zalman would come to Lubavitch to make the arrangements. For in addition to Reb Zalman, his family, and the Jewish families who lived on Reb Zalman’s land, several of the zitzers (resident scholars) of Lubavitch, as well as those visiting Lubavitch at the time, would work at harvesting and threshing the wheat. Since the exact day on which the above conditions would be met could not be known in advance, Reb Zalman would come with several wagons to take the people who would be doing the harvesting to Shcherbina, so that they should be ready to begin work at the proper moment. At times, they would wait a week or more for the perfect conditions to harvest the shemurah.
For Reb Zalman, the shemurah harvest was a cause for threefold joy. First of all, he would be cutting wheat for the shemurah matzah for the Rebbe.[1] Secondly, he would have guests from Lubavitch in his home for several days, something which he especially loved and for which he had a special talent. But most of all, the Rebbe himself would be attending the cutting of the wheat, and this was something that would infuse Reb Zalman with a year-long vitality and joy.
From the day that Reb Zalman left Lubavitch with the harvesters until that clear, bright day on which the shemurah was cut, the talk of the town was of the weather. People looked constantly at the sky; they felt the wind to see if it was dry or if it contained the slightest moisture. Dozens of predictions were heard about the next day’s weather. Each day we awaited the arrival of the special messenger from Shcherbina who would tell us that the harvest would be on that day.
* * *
The cutting and the threshing of the wheat were done with great joy, coupled with a seriousness that was profoundly displayed upon the countenances of the workers. All were belted with their gartlen[2]and wore hats over their yarmulkes.[3] The work went swiftly in the burning heat, as if the harvesters were experienced farmers.
Sickle in hand, the elderly Reb Zalman, with his broad, regal beard and face shining with joy, was swift and nimble as a lad. One could see the joy literally lifting him off his feet. His shoes and white socks floated above the ground like the feet of Naftali on a divine mission, as can only be with a true servant of G-d whose very heels are permeated with the profound pleasure of the mind and the inner will of the heart to serve G-d.
Some of the chassidim would cut the wheat, while others sang Chassidic melodies which poured forth with a sublime sweetness and carried across the countryside.
An aura of holiness enveloped the entire area. The wives and children of the local families stood by and watched, dressed in their Shabbat clothes, their faces reflecting the specialty of the occasion.
When the cutting and threshing of the wheat were concluded, Reb Zalman and a number of others would go to bathe. Upon his return, Reb Zalman, who would be wearing his Shabbat clothes, would lead the afternoon minchah prayers, which he would chant with a Simchat Torah tune. Tachanun[4] was not said. Following the prayers, all would join him in a joyous dance, during which Reb Zalman would suddenly leap into the air and perform three back-and-forth somersaults.
All would then proceed to the tables set up in the orchard, where a festive dairy meal was laid out for the farbrengen.[5] At the meal, the Rebbe would deliver a discourse of Chassidic teaching and farbreng for several hours. After the Rebbe had retired to the room which had been prepared for him, the assembled would continue to farbreng all night long.
In the morning, following the morning prayers, we would return to Lubavitch. Reb Zalman and his crew would arrive in Lubavitch that evening, bringing with them the sack of shemurah grain, which would be hung in a special room for safekeeping.
Told by the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn[6].
—————
[1]. Rabbi Shmuel of Lubavitch and, after his passing in 1882, Rabbi Shalom DovBer of Lubavitch.
[2]. A belt worn by chassidim during prayer.
[3]. It is Chassidic custom to wear a double head-covering during prayer.
[4]. Confession of sins, which is omitted on festivals and on especially joyous occasions.
[5]. Joyous gathering entailing words of Torah, singing and l’chaims.
[6]. Likkutei Dibburim, vol. I, pp. 241-244.
Tags: Chassidic stories, wheat
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January 20th, 2015
All servants of the king… know, that any man or woman who shall come to the king, to the inner courtyard, unsummoned, there is one law for him—to be put to death—unless the king extends to him the golden scepter…
Thus, I shall go to the king, unlawfully; and if I perish, I shall perish…
Esther, 4:11-16
The Torah, say our sages, speaks of the physical realm and alludes to the spiritual realm.[9] On the surface, it narrates the physical history of Israel and lays down the laws of physical life; but within its words lies a spiritual story and a spiritual law, charting the supernal relationship between G-d and His people and legislating the inner life of the soul.
Thus, chassidic teaching explores the inner dimension of the Book of Esther, which tells the story of Purim. On the “physical” level, we read about the Persian King Achashverosh, the heroic Queen Esther, the wicked Haman, etc. On the esoteric level, King Achashverosh is “the King Whom the beginning and the end are His,”[10] Queen Esther is kenesset yisrael, the collective soul of the people of Israel, and the entire story describes the sublime drama of their relationship.
Therein lies the deeper significance of the above-quoted lines, spoken by Queen Esther to Mordechai. Generally speaking, there is an array of laws that govern who may enter into the “inner courtyard” and under what circumstances. There are certain ways in which we are permitted to approach G-d, and certain areas into which we are forbidden entry. As all servants of the King know, there are places where no mortal dare venture.
But there comes a time when a soul must go to her King, lawfully or not. A time when nothing matters—not the penalty for unbidden entry, not the illegality of the deed—save the need to storm the gates of the King’s most intimate chamber and arouse His mercy upon His subjects.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Purim 5711 (1951).
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[9]. Nachmanides’ commentary on Torah, Genesis 1:1.
[10]. In Hebrew, “Achashverosh” can be read as an acronym of the phrase acharit v’reishit shelo—”the beginning and the end are His.”
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January 19th, 2015
Haman’s decree “to destroy, kill and annihilate all the Jews, young and old, infants and women”[1] was neither the first nor the last such attempt by our enemies to destroy us. But this was the only time in our history that the threat to our physical existence was so immediate and all-inclusive. A single day—the 13th of Adar—was set aside for the total extinction of Israel. The Persian empire included 127 provinces, from India to Ethiopia; every Jew on the face of the earth lived in this domain and was subject to Haman’s decree.
The comprehensive nature of Purim extends also to its inner significance. Underlying the physical events recounted in the Book of Esther was a spiritual drama involving each and every Jew and profoundly affecting the very essence of our nationhood and our relationship with G-d. Paradoxically, Purim represented both a nadir in terms of the divine presence in our lives as well as a “moment of truth” which galvanized our covenant with G-d and set it upon its eternal foundations.
A Jarring Experience
On the sixth of Sivan in the year 2448 from creation (1313 bce), the entire nation of Israel assembled at the foot of Mount Sinai. There G-d chose us as His people and we committed ourselves to observe the laws of life as outlined in His Torah.
The Talmud points out, however, that nearly one thousand years were to pass before our covenant with G-d was sealed. As formulated at Sinai, the contract between G-d and Israel contained certain vulnerabilities; in fact, its very validity was contestable. It was only nine-and-a-half centuries later, with the events of Purim, that our acceptance of the Torah was established upon an unshakable foundation.
The Torah tells us that prior to the revelation at Sinai, the people of Israel “stood beneath the mountain.”[2] How does one stand “beneath” a mountain? The Talmud interprets this to mean that “G-d held the mountain over them like a jar and said to them: ‘If you accept the Torah, fine; if not, here shall be your grave.’” But a most basic legal principle is that a contract entered into under duress is not binding; hence, concludes the Talmud, there was a standing contest to the legality of our commitment to observe the Torah.
But during the events of Purim, the Jewish people reaffirmed their acceptance of the divine law without any hint of coercion from Above. In the words of the Book of Esther, “they established and accepted”[3]—established as valid and unchallengeable that which they had accepted a millennium earlier at Sinai.[4]
The Dark Ages
At Sinai, G-d revealed His very essence to man. As the Torah tells it, “G-d descended upon Mount Sinai”[5] and we “saw the G-d of Israel.”[6] On that day, we “were shown to know that G-d is the Supreme Being—there is none else besides Him”[7]; “Face to face G-d spoke to [us], on the mountain, from within the fire.”[8]
In terms of any open sign of the divine presence in our lives, the events of Purim were the diametric opposite of the revelation at Sinai. G-d’s home on earth, the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple) in Jerusalem, lay in ruins, its rebuilding, ordered fourteen years earlier by the emperor Cyrus, halted by Achashverosh’s decree. The era of prophecy—G-d’s direct communication to man—was coming to a close. We were in exile, at the mercy of our enemies, and G-d seemed oblivious to the fate of His chosen people. Even the miracle of Purim was completely clothed in natural events, so that G-d’s guiding hand in all that occurred was shrouded by the illusion of fortunate coincidence. This is most powerfully demonstrated by the fact that in the entire Book of Esther, there is not a single mention of G-d’s name![9]
How did this spiritual blackout affect our commitment to G-d? It spurred us to what can be described as the greatest demonstration of our loyalty to Him in our history. For eleven months, a decree of annihilation hung over the entire community of Israel. As the Book of Esther relates, even after Haman had fallen out of favor with the king and was hanged, the decree he initiated remained in effect; the only thing that Esther was able to achieve was to prevail upon Achashverosh to issue a second decree, in which the Jews were given the right to resist those who came to kill them. The first decree, calling upon all citizens of the realm to annihilate the Jewish minority in their midst on the 13th of Adar, remained in force until that date, when the Jews were victorious in their war against their enemies, killing 75,000 of their attackers.[10]
For that entire year, when being a Jew meant that one’s life was free for the taking by imperial decree, not a single Jew broke ranks from his people to seek safety by assimilating into the pagan populace. In fact, the Book of Esther records that that period saw many conversions to Judaism! So strongly did the Jews radiate their faith in G-d and their confidence in His salvation, that many of their neighbors were motivated to join a people with such a powerful and immutable relationship with G-d.
Therein lies the deeper significance of the “coercion” to accept the Torah at Sinai and the validation of our covenant with G-d achieved on Purim.
At Sinai, we had no choice. Faced with such an awesome revelation of the divine truth, one could hardly doubt or dissent. In effect, we were “forced” to accept the Torah; overwhelmed and completely enveloped by the divine reality (“the mountain held over us like a jar”), we could not but commit ourselves to our divinely ordained mission and role.
But a thousand years later, we reaffirmed this commitment under entirely different conditions. The divine presence did not hover over us, compelling us to recognize its truth. On the contrary: the divine face was hidden. We were on our own, our commitment to G-d stemming wholly from within, from an inner choice to cleave to Him regardless of how visible or invisible He remained to us.
The Proof
This is not to say that on Purim a new, valid contract replaced the original, “contestable” one. If that were the case, then what was the point of the revelation at Sinai? Certainly, the Torah was a binding commitment between ourselves and G-d for the 950 years from Moses to Esther. Rather, as the Talmud interprets the Book of Esther, “they established what they had already accepted”: Purim established the truth of what had already occurred at Mount Sinai.
The truth is that our relationship with G-d is not bounded by reason. It is not dependent upon our understanding of it, or even upon our conscious awareness of its existence. It transcends our conscious self, residing in the very core of our souls.
This was why we were compelled to receive the Torah at Mount Sinai. Not because we would not have freely chosen to do so on our own, but because a consciously chosen commitment could not begin to express the true extent of our acceptance of the Torah. Our covenant with G-d extends beyond the finite world of our conscious desires, embracing the infinite expanses of our supra-conscious self—the supra-conscious self that always “sees” G-d and is unequivocally aware of His truth. At Sinai, this supra-conscious self came to light. Our conscious self, comprising but a minute corner of our soul, was completely overwhelmed and its “choice-making” mechanisms were completely silenced.
This was the true significance of what occurred when we “stood beneath the mountain.” But for many centuries, the events at Sinai were open to misinterpretation. In our own minds, we remembered the event as a time when we were overwhelmed by the divine truth and compelled to accept it. Did this come from within, from a place in our souls not accessible by the conscious self? Or perhaps it came from without, from an external force which coerced us, against our own true will, into our covenant with G-d?
Then came Purim, with its terrible spiritual darkness, with its total eclipse of all perceivable G-dliness. To remain a Jew, to remain loyal to our covenant with G-d, was a conscious, willful choice, uninfluenced by any supra-conscious revelations. By choosing to accept the Torah under such circumstances, we established that this is the true will of the Jew. We established that our “coercion” at Sinai was not against our will, but completely consistent with what we truly desire.
The Willful Mitzvah
Thus Purim revealed a new dimension to our observance of Torah, establishing it as a freely-elected way of life, as opposed to a set of compelling duties. And this thousand-year difference is reflected in several of the mitzvot of Purim.
The festival observances, such as sounding the shofar on Rosh HaShanah or eating matzah on Passover, are usually specially ordained practices, unique to their festival. But there are two Purim observances about which there appears to be nothing original, and which seem to be only extensions of general, year-round precepts of the Torah.
On Purim we send gifts of food, called mishloach manot, to friends and neighbors in order to promote fellowship and love between us. Another Purim mitzvah, matanot la’evyonim, is to seek out a minimum of two paupers and give them gifts of money. But to “love your fellow as yourself”[11] and to give charity are year-round duties for the Jew. What makes these distinctly Purim observances?
Yet the Torah does not obligate us to initiate gestures of friendship or to seek out the needy. The commandment “Love your fellow as yourself” only mandates that when you do come in contact with your fellow, that you treat him with love and respect. The laws of charity mandate that when a needy person asks for your help, you are obligated to render assistance. What is unique about the way we fulfill these mitzvot on Purim is that we actively seek out opportunities to do so.
For Purim emphasizes our desire to fulfill the commandments of the Torah. Also one who does something only out of a sense of duty may do the deed properly and wholeheartedly; conceivably, two individuals may be doing the same thing, one of them out of a deep-felt desire to do so and the other because he feels obligated, and we may not be able to tell the difference between the two. But what if no obligating circumstances exist? Does one pursue the deed and seek to obligate oneself? Here is where the difference lies—this is what distinguishes the willing, desirous actor from the merely obedient one.
The Purim mitzvot of mishloach manot and matanot la’evyonim highlight the “choice” element in our relationship with G-d: that this is a relationship not only bound by ties of duty but also cemented with the bond of will.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Purim 5736 (1976)[12].
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
[2]. Exodus 19:17. “Beneath the mountain” is the literal translation of the Hebrew words betachtit hehar. Common translations render it “at the foot of the mountain” and the like (see Rashi on verse).
[4]. Talmud, Shabbat 88a.
[9]. “Esther,” the name of the heroine of Purim and the biblical book that recounts its story, is from the Hebrew hester, “concealment.”
[12]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XVI, pp. 365-366; Torah Ohr, 98d-99a.
Tags: faith vs. reason, charity, free choice, miracles
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January 15th, 2015
France, Napoleon, Islam and the Alter Rebbe
As Paris burning — and anti-Semitism — dominate headlines and our consciousness, some coinciding events were too glaring to ignore: The first documented story of institutionalized subjugation and genocide of Jews in these week’s Torah chapters; a prescient Zohar at the end of this week’s portion foretelling Ishmael (ancestor of the Arab/Muslim world) attacking Esau (forbearer of the Western world); and the 202nd yahrzeit of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, as he was fleeing the advance of the French army on Russia.
Upon connecting the dots of these seemingly unrelated events a stunning relevant image emerges, shedding a revolutionary new light on the current unfolding drama.
Beyond the immediate tragic events happening in Paris — and the imminent threats around the world to Jews and all good citizens — is there something bigger transpiring here?
The best way to understand the here and now is to step back, lift ourselves above the fray, and take a birds’ eye view of the unfolding drama. As always, placing things in the sweep of historical context, looking at the big picture, provides us with critical insight into the current frame and chapter, allowing us to forge a strategy and chart a direction going forward.
France and the Jewish people have a long, complicated and tenuous relationship.
Some of the greatest Middle Age Jewish massacres took place in France. In the 13th century King Louis IX expelled the Jews. And then, the 19th century scarred by the infamous Dreyfus Affair in the 19th century, which exposed the deep-seated French anti-Semitism — a scar that continues to haunt, only to be overshadowed by French complicity with the Nazis.
No wonder the shock elicited by the latest murders of Jews in the kosher supermarket, in the wake the Charlie Hebdo massacre — following the 2006 torturous murder of Ilan Halimi in 2006, and the 2012 slaughter of three children and a rabbi outside a Jewish school in Toulouse in 2012, and other subsequent attacks — exposing the open, raw and long-standing wound which marks the extended history of French prejudice.
To better understand France’s complex history with the Jews, let us travel back to the Franco-Russian War of 1812.
During that war, after Napoleon invaded Russia, Jewish leaders in Russia broke into two camps, one supporting the victory of French Emperor Napoleon, the other Russian Czar Alexander I. The former felt that if Napoleon won the war material life would become much easier for Jews. Napoleon, after all, is credited with being a major force in effecting Jewish emancipation, to the point that, by contrast, Alexander vehemently denounced the liberties given to the Jews by the French and demanded that the Orthodox Church protest against Napoleon’s tolerant religious policy. He referred to the Emperor in a proclamation as “the Anti-Christ” and the “Enemy of God.”
The latter group of Jewish leaders, however, argued that though Napoleon’s victory offered physical emancipation of the oppressed, it would compromise Jewish spiritual life. Napoleon, after all, represented an atheistic, self-glorifying, G-dless enlightenment, which threatened to assimilate and all but destroy the soul of the Jews unready for the challenges of the modern world. Russia’s victory, on the other hand, would assure that the spiritual integrity of Jewish life would be preserved.
Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, known as the Alter Rebbe, was a major voice in the Jewish opposition to Napoleon. His position was the one that ultimately prevailed. (for the detailed story click here). Rabbi Schneur Zalman was obviously not opposed to freedom from material oppression. What he wisely recognized was that this freedom has to be attained gradually, so as not to overwhelm the tenuous nature of spiritual life in a material world. And his fears were confirmed in the events that took place in Europe during the 19th century: Modern assimilation was birthed as a result of a people unprepared for the challenges of accelerated emancipation.
The Alter Rebbe was actually taking a cue from the Biblical Jacob, who made a similar statement to his twin brother Esau 3571 years ago:
In Biblical terms the battle between matter and spirit is the struggle between Esau and Jacob. After Esau and Jacob reconcile, Esau invites Jacob to become his neighbor.
Jacob replies, “My lord you know that the children are tender and I have responsibility for the nursing sheep and cattle. If they are driven hard for even one day, they will die… Please go ahead of me… I will lead my group slowly, following the pace of the work ahead of me, and the pace of the children. I will eventually come to you, my lord, in Seir.”
As the great commentator Rashi explains, that Jacob was referring to the end of times, about which the prophet Ovadiah propehsizes:
He told him of a longer journey… So when will he go? In the days of the Messiah, as it is said (Obadiah 1:21): “And saviors shall ascend Mt. Zion to judge the mountain of Esau.”
Jacob is telling Esau and all of us that there is much work to be done in resolving the inherent tension between the material and the spiritual. And this work must be done with complete focus. Jacob rejects even Esau’s offer to help by putting “some of my people at your disposal,” even that poses too great of a risk.
“Just let me remain on friendly terms with you,” Jacob tells Esau.
Similarly, the Alter Rebbe sensed that Jacob (the Jewish people) were not yet ready to accept the offer of freedom coming from the French modern face of Esau.
The children are tender and I have responsibility for the nursing sheep and cattle. If they are driven hard for even one day, they will die.
That was then.
But with time things began to change.
History is a process – the process of refining the material world and slowly acclimating it to its inner soul. As the river of time flowed forward, each generation carried the baton of its leg of the great marathon of history – each progressive generation building upon its predecessor, slowly refining the mundane world.
Today, after 3571 years of work from the time of Jacob and Esau, the accumulative energy of countless generations has so refined the world that it is ready for reconciliation. Jacob can finally fulfill his promise to Esau, “I will eventually come to you,” and the world can be united under one G-d, with a complete fusion of matter and spirit and each nation serving in its own unique manner (see The Big Confrontation – Jacob & Esau Meet).
Similarly, with the Alter Rebbe’s opposition to France. At the onset of emancipation, when the people — the “children” — were too tender, the leader’s responsibility is to ensure that that they be able and mature enough to engage with a new world.
But today, 200 years later, as France and the West became more refined and we have achieved a deeper state of maturity, the Rebbe made it clear (in a talk delivered at the end of 1991), that we now have the ability and opportunity to integrate both freedoms: material and spiritual.
The Alter Rebbe paid a heavy price for his war and opposition to France and Napoleon. Ostensibly, the French advance is what led to his untimely passing. Yet, in the big scheme of things the Alter Rebbe left us armed with unprecedented resources: the teachings of Chassidus. Chassidus, contemporary Jewish mysticism, renders and channels this ancient wisdom into an accessible blueprint for life that teaches us how to integrate our material lives with a higher, spiritual purpose.
Until the Alter Rebbe, cosmic secrets were in the exclusive domain of sacred few Tzaddikim. The Alter Rebbe’s liberation on Yud Tes (19) Kislev was a Divine signal and declaration that a new phase in history had arrived – the time had come to empower the masses with the ability to transform their material lives and the physical world into a home for the sublime.
This was always the purpose of existence, but in earlier generations global transformation would have not have been possible without overt Divine intervention. In natural terms, it did not seem possible that human efforts could achieve worldwide change. Yud Tes Kislev opened up a new channel – which would lead in subsequent years to the Industrial revolution, the emergence of democracy, the atomic and nuclear age, the information revolution – enormous changes that continue to grow at an accelerated pace.
Armed with these tools, and with the refinment and maturity that came with time, today we can harness our prosperity and comforts to advance a spiritual revolution. Yet, the challenge still remains not to take our freedoms for granted. Our greatest enemy today is within: our enemy is complacency – the one borne out of prosperity. When we don’t have to fight for our ideals, they tend to stagnate.
As time passed, emancipation was finally achieved to the point that today we are virtually free of any institutionalized oppression. And now, two centuries since the French Revolution and Napoleon’s defeat, we can now indeed engage, benefit from — and transform — the freedoms of modern society and thrive as Jews.
And thrive we did. France has, in the last few decades, proudly experienced a unparalleled renaissance of Jewish traditional life.
Yet, the tenuous relationship remains. And now comes the latest Muslim insurgence into France and Europe, with the most recent attacks against French Jews and French citizens. What are we to make of all this? And what happens in France, history shows, affects the world. France clearly plays a central role and reflects the overall European Western world.
So listen to this next fascinating piece of the puzzle:
In the very same verses where Ovadiah foresees Jacob returning to meet Esau, (and saviors shall ascend Mt. Zion to judge the mountain of Esau, fulfilling Jacob’s words I will eventually come to you),Ovadiah describes how .the Jews exiled in “Tzorfas” (France) will, at the end of days, prevail over their enemies and the ones that remained silent in face of their suffering, and how they will return to Zion!
This is the one and only time France is mentioned in the Torah.
This adds an entirely new dimension in our appreciation of the events in 1812 and today: The Alter Rebbe was certainly aware of this prophecy declaring Jacob’s return to Esau. But he also knew that this vision was meant to happen once the “children” had matured. Jacob in his time, and the Jewish people in the Alter Rebbe’s time, were not yet ready to engage with France and Seir. France was still the enemy that needed to be avoided and defeated.
The Alter Rebbe, however, also knew, that the time was coming — and indeed, today the time has come — when we can transform France, which epitomized the self-worship of man (as reflected so aptly in the French Enlightenment), into a Divine home.
But the story is not over. France (Esau) is still struggling with its destiny and relationship with Jacob (Jews), as demonstrated in the latest tragic events.
Yet this time, the attackers are Muslims.
So now, for the final piece of this emerging portrait, let us turn to the Zohar at the conclusion of this week’s Torah portion, whose theme is the Egyptian persecution of the Israelites. The Zohar (II 32a) writes that at the end of days, the children of Ishmael will wage wars on Esau (the Western world). Edom (Esau) will respond and battle with them. Ultimately G-d will intervene and the Jewish people will rise.
The plot thus thickens. Though we have matured to the point that we can now take on and transform France (Esau), after first needing to be insulated (in the time of the Alter Rebbe), the ride is not easy. We still need to contend with Esau and his many transmutations and incarnations.
Including, the one in which he weds the daughter of Ishmael (Genesis 28:3), with its own major drama (see The Plot Thickens), resulting in a new series of conflicts that includes not just battles with Jews but also battles between Ishmael and Esau (as reflected in the Muslim attack on French citizens). Because, as Esau’s infamous wedding attests, Esau and Ishmael had their own share of differences, besides their commonalities. Both their mutuality and their conflicts would affect their future progeny and the wars they would wage with and against each other, as explained by the Abarbanel (Mayonei Yeshua (intro to Daniel), 2:3).
You see, Esau (France) has two faces: One as son of Abraham and brother to Jacob; the second, as warrior and arch-enemy to Jacob. The former is perhaps how Esau has evolved into the American Revolution, which also brought freedom to the world, but as opposed to the G-dless French Revolution, the American one was built on “In God We Trust,” the inalienable rights endowed equally to all people by their One Creator (see Two Faces of Esau).
Though we can indeed engage with France, the battle is not over until France makes its choice which face it will embrace.
The final frontier is clearly upon us. And France stands at the center of events — as it does in Ovadiah’s vision, and as it has played itself out in its long history, leading to our present day. The challenge is both with Esau and Ishmael, as the Zohar tells us.
We are far ahead of how things were in 1812 and certainly how they were 3371 years ago, but we still have a few steps to make. We stand at the threshold of returning to Zion from France and the rest of the world. Yet, we are faced with finishing the job of refining Esau and Ishmael.
History is a continuum. Peace in our lifetime will only be possible if we make peace with the rifts of our past. Today, we are confronted with forces that have been unleashed thousands of years ago.
Events are sometimes separated by 200 or 3000 years. But when you connect the dots, a bigger picture emerges that helps explain the world altering changes that we have experienced in the last two centuries.
And perhaps, it can help us understand what lies ahead.
Studying all these texts and reviewing the historical roots of today’s challenges provides us with that birds’ eye view, uncovering for us the hidden choreography behind today’s events.
These inside “secrets” provide perspective to current events in France — and the world — illuminating for us: why is Paris burning? Why is France, of all places, at the forefront of today’s upheavals?
And above all: After a long history of tension with its Jewish citizens, which of the two options will France — and Europe — choose: To make its peace with G-d and the Jews or to capitulate to the forces of Ishmael? The end, as Ovadiah assures us, will be victory. The only question is this: how will we get there and who will be on board?
For an elaborate discussion on this topic, please go here to view Rabbi Jacobson’s latest class.
Image by OnickzArtworks via Thinkstock.
Tags: anti-semitism, Islam, Islamism
Posted in Biblical, Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Va'eira, Alter Rebbe, Religion, Modern, Torah Personalities, Social, Ishmael, Spiritual, Torah, Esau, Racism, Jacob, Terrorism, Current Events | 3 Comments »
January 13th, 2015
And the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them and their homes; all Korach’s people and all their property…
And a fire came forth from G-d and consumed the two hundred and fifty men who offered the ketoret.
Numbers 16:32-35
Every folly has its kernel of truth, every crime a virtuous objective at its heart. For the essence of man is unadulterated good; it is only that, at times, something might go awry in the process from motive to deed, so that a lofty ideal is corrupted to a lowly end.
The same was true of the mutiny of Korach, to whom our sages refer as the father of all discord and strife.[1] Korach challenged the authority of Moses, the truth of the Torah, and the very structure of the community of Israel as ordained by G-d. But the principle behind his arguments was a positive one, and the ambition that fired his deeds was laudable.
“The entire community is holy,” argued Korach to Moses and Aaron, “and G-d is within them. Why do you exalt yourselves above the community of G-d?”[2] Why does a Jew need Moses to teach him the word of G-d and Aaron to perform the service in the Holy Temple in his stead, when he himself possesses a soul that is a spark of the divine flame? Why can’t he realize his relationship with G-d on his own, without teachers, leaders and priests in his spiritual life? The essence of Korach’s arguments is, of course, true: the soul of man is “literally a part of G-d,”[3] and it requires no “intermediaries” in its connection with its source. Indeed, the prophet prophesies a future world in which:
“No longer shall a man teach his fellow… for all shall know Me, from the least of them to the greatest.”[4]
Korach erred in attempting to force this perfect state on a yet imperfect world—a world in which we do require guidance in the realization of our intellectual and spiritual potential, and in which the decree of refinement, spirituality and manifest connection to G-d varies from individual to individual.
Korach was driven by his frustrated desire for the office of Kohen Gadol(High Priest), to which Moses had appointed his brother Aaron, as G-d had instructed. The Kohen Gadol was the one who, representing the people of Israel, officiated at the most sacred services in the Holy Temple. It was he who offered the ketoret (“incense”) in the Holy of Holies (the innermost chamber in the Temple) on Yom Kippur, marking the point at which the most sacred elements of the three dimensions of reality—time, space and soul—converged, the holiest human being entering the holiest place in the universe on the holiest day of the year. But to yearn for a greater closeness with G-d than one is capable of or even permitted is a most positive thing; indeed, the tension between what one is able and required to achieve and that which lies beyond one’s reach is the essence of a spiritually productive life. Korach’s ambition turned destructive when it crossed the fatal line from yearning to deed, from striving toward a holier state to acting as if one had already achieved it.
Korach’s ideology and ambitions were positive, but the truth of a thing depends on its parameters as much as on its content. Given free rein to expand beyond the bounds of the permissible, they became a malignant cancer that consumed this wise and virtuous man,[5] ultimately leading him to open rebellion against those appointed by G-d to head the Jewish people and to denial of the divine communication to Moses.
The Swallowed and the Consumed
The dichotomy within Korach between his motives and his deeds was also reflected in the two distinct groups which made up his following. Joining Korach in his rebellion were :
“two hundred and fifty men from the people of Israel: leaders of the community, of those called to the assembly, men of distinction.”[6]
These individuals were driven by the aspiration to bekohanim gedolim; indeed, when Moses challenged them to offer ketoret as a test of whether they were worthy of such a high spiritual station, they eagerly did so, although they knew that Aaron’s two elder sons, Nadav and Avihu, had died in a similar attempt.[7] But Korach’s camp also included a mob of rabble-rousers, including the infamous Datan and Aviram,[8]jealous of Moses and discontent with the “burden” of the divine commandments he had introduced into their lives.[9]
The difference between these two groups is illustrated by the manner in which they met their tragic end. The two hundred and fifty men who offered the ketoret were consumed by a heavenly fire, while Datan and Aviram and their ilk were swallowed up by the earth. As for Korach himself, the Midrash tells us that since he was responsible for both these groups, he received both penalties: his soul was consumed by fire, and his body was swallowed by the earth.[10]
Korach’s mutiny also had both a soul and a body: the positive forces that agitated it and the negative form they assumed. At its climatic end came a separation of these two elements: its “soul” ascended on high in a holy conflagration (“fire” being the process in which the energy implicit in a substance is released and rises through the atmosphere), while its “body” fell away to be absorbed by the earthly abyss.[11] Released from its iniquitous embodiment, the spirit of Korach could now be reclaimed for its pure and holy applications.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Parshat Korach 5717 (June 22, 1957) and on other occasions[12]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. Talmud, Sanhedrin 110a; et al.
[3]. Tanya, part I, ch. 2.
[5]. Cf. Rashi, Numbers 16:7: “How did Korach, who was a wise man, come to such folly…?” (Indeed, since the Torah does not tell us anything about Korach’s life prior to his rebellion against Moses, how do we know that he was a wise man? Obviously, then, it is his very folly that reveals his wisdom. Examining his arguments and actions, we uncover the positive and desirable elements that gave rise to them.)
[7]. Ibid., verses 5-7 and 18; Leviticus ch. 10; see Shaloh, Parshat Korach (p. 358a). A similar phenomenon was found among the high priests of the Second Temple period, who bought the office from the Roman rulers of the Holy Land. As the Talmud (Yoma 9a; Jerusalem Talmud, ibid., 1:1) relates, because they were not worthy of entering the Holy of Holies, none of them survived even a single Yom Kippur. Nevertheless, there was no lack of bidders for the post each year! For these were people who so greatly desired to experience the ultimate manifestation of G-dliness on earth that they were ready to forfeit their lives for it.
[8]. Datan and Aviram were the two Jews whom Moses witnessed quarreling in Egypt (Exodus 2:13) and who were at the heart of virtually every conflict with Moses in Egypt and the desert (see Midrash Rabbah, Shemot 1:34 and 25:14; Tanchuma, Shemot 10; et al).
[9]. Numbers 16:1. See Yalkut Shimoni on verse.
[10]. Midrash Tanchuma, Korach 9; et al.
[11]. A similar process occurred with the “bursting of the vessels” in the primordial world of Tohu, in which the divine light was too intense for its defining parameters and ascended to its supernal source while its broken vessels fell to form the substance of the material universe (see Maamar Acharei Mot 5649).
[12]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XVIII, pp. 202-211; ibid., pp. 187-191; et al.
Tags: Korach, community, Spirituality, Yanki Tauber, divine perfection, Rebbe, Moses, leadership
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bamidbar, Social, Korach, Torah, Government | No Comments »
January 8th, 2015
Tragedy Meets Comedy
They say that there is a thin line between tragedy and comedy, but no one was prepared for the tragic slaughter of a team of lampoonists by Muslim terrorists.
Beyond the horror of the cold-blooded killings — and without minimizing them in any way — there is something very ironic and chilling about a group of three virulent Muslims wielding an arsenal of weapons, entering into a weekly editorial meeting of cartoonists and editors of a satirical newspaper, and murdering them all because of their mockery of their prophets and leaders.
It’s one thing to wage a crusade against religious enemies following the rules of engagement. That too is reprehensible. But it takes on a completely other dimension when gunmen, in a totally premeditated move, storm an editorial office shooting to death defenseless people — all in the name of their faith.
But in a world of indiscriminate beheadings why should we be surprised? Yet, these killings strike us more due to the juxtaposition of media — albeit, of the cynical genre — jokers — and assassins.
Not every day brings a head-on collision between irreverence and zealotry, strident non-conformists and rigid radicals, strongly anti-religious, left-wing voices and religious right-wing fanatics.
Indeed, comedy met tragedy face-to-face — with deeply tragic — nothing at all comical about it — results.
Some suggest that France is now getting its due after its recent escalating muggings of Israel and tolerating Muslim atrocities against Jews. Like the miners’ canary: Whenever Jews are attacked first, rest assured, everybody else comes next (see Game Plan).
Others go as far as to argue that Europe overall is getting its payback after what it did — or did not do (in the form of silent accomplices) — to the Jewish people during the Holocaust. Imagine what Europe would look like today had the six million Jews survived and went on to build families, communities and businesses; how that would have transformed that continent.
But alas, that was not meant to be. So after years of appeasement, Europe — with France at the forefront — seems destined to becoming a Muslim continent in the next few decades or less. Churchill said it best: An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last.
We should be loathe to suggest that France deserved this atrocity, that this was a punishment for France’s behavior. No one deserves to be executed, no less in this fashion by Muslim terrorists. But at the same time, we cannot ignore the fact that a climate of compromise and pandering if not groveling — whether it is in France, Israel or anywhere else — does not bode well in a surging sea of predators.
And then there is the issue of Islam and terrorism. Some are bending over backwards, for one reason or another, to emphasize that these attacks have nothing to do with Islam. They even go so far as saying that all religions have their radicals — as if there is equivalence between Muslim terrorist attacks of our era and other radical movements. While it’s true that not all Muslims are terrorists, all terrorists today are Muslims. You have to wonder why.
What is it about Islam — its leaders, its message and its education — that creates such a fertile breeding ground for terrorism?!
Don’t get me wrong. No doubt that the majority of Muslims and Arabs could, and may want to, be peace-loving. But one could argue the same for the majority of Germans during World War II. Yet, we hold them collectively responsible for allowing the Nazis to come to power. In face of the genocide and atrocities taking place under their eyes even their silence was a crime. In addition to the fact, that the Nazis were not some foreign import; they were the children and products of German society.
The Middle East is a breeding ground – a platform – for terrorism, for genocide. The schools are educating the children with certain ideas that are allowing for mass terror as a viable option to be exercised – or tolerated – in order to advance a cause. That simply is unacceptable. (See How Far are We Away from Sinai?).
Even more alarming: Why is the world not clamoring for and demanding an answer to this question?!
Instead, Israel is vilified.
If would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic — another instance of comedy meeting tragedy — that so much credibility is given to the Palestinians joining the Hague to prosecute Israel — the mist humane military in history — for war crimes, when Hamas, ISIS and so many other Muslim militant groups are violating human rights on an ongoing basis in the most atrocious ways!
No one can predict the future. But one thing is clear: As long as we choose to ignore the imminent dangers of unchecked toxins being fed to the young impressionable minds of the next generation of Muslims, until we don’t face up to the realities on the ground, we will be vulnerable to their distorted and obscene passions.
Half the cure to any problem is: awareness.
If nothing else, perhaps this is the sad lesson learned from the merciless killings of the comics at Charlie Hebdo.
Time to wake up.
Tags: anti-semitism, Islam, Islamism
Posted in Social, Terrorism, Current Events | 9 Comments »
