Electric Light: The 19th of Kislev

November 14th, 2014

The 19th of Kislev is celebrated by the Chabad community as the “Rosh Hashanah of Chassidism.”[1] Farbrengens—informal gatherings at which expositions of Chassidic teaching and words of inspiration mingle with melody, dance and l’chaims—are held in every community, and chassidim wish each other a “good year in the learning of Chassidut and the ways of Chassidut.” [2]

The 19th of Kislev marks the day, in the year 5559 (1798), that the founder of Chabad Chassidism, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, was released from imprisonment in Czarist Russia. Rabbi Schneur Zalman had been arrested on charges, put forth by opponents of Chassidism, that his activities, and the movement he founded, contained treasonous elements. His exoneration and release marked Chassidism’s victory over those who sought to destroy it; following the 19th of Kislev, the movement gained many new adherents, and its teachings were far more broadly and freely disseminated. Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s style of teaching also assumed a new form: he now expounded on the “soul of Torah,” previously presented only in the form of terse Kabbalistic formulas, at greater length and in a manner that more readily allowed their intellectual assimilation.[3]

On a deeper level, the arrest and liberation were interpreted by Rabbi Schneur Zalman and his followers as the earthly speculum of a supernal drama, in which the movement itself was on trial before the Heavenly court. Is it proper to reveal the most intimate secrets of Torah, which had been the exclusive province of a select few in each generation, to the public at large? Is it proper to clothe them in garments of reason, so that these essentially supra-rational truths should take the form of a rational philosophy and creed? Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s release from earthly prison signified his vindication above: the Heavenly court had ruled that the time had indeed come for the inner light of Torah to be revealed and to illuminate the world.[4]

The following is a freely-translated excerpt from a letter by the Rebbe to Mr. Shneur Zalman Shazar (president of the State of Israel in the years 1963-73),[5] dated Tevet 14, 5714 (December 20, 1953), in which the Rebbe touches on the parallels between the spiritual light unleashed on Kislev 19 and modern-day lighting methods.

“It was with pleasure that I received the news that electrical power has been installed in Kfar Chabad, and that  farbrengens were already held by its light on the luminous day of the 19th of Kislev. I am told that the matter was arranged thanks to your effort and vigor, and I thank you and congratulate you on this.

It is an age-old Jewish custom to seek a deeper meaning and instruction in every occurrence, as per the saying of the Mishnah, “Who is wise? He who learns from every man”;[6] to which the Baal Shem Tov adds that one must also learn something from every event and its every detail. From the day of his redemption on the 19th of Kislev, the double [7] light of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi began to spread, free of all disturbances and obstructions, and in a manner that could reach also the simplest of folk. Indeed, this is the elementary principle of Chassidism: to draw down and connect the ultimate heights with the lowest depths…

The electrical force is one of the hidden forces of nature. It cannot be perceived by any of the five senses—we know of its existence only through its causations and effects. Yet this hidden force most potently banishes darkness and illuminates the night. Thus, electricity is a physical analog for the spiritual force of Chassidism, whereby the hidden element of Torah and its most arcane secrets—as revealed via Chassidic teaching and the Chassidic way of life—banish the darkness of the material world and illuminate the murkiness of the physical existence.”[8]

Tags: light, chabad, Chassidic holidays
Posted in Yud-Tes Kislev, Months & Holidays, Kislev, Alter Rebbe, Torah Personalities, Modern, Torah | No Comments »

Incarcerated: Imprisoned Jewish Leaders

November 14th, 2014

Some famous prisoners:

Abraham: imprisoned by Nimrod for ten years (Talmud, Bava Batra 91a).
Joseph: incarcerated in the royal jail of Pharaonic Egypt for twelve years (Genesis 39:20).
Rabbi Akiva: imprisoned by the Romans for teaching Torah (Talmud, Berachot 61b).
Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai: confined to a cave for thirteen years after the Romans placed a price on his head.
Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi: held for 52 days in the Peter-Paul Fortress in Petersburg on charges of treason against the Russian Czar. Released on Kislev 19, 5559 (1798).

The common denominator of these “prisoners” is that each one’s life and teachings constituted a milestone in the dissemination of Torah. Abraham commenced the “age of Torah.”[1] Joseph was the link between the Torah of the Patriarchs and the generations of exile in Egypt.[2] Rabbi Akiva was the central figure in the transmission of the “Oral Torah”—the body of Torah law and interpretation that is the key to understanding and applying the “Written Torah”—from Sinai to Diaspora Jewry.[3] Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, author of the Zohar, is our source for the Kabbalah , the mystical dimension of Torah. And Rabbi Schneur Zalman was the founder of Chabad Chassidism, the movement that fused the rational and mystical streams of Torah into a unified, comprehensive program for life.[4] In each of these cases, imprisonment served as the incubation period for the revelation of a new, unprecedented dimension of G-d’s wisdom in our world.

Indeed, confinement always precedes a new beginning—consider the circumstances of every birth (under Torah law, a newborn infant has the legal status of a newly-released prisoner, since “there is no greater prison than the womb”[5]). Thus the prophet Ezekiel compares the experience of galut (our current state of exile and spiritual displacement) to a pregnancy, and the redemption to the birth that follows.

Confinement—whether in the womb, in galut, or in an actual prison—is a time of external limitation. But it is also a time of inner foment, a time that can be utilized as a launch point for the infinite possibilities of a new birth.

Based on a “19th of Kislev” entry in the Rebbe’s journal[6].

Tags: prison, Jewish leaders
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A Shattering Reunion

November 14th, 2014

Tefillin (phylacteries) are worn daily by every Jewish male over the age of thirteen, except on Shabbat and the festivals. Because of the many festivals it contains, the month of Tishrei also has the least number of days on which tefillin are worn. Indeed, there is a nine or ten-day stretch in Tishrei (Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret, and Simchat Torah, followed, in certain years, by Shabbat) on which the mitzvah of tefillin cannot be observed—the longest such stretch in the Jewish calendar.

It is told of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev that one year, after such a tefillin-less spell, he stayed up all night in anticipation of the moment that he could once again observe this mitzvah. At the crack of dawn, he rushed to his tefillin, kissed them, and, making the blessing, fitted them on his arm and head. Only later did he notice the blood running from his hands, which he had pushed straight through the glass doors of the cabinet in which he kept his tefillin…

Posted in Tishrei, Months & Holidays, Religion, Simchat Torah, Spiritual, Torah | No Comments »

Dancing with the Torah

November 14th, 2014

I was first called for an aliyah to the Torah at the age of thirty-six. I was in a Chabad house in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, a stranger to the group of regulars filling the room, save for Rabbi Yosef Samuels, who had invited me. It was a short walk from my seat to the bimah (reading table). But in that brief period of time I became very anxious about what would be expected of me.

I recalled the synagogue that I infrequently attended as a boy, where the Ark stood in front of a large, sterile room, and only the richest, most influential members were called to recite the blessings before the Torah. In my boyhood, Judaism was very formal and distant, surrounded by ceremony void to me of meaning or substance. The Torah in the synagogue of my youth was something removed, having no relevance to my nor my family’s daily life. I had never before, in the 36 years of my life, seen the inside of a Torah scroll.

I was not expecting to be called to the Torah this Shabbat morning in Milwaukee’s Chabad House. I hesitantly approached the group of men surrounding the reading table. I could see only their backs draped in white tallitot (prayer shawls). I expected grim, serious faces to be peering out from beneath the white cloth pulled up over their foreheads. But when I arrived, they turned to greet me with warm smiles. One of them, a person with whom I had briefly spoken before the prayers began, gave me a gentle nudge of greeting with his shoulder. The others were chatting while the reader found the place to begin. I was surprised at how friendly and informally everyone behaved while the Torah scroll lay on the table. I was told to touch the Torah with my tallit and kiss the cloth where it had touched the holy letters. I stumbled through the English transliteration of the blessings, and then stood nervously while the Torah was read. I recited the second blessing, and was gently moved to the side of the bimah while a mi shebeirach was said in my honor. The man I knew put his arm around me while this was happening, and joked with me a bit while we stood waiting for the next reading to begin. There was an atmosphere of informality and intimacy with the Torah that astonished me.

“The Torah is no stranger,” Rabbi Samuels explained. “We live with it every day.”

In the following months and years, I was astonished to find just how intimate the Torah could become in both the lives of the Lubavitchers I came to know so well, and in my own life. I went through several Jewish yearly cycles, experiencing times of awe and veneration for the Torah, and times of familiarity bordering on irreverence. To drunkenly hug and dance with the holy scrolls on Simchat Torah! Who could have ever imagined!

But just as I was to become intimate with the Torah, so was it to become intimate with me. As I began to study, I discovered the Torah’s relevance in every area of my life. As its deeper meanings were laid open to me through the study of Chassidic teaching, I found that I could turn to the Torah for guidance in every circumstance. Regardless of my mood or frame of mind, I could approach the Torah and find it waiting for me. Even in times of anger or rebellion, the Torah showed forgiveness and guidance. In times of sadness and depression, I would find hope and encouragement. In times of joy and celebration, I would find words of thanksgiving and praise for the One who provides all goodness. There was not an aspect of my life that the Torah did not enter. Slowly it penetrated into my inner life, my career, my relationship with my children and parents, even the most intimate aspects of my marriage. When first introduced to the Torah I felt I was coming to know a distant relative of whom I was aware but had never met before; but with the passing of years I began to feel that my learning and observance was revealing the Torah that had always existed within me. The Torah became deeply embedded into my life, part of the weave and warp of my being.

Now, when I rushed forward in the synagogue to kiss the Torah, it was with much affection and familiarity. When on Simchat Torah I danced with the holy scrolls, my inhibitions and emotions loosened from l’chaims, I would close my eyes and hug the Torah close, spinning in circles, enjoying a physical intimacy with the soft velvet cloth and the sacred writings it covered.

Without losing its place as my teacher and guide, the Torah had become my intimate companion. Today, I continue to marvel that the most holy of G-d’s creations allows itself to be embraced by me.

By Jay Litvin.

Posted in Tishrei, Months & Holidays, Personal Life, Simchat Torah, Torah, Personal Stories | 2 Comments »

Daughters Near and Far: The Atzeret of Sukkot

November 14th, 2014

The Torah is the stuff of the Jew’s life: his link to his Creator, his national mandate, the blueprint of the perfection for which he yearns. Little wonder, then, that the most joyous festival on the Jewish calendar is the festival of Simchat Torah, when the annual Torah-reading cycle is concluded and begun anew.

Simchat Torah immediately follows the festival of Sukkot. Indeed, the biblical name for Simchat Torah is Shemini Atzeret, which means the “Eighth Day of Retention,” for the function of this festival is to retain and absorb the attainments of the seven days of Sukkot.

But why celebrate Simchat Torah on Shemini Atzeret, the 22nd (and 23rd) day(s) of the month of Tishrei? As a rule, the festivals are located at points on the calendar that mark the historical sources of their import and significance: Passover is observed on the anniversary of our Exodus from Egypt, Rosh HaShanah on the date of the creation of man, and so on. Accordingly, would it not have been more appropriate to rejoice over the Torah on the 6th of Sivan, the day in which G-d revealed Himself to us at Mount Sinai and granted us the Torah as our eternal heritage? Indeed, we mark that date with the festival of Shavuot—a festival devoted to reexperiencing the revelation at Sinai and reiterating our covenant with G-d forged by Torah. Yet our joy in the Torah is reserved for the festival of Shemini Atzeret—a date with no apparent historical connection to our relationship with the Torah.

One might explain that our living with Torah through the annual reading cycle, studying it and implementing it in our daily lives, is of greater significance than our original receiving of it at Sinai. But this itself requires explanation: Why do we conclude and begin the Torah on Shemini Atzeret? Why did Moses, who established the Torah reading cycle, not schedule it to end and recommence on the festival of Shavuot?

Calendar Twins

Actually, a closer look at Shemini Atzeret and Shavuot reveals a striking resemblance between the two festivals. Shavuot, too, carries the name “Atzeret,” for it, too, serves as a vehicle of “retention” and “absorption” for the festival that precedes it. The resemblance is further demonstrated by the fact that, like Shemini Atzeret, Shavuot is also an “eighth day of retention”—a one-day festival which culminates a cycle of seven: Shemini Atzeret immediately follows the seven days of Sukkot, while Shavuot closes the seven-week sefirah count begun on Passover.

The two Atzerets mirror each other across the yearly cycle. The Jewish year is like a circle with two poles—two key months, Nissan and Tishrei, are both considered, each in its own realm, to be the “first” and “head” of the entire year.[1] Nissan 15 is the date of the Exodus and begins the seven-day festival of Passover. Exactly six months later, on the 15th of Tishrei, begins the other seven-day festival of the Jewish year, Sukkot. And both of these seven-day festivals are capped by a one-day “Atzeret.” The only break in the symmetry is the fact that the Atzeret of Sukkot is a literal, contiguous eighth to its seven days, while Passover’s Atzeret is a more distant “eighth,” following a count of 49 (7 times 7) days that begins on the second day of Passover.

This leads the Talmudic sage Rabbi Joshua ben Levi to say: “The Atzeret of the festival of Sukkot ought to have been fifty days later, like the Atzeret of Passover.”[2]

Why, indeed, does Shemini Atzeret immediately follow Sukkot? Rabbi Joshua offers the following parable in explanation:

A king had many daughters. Some of them were married off nearby, and some of them were married off in faraway places. One day, they all came to visit the king, their father. Said the king: Those who are married off nearby have the time to go and come; but those who are married off afar do not have the time to go and come. Since they are all here with me, I will make one festival for them all and I shall rejoice with them.

Thus, with the Atzeret of Passover, when we are coming from winter into summer, G-d says: “They have the time to go and come.” But with the Atzeret of Sukkot, since we are coming from summer into winter, and the dust of the roads is difficult and the byroads are difficult … G-d says: “They do not have the time to go and come; so, since they are all here, I will make one festival for them all and I shall rejoice with them.”

What Is An “Atzeret”?

To better understand the significance of Rabbi Joshua’s question and the answer provided by his parable, we must first examine the concept of “Atzeret.” Why does a festival require an Atzeret?

Kabbalistic and Chassidic teaching explain that an “Atzeret” is the absorption and internalization of what was earlier realized and expressed on a more external level. Atzeret is what digestion is to eating, what assimilation is to study, what conception is to marriage.

Our receiving of the Torah on Shavuot is the “Atzeret” of our liberation from slavery seven weeks earlier. On Passover we became a free people—free of the taskmaster’s whip, free of subjugation to the cruelest, most debased society on earth. But what is freedom? How is it to be digested, internalized and integrated into our day-to-day existence? The purpose of the Exodus—as G-d told Moses when He charged him with the mission of taking the Children of Israel out of Egypt—was that it should lead to Sinai.[3]

The freedom that G-d promised to Israel was not merely a physical freedom from physical slavery, but a freedom that enables the soul to realize her full potential, to experience her intrinsic bond with her essence and source, to actualize her mission and purpose in life. Such freedom is possible only through Torah, the divinely authored “blueprint for creation” which guides and directs us toward the understanding and actualization of who and what we truly are.

So every year, after receiving the gift of freedom on the 15th of Nissan, we embark on a 49-day process of absorbing and internalizing it—a process which culminates in the Atzeret of Shavuot. For seven weeks we labor to assimilate the true, inner significance of the Exodus into the 49 traits and sub-traits of our souls,[4] to mature the freedom of the Exodus into the freedom of Torah.

Thus we graduate (as Rabbi Joshua expresses it) from winter to summer. From the chill of aimlessness to the warmth of passionate purpose; from the hardship of struggle to the delight of achievement; from the gloom of ignorance to the clear summer light of wisdom and understanding.

Then, six months later, come the festivals of Tishrei.

The Second Tablets

For life is not the unbroken progression of development and growth that we plan it to be; there are blunders, failings and regressions. Our life as a nation was no different: a few short weeks after we stood at Sinai, beheld our Creator and attained the pinnacle of freedom and perfection, the Golden Calf was being worshipped in the Jewish camp.

But every fall also provides the momentum for a subsequent rise. The debacle of the Golden Calf gave us Yom Kippur—the holiest day of the year, and the source of an even deeper connection to Torah than the revelation at Sinai on Shavuot had achieved.

Following the revelation at Sinai, G-d gave Moses the “Two Tablets of the Covenant” on which He had inscribed the Ten Commandments which encapsulate the entirety of Torah. Upon beholding Israel’s violation of everything the Tablets stood for, Moses “threw the Tablets from his hands and broke them at the foot of the mountain.”[5] But out of the shattered Tablets and covenant was born a second set of Tablets—a set containing the Torah on a level that the earlier set did not, and could not, include. On the 10th of Tishrei, observed ever since as Yom Kippur, G-d gave us the Second Tablets, conveying to us a dimension of Torah that only the regenerative power of teshuvah (repentance, literally “return”) can evoke.

On the most basic level, the Torah is a set of divinely ordained commandments, through which man, by fulfilling them, becomes connected to G-d as the instrument of His will. This was the dimension of Torah that G-d inscribed on the First Tablets. But the Torah is much more than that, as evidenced by the fact that Torah itself provides the formula for teshuvah.

To rebuild a shattered relationship, one must access that part of the relationship that was never damaged in the first place. The possibility of teshuvah means that even when a person violates the divine will, G-d forbid, the essence of his connection with G-d is not affected. And the fact that the Torah itself includes the precept of teshuvah means that Torah is the vehicle not only for the connection between ourselves and G-d which is actualized by our observance of its commandments, but also for the inviolable bond that remains forever unaffected by our deeds. So also one who has shattered the “First Tablets” dimension of his relationship with G-d can reach deeper into Torah, to the very heart of the relationship tapped by the hunger, the longing, the recoil of teshuvah, and rebuild it anew.

As long as we did not stray from the straight and true path of life ordained by Torah, there was no need, and no opportunity, to employ the power of teshuvah. This is why the First Tablets contained only the “conventional” aspect of Torah—the connection with G-d achieved through the fulfillment of His will. It was the Second Tablets, the product of our teshuvah response to our first fall as a people, upon which G-d inscribed the essence of Torah—the bond between Him and us that transcends Torah’s laws and commandments.

Hidden and Revealed

And Sukkot is the celebration of Yom Kippur.

Teshuvah, by its very nature, is an introverted affair: a soul secludes herself with her G-d, anguishes over the distance she has created between them, and in the depth of her anguish finds the redeeming element of her sins, the power to repair and sublimate her defective past.

The private nature of teshuvah is demonstrated by a marked difference between the First and Second Tablets. On Shavuot, the entire Jewish nation gathered around Mount Sinai; there was thunder and lightning, clouds of fire and smoke, and the triumphant blast of the shofar as G-d communicated the Ten Commandments to all of Israel and summoned Moses to the top of the mountain to receive the Tablets of the Covenant. But when Moses received the Second Tablets on Yom Kippur, no one was there; G-d instructed that it be a silent and private affair, befitting the still, deep waters of teshuvah.[6]

So Yom Kippur is hardly the environment for manifest joy and celebration. And yet, what greater joy can there be than our joy in the Torah of the Second Tablets, in the quintessence of our eternal, all-enduring bond with G-d? And the nature of joy is that it refuses to confine itself to the inner sanctum of the heart. It bursts its seams, floods the body, pours out of the throat in song and sets the feet dancing. Hence the festival of Sukkot, “The Time of Our Joy,” five days later on the 15th of Tishrei. Sukkot is the joy of Yom Kippur come to light—the joy that the solemnity and inwardness of the day had kept concealed.

For seven days the joy mounts. But as with the freedom gained on Passover, the joy of teshuvah needs to be absorbed and internalized. Instead of remaining a once-a-year experience, it must be integrated into our nature and daily existence. So the seven-day festival of Sukkot is followed by an “Atzeret”—a day in which our joy with the essence of Torah reaches its peak, and is immediately married to the cycle of our year-round lives.

Summer and Winter

Thus, the Passover-Shavuot orbit on the one hand, and the Yom Kippur-Sukkot-Shemini Atzeret constellation on the other, represent two dimensions of Torah and its role as the facilitator of the bond between us and G-d.

The journey from Passover to Shavuot represents the straight and true path outlined by the mitzvot of the Torah: the careful climb from the ignorance and selfishness of infancy to spiritual and moral maturity; the step-by-step progress of the righteous individual (tzaddik) who labors for a lifetime to develop the inherent goodness and perfection of his soul while safeguarding himself from the pitfalls of a corporeal and corrupting world.

On the other hand, the Second Tablets of Yom Kippur, and their celebration and internalization on Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret, represent the triumph of the baal teshuvah (“master of return”)—the one who, having succumbed to the trials of earthly life, has exploited the negativity of his condition to touch the very core of his soul and stimulate its most quintessential powers.

This is reflected in the alignment of these two festival-systems with the seasons of the year. The springtime festivals of Passover and Shavuot, marking the passage from winter to summer, embody the tzaddik’s measured progression from bud to bloom, from darkness and cold to light and warmth. The autumn festivals of Tishrei represent the baal teshuvah’s return to the cold and gloom of winter to uncover the treasures hidden therein.

The Parable

Now we might understand Rabbi Joshua’s parable and how it explains the difference between the Atzeret of Passover and the Atzeret of Sukkot.

The Supernal King has many “married daughters”—many souls who have embarked on the mission and challenge of physical life. The soul comes down to earth and is “married” to a body so that their union should yield a progeny of good deeds: deeds which sanctify their material environment and fulfill G-d’s purpose in creation by developing it as a dwelling for His presence.

Some of the King’s daughters are “married off in a near place.” These are the souls of the righteous, who, though they descend into physical life, never lose sight of their holy origins. They deal with the material, developing and refining the world about them, but without falling prey to its adverse influences. They have left their father’s home, but never wander too far off.

But the King also has daughters whose marriages have led them to “faraway places”: souls whose involvement with the material reality has taken them far from the royal palace; souls who have become deeply enmeshed in the mundanity they came to redeem.

Passover is the festival of the tzaddik and of the tzaddik within us, the festival on which we taste the pure, untarnished freedom of a newborn people. So the Atzeret of Passover comes fifty days later. For it is springtime: the roads are clear, and we “have the time to go and come.” We are free to methodically make our way through the 49 steps from the revelation of Passover to the internalization of Shavuot. It is a gradual, step-by-step journey, characteristic of the gradual, step-by-step trajectory of the tzaddik’s path through life.

But on Sukkot we celebrate our capacity for teshuvah, for our bond with G-d embodied by the “Second Tablets.” At this reunion of “the daughters that are married afar” with their Father and King, they “have not the time to go and come.” For “we are coming from summer into winter, and the dust of the roads is difficult, and the byroads are difficult.” We are journeyers along the volatile path of teshuvah, where opportunities must be grasped as they come, and lives are unmade and remade in a single, explosive moment.

So we plunge directly from Sukkot into the Atzeret of Simchat Torah—directly into the immediate internalization of the “Second Tablets” dimension of Torah and its retention through the winters and summers to come.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Simchat Torah 5742 (1981) [7]

Tags: teshuvah, joy, Second Tablets
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Fire: A Narrative by Rabbi Pinchas Reizes of Shklov

November 14th, 2014

The following is a freely translated excerpt of a narrative by Rabbi Pinchas Reizes of Shklov, a leading disciple of Chabad Chassidism’s founder Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, as retold by the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn:[1]

The winter of that year—5647 [1786-7]—was most severe, the first snow falling in Liozna during the festival of Sukkot. Sitting in the sukkah required a pelt and fur-lined boots, and on several occasions the snow had to be removed from the sukkah. Shemini Atzeret was on a Shabbat, and snow had fallen all night long; the Rebbe instructed that the gentile servant Kumza be told, “We need to eat in the sukkah and we cannot eat there as long as there’s snow on top of it,” so that he should understand to remove the snow.

Many of the guests who came to spend Simchat Torah with the Rebbe that year arrived in Liozna with frostbitten fingers and toes, and many had fallen ill from the unexpected cold.

On Friday I entered the Rebbe’s room to report to him that all the Torah scrolls had been properly wound and wrapped for that evening’s hakafot. On that occasion I mentioned to the Rebbe the plight of the sick chassidim, many of whom were running a high fever.

The Rebbe leaned his holy head on his hands and entered a state of deveikut (meditative contemplation). For a long while he remained deeply engrossed in his thoughts. He then opened his eyes and, in his famous melody, said: “The Torah says that the Torah is ‘fiery law.’[2] Today is Simchat Torah, the rejoicing of the Torah. Fire consumes fire: all should be brought to the hakafot in the synagogue, and the fire of Simchat Torah will consume the fever induced by the frost.”

In Liozna there lived a venerable old Torah scholar by the name of Rabbi Eizik. Reb Eizik counted himself as one of the mitnagdim (those opposed to the Chassidic movement), yet he had great personal respect for the Rebbe, for he recognized the extent of the Rebbe’s Torah knowledge and his piety.

Reb Eizik had a nephew—Reb Moshe Uptzuger—who was a chassid of the Rebbe. That Simchat Torah, Reb Moshe, accompanied by two sons and a son-in-law, came to Liozna to be with the Rebbe. The entire party stayed in the home of Reb Eizik.

Reb Moshe was of frail health, and the trip in the bitter cold did him great harm. He lay with a high fever. His sons and son-in-law were also gravely ill. Abraham the Doctor predicted that the young men would, with G-d’s help, survive the illness, but in regard to Reb Moshe, due to his advanced age,  frailty, the severe pains he felt in both his sides and his high fever, it was extremely doubtful that he would pull through.

Reb Eizik was greatly grieved by the plight of his nephew, and repeatedly denounced the irresponsible behavior of chassidim. To come greet one’s teacher under such circumstances, he argued, was not a mitzvah but a sin.

Following the evening prayers on Shemini Atzeret, I, together with Ephraim Michel (a young chassid also from Shklov), Chaim Eliya Dubrovner and a number of other young chassidim, began making our rounds among the lodging houses of Liozna to summon—and if need be, bring—everyone to the synagogue for hakafot, to be warmed and healed by the fiery law of Torah.

Wherever we came, I repeated the Rebbe’s instructions (which everyone was already informed of—within an hour of my departure from the Rebbe’s room, the Rebbe’s words were known throughout Liozna; nevertheless, all wanted me to repeat the Rebbe’s words, word by word).

It was truly gratifying to witness the great joy which the Rebbe’s words evoked in the guests, their children and the members of their household. All were confident that the sick would, with the help of G-d, be cured.

That evening there prevailed a bitter cold, wet snow mingled with frozen rain, and a wind that penetrated one’s very bones. In addition, great masses of mud clogged the streets. None of this prevented the sick chassidim from coming to the synagogue. Many had to be helped along; others had to be carried on our shoulders.

Arriving at Reb Eizik’s, we found him in the midst of a passionate argument with Reb Moshe’s sons and son-in-law. The latter were demanding that the young chassidim making their rounds of Liozna should be summoned to help bring them to the Rebbe’s synagogue for hakafot, and that their father and father-in-law should also be carried there. Reb Eizik was heatedly saying that they mustn’t leave the house in their condition, and as regards their father, this was certainly out of the question. Since morning—Reb Eizik was saying— Reb Moshe had been lying stupefied from fever and was no longer aware of his surroundings; according to Abraham the Doctor, his very life was in jeopardy. If he would be taken outside, the very first whiff of wind would spell his end, G-d forbid.

When Chaim Elya Dubrovner, myself, and another two young men entered Reb Eizik’s home, there was great rejoicing among Reb Moshe’s children. We were greeted with cries of “Thank G-d!” “Father and us are saved!” while Reb Eizik cried: “Murderers! Killers! This is against the holy Torah!”

When I approached Reb Moshe’s bed and saw him lying there still as a log, his skin a blue-blackish hue, his eyes closed and the heat of his fever radiating from him, I was so alarmed that I nearly lost my bearings.

“What do you propose?” cried Reb Eizik to us. “That this critically ill person should be taken to the synagogue for hakafot? Even in the times of the Holy Temple, when it was a biblical commandment to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the Talmud explicitly states that ‘The ill and the lame are exempt.’[3] And going to the synagogue for hakafot is only a Rabbinical ordinance. If Moshe is taken outside, this would be nothing short of outright murder!” Chaim and Baruch, Reb Moshe’s children, countered that if the Rebbe said that this would bring a recovery, they believed with complete faith that bringing Reb Moshe to the synagogue would cure him.

I must tell you that at the time I was utterly confused and at a complete loss as to what to say. On the one hand I heard Reb Eizik’s arguments and saw Reb Moshe burning with fever; on the other hand I heard the words of wholesome faith coming from Reb Moshe’s sons, simple young men—the one a village tailor while the other runs a small business in the village—in whom there shines a faith in tzaddikim, to the point of self-sacrifice, without contemplation and preparation on their part.

Human reason dictated that Reb Eizik was surely in the right: a person so gravely ill mustn’t be moved from his place; in such a frost, he might not even make it to the synagogue, G-d forbid. But the divine reason of the G-dly soul said that Chaim and Baruch were right: the Rebbe said that the fiery law of Torah is a healing, and one must carry out his instruction with self-sacrifice.

My regard for Reb Moshe’s children—those simple young men with wholesome hearts—grew from moment to moment. To this day I remember the inner shame that I experienced; then and there I resolved that I most enter into yechidut[4] with the Rebbe to discuss the lowliness of my spiritual state.

I, Pinye the son of Henich of Shklov, who studied Talmud and its commentaries and Jewish philosophy under the tutelage of the great Torah scholars of Shklov, who recognized the greatness of the Rebbe through my understanding and appreciation of his teachings, and who is already eight years a disciple of the Rebbe—still in me there prevails a supremacy of matter over spirit, of natural reason over G-dly reason; while these simple young men, who come to the Rebbe with only their fear of G-d and a simple submission to His will, who have no understanding of the Rebbe’s teachings—in them shines a G-dly reason and an absolute faith. Shame on you Pinye the son of Henich! Be shamed before the Chassidic village tailor and the Chassidic village merchant!

Engrossed in these thoughts, I ceased to be aware of what was transpiring about me, until Chaim Elya Dubrovner gave me a push, and conveyed to me the news that Abraham the Doctor said that Reb Moshe had reached his final moments, G-d forbid.

Before I had a chance to absorb this information, I heard Baruch crying to his father: “Father! The Rebbe has sent emissaries to bring you to hakafot! Father wake up! We must go to the Rebbe’s hakafot!” I then heard a great commotion in Reb Moshe’s bedroom. When I entered the bedroom I saw Reb Moshe lying with open eyes and a joyous expression on his face, waiting to be helped along to the Rebbe’s hakafot.

Chaim Elya rushed to summon a few more young men. In the meanwhile, we dressed Reb Moshe in warm clothes—he was still too weak to move a single limb on his own. When the young men arrived, they raised him aloft on their hands and carried him to the Rebbe’s synagogue for hakafot.

When I entered the synagogue, a wave of heat hit me in the face. The synagogue was packed, with a great part of the crowd consisting of the sick. Some sat supported by the walls, while other lacked even the strength to sit at all but lay quietly, others suffered from a relentless cough, and there were those whose moans of anguish so pained the heart that one could hardly bear to look at them.

It was the Rebbe’s custom to first conduct a “private” hakafot in the small synagogue adjoining his room, with the participation of a select number of his disciples. Following the private hakafot he would go to his sukkah and make kiddush, and then come to the large synagogue in the courtyard for the public hakafot.

That year, the Rebbe summoned to his sukkah three chassidim—Reb Michael Aaron of Vitebsk, Reb Shabbatai Meir of Beshenkovitz, and Reb Yaakov of Semilian. Open their arrival at the sukkah, the Rebbe said to Reb Michel Aaron, “You are a Kohen”; to Reb Shabbatai Meir he said, “You are a Levite” and to Reb Yaakov, “You are an Israelite.” “I require a three-member bet din (tribunal),” the Rebbe then said, “and this three-member bet din must include a Kohen, a Levite and an Israelite. I have chosen you to act as my bet din. Listen to kiddush, answer ‘Amen!’ to each benediction, and have in mind that your Amen should relate to the thoughts and meditations I will concentrate on in reciting the kiddush.”

The Rebbe then requested that several flasks of wine be brought to him.

After reciting the kiddush, the Rebbe’s took the remains of the wine in his cup and poured it into one of the flasks. He then told the three-member tribunal that he was appointing them as emissaries of healing. He instructed them to mix the flask of wine he gave them with the other flasks, and to distribute their contents to the sick for their full recovery. He also instructed the three-member tribunal to go up to the women’s gallery and give from the wine to those women who had not yet been blessed with children and those who had miscarried children, G-d forbid.

The three-member tribunal entered the large synagogue in the courtyard, where all had already heard of the nature of their mission and gazed upon them with awe and veneration.

Reb Yaakov Similianer ascended the podium and repeated, word for word, what the Rebbe had said.

After he had conveyed the Rebbe’s words, he announced that he had something additional to say that was pertinent to the situation at hand:

“It has been handed down to us,” said Reb Yaakov, “from elder chassid to elder chassid, that in order that a person should merit to experience the fulfillment of a blessing, two conditions must be fulfilled: a) the one being blessed must believe in the blessing of the one granting it with a simple faith and without equivocation; b) the one being blessed must be committed to carrying out the will of the one granting the blessing in all that pertains to the service of G-d, in Torah, prayer and pious conduct.”

Though all had heard Reb Yaakov’s words, it was decided that, in order to forewarn any doubt, Reb Michael Aaron, who has a loud voice, should repeat what Reb Yaakov had said. When this was done, the young men whom the three-member tribunal had enlisted as their helpers began the orderly distribution of the wine from the Rebbe’s cup.

A hush descended upon the room when the Rebbe entered the synagogue for hakafot. As was his custom, the Rebbe recited the first and last verses of Atoh Horeita, and participated in the first and seventh hakafah.

The following morning, all were speaking about the great miracle. Abraham the Doctor attested that, for a number of the elderly patients, what occurred was literally a “revival of the dead,” since according to the laws of nature and medicine, they had been beyond hope.

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Tags: blessings and curses, Chassidic stories
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Intuition: The Romantic Art of Repenting

November 14th, 2014

The hallmark of a loving marriage is each partner’s readiness to do the will of the other. If one partner expresses a desire for something, the other will do everything in his or her power to bring about its fulfillment.

A greater love is demonstrated when each partner also strives to fulfill the implied will of the other. To the truly devoted spouse, it makes no difference if a desire has been explicitly expressed or merely hinted at—he or she will carry it out with the same devotion and commitment to the loved one’s gratification.

Finally, there are those very special marriages in which there is no need for even the merest of allusions. So deep is the bond between husband and wife that each intuitively knows what the other wants of him or her. Indeed, when two people love each other to such a degree, there is no greater joy than that experienced when one has succeeded in sensing and satisfying the other’s desire all on one’s own.

Three Degrees of Commandment

The month of Tishrei is a month replete with mitzvot—with opportunities for carrying out the divine will. For thirty days, the Jew’s every thought and moment is filled with praying, repenting, fasting, feasting, dancing, building a sukkah, acquiring a lulav and etrog or a bundle of hoshaanot, and dozens of other mitzvot, customs and observances.

The observances of Tishrei fall into three general categories. There are “biblical precepts”—commandments that are explicitly stated in the Torah. These include mitzvot such as sounding the shofar, fasting on Yom Kippur, or eating in the sukkah. There are also a number of “rabbinical mitzvot”—observances instituted by the prophets and the sages by the authority vested in them by the Torah. For example, the five prayer services held on Yom Kippur and the taking of the “Four Kinds” on all but the first day of Sukkot are all rabbinical institutions.

Finally, the month of Tishrei has many minhagim or “customs,” such as eating an apple dipped in honey on the first night of Rosh HaShanah or conducting the kapparot in the wee hours of the morning on the day before Yom Kippur. The minhagim are not mandated by biblical or rabbinical law, but by force of custom: these are things that we ourselves have initiated as ways to enhance our service of our Creator.

The climax of the month of Tishrei, the point at which our celebration of G-d’s festivals attains the very pinnacle of joy, is during the hakkafot of Simchat Torah, when we take the Torah scrolls in hand and dance with them around the reading table in the synagogue. Most amazingly, the hakkafot are neither a biblical nor a rabbinical precept; they are “merely” a custom.

For it is with our observance of the customs that we express the depth of our love for G-d. The biblical commandments might be compared to the explicitly expressed desires between two people bound in marriage. The rabbinical mitzvot, which G-d did not directly instruct us but which nevertheless constitute expressions of the divine will,[1] resemble the implied requests between spouses. But the minhagim represent those areas in which we intuitively sense how we might cause G-d pleasure—and in this lies our greatest joy.

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Michoel’s Merchandise

November 14th, 2014

At a Simchat Torah gathering, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem told his disciples:

On Simchat Torah everyone sleeps in a little, because of the hakafot and the festivities of the previous evening. The heavenly angels, however, don’t say l’chaim on Simchat Torah, so they woke up for the morning prayers at the usual time. But the angels found themselves with nothing to do—as the Talmud derives from the verse When the morning stars sing together, the supernal ones call out,[1] “the angels cannot sing G-d’s praises in the heavens, until Israel sings G-d’s praises on earth.”[2] So they decided to do some cleaning up in the Garden of Eden.

They found the Garden of Eden littered with strange objects:  torn shoes, broken heels. The angels are accustomed to finding tztzit, tefillin, and similar things in the Garden of Eden; but they had never come across the likes of these. They decided to ask the angel Michoel, the supernal advocate of the Jewish people, if he knew what this was all about.

“Yes,” Michoel admitted, “this is my merchandise. These are the remains of last night’s hakafot, at which Jews danced with the Torah.” Michoel proceeded to count and pile the tattered shoes by community: so many and so many from Kaminkeh, so many and so many from Mezeritch, etc.

“Matat,” boasted Michoel, referring to most prestigious angel in the heavenly court, “ties crowns for G-d out of Isreal’s prayers. Today, I shall fashion an even more glorious crown for the Almighty out of these torn shoes.”

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Tags: Baal Shem Tov, Garden of Eden
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Scrolled: Equality on Simchat Torah

November 14th, 2014

On Simchat Torah we rejoice with the Torah. We celebrate the joy of being a Jew—the joy of a life defined by and permeated with the divine wisdom and will communicated to us at Mount Sinai.

But where is the Torah?

Where is the all-embracing wisdom of the Five Books of Moses, the inspiration of the Prophets, the music of the Psalms? Where is the brilliance of the Talmud, the guidance of the Shulchan Aruch, the mystique of the Kabbalistic writings?

Where are the laws, the ethics and the philosophy that have molded our lives and served as a beacon of light to all of humanity for 33 centuries?

It’s all rolled up.

It’s all rolled up in a scroll of parchment, girdled with a sash, clothed in an embroidered mantle. This is the Torah we grasp in our arms as we dance away the night and day of Simchat Torah in synagogues across the globe.

Is this how we should celebrate our relationship with the Torah? By embracing a velvet-draped scroll and expending calories and shoe leather on synagogue floors? Surely the People of the Book could have devised a more appropriate way to rejoice with the essence of all wisdom. Would not the festival be more appropriately observed by immersing oneself in a page of Talmud or a work of Torah philosophy?

The Second Time Around

Actually, there are two annual festivals which celebrate our receiving of the Torah: Shavuot and Simchat Torah.

Shavuot is the day on which the entire Jewish nation experienced the divine revelation at Mount Sinai, where G-d communicated the Torah to us and summoned Moses to the top of the mountain to receive the Two Tablets of the Covenant. These Tablets, however, were broken as a result the violation of their contents by the Jewish people with the sin of the Golden Calf. It is the Second Tablets, granted us on Yom Kippur, over which we rejoice on Simchat Torah.

In other words, the First Tablets of Shavuot represent the “conventional” aspect of Torah—Torah as the study of G-d’s wisdom and the fulfillment of His will. On this level, a person’s relationship with the Torah is determined by his individual talents and behavior: the more one studies, the more one knows; the greater one’s mind, the deeper one’s comprehension; and if one acts contrary to the Torah’s commandments, one is no longer worthy of it—worshipping an idol of gold leads to a shattered Tablets and covenant.

But there is also a deeper dimension to Torah, which transcends the externalities of conduct and understanding. This is the essence of Torah, the quintessential bond between G-d and Jew which is actualized by, but not dependent upon, the Jew’s study and observance of it. No sin or transgression can weaken this bond; on the contrary, it was the breaking of the First Tablets that uncovered its power and invincibility. This is the Torah of the Second Tablets, the Torah we celebrate on Simchat Torah.

On Shavuot we spend the entire night studying. We read selections from the Five Books of Moses, the Prophets and the Scriptures; we study the first and last paragraphs of each of the Talmud’s 60 tractates, selections from the esoteric works Sefer Yetzira and Zohar, and Maimonides’ list of the 613 mitzvot. We are celebrating the manner in which Torah is realized in our lives—by study and implementation.

But on Simchat Torah we celebrate our bond with the quintessence of Torah. So the Torah remains scrolled and covered—we are grasping it rather than its words and precepts. We dance with the Torah rather than study it, because we are relating to that dimension of Torah which embraces each and every Jew equally, regardless of knowledge and spiritual station. In dancing, we all relate equally to the Torah: the sweat of the scholar is no more profound than that of his illiterate brother, and the feet of the saint move no more piously than those of the boor.

On Simchat Torah we are all equal: equal in our inability to fathom the essence of Torah, and equal in our intrinsic and inviolable connection to it.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Simchat Torah 5742 (1981)[1]

Tags: equality, Second Tablets
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The Endless Quest: Atah Hor’eisa

November 14th, 2014

It was Simchat Torah, and the disciples of Rabbi Mendel of Horodok, many of whom had journeyed for weeks to spend the joyous festival with their Rebbe, were awaiting his entrance to the synagogue for the recital of the Atah Hor’eisa verses and the hakafot procession. Yet the Rebbe did not appear. Hours passed, and still Rabbi Mendel was secluded in his room.

Finally, they approached Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, who had studied with Rabbi Mendel in Mezeritch under the tutelage of the Great Maggid.[1] Perhaps Rabbi Schneur Zalman, who was revered and loved by Rabbi Mendel, would attempt what no other chassid would dare: enter the Rebbe’s room and ask him to join his anxiously awaiting followers.

When Rabbi Schneur Zalman entered Rabbi Mendel’s study, he found the chassidic master deeply engrossed in his thoughts. “The chassidim await you,” said Rabbi Schneur Zalman. “Why don’t you join them for the hakafot?”

“There are a hundred meanings to the verse Atah Hor’eisa,”[2] cried Rabbi Mendel, “And I do not yet fully understand them all. I cannot possibly come out to recite the verse without a proper comprehension of its significance!”

“Rebbe!” said Rabbi Schneur Zalman. “When you will reach a full comprehension of the hundred meanings of Atah Hor’eisa, you will discover another hundred meanings you have yet to comprehend…”

“You are right,” said Rabbi Mendel, rising from his seat. “Come, let us go to hakafot.”

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Tags: Alter Rebbe, dancing
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