Shemini Atzeret: Breakthrough

October 15th, 2014

Tags: Chassidic stories, joy, healing
Posted in Tishrei, Months & Holidays, Religion, Simchat Torah, Social, Spiritual, Torah, Medicine | 1 Comment »

A Trembling World Waiting To Be Reborn

September 18th, 2014

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Tags: Alter Rebbe, new year, rebirth, renewal
Posted in Rosh Hashanah, Tishrei, Months & Holidays | 5 Comments »

Ki Tavo: Boys Will Be Men

September 11th, 2014

Tags: Islamism, fundamentalism, bar mitzvah
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Personal Life, Social, Devarim, Torah, Ki-Tavo, September 11th, Terrorism, Current Events | No Comments »

Ki Teitzei: Childhood Innocence and Blood

September 5th, 2014

Tags: Rebbe, anti-semitism, Islamism, war, inner child, purity
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Month of Elul, Israel, Months & Holidays, Personal Life, Social, Devarim, Ki-Teitzei, Torah, September 11th, Pain & Suffering, Terrorism, Elul, Current Events | 2 Comments »

Noise: Bells and Pomegranates

September 3rd, 2014

And you shall make the [priestly] robe completely of blue wool… And make upon its hem pomegranates of blue, purple and scarlet wool, and bells of gold between [or: within] them all around… And it shall be upon Aaron when he serves. And its sound shall be heard when he enters into the holy before G-d… lest he die.

Exodus 28:31-35

A great strong wind rent the mountains and shattered the rocks… but G-d was not in the wind. And after the wind came a storm, but G-d was not in the storm. And after the storm came fire, but G-d was not in the fire. And after the fire came a still, small voice.

I Kings 19:11-12

A rich man once invited a beggar to share his meal. The host settled quietly into his seat and tucked his linen napkin under his chin. The guest, finding his body supported by silken luxury instead of the usual hard bench, let go a sigh of surprised pleasure; with much creaking and squeaking he burrowed into the chair, determined to do justice to its opulent potential.

The soup arrived and proceeded to make its casual way down the rich man’s gullet. Across the table, a full frontal attack was being launched against the delicate china bowl; the heavy silver spoon clanged and swooped, carrying every precious drop of steaming gold to an audibly eager mouth. The subsequent assault on the steak platter was no less enthused. As the wealthy man silently ingested bite-sized pieces of meat, his dinner partner, a maelstrom of clattering knives and chomping jaws, ooh’ed and ah’ed his admiring way through the feast.

In the kitchen, the chef remarked to the butler:

‘‘At last, a man who appreciates fine cuisine! The master may be indifferent to the

fine things in life, but his guest! What passion! How involved he is, how worshipful of quality. Now, this is a man with a sense of the sublime…”

‘‘You are mistaken,’’ said the butler. ‘‘Indeed, the very opposite is true. The rich man’s tranquility indicates the depth of his involvement with his dinner, while the pauper’s noisy excitement only underscores how alien all this is to him. To the rich man, luxury is the very essence of life; so he no more exclaims over it than you jump for joy upon finding yourself alive in the morning. But for the poor man, this is an other-worldly experience —for him, life is a boiled potato. All that noise you hear is the friction between his habitual self and the pampered, steak-eating self he is attempting to assume.’’

The Hem

Noise is the sound of resistance. Consider the sounds emitted by a log fire, a pile of burning straw and an oil lamp. In each case, matter is succumbing to the energy locked within it. The log offers the most resistance, voicing its reluctance to part with its outer form with a noisy crackle and sudden explosions. The straw, not quite as physical as the brute log, protests with a whispering sizzle. And the oil in the lamp, the finest substance of the three, burns silently, freely yielding to the essence within.

Thus, Elijah the Prophet experienced G-d’s immanence as ‘‘a still, small voice.’’ In his refined self, the material of the body did not resist the spirituality of the soul; so the

Divine reality was not perceived in a norm-shattering storm, but in the same tranquil manner in which a person is aware of the life within him.

And yet, Aaron is commanded to wear a robe with bells sewn onto its hem, so that ‘‘its sound shall be heard when he enters into the holy before G-d.’’ For the Kohen Gadol (High Priest) represents the entirety of Israel in his service of the Almighty, including those for whom connection to G-d is still a noisy struggle—the struggle to transcend their external, earth-bound selves and bring to light their true, inner identity.

Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov was once asked: Why do certain disciples of yours make such a ruckus while praying? They shout, they wave their arms, they virtually throw themselves about the room. Is this the appropriate way to commune with the Almighty?

The founder of chassidism replied: Have you ever seen a drowning man? He shouts, he thrashes his arms, he struggles with the waves that threaten to claim him as their own. Throughout the day, a person is swamped by the demands of his material existence; prayer is the attempt to break free of the engulfing waters that threaten to extinguishone’s spiritual life.

True, a noisy service of G-d is an indication that the person is ‘‘not yet there.’’ Had he succeeded in transcending the mundane, his endeavor to draw close to the Almighty would be a tranquil one—his soul would strive upwards with a silent, frictionless flame. His noisy struggle reflects the fact that his spiritual self and priorities have not yet become the seat of his identity, that his ‘‘natural’’ self still lies with the material externalities of life. Nevertheless, this is a healthy sign: he has not succumbed. He is straining to free himself of the coarse envelope of his material being, straining to rise above his presently defined self.

So the bells on the Kohen Gadol’s robe are an indispensable part of his Divine service. ‘‘Its sound shall be heard when he enters into the holy before G-d,’’ commands the Torah, ‘‘lest he die.’’ Were he to disclaim the lowly ‘‘hem’’ of the nation he represents, he would be violating the very essence of his mission. Were his service of the Almighty not to embody also the struggles of his imperfect brethren, it would have no place in
G-d’s inner sanctum.

Apples and Pomegranates

In light of the above, we  can understand the deeper significance of a debate between two of our sages regarding the bells and pomegranates on the Kohen Gadol’s robe.

The debate revolves around the question as to how to interpret the word b’tocham, which translates either as ‘‘between them’’ or, in a more literal rendering of the word, ‘‘within them.’’ Does the Torah command to ‘‘make upon its hem pomegranates… and bells of gold between them’’ or to fix the ‘‘bells of gold within them’’?

Rashi, [1] in his commentary on the verse, writes that the bells were ‘‘between them… between each two pomegranates a bell was attached and hanging on the hem of the robe.’’ Nachmanides [2] disagrees. ‘‘I don’t know why the master [Rashi] made the bells separate, a bell between two pomegranates,’’ he writes. ‘‘According to this, the pomegranates served no function. And if they were there for beauty, then why were they made as hollow pomegranates? They should have been made as golden apples… Rather, [the bells] were literally within them, for the pomegranates were hollow–like small, unopened pomegranates–and the bells were contained within them…’’

‘‘Why does he favor apples more than pomegranates?’’ wonders the Mizrachi. [3] As other commentaries explain, Nachmanides’ difficulty with Rashi’s interpretation is that the hollow form of the pomegranate (Rashi himself also says that they were ‘‘round and hollow’’) indicates that they served a functional rather than decorative purpose; but what does Nachmanides mean when he says that ‘‘if they were there for beauty… they should have been made as golden apples’’?

Indeed, the menorah was decorated with spheres resembling apples, whose sole purpose was for beauty. [4] Perhaps Nachmanides derives from this that in the making of the Sanctuary and its vessels and the priestly garments, the decorative fruit of choice was the apple. But this itself requires explanation. Why apples? And why, according to Rashi, is the menorah beautified with apples and the Kohen Gadol’s robe with pomegranates?

Insulated Deeds

Both the apple and the pomegranate are representative of the Jewish people. The Torah likens Israel to an ‘‘apple’’ (‘‘Like an apple among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved’’ [5] ) as well as to a ‘‘pomegranate’’ (‘‘Your lips are like a thread of scarlet, and your mouth is comely; your temple is like a piece of pomegranate within your locks’’ [6] ). But while the apple describes Israel in a virtuous state, [7] the pomegranate allegory refers to the ‘‘hollow’’ or ‘‘empty ones amongst you.’’ As the Talmud interprets it, the verse ‘‘your temple is like a piece of pomegranate’’ comes to say that ‘‘Even the empty ones amongst you are full of good deeds as a pomegranate [is full of seeds].’’ [8] (Raka, the Hebrew word used by the verse for ‘‘temple’’ is related to the word reik, ‘‘empty.’’ Thus ‘‘your temple’’ is homiletically rendered ‘‘the empty ones amongst you.’’)

The pomegranate is more than a model of something that contains many particulars. On a deeper level, this metaphor also addresses the paradox as to how an individual may be ‘‘empty’’ and, at the same time, be ‘‘full of good deeds as a pomegranate.’’

The pomegranate is a highly compartmentalized fruit. Each of its hundreds of seeds is wrapped in its individual envelope of flesh, and separated from its fellows by a tough membrane. In the same way, it is possible for a person to do good deeds –many good deeds–and yet, they remain isolated acts, with little or no effect on his nature and character. So unlike the ‘‘apple,’’ who is delicious from core to skin, the ‘‘pomegranate’’ contains many virtues, but they do not become him. He is full of good deeds, yet remains morally and spiritually hollow.

This explains the connection between the pomegranates and the bells on the hem of the priestly robe. As explained above, the noisy bells represent the imperfect individual who is striving to overreach himself. Although he is still a spiritual pauper he refuses to act like one—hence the noisy friction that characterizes his life.

Beautiful Noise

To become an apple one must first be a pomegranate. One must act unlike himself, like a poor man feasting at a rich man’s table; a clumsy spectacle, perhaps, but an indispensable one, if he is to transcend the selfish and animalistic ‘‘self’’ into which he was born. The first step to become perfect is to act perfect. Indeed, before Elijah experienced G-d in a ‘‘still, small voice,’’ he first beheld the wind, the storm and the fire.

Thus, Nachmanides sees the pomegranate-encased bells on Aaron’s hem as a preliminary phase of one’s Divine service, rather than as the service itself. [9] Beauty, however, is to be found in the apple-perfection of the menorah—seven lamps of pure olive oil, representing the soul’s silent, tranquil flame. Were the pomegranates on the priestly robe for beauty, argues Nachmanides, they would not be pomegranates, but apples. These hollow fruits are purely functional, a preparatory stage in the soul’s quest for perfection and union with her Divine source.

Rashi, however, expresses a perspective from which the beauty of Israel also lies in its pomegranates. In fact, in a certain sense, the struggle of the imperfect soul is even more beautiful than the serene perfection of her more virtuous fellow. For the perfectly righteous individual serves G-d by being what he is, while every positive deed of the ‘‘empty ones amongst you’’ is an act of sacrifice and self-transcendence. So even before a person attains perfection–even if his entire life is spent in the quest for perfection–the clamor of his efforts is music to G-d’s ear.

A Contemporary Application

There are those who claim that the Torah and its mitzvos are a private matter between the Jew and his G-d, not something to be paraded on the streets. Tefillin, Shabbos, the sanctity of family life, ‘‘esoteric’’ concepts such as ‘‘Divine Reality’’ or ‘‘Moshiach,’’ are not to be hawked on a downtown sidewalk or catch-phrased on a slick billboard. Never has anything like this been done in our history as a nation, they say. You are vulgarizing the soul of Judaism.

But this is the hem of history, the lowliest and most superficial generation yet. To this generation, the small still voice of G-d sounds like alien noise. Should this voice be hushed, to be whispered only among the apples? Or should its call be sounded, noisy be it, until it is heard above the din?

Speaking to this generation in its own language–the language of the sound-bite, of incessant compartmentalization and hollow packaging–ever further raises the noise level. But fighting fire with fire is not only effective—it also brings to light facets of one’s own potential that would otherwise remain unrealized.

The bells and pomegranates that broadcast the Divine truth are more than the means toward a tranquil end—they are themselves things of beauty.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Adar 11 5735 (February 22, 1975). 

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Tags: Beis Hamikdash, Aaron, kohanim, Mishkan
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Tishrei, Biblical, Months & Holidays, Yom Kippur, Shmot, Torah Personalities, Torah, Pikudei | No Comments »

A Marriage Made on Earth

September 3rd, 2014

In the beginning, a simple divine light filled the entirety of existence… When there arose in His simple will the desire to create the worlds, He contracted His light, withdrawing it to the sides and leaving a void and an empty space in its center, to allow for the existence of the worlds. (However, this was not an absolute void, for there remained a residue of the divine light within the void.) He then drew a single line of His infinite light into the void to illuminate the worlds….

Rabbi Isaac Luria (the “Ari”)[1]

First of all, […] will marry […] in accordance with the law of Moses and Israel. They will not hide away nor conceal anything from each other. They will live together in love and affection, as is the way of the world…

From the text of the pre-marital contract (tena’im)

A man without a wife, say our sages, is but “half a body.”[2] For man was created in the image of G-d, and the divine image has both a male and female aspect. As the book of Genesis states: “And G-d created man in His image, in the image of G-d He created him; male and female He created them.”[3]

Man was initially created “male and female”—as a “single being with two faces.”[4] Soon after, however, G-d separated the female side from the male, recasting them as two distinct beings, man and woman. From that point on, man seeks woman and woman yearns for man. In marriage, the divine analogue is made whole again, as man and woman regain their original state as a single entity.[5]

The Splitting of the Light

The separation of the female from the male, creating the tension that draws them to each other and to their ultimate reunion, is a theme that runs through the entire process of creation, all the way to its very beginnings in the primordial will of G-d.

In the teachings of Kabbalah, the act of creation is described as an act of tzimtzum—an act of contraction, concealment and withdrawal. In the beginning, the “light” of G-d (i.e., the manifest expression of His omnipresence and omnipotence) filled the entirety of existence. A world such as ours—finite, self-defined and independent, with the capacity to turn away from and even deny its Creator—could not exist, for it would have been utterly nullified within the divine light. In order to allow for the existence of the world, G-d “contracted” His light, creating a “void” and “empty space” within which His infinite being and power is not manifest. Into this void G-d then allowed a single “line” (kav) of light to penetrate, through which flows a divine energy that is meted out to every level of reality in accordance with its capacity to receive it.

But the “line” is not the only source of divine energy in our world. For the withdrawal of divine light that occurred at the time of the tzimtzum was not absolute; rather, a “residue” (reshimu) of light remained within the “void.” This “residue” is the divine power of concealment and limitation (as opposed to the power of revelation and infinite expansion withdrawn by the tzimtzum). This divine energy does not contradict the existence of our finite and material word; on the contrary—it is the very source of its finiteness and materiality.

In other words, the divine light, as the expression of G-d’s infinite power and perfection, also includes the divine capacity for finite self-expression. In the words of the Kabbalist Rabbi Meir ibn Gabbai, “Just as He possesses the power of infinity, so does He possess the power of finiteness. For should you say that He possesses the power of infinity but does not possess the power of finiteness, you are detracting from His perfection.”[6] What to our perception was a tzimtzum—a contraction and concealment—was actually the separation of the divine power of finiteness from within the omnipotence of G-d. Originally, the divine light was utterly “simple” (i.e., not comprised of components or parts): the power of finiteness was not a distinct force, but simply a factor of the divine omnipotence. With the tzimtzum, the manifestation of the divine infinity was withdrawn beyond the parameters of the “void,” leaving behind the divine potential for limitation and definition, which is the source of finiteness and definitiveness of our reality.

Conquest and Cultivation

Our purpose in life is to undo the tzimtzum—to refill the “void” with divine light. There are two ways in which this is achieved. One way is to draw into the world the divine light that was withdrawn at the time of the tzimtzum. This means increasing the intensity of the light that flows through the “line” by gradually increasing our world’s capacity to receive it. Every time we do a mitzvah, we make the world more receptive to the divine truth, stimulating a greater infusion of infinite light via the “line.” Ultimately, the world is elevated to the point that it can receive the full intensity of the light coming from beyond the parameters of the “void,” and the area of the “void” is as saturated with the manifest presence of  G-d as it was before the tzimtzum took place.

Another way of undoing the tzimtzum is to uncover the divine light already implicit in our world. Every time we exploit the very qualities that make our world “unspiritual”—its finiteness, physicality and materiality—toward a G-dly end, we bring to light its divine essence. The “residue” of the divine light that remained behind at the time of the tzimtzum, concealed and obscured by the coarseness of the worlds and the realities that derive from it, is thus revealed. The finiteness and physicality of our world is thus revealed as no less an expression of the divine truth than the infinity and spirituality that fills it from “above.”

The Contract

The power of infinity invested in the “line” is the male element in the divine light; the power of finiteness implicit in the “residue” is its female aspect. Originally they were one, a singular expression of the omnipotence of the divine. Then came the tzimtzum, separating them into two distinct forces.

Thus the endeavor to undo the concealment of the tzimtzum includes both a “male” and a “female” dynamic. On the one hand, we strive to overcome the limitations of our existence, to break free of the confines of the material. We strive to impose a higher, spiritual truth upon our world, to infuse the infinity of G-d into our finite lives. This is the “male” active/aggressive effort to overcome the nature of reality, to expand its frontiers, to draw in “new” G-dliness from the outside via the “line” that links our world to the infinity of G-d.

But there is also another aspect to our mission in life, another source of G-dliness for our world. A source that is to be found within, in the “residue” of divine light that underlies our reality. This is the “female” endeavor to seek the divine in what is, to stimulate our inner essence instead of overwhelming it with light from without. To cultivate rather than to conquer, to be rather than to do.

Ultimately, the goal is to effect the marriage between the male and female. When the light that was withdrawn from the void is reinfused and the “residue” of light left behind is revealed, the divine light will again be one. The “power of infinity” and the “power of finiteness” in our world will again constitute a singular expression of the quintessential truth of G-d.

According to Jewish custom, when a man and woman become engaged to marry, a contract—called tena’im (“conditions”)—is drawn up, in which the obligations of each side to the other are specified. The traditional text of the tena’im begins: “First of all, […] will marry […] in accordance with the law of Moses and Israel. They will not hide away nor conceal anything from each other. They will live together in love and affection, as is the way of the world….”

A marriage between two human beings is an analogue of the marriage of divine forces that is the purpose of creation. This is alluded to in the opening lines of the tena’im: the very first thing the parties promise each other (after declaring their commitment to marry each other) is that “they will not hide away nor conceal anything from each other.” Here we have the male and female elements of the cosmic marriage: that the divine light which was “hidden away” by the tzimtzum—withdrawn from the void—should be restored, and that the divine light which was “concealed” within the world should be revealed.

The achievement of these two aims will herald the era of Moshiach, when the diverse forces of creation “will live together in love and affection, as is the way of the world,” in harmony with itself and its G-d, envisioned by the Creator.

Based on a letter by the Rebbe dated Adar 18, 5704 (March 13, 1944)[7].

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Tags: gender roles, Moshiach, purpose of life, tzimtzum, creation, marriage, women, men
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Personal Life, Love & Marriage, Social, Women & Men, Sexuality, Torah, Vayakhel | No Comments »

Inside Time: The Spiritual Meaning of Days of the Week

September 3rd, 2014

And the children of Israel should keep the Shabbat, to observe the Shabbat throughout their generations as an everlasting covenant… For in six days G-d made the heavens and the earth, and on the seventh day He rested…

Exodus 31:16-17

For everything there is a time and season…. A time for war, and a time for peace…

Ecclesiastes 3:1, 8

Will it ever end?

We seem to be forever waging wars. There are, of course, the “real” wars, fought with armed troops and increasingly sophisticated weaponry, wars in which a nation rallies against an enemy who threatens its “vital interests” or its very existence. But even in times of political peace, we are constantly battling the demons which menace our material and moral well-being: we wage wars against crime, against drugs, against disease, against illiteracy. Within, we fight our personal battles, be it a battle against one’s own selfishness or laziness, against an addiction to tobacco or a tendency to overeat.

Nor does it end with the battling of evil and negative forces: in school, in the workplace or in the social arena, we are constantly fighting our way to the top, constantly combating the obstacles in our quest toward greater success. We struggle to get more for our money, to use our time more efficiently, to develop our talents, to improve our mind and refine our character. Intrinsic to our humanness is the unceasing drive to make more of ourselves, to reach beyond yesterday’s attainments. Man is forever at war with the past.

So even when we overcome the blatant evils which inhabit our world, even when we succeed in bringing to light the goodness that is the essential nature of G-d’s creation—will we ever experience peace and tranquillity? Wherever we turn, we encounter turmoil. The solar system spins like a top, the galaxies simmer and revolve. The earth’s core is aboil, its atmosphere storms, its oceans churn. Physical life is sustained by perpetual motion—the throb of the heart, the contraction and expansion of the lungs. Seemingly “inanimate” matter is a cauldron of motion on the nuclear, atomic and sub-atomic levels. Motion means change, and every change is a struggle—the struggle to vanquish the status quo and replace it with a new reality.

The primary culprit in this is the phenomenon of time: time is what gives us a past to abandon, a present to not suffice with, a future towards which to strive. Time is the mother of motion, change, and struggle. Time is the canvas upon which all battles of life are etched. It would seem that as long as we exist in time, as long as our lives are defined by its pulse and flux, the battle of life will rage on.

Can man transcend time? A timeless existence would be free of motion, stress and strife. But would a timeless existence allow for challenge, improvement and progression?

Will it ever end? Should it ever end?

The Creation of Time

Each day has its particular function

Zohar, part III, 94b

Time, our sages tell us, is a created entity. Like all other creations, it was willed into being by the Almighty out of a prior state of nonexistence. In other words, the fact that time did not exist prior to G-d’s creation of the universe was not simply because there were no physical beings or forces, and thus no events to mark the passage of time; rather, it was because the entity “time”—its nature, its substance, its very notion—had not yet been created by G-d.[1]

G-d’s creation of the universe spanned seven days, each of which saw the creation of a new class of elements particular to the intrinsic nature of that day. For these seven days served (and continue to serve) as channels for the seven divine attributes (sefirot) that the Almighty chose to invest in His creation of our reality: the things created on the first day of creation are of a “giving” or “bestowing” nature, corresponding to the divine attribute of chessed that defines that day’s creations; those created on the second day embody “constraint” and “severity,” in keeping with the attribute of gevurah; and so on.

What is true of creation as a whole, is also true of the particular creation called “time.” Time, like the universe it underlies, was created in seven days because it possesses seven distinct qualities—on each day of creation, another dimension of time was brought into being.

In other words, not only is time per se an original creation, but also the divisions and cycles by which it is measured and defined are entities created by the Almighty. The day, week, month and year are not arbitrary measures of time. They are not artificial handles on a basically theoretical reality, invented by man so that he may make appointments or plan his vacation. Rather, they reflect time’s intrinsic texture and character.

Most basic of these is the week. The creation of time over seven days means that time is a seven-hued spectrum: chessed-time was created on the first day, gevurah-time on the second day, and so on. It was not until “G-d concluded, on the seventh day, the works which He had made”[2] that the seven basic components of time were completed and fixed in place as a seven-day cycle.

This explains why, in Hebrew, Sunday is called Yom Rishon, “the first day,” Monday is Yom Sheini, “the second day,” and so on. This is not merely a reference to the first week of time, in which Sunday was the first day ever and Monday the second. Each Sunday is literally a first day, the first of a new time cycle which repeats, from the beginning, the seven qualities of time, which represent the spiritual meaning of days of the week.

The Element of Rest

G-d concluded on the seventh day the works He had made; and He rested on the seventh day from all the works He had made

Genesis 2:2

The above verse appears to contradict itself: did G-d conclude His work on or before the seventh day? Were there six or seven days of creation?

Our sages explain: “What was the world lacking? Rest. When Shabbat came, rest came.”[3] On Shabbat G-d created the element of rest—the final and culminating brick in the edifice of creation.

On the eve of the first Shabbat, the creation of time was also almost complete, lacking only the element of rest. With the creation of Shabbat-time—time possessing the quality of rest—the cycle was closed.

But can “rest” be considered a characteristic of time? Is not time, and its sister-phenomenon, motion, the very antithesis of rest?

But that is precisely the point. Shabbat represents an area in time that transcends time’s own basic definition. Time, though synonymous with motion and change, also includes an element of rest—a potential to create, within the framework of time, an area of permanence and serenity. A potential to bring harmony and tranquillity to the struggles and fluctuations of life.

So while the “weekday” aspect of our lives is defined by Torah as “going out to war on your enemies,”[4] of Shabbat it is said: “Sit, each man in his place; no man shall go out of his place on the day of Shabbat.”[5] If our life’s mission is to “go out,” to vanquish the negative, to perfect the imperfect, to extend oneself beyond the limitations of our presently defined self—it also includes the potential for rest, for settling down, for the peace of finding one’s true “I” and place. Life includes not only the challenge of getting there, but also the fulfillment of being there.

A Taste

On the first Shabbat of history, there was no darkness. The light lasted for 36 hours

Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 11:2

Shabbat has a profound effect on the entire week. If, in our daily lives, we experience not only the drive for achievement but also satisfaction over what has been achieved; if we have the ability not only to vanquish the prevalent reality but also to transform it into a friend and ally; if our life is not only an ongoing quest but also a series of attainments—it is because Shabbat, an island of rest in a sea of flux, radiates of its essence to the other six components of time.

But if every day of our week has something of Shabbat in it, on Shabbat itself we enter into a dimension in time whose essence is rest and tranquillity. “Six days a week you shall labor,” commands the Torah, “and you shall do all your work; the seventh day is Shabbat to G-d…”[6] But how can we tell a person to do “all your work” in six days? Even to conclude “all your work” in the course of one’s lifetime is no small feat! But on Shabbat, explain our sages, “all your work” is indeed “done.”[7] Shabbat is not only a break in the toil of life, but a glimpse and a taste of its ultimate realization.

On Shabbat, we cease to struggle with the world not because the task of perfecting it is “on hold,” but because on Shabbat, the world is perfect: we are relating to that which is perfect and unchanging in it. We cease to battle darkness not merely to recoup our strength for the next onslaught, but because there is no darkness—the light which we have created through our positive deeds, obscured throughout the week by the veil of mundanity which shrouds our workday lives, is now perceptible to our more rarefied selves.

This better explains why each Sunday is indeed a “first day.” Shabbat is a venture into the realm of timelessness—a realm that lies beyond the struggles that characterize our weekday lives. Following each Shabbat, we return to a time-bound existence. Time, in the sense of motion and flux, begins anew.

Shabbat, however, is but a foretaste of “the day that is wholly Shabbat and rest, for everlasting life.”[8] The seven-day week is a microcosm of a far greater time-span: the entirety of history is also a “week,” comprised of six “workday” millennia and a seventh millennium of rest, the era of Moshiach.[9]

On the weekly Shabbat, we experience the perfection that has been achieved through our efforts of the past six days to develop and refine our world; the era of Moshiach is the time when the combined attainments of all generations of history will be realized. A time when every positive deed, word and thought of the six millennia of the human experience will result in a truly tranquil world—a world free of discord and strife, a world suffused with the wisdom, goodness and perfection of its Creator.

The Reversal of Time

Students of Torah have no rest, not in this world and not in the world to come, as it is written: “They go from strength to strength, beheld by G-d in Zion”[10]

Talmud, Berachot 64a

Yet Shabbat is an integral part of time. Even the messianic age is an era within time—a seventh millennium of history. Obviously, these are also arenas for progression and achievement. For were they to represent wholly static states of being, why would we regard them as epochs in time?

On the most basic level we might explain that, indeed, both the work-week and Shabbat, both the six millennia of history and the era of Moshiach, are times for advancement and progression. The difference lies in the manner in which this is achieved. Our “work-week” challenges include dealing with outright evil and negativity, so progress inevitably involves struggle. On Shabbat, however, and to an even greater extent, in the age of Moshiach, advancement and progression means the tranquil graduation from good to better, the attainment of greater heights within the infinite realm of good itself.

If today we fight to eliminate war and hatred, in the era of Moshiach, when “they shall beat their swords into plowshares,”[11] the pursuit of peace will mean finding deeper and more meaningful ways for people to unite and fuse their differences into a symphonious whole. If today we must struggle to defeat illness, the “medicine” of the seventh millennium will concern itself with the further perfection of already flawless health and the enhancement of the bond between body and soul. If today we must battle ignorance, in the era when “the world shall be filled with the knowledge of G-d as the waters cover the sea,”[12] the quest for wisdom will be for greater and greater degrees of insight into the infinite truth of all truths.

Nevertheless, this does not fully answer the question. For any change, any departure from a previous state, is ultimately a battle and struggle, albeit a far more subtle battle and struggle than the conquest of evil. Again we ask: how can any form of progress be defined as a state of rest?

But progress may have two directions: outward and inward. The equation of progress with struggle, of graduation with change, is valid if we speak of “going out of our place,” of reaching beyond what we are to make more of ourselves. But there is also a progress that is an inward journey, a journey to uncover deeper dimensions to our own being.

In such an inward journey, each successive station is not a “change,” but the very opposite of change: it is a state that is more consistent with who and what we truly are. It is “rest” in the truest sense of the word: a settling into one’s true “place” and identity.

“G-d created man in His image,”[13] creating him to reflect His own goodness and perfection. In the “workday” phases of our existence, the mantle of corporeality which shrouds our world and encases our souls causes us to lead lives that are at odds with our true identity and essence. So the betterment of ourselves and our world is a struggle, a battle to change reality (or rather, what to our perception is reality) into something which is (again, to our perception) beyond us. But in truth, this “reality” is a distortion of our true selves, while the elusive “beyond” is our true self.

So when six millennia of struggle and achievement will come to fruition, when six millennia of battling darkness will reveal the light within, we will experience an era “that is wholly Shabbat and rest.” This is not a golden age of retirement for humanity, for the potential within us is as infinite as the divine perfection it reflects. But the direction of “progress” will be reversed: from a conflict-ridden, outward-bound quest for change, to a serene, inward-bound encounter with self.

But this “reversal” of the flow of time is not confined to the seventh millennium. Every Shabbat is a taste of this futuristic time, and a provider of its tranquillity to the entire week. While yet in the midst of the war of life, we are enabled to experience moments of true “rest.” Even as we struggle to transcend the imperfections of a more external self, we can touch base with the goodness and perfection that lies at the core of each and every one of us.

Based on the Rebbe’s talks on various occasions[14].

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Tags: creation, Shabbat, rest, good and evil, time, light and darkness
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Personal Life, Daily Life, Life Cycles, Torah, Ki tissa | 1 Comment »

Doubt: The Silent Killer

August 22nd, 2014

Remember what Amalek did to you on your way leaving Egypt. When they encountered you on the way, and you were tired and exhausted, they attacked those of you who were weak, at the rear, and they did not fear G-d. Therefore, when G-d gives you peace from all the enemies around you in the land that G-d is giving you to occupy as a heritage, you must obliterate the memory of Amalek from under the heavens. You must not forget – this weeks’ special Torah reading; Parshat Zachor (Deuteronomy 25:17-19)

G-d shall be at war with Amalek for all generations (Exodus 17:16)

What is it about Amalek that is so important to remember and never forget? Why the adamant need to “obliterate the memory of Amalek from under the heavens,” to the extent that G-d fights this war in “all generations”?!

There are various practical and legal (halachik) reasons given for the significance of the war against Amalek. This column has also addressed the basic question, how the compassionate Torah can possibly call for mass genocide of an entire nation.

But the full implications of the war against Amalek can be appreciated only by understanding its psychological and spiritual dimensions. The Torah, above all, is a blueprint for life. Every character, episode and event in the Torah is actually another piece of a comprehensive spiritual map that lays out the inner nature of our lives and all our challenges.

Amalek embodies the most potent enemy we face. That enemy is not an external force, nor a prowler or weapon on the attack. It is not an enemy from without, but one from within. The enemy is: Doubt.

In the words of the Rebbe Yosef Yitzchak: “The numerical value (gematria) of the Hebrew letters that spell Amalek (240) is equivalent to that of the letters that spell safek, “doubt.” All things holy are certain and absolute. Torah is absolute, the mitzvot are absolute, divine providence is absolute. Amalek is doubt; baseless, irrational doubt that cools the fervor of holiness with nothing more than a cynical shrug.”

Ahhh doubt.

Of all our enemies, of all the forces that impede our ability to grow, to love and to build, one root cause stands out among them all: Insecurity. Doubt has many names and many faces: Fear. Distrust. Uncertainty. Skepticism. Cynicism. Indecisiveness. Avoidance. Ambiguity. Complacency. The list goes on.

Is there someone, even the most confident of people, who has not at some point been plagued by self-doubt? And then, how many of us are actually self-confident? Insecurity is arguably today’s norm. Indeed, many people suffer from incessant fear and uncertainty – self doubts that affect your every move and choice.

What exactly is this thing called doubt? Doubt is basically the feeling – or rather the non-feeling – that you don’t have the tools or the strength to make a decision. Over an extended period such doubt becomes a debilitating poison that paralyzes us from making commitments.

Perhaps the most insidious element of doubt is its invisibility. Doubt does not have a shape or form of expression.

To have doubt for a short period of time is natural. But when doubt persists, and takes on persistent indecision, and time passes, a deep paralysis begins to fester and grow inside. On the surface level it, we can often appear completely functional. Lack of commitment can be explained away and be even justified as healthy caution, necessary introspection, sober skepticism, wise caution, when in truth it really is nothing more than a mask for fear and doubt. Our deepest insecurities often hide behind sophisticated justifications and a million rational reasons why one cannot commit – smokescreens to protect a frightened psyche terrified of commitment.

Often people replace the need for certainty in their emotional lives with aggressive confidence in business and the market place. But let that not be mistaken for true confidence.

Facing doubt – a force that is with us at all times – is the never-ending battle with Amalek, the battle with all forms of lurking doubts, that do not allow us the clarity and confidence to take risks, to make choices, to take on challenges and to forge ahead with our lives.

Amalekite doubt can attack at any given time. But it particularly likes to prey on us when we are “leaving Egypt:” As we are being freed from constraints (Mitzrayim – Egypt in Hebrew – means constraints), as we get inspired and motivated – there is always a counter voice casting doubt and throwing “cold water” on our enthusiasm.

How often do you find that just as you feel inspired to make a move, just as you become upbeat, another voice creeps in telling you how it can’t be done, how you don’t have the strength or the will, how you are bound to fail in your attempts to excel – doubts and more doubts feeding into all your insecurities and weakening your resolve.

This is Amalek attacking you just as you have found freedom and begin to feel confident. And it attacks your point of weakness – when you are “tired and exhausted.”

How do we protect and fend off the enemy of self-doubt? How do we build self-confidence in a world plagued with profound insecurity? How do we learn to trust in a life that can so often disappoint?

The answer lies in a previous verse: Just before Amalek attacks the Jewish people, the Torah tells us that the people doubted and questioned: “Is G-d with us or not?” (Exodus 17:7). Once they allowed doubt to seep into their psyches Amalek was empowered to launch a full fledged assault. To explain the sequence, Rashi cites a Midrashic analogy (Tanchuma Yitro 3; Exodus Rabbah 26:2): [G-d says:] “I am always among you, and always prepared for all your necessities, but you say, ‘Is G-d with us or not?’ By your life, the dog will come and bite you, and you will cry out to Me, and [then] you will know where I am.” This can be compared to a man who mounted his son on his shoulder and set out on the road. Whenever his son saw something, he would say, “Father, take that thing and give it to me,” and the father would give it to him. They met a man, and the son said to him, “Have you seen my father?” So his father said to him, “You don’t know where I am?” He threw his son down off him, and a dog came and bit the son.

All doubts begin with the first cosmic doubt: “Have you seen my father?” “Is G-d with us or not?”

In Kabbalistic terms, Amalek is Kesser of klippah, the crown of all impurities. Doubt is the root of all maladies. And that doubt originates from the primordial Tzimtzum, which concealed the Divine conscious presence, thereby setting the stage for all forms of uncertainty. In the pre-tzitmzum state, the Divine presence is the all pervasive, all-consuming reality. In such a state of seamlessness – above the heavens – there are no doubts; all is clear. But “under the heavens” – once that unifying presence is concealed and we feel alone, doubt is its inevitable product: “Is G-d with us or not?”

Self doubt is driven by insecurity. But why should we be insecure? Because we live in an independent universe whose existence is possible only by virtue of concealed light.

Certainty is the converse of doubt. How is it possible to find certainty in an uncertain world? Everything in this universe – its very nature – is forever changing, in unpredictable ways. We can make the greatest plans, everything can seem right, but then… things happen and all our plans are upset. We all age, everything erodes, everyone dies – how can we ever expect to find certainty in such an unstable environment?

The one and only answer is that we have within us an inherent connection to the eternal, to the absolute – to the pre-tzimtzum unity – that gives us a sense of utter certainty. Some call this faith – not the blind faith of the fool, but the sophisticated belief in something greater than arbitrary logic or ever-changing circumstances.

This connection is the power of the soul. The body and everything material, by its very nature, is in a state of flux, and thus always shrouded in doubt: What will come next? The soul is a consistent flame, always sure of itself, always connected. It is the sense within that we are not alone. And when we really feel that we are not alone and G-d is with us, all doubt melts away.

As children, when our parents and support systems nurture and validate us, they cultivate our soul’s natural connection to its source and build our self-confidence – inbuing us with a profound sense of certainty and belonging. But when our love and nurturing is compromised, doubts begin to fill up our psyches, only reinforced by the narcissism we begin to witness in others.

The vicious cycle is now in relentless motion. Doubt breeds doubt.

Thus we are commanded to “go forth and fight against Amalek.” And do so with absolute vigilance – “obliterate the memory of Amalek from under the heavens.” Because doubt is our greatest enemy; one that brings on all our other problems. With confidence we can take on any challenge. But when we doubt ourselves, and have no self-confidence, every difficulty becomes a monster. “Obliterate Amalek” – obliterate every doubt, even the memory of doubt, “from under the heavens.” Because above the heavens there is no doubt; doubt is only possible in a post-tzitmzum, material world where truth and reality are concealed.

And we don’t fight this battle against Amalekite doubt alone. Led by Moses and his trusted disciple, Joshua, we have the power to overcome any doubt. Moses is the ultimate spiritual mentor – the selfless leader that helps us connect to the Divine. His prayers help us overcome the Amalekite doubts. As the Torah relates: While they fought Amalek, Moshe held up his hands in prayer, entreating G-d to strengthen His people. When his arms weakened, Moshe sat on a stone while his brother, Aaron, and his nephew Chur supported him on each side. A night passed this way, and by the time the sun rose, the Amalekites were defeated.

The same happens in the story of Purim: Everyone bows to Haman the Amalekite, except Mordechai. Mordechai refuses to bow to any man or man-made idols, and the inevitable insecurity and doubts that these human forms bring. Only through connecting to the Divine does one reach clarity and certainty.

Just as all doubt stems from the cosmic concealment, all certainty originates from the clarity that “G-d is with us” and the concealment is just that: Concealment with the purpose that we reveal the Reality within.

And just as doubt breeds doubt, certainty breeds certainty. Once you open the doors of certainty in your life, that you are connected to the Divine, it begins to spill over into other areas of your life.

[Some of you may argue that there are many confident and secure people who don’t have any connection to the Divine. I submit that if they indeed are that secure, they are connected to the Divine, even if may be called by another name].

The battle against Amalekite doubt is in every generation and in every situation; perhaps the single most important battle of our lives – because when we overcome our doubts and conquer our fears everything else becomes possible.

As we celebrate the holiday of Purim, and prepare for it with the Shabbat Zachor reading about the battle against Amalek, we celebrate the conquest over Haman/Amalekite doubts – and there is no joy like the one of resolving doubts.

Purim is a powerful opportunity to overcome every form of doubts and insecurities.

Use the holiday well; this may be the greatest battle of your life.

Tags: certainty, confidence, doubt, Amalek, insecurity
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Shmot, Personal Life, Torah, Emotions & Psychology, Tetzaveh | 7 Comments »

Reeh: ISIS Beheadings and Clarity

August 22nd, 2014

Tags: Islam, Islamism, war, anti-semitism
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Operation Iron Swords, Israel, Personal Life, Re'eh, Social, Devarim, Torah, Government, September 11th, Pain & Suffering, Terrorism, The Inside Story, Current Events | 10 Comments »

Personal Transformation

August 21st, 2014

Tags: good and evil, teshuvah, Jewish law, Baal Shem Tov, responsibility, leadership, tikkun olam, transformation
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Baal Shem Tov, Shmot, Beliefs & Concepts, Torah Personalities, Modern, Social, Mishpatim, Moshiach & Redemption, Torah, Government | 3 Comments »