Nine Days Minus One

A few days ago I bumped into an old friend whom I have not seen for 34 years. He was my high school classmate, and back then we were close friends.

I could not control my tears – not over meeting my friend after all these years, but over the state he was in. Unnaturally thin and jittery, (I shall call him) Michael was clearly a junkie. He had an awkward smile on his face and I saw that we would not be able to have an honest conversation.

He was such a promising student. Bright and creative, shy and gentle, we always thought that Michael would do some great things with his life. Here he stood before me on a street corner nervously rolling a cigarette, shifting eyes, a mere skeleton and specter of the Michael I once knew and admired.

To my question “Where do you live?” he sadly answered, “I don’t have my own place, I move around. Housing in New York is expensive…” “Are you working, earning an income?” “Yes, I’m eking out a living here and there.” I offered help, but knew that Michael would not follow up.

I touched upon some of the deepest beliefs that we shared together, back when we were teenagers in Yeshiva on Ocean Parkway. But Michael was detached. He spoke about the past as if it was not about him.

He was far gone, in a different orbit. Had I tried to hug him he would have recoiled.

I will never forget the Shabbos walk we took together so many years ago, when Michael began sliding. At the time he was trying to convince me to join him in, what he called an innocuous, game of gambling at cards. As we walked down Eastern Parkway he asked if I minded that he lit up a cigarette. Always the gentle soul, Michael was being sensitive to my sentiments about Shabbos. I chose not to answer, and Michael took that as an ok.

As time passed I noticed the visible differences in Michael as he became consumed with the “weed” and his daily routines began to orbit around his next “hit.” Conversations, usually so stimulating, began to dull. His usual clarity and sharp wit became an afterthought. He would spend hours in his basement apartment all alone. He was slipping and slipping fast, in a vicious ruinous cycle.

It was the first time I was ever exposed to the utter wasting of a human being due to drug addiction. Nothing else matters. You look forward to nothing as much as the drug and its effects. “It” becomes your nurturer, your best friend, the one you turn to in times of need, the final recourse when all else fails. Every minute of your waking hours – and even asleep – every decision, every move, is determined by the next “high.”

And then, perhaps worst of all, is the loneliness. A loneliness that I cannot begin to imagine – and one that demonstrates how utterly destructive this “lifestyle” can become – you are all alone with your obsession, with your compulsion, only you and your dark desire. And every time you succumb, the lonelier it gets. At some point the human psyche must snap into a submission to this “new reality” simply to be able to survive and not be overcome by sheer shame and desperation.

Once caught in this mad whirlpool, there seemed no way out for Michael. And then we graduated, each of us going our own way.

Now, 34 years later, he is still controlled by the dark demon within. He lives in world of shadows, seemingly always on the run. Escaping what? Himself above all. Why they call it “substance abuse” seems odd; it’s not abuse of the substance, but of yourself.

What happened to this young man that I knew? And to so many others like him?

— As I am writing these words I realize that they may come across as judgmental or condescending. That is the farthest of my intentions. We all have our vices and ugly corners. We are taught that seeing a fault in another is like looking in a mirror: It is a reflection of our own shortcomings. Michael for me is a mirror image of the dark obsessions that we all are capable of falling into. —

What happened to Michael and what happens to each of us when another force takes control of our lives?

Your inner dignity – what the Kabbalists call Malchus – is damaged.

And that’s why I chose to write about this subject today. We now stand in the Nine Days, the saddest period of the Jewish calendar, due to the destruction of the Holy Temple and other tragedies that took place during these days, culminating with Tisha B’Av (this Sunday) – the saddest day of all, when the Temple actually went up in flames.

Annually this period is honored as a time of mourning and grief over our losses. Tisha b’Av is a 24-hour fast day (beginning at night), the lights are dimmed, we sit on low stools and recite lamentations.

As continuously discussed in this column, we are not simply grieving over past events, but over all forms of destruction in our lives – every form of grief and loss evolves from the rupturing of the bond between spirit and matter that occurred when the Divine presence in the Temple no longer found a “home” in our material universe and was compelled to go into “hiding.”

Each of us has an indispensable soul within, which is the ultimate root of all confidence and sense of purpose. Our convictions, hopes and greatest dreams flow form our inner “malchus’ – a profound sense of dignity and majesty that stems from the Divine image in which we were all created. It is the feeling that “you matter” and you have the power to achieve anything you set your mind to.

In contrast, what is the root of all destruction? The annihilation of malchus – when this dignity is violated.

The Arizal explains why the Fifteenth of Av is the greatest of holidays (“there were no greater holidays for Israel than the 15^th of Av and Yom Kippur”), because its full moon follows and repairs the “destruction” of the “moon” (Malchus) on Tisha b’Av, when the Temple was destroyed. The greatness of the ascent is in direct proportion to the depths of the descent that precedes it.

Looking now at my old friend Michael, meeting him during these Nine Days, I see with my own eyes how his malchus/dignity was destroyed. Destroyed on a conscious level. Once that part of you – your purest element, the one that feeds your sense of self-value – is compromised, it’s just a matter of time that your life begins to spiral downward out of control, in one form or another.

For some it takes on the shape of raw dysfunctionality. Others are creative enough to find ways to remain functional (“functional addicts”) to some extent, and learn how to “cover their tracks” as they maneuver their way day to day. Variations are as numerous as people themselves. Seeing someone use their creative juices – not to mention the energy, time and money wasted – for such machinations is, of course, one of the saddest things to observe. Often arrogance is one of the mechanisms used (usually unintentionally) to cover up low self-esteem (a weak sense of malchus).

The question, however, begs: What could bring someone to compromise their own sense of self-worth? Who in their right mind would allow their inner dignity to be violated? Human nature is such that we would anything to not allow ourselves to be humiliated, let alone to allow our entire dignity to be undermined.

The answer is obvious from the question: At the outset no one ever damages their own malchus/dignity. Any such damage is always initiated by someone outside ourselves: A parent, an educator, an adult – anyone that we may have trusted can hurt us, especially in our most vulnerable and impressionable childhood years.

Not along ago, I conversed with a psychologist who specializes in youth at risk, focusing primarily on kids in the religious Jewish community. I asked him for his experienced opinion on why some young adults break away from the lifestyle and traditions of their own families and communities. None of us are immune to temptations and challenges. In most cases people learn to cope with their vices – some carry them undercover, other carry on dual lives or worse – without a need to break away ostensibly from the larger community. Why then do others make an actual public and pronounced break – they cease to be openly observant or some other manifest expression of changing their lifestyles? Are they simply more honest? Do they have greater temptations than the norm? Is it due to their upbringing? Is it genetic? Do they lack certain coping skills, and if so, why? Or is it perhaps the other way around: They are smarter and actually deny faith due to their philosophical skepticism?

His answer startled me. “First I considered all the factors you mention – honesty, intelligence, family – but I came to realize that they cannot account for most cases and don’t reflect any patterns that point to one cause or another. There are children from excellent families as well as broken ones that remain within the community. The same is with both skeptics and conformists, and the other identifiable categories.

“People are natural social creatures. They gravitate to groups and communities, and in most instances loath total isolation. They crave peer approval. Even non-conformists (which is a minority in any group) need social interaction. Most people, even radical individualists, will usually maintain their social identity, identifying with the communities of their upbringing. In most cases, only a radical jolt to the psyche will cause someone to explicitly break away from their peer group.

“In my experience I am slowly coming to the conclusion that in many of these cases the radical jolt began with some form of sexual molestation, in which the child’s inner dignity was violated. When someone is hurt on that level it defiles the innermost, intimate dimensions of the psyche; it drives the child into silence (out of shame and fear he will not speak about the abuse with parents or teachers), a silence and loneliness that eats away, like a cancer, at the child’s inner dignity.

“In many such instances a child has enough resilience to absorb the blow and come out intact. But in sustained abuse, or if it is a particularly sensitive child, or other unique factors, the violation – and the related shame, silence and loneliness – will jolt the child into another orbit, making him susceptible to further radical changes.

Then, when you add pot or other drugs into the equation – which a young adult may take recreationally; or due to escapism; to relieve the inner anxiety and shame; out of mediocrity and boredom and the search for a high – these drugs diminish natural inhibitions and thus can actually alter human personality, including the need to remain within ones family and community structure.

“So, combine all the above, coupled with hormones and other natural factors – the volatile combination, ignited by the jolting catalyst, can actually cause someone to make the radical jump and abandon their past.

“I know that this is a radical theory, which may be impossible to substantiate, due to the fact that most victims do not acknowledge or may bee unaware of the effects of their own experiences.”

“So, what do you suggest?” I asked the psychologist. “Zero tolerance of any form of abuse in our schools, homes and camps. Absolute and unequivocal action must be taken to not allow any such behavior, and to immediately take action if any such report is made, and not push it under the rug due to ‘inconvenience’ and scandal.”

Whether you agree or disagree with this psychologist’s ideas, it definitely provides food for thought. Obviously, great care has to be taken not to stereotype anyone and try to over generalize and develop formulas without regarding the complexities of life. Not everything can and needs to be explained. Yet, due to the serious crisis – and so many beautiful souls adrift – we are behooved to look into these issues and see what preventive medicine can be employed in our homes and schools, and what interventions need to be immediately deployed once there is a violation.

I know that this is a heavy – and terribly sad – topic. But when else to speak about it then in the Nine Days…

The lesson of these days teaches us the terrible consequences of malchus/dignity violated. But awareness of the problem is half its cure: It also instructs us how to repair the rupture: Just as dignity (malchus) on earth was destroyed on Tisha B’Av, we have the power of the full moon on the Fifteenth of Menachem Av to restore dignity, and with even greater intensity then the original.

For the sake of our children and their future we need to address these issues head-on, and come up with both preemptive actions as well as appropriate methods to rebuild dignity once it was compromised.

Parents and educators must know that we carry great responsibility and power – with life and death consequences – in cultivating and nurturing the dignity and souls of our children. And this begins not when the child is twenty, ten, or even two years old. It begins at the moment of birth, and even at the moment of conception.

We live in a profoundly insecure world; malchus/dignity is the most lacking dimension. Even if we may have plenty of wisdom, understanding, knowledge, love, discipline, compassion, endurance, humility and bonding (the first nine sefirot) – they are only nine, as in the Ninth of Av; without the tenth – and most important – dimension, we are missing the foundation of all life: inner security, self-worth and dignity that makes all the other nine worth their weight and imbues us with the confidence to use our nine faculties with conviction and sense of urgency and destiny.

Now the challenge is: How do I convey this to my friend Michael and to so many others?

I am open to any ideas.

So we finally come to the final chapter in the fourth book of the Torah – the chapter that enumerates the 42 journeys of the Jewish people through the harsh wilderness on their way to the Promised Land. Indeed, the entire chapter is named Massei, Journeys – “These are the journeys…”

This column has been following these journeys as we read through the book of Numbers – in an attempt to decipher the personal application and psycho-spiritual meaning and significance of the 42 journeys – based on The Baal Shem Tov’s teachings that the forty-two journeys in the wilderness, from Egypt to the Promised Land, reflect the forty-two journeys or phases that each person experiences throughout life.

The story till now:

Journeys 1-5: Birth through childhood into the maturity process.

Journeys 6-9: Various adversaries we face early in life.

Journeys 10-12: Power; weakness; revelation.

Journeys 13-15: Craving; rebellion; resignation.

Journeys 16-17: Building family and home.

Journeys 18-19: Failure; mob mentality.

Journeys 20-22: Beauty; fear; unity; community.

Journeys 23-27: Low-points; middle-age; fruits of labor; emissary; counsel.

Journeys 28-33: Later stages of life as we enter old age.

Journeys 34-38: Harsh challenges in the last stages of life’s journey on Earth.

Now we conclude with journeys 39-42, which cover the last stages of life’s journey on Earth, and in general – the final stages of history as we arrive to the “Promised Land.”

These final four journeys are sort of a summation of the entire spectrum of life’s experiences, which can be described as a confluence of extremes: On one hand we are exhausted and worn down from the grueling journeys in the wilderness, with all its pains and difficulties. On the other hand, we can also feel deep appreciation – the satisfaction that is only possible after waging battles – that we have made it through the arduous journeys. Not only have we come out intact, but we can see the fruits of our labor and above all – we now can understand that all the challenges through the 42 journeys were about sublimating and transforming the harsh wilderness, and preparing the ground to enter the Promised Land.

Journey 39: They left the passes and camped in Divon Gad

Divon Gad means a place of good fortune (Targum Yonasan. Rokeach). When the tribe Gad was born to Zilpah – after Leah saw that she was no longer having children – Leah exclaimed “mazal tov (good fortune) has come,” and she thus named the new child Gad (Genesis 30:11 and Rashi). The children of Gad were also powerful people who were triumphant in their battles conquering the Promised Land, as it says “Gad, a troop shall press upon him, but he shall press upon their heel” (Genesis 49:19). Rashi interprets: “Gad, troops will troop forth from him” (over the Jordan River to conquer the Land) and he will triumph “without losing a man” (see Bechayei Genesis 30:11).

Some say that Divon Gad was located on Zered Brook (Baaley Tosafos; Chizkuni Numbers 21:12), where the decree that the Jewish people would die in the desert came to an end (Deuteronomy 2:14). The end of this decree was celebrated as a day of “good fortune” by the Jews and they turned this day into a holiday – the fifteenth of Av (Taanis 30b).

The Zohar (I 244b) says that “the conjunction of the two letters gimmel and dalet (gad) indicates the issuing forth of troops and hosts, gimmel giving and dalet receiving. That river which perennially flows from Eden supplies the needy, and therefore many hosts and many camps are sustained from here; and this is the significance of the name Gad, one producing and giving, and the other collecting and taking.” Gad denotes the power of “gomel dalim” – sustaining the needy, helping the poor and downtrodden, transmitting light to dark places (see Ohr HaTorah Vayechi pp. 382a. Heichel haBrocho Kamarna Massei).

Divon Gad then represents the good fortune stage in our lives when we have triumphed in our battles and prevailed in dire circumstances and now arrive at the end of the process (or the end of life). This good fortune, however, comes with mixed feelings. It is definitely worthy of celebration, but at the same time we also cannot ignore the hard battles and sad deaths up till this point, and that Moses and the generation that left Egypt would not enter, at that point, the Promised Land. Yet, their children will and they will ultimately be reunited with Moses and his generation – thus redeeming all the pain.

Elijah the prophet, who is called “mevaser tov,” the bearer of good news, is from the tribe of Gad. Elijah will be the one that announces the good news that after our backbreaking journeys Moshiach and the Redemption have finally arrived.

In personal terms, Divon Gad, is the life stage when we recognize and acknowledge the blessings of good fortune in our lives. Despite all the setbacks and struggles, notwithstanding the “desolate passes” (in the previous journey), we have refined and elevated the “wilderness” and have arrived with many gifts. We have learned to sustain and nurture (gimmel) the barren and the impoverished (dalet).

Journey 40: They left Divon Gad and camped in Almon Divalthaymah

Almon Divalthaymah is translated as “hidden sweetness” – “the place where the well was concealed from them because they forsook the Torah which is compared to sweet pressed figs” (Targum Yonasan. Rokeach). Some say that this place had many streams where chestnuts and figs grew (Lekach Tov Numbers 21:19).

The mystics explain that Almon Divalthaymah is a state of concealment (Almon from the root he’elem, hidden), referring to the overwhelming existential loneliness that we are all subject to in our lives. How often do we wonder “Am I alone in this world?” “Does G-d hear my prayers?” In fact, however, this feeling of isolation, as real as it may seem to us, is only due to our limited perception. King David teaches us a powerful lesson in this regard.

When David was escaping the wrath of King Saul, he tells his dear friend Jonathan (son of Saul) that as the “new moon” arrives he will go “hide in the field” (Samuel I 20:5). They then agree upon a sign to determine whether David must continue to hide from the pursuing Saul, or he can come out of hiding. When David’s seat will be empty during the meal of the “new moon” and Saul will inquire about his whereabouts, Jonathan should gauge from his father’s reaction whether Saul still wants to kill David or he will leave him me be in peace. Once Jonathan determines Saul’s state of mind, he will come out to the field where David was hiding and “I will shoot three arrows… as if aiming at a mark. And, behold, I will send a lad, saying: ‘Go, find the arrows.’ If I say expressly to the lad, ‘Look, the arrows are on this side of you, get them,’ then come, for it is safe for you and, as G-d lives, there is nothing to fear. But if I say thus to the youth, ‘Look, the arrows are beyond you,’ go your way, for G-d has sent you away. And concerning the matter of which you and I have spoken, behold, G-d be between you and me forever.’”

Once Jonathan saw how his father, Saul’s anger had not subsided and he wanted to kill David more than ever, “in the morning, Jonathan went out into the field at the time prearranged with David, and a little lad came with him. He said to his lad, ‘Run, find the arrows which I shoot.’ The lad ran, he shot an arrow beyond him. When the lad reached the place where Jonathan had shot the arrow, Jonathan said to him, ‘Is not the arrow beyond you?’ And Jonathan cried after the lad, ‘Hurry, be quick, do not stay.’ So Jonathan’s lad gathered up the arrows, and came to his master. But the lad did not know anything; only Jonathan and David knew the matter… As soon as the lad had gone, David came out of a place toward the south, and fell on his face to the ground, bowing three times. They kissed one another, and wept together, until David exceeded. Then Jonathan said to David, ‘Go in peace, seeing that we have both sworn in G-‘s name, saying, ‘G-d be between me and you and between my offspring and yours forever.’” (Samuel I 20:20-23; 35-41).

In a very moving fashion the Arizal (Likkutei Torah Samuel) explains this account as the story of our lives, especially during the dark years of exile, and how it leads to the ultimate redemption. David’s concealment symbolizes the hiding from that we all have to go into from the forces that want to harm us. Jonathan represents the voice of hope and clarity: “I will shoot three arrows… as if aiming at a mark. And, behold, I will send a lad, saying: ‘Go, find the arrows.’” – the three arrows represent the sharp tools we use to hit our mark and refine the material universe. “If I say expressly to the lad, ‘Look, the arrows are on this side of you, get them,’ then come, for it is safe for you and, as G-d lives, there is nothing to fear” – we have reached the point when our “arrows” have integrated matter and spirit, and we no longer have to hide our souls from predators. “But if I say thus to the youth – and here the verse uses the world “elem” (instead of “na’ar), denoting a state of concealment – ‘Look, the arrows are beyond you,’ go your way, for G-d has sent you away” into exile. Sadly, you must remain in hiding and the concealment may even intensify due to the sorry state of a corrupt world.

But the story does not end on this low note. Here the verse continues – and listen to the Arizal’s powerful interpretation: “But the lad did not know anything; only Jonathan and David knew the matter.” The young immature lad cannot see through the concealment, he cannot discern that G-d remains with us even in the darkest moments. Only Jonathan and David “knew the matter” – the truth of the matter, that we never are alone, even when we are in hiding: “And concerning the matter of which you and I have spoken, behold, G-d be between you and me forever.”

Armed with this faith and confidence, the story concludes that David and Jonathan embraced and cried together – “David came out of a place toward the south, and fell on his face to the ground, bowing three times. They kissed one another, and wept together” – these are the outpouring prayers and tears we shed beseeching G-d to deliver us from hiding, prayers that will be fulfilled with the coming of Moshiach ben David – “until David exceeded” and achieves greatness.

This connection gives us the power to transcend the pain and the loneliness – knowing as Jonathan said to David: “Go in peace, seeing that we have both sworn in G-d’s name, saying, ‘G-d be between me and you and between my offspring and yours forever.’”

He 40^th journey, Almon Divalthaymah, refers to this existential concealment, which captures one of the greatest challenges throughout all the 42 journeys in the wilderness: will we be able to hold on to the faith and recognize that we even in the arid desert we are traveling toward the Promised Land? Almon Divalthaymah tells us that within the hidden lies enormous reservoirs of sweetness, which we can access by not being myopic children (“the lad did not know anything’), but exerting ourselves to see beyond the shrouds and “know the matter” (Heichel haBrocho Kamarna).

Almon Divalthaymah thus reflects the stage in our lives – usually one that comes with later years or when we are about to reach the end of a long process – when we are faced with this challenge, like a spiral staircase: as we get closer to the summit, to the destination, we must make on final 180 degree turn, which utterly obliterates and conceals the destination, though we are only one step from it.

Don’t be deceived by the dark moment. See it through.

Journey 41: They left Almon Divalthaymah and camped in the Avarim mountains in front of Nebo

Now they arrive to the Avarim mountains, which Moses climbs to see the Promised Land, before he prepares to die and “be gathered up to your people” (Numbers 27:12-13. Deut. 32:49-50).

This is the final journey in all our lives (actually the next to final one) – the transition from life to death. Death obviously is terrible. It symbolizes an end – a disconnection. We associate it with a finality and permanence: We no longer can see and touch, speak and laugh with our loved ones whose souls have departed this plain. Even with deep faith in the soul’s immortality and continued eternal journey, death is absolutely devastating. Even if the soul can see us, we cannot see it.

Yet, yet… the journey does go on. As sad as Moses’ death was – symbolizing that the world remains in concealment – the mountain range is called Avarim, which means “passing through,” or “opposite of” (some say that they were called Avarim because they were opposite the crossing point to Jericho. Others explain that from its peak one could see the burial places of Aaron and Miriam – Zohar 3:183b; Bachya on 20:28, Deuteronomy 32:49).

Death is also a journey – a passage to another place. Though Moses went up the mountain and did not enter the Promised Land, his legacy remained eternal, and the next generation, trained and inspired by Moses, did indeed enter the Land, led by Moses loyal student, Joshua. And here we are today still telling the story, remembering and reliving Moses’ life and his teachings.

Here too we have the paradox of death coupled with knowing that this is a passageway (avarim), and the journey continues. Together with the sadness of Moses’ farewell, we are told that he climbs the Avarim mountains to look at the Promised land – a gaze of a holy man that actually affected and helped refine the land. And that Moses final passage was on Nebo, which consists of two words: nun (50) bo (within). Nebo refers to the 50^th gate of wisdom that Moses attained as he climbed the mountain.

So, the journey to the Avarim mountains in front of Nebo, teaches us about our own transitions, especially considering that everyone has a “small Moses” within (Tanya ch. 42). And the challenge we have to balance the antithetical feelings death evokes about the demise of one stage leading and birthing another.

Journey 42: They left the Avarim mountains and camped b’Arvos (in the West Plains of) Moab on the Jericho Jordan. There they camped along the Jordan from Beth HaYeshimoth to Avel Shittim on the West Plains of Moab

In Hebrew b’Arvos Moab literally means in the “darkness” (“arvos” is night and darkness) of Moab – the final, harshest and most difficult of all the journeys in the wilderness (Likkutei Levi Yitzchak Igros, pp. 400). Arvos, however, also means sweetness, referring to the “transformation of bitter to sweet and darkness to light.”

The same dual application applies to Moab: Moab in Hebrew is me-av, meaning ‘from a father’. Spiritually this can have a dual manifestation: A father in the positive sense – a source of sanctity, or a father of evil. In Kabbalistic terms Av (father) is Chochma, which can be either Chochma of kedusha (positive energy), or Chochma of kelipah (negative energy). And these two meaning converge: Ruth came from Moab, and she was the ancestress of King David, and hence, of Moshiach.

Thus, camping b’Arvos Moab sums up the purpose of all the 42 journeys: To transform darkness into light, bitterness into sweetness.

In describing this final journey, the verse continues: On the Jericho Jordan. This refers to the level of Moshiach (Yarden Yereicho: morach v’doyin – Sanhedrin 93b. Likkutei Torah Massei). The Jordan (yarden in Hebrew) is channel that carries from one to another (Baba Metzia 22a), and is also the “lock-key to Israel” – the great revelation of light that is derived from the darkness of Moab.

The verse continues: There they camped along the Jordan from Beth HaYeshimoth to Avel Shittim on the West Plains of Moab – from the wasteland (yeshimon – Numbers 21:20) to the desolate plain (Ramban Genesis 14:6) on the dark plains of Moab.

This final forty-second journey is the final stage of our life’s journey, which both sums up our lives as well as prepares for the transition to the next generation – the one that will enter the Promised Land. It thus describes the summation of all our life’s work – the transformation of a dark and difficult life, setting the stage for the next generation of “Jordan Jericho” – the Messianic redemption.

Our long journey through the wilderness of life – in all its 42 stages – is meant in order for us to tame and refine the world and transform it. This in turn gives us the power to enter the Promised Land – to self actualize and reach our land of promise.

All the 42 journeys are about freeing ourselves and transcending the constraints and limitations (Mitzrayim) of our material existence which conceals the Divine, subduing and sublimating the harsh “wilderness” of selfish existence, and discovering the “Promised Land” – a life of harmony between body and soul.

Just as the first journey was the exodus out of Egypt (Mitzrayim), each of us begins our life journey with birth – the liberation of the fetus from the confines of the womb, where it can develop and become an independent force that has the power to transform the world. The final journey brings us to the threshold of the total transformation of the universe into a holy and “Promised Land.”

Thus all the journeys reflect a dual quality: On one hand they are challenging and difficult experiences journeys. On the other, they all carry great promise and potential, as they allow us the opportunity to refine each of the respective 42 journeys, all leading us to the Promised Land.

This paradox is amplified in the final 42^nd journey – the summation of them all, which captures reflects encompasses the entire paradox of life – on one hand the deep darkness, on the other – the power that it gives us to transform the darkness into light. Thus, all the terms used reflect these two extremes.

* * *

So, as we read this week’s chapter, Massei-Journeys, we are reminded that no stage in our lives – and no segment of history – is an island onto itself. Each phase is part of a longer journey, a series of odysseys, leading to a destination.

Simply knowing – truly knowing – that every life experience, even the harshest, is a step leading us to another, better place, everything is on its way to another, better place – this alone can help us get through the loneliest moments.

Awareness of the fact that you are on a journey at all times also infuses each step with profound hope and urgency – to ensure that it will lead us to a destination.

In the historical journey, we are told that we have already endured the 42 journeys and we are standing poised at the “dark plains” on the banks of the River Jordan Jericho boundary, about ready to enter the Promised Land, this time – permanently. Commentaries explain that the opening of this week’s Torah portion, “eleh Massei b’nei Yisroel ” (these are the journeys of the children of Israel) is the acronym: Edom, Modai, Babel, Yovon – the four major exiles and empires that have dominated history (Yalkut Reuveni Massei from Rameh m’Pano, Maamar Chokur Din sec. 3 ch. 22. Chida – Nachal Kedumim).

As we read about our 42 journeys – and try to find the particular journey or journeys we are now traveling through – let us say a toast to each other:

Travel well. The best is yet to come.

The story till now:

Journeys 1-5 begin with birth leading through childhood into the maturity process.

Journeys 6-9 cover various adversaries we face early in life.

Journeys 10-12: Power; weakness; revelation.

Journeys 13-15: Craving; rebellion; resignation.

Journeys 16-17: Building family and home.

Journeys 18-19: Failure; mob mentality.

Journeys 20-22: Beauty; fear; unity, community.

Journey 23-27: Low-points; middle-age; fruits of labor; emissary; counsel

Please click here to read the first four installments covering journeys 1-27.

Now we continue with journeys 28-33, which cover the later stages of life as we enter old age.

Journey 27: They left Chashmonah and camped in Moseroth

Moseroth (from the word mussar) means chastisement. This place is later called Aaron’s burial place (Deuteronomy 10:6), because they grieved from him here (Rashi ibid 7. See Ramban ibid 8. Malbim Numbers 20:29). This refers to the journey and stage in life when we have the wise experience to counsel others and offer constructive criticism and rebuke (“at age fifty for counsel” – Avot 5:24).

Journey 28: They left Moseroth and camped in Benay Yaakan

Benay Yaakan literally means the sons of Yaakan, grandson of Seir (Genesis 36:27). It is also translated as “wells of distress” (Targum Yonasan), a place that is “narrow, confined and tight” (commentary Yonasan). This journey – which is also connected to the passing of Aaron (see Deuteronomy 10:6 and Rashi) – refers to the distress and limits that come with older age: Health issues, infirmity and the general physical decline associated with aging; both the agony for the aged one as well as for his/her family and friends as they see him/her waning. Yet, this stage too can be transformed into a very fruitful one, by learning to appreciate and connect with a deeper aspect of the aged one – the wisdom and experience that comes with the years, as the next journeys celebrate.

Journey 29: They left Benay Yaakan and camped in Chor HaGidgad

Chor HaGidgad – hole or clefts of Gidgad (Targum Yonasan) – refers to the head (gidgad) with its various cavities (see Arizal – Sefer Ha’Likkutim Massei). In psychological terms this journey denotes sagacity and wisdom that comes with ripe age, “many years bring wisdom” (Job 32:7).

Journey 30: They left Chor HaGidgad and camped in Yatvathah

Yatvathah means a “good, calm place” (Targum Yonasan), a “good, rich place” (Rokeach), an area of flowing brooks (Deuteronomy 10:7). This refers to the deep calm that comes with seasoned wisdom (see Arizal ibid). As the Talmud writes: “the minds of elderly scholars become more settled with age” (Kinim 3:6).

Journey 31: They left Yatvathah and camped in Avronah

Avronah is a “river crossing,” a “ford” (Targum Yonasan). It means to “pass through,” referring to the journey of life called transition – the transition into old age. Avronah also alludes to the transient material universe, how short-lived and ephemeral life truly is – an awareness that comes with age. Yet, through our acts of virtue and kindness, through the people we inspire and touch, we have the power to transform the fleeting life into a permanent and eternal force that perpetuates forever. This is the meaning of “they left Yatvathah and camped in Avronah:” upon birth we leave the “good and calm” of the spiritual worlds and enter the turbulent, insecure life of this physical world. Yet, through spiritualizing our lives we carry the “good and clam” of Yatvathah and “camp” peacefully even in Avronah (see Pri Megadim, responsa 1:3).

Journey 32: They left Avronah and camped in Etzyon Gever

Etzyon Gever means the “rooster’s crow” (Targum Yonasan), or the “wisdom of the rooster.” Masters proficient in the rooster’s wisdom lived in this place. “This wisdom is a deep secret, because it has the power to perceive the difference between day and night” (Tzioni. Rokeach). As the Talmud says, when you hear the rooster’s call say the blessing “Blessed is He who gave the rooster perception to distinguish between day and night” (Berachos 60b).

Life is made up of light and dark, day and night – bright times of clarity, hope and joy, and dismal times of confusion, defeat and sorrow. The purpose of darkness – and the ultimate achievement of life – is our power to transform night into light. But one of the great challenges that makes this effort difficult is the blurring of the boundaries between the two: darkness has the insidious ability to seep into our brighter moments and cast its dark shadows even on our most illuminating life experiences. It would be one thing if we were able to compartmentalize a negative experience, but not when it spills over and pollutes our good times, undermining our confidence and self-esteem to gather strength and move on. On the other hand, we also need to know how to give pain its due and allow it to go its course and dissipate, before we attack and transform it.

Etzyon Gever in our lives is the point we reach in our journey when we learn the art of perception, the secret to discern day from night; when we becomes masters to know the precise moment when to send out a wake-up call; when to begin the process of drawing light into darkness and transforming night into day. This perception requires profound insight, a sensitive heart and an uncanny sense of timing (Ohr HaTorah Massei pp. 1360. 1394. 1411).

Journey 33: They left Etzyon Gever and camped in Kadesh, in the Tzin Desert

Tzin and Kadesh are so called because here the people “were commanded” (tzin form the words tzav, command) and here they “were sanctified” (Talmud, Shabbos 89a). Kadesh is an eventful location: In this place Miriam passed away (Numbers 20:1), and the incident of the “Waters of Strife” happened (ibid 20:2-13): After the water from Miriam’s well ceased flowing (due to her death) and the Jews complained that they had no water, Moses fatefully struck the rock instead of speaking to it, which brought upon the sad decree that Moses and Aaron would not enter the Promised Land. This is another reason that this location was called Kadesh, because G-d was sanctified in this place (Bamidbar Rabbah 19:14; Tanchuma Numbers 11).

What this means in our life journey is a challenge to our commitment. There will be consequential times – due to excessive circumstances (a death, a major change, a transition) when everything we believe in will be on the line. We then have the choice: Will we sanctify G-d’s name or not?

To be continued.

Talk about journeys. A few years ago I returned from a long voyage – actually a series of journeys – that spanned over 20,000 miles (32,000km). I flew from New York to Sydney Australia. But it’s not as simple as that. First, my flight was cancelled, and instead I had to rush to the airport to barely make a flight from New York to Los Angeles (6 hours), with a connecting leg to Auckland, New Zealand (14 hours), and finally from there (3½ hours) arriving Friday afternoon in Sydney, with a few more hours thrown in waiting between flights.

Between the trips to the airports, running from one gate to the next, connecting one flight to another, between car transports to and from the airports, with over 20 speaking engagements, meetings and interviews, running to and from places and sleeping locations, from breakfasts, lunches and dinners, walking on Shabbos for over two hours – all in a whizzing 5 days, across the international date line twice, with a 14 hour time difference – it felt like traveling 42 journeys…

Yet, my journeys did not take 40 years and they were hardly in a “great, terrifying desert, where there were snakes, vipers, scorpions and thirst, with no water.” True, airplane food ain’t exactly lip smacking gourmet and the cramped space is hardly amusing, but it’s definitely far better than a great and terrifying wilderness.

[In the wilderness the Jews complained that they were “getting disgusted with this unwholesome food (the Manna from heaven).” It would however be inappropriate to compare it to the complaints about the food served in the airline heavens – a far cry from the “heavenly bread” that nourished the Jews in the wilderness, an unprecedented blessing originating in the highest cosmic levels].

In fact, the “difficulties” of my journey to Sydney are laughable compared to the truly grueling journeys that many have gone through in the last few decades – severe and punishing journeys, unprecedented in history, through the hells of Nazi Europe and Communist Russia. The last generations have endured upheavals and journeys that literally amputated entire communities and transplanted them, shattered and forever changed, in new countries across the globe. Indeed, Australia has the largest per capita population of Holocaust survivors, many of which escaped to the farthest place from Europe that they could reach…

How can I even include in the same breath my journeys to Sydney, which by contrast, had none of these challenges?

Quite the contrary, my trip to Sydney was deeply gratifying – completely overriding the arduous journeys. From Dover Heights to Double Bay; from a gourmet dinner with Rabbi Levi and Chani Wolf of the magnificent Central Synagogue to an intense conversation with the Head Chabad Rabbi Pinchas Feldman (who was sent by the Lubavitcher Rebbe to Sydney in 1968); from the huge crowd at the formal Gimmel Tammuz event for the greater Sydney community to the intimate farbrengens throughout; from meeting some key political and financial leaders to a stimulating evening at the home my good friend Kevin Bermeister; from a stirring melave malkah with the local Chabad Shluchim to an emotional evening with the women of the community – I was deeply moved by the dedication, the refinement and the beauty of these exceptional people.

When you think about it, it is quite amazing that in this distant land – down under and upside down – Jewish life thrives. Young Chabad men and women are totally devoted to inspire and illuminate the lives of all those around them. Their pure faith and innocent dedication is life affirming. They have cultivated important connections with government and business leaders, and have the ability to generate true social change and higher the spiritual consciousness of Sydney – which can have a ripple effect across the world.

Every community, and Sydney is no exception, has its challenges. Yet, I felt that the goodness and commitment of the young couples, investing all their energy in making their world a better place, will prevail and overcome all difficulties; their dedication to spreading light will dispel darkness. Their pursuit of greatness has the power to transcend pettiness.

I may have embarked on 42 journeys half around the earth and back, but I came away energized, rejuvenated – with a deep sense of renewed hope, motivated to intensify my own work to help provide tools and resources to these community leaders and laypeople. 42 journeys – with a sense that we are on our way to the Promised Land.

The 12^th Century Talmud scholar, the Raavad, writes that in the final Redemption, the people will not immediately enter the Promised Land, but G-d will “bring them through the wilderness of the nations” (Ezekiel 20:35), the same way that after the Egyptian redemption the people were led through 42 journeys in the wilderness (Adioth 2:9. See also Bechayei Massei).

As I returned from my short trip to Australia I could report that we indeed are on a path to the Promised Land. And just as the Jewish people traveled 42 journeys through the wilderness on their way from Egypt to Israel, we too go through these 42 journeys in our own lives, as the Baal Shem Tov explains.

The Tzemach Tzedek writes that we go through the 42 journeys every day. So I guess that with some analysis I can figure out how I traveled these journeys through my Sydney trip. But meanwhile, let us return to the series that outlines these psycho-spiritual 42 journeys – which was skipped last week due to my laborious trek.

Here is the fourth installment of this series. Please click here to read the first three installments covering journeys 1-20.

Journey 21: They left Mount Shefer and camped in Charadah

Charadah – trembling – was so called due to the terror caused by the plague (Numbers 17:12. Targum Yonasan). Just as we experience beauty in our lives (Mount Shefer, Tiferet), we also, at times, sadly experience terror. This is the journey of fear in our lives; when “severities” (gevurah and din) are dominant (see Bechayei). Living in a perilous world, whose “roads are all prone to danger,” we all will endure experiences that cause us to shudder. The critical thing to always remember, even in the most frightening and anxious moments, is that fear is also part of the journey toward the Promised Land. When harnessed we can find solace (“camp”) in our shudders, as they sharpen our alert, focus our vigilance and teach us how to avoid or conquer the agents of fear. By not allowing our fears to consume us, we can learn to see them through, transform them to awe of the Divine and come out more powerful (see Kedushas Levi). That which does not destroy us makes us stronger.

Journey 22: They left Charadah and camped in Mak’heloth

Mak’heloth is a place of assembly (Targum Yonasan), possibly the place where the miracle of Aaron’s rod occurred in response to Korach’s challenge. This reflects the community building journey in our lives, when we build – or join – a community; when we assemble a group toward a particular cause or effort. Mak’heloth is a state of unity – when we feel connected with other and with ourselves, and together we serve a higher purpose (as in the psalm (68:27) b’Mak’heloth – in full assemblies – they praised G-d). The ultimate transformation of fear (Charadah) is when it leads us to gather, appreciate and sing praise for our Divine blessings (see Baal Haturim).

Journey 23: They left Mak’heloth and camped in Tachath

Yet, the cycles of life are such that we move from high to low. Tachath means “below,” referring to a lowly state, the lowlands of Mak’heloth (Targum Yonasan). Tachath are the low-points and downers in life. Some of these low-points follow success. This downward journey – which comes just after the mid-way point of the 42 journeys – may also refer to the middle-age blues. Another application of Tachath is the depths we fall to when we “leave Mak’heloth,” i.e. forsake and abandon unity (Chasam Sofer). Yet, we have the power to transform Tachath into a place of peace, when we each dwell “beneath (tachath) our vine and fig tree” (see Toldos Yaakov Yosef).

Journey 24: They left Tachath and camped in Terach

Terach is the name of Abraham’s father, which comes from the word “wild goat” or “old fool.” Terach is also related to the word boiling (rotach), as in irate; with Terach’s birth G-d became irate over the idol worshippers (Midrash Aggada Genesis). Another meaning of the word Terach is wait or delay (Rokeach). Terach refers to the stage in life when we move into middle-age and become fathers of our children. Will we yield children like Abraham? Will we be like “wild goats” and “old fools” worshipping one idol or another, or will we be wise and give off a spiritual aroma (Terach from the word re’ach, the scent of Torah and Mitzvot – Yalkut Midrashei Teiman)?

Journey 25: They left Terach and camped in Mithkah

From Terach we camp in Mithkah, a place of sweetness, with good fresh water (Targum Yonasan), the stage in life when we experience the sweet nachas from seeing the fruits of our labor – as in grand-parenting or other life achievements. This sweetness is even more profound because it follows and transforms the bitterness of life (see journey 5).

Journey 26: They left Mithkah and camped in Chashmonah

Chashmonah means ambassador, referring to the journey in life when we serve as an envoy or emissary representing a particular cause. It can also include a time when we assume a mature position of leadership and influence – usually later in our lives.

Journey 27: They left Chashmonah and camped in Moseroth

Moseroth (from the word mussar) means chastisement. This place is later called Aaron’s burial place (Deuteronomy 10:6), because they grieved from him here (Rashi ibid 7. See Ramban ibid 8. Malbim Numbers 20:29). This refers to the journey and stage in life when we have the wise experience to counsel others and offer constructive criticism and rebuke (“at age fifty for counsel” – Avot 5:24).

To be continued.

3320 Years and Counting

Companies often advertise themselves as “in business for 89 years,” “brewing beer since 1874,” “loyally serving you for six decades.” From heritage manufacturing firms to the digital conglomerates managing casinos online and global retail platforms, these businesses are trying to elicit confidence by invoking generational continuity. We tend to trust something that has lasted for an extended time period. It means that the company is time tested, has weathered ups and downs while others failed and has the experience and know-how that you can depend upon. That’s why it has lasted so long.

Never mind that many of these companies have changed hands and are no longer owned or controlled by the founding family. Still, the mere mention of longevity engenders trust in the brand.

That’s why I always feel proud to emphasize that the traditions and ideas conveyed in this column go back thousands of years in an unbroken chain.

This year we celebrate the 3320th year since the Torah was given at Sinai. Not 89 years, not 1874, not six decades. Three thousand three hundred and twenty years that we have been “in business.” And despite all the radical changes through the millennia and the extreme challenges – through genocides, expulsions, oppressions and every form of assault that brought the Jewish people to the brink of extinction – we stand tall today 3320 years later and live to tell about the events that transpired 3320 years ago.

Not just live to tell about it, but we have a book – actually the best-selling book of all time – that documents in detail a blueprint of how civilized people ought to live.

We study and pore over this book, just as our parents and grandparents did, just as their ancestors did day after day, year after year, century after century, millennium after millennium, all the way back to Moses and his people on that fateful day when they stood at Sinai receiving the Torah.

If this does not inspire awe what does?

It’s true that many people advocating Torah may be doing it an injustice and may be distorting its message. Many others study Torah and follow its guidelines mechanically and often lack soulfullness and personal integration. Some have used Torah in despicable ways.

But all this does not take away from the enduring power of a tradition that has made it through history and stands strong today, as the most influential document of all time – one that serves as the basis of modern democratic institutions and constitutions, advocating principles of virtue and generosity, honoring the equality of all people, the absolute dignity of every individual created in the “Divine Image,” caring for the less fortunate, living in peace with each other while maintaining our individual rights and offering a comprehensive system to spiritualize the material universe in which we live.

Yes indeed, we are “in business” for 3320 years and counting.