Another Centennial

Soaring oil prices, reaching new highs with no end in sight – will it hit $200 a barrel, or $300? – dominate headlines. No one is immune to the effects of the rising costs of energy. America alone consumes over 22 million barrels of oil a day, 25% of the world’s total.

Some are bemoaning the West’s addiction to oil. Others see in this escalating crisis the incentive and opportunity to discover new sources of energy. Where are we headed? There are many angles to this story. But perhaps the most important angle of all is overlooked: The soaring prices of oil bring to the fore the defining conflict of our times – the confrontation between Islam and the West. Every price hike further strangles the West’s energy addiction as they pay for their fix, which directly enriches and empowers the Arab world. [Just for contrast: in 1946 the cost of a barrel of crude oil was $1.17. In 1972 it was $3.00 a barrel. Today it is hovering at about $120 per barrel].

With oil at the heart of this power struggle, I decided to research when this shift of power began. Would you believe it? This week is exactly one century since oil was first discovered in the Middle East: On May 26, 1908 British geologists discovered oil at Masjid-i-Suleiman in southwest Persia.

What is significant about this centennial? You may recall that a few weeks ago this column addressed a prescient Chassidic discourse delivered in 1908 – at the dawn of the 20^th century – about the challenges that would unfold in the coming years, namely the confrontations between the two empires: Edom and Ishmael, the Western world (descendants of Rome, Edom) and the Islamic Ottoman Empire (descendants of Ishmael).

Is it a coincidence that oil was discovered in the Arab world in the same year (1908) when the Ottoman Empire began to dissolve, and the Rebbe Rashab defined the battles to come between the Arab/Muslims and the West?!

Ostensibly, superficially, this concurrence of events and distribution of power may seem inconsequential. But from a global, historical perspective a crucial trend is apparent.

The confrontation between the West and the Arab/Muslim world goes back to the time of Abraham almost four millennia ago: The battles between Ishmael, Isaac, Esau and Jacob – ancestors of todays Arabs/Muslims, Westerners and Jews respectively (see Abraham’s Vision: The Root of Today’s Conflicts).

These battles define a recurrent thread that runs through history. Especially over the last two thousand years the children of Ishmael and Esau have been at each others throats, with the children of Jacob and Israel always in the middle. Dominance and supremacy has shifted from power to another. First the Roman Empire was in control, followed by the Byzantines. Then the Muslim Ottoman Empire came to power. For centuries the balance of power would fluctuate from one to the other. Then, in 1908, with the decline of the Ottoman Empire, the Western Empires returned to power.

At the time, it seemed that the West (Esau) had prevailed, particularly following the Allies victories in the two World Wars. But as the 20^th century wore on, lo and behold: Who reappears? The children of Ishmael! As petroleum grew into the primary energy that would fuel the engine of the Western world – oil being the lifeblood of the world’s economy – power would shift to the Ishmaelite Kingdoms, up to the point today that they have the ability to blackmail and strangle the world, with no end in sight.

Yet another monkey wrench thrown into the 20th Century quagmire. As Ishmael’s power began to wane (with the fall of the Ottoman Empire), the seeds of their resurgence were buried deep beneath their lands, in the shape of oil and fossil fuels, that would provide them with enormous wealth and the power to hold Esau (the West) hostage.

Who could have written a more surprising script: Without oil the Arab countries would be no more significant than another third world country. At the turn of the 20^th Century the Arab countries seemed all but powerless. One century ago, the discovery of oil has empowered then with the energy that fuels the entire earth!

Indeed, the classical mystical text of the Zohar (II 32b) describes the power that Ishmael’s progeny will wield at the end of days.

Why did G-d give them this power – the keys to the energy of the West? For two reasons: 1) As a son of Abraham, G-d blesses Ishmael – “As for Ishmael, I have heard you: behold, I will bless him and make him fruitful, increasing his numbers very greatly, and I will make him a great nation,” fulfilling Abraham’s request “O that Ishmael might live before You” (Genesis 17:17;20).

2) Ishmael’s power balances out the extreme aggressions of Esau over the generations. As the Zohar elaborates, “the sons of Ishmael will fight mighty battles in the world, and the sons of Edom will gather against them, and make war against them, some on land, others on sea, and some close to Jerusalem, and one shall prevail over the other.”

The battles between Esau and Ishmael, spiritually and psychologically speaking, reflect the tension between integrating our material world with its Divine purpose. From, the times of Abraham till the present this has been the defining challenge, and each of his children have gone their way to try and find the path of balance.

3320 years ago at Sinai the children of Esau and Ishmael rejected the Divine mandate that provides a blueprint how to transform the physical universe into a Divine home. As the year passed, these nations slowly began accepting the Sinai principles of civilization. Yet, as long as spirit and matter remain at odds hostilities persist between the children of Abraham.

These battles will continue until the nations of the world come to realize that they must make their peace with the Divine, and reunite as children of Abraham under one G-d – fulfilling the prophecy “then I will turn to the peoples a pure language that they may all call upon the name of G-d to serve him with one consent” (Chaggai 3:9), and on that day “G-d will be one and His name one” (Zecharia 14:9), as the Zohar concludes: “Blessed be the Lord for ever and ever. Amen and amen.”

When we study the events of the past century, in historical context of the ongoing battles between Ishmael and Edom, and we see the power of oil rising to being the prominent commodity of our times – pitting the Middle East against the West – is there a more plausible explanation to understand these circumstances than the spiritual/historical one?

Peace in Abraham’s home, harmony between his children, drives the forces of history. As long as Ishmael, Esau and Jacob have not made their peace the story continues. Now the story is coming to its conclusion; the stage is set: Ishmael has the power to confront Esau and Jacob with their wealth of oil. The presenting question is: Will the nations behave as is befitting the children of Abraham?

And what is the solution? Resolution will come only when the nations of the world recognize and accept the Sinai message that they rejected 3320 years ago (see Esau, Ishmael and Sinai).

Interestingly, oil itself is the best metaphor for transforming the material universe into spiritual fuel; how to dig and excavate the earth and uncover its powerful potential; how each of is charged with the mission of revealing the Divine energy that lies within every fiber of existence, ultimately converting matter into light and warming our cold universe.

Something to think about next time you fill up your car with gas – paying per gallon $4 and counting…

As can be expected, last week’s article, Lysergic Acid Diethylamide, elicited quite a number of responses, most positive, some critical, many of them posted online in the comments section on the article. The harshest accusation came from one reader who felt that my article may have been “irresponsible,” influencing someone to want to try a “life altering experience.”

In order to make my intentions perfectly clear and not leave any room for ambiguity, here’s the letter and my response:

Dear Rabbi,

Unfortunately your article on L.S.D. influenced a dear friend of ours to want to “have a life altering experience,” a creative and inspiring trip. This is a grown educated woman in her forties who missed out on the sixties. I wonder what the effect and curiosity and Pandora’s Box you may have opened, not intentionally, with some of your younger readers. I feel that your article seemed a bit irresponsible and made the “unknown” possibility attractive.

Best Wishes, M.A.

Hi M.

Thank for writing and bringing to my attention my article’s influence on your dear friend. I am truly sorry and surprised to hear that the article caused someone to want to try LSD. I’m thinking how anyone could have come away with such a thought after reading in no unclear terms that drugs are dangerous and harmful. Even if their use induced a deeper awareness, they are like administering drugs to a comatose individual. How could that inspire someone to try LSD?

In general, the ideas I wrote about are basically the concept of teshuva – the power of return. One of the most powerful gifts bestowed upon humans is our ability to change our pasts and transform even “intentional sins” (zedonos) to merits. This is not a license to sin, as the Talmud specifically states that “one who says I will sin and then do teshuva, their teshuva is not accepted” (even in that case, the Tanya says that if the person insists and persists, his teshuva will be accepted). But AFTER THE FACT – as emphasized in the article several times – we have the capacity to elevate our past experiences (even if they were outright Torah prohibited sins of the worst nature). We don’t elevate the sin itself; that has to be destroyed. We elevate the spark within, and the results of the experience (see Tanya chapter 7).

Anyone deriving from my article that LSD is appealing is equivalent to someone drawn to medication because it revives a comatose person, or that one can transgress Torah, because there are balei teshuva who elevated and transformed their transgressions.

I take seriously the responsibility of writing about this sensitive issue, especially with younger readers who may not be able to distinguish between the abovementioned nuances. But on the other hand, I know from personal experience as well as from the many positive responses I have received to my article, that this topic is an extremely important one to address. And just to condemn outright all those that had psychedelic experiences and all those that rebelled, even if their behavior was self-destructive, does not seem very productive and would not resonate much, and above all – it would be simply incorrect: The Torah perspective categorically rejects the fatalistic view that we are victims of our mistakes, condemned to be haunted by our pasts, powerless to do anything about it. We have the great responsibility and opportunity to transform our pasts; to discard the peel as we eat the fruit through teshuva.

To avoid writing about this topic because someone may mistakenly be enticed to try drugs is the equivalent of not writing about the power to transform past sins through teshuva in order not to appear like we are glamorizing the process and giving someone the impression that sins are acceptable.

I would even venture to say, that anyone trying drugs is probably prone to it before reading my article. It’s hard for me to imagine that my writing alone should cause someone to do that. But I stand corrected if I am proven wrong.

Based on your note, my plan is to write a follow up e-mail to clarify these points, so that no one comes away with the wrong conclusions.

Thank you again for writing, and I welcome any further thoughts you may have.

Feel free to share my words with the person influenced by my initial article, and with anyone else you see fit.

Blessings and best wishes,

Simon Jacobson

A birthday is a time for celebration but also a time for reflection. What have I achieved in my years on this earth? Have I lived up to the mission which brought me here? A birthday begs us to ask the biggest question of all: Why was I born in the first place? What is the purpose of my life?

As people celebrate the 60^th birthday of the modern state of Israel, it’s a most appropriate time to reflect on the nature and purpose of this complex land, and is it living up to its mission.

In truth, Israel is not 60 years old. It is more like 3745 years old – if you count from the time that Abraham first settled in the land. Or 3280 years old – from the time the Jewish people entered the Promised Land. This number is not just a matter of semantics; it had far reaching consequences. For example, if Israel is only 60 years old what right does it have to displace millions of Palestinians who have been living there far longer?

Regardless – Israel’s age is not the focus of this article – since Israel’s birthday is in the news, it’s hard to ignore the relevance of this week’s Torah portion, which defines in succinct and pointed terms the purpose of the Land of Israel.

Contrast always helps crystallize matters. Examining the wide range of opinions about Israel’s mission will help us appreciate, by contrast, this Torah portion’s glaring message to us on this matter.

From the time of modern Zionism’s birth in the 19^th century, the meaning of the return to Israel and creation of a Jewish homeland was fraught with different interpretations and objectives. Some argued that the objective of the state was a political one. There were those that maintained that the return to the Jewish homeland is of religious nature, while others adamantly opposed the state as defiance of G-d. Other groups focused on the culture, language and economics of the state. From one extreme to the next, the meaning and purpose of Israel, was a matter of hot debate: Labor, socialist, revisionist, political, agrarian, synthetic, utopian, nationalist, cultural, religious – are among the different shapes Zionism took on. And anti-Zionism too comes in various colors.

To this day no consensus has ever been reached as to the purpose of the Land of Israel. No wonder Israel was never able to adopt a formal constitution (and instead has their “Eleven Basic Laws” as they’re called), because of a conflict over what constitutes fundamental law within Israeli society. Many religious Jews hold that the only real constitution for a Jewish state is the Torah and Jewish law (Halacha). They not only see no need for a modern secular constitution, but even see in such a document a threat to the supremacy of the Torah and the constitutional tradition associated with it that has developed over thousands of years to serve the Jewish people in their land and in the Diaspora. The secular majority wants the state to be strictly secular (as in the slogan “a state of chok (civil law), not a state of halacha”). With all the attempts to achieve reconciliation, the issue remains deadlocked and the heart of the polarization, which has not allowed a formal constitution to be ratified.

In such a muddled quagmire how can we ever effectively reflect on the meaning of Israel’s birth, and what would constitute success? The answer, of course, depends on what we call success, which brings us back to the question: what is the identity and nature of Israel?

For instance, if Israel is strictly about a Jewish homeland, you can call it a huge success: Just 60 years ago its Jewish population was 800,000 (in 1914 it was 60,000), and today it is close to 6 million – the largest concentrated population of Jews on earth, for the very first time surpassing the United States in that status.

If Israel is about defense and a strong army, or about developing technologies and standard of living, it clearly is also a success.

As a center for Torah scholarship and thriving religion – Israel is also a shining triumph.

But if Israel is about spiritual vision, unity among Jews, leadership, soul, a moral standard, a light unto nations – then there is much to be desired (some would say far worse).

Enter this week’s Torah portion, Behar:

When you come to the land that I am giving you, the land must be given a rest period, a Sabbath to G-d.

The question is asked: The next verse spells out that for six years plant your fields, prune your vineyards, and harvest your crops, but the seventh year is a Sabbath of Sabbaths for the land. It is G-d’s Sabbath. So why the need for the opening, redundant, statement that when you come to the land that I am giving you, the land must be given a rest period, a Sabbath to G-d?

The order of events is that when you enter the land the six years of harvest precede the Sabbatical; why does the Torah state that “when you come to the land” immediately give it a “rest period?”

The significance of the Sabbatical year – this year happens to be one – is to remind us that earth belongs to G-d, not to man. It makes us aware of the purpose of our lives and our hard work (six years of planting, pruning and harvesting) – to transform and spiritualize the material universe, elevating it to a state of Sabbath holiness.

By opening with the mitzvah of the Sabbatical year the Torah is brilliantly emphasizing the mission and purpose of coming “to the land that I am giving you.”

When you come to the land that I am giving you – never forget its purpose and raison d’etre: The land must be given a rest period, a Sabbath to G-d.

What happens when an entity sadly forgets its purpose or wanders off course? It cannot function properly, as it becomes displaced from its driving ethos. Think of a machine that is not following its engineer’s objectives.

When the purpose of the land is tragically forgotten displacement follows: “Exile comes to the world for… not resting the earth (during the Sabbatical year)” (Avot 5:9).

Conversely, when the Sabbatical purpose is remembered redemption comes to the world (this may explain the Talmud: at the end of the Sabbatical year Moshiach will come – Sanhedrin 97a).

Everything in this world has a soul. Health is dependent on the body and mechanics being aligned to their soul. How much more so when it comes to the Holy Land, the Promised Land – its optimal welfare and success is contingent on it living up to its soul (see The Death of Modern Zionism?).

This week’s Torah portion reveals for us a profound secret – the secret why Israel has dominated the news not only for 60 years, but for the last four millennia. Disproportionate to its size the Promised Land carries unparalleled influence throughout history. From the beginning of time people, nations and religions have been fighting for control of the Holy Land. What is the mysterious power of this small piece of geography (the size of New Jersey)?

The answer is Israel’s holiness. Israel is the soul of the universe; its spiritual vortex. Its’ destiny will define the destiny of the entire globe.

So what is Israel’s secret weapon?

The Sabbatical Year.

The Spiritual Revolution

One of the lesser known – and more notorious – revolutions in modern times was accidentally launched by a man who died last week.

The man is Dr. Albert Hoffman and the controversial discovery he made was Lysergic Acid Diethylamide, which set in motion a series of events that many attribute to precipitating some of the most fundamental changes of our times, from spiritual awakenings to the computer revolution, from a new vision of life to the Internet.

Lysergic Acid Diethylamide, for those that may not be aware, is better known as LSD, or just plain “acid.” This chemical compound was accidentally discovered by the Swiss chemist in 1943, when he inadvertently ingested it while working at the Swiss drug firm Sandoz. Despite its disreputable reputation, its illegality and the damage it has done to many, LSD remains an icon in contemporary society.

Just read this week’s obituaries – in mainstream media – about Dr. Hoffman, almost deifying the banned psychedelic, and it’s clear that America’s romance with LSD continues to haunt the modern psyche, despite its demonization by US officials who banned it in 1966.

The family weekly magazine Newsweek quotes, of all people, John Perry Barlow, a former lyricist for the Grateful Dead: “Albert Hofmann was an accidental prophet. But his casual revelation likely introduced more people to the spiritual dimension than any other discovery of the last 500 years. Around 1966, enough of my generation had taken LSD to just cut loose. We had a sudden feeling of permission: we felt it was OK to look critically at the world, to ask serious questions about the war, about how this country was governed and what to do with our lives. LSD did that. It made authority look funny. There were many things conspiring to make that moment in history a little crazy, but our reaction would have been very different without LSD. It set us free in a way we’d never been before—maybe in a way that nobody had been. Hofmann was, and is, our patron saint.”

The venerable New York Times ran an essay in their Ideas and Trends column, analyzing the drug and the forces it unleashed affecting society in profound ways. In the Times article, Benedict Carey writes that “most drugs that capture the imagination of the wider culture seem at first to soothe the unease or gloom of their times, like Valium in the 1970s or Prozac in the late 1980s and early 1990s. But lysergic acid diethylamide… did exactly the opposite. It inflamed people’s hopes and fears, powerfully so.

“LSD, it turns out, is one of the most potent consciousness-altering substances known; an amount the size of a grain of salt can induce swirls of emotion, and shimmering clear senses in which the ordinary becomes extraordinary, luminous, meaningful. It can infuse a person with creative energy or overwhelm the brain with a swarming feeling of loss and fear.”

“Looking back, scholars say, it’s hard to imagine that such a drug, once in circulation, could not have taken Western culture for a wild ride, especially given the forces at play in the postwar United States. ‘It’s a terrible phrase, but I think of LSD as a potentiator of possibilities. It just evoked these grandiose possibilities with people,’ said Martin A. Lee, co-author of Acid Dreams: The Complete Social History of LSD: The C.I.A., the ’60s and Beyond. Scientists in the 1940s and 1950s, for instance, thought it might be the key to providing healing insight, a window on the soul, a way to transcend psychosis, mania, depression. Dr. Hofmann thought it could awaken a deeper awareness of mankind’s place in nature.”

Now before anyone crucifies me for participating in the glorification of LSD, allow me to me to make it very clear that I am in no way advocating the use of drugs – or any foreign substance – to elicit a mystical experience or for any reason. Quite the contrary, as I elaborated upon in a previous article, Drugs: Strange Fire.

Yet, we cannot ignore the social phenomenon caused by LSD (and other drugs), and the role it played in the rebellious 60’s and its aftereffects that still echo and shape society today. Thus, the focus of this article to dissect a bit the counterculture and the forces that helped shape the new world and open up new frontiers.

Two things stand out, amidst the many issues that LSD came to epitomize. The first is the deep spiritual hunger of our generation. Hence, the powerful reception to LSD – and other drugs and mechanisms – anything to relieve the monotony of pedestrian life.

Young people in the 60’s took to LSD in swarms many of “who longed not only to shake free of mainstream suburban-corporate culture but also to transform it, and themselves. They weren’t looking for an angry fix but something far grander.” “To put matters bluntly: the hippies were an attempt to push evolution, to jump the species toward a higher integration… LSD was a mind detergent capable of washing away years of social programming, a re-imprinting device, a consciousness-expander, a tool that would push us up the evolutionary ladder,” wrote Jay Stevens in his 1987 book, “Storming Heaven: LSD and the American Dream.”

LSD was seen by some as a tool for personal transformation, famously unlocking the Blakean doors of perception and altering human consciousnesses, as advocated by prominent proponents like Aldous Huxley. Timothy Leary, LSD’s pied piper, was a Harvard professor whose public raptures over the drug were a strong cocktail of mystical and scientific jargon. Regarding LSD, Leary said, “expand your consciousness and find ecstasy and revelation within.”

The second vital lesson from the LSD experience is the human temptation for a quick fix. Instead of earning our way to heightened consciousness, when the process comes too easily – by ingesting a pill, or injecting or other xxx – it will always be abused, and ultimately feed into human self-indulgence and self-destructive behavior. As Carey writes, with all LSD’s benefits, “by 1966 a raft of toxic knockoffs were on the street, and the authorities recognized that, whatever its upside, acid had become part of a self-devouring drug culture that exposed many users to a poisonous menu of illicit drugs. The government outlawed distribution of LSD, and research into its effects soon ground to a near halt.”

In the final analysis – though we have hardly reached the end of the journey – LSD did open up new channels of awareness, and despite its downside, led to a new way of thinking, the belief in novel possibilities, a sense of the unifying spirit within all of existence and the revolutionary conviction that we can change the world. It provided a vision of a new order.

Without this new awareness we would in all likeliness not have computers, cell phones and other technologies. Even if the science were there, the non-conformist attitude of the counterculture helped provide the courage needed to invest in new technologies and feel confident in the success of thinking differently and creating new paradigms.

LSD fashions and values had a major effect on culture, influencing popular music, television, film, literature, and the arts. In a 1995 Time Magazine article, Steward Brand attributed the computer revolution and the Internet to the counter-cultures psychedelic experience. “Most of our generation scorned computers as the embodiment of centralized control. But a tiny contingent – later called ‘hackers’ – embraced computers and set about transforming them into tools of liberation. That turned out to be the true royal road to the future… Hippies and nerds alike reveled in… contempt for centralized authority. To this day, computer scientists and technicians are almost universally science-fiction fans.

And all this was in 1995. Today, 13 years later, the cyberspace revolution and the information age bears the distinctive mark of the countercultural ’60s.

Undoubtedly we have not reached the end of the journey. The forces unleashed by the LSD generation continue to impact the world today. But hopefully, today we have also learned, in retrospect, how to extract the positive lessons and reject the negative ones – by focusing on healthy and natural ways of accessing the spiritual and discovering the inherent unity in existence.

I will never forget the fellow who came to one of my classes and wanted to know what my opinion was about the use of LSD to discover G-d (I shared this story on one of my radio shows, Growing Through Our Pasts, which complements this article).  The gentleman was clearly stoned when he walked into the class – apparent from his demeanor and voice – and he described his own life story:

“I grew up in a semi-traditional home where we kept kosher, I attended yeshiva, was bar mitzvah-ed, read Hebrew and went to shul (synagogue) every Shabbos. Frankly, the rituals were always hollow experiences. We did them by rote and that was that. Then, as a teenager, I simply lost interest and drifted off. It wasn’t speaking to me. I essentially rebelled and left everything that was Jewish. Besides for some nostalgic or guilty visits to shul on Yom Kippur, I no longer was a practicing or active Jew.

“However, my search went on. Growing up in the late 60s, I went off to L.A. and discovered G-d and spirituality through Far Eastern religions, and most importantly, through my LSD experiences, which opened my eyes to a deeper reality. For the first time I came to the absolute awareness that the Divine vivifies everything in existence, and that an underlying unity connects us all. My spirituality was nourished from these alternative trips.

“And then, it was LSD that brought me back to my Judaism. Once, on a flight from the East Coast to the West, I had dropped some acid and I was in a trance surrounded by pulsating clouds. Suddenly I heard from the back of the plane a quorum of Jews davening (praying). As I heard them reciting ‘Kodosh, kodosh, kodosh (holy, holy, holy) is G-d, the whole earth is filled with His glory, I literally felt the celestial angels singing and sensed cosmic holiness all around me. As a child I recited these same Hebrew words many times. But I never experienced them in any personal, profound, or spiritual way. This time it was completely different. I jumped up and something drew me to the back of the plane. I joined them and for the first time in many years I prayed, this time with kavanah (intention), passion and feeling.

“Thus began my return journey to Judaism. I began to daven regularly, don tefillin daily, observe Shabbat, eat kosher. I would say that I’m more observant today than when was a child – and all due to LSD!”

“So my question Rabbi is this: “Without LSD, I would not be a practicing Jew. It woke me up to my soul and ignited my faith in G-d. It brought me back to my roots. What’s your opinion on that? Would you advocate LSD or other alternative methods to discover G-d?

You could hear a pin drop as 40-50 people in the class looked to me to see what I would say. Would I endorse – provide a hashgacha for – psychedelics? Or would I condemn the use of drugs, and in effect condemn this fellow’s – and many other people’s – return to embracing Judaism?

– Quiz: Before I tell you what I replied, what would you say? –

My reply: “Obviously we cannot endorse the use of any drug. But allow me to offer you an example. Imagine someone falling into a coma, G-d forbid. Every medical intervention doesn’t work. No one is able to revive the poor soul.

“Finally, one doctor suggests that since nothing is working, let’s inject the person with a massive dose of drugs in order to shake up his system, maybe, just maybe this will revive him. We would never inject a healthy, conscious person with this massive dose; it may even kill him. But in this dire situation, the doctors are left with no choice. They have nothing to lose. He’s going into atrophy and at a certain point, the body cannot maintain the comatose state. So as last resort, they inject the drugs and it works: They revive the individual.

“What do we derive from this? Would anyone suggest that we begin administering drugs to healthy people? Of course not! This dangerous method is only used for someone in a comatose state when all other options have been exhausted.

“The same is in our case. Many people today are in a spiritual coma, for one reason or another. Ignorance, assimilation, religious corruption, material temptations and dogma without soulfulness are some of the primary causes that have created a climate of apathy and alienation from religious commitment. There are healthy ways to revive a soul. Judaism advocates the study and experience of the “inner” mystical (soul) dimension of Torah as a “natural” way to awaken the human soul.

“In this spiritually comatose state, perhaps G-d in his mysterious ways planted spiritual reminders in the strangest places, in certain plants and chemicals, which have the power to induce a spiritual experience. But these dangerous methods should never be used on a healthy person. Once someone has fallen into a coma, and nothing else has worked, then and only then – after the fact – can we say that the drug saved his life. Obviously, the first option is to achieve the same revival through healthy means. And even when alternative means were used, even then, once you have been revived, now you must continue the spiritual journey in natural, healthy ways, and not depend on harmful drugs.”

“I therefore tell you,” I concluded, “that I am saddened to hear about your experience. It is indeed a sad testimony to the current state of religion that it could not bring G-d into your life in a relevant way, and that you needed some type of massive injection, so to speak, to get you out of your spiritual coma. But I am glad to hear that G-d did help wake you up. And now that you’ve discovered the Divine, you should be speaking to people, to young men and women who were like you back then, facing similar challenges. Share with them your experiences, offer them healthy, natural methods to access and ignite the soul, teach them how to live a wholesome transcendent life.”

We must be careful to distinguish between the means and the end, between the results of an experience and the experience itself. Even as we invalidate the method (LSD) used to reach G-d, we can never invalidate the person and his needs that led him to go there in the first place. Nor can we invalidate the results of the drug that revived his soul.

People are desperate because they need transcendence; they need purpose, meaning and passion. And they will search for it one way or another. It’s no accident that so many young people are drawn to drugs because there’s a vacuum in their lives. It’s easy to wring our hands and say, look how terrible.

But when there’s a profound vacuum and you don’t fill it in healthy ways you’ll fill it in unhealthy ways. That’s how it is. When the soul is hungry it will get its day. If it’s fed in healthy ways it will be healthy. If not, it will be extremely unhealthy, to the point of self-destruction. And that’s why drugs have such a powerful appeal, precisely because of the hunger.

So I told this fellow, “I feel that you were in a spiritual coma. The religion you grew up with was not presented in a way that spoke to your soul. You were left hungry. Since there was a vacuum you went to fill it.

“I will never judge you or in any way invalidate your hunger. Optimally, someone would have met you and provided you a healthy way to access your soul. Why try dangerous drugs, with all sorts of side effects, when healthy methods can wake you up?

“But once that did not happen and you found an alternative method, even as we see that method as destructive, we cannot invalidate the results of the experience that filled the void and the nourishment that fed the hunger, just as we can’t invalidate the void and the hunger.

“What you need to do is realize that G-d saved your life. And maybe G-d deposited a spark of rousing potency in bizarre compounds and substances (or in different ideologies and countries), like LSD or other forms which induce spiritual highs. Why did G-d place it there? Not because that’s the way to go, but because it could possibly be the last resort to prevent spiritual death from spiritual hunger. But that does not validate the experience. What it simply does is validate the soul’s search.”

Ahh, the dignity and mystery of a soul’s journey, with all its bizarre twists and turns, sometimes smooth, sometimes rocky, often peaceful, often painful.

In strange times, the journey takes strange turns. The key is to stay on course, and even when we veer a bit – never allow our pasts to haunt us. Rather, to see our pasts, no matter how regretful, as springboards for a healthy future. To extract the fruit and discard the shell.

Goodness vs. Sanctity

You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your G-d, am holy – this week’s Torah portion (Leviticus 19:2)

How much is a mortal human being capable of? Can we creatures of habit, bound by natural limits, achieve true transcendence? Or are we ultimately trapped by our own finite boundaries, unable to free ourselves from our very own margins, no more than a leopard can change its spots or a tiger its stripes?

Many thinkers and human theorists have long held the position that man can never escape his self contained universe. Being part of the structure of existence, we are confined by our inherent limits, perhaps stretching them a bit, but ultimately we will hit a ceiling in our pursuit of the immortal. No matter how far the finite goes it can never reach the infinite. If it isn’t our natural boundaries of time and space and our different dependencies on food, sleep, shelter and the likes, our own subjective interests will not allow us to get beyond ourselves.

An aggressive version of this perspective – based on the Darwinian-Freudian model that survival, self-interest and self-perpetuation is the cardinal drive of every species – argues that even our attempts at transcendence are all part of the self-serving needs of the “selfish gene.” The species may have a need to believe in salvation, but even faith itself is part of the matrix program that holds us forever hostage.

Another school of thought, however, advocates the human ability to actually rise above and beyond his own limits. Whether it is through music, art or romance, the human yearning to reach beyond our survival needs remains at the core of the human spirit, feeding our aspirations and dreams – yearnings that can reach unimaginable heights.

The mystics in particular teach how we can, through various exercises, traditions and meditations, connect with the inner light, the higher spirit, the deeper unity, the Divine energy – whatever name is used refers to the human capacity to touch the sky. Faith and religion offer people ways to get beyond their existential loneliness and introduce into our pedestrian lives dimensions of another reality.

But then we are left with the dilemma: How can we fit the infinite within our finite boundaries? Boundless energy in boundaried containers? Can the Divine be integrated with the human? The immortal with the mortal? The eternal with the temporal limits of our lives and structures, without annihilating us?

The answer in this week’s Torah portion is unequivocal: “You shall be holy.” Goodness, virtue and love – as great as they may be, are still part of the system, and thus, bound by its rules, boundaries and parameters. Holiness, by contrast, is more than human. Becoming holy means that your virtue is not only on your terms and your convenience, but going beyond yourself in helping another even when it’s not convenient for you. Human love is limited to your capacity and willingness to love, predicated and conditioned by your needs; “you” are still a factor, distinct and apart of your beloved. Holy love is transcendent and unconditional; it’s getting beyond yourself to the point where “you” no longer dominate; you and your beloved are one.

The Torah is telling us: Yes, we can, and yes, we must become more than human. Yes, we are capable of transcending the very system that sustains us. And furthermore, we have the power to transform the system itself. By sanctifying our material lives we transform the confined boundaries of existence into a form of higher energy.

But how is this possible? Don’t we have the rule that no system can change itself? Only a force outside of the system can change that system.

The answer lies in the second half of the verse: “You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your G-d, am holy.” G-d has imparted His Divine holiness to us. In other words, though we are in the system, we have within ourselves a part that is beyond the system. And that part allows us to transcend and even transform the system.

Humans consist of two components: One part that is very much of the system, governed by the laws of nature; a second part is rooted beyond the system. Minerals, vegetables and animals only have the first part; like a clock, they always follow particular predictable patterns. Humans have also the second component, allowing them the ability to transcend their very natures. Every moment in our lives we have the choice – which part of ourselves will control our lives? To serve your own needs (even healthy and loving ones) or to serve a higher purpose, by sanctifying life.

In practical terms being holy means going out of your comfort zone and conventional behavior. Even if you are doing good things, as long as they are by habit and rote, you are not called one who is “serving” the Divine – avodas Hashem. “Avodah” means something that comes with effort, strenuous effort, not due to habit, even a good one.

As long as our behavior is defined by the parameters of our natural inclinations and acquired routines, then we remain trapped by the very structure we are following. When we go beyond our comfort zones and do something unexpected we allow our Divine souls to emerge, freeing us of the shackles of nature’s constraints. In turn, this allows us to sanctify our existence: We don’t merely expand our natural boundaries, but by going beyond ourselves we introduce into existence a dimension that is beyond existence – thereby transforming and consecrating it.

As we read this week’s portion – Kedoshim tehiyu – it is an excellent time that each of us resolve to do something new and unpredictable for someone we love or for a stranger. To do something holy.

And the timing couldn’t be more appropriate: As we come from celebrating transcendence on Passover – freedom from constraints and boundaries (the meaning of the Hebrew word mitzrayim) – Kedoshim tehiyu impels us to hallow our lives:

Be holy. Don’t just be good, be holy. Don’t just be human, be Divine.

Commitment

The most eventful century in all of history was set in motion in the early 1900s, during the years that led up to World War I, the Russian Revolution, then World War II and the subsequent earth-shattering events – both tragic and glorious – that would define the momentous 20^th century.

100 years ago – in 1908 – no one could have imagined what was coming. Not the unthinkable upheavals and destruction that would ravage the earth and not the unprecedented scientific breakthroughs that would transform the same earth.

Yet in every generation there are the rare visionaries who, in their ultra-sensitivity, have their hand on the pulse of their times and foresee events to come. Above all, they provide us with a blueprint and plan for the future.

The dawn of the 20^th century was no different. During the first decade of the century, when Einstein was publishing revolutionary theories that would forever change the world, in a small town in White Russia the Rebbe Rashab (Rabbi Sholom Dovber – 1860-1920) was formulating a vision for the new century and developing an antidote to the looming disease to come.

Exactly one hundred years ago, Passover 1908, the Rebbe delivered a discourse, which identified the attitude and work that would be needed to face the challenges ahead. At the time no one could have known what he was anticipating. But today, in retrospect, the Rebbe’s prescience becomes glaringly clear; now we can see how critically important his words would turn out to be.

In this Passover discourse titled “The voice of my beloved, behold the one that leaps over the hills” – later delivered by his son (the Rebbe Rayatz) in 1924 and published in 1949 – the Rebbe Rashab begins with a mystical analysis of the history of the world empires that controlled the world.

Based on various early sources – the Midrash and the writings of the great Kabbalist, Rabbi Isaac Luria (the holy Arizal) – the 1908 discourse takes on our journey through time, back to the times of Abraham.

In the words of the Bible:

“As the sun was setting, a deep sleep fell upon Abram; and a deep dark dread fell upon him. [G-d] said to Abram: ‘Know for sure that your descendants will foreigners in a land that is not theirs for 400 years. They will be enslaved and oppressed. But I will finally bring judgment against the nation who enslaves them, and they will then leave with great wealth…’”

What was the “deep dark dread” that befell Abraham? Says the Midrash that Abraham was shown the future great empires that would control and terrorize the world, each in their own way: the Babylonian, Persian, Greek, Roman and Ishmaelite (Islamic) empires.

The Arizal explains the spiritual significance of these powers: These empires – that extend over the entire span of history – represent the different stages of refinement (birur) that we achieve throughout the generations. Everything in our material existence contains Divine ‘sparks,’ i.e. spiritual energy, and we are charged with the mission to redeem and elevate these sparks, and thereby refine the material universe and transform it into its true purpose: a vehicle for spiritual expression.

Beginning with the Egyptian empire – the archetype and root (‘head’) of all the exiles and empires – each subsequent empire symbolizes another stage of refinement in integrating matter and spirit. The process concludes with the refinement of the last two powers, Edom (Esau) and Ishmael, which leads to the Messianic age – a world where there is no more destruction and terror and all children of Abraham serve the One G-d of Abraham in peace and harmony.

We now stand, declares the 1908 discourse, in the final stage when two empires dominate: Edom and Ishmael. Edom refers to the Western world (descendants of Rome, Edom) and Ishmael to the Islamic Ottoman Empire. Bear in mind that the Ottoman Empire began to dissolve in 1908, and would a few years later join the Central Powers who fought and lost to the Allies in WW I.

What is the inner meaning of Edom and Ishmael? Explains the Arizal that the refinement of Edom and Ishmael – our work today – corresponds to the two emotions, netzach and hod, endurance and humility/acknowledgment.

The bulk of the 1908 discourse (as well as those of 1924 and 1949) elaborates on the practical application of these two features.

Two states of spiritual consciousness are possible. One, which personifies earlier generations, is a state of revelation, when the “Divine face” is exposed and souls are aflame with passion. In a spiritually evolved environment, beings naturally gravitate toward the Divine; minds and hearts are attuned to the sublime, emotions are deeply felt and lives are dedicated to service. In such a state the higher emotions of love, awe and empathy (chesed, gevurah, tiferet) reign.

The second state, which reflects our times, is a spiritual awakening that comes out of a void:

“There was no darker hour in history than the one when G-d said to Moses ‘I will cover my face.’”

Divine concealment can take on two opposite manifestations: Oppressive forces dominate and destroy everything good and pure. Or the other extreme: Intense prosperity and comfort desensitizes man, creating instead a mood of self-indulgence, complacency and crass materialism, neglecting the spiritual and the deeper purpose of our lives: love and sensitivity to another.

In this latter state of spiritual darkness (in both forms) our primary effort must be netzach and hod. Netzach is the sheer determination and fortitude to overcome any adversary and challenge. Hod is a profound sense, rising from the depths of the soul, of acceptance and acknowledgment of a Higher presence.

Both these forces are not due to any moment of revelation or grace. They stem from the innermost essence of the human soul, which cries out in times of pain and discovers the greatest resources of strength in times of challenge. Netzach and Hod is the unwavering dedication and sacrifice of a mother for her child in danger. It is the unconditional drive and the most precious resources spent to vanquish an enemy. It is the unimaginable efforts we will exert when our lives or the lives dearest to us are at stake. It is the absolute faith in good even when facing the abyss of a gas chamber. It is the unfathomable hope and perseverance that can be elicited from each of us when our essential beliefs are challenged.

Both Netzach and Hod are in one word: commitment. Unwavering and unconditional commitment to the things we truly believe in.

As the darkest and brightest 20^th century was about to unfold, the Rebbe Rashab (in 1908) and the Rebbe Rayatz (in 1924 and 1949) told us that these are the forces that we will need to access as we face the challenges ahead. Despite the lack of feeling a deep connection, an inner voice still senses a Higher presence. Today our work is such, that even when we don’t experience revelation – our minds don’t easily relate to the Divine and our hearts don’t naturally feel Divinity, and on top of it all we live in a highly evolved materialistic world – we obstinately commit with supra-rational tenacity and acknowledgement to fulfilling our mission to refine the world.

There is a moment of truth that comes from seeing the light. Then there are truths – the deepest ones of them all – that are born in darkness. When things are not apparent, when there is no revelation, when, on the contrary, oppressive forces consume us and want to extinguish the fire of the soul, then the power of Netzach and Hod – that are rooted in the essence – surface with their unfathomable intensity.

Yes, the essence is not manifest in revelation. Even the greatest souls have their spiritual fluctuations. Not so the essence, which by its very definition, remains steady, unmovable and forever reliable, even in the darkest times and even in the blindest moments.

In 1908, when the world stood at the brink of war and revolution, and then again, in 1924, when the demonic forces that would destroy the world that we knew began to be unleashed (Stalin came to power after Lenin’s death in 1924; that same year Hitler was released from prison and came to power in 1933) – as the earth was about the be thrown into the throes of hell – the Rebbe Rashab and the Rebbe Rayatz, as true leaders and visionaries, declared and provided mankind with the resources it would need to survive this onslaught.

Indeed, in 1924, the Rebbe felt the need to add an additional few chapters to the discourse, describing some of the terrible challenges that were descending on the world, as well as the fortitude and commitment required to ride through them. And then again, in 1949, when the world began emerging from the shadows and rebuilding life following the devastation of World War II.

At the same time, the discourse in 1908 and even more so the one in 1924 and 1949, addresses times of prosperity as well.

Because two extremes would define the 20^th century: Unparalleled destruction and unprecedented prosperity. We witnessed the worst of man and the best of man. Both extremes would require unwavering fortitude and deep faith. And both are addressed in the discourse. Obviously, standing in the early part of the century when the harsh night descended, the Rebbe’s primary focus is on the darkness. But recognizing that the century would also bring untold success and technological advancement, he also addresses the best of times – briefly in the 1908 discourse, and a bit more elaborate in the 1924 and 1949 discourses (the additions of the latter discourse are underlined):

“Just as one needs unwavering fortitude in troubled times, the same is true in opposite times: When a person is blessed in all his endeavors, both at home and at work, and his heart is lifted to great and exalted heights, endowed with wealth and great success, with many investments and all the anxieties connected with absorption in business matters, despite all these distractions his heart should not digress from his spiritual commitments, he should consistently maintain his commitments to ongoing, designated time for study and prayer, without any alteration – with the unwavering fortitude and resolution of Netzach.”

If you think about it, it is absolutely brilliant advice, and it captures the essence of all the suggestions you will ever hear in therapy or personal growth manuals: No matter what – never waver from your good actions and commitments to positive causes. Action reigns supreme. Even when you feel down, not in the mood, overwhelmed, distracted – hold on with your dear life to the constructive things that you are connected with. Because it is this absolute dedication and commitment that will carry you through the worst and best of times. It is this fortitude that will save your life.

Much has changed from 1908. Today, 100 years later, we are blessed with freedom. No outside enemy lurks. Yet, we also do not live in a world of Divine revelation. The darkness today is within. Complacency, apathy and the forces of cool reason and science – that cool down any passion and justify a purposeless life. With all our comforts and prosperity – and rational excuses – our souls can feel quite empty. As we focus on outer success, it seems that our inner lives suffer in direct proportion. Whether it is a crisis of love and intimacy, lack of commitment or passionate cause to fight for, there is no doubt a profound void. And who suffers most? Our children.

So as we prepare to enter this year’s Passover – and celebrate the Seder in an unbroken chain that spans back 3320 years when the Jews first left the Egyptian Empire – we have a clear directive and blunt regards from exactly one century ago, declaring the calling of our time:

To be persistent and to be accepting of our Divine mission – even when we don’t feel it.

Let us gather with families and friends and celebrate the continuity of the Seder. If you don’t feel anything – exert some effort to make the Seder come alive. Personalize it, engage in dialogue, provoke and be provoked. Make it relevant. And even if you don’t always succeed in the fullest sense of the word – do it anyway. With a lightness of spirit, and the firm belief that we are reaching our destination: personal and global redemption.

Commitment is the call of our times. Consistent, absolute dedication is the antidote to the arbitrary circumstances and unpredictable changes in the ever-shifting universe in which we live.

You are perhaps the only Rabbi that I feel I can write to about the following painful subject.

I grew up in a very secular home, with no faith and no G-d. My parents were both highly intelligent, cultured individuals. My father amassed a fortune as a shrewd and successful businessman, while my mother was a professional in her own right. But despite my family’s stature, we grew up in a loveless home. Our parents were not there for us, nor were they there for each other. My parents were not loyal to each other and ultimately divorced, leaving my siblings and me adrift.

I was always conscious of being Jewish, though I knew nothing about it. As I suffered through my un-nurturing home life, I began a spiritual search that ultimately led me to the Jewish community. There I found a warmth and love that I had never before experienced. The power of Jewish tradition – Shabbat, prayer, even kosher – resonated with me. Not that commitment came easily to me. But I appreciated the power of commitment – something I had never really experienced. My life was all about shifting loyalties, broken promises, dashed dreams – all creating profound distrust and insecurity. But now I discovered something new: Committed people to each other, to family, to community and to a higher calling. It was quite compelling. I also sensed a simplicity and even rejection of the high culture I grew up in. Most of the religious Jews I met were not open to other ideas and to a free-spirited perspective. But I reckoned that perhaps the trade-off was worth it: Sacrificing some of the beauty of art and literature, but without a rudder, for a life of trust, love and commitment, with very strong sense of purpose.

I was seduced by the observant lifestyle, and I slowly but surely became totally observant myself. At some point I couldn’t do enough. I made friends quickly and was welcomed into the community with open arms. For every friend and family I came to know another set of traditions became part of my regimen. I began using my Hebrew name in place of my secular one. I was kissing mezuzahs, reciting Tehillim, running to synagogue, praying at holy places, tying red strings on every one of my joints. I even took an extended leave from work to go study in a Yeshiva in Israel. And I met many others on a similar journey. As I look back at it now, it all was a blurring whiz – I was completely taken and consumed by the euphoria, like a marathon runner whose legs can’t stop moving, being pulled along on the adrenalin generated by the cheers of all the bystanders and the momentum of my fellow runners.

Pretty soon I was one of those “baalei teshuvah,” with various Rabbis and Rebbetzin’s taking credit for my miraculous “return” to my roots. Adding a feather to many caps, I was then deluged with “shidduchim,” potential marriage mates, whom I began to date. At that point, I began to feel my own self re-emerging and wasn’t really sure what I wanted outside of the demands and pressures of those around me. Truth be told, their intentions were for the most part pure, but they simply did not allow me to be myself. With the argument that they – or as they would put it, the “Torah” – knows better. I realized that my great hunger for spirit and meaning totally overwhelmed my senses and my sense of self, and I was being carried on the waves of enthusiasm. I seriously couldn’t distinguish between who I was as opposed to who others thought I was; between my individual needs and the expectations of me. The boundaries became blurred: where did others end and where did I begin?

And then the ax fell. The honeymoon was over. As I began to land and returned to my daily routines, I also began to see many of the flaws of the communities that embraced me. Frankly, that did not disturb me at all. I was not a child nor naïve; I understood that every social circle has its strengths and its weaknesses. People are people. What drew me to the religious community was not a fantastic expectation that I found perfect people; rather that I had found a perfect Judaism – a way that G-d wants us to live. What ended up truly troubling me was that so many of the religious community were simply mindless and mechanical – and callous. That too is forgivable; the secular world is not much different. What was not forgivable, however, was that in their mindlessness (masked in blind faith) many were cruel and selfish. And to top it off, when “dressed” in religious garb, the self-righteousness is simply unbearable. From condescension to outright arrogance, anything that did not neatly fit into the “comfortable” zone of the initiated was simply dismissed or criticized. Religion was much more about appearances and mechanics than it was about inner spiritual development. Except for a rare few, I did not witness introspection, an effort in personal refinement and growth, deepening love and relationships. That’s fine, as long as you don’t spend your time criticizing others and convincing yourself that you are better than others just because you are wearing a sheitel.

My questions, for example, became the irritating voice of the malcontent. From “she’s too independent” to the profoundly psychological “what can you do, she comes from a dysfunctional family,” people seemed to need to explain me away some way, instead of just having an intelligent conversation that perhaps would enlighten us all.

Especially destructive were those Rabbis and teachers who always knew “what was best for me.” I appreciate their scholarship, but many are quite unevolved when it comes to human emotions and personal refinement. They hide behind texts and quote chapters, verses and halachot. But some simply are clueless of the “fifth” shulchan aruch – common sense. Some of these “authorities” felt that they had to baby-sit for the “nebech” me and others who unfortunately did not grow up “frum.” Their guidance, I understand today, was anything but empowering. It was not driven by confidence in our souls, but by fear that we would wander off. Their intentions may have been fine, but they fundamentally believe that in Judaism there is an “us” and a “them,” “haves” and “have-nots,” and that they were superior to the less informed and educated. If you rejected their advice, on whatever grounds, you were turned on, blacklisted and cast out of the “inner circle.”

Today I am alienated and angry. Lonely and disturbed. And yes, I have regressed in my observance. I deeply love the spiritual path of Judaism. [Not all is lost, Rabbi. I still kiss mezuzahs and wear my red string… Among other things that I cherish and embrace, including Shabbat]. Yet I cannot find a community where I can belong. Equally sad are the other lonely souls that I meet with similar stories.

Many have completely rejected the Jewish tradition that they once embraced. Some are livid when it comes to this topic. I am not in that category. Please understand: I am not writing to you to vent my grievances or to just criticize the “system.” I see much of its beauty and am eternally grateful to those that took me in, taught me and in many ways transformed my life.

I am writing on a personal level: How should I view my experience? What should I be doing? Is there hope?

D. A.

Dear D. A.,

Thank you for writing and opening up a “Pandora’s box” of issues that affect many people, yet is hardly discussed, at least in a Torah context. I for one firmly believe that as irreverent as your questions may be, it is absolutely critical to address them in a constructive and meaningful manner. Hopefully this can be a catalyst that will generate a wider discussion in the broader community.

As you accurately emphasize, the focus here should not be on criticizing the negative elements of the “system” and “establishment.” That deserves its own discussion – and much can be said about it. What I will then discuss is the actual spiritual/religious journey you describe – a journey that many have taken – and its challenges and hazards, and above all: how we are to navigate in face of all the shortcomings you describe and many more that you don’t.

You may be surprised to hear that your dilemma – troubling so many people today – is addressed in this week’s Torah portion.

The chapter describes a defining event in history: For the first time ever the Divine presence finds a home in the material universe – in the Mishkan, the holy Sanctuary. “Built me a Sanctuary and I will rest among you.” As the verse states: On this first momentous “opening” day of the Mishkan, “G-d’s glory was revealed to all the people. Fire came forth from before G-d and consumed the burnt offering.”

You can imagine what kind of powerful reaction this must have caused amongst the people who witnessed this unprecedented revelation. What happened next? “When the people saw this, they raised their voices in praise and threw themselves on their faces” in complete awe.

Then, in a moment of utter spiritual ecstasy, “Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, each took his fire pan, placed fire on it and then incense. They offered before G-d a strange fire, which He had not instructed them. Fire came forth from G-d and it consumed them, and they died before G-d.”

Aaron’s sons had a religious awakening, and in their sheer hunger and bliss, they were driven to enter the Holy of Holies, and got consumed by the very fire they were trying to contain.

What did they do wrong? They moved too fast and did so at their own volition, unprepared. The fire was Divine, but it was “strange” to them. They were not ready to contain it.

Though Nadav and Avihu were on a level loftier than any of us will ever attain, the lesson to us all is very clear:

True faith is a powerful force. Like a fire it has the power to warm and illuminate, but also the power to consume and destroy. When edging close to the fire great care has to be taken to ensure that you are able to take the heat and contain the light.

Do not lose yourself in the process of becoming Divine. You have to own your choices. Faith ought not be a “strange fire” which is alien to you; it needs to be integrated into your being. If not, its intensity can burn you.

Does this then mean that we should not embrace Judaism until it is totally integrated? Absolutely not! An equally polarizing approach is to be so cautious of the fire that we never make a move.

Balance is the key: Knowing how to move forward at your own pace, in a way that doesn’t overwhelm and consume you. One mitzvah at a time. “Mitzvah goreres mitzvah,” our sagely wisely tell us. One mitzvah brings along another.

The outcome of the Nadav and Avihu story is not that no one shall ever enter the holy sanctuary; rather, G-d lays out an entire set of rules, a process, as to how one is to enter the holy place and remain intact.

This delicate dance is especially acute for sensitive souls who sense the power of the fire. Aaron’s sons were the most spiritual of them all, as Moses makes it abundantly clear that their demise was a result of their greatness. It was their deep love and passion for the Divine that caused them to enter the Temple unprepared (as the Ohr haChaim explains).  Moses told Aaron that his sons’ experience fulfilled G-d’s words, “I will be sanctified among those close to Me, and I will thus be glorified.”

Deep souls hungry for spirituality and cognizant of its intimate power have to be especially careful when faced with a Divine experience.

Too often religion is presented in a didactic and dogmatic way. Peer and social pressure is applied demanding conformation. And you – the individual – are lost in the process. While there is value in inspiring someone with faith and there is a notion of joining a community and not standing on the side (“al tifrosh min hatzibbur”), at the same time, however, the power of community is only possible after an individual has found his distinct place and unique voice. Then he can join – and actually help – create a community to which he is loyal. But the group is not meant to stunt or annihilate the individual, rather to enhance him. First, we must cultivate self-confidence, and then allow the individual to make and own his or her choices.

As important as a community may be, as welcoming as a religious group may be – what is even more important is that the individual entering the community be allowed and encouraged to move at his or her own pace.  This helps ensure that newfound spiritual truth will be integrated into his or her being.

This is true even in the purest form of religious experience. How much more so when it is being presented by flawed human beings, who themselves are hardly role models and paragons of spiritual refinement.

Too often, certain teachers, guides and mentors see their role as one of prodding along, directing, even babysitting for a person who is just being initiated into Judaism. Even if their intentions are right, it is vital to gauge the needs of the individual, not the needs of the teacher, lest one ends up burning a person who is not yet ready for such spiritual enlightenment.

How much more so when the teacher is far from perfect and may not be the best representative of the message. Then, it is of critical importance, that the teacher qualify his or her role and humbly acknowledge how he or she and all of us are in the same boat, and are available to help each other.

Thus, while it’s true that children need to be directed in the path of faith, and we all, even adults, are in need of the support and guidance of teachers and mentors, yet, the ultimate goal is not to create dependencies but independence. Because, after all is said and done, the path of faith is not about the teacher, nor is it about the community; it is about G-d and His personal relationship with each one of us. The spiritual path is not a superimposed one but one that allows and facilitates the true human personality to emerge – the Divine Image in which each of us individually was created.

The ultimate role of a teacher, a mentor and a Rabbi is to inspire, motivate and empower each of us in that direction. If an adult is unable to own his faith there is something seriously wrong.

Bureaucracy, more than religion, is the root of the attitude that religion is an elitist country club with a few “gifted” authorities – blessed with being born religious and having received a solid education, achieved scholar status and authority – bestowing their benevolence on others and allowing them into the inner club. Either we believe that all people were created equally in the Divine Image or we don’t. Religion is not an end in itself; it is not about a set of rituals and traditions. It is about allowing the soul to be free and actualizing the potential within each one of us.

The spiritual journey is not about self-indulgence, neither is it about scoring points. It is the sacred journey of discovering your life mission. It is a Divine journey aimed at releasing your soul and transforming your corner of the universe into a home for G-d.  So, though we need the support from communities and structure, above all it is a fiercely personal journey that has little to do with other people’s expectations and pressures.

This is the profound and yet simple lesson each one of us today can learn from Nadav and Avihu: Own your faith; make it yours; integrate it. Don’t allow it to be strange to you. Or else…

Once it becomes ours then we will be less vulnerable to the predators, to the community, and to the pressures around us. The fire, especially in the hands of those who don’t always appreciate it, can be a force that annihilates personalities and ends up being used as yet another weapon of control.

It is up to each of us to understand that we are adults and to assume responsibility for our choices, with the full and complete ability to live up to them.

I empathize with your life story and cry for your disappointments, as well as for so many others who have lost their trust in the Jewish community. With that being said, please don’t succomb to joining yet another club – the ex-club, “ex-baal-teshuva,” ex-orthodox, or the other exes out there, who gather together and share horror stories of the religious world. I understand the tendency and even healing element in finding a support group; I do not dismiss the value that it offers (no different than any of the support programs that help many people heal from various addictions and abuses). But true healing comes when we don’t just complain but we do something to improve the situation.

As it is with healing from any form of abuse – religious abuse included – we cannot afford to just wallow in grief and bitterness. To sit around and complain about absentee fathers and neurotic mothers doesn’t allow us to grow. It keeps us trapped as victims. And if Judaism and faith is anything it is not about victimization. It is about empowerment. We must mobilize ourselves and create a revolution.

Allow your disappointments inform you and others. Your disillusionment contains much more than a negative experience; it demonstrates that 1) you have/had great confidence and aspirations in the spiritual path, 2) you have experienced first-hand the inadequacies and failures of the “system.” This places you in the unique position to do something about it.

Those who have personally experienced the limitations and shortcomings of the religious community are uniquely positioned to teach us all how we can create a spiritual revolution, and do so in fashion that allows us to bypass the petty and partisan forces of the system, and above all – allows the spirit within each of us to shine.

The key is that you care. You genuinely and sincerely are troubled about the situation. Don’t allow that concern to turn into resignation. It would be a terrible shame if you allowed some flawed people and underdeveloped communities to shatter your dreams and hopes; it would be a great loss if your experiences undermine everything you ever believe in, your confidence, and your spirit.

Even Aaron’s sons, though consumed by the fire, were driven by their spiritual heights, by their love and passion for the Divine.

Now you are at a place where you can own your Judaism; where you can express your faith with your beautiful and unique voice.

Don’t be afraid of yourself. Don’t be afraid of those who want you to conform.  Throughout history the masses have tried to intimidate the spirited few. It was our great father Abraham who pioneered the path of individuality. Defying the mainstream, he forged a path toward G-d.

Today, too, we need you to be our Abraham. You, who have been burned by the fire, teach us how to walk slowly, but proudly.

It is vital that we create a network, a healthy and powerful synergy of like-minded individuals, who are on the spiritual journey and have yet to din their place. We must create grass-root connections (if not communities).  So much good can grow out of that.

Please see me as a friend and kindred spirit, offering you any support I can in your journey. Hopefully we both can help each other and many others in our mutual Divine odyssey.

Much success in your journey. May it be glorious.

Discover ways to express yourself within religion and in all areas of your life with best-seller, Toward a Meaningful Life by Simon Jacobson. 

Image: “The Western Wall” by: israeltourism  [CC BY-SA 2.0 ]

Dear Rabbi Jacobson,

I carefully read your response to D.A. Both her words and your reply are very well phrased. I commend you for your lucid and sensitive approach. But after finishing the entire exchange I was left with a gnawing feeling that something is missing.

With all due respect, there is another side to the coin. That side is called kabolos ol, naaseh v’nishma – the general acceptance of Torah authority, Daas Torah. The basis of faith is accepting an authority that is beyond you.

By suggesting that uneducated Jews returning to their roots should “own their choices,” and go at their “own pace,” you run the risk of allowing every individual to just follow their heart and not submit to any authority at all – a conclusion I am sure you did not want anyone to reach.

In my opinion, we live today in a time when there is far too little respect for authority. Nothing is sacred. Everyone, including children, declares their “rights” to be autonomous. There is too much permissiveness. What we need is a call for more obedience, not less.

Perhaps you should have suggested to D.A. that she should not be so involved with herself and her needs, and instead learn to serve G-d.

This, I believe, is what her Rabbis were trying to tell her. Not that they know what’s best for her, but that the Torah knows what’s best for her. As such, she should be submitting and surrendering to Daas Torah and the Torah leaders that have the authority to render Torah-based opinions.

Instead, you are encouraging her and others to just follow their own subjective whims, which goes counter and actually undermines the entire power of Torah, the Divine instructions how to live our lives.

Given, some Rabbis are incompetent or untrained to apply Torah in a way that addresses today’s needs and challenges. But is that enough reason to undermine the entire authority of all Rabbis?

Rabbi xxx

Dear Rabbi xxx,

Thank you for writing and for making some very legitimate points. However, as you can imagine, I disagree with you – not about our generation’s lack of reverence, but about who is to blame and what we are to do about it. Above all, your call to D.A. and others to simply submit with obedience to Daas Torah is precisely the crisis I was addressing, and demonstrates how detached you are from the problem. I wonder how much experience you have in this area.

While what some of what you say may be correct on paper, in real life things are far more complex. And the Torah, being a Torah of life and for life, not a book on paper, addresses life in all its complexions.

Some argue that there are actually two schools of thought how to deal with so-called “Baalei Teshuvah.” Let’s call them the “authoritative school” and the “individualistic school,” or the “school of self-abnegation” and the “school of self-actualization.” The former argues that the entire purpose of life is self-abnegation. G-d demands of us to subjugate our own self-interest and will to His Divine will. The latter contends that the purpose of existence is that we not lose our personalities and individuality, but rather that we become instruments of G-d’s will. Yes, we must subjugate ourselves to G-d’s law, but the ultimate goal is not self-abnegation but self-actualization.

A more radical version of the first school suggests that men are basically brutes, and left to their own resources they will gravitate to self-interest and narcissism. Thus, the need to subjugate oneself and one’s desires to the Divine law in the Torah. The only reason, some claim, that we were given our own minds and personalities is a test – in order for us to suppress our individuality and surrender to G-d. The second school is repulsed by this concept and sees it, in effect, as a form of self-annihilation. Why would G-d create us with such unique and beautiful features, only to have us suppress it?! They in turn profess the Divine Image in which we all created. Though we have selfish traits, we are not mere beasts, but Divine souls. And our focus should be not on the inferiority of man, but on the majesty of the Divine spirit within us.

In Chassidic thought both these viewpoints have some legitimacy. The first perspective can be justified by the distance between us mortal creatures and the Immortal Creator. The second perspective is driven by the fact that the Creator shaped the human being in His Divine Image, thus creating a relationship between the human and the Divine, allowing for integration, not just abnegation. But the ultimate objective is the fusion of both perspectives.

Yes, Torah comes to lift us up to a higher plane, and as such we are required to have kabolos ol and subjugate our selves, our desires and interest, through utter bittul, to the Higher Will. To “lose ourselves” in the Divine. But at the same time, Torah was not given in Heaven or for Heaven; it was given on and for Earth. “Torah speaks in the language of man” is not just an issue of language but context. Torah speaks to us as we are on Earth and addresses the full spectrum of our material lives and its real challenges.

This explains an entire slew of Torah laws and idioms that emphasize the importance of applying Torah to the needs and parameters of the people, not just their abnegation.

Just to name a few examples: One should always begin keeping Torah and Mitzvos out of ulterior motives (shelo leshmo), because from these ulterior motives one will come to perform them with pure motive (leshmo) (Pesachim 50b). Educate the child according to his way, so that as he grows old he will not waver from it (Proverbs 22:6). A person should always study where his heart desires (Avodah Zorah 19a). Which is the correct path for man to choose?  Whatever is harmonious for the one who does it, and harmonious for mankind (Avot 2:1). A decree should not be issued that the public cannot comply with (Avodah Zorah 36a, Baba Basra 60b). The Torah speaks to pacify the yetzer hora (Kidushin 21b. Sifra, Rashi Kedoshim 19:25). The halachik concept of “compromise” (peshoreh) (Sanhedrin 6b-7a. Rambam Sanhedrin 22:4. Tur and Shulchan Aruch Choshen Mishpat 12:2).

These and more such statements underscore how important it is that Torah be applied to the limitations of the human condition; to enhance life, not destroy it. “You shall live by them [Torah edicts],” not die by them.

One could question all these Torah principles, with the seemingly logical argument, as you suggest: Since the Torah presents absolute truth where is their room in an absolute system for relative and subjective, personal applications? How could we give any credibility to “your way,” your “hearts desire?” Truth is true regardless whether the public can accept it or not. Since when does an absolute Torah have to accommodate individual needs?

On a simplistic level, absolute truth and relative application can seem irreconcilable. But when you appreciate the complexity of life, all its nuances, the diversity of people, human subjectivity, and above all, the fact that human nature begins with self-interest – all these features created by the same G-d that gave us the Torah – it becomes quite obvious that the whole point of Torah is that we should use it’s absolute principles to guide us, but guide us in a way that we can contain and grow with, as we slowly acclimate our lives and align ourselves to the Divine will, moving from self-interest to a Higher calling. Up top the point where we can recognize that our self-interest is to live up to our calling.

Not unlike the basic principles of education, in which certain truths have to be conveyed to a child at his/her own level. Is it a compromise of absolute truth if one has to offer a child an incentive (a candy or toy) to study? No less than an analogy compromises a deeper truth that cannot be appreciated without the analogy.

In effect, the commitment to Torah and the embrace of the spiritual path consists of two stages: Acceptance and integration. First there is the need for suspension of self and acceptance of a Higher calling (naaseh). Then one has to integrate and internalize the experience (nishma).

All this is true even in the best of times. Even when Rabbis, teachers and authorities were impeccable role models of selflessness and wisdom, sensitive to the needs of their constituents. How much more so in times when leadership is sorely lacking. Then it becomes absolutely imperative that the commitment to Torah be integrated by the individual, being that we cannot ride on the faith of authorities.

So though we can bemoan today’s lack of submission to Torah authorities and see it as our shortcoming, yet, upon reflection, it may be the other way around; this element of “chutzpah” may also be a blessing in disguise: Because today’s authorities are so lame, G-d made sure that they will not be listened to. “One who has no awe of G-d will not be heeded.” Authorities will be honored in direct proportion to their level of integrity. Undeserving authorities will not garner respect nor obedience.

The same is on a collective level. Perhaps G-d in His Divine benevolence and Providence choreographed it so that in our times – ever since the Holy Temple was destroyed – there is no central Sanhedrin (Rabbinic Supreme Court), which regulates law for the entire nation, lest it be abused. Today each community has its own respective Torah authorities. Recognizing that we are living in a time when “hearts are diminished” and “the awe of G-d” is weaker, a built-in immune system ensures that centralized power will not be abused. “G-d did charity with Israel by dispersing them among the nations.” Why is that charity? Because their dispersion ensures their survival, that they can never be all destroyed all at once.

Today, more than ever, with the breakdown of authority, it is absolutely critical to ensure that each of us “own” our choices; that the path of faith become your path, not someone else’s; that our life choices, though initially driven by all types of influences, ultimately are not driven by superficial reasons to please others.

I would also add: Using your argument for the need of obedience to Torah authority, I would venture to say that if Torah leaders today would demonstrate their own obedience to G-d with the appropriate humility (and not just pull rank as scholars and authorities), I have no doubt that their constituents and students would learn by example and reciprocate. But can we actually expect that an arrogant or insensitive teacher will inspire humility and obedience in his students?

So though there is always a need to accept the truths and authority of Torah, much can be learned from the skeptics and cynics of our time. Though many may go overboard and others may use it as an excuse for their own unwillingness to be accountable, the fact remains that you learn most from your critics. They help illuminate what is wrong with the system, so that we can repair it.

To indiscriminately demand blind obedience from our generation may be appealing to some. However, I am sorry to be the one to rudely remind you, that 1) it won’t work. And 2) It shouldn’t work, because sustainable commitment is only possible when total acceptance is coupled with internalization. And we are all the better for that, because if we were able to secure blind obedience, our systems would never heal. The status quo would continue on, in a self-perpetuating vicious cycle of obedience feeding unhealthy authority and vice versa.

This may be one of the reasons why in the end of days “chutzpa will reign.” Reverence for unholy and corrupt structures only makes them more corrupt. In unhealthy times it is only through irreverence that we can ever hope to create change.

Enough Limping

And Mordechai would not kneel and would not bow to Haman…(Esther 3:2)

Many lessons have been gleaned from Mordechai’s refusal to bow down to Haman: How we must always stand staunch in face of adversity; the power of uncompromising faith; fighting for principles and values; not conforming to social pressures and the need “to belong.” The lists go on and on of popular themes that we have heard – and will surely hear this weekend again – the messages we can learn from Mordechai, including their relevance to current events.

What is less known is that Mordechai’s unwavering stand repaired a 1214-year wound that would change the course of history, with implications that affect us until this very day.

The full story of Purim, pitting Haman against Mordechai and the entire Jewish people, actually began over 12 centuries earlier, on a lonely dark night, when a lonely man fought a lonely battle, and was left wounded in the process. But as a result, we were all healed, never to be wounded again. The lonely man was Jacob and the nightlong battle he fought was with a “stranger” – his brother Esau’s archangel. In the Bible’s own words: “Jacob remained alone and a stranger wrestled with him until the break of dawn. When he saw that he could not defeat him, he touched the upper joint of Jacob’s thigh. Jacob’s hip joint became dislocated as he wrestled with him.” As a result Jacob “was limping because of his thigh” (Genesis 32:25-32).

In one of the most fluent interpretations you will ever read, the 16^th century Kabbalist, Rabbi Abraham Galanti (student of the Ramak), places Mordechai’s unbowing resolve into historical context. In his Eichah commentary Kol Bochim, on the verse (Lamentations 4:18) “they hunted our steps so that we could not walk in our streets,” Galanti explains that Mordechai’s resistance to kneeling and bowing to Haman was a fundamental declaration of strength that originated and was a response to Jacob’s limp over a millennium earlier. (Galanti’s eloquent exposition is cited in the Shaloh Mesechta Megillah. See also the Arizal – Likkutei Torah and Sefer HaLikkutim Samuel I 10).

Jacob’s limp is a watershed event in history: It reflects every wound that each of us and every person in history has ever endured. Jacob’s wrestling with Esau’s angel through the night represents all the battles of our lives, beginning with the biggest battle of them all – between the material and the spiritual. (see The Dislocated Hip and A Lunch to Remember).

The tension between matter and spirit is deep and difficult. Yet even then, the soul (Jacob) cannot be defeated. But the material forces are relentless. Even when the essence of our beings cannot be hurt, matter’s inherent narcissism “touches” our extremities – the part of your life that is vulnerable and exposed to the elements. When the “angel of darkness,” in whatever form it assumes, sees that it cannot conquer your soul, it attacks and wounds your “thigh” or “hip” – the part that protrudes from and is outside of the body, “our steps” (see Zohar I 146a. 171a). “They hunted our steps so that we could not walk in our streets” describes every type of abuse and hurt, which attack our very steps and movements.

The scars and wounds of this dissonance are far and deep. Virtually every form of loss and suffering, every injustice perpetrated, personal or collective, is a result or an expression of the schism between matter and energy: The mechanics of the existence divorced from their “programming instructions,” the body misaligned from its spirit, is in effect a personal and cosmic limp the result is dislocation and displacement, and the inevitable pain that follows.

In Jacob’s time the confrontation between the soulful Jacob and the warrior Esau left Jacob wounded. No matter how dominant Jacob was he still had to contend with Esau’s power.

Indeed, Jacob and his family even end up bowing to Esau. Bowing is a symbol of submission and deference. So though Jacob had good reason to bow to Esau (in order to gain Esau’s favor), the mere fact that he had to concede and acknowledge Esau’s power was a bow to the power of materialism in our lives, and the wounds that it inflicts.

The Zohar (I 171b) is actually deeply disturbed by the fact that Jacob bowed to Esau. “How is it possible,” the Zohar wonders, “that the Divinely perfect Jacob, would prostate himself before the idolatrous Esau; tantamount to worshipping a false god?!” Explains the Zohar, that Jacob’s behavior was justified because he wasn’t bowing to Esau, but to the Divine presence that Jacob recognized was surrounding Esau. But, as Galanti emphasizes, this only explains Jacob’s behavior; it does not justify the fact that Jacob’s children bowed to Esau, which constituted a strong concession that further emboldened and empowered Esau and his progeny, allowing for Jacob’s wound to manifest and intensify.

The connection between the bowing of the tribes to Esau and Jacob’s limp is striking: Standing upright requires strong legs to hold up the entire body. By contrast, prostration is the physical act of bending the knees and then thrusting the entire body forward, in effect neutralizing the power of the legs. The sacred act of prostration (as we do on Yom Kippur) symbolizes total subjugation to G-d. But when the prostration is to Esau, then it constitutes weakness, surrendering your steadfast pride, as your legs give way to your prostrating yourself before the materialism of Esau. Since the tribes were so bound to Jacob, their bowing to Esau empowered him and allowed him (his angel) to wound Jacob’s hip and leg, causing him to limp.

Jacob’s limp was then a manifestation of frailty in the face of Esau’s materialistic power, effecting, if not Jacob’s personality, his extremities, i.e. his connection and involvement with to the material world.

Yet, within these events lay buried one silent, absent, detail: The unborn Benjamin was not part of the bowing procession. The remedy was born even before Benjamin was.

Twelve centuries later Benjamin’s absence would blossom into Mordechai – Benjamin’s descendant – refusing to bow to Esau’s descendant, Haman. As the Midrash explains (Esther Rabba 7:9), that Haman challenged Mordechai’s stand: “Didn’t your grandfather bow down to my grandfather?” referring to Jacob and his wives and children bowing to Esau (Genesis 33:3-7). Mordechai replied: “Benjamin, my grandfather, was not yet born then. Just as my forefather did not bow to Esau, I, a Benjaminite (“ish yemini”) will not bow to his descendant either.”

Mordechai understood the stakes: By not kneeling and bowing to Haman he was rectifying the concession that took place when the tribes bowed to Esau. “Mordechai would not kneel and would not bow” was a loud and resounding statement that enough is enough: We will no longer limp around wounded. We will stand upright and strong, and nothing can bring us down.

Finally, Jacob’s long dislocated hip (“yerech”) was relocated by Mordechai, when his hips and legs held fast, and he stood proud and upright.

[For the record, Galanti explains that Benjamin’s impact began earlier with King Saul, who also stemmed from Benjamin. In beautiful detail, Galanti weaves the verses in the book of Samuel to explain how Saul’s anointment as king and his war against Amalek (descendant of Esau and ancestor of Haman) all were rooted in Benjamin’s power of never having bowed to Esau. However, Saul was unable to stand strong, and the job was finished by Mordechai’s unwavering stand].

Mordechai’s stand, which lies at the heart of the Purim story, offers us a powerful lesson:

Each of us faces our own particular battles. A “stranger” – within or without – wrestles with you in your lonely night. It may be the ghosts of your childhood, or your inner fears and insecurities; it may be your vulnerability in a relationship or the concerns around and unknown future. No one is without a dark corner or two in his or her psyche. And though you prevail, hardly does any person come away unscathed. Each of us has taken many punches, and we have incurred our particular limps. Life wears us down, and we are left hurt and wounded. Often the limp can seem irreversible. If the great Jacob did not remain intact after struggling with his “stranger,” how can any of us expect anything better?

Come Purim. Enter Mordechai. And demonstrates that Esau’s blow shall not stand. 1214 years of limping is quite enough. Now Mordechai “would not kneel and would not bow.” His legs, hips, knees and all would stand upright – and nothing, not Haman, not the king’s decree, could change that.

Some say that Jacob’s battle took place on Yom Kippur eve. But, as the Tikkunei Zohar states, Purim is in some ways greater than Yom HaKippurim. It has the power to mend the wounds Jacob incurred on that lonely Yom Kippur night.

2364 years have passed since Mordechai made his grand stand against Haman. 2364 years since he prevailed and in the process healed the limps of history. Much has transpired in the interim. The Second Temple was destroyed. The long exile began. Persecutions, expulsions, oppressions, genocides – from the Crusaders to the Middle Ages, the Inquisitions, pogroms and finally the unspeakable Holocaust – “they hunted our steps so that we could not walk in our streets.”

Yet, we are still here. Perhaps limping a bit, with a few scars, but intact. Not only have we prevailed, we are a free people, with the unprecedented ability to choose, with absolutely no restrictions, how to educate our children, how to serve G-d, how to allow our souls to express themselves.

It took a Mordechai to stand up against the dark forces that wanted to bring him and his people down, as they did so many times before and after. But his stand became an eternal source of strength to us all. “Our steps” are now firm; we walk with resolve.

Empowered by Mordechai’s courage and self-confidence, we can stand today proud, with no need for compromise or apologetics, to fight with unwavering commitment for all the values and the virtues that define our common humanity, living up to the Divine Image in which we were all created.

Image: “Tree of Awe” by: Trevor Cameron  [CC BY-SA 2.0 ]

But I’m told that there is a place a bit higher in heaven where it does make a difference, and someone does care. “Under the sun” nothing is new; but above the sun – ahh, there is much news.

These are some of the thoughts fleeting through my mind as I fly from New York to Israel and think about the earth below. Corruption, greed, self interest, self destruction – and the soap opera that it all turns into in our overdosed media age. We love the drama. It makes for great TV. Entertainment, rise and fall, politics, sexuality – all the components of a blockbuster, that has everybody buzzing and glued to the endless stream of experts being marched on our screens.

From time to time it’s good to get away from it all. But then just as you thought you were out, they pull you right back in…

You can’t remain in the skies forever. The plane, after all, does have to land. Even birds need to rest in their nests.

So, what do you do then; what happens when you come back to the ground?  – that is the big question. It’s easy, relatively at least, to escape to the heavens. Can we however maintain our integrity down on earth? The prospect can be quite daunting if not downright depressing.

And so, as my flight soars east and the sun sets faster than usual, I think it’s a good idea to peer above the sun, and see what the angels have to say from “behind the curtain.” I don’t believe we can get the pilot to fly any higher; as it is they’re ordering us to “fasten our seatbelts.” So, I guess we are left with no other choice but to lift ourselves over yonder.

A faint but distinct voice can be detected saying: “Torah is not in heaven,” Torah is on earth. Look into the Torah which you have down below, and you will find your answers.

This week we begin reading the third book of the Torah: Vayikra, Leviticus. Being the Shabbat before the holiday of Purim, we also read an additional special chapter called Parshat Zachor.

Zachor means remember, referring to the opening verse of this chapter: Remember what Amalek did to you. During the Persian rule, Haman, just like his ancestor Amalek, wanted to exterminate the Jewish people. And as history has proven – in every generation, this scenario repeats itself over and over again. We therefore read this chapter as a prelude to celebrating Purim, when Haman’s genocide plot was foiled. And the Jewish people once again survived. Not only survived, but thrived.

Being that the Shabbat and the Parsha are both called by the one-word name Zachor, we can derive profound lessons from the very concept of remembering.

Remembering emphasizes two opposites: To remember exposes the sad fact that something vital was forgotten. Simultaneously it offers us hope and redemption: That despite our lapses we can retrieve and reconnect to a past long forgotten. Though we may have wandered away from, and even betrayed, our true selves, we remember – we access the source that was concealed, we connect to the way things were and to the way they ought to be.

There are many important things that are good to remember. But above all, the gift of memory is the ability to reclaim our true identities – something that often gets drowned out in the shuffle of our daily routines and struggles for survival.

I look out the window and see a distant land below. The map tells us that we have just flown over England. Then France, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Italy, Hungary, Romania, Serbia, Greece… How much history is etched in each of these countries? How much suffering and blood is absorbed in their earth and rivers? And here we are, whizzing by these nations from above, hardly able to distinguish between one country and the next. Yet, we remember. Zachor compels us to remember.

It feels good to sit up here perched in the heavens; it allows in a fresh perspective, which is somehow difficult to grasp when you are on the ground. It allows you to see the insignificance of so many things we think are important. Yes, all these mighty nations are just a speck in the scheme of things.

And when we come back down to earth what do we do to maintain perspective: Zachor – We remember.

What do we remember? We remember that we have a better self that lies in wait — waiting to be set free.

In a fascinating elucidation on the theme of the book of Leviticus, the commentary Shaloh explains that all the chapters of this book offer us a blueprint how to repair the rift between our present lives and the potential that we all contain; how to return to our quintessential selves.

Existence is comprised of space, time and spirit (being). Initially, at the point of creation, all three were transparent channels of Divine energy. All of space, every corner, was filled with sublime presence. All of time, every moment, was cognizant of sanctity. All beings, man and woman, were connected to their source and purpose. The body of space, time and man were all one with their souls. All was seamless – form and function, matter and spirit, body and soul.

Then, when man for the very first time defied his Creator, a major deviation took place: The entire universe shifted off center and lost focus, the body of time space and man became misaligned from its source. When a machine no longer follows its engineer’s instructions, it will ultimately lose its direction, to the point of causing itself damage. Take health as a case in point: Illness and disease is a result of something (diet, lack of exercise, toxins) impeding the flow of life energy into the body’s cells.

Thus, the Shaloh explains, the need for the book of Vayikra to help us realign ourselves. When man was a transparent channel of the Divine Image he did not need to bring an offering to G-d to get closer (korbon from the word kiruv) to the Divine; he himself was an offering. No individual or group had to be designated as “holy priests;” all were priests. When time was aligned it did not require the sanctification of certain days as holy; all of time was holy. When space was centered, no particular space needed to be sanctified; all of space was sacred.

But now, man must bring an offering and sanctify time and space – as discussed at length in the book of Vayikra. And this work prepares the world to realize its ultimate purpose, when time, space and man will reconnect with their source and once again be a channel for the Divine, but this time the universe will be a permanent home for G-d.

Leviticus in effect is the ultimate act of remembering – reconnecting our present lives on Earth to the way it was meant to be lived; realigning the universe with its purpose.

As we read Shabbos Zachor let us not forget to remember. As you find yourself traversing the earth and repeatedly encountering the lowly earthiness of life, remember – Zachor – that you come from a greater place, you originate from a higher plane.

Lofty thoughts from on high. But then I am rudely reminded of our cramped space and recycled air (not to mention the meals) in this man-made plane. We learned how to build flying machines, but I guess we really will never master the skies. It’s hard to imagine that soaring birds are feeling this confined…

It’s not all sad, however. Up here we can gain some perspective – to see things the way they really are and to remember how they should be.

But in the final analysis, the challenge is how to remain true to ourselves on earth. The Torah, given specifically down below, where there is “nothing new under the sun,” allows us to soar above and beyond the sun, taking us to unprecedented places where there is newness, change and growth.

And to places that help us remember.