The Structure of Existence – Unplugged

— Samach-Vav Part 13 —

Can we integrate transcendence into our material lives? Do we have to leave our personalities behind as we reach for higher truths? How do we fuse form and function in our personal lives?

These and other questions are explored in this week’s installment of Samach-Vav – the fundamental discourse delivered a century ago – which begins to discuss the nature of the containers, following a lengthy discussion on the nature of light.

One of the fascinating developments in the last century has been the convergence of form and function. The expression “form follows function” – which was first made popular by architect Louis H. Sullivan (1856-1924) – has become the driving credo in the world of architecture and design.

Simply put, design is not just superficial decoration of a given object or application, but an extension and expression of the intended purpose and inner meaning of the object. Design should reflect and flow from the message, and not be an end onto itself. Designers, who don’t understand the function of the object they are designing or are distracted by their own creativity, even if they may be great artists, will create forms that will not do justice and support the object. A tea cup is designed to hold a liquid, not the other way around.

Frank Lloyd Wright, who was mentored by Sullivan, went as far as to say (in 1908):

“Form follows function – that has been misunderstood. Form and function should be one, joined in a spiritual union.”

Nature is our best teacher. All forms in nature are shaped to serve their functions. For example, fish swim in the sea in an oblong shape to minimize the friction with water.

Today this all may seem obvious and logical. But it wasn’t always this way. There was a time when people compartmentalized content and design, and at times even saw function following form. Even today the issue has not been completely resolved.

Indeed, on a personal note ask yourself the question: What drives your life choices – function or form? Do you first begin with a deeper purpose and then find the appropriate form of expression, or do circumstances drive your life? Does your inner life define your outer life or the other way around?

Do we shape our environment or does our environment shape us? Do you choose what to watch, read and experience, or do the existing sources of information – in our schools, media and entertainment industries – determine what we should absorb?

We are thus faced with a paradox – but hey, what else is new? We are designing products, websites and other applications with the rule of “form follows function,” while we are still living in so many ways in a world in which “function follows form”…

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To help resolve this dilemma – as well as truly appreciate the convergence of form and function – let us travel back to the root of all form and function: Containers and lights, in the language of the mystics.

Lights and containers are the Kabbalistic/Chassidic way of describing the essential nature of existence. Everything in life is made up of two dimensions, light and container: An inside and an outside, product and package, soul and body, energy and expression, purpose and structure – function and form.

Light (function) is the driving force that defines the purpose and objective of life. Light reflects its source, and as such is a selfless channel of the Divine Essence, the inner reality of all that exists (as discussed in previous articles). The container manifests this experience in the defined parameters of existence, allowing us to absorb the (higher reality reflected in the) light and not to be overwhelmed or annihilated by it. The light (the soul) introduces transcendence into life; the containers (the body) ground the experience. Containers without light will remain locked in mundane monotony; light without containers will not be integrated into the structure of life.

Now the question is this: Is transcendence experienced only on the “light” level (and the “container” is there only to contain the experience), or also on the “container” level? In other words: How close are the “lights” and “containers” or are they two completely different realities?

Coming from Passover, this question can be phrased as follows: Following Passover, when we experience a higher Divine light that gives us the power to experience transcendence and free ourselves from our constraints, the question is what happens next? Can we maintain the inspiration in our day to day lives? Can we continue to experience freedom even after the Passover high? Can we carry over transcendence from the lights to the containers – from the world of spirit into the world of matter?

Accordingly, after elaborating on the nature of light, this week’s installment of Samach-Vav – the Rebbe Rashab’s magnum opus delivered a century ago – moves over to a discussion on the nature of the containers.

Samach-Vav explains, that not only light but also the containers (of Atzilut) reflect higher levels of the Divine. Not only the spirit but also the structure of existence is rooted in the Source. Like an architect’s plan, the Divine will encompasses all the details of the structure of existence. So the actualized structure is only revealing that which was contained in the plan.

Usually transcendence is seen as a spiritual experience. This week’s Samach-Vav discourse tells us that transcendence can also be experienced on the container level. The purpose of existence (function) can be experienced not only by the soul but also by the body and our material lives – by the structure of existence.

The implication of this is that form and function are not two distant realities. Not just function but also form reflects a higher vision. Thus, the interface between medium and message can be a seamless one.

The fusion of light and container, function and form manifests in all aspects of life. Every type of perfection, beauty and harmony is essentially a state in which the energy and its container flow through each other. Incoherence is a state when the form and the function are inconsistent. The product within is beautiful, but the package is not.

All good communication is the ability to fuse an ideas and its expression. The package is consistent with what lays within. A good business plan is about a concept that has sound tools to implement the vision.

Health means a sound soul inside a sound body – a state in which the body and all its parts serve as unclogged channels to the life energy.

It’s not only how much you are ready to give or love, but whether it can be contained. Parents naturally love their children, but the most difficult aspect of love is ensuring that it can be contained and absorbed by the recipient. Rain that floods the fields destroys them; rain drops ensure that the earth can absorb the moisture.

This does not mean to say that the containers are equal to the lights. Obviously the light reaches deeper into the Source, than does the container, being that light reflects its source (as explained in Samach-Vav). The containers (form) are meant to follow the light (function), not the other way around. But the containers too reflect a more sublime source. They are not just a decorative prop, but part and parcel of the purpose of existence, rooted in its source.

So what would Samach-Vav say about Marshal McLuhan’s statement that “the medium is the message?” Not quite. The message is always more powerful than the medium. Indeed, equating the two would be like saying that “you are what you look like.” Yet, that doesn’t mean to say that the medium is just an addendum. The medium is a very real part of expressing the light’s message.

All this is also consistent with the theme in these week’s Torah portions: Following the book of Exodus, which reflects the progressive growth of light from the Exodus to Sinai to building the Temple – the actual work begins in the third book of Leviticus, which opens up with the service in the Temple – the purpose of all life:

“A person will offer of himself an offering to G-d.”

And this offering to G-d consists of first offering our souls, but then also offering our bodies – our material containers.

[Mind you, the containers referred to here are about the structure of the life of the tzaddik (a soul of Atzilut) – whose soul (light) and body (container) are both reflective of higher dimensions of the Divine. Yet, this empowers us all, even souls that are immersed in material life, to connect with the Divine].

Two years before Frank Lloyd Wright said “Form and function should be one, joined in a spiritual union” the Rebbe Rashab outlined the spiritual blueprint how to achieve this union.

We live in a world which increasingly is experiencing the convergence of spirit and matter, function and form. Our final frontier is the challenge to experience this convergence in our personal lives. To do this we must connect to our inner function and define the purpose of our lives. Then, we can create the form that will reflect our function.

— Honoring the conclusion of reciting Kaddish for my father, Gershon Jacobson, Nissan 19 5766, April 17, 2006 —

I am G-d Who lifted you out of Egypt to be your G-d. Therefore be holy since I am holy – end of this week’s Torah portion (Leviticus 11:45)

Is there anything more powerful than death?

Attempts to beat mortality have consumed man from the beginning of time. The Pharaoh’s of old tried to achieve immortality through embalmment. Today some are trying through cryogenic freezing. Even our cosmetics industry, botox and all, is part of the timeless quest desperately searching for the “fountain of youth,” anything that can arrest the aging process.

These efforts have only been accentuated by the human fear of death. Some argue that the fear of death is the root of all fears, and the driving force that shapes most (if not all) of our ambitions to leave a lasting mark on the universe; to be remembered even after death.

Indeed, some religions and philosophies feel that the refusal of human beings to acknowledge the imminence of death and impermanence is a fundamental cause of the confusion and ignorance that prevents spiritual progress. Spiritual growth, they believe, is achieved not by cowering from death, but by confronting it head on. They therefore prescribe an elaborate strategy to incorporate into daily life the mindfulness of death, to seriously engage the truth of impermanence and, in turn, to comprehend the true nature of human existence.

Yet other religious persuasions view the material world as fundamentally evil, only meant to be a springboard to the spiritual delights of heaven, when we will be freed of the shackles of this corrupt universe. Some fanatic elements even glorify death, especially martyrdom, as a direct ticket to heavenly reward.

But after all the attempts, and after everything is said and done, nothing seems to be able to beat death.

But after all the attempts, and after everything is said and done, nothing seems to be able to beat death.

And so I thought. Until… Until I lost my father and began saying Kaddish for him every day – 16 times a day on average, for a total of 5212 times during these past eleven months (1) – the traditional period for saying Kaddish after a parent, which my siblings and I have just concluded.

Kaddish has many meanings and many benefits. The Talmudists explain how it protects the soul from harsh judgments; how it serves as a merit to the life of the departed. The mystics explain how it helps the soul elevate from level to level, from world to world.

Following the death of his father, Leon Wieseltier wrote his fascinating journal-like book, Kaddish, documenting his personal Kaddish journey, juxtaposed over his research in the background and sources of the Kaddish prayer.

Death is a profound personal experience – perhaps the most defining one in our entire lives. As such, each of us experiences Kaddish differently.

I will therefore briefly share one aspect of my subjective journey.

But first let us look at the actual Kaddish text:

The most blatant omission in Kaddish is the soul of the deceased. Not even the slightest mention is made about our beloved one, not even about his or her soul. The entire Kaddish focuses exclusively on the Divine, exalting the greatness of G-d and His great name. Even when we briefly mention the benefit of “peace” and “good life,” it is only in context of connecting to G-d.

But therein lies the power of Kaddish, and its ability to conquer death and the pain of loss.

In its infinite wisdom, Kaddish knows that nothing can really be said to console us for our losses. No words can justify or minimize the far-reaching effects of experiencing death. Even the great Moses shuddered when confronted with death.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, can conquer the mystery of death. Its finality —I no longer can speak with my father — is just too overwhelming, too unfathomable for our beings to contain.

Yes, we can talk about the deceased as perhaps a nice memory, but it hardly compensates for the loss. Any attempt to remember or reflect on the life of the deceased, any effort to build something in his memory, is only as powerful as the mortal strength we invest in the effort. As mortals ourselves how can we ever expect to defy and conquer mortality?

The only thing that can subdue the sheer inscrutability of death is the Source of all reality – a place that precedes and transcends life and death. The big question “why do people die” is linked to the even bigger question “why are people born?” The mystery of death is entwined with the mystery of life. However, with our limited knowledge we are much more concerned with the former question than the latter. When we lose something we wonder why; when we have it we often take it for granted.

The only thing more powerful than death is not life (as we know it), but the source of life, the One who gives and takes life. As Beruriah, the great wife of Rabbi Meir, consoled her husband, upon the death of their two sons, with words to this effect: “A soul is comparable to an object which was given to us – to each individual, to his or her parents and loved ones, to guard and watch over for a limited time. When the time comes for the object to be returned to its rightful owner, should we not be willing to return it? With regard to our sons, let us therefore consider the matter as ‘The L-rd gave, and the L-rd took back, may the Name of the L-rd be Blessed!’”

Kaddish embraces you and your loss like nothing can.

Kaddish embraces you and your loss like nothing can. We don’t focus on our own pain and loss, we don’t focus on the departed life – but on the source of all life, the source of the immortal soul — Yeetgadal v’yeetkadash sh’mey Rabbah.

In your time of need, in your moment of loss, when nothing can truly console you – death is just too final, too impenetrable – the sanctity of G-d in Kaddish, hugs you in its tight embrace, never letting go. For eleven straight months, three times a day, Kaddish, over 5200 times – yes, five thousand two hundred times – we are completely engulfed in glorifying G-d’s name, as it cradles us in its grasp.

Nothing else would do.

So is there anything more powerful than death? Can we ever beat death? Not if we hold on to our limited vision of life. Life is not stronger than death. On the contrary; Death ends life as we know it.

But if we embrace the Giver of life — or rather allow Him to embrace us — through the Kaddish — Yeetgadal v’yeetkadash sh’mey Rabbah — then we achieve immortality. We connect to the immortal soul of the departed, and to the source of all immortality.

Life alone does not beat death. But life with purpose – with Divine purpose – beats death.

This is the ultimate view of Torah on death: As opposed to the abovementioned beliefs, Judaism does not accept death as the final destination, neither does it embrace or glorify death; death remains an aberration (a result of the sin of the Tree of Knowledge). The Torah also recognizes this world as dark and cruel, but only on the surface; within its very fiber materialism contains enormous stores of spiritual energy, only to be released though our acts of virtue (mitzvot), which refine the world into a place which can co-exist and be fully integrated with spirit. Sin and evil in the world temporarily conceal the hidden “sparks” (energy) and eventually bring on death – a temporary separation between the body from its soul, which is eternal and lives on even after death. But through our connection to G-d (Yeetgadal v’yeetkadash sh’mey Rabbah) and through our efforts of refining matter and releasing its Divine energy we prepare the universe for its ultimate experience – when death will no longer be, and the body will be reunited forever with its soul.

So, thank you little Kaddishel. Thank you for being there for me, for embracing me in my time of loss, for protecting me against the finality of death, for teaching me the secret of immortality. Thank you for allowing me to connect in ways I never imagined possible to the purpose of it all, to the purpose of my existence.

Thank you Kaddishel.

Now I bid you farewell. I hope we never meet again.

________

(1) The calculation of 5212 was deduced this way: Our custom (Chabad) is to say Kaddish (at least) 16 times each weekday (as the Rebbe Rashab writes): 8 times in the morning service; 4 times both in the afternoon and evening service. Additionally, we say Kaddish one more time after the Psalms in the morning and before the Amidah in the evening, totaling 18 times Kaddish each weekday. On Shabbat, Holidays and Rosh Chodosh, when we don’t lead the minyan, we say Kaddish 9-13 times daily. On Erev Shabbat, Yom Tov and Rosh Chodosh, we say Kaddish 15 times (with some exceptions). On the Shabbat when we bless the New Month and Yom Kippur eve another 5 times Kaddish is said, following each of the five books of Psalms.

Throughout the year (eleven months minus one day) since the passing, there were 189 weekdays, 133 days of Shabbat, Holidays and Rosh Chodosh (some days overlap with each other), including Erev (the day preceding) Shabbat, holidays and Rosh Chodosh, 11 Shabbat Mevorchim’s and 1 Yom Kippur, the resulting totals for the entire year are:

189 x 18 = 3402

133 x 13 = 1729 + 21 (to cover for the days when Kaddish is said more than 13 times) = 1750

12 x 5 =     60

TOTAL = 5212

It should also be noted that there are four types of Kaddish: Mourners, Short, Complete, Rabbinic.

That is how I – and millions of other children – would begin asking the traditional four questions at the annual Passover Seder.

This year, for the first time in my life, I do not have my father before me to ask him the questions. I will not sit at his table, as I did for so many years, watching him quietly smile as we would pose the four questions.

I may be 49 years old, a father myself, but I will deeply miss asking my father the questions.

Memories run deep. Deep memories are etched in the fibers of my being of Passovers bygone. Long nights, diverse conversations, special delicacies, grandparents, uncles and aunts gathering together – its all a vague fog now. But one thing that stands out, never to be forgotten, are the four questions: How we would go around the table, beginning with the youngest first, and ask the questions.

I remember how excited I was to come home from school with a special hand-made guide with pictures and all, outlining the entire Seder. How my mother would turn over the house, how we would be dressed up for the holiday with a new set of clothes and enter our homes Passover night feeling clean and fresh. But above all, I will forever remember how we, as young children, would prepare ourselves weeks, months, ahead to memorize the questions.

As we grew older, the enthusiasm perhaps waned a bit, but the tradition continued. The older I grew the more I would watch my father’s deep pride as he would listen to his children asking him the questions – something younger children simply don’t notice, or they have more important things to do than to observe others…

The four questions remain a consistent barometer of our own growth. We don’t always remember the chronology of our personal evolution as we grow from child to adult; only highlights thereof. But the Four Questions experience remains a tangible gauge of life’s progression, year after year, stage after stage: The enthusiasm and exuberance of childhood; the awkwardness and silliness of adolescence; the self-consciousness and rebelliousness (sometimes also cynicism) of the teens – giggling your way through the questions; the self-awareness and epiphanies of maturity – sometimes taking yourself too seriously; the spirituality of as we grow with experience; the feelings of pride, and new-found appreciation of tradition as you become a parent and see your own children asking you the questions.

And now, the intro and retrospection of remembering and missing my father – and all that he represents of my history and the pillars of my life.

Yes, I will miss asking my father the questions.

And then, after we asked the questions, I will miss my father’s resolute:

“Itzt, kinderlech, vel ich eich dertzeilen dem entfer. Avodim Ha’yinu… (Now, my children, I will tell you the answer, and begin reciting the Haggadah: We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt…)

But the custom is that even orphans ask the questions with the said preface, “father I will ask you…”

Imagine, a 90 year old man, with great grandchildren, and many accomplishments to show for his life, sitting humbly at the Seder table, whispering “tatte” – father, remembering his father, his childhood years,

The Passover Seder turns us all into children.

Today I have many more than four questions to ask my father. But I guess these four include them all (after all, they correspond to the four cosmic worlds which encompass all of existence).

But this Passover, when we come to the Mah Nishtana, I will sit quietly, contemplating how indeed this night, this year, is different. I will remember my father, and ask him the four questions.

Tatte, oy tatte, and all the tattes (fathers) in heaven – your children never forget you. Thank you for being there. Thank you for telling us the story [1].

And then I will conclude, as is the tradition:

“Tatte, ich hob ba dir gefregt fir kashyos. Itzt, bite, gib mir a teretz” (Father, I have asked you four questions. Now, please, give me an answer).

You see, no matter how old and mature we may be we are all in need of a father.

[1] The entire Haggada is named for telling the story. Haggada in Hebrew means “the telling,” “the story” – based on the verse (Exodus 13:8) “V’higadito l’vincho,” you shall tell your child. And the telling of the story is generated through the child’s questions: “Ki Yoshalcho bincho” – When your child will ask you (Exodus 13:14).

Is it mere ritual, commemorating the enslavement and Exodus of the Jewish people from Egypt 3318 years ago? Is it an “excuse” to get family and friends together, no different than, say, Thanksgiving? Is it a time for nostalgia, for remembering our history?

If you answered yes to all the above, you would be right. But if the Seder is no more than ritual, why do we go through such an elaborate process of reenacting the events that transpired so many centuries ago? Indeed, we are instructed “in each generation” and “every day” to “envision as if we just left Egypt.” Most of us have never been to Egypt. Why is it so important to envision as if we are now leaving Egypt?! Why should we be reliving experiences that happened in another part of the world in a completely different time in history, utterly removed from our contemporary lives?

Frankly, if the Passover Seder (and for that matter, any religious tradition) is nothing more than nice nostalgia, why should our children embrace it? Can we possibly expect generations to come to remain committed to a tradition that is not absolutely necessary?

How many people have shared with me the boredom, or plain mediocrity, they experience during the Passover Seder…

The greatest challenge facing Passover today is experiencing its relevance. The only way that it will be fully embraced is if it seen as indispensable – as a resonating experience that addresses our personal lives with profound relevance.

And the only way to understand Passover’s relevance is to probe into its soul. Like everything in life – if you only look at its surface you will not appreciate its true personality.

Passover, like all Jewish tradition, has a body and a soul. The body consists of the rituals, laws and structure of tradition. The soul is its inner meaning and significance.

The body of Passover is commemorating the Exodus from bondage in a land called Egypt. The soul of the holiday is freedom: The entire objective of the Passover Seder is to achieve transcendence. The exodus from Egypt was not just a technical matter, about a nation leaving a country that enslaved it. “Mitzrayim” (Hebrew for Egypt) means boundaries, constraints and limitations. Exodus from mitzrayim is freedom from bondage to our fears, inhibitions and addictions. We are therefore instructed to always “envision as if we just left Egypt.”

The entire Seder, beginning with the Seder Plate, provides us with tools to achieve personal transcendence; to experience emotional and spiritual freedom. As such, the Seder is actually a snapshot of your life; a microcosm of your psyche; a reflection of your soul.

Various aspects of the Soul of the Seder tapestry have been discussed in this space: The Fifteen Steps of the Seder, the Four Questions, the matzo, maror and four cups of wine. Now we will focus on the soul of the Seder Plate, which establishes the structure and sets the tone of the entire Passover Seder.

The first thing we do Passover night, before the actual Seder begins, is construct the Seder Plate (ke’ara). The Plate consists of ten items: Three Matzot, six food items – z’roa (a roasted shank bone), beitzah (an egg), maror (bitter herbs), charoset (a pasty mixture of fruits, nuts and wine), karpas (a vegetable, such as an onion or potato), chazeret (salad; bitter herbs, used in the korach sandwich) – and the plate itself.

There are various customs how to arrange the Seder Plate. Here we will follow the structure of Rabbi Isaac Luria (known as the holy Arizal), which is the prevalent one in most communities.

In the words of the Arizal:

“Arrange the Plate on the table by taking three matzot and placing them one on the other: First the Israelite [the lowest matzah], on it the Levite [the second matzah], and on it the Kohen [the third matzah]. These are the three intellectual faculties, Chachma, Bina, Daat.

“Above all these, on the right, place the z’roa, corresponding to chesed, and opposite it, on the left, place the egg – gevurah. Beneath them, in the center, place the maror – tiferet. Beneath the z’roa, on the right, place the charoset – netzach, and opposite it, on the left, below the egg, place the karpas – hod. Under the maror place the chazeret used for korach – yesod. And the plate itself is malchut, which encompasses all the ten sefirot.”

Thus, the final Seder Plate is comprised of three matzot, lying one on the other, which cradle the six food items that form two triangles.

On the “body” level various reasons are given for using these items on the Seder Plate. Briefly: The matzot are the centerpiece of Passover, symbolizing the unleavened “food of humility” that the Jewish people ate as they escaped Egypt. The shank bone symbolizes the Passover lamb offering in the time of the Temple, which was roasted and eaten as part of the Seder night meal. The hard-boiled egg represents the festival offering (Chagigah) in the Temple, which was also roasted and eaten on the Seder night. The maror (bitter herbs) commemorates the bitterness and harshness of the slavery which the Jews endured in Ancient Egypt. The pasty charoset represents the mortar used by the Jewish slaves to build the Egyptian cities. Finally the letters of the word Karpas (the vegetable), when reversed (samech perach), allude to the sixty myriads of Jews subjected to harsh labor.

However, at best these symbolisms are ways of remembering and commemorating the Egyptian Exile and Exodus. On their own they don’t seem to contain any personal relevance to our lives today.

Enter the Arizal – who exposes the “soul” dimension of tradition – and reveals the inner spiritual meaning of the Seder Plate, rendering it into a piercing glimpse into the structure of our own psyches.

The ten elements of the Seder Plate reflect the structure of human consciousness, which is comprised of ten dimensions – the ten sefirot, the “spiritual DNA” of all existence, and of man, who is a “universe in microcosm:” Three intellectual faculties and seven emotional ones.

The Seder Plate is thus the quintessential you. How you were meant to be and how you would be at your best. When you assemble the Seder Plate you should actually be (re)constructing your personality, your soul and your psyche, and reconfiguring it to its ideal, healthiest state.

The Rebbe Rashab, assembling his Seder Plate, once put it this way:

“[We have] saddled the wagon.”

Which means that the Seder (Plate) is like a wagon which takes you on a journey to your desired destination. He then went on to explain the power of the material world (the food items on the Seder Plate), which, when harnessed, has the ability to become a “vehicle” that carries you to a spiritual destination far greater than the place that the soul on its own can reach.

The first lesson is that harmony in life – and any form of transcendence – requires a proper alignment between mind and heart. The three matzot represent the three intellectual faculties, the three steps of the cognitive process: Conception, comprehension and application, or wisdom, understanding and knowledge. First comes Chochma, the spark of an idea, then the idea is developed through Binah, and finally it comes to a resonating conclusion through Daat.

Most human mistakes originate from impulsive and subjective emotions that get the better of us. The mind at its best is meant to be the reflective force that objectively directs the subjective emotional impulses, like a captain directing a ship.

When the intellect is infused with humility (matzot) it becomes an objective “captain” of the ship of emotions, reflecting and ensuring that the emotions not be manipulated and that they be channeled in healthy directions.

As the curved matzot carry the six items, the humble intellect serves like a container that cradles and protects the six emotions. We too must ensure that our minds – infused with humility – control our emotions, passions and desires.

Now we move into the actual emotional experiences of our lives, which divide into six (seven) dimensions: Chesed – loving kindness; gevurah – discipline; tiferet – empathy; netzach – endurance; hod – humility; yesod – bonding; and malchut – dignity.

When we allow the humility of the matzot to permeate our emotions, each of these emotions will function optimally, with the right balance between them all.

The outstretched arm of the z’roa (which actually means arm, from the verse “outstretched arm”) expresses the giving nature of love (chesed). Love is the root and single most important of all emotions – the ability to give, reach out and care for others.

The hard-boiled egg (which also reminds us of the Temple’s destruction) symbolizes discipline, which is necessary to temper and balance the transmission of love. Unchecked love can hurt the person you love, just like a flood can destroy fields. For love to be effective it needs to be measured.

The bitter herbs of maror elicit empathy (tiferet). Eating the bitter herbs is not about us feeling the bitterness of bondage (what would be the point? And can we actually compare the discomfort of eating bitter herbs to the trauma of slavery and genocide?). It’s about the empathy that it elicits – the Divine empathy and the compassion that we must feel for each other.

Even in our present time of blessed prosperity, we do not need to have actual bondage to feel sadness; today our sadness is about not feeling close to the Divine. In addition, our challenge today is complacency: never to take our freedoms for granted and remember that as long as we live in any form of constraint, we must cry out and that cry will evoke channels of empathy.

The pasty charoset reminds us of the clay and mortar used by the Jewish slaves to make the bricks and build the cities. Mortar (like cement) is known for its strength and endurance (netzach). Yet, the primary result of the hard work was that it taught the Jews to be strong and enduring in their faith. And the “more they were oppressed the more they proliferated.” That is why we use for charoset a mix of ground apples, pears, nuts and wine – all symbols of Jewish strength and virtue – to teach us the lesson of endurance, how to withstand and grow through every challenge.

The vegetable (karpas), which grows low, reminds us of the humility (hod) required in life, and especially the yielding necessary to balance the driving force of endurance.

The Chazeret eaten in the sandwich represents the emotion of bonding (yesod) – uniting with those we love and with G-d. It’s not enough to experience each of the emotions independently, but also bond then together like in one “sandwich.”

Bonding, like empathy, is a center force that integrates the right and the left. And like empathy which is elicited through the bitter cry (of the bitter herbs), bonding is also an experience that requires a cry form the depths of the soul, a deep feeling of need that fuels bonding.

Finally – the Seder Plate itself, is the dignity and sovereignty of malchut, which encompasses all the ten faculties. Malchut is selflessness. Like the moon it has no light of its own. But precisely due to its selflessness it reflects and contains all the light of the previous nine levels. The same is with the Plate: Without the three matzot and six items the Plate is empty on its own. But in its “emptiness” it becomes the tray that encompasses all the others, and the source of dignity. Dignity also has no substance of its own. True dignity and self-confidence comes from a sense that you were created in the Divine Image, and being a channel of something greater than yourself gives you the ultimate dignity.

The Seder Plate gives us the opportunity to review, throughout the 15 steps of the Seder night, each of these emotions and assess where we stand – in our love, discipline, empathy, endurance, humility, bonding and selflessness.

Even if you cannot focus on all these dimensions (which can be quite a task), choose one or two that you relate to or you feel needs work. As the Seder proceeds concentrate on these characteristics and look for ways to repair or improve your attitudes.

Obviously, much more can be said about each of these dimensions. But hopefully, this will suffice to get the ball rolling.

Above all, the main priority is to infuse the Seder experience with a dynamic, interactive, dimension – and turn it into a personal experience, rather than just another event we sit through.

Just imagine experiencing the Seder in this personal way – how much more powerful would we and our children experience the evening? Some food for thought as we prepare to celebrate a “night that is different than all other nights.”

May you, and we all, be blessed with a very transcendent Passover – one that opens up new channels of hope and trust.

But together with the blessing from above, may we each do our part to generate  blessings. And the best way to begin is through infusing your Seder – whether you are host or guest – with profound personal relevance.

As we prepare the Seder Plate, remember the words of the Rebbe Rashab: “Saddle your wagon” well, and prepare for an exhilarating journey into the night and beyond.

A very blessed Passover to you and yours,

Simon Jacobson and all of us here at The Meaningful Life Center

After-note for Samach-Vav enthusiasts:

After the lengthy Samach-Vav discussion on the nature and properties of light, the Rebbe Rashab takes a two-week Passover break before he returns to the discuss the nature of the containers.

Everything in life consists of a light and container. A life of harmony consists of the proper equilibrium between the two – between the inside and outside, function and form, fruit and shell, content and expression, product and package, soul and body.

Light is energy; each of us has our own unique energy – your personality, abilities and talents. Container is the way you express your energy – its method and form of manifestation.

When light and container are misaligned we have an imbalance, an unhealthy situation. Reconfiguring our lights and containers is the key to all healing, growth and development.

The Seder Plate manifests the balance necessary between lights and containers – between the matzot that serve as the containers that cradle the six items above them.

Yet Passover focuses primarily on the light from above. The primary work with the containers begins after Passover, especially through the Counting of the Omer, which consists of refining the animal soul of the material world.

Dispatch from Atzilut

— Samach-Vav Part 12 —

Have you ever met a Tzaddik?

Wait a minute… What exactly is a tzaddik?

When Grandma Bertha would call someone a “tzaddik” she simply meant a kind and giving person – a good guy. Reminiscing about the family she would compare uncles: “Uncle Joe? – vey iz mir. Don’t even ask. Uncle Shmerel – nu, nisht-koshe (so-so; not bad). But Uncle Ben – now he was a real tzaddik.” Or when you would bring her a warm sweater, she would exclaim: “Oy mein tayere Berele – what a tzaddikel you are…”

As a positive euphemism (or a purr word) “tzaddik” can loosely mean a nice guy. Other, more learned individuals may tell us that a tzaddik is someone that does many mitzvot and studies much Torah.

But the true meaning of a tzaddik – and its implications – is far more profound. Indeed, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi must have caused some uproar – and still aggravates many to this very day who would have otherwise thought themselves as tzaddikim – when he wrote in Tanya (chapter 13) that:

“Even one whose whole aspiration is in G-d’s Torah, which he studies day and night for its own sake [no ulterior motive], this is still no proof whatever that [he is a Tzaddik, i.e.] the evil has been dislodged from its place.”

In this week’s installment of Samach-Vav, which discusses the discourse delivered a century ago this week, we get a rare glimpse into the personality of a true tzaddik – into that rare individual who is, in Kabbalistic language, a soul from the world of Atzilut.

*

This week we begin reading Leviticus, the third book of the Torah, which is also called the Book of Offerings. The theme of this book is captured in the opening verse of Leviticus:

“A person who will offer of himself an offering to G-d; from an animal… shall you offer your offering.”

What does it mean to offer yourself to G-d? Why are these offerings so vital – to the extent that they constitute the primary service in the Holy Temple, and an entire book in Torah, and several tractates in the Talmud, is dedicated to discussing the detailed laws of the Temple offerings?

The answer lies in the phraseology of the verse. As Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi explains: For man to become closer (“offer” in Hebrew, yakriv, means “draws close”) to the Divine he must bring the offering of himself. He must sacrifice his personal “animal,” the narcissism of the evil inclination that is called the animal soul.

In this week’s Samach-Vav discourse, which begins with the same title (“A person who will offer of himself”) the Rebbe Rashab enlightens us, in his inimitable profound manner, how the opening verse, which encapsulates the entire Book of Offerings, embodies the central purpose of life: Getting close to the Divine, by offering oneself to G-d, is the ultimate calling of life.

Samach-Vav explains that to get close to, and unite with, the Divine – and create a home for the Divine Essence in our lowly world – requires two things: 1) The self-generated human initiative generated from below (not one inspired from above) which introduces unprecedented Divine energy; the innermost aspect and essence of the Infinite Light” – the essence of the Divine “supra-conscious.” 2) An intimate relationship with the Divine, which is ultimately best understood through the metaphor of light, which is nothing more than a reflection of the Essence, and thus serves as the ultimate bridge between the infinite and the finite, the Divine and the mundane.

After a long discussion on the features of light – both in its source and outside of it – the Rebbe Rashab, 100 years ago this week, returns to conclude his explanation on the nature of the world of Atzilut and its root – the narrow ray of light (the kav).

What is Atzilut and why is it relevant to us? Atzilut is the quintessential universe – the “perfect” parallel version of our world. It is therefore the benchmark by which we measure every aspect of life as we know it. When we juxtapose the image of our lives over the image of Atzilut we can recognize where our imperfections lie. Just as when we contrast an imperfect circle with a perfect one. If you want to know what your life looks like, you need to have a perfect backdrop to which you can compare where you are and where you can be.

If life is a machine, Atzilut is the machine working to perfection. However, Atzilut becomes concealed from our perception, and lies hidden beneath layers upon layers of consciousness that can deceive us into ignoring or forgetting the inner forces that shape reality.

Atzilut is the perfect state of existence due to the fact that it combines two opposite features: On one hand Atzilut (Adam) is a world of structure, with ten sefirot (Chochma, Binah etc.) – the basic building blocks of all existence. At the same time the word “Atzilut” means “impart” or “emanate” and also “close” – it is not a new creation, but one that “emanates” and “imparts” the light of the Kav into a conscious experience. Atzilut is the state of being that reveals the Divine light and allows us to have a comprehension of the Divine.

Atzilut, called “adam,” therefore has two sensations: On one hand “adam” means that it is similar to and reflects that which is above, revealing the hidden Divine light of higher levels. It therefore experiences a sense of closeness and intimacy with the Divine. On the other hand, as a world of defined structure, it senses itself as a “new” entity infinitely distant from the essential Divine light. This distance evokes a sense of profound awe and respect for the Divine.

A soul of Atzilut – a true Tzaddik – embodies both these qualities. For example, Moses, the ultimate soul of Atzilut, experienced both intense intimacy with the Divine, speaking to G-d “face to face,” while being the “humblest man that ever walked the Earth.”

This unique experience is distinguished by three key features (as explained in this week’s Samach-Vav discourse):

1)     The light of the soul of Atzilut reflects and reveals the light of the kav (the ray of light flowing after the Tzimtzum), which in turn reflects and reveals the hidden light of the source of the kav – the Divine power to emanate finite light. The structured personality of the Tzaddik’s soul is a transparent reflection of the Divine power to create structure.

But relative to the Divine infinite light higher than the Kav (and surely the level of light as it is in its source, with no identity of its own), the structured dimension of the soul of Atzilut (and even the Kav) senses itself as a “new” entity, infinitely distant from that Divine dimension. And the only way that the soul can access this infinitely distant level (which is beyond its direct reach) is through exertion in Torah study.

2)     The Atzilut soul, which reflects the Kav, senses infinite distance even from the root of the kav (the Divine power to emanate in a finite light), which is actually part of the Divine infinite power, and is thus infinitely distant even from the kav. Because the structure of Atzilut (even the lights of Atzilut) is an actual state of the finite, while the Divine power to create the finite is in itself infinite. Similar to the difference of the actual words written by hand, and the power within the hand to write defined words.

3)     The soul of Atzilut intimately experiences the infinite dimension of the kav, how it is beyond all structure. Yet, relative to the source of this infinite light, the light senses absolute distance as well, being that the light in its source has no substance and identity at all.

The Tzaddik – the soul of Atzilut – is the ultimate interface between the Divine and the human, between the infinite and the finite structure. And like any interface it has a dual quality, one that reflects the Divine and the other that speaks to the human, one that is intimate with G-d and the other that feels its distance, one that feels love and the other that feels awe.

The dual nature of Atzilut – a Divine structure – will help us understand the meaning of Divine service: Offering oneself to G-d.

The operative word in this verse – “A person who will offer of himself an offering to G-d” – is “adam” (a person). “Adam” refers to the world – and the souls – of Atzilut which, like light, is a reflection of the Divine. It therefore has the power to get close (offer) to the Divine.

Simply put: Two entities that have no common denominator, no similarity, cannot get close to each other. For a human being to get close to the Divine – i.e. bring an offering, which means to draw close – he has to have within himself a similarity to the Divine.

And it is this level of Atzilut that gives us the power to bring an offering and get closer to the Divine. Moreover, it also gives us the power to offer and elevate our animal souls and material lives to G-d.

Samach-Vav parallels the Torah narrative and the annual calendar. After the groundwork is laid in the first book of Genesis, which trains and equips us with the tools we will need to transform the material world, and the transformation process begins together with the methodology how to achieve this transformation  in the second book of Exodus, which reflects the progressive growth of light from the Exodus to Sinai to building the Temple – the actual work begins in the third book of Leviticus, which opens up with the service in the Temple – the purpose of all life:

“A person will offer of himself an offering to G-d.”

So too Samach-Vav: After first laying out the purpose of existence (Genesis), and the methods for transcendence from our mundane world, to get inspired and remain inspired, the hemshech (series) continues with its analysis of light. As we read through the book of Exodus, the light steadily increases in intensity, until we travel into its source and into the Divine Essence itself.

As we enter the new month of Nissan – the month of Redemption – and begin a new book in the Torah (Leviticus), Samach-Vav appropriately helps us understand this period by tying together the strings and concluding the discussion on the nature of light, which helps us understand the world of Atzilut, and by extension – the personality of a tzaddik, a soul from Atzilut.

To sum up: Being that we are not Tzaddikim ourselves, why do we need to know about the Tzaddik’s Divine Service (Atzilut), how does it help us? 1) First it teaches us how much a human being is capable of. 2) We all receive a taste of this service in the month of Nissan. 3) It allows us to understand by contrast what we achieve through our exertion below in a post-Atzilut world. 4) It empowers us with the ability to serve, bring and offering and get close to the Divine, and finally 5) integrate and be intimate with the Divine.

As we move from the book of redemption (Exodus) to the month of redemption (Nissan), and we relive the exodus and birth of the Jewish nation on Passover, we are given the power to be like a Tzaddik. What Atzilut is in space, and a Tzaddik in souls, Nissan is in time – the time of experiencing the pure energy of Divine light. [This is also consistent with the fact that the princes and leaders of each tribe brought offering to dedicate the new Temple during the first twelve days of Nissan. We therefore have the custom to read these portions on each respective day].

In this discourse the Rebbe Rashab addresses primarily the souls and light of Atzilut (adam), which reflect the higher levels of Divine light. Though he says that this light gives us the power to offer the inner “animal,” yet the main focus here is still on the light and the soul of Atzilut.

What about the Tzaddik’s containers – his body and material involvements? That is the theme of next week’s discourse, which addresses the nature of the containers (keilim) of Atzilut. That in turn will be followed, in the subsequent discourses, by the service and offerings of the souls of Biy”a (the worlds below Atzilut), whose primary nature is material, and their service consists of the hard work to sublimate the “egocentric” personality of matter.

[All souls originate in Atzilut; however most then assume the “garments” and layers of lower states of consciousness (i.e. worlds)].

How much we understand the concepts discussed in Samach-Vav is debatable. Some may even question what the point is to study such esoteric concepts. Indeed, the Rebbe Rashab himself once expressed himself by saying: We talk about these lofty concepts because when you know with whom you are dealing, you have a completely different (a new found) respect…

Same with Passover: Passover means many different things to many different people. But one thing that we can all glean from these special days is that we are given the power to reach unimaginable heights.

This is a time to just break out of the fears, inhibitions and insecurities that haunt us – and just reach for the stars.

The Book of Redemption

— Samach-Vav Part 11 —

Dear Rabbi,

I have been following with great interest your Samach-Vav series [the classic Chassidic discourse delivered by the Rebbe Rashab one century ago]. As a physicist by profession, I especially found powerful the discussion on light and its essential role in bridging spirit and matter. This is my first exposure to Hassidic thought and for that matter to Jewish mysticism in general. I have, as many of my generation, explored Far Eastern mysticism and other schools of thought. And I must tell you that your erudite and accessible presentation has captivated me and speaks to my soul more than anything I have ever experienced.

In the titles of your weekly classes of the past few months I have also noticed an interesting progression regarding light: Exile: The Dark Tzimtzum Descends; Exodus: The Kav-Light Emerges; Parting of the Sea: The Light Expands; Sinai: The Light Descends; Mishpatim: The Light Permeates; The Temple: The Light Finds a Home. I am quire intrigued by this progression, and was wondering if you can elaborate a bit more on this evolving light.

As we move (in the Northern Hemisphere) from the cold winter into the warming spring, as the nights get shorter and the days longer, the Torah’s plot appropriately progresses from the story of oppression to that of freedom, from darkness to light.

You see, in its truest sense Torah is a reflection, nay, a blueprint, of existence. And therein lays its relevance to our lives. If you see the Bible, as its name implies – a diminutive of the Greek word for papyrus – as simply a book of stories, history or ancient myths, then its relevance will obviously be quite limited to random inspiration; but if you see it as Torah, which means instruction and light (from the root ohr) then it serves as a relevant guide for life. Indeed, the sages describe Torah as an architectural blueprint, used by the Cosmic architect to create the universe. Torah is thus the ultimate life “operators manual” how to best live our lives – given to us by the One who created life with all its complexities. If life is an intricate machine, Torah is its “user’s guide.”

As such, Torah reflects the events and experiences of our lives, including the annual seasons, with the intention of illuminating the inner crevices of our psyches – as well as of the cosmos (which are embodied in the microcosm of the “small universe” which is the human being) – and serving as a guiding light that helps us fulfill our life’s purpose and face all our challenges.

This week we conclude the second book of the Torah – the book of Exodus. Nachmanides calls it the “Book of Redemption.” In it we read the story of the redemption of the Jewish people from the oppressive Egyptian bondage.

Though the actual story of the Egyptian exodus is related in only one or two of the chapters of this book, the entire book is called “Book of Redemption,” because the central theme of the book is all about redemption.

As discussed in the previous installment of this series, the Torah’s account of the exodus from Egypt is a study about our own personal passage from darkness to light – from fear to courage, from pain to joy, from confusion to clarity.

Oppressive Egypt is the quintessential model of the bondage of material life (“Mitzrayim” (Egypt in Hebrew) means “constraints”) – every type of inhibition or limitation, psychological, emotional or physical, imposed upon us in life.

The dark Egyptian exile is the physical manifestation of the great tzimtzum – the original “black hole” created by the concealment of the Divine light (as explained in Lurianic Kabbalah). Essentially conscious life as we know it is initially a state of darkness, and we must search for light and for meaning. When the Divine light/energy emanates, everything knows its place in the big picture; everything feels part of one integral whole. Man would be unable to raise arms against man if we sensed that we are all one.

The purpose of this concealment is to bring the best out of us to fulfill the purpose of existence, reflected in the redemption from Egypt: To reveal the light and transform the very darkness of matter into a luminous source of spiritual energy – creating a Divine home in the lowest of worlds.

And this redemption consists of four general stages – the content of the entire “Book of Redemption:” 1) Exodus. 2) Parting of the Sea. 3) Sinai. 4) The Temple. Each step, which in microcosm is reflected in our life’s journey, expresses another stage in the process of illuminating and transforming the void and the tzimtzum, and turning the universe into a Divine home.

1)     Stage 1 – Exodus: The Light Emerges. The first step is to become free from the constraints that bind us. To do this requires two key elements: Awareness – recognizing that we are locked, blinded or in some other way limited. Action – to make a behavioral change that breaks a bad habit or pattern that keeps us enslaved.

We don’t travel alone. Each of us is given Divine power through the “Moses” within our souls – humility and Torah wisdom – to lift us out of any form of material constraint. Through our commitment to study and virtue (Torah and Mitzvot) we have the ability to transcend material confines and achieve a level of spiritual freedom.

2)     Stage 2 – Parting of the Sea: The Light Expands. Exodus was not complete until the Jewish people walked through the receding sea and the pursuing Egyptians drowned in the swelling waters. The parting of the sea opened a door between the infinite light (sea) and the finite light (land), and bridged the two, giving us a taste of the seamless pre-tzimtzum reality, as discussed in the previous article.

But even when we are freed from our personal “Egypt” and have a taste of the bridge between the finite and the infinite, how do we maintain redemption?

3)     Stage 3 – Sinai: The Light Descends. At Sinai we formally received the Divine mandate called the Torah, which empowers us with the ability to permanently fuse spirit and matter. Before Sinai there was an impenetrable rift between heaven and earth. A decree, a schism separated between above and below. “That which was above could not descend below, and that which was below could not ascend above.” At Sinai this breach was bridged, marrying in effect heaven and Earth.

Sinai then extended into Mishpatim (the next chapter) – the Divine light permeated the logical laws. Even the intellect connected to the infinite reality.

4)     Stage 4 – The Temple: The Light Finds a Home. Now begins implementation of all that was given at Sinai – “Build Me a temple and I will rest amongst you.” Following the Torah guidelines we build a home for the Divine in our lives – in our homes and in our work. We transform every aspect and fiber of our material beings to becoming a comfortable and intimate home for the Divine.

Apropos, the Samach-Vav discourses delivered 100 years ago these weeks progresses as well from the initial thin ray of light (the kav) which pierced the darkness of the Tzimtzum into its source before the concealment (tzimtzum).

The initial step of redemption from Egypt is the first stage of emerging light following so many years of darkness – the first ray of light which pierces the Tzimtzum darkness (the root source of every form of “Mitzrayim”), and opens the “window” to every ray of hope and illuminating force in existence.

The parting of the sea was a revelation of the Essential Divine Infinite Light into our finite existence, preparing the ground for the revelation at Sinai, which married the infinite and the finite, the pre-tzimtzum light with post-tzimtzum one (as discussed at the end of Vayeilech Samach-Vav).

Sinai in turn is consummated nearly a year later with the building of the Temple, which created a home for the Divine from the material universe, “gold, silver, copper, etc.”

Building a Temple from physical matter is the essence of all our efforts to refine and redeem this unlit world, drawing light from the kav and refining the “containers” of materialism. As the “containers” become more honed and the light grows in intensity we come closer to filling the “dark space” until the point of redemption when matter gets reunited with spirit, in one seamless flow, and in turn introduces new unprecedented dimensions of the Divine.

As discussed in the previous installment of this series, the Rebbe Rashab elaborates on the nature of light and its relationship with the Source in order to explain how we can integrate our limited existence and the Divine non-existential Essence, without compromising either.

Achieving this symmetry requires a delicate balance between respecting both the distinct parameters of existence and the undefined nature of the Divine. On one hand all that exists is infinitely distant – like a new entity (yesh me’ayin) – from the Divine Source; on the other hand, the selfless bittul of light, which is nothing more than a reflection of its Source, allows us to feel comfortable, close and intimate with the Divine.

To demonstrate these two properties (distance and closeness) the Rebbe Rashab delves even deeper into the nature of light. He explains that light itself has different levels, and by climbing the “ladder” of the kav through our work in refining the “containers,” we access ever higher levels of the light, and as we do we get closer to the Essence.

Generally, in relation to the post-tzimtzum reality the light prior to the tzimtzum concealment is only a state of potential light. It is called the “light contained in its Source” where it does not yet have an “identity;” at this stage the light is nothing more than the Source’s ability to emanate.

More specifically the pre-tzimtzum state consists of two levels: 1) The abovementioned “light within the Source,” and 2) an actual state of light, which is “closer” to ultimately becoming the source of existence. This latter level too breaks down into two levels: 1) The light prior to the Divine “will” to create, which does not have any parameters of sefirot (or the parameters are infinite ones), 2) The light once the will arises, which has a potential structure of the ten sefirot.

Each of these levels of light, especially the highest one (within the Source, which has no identity), has no “personality” of its own; light is essentially only a reflection of its Source, to the point that it is completely one with the Source, assuming and expressing the Source, thus bridging existence with the non-existential nature of the Essence.

In the language of the Torah narrative in the Book of Redemption (Exodus): We have the power not only to leave our constraints (Egypt), to taste the interface between the finite and the infinite (parting of the sea), to marry heaven and Earth (Sinai), and then to build a home below for the Divine (Temple) – but above and beyond all that: We actually have the power, through light, to fuse the existential and the non-existential, the most conscious states of our defined lowly existence with the undefined Divine Essence.

And now, after Book Two comes to a close with the Temple standing, we begin the next stage: The detailed service in the Temple – the content of Book Three, the book of Leviticus, Vayikra.

To conclude on a practical note:

The world today is basking in an abundance of light. Our standard of living has never been as high. Light and energy in all forms – physical, electrical, atomic and nuclear – have transformed virtually every aspect of our lives – medicine, communications, and technology. We live in a world of unbound energy.

But high tech cannot conquer the final frontier of light: The personal frontier. As comfortable and advanced as our lives may be, our home and family lives, our psychological and emotional lives, love, intimacy and relationships seem to be suffering wherever we look.

We have one final step to achieve in generating light into our lives: To become intimate with light – to build an intimate home for our souls, a home where we can commune with the Divine and with each other; a place of comfort and security where love can thrive.

We do this by not just by being light/energy consumers, but by becoming ourselves energy reactors and light generators: Walking candles and candle lighters that illuminate everything and everyone around us.

We always have two choices in every one of our activities: to serve ourselves or serve a higher cause. You become radiant light through selflessness (bittul) – through committing to a cause greater than yourself, to becoming a channel for the Divine.

When we become light, we become intimately one with the Source of light.

This is our calling today: Build me a Temple, and I will rest among you.

When this one will rise the other one will fall – Midrash and Rashi Genesis 25:23

Tuesday, March 15, Purim 2006 – Milan, Italy

Land Monday at Malpensa Airport in Milan. The singsong lilt of Italian is warm and silky. In contrast to, say, the guttural sound of authoritative German. Yet, despite its soothing tone, this (or its root) may also be the language of Titus and the Romans as they destroyed the Holy Temple 1938 years ago.

Purim eve I hear for the first time the Persian version of the Megillah reading [the Purim narrative read in synagogues twice on the holiday, in the evening and the morning]. The Persians read the Megillah without the Ashkenazic intonations; and the end of each phrase is read out loud by the entire congregation, and then repeated by the leading reader – more like an intimate story being read together.

Considering that the Persian Jewish community goes back in an unbroken chain to the events of Purim in ancient Persia, it seems likely that their tradition may be closer to the original than the Ashkenazic one. Fine with me; I do after all have some Georgian genes.

My thoughts travel back to heaven. From the sky there is no difference between Persia, Rome or Jerusalem; they are all little geographic dots on the Earth’s landscape. The higher you go the smaller and more insignificant everything on Earth appears. All the wars and politics, all the differences and obsessions of mankind seem like irrelevant anthills in the backdrop of the grandiose galaxies.

No wonder philosophers of all sorts found it difficult to imagine that G-d would care about the minutia of this small speck of a universe. The higher they climbed, the greater the horizons, the less importance our lives became. Even to the extent of questioning whether there is a Divine Deity at all. Ironic indeed. One would think that the more one would experience the grand majesty of the universe, especially today with our sophisticated telescopes and outer space ventures, the greater would be the respect for the Cosmic Artist… Yet, the sheer magnitude of this gargantuan magnificence also diminishes the value of each detail, and the consequence of each individual life, which pales in comparison to the vast beauty of the cosmos. And thus one wonders whether G-d cares…

But back on Earth we care. And back on Earth we have Purim – the celebration of the triumph of a minority against their oppressors, in this case a small nation surviving annihilation at the hands of the world’s superpower. Purim celebrates that it does matter and we do care, and so does G-d. G-d’s presence may be hidden (thus the Divine is not consciously mentioned in the entire Megillah), but His direction is not. When you study in perspective the details of the story and their conclusion, you see the Divine Providence at work. The dots may seem immaterial from close up, but when you connect them, a picture emerges.

Our lives are the same. From a respectful distance the daily details of our lives, which so consume us from close up, seem irrelevant. But from an even greater distance patterns emerge.

Contemporary Kabbalah, otherwise known as Chassidic thought, elaborates on the reconciliation of the paradox of the indispensable significance of every minute detail within the context of a great universe created by an even greater G-d. Three levels of perception exist: The first is called the “perception from below” (Daas Tachton), how we perceive the universe. On this level every detail matters. The second is the “perception from above” (Daas Elyon), and from this perspective the details do not matter, because the Divine is infinitely greater and completely transcends existence as we know it. Then there is the “perspective” (if you can even call it that) which transcends and (therefore) combines both perceptions, “from below” and “from above.” It transcends even transcendence.

The Chassid, Reb Gershon Ber of Pahar would explain this paradox with an analogy. Three connoisseurs marveled at the beautiful painting of a field. The first one was intrigued by the elegant details of each stroke; the use of colors and tones; the combination of all the elements – tilled soil, stalks of wheat, rows of stalks, a bird perched on a branch, surrounding flowers – to depict the simple but profound beauty of nature as played out in the common field. “What a great farmer,” he thought, “this artist must be.” The second expert, who was a personal acquaintance of the artist, was amazed at the fact that this sophisticated aristocrat, who was infinitely superior to a farmer, was able to lower himself to draw a painting of something so inferior to himself. The third specialist was in absolute awe of something that the first two entirely missed: The artist had infused his entire personality – which completely transcended the field – into the details of the painting of the field!

All three were right: The field – the universe – is beautiful; the Cosmic Artist transcended His field; but He also imbued it, in all its infinite detail, with His Personality and Essence.

Wow, it’s hard to believe that a simple Megillah reading Persian-style evoked these thoughts. Their personal, interactive way of telling this ancient story struck me as the capturing of eternity in an hour (which is approximately how long the reading took) in a most concrete way.

But maybe it wasn’t just the reading. Purim day I participated in the celebrations of different families, and I movingly witnessed the depth of the Divine in simple acts, in just one city, on our small planet Earth, one speck of our mammoth universe, a mere echo of the cosmos and beyond, but this echo resounded with immortal music.

There is something about traveling away from home that allows you, if you allow yourself, to witness events in slow motion, almost like out-of-body, and see things in a new light.

My hosts Rabbi Moshe and Mrs. Judy Lazar, who have built a beautiful family spread around the world, are devoted as possible to their work in the Milan Jewish community for the past 46 years. Rabbi Lazar shows me his Viennese birth certificate stamped with a German swastika. He escaped Vienna in 1939 and arrived in America on the last boat out of Italy. Mrs. Lazar was born in Hungary, herself and her family Holocaust survivors. Now both of them are here dedicated to helping anyone they can reach – a comforting presence in the Roman Empire. Tell me that this is not a mark of eternity.

My friend Izzy Namdar takes me around to visit some of his family. Originally from Persia, then London, they are now living in Italy. Refined, wholesome people of deep belief – demonstrating the unwavering power of faith that has carried the Jewish people over millennia.

And then of course, Rabbi Gershon Mendel Garelik and his dedicated wife Bessie – the first couple sent by the Rebbe to Italy in 1959, and have loyally served as his shluchim ever since. Their 47 years of total dedication in a foreign country has made an eternal impact on the people and the land. Their children both in Italy and around the world are involved in similar work. The Russian Born Rabbi and his American born wife, both from deep Chabad Chassidic homes, are now helping reshape Italian culture. (Even though the Rabbi tells me that when he speaks Italian people think he’s speaking Hebrew or Yiddish).

The European children of Esau – whether it be in Rome, Paris or Berlin – have finally found their match. The children of Jacob are on the march, chipping away and making their mark on the Esau-saturated European gods.

I was watching myself watch the simple beauty of mankind, of Jews celebrating with their families, visiting friends, bringing gifts, sharing a drink – nothing very dramatic, but eternity nonetheless.

People who care, who are committed, who would go out of their way to help another. People who are making a difference

I know G-d is watching and cares.

***

Wednesday, March 16, Shushan Purim 2006 – Jerusalem, Israel

A 3½ hour flight takes me from Italy to Jerusalem, where Purim is being celebrated a day later than in the rest of the world.

Walled cities in Israel (walled from the time of Joshua) – and those cities that are close and within eyesight of the walled cities – are honored by celebrating Purim on the 15^th of Adar, called Shushan Purim, the day Purim was first celebrated in Shushan, the capital of Persia, which was a walled city.

Jerusalem is such a city. Old Jerusalem was and is surrounded by a wall, which was first built in the time of Joshua (the present wall is relatively newer). [In Tzfat and Tiberias, also walled cities, Purim is celebrated both days because we are not sure whether they were walled in the time of Joshua].

So here I am celebrating Purim for the second time in two days. (Does that qualify me for the Guinness Book of World Records?)

This year, I guess, I needed a double dosage of Purim madness.

What a difference a wall can make.

Yet another paradox. Walls are confines, limitations. And yet these walls express the majesty of special cities, in our case Jerusalem. Within these confines infinity can be found. This small walled city is a Divine portrait. As G-d told King Solomon: “Yes indeed, heavens and heavens of heavens cannot contain Me, but this building,” the Holy Temple, can contain my Essence.

And within the single day of Purim, just 24 hours long (in my case 48 hours), we experience that which is “beyond perception” (“ad d’lo yoda”), beyond the walls separating the curse of darkness and the blessing of light.

Yes, what difference a wall can make.

My mind wanders back to heaven and back to earth again.

And then there’s Samach-Vav – the Chassidic tour de force delivered a century ago this year. After several weeks of respite, the Rebbe Rashab resumes his discussion on the nature of light – that elusive entity which straddles the fence between the existential and the non-existential.

Flying above the clouds – with basically no telephone (cell or other) calls to disturb you – is conducive to brushing up on your Samach-Vav.

Though the Rebbe Rashab does not make the connection, I think that Purim, like light (“la’yihudim hoyso orah…”) bridges the two realities, the two perceptions, below and above.

Blake wrote, in one of the most eloquent phrases ever penned, “To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.”

Words are words. It’s quite another matter to live these words – to experience eternity in an hour. And indeed, we all are in need, from time to time, to have a taste of eternity; a feeling that you and your actions matter and have lasting impact.

To do so we often need to turn our lives upside down and inside out. Which in a sense is what Purim is all about.

I drowse off as I write these words. As my eyes close, overlooking the walls of the Old City of Jerusalem, I think about the words of the prophet: “Jerusalem will sit open ; for I will be your wall of fire, says your faithful G-d.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahhh doubt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer lies in a previous verse: Just before Amalek attacks the Jewish people, the Torah tells us that the people doubted and questioned: “Is G-d with us or not?” (Exodus 17:7). Once they allowed doubt to seep into their psyches Amalek was empowered to launch a full fledged assault. To explain the sequence, Rashi cites a Midrashic analogy (Tanchuma Yitro 3; Exodus Rabbah 26:2):

[G-d says:] “I am always among you, and always prepared for all your necessities, but you say, ‘Is G-d with us or not?’ By your life, the dog will come and bite you, and you will cry out to Me, and [then] you will know where I am.” This can be compared to a man who mounted his son on his shoulder and set out on the road. Whenever his son saw something, he would say, “Father, take that thing and give it to me,” and the father would give it to him. They met a man, and the son said to him, “Have you seen my father?” So his father said to him, “You don’t know where I am?” He threw his son down off him, and a dog came and bit the son.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if one does not have children? At times it seems there is so much emphasis on bringing children into this world, that if one doesn’t have children they are left out and not considered. Please help me. Thank you.

A very important question indeed.

The gift of children is perhaps the greatest gift of all. The Psalmist writes: “Children are a Divine inheritance; the fruit of the womb His reward.” The Bible considers it to be the ultimate blessing: G-d created the human being, male and female, and blessed them: Be fruitful and multiply.

Virtually every tradition and culture places the highest premium on having children – building a family and home. The ostensible reason is obvious: Children are our future. Life ends if we do not propagate. Even according to the heartless evolutionary view of nature, perpetuation of the species is the cardinal rule of existence.

Torah tradition in particular is built around children: Education, the Passover Seder, births, weddings and celebrations – all orbit around the family nucleus. Attempts throughout history to replace the nuclear family (like the kibbutz movement in the last century) have all failed.

This of course only amplifies the question for singles or couples that were not blessed with children—are they left out? Why would they be deprived of such a fundamental blessing?

[We also can’t ignore those that have made an active choice not to have children for whatever reason—but that deserves a separate discussion].

Before addressing this huge and life transforming issue, allow me to state a big disclaimer: I am honored to be the father of two wonderful children (boy and girl), who bring me only profound joy. I therefore feel unable—absolutely unable—to put myself in the shoes of anyone who has not (yet) been blessed with children. Frankly, I would consider it quite presumptuous for me (or any parent for that matter) to pontificate to a parentless individual how to cope with the challenge of childlessness.

Yet, through my life travels I have also been honored to meet many women and even men who suffer deep anguish over not having been blessed with children. And they have turned to me (and I am sure to others) for some solace, explanation or suggestion—anything to help relieve their pain and answer their questions to G-d, to life, to themselves.

At times I have been questioned for extolling the gift of children to an audience that included single women and men, or married couples, who did not have children. Truth be told, it would be equally unfair to repress discussing the beauty of children because some people may be offended. We must always be very sensitive around an issue that touches deep emotional chords; but this should not cause us to distort or avoid appreciating our blessings.

Yet, childlessness is a critical topic that profoundly affects many of us. And as such it must be addressed. As a parent myself with no experience of childlessness, my only ability and right to speak about it is based not on my own thoughts and experiences, but those that I have been blessed to study and learn from my teachers and from the Torah, and above all—from my primary mentor, the Rebbe, who himself was (biologically) childless.

***

First and foremost, our hearts must go out to anyone who has attempted to have a child and been unable to conceive, or has reached an age when they no longer can naturally have children. This is equally true, both for women and men, who have been unable (for whatever reason) to find their soul-mate, marry and build a family (though one can argue that childlessness causes women more suffering than men). As it is with any emotional distress, trying to minimize it or explain it away rationally is simply arrogant if not outright stupid and insensitive.

I have consoled far too many women in their 40’s and on for their personal sorrow and regrets over not having tried to have children earlier in their lives (which, of course, always makes it very sad to see how many people who are naturally able to have children choose not to).

Beyond compassion and sensitivity, the big question is: Why would G-d deprive any person from the great blessing and mitzvah of having children?

The ultimate answer, like the answer to all questions about the suffering innocent, is that Judaism doesn’t ask “why?” but “what?”—“what can we do about it?”

We do not know the mysterious ways of the Divine. Why, for instance, some people are blessed to be born into healthy homes and nurturing parents, and others into dysfunctional and abusive homes? Why some children are born handicapped (G-d forbid)? Why are some of us given an easier life than others? Why each of us has our own particular strengths and challenges?   All these questions, and many, many more, may never be answered.

However, not understanding “why” does not make us weaker. Because we have the power and control to answer a bigger question: “What will we do about it?”.  “Why?” is actually the question of a victim; “what we can do?” is the question of the proactive.

A cardinal rule of existence—and perhaps the single most empowering statement—is that G-d would not give us a challenge we cannot handle. With every obstacle, every deprivation, every loss that we may experience we are also given a special “package” of strength not only to counteract the negative impact, but to achieve greater heights. For every thing we are missing, we gain something in return.

Obviously, we have to try everything humanly possible to achieve our goals, whether it’s to find a spouse, have a child or to overcome any impediment. But after we have done everything in our power (and objective friends testify to that fact), then we are assured that while we may never know why we had to take another course, we must always know that we have the power to actualize our greatest potential if not via a regular course than through an irregular one. Regular may be easier and less challenging, but it also can be ordinary; irregular can lead us into the extraordinary.

The same applies to childlessness. What is really lies at the heart of the blessing of children? The ability to create life and to influence the world forever. Through your children you leave a part of yourself in this world; they continue your life’s contributions, as you continued your parents’ legacy. In one word children reflect eternity. The only way we can achieve immortality is through our children perpetuating our lives; and when our values are eternal ones (instead of temporary ones), than they can live on forever through our following generations.

Chassidic thought puts it this way: Birthing a child is the embodiment—the only one—of the Infinite Divine power to create (koach ha’ein-sof). Every thing we produce and accomplish in this world is reshaping one form into another; all man-made products are building one something from another something (yesh m’yesh). Conceiving and giving birth to a child is true creation: a new life out of nowhere—something from nothing.

When all goes well and you find your appropriate spouse and G-d (the third partner) blesses you with a child (or children), you have actualized the Divine creative process of birth. Now, your Divine responsibility as parents is to nurture, educate and imbue your child with eternal values; to teach your child to discover his/her mission in illuminating our universe.

The same G-d that blesses us with children—no one would suggest that a child is a man-made creation—also gave some of us the challenge of childlessness, and the strength to deal with it.

The original Matriarchs, Sarah, Rebecca and Rachel, as well as Chana and many other great women in history, were naturally barren, and it was only though their heartfelt prayers that G-d opened their wombs. The Midrash (Bereishis Rabba 45:4) offers various explanations, one being that G-d “desires” the prayers of the righteous, and therefore wanted that they cry out, and bring down the blessing through their prayers. Indeed, the Rosh Hashana is a day, a day of prayer, when the barren women are remembered by G-d (Rosh Hashana 11a), which is why the Torah reading of that day begins: “And God remembered Sara…”

Now, when birth doesn’t happen (for whatever reason—natural or human error), we must say, according to the above mentioned rule, that this person has the power to achieve immortality and find fulfillment in other ways.

[Indeed, a fascinating Zohar (the classic text of Jewish Mysticism) tells us that couples who join in sacred union, even if they are beyond child-bearing age, conceive a soul even when the soul does not descend into a body! If they are blessed then the soul will connect to a body, but even if not a new soul was conceived].

What can possibly replace actual children?!

Tells us the Talmud (Sanhedrin 19b) that “one who teaches another Torah is considered as if s/he gave birth to that individual.”

This is derived from the verse (Numbers 3:1) that describes the biological children of Aaron as “children of Aaron and Moses,” because Moses was their teacher.

This is not some cute patronization. It means quite literally that when you teach, educate and inspire someone with Divine truths you actually “give birth” to them. Think about a mentor or teacher that may have said just the right word to you at the right moment in your life – was it not like giving you a new life? Unfortunately, such epiphany-like experiences are uncommon. But sometime a teacher can be more of a parent to us than our biological parents (especially in this dysfunctional age).

In fact there were Chassidim who would celebrate their birthdays not on the day of their biological birth, but on the day that they met their Rebbe for the first time!

So the void of childlessness may never be filled, nor the pain relieved, but it gives us the opportunity to (re)think (about) the purpose of our lives. The purpose being—to change the world; and we have that power by touching others forever.

Children are our fruit; fruit that in turn will bear new fruit. A true mentor/educator is a gardener that lays seeds, nurtures the ground, waters the plants, and changes the future.

Having natural children is a great blessing—a blessing everyone should merit. But if that is not (yet) one’s destiny, never, never should we feel that things are lost. A person in that situation must take a more difficult route of “giving birth” in new ways through inspiring and illuminating the soul of others. This is definitely a harder job—one that doesn’t come on a platter as do natural born children—but is also doesn’t lend itself to the complacency that biological parents can have to their children, and actually has the ability to shape and influence people in more profound ways than actual parents do.

[On a mystical level, we can perhaps say that the childless individual reflects the state of “There is one who is alone with no second, and he has neither son nor brother” (Ecclesiastes 4:8). “One who is alone” is the level of the Divine Infinite Light that does not manifest in relationships (“He has neither son nor brother”). The concept of relationships is only in the way the Divine manifests in the finite—in the structure of the ten sefirot (Ohr HaTorah on Kohelet, p. 1115). However, the ultimate purpose is to unite the infinite and the finite, the “one who is alone” with “son” and “brother.” Natural parents do this through having children; the rest of us do it through “birthing” students].

Practically speaking, let’s go back to where we began: After all the discussions and elaborations, there are really no words that can truly console someone who is suffering from the grief of childlessness. “Why?” may not be a question we should ask, but it is easier said than done.

So if you have a relative or friend in this situation, be there for them. Be extra sensitive—not treat them as “nebech” (pathetically needy) case, but as a human being that deserve dignity like every person does.

Above all (whether it be you or your friend), remember that for every challenge we were given additional powers. When faced with the challenge around children—we must work overtime to inspire each other to find ways to express our unique strengths to educate and inspire others.

And always remember: Miracles do happen. We cannot rely or expect them to happen. But they do happen.

I want to conclude with a blessing (birchat hedyot): May all those who are in need of children be blessed with healthy offspring. May those who are in need of finding their soulmate – be blessed to met the right person and to recognize that this is the right person. May those who were blessed with children fully appreciate their gift, and not only serve as biological parents but also as spiritual ones.

And most of all – may those that are unable to have children at this point, be comforted and find the strength to recognize their unique skills to birth and change for the better the lives of people they come in contact with.

May we all inspire, illuminate and educate many students—and give birth to many “children,” and shape the future forever.