Don't Judge a Chosid By His Beged

The mystical Zohar's commentary on this weeks parsha (Torah portion) is the source of the esoteric verses recited by Chasidim at the start of Shabbos: Kegavnoh. This weeks parsha, Parshas Terumah, speaks of the Israelites bringing their tithes to Hakadosh Baruch Hu (The Holy One, Blessed Be He), and the Zohar connects this with the uniting of the Upper World with the Lower World. According to the Zohar, the Lower World is represented by Rachel, and the Upper World by Leah. When the Torah says that Rachel envied her sister, it is coming to say that the Lower World hopes and strives to elevate itself to the position of the Upper World. However, as the Torah shows, the two can only be brought together through Yaakov (Jacob, also called Israel, who represents all of the Jewish people), as is shown by his marriage to the two of them.

In the passage of Kegavnoh, the Zohar relates how the Holy Shabbos is a one-day glimpse into what it will be like when the uniting of Above and Below is completed. As we are told over and over again, Shabbos is like a portion of the World to Come. This is why all work and attempts for gain must stop on Shabbos, and we enter into the Holy Day with only what we have prepared. This shows that in the World to Come, we will only have that which we elevated and unified in the earthly life.

With the diverse paths of Orthodoxy, how is one best fitted to go about elevating the Sparks of Holiness here below? This type of mystical wording is left out of the more Litvish (non-Chasidic European ultra-Orthodoxy) writings, with the focus being simply on the act. This doesn't, of course, mean that the notion of and ability to elevate the Lower World was left out of Litvish works, but simply hidden. The great philosopher and tzaddik Harav Kolonymus Kalman Shapira, zt"l, spoke of this very notion when he said that the Baal Shem Tov (founder of Chasidism) and his followers did not transform Judaism and what went on when mitzvos (commandments) were performed, they only revealed the light. That having been said, is anyone who internalizes this "uniting factor" of mitzvos a Chosid? With so much of Orthodox Judaism today seeming to stem from levush (modes of dress), what's in a beged (garment)?

When describing what a Chosid truly is, the forementioned Rav Shapira said, "This is the way of a Chosid, he occasionally cries during a happy tune...and he sometimes dances to the tune of Kol Nidrei (a central text for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement." Furthermore, he says that "the essence of the Torah of Chasidus is not being satisfied with having one's intellect absorbed in Divine service...but he must serve G-d with all aspects of thought, speech, and action." This may not be different than the feelings of many truly devoted Orthodox Jews today, but the stark difference between historic modes of Litvish and Chasidish practice certainly reveal a difference. Today, things have changed as migration to America, Canada, and Israel has placed Jews from diverse backgrounds together, causing a meshing of Litvish and Chasidish ideas. A story illustrating the former difference is often told by Chasidim of every fold: A misnagdishe (opponent to Chasidus) rabbi and a Chasidishe rabbi were once walking in the village market. The two came upon a simple, unlearned Jewish man oiling the wheels of his wagon, and whipsering prayers as he did so. The misnagdishe rabbi scoffed at this man, "Hmmph, how terrible! This man can't even clean himself in order to show proper respect before G-d!" The Chasidishe rabbi, seeing the same sight, offered quite a different response, saying, "Ribbono Shel Olam (Master of the Universe), how holy are your children! Even when muddled in the difficulties of everyday life, they still remember to praise You!"

Besides for the argument that, "Chasidic ideas aren't really all that different," another idea that people allow to get in their way of embracing the notion of Chasidus (or, even scarier, that they themselves might be Chasidish!) is that of a rebbe. Historically, when Chasidus was developing, the followers of the Baal Shem Tov dispersed to bring his teachings to comunities throughout eastern Europe. Because the Baal Shem Tov's students (each one of whom was a baki in his own right) were turned away by the more scholarly students of "Litvish" yeshivas, the newly-enlightened Chasidim gave over the message of mysticism and essential holiness to the untrained, the uneducated, and those who were cast out of the religiously educated elite. Since this group made up the original fold of Chasidic Jews, they obviously put great trust in their rabbis to teach them that which they did not know. This set in motion the idea of a rebbe, who was a figurehead of the community, often thought as being lucky enough and knowledgeable enough to truly internalize Holiness in a way that they average, unlearned person could not.


While there may be some, even many, Chasidim who continue to have such a strong attachment to the "rebbe" of whichever Chasidus they are members, others have come to show that this is no longer needed to such an extent. Growth and availability of yeshivas, religious books, and the merging of communities now allows for all Jews to receive a proper religious education. Even Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, himself the grandson of the Baal Shem Tov, said that the most important thing is not to have a rebbe, but a manhig, someone who relays customs and traditions, giving religious duties a unique flavor. Furthermore, Rebbe Nachman believed that a tzadik (righteous person) was important to motivate groups of followers, but nothing on the level of what many ascribe to a rebbe.

This brings me to an idea that I've expressed many times before in conversations with people. Someone can go their entire life dressed in Chasidic dress, being impressed by the importance and pomp of a rebbe, and never truly internalize Chasidus. Another person, someone in Berkeley, California who never sits in a tish at Skver, or Satmar, or anywhere else, can learn from the seforim of the Holy Baal Shem, and feel great motivation from a truly pious, yet hidden tzadik. This person may go on wearing Birkenstock sandals, jeans, and flannel shirts, yet begins to wear a yarmulke, tzitzis, and keep Jewish law fully, as he comes to truly feel the holiness of mitzvos. Which is a Chosid? From my experience, and from what tzadikim have said was the true derech (path) of the Baal Shem Tov, a Chosid is someone who sees the light of Torah and comes to internalize it. From this perspective, the second person is a true Chosid, and the first is simply an old-school Litvak is Chasidishe levush. I think this is something that Chasidic leaders once understood, but has been lost by many over the years.


This whole notion may turn definitions and ideas totally upside down, but what's wrong with that? Someone who is truly a Chosid can learn as much mysticism from the Mesillas Yeshorim as from the Tanya, and get a healthy dose of mussar (ethics, what some pose as the anti-Chasidus) at the same time. This is because they internalize and feel every word of Torah in their neshama. This is what it means that a Chosid is someone who cries during a happy tune, and dances to the tune of what should be a mournful time. A Chosid does this because the beauty of Torah and emes (truth) is so real to him that he has no way to express the wonder except through tears, and his trust in and connection to G-d are so great that he actually lives the fact that redemption is immanent, which brings joy.

In one of the first conversations I had with perhaps the closest friend I have, I was asked to describe Chasidus as concisely as possible. My answer to him was, "Ivdu es Hashem b'simcha," or to serve G-d in joy. To him, he said, Chasidus was, "V'ahavta le'rey'acha kamocha," which means to love your neighbor as yourself. In the end, what's the real difference? Someone who serves Hashem in joy has no other option than to love his neighbor as himself, and someone who truly loves his neighbor as himself can feel nothing but deep joy in doing Avodas Hashem (the work of G-d). Both, though, must come from a person who internalizes learning and Torah, sees his place of importance in doing the task of a Jew no matter how hard and bitter the task, and can be a "Chusid" of even a talmid from a Litvishe place like Ponovitch. Afterall, the Zohar reminds us over and over again that the point of it all is to unite the Lower World and the Upper World by knowing and act out the truth of "Ein Od Milvado," that there is truly nothing except for G-d.

In a conversation I had not so long ago, I expressed my personal ideas and feelings about Chasidus, and the response I received was basically, "Chasidus? Judaism? What's the difference?" My thoughts exactly. Perhaps true Chasidus is just a bit more honest about the ikar.

Yotza...Yotza

To fulfill my idea of doing a post about how married women cover their hair, I am writing this. However, the main idea of the posts about head coverings will hopefully be reached when I do my next big post.

For women who are seriously religious, marriage brings them the opportunity to fulfill a new mitzvah: that of kisui rosh. Kisui rosh is the mitzvah for a married Jewish woman to cover her hair, based on the premise that a married woman's hair should be reserved for her husband, as flowing hair can be quite sensual. There are certain Modern Orthodox women who, for reasons and leniencies beyond my comprehension, do not cover their hair, and if they do, only do so in synagogue. However, for those who take this important mitzvah seriously, there are various ways of fulfilling it:

The first, and possibly most common way, is with a tichel. A tichel is worn by women who are Modern Orthodox, ultra-Orthodox, and Chasidic. The only difference might be the way in which they are worn and the times when they are worn. Among the more ultra-Orthodox, wearing a tichel might seem to be a more lenient way of covering the hair, but is also seen as more stringent by others. The legal opinions regarding hair coverings are diverse, and often grow out of the place in which each group originated (Poland, Russia, Iran, Morocco, etc.).


Among the more strict ways of wearing a tichel is found amongst the most stringent of communities, such as Yerushalmis (addressed in the previous post), Nikolsburg, some groups within Satmar and Skver, and so on. This is done by either wearing a tichel wrapped around a sort of foam substance to give the forehead lines and other parts a more full fill so that they do not slip, or is worn with a small, quasi-wig underneath, which is only visible at the front. In either case, women who choose this method tend to shave, or very shortly shear, their hair.


Another way of covering the hair is with a snood. Snoods are generally worn by more ultra-Orthodox women, especially in times of being lazy, working around the house, cooking, etc. as they are probably the easiest way to cover the most hair effectively.


There are various other ways to cover the hair, such as placing the hair into tight, stocking-like caps, and then wearing berets, snow hats, and other things. This is done commonly, and is probably found more among religious Sephardic/Edot HaMizrach (those originating in North Africa and the Middle East) women. The most controversial way, though a very popular method, is that of the sheitel, or wig. Wigs come in all cuts, sizes, colors, and materials. For those who are more lenient and into style, a human hair sheitel, made to fit, professionally styled, and hand woven can cost into the thousands of dollars. For those against sheitels, the argument generally focuses on the attractiveness they add to women. Afterall, they are hair. Some women offset this by wearing synthetic wigs, but either way, they do look like hair. This claim is often made by Sephardic Jews.

Those who are most in favor of wigs are Lubavitchers. For them, wigs are the most preferred as they are the "most unlikely to be removed", as they require alot of effort and make the hair underneath matted. I'm not sure that a fake only-bangs sheitel, covered by a foam mass, then covered by a tichel is any easier to remove, and leaves the hair looking any nicer, but who am I to argue? Some women also cover their sheitels with hats, especially during religious events, as a way to counter the "leniency" of a sheitel.

What's That Beanie For?

Walking around Meah Shearim yesterday presented me with an obvious mode of identification, both in Israel and the Jewish world at large: head coverings. Though initially and primarily worn as a sign of reverence for G-d, and to remind the wearer that there is something greater above him, it has taken on many more meanings. For men who are religious, the type of yarmulke (kippah, whatever you prefer) they wears says alot about their religious and political ideas.

First, perhaps the most common yarmulke is the kippa srugah (knitted kippa). This one is worn by the Modern Orthodox types in America, and by the "dati leumi" (national religious) types in Israel. The wearers of the kippa srugah identify themselves as religious observant, but very much a part of the average American (or Israeli, British, Canadian, etc.) society. They are also almost always 100% supportive of Zionism, from both a religious and political perspective. Especially in Israel, the kippa srugah symbolizes the placement of the medina (state) above religious duty. These people tend to allow Zionism to take the place of real Torah, and often find themselves trying to justify their world outlook from a religious vision that many, if not most, say cannot be justified. These men almost universally do not wear a hat in addition to their yarmulke.


The second most common style is the black velvet yarmulke. The black velvet yarmulke is almost only worn by ultra-Orthodox men. The black velvet yarmulke not only stands as a symbol that religion and Jewish culture take priority over the general society in which the wearer lives, but also shows a bewildered approach to Zionism at the least, with many more being virtually completely opposed to the secular regime in Israel, seeing Zionism as an attempt to uproot and replace Judaism, and as out of line with the edicts of Jewish religious law. The wearer may be Chasidic, Litvish (European non-Chasidic ultra-Orthodox), or ultra-Orthodox Sephardic.


A third type of yarmulke is that worn by Yerushalmis. Yerushalmis are ultra-Orthodox European Jews, both Chasidic and non-Chasidic, who arrived in Yerushalayim (Jerusalem) more than 100 years ago. There are those who wear this yarmulke only on Shabbos and holidays (many non-Chasidic Yerushalmis do this, as well as quasi-Yerushalmi Chasidim, like some Jerusalem-based Bostoners), or it can be worn all the time. Those who wear this yarmulke are completely removed from the secular society of Israel. Their language of preference is Yiddish, and Hebrew is only spoken if absolutely needed. They hold non-ultra-Orthodox Jews in contempt, and are wary of their presence in their neighborhoods. While walking through Meah Shearim and other areas where Yerushalmis live, one can find grafitti on the walls saying things like "Palestine (meaning all of modern Israel) for the Arabs".


There is a similar case with the particular ways in which women cover their hair. I may write about that very soon...

Shabbos in Mezhbuzh...Not Quite

Shabbos might be great in Mezhbuzh (the Ukrainian resting place of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chasidism), but I must say that Shabbos in Yerushalayim is pretty great, too. I got tons of sleep, and had nice alone time at the kosel. To finish it off, havdallah at the kosel was very nice.

Friday night, I ate with two friends and a random odd man at the home of one of my rabbis in yeshiva. His kids are very cute and upbeat, and with Shimon, myself, and the rabbi singing, we had a very nice time with the meal, stories of real Torah tzadikim (righteous people), such as Reb Shlomo of Bobov and the Alter Klausenburger Rebbe. The random odd man was dressed in a way to make himself overtly out of place, and he was introduced to us by the rabbi as "someone who has taken a taanis dibur for Shabbos". Now, the point of a taanis dibur (a fast from speech) is to (1) make us concentrate on what we say, so that we can work on our speech, and (2) to take something that was used for gossip (our mouths) and use it only for prayer and to speak words of Torah, thereby making a reparation with the item that did sins in the first place. However, this man decided, for whatever reason, that he wouldn't even speak words of Torah. Basically he just listened through the meal and flapped his arms and hands when he wanted something...give me a break. This, as another rabbi said when the story was relayed to him, is just absurd. "Fundamentalism of any stripe is very suspect," he said.

The next day, I went with the same friends (minus odd "taanis dibur" guy) to another rabbi's apartment. After a rather short, but very nice, meal, I walked by myself to the kosel. Upon arriving, I davened mincha, and then watched people. On Shabbos, the kosel is so full of diverse people, that it is a perfect people to just find a spot and watch. As new groups of tourists arrive, it always makes me giggle to see the people (who completely ignore the 50-odd signs around making restrictions clear) get offended when people make them stop using phones, cameras, and other things forbidden on Shabbos. One thing that was especially laughable was when a large group of people from New York arrived. The group, by mere virtue of touring on Shabbos, was obviously not religious, and one of the women was sporting a bright pink yarmulke at the top of her head. As an American, I have seen this sort of thing many times, with non-religious Jews expressing their non-religiousness by misinterpreting religious ideas. However, Israelis are not at all used to such things. In Israel, if someone isn't religious, they tend to not associate themselves with religious symbols, and even on the rare even that they attend religious services, it is 999 times out of 1000, an Orthodox service. As this woman stood on the edge of the group, the religious Israelis were all drawn to her. Eventually, a well-meaning woman approached her to let her know that only men had to wear yarmulkes at the kosel. This apparently offended the wearer, and she soon launched into mocking the religious people at the kosel, and saying that our control of Israel is insane.


I find that this happens often in Judaism. For those of us who are religious, it seems odd that someone would embrace religious ideas and symbols as sumply cultural, use these ideas and symbols at will in any way they choose, and then deny the legitimacy of the people who instituted these ideas and symbols. Interestingly enough, this is what Chanukkah is essentially about: the Greeks wanted to do away with any "religious undertones" in Judaism, expell strange faith-based behavior, and leave the Jewish people with a "Judaism" based only on cultural connections and various historical practices. The branches of non-Orthodox Judaism seem to really be into this, too, so why do they light the menorah? To (only culturally and historically) remember that with the help of "G-d", the Jewish people triumphed over those who wished to make Judaism only culturally and historically relevant? Interesting....

I stayed at the kosel the rest of the day, eating seuda shlishis (the third meal of Shabbos) there, and making havdallah with a huge crowd gathered around the entrance to the men's side of the wall. All in all, it was a very nice Shabbos.

Really Not That Different...

Since I've been in Israel, it hasn't really occurred to me that I'm in a different country. I can walk into almost any store or restaurant in the surrounding area of Rechavia/Shaarei Chesed/Nachlaot/City Center and speak in English, and get an English response without much hesitation. On the bustling Ben Yehudah Street, packed with seminary girls and yeshiva guys, English can be heard over Hebrew 10 to 1. I still feel like I can get in a car and drive over to my parents' house, or go to Sarah Chaya and Avraham's for dinner. There are, however, a few things that I have picked up as being "different" in the time that I have been here so far:


1. traffic: By traffic, I don't mean just vehicles. In most places, pedestrians and automobiles share street and sidewalk alike, with people walking in the middle of busy streets and mopeds and cars driving in open air plazas. The most popular place for cars to park in Jerusalem seems to be slanted on the sidewalks, and because many of the neighborhood streets are so small, people are forced to walk in the middle, with cars (usually taxis) zooming by, barely missing the people.

2. taxis: In America, taxis are generally outdated cars, or at best some mediocre make and model. In Israel, however, the vast majority of taxis are either Mercedes, Volkswagen Passats, or Peugeots.

3. check out counters: The places where you place your items is about half the length and width as in America, meaning that you can't generally put anything up until you are the person being checked out. Also, you normally have to bag your own groceries.

4. lines: I have noticed this each time I came to Israel, and it can also be found among the Israelis in America. If you see people in Israel waiting in a straight, normal line, then you can be sure that those people are not Israeli. Israelis tend to huddle by whatever it is they want to enter, bypassing any silly Westerner who has some sense of being cordial and waiting their turn. When I came back from Israel last time (during the summer), my plane landed at JFK at the same time as a British Airways flight from London. When we went through the border and got our luggage, the El Al passengers were all huddled at the customs gate, while the British Airways passengers were standing in a single file line at their gate. After several warnings, the customs attendant at the El Al gate closed his gate and left. The (seeming) need for order leaves Israelis confused.

5. living quality: In general, the interior of average Israeli homes and apartments just isn't what it is in America. Before I came to Israel for this extended stay, I voiced my reservations about living in a country that is "minimalist and quasi-section 8; a Third World country pretending to be Western." Well, I seem to be doing okay, but still, looking at unpainted walls and exposed wires, ignored cobwebs and laundry hanging over streets for all to see makes me cringe a little. Also, I miss being able to shower without pre-planning. Now, I have to press a switch and wait 30 minutes for my water to heat up so that I can take a 5 second shower.


6. expression: Unlike America, expression seems to be found all over in Jerusalem. There is hardly a wall without some form of grafiti or art. Here, people don't seem to frown at what Americans call "defacing public property". Except for private homes and upscale hotels, one can find political statements, small art exhibits, and poems sprayed on the columns and retaining walls. This is especially true in the adjoining area of Nachlaot. Nachlaot is, for lack of a better description, an Orthodox Jewish 1960's Haight-Ashbury. On my walk to the city center, I pass an organic co-op garden in Nachlaot, where men in tye-dye shirts and dreadlocks with yarmulkes sit with barefoot babies and women with elaborate, colorful scarves covering their hair (as opposed to the usual wigs), playing in the dirt with the scent of incense clearly present. This open expression seems to extend all across Jerusalem, as well as in Tel Aviv, though the flavor there is a bit different to say the least.

For now, these are the most prominent differences that I can recall. Perhaps later I will edit, or make occassional "What's Different" posts as I see the need.

What A Day

Today, for the second day this week, I woke up ill. After coughing all night, sleeping very little, and waking up achey, it was clear that I would not be going to yeshiva, at least for the first half of the day. I continued to lay in bed, sleeping on and off, as the trees beat against my window from the BRUTAL winds outside. On the other side of the apartment, Arab workers pounded away, trying to finish the giant apartment next door before the American owners come for their first, and likely only, visit during Pesach. For those that don't know, my neighborhood, as well as the adjoining neighborhood, are popular places for American and British people to buy apartments, renovate them, and then only come once or twice a year. This has caused the real estate to rise dramatically, evethough a large percentage of the homeowners are only here, at most, 18 days a year.

When I finally did wake up, I went to the kanyonit (small shopping center) at the bottom of the medical plaza across the street. With the wind staying strong, it was difficult to walk straight on the sidewalk leading to the kanyonit. Jerusalem is generally windy, and living on the side of a large hill doesn't help matters. When I finally got inside, I found that the pharmacy, as well as most other stores, had a big sign saying: Closed for election day. The only useful store open was Mr. Zol, and despite the name (meaning Mr. Cheap), the groceries and other items are often several shekels more than at other stores. Finally, with apple juice and tea, I scurried back to my apartment, dodging whatever the wind had whipped up.


Back in my apartment, I checked the computer to see what was going on with the elections. A friend in the yeshiva told me that for businesses, election day is like Shabbos: workers given the day off, no one to answer phones, rare disobedient places open. Apparently the religious world is equally as concerned with going to the voting booth. One of the Gedolei HaDor (great rabbis of the generation) here in Israel said that voting for "Gimmel" (the letter used to indicate the ultra-Orthodox party) outweighs one's obligation to sit shiva! What?!? To sit shiva is one of the most crucial periods of mourning for a lost relative, where they immediate family privately and intensely mourns for their loss. Voting is more important than that? Another rabbi, HaRav Ovadia Yosef, said that voting for his political party is the only appropriate thing to do in honor of the memory of the one who has died. As I cannot vote, this whole show hardly has anything to do with me. However, it is very interesting to see how seriously politics are viewed in Israel, that people are allowed to push off religious obligations in order to vote against the secular, Zionist parties.

In other news, it seems that going to Switzerland has turned my Swiss roommate into the new Martha Stewart. He has decided to re-do the apartment, and the refrigerator is defrosting in the hall (I always wanted a lake in my apartment), and there is spackling material scattered throughout the apartment.

Eilu D'vorim

With the set of the sun this evening, the world was zoche (merited) to enter Tu B'Shevat (the 15th of Shevat), the new years of trees. Jewis law gives over that instead of only one new year, there are actually four, each one spelling out a year of time for different things, depending on certain qualities. Though it has small implications on the average life of many of even the more religious community of Jews, Tu B'Shevat, as with everything in Judaism, has important lessons for each one of us.

While at the small tish held in my yeshiva in honor of the arrival of the day, one of my rebbes gave over the following vort. In Hebrew, the word for "human" is "adam", connected to the world "adamah", meaning "earth". This is to symbolize that man came from the ground, and he will one day return to the ground. While this is often as far as people go with this connection, the vort expressed a deeper connection. The maggid shiur (instructor) said that just as adamah (earth) has the ability to produce great fruits if worked and toiled over, so too with adam, or humans. If a person works on their spirituality, and truly internalizes real Torah, they have the ability to produce tremendous fruits. If however, they fail to work on themselves, just as with land, they will be left with weeds and barrenness.

A second maggid shiur, to compliment the vort, gave a short story of a Chasidishe rebbe. One year, the rebbe expected that only around 80 Chasidim would attend his tish for Tu B'Shevat. However, once the tish began, more than 200 people arrived. Each person was looking to partake in fruits and produce, as is custom in honor of Tu B'Shevat. When one Chasid reached the rebbe, he complained, "Rebbe, I came looking for fruit, but their is nothing left to eat." In response, the rebbe quoted a piece from the opening of Shacharis (the morning prayers): "Eily d'vurim she'udum oicheil peiroisei'hem bu'oilum hazeh, v'hakeren kayemes loi lu'oilum habu...g'milis chasudim...hachnusas oirchim, ivikir choilim...v'iyin t'filu," meaning "These are the things that man eats the fruit of in this world, but whose principal remains for him in the World to Come...acts of kindness...welcoming visitors, visiting the sick...and praying with depth." Then he said that the statement is finished by an important addition, "v'salmid Toiru k'neged kilum", or "the study is Torah is equal to it all." "You want to eat fruit," the rebbe asked. "Then go learn more torah." May this combined lesson be internalized by all of us on this Tu B'Shevat.

Shabbos: Mekor HaBracha (The Source of Blessing)

This Shabbos was an "in yeshiva" Shabbos, which meant that we all had to stay in our diras (apartments), eat meals with each other in the cheder ochel (dining room), and daven (pray) at the yeshiva. At first I was a little disappointed that I would have to do all of this. I really wanted to go somewhere else, anywhere else, and have a Shabbos that was different from "everyday yeshiva". However, this Shabbos was far from "everyday".

The rosh yeshiva is famous for giving controversial speeches to the yeshiva. Often, he says that he makes a point to say what isn't allowed to be said anymore. Each speech that he gives challenges some accepted part of society, religion, or religious Jewish life. His talks this Shabbos were no different. As we were huddled together in a crowded little shul (synagogue) in the neighborhood, the rosh yeshiva spoke against mussar. Mussar is a style of giving detailed, often times harsh, speeches and lessons on how to curb morals. The mussar movement grew out of the Litvish (Lithuanian) Jewish world, and is often seen as the opposite of Chasidus (mystical, more positive school of thought).



Seeing as how the rosh yeshiva is himself Litvish, and attended some of the most prominent Litvish yeshivas, it might be assumed that he is very much in favor of the mussar movement. However, he has often stated that mussar is a replacement for real Torah, and this Shabbos was no different. He spoke from a sefer (book) written by R' Chaim Volozhiner, what many would think of as a true 19th century mussar authority. His words were very interesting. The Volozhiner's sefer says that the ikar (point) of Jewish life is not yira (the fear of G-d), but simply Torah, and anyone who tries to use mussar as the means to to establish real yira and accumulate Torah is wasting their time. According to the rosh yeshiva, yira is simply a container in which to carry the lessons of Torah, and without ever learning real Torah, all you have is a container, but how can something serve as a container with nothing inside? "Ein contents, ein container (no contents, no container)," he said. Really, if you focus your attention on only yiras Hashem, all you have at the end of your life is an empty jar.

The rosh yeshiva also held a post-meal "tish" of sorts. The rosh yeshiva sat at the head of a large table, while everyone else sat along the sides, with other people standing on benches on either side of the room. As I had walked to the kosel (Western Wall) with a friend immediately after the meal, I didn't get back to the rosh yeshiva's shmooze until it was almost over. When I walked in, the scene was a mini version of what one sees when they go to a Shabbos tish of a Chasidic rebbe. The room was full of people, those on the edges standing high on benches and chairs so they could get a good view, and those around the table leaned in so they could see and hear the rosh yeshiva clearly. My friend who went with me to the kosel commented that the yeshiva gets more and more Chasidish with regard to the rosh yeshiva as time goes on, and coming from a strong Chasidish background, his words clearly have truth to them; I felt the same way. After his shmooze, the rosh yeshiva took questions from any bochur (young guy) who had a question. His answers reflected his hashkafa (philosophic) strongholds of the essential reality of "Ein Od Milvado" (there is nothing at all except for G-d), that physicality is sheker (false), and people being trapped as "five-sense prisoners", as they fail to connect to real spirituality because they never move beyond their five physical senses.

One thing he said really touched me. When asked about the status of rabbis and rebbes, as well as people, who follow what seems to be a true derech (path), he said, "You must always assume that everyone you see is fake until proven otherwise. It doesn't matter the size of their beard or peyos, how intense their kavanadik (concentration-bringing) movements are during davening, or how much mussar or Chasidus they learn. You must operate with the assumption that they are fake, until you see them rubbing shoulders with the poor at least as often as with the rich."

The rosh yeshivas words over Shabbos were very inspiring, as everything that he says, he truly means and lives. The yeshiva that he runs is not a yeshiva for those who buy into the trappings of what is conventionally seen as what it means to be an ultra-Orthodox (or even Orthodox) Jew. The rosh yeshiva stresses the importance of learning Torah itself, for the sake of learning Torah. He also sees value in learning mussar and Chasidus, but only as an accompaniment of Torah, only at a pace that helps these ideas contain the Torah they were meant to contain, and only with the understanding that end result should be good middos (traits), not a nice levush (exterior).

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

More than any city I've visited, Yerushalayim has its landscape dotted with countless signs. The signs themselves are posted by people offering classes, advertising their clothes washing, seeking help, and warning people before entering religious neighborhoods. Today, while walking back from lunch, I saw that my neighborhood has the same famous as Meah Shearim. These signs are often photographed, and warn people passing through to not wear immodest clothing. Women are clearly asked to not wear short sleeve shirts, pants, or short skirts in the area, as the population is largely (if not completely) made up of ultra-Orthodox Jews. It shocked me when I saw the same thing in my own neighborhood, as I had obviously passed it many times and not noticed that it was there.

The most common signs found posted to the walls of buildings at intersections are black and white posters announcing the ptira (death) of someone. If the person is relatively unknown, the posters are only found in the immediate area. If they are announcing the ptira of a well-known figure, the signs might be found all over the city. The reason for this, as well as the occasional cars driving around with loudspeakers announcing levaya (funeral) times and locations is because of the care taken for the dead. As we do not wish to prolong the suffering of a soul by being torn out of a body, and continuously witnessing the dead body laying here and there, we try to bury the person as soon as possible, preferably on the day of death. These signs were seen recently here in Yerushalayim upon the ptira of Rav Avraham Ravitz, a notable MK (member of the Knesset, or Israeli parliament) and one of the political leaders of the ultra-Orthodox political party.

The same came again this morning, with the loss of a great member of the Jewish people. Sometime between last night and this morning, Harav Noach Weinberg, zt"l, was niftar (passed away). Harav Weinberg was the Rosh Yeshiva and founder of the famous Aish HaTorah yeshiva, which has yeshiva and outreach branches across the world. While controversial, Harav Weinberg is responsible for countless Jews returning to devoted, religious lives. For the past 50 years, this holy leader of the Jewish people led the kiruv (outreach) organization of Aish HaTorah, helping to bring Torah to all of the Jewish world.

While addressing this weeks parsha (Torah portion), the holy Noam Elimelech notes that because Yosef (Joseph) followed on the path of his father Yaakov (Jacob), the holiness and capability of Yaakov was transfered to his son. This, says the Noam Elimelech, is the reason that while Yaakov's body was returned to eretz Yisroel (the land of Israel) for burial, Yosef continued to live in Mitzrayim (Egypt) and was initially "buried" there. When the Torah notes that Moshe (Moses) brought the bones of Yosef with him out of Mitzrayim, it says that Yosef told the Jewish people that through this, G-d would remember them. The Noam Elimelech takes this to mean that in the rememberance and merit of Yosef, the Jewish people would also be zoche (merited) to receive tremendous acts on their trek.

Jewish tradition relates that when G-d was preparing for kriyas yam suf (the splitting of the Sea of Reeds), the angels told G-d not to help the Jewish people, as they were idol worshippers. (This is understood to mean that they did not believe in the fullness of Divine Providence, or hashgacha pratis.) However, we know that "the sea saw, and it split", meaning that it saw the coffin of Yosef, and Moshe, the leader of the Jewish people, who had also reached the level of Yosef and Yaakov. Because of the great devotion, spirituality, and level of Yosef and the new leader Moshe, the sea automatically split, because Creation knew that with the leadership of such a tzadik (righteous person), the Jewish people themselves would also be transformed.

In the memory of such a great pilar of the Jewish world (Harav Noach Weinberg, zt"l), may we be moved to also dedicate ourselves to bringing the light of Torah to darkened lives, that we may all be zoche to see the ultimate and final redemption now, in our days.