Doesn't Make Sense

In this weeks parsha, Parshas Chukas, we are introduced to the laws regarding the para adumah, or the red heifer. The complex, seemingly strange ritual surrounding the process of killing and burning the para adumah include using various types of branches and wool to burn with the animal. The example of the para adumah is generally used as the classic chok, a commandment that transcends any understanding or logic that humans might attempt to attach to it.

In the Gemara, the para adumah is brought up in an interesting context. When giving the example of the person who most perfectly honored their parents, the Gemara presents a non-Jew named Dama ben Nessina. According to the Gemara, he was so dedicated to kibud av v'eim (honoring one's father and mother) that his refusal to wake his father from sleep caused him to lose a great fortune. The Gemara says that because of this high level in honoring his parents, Dama ben Nissa was rewarded by receiving a perfect, unblemished red heifer, which was purchased by his Jewish neighbors for a price that far exceeded any profit he would have made in the missed business deal.

The first Gerrer rebbe, the Chidushei HaRim, asks why Dama ben Nissa was rewarded by receiving a para adumah to sell to Jews. Surely the reward could have come in any form, as G-d is not limited, and the lost income could have been made up in any number of ways. The Chidushei HaRim explains that whenever the perfect example of Dama ben Nissa was shown, the malachim (angels) in shamayim (Heaven) began to criticize the Jewish people. They wondered how it could be that a non-Jew, who does not even have the requirement to fulfill the commandment of honoring his parents, could have achieved a higher perfection in the area than a Jew, who is required to observe the commandment. In response to this criticism from the malachim, G-d provided Dama ben Nissa with the red heifer, which was bought for a very high price by Jewish neighbors. The example showed that while the non-Jew Dama ben Nissa was prepared to sacrifice a large sum of money to honor his father (a commandment which is logical), the Jewish people are prepared to sacrifice an even larger amount of money to buy a para adumah, which is a mitzvah (commandment) that completely defies any human comprehension.

Hak'hei Es Shinav

In the liturgy of the hagadah for both seders on the first nights of Pesach (Passover), we read the famous exchange regarding the four sons: the wise one, the evil one, the simple one, and the one who does not know how to ask questions. The ancient author of the hagadah finds the references to these four types of sons in the Torah, in various places where Pesach is addressed. It is from these places that the hagadah gives the answers we are to give the various sons when they ask their particular questions. Interestingly, the answer we are to give the evil son is the same as the answer we are to give the son who does not know how to ask. The Aish Kodesh (Rav Kalonymos Kalmish Shapira zt"l) writes that this is because both children are unable to see the holiness of the complexities of Judaism, and are given the same answer to draw them closer to the emes (truth) and kedusha (holiness) of G-d.


Just before these four sons are introduced in the hagadah, we read the words, "Baruch hamakom, baruch hu, baruch shenasan Torah l'amo Yisrael" ("Blessed is the Omnipresent, blessed is He, blessed is the Giver of Torah to His people Israel"). The author of the hagadah clearly set up the order of the seder in a way that is meant to convey something special and significant, but what is the connection between our blessing G-d and the four sons?

In shacharis (morning prayer service), we ask G-d "racheim na aleinu, v'sein b'libeinu binah," meaning "please have mercy upon us, and place in our hearts understanding." The Aish Kodesh explains that this is a statement of faith in G-d's keeping of the entire Torah. Because there is a mitzvah in the Torah to teach the wisdom of Torah to our children, the mitzvah is also incumbent upon G-d as well. Therefore, in this prayer, we are saying, "G-d, just as we are commanded to teach our children, so are you commanded to teach us, so please teach us the understanding of the Torah."


With regard to the four sons in the hagadah, we are given specific answers tailored to fit the needs of each child, as we are required to help them broaden their understanding of Judaism and G-d. The same is true, then, of G-d, who must also teach even the most wicked among us to understand Torah and draw him closer to truth and holiness. This is why we say the words, "Blessed is the Omnipresent, blessed is He, blessed is the Giver of Torah to His people Israel," before speaking of the sons. We are stating out loud that because G-d is complete Truth and has given us the Torah, which is the expression of complete truth, G-d must teach us to understand the Torah in ways that are uniquely suited for us, even if (as it says of the evil son) our teeth must be blunted and we must undergo trials and difficulties in the process.

From Many, One

In the Torah reading for this week, we move from sefer Shemos (Exodus) to Vayikra (Leviticus). In this week's parsha, Vayikra, the Torah discusses the various korbonos (offerings/sacrifices) that individuals are instructed to bring. The parsha begins with G-d telling Moshe (Moses) to speak to the People of Israel, telling them, "Adam ki yakriv mikem korban" ("When a person from among you brings a sacrifice"). Chazal, the early sages of Judaism, teach us that the central purpose of offering a sacrifice is to nullify our personal desires to the Divine will. The focus of the system of sacrifices is not the blood spilled upon killing the animal, as indeed not all sacrifices were animals, but the focus and contrition of the person who brought the offering. The root of the word for sacrifice (korban) actually means "close" or "near", as the entire process was meant to draw an individual closer to G-d, closer to the community, and closer to their true essence through the symbolic giving of their own "animal self".

An interesting feature of the words spoken from Moshe to Klal Yisroel regarding sacrifices is the seemingly extra word "mikem" or "from you". Had this word not been included, the words themselves would still make perfect sense and also seem to have the same meaning ("When a person brings a sacrifice"). Because we know that not even a single letter in the entire Torah is unnecessary, we have to wonder why this word appears in the text, and what it comes to teach us.

The Chiddushei HaRim, the first Gerer rebbe, says that the answer to this question comes from the famous adage, "If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I?" It is commonly known that each person comes into this world with a specific task that is meant for that person alone, with a special piece of the universe to rectify that only they can impact. When a person works toward their task and eventually achieves this task, the ramifications are found within the entire community, and the whole of redemption is only achieved in the unity of countless individuals' tasks.


With this in mind, the Sfas Emes, the grandson of the Chiddushei HaRim, explains the need for the word "mikem" in the verse. The korbonos we bring are effective only because we bring them as a small part of a greater community. Not only does this apply to the actual physical offering brought, but also to the deeper meaning of the offering: self-sacrifice. Whenever we realize that we are part of a larger story, and our actions impact all of those around us, we come closer to understanding the great importance of replacing our desires and will with the will and desire of G-d.

Give It a Rest

In this week's parsha, Parshas Mishpatim, the Torah tells us that Shabbos was given "l'maan yonuach shoircha v'chamoirecha," for the purpose of your bulls and donkeys resting. The Sfas Emes asks why the Torah here seems to say that explicit reason for Shabbos is rest of resources, while in other places the Torah explains that Shabbos is to be a remembrance of the creation of the world.

When comparing these two passages, the Sfas Emes notes that the two share the theme of menucha, or "rest". The Sfas Emes, when explaining the original Shabbos in Bereishis (Genesis), writes that in truth, rest is not simply a pause from physical activity, but the Hebrew word menucha is meant to express a complete cessation from anything. He says that when we follow the Torah and halacha (Jewish law), we allow our real (spiritual) selves to rest from the false physical desires that distract us from G-dliness. Therefore, rest in the realest sense means to distance ourselves from something.

From this understanding of the word rest (menucha), we can see that whenever something subjugates itself to the Divine will, thus distancing itself from physicality, it is in the realm of "resting". In commenting on the first Shabbos, Rashi explains that this was the time when rest was actually created. At this point everything that was to be created was reated, and it sat perfectly in the Will of G-d, thus creation rested.


With this understanding of rest and creation in mind, the Sfas Emes explains the first verse metaphorically, speaking to the purpose of our lives. In this world (the pre-Shabbos workweek), our task is to bring ourselves into the reality of living a life that is within the complete Emes (truth) of the Creator. The mention of the donkey and bull, therefore, are references to our current physical nature. It is our job, through struggle and pressing ourselves into the reality of our spiritual selves, that we bring these physical desires into compliance with our true essence. When we succeed in this, we fulfill the verse, and our own bull and donkey (physical nature) is allowed to rest, or distance itself from the sheker (falsity) of the world in which the Divine is hidden.

Klal Gadol

There is a discussion amongst the early sages with regard to the biggest and most important idea in Judaism. Rabbi Akiva, one of the leading historical figures in Judaism, says that the entirety of Judaism is summed up in the verse, "Ve'ahavta la'rei'acha kamocha," ("And you should love your neighbor as yourself). Another rabbi, Ben-Azzai, says that the entirety of the Torah is actually summed up in the verse, "Zeh sefer toldos ha'adam" (Bereishis/Genesis 5:1). This verse is translated to mean, "This is the record of the generations of Adam," but actually says, "This is the record of the generations of the man" (Adam as a proper name is Adam, but as a regular noun means "man"; since this verse uses the word "the" before the word "adam", it means "person", not "Adam").

I suppose that it is easy to understand why Rabbi Akiva said that Judaism can be summed up in the verse, "And you should love your neighbor as yourself," but why does Ben-Azzai say a relatively obscure verse is the most important? The explanation is that after the verse, "This is the record of the generations...", the rest of the Torah goes on to describe the results of those who descended from one single person, the man called Adam. If Adam hadn't been exactly who he was, lived exactly as he was supposed to, and held the same regard for the importance of all of creation, none of the rest of the Torah would have been able to occur. From Adam came Noach, Avraham, Yitzchok, Yaakov, Yosef, and Moshe Rabbeinu (Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, and Moses). Therefore, Ben-Azzai says that the entire religion of Judaism is summed up in that verse, as it shows the importance and uniqueness of a single person in being able to completely change the world, and the same is true of all people.

The statements of Rabbi Akiva and Ben-Azzai are synthesized in a famous saying by Rabbi Hillel: "Im ein ani li, mi li? Uch'she'ani le'atzmi, mah ani? Ve'im lo ach'shav, eimasai?" (If I am not for myself, who will be? And if I am for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?) Rabbi Hillel is explaining that if a person does not do their unique duty and task in the world, and believe in their own importance, there will never be another "you" to do it. If, however, you allow this concentration on yourself to distract you from the plight and needs of others, this is also wrong. When do we know whether or not we should use our resources to complete out own task, and when we should use them to help others in need? This is the answer in the last part of the saying, "If not now, when?" We simply have to act, working on what we see and feel in the moment. It may not always be clear-cut, and it may not always be easy, but the struggle of this decision is what leads us to grow, think, and thrive.

Get It While You Can

"Vayikach Moishe es atzmois Yoisef imoi," ("And Moses took Joseph's bones with him"). Many commentators on the Torah ask why it specifically states that Moshe took the bones of Yosef with him, since this task had been charged to all of Bnei Yisroel (the Children of Israel). The Medrash states that the reason why it states that Moshe took the bones was because the rest of the people, while preparing to leave Mitzrayim (Egypt), were busy collecting the riches of the Egyptians as spoils after G-d defeated the Egyptians through the plagues. However, how is it that Bnei Yisroel is spoken of negatively as being "busy" with this task, when we see in last week's parsha that Moshe ordered the Jews to take from the Egyptians all that they could get out of them?

The Kedushas Tzion zt"l, one of the previous Bobover rebbes, gives an answer to this question. He says that clearly, if Moshe commanded the Jews to do something, it was a Divine directive, and cannot be seen as negative, but actually quite the opposite. The problem, says the Kedushas Tzion, was not in what was occupying their time, but the manner in which they were doing it. To explain, the Kedushas Tzion gives a different, but equally valid, translation of "atzmois Yoisef". The Kedushas Tzion says that it means the "essence of Yosef," meaning that Moshe was able to channel Yosef's great kavanah (Divine intention) in the activity that was being done. When Yosef had been a powerful minister in Egypt, he made sure to bring great wealth to the kingdom, knowing that one day the descendants of his father would leave Mitzrayim and be able to take the wealth with him. Because of this, he wanted the people to have enough wealth to take care of themselves in the wilderness so that they would be better equipped to do the will of G-d. When the Jews were going around collecting the wealth, however, they were collecting it only to be wealthy, and did not think at all about the greater reason for material wealth. Moshe Rabbeinu, on the other hand, took the "atzmois Yosef" with him, and collected the riches with the sole purpose of using it to use it later doing whatever G-d asked of him regarding what he collected.

People Get Ready

In this week's Torah portion, Parshas Bo, Moshe summons the elders of Israel and told them, "Mish'chu ukichu lochem tzoin limishpachoiseichem v'shachatu haposach" ("Draw forth and take for yourselves a sheep for your families and slaughter the Pesach offering," Exodus 12:21). Rashi explains the verse to mean that those who have flocks of sheep should take from what they already own (draw forth), and those who do not have should buy one in the market (take), and use these for their families. However, since we know that the Torah has countless levels of interpretation, there is a much deeper understanding to be found regarding this verse.


The Noam Elimelech notes that since this verse speaks about the performance of a specific act commanded by G-d, it has deep explanation regarding the way in which we are to carry out mitzvos. The first level is that of "draw forth". The Noam Elimelech compares this to meditation, which was the practice of the pious of previous generations. Before doing a mitzvah, they would sit in contemplation on the mitzvah, which would bring them to astonishment (the Hebrew word for "meditate" shares a root with the word "astonish"). By doing this, the Noam Elimelech says that we draw our souls upward, and then "take for yourselves," and we are able to partake in the elevated understandings and hidden secrets behind the mitzvos. By participating in this intense type of meditation and preparation, we become able to return with a "sheep for our families," by giving over our personal insight and reflection to others, so that they may also benefit from what we have uncovered in meditation, and to be aware that we have a greater responsibility to the community as a whole. The last step is the "slaughter," which is to actually carry out the mitzvah itself, doing the great act that connects this world with the next.

Gam Zu Letovah

In Va'eira, this week's parsha, as well as in other places in the Torah, we find that Moshe Rabbeinu (Moses) refers to himself as having difficulty speaking. In this portion specifically, Moshe says, "v'ani aral sefosoyim" ("I am of closed lips"). The specific issue that he continues to address is explained by commentators as being related to an event that happened when he was a very young child. After being taken into beis Paroi (the house of Pharaoh), Moshe was sitting on the lap of the king. While playing, he reached up and removed Paroi's crown and placed it on his own head. Becoming enraged and insulted, he initially wanted to have Moshe killed. However, his advisors suggested that Moshe had only done this unknowingly due to the fact that the gold was bright and attractive, and that were he given a choice between riches and burning coals (which are also bright), it would necessarily end with Moshe choosing the riches. To test the theory, the servants of Paroi brought two dishes before Moshe: one with gold and jewels, and another with hot coals. Even though Moshe was a young child, he was still intelligent and began to reach out for the jewels. However, G-d sent a malach (angel) to force Moshe's hand to grab the coals. Upon doing so, he immediately withdrew his hand and placed it into his mouth to sooth the heat. When he did this, his tongue and the inside of his mouth became severely burned, causing him to have a certain difficulty in speaking clearly. One must wonder why, with all of his ability and spiritual greatness, Moshe was never mispallel (prayed) that his speech difficulties be taken away, as it would relieve him of much difficulty and trouble, and also allow him to speak to Paroi without his brother Ahron serving as the mediator.


Several weeks ago, in Parshas Vayeitzei, the story of Leah was told. Leah, who was not Yaakov's first choice as a wife, outlived her sister Rochel, and gave more children than any of his other wives. As each one of the ancestors of the Jewish people have ruach hakodesh and were able to see what was coming, Leah assumed that since there would be four wives and twelve sons, each wife would have three sons. Therefore, whenever she became pregnant, and then gave birth to a fourth son, she said, "HaPaam, oideh es Hashem" ("This time, I will thank G-d"). The commentators give several explanations to what Leah said upon Yehudah's (Judah) birth. Famously, the mefarshim (commentators) say that Leah was the first person to thank G-d in the Torah. As there were many great people before her, it seems strange that she would be the first person to give thanks to G-d. Did Avraham, Yitzchok, Yaakov, and Noach never thank G-d? The explanation given is that Leah looked back on her life, seeing that she had difficulties in her life, and realized that this merited her to become the mother of more of the shvatim (tribes), and thanked G-d for the previous bad in her life. Therefore, this time she would thank G-d for the troubles in her life, and not feel bad that she didn't have an easier life, as this gave her the merit for many more wonders.

A second explanation of her words offers a different reading of her words. As the Torah does not have any punctuation marks, the syntax is decided by tradition. One tradition states that she didn't say, "This time I will thank G-d," but asked, "'In this instance I will thank G-d?' Therefore, she named him Judah." As she felt completely indebted to Hashem, she didn't want this to be the only time she remembered His wonders, and wanted to recall the greatness of G-d and thank Him over and over. Because the name Yehudah is from the root "to thank", each time Leah would say Yehudah's name, she would be reminded of the greatness of G-d, and therefore would offer up her thanks constantly.


This is how the commentators answer the initial question about Moshe: Why didn't he pray to have his speech impediment removed? The reason was because he realized that had the malach (angel) not caused him to move his hand and grab the coals, he would have been killed by Paroi (Pharaoh). Therefore, his speech impediment was a result of the miraculous act that saved his life. Because he never wanted to forget the greatness of G-d, he didn't pray for the problem to be fixed, remembering each time he spoke that G-d had saved his life, and he would be thankful every moment.

Life is Contemplation Spread Thin

This week's Torah portion, Vayeishiv, includes the passage, "And Yaakov settled in the land where his father dwelled" (Bereishis/Genesis 37:1). The Noam Elimelech zt"l, the holy Reb Elimelech of Lizhensk, the author of one of the greatest Chasidic works, connects this passage to the verse in Tehillim (Psalms), "May there be peace in Your chambers, serenity in your palaces." In showing the connection between these two verses, the Noam Elimelech addresses the innate task of the human being, an why we are given the specific role that we are given in creation.

To explain this, the Rebbe Reb Meilech brings the teaching of the Gemara that since the beginning of creation, there was not one who called G-d "Adon", or Master. The first being to do so was Avraham Avinu, Abraham our father, who began to address G-d as Adon, teaching us that we must strive to unify the Divine Name of Hashem, the four letter sacred name of G-d, which is read the same way as Adon'ai (My Master). The Zohar (central work of kaballah) further teaches that whenever we read the sacred Name of G-d as Adon'ai, we should meditate on unifying both names of G-d that are pronounced in that way. When this is done, the task is completed as is stated in Shacharis (the morning service), "El Adon al kol hama'asim," that Hashem is the Master over all creation. The name El implies mercy, as it says in Tehillim (Psalms), "The mercy of El exists all day long." Therefore, when we unify the Divine Name of G-d, we succeed in drawing down mercy into the world, which is "El" (the awakening of kindness in the world), and G-d becomes "Adon al kol hama'asim", master over all creations.

This unification of G-d's name, and the resulting Mastership of G-d, is the meaning of the verse in Chavakuk (Habakkuk 2:20), "Hashem is in His holy place; all the earth is quiet in His presence." The name Adon'ai, as it is the means of pronunciation for the sacred Name of G-d (which is not spelled Adon'ai), is called the "heichal" (entry hall) to the Divine Name. So, when the unification is brought into the "palace" (Sacred Name) by means of the "entry hall" (contemplating the word Adon'ai), "all the earth is quiet," as kindness and tranquility are released into creation. This is the deeper teaching of the verse in Bereishis (Genesis 2:5), "There was no man to work the ground." The word for ground, "adamah", is also used in the phrase in the Torah, "adamah Elyon," meaning, "I shall liken myself to the Exalted One." Therefore, man should always strive to compare the creation (adamah) to the Creator (Elyon), drawing the lower world to unity with the upper world. This is the reason for the creation of Adam, the first creature to begin the process of unifying the worlds. This beginning process is alluded to in the kaballistic introduction to the creation of Adam, stating that "a mist ("ad" in Hebrew, the first two letters of Adon'ai) rose from the ground."

From Adam until Avraham Avinu, no person called G-d "Adon", Master. Because of Avraham's great love and intellectual service, he was able to truly call G-d Master. According to the Noam Elimelech, this is done primarily through intellect, and the contemplation on the greatness of creation and the loftiness of G-d. After this meditation, awe and fear will naturally develop due to the intensity of the true expansion of Hashem's presence in creation. The Noam Elimelech says that this is the ideal manner in which we should serve G-d, as mitzvos (commandments) are also directed at this process. If this is the case, then why do we need to do the mitzvos at all? Shouldn't we achieve our avodah (holy work) through the better process of meditation, and not through the physical tasks associated with mitzvos?


To answer this question, the Noam Elimelech notes that we are, through the process of creation, (either seemingly or literally) compartmentalized into bodies, with each fleck of our souls having greater intensity around the physical bodies that we inhabit. If we were to simply meditate on G-d and the greatness of creation at all times, without interruption, our physical existence would be nullified due to the overwhelming majesty of G-d. This would not allow us to continue to live and awaken the sparks of Divinity scattered throughout creation for us to find. Therefore, we were given mitzvos, commandments to connect us to our physical body and to less-obviously lofty parts of creation. However, so that we would not be connected to physicality simply to be connected, each mitzvah was connected intrinsically to a piece of creation where we are to awaken sparks of the Divine (ex. special restrictions of shechita, or kosher slaughter for animals), which give us the connection to physicality and G-d at the same time, a state of being called "deveikus", or "cleaving."

This is the meaning of the verse first addressed in the opening, "And Yaakov settled in the land where his father dwelled." The root of the Hebrew word for "dwelled" (megurei) is also found in the verse in Bamidbar (Numbers 22:3), "Vayigar Mo'av...And Moav was afraid." Therefore, the verse can be read, "And Yaakov feared G-d at His true level of majesty." This is spoken about Yaakov in reference to the land of Canaan, which represents the physical world and body, and shows that Yaakov was able to remain in the correct level of fear because he was able to remain in his physical body to do his task of deveikus.


Therefore, the verse in Tehillim says, "May there be peace in your chambers, serenity in your palaces." The word for peace, "shalom", is the same as the word "shaleim", which means "complete" or "unified". Similarly, the word for "your chambers" (chayil) is the same as the word for the Divine legions in the upper world. Also, the word for "palaces" in the second half of the verse refers to the physical body, with which one uses to serve G-d through the physical commandments. This presents the deeper meaning of the verse, reading, "May the upper worlds (which is essentially the Divine Name) be unified, bringing about serenity in the physical world." May we all achieve the ability to meditate on creation and the mitzvos done through physical creation, so that "with our own bodies we see G-d," and remain balanced so that our deveikus may last from now until eternity, umein v'umein.

The More I See, The Less I Know

This Shavuos seemed to drag on longer than those in the past. While the staying up on the first night did feel like it flew by, I think the following day-and-a-half took three days to pass. Initially, everything seemed to be going well: I had a nice, small meal followed by learning with one of my roommates. With the learning, I felt like I accomplished more than I have my whole time here, which was very inspiring. However, when it came time for shacharis (morning prayers), things took a turn…


Instead of staying in the yeshiva like most other people, I decided against the warnings of those around me, and my own reason, and opted to walk to the kosel. Once there, I realized just how much of a mistake I had made: I was confronted with not a sea, but a wall of people, thousands upon thousands, smashed into the area around the kosel. Not wanting to turn back, and completely exhausted, I fought the crowds to make it inside the kosel where there are bookcases normally holding siddurim (prayer books). Clearly, I knew that this wouldn’t be the case this morning, but I felt that something had to go well after such a night of learning. Finally, after digging and searching behind books that were behind books that were behind books, I found a small siddur. Having been awake for more than 20 hours, and being amongst a wall of people in the same state, the prayers were a mixture of exhaustion, frustration, and tiny glimpses of solace. After finishing, I walked back to my apartment totally alone with the sun rising around me, trying to beat the masses and get into bed.

Once back home, I got into bed only to have my roommate’s alarm go off three hours later, reminding us that we had a meal to attend. The meal was at the home of my favorite neighbor, and the lighthearted, relaxed nature of the meal (with the addition of lasagna, quiche, and cheesecake) was enough to alleviate my fatigue momentarily. After the meal, I committed myself to walking with my roommate to the kosel again. After the trek there and back, I finally got into bed at 4:30, and slept a whole three hours again. At night I went to a meal with people I didn’t know, only to find myself talking to the 30-something year old cousin of the hosts about annoying Israelis. After this meal, I went to Belz, which was packed beyond belief. Eventually, I made my way home and crawled into bed at 2:15. Through the rest of Shavuos (the second day of which was also Shabbos), I basically slept, only to wake up to feed myself and daven (pray).


While I was at the kosel, watching the interaction of the people and experiencing the way in which things were handled, I started thinking about something that I previously began to write about, but never finished. I could try to explain it on the basis that people were tired, but that wouldn’t explain other times in which the same holds true, and regardless, excuses only go so far. The issue is this: while religious people always seem ready, even proud, to take on stringencies in their religious practice, they never seem to want to take on any stringencies on the mitzvos dealing with interpersonal relations. This seems ridiculous to me, as human beings are the creations and extensions of G-d. Why would you miss a chance to engage with, be kind to, or express general love and compassion to such a creation? Indeed, the great sage Rabbi Hillel said that the whole point of the Torah can be summed up in the mitzvah to love another person as you love yourself, with the rest of the oceans of knowledge and practice meant to drive this point home. Many, however, sadly feel too proud that they keep more restrictions on themselves, bringing their religion to be about objects and stringencies instead of love and expressions of Divinity. This is something that I continue to struggle with, as I see it all around me, with people pushing, struggling to be first and right, and acting as if everything is going well in their learning and life. Can’t they feel that something is missing, or are they too far gone?

A story was told of the Satmar Rebbe, dealing with stringencies and the ways in which people view them. In the early 1930’s, a student from a more modern yeshiva came to visit the rebbe. This student, being from a more modern city and background, had his beard completely trimmed off, a leniency that no one in the yeshiva of the Satmar Rebbe would dream of taking. After the young man left, one of the rebbe’s students approached him, asking him how he could welcome and meet with a Jew who didn’t take his religious life seriously enough to be stringent in this area. Sensing the complete lack of understanding and truth in his student, the rebbe responded, “It is possible that when this young man reaches the World to Come, HaKadosh Baruch Hu will ask him, ‘Holy Jew, where is your beard?’, but it is also possible that when you come into the World to Come, you will be asked, ‘Holy beard, where is your Jew?’” The simple story speaks volumes.

It's Beautiful, and So Are You

Tonight was a special night in Yerushalayim. As the neighborhood cleared out for a wedding of a fellow yeshiva student, I was gladly left to wander unihibited. I went to Ben Yedhudah Street for dinner, and having ordered to go, I found a nice, obscure spot to eat. It happened that the spot was within earshot of a small cafe with life music. Tonight, the music was provided by an Israeli guitar player who played soothing versions of already soothing Beatles songs. As I sat there, if just for a moment, I got to a place where I once again realized how nice it was to be in such a city as Yerushalayim.


Recently, I have had questions about my ability to really enjoy my time here in Israel, while also having to be preoccupied with yeshiva. What makes the difference? If something is wonderful, as so many things truly are, that quality should be present whether one is doing a million things or one thing. The difference, it seems, is the difference between two qualities addressed in the upcoming holiday of Shavuos: matan Torah and kabalas haTorah, the giving of Torah and the receiving of Torah.

Judaism teaches that while the revelation of Sinai took place in the desert at one time in history, it continues to come with us. Each day, constantly, Hashem pours out Torah onto the world, whether we realize it or not. On Shavuos, the holiday that marks the initial giving of the Torah, it seems that the magnetism of the moment is extra special, but the current giving of the Torah is not limited to that day. The difference about Shavuos is that it is a special day to concentrate our own minds and energy on the idea of the giving of Torah, what this means to us, and how we can refocus ourselves to be able to receive the Torah that is constantly poured upon us.

This is the real difference: we must recognize that the process of acquiring something is two-fold. First, the object must be made available. In the case of Torah, Hashem makes it available at every moment. Secondly, we must recognize our own responsibility and engage in kabalas haTorah, receiving the Torah.


To get to a place that truly enables one the be mekabel the Torah doesn't seem like an easy task. The sages, in their amazing understanding of the human condition, explained what is needed in order to achieve such a difficult task: one must make himself and his Torah hefker, meaning "without an owner". In his commentary, the scholar Rashi explains this to mean that one must understand that they are essentially not their own, but were placed on this earth for a purpose, and the same is true of the Torah knowledge already acquired. Once we understand this, and begin to share ourselves, our time, and our knowledge with others, Rashi says that this will clear our vessels and allow ourselves to receive all of the new insights into Torah that are flowing into the world at every moment. Even 2,500 years ago, Jewish scholars understood what we can hardly grasp today: only an empty vessel can receive more.

The story is told that there was once a great rabbi who, after learning all of Talmud Bavli (the extensive volumes of commentary composed by leaders of the exile community in Babylon) and committing it to memory, he wished to learn the Talmud Yerushalmi, written by the leaders in Jerusalem and filled with much more mystical insight. After attempting time and time again to learn the Yerushalmi, he found himself unable to remember even a single word. Finally, frustrated and confused, he visited another rabbi. Upon hearing of the problem, he was presented with a solution: in order to learn the great and mystical Talmud Yerushalmi, he had to forget all of the Bavli.


In our everyday life, we can apply this principle beyond Torah learning: the best way to increase something inside ourselves is to share it with others. The questions, struggles, and insights that this can bring are of infinite value. Perhaps this has been my problem here in Israel: I was too busy looking for what I didn't have, that I hardly understood what I do have. In this realization, in the ability to embrace and share our portion with others, everything can be found. The same is true of all things, and Torah in particular, if we accept the truth of it, as R' Ben Bag Bag said in Pirkei Avos, "Turn it and turn it again, for everything is in it." On this Shavuos, the season of the giving of Torah, may we all remember to receive our portion by understanding our role in giving it to others.

A Man Hears What He Wants to Hear...

In this week's parsha, Parshas Behar-Bechukosai, the posuk (verse) appears, "Im bechukosai tei'leichu v'es mitzvosai tishmeru...If you follow my statutes and observe my commandments". What is this double wording, "my statutes and my commandments"? In the Torah, not even a single letter is superfluous, so it cannot be that the two refer to the same thing. According to Chazal, the ancient generation of sages, "bechukosai" gives over a unique concept: toiling in Torah. In fact, the gematria (numerical value) of "bechukosai" is the same as the Hebrew for "toil in His Torah". The Chofetz Chaim says that the fact that we are commanded to toil is a chiddush (novel idea), because every mitzvah gains a reward, and who ever heard of someone getting paid (a reward) for not finishing a project! However, in Judaism, to toil is not only worthy of reward, but it is the ikar (main point) of Torah itself. To learn and love Torah, to see the little things and let all of creation be an inspiration and lesson to us, that's the whole point.


How can it be that we were so lucky to receive a way of life that grants us such a unique opportunity? We know from the Midrash that before HaKadosh Baruch Hu gave the Torah to the Jews, each nation of the world was presented with the option to received the Torah. However, each nation was told only the mitzvah that would prove to be the most difficult for them, so those who had a culture of stealing were told that they couldn't steal, and those that were very idolatrous were told only the commandment against idol worship. This caused each other nation to reject the Torah, unitl only the Jewish people were left, and we accepted the Torah without hearing even a word of the prohibitions. Rav Moshe Weinberger says that it doesn't necessarily mean that only the negative mitzvas were given, but these were the only ones that were heard. After hearing the entire Torah, the other nations were simply left with the stinging reminder of not being able to do this or that. They couldn't grasp the whole picture, and, in the end, turned away from G-d. The Jewish people, however, accepted it all, and received the precious mitzvah of being "amil b'Torah", to toil in the Torah.

There was once a British poetry-reciting competition. Each contestant was given various poems to recite, and the last poem chosen for the gorup was the Twenty-Third Psalm, Kapittel Kof-Gimmel of Tehillim. "Mizmor l'Dovid, Hashem roi, lo echsor...A Song of David, G-d is my shepherd, I will not lack anything". When the last contestant finished reciting, the entire audience began clapping, and it was clear that he was the winner. Amongst the clapping and noise, a small voice in the back of the auditorium began to shout, "Excuse me, excuse me... may I try...", and as the audience parted, a small, old, Chasidishe man was revealed, and he made his way to the front. Expecting to end the competition with a laugh, the judges of the competition permitted him to recite the Psalm. At first he recited a few words, translated them for the audience, but then he immersed himself in what he was saying, forgetting those watching him. The audience, first amused, switched to joy, and soon found themselves crying at the emotional, all-encompassing presentation before them. When the Chasid finished, he made his way down the stairs and out of the auditorium. The contestant who had been declared the winner chased after the Chasid, stopping him as he reached the exit. "Here," he said, hading the Chasid the trophy, "this is yours. Clearly you recited the last piece better than anyone else. But tell me...how did you make such an impression?" The Chasid refused to accept the trophy, and simply said, "You recited very nicely, 'The Lord is my shepherd,' but I know the shepherd, he's a friend of mine, I toil with him all day."


May we too realize the depth and importance of simply toiling in Torah, softening our hearts to know the reality of what is around us, and allowing ourselves to hear the truth about us, that we are all essentially precious, important, and holy, so that it will no longer be the concepts of Torah and G-d, but the reality, that fills our days.

I've Been Smiling Lately...

As the previous yeshiva period ended yesterday, I had all the time in the world to do whatever I wanted today. Luckily, today was one of the nicest days since I've been in Israel. Everywhere there was sunshine, people out on the streets, and a cool breeze blowing across the city. Times like these, where I can just wander around with my thoughts and Yerushalayim, make me realize how special this city is. Everything has as many sides are there are eyes to see them. Being here, I've seen Israel with both of mine: an irreligious occupier on the one hand, and a strangely happy place, full of life and energy on the other. However, I can never quite place what it is about Israel that brings people back. One might say the history, or the religious significance, but those are really just for tourists and extremists in the West Bank. All I can say about Israel is that it is full of life. It is full of life in a way that America isn't. Perhaps that is the result of living a life where people on all (not both, there is never simple duality) sides of the conflict face death, but it infuses Israel with something that is palpable. Author Jack Kerouac once said, "The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...and everybody goes 'Awww!'" If he wanted to find a place like the person he was seeking, Israel would certainly be that place. Holiness can be felt in the air.

In this week's parsha, we begin to read about the korbanos (offerings) that are to be brought in the beis hamikdash (temple). Today, as I sat in the Old City, looking out on the sight where the temple once stood and korbanos were offered, it was easy to get lost in the whole situation, thinking about that which used to be carried out on the very spot where I sat. The Torah says that a person is to bring an offering "from animals, from cattle, or from the flock". Why does the Torah state animals, and then name two things that are obviously covered under the category of "animals"? Rashi (the greatest commentator on the basic meaning of the Torah) says that this was to show that not all animals are acceptable, but only those that are domesticated among the flocks of Klal Yisroel. What is the significance of this, why not all animals, such as those captured in hunting or through effort? The Medrash Tanchuma says that this is to show that all G-d wants is that which is easily available. To initially draw close to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, we need only give that which we already have in our possession. Afterall, it was G-d who gave it to us in the first place, and it was meant to be used for something greater.

Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis tells a related story about using whatever we have in our immediate possession to form a bond with G-d. Once, while waiting in the car for a friend on 13th Avenue in Boro Park, she saw an older Jewish woman begging for money on the street. After receiving money from several people, the lady moved to the side, began eating something small for lunch, and came to blend in with the crowd. Soon, an elderly man walked down the street, asking for money as the woman had just done. When he approached the lady, not knowing that she was in the same situation as he was, he asked her for money. Immediately, the woman reached into her pockets and gave the elderly man charity. This, remarked Rebbetzin Jungreis, is the mark of a real, deep-down religious Jew. This is a person who knows that what we have is only from G-d, and we must use it as G-d tells us.


This week's Torah portion goes further to say that with each one of the offerings, we should bring salt. The Midrash explains that when the world was created, and the "lower waters" were split from the "upper waters", the lower waters were upset that they were left in the physical world, seemingly further away from the revealed Divine. G-d evened this out by noting that each korban (offering) would have to be brought with salt, which is taken from the waters of the earth. If this is a way of rectifying the split between the two waters, why not have sea water given with every offering instead of salt, something that only comes out of the water? Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetsky zt"l says that this is exactly the point! The water itself is elevated simply through evaporation, an easy process. That which is left behind is the salt, which does not naturally climb on its own. In this requirement, G-d is telling us that we should offer up those parts of us not naturally drawn to spirituality and elevation. When we work to bring that which we have difficulty carrying out of gashmius (physicality), this is the greatest offering.

Now we can see a glimpse of the importance and relevance of a korban (offering). In an attempt to get ourselves back on the right path, we must first offer up that which is easily attained, and has already been put in our midst by G-d to create the initial connection. This might be our quickness to feel spirituality in song, or meditation, or religious study, or giving charity. In fact, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov said that giving charity makes up for multitudes of misdeeds, and the reason can be understood in light of this. As it is using something granted to us by G-d to open a channel of holiness in this world, and tugging our heart to move further in the right direction. Once we begin to engage in these things, and we feel ourselves open up to HaKadosh Baruch Hu once more, then we work to elevate whatever brought us to sin, that which is not naturally inclined to align itself with G-d, and in this "salt" is found our individualized task in this world. The whole system of korbanos (offerings) exists to change us internally and bring us even closer to G-d. This is why an offering is called a "korban", which has the same root as the word "karov", meaning "close" as they are meant to bring us nearer to G-d. Now it becomes more clear why, in the Nevi'im (Prophets) it says that more than sacrifices, G-d prefers humble people, contrite hearts, and repentent souls, because this is the intended result of the offerings.

With the arrival of the new Hebrew month of Nissan, may we all strive harder to elevate that which does not easily move upward, so that we can look beyond ourselves, see the life swirling all around us, and uplift the universe to see the final redemption soon, in our days. Omayn.

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.

Hey, Don't I Know You From Somewhere?

Preparation is a big thing in Judaism. Before we do anything, we prepare. Before Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur, we begin long daily services to prepare our souls for judgment through the meditative repentance of slichos. Before Pesach, we clean our belongings…everything from the family car to the pages of any books that might have been open while eating, lest we miss a speck of chometz (leven). In the case of Shabbos, we immediately begin to prepare for the next one as soon as the current Shabbos ends. Not only does this pertain to holidays, but also to every-day commandments.



Before morning prayers, we chant Tehillim (Psalms) and other Nach-based liturgy called “Pesukei d’Zimra”, or “Verses of Praise”. The Noam Elimelech (early Chasidic commentator) relates the word for “praiseful song” (zimra) to the word for “pruning” (zamar). How can we make sense of the connection between these words? The Noam Elimelech finds that the connection is that the two hold the same quality: the ability to remove that which is bad. For the Noam Elimelech, the purpose of preparation was to rid oneself of the negative thoughts that get in the way of deeply connecting to the moment. The same is true with “Pesukei d’Zimra”. The verses are put in place to be a meditative and forceful way of ridding the mind of clutter before really getting down to business (i.e. praying with deep intent).

Haman, the villain of the story of Esther, tried to have the Jews of Persia killed by saying that they went against the king. He claimed that every day the Jews refused to work, saying “Today is Pesach”, and “Today is Shabbos”. In regard to Haman’s accusation, the Noam Elimelech admits that the reality of this claim is impossible. The Jews of the exile would certainly not lie, claiming that it is a Holy Day when it wasn’t true. Instead, Reb Elimelech states that immense preparation was the source of the Jews’ claims. Because they had such intent when preparing for a mitzvah, it was as if they were already fulfilling it. Many of that day’s Jews prepared so carefully and deeply for Shabbos, that not a day went by without moving them into the awe and relaxation of Shabbos. Similarly, their deep reflection and repentance over even the minor “crumbs” of sins made everyday like Pesach.



Because we are human beings, and we allow our imperfection to cloud our merit, we cannot all assume that our preparation is perfect, and we might still find ourselves lacking. What can be done to lessen our inability to fully “prune” the negative klippos (vessels) reminding us of our doubts? The comments of the Gemara on this weeks parsha (Torah portion) answer this. We see in the parsha that, as Yaakov (Jacob) calls his sons around him to tell them the secrets of the “End of Days”, the shechina (“Divine Presence”) leaves Yaakov. Shocked that the shechina would leave him, Yaakov begins to worry that perhaps one of his sons was unworthy to hear such secrets, a son akin to Eisav and Yishmoel (Esau and Ishmael). Sensing their father’s fears, Yaakov’s twelve sons recite, “Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad” (“Hear, oh Israel, the Lord our G-d, the Lord is one”). In response to this, Yaakov responds “Baruch Shem K’vod Malchuso L’olam V’oed” (“Blessed is the name of his glorious kingdom for all eternity”).

With such an integral exchange originating in this form, it seems strange that it is not found in the Written Torah (as opposed to the Oral Tradition). The reason rests in the purpose of uttering the phrase. When Yaakov said the words, he was, in a sense, admitting his momentary fade through his worries about the quality of his children. In fact, Reb Moshe Feinstein z”l says that this is the deeper meaning of the order and inclusion of the exchange at the central position of daily prayer. When they said, “Shema, Yisroel”, Yaakov’s sons broke decorum and addressed their father by his name. However, this name was not just any name; it was the name he received from the angel, indicating that he is one who “wrestles with G-d”. When addressing this quality in their father, they reminded him that just as he has faith and a direct relationship with the Ultimate Truth, so did they. In his reply, Yaakov uses the image and reminder of the eternality and fullness of G-d’s promise to revive him. This is true of the verses inclusion in our own prayer, we, in the first verse, speak to ourselves (we are each part of Yisroel, those who wrestle with G-d), and remind ourselves that our essence still keeps faith with the truth. As a means of remediation for our perceived lack of faith and dulling from the world, we recite Yaakov’s revitalizing claim, that we are part of an eternal system, thus reawakening our sense of reverence for G-d.

The same is true of when we do mitzvos improperly or make mistakes as a result of lack of preparation and intent. When one makes an accidental bracha (blessing) in vain, and thereby vocalizes the full name of G-d aloud without cause, the person is supposed to say “Baruch shem k’vod…”, the words uttered by Yaakov to revitalize himself. Therefore, though we have the potential to engulf ourselves so much in the preparation of mitzvos that we make no mistake, there is still a way to alleviate physical human shame that the opposite might cause, and that is by refocusing on the essential truth. However, even when doing this, we must whisper the words. Reb Moshe Feinstein, z”l, says that this is because we should, essentially, “be ashamed” of our need to have this internal dialogue. How could a person, something created in the image of G-d (b’tzelem Elokim), have such doubts? Therefore, we are not permitted to speak the words out lout, with the fear that we might internalize too much of the shame by dwelling on this admittance.

Just as we should prepare for overtly spiritual acts, we must also prepare for that which we face in life. Before making a change, we should meditate upon that which is approaching, and on our current level and role (or “where we’re holding”, for those of the frummer velt). This preparation allows us to have sort of "Hello there, don't I know you? Oh yes, that's the real me" moments over and over again. It seems strange to be at a point where I need to do this. All of my life things have been, more or less, pretty secure. Now, however, I am making a choice to take myself across the globe to sit in a dusty classroom in a war-torn country, where I will spend all day learning more intently to raise the fallen sparks of Creation, to “prune back" the klipos of negative forces with “(preparative) songs of praise“. I will take one step closer to finding the ability to prepare with perfect intention; to live a more connected life, bringing me to a greater knowledge of the world, myself, and G-d in general. The more this is done, and truly integrated into our lives, the more we come to see and know G-d in the preparation as well as the mitzvah, the pain as well as the pleasure…the journey as well as the answer.

As the Rambam said in his Moreh Nevuchim, “…man’s love of G-d is identical with his knowledge of Him”…



(Perhaps I've been reading too much of the Baal HaSulam.)