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.

Az Der Eibishter Tanzt

This week's parsha, Toldos ("Generations"), speaks of the birth of Yaakov and Eisav (Jacob and Esau), Yitzchok's movement within the lands of Avimelech to escape famine, and the eventual giving of the birthright to Yaakov instead of Eisav. The culmination of the parsha, with the blessing of Yaakov, gives tremendous insight into the nature and essence of Judaism, in contrast to other faiths and contemplative practices.

The Torah records the bracha (blessing) given by Yitzchok to Yaakov, beginning,"V'yiten l'chu Ho'Eloikim mital hashomayim imishmanei ho'uretz, v'roiv dugon v'siroish" ("And G-d will give you from the dew of the heavens and the fatness of the earth, and an abundance of grain and wine"). From the very first word, the blessing seems to use strange language. What is the reason for starting the bracha with the word "and", as if the bracha is a continuation from a previous statement? Rashi, the historical supercommentator on the Torah, cites a Medrash (allegorical source) saying that to begin a bracha this way means that it will happen, and then happen again. However, does this imply that without the word "and" attached to the first word, the blessing would only be fulfilled at one time, and then end?

From a second angle, the bracha seems odd in that a spiritual inheritance should revolve completely around physicality. On the surface, this presents the idea that though we are here for a spiritual task, the task does not include going without our physical needs, and sometimes (if we happen to come to the place of matching our desire with the will of G-d) our wants. It is not the plan that we suffer in this world in order to reach an enlightened state, but that we should instead strengthen and comfort ourselves so that we might be better equipt to do our jobs in this world.

For the Sfas Emes (a previous rebbe of Gerrer Chasidus, about whom enough cannot be said), the union of these two concepts explains the true meaning of the beginning of the bracha. By receiving an abundance of material things, and using them to complete the will of G-d (ex. using food to strengthen our bodies), we return the essence of these objects (which is spiritual, as the essence of all physicality is spiritual) to their source. In return, we receive more from above. The Medrash presents this idea in the imagery of a cave near the ocean. At first, the cave receives water from the waves, but then the waves retreat, returning the water to the ocean, with the cycle repeating over and over; a constant reciprocation between man and G-d, the lower world and the higher one.


In Judaism, this is the task of humanity. The world was created in the mystical emptiness left when the Ein Sof (Infinite Presence) was withdrawn, and all of physical existence is only a game of hide-and-seek with sparks of the Divine. By reaching out to the physical world, accepting the task at hand when we find physicality presented to us, and acknowledging that physicality is a necessary means to the final end, we reunite the Divine sparks with their source(a process known by the name 'shevias hakeilim'). It is not for us to run away from the world and retreat into contemplative, monastic life. We must recognize that physicality is a bracha, but it is left to us to confront it and elevate our surroundings.

"The religious ideal is not withdrawal from the physical world in an attempt to become an angel. On the contrary, we want to be involved in many different facets of the world and apply the moral and spiritual guidance of G-d to every aspect of life." -Unknown

The Ongoing Wow

After much thought and contemplation, I decided to return to America, at least for the current time. When that "current time" ends is anyone's guess. Of course, my last moments walking around Yerushalayim (Jerusalem) still move through my veins, as Israel is not a place that one can forget. In fact, according to Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, eventhough I left Yerushalayim, I am closer than ever. He used to say, "Everywhere I go, I am going to Jerusalem," meaning that in every corner of the world in which a Jew finds himself, he is there to do his unique job in that unique space in order to bring the world one step closer to completion, redemption, and the time when we will finally all live in the new, real Jerusalem.

So, for now, I find myself heading toward Jerusalem in America. While learning is something that I truly enjoy, my need for action has gotten the better of me. Having spent my first week back in New York, I am visiting my father for his birthday. My visit this time has proven to be more relaxing and enjoyable, and I don't feel as out of place. Perhaps I am coming more into myself, being able to be myself wherever I happen to be at the moment.


Upon my return to New York, I will start to look through the job opportunities that I found the last few weeks of being in Israel. Ever since I can remember, my aspiration has been to work in a profession where I feel myself making a difference in the world, and hopefully I will find myself working in such a job. I always feel the need to move around and get meaning out of everything in life, add to life, and try to find something new.

During my last few days in Israel, I really think that I got to that place where I was in love with everything that was swirling around me. I began to really stop and appreciate things, and recognize that my life was made up of, as Speed Levitch says, "moments flabergasted to be in each other's presence." However, my hunger and need to experience do not let me sit in one place for too long. It seems that each new place I see, I see a new part of myself. Interestingly, the Yalkut Shimoni (an homiletic telling and explanation of the Torah) says that this is exactly the case. In explaining the creation of man, the Yalkut Shimoni says that G-d gathered dust from the four corners of the world, and everywhere in between, in order to form humanity. And through this, relates the Yalkut, "every place a person walks, from there he was created, and to there shall he return." To me, this validates travel and life experience as part of true religious awakening, which is an infinitely motivating idea. Ahh, emes is good...


I once had a discussion with a man in a bank who simply could not understand a religious experience that didn't revolve around begging G-d for things like A's on tests, lottery winnings, and that your most coveted item at the mall soon goes on sale. I, on the other hand, couldn't fathom a religious experience that included such things. To me, Judaism has never been about finding a cure for life, or ways to escape reality, simply wasting time until some day comes in the future when you're "off to a better place." I've always felt that Judaism was much more honest than that. It's not escaping reality, but engaging in life head on, wrestling with angels and men to bring out the divinity in every place at every instant, knowing that that "better place" isn't found in a new location, but in a deeper understanding of the actuality of the here and now. Judaism doesn't seek to run away from physicality, but elevate it, transforming it by doing mitzvos that connect all planes and times of existence to reveal the hester panim (hidden face of G-d) residing behind creation. When that's the focus of your life, who has time for all the competition and begging? You're a partner with the Ribbono Shel Olam (Master of the Universe) in the continued creation and reparation of the world! That's always been the point of Judaism, and life in general, to me. So, for now, I guess I'm off to keep finding myself in places where I've never been, meeting G-d on new street corners, repairing little parts of creation, each step treading closer and closer to Jerusalem.

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.

Be All that You Can Be

Every once in a while, we are lucky enough to hear a vort that is able to touch us on many levels. With the infinite reach of Torah, one might think that this would happen more often. Sadly, though, since we are human, we aren't always able to internalize things the way we should. I happened have this luck on my side last week, on my first full day back in yeshiva, when Harav Shlomo Brevda shlit"a came to speak.


In Shir Hashirim (Song of Songs), a relationship is recorded between a man and a woman, but the true essence of the book is that it is a mystical allegory about the relationship between the Ribbono Shel Olam and Klal Yisroel. According to the Gaon of Vilna, zt"l, each statement of the man in Shir Hashirim is a statement of praise directed toward Klal Yisroel. As some of the verses seem quite strange, it might be hard to understand how such obscure statements could be so full of awe and inspiration. One such verse is, "Sarech k'eider ha'izim shegal'shu min haGilad," or "Your hair is like a flock of goats that trail down from Gilad". What a compliment! Really? Clearly, such a verse needs a little explaining. To do this, Harav Brevda used the sefer Tomer Devorah by the holy kabalist Harav Moshe Cordovero, zt"l.

In his sefer Tomer Devorah, Rav Cordovero points out that Gilad is the area of land taken by Reuven and Gad, and was coveted for the lsuh areas to graze sheep. Here enters the first part of the explanation of the words in Shir Hashirim: just as the massive flocks of sheep looked like a single unit, no spaces or breaks between, as they grazed and wandered, so too the Jewish people are one unit, completely and utterly inseparable. In expounding upon this, Rav Cordovero brings a new level of understanding to the adage from the gemara, "Kol Yisrael arevim zeh b'zeh", "All of Israel is responsible for one another." This classic definition is clearly not sufficient to explain what the Hebrew means, as Rav Cordovero points out that the souls of all Jews, originating from the same place, and being part of one another, all connect. Thus, when one Jew suffers within his soul, the soul of each Jew suffers. The same is true of success, and when one Jew has real, meaningful success spiritually, all Jews do, too, since we are "zeh b'zeh".


Now comes the second part: why specifically the goats in Gilad? When Yaakov Avinu (Jacob) fled from his father-in-law Laban, he fled to what is called Gilad (Gilead), a name that comes from the events which transpired on the location. When Yaakov and Laban come to an arrangement, Yaakov tells his sons to gather stones and create a mound as a testimony to the agreement between Yaakov and Laban. According to the Tomer Devorah, this is the first time that the Jewish people (represented by Yaakov's sons) came together to show their unity in completing a task. Thus, the mound, and the whole area were called Gal Eid, or "Mound of Witness", testifying to the ability and unity of the Jewish people.


Seen in this light, this is a wonderful compliment to the Jewish people. This is not a "butterfly effect" chaos theory type of responsibility and connection, but much deeper: the soul of each Jew is completely bound with the soul of every other Jew, inseparable in this life or the next. Not only does this speak volumes of mussar (moral discipline), but has deep Chasidus involved as well. The way we treat others is the way we treat ourselves mamash. Not only does "v'ahavta l'rei'acha kamocha" ("Love your neighbor as yourself") have importance due to communal relations, but to treat another person differently from how we treat ourselves is a complete contradiction! To harm or scoff at or ignore another person is to do the same to ourselves, since the impact it has on their soul will be the same impact that it will have on ours. When you feed someone who is hungry, part of you is also satiated...When you compliment another, you are also uplifted...When you cause strife with another person, you bring internal strife upon yourself. When such a lesson is really understood and internalized, I can't believe that it won't have Earth-shaking results. This, the "crowning glory" (hair on the head, that which is on the tip-top) of the Jewish people is that we are all completely wrapped up with one another, a reality that is sure to move all to work to be the best that each of us can be.

Now, just for my own curiosity and in light of the understanding of this verse, extra meaning and purpose is there to a married woman covering her hair?

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.)