Aseh Lecha Rav: Vus Meint a Rebbe?

In Pirkei Avos, R' Yehoshua Ben Perachia says the famous line, "aseh lecha rav" ("Make a teacher for yourself"). This line forms a strong part of Jewish life, as each Jew is required to accept the authority and guidance of a particular rav/rabbi. In doing this, the individual connects himself to the long line of Torah, all the way back to Moshe Rabbeinu (Moses) himself. The Rambam and Rav Chaim Volozhiner are both of the opinion that one should accept a rav even if the only rav available is less learned than the student accepting this rav. Each group within Orthodoxy has a different approach to the concept of having a personal rav, with Chasidism accomplishing this through the rav/rebbe balance.

Throughout the development and lifetime of Chasidic Judaism, Chasidim have been led by a manhig (leader) who traces his leadership back to talmidim (students) of the Baal Shem Tov, who established the Chasidic movement. Early on in the history of Chasidism, the Chasidic rabbi of each town became the "rebbe" (spiritual teacher) of the particular Chasidim in his town, and the position of rebbe would then be passed on to his nearest available male heir upon his death. For those people who attached themselves to the Chasidic movement in general, and a particular style of Chasidism through a particular rebbe, their leader was determined by heredity. Eventually, as certain Chasidic leaders grew in popularity, people living far away from a rebbe began to become his Chasidim. As this happened, they would still look to the rebbe for spiritual inspiration, but would have a secondary person nearby to serve their immediate needs and questions, and to give general guidance: the rav. Today, as many Chasidic groups are rather large, giving the individual person little connection to his rebbe, and a few Chasidic groups no longer have a living rebbe, the role of a personal rav has become even more central to Chasidic life. A rebbe today is a tzadik (intensely righteous person) upon whose wings you fly spiritually, through inspiration, and a rav is the everyday person who takes a personal role in your life, being able to give you guidance in particular areas of difficulty.

While this has become the general picture of what a rebbe does in the lives of Chasidic Jews, this has not been the case with all forms of Chasidism. Because most of the rebbes and Chasidim who survived the war were from Hungary and Galiczia (southeastern Poland/western Ukraine), this has become the idea of what the word "rebbe" means. However, Chasidic groups that grew out of the teachings of the rebbes of Peshis'cha (mostly form central Poland) have an altogether different view of a rebbe.


The Peshis'cha Chasidic philosophy began with the Holy Jew (Reb Yaakov Yitzchok Rabinowitz), a student of the Chozeh (Seer) of Lublin. The Chozeh of Lublin was known for his complete humility, constantly requesting that his thousands of Chasidim not follow him as he was not worthy to have such followers, which actually drew more and more people to follow him. His student the Holy Jew, dedicated to the Chozeh's teachings of humility and simplicity, was succeeded by his student Reb Simcha Bunim ztvk"l. Reb Simcha Bunim was the rebbe that popularized what has become the Peshis'cha philosophy of Chasidism. His teachings, which drew much criticism from other Chasidic leaders of the time, emphasized personal individuality over blindly following a rebbe, as each person has unique needs and is given a unique task in this world. He added this to the Holy Jew's important value of knowing oneself, and only being able to contemplate the greater world through intellect and understanding gained through deep personal introspection. For Reb Simcha Bunim, a rebbe should be someone who has discovered the tzadik within themselves, and works to help his followers discover the tzadik within themselves, always within the framework of non-conformist mentoring. Within his understanding of Chasidus, one was meant to do everything "lifnim mishiris hadin" (beyond what the law requires), and this applies to oneself as well. The rebbe said that just as one is forbidden by the Torah from deceiving a fellow person, a true Chusid is forbidden from deceiving himself.

An interesting story has been told regarding how Reb Simcha Bunim saw his role as a rebbe and manhig. Once, when a man came to Reb Simcha Bunim to join his Chasidim when the man's previous rebbe died, Reb Simcha Bunim asked how his previous rebbe had taught discipline and Chasidus to his followers. The man replied that his previous rebbe emphasized the ideals of humility and service by requiring any person wishing to meet with him to go to the village center, fill two buckets with water, and carry them back to the rebbe. Reb Simcha Bunim took issue with teaching each person such a value in the same way. He related a story to the man regarding his own ideas of what it means to be a rebbe. Reb Simcha Bunim said that there were once two wise men and a foolish man placed inside of a dark prison, where there were now windows and the roof was high above them. Each day, their captors would give them food and drink, but the intensity of the darkness confused the foolish man, and he was unable to discern what was a cup, what was a plate, and what was food. Therefore, he was unable to eat until one of the two wise men began to give him the food and drink so that he could fill himself. In exasperation, the first wise man asked the other, "Why do you sit there? While I help this man eat and drink, you do nothing to help him!" The second wise man replied, "You give him food and drink, but the cycle doesn't stop. Each day, you have to do it all over again, as nothing that you do changes the reality of the situation. I, however, am sitting here thinking of a way to make a hole in the roof, so that light will come in and he will be able to see everything!" For those of the Peshis'cha school of Chasidus, the role of a rebbe is not to give his Chasidim the ability to fly by attaching themselves to his wings, but by showing them how to use their own wings. To do so only based on other people's ability is a disaster.


Reb Menachem Mendel of Kotzk, the successor of Reb Simcha Bunim, carried on his rebbe's legacy and philosophy. He stressed the importance of each person looking within in order to understand themselves, and that each person should be able to seek out truth based on their own questions and needs. According to the Kotzker, people do not find the truth by imitating others, for this itself is untrue, in that it forces someone to conform to the "true being" of another person. This untruth of self, even if the path worked for the person that is being copied, does not lead to greater truth. A rebbe is then given the task of helping someone find their authentic self, however difficult and painful it may be, and then begin the process of refining the individual self through a unique path that works for the specific person. This goes along with an interesting reading of the initial statement, "aseh lecha rav," which can also mean, "make yourself into a rav." This is the essence of one of the Kotzker rebbe's most famous sayings: "If I am I because I am I, and you are you because you are you, then I am I and you are you. However, if I am I because you are you, and you are you because I am I, then I am not I and you are not you." It is not our job to be Moshe Rabbeinu, or to be any other great leader, for they have their own time and place, and to copy them is to fail our own unique task and self. We were created with our own essence, in our place, in our time, to be the best "us" we can be, not the best "them" we can be.

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.

Slow and Steady

Yesterday afternoon as I was hurrying off to get lunch, I was stopped at the corner by an elderly man. The man, as I recognized, was the gabbai (person in charge of the inner-workings) of the Gr"a Synagogue in my neighborhood. Being very old and unsteady, he asked me if I would help him make it across the street, and then to the door of the synagogue. Of course, I said that I would help him, and I walked with him arm-in-arm across the street. As we got closer to the synagogue, a car pulled up behind us, and in an attempt to rush us or move us, began to blow the horn. Immediately, I attempted to move out of the way, trying to lead the gabbai onto the sidewalk. He refused, and after asking me if I understood English, told me, "Slow and steady".

After helping the man reach his destination, I started thinking about what he told me: slow and steady. As I walked to lunch, I began to look around much more, stopping to see things that I might have missed previously. Ahead of me, a woman also stopped at each small garden, pressing her nose into the flowers surrounding each gate. The rest of the day, I tried to do everything and say everything with much more intent and concentration. Walking, eating, and praying especially, are much more meaningful that way.


This morning, as with last night, I prayed more slowly than usual, concentrating on the words that I was reading, and thinking more about what they meant. That's the wonderful thing about Hebrew. No matter how many times you've read a text, or how obvious the meaning seems to be, you can always make a new connection, definition, or understanding, whether through proximity, spelling difference, numerical value...there's always something new to find.

This is true of everything. Within the legal times for prayers, the earliest time that one is allowed to pray the morning prayer is after a time called "Mi SheYakir". This is when there is enough natural light, or should be enough natural light, to recognize the face of an acquaintance at the distance of four cubits. Knowing this halacha (law) I never thought more about it, until when I recently read an interesting lesson on the particular zman (time).


The story goes that a rabbi onced asked his students how one could tell that the night had ended and the day had begun. "Perhaps," one suggested, "it is when you can see an animal in the distance and determine whether it is a sheep or a dog." However, the rabbi answered that this was not the determinant. "Could it be," asked another, "that it is when you can see a tree in the distance and tell whether it is a fig tree or a peach tree?" Again, the rabbi answered that this was not how to tell when the night had ended. Finally, after all had suggested their own idea, they demanded that the rabbi tell them the answer. The rabbi looked at his students and said, "It is when you can look at the face of a man or woman and see your brother or your sister. Because if you cannot see this, then it is still night."

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.

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.

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?

Nahag Chadash!

This morning, while everyone was in the middle of hurrying back to yeshiva after breakfast, the air raid sirens went off in Jerusalem. Luckily, I had read the newspaper and noticed a small write-up stating that a test would be conducted this morning. However, it was clear that many had absolutely no idea about the test. In the yeshiva, people asked each other if they had heard the sirens, and what the cause had been. I spoke to several people who hadn't even heard the sirens go off. It sure is a good thing that these sirens didn't need to be heard. What if they had been real? Too bad, I guess.

After the sirens stopped, I realized that they weren't as exciting as I had expected them to be. It was simply a constant, loud whining noise that made it sound like the end of the world was approaching, but no one really stirred. I guess in Israel people don't need a reminder that it can all be over at any minute. Actually, it is something that all Jews are supposed to remember. According to Jewish law, we are supposed to repent on the day before our death, so that we confess and open ourselves up to real truth. Since we clearly do not know on which day we will die, the kaballah tells us to do this each day. This is why Sephardic Jews, as well as Chasidim, say vidui (a confession pray) everyday toward the end of Shacharis and Mincha (the morning and afternoon prayer services). This allows us to remind ourselves of our mortality in this world, and gives us a renewed perspective.


This renewed perspective should ideally be reinforced by the teaching and encouragement of a manhig. A manhig is a tzadik who imparts minhagim and insight to their followers. What exactly manhig and minhag mean in English is difficult to relate. Generally, one translates the word "minhag" into a tradition, or a uniquely Sephardic, German, Satmar, Russian (and the list goes on and on and on) way of doing something required in Judaism. Many times, it may not even be something required, but simply an act or word or pause used to impart a specific idea or emotion into doing something else that is required. While this translation of minhag as tradition might be common, a more expanded understanding of the word can be seen when looking at a common sign on Israeli cars: Nahag Chadash. Nahag Chadash means "new driver", with the root of the word minhag also forming the word for "drive". So, in essence, a manhig is clearly more than someone who imparts tradition, but actually leads those who find power and conviction in such a person, and the minhagim are more than ways of doing things, but actually help to form ones Jewish experience and understanding.

Lately, as I have thought more about what it really means, it has become evident that someone like this is really hard to find. There are certainly thousand upon thousands of people who find themselves attached to this rebbe or that rabbi because they were simply born to parents who were, or perhaps their parents followed so-and-so's father. However, what does this mean for people who think and yearn for something more? I know plenty of people who, after having been born into such a situation where a particularly holy rabbi died and was replaced by a successor, found themselves without a manhig. Had they been more dedicated to the minhag than the manhig, they might have been able to stay and accept that status quoa. This brings me to a question that I wonder over and over again: what is the connection between a minhag and a manhig? Can one follow a manhig who has different minhagim? If you aren't "driven" by these minhagim, then what in the manhig really drives a person?


For someone who follows the derech of Rebbe Nachman (and when I say follows, I mean really; none of this "dancing on cars" business), the answer is more simple. The tzadik Rebbe Nachman of Breslov did not encourage his followers to take on any of his minhagim. The way each person found meaning in a particular practice was expected to be unique, as each student of the Rebbe's was unique. This continues to today, where Breslover Chasidus has several groups, each with their own manhig, and each with members who may or may not share minhagim. The common bond among real Breslov is the same as Rebbe Nachman zt"l expected of his original students: simcha (joy). For Rebbe Nachman, following Jewish law correctly was more important than with what peculiarity one followed it, but the one point he always stressed was "ivdu es HaShem b'simcha", to serve G-d in joy. This way of living, taught Rebbe Nachman, can save a person from countless misdeeds.

Another tzadik, and a manhig for many, many Chasidim around the world, also shows his preference for reality and belief over following minhagim that are simply status quoa. This rebbe, who rebuilt the Chasidus of his ancestors in Israel, found himself in a unique position. Younger than all other rebbes, he came to view problems of secularization and modernity with new eyes. While affiliated with a notoriously anti-Zionist group known as the Eidah HaChareidis, he accepted money for his schools from the Israel government in the face of claims that doing so was against Judaism. When the Eidah put more pressure on him to fall back in line with the status quoa, he refused, and announced that his Chasidus would no longer follow the rulings and leadership of the Eidah. This led him to create his own system of religious courts and kosher supervision. In addition, he encouraged his Chasidim to not sit and complain about the direction in which secular, anti-Torah parties were leading the Israeli government, but to vote against these parties and replace the parliament members with religious people who would stand against the secular and crushingly Zionist attitudes. This distanced him further from other Chasidic groups, some of which even attempted to slander his reputation, but he didn't budge.


Today, his Chasidus runs a successful outreach program for secular Jews looking to become religious. Instead of focusing on how to make new "Chasidim of the rebbe", the yeshivos look at creating Torah observant Jews who happen to look to the rebbe (or any rebbe) for guidance and inspiration, with or without taking on the manhig's particular minhagim. Even in the wake of a recent terror attack on an overtly Zionist yeshiva, with an ideology seemingly worlds apart from his own, the rebbe was the only Chasidic leader to visit victims in the hospital, knowing that achdus (unity) and real ahavas Yisroel (love of a fellow Jew) were more important than age-old stances that might separate someone like him from a someone truly in need. He has also recently encouraged his Chasidim to work in jobs that require secular education, and allowed an "internet gemach" (organization that helps those who do not have access to this service privately) to exist. Talk about a nahag chadash!

Perhaps the mark of a real manhig is not in how they teach you to hold the kiddush cup in your hand, but in how they teach you to hold another human being in your heart. Afterall, times change, and it is important to have someone who is as equally dedicated to truth as he is pragmatic. A story goes that when a Chosid close to the Belzer Rebbe saw him doing things differently from the previous Belzer rebbe, he became concerned. Each day he watched closely to see if he was right, and each day he found more and more minhagim and practices that the new rebbe did differently. Finally, after watching for a while, the Chosid gained enough courage to ask the rebbe about this. "Rebbe," inquired the Chosid, "I see that you do things different from the previous rebbe. Can I ask why this is?" The rebbe smiled, understanding what the Chosid meant, but gave him an elightening answer. "I do nothing different from the previous rebbe," he replied. "Just as the previous rebbe did things differently than the rebbe before him, so too I do things differently than the rebbe before me." Indeed, there really is no difference. May we all be zoche to find a manhig who drives us where it counts, and may we all, day after day, each come to approach the world with new eyes and a renewed spirit, a true nahag chadash.

And Moving Forward...

It seems that the comments in my previous blog were made prematurely. With what has gone on over this past week, now I can really say, "Its always something".

First of all, the toilet in our apartment had been leaking a little, and finally workmen were sent to deal with it. Instead of fixing the small crack, the workmen gave us a new toilet. Apparently, toilets in Israel do not come with seats, as we do not have one. Not only this, but when they gave us the new toilet, they didn't hook up the back correctly, and each time you flushed, a HUGE geyser shot out of the back toward the wall. Well, they came back to fix this today, and in the course of giving us a new tank, flooded the old tank out onto the floor, and under my roommate's bed.

Right now, I am sitting watch in my apartment because of the second thing that happened. At 2:15 am on the morning of my birthday, my apartment was woken up by someone banging and kicking our door, which eventually warped and came off of the hinges. Now, since the door doesn't lock when you want it to, and only locks when you close it (with no way to unlock it), I am sitting here to make sure that no one wanders in here and steals things. Both this event, and the previous toilet escapade, took place under a blanket of darkness, as our breaker box seems to enjoy tripping.


Today, seemingly unknown by many, another terrorist on a bulldozer attempted to crush a police car and a bus on a street which forms the edge of the park across from me. Because the park is large, it didn't happen near enough to impact things by me, but it happened none the less.

At times like this, when it seems like you can't make a turn without something going wrong, taking time to pull yourself out of everything and just relax and reflect is nice. This is something amazing about Judaism. Three times a day, once a week, and any time we strike a tune in our heads, we can escape the "physicality", remind ourselves that there's more to the story than we all see, and bring ourselves back to our center.

Each day, we are commanded to pray three times at specific times, and the sages gave us specific formats and words to use for these prayers. The times (early morning, afternoon, and night) operate to reinforce our strength and remind us of the greatness of Hakadosh Baruch Hu (the morning prayer serving to energize us and instruct us before we start our day, the afternoon prayer giving us a stopping point to reflect smack in the middle of the day, and the prayer at night allowing us to cleanse ourselves of the regular grabage we collect through living in Olam HaSheker).

The notion of tefillah (often translated as "prayer") in Judaism is completely devoted to "centering" the person who participates in the prayer. The verb form of the word generally used for prayer is reflexive, meaning that it has to do with the pray-er, not so much the pray-ee. The word itself does not connote the non-Jewish ideas of asking for things, pleading on behalf of this or that, and generally expressing personal desires. There is room for that in Judaism, but it is not the main purpose of the fixed "prayer". The word, instead, has to do with turning into ourselves, seeing what's going on, seeing where we are lacking, and reminding ourselves what the world is truly all about. We can see this time and again in the siddur (prayer book), which is made up of ordered verses from the Torah and teachings from the Mishna, as well as the Amidah, which is a central personal prayer composed by sages.

Each day, or more correctly, each time we pray, when we reach read these verses, we can see where we are holding in our own spirituality, and where we need work. "What did that just say? Do I really agree with that? What does it really mean? If I don't agree, what's lacking in me today that this statement doesn't click? If I do agree, what strides have I made to get to this point?" Reflecting before, during, and after praying, which was done extensively by the tzadikim in previous generations, really can increase our sense of self, and add to the meditation of tefillah so that we can better reach our goal.

Aside from tefillah, Shabbos offers a huge, 25-hour opportunity to step back from the stress and shallowness of everyday life and devote everything to reflection. When Shabbos begins, we immediately abandon the average in favor of the holy. Shabbos allows us to get back in touch with the Source and re-energize our souls. Forbidden from participating in countless weekday activities, we are free to truly get in touch with ourselves. With the wealth of Jewish songs, meditations, Tehillim (Psalms), and intensity in performing mitzvos, it is easy to carry this over into any moment where one needs to be centered. Simply humming a tune can move us from Brooklyn 2008 to Galicia 1850, and remind us that everything we do is connected forward and backward, showing us our place in whole of creation.


Many of us may not be at this point right now, but Judaism is all about growth. If we simply open a tiny part of ourselves to growth, it will spread across every area of our lives. Moving forward is what all of this is about; never believing the world when it screams how amazing you are, as the Gemara says. In an interesting quote which has shychus to a previous post, I read a great explanation as to what a Chusid is, and it is closely related to "moving forward". In a book by Rabbi Avraham Twersky, he records a small discussion between two Chasidim:

One Chusid turns to the other, "Who is a Chusid?"
"A Chusid," the other replied, "is someone who wants to be a Chusid."
"But who wouldn't want to be a Chusid?" asked the first.
The second Chusid replied, "Someone who already thinks he is a Chusid."

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.

Shabbos: Mekor HaBracha (The Source of Blessing)

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

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



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

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

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

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

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.)