Torah blog of the week: Where Heaven and Earth Embraced

In this week's parsha, parshas Yisro, we recount the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, an event that forever changed the spiritual landscape of reality. It was and only time in history that G-d had physically revealed himself to humanity (this is not to say that G-d has a physical form, G-d forbid), but the level of G-dly revelation that took place at the foot of that mountain was so strong, that it was said that the souls of all the Jewish people left there bodies in spiritual expiration. One of the biggest innovations that took place after Mount Sinai was the introduction of mitzvahs as we know it.

Mitzvah, usually translated as 'commandment', is actually best translated as 'connection'; by giving over the Torah at Mount Sinai, G-d was introducing a new form of G-dly connection into the world, a way in which we could cleave to Hashem literally. Mitzvahs had existed before yet in a much different form; the Patriarchs (Avraham, Yitzchok, and Ya'akov) had actually intuited and intellectually come to a recognition of some form of mitzvahs, yet the mitzvahs that they performed had a much different effect on reality. Their performance of mitzvahs drew G-dliness into the spiritual realms, as well as into themselves for them to spread to other people. By transforming themselves into a vessel for G-dliness, they were compared to a chariot, the reason being that a chariot has no will of its own other than that of it's driver. The mitzvah given with the Torah was of a much different nature; instead of drawing G-dliness only into the spiritual realms and into oneself, they were now able to infuse holiness into physicality and to elevate the material. This is a significant change in reality, a change conveyed by the first words spoken by G-d to the Jewish People at Mount Sinai: "Anochi Hashem Elokecha" (I, the L-rd, am your G-d)

These three words in Hebrew are all considered different names of G-d, which in Torah correspond to different revelations of G-dliness. The word 'Anochi' corresponds to G-d as He is unto himself, his very Essence, I. This name of G-d was the one that played the biggest role in the giving of the mitzvahs; however, in order to understand why this is so, we must first analyse the last two names mentioned: Hashem & Elokim (the non-possessive form of the Name)

Elokim corresponds to the G-dly power invested within created beings. Within every created being is enclothed a different aspect of G-dly energy, one which is expressed according to the particular nature of that being i.e. within nature, intellect, set boundaries, etc. That means that any sort of G-dly power that we see within the trees, grass, oceans, sun, animals, humans, and even supernatural beings such as angels are governed by Elokim. There have always been many religious groups throughout history that have attributed power to the sun, moon, and stars; the Nile river, Mt. Olympus, yet these groups were merely looking at a part of G-d, the hands covering the face of a G-d who is hidden from us.

Then there is Hashem, the dimension of G-dliness which transcends nature, combining past, present, and future all into one perspective. This level is unbound by the laws of nature and of intellectual grasp. As Pharaoh had said "Who is Hashem that I should listen to Him?...I do not know this Hashem!" The reason why Pharaoh could not understand this idea of Hashem is because the religion he was accustomed to was one where different gods and goddesses governed over all of nature i.e. this one was in charge of fertility, this one agriculture, this one the sun, etc. His deities were also very mortal, they could be born, killed, reborn, etc. Hashem, on the other hand, transcended all of that; He was (and is) timeless, spaceless reality. These two names, however, do not refer to G-d's Essence, only to revelations. If something is on the level of essence, then by its own nature it cannot be revealed. This brings us to the name Anochi, where the mitzvahs came from.

There's a funny thing about Anochi: it's written in Egyptian! You would think that the Essence of G-d would be written in Hebrew, lushon hakodesh (holy tongue), the language that the Torah was written in. Instead, it was written in a language which the Jewish Sages considered to be the language that expressed the lowest level of spiritual refinement! How much more so now is the question deepened, the question of why G-d chose to express Him as He is unto Himself through the coarsest, most unrefined language. With a little bit of abstract (and a lot of help from the Lubavitcher Rebbe as well) we can have a clear understanding as to why this is. The whole point of mitzvahs is to interact with the physical world, and infuse it with holiness, thus elevating it up to the level of G-dliness. Mitzvahs show us how Torah permeates every aspect of our lives: when we eat, we can only eat certain animals slaughtered in a certain way; we wrap tefillin that is made out of leather, parchment, and ink; we wear fringed garments made out of string. This all comes to show us that mitzvahs are done with physical things, physicality being the opposite of spiritual. What this shows us about the name Anochi is that by expressing His Essence at Mount Sinai through the most spiritually unrefined language, G-d was (essentially) giving the world His mission statement: where you find me most is in refining the unrefined. You won't find Me by worshipping the Sun, you won't find Me by going to the top of a mountain and meditating for twelve hours, but you'll find Me in giving charity, in lighting Shabbos candles, in eating matzah on Passover, in elevating the physical to the level of G-dly.

The word Anochi can be understood through Chassidic teachings as an acronym for an Aramaic phrase meaning: "I wrote down and gave over Myself", meaning that G-d literally gave Himself over to the world. It also says it Proverbs to "Know HIm in all your ways." If we can understand G-d through nature and our intellect (Elokim), if we can transcend ourselves and our subjective understanding of the world (Hashem), and if we can take this physical world around us and spread the light of Torah and Mitzvahs (Anochi), then it will be as if we had recieved the Torah today.
With all of my Love,
Zach
(Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe)

Torah Blog: Calling out to Hashem

Imagine the end of everything, everything that you had fought for, dreamed for, worked for. Imagine yourself hungry, beaten, starved, at your lowest point facing a sea seemingly full of despair. "This is it," you think. "here is where I lose it all." Your only hope would be to fall onto the last resort of the many that had come before you: pray for deliverance. Now imagine this scenario, yet this time, you know that this is not the end, it can't be the end because someone promised you sometime long ago in a near-forgotten past that it wouldn't be. Not only would it not be the end, but you would get to where you were traveling to; you'd reach the place where everything you lived for, a holistic truth woven into every fiber of your soul, would be realized. Why would you need to pray for your deliverance? You'd know that this unbreakable promise would override your situation; an objective truth overcoming a subjective doubt. Would you pray at all? This story, though it may sound familiar to us all, is one of timeless nature, applying to every person's life at east once in their time here on Earth. For the Jews at the Reed Sea, that was such a time.

B'nei Yisrael had found itself at the very brink of collapse: After a civilization-shattering series of ten plagues, Moshe, the messenger of Hashem, had led them out of Egypt towards the promised land. The seemingly impossible was coming to fruition before their very eyes; the thing spoken of in fables, nighttime stories passed onto a child trembling with fear of death, legends passed down from father to son, yet never really thought of that seriously- unfolding before them in a plain undeniable truth. Now, though, they were face-to-face with the final obstacle before redemption: the Reed Sea, the one thing separating them from death and life, an expanse of water menacingly staring them down with the freezing shock of realization. Yet Hashem had promised that they would find redemption and ultimately realize their potential, so how could this be the end? It says that they prayed, yet here is where the question is posed: why? It certainly seems that if they were promised redemption, then they wouldn't be praying for that. If that had lost faith and trust in Hashem, thinking that he had abandoned His promise to them, then why would they pray at all?

Rashi brings a very fascinating commentary on that: he says that in calling out to Hashem, they were grabbing onto the trade of their fathers, the prayers of Avraham, Yitzchok, and Ya'akov. To give examples of their trade, Rashi brings three verses: for Avraham "to place where he stood", standing meaning prayer; for Yitzchok "he went to go speak in the field", and for Ya'akov "he reached the place", meaning that he prayed. Yet these three examples don't seem all that obvious in the language that they were praying, the word prayer doesn't even show up! What makes this even stranger is that there are other verses that explicitly speak of the fathers praying to Hashem: for Avraham "he built an alter and called out (prayed) to Hashem", for Yitzchok it says that he prayed to Hashem when his wife, Rebecca, was barren, and for Ya'akov he prayed that Hashem would deliver him from his brother Eisav (please save me from my brother, Eisav), so why not bring those verses as proof? Does this not seem a more obvious set of examples? The Lubavitcher Rebbe brings an amazing answer to this question. In the three obvious verses, the fathers were praying for something, yet in regards to the three verses actually given by Rashi, they were just praying to praise Hashem, they were praying just for the sake of praying. Now we can see why B'nei Yisrael, when faced down by the Egyptians at the Reed Sea, prayed: they prayed because that's who they were. It didn't matter if things were going well for them; in fact, they were facing annihilation. They prayed because it naturally came from the depths of their soul.

This is an amazing idea that we can use in our life and in our service to Hashem. G-d, contrary to popular belief, is not a giant ATM machine in the sky; praying to Him will not always ensure that you'll win the lotto (sorry). We don't serve Hashem because it feels good or because we're looking to get something out of it; we find, in fact, that dedicating one's life to Hashem is one of the most conflicted, difficult, and seemingly irrational things to do in this world. The reason why we're serving Hashem is because it's the only thing that we can do, it's what we were created for, because He is the only real and true thing in this world. It's easy for us to get lost in the world within which we live. We're constantly using our subjective interpretation of life as an "objective" reality. A person's ego can block them from what is objectively true. Often times, the most important thing will be my thoughts, my feelings, my beliefs, my best interest, Me, Myself, & I. If we can work on transcending ourselves and see the truth that's right in front of our eyes, if we can clear out the subjective emotional baggage and make room for Hashem, if we can learn to truly care for another person without any self-seeking or self-interested motivations involved, if we can experience a selfless love, then we will be redeemed. When B'nei Yisrael was stuck between the Egyptians threatening to kill them and the Reed Sea, they had nothing left except for their eternal promise and an unbreakable connection to Hashem; it was because of this that they prayed. True, they complained to Moshe, yet they didn't shake their fists at the sky, spite the name of G-d, and cast of His existence as a mere fantasy. Their belief and trust in Hashem wasn't based on situation, on limited human reasoning, on subjective emotions such as joy or suffering, it was based on a deep undeniable bond that they as Jews could not deny.

The Kotsker Rebbe once said that G-d is where ever you let Him in; perhaps if we could accomplish this avodah, this spiritual service of serving Hashem selflessly, of engaging in a relationship with G-d on His terms as opposed to ours, of making room for Him in our lives, then perhaps the Reed Sea in our lives that we all face will make room for us, allowing us to walk through towards our redemption. May we all experience the ultimate redemption of us all with the coming of Moshiach, may it happen speedily in our days.
With all my love,
Zach

Late night reflections

I've found that the best times for things such as writing or tapping into a creative flow have come late at night. I don't know what it is, perhaps it's the fact that after a long day, your brain is tired and open to reveal anything. Maybe there's something different about the nature of the atmosphere or how the Earth interacts with the Moon. Eitherway, when it's late at night and you have a song that you can't get enough set on repeat in your itunes, it's fairly easy to write freely and openly about anything. I'm sitting here in my room, my laptop camped out on my desk in front of all my Judaica books; books on bitachon (trust in G-d), prayer, a Chumash (Five books of Moses), my worn out siddur, a copy of "Lessons in Tanya"- all works that I've accumulated overtime, collections of concepts and teachings that I've come to identify myself with and by over the past year and a half. It's a time like now (1:41 in the morning Eastern-standard time to be precise) that these things come to pass before my mind, yet if I were to say that these were only resigned to late-night ponderings I would be doing a disservice to these past five weeks.

This coming Sunday I will, G-d willing, be flying out of JFK airport to head back to Israel for another six months. The first six months was a time filled with learning, living, growing, self-discovery & improvement, traveling- all things that any good cinematic "spiritual journey" would be inadequate without. One incredible lesson I've learned in my "spiritual journey" is that the idea of there being a "spiritual journey" is slightly ridiculous, a result of the seperation between the physical and spiritual, ordinary and supernatural, as opposed to the seamless narrative of holistic life. So you mean to tell me that anything in your life that isn't part of the "spiritual journey" is just, well....not spiritual? The mere concept of a "spiritual journey" taking place in our lives is almost, in a sense, self-indulgant. Our entire lives we are on the journey, so why don't we just call it for what it is: life?

People spend so much time trying to live their life as if they're living out of a suitcase, like you've caught them smack dab in the middle of the road. Just live life! No need to romanticize it or compare it against your favorite indie movie like "Garden State" or "Eternal Sunshine". It's like the person who goes on a vacation yet experienced the entire trip through the view of a camera. Did they really see the sunsets over the Himalayas? The brilliantly colored tapestries of tropical flowers in Hawaii? Did they take part in the mid-day cafe conversation or were they merely taking mental notes on it so that their future self could have a custom-made bank of memories to pull from on a depressing night spent alone? Who am I to talk though, I do this all the time, I still recognize the existence of the "spiritual journey" in my life, but why? Eh, just some late night ramblings I suppose. Or not.