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.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The pangs of redemption: finding meaning in suffering
I had the pleasure of spending this past Shabbos in Crown Heights, a community in Brooklyn that is central to the Chabad-Lubavitch movement. There you can find anything and everything Jewish; there's various yeshivas and seminaries, synagogues, including the main 770 shul; Judaica stores, kosher restaurants- a little bastion of Jewish life in America. This Shabbos was an immense source of strength for me, providing me with the inspiration and tools needed to get through these next two weeks, but why do I need strength? What is it that is troubling me so much that I need a Shabbos in Crown Heights in order to get over it? I've spoken about it before many times, so the term "golus" shouldn't be a foreign word to you. It's the major source of our confusion when it comes to faith, the source of our anxieties, fears, and doubts; an itch that you can never quite scratch and so it drives you mad with desperation. What's the best analogy to explain Golus? I found myself sitting in Hadar HaTorah friday night, the first Ba'al Teshuvah yeshiva in Lubavitch, speaking with a complete stranger about his journey. I began to share with him my journey, trying to explain my recent struggle. I said to him "golus is like....it's like..." when the lights in the room went out. I heard a familar voice behind me, my friend from yeshiva, Daniel Bortz, say to me "that's what golus is like." He was right, what a perfect analogy: it's like the lights going out and the room being cast into darkenss. We see in this week's parsha one of the ultimate blackouts for the Jewish people- their enslavement in Egypt.
We all know the story: The Jewish people were enslaved in Egypt for hundreds of years until G-d sent Moshe, the people's redeemer and shepherd, the take them out. The pivitol moment in Moshe's life was when he encountered the burning bush, a revelation of G-d that informed him of his need to return to Egypt. When Moshe asks G-d "when I come to the children of Israel and I say to them, 'the G-d of your fathers sent me to you,' and they say to me, 'what is His Name?' what shall I say to them?", G-d responds "Ehyeh asher ehyeh (I am that I am)". When we think about the question that Moshe was asking, it seems a bit odd: according to his question, Moshe had already said who it was that sent him, "the G-d of your fathers". Why did he need to ask what G-d's Name was if he already knew? To illucidate this, let's take Rashi's commentary on G-d's response; according to Rashi, "Ehyeh asher ehyeh" doesn't refer to a name of G-d at all, but a statement: "I will be with them in their present time of need, just as I will be with them at the time of future persecution". The key here is consistency, that I am here for you now just as I will be in the future. Even if we take "Ehyeh asher ehyeh" as a Name of G-d, there is something to learn. It is known that a name of G-d actually refers to a Divine attribute; one name corresponds to judgement, another to mercy, etc. In light of all this information, we can now understand Moshe's question: "what will I tell the Jewish people when they ask me what Name i.e. what attribute of G-d, is this that would let us suffer in Egypt for so long? The answer: I am with you now just as I have always been. This applies to us as well, while we are in golus, G-d is with us just as consistently. However, while this is all well and good, one cannot help but wonder why, if G-d is always with us, does He allows us to suffer?
An answer can be found in G-d's response. After He says "Ehyeh asher ehyeh", G-d then tells Moshe that "Havyah (a Name of G-d)...has sent me to you. This is My eternal Name," The Divine Name Havyah, a Name connotating Mercy, is spelled with a yud, a hei, a vov, and a hei. l'olam, the hebrew word for 'eternal', is usually spelled with a vov, and yet in this passage the vov is missing. What we can learn from this is that G-d's Mercy, while being there, is hidden from us during the exile. Sometimes, a person can feel isolated, lost on the empty gray road of life, alone in a room void of light. We get upset at G-d, blaming Him for all of the misfortune to befall us, only to forget Him when times get better.
This is also another reason for G-d's response of "Ehyeh asher ehyeh": "I am what I am, I am not ashamed to be who I am, so please accept me for that even if you might not understand all of my motivations. I'm consistent; I love you and I never change, so although you may percieve your situation as meaningless suffering, please understand that I am there, in that moment of melancholy, that stinging bitter pain that threatens to cripple your heart. I want you to let Me, Me in all that I am, into your life to give your perspective and to heal. I want you to step outside of the four walls of your own situation, go beyond yourself and find the inner meaning within your pain, transcend your suffering and see it from a higher perspective. The bad times that you are experiencing may just be the birth pangs of something incredibly good. This is what we are supposed to do in golus. We are having a conversation; when the lights go out in the room, we need to trust that Hashem is still there listening. All we need to do is continue speaking our hearts and trust that He will respond. Have a liberating week.
With all my love,
Zach
We all know the story: The Jewish people were enslaved in Egypt for hundreds of years until G-d sent Moshe, the people's redeemer and shepherd, the take them out. The pivitol moment in Moshe's life was when he encountered the burning bush, a revelation of G-d that informed him of his need to return to Egypt. When Moshe asks G-d "when I come to the children of Israel and I say to them, 'the G-d of your fathers sent me to you,' and they say to me, 'what is His Name?' what shall I say to them?", G-d responds "Ehyeh asher ehyeh (I am that I am)". When we think about the question that Moshe was asking, it seems a bit odd: according to his question, Moshe had already said who it was that sent him, "the G-d of your fathers". Why did he need to ask what G-d's Name was if he already knew? To illucidate this, let's take Rashi's commentary on G-d's response; according to Rashi, "Ehyeh asher ehyeh" doesn't refer to a name of G-d at all, but a statement: "I will be with them in their present time of need, just as I will be with them at the time of future persecution". The key here is consistency, that I am here for you now just as I will be in the future. Even if we take "Ehyeh asher ehyeh" as a Name of G-d, there is something to learn. It is known that a name of G-d actually refers to a Divine attribute; one name corresponds to judgement, another to mercy, etc. In light of all this information, we can now understand Moshe's question: "what will I tell the Jewish people when they ask me what Name i.e. what attribute of G-d, is this that would let us suffer in Egypt for so long? The answer: I am with you now just as I have always been. This applies to us as well, while we are in golus, G-d is with us just as consistently. However, while this is all well and good, one cannot help but wonder why, if G-d is always with us, does He allows us to suffer?
An answer can be found in G-d's response. After He says "Ehyeh asher ehyeh", G-d then tells Moshe that "Havyah (a Name of G-d)...has sent me to you. This is My eternal Name," The Divine Name Havyah, a Name connotating Mercy, is spelled with a yud, a hei, a vov, and a hei. l'olam, the hebrew word for 'eternal', is usually spelled with a vov, and yet in this passage the vov is missing. What we can learn from this is that G-d's Mercy, while being there, is hidden from us during the exile. Sometimes, a person can feel isolated, lost on the empty gray road of life, alone in a room void of light. We get upset at G-d, blaming Him for all of the misfortune to befall us, only to forget Him when times get better.
This is also another reason for G-d's response of "Ehyeh asher ehyeh": "I am what I am, I am not ashamed to be who I am, so please accept me for that even if you might not understand all of my motivations. I'm consistent; I love you and I never change, so although you may percieve your situation as meaningless suffering, please understand that I am there, in that moment of melancholy, that stinging bitter pain that threatens to cripple your heart. I want you to let Me, Me in all that I am, into your life to give your perspective and to heal. I want you to step outside of the four walls of your own situation, go beyond yourself and find the inner meaning within your pain, transcend your suffering and see it from a higher perspective. The bad times that you are experiencing may just be the birth pangs of something incredibly good. This is what we are supposed to do in golus. We are having a conversation; when the lights go out in the room, we need to trust that Hashem is still there listening. All we need to do is continue speaking our hearts and trust that He will respond. Have a liberating week.
With all my love,
Zach
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Torah blog of the week: Exile and strength
Lately, I've had a dilemma. It's not neccesarily something that I expected, yet at the same time, many people kept reminding me that it would happen. I fought it, I prepared for it, but lately it's been getting the better of me. This dilemma isn't universal thought of, at least not in the sense of it being at the forefront of everyone's mind. Not many people understand it, I can't say that I completely understand it myself even though I know that it's there. It often remains unspoken, sometimes deliberately so, remaining as the large pink elephant in the room, quietly brushing its tail and shuffling its massive feet while we try to avoid it. Sometimes we recognize its presence in the form of a brief existential moment, a "wool removed from the eyes" sort of feeling that we get at the most random times, only to lapse back into a lucid dream. It's called golus- exile- and whether we know it or not, it affects us constantly. It's the state of the world where G-dliness isn't openly revealed, where the knowledge of G-d is put into question, and even the most evident truths are doubted. In place of this massive hole, a "reality" of empty materialism and meaningless hedonism is constructed; a world where instant gratification holds sway over our emotions and the animal in us remains supreme. If only we could break out from our self-constructed prisons, cure ourselves of this perpetual Stockholm syndrome, take some advice from the sages and realize that we are as dreamers, then perhaps, with a little glimpse of light like the sun breaking through the horizon, the elephant would disappear and we could all breath a little easier.
Why do I say that it's my dilemma? If this is something that afflicts the global community, then why do I single myself out? Because a little over a week ago, I left my yeshiva on David Yellin Street in Jerusalem, my cacoon of Torah learning, to head back to the States for a month-long visit. While this may not seem like that long of a time and while I'm incredibly happy to be with my family and friends, it's been giving me a taste of what the "real world" is and what to expect from it. I had mentally prepared myself to have difficulty with my focus and my Torah learning, with the flow of inspiration, yet it wasn't until living it that I was able to realize a hard-to-swallow truth: it will always be this way to a certain extent. We cannot pretend like the "real world" doesn't exist and hide away in our books, tucked away in the little corner of the room. We have our familes, relationships, jobs, politics, hardships, life. Life isn't about being in the bubble, it's about recognizing that the bubbles exist- both the bubble of yeshiva and the bubble of the real world- and being able to interact in them while not being tied down by them. It's about gathering strength so that we can take care of the task at hand, These past two parshas have really spoken to me intimately on this topic and, hopefully, it will speak to you as well.
In last week's parsha, Joseph was reunited with his father, Jacob. This was especially evident in my life since I was reunited with parents after a six month leave from home. In this week's parsha, the theme seems to be all about one thing: strengthening ourselves for the golus. One example of this is in the blessing that Jacob bestows upon Joseph's sons, Menashe and Ephraim. In a few parshas back, the Torah commented on why Joseph decided on those two names: Menashe was because "G-d has caused me to forget (NaSHaNi) all my hardships and all that was in my father's house." (Gen. 41:51) while Ephraim was because "G-d has made me fruitful (hiFRani) in the land of my subjugation." (ibid. 52) Menashe's name refers to Joseph's longing to leave Egypt (exile) and return to his "father's house" (liberation) while Ephraim's name refers to our mission in exile that we need to carry out (made me fruitful). Although Menashe is the first born and should have been blessed first, Jacob decided to bless Ephraim first instead. What we learn from this is two things: firstly the fact that Menashe is the first born means that we must feel out of place in the exile; we need to recognize that while we may have a whole life set up here, there is still the absence of G-d's revelation in this world, which means that the world has yet to reach its perfected state; and secondly, the fact that Ephraim was the first to be blessed means that our primary focus must be on fulfilling our mission and suceeding in our Divine service.
What exactly is our mission? It's hinted to in the end of the parsha and the end of Genesis, the first book of the Torah. On Shabbos when we read the Torah out loud, when we finish a book in the Torah it is customary to say "Chazak! Chazak! V'nischazek!" (Be strong! Be strong! And may we be strengthened!) At the end of Genesis, Joseph passes away and is interned in Egypt, so why, if the book ends on such a depressing note, would we celebrate by saying "chazak"? There are two reasons for this, one obvious and one less obvious. The first is that this is the last parsha before the book of Exodus, the retelling of the Jews enslavement in Egypt. By saying "chazak" we are strengthening ourselves for the exile ahead, reminding ourselves of the promise of liberation. The second and less obvious idea deals with the life of Joseph. While Joseph was alive he rose to great power, becoming second in command to Pharoah. By his body remaing in Egypt, it is symbolic of Joseph's greatness remaining with the Jewish people and ultimately, of our mastery over the golus.
So what does this tell us about our mission? That we must strengthen our convictions and be able to not just survive in the golus, but to thrive. Joseph didn't just live his life in Egypt, he amassed immense wealth and eventually came to rule it. So too with us: we must be able to draw the spiritual wealth out from the golus, to realize the endless amount of light hidden in the illusory darkness. For weeks I've tried to write words in this blog that would strengthen my friends, people that a different points in time were outside of the yeshiva within themselves, outside of their personal Jerusalem. Now that I find myself in a similar situation, in a place where I'm in need of strengthening, I've realized the importance of this week's lesson. It takes a bit of bitachon (trust in G-d) to believe that we're always here for a reason no matter where we are. Though we may feel out of place and lacking in the fulfillment of our duties, it's important to realize that we are here for a reason, whether it be one seemingly random good deed, a person that is in need of a single charitable act, or the worried heart of a friend that requires easing. If we can come to the realization that we are constantly reconstructing our purpose and meaning in life, then the dilemma will disappear; the exile both within the world and within ourselves will be no more than a memory fading away into abstraction, a dream lost in a vacuous haze. Here's to finding our purpose in the exile and to a speedy redemption from it.
With all my love,
Zach
Why do I say that it's my dilemma? If this is something that afflicts the global community, then why do I single myself out? Because a little over a week ago, I left my yeshiva on David Yellin Street in Jerusalem, my cacoon of Torah learning, to head back to the States for a month-long visit. While this may not seem like that long of a time and while I'm incredibly happy to be with my family and friends, it's been giving me a taste of what the "real world" is and what to expect from it. I had mentally prepared myself to have difficulty with my focus and my Torah learning, with the flow of inspiration, yet it wasn't until living it that I was able to realize a hard-to-swallow truth: it will always be this way to a certain extent. We cannot pretend like the "real world" doesn't exist and hide away in our books, tucked away in the little corner of the room. We have our familes, relationships, jobs, politics, hardships, life. Life isn't about being in the bubble, it's about recognizing that the bubbles exist- both the bubble of yeshiva and the bubble of the real world- and being able to interact in them while not being tied down by them. It's about gathering strength so that we can take care of the task at hand, These past two parshas have really spoken to me intimately on this topic and, hopefully, it will speak to you as well.
In last week's parsha, Joseph was reunited with his father, Jacob. This was especially evident in my life since I was reunited with parents after a six month leave from home. In this week's parsha, the theme seems to be all about one thing: strengthening ourselves for the golus. One example of this is in the blessing that Jacob bestows upon Joseph's sons, Menashe and Ephraim. In a few parshas back, the Torah commented on why Joseph decided on those two names: Menashe was because "G-d has caused me to forget (NaSHaNi) all my hardships and all that was in my father's house." (Gen. 41:51) while Ephraim was because "G-d has made me fruitful (hiFRani) in the land of my subjugation." (ibid. 52) Menashe's name refers to Joseph's longing to leave Egypt (exile) and return to his "father's house" (liberation) while Ephraim's name refers to our mission in exile that we need to carry out (made me fruitful). Although Menashe is the first born and should have been blessed first, Jacob decided to bless Ephraim first instead. What we learn from this is two things: firstly the fact that Menashe is the first born means that we must feel out of place in the exile; we need to recognize that while we may have a whole life set up here, there is still the absence of G-d's revelation in this world, which means that the world has yet to reach its perfected state; and secondly, the fact that Ephraim was the first to be blessed means that our primary focus must be on fulfilling our mission and suceeding in our Divine service.
What exactly is our mission? It's hinted to in the end of the parsha and the end of Genesis, the first book of the Torah. On Shabbos when we read the Torah out loud, when we finish a book in the Torah it is customary to say "Chazak! Chazak! V'nischazek!" (Be strong! Be strong! And may we be strengthened!) At the end of Genesis, Joseph passes away and is interned in Egypt, so why, if the book ends on such a depressing note, would we celebrate by saying "chazak"? There are two reasons for this, one obvious and one less obvious. The first is that this is the last parsha before the book of Exodus, the retelling of the Jews enslavement in Egypt. By saying "chazak" we are strengthening ourselves for the exile ahead, reminding ourselves of the promise of liberation. The second and less obvious idea deals with the life of Joseph. While Joseph was alive he rose to great power, becoming second in command to Pharoah. By his body remaing in Egypt, it is symbolic of Joseph's greatness remaining with the Jewish people and ultimately, of our mastery over the golus.
So what does this tell us about our mission? That we must strengthen our convictions and be able to not just survive in the golus, but to thrive. Joseph didn't just live his life in Egypt, he amassed immense wealth and eventually came to rule it. So too with us: we must be able to draw the spiritual wealth out from the golus, to realize the endless amount of light hidden in the illusory darkness. For weeks I've tried to write words in this blog that would strengthen my friends, people that a different points in time were outside of the yeshiva within themselves, outside of their personal Jerusalem. Now that I find myself in a similar situation, in a place where I'm in need of strengthening, I've realized the importance of this week's lesson. It takes a bit of bitachon (trust in G-d) to believe that we're always here for a reason no matter where we are. Though we may feel out of place and lacking in the fulfillment of our duties, it's important to realize that we are here for a reason, whether it be one seemingly random good deed, a person that is in need of a single charitable act, or the worried heart of a friend that requires easing. If we can come to the realization that we are constantly reconstructing our purpose and meaning in life, then the dilemma will disappear; the exile both within the world and within ourselves will be no more than a memory fading away into abstraction, a dream lost in a vacuous haze. Here's to finding our purpose in the exile and to a speedy redemption from it.
With all my love,
Zach
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Special Holiday Blog: The Miracle of Chanukah
Shalom everyone! I'm sorry for not posting last week, things have been quite busy over here at the yeshiva. This week, instead of posting a blog on the weekly Torah parsha, I'd like to talk about Chanukah, specifically the miracle that took place over two thousand years ago and how it is still relevant in our lives.
Most people know the basic story: during the time of the Second Temple, the Greeks began their campaign of conquest in Israel through assimilation. Their mission was simple: deconstruct any sort of religious Jewish identity, forcing the Greek customs and society upon the local Jews. Although many brave Jews who stood by their convictions were forced to become martyrs, the battle being fought was essentially a spiritual one; it was to wipe out the Jewish nation off of the spiritual map. They did this by prohibiting certain practices such as a bris (ritual circumcision), the study of Torah as a religious text, and even forced the sacrifice of pigs on the ritual alter. Hope seemed to be completely gone, when a militia of soldiers called the Hashmoneans led by Matisyahu (later on to be led by Judah Maccabee), challenged the Greeks head on. Although the odds were completely against them winning, it was their spirit of fearless self-sacrifice that led to their victory.
Now this would seem like a good enough reason for a commemorative celebration, yet the event most spoken of in connection to Chanukah is the miracle of the oil. After reclaiming and purifying the Temple, the Hashmoneans, wanting to light the menorah in dedication, were sadly disappointed to find that all of the oil had been made impure except for one jug, a jug that still had the unbroken seal of the high priest protecting it. They decided to light it anyway and, to their shock, the oil that should have lasted for only one night lasted for eight nights. These two accounts- the victory over the Greeks and the oil- form the collective narrative of the miracle of Chanukah. Something that seems a bit puzzling though is why they're connected. Let's "shed some light" on the subject.
In chasidic philosophy, oil is symbolic of kodesh (holy). According to Judaism, kodesh doesn't just mean "holy", but it also signifies "separateness". By having something separate from everything else, it keeps it special, pure, and untouched. However, there's another aspect of kodesh that seems to be the complete opposite, the idea that it permeates everything, adding infinite depth to seemingly finite things. This idea of kodesh is paralleled perfectly with oil: oil, when mixed with most other liquids such as water, will separate and float on top (remember those 3rd grade science projects?). Oil can also saturate, the exact opposite of separateness. What is it that the Greeks were fighting against? It was the kodesh found in Judaism, the holiness that pervaded the study of Torah, the practice of rituals, and the loftiness of G-dly things i.e. the sacrificial alter. This is why the jugs of oil were made impure, because the Greeks had done all that they could to spiritually eradicate the soul of Judaism (the G-dly element of Torah), leaving only an empty body (a dry and lifeless academic approach). Their best wasn't good enough since there was that one jug of pure oil that had the unbroken seal.
The importance of this jug cannot be expressed enough, yet before going into it, it's important to understand what it was that the Greeks in this story stood for. The Greeks were considered to be the pinnacle of logic and philosophy; open up any philosophy text book and you have the Greeks to thank for their foundations. While they provided us with an absolutely amazing body of knowledge, it was this hyper-rational approach, of the supremacy of the human intellect, that could not understand the supra-rational beliefs of Judaism, the idea that there is something outside of the four corners of our heads that we will never be able to grasp or understand. This is why they were so against the Jewish practices and beliefs: because, just like the oil comes to permeate everything, the supra-rational kodesh permeated Judaism. The main idea of supra-rationality in Torah is this: although G-d made Torah so that we can understand certain concepts and commandments, our finite understanding of them will never be able the reach the infinite understanding of G-d; the two understandings are completely different orders. With this understanding, any human-given reason for the commandments pales in comparison to that of G-d's and it is because of this that the driving force behind observance of commandments is that they are G-d given. In simple terms, where reason ends, faith begins and not only that, but the faith encompasses the reason as well. This was a concept that the Greeks could neither appreciate or understand, which led to such a fierce conflict between the two opposing sides of Greeks and the Jews.
This brings us to the last jug of oil. What is the significance of its finding? The oil represented a level of holiness untouched, a level of the soul that can never be destroyed, a level that will always remain kodesh and pure even in the face of the fiercest adversity, the level where the soul is most connected to G-d. This is the level with which the Hashmoneans fought the Greeks. We now see why it was possible for there to be such an underdog victory: the Hashmoneans were few and their weaponry not nearly as advanced as the Greeks, yet their secret weapon was a spiritual one, a supra-rational faith in G-d's Will and a spirit of self-sacrifice that washed over the Hellenistic rationality. This is the why the fire burned for as long as it did, because it was a fire connected to the infinite light of G-d. The Greek campaign of assimilation and spiritual destruction was a darkness so black that it threatened to swallow up the spark of the Jewish soul. However, when that tiny spark touch the surface of an endless supply of "oil", a vast infinite sea of G-dliness and truth, that the spark transformed into an all-consuming fire, fighting off the darkness and even turning that very darkness into light.
This concept, the victory of light over the darkness, is especially important in our lives. This world is filled with a darkness that we know all too well. Our lives can often feel empty without a meaning or purpose for existence. Depression often creeps upon us, smothering us and snuffing out our spark. We've tried materialism and its proven to only increase the depth of the darkness. We've tried hedonistic indulgence, and yet deeper still. Stumbling around this world like someone in a room deprived of all light, we sometimes have the fortune to come into contact with a random, lone candle. It is up to us what happens next: either we let it pass us by and we continue on in our blind journey, or we do something, taking the initiative; we grasp the candle in our hand and kindle more candles, slowly increasing the small collection of candles into a steadily building flame. Once we do that, it won't be long until the room becomes illuminated, clearly showing us it's true nature. A world once thought to be completely lost in darkness will suddenly be revealed to have merely been hiding the beauty that was there all along.
Happy holidays and with all my love,
Zach
Most people know the basic story: during the time of the Second Temple, the Greeks began their campaign of conquest in Israel through assimilation. Their mission was simple: deconstruct any sort of religious Jewish identity, forcing the Greek customs and society upon the local Jews. Although many brave Jews who stood by their convictions were forced to become martyrs, the battle being fought was essentially a spiritual one; it was to wipe out the Jewish nation off of the spiritual map. They did this by prohibiting certain practices such as a bris (ritual circumcision), the study of Torah as a religious text, and even forced the sacrifice of pigs on the ritual alter. Hope seemed to be completely gone, when a militia of soldiers called the Hashmoneans led by Matisyahu (later on to be led by Judah Maccabee), challenged the Greeks head on. Although the odds were completely against them winning, it was their spirit of fearless self-sacrifice that led to their victory.
Now this would seem like a good enough reason for a commemorative celebration, yet the event most spoken of in connection to Chanukah is the miracle of the oil. After reclaiming and purifying the Temple, the Hashmoneans, wanting to light the menorah in dedication, were sadly disappointed to find that all of the oil had been made impure except for one jug, a jug that still had the unbroken seal of the high priest protecting it. They decided to light it anyway and, to their shock, the oil that should have lasted for only one night lasted for eight nights. These two accounts- the victory over the Greeks and the oil- form the collective narrative of the miracle of Chanukah. Something that seems a bit puzzling though is why they're connected. Let's "shed some light" on the subject.
In chasidic philosophy, oil is symbolic of kodesh (holy). According to Judaism, kodesh doesn't just mean "holy", but it also signifies "separateness". By having something separate from everything else, it keeps it special, pure, and untouched. However, there's another aspect of kodesh that seems to be the complete opposite, the idea that it permeates everything, adding infinite depth to seemingly finite things. This idea of kodesh is paralleled perfectly with oil: oil, when mixed with most other liquids such as water, will separate and float on top (remember those 3rd grade science projects?). Oil can also saturate, the exact opposite of separateness. What is it that the Greeks were fighting against? It was the kodesh found in Judaism, the holiness that pervaded the study of Torah, the practice of rituals, and the loftiness of G-dly things i.e. the sacrificial alter. This is why the jugs of oil were made impure, because the Greeks had done all that they could to spiritually eradicate the soul of Judaism (the G-dly element of Torah), leaving only an empty body (a dry and lifeless academic approach). Their best wasn't good enough since there was that one jug of pure oil that had the unbroken seal.
The importance of this jug cannot be expressed enough, yet before going into it, it's important to understand what it was that the Greeks in this story stood for. The Greeks were considered to be the pinnacle of logic and philosophy; open up any philosophy text book and you have the Greeks to thank for their foundations. While they provided us with an absolutely amazing body of knowledge, it was this hyper-rational approach, of the supremacy of the human intellect, that could not understand the supra-rational beliefs of Judaism, the idea that there is something outside of the four corners of our heads that we will never be able to grasp or understand. This is why they were so against the Jewish practices and beliefs: because, just like the oil comes to permeate everything, the supra-rational kodesh permeated Judaism. The main idea of supra-rationality in Torah is this: although G-d made Torah so that we can understand certain concepts and commandments, our finite understanding of them will never be able the reach the infinite understanding of G-d; the two understandings are completely different orders. With this understanding, any human-given reason for the commandments pales in comparison to that of G-d's and it is because of this that the driving force behind observance of commandments is that they are G-d given. In simple terms, where reason ends, faith begins and not only that, but the faith encompasses the reason as well. This was a concept that the Greeks could neither appreciate or understand, which led to such a fierce conflict between the two opposing sides of Greeks and the Jews.
This brings us to the last jug of oil. What is the significance of its finding? The oil represented a level of holiness untouched, a level of the soul that can never be destroyed, a level that will always remain kodesh and pure even in the face of the fiercest adversity, the level where the soul is most connected to G-d. This is the level with which the Hashmoneans fought the Greeks. We now see why it was possible for there to be such an underdog victory: the Hashmoneans were few and their weaponry not nearly as advanced as the Greeks, yet their secret weapon was a spiritual one, a supra-rational faith in G-d's Will and a spirit of self-sacrifice that washed over the Hellenistic rationality. This is the why the fire burned for as long as it did, because it was a fire connected to the infinite light of G-d. The Greek campaign of assimilation and spiritual destruction was a darkness so black that it threatened to swallow up the spark of the Jewish soul. However, when that tiny spark touch the surface of an endless supply of "oil", a vast infinite sea of G-dliness and truth, that the spark transformed into an all-consuming fire, fighting off the darkness and even turning that very darkness into light.
This concept, the victory of light over the darkness, is especially important in our lives. This world is filled with a darkness that we know all too well. Our lives can often feel empty without a meaning or purpose for existence. Depression often creeps upon us, smothering us and snuffing out our spark. We've tried materialism and its proven to only increase the depth of the darkness. We've tried hedonistic indulgence, and yet deeper still. Stumbling around this world like someone in a room deprived of all light, we sometimes have the fortune to come into contact with a random, lone candle. It is up to us what happens next: either we let it pass us by and we continue on in our blind journey, or we do something, taking the initiative; we grasp the candle in our hand and kindle more candles, slowly increasing the small collection of candles into a steadily building flame. Once we do that, it won't be long until the room becomes illuminated, clearly showing us it's true nature. A world once thought to be completely lost in darkness will suddenly be revealed to have merely been hiding the beauty that was there all along.
Happy holidays and with all my love,
Zach
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Torah blog of week: wrestling with our past
Shalom everyone! This week's parsha is especially moving and dramatic. In it, we see a development of the complex character of Jacob as well as the unfolding of many important events in his life. One event in particular that stands out is one that, with a little bit of delving deep, can apply to all of our lives and that is his wrestling match with the angel.
We find Jacob at the beginning of the parsha preparing to meet his brother, Esau, whom he hasn't seen in many years. The last time he and Esau were together was when they were much younger and it wasn't necessarily the most pleasant experience; Jacob had bought Esau's first born birthright for a bowl of lentil soup and then later took Isaac's blessing for Esau through deceit. At this point in his life, Jacob was much older, having gone through much growth, learning, and hardship. It was years since the events of the past that tore the sibling relationship apart and now, after much time and change, he was going to meet with him again face to face. It was the night before his meeting with Esau; Jacob sent his family ahead of him while he stayed behind to collect up a few things. It is then that without warning, a stranger came and attacked him.
The stranger, according to Jewish tradition, was Esau's guardian angel. The two wrestled all night, tirelessly persisting in the struggle. The angel struck Jacob in the hip, yet Jacob still continued to fight. Once the sun began to rise, the angel told Jacob to let him go, yet Jacob refused to stop fighting unless the angel blessed him. The angel finally granted Jacob his wish saying "No longer shall your name be called Jacob; rather, Israel shall be your name. For you have struggled with G-d and with men, and you have prevailed" (Gen. 32:29) When asked his own name by Jacob, the angel doesn't tell him and then, after this seemingly random conflict, leaves.
It's interesting to note that the angel was Esau's guardian angel. Jacob was incredibly worried for the reunion with Esau; he had prayed to G-d, begging him to have mercy on him and on his family that Esau would not cause them any harm. The fight with the angel was merely an outward manifestation of the larger battle going on within himself. Not only was Jacob struggling with his past, but he was also struggling with himself. We see this reflected in his change of name. A name can have a tremendous amount of meaning in one's identity. Jacob's name in hebrew, Ya'akov, is related to the word eikev, meaning "heel". For all of Jacob's life, he had to deal with the lowest aspects of himself and his surroundings. A heel, which supports the body on top of it, also deals with the mud and the dirt. When Jacob had the name Jacob, he had a tremendous internal support system to get him through some of the lowest, most difficult times of his life. Israel, on the other hand, is a name given to Jacob after he has struggled with G-d and men; he was able to overcome all of his struggles and come out victorious.
How does this apply to our life? When looking back on our lives, it's every easy to see blemishes in our past and to get bogged down by them. We can often get depressed, pushing negative memories further and further back in the recesses of our mind. We turn on ourselves, treating ourselves lower and with more malice than we would our worst enemies. We're hit where it hurts the most, in our foundation. We tell ourselves that we are empty, worthless, nothing. There comes a time, however, when you have to deal with your past, whether it was something bad that you did and now regret, a traumatic experience, or negative character traits. Sometimes we have to go to the lowest points in ourselves, yet it is in these moments that we may also find the most strength to move on. Once we've overcome the struggle and gotten past our weaknesses, it is then that we will have become a new person, one who struggled with G-d (asking as many "hows" and whys" as we can) and with men (our internal demons) and won (at peace with G-d and living a life free of worries and anxieties). We can all fight this fight; if we don't start it now, then sooner or later, it will start up with us. Take the initiative, dig your wells deep, draw up your strength when you need it, and fight your battles wisely. Have a victorious day.
With all my love,
Zach
We find Jacob at the beginning of the parsha preparing to meet his brother, Esau, whom he hasn't seen in many years. The last time he and Esau were together was when they were much younger and it wasn't necessarily the most pleasant experience; Jacob had bought Esau's first born birthright for a bowl of lentil soup and then later took Isaac's blessing for Esau through deceit. At this point in his life, Jacob was much older, having gone through much growth, learning, and hardship. It was years since the events of the past that tore the sibling relationship apart and now, after much time and change, he was going to meet with him again face to face. It was the night before his meeting with Esau; Jacob sent his family ahead of him while he stayed behind to collect up a few things. It is then that without warning, a stranger came and attacked him.
The stranger, according to Jewish tradition, was Esau's guardian angel. The two wrestled all night, tirelessly persisting in the struggle. The angel struck Jacob in the hip, yet Jacob still continued to fight. Once the sun began to rise, the angel told Jacob to let him go, yet Jacob refused to stop fighting unless the angel blessed him. The angel finally granted Jacob his wish saying "No longer shall your name be called Jacob; rather, Israel shall be your name. For you have struggled with G-d and with men, and you have prevailed" (Gen. 32:29) When asked his own name by Jacob, the angel doesn't tell him and then, after this seemingly random conflict, leaves.
It's interesting to note that the angel was Esau's guardian angel. Jacob was incredibly worried for the reunion with Esau; he had prayed to G-d, begging him to have mercy on him and on his family that Esau would not cause them any harm. The fight with the angel was merely an outward manifestation of the larger battle going on within himself. Not only was Jacob struggling with his past, but he was also struggling with himself. We see this reflected in his change of name. A name can have a tremendous amount of meaning in one's identity. Jacob's name in hebrew, Ya'akov, is related to the word eikev, meaning "heel". For all of Jacob's life, he had to deal with the lowest aspects of himself and his surroundings. A heel, which supports the body on top of it, also deals with the mud and the dirt. When Jacob had the name Jacob, he had a tremendous internal support system to get him through some of the lowest, most difficult times of his life. Israel, on the other hand, is a name given to Jacob after he has struggled with G-d and men; he was able to overcome all of his struggles and come out victorious.
How does this apply to our life? When looking back on our lives, it's every easy to see blemishes in our past and to get bogged down by them. We can often get depressed, pushing negative memories further and further back in the recesses of our mind. We turn on ourselves, treating ourselves lower and with more malice than we would our worst enemies. We're hit where it hurts the most, in our foundation. We tell ourselves that we are empty, worthless, nothing. There comes a time, however, when you have to deal with your past, whether it was something bad that you did and now regret, a traumatic experience, or negative character traits. Sometimes we have to go to the lowest points in ourselves, yet it is in these moments that we may also find the most strength to move on. Once we've overcome the struggle and gotten past our weaknesses, it is then that we will have become a new person, one who struggled with G-d (asking as many "hows" and whys" as we can) and with men (our internal demons) and won (at peace with G-d and living a life free of worries and anxieties). We can all fight this fight; if we don't start it now, then sooner or later, it will start up with us. Take the initiative, dig your wells deep, draw up your strength when you need it, and fight your battles wisely. Have a victorious day.
With all my love,
Zach
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Torah blog of the week: Rocking out with G-d
Shalom everyone! In this week's parsha, parshas Vayeitzei we finally shift focus to one of the central figures in the entire Torah, Jacob. Jacob is known for many things: wrestling with the angel, producing the twelve tribes, and holding the title of what is considered to be the father of Am Yisrael, the Jewish people. Jacob is also an incredibly deep and complex character, full of inner struggle and turmoil, and yet champion of many victories as well. In the beginning of the parsha, we are provided with a rather fitting introduction that sets the character for the third a final patriarch of the Jewish people.
Jacob had just left his family in Beersheba to head for his Uncle's hometown of Charan. On his way there, Jacob found a place where he prayed to G-d and decided to spend the night. He gathered some rocks together, placed them around his head and one under his head for a pillow, and then fell asleep. It was during the course of his sleep that Jacob experienced a dream that would change the course of his life from that point on. In the dream there was a ladder standing firmly on the ground with its top reaching up toward heaven and angels ascending and descending on it. G-d appeared to him, telling him of the covenant between him and G-d, promising him offspring as numerous as the dust of the earth, and telling him not to fear the future. When Jacob awoke, he realized the awesome power of the place where he slept and to honor G-d, he placed the stone upon which he slept as a monument, poured oil on it, and took a vow declaring "If G-d will be with me; and will protect me on the journey that I am undertaking, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear; and I return to my father's house untainted; and G-d will be my G-d, then this stone that I have set up as a monument will become a house of G-d." (Gen. 28:20-22)
What is there to learn from this incredibly symbolic encounter? The stones set up around Jacob's head were there to protect him from wild animals. What is a stone? It is inanimate and unconscious matter, the concept of being humble, with no sense of self. What are the animals that Jacob was trying to protect himself from? His base, animalistic drives for physicality and self-seeking motivations. This indicates the strength of humility, a state of being which essentially downplays the importance of selfhood and brings perspective to your place in the world; we realize that we aren't as great as we make ourselves out to be some (*cough* most *cough*) of the time. These are lessons that help and protect us at any time on our journey through life.
The stones also symbolize the supra-rational approach to G-d. If you base your belief of G-d upon your emotions, then you are subjectively assessing something which is inherently objective. If you base your belief upon your intellect, then you are only allowing G-d to be as big as your head can contain. If we want G-d to be the constant in our life, the "rock" upon which we can rely, then we must approach G-d, at least fundamentally, with a supra-rational approach, something that is far beyond our finite limitations and understandings (I don't mean to say that emotions and intellect aren't important. In fact, Jewish tradition has always encouraged striving to understand G-d through intellect and emotions, it must however have the foundation of supra-rationality).
Another idea connected to the rock is the idea of the monument. We see that the rock played more of an important than just protecting Jacob, it actually came to symbolize his covenant with G-d and the promise of the Jewish people being the land of Israel, in the House of G-d in particular. We learn from this that where Jacob slept for the night was on Mount Moriah, the very location that his father had almost been sacrificed and where the future Temple was to be built. There is another lesson to be learned from Jacob's monument that is telling of Jacob's character as a whole. Why did Jacob choose a simple rock to express his immense and intense spiritual connection to Hashem? By using a rock, Jacob was vowing to take even the lowliest and most materialistic aspects of his life and transform them into G-d's home. That rock would become the foundation of the Beit haMikdash, the dwelling place or House of G-d, in the future. It was no coincidence that Jacob dreamt of angels accending and descending on the ladder. This ladder was Jacob's connection to G-d, a connection consisting of elevating the physical to the spiritual and drawing down G-dliness into this world.
One final important lesson comes from when Jacob poured oil onto the top of the rock, consecrating it as an alter (Rashi 31:13). The spirit of the Jewish people have always been likened to olive oil. When extracting olive oil, the more a person crushes the olive, the more oil comes out. There is a reason why the Jewish people have made it through generations upon generations of hate, hardship, and opression; the more you try to break us, the more "Jewish spirit" is released, a spiritual energy that fuels our passions and drives us to not only survive, but to thrive. When Jacob stopped to sleep for the night, he was on his way to his uncle, Lavan, a wicked man who cheated Jacob and made things very hard on him. This hardship directly corresponds to this very concept for we see that even though life was hard for Jacob, he spiritually and materially prospered, siring twelve sons who would eventually go on to become the twelve tribes of Israel. This prospering is like the oil squeezed from the crushed olive. By pouring oil on the rock, Jacob was making a fundamental statement about the connection between the Jewish people and Hashem: that even when we're in the hardest and darkest times we will never be detered from our relationship with Hashem or abandoned by Him.
What we learn from this is a simple, yet powerful message: we must have the humility to see ourselves within the bigger picture. If we protect ourselves from our animalistic drives that try to tell us we are all that matters and that this world is a "what we see is what we get" sort of place, then we will be able to understand our purpose: to elevate the seemingly mundane into holiness. It's never easy, in fact it's a constant battle, but when we're under pressure, that is when our true essence will shine. If we can find within ourselves, within others, and within the world around us that unmoving rock of strength and faith, then we will be able to ascend higher and higher on Jacob's ladder, a ladder that will elevate our lives and ultimately bring Heaven down to Earth. Have an elevated day.
With all my love,
Zach
Jacob had just left his family in Beersheba to head for his Uncle's hometown of Charan. On his way there, Jacob found a place where he prayed to G-d and decided to spend the night. He gathered some rocks together, placed them around his head and one under his head for a pillow, and then fell asleep. It was during the course of his sleep that Jacob experienced a dream that would change the course of his life from that point on. In the dream there was a ladder standing firmly on the ground with its top reaching up toward heaven and angels ascending and descending on it. G-d appeared to him, telling him of the covenant between him and G-d, promising him offspring as numerous as the dust of the earth, and telling him not to fear the future. When Jacob awoke, he realized the awesome power of the place where he slept and to honor G-d, he placed the stone upon which he slept as a monument, poured oil on it, and took a vow declaring "If G-d will be with me; and will protect me on the journey that I am undertaking, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear; and I return to my father's house untainted; and G-d will be my G-d, then this stone that I have set up as a monument will become a house of G-d." (Gen. 28:20-22)
What is there to learn from this incredibly symbolic encounter? The stones set up around Jacob's head were there to protect him from wild animals. What is a stone? It is inanimate and unconscious matter, the concept of being humble, with no sense of self. What are the animals that Jacob was trying to protect himself from? His base, animalistic drives for physicality and self-seeking motivations. This indicates the strength of humility, a state of being which essentially downplays the importance of selfhood and brings perspective to your place in the world; we realize that we aren't as great as we make ourselves out to be some (*cough* most *cough*) of the time. These are lessons that help and protect us at any time on our journey through life.
The stones also symbolize the supra-rational approach to G-d. If you base your belief of G-d upon your emotions, then you are subjectively assessing something which is inherently objective. If you base your belief upon your intellect, then you are only allowing G-d to be as big as your head can contain. If we want G-d to be the constant in our life, the "rock" upon which we can rely, then we must approach G-d, at least fundamentally, with a supra-rational approach, something that is far beyond our finite limitations and understandings (I don't mean to say that emotions and intellect aren't important. In fact, Jewish tradition has always encouraged striving to understand G-d through intellect and emotions, it must however have the foundation of supra-rationality).
Another idea connected to the rock is the idea of the monument. We see that the rock played more of an important than just protecting Jacob, it actually came to symbolize his covenant with G-d and the promise of the Jewish people being the land of Israel, in the House of G-d in particular. We learn from this that where Jacob slept for the night was on Mount Moriah, the very location that his father had almost been sacrificed and where the future Temple was to be built. There is another lesson to be learned from Jacob's monument that is telling of Jacob's character as a whole. Why did Jacob choose a simple rock to express his immense and intense spiritual connection to Hashem? By using a rock, Jacob was vowing to take even the lowliest and most materialistic aspects of his life and transform them into G-d's home. That rock would become the foundation of the Beit haMikdash, the dwelling place or House of G-d, in the future. It was no coincidence that Jacob dreamt of angels accending and descending on the ladder. This ladder was Jacob's connection to G-d, a connection consisting of elevating the physical to the spiritual and drawing down G-dliness into this world.
One final important lesson comes from when Jacob poured oil onto the top of the rock, consecrating it as an alter (Rashi 31:13). The spirit of the Jewish people have always been likened to olive oil. When extracting olive oil, the more a person crushes the olive, the more oil comes out. There is a reason why the Jewish people have made it through generations upon generations of hate, hardship, and opression; the more you try to break us, the more "Jewish spirit" is released, a spiritual energy that fuels our passions and drives us to not only survive, but to thrive. When Jacob stopped to sleep for the night, he was on his way to his uncle, Lavan, a wicked man who cheated Jacob and made things very hard on him. This hardship directly corresponds to this very concept for we see that even though life was hard for Jacob, he spiritually and materially prospered, siring twelve sons who would eventually go on to become the twelve tribes of Israel. This prospering is like the oil squeezed from the crushed olive. By pouring oil on the rock, Jacob was making a fundamental statement about the connection between the Jewish people and Hashem: that even when we're in the hardest and darkest times we will never be detered from our relationship with Hashem or abandoned by Him.
What we learn from this is a simple, yet powerful message: we must have the humility to see ourselves within the bigger picture. If we protect ourselves from our animalistic drives that try to tell us we are all that matters and that this world is a "what we see is what we get" sort of place, then we will be able to understand our purpose: to elevate the seemingly mundane into holiness. It's never easy, in fact it's a constant battle, but when we're under pressure, that is when our true essence will shine. If we can find within ourselves, within others, and within the world around us that unmoving rock of strength and faith, then we will be able to ascend higher and higher on Jacob's ladder, a ladder that will elevate our lives and ultimately bring Heaven down to Earth. Have an elevated day.
With all my love,
Zach
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Torah blog of the week: Drawing from the well of inner strength
There's a challenge that we're constantly faced with everyday. This challenge, whether we recognize it or not, it plays an incredibly powerful role in our lives. It's the challenge of finding inner meaning and strength. When a person takes a step back and takes a good honest look at themselves and the lives which they have played out, it doesn't take long for them to realize how incredibly complex this thing we call "existence" is. This "existence", in fact, can get so complex that we can often consciously and subconsciously decide to ignore it, to shy away from the challenge of seeking meaning, an ultimate purpose, a task which binds us all together. We are capable of living out our lives and never once having a true taste of existence merely based on the fact that such a concept scares us senseless. So instead, we set up a "puppet life", a scenario with which to play out our time, to shield us from what's really going on around us; a candle-lit cave of shadow puppets distracting us from the sun-lit meadow outside. The Torah, on the other hand, rejects such ideas. It seeks for humanity to take a good look at world around them, to question all that they perceive and know. It offers parables and analogies with which to understand Divine knowledge, consciousness, and mission. It also provides the tools with which to generate changes and maintain sources of strength we never thought possible. This week's parsha is an example of such resources.
This week's parsha, parshas Toldos (generations) shows us the life of Isaac in the wake of his parent's passing and in his marriage to his wife, Rebecca. It also shows us the birth of his two sons, Jacob and Esau, and the beginning of the conflict that ensues between the brothers. We see Isaac maintaining a covenant with G-d and continuing his father's work, a fundamental foundation in the family life of the patriarchs and matriarchs. All of these events of the help explain it's title, Toldos (generations); these are the records of history, strength, and tradition being passed down through the mantle of generations. It's interesting, then, to see that the majority of Isaac's work was going back and redoing everything that his father had done, all the while carrying on his father's mission.
What's interesting about Isaac, however, is that while he carries on what his father started, he is in many ways the exact opposite of Abraham: his father went out and sought followers while Isaac never made any attempts to, his father traveled across many different lands while Isaac remained in the land of Israel. In kabbalistic and chassidic traditions, Abraham is often likened to the Divine attribute of kindness while Isaac to severity; Abraham was all about going out into the world and spread Divine consciousness while Isaac remained in isolation, taking the time to mediate in the fields of his land and work on himself. In this comparison we see the two fundamental paths of avodah (spiritual service) that a person can have: a person can be inspired and spread that inspiration, going out to help people, seeking the welfare of others and constantly making sacrifices (Abraham) or they can focus on self-refinement, laying the ground work of discipline, constantly seeking to go further and further into their core from which they can pull out essential strength. This is reflected in a task that Abraham and Isaac both undertook: digging wells.
What is a well? A well is a deeply dug hole in the ground that allows those using it to pull up water that was once concealed. This is the idea of self refinement, of digging down into ourselves past the mud and rock (spiritual dirt) and finding a wellspring of strength from which to draw. When Abraham dug his wells, they were filled up with soil by the Philistines. The hebrew root for Philistine is "pey-lamed-shin" (these are the sounds of the hebrew letters), meaning "to penetrate" or "to break through borders". This is likened to the boundless, ungoverned hedonism, the ultimate act of break boundaries and rules set up to maintain conscientious and thoughtful existence. It is this obsession with the tangible, felt existence of imagined, puppet reality. By the Philistines filling up Abraham's wells it shows that while Abraham was great at inspiring others, his method of spreading Divine consciousness didn't seek to draw the goodness and inspiration from within others. Isaac's, on the other hand, re dug his father's wells and the Philisitines were unable to fill them in. This was Isaac's method: to force people to confront their psychological stumbling blocks, dig deep down through the layers of history, of emotional scars and hang-ups. Where Abraham's message to a person would be "come and quench your thirst from the holy waters of G-d" Isaac's would be "let those waters strengthen you for the task ahead. Get down into the dirt, start digging, and, with much diligence and determination, you will find the holy waters within yourself and never be thirsty again."
These are the two forces that govern our lives. Sometimes we feel inspired. This is good; we use it to motivate ourselves to keep going and to reach out to help others. This is a very necessary path of avodah in our lives, otherwise we would only care about ourselves. However, we must be able to help ourselves before we can help others, to constantly keep seeking to refine ourselves until we discover the wellspring of our inner essence. In this weeks parsha it refers to the well as "mayim chaim", living waters. May we all have the tools and strength necessary to be able to dig deep into ourselves, draw out the living water, and quench the thirst of others. Have a focused day.
with all my love,
Zach
This week's parsha, parshas Toldos (generations) shows us the life of Isaac in the wake of his parent's passing and in his marriage to his wife, Rebecca. It also shows us the birth of his two sons, Jacob and Esau, and the beginning of the conflict that ensues between the brothers. We see Isaac maintaining a covenant with G-d and continuing his father's work, a fundamental foundation in the family life of the patriarchs and matriarchs. All of these events of the help explain it's title, Toldos (generations); these are the records of history, strength, and tradition being passed down through the mantle of generations. It's interesting, then, to see that the majority of Isaac's work was going back and redoing everything that his father had done, all the while carrying on his father's mission.
What's interesting about Isaac, however, is that while he carries on what his father started, he is in many ways the exact opposite of Abraham: his father went out and sought followers while Isaac never made any attempts to, his father traveled across many different lands while Isaac remained in the land of Israel. In kabbalistic and chassidic traditions, Abraham is often likened to the Divine attribute of kindness while Isaac to severity; Abraham was all about going out into the world and spread Divine consciousness while Isaac remained in isolation, taking the time to mediate in the fields of his land and work on himself. In this comparison we see the two fundamental paths of avodah (spiritual service) that a person can have: a person can be inspired and spread that inspiration, going out to help people, seeking the welfare of others and constantly making sacrifices (Abraham) or they can focus on self-refinement, laying the ground work of discipline, constantly seeking to go further and further into their core from which they can pull out essential strength. This is reflected in a task that Abraham and Isaac both undertook: digging wells.
What is a well? A well is a deeply dug hole in the ground that allows those using it to pull up water that was once concealed. This is the idea of self refinement, of digging down into ourselves past the mud and rock (spiritual dirt) and finding a wellspring of strength from which to draw. When Abraham dug his wells, they were filled up with soil by the Philistines. The hebrew root for Philistine is "pey-lamed-shin" (these are the sounds of the hebrew letters), meaning "to penetrate" or "to break through borders". This is likened to the boundless, ungoverned hedonism, the ultimate act of break boundaries and rules set up to maintain conscientious and thoughtful existence. It is this obsession with the tangible, felt existence of imagined, puppet reality. By the Philistines filling up Abraham's wells it shows that while Abraham was great at inspiring others, his method of spreading Divine consciousness didn't seek to draw the goodness and inspiration from within others. Isaac's, on the other hand, re dug his father's wells and the Philisitines were unable to fill them in. This was Isaac's method: to force people to confront their psychological stumbling blocks, dig deep down through the layers of history, of emotional scars and hang-ups. Where Abraham's message to a person would be "come and quench your thirst from the holy waters of G-d" Isaac's would be "let those waters strengthen you for the task ahead. Get down into the dirt, start digging, and, with much diligence and determination, you will find the holy waters within yourself and never be thirsty again."
These are the two forces that govern our lives. Sometimes we feel inspired. This is good; we use it to motivate ourselves to keep going and to reach out to help others. This is a very necessary path of avodah in our lives, otherwise we would only care about ourselves. However, we must be able to help ourselves before we can help others, to constantly keep seeking to refine ourselves until we discover the wellspring of our inner essence. In this weeks parsha it refers to the well as "mayim chaim", living waters. May we all have the tools and strength necessary to be able to dig deep into ourselves, draw out the living water, and quench the thirst of others. Have a focused day.
with all my love,
Zach
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