Alone Together – Reflections from Rav Kook in a Time of Social Distancing (Part 2)

Rav Kook – Orot haTeshuva (8:9)
When a thinking person engages in solitary introspection and his inner, spiritual ability is revealed within him, he feels all of the ways in which his soul has been blemished due to his improper deeds and traits. When that inner sorrow is revealed in all of its might, when a person’s external situation grows shaky, as at a time of damage and trouble, then his inner feeling is not so firm. Yet nevertheless even then it can reach its peak, because teshuvah that arrives via sufferings is also teshuvah.

Commentary of Rav Moshe Weinberger (Song of Teshuva):
Only by engaging in solitary introspection can a person unveil and activate his inner spiritual strength. When he does so, he clearly senses all of his spiritual flaws. Until that point, he may have compared himself to those around him and seemed fine. But now, as a thinking person, he has withdrawn into himself and measured himself by who he could be, a clear light shines upon his blemishes and mistakes, and he sees the damage caused by his wrong actions and the stains on his character. A person who does not engage in such introspection does not notice these things. He may know that the details of his life are wrong, but he fails to see the outcome of a life that lacks holiness. He may defend his way of life. For instance, he may take pride in the fact that he keeps Shabbos. But what does Shabbos mean to him? How does he spend his time in shul? Does he daven the way that he should?

When a person begins to engage in introspection and comes face-to-face with hard truths and their accompanying pain, he must make a choice…Sometimes, when a person engages in introspection, he sees his flaws and probes within himself even more deeply, and that leads him to the highest level of teshuvah. Alternatively, such introspection can cause a person to deteriorate, neglect himself, and lose his resolve to change. This can occur when a person who had always thought of himself as a wonderful Jew realizes how imperfect he is and experiences pain and embarrassment, which may develop into despair. As a result, his external life grows shaky: he neglects his appearance, fails to earn a living properly and in general allows his mental and physical well-being to deteriorate.

This neglect of his external life contributes to a further degradation of his inner life: he gives up hope in teshuvah, he gr ows disgusted with himself, and he may even seek to end his life. When God sees such a broken Jew, He has compassion and helps him work his way back to an exalted end. As he struggles forward despite his rocky and difficult moments, his suffering may itself strengthen his resolve to return completely to Hashem…

Often, this is due to the fact that such people are disconnected from their own thoughts and feelings. That is a result of their desire to avoid acknowledging their own deep questions of faith. This is often true, for instance, of people who have gone through the Holocaust. If a person cannot bear the pain of confronting God Who, he feels, has harmed him, he may continue to put on tefillin, daven, dance hakafos and lead a religious Jewish life, but he avoids introspection and grows numb inside. Although this results from an evil inclination that urges a person not to think and risk the possible attendant pain, there is a positive value in setting aside difficult issues, in that one is open to accepting and receiving the wisdom of the past. The inability to receive that wisdom is a form of insolence, which is prevalent today, in line with our chachamim’s prediction that in the era preceding the coming of the Mashiach, youths will disparage their elders. Furthermore, Hashem is our Parent, and so in this generation people question and disparage Him as well. The way to deal with such issues is to engage in the practice of deep introspection, which leads to greater sensitivity and depth. That may result in pain, but a person reaps benefit from that pain.

The word for introspective retreat is hisbodedus. The root of that word, badad, means “alone,” and it serves to describe the Jewish people as a whole, as in the pasuk “Hashem has guided them alone (בדד)” (Devarim 32:12). The practice of hisbodedus is as old as the Torah itself. However, it received special attention in the teachings of the Baal Shem Tov, whose students – especially his great-grandson, Rebbe Nachman – emphasized going into seclusion in order to communicate with God and with one’s soul.

Alone Together – Reflections from Rav Kook in a Time of Social Distancing

 

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In this time of pandemic, economic unrest, isolation from each other and our beloved shuls and schools, we feel alone both physically and emotionally. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes as follows:

Being alone, from a Torah perspective, is not a good thing. The first time the words “not good” appear in the Torah is in the verse, “It is not good for man to be alone” (Gen. 2: 18). The second time is when Moses’ father-in-law Jethro sees him leading alone and says, “What you are doing is not good” (Ex. 18: 17). We cannot live alone. We cannot lead alone. It is not good to be alone. The word badad appears in two other profoundly negative contexts. First is the case of the leper: “He shall dwell alone; his place shall be outside the camp” (Lev. 13: 46). The second is the opening line of the book of Lamentations: “How alone is the city once thronged with people” (Lam. 1: 1). The only context in which badad has a positive sense is when it is applied to God (Deut. 32: 12), for obvious theological reasons.

However, the word badad has a different connotation in the world of mystical and Chasidic thought (especially Rebbe Nachman of Breslov). Hisbodedus, roughly translated as “introspection”, “seclusion,” or “being alone with oneself,” is a central spiritual value. In times of Divinely decreed hisbodedus, perhaps the worlds of our saintly teacher, Rav Kook will allow us to find some light in the darkness – without glossing over or ignoring the difficulties and spiritual shortcomings that we are all contending with. As another wise Jew once said, “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”

Rav Kook (Orot haKodesh, Vol. 3, pg. 269)

There are times when a person feels that his entire spirit has entered deeply within himself. He is very much focused within his core. The outer world does not affect him at all. He is connected to the depth of an inner introspection. Should someone else come along to analyze him from without, [that person] will not know what is occurring in his spirit. That person might make many negative judgments about him: that he is not sociable, that he distances himself from people and that everything – the whole world and all of life – everything is alien to him.

But in the true being of his spirit within himself, he feels a great and unified harmony. In his inner being, he possesses an exceedingly great goodness; the longed-for quiet that the entire world is pursuing. He is immersed at that time within himself, and then he is truly dwelling at the peak of the world. And we may assume that the living, mighty point within himself is, without anyone’s knowledge, affecting the environment more than any noisy agitation could do.

And just as this matter occurs in the case of an individual, so does it occur in the nation as a whole. When the spirit of Israel enters properly into its inner being, [the nation] feels a supernal wholeness within itself. It then builds its world. It does not run forth to cry out and roar in the world. Rather, its spirit in its inner being is refreshed. Its life pulses strongly, and it knows its power. And then it acts upon the world, as a result of acting upon itself.

This time of building, which is now in the process of being revealed, is in a disordered condition, with matters shifting from one direction to another. When a person’s mind fails to find happiness in the ascendancy of his inner spirit and to find happiness gained by concentrating, his thought constantly wanders only in the world. It wanders about, seeking happiness – but it does not find it.

At this time, effort is required to greatly revive the spirit of Israel within, to use all abilities – internal and external – to concentrate the spirit. And these arousals proceed until [a person] comes to feel the glory of inner tranquility.

Commentary of Rav Moshe Weinberger (Song of Teshuva):

This introspection is not depression or loneliness. Nevertheless, such a person may appear to have distanced and estranged himself from everybody.

During a period of hisbodedus, a person might lose an acquaintance, but never his real friend. To the contrary, hisbodedus will make a real friendship closer. A real friend will either enter that world or feel even more love for the person in a state of hisbodedus.

Although this person  may appear to be separated and apart, he does not at all feel detached from the Jewish people, from reality, from his loved ones. To the contrary, a person who experiences genuine hisbodedus feels an intense, profound connection to everything – a bond that goes far beyond the superficial links that people forge to be part of a group… During the time that this person is deeply immersed within himself, others may think that he is lost and out of touch with the world. But in actuality he has risen to the pinnacle of life. All of the tumult of this world does not affect him. He is above the world.

The word hisbodedus refers both to this state of being and to the discipline of attaining it. Hisbodedus is not something that happens spontaneously. It is something that a person reaches through hard work.

The entire Jewish people at times retreats from the noise and enters a state of hisbodedus, a deep place of silence: its essence, its soul. The Jewish nation has experienced quiet eras and loud eras, times of concealment and times of revelation, times of withdrawal and times of re-entering culture, society and civilization. Following the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash, an onlooker might have judged that the Jews in Bavel (Babylon) were unproductive. The name Bavel itself means “confusion,” and our chachamim associate the Torah learning that took place in Bavel with darkness, citing the verse, במחשכים הושיבנו — “He has caused me to dwell in dark places” (Eichah 3:6). And the verse concludes, כמתי עולם — “like those who have been long dead” (ibid.). During that time, everything appeared dead. Yet the Babylonian Talmud was then composed, and the entire Congregation of Israel was brought to life.

Similarly, were a person to look at the Jewish people in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, he might say that they had withdrawn from the arena of human history, which had been them. At that so cruel to time, this onlooker might say that the Jewish people were unproductive and not trying to build the world in any kind of obvious way. Yet those were the days of the Ari, R. Yishaya Horowitz (author of Shnei Luchos HaBris), and the Maharal. That was a time of national hisbodedus. The Jewish people understood intuitively that it was time to step back and find themselves, to regain their energy. There are times when the Jewish nation withdraws from the world. Those are times of hisbodedus, times of a “still, small voice.” When the King is approaching, everything is silent. And then the spirit of the Jewish people is refreshed and reinvigorated.

When the Jewish nation lives in a noisy, superficial way, it does not recognize its true powers and who it really is. It seems to be no more than just another nation among nations. But when the Jewish nation finds out who it is, there is a subsequent explosion of life.

During the late 194os and the 1950s, there weren’t many Shabbos observant businesses and very few people wore yarmulkes. This was a time of retreat, of withdrawal. The Jewish people had to gather its strength after the Holocaust. The academics of that time said that the Jewish nation was fi nished. But they did not understand that the Jewish nation has periods of hisbodedus, during which time it is not possible to see it from the outside, because it is entering into its deeper self. The last few decades have been very loud. We are now coming to a period of hisbodedus preceding the coming of Mashiach, a period of a still, small voice…

We may even view silence as the last step before death. But for the Jewish people, silence is like Tu BiShvat, a holiday in the middle of the winter that celebrates the new growth of trees, which we cannot yet see. During the winter, we do not see the coming new growth, for at that time the earth is silent and gathering its strength. A person who does not understand would say that everything is finished.

But during that time, the earth is going through a period of hisbodedus. It is coming to its deeper self and recognizing its real powers. Only because of that can there be an explosion of life at Pesach time…

There is a mitzvah to recall the Exodus every day of one’s life. What then is the unique nature of the mitzvah to recall the Exodus on the Seder night? R. Tzadok of Lublin points out that on the Seder night the story of the Exodus is presented in question this and answer form. And according to the Teshuvas HaRosh, requirement. is a Torah -level requirement — not only a rabbinic Why is that? that for It is because a question is a pause. A question means must a period of time a person does not know something. He must search within himself, and he can then reach the deepest part within himself. This is a moment of hisbodedus. In Egypt, the Jews had been comparable to a fetus in its mother’s womb, where it gathers all of its powers and will, where it is provided with all of the DNA and RNA that it will require. The Jews had been in a state of hisbodedus. Questions, which are associated with hisbodedus, lead to answers and spiritual blessing. The destruction of the Beis HaMikdash raised questions, and that resulted in the Babylonian Talmud.

After the disasters of Chmielnicki and Shabsai Tzvi, the Jewish people had questions, and from these came the Baal Shem Tov and the Vilna Gaon. With every heartbeat, the blood is held back for a moment. For that split second, it looks as though the person is dying, but the blood is being withheld so that the heart will be able to send it to the furthest parts of the body. The moment in which the blood is held back is the question. It is hisbodedus. The life force has retreated into its source, so that a person may be replenished and reinvigorated. There were periods of history that possessed the nature of hisbodedus.

When the Ari was alive, he had no more than a small group of followers in Tzefas, although nowadays even a person with a slight connection to Torah trembles when he hears his name. In his lifetime, Rebbe Nachman had a small following scattered across the Ukraine. Nowadays tens of thousands go to Uman to spend Rosh Hashanah at his burial site. Hisbodedus is a time in which an entity — the individual or the nation — finds its deepest powers. And afterwards it can change the world. First one acts upon oneself and enters the deep place of who one truly is, and then one can repair the entire world.

A person cannot find joy and fulfillment on the outside, in the realm of tumult. But a time of silence is coming soon. What is needed now is to give life to the inner life, the spirit of Israel. This awakening will carry us forward until we reach an inner tranquility that is associated with splendor and glory. Then we will know all of our powers, and we will be able to make use of them. Reaching this state requires the initiative to engage in the cipline of hisbodedus. It will not happen of itself.

It is true that hisbodedus can cause shame, anguish and plain, for it induces a person to think of his sins and shortcomings. Nevertheless, it is then that he discovers his real powers and begins to act on his own behalf. An discovers his real powers and begins to act on his own behalf. And when he repairs himself, he repairs the entire world.

Lost in Thought – Parshat Vayikra

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Printable PDF available here.

This is re-posted from last year. A new post will follow shortlyl

Translation (Orot haTeshuva, Perek 14): [1]

Sometimes a person’s spirit falls into a state of smallness, and he does not find any satisfaction within himself. This feeling is due to the paucity of his good deeds, the quantity of his sins, insufficient diligence in Torah study.

Such a person must exert himself in the realm of thought. He must bear in the mind the teaching of the Zohar that “the thought of a person who understands one matter [via inference] from another is more valued by the Holy One, blessed be He, than all sacrifices and burnt offerings.” [2] This means that a person’s holy thought and supernal, mental visualizations possess all of the qualities of the sacrifices and all of the qualities of the physical acts of worship associated with them…

It is possible that many aspects of his descents come about because he has not properly appreciated the foundation of his thought. Therefore, [a person] should exert greater effort to understand with an inner understanding. [This is] because the rectification of the entire world and the healing of all people depend upon the foundation of thought. He should elevate his thought as much as he can and rise to teshuva out of out of inner love.

“Fortunate are the people who know the shofar blast (lit. teruah); G-d, they will walk in the light of Your countenance.” (Tehillim 89:161)

Commentary

A person realizes that he has not lived up to his dreams and expectations. He has performed few good deeds, learned little Torah, prayed inadequately, and failed to improve his personality traits. To the contrary, he has committed sins. Seeing no evidence of growth and improvement, he feels inadequate and believes that he has failed.

At first, he may hold onto his dreams — but that only makes him miserable, and sometimes those around him as well. Eventually, the discrepancy between his ideals and his reality grows so painful that he prefers to leave the world of deep thoughts and sink into the realm of smallness. He shrivels up and slips into a superficial way of thinking that he believes is appropriate for a person of few accomplishments. But that is just the opposite of what he should do — which is to maintain his great thoughts and aspirations.

A person must not allow himself to become small-minded. Rather, he must redouble his efforts to remain in the world of deep thought. There, he is free and can accomplish a tremendous amount. Even if he is not living properly, as long as he maintains his spiritual ambitions and insights into the nature of mitzvot and good deeds, he has the opportunity to improve. As the Zohar teaches, the thoughts of a Jew who does not settle for smallness, but rather lives in a realm of greatness, are more precious to G-d than all sacrifices and burnt offerings.

Now, we understand that holy thoughts are valuable, but what is the logic of comparing them with sacrifices? The two categories seem to lack any overlap that would allow us to place them on a spectrum and give the gold medal to holy thoughts. [3] The answer is that sacrifices are not an end of themselves, but a tool, a sacred technology for uplifting our consciousness and bringing us closer to G-d. Indeed, the very word קרבן derives from the root ק.ר.ב., literally ‘coming close.’ Sometimes, a person brings a sacrifice out of a voluntary desire to come close to G-d, [4] and sometimes he must bring it to repair the damage from some transgression or other spiritual failure. But the mere act of sacrificing an animal has no value unless it catalyzes an inner transformation. This is why many of the Nevi’im reacted furiously when ascribes were brought by their religiously and ethically corrupt contemporaries. In the words of Isaiah (1:11, 16-17), “Of what use are your many sacrifices to Me? says the Lord. I am sated with the burnt-offerings of rams and the fat of fattened cattle; and the blood of bulls and sheep and he-goats I do not want… Wash, cleanse yourselves, remove the evil of your deeds from before My eyes, cease to do evil. Learn to do good, seek justice, strengthen the robbed, perform justice for the orphan, plead the case of the widow.”

Although a superficial reading might suggest otherwise, the prophets are notmerely accusing the people of being hypocrites. [5] Nowhere in Nevi’im do we find the suggestion that keeping kosher, observing holidays or any other mitzvah is worthless if one is guilty of ethical failings! Evidently, korbanot generate a particularly pernicious type of religious hypocrisy. Someone who brings a korban despite leading a profane and unethical life has confused mistaken the means for the end. To quote another one of the prophets (Hoshea 6:6), “For I desire loving-kindness, and not sacrifices, and knowledge of G-d rather than burnt offerings.

Sometimes when a person has great and holy thoughts, various things prevent him from carrying them out. The source of that constraint may be external – his neighborhood, spouse, children, and the like – or internal. But even then G-d accepts his holy thoughts as offerings.…. even if a Jew’s practical life is in shambles, as long as he possesses holy thoughts, he can maintain himself in a place of greatness until miracles will yet occur.

If a person with a strong inclination to live in the realm of thought sees that he has not improved over the years, he may view his thoughts, ideals, dreams, and plans as feeble and insignificant. Not valuing them, he judges himself to be a small person with small deeds. He thus abandons his deep thoughts – and because his nature is to think, now he thinks deeply about foolish things. But this is the wrong approach. He must rather exert himself and receive counsel in order to continue giving credence to his large thoughts. It is true that he is having a hard time realizing them – nevertheless, they are authentic. As long as his deep thoughts remain important to him, he will be able to work them into his life and become a bigger person.

As a result of holding onto his good, true, and deep thoughts, a person is able to stay connected to holiness. Those thoughts bring about healing, salvation, and other rectifications. This is so even if this person does not always carry out his thoughts. Now, a person who is living a small life has a natural tendency to abandon his great thoughts, because of the gap between the two. But to the contrary, he should elevate the thoughts inner life until he attains a deep, powerful teshuvah from inner love.

Rav Kook concludes with a verse from Tehillim – “Fortunate are the people who know the shofar blast (lit. teruah); G-d, they will walk in the light of Your countenance.” How does this verse connect to the previous teaching? It seems that Rav Kook is picking up on the notion of “knowing” the shofar blast. The verse is referring to someone who at least knows and understands the depths associated with the teruah, even if at present he cannot actualize them by doing teshuvah. Such a person should not despair or abandon his lofty thoughts– on the contrary, he is “fortunate” and will “eventually walk in the light of G-d’s countenance.”

Questions for Reflection and Discussion

  • How exactly are korbanot supposed to lead to G-d-consciousness?
  • Rav Moshe Weinberger writes that “A person who is living a small life has a natural tendency to abandon his great thoughts, because of the gap between the two.” Could this (paradoxically) explain any of the ‘off the derech’ phenomenon?
  • Does the written Torah present any laws about the korbanot that indicate the importance of thought in the process?[6]
  • Are there any behaviors or characteristics that you think characterize someone who leads a small-minded life?
  • Rav Kook writes that “the rectification of the entire world and the healing of all people depend upon the foundation of thought.” How exactly does this work? Is it a mystical/metaphysical process, or something that operates in a way we can comprehend?
  • What should you do to promote or hold onto thoughts of greatness?
  • Rav Kook draws a connection between holy thoughts, teshuva and the shofar, but doesn’t elaborate on how they relate together. What do you think he is getting at?

[1]The translation and commentary are largely excepted from R. Moshe Weinberger’s Song of Teshuva.

[2]Zohar, Nasso 121b.

[3]To use more formal terminology, these seem like nominal concepts instead of ordinal ones.

[4]R. Menachem Leibtag notes that Sefer Vayikra starts off with voluntary korbanot, as if to emphasize that sin and atonement is not the primary motif of sacrifices.

[5]A widespread misconception (outside the Torah world) is that the Prophets opposed the legalism of the Torah, and emphasized the value ethical conduct to the exclusion of mitzvah observance.

[6]Ok, so you had to cheat and look at the footnote. See Vayikra 5:5 and 7:18.

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The Sacred Flame – Parshat Vayakhel/Pekudei

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Readers, I hope you are staying healthy – and also sane. Just when I thought I was going to get back on track, a pandemic comes and throws everything off! In light of Coronavirus-related constraints and in the spirit of Parshat Vayakhel/Pekudei, which is largely a repeat of Terumah/Tetzaveh, we are repeating this piece from last year’s Mareh Kohen.

Printable PDF available here.

Translation (Ein Ayah, Shabbat 20a):

In Shemot 35:3, the Torah states “Do not kindle fire in any of your dwelling places on Shabbat.” The implication is that kindling is only prohibited in one’s personal dwelling. But in the Temple, it is permittedto burn offerings on Shabbat. (Gem. Shabbat 20a)

The verse and this teaching of our Sages present two difficulties;

  1. We know that the prohibition of creative labor (lit. melacha) on Shabbat encompasses 39 different categories of activity. Why is lighting fire is the only category explicitly mentioned in the Torah?
  2. Outside of the Temple, the sanctity of Shabbat demands a total cessation of Why is there a lower standard within the Temple? Wouldn’t we have expected the opposite? And why is there a special dispensation for lighting fire, as opposed to other melachot?

A deeper understanding of fire can resolve both of these questions. Fire epitomizes human creativity and control over nature. Granted, human initiative is involved with all melachot,but fire is unique. Other melachot– such as plowing, building, and dyeing – involve no more than tweaking and reshaping existing physical forms. In contrast, the process of combustion brings forth heat and light, and is truly a dynamic and transformative process.[1]

Now, the restrictions against working on Shabbat are meant to reinforce the notion that God is Creator of the world. Thus, one might have concluded – and not unreasonably – that only the pristine and natural world (lit. teva), uncorrupted by human endeavor, is God’s handiwork. Perhaps human creativity and technology are at best spiritually irrelevant, and at worst aberrations that are foreign to the true purpose of God’s creation. If this were the case, it should be permitted to kindle fire on Shabbat, inasmuch as kindling represents human innovation applied to transform the natural order, as opposed to working within it.

To disabuse us of this misconception, the Torah expressly singles out lighting fire as a prohibited melacha.[2]We thus learn that human creativity is a fundamental part of God’s creation and His design of the universe. After all, the intellectual capacities used by man to transform the natural world were granted by God Himself![3]It follows that our ingenuity in reshaping the natural world contributes to the goal of creation, in accordance with God’s supernal wisdom.

A person must therefore be conscious of his tremendous power to change and improve the physical world. However, this power will only bring blessing to the world if it is utilized under the auspices of righteousness and Godly integrity. The Temple is the ultimate location from which such enlightenment can be drawn. The Temple was the focal point of Divine revelation and the source of spiritual guidance for both the individual and the collective. It follows that extending the prohibition against kindling to the Temple would be self-defeating and would short-circuit the spiritual value of human creativity. It would give man the notion that he should adopt a passive stance toward the world, and cast the burden of improving his welfare on God alone.

Thus, the dispensation for kindling fire in the Temple helps us internalize the holiness of our God-given power to develop the physical world. The Divine morality that flows outward from the Temple teaches us to use our ingenuity in a spirit of righteousness, to reshape the world and the society we construct within it with a new heart and a holy spirit.

Commentary

Rav Kook gives forceful expression to the spiritual value of human innovation and technological advancement. These capacities are part of God’s creation, and their unfolding contributes to the Divine plan for humanity. Rav Kook resoundingly rejects the position that all efforts to improve human welfare are futile, either because our fate is completely in the hands of God, or because creativity is only valued in the realm of Torah learning/the beit midrash.[4]

As far as I am aware, Rav Soloveitchik is the only other major rabbinic figure who grants spiritual dignity to man’s efforts to transform the physical world. The Rav argues that human creativity is a channel by which man expresses his Divine image (lit. tzelem elokim), inasmuch as God is the Creator par excellence. As he writes, “The spiritual message behind the story of Creation is that man too must be creative. Man must conquer disease, control rivers, and alleviate misery… A moral principle follows from this article of faith [that God created the world ex-nihilo]: the Creation narrative challenges man to create.”[5]

I think that Rav Kook can offer us another valuable insight about fire, specifically the havdalah fire that we kindle right after Shabbat concludes. Our Sages taught[6]that Adam was cast out of Gan Eden after Shabbat and became terrified by the onset of darkness. God taught him the skill of kindling fire by striking together two flint-stones, and enabled him to banish the gloom. This tradition takes on new meaning in light of Rav Kook’s teaching. As we prepare to re-enter the work week, we acknowledge the spiritual potential and dignity of melacha by blessing God as the creator of flame.

Contrast this tradition of our Sages with the Greek myth of Prometheus.[7]To quote Rabbi Jonathan Sacks,[8]to the Greeks, the gods were essentially hostile to mankind. Zeus wanted to keep the art of making fire secret, but Prometheus stole a spark and taught men how to make it. Once the theft was discovered, Zeus punished him by having him chained to a rock… [and tortured for eternity]. Against this background can we see the revolutionary character of Jewish faith. We believe that G-d wants human beings to exercise power: responsibly, creatively, and within limits set by the integrity of nature. The rabbinic account of how G-d taught Adam and Eve the secret of making fire is the precise opposite of the story of Prometheus. G-d seeks to confer dignity on the beings He made in His image as an act of love. He does not hide the secrets of the universe from us. He does not seek to keep mankind in a state of ignorance or dependence. The creative G-d empowers us to be creative and begins by teaching us how. He wants us to be guardians of the world He has entrusted to our care.

Questions for Reflection and Discussion

  • Rav Kook does not get into details on how exactly human innovation and technology furthers God’s purposes. What do you think he has in mind?
  • Is there any particular technology that you think illustrates the spiritual dignity of man’s creative abilities? (Note – technology is any application of human ingenuity to address a problem. It’s not limited to something you purchase at Best Buy.)
  • Do you think the Orthodox community or educational system does a good job of encouraging creativity? If not, how could we improve?
  • Would Rav Kook agree that some technologies that are intrinsically detrimental to human welfare, or would he claim that everything has spiritual potential?
  • Some would argue that technology has become a form of idolatry. One author, in a recent book[9]about the dangers of social media, claims that we live in a ‘technopoly,’ which he defines as “the deification of technology, which means that the culture seeks its authorization in technology, finds its satisfactions in technology, and takes its orders from technology.” This ideological domination demands a sacrifice of all previously stable belief systems. So trust in institutions, ancient or modern, erodes. Any order, system, or tradition is deemed suspicious or ripe for “disruption” simply because of its date of origin, as if durability were a sign of weakness instead of strength. Local identities and traditions are rendered valueless except as raw material for remixes, parody, tourism, tapestries, and games rather than expressions of deep human narratives and connections. Learning becomes a matter of searching, copying, and pasting rather than immersing, considering, and deliberating. Meditation becomes a hobby, a holiday for those privileged enough to purchase the time, rather than a practice that connects one with a spirit or purpose…. Everyone is quantified. Everyone is exposed. Everyone is on guard. Everyone is exhausted.” What are your thoughts on whether the society we live in has a healthy relationship with technology? Whether you have a healthy relationship with technology?

[1]Consider also that fire (i) is a source of illumination that allows mankind to transcend the limitations imposed by the darkness of night and (ii) was the fundamental technology that enabled primitive mankind to forge metal and develop tools.

[2]In other words, it is taken from granted that the other 38 melachot are prohibited. The Torah comes to tell us that even kindling is a prohibited melachaas well.

[3]In the Hebrew, Rav Kook alludes to the words of Isaiah (26:12) – כי גם כל מעשינו פעלת לנו.

[4]This was not merely a matter of theory in Rav Kook’s generation (or in ours, for that matter). Many European Jews abandoned Torah observance because they perceived an unhealthy willingness and a total disinterest of observant Jews in making any efforts to shape their own destiny.

[5] Reflections of the Rav, cited in the Mesoras haRav Chumash (Bereishit 1:2). An excellent English article about the Rav’s teachings on creativity is available here.

[6]Gemara Pesachim 54a.

[7]Many other cultures also have a myth that involves the theft of fire from the heavens by a terrestrial hero.

[8]http://rabbisacks.org/light-make-shemini-5777

[9]Antisocial Media, pg. 19.

 

A Continuous Flame – Parshat Tetzaveh

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“And the work was sufficient for them for all the work, to do it and even to leave over.” (Shemot 36:7) That’s not from this week’s parshah, but it sums up my experience at work during the last several weeks. That explains why (i) I wasn’t able to post last week for Parshat Terumah and (ii) am not providing an original rendition of Rav Kook for this week’s parshah. In lieu, below is an excerpt from Rabbi Chanan Morrison’s Sapphire From the Land of Israel, an adaptation of Rav Kook’s teachings on the parsha. I hope to resume posting in earnest next week.

A printable PDF of the piece below is available here. Last year’s piece on Parshat Tetzaveh is available here, and is also in print in this week’s New Jersey Jewish Link.


Rav Kook (Ein Ayah, Gemara Shabbat, 20a):

And you shall command the children of Israel, and they shall take to you pure olive oil, crushed for lighting, to kindle the lamps continually. (Shemot 27:20)

Not just any oil was suitable for use in the Temple Menorah. The Torah stipulates that the oil be particularly refined, made from hand-crushed olives, so that it will “raise up a constant flame.” Why does the Torah use this unusual phrase, “to raise up the flame”? Why not say simply “to kindle the flame”?

In the gemara, our Sages explained this phrase to means that the lights of the Menorah must burn easily and naturally, necessitating that only the finest oil and wicks be used. The oil must be pure, produced from types of oil that are easily absorbed, and the wicks must be made from a material that burns smoothly. With such high quality oil and wicks, the flame will “raise itself up” and will not need to be fiddled with.

For Sabbath lights, the Sages similarly required that the oil come from a substance that is absorbed easily, and the wicks be made from a material that burns smoothly. ‘Those wicks and oils that the Sages disqualified from use on the Sabbath may also not be used in the Temple’ (Shabbat 21a).

As with all aspects of the halacha, there is a deeper significance to this rule. The goal of the Sabbath is to perfect the individual, and the requirement for easily lit wicks and oil contains an important lesson about the path to spiritual growth.

If the body is overwhelmingly drawn toward physical pleasures, the intellect will not succeed in guiding it. One may become skilled in some craft, or gain proficiency in certain areas of wisdom, but wisdom will not reside in the heart. The overriding attraction to material pursuits will interfere with the illumination of the intellect. Our body is like a wick. It must be refined so that it does not resist the light, but rather works together with the soul. Only then it will be illuminated easily and evenly. This is the essence of the Sabbath: a day set aside for harmonious living, so that we may naturally grow in holiness and true service of God.

The oil is a metaphor for the human intellect. The mind also needs guidance; not every intellectual pursuit leads to ethical and spiritual growth. Cases abound of brilliant individuals who led amoral, even corrupt lives. Just as the oil of the Menorah must be of a type that is readily absorbed by the wick, so too, we should immerse ourselves in a wisdom which provides practical guidance toward proper living. Such is the wisdom of Israel — the Torah.

Now, the Sabbath day promotes the spiritual growth of the individual. But what about the spiritual growth of the nation? What if the nation seeks to amass wealth and power, regardless of any injustices perpetrated along the way? Unfortunately, this is a common phenomenon: the individual aspires to justice and goodness, while his country ruthlessly pursues its objectives.

The heritage of the Jewish people, however, is different. Our national aspirations are at one with our individual aspirations. Both are rooted in God’s law from Sinai. Both the individual and the nation pursue the same goals of justice and kindness. This is the significance of the association made between the Sabbath lights and the Temple Menorah, connecting the aspirations of the individual and the nation. Both Sabbath and Temple lights require oil and wicks that burn smoothly and easily. The Torah of the nation, like that of the individual, must guide its actions effectively, and not be limited to abstract philosophical inquiry.

The Sages further explained that flame needs to be constant, a light that “raises itself up.” What does this mean? Our impetus for seeking justice and good should be based on intrinsic, natural motives. This is accomplished by purifying the body through the sanctity of practical mitzvot, and the mind through the light of Torah study. Then we do not require artificial assistance to avoid evil. Our enlightened conscience will naturally lead us to the proper path.

Food for Thought (from Chabad.com, based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe)

Few sights are as warming to the soul as the sight of a burning flame. Though a physical phenomenon, the flame — luminous, pure, ethereal — is everything the physical is not; hence its appeal to man, a spiritual being ensnared in a material world.

But the flame is more than a symbol of spirituality. The flame is our own mirror, in which are reflected the strivings of our deepest self. In the words of the author of Proverbs, “The soul of man is a lamp of G‑d.” The flame is our own mirror, in which are reflected the strivings of our deepest self.

The flame surges upwards, as if to tear free from the wick and lose itself in the great expanses of energy that gird the heavens. But even as it strains heavenward, the flame is already pulling back, tightening its grip on the wick and drinking thirstily of the oil in the lamp—oil that sustains its continued existence as an individual flame. And it is this tension of conflicting energies, this vacillation from being to dissolution and back again, that produces light.

We, too, yearn for transcendence, yearn to tear free of the entanglements of material life and achieve a self-nullifying reunion with our Creator and Source. At the same time, however, we are also driven by a will to be — a will to live a physical life and make our mark upon a physical world. In the lamp of G‑d that is man, these polar drives converge in a flame that illuminates its surroundings with a G‑dly light.

A lamp consists of oil, a wick, and a vessel containing them so that the oil is fed through the wick to a burning flame. Oil and wick are both combustible substances, but neither could produce light on its own with the efficiency and stability of the lamp. The wick, if ignited, would flare briefly and die, utterly consumed. As for the oil, one would find it extremely difficult to ignite at all. But when wick and oil are brought together in the lamp, they produce a controlled and steady light.

The soul of man is a lamp of G‑d whose purpose in life is to illuminate the world with divine light. G‑d provided us with the “fuel” that generates His light the Torah and its commandments (mitzvot), which embody His wisdom and will and convey His luminous truth.

The divine oil requires a “wick” to channel its substance and convert it into an illuminating flame. The Torah is the divine wisdom; but for divine wisdom to be manifest in our world, there must be physical minds that study it and comprehend it, physical mouths that debate it and teach it, and physical media that publish it and disseminate it. The mitzvot are the divine will; but for the divine will to be manifest in our world, there must be a physical body that actualizes it and physical materials (animal hide for tefillin, wool for tzitzit, money for charity) with which it is actualized.

And just as the divine oil cannot produce light without a material wick, neither can a wick without oil. A life without Torah and mitzvot, however aflame with the desire to come close to G‑d, is incapable of sustaining its flame. It might generate flashes of ecstatic spiritual experience, but lacking oil of genuine divine substance, these quickly die out and fail to introduce any enduring light into the world.

To realize its role as a “lamp of G‑d,” a human life must be a lamp that combines a physical existence (the “wick”) with the divine ideas and deeds of Torah (the “oil”). When the wick is saturated with oil and feeds its spiritual yearnings with a steady supply of the same, the resultant flame is both luminous and sustainable, preserving the existence and productivity of the wick and illuminating the corner of the world in which has been placed.

The flame itself is a multi-colored affair, alluding to the many levels on which man relates to the Creator through his observance of the mitzvot. Generally speaking, there is the lower and darker area of the flame which adjoins the wick, and its upper and brighter part.

The darker segment of the flame represents those aspects of a person’s service of G‑d which are colored by their association with the physicality of the “wick”–that is, mitzvot which are motivated by self-interest. The higher and purer part of the flame represents a person’s moments of self-transcendence, deeds which a person does—as Maimonides writes–“not for any reason in the world: not out of fear of evil or out of a desire to obtain the good; rather, he does the truth because it is true.”

Both these aspects of a person’s life are reflected in his relationship with G‑d. The mitzvot come not only to bind his altruistic “G‑dly soul” to the Almighty, but also to involve his ego-dominated “animal soul” in the fulfillment of the divine will. This is achieved when a person understands that he should “love the Lord your G‑d… for He is your life” (Devarim 30:20). By recognizing that G‑d is the source and sustainer of his very being, the very same ego which earlier craved the most material of pleasures is now drawn to attach itself to the Almighty, out of the realization that there is no greater fulfillment of self pos

The “wick” is both prison and liberator for the flame, both tether and lifeline. It holds the soul in its distinctiveness from the divine whole, in its apartness from its Creator. And yet, it is this distinctiveness and apartness, this incarnation in a physical life, which allows us to connect to G‑d in the deepest and most meaningful way—by fulfilling His will.

So when divine command, physical body and human life come together as oil, wick and lamp, the result is a flame: a relationship with G‑d that is characterized by two conflicting drives, by a yearning to come close coupled with a commitment to draw back. The materiality of life evokes in the soul a desire to tear free of it and fuse with the Divine. But the closer the soul is drawn to G‑d, all the more does it recognize that it can fulfill His will only as a distinct and physical being. So while the corporeality of the wick triggers the flames upward surge, the divine will implicit in the oil sustains its commitment to existence and life.