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 But now, as a thinking person, he has withdrawn into himself and measured himself by who he could be, a clear light shines upon his blemishes and mistakes, and he sees the damage caused by his wrong actions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.

 

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.

The following story is recounted by Hermann Struck (1876-1944), who is considered one of the outstanding early 20th-century artists in Germany. Struck was born to an Orthodox family and remained an observant Jew his entire life – an extraordinary rarity for someone with artistic tendencies during this period in Jewish history.  Among his students was Marc Chagall. 

The picture above is from Yitzchok Moully, a very special artist (contemporary) whose art I think embodies the best and the holiest of what Rav Kook believed art could be. Check out more of his creations at https://moullyart.com.

I went up to Jerusalem and visited the Rav. He received me warmly. Apparently, he had heard about my activities in Poland and Russia during World War I, when I served as a special officer for Jewish affairs on the staff of the invading German army. The conversation quickly turned to the topic of art; and I – the professor of art – suddenly saw myself as a student sitting before his master, listening with admiration to his comprehensive knowledge.

When the Rav began talking about the place of art in universal culture, I thought to myself, “It is, indeed, fascinating that this great Torah scholar knows about such matters, but that must be part of his broad knowledge of general philosophy,” of which I was already aware. However, when he went on to discuss – effusively – the art of painting, even relating to great and famous painters and their artistic genres, I was completely amazed. When and how did he attain such wide-ranging proficiency and such subtle distinctions in this complex discipline? Suddenly, I realized that this great rabbi sees all; his poetic soul is open to the entire range of artistic expression, and his brilliant grasp encompasses all of its varying approaches. He is also able to define and find precise terminologies to describe its most unique approaches.

During that broad conversation, which lasted much longer than I had expected, the Rav did not lose sight of me. He had a special request of me. He asked me to devote more of my energies to painting the scenery of Eretz Yisrael. “As an artist,” he said, “you have an important mission. You must reveal the beauty, grace, and sanctity of our Holy Land. You must depict historical sites which, when seen, will inspire Jews to love the Land and yearn for its hills and valleys.” The Rav concluded with a blessing: “May the Holy One, Blessed be He, Who bestowed wisdom upon Betzalel and Oholiav for the purpose of building the Mishkan, continue to bestow wisdom upon anyone whose artistic talents are devoted to the Jewish nation and its land.”

 

An Angel Among Men, by Simcha Raz (pg. 410-411)

 

In every generation, great personalities make their contributions to the legacy of Torah learning and interpretation. And while it is understood that Torah greatness requires a basic mastery of the Torah’s breadth and depth, there is ample room for specialization. A gadol’s particular talents, his self-understanding, and the reception of his legacy by klal Yisrael, all of these shape how a figure will be remembered.

However, there are rare individuals whose accomplishments defy categorization. The range and scope of their knowledge astonishes. They are sensitive to the tensions of the religious life and the unique resonance of each of the Torah’s different disciplines. Their teachings reveal passageways between different rooms in the palace of Torah, rooms that were previously assumed to be isolated or cordoned off. These individuals do not merely perpetuate or teach Torah, but reveal therein a glimpse of Creation’s hidden light.

One such individual was Rav Avraham Yitzchak haKohen (1865-1935). Rav Kook was a posek of the first order, a kabbalist, a poet, and a philosopher. His writings are suffused with new ways of understanding Torah, the mitzvot and the Jewish people’s role in the world, all of which poured forth from his soul in complete faithfulness to the rabbinic tradition. And unlike the majority of his rabbinic contemporaries, who idealized quietism, isolation and rejection of the world outside the beit midrash, Rav Kook saw that the time had come for the Jewish people to return to life and history. In place of fear of science, literature and modern thought, he taught that every thought and every impulse contains sparks of holiness to be extracted for their contribution to G-d’s glory.

Rav Kook is also one of the most important religious Zionist thinkers, and he is a household name in modern Israel. In Israel, his collected writings are known as ‘the White Shas,’ and new works are published every year explaining and analyzing his thought. Outside of Israel, however, Rav Kook remains a little known figure, whose works are largely inaccessible. Even those who are fluent in Hebrew struggle with his poetic writing style, full of flowery sentences that “in the image of light that they constantly conjure up – move through curved space, trailing in the distance only to reappear when least expected.” [1] And while a small number of his works have been translated or adapted into English, the English-speaking Torah world has been largely deprived of exposure to Rav Kook oeuvre.

This website is my humble attemptat redressing that by bringing Rav Kook’s light to a broader audience.Each week, I will share a translation of one of Rav Kook’s insights on the weekly Torah portion, accompanied with

• explanatory notes;
• a PDF of the original Hebrew;
• background about the work from which the excerpt is taken; and
• questions to facilitate further discussion and help us bring Rav Kook’s lofty insights ‘down to earth’/translate them into practice in our own lives.

I do not claim to be an expert on Rav Kook, whose legacy spans more than I could ever hope to understand, let alone convey to others. I seek only to share sparks from his great fire of love for Torah, the land of Israel and the Jewish people, sparks that I have collected and which others can hopefully use to kindle their own flame.

[1] Orot, translation of Bezalel Naor, Translator’s Preface