Printable PDF available here. Previous years’ pieces on Beshalach are available here and here.

Rav Kook (Based on Ein Ayah, Gemara Berachot 50a)

At the Yam Suf, even fetuses in their mothers’ wombs recited song. As it is stated in the chapter of Psalms that describes the Exodus from Egypt: “In assemblies, bless G-d, the Lord, from the source of Israel (lit. מקור ישראל)” – “source” is an allusion to the womb. (Gemara Berachot 50a)

This teaching of our Sages is strange and hard to make sense of. Is it meant to be taken literally? Did the fetuses really join in the Song of the Sea, like some strange in utero concert? Also, why do the Sages teach that unborn children participated specifically at this juncture, as opposed to any other miraculous or transcendent moment of Jewish history? Indeed, we don’t find the gemara or midrash asserting that fetuses were part of the giving of the Torah or praised G-d for any other miracle.

To resolve this puzzle, we need to investigate some fundamental aspects of Jewish identity and religious development. Israel’s national identity is rooted in awe and love of G-d (lit. יראת ה׳ ואהבתו), and these in turn are cultivated through various channels. A significant part of our spiritual development is self-driven. By accepting the Torah and living according to its precepts, we refine our dispositions and elevate our souls. Chinuch is another layer or component of our religious development. Our parents and communities educate us to aspire to Torah life. They train us to claim the inheritance that prior generations have bequeathed to us as our most precious treasure.

However, we also have an innate predisposition to a connection with the Divine, one that has nothing to do with our own actions or those who educated us. It is nature, not nurture. Every Jew possesses a soul drawn from the G-dly source of Israel (lit. מקור ישראל – the same phrase from Psalms cited by the gemara), and is possessed with an innate yearning for spiritual perfection and rejoicing in G-d. Not everyone succeeds at manifesting these yearnings, and sadly many Jews are not even consciously aware of them. But embers of spiritual passion smolder within every member of Israel.

When did Israel become aware of its own uniqueness? As a nation, when did we first encounter the embryonic potential that lay within us? The answer is that it transpired shortly after the Exodus, at the Yam Suf. At that point, of our own spiritual conduct was nothing to boast about. Before Moshe split the sea, we complained bitterly and demonstrated a lack of faith. Outwardly, our Sages even teach that we were indistinguishable from the Egyptians, and that the ministering angels could not understand why G-d chose to save us but drown our former masters. Similarly, we had minimal chinuch or training to speak of. It was barely a week before that we had performed our first mitzvah – the korban pesach – and witnessed G-d crush the might of Egyptian empire through the death of their firstborn.

But the fetuses in the womb had not even witnessed this. Their only connection to the world of G-dliness and spiritual truth was the fact that they’d been conceived by a Jewish mother and father. And yet Our Sages teach that even they participated in the Song at the Sea. Presumably, this is not meant to be taken literally, but to highlight the spiritual potential that comes from nature, as opposed to nurture. In other words, our Sages are not interested in teaching us about literal fetuses, but rather our own very real embryonic potential. The most profound and sublime Divine ideals are the birthright become of every member of Israel, no matter their background or prior choices.

Food for Thought

Sefas Emes (Beshalach): Then Moses and the children of Israel sang. After the exodus they became instruments to give witness to the Creator. As it states, “the people I formed for Myself that they might declare my praise (Is. 43:21). The midrash quotes the verse, “G-d lifted me out of the gruesome pit, the slimy clay, and set my feet on a rock, steadied my legs. G-d put a new song into my mouth, a hymn to our G-d. (Ps. 40:3-4). The meaning of “new” is that it forever carries this power of renewal. It can never be forgotten by the souls of Israel. It was not a throwaway that [our sages] established that we should sing this song each day. Israel’s faith [at the sea] was the this saving act would last for all generations…this song and the attachment to the Divine have been implanted in the Jewish soul forever. But until the exodus from Egypt they were not able to call it forth. Only after this was the longing for G-d revealed…thus on every Shabbat the soul and desire are set free. That is why Shabbat is “in remembrance of the exodus from Egypt” [and why we sing G-d’s praises on that day].

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (Covenant and Conversation, Ha’azinu 5777): There is something profoundly spiritual about music. When language aspires to the transcendent, and the soul longs to break free of the gravitational pull of the earth, it modulates into song. Jewish history is not so much read as sung. The rabbis enumerated ten songs at key moments in the life of the nation. There was the song of the Israelites in Egypt (see Is. 30:29), the song at the Red Sea (Ex. 15), the song at the well (Num. 21), and Ha’azinu, Moses’ song at the end of his life. Joshua sang a song (Josh. 10:12-13). So did Deborah (Jud. 5), Hannah (1 Sam. 2) and David (2 Sam. 22). There was the Song of Solomon, Shir ha-Shirim, about which Rabbi Akiva said, “All songs are holy but the Song of Songs is the holy of holies.” The tenth song has not yet been sung. It is the song of the Messiah.

Mystics go further and speak of the song of the universe, what Pythagoras called “the music of the spheres”. This is what Psalm 19 means when it says, “The heavens declare the glory of G-d; the skies proclaim the work of His hands . . . There is no speech, there are no words, where their voice is not heard. Their music carries throughout the earth, their words to the end of the world.” Beneath the silence, audible only to the inner ear, creation sings to its Creator.

So, when we pray, we do not read: we sing. When we engage with sacred texts, we do not recite: we chant. Every text and every time has, in Judaism, its own specific melody. There are different tunes for shacharit, mincha and maariv, the morning, afternoon and evening prayers. There are different melodies and moods for the prayers for a weekday, Shabbat, the three pilgrimage festivals, Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot (which have much musically in common but also tunes distinctive to each), and for the Yamim Noraim, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. There are different tunes for different texts. There is one kind of cantillation for Torah, another for the haftorah from the prophetic books, and yet another for Ketuvim, the Writings, especially the five Megillot. There is a particular chant for studying the texts of the written Torah: Mishnah and Gemarah. So by music alone we can tell what kind of day it is and what kind of text is being used. Jewish texts and times are not colour-coded but music-coded. The map of holy words is written in melodies and songs.

Music has extraordinary power to evoke emotion. The Kol Nidrei prayer with which Yom Kippur begins is not really a prayer at all. It is a dry legal formula for the annulment of vows. There can be little doubt that it is its ancient, haunting melody that has given it its hold over the Jewish imagination. It is hard to hear those notes and not feel that you are in the presence of G-d on the Day of Judgment, standing in the company of Jews of all places and times as they plead with heaven for forgiveness. It is the holy of holies of the Jewish soul. Nor can you sit on Tisha B’av reading Eichah, the book of Lamentations, with its own unique cantillation, and not feel the tears of Jews through the ages as they suffered for their faith and wept as they remembered what they had lost, the pain as fresh as it was the day the Temple was destroyed. Words without music are like a body without a soul…

Faith is more like music than science. Science analyses, music integrates. And as music connects note to note, so faith connects episode to episode, life to life, age to age in a timeless melody that breaks into time. G-d is the composer and librettist. We are each called on to be voices in the choir, singers of G-d’s song. Faith is the ability to hear the music beneath the noise. So music is a signal of transcendence. The philosopher and musician Roger Scruton writes that it is “an encounter with the pure subject, released from the world of objects, and moving in obedience to the laws of freedom alone.” He quotes Rilke: “Words still go softly out towards the unsayable / And music, always new, from palpitating stones / builds in useless space its G-dly home.” The history of the Jewish spirit is written in its songs…

Rabbi Elchanan Shoff (Contemporary): We are taught that when one is being formed in the womb, an angel teaches him the entirety of Torah. When he is born, an angel hits him on the mouth, and he forgets that Torah… In fact, we are left to wonder why we even are taught the Torah in the womb in the first place. Would this not seem to simply be an example of learning for no purpose at all? The Jewish people left Egypt like a child leaving the womb. It was a time that the Jewish people were being born. The experience at the sea was not one that the Jewish people had earned. They had not spent the time working on themselves, and were not at the level of prophets. In fact, had they remained in Egypt one more moment, they would have sunk to depths from which they could not have been revived. This was the desperate need for urgency on the part of Hashem. And yet, the maidservant at the sea saw what even the great prophets never merited to see!

It was just like the time that an infant spends in the womb of his mother. The Jewish people were brought to great levels of understanding, which they did not earn or deserve. We will always look back to the exodus to know what it means to be a Jew, and we will mention it every day, and in so many of our blessings and prayers. The song that we sang at the sea was the song of the fetus. It is the song of pure potential. Nothing has been earned, and nothing is separating us from who we really are. That purity, what we are made up of, is something that must always be on our minds. We are not learning Torah and fulfilling its commands in order to change who we are, but rather to discover that information. It is fundamental that we remember that our job in this world is simply to peel off the garbage that is separating us from ourselves. You are a Torah. As your body was being formed of the physical cells, your soul was being formed as a piece of truth and nothing more. If you become lost, it is a Torah that became lost. And if you can peel through the layers that are hampering you, you will discover that you really knew all that Torah all along.

Questions for Discussion

1. Rav Kook claims that the Jewish people possession a unique spiritual predisposition. How do you think he would explain the concept of geirus (conversion)?
2. What is the role of song and music in Jewish religious life?
3. What is an area of your life where you possess innate potential that hasn’t yet been realized? What can you do to change that, even just a little?
4. Are there any dangers to the idea that Jewish people possess a unique spiritual predisposition?
5. What is the proper balance between nature, nurture and training/chinuch in Jewish life?

Printable PDF available here. Please print and share with friends!

Last year’s post on Parshat Beshalach is available here.

Rav Kook (Otzrot haRe’iah, Vol. 2, pg. 172-173)

Based on the Translation of Rabbi Chanan Morrison (RavKookTorah.org)

They came to Marah, but they could not drink the waters because they were bitter… So he [Moshe] cried out to G-d, and G-d instructed him concerning a piece of wood, which Moshe cast into the water, and the water became sweet. There He gave them a statute and an ordinance, and there He tested them. (Shemot 15:23-25)

Our Sages teach that Israel received several mitzvot at Marah – honoring one’s parents, certain aspects of the judicial system, and keeping Shabbat.[1]It sounds like these commandments were not actually binding, but a kind of practice or preparation for receiving the Torah at Har Sinai. The Torah describes it as a “test.”[2]But what kind of test was this, and how did it prepare the people for the Torah? To unravel this puzzle, let us focus specifically on the command of Shabbat.

The Torah tells us that before Shabbat was given at Marah, it was a place of bitter waters. G-d then showed Moshe a certain “tree,” whose wood sweetened the water. Our Sages teach that on a deeper level, this was all a metaphor for Torah. The laws of the Torah are truly sweet, but to perceive that sweetness, one needs a pure soul and a refined character. Someone afflicted with negative middot and a coarse personality will not experience the goodness of Torah life. He will relate to mitzvot not as an opportunity, but a source of repression that stifles his enjoyment of a ‘good’ life. Similarly, the waters of Marah were sweet all along. Israel just had to take the appropriate steps to bring out that sweetness.

In particular, Marah laid the groundwork for Sinai by reinforcing the positive traits of kindness and compassion that are innate to Israel.[3]The people would then be ready to receive the Torah, now that their moral development allowed them to appreciate the sweetness of the Torah’s laws. But what does this have to do with Shabbat?

The answer is as follows. For the sake of social order and harmony, people need to be occupied with labor. Work relationships and business dealings motivate people to be polite and pleasant to one another. Even if they do not like one another, it is in their self-interest to be friendly and helpful. If they are not working, however, this motive no longer exists. Human nature instinctively looks out for self-protection and survival; without an incentive to gain the good will of others, people are inclined to revert back to their natural, self-centered tendencies. This was the test of Marah and the day of Sabbath rest. Would Israel discover within itself an innate quality of compassion? Would they remain considerate and accommodating, without any personal profit to be gained from kindness on the day of rest?

This also the purpose of providing the manna, another pre-Sinai phenomenon that begins in Parshat Beshalach. The Torah tells us that G-d gave us manna in order to “test whether or not we would keep His law” (Shemot 16:4). With their food provided for them, the Israelites had no need to earn a living. Would they remain considerate to their neighbors without the incentive of personal gain? If they did so, that would demonstrate that their kindness was not out of self-interest, but an expression of an inner compassion and generosity. The Jewish people could not accept the Torah without inculcating these traits.

Incidentally, we can now explain why Shabbat is a special gift for the Jewish people, and is forbidden to Noachides (see Gemara Sanhedrin 58b). This is surprising – given that Shabbat commemorates the creation of the universe, we would expect it to be accessible to all of humanity. However, the seven Noahide laws do not demand the refinement of human nature, but merely the avoidance of evil. The Torah, on the other hand, was revealed in order to elevate the Jewish people to holiness and closeness to the Divine. The non-Jewish world is free to build a society upon expediency and personal gain, but Israel’s ethical ideals must be based upon a love of “that which is good and proper in the eyes of G-d” (Devarim 12:28).

For this reason, the Torah could not be given until Israel’s innate goodness was fortified through the mitzvot of Marah.

[1]Rashi cites a slightly different tradition that has parah adumah instead of honoring one’s parents.

[2]See also Rashi – “In Marah, He gave them some sections of the Torah to occupy themselves with…”

[3]“There are three distinguishing marks of this nation. They are merciful, they have a sense of shame, and they perform acts of kindness.” Gemara Yevamot, 79a.

Food for Thought

Rambam (Hilchot De’ot 2:1): To those who are physically sick, the bitter tastes sweet and the sweet bitter. Some of the sick even desire and crave that which is not fit to eat, such as earth and charcoal, and hate healthful foods, such as bread and meat – all depending on how serious the sickness is. Similarly, those who are morally ill desire and love bad traits, hate the good path, and are lazy to follow it. Depending on how sick they are, they find it exceedingly burdensome. Isaiah (5:20) speaks of such people in a like manner: “Woe to those who call the bad good, and the good bad, who take darkness to be light and light to be darkness, who take bitter to be sweet and sweet to be bitter.” Concerning them, Mishlei (2:13) states: “Those who leave the upright paths to walk in the ways of darkness.” What is the remedy for the morally ill? They should go to the wise, for they are the healers of souls. They will heal them by teaching them how to acquire proper traits, until they return them to the good path.

Ramban (Shemot 15:25): In line with the plain meaning of Scripture, when the Israelites began coming into the great and dreadful wilderness… Moshe established customs for them concerning how to regulate their lives and affairs until they come to an inhabited land. A custom is called a chok and also mishpat…It may mean that Moshe instructed them in the ways of the wilderness, namely, to be ready to suffer hunger and thirst and to pray to G-d, and not to murmur. He taught them ordinances whereby they should live, to love one another, to follow the counsel of the elders, to be discreet in their tents with regards to women and children, to deal in a peaceful manner with the strangers that come into the camp to sell them various objects. He also imparted moral instructions.

Gemara Bava Kamma (82a): “And they went three days in the wilderness, and found no water.” (Shemot 15:22) Metaphorically, water here refers to Torah…The verse means that since the Jews traveled for three days without hearing any Torah they became weary, and therefore the prophets among them arose and instituted for them that they should read from the Torah each Shabbat, Monday, and Thursday, so they would not go three days without hearing the Torah.

Rashi (Shemot 16:4): “So that I can test them, whether…they will follow My teaching”: [This means that through giving the manna, I will test] whether they will keep the commandments contingent upon it, [i.e.,] that they will not leave any of it over, and that they will not go out on the Sabbath to gather [the manna].

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks: [Sabbath]it creates for one day a week a world in which values are not determined by money or its equivalent… You can’t buy or sell or pay for someone’s services. It is the most tangible expression of the moral limits of markets. Whether in the synagogue or home, relationships are determined by other things altogether, by a sense of kinship, belonging and mutual responsibility. [Sabbath also] renews social capital. It bonds people into communities in ways not structured by transactions of wealth or power. It is to time what parks are to space: something precious that we share on equal terms and that none of us could create or possess on our own.

Questions for Discussion

1. Why did the Jews have to fortify their compassion and generosity before they could receive the Torah?
2. See Ramban’s explanation above in “Food for Thought.” How is it different than Rav Kook? How is it similar?
3. Rav Kook says that someone with a coarse personality cannot appreciate the Torah’s sweetness. Why is this? And how does refining one’s personality change that?
4. See Rabbi Jonathan Sacks above in “Food for Thought.” How is his understanding of Shabbat a polar contrast to Rav Kook? Who do you think is correct, and why?
5. Rav Kook writes that “The seven Noahide laws do not demand the refinement of human nature, but merely the avoidance of evil.” What evidence might support Rav Kook’s position? Do you think he is correct?
6. Can you think of a time when you experienced the sweetness of Torah life?
7. According to the gemara, judicial laws and kibud av v’em were also given at Marah. Based on the excerpt above, how do you think Rav Kook would explain those?
8. What are appropriate ways to spend time on Shabbat? What are inappropriate ways?

A printable PDF version is available here.

Translation (Ein Ayah, Berachot 40a):

Come and see the difference between human reality and Divine reality! In human reality, a full vessel cannot hold more, but in Divine reality the opposite is true. This is the meaning of the verse “If listening, you will listen (lit. אם שמוע תשמעו) to the voice of Hashem, your God…” (Shemot 15:26). [The double expression means] ‘If you have listened at first, you will be able to listen further.’ [1] (Gemara Berachot 40a)

It is an immutable law of physical reality that every development nullifies what comes before it. After all, one cannot shape raw material into a new form without displacing and negating the prior form. Repainting a wall requires that the old color be covered up. An employee who gets promoted has different responsibilities, and no longer occupies the same role at the company. And when the iPhone came out, most of us consigned our flip-phones to the garbage. [2]

But spiritual reality does not have these sorts of limitations. Every illumination in the spiritual realm, no matter how advanced, preserves the integrity of the lower illuminations that preceded it. It even provides the lower illuminations with additional strength and vigor. This concept, discussed at length in kabbalistic literature, [3] may seem overly abstract, but it plays out in our religious experience in a way that we can relate to. Man cannot encounter God as an unprepared and disinterested bystander. Any experience of the Divine must be preceded by human initiative and preparation. Whether we are seeking prophecy, [4] ruach ha’kodesh, [5] a deeper understanding of Torah, or an inspired davening, we cannot succeed unless we first take initiative to refine our character and strive after Divine wisdom. We do as much as we are able, [6] and that creates the foundation for God to complete the rest. [7]

This is the meaning of the above teaching of our Sages. Every physical reality is constrained. Every aspect of worldly existence has a point where its “vessel” cannot hold more without being replaced entirely. But in the spiritual realm, the more we fill our spiritual “vessels” by listening to the Divine voice, the more we prepare ourselves for an experience of the Divine that exceeds our human limitations. “If you have listened at first, you will be able to listen further.”

[1] A literal translation of this phrase (known as an “infinitive absolute” in Hebrew grammar) would be something like “if you will intently listen.”

[2] Rav Kook passed away decades before anyone had even though of a cell phone, let alone smart phones. These are all examples that I picked to illustrate Rav Kook’s point.

[3] Rav Kook references Pardes Rimonim, by R. Moshe Kordovero. I looked up the reference and found that it dealt with intricacies of the sefirot. That indicates that Rav Kook is touching on the relationship between the higher and lower sefirot. More than that I couldn’t figure out, due to my dearth of kabbalisticknowledge.

[4] Rav Kook references Maimonides’ Guide to the Perplexed (II:32) and the Talmud (Shabbat 92a) for the notion that achieving prophecy requires certain prerequisites. Contrast this with the Christian model, wherein even the most ignorant and unrefined personality can receive Divine communication through God’s grace. Both of us are לשיטתו in this regard, but that’s a topic for further discussion.

[5] For Rav Kook, this is not merely an academic illustration of his point. Rav Kook believed that the Jewish people’s return to Israel was part of a spiritual redemption that would ultimately culminate in the revival of prophecy. He even saw himself as part of this process. For more on Rav Kook’s view on prophecy, see here.

[6] The entire book of Shir haShirim deals with this dynamic of pursuit and withdrawal between the maiden (representing Klal Yisrael or the individual soul, depending on which interpretation you adopt) and her beloved (representing God).

[7] As the Sefat Emet and others have noted, the Exodus itself is part of this dynamic. On Pesach, the Jewish people were passive bystanders to God’s redemption and revelation. God manifested Himself in a way that the people had not genuinely earned or worked for. Sefirat haOmer was a period for them to purify themselves and thereby meritDivine revelation, instead of receiving it as a gift. The process culminated in Shavuot and the Divine revelation at Mount Sinai. If you are interested, Rabbi Akiva Tatz’s Living Inspired contains several chapters about how this dynamic manifests itself in our individual lives as well, in every experience of inspiration or Divine clarity.

Commentary

Rav Kook teaches that harmony and integration is the hallmark of a genuine spiritual life. Life is full of greater and lesser “illuminations,” but nothing is ever nullified or displaced. The lesser illuminations are bricks in a larger structure, not scaffolding to be taken down once the structure is complete.

Living an integrated life is a daunting challenge. We are pulled in different directions by competing spheres of responsibility and ambition. How do we balance our responsibilities to our family with our jobs and careers? How does the teenager returning from shanah aleph reconcile his passion and youthful ambition with the responsibilities of middle age, without falling into cynicism or disappointment? What about sorting out conflicts between bein adam l’chaveiro and bein adam l’makom? Between universalism and particularity? Between peace and truth? Life, by its very design, is full of these challenges. Our job is not to triage among competing values and priorities, but to strive to do justice to each, integrating every “illumination” into a coherent whole.

To make this seem less abstract, I’ve selected the following illustrations of personalities who exemplify the integrated spiritual life that Rav Kook talks about, albeit in different ways:

• Once, Rav Yisrael Salanter (1809-1883) did not appear at shul for the Kol Nidrei Everyone was ready to begin, but he was nowhere to be found. The congregants became impatient and sent a messenger to the rabbi’s house to see what was keeping him, but he returned to report that no one was home. Now the congregation became worried and decided to send a search party to look for their rabbi. As one of the searchers passed a house in the poorer section of the city, he saw Rav Salanter through a window, sitting in a darkened room and bent over rocking a cradle. “Sh, Sh, be quiet,” warned the rabbi as the searchers entered. “You will wake the poor child. It took me all this time to put him to sleep.” Later, he explained that on his way to shul, he heard a baby crying. He located the house from which the sobbing came, entered it, and saw that the child had been left alone when all the elders had gone to the shul for the Kol Nidrei service. “What else could I have done?” he demanded. “How could I have started the Kol Nidrei service knowing that a poor Jewish infant was crying?”
• “And the life (lit. שני חיי שרה) of Sarah was one hundred years and twenty years and seven years.” (Bereishit 23:1).שני חיי שרה refers to the lives of Sarah: she was always a one-hundred-year old adult, a twenty year-old woman, and a seven-year old child. In the realm of chemical processes, there is no way to retain biological youth in a middle-aged person, nor can the pattern of the middle-aged be preserved in old age. In the realm of the unfolding of the spirit, however, it is possible to see youth and ripe old age, or even childhood and youth, as simultaneous experiences. The advanced in years quite often display spiritual restlessness and intensity, and the young are sometimes characterized by cautious wisdom and sober judgment. An older person may he wonderfully childlike, with a dreamer’s naiveté and excitement. The idealism of youth quite often shines through the eyes of the graybeard. In fact, great people are sometimes great children. They are rich and multitalented because of their age; they are beautiful because of their honesty and sincerity. Sarah was concurrently seven, twenty, and hundred years old. She was simultaneously very old and very young, representing the aged, the adult, and the child… Sarah at twenty was mature and fully developed both intellectually and emotionally; she was energetic, bold, and daring. Yet the adult in Sarah did not destroy the child. In the deep recesses of her personality – no matter how developed, no matter how capable and brilliant, no matter how attractive and ingenious – always resided an innocent child. The adult might have reached the highest peak of intellectual greatness or growth, yet that did not interfere with the secret presence of a child in Sarah. Notwithstanding the maturation of her natural wisdom, she retained within her the young girl she had been once upon a time. In times of need and crisis, the young, bold, courageous girl came to the fore and took over. (Rav Soloveitchik, Abraham’s Journey, pg. 186-187)
• Rav Yaakov Kaminetsky was once in a doctor’s waiting room, accompanied by a talmid. Also waiting for the doctor was a young Jewish boy from a totally nonobservant home. Rav Yaakov found a ball and began playing with the child. The talmid accompanying Rav Yaakov was astonished and asked his rebbe, “This child will think that a religious rabbi sits and plays ball instead of learning! Why don’t you at least talk to the boy, and convince him to become a ba’al teshuvah?” Rav Yaakov explained, “I saw that with this boy, it is impossible to talk about Yiddishkeit or mitzvot. He comes from a family so far removed from anything Jewish. I just wanted that his picture of a frum Jew should remain one of a pleasant person, so I played ball with him. Who knows, perhaps this impression will one day have an effect on him and he will come closer to Torah and mitzvot.”

Questions for Reflection and Discussion

1. Suppose someone’s past is filled with failure, non-observance or transgressions of Jewish law. How do thosebecome part of an integrated spiritual life? Does teshuva play a role in that process? If so, how?
2. Suppose you have two people, one who has integrated the different “illuminations” in his life and another who has not. Does the difference between the two manifest in the way they act, or primarily in their mindset and the way they view themselves?
3. Orthodox Jews make the news with unfortunate regularity because of financial improprieties. Is this rooted in a failure to integrate scrupulous ritual observance with values of morality and honesty? Or is something else at fault?
4. What are the two values or areas of responsibility in your life that you feel the greatest struggle to integrate?
5. Who do you know that exemplifies the kind of integrated spiritual personality that Rav Kook sets up as a model?

About this Piece

Ein Ayah is a commentary on the aggadic portions of the Talmud, specifically Berachot, Shabbat and Seder Zeraim. Rav Kook began writing Ein Ayah when he was a young rav in Lithuania, and continued adding material until the end of his life. Ein Ayah seeks to extract profound and fundamental principles of Torah hashkafa from the world of Aggadah. It is an excellent introduction to Rav Kook’s thought, inasmuch as the pieces tend to be shorter, self-contained and less esoteric than many of Rav Kook’s other worlds. While Ein Ayah has never been translated in its entirety into English, selected excerpts have been published by Betzalel Naor in Of Societies Perfect and Imperfect. An online course covering Ein Ayah on Masechet Shabbat is available from WebYeshiva.