| Rosh HaShana, 5771/2010
A Teaching by Sarah Yehudit Schneider R. Kruspedai said in the name of R. Johanan: Three books are opened [in heaven] on Rosh HaShana, one for the wicked, one for the righteous, and one for the benoni.1 The thoroughly righteous and the thoroughly wicked are inscribed straightaway, the former in the Book of Life and the later in the Book of Death. The benoni’s fate hangs in the scales until the final reckoning on Yom Kippur. If he uses that time to generate merit, he’ll be written into the Book of Life. But if his demerits supersede, his name appears in the Book of Death. (TB RH 16b) This teaching on Rosh HaShana is certainly true, but not obviously so, for its exceptions outnumber its proofs. There are just too many holy souls fated with early demise, and far too many psychopaths that prosper year after year. And then there is the holocaust (and pogroms and the like) where righteous millions die in their prime while their slayers live to a ripe old age. The Talmud is teaching a much more subtle truth. There is quantity of life and quality of life, and the Talmud, here, speaks to the latter. Yet while quantity of life is easy to measure, quality of life is hard to pin down. Its criteria vary from person to person and also shift with the stages of life. A survey of folks throughout the world identified nine ingredients to Quality of Life: 1) health, 2) nurturing and stable family life, 3) community affiliation, 4) material wellbeing, 5) political stability, 6) climactic comfort, 7) job security, 8 ) political freedom, 9) gender parity.2 Yet even these “universal” keys to the good life cannot be what the Talmud has in mind. True, our Rosh Hashana liturgy does include prayers for these things in its litany of requests. Yet, is that really how we gauge whether a person made the cut—whether he entered the category of tsadik3 and earned an inscription in the Book of Life? If a person has a hard year or dies young do we assume he was judged wicked on the Days of Awe? No, it is clearly not that simple. There are just too many exceptions to make lack-of-suffering a meaningful benchmark of spiritual standing. So if it doesn’t guarantee longevity or freedom from travail then what is the point of this Book of Life? Why should I strive to be listed there? To answer that question we need to explore the Talmud’s definition of “life” which most likely derives from the Torah’s use of that term:
When the Torah urges us to choose life, it is not merely banning suicide. It is directing us to choose eternal life, to prefer options that enhance the soul, for these are everlasting acquisitions. Material profits are finite. We cannot take them past the grave. They are subject to death. Self-actualization, integrity, generosity, courage, wisdom—these are gains that enrich the soul, and as such, they are permanent possessions. They are death-resistant profits. The Torah is not asking us to renounce the world and become ascetics, but it is exhorting us to give priority to eternally enduring benefits when calculating the pros and cons of a range of options. “Choose life” means: invest your assets in death-resistant securities, in ventures that enrich the soul. Throughout the ten Days of Awe we add requests for “life” into our daily Amida.4 (This is apart from the special liturgy recited on the holydays of Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur themselves): “Remember us for life, O King Who desires life, and inscribe us in the Book of Life, for your sake, O Living G‑d.” [inserted into 1st blessing of Amida]. “Who is like you…Who recalls His creatures mercifully for life.” [inserted into 2nd blessing of Amida]. “Inscribe all the children of your covenant for a good life.” [Inserted into 18th blessing of Amida]. “In the book of life, blessing, and peace, good livelihood, good decrees, salvations and consolations, may we be remembered and inscribed before You—we and Your entire people the Family of Israel for a good life and for peace.” [inserted into 19th blessing of Amida]. It is clear that the primary striving of these special New Year’s prayers is to be inscribed in the coveted (and mysterious) Book of Life. Yet, while most of us interpret this as a plea for health and longevity, this is probably not the Talmud’s prime intent. It seems more correct to view these words as a prayer for HaShem to help us accomplish the tikunim that are going to appear on our task list this year through life-empowering choices. The Torah’s #1 key to quality of life does not show up in the nine-point survey mentioned above. It is the gift of identifying the most spiritually productive option in any given moment and then picking it with a whole heart because that really is our first choice. It is the boon of genuinely preferring the option that packs the most “life”—that is maximally in line with spiritual law—for that is the one that is sure to produce the most enduring good. Every soul comes into the world with a list of sparks that it must raise. A spark is a sliver of consciousness. The totality of sparks attached to our soul is the sum-total of lessons we will absorb in our days whether from life experience or book learning. We acquire wisdom through wrong choices as well as right ones. When we grab for a glittery pleasure and it turns to grit in our mouth or we suffer purgation for a wrong action that nobody even saw—the discomforting consequences of these mistakes burn spiritual law into our nerve net, and thus, despite ourselves, sparks get raised. Yet this journey through the underworld is not the path of life, for so much of the energy expended and pleasure enjoyed gets obliterated in the purgation. The residue of eternally enduring value is minute compared to the drama of the ordeal and the losses (i.e., death) it produced. Some portion of the sparks of every life will be raised through this adverse route. (And for some unfortunate souls, it could even be the bulk.) Yet, the point is to learn from these falls and failures and make wiser decisions next time…to better recognize the path of life and choose it at the next turn. For we also gather sparks along the high road, by sacrificing for integrity and picking the most spiritually productive option. That is the “path of life” and that is what it means to be written into the Book of Life: where our commitment to life, as demonstrated by our deeds and sincerity of prayer, evokes a reciprocal response from on high. HaShem commits Himself to help us choose life, by providing opportunities from without and guidance from within. So I want to bless us, as individuals, as a community and as members of the larger world community that we should cultivate an insatiable taste for life (in the Torah’s sense of the word)….a passion for life that is pure enough and potent enough and integrated enough to get us inscribed in the Book of Life, so that every decision we make this year should take us along the path of life and bring us, via the most efficient and least painful route possible, to the Tree of Life. And together we should greet the harbinger of life…the messianic redeemer who will carry us across the threshold to the era of eternal life. כתיבה וחתימה טובה לכל העולם כולו —————————— 1Benoni – Literally, Intermediate Person. The Talmud uses the term here to indicate someone whose merits and debits are equally balanced. 2 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quality-of-life_index. 3 Tsadik is the Hebrew term for the thoroughly righteous person in the Talmudic quote above. 4 Amida is the standing prayer of (now) nineteen blessings that is the central prayer in the liturgy. |
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Rosh HaShana, 5771/2010 A Teaching by Sarah Yehudit Schneider
Category : Muse, Rosh Hashana
Tisha B’Av, 5770/2010 – By Sarah Yehudit Schneider
Category : Muse, Tisha B'Av
Tisha B’Av, 5770/2010 Sarah Yehudit Schneider
Everyone knows that Tisha B’Av (the 9th of Av) is the lowest point of the Jewish calendar. HaShem’s protective aura thins, and we grow vulnerable to error and to harm. The downward tug of this time is ancient, and nearly impossible to resist. It started when Essav’s guardian angel attacked Yaakov on this day and dislocated his hip.1 Since the hip area includes the generative triad (comprised of the three sefirot: netzach, hod, yesod) kabbala interprets this as an impurifying of the generations to come. The angel could not penetrate Yaakov’s protective aura, says R. Tsadok, but it was able to contaminate the seed-stock of the Jewish people with a smudge of its narcissistic filth.2,3
In the Torah’s lexicon of symbols, Essav is the forbear of Amalek, Israel’s archenemy—the fearsome embodiment of unrepentant evil.4 Every other creature has at least a sliver of soul, a ray of God that dwells within and sustains its life. Yet these progeny of Essav are hollow men, who absorb their life juice through their skin.5 They feed off the sparks that fly from the clashing of matter and psyches in conflict. They are chronic provocateurs, for their survival requires exactly this. If conflict would cease, so would they, for they have no inner wellspring from which to draw life. These empty creatures with a void at their core are the spiritual offspring of Amalek. Like viral spores they float through history, invisible, until they find a host who is susceptible to their hate-filled contagion.6
Hitler and his Nazi thugs are textbook specimens of the Amalekian profile which features the following traits:
- extreme narcissism and grandiosity (7.אני אמלוך.8 כחי ועוצם ידי)
- causeless hatred (9אל אחר שאין לו דעת אסתרס…)
- capacity for unconscionable cruelty (מי שיש בו ואכזריות… חוששין לו ביותר…10)
- aspiration to supplant G-d, and rule the world in His stead. (12ולית דיין.)
The Jewish I-center views Amalek as the polar opposite other—the one who possesses all the traits that we, as a people, revile. Yet it is equally true (from the teaching above) that we also carry a smidgen of Amalekian stain as descendents of Yaakov’s (otherwise) holy seed.
Perhaps this is why our conflicts in this country often deteriorate into name-calling, with the N-word at the top of the list. We can’t seem to quarrel about matters close to heart without reducing the other to an irredeemable louse. It is most telling that these nazi accusations go both ways. You are a nazi because you dare to impose secular values above God’s law. And you are a nazi because of your racism which amounts to causeless hatred toward people of different descent. You are a nazi because you follow orders like a robot without questioning their ethics and relevance to the modern world. And you are nazi for betraying the Jewish people by providing ammunition to their detractors. And you are a nazi for creating an apartheid Jewish state. And so it goes, on and on and on.
If it is true that causeless hatred prompted the Temple’s demise and only its opposite can save us…then we have got to find another way to disagree among ourselves. Wherever we stand on the political spectrum, the most nazi-like behavior is to reduce our adversary to his most disagreeable feature, fixate on that point alone, and then brand him a loathsome nazi with a clear conscience, for in our narrow vision he shrinks to only that.
And this is what distinguishes a political frame from a spiritual one. In politics the power of one’s position comes from proving that there is not one shred of truth on the other side—you are completely wrong, and I am completely right. This has its pros and cons. On the pro side, its (illusion of) certainty fires passion and reduces anxiety. On the con side, it is just not true, for it is the nature of our complex world that real truth is never purely black and white. There is always a sliver of legitimacy to the other side.
And that is Judaism’s chidush to the world. Centuries before the word, “paradox” appeared in the English language, the Talmud asserted the (higher) truth of paradox as the rectified model for approaching dispute.13 “These and these [which totally contradict them], are both words of the living G-d…Yet in practical matters we follow the ruling of X.”14
This is the Talmud’s simple approach to conflict: (1) Identify the truth of both sides. (2) After exploring the full range of perspectives and finding the merit in each—only then is it time to pick the best one to guide the action at hand. The Talmud’s approach honors truth, promotes peace and stretches the mind. But it also produces anxiety—decisions are harder when options are perceived as shades of gray instead of clearly demarcated blacks and whites.
You might argue that I am taking the Talmud’s teaching out of context—that it only accorded the status of “G-d’s truth” to the words of a Torah scholar. You might argue that it never intended to extend this principle to the simple, heretical (and ignorant) masses. And you might be technically correct.
Yet, along with the Torah of ink on parchment there is also the Torah of souls. Just as there are 600,000 letters of the written Torah, so are there 600,000 root souls in the spiritual community of Israel.15 Each individual that comes into the world embodies some unique piece of one of these sixty myriad letters. And so, says R. Tsadok,16 just as there is a scroll of ink on parchment, so is there a scroll of souls that includes the entire unfolding of generations. The sum-total of the soul-sparks of Israel comprise a single and complete Torah…the real Torah…the one that HaShem studies on His side of the heavenly mechitza.17 And just as “there is no truth that is not Torah,”18 so there is no Torah that is not holding some deep and eternal truth. That applies to the Torah on parchment as well as the Torah of souls, which means there is always some truth, perhaps very hidden, in the perspective of every Jew. That doesn’t mean you have to accept it as your own guiding light. But it does mean (if the Talmud be our guide) that you must search it out, appreciate its point, and then you can decide against it, if it doesn’t accord with the priorities of your view of the world.
Let us draw from the tools of our tradition and apply the Talmud’s model to the interpersonal challenges of our time. Let us take our teachings out of the books and into the streets, households and (batei) kenesset. If we want to remove the smidgen of Amalek from our souls, we must learn to respectfully disagree. HaShem should grant us the ears to hear the “words of the living G-d” as they radiate from each letter of His precious Torah of souls. And let the peace that is born from this practice mach’zik the brocha19 of mashiach, our fasting should turn to feasting and we should celebrate redemption, NOW.
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Zohar 1:170b; R. Tsadok Hokohen, Kometz Mincha, (Yahadut, Bnei Brak, 5735 / 1975), p. 71-78 (*74); R. Natan Sternholz of Beslov, Likutey Halachoth, Orach Chaim, Hilchoth Hodayah 6:25.
2 R. Tsadok Hokohen, ibid.
3 Gen. 36:1 identifies Essav with Edom, and Gen. 36:31-39 describes the “kings that ruled in Edom before there was a king to the children of Israel.” R. Isaac Luria (Ari) reads this passage as hinting to the seven primordial universes created and destroyed before our own, or eighth in the sequence. These first seven kings (or primordial worlds) were riddled with narcissism and shared a lust to rule the world (“ani emlokh”). Consequently, in kabbala, Edom becomes synonymous with power-lust and narcissism.
4 Gen. 36:12.
5 Leshem, HDOH, chelek 2, drush 4, anaf 18, siman 7.
6 R. Tsadok HaKohen, Yisrael Kedoshim, chapter 8 (p. 97, first edition).
7 Deut. 8:17.
8 Kings 1:1:5. The sefira of daat is the place where empathy originates, and Kabbala explains that “the other god, is castrated, and has no daat (ie no capacity for true empathy).
9 Zohar 2:103a; Ari, Eytz Chayim, shaar 48, perek 2; Gra, Sifra d’Tsniuta, perek 3,4.
10 שו”ע אבן העזר סימן ב, TB Yevamot 78b-79a.
11 BR 26:6.
12 BR 26:6.
13 The word, paradoxus is of Greek origin, but its original meaning was “something surprising and unexpected.”
14 TB Eruvin 13b
15 Zohar Chadash 74d, Megalla Amukoth 186. This count includes the subletters (for example, that letter alef is built from two yuds and a vav. Otherwise, there are 304, 805 letters in the Torah.
16 ר’ צדק הכהן, צדקת הצדיק אות קצ”ו (סוף).
17 ר, שלמה עליאשאוו, ספר הכללים, כלל ח”י ענף י’ סימן ג’ אות י”ב.
18 TY RH 3:8.
19 Mishna, Uktzin 3:12. “R. Simeon b. Halafta said: the Blessed Holy One found no vessel that could grasp and contain blessing for Israel save that of peace, as it is written: the Lord will give strength unto his people; the Lord will bless his people with peace.”
Shavuot, 5770 (2010) – Based on Sod Yesharim (Radziner Rebbe)
This Shavuot teaching is dedicated to the health and prosperity of Moshe Aharon ben Bess and was sponsored by his loved ones.
Shavuot, 5770 (2010)
Based on Sod Yesharim (Radziner Rebbe)
(the actual text appears below)
While HaShem revealed the Torah no bird chirped, no fowl flew, no ox lowed, the Ophanim stirred not a wing, the Seraphim ceased their “Holy, Holy, Holy’s,” the sea did not roar, and no creature peeped…the whole world held still in breathless silence while the voice reverberated: I AM HASHEM YOUR GOD [and spoke the Commandments that changed our world.]… (Shmot Rabba 29:9)
We Jews pride ourselves in the fact that our religion began as a collective revelation. An estimated four million people (divided into 600,000 family units) simultaneously experienced a direct encounter with the infinite One.1 A searing revelation of Presence engraved the souls of an entire nation with the-truth-of-the-universe compressed into a single burst of light. Its impact continues to impel their generations to be seekers and servants of G‑d, and is certain to do so till the end of time.
Tradition teaches that each family that exited Egypt embodied a root soul, one of 600,000 that comprise the pool of neshamot incarnating, generation after generation, as the Israelite nation. Every Jew from that point onward embodies a different sliver of one of those 600,000 root souls—actualizing a drop of its potential through the odyssey of his or her life.
This means that every Jewish soul carries a memory trace of that Sinaic encounter. And it is partly because of this—because we heard it with our own “ears” so to speak—that we are bound by the covenant that was sealed that day. Somewhere, deep down, our soul remembers that earth-shaking event and the obligations it undertook at the mountain’s base.
But wait! The fact is we only committed to 10 Commandments that day. How did our obligations mushroom into 613?
Our sages explain that, in fact, all of the mitzvot are included in those original ten.2 One proof is that the Ten Commandments contain 620 letters corresponding to the 613 Torah mitzvot plus 7 rabbinic commands.
But it’s even more complicated than that, for our own history attests that we actually only heard the first two commandments direct from HaShem.3 Their revelation was so intense we feared for our lives—our souls flew from our bodies at each word. HaShem revived us with His resurrecting dew, the same drops He will use to restore souls to bodies in the end of days. We “died” over sixty times in those first two commandments. It was just too much, and finally we begged Moshe to be our intermediary and relay the message to us.
Even so, says the Oral Tradition, these first two Commandments, themselves, are comprehensive—every other mitzvah is simply a detail of how to fulfill one of these all-inclusive two. The First Commandment which declares the fact of God’s existence is the root of all the “248 positive directives,” those that require us “to do” a certain act of service. The Second Commandment, which forbids the worship of idols, is the root of all “365 negative commandants” that instruct us to abstain from a specific wrong-action. And really, says the midrash, both the positive and the negative are contained within the first one. If we really understood what it means that G‑d is one, as expressed through the First Commandment, our instinctive and reflexive response to the world would always accord with spiritual law—we would naturally and spontaneously choose the high road including any mitzvah relevant to the moment.
And so, the entire Torah is contained within the first commandment, which is not actually a command at all, but a declaration of truth: “I am HaShem your G‑d who brought you out of the land of Egypt…” Every Jewish soul heard these words straight from their Creator. And according to R. Tsadok HaKohen, the prophesy emanated from within and was vocalized through our very own voice box.4
The world was completely still when this truth-that-contains-all-other-truths was revealed. There could be no interference to distort its reception. The slightest static at this critical moment would garble the message for eternity. This global hush also proved that there were no dissenting views. Each creature was awed to silence when their Creator now revealed Himself as a personal G‑d—who speaks through prophesy, guides history, and demands virtue.
We took this First Commandment in as best we could but its implications were bigger than we could bear. The goal of our lives individually and collectively is to achieve an ever-deepening integration of what it means that G‑d is one. And towards this end, says the midrash, HaShem restates this fundamental truth over and over and over again. Each day HaShem rebroadcasts the First Commandment out into the world.
Why don’t we hear it? What keeps us from taking it in? The Sod Yesharim explains that we must reproduce the original conditions of its revelation. We must designate a time in our day to quiet our thoughts and cease activity. If we want to receive the First Commandment into our heart, bones, cells and spaces then we have no choice but to hush the static. And the tool for quieting chatter is meditation (in one form or another). If HaShem bothers to reiterate the First Commandment each day then we need to make the silent space to hear His message.
Let it be on this Shavuot, as the Torah is revealed anew, that we draw its precious teachings deep inside our souls. May it inspire an abundance of good deeds, joyful study, loving prayer and fruitful silence. And may the transformation born from this service radiate to the outskirts of the world. And may the Torah’s holy lights resolve the schism between truth and peace, and in so doing, bring Mashiach now.
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Exodus 19: 6-20:15
2 Num. Rabbah 13:16; R. Saadia Gaon, Azharot; Rashi, Ex. 24:12.
3 Makkot 24a, Rashi Shmot 19:19
4 Tsidkat HaTsadik 193.
A Pesach Teaching 2010 / תשע by Sarah Yehudit Schneider
הָא לַחְמָא עַנְיָא דִּי אֲכָלוּ אַבְהָתָנָא בְּאַרְעָא דְמִצְרָיִם.
כָּל דִּכְפִין יֵיתֵי וְיֵיכוֹל.
כָּל דִּצְרִיךְ יֵיתֵי וְיִפְסַח.
הָשַׁתָּא הָכָא, לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה בְּאַרְעָא דְיִשְׂרָאֵל.
הָשַׁתָּא עַבְדֵּי, לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה בְּנֵי חוֹרִין:
This is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate in the land of Egypt.
All who are hungry, let them come and eat.
All who are needy, let them come and join this Passover Sedar.
Now we are here; next year in the land of Israel.
Now we are slaves; next year [we will be] free people.
The fifth stage of the Seder, called Magid (literally, Telling the Story) begins with the proclamation presented above, that is formulated in the colloquial Aramaic (instead of scholarly Hebrew) so that its invitation to the needy should be understood by all.
And yet, it has been observed that if we were really serious about this invitation we would stand in our doorways and shout it to the streets, or print it as a poster and tack it to our gates. Instead we speak it behind closed doors to the honored guests who are already seated.
One explanation is that we are speaking to the hungry and needy layers of our own soul, the parts of us that don’t completely buy this faith-thing. The dark corners of our psyche burdened by fundamental questions, doubts, lacks, fears or complaints. They are starving for truths that will resolve their disbelief and finally set them free. Our habit is to pretend they don’t exist—we shush their questions and stuff their cynical comments under the rug. Out of sight, out of mind, we start to imagine ourselves as immaculate and persecuted Guardians of the Faith.
One sure sign that it’s not so simple is when we feel intolerant toward other people’s questions and irritated when they don’t accept the answers we propose. That’s proof we haven’t resolved those issues to the full satisfaction of our own soul. If we were addressing the questioner with fully integrated faith, the encounter would not produce agitation on our part. Anxiety points to something unsettled beneath the surface. And further proof of our limited faith is the persistent presence of unrectified desires (aka, the yetzer). They show that our faith has not penetrated the corners of soul where those wayward impulses derive.
But tonight these inner skeptics and malcontents are honored guests. They get pulled from their dungeon, welcomed to the table…and really, the entire evening’s ritual is directed toward them. These straggling layers of soul are the limiting factor in our personal and spiritual development. They are the reason we are not free. As long as there are (disowned) parts of ourselves still not infused with faith, the Hagada’s declaration applies, “Now we are slaves, [but hopefully, and partially, as a result of our Passover Seder] next year we will be free.” Now we are coerced to behave properly, but next year our free choice will absolutely, reliably, lead us to the high road. Now there are parts ourselves still in the dungeon, yet the seeds of faith and experiential encounter with HaShem planted at this Seder assure that by next year they, too, will walk more free.
The mechanism is as follows. Life, among other things, is a spiritual path that courses upward with milestones along its way. At any given moment we are somewhere along its route, and that is our spiritual level. Yet, in truth, this level is not a line but an interval—a whole range of experience. At its upper end is our most exalted encounter with Hashem—the highest we can reach in study, prayer or purity of action. The lower end marks our more constricted states—how far do I fall before catching myself these days, and how frequently do these lapses occur. It is possible to change one’s level by raising the lower edge even though the upper does not budge. And similarly, vice verse.
The lower boundary is our personal Mitzrayim (Egypt) and it is good to be aware of its details. And so it is advised, in preparation for the Seder, to spend some time exploring the questions: “Where are the edges of my faith? What are the situations where my faith collapses into anger, fear, lust or doubt? What causes me to constrict and squeeze G-d out of the moment? What is blocking my next step in personal and spiritual development? What is my most self-defeating personality trait? The idea is to identify the inhabitants of our personal Mitzrayim. They are the hungry and needy ones that we invite to the table and hope to liberate through our Seder.
This accords with the Baal Shem Tov’s instruction to pray for personal deliverance before soliciting universal redemption.1 And the most powerful prayers, says he, are when we actually contact the enslaved parts of our soul, suffer with them, and pray from there.2
And even more, says the Baal Shem Tov, we should formulate our prayer from that fallen place as a class action appeal. We should join ourselves with all the souls throughout the world that are also holding at that level, and when we raise ourselves we should hope and pray to raise them too.3 And that effects a very powerful tikun, for it is possible that our lowest edge is someone else’s highest stretch. And that little bit of overlap enables the contact required to boost them up through our teshuva (for sparks can only be raised through contact). And in that way, our little prayer has global repercussions, way beyond itself.
And so it goes for the Seder. We invite the hungry and needy layers of ourselves. And we extend that invitation to the hungry and needy souls throughout the world who are trapped in the same Mitzrayim as we—who are struggling with comparable issues, hungry for similar truths, chewing the same “bread of affliction.” And the wonder is, that between the slew of us observing Pesach, all bases are covered. Every soul in the universe is connected to a Seder and gets lifted by the transformative ritual that occurs this eve.
Blessings for a truly liberating Pesach for one and for us all. Let our holy Sedarim (Seders) send healing light to the dark corners of the world (including our very own souls). May all who are “invited” attend, and may they (and we) be changed, enlightened, cleansed and raised by its potent ritual of redemption.
1 Sefer Baal Shem Tov (SBST), Shmot 5.
2 SBST Bereshit 189.
3 SBST, Parshat Ve’ara, 3; Parshat Acharei, 2, 3.
PurimBurst 2010 /5770
by Sarah Yehudit Schneider
(inspired by R. Tsadok HaKohen, Likutei Amarim, essay 5)
One is obligated to drink on Purim until you don’t know the difference between cursing Haman and blessing Mordecai (Shulchan Aruch 695:2).
The Ari explains the tikun that happens through this peculiar mitzvah: In every fallen person or sinful moment there is a sliver of God that enables that opposer-of-good to exist for there is only one source of life, and that is HaShem, the One-and-Only-Sustainer-of-Worlds. And these poor slivers of God trapped within the sociopath are coerced to enliven his wayward deeds—even when he scorns all that God holds dear. The spark of life inside that opposer-of-good is actually a chip off our very own block, a holy brother sequestered by the other side. The problem is how to send love to our comrade-spark without energizing its malevolent captor—how to keep the spark alight till its rescue can be arranged.
That, says the Ari, is the secret and power of Purim and, in particular, its mitzvah of inebriation.
When a person, in their drunken state, accidently blesses Haman (though he meant to bless Mordekhai), he sends light to the holy spark trapped inside Haman [a symbol for the evil realms which includes all our enemies both inside and out]. Yet because the blessing was unconscious and accidental, it does not empower the Amalakite, himself, only the spark that’s held captive there. [And the stronger the spark, the greater its might to tug the system toward the light—captor and all.] (Pri Eitz Chayim, Shaar Chanukha and Purim, Chapter 6)
Most of the time, an absent mind produces failure, fall, and damage. “A mitzvah without intention is like a body without a soul.”1 The sages teach that witlessness is the cause of all misdeeds. “No one sins except if a spirit of folly overcomes him for a moment” (TB Sota 3a).
But, on Purim, the opposite is true. We actually cultivate folly—there is a certain tikun that only occurs when we suffer a lapse of awareness. Presence of mind is our perennial goal but on Purim we seek to escape it. The explanation is as follows:
In general, the power of a mitzvah’s tikun is in proportion to its mindfulness. A mitzvah performed by rote, accomplishes minimal advancement—a spark gets extracted but remains earthbound.2 It lacks the wings of love and fear to carry it aloft. Like a precious stone mined from the earth, and left lying on the ground, the spark remains below. The more passion and intention one brings to that deed, the higher the spark ascends. A mitzvah performed with lucid awareness—the selfless desire to serve good and delight God—that is the purest of motives and it brings the greatest tikun.3
But what happens to those earthbound sparks, released but left behind when we perform a mitzvah by rote? Are they doomed to eternal limbo? The Ari says, No! As soon as we come back and perform that same mitzvah with greater intention, or recite that prayer with concentration, this new service “pierces the firmament” and carries with it the sparks that could not rise on their own.
There is no wasted mitzvah. Even when we space out altogether and barely take advantage of the potential of the moment, spiritual work is done. The deed itself extracts the spark. And the next day or week or year or lifetime, when we come back and perform it again, this time with full kavanna, those previous sparks gets lifted by these ones with greater oomph.
R. Tsadok extends this principle to the Passover sedar which is the only time of year that eating becomes a full-fledged mitzvah, meaning that we actually recite a blessing over that act of consumption: ”Blessed are You HaShem…who has commended us to eat this matzah (or maror or, when relevant, Korban Pesach).” Eating thus becomes an act of holy service. And, just as we learned about prayer—that a passage recited with soulful intent will uplift all the times it was spoken by rote—so does the Sedar raise all the earthbound sparks produced by unconscious eating. These three moments of mitzvah-eating (the only three of the whole year) can even redeem a spark from food that was eaten with gluttonous intent as long as it was kosher. The Sedar can raise our neutral deeds and wrong intentions, but it cannot reverse the callusing of soul that comes from forbidden foods.
Yet that, precisely, is the power of Purim—it is the one day when folly, itself, becomes a mitzvah. And thus it can redeem all the foolish (and fallen) deeds that were performed throughout the year. The implications are profound, for we have already learned that: “A person does not sin, except when a spirit of folly overtakes him.” When eating becomes a mitzvah it redeems our gluttonous consumption—when folly becomes a mitzvah, it raises our foolish deeds—a Talmudic euphemism for sins, as we have seen.
This explains Purim’s legendary power to effect teshuva in a way that even surpasses the day that is specially designated for teshuva, our Day of Awe called Yom Kippur. Everyone knows the Ari’s famous teaching based on the Hebrew words for Purim, and Yom Kippurim (K’Purim); where the difference between them is simply the letter K’ (which, as a prefix, means, “like” or “similar to.”). This hints to the secret relationship between these two days where, Yom Kippur becomes, literally, the day that is k’ (like) Purim. The Hebrew language thus ascribes the primary (and trend-setting) holiness to Purim. Yom Kippur strives for Purim’s sanctity but never quite measures up. It comes close enough to be called, “like Purim,” but never supersedes.
On Yom Kippur the reconciliation of our relationship with G‑d is the fruit of conscious inner work—scrupulous confession, heartfelt apology, and fierce commitment to change. On Yom Kippur, the reward is in proportion to the effort. Our soul is cleansed from the flaws that we admit (and lament) on that awesome holy day.
Yet, the grace of Purim extends to even our unconscious flaws—the sins we continue to deny—the still-fallen sparks connected to our soul that provide life juice to the Haman’s of the world (including our own narcissistic layers of self). The light of Yom Kippur does not penetrate that dark, outer edge of our psyche. Only Purim, with its mitzvah of inebriation, can enliven the sparks trapped within our blind spots without providing succor to the delusions that ensnare them.
Yet, says the Ari, this mission can only succeed if we relinquish conscious control and trust HaShem to guide our instincts on this day of holy folly. When a person fulfills the mitzvah of drinking on Purim his ego lapses into a quasi-prophetic reverie (called tardema). Then the pintila yid takes the reins and we slip into the groove of unconscious awareness (because the self, i.e. the ego is anesthetized with wine). And it is here that the Purim tikun occurs. In this exalted state of Divinely-sanctioned folly, the subliminal wisdom of our primal self, for a moment, leads the way—and assures that we will “bless Haman” (mistakenly) on this irreverent holy day. And that blessing transmits life-juice to the captive sparks held there and converts them into born-again emissaries of the light.
The danger is if the ego is only faking sleep, and secretly exploits this unguarded moment to advance its hedonistic interests. In that case, the nurture directed toward the holy sparks sequestered by the other side gets waylaid by their captors and the mission backfires. Instead of strengthening the sparks it fuels the narcissistic delusions that imprison them.
There are those who weigh the risks against the benefits of this mission and reckon that it isn’t worth the gamble. Better to drink a little more than usual and go to sleep (literally) and fulfill the mitzvah that way, than take the chance you’ll crash and burn and cause more harm than good. For slumber is another way of losing the distinction between cursing Haman and blessing Mordekhai.4
One who chooses this latter option must remember, nonetheless:
The obligation to drink more wine than usual on Purim is one of the specific mitzvot of Purim day and there are deep reasons and secrets for it. One who refrains from fulfilling this mitzvah because he doesn’t understand it cuts himself off from the community of Israel and rebuffs the yoke of rabbinic authority (Bina L’ittim Drush 21, Nitay Gavriel 73:1 fn1).
The mitzvah of “drinking to inebriation on Purim until you don’t know the difference between blessing Mordekhai and cursing Haman” is actually the spiritual equivalent of matanot l’evyonim (giving charity to the poor) another mitzvah that is specifically obligated on this day. Our holy sparks trapped by the other side—be they prisoners of war, prisoners of Zion, prisoners of addiction, prisoners of our own narcissism, prisoners of cults, prisoners of ignorance—these captive sparks are spiritually impoverished and there is virtually no other way to get rejuvenating lights to them. Any resources directed their way get intercepted by their captors, and that, sadly, causes more harm than good.
Purim is the one day of the year when these destitute sparks get filled to the brim with sweet, clean, invigorating lights…and there is no pilfering by the other side. And now, fortified by their Purim manot, these holy (but estranged) sparks get raised by our folly, awakened by our reverie (tardema), cleansed by the mitzvah, and transformed from dispirited prisoners into missionaries of the light. What a great and holy deed is the mitzvah of inebriating on Purim.
Seize the moment! Bring all your sparks to the party (which only happens when your whole self comes along),5 for that fulfills the Purim motto: NO SPARK LEFT BEHIND!
Let it be, HaShem, that as individuals, as members of the community of Israel, and the larger world community, that we should, through our holy Purim festivities, draw a flow of joy and revealed good into the heart, bones, cells, and spaces of your creation and of every creature in it. May our celebrations of eating, inebriating, dancing and learning be pleasing in Your eyes. Please guide and inspire our study that Your will and Your holy Torah’s truths should fill our hearts and transform our lives in ways that are only good.
גל עיני ואביטה נפלאות מתורתך
Open my eyes and I will behold the wonders of your Torah (Psalms 119:18).
A Related Chassidic Story
During his stay in Mezritch, the Rav of Kolbishov saw an old man come to the Maggid and ask him to suggest a tikun that would wash away his sins. “Go home,” said the Maggid. “Write all your sins down on a slip of paper and bring it to me.” When the man brought his list, the Maggid glanced at it briefly and comforted him as follows: “Go home. All will be well.” But later the Rav of Kolbishov observed the Maggid reread the list and laugh at every line. This strange behavior shocked the Rav and actually even annoyed him. “How could someone reputedly holy laugh at another’s sins!”
For years he did not forget the incident and remained bothered by it. Then, one Shabbat, he heard someone quote a teaching from the Baal Shem Tov:
“Everyone knows the Talmudic dictum that ‘no one commits a sin unless a spirit of folly overcomes him.’ The Talmud is teaching us that a sinner is a fool. And if a sage encountered a fool who was spouting silly, childish tales and obvious delusions…would the sage take offense or try to reason with the man? That would get him nowhere and might even make things worse. A better option would be to find the humor in his folly—the silliness of his behavior given what he’s hoping to accomplish, the short-sidedness of his strategy given how the world really works—and laugh with him at the absurdity of his predicament. And as he laughs, the defensiveness melts, and a spirit of kindness wafts through the world. The fool’s small-minded perspective softens, his horizons broaden, and a vision of higher possibility illumines the moment.”
As the Rav reflected on this teaching his heart opened: “Now I understand the laughter of the Maggid when he read that list of sins.”
EAT, DRINK AND BE HOLY
1 Rabbi Yitzchak Luria (1534-15720, Likutei Torah LeArizal, “Parshaat Ekev” [in the beginning]; Rabbi Yeshaya Halevi Horowitz (1570-1630), Shenei Luchot Habrit (Jerusalem: 1965), Vol 1, p. 249b.
2 See Sarah Yehudit Schneider, Eating as Tikun.
3 Tanya, Chapter 39.
4 Shulchan Aruch w/Mishnah Brurah 695:2 MB5, Kitzur Shulchan Aruch 144:6, Chayei Odom 155:8, Kaf Hachaim sk16.
5 That’s the whole point of Purim masks—they create the space for you to become even more fully yourself.
This Tu Bi’Shvat teaching is dedicated to the complete and speedy recovery of Shoshana bat Sarah and was sponsored by some of her friends.
Tu Bi’Shvat: The New Year for Fruit Trees
Tu Bi’Shvat is the New Year’s day for fruit trees but it is important to note that this is not their day of judgment—that occurs months later in Sivan, on the holiday of Shavuot. The Mishna makes a distinction between these two types of days and lists four examples of each. The four New Year’s days are:
1st of Nissan – which starts a new year when reckoning the length of a king’s reign.
1st of Elul – which starts a new year for the tithing of animals (meaning that 10% of the livestock born in the previous year must be formally designated as gifts for the kohanim before this date).
1st of Tishrei (which is also Rosh HaShana) – which starts a new year for the counting of history as well as the tithing of grains and vegetables (and also for counting Sabbatical years).
15th of Shvat – which starts a new year for the tithing of fruits.
In contrast, the four judgment days are:
Pesach (15th of Nissan) – when Heaven decrees how much grain will be reaped in the coming year.
Shavuot (7th of Sivan) – when Heaven decrees how much fruit will be gathered in the coming year.
Rosh HaShana (1st of Tishrei) – when the spiritual (and by extension, material) resources that will be available to each creature are determined for the coming year.
Sukhot (15th of Tishrei) – when Heaven decrees how much rain will fall in the coming year.
There is one point of overlap between these two lists, and that is Rosh HaShana (the 1st of Tishrei) which is both a New Year’s and a judgment day.
We are all familiar with these judgment days—though we don’t usually think of them as such—for they are better known as our most distinguished holy days and, consequently, we observe them with great fanfare, as specified by the Torah. We refrain from melacha (creative work) and perform special rituals that help us absorb the spiritual gifts available on those days. Yet, our prayers and mitzvot apparently serve another purpose as well—they generate a pile of merits that will, hopefully, tip the scales toward a favorable verdict in the blessings that are allocated on those holy judgment days.
New Year’s days are different. Besides Rosh HaShana, they can pass unnoticed for without the Temple, there are no Torah obligations associated with them and, for city folk, especially outside the land of Israel, there is no practical observance that applies. So how do we mark these “minor” New Year’s days.
One clue is that the Hebrew word for New in the term New Year, actually, literally, means head (rosh). The idea is that according to kabbala, the beginning (or rosh) of something actually contains all the lights that are going to unfold in whatever it is the rosh of. Consequently, Jewish practice instructs us to give special attention to those first moments of each new cycle of time and fill them with prayer and holy thoughts. At the ins tant of wakening (the rosh of the day) we recite a prayer of gratitude; on the New Moon we sing Psalms of Praise (i.e., Hallel) along with special prayers; and on the rosh of the year we spend the entire day in prayer and celebration. Everything that occurs during that inaugural period (deeds, thoughts, prayers, emotions) impact the head of that cycle. And since the head defines and delimits future possibilities, anything that affects the head, affects all that will unfold in that cycle, even if its only contact with that cycle was in its first moment of formation.
Tu Bi’Shvat is the rosh of the fruit tree’s new year. All creatures have biorhythms. Plants go dormant in the cold winter damp. Bared of foliage trees look dead; they give no sign of viable life. Then in spring a growth phase begins; they bud and flower and bear their fruit. On Tu bi’Shvat the sap starts to rise and signals the flora to prepare for rebirth. It is the turning point when the plant kingdom shifts from death toward life.
As above, so below. As without, so within. The human being is a macrocosm that contains something of all the different layers of creation within itself. That’s one interpretation of what it means to be created “in the image of G-d.” And so, says kabbala, we all have a:
Mineral layer that includes the physical materials, the “dust and water” out of which we are formed;
Plant layer that includes all the vegetative functions that our body constantly performs: cell divisions, circulation, respiration, metabolism, etc.;
Animal layer that includes all the primitive thoughts and emotions, fight or flight responses, locomotion, pleasure principle, reproductive drives, etc.;
Human layer that includes our speech and conceptual thoughts, complex emotions, visions and aspirations.
And it is the vegetable layer that oversees our physical health. Its autonomic activity heals wounds, balances hormones, neutralizes toxins, metabolizes food, eliminates intruders, etc. (In contrast, the animal layer manages our emotional health, which is why efforts toward self-improvement must enlist its support if they are to produce enduring change.)
Consequently, Tu Bi’Shvat marks the point in our own biorhythms when one cycle of health completes itself and a new cycle begins. Tu Bi’Shvat is an opportunity to regroup, correct imbalances, and begin a new phase of health and healing—to boost the body’s efficiency on the vegetable layer.
What is the practice? How do we make the best use of the energies available on this New Year’s day for fruit trees? The tradition is simple: eat fruits of all sorts; admire the shape, color, taste and uniqueness of each one; and say blessings with deep intention.
This is actually a powerful practice; it conveys a deep secret about how to exert positive influence over the body’s vegetable layer that normally operates beyond conscious control and which oversees our physical wellbeing.
1) By surrounding ourselves with fruit of every sort, the successful harvest of last year’s cycle, we impress the picture of robust health onto the plant layer of ourselves using symbols that are meaningful to it. The form and color of each fruit is an icon that triggers associations in the plant layer of soul. These subliminal suggestions of health and success penetrate the unconscious and leave transformation in their wake. Each fruit expresses a unique way of turning ra w materials into something that is beautiful, healthy and life-nurturing. Admire the fruit. Notice its shape, color, taste and beauty.
2) Pray. Say your brachot with special intention. Create your own blessing for yourself and others that expresses the particular beauty of each fruit as an affirmation, for example, “Your cheeks should be as rosy and your Torah as sweet as this crisp and rosy apple.”
3) Eat with remembrance of G‑d. Meditate on the Creator of the fruit as you bite, chew and swallow it.
I want to bless us that as individuals, as members of the community of Israel and the larger world community that we should, through our Tu Bi’Shvat celebration, draw the special lights of this time into the depths of our souls, and of the world and of every creature in it, bringing light and trust and healing there. And in so doing may we contribute, in our small way, to the six millennial process of tikun olam. May all that we do be pleasing in HaShem’s eyes.
A Short Torah for the 17th of Cheshvan
(When the Great Flood Began)
by Sarah Yehudit Schneider
R. Tsadok explains that HaShem was hoping to bring down the Torah in Noach’s generation. All the pieces were there, including the soul of Moshe Rabbenu, which the Talmud (Chulin 139b) proves from a verse in Bereshit, 6:3, which contains the word, beshagam, a word whose primary distinction is that its gematria is the same as Moshe (345). The verse describes HaShem’s “disappointment” with the fallen state of humanity and opens a discussion that ends with His decision to blot out creation through flood.
And HaShem said, My spirit shall not abide in man forever, for that he is also flesh; therefore his days shall be a hundred and twenty years.
The pshat (literal sense) of the verse isn’t relevant to the Talmud, only its context and the appearance of a word with the same gematria as Moshe. And so, teaches R. Tsadok, HaShem wanted to bring the Torah down then, as soon as possible after Adam, and if that generation had been worthy, so it would have been. The Talmud (San. 108b) teaches that HaShem tried several strategies to bring the generation around. First He bribed them with a taste of the-world-to-come, hoping they would see that it was certainly worth their while to rise to the occasion. When that failed he started the rains gently, showing that the threat of flood was real, but giving them a week’s reprieve and one last opportunity for teshuva.
If only they had seized the moment, turned over a new leaf, and dedicated their lives to truth and good…they would have received the most precious gift in the universe, the holy Torah…which, as we know, is always compared to water. Instead, in stubborn arrogance, they turned their backs on this golden opportunity, persisting in their wayward path. Those same awesome Torah lights now crashed down, no longer expressing themselves as sweet, life-nourishing wisdoms…rather, instead, as mayim zedonim , destructive, hurtful flood waters. From the negative we learn the positive. As great as the flood’s power of devastation, so is the Torah’s power of tikun.
Noach’s generation was offered the highest honor possible in the universe, the opportunity to receive the Torah. They blew it, and those very same lights that contained the sweetest teachings of the universe, now manifested as raging waters of death and destruction. All this happened in the month of Cheshvan.
R. Tzadok uses this to prove an amazing and relevant teaching. He derives a spiritual law from Noach’s story. R. Tzadok says that it is always true, that whenever we stumble in our lives, (be it our spiritual lives, emotional lives, career lives, whatever) there was some blessing that was trying to come through in that moment, and for whatever reason we didn’t rise to the occasion — perhaps we didn’t get the message at all, we didn’t even know that there was an opportunity at hand; perhaps we underestimated the value of what was being offered so it didn’t seem worth its price tag; perhaps we really did try to seize the moment but couldn’t manage to change a bad habit that was blocking the way — whatever the reason, we blew it. HaShem offered us a gift and it slipped through our hands and the worst part is that it feels like there’s no second chance. The moment is gone it won’t come again.
R. Tzadok says no, in fact the opposite is true. That blessing that was slated to come into our lives is permanently connected to our soul. And not only is it bound to our soul, it is an actual piece of our soul, a spark of ourselves that got lost out there and needs to be brought back in.
So, HaShem guides us step by step, moment by moment, from coordinate A to coordinate B, because in each moment there is a spark, a lost splinter of ourselves that needs to be rescued and brought back in. Slowly, day by day, as we move through life, we become more whole, for we are constantly absorbing new lights that were really part of ourselves all along. The recovery of a piece of our soul is always (eventually) experienced as a blessing.
Based on this model, according to R. Tzadok, there is always a second chance, and a third, etc. However many chances we need to get it right and earn the blessing…for the spark inside that blessing has nowhere else to go. Its home is our soul, and eventually every scattered/shattered spark must find its way home.
So how is this true for the flood generation? How do we see them recovering their lost blessing of the Torah? Amazingly, the Ari teaches that the generation of the flood will reconvene as the souls that comprise the generation that greets mashiach.
And one thing we know about the messianic time is that all the Torah’s hidden teachings will be revealed. The midrash says that the Torah of mashiach will be so radiant that all the Torah we’ve learned thus far, all the sweet and holy teachings that fill our libraries—that have rejoiced the hearts and brightened the eyes of generations—are dull husks before the lights that will shine as Torah of mashiach. The generation of the flood will get all that they lost, and more.
A Rosh HaShana Teaching, 5770/2009
by Sarah Yehudit Schneider
R. Isaac said: Why do we sound the shofar on Rosh HaShana? …To confound the Accuser (TB RH 16a/b).(1)
Resh Lakish said: Great is teshuva that it turns premeditated sins into errors… But did he not say that teshuva turns premeditated sins into full-fledged merits. There is no contradiction: The former is the power of teshuva when instigated by fear, the latter is the power of teshuva when prompted by love (Yoma 86b).
There are three levels of teshuva. Each of them is real, but their sticking power varies. There is 1) teshuva from suffering, 2) teshuva from fear, and 3) teshuva from love. Teshuva is the most powerful tool of transformation available to humankind. It is not a mere formality; it is a potent agent of change.
First a definition of terms: Teshuva means, literally, return, and conveys a rich constellation of meanings: 1) Spiritual Path: It describes our life-journey which is to recover our authenticity and return, improved, to our Creator. 2) Personality Inventory: It refers to our ongoing effort of self-improvement and self-reflection. 3) Repentance: It refers to the three (or sometimes five) tasks which, when performed with a whole heart, can restore a relationship to its unspoiled state before the offense that created the breach that now requires an apology.(2)
Teshuva from suffering occurs when a person cries out from the torment that is the bitter fruit of his wrong action and resolves, on the spot, to straighten his ways. This is a real teshuva, accepted by HaShem, and it is potent to bring relief. The danger, however, is that once the discomfort lightens, we lose our motivation for change, and revert back to our old ways, and another cycle begins. Teshuva from suffering is passive because the instigation for change originates from without, from the distressing circumstance. Pharoah models the downside of this teshuva, the difficulty of making it stick. Nevertheless, each time Pharoah promised to “let Israel go,” he really meant it in that moment, and HaShem responded by stopping that plague. Yet as soon as the stressor lifted, the motivation to change dissipated as well.
Rosh HaShana, 5769/2008
by Sarah Yehudit Schneider
Like a shepherd…whose sheep pass beneath his staff, so shall You cause to pass, count, calculate, and consider the soul of all the living…who will live and who will die…who will rest and who will wander, who will live in harmony and who will be harried, who will enjoy tranquility and who will suffer, who will be impoverished and who will be enriched, who will be degraded and who will be exalted. But repentance, prayer and charity remove the evil of the decree.
Jewish mysticism chronicles the odyssey of seven spiritual worlds created and destroyed before our own (or eighth in the sequence). Kabbala speaks in metaphor when it states that each was a king with a universe-encompassing empire. The shards of these shattered kingdoms are called sparks, and they are the raw materials out of which our world is built. Everything that exists has a spark (or several) at its core. Each spark is a sliver of light (a synonym for consciousness in kabbala).(1)
Our cosmic task as their royal successors is to clean out the impurities and actualize the potentials of their fallen empires. HaShem gathers pile after pile of these shards and sends them down into incarnation. That’s how we all begin. Yet as newborns only part of our soul is confined to our body. The rest of our soul, the still-shattered pieces of it, remain strewn throughout the universe. Hashem leads us, moment by moment from coordinate A to coordinate B because there are fragments of ourselves, shattered pieces of our souls, that need to be recovered. When we act in a way that accomplishes Hashem’s purpose for that moment, we raise the spark and absorb its light back into ourselves. In the process, we become a sliver more enlightened. And so it goes, moment by moment, day by day, year by year, we gather sparks and become more whole. The sparks that have already been raised comprise our conscious identity. The still-fallen-sparks, connected to our soul, that lie outside our sphere of awareness constitute our unconscious self.
Our mission is to collect all the sparks connected to our soul. But not all sparks are alike. Some are a pleasure to gather, while others take blood, sweat, and a lot of tears. Some sparks lie in holy terrain while others inhabit forbidden realms. To extricate the latter entails great ordeal. Their lessons are learned (and lights are absorbed) through the school of hard knocks. Most would prefer to avoid that route but they don’t heed the signs till its way too late.
A Rosh HaShana Teaching, 5768 (2007)
from A Still Small Voice
Based on R. Tsadok HaKohen, Rosh Hashana 9
When Elul (the month before Rosh HaShana) arrives we begin to exchange well-wishes for a good, sweet, healthy, joyful and bountiful year. One of the recommended practices to prepare for Rosh HaShana, is to create a prayer-vision of the best that could possibly unfold for this new year: What will it look like for ourselves and loved ones to live our lives in the most God-serving way possible, with a bounty of resources (both inner and outer), a commitment to good, and a generosity of spirit, making full use of the gifts that HaShem endowed each one of our souls? This vision expresses our deepest hopes and prayers for a year of revealed good, and inner satisfaction, where growth occurs through joy instead suffering. Of course this is what we want…or is it?
It sounds like we are hoping to press the reset button, and restart our lives with a clean slate. We are asking HaShem to cancel our karmic debts. We want to be free of the consequences produced by the chain of cause and effect that was set in motion by our wrong actions. Let bygones by bygones and let’s start anew. That sounds great, but is it really what will serve us best? From a spiritual perspective it seems a little short-sighted.
One major purpose of life’s discomforts is to provide feedback from the universe about what works and what doesn’t and how to adjust our course. Crashing into a (metaphoric) stone wall hurts for sure, but it also conveys an effective lesson about the decisions that got us there. A retrospective musing reveals clues throughout the way that could have been warning signs had we paid them sufficient heed.
In this sense our sufferings are precious, for they convey critical information. They are the symptoms of our wrong actions, the wakeup calls that prompt us to choose a different route. Without them we skip merrily along until we find ourselves at a dead end and realize that we have painted ourselves into a corner and there is not way out.
