Missionary Renegade: CHABAD Magazine ~ Tuesday, Cheshvan 18, 5774

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

CHABAD Magazine ~ Tuesday, Cheshvan 18, 5774 · 22 October 2013

Dear Friend,

This Thursday is the birthday of Rabbi Sholom DovBer, the fifth rebbe of Lubavitch.

Rabbi Sholom DovBer was once asked to define a chassid. He replied that a chassid is a lamplighter: He carries a fire that is not of his making, and kindles the souls of others—no matter how far they may be.

We can all take his lesson to heart. There are plenty of lamps waiting to be lit, in our own cities, our own communities, even our own homes. So reach out and light one with the fire of Torah—and you too will be a lamplighter.

This is the mission of a chassid, and by extension every Jew, indeed every human being.

The Chabad.org Editorial Team

Daily Thought:

She Made Him Good

All that G‑d created, He said was good. Except for one: “It is not good that Man is alone.” And so He made Woman, and it was very good.

If so, how is it possible that a man could despise the woman who took him from “not good” to “very good”?

~~~

This Week's Features:

Chabad Couple Sends Woman’s Body Home From Nepal by Menachem Posner

When Rabbi Chezky and Chani Lifshitz of Katmandu were informed that a busload of tourists had plunged 200 meters into a gorge in the Chitwan National Park on Monday, they knew they needed to move fast.

“We have an arrangement with the police that whenever something like this happens, they alert us,” said Chani, who with her husband co-directs the Chabad House of Katmandu and the Chabad House of Pokhara in Nepal. “There are so many Israelis here that, to our sorrow, we often need to help identify the remains in such instances, and arrange for transport and burial.”

In addition, since Hindus routinely cremate their dead—forbidden by halachah, or Jewish law—they knew that if a body or bodies are found, they then face an uphill battle to wrest them from the hands of local officials before potential burning.

The area has seen an unusual amount of rainfall of late due to Cyclone Phailin, which ripped through Thailand, Myanmar and Nepal and certain Indian states last week, making already precarious roads especially dangerous. The Lifshitzes soon discovered that a Jewish woman was aboard the bus: 32-year-old Marina Muchnik of Melbourne, Australia, who was on her way to Mount Everest.

The rabbi rented a helicopter and flew to the scene. Once there, he learned that 11 people remained missing; only two bodies had been recovered. One of them was Muchnik, a Ukrainian who moved to Australia at 13 and had attended the Beth Rivkah Ladies College in Melbourne.

“By the time my husband arrived, they were already taking the other body to be burnt. You need to understand that this is really the Third World,” explained Chani Lifshitz. “It is a miracle that he was able to convince them not to burn her as well.”

After hours of negotiations the body was released. Since it was too late at night to fly back to Kathmandu, the rabbi returned with the body by Jeep.

On the way back, he said he began to feel ill. Noticing strange writing on the sheet that was covering the body, he asked the Nepalese escort what was written there and was horrified to learn that it was a message to the Hindu deity who guards the dead. After exchanging that sheet for a plain white one, he said he felt better and the trip resumed.

Once in Katmandu, the Lifshitzes—who have lived in Nepal since 1999—faced the next hurdle: getting the body out of the country without subjecting it to an autopsy. Jewish law requires that unnecessary tampering with the dead by avoided out of respect for the departed. After much wrangling, the body was allowed out and is currently en route to Australia, where it should arrive early next week.

“We then realized that we did not have any of her personal effects,” said Chani Lifshitz, “and we knew how much it would mean to her family to have those items. We sent one of our workers to scour the hostels in the area, and sure enough, we were able to retrieve two suitcases containing her clothing—and even a camera with her latest pictures.”

With 30,000 Israeli tourists passing through the country annually to hike and wander about, Chani Lifshitz said they often deal with missing people. Earlier this summer, George Abboudi, a 22-year-old Jewish man from Leeds, England, went missing. The Lifshitzes led a massive search effort, only to discover that he had fallen into a river and died, and been cremated by local villagers.

His family donated a Torah scroll to Chabad in his memory.

~~~

PARSHAH

The Disappearing Groom

For a lengthy period immediately prior to the marriage, Isaac literally disappears: a summation of Isaac’s life leaves us with an unaccountable gap of almost three years.

Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe

In the Torah section of Chayei Sarah (Genesis 23:1–25:18), we read of the marriage of Isaac and Rebecca. Since this is the first marriage to be recounted in detail by the Torah, we can expect it to yield insights into the essence of the marriage relationship.

A most curious aspect of the Isaac-Rebecca relationship is that for the three years immediately prior to the marriage, Isaac literally disappears. A summation of Isaac’s life leaves us with an unaccountable gap of almost three years: The Torah tells us that he was sixty years old when his twin sons, Esau and Jacob, were born (Genesis 25:26). According to the Midrash, however, the twins’ grandfather Abraham, who died at age 175 (ibid. v. 7), passed away on the day that they reached the age of thirteen (Bereishit Rabbah 63:10 and 63:12); since Isaac was born when Abraham was 100 (Genesis 21:5), this would mean that Esau and Jacob were born almost 63 years after Isaac’s birth. In other words, when Isaac turned 60, close to 63 years had already elapsed from the time of his birth. Somehow, he had “lost” three years of his life.

One of the explanations offered by our sages is that before his marriage to Rebecca (at age 40), Isaac spent three years in the Garden of Eden. During this time he led an entirely spiritual existence, so that these years are not counted as part of his physical life.

Although few of us can endeavor to emulate Isaac’s example in its most ultimate sense, the implications are clear: a prerequisite to the marriage relationship is that one must first devote a certain period of time exclusively to spiritual and G‑dly pursuits, with minimal involvement in the material aspects of life.

The Impossible Edifice

Marriage itself appears to be the very opposite of this: a time of increased enmeshment in the material. It is a time when one begins to engage the most physical of human drives; it is also a time when one is forced to begin to involve oneself in earnest in the earning of a living, often at the expense of higher and more idealistic pursuits. In fact, the Zohar considers marriage to be a person’s second birth: first the soul enters into the body and assumes a physical existence; then, at a later point in life, it further “descends” into the physical state by marrying. Nevertheless (indeed, as we shall see, because of this), marriage is the framework within which the most G‑dly aspect of the human potential is realized.

The traditional blessing given to the bride and groom is that they merit “to build an eternal edifice.” Out of the marriage comes the creation of human life—life with the potential to produce yet another generation of life, which in turn can yield another, and so on ad infinitum. The power of reproduction presents us with a logical impossibility: how can a finite entity contain within itself an infinite potential? Indeed, our sages have said: “There are three partners to the creation of man: G‑d, his father and his mother.” G‑d, the only truly infinite being, has done the impossible: He has imbued finite man with an infinite quality. In marriage, two finite and temporal creatures establish an infinite and eternal edifice.

It is therefore no accident that the quality with which man most emulates his Creator is realized only through a “descent” into the material. For so it is with G‑d Himself: the infinite nature of His power is most potently expressed with His creation of the physical universe. A truly infinite being is not constrained by any definitions and parameters: he is to be found anywhere and everywhere, even in the most confining and corporeal of environments. G‑d’s creation of sublime and abstract worlds cannot convey the infinite scope of His power in the same way that His creation of—and constant involvement with—our “lowly” and finite existence can.

The same is true of the power of creation invested in the human being. Because of its divinely infinite nature, it can—and does—find realization in the most “physical” area of human life.

Spiritual Prelude

Man has been granted freedom of choice. So, when a man and woman join their lives, it is up to them to do what they will with the divine gift of procreation. They can choose to squander it in a relationship devoid of meaningful content—a relationship in which they become only more enmeshed in their material selves. Or they can endeavor to construct an edifice which is eternal in more than the most basic, biological sense. They can endeavor to build a selfless and giving relationship, and a home and family committed to the timeless values set forth by the Creator of life.

This is the lesson of Isaac’s disappearance from physical life prior to his marriage. In order to ensure that one’s “descent” into marriage yields the proper results, it must be preceded by a period of spiritual preparation. Although man’s mission in life is the positive development of the physical world, one must enter the arena of the material well-equipped with the spiritual vision of the divine purpose and with the spiritual fortitude to carry it out.

Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson; adapted by Yanki Tauber.

Originally published in Week in Review.

Republished with the permission of MeaningfulLife.com. If you wish to republish this article in a periodical, book, or website, please email permissions@meaningfullife.com.© Copyright 2013, all rights reserved.

~~~

More in Your Questions:

• Hurt Feelings (By Sara Chana Radcliffe)

Dear Rachel,

I read recently that parents should help children take responsibility for their own feelings. For example, according to this way of thinking, if your child gets very upset when someone teases her, you should teach her how to restore her emotional equilibrium. If she blames the other child for upsetting her, you should help her realize that she has a choice as to how to react. This advice leaves me feeling confused. I would have thought that the teasing child is to blame for causing upset to the other youngster. Am I wrong?

Confused Mom

Dear Confused,
I’m going to break your question into three:

Does a child have a choice as to how to react to an external stressor?

Is someone capable of inflicting emotional pain on someone else?

How should a parent react when one child feels injured by another child?

In answer to the first question, a child (or adult, for that matter) always has a choice as to how to react behaviorally to an external stressor. For example, if Michael teases Aaron, Aaron can choose to push Michael down, call him a nasty name, threaten to tell his mother, ask him to please stop

How should a parent react when one child feels injured by another child?

doing that, walk away without saying anything, and so on. Each of these is a behavioral response, and Aaron can choose how he will respond. As it says in the Torah, “I have set before you life and death . . . Choose life.”1 We all have free will when it comes to our actions.

Emotional reactions are different, however. Our emotional reactions happen through the processes of our subconscious minds. We can’t choose to feel hurt or peaceful, frightened or calm, rage or resentment. Emotional responses happen faster than the speed of light, coming from a myriad of internal sources (neural pathways, genetic information, stored memories and meanings, etc.). We can learn to choose appropriate behavioral channels for expressing emotion, such as using words instead of our fists to express our sentiments. We can also learn to help calm our own emotional responses.

This latter technique, called “Emotional Regulation,” is appropriate to teach to children to help them negotiate their own inner world. If someone hurts them, you can teach them to self-soothe, recuperate, address the wound, and so on. This information should be taught to all kids, but in the specific situation where one child has hurt another, this information is pertinent to the victim.

As for the second question, the Torah view is that we are responsible if we inflict emotional pain on other people. In fact, there is a specific mitzvah to refrain from hurting people’s feelings with words, and of course there are many, many mitzvot involving refraining from hurting them physically, financially, emotionally, and so on.2 So a child’s hurtful behavior ought to hurt its victim. If you stab someone in the arm with a knife, you are directly responsible for that pain. The idea that no one can hurt our feelings is a secular innovation of 1960s–’70s psychology. In Judaism, someone who hurts another is held accountable for doing so, and therefore a parent can and should point out to a (perpetrator) child that his behavior has consequences for others.

So far, we’ve looked at the situation where one child teases, pushes or insults another. Now let’s address the parent’s reaction. Suppose that a sibling innocently walks by his sister, and the sister cries out to Mom, “He’s making faces at me!” In this case, Mom can ask the boy if this is what happened, and if it did, direct his attention to her sad face and her obvious upset. Mom can then do whatever other educational intervention is required. Is this a pattern that needs focused attention through discipline? Is it sufficient to impress upon him that his sister is now feeling hurt?

However, if he claims innocence—and parents tend to develop a fairly accurate perception of how innocent a child might be—then perhaps it is the little girl who needs to

Parents tend to develop a fairly accurate perception of how innocent a child might be

adjust her own emotional radar. The parent might say something like, “I don’t know for sure what happened, because I wasn’t there, and I hear David saying that he didn’t make a face. But I see that you feel hurt and upset because you think he did—and if he would have done such a thing, you would certainly feel hurt. Hashem doesn’t like us to hurt each other; He wants us all to be kind to each other. Of course, if we’re not absolutely sure if someone did something hurtful, we need to judge that person positively.”

This combination of emotional validation and education accomplishes a number of things. First, Dr. John Gottman has established through intensive research that emotional validation itself leads the child to develop the internal processes necessary for healthy emotional regulation. The more a child’s emotional world is validated, the more the child is able to self-soothe in stressful moments. Had Mom just said, “He didn’t do anything,” the invalidation would have likely led to the daughter becoming more emotionally oversensitive and reactive in the future.

In addition, the son hears his mother validating his sister. If he did have a role in the little girl’s pain, he has heard its emotional consequences. And while he may have been innocent on this particular occasion, chances are good that he is hurtful on other occasions. His mother’s statement can penetrate more easily right now precisely because he is not under direct attack. Third, the parent’s statement teaches the important Torah concepts that people need to be careful not to hurt others and remember to judge others positively.

In summary:

Children are responsible for how they act in response to stress, but not for how they feel.

We need to refrain from inflicting pain on others, and take responsibility when we have inflicted pain.

Parents can help both perpetrator and victim. The perpetrator has the responsibility to develop appropriate empathy toward others, and to act in accordance with Hashem’s directives to refrain from hurting others. The victim has the responsibility to judge positively, to react in a behaviorally appropriate way, and to calm him- or herself down after injury. Parents can help victims become better at emotional regulation by validating the emotional pain they experienced.

I hope this answers your question, and I wish you luck on your parenting journey.

"Dear Rachel" is a bi-weekly column that is answered by a rotating group of experts. This question was answered by Sarah Chana Radcliffe. Sarah Chana Radcliffe is the author of "The Fear Fix: Solutions for Every Child's Moments of Worry, Panic and Fear," "Make Yourself at Home," and "Raise Your Kids without Raising Your Voice."

FOOTNOTES

1.Deuteronomy 30:19.

~~~

THE REBBE

How to Deal with Anger

The Rebbe’s guidance ranges from simple, practical suggestions to more advanced meditations that address the root causes of our anger. by Mendy Kaminker

Rabbi Eliezer says: “. . . Do not be easy to anger.” (Avot 2:10)

Anger is one of the traits most condemned in Jewish literature. “Someone who gets angry,” we are told, “is like one who worships idols.”1 Anger can cause a sage to lose his wisdom, or a person who is destined for greatness to forfeit it.2

It’s not hard to see why. When we get angry, we tend to act irrationally. Things said or done in anger are almost always destructive and cause for later regret.

Everyone gets angry occasionally, but some people are more prone to anger than others. They may have a “short fuse” and blow up over small things, or they may be chronically irritable. However it is manifested, anger that is not dealt with in a healthy way is dangerous for the angry person and for those close to him or her.

Dealing with anger is a lifelong challenge, but the results are unquestionably worth it. A person who learns to control, or at least reduce, his anger will be surprised by how greatly his life and relationships improve—at home and at work.

In the letters of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of righteous memory, there are several pieces of advice about dealing with anger. The Rebbe’s guidance ranges from simple, practical suggestions to more advanced meditations that address the root causes of our anger. Below is a loose adaptation of some of these, to study and hopefully put into practice.

A Simple Recommendation: Wait!

The Rebbe writes:

Regarding what you wrote about the traits of anger and pride: As with anything else, the way to correct these is step by step.

The first step is to wait. Don’t express your anger or pride verbally. In this way, those emotions will not gain momentum, as can be seen in practice . . .3

If you feel yourself getting angry, stop, take a deep breath and wait a minute before you react. The anger may dissipate when the heat of the moment has passed.

Someone Is Watching

Another bit of advice, found in Tanya, is to remember Who is watching us when we get angry.

In 5717 (1957), the Rebbe wrote to a young student:

In answer to your letter . . . in which you write that you sometimes suffer from the trait of anger:

You should learn by heart the first part of ch. 41 of Tanya, from the beginning of the chapter to p. 112, second line, “. . . before the king.”

Also, ask your teacher to explain to you the general outline of Iggeret Hakodesh, Epistle 25.

When you feel yourself beginning to get angry, review by heart the beginning of ch. 41 and think about the summary of the epistle; as you get used to doing this, your situation will continue to improve.4

In chapter 41, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi explains that we must constantly remember that the Creator of the world is watching at every moment: “Behold, G‑d stands over him, and the whole world is full of His glory, and He looks upon him and examines his conscience and heart [to see] if he is serving Him as is fitting.”

Somehow, it’s easier to hang onto our self-control when we know that someone is watching. And the truth is, Someone is always watching. This idea is useful for dealing with most negative traits and behaviors. For more on this, and to study Chapter 41 in depth, visit our Tanya site.

Remember the Consequences

Here’s a practical piece of advice that is fairly easy to follow: If we realize that our anger has consequences, we will think and behave differently.

The Rebbe writes to a young woman:

Keep the mitzvah found in the Shulchan Aruch [Code of Jewish Law], that if you hurt someone’s feelings—even out of anger—you must apologize in person and ask for complete forgiveness.

It is by nature difficult for a person to apologize. Nevertheless, you should overcome that difficulty and do it.

In that way, every time you are about to get angry, you will remember that afterwards you will have to brace yourself and ask for forgiveness… That itself will help you weaken your tendency towards anger.5

Remember Who’s in Charge

Finally, there is one idea that, when understood and employed properly, can uproot anger at its source.

As we saw above, the Rebbe often advised people who struggled with this issue to study Epistle 25 of Iggeret Hakodesh, found in the last section of Tanya.6 There the Alter Rebbe explains why anger is compared to idolatry. Granted, anger is a negative trait, but how can it be compared to idol worship?

The Alter Rebbe puts it like this:

The reason is clear to those that have understanding: because at the time of his anger, faith has departed from him.7 For were he to believe that what happened to him is of G‑d’s doing, he would not become angry at all.

And though it is a person possessed of free choice who is cursing him, or hitting him, or causing damage to his money, and therefore is guilty according to the laws of man and the laws of Heaven for having chosen evil—nevertheless, as regards the person harmed—this was already decreed from Heaven, and “the Omnipresent has many deputies.”

Getting angry means you don’t have faith that what’s happening to you is really coming from G‑d. The person you’re angry at is just a messenger. Now, obviously, he or she still had free choice, and will be held accountable. But getting angry is not the answer. Rather than asking, “Why is this person hurting me?” ask a bigger question: “What is G‑d trying to tell me in this moment?”

Making these ideas part of your consciousness is the work of a lifetime. Here are some links to get you started: Epistle 25 of Iggeret Hakodesh, Jay Litvin’s meditations on anger, Anger Management 101, and Angry with G‑d.

Rabbi Mendy Kaminker is the editor of Beit Chabad, the Hebrew edition of Chabad.org.

FOOTNOTES

1.Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, De’ot 2:3, citing “the early sages.” His source seems to be the Talmud, Shabbat 105a.

2.Talmud, Pesachim 66b.

3.Igrot Kodesh, letter 5239.

4.Ibid., letter 5588.

5.Ibid., letter 6670.

6.Ibid., letter 4985.

~~~

ESSAY

To Pray with the Tables and with the Chairs

Far from being a disturbance to the pursuit of pure spirituality, it is the material world that serves as the setting and telos of Hasidic prayer, whose ultimate agenda is to reveal this mundane space as a fitting habitation for divinity. by Don Seeman

Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (1745–1812), the so-called Alter Rebbe, or founding teacher of the Chabad movement, was once asked to explain to his students how he prays. He is said to have responded, “I pray with the table and with the chairs.” When I first heard this story many years ago, I assumed he meant merely to say that he prayed with great intensity, so that the tables and chairs shook with his fervor. Anyone who has seen Orthodox Jews engrossed in speaking to their Creator while bowing and shaking in constant motion—shuckling, as it is sometimes known in English—will know what I had in mind. I was more wrong than right though, because I underestimated the central importance of tables and chairs and the whole world of mundane materiality to Hasidic prayer. Far from being merely a backdrop or a disturbance to the pursuit of pure spirituality, it is precisely the material world that serves as the setting and telos of Hasidic prayer, whose ultimate agenda is to render—or better, to reveal—this mundane space we inhabit as a fitting habitation for divinity, or what they call dirah ba-tachtonim, “a home in the nether regions.” But what does all this have to do with tables and chairs?

The Chabad movement began to take hold in the Jewish communities of White Russia and Lithuania more than two hundred years ago and has developed today into an important global network of “emissaries” and spiritual entrepreneurs devoted to the promotion of Hasidic ideals and practice in every conceivable format and context.

Active contemplation of paradoxes like the coincidence of divine immanence and transcendence . . . alone could offer lasting transformation of human affect . . . practice and existential condition.

In its origins though, the movement was premised on intensive forms of contemplative study and prayer designed to transform human beings by focusing not on the emotions like other Hasidic groups, but on the intellect. The term Chabad itself is a Hebrew acronym for “wisdom, understanding, knowledge,” which represent the cognitive faculties targeted by these practices. Interesting comparisons with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy have recently been advanced. Active contemplation of paradoxes like the coincidence of divine immanence and transcendence helped to fill the mind of the worshipper with divine light, which alone could offer lasting transformation of human affect and ultimately, it was to be hoped, of human practice and existential condition as well.

Chabad contemplative practices were meant to engender a sense of bittul or self-abnegation, a marvelously labile term that stands for a whole host of different spiritual, moral, and cognitive conditions. One of its most basic meanings is that the world and all existence comes to seem (to the mind and even to the senses and feelings) “as if it were naught” (ke’lo hashiv) when viewed through the prism of contemplation upon the greatness of the divine. The “as if” is important here, because Chabad teachers throughout the generations have been careful to deny a view that is sometimes attributed to various forms of Eastern mysticism which holds that the world is an illusion (maya). This, no Orthodox Jew can easily maintain, because the whole sweep of Jewish religious tradition starting with the Bible and through all the later teachings is that the world created by G‑d is real, that human responsibility for good or for evil is far from illusory, and that divine prerogatives in history must be fulfilled. “G‑d forbid,” exclaimed the third hereditary leader of Chabad, known as Zemach Zedek (1789–1866), “that we should say the world is not real!” And yet, nearly every page of classical teaching in the Chabad school insists that the world is “completely nullified” before the great light of G‑d, “like the light of a candle extinguished in the light of the sun.” This is the apparent paradox of materiality which is both real and not real, and it is this dilemma which is addressed through the delicate praxis of contemplative prayer.

The Lurianic mystery of zimzum, the divine “contraction” that makes space for the phenomenal world, is by now well-known. Modern thinkers like Edmund Jabes, Jacques Derrida, and Emmanuel Levinas have each appropriated this sixteenth-century Kabbalistic imagery for their own ethical and interpretive projects.

Levinas’ startling adaptation of the zimzum metaphor for interpersonal relations was most clearly anticipated in an essay by by the fifth Chabad Rebbe, known as the Rebbe Rashab.

For example, Levinas arranges his whole ethical phenomenology around the demand to make space for the Other, giving to him or to her, as it were, a chance to breathe and a space to inhabit, though it be at one’s own expense. Levinas may go out of his way to identify himself with the nineteenth-century opponents of the Hasidim in his famous essay on “Rabbi Hayyim of Volozhin” (for reasons that may become clear in a moment), but his startling adaptation of the zimzum metaphor for interpersonal relations was most clearly anticipated in an essay by by the fifth Chabad Rebbe, known as the Rebbe Rashab (1860–1920), who desribes human zimzum at length as an act of ethical imitatio Dei (see Kuntres He-Chaltzu). Levinas may well have been aware of the essay (we know that he studied some early Chabad literature), but I believe he would have shied away from the Chabad formulation precisely because of its insistence on contemplative practices designed to show zimzum to be merely a metaphor.

Correct interpretation of zimzum was an important feature of the debates that distinguished early Hasidim from their opponents. Though there is some debate on this point, the standard account holds that the great and fierce opponent of the Hasidism, R. Elijah of Vilna, took the idea of zimzum in its literal sense (zimzum ke-peshuto), meaning that G‑d evacuated, as it were, a space for creation. This would be a comfortable position for someone like Levinas not just because of his Lithuanian Jewish origins, but also because it implies that the analogous moral sacrifice “for the other” is real and irreducible. Variations on the zimzum ke-peshuto argument were made by various writers in what they took to be the defense of normative distinctions between right and wrong, pure and impure, that they sensed might be compromised by the idea of a G‑d whose presence resides everywehere without distinction, in places sacred as well as very profane. Even Levinas’ hero, R. Hayyim of Volozhin, who did not accept the simple reading of zimzum, thought that one should act as if it were literally true so as to avoid the potential for antinomianism.

Not so for Chabad. Like other Hasidim, Chabad opted for the radical solution that zimzum itself is the illusion grounded in human perceptual limitations but

Bittul is the cognitive-perceptual process whereby we train ourselves to see behind the veil. The world is real, but not in the way that we thought it was before.

that in fact nothing ever changed—the divine light before creation and after creation are identical, as is the immanence of the divine glory, except that the world conceals this glory even as it also stands witness to it. The parallel between this position and the psychological or perceptual problem of bittul (self-annihilation) should now be perfectly clear: when we reflect upon the divine light we realize cognitively and perceptually that we “are as naught,” but we also come to recognize that our “naught” is included in (rather than excluded by) unmediated divinity. Bittul is the cognitive-perceptual process whereby we train ourselves to see behind the veil. The world is real, but not in the way that we thought it was before. How is this accomplished?

Here we return to the importance of prayer as a transformative praxis. Contemplative prayer is a complex ritual system in Chabad, corresponding to many different spiritual and cognitive levels of attainment. On the simplest level, contemplating the greatness of God engenders love and fear and a pervasive sense of bittul ha-yesh (nullification of the coarse material aspect of the human personality, the part that craves physical satisfaction and acts for itself, disobeying the divine will). The contemplative person continues to experience his or her separate existence but attains a great clarity and transparency to the divine will over time. One is no longer held in thrall to physical fears or desires and is actively willing to give oneself, one’s very life (mesirut nefesh), for the sake of not being separated from G‑d.

For early Chabad, which developed at the same time and in direct response to modernizing trends among the Jews of Europe, this was an important political as well as religious message, because it provided a practical means

In direct response to modernizing trends among the Jews of Europe . . . Chabad provided a practical means of combating the colonization of Jewish religious habitus by secularized perceptual structures.

of combating the colonization of Jewish religious habitus by secularized perceptual structures—the idea that religious motives for example, even where they are respected, should be treated as no more compelling than other sorts of human motives and instinctual reactions, like the hunger for food, for economic advancement, or for political freedom. Contemplation on this level reformulates everything, putting the consciousness of G‑d and the divine will at the center of one’s perceptual schemas and at the heart of one’s motivational framework, such that even martyrdom might appear as but a trifling thing compared to the awesome intensity of divine intimacy. Many religious movements would have been content with having achieved this level of religious feeling.

Chabad sources insist however (and I am simplifying a great deal) that there are deeper levels of contemplation available to adepts, and that these do more than simply ensure the primacy of religious motivation over other forces but also allow a glimpse of the truth obscured by zimzum—the truth that the world itself and all that is in it “is considered as naught before Thee.” This is called bittul ba-metziut, or “annihilation within existence.” In this reality, every existent being and thing must be perceived (and experienced!) as ultimately contingent upon the divine vitality that creates and gives life to it, not once and for all, as in a simplistic reading of the Genesis story, but constantly and at all times. Like the phenomenological epoché, which brackets the “natural attitude” of the world as given to sense experience, contemplative prayer brackets the untrained perspective by which our world appears as “really real” and firmly existent, and reveals instead the divine light and contingency underlying all things. One does not see merely a “table” or “chairs,” nor does one come to see them as illusory and false, but one learns to perceive the divine vitality that is in them and that constitutes their true reality. To pray with the tables and with the chairs means, at least in part, to take one’s cue from materiality but to work backwards to its divine source and vitality, to learn to truly see this vitality where once there was only a chair or a table, and then to reveal, to the extent one is able, the truth that zimzum—divine absence—is itself the illusion that reveals materiality, and that alles is G‑tt (“all is G‑d”).

The seventh Chabad Rebbe, R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson. The Rebbe emphasized that the final telos of history is the revelation of the divine essence (atzmus), as G‑d is in G‑dself, in plain sight upon the phenomenal world.

The meaning of dirah ba-tachtonim, that the world should be revealed as a fitting habitation for divinity, is thus an act of uncovering as much as it is one of tikkun (repair). The tikkun is in fact the uncovering. This has been explicit or implicit to Chabad teaching since the beginning, but it received unprecedented and explicit emphasis from the seventh (and last) Rebbe, R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902–1994) of New York, who over the last generation shepherded the transformation of post-Holocaust Chabad into a global movement. As R. Schneerson announced in his inaugural address to his Hasidim in 1951 and never tired of repeating in many ways over the years, he believed that the “generation of the seventh” (the seventh generation since the founding of Chabad by R. Schneur Zalman) was destined to be the generation of redemption, the generation in which the fitting habitation of this world for G‑d would finally be made plain. While the relationship between this perceptual transformation and more traditional notions of Jewish redemption remain to be made clear in subsequent posts, the Rebbe emphasized in many settings over the years that the final telos of history is the revelation of the divine essence (atzmus) as G‑d is in G‑dself in plain sight upon the phenomenal world, something we do not yet have language to describe. This is not, in the final analysis, the flight from materiality or its suppression (as in much of classical Jewish pietism), but the emergence of the material as the very throne and expression of divine glory. This is, moreover, the revelation of a truth already present, pulsing just beneath the façade of our secular existence. If Chabad has sometimes chafed against narrow doctrines of separation that are used to push religion out of the public sphere in the United States and elsewhere, this needs to be understood as fundamental to Chabad’s overall project. The sacred and the profane as human categories must both dissolve like the light of a candle in the noonday glare.

It is the eve of Rosh Hashanah in Jerusalem as I write these words. There is a pensiveness and excitement in the air very different from that which accompanies our secular “New Year’s Day.” It is Yom Ha-Din, the Day of Judgment,

Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and the other liturgical days of this season each stand as particular moments in a broad process of self-transformation, self-annihilation, and renewal

and Yom Ha-Zikaron, the Day of Memory. In the earliest Chabad sources, it is a day for the contemplation of the ultimate, paradoxical unity of the “light that fills creation” (divine sovereignty, immanence) and “the light that surrounds creation” (infinitude, transcendence). The day does not stand alone but is part of a broad ritual framework in which Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and the other liturgical days of this season each stand as particular moments in a broad process of self-transformation, self-annihilation, and renewal. Many people will spend many hours in synagogues hoping for at least a few moments of transcendence and clarity which may or may not ever come. In later posts in this ocasional series on the materiality of prayer, I hope to describe my ethnography of prayer in the lives of contemporary Chabad practitioners and flesh out more of what is at stake for them in this life they have chosen. For now though, it is enough to emphasize that the contemplative practice described in Chabad teachings ensures that those who engage in it will not be praying alone. If you listen closely you can hear the tables and the chairs praying, too.

This article first appeared in Reverberations: New Directions in the Study of Prayer, a SSRC forum, and is republished here with permission.

Don Seeman is an Associate Professor holding a joint appointment in Jewish Ethnography with the Department of Religion and the Institute for Jewish Studies at Emory University. He has also served as assistant rabbi of the Young Israel of Toco Hills in Atlanta, and taught at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and in the Department of Social Medicine at Harvard Medical School.© Copyright 2013, all rights reserved.

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VIDEO

“All You Got”

Enjoy the incredible blend of animation with live action in this music video, which is the title track from 8th Day’s new album, “All You Got.”

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Missionary Renegade

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

CHABAD Magazine ~ Tuesday, Cheshvan 18, 5774 · 22 October 2013

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