Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
Having torn myself away from a beautiful Passover in Israel, I want to share a thought I brought back with me:
Israel is a microcosm of each of our lives and of our planet. Why? Because it’s not just a chunk of land. It’s the promised land. It’s unique, sacred earth.
This body that you’re in, this life you’ve been given—it’s your promised land. And this planet we dwell upon, these people we need to learn to live with—they are humanity’s promised land. The story of the land of Israel and the Jewish people is meant as a model, a highlighted fractal of the whole.
Look at things this way and everything changes. You stop kvetching and start finding solutions. And you value every moment. Because every moment is another footstep across sacred earth.
In my mind, this is the key to all solutions—this awareness that life has meaning, where you are is with purpose, and every moment is eternity.
Just my Israel-inspired thought. You’re the reader. Tell me yours.
Tzvi Freeman
on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team
Kosher Yearnings
He sits and yearns for a thing he should not have.
The yearning itself is good—to live is to yearn. If there’s nothing for which you yearn, you can hardly be said to be alive.
It’s the form this yearning has taken that is death itself.
So the form must be crushed. Extinguished like the embers of an abandoned campfire in a dry forest.
And then that yearning can be freed, the flame of life that burns inside. That was always good. The yearning—that is life.
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Does the Universe Know I Exist? What’s a conscious being like me doing in a cold universe like this? by Tzvi Freeman
Dear Ask-the-Rabbi Rabbi,
I don’t know if this bothers other people at some point in life, but I’m a college freshman and it’s really started to get to me. It’s like I’m inside this gigantic machine that’s rolling its gears, firing up its stoves, shoveling its gunk around—and all totally oblivious of my existence within it.
I’m the conscious being, the one observing this universe, yet I’m completely passive and insignificant. Nobody asks me whether the sun should shine today or the wind should blow. Whole galaxies are being formed at this very moment, and I don’t even know about them. This entire planet swarms with life whether I wake up in the morning or decide to sleep in—and who knows what’s going on elsewhere?
And get this: At any point, some tectonic plate could slip a few centimeters, sending a tsunami in my direction, wiping out my life into oblivion. So I need to know: Is the universe really as cold and indifferent as it appears to be?[Nobo D.]
Dear Nobo,
No, you’re not alone. It’s a quirk in the system. There’s just something about human consciousness that induces us into a state of absurd loneliness. The more you ponder your consciousness of yourself, the lonelier you feel.
But let’s get real: It really is the height of human audacity to assume that we are fantastic instances of consciousness that have somehow emerged out of a dumb universe—much like the teenager who can’t understand how such a bright guy like me came from parents who have no brains.
Let’s take this step by step:
1. Consciousness is Lonely
It’s absurdly lonely. After all, you can’t see it, you can’t touch it, you can’t measure it, you can’t replicate it, and you can’t even tell me what it is. But you’re stuck inside it. So you don’t really know if anyone is conscious other than yourself.
Remember, we’re not talking about intelligence. Or perception. We have definitions of those (hundreds of them, depending on which expert you ask), and we measure them, too. Consciousness is . . . well, we don’t know what it is. But we all say that we experience it.
Yet what is more real to us than our consciousness of our own selves?What is more real to us than our consciousness of our own selves? We know we aren’t just human beings—we know what it’s like to be a human being.1 We experience (sorry, we don’t know what that is either) that “I am, and I am observing this world about me.” It’s an experience that seems entirely unnecessary for survival, certainly not a tangible entity and not even some sort of mechanism. Just this sense of being me, and this meis dealing with that stuff out there. Weird.
Creates a lot of problems, too. First of all, if I see something, I can say to you, “Hey, do you see what I see?” and if you say, “Sure do!” then we’re not alone. You can even share ideas, or talk about how you feel.
But I guarantee I’m not going to ask you, “Have you seen my consciousness lying around anywhere?” Lonely.
So how do I know that anyone is conscious besides myself? I don’t. I just assume that since they act somewhat as I do, they must be conscious like I am. But a tree or a rock, well, they’re not my kind of company.
In fact, back in the days of the “Age of Reason,” and all the way into the 20th century, animals were considered to be automatons with no real feelings or consciousness. Descartes and his buddies found their entertainment tying torches to the tails of dogs and watching them attempt to chase after them—with the intellectual consolation that all the yelping and crying was no more than “a mechanical response.”
So no wonder a person who ponders his own consciousness of self is going to end up feeling like a foreign being plopped into a cold universe.
Fortunately, however, consciousness comes bundled with intelligence. Let’s use some and see if it shows us our way out:
2. Consciousness Doesn’t Appear Out of Nowhere
Where does your consciousness come from? A basic principle of science is that ex nihilo nihil fit—nothing comes out of nothing. Okay, the universe is created out of nothing. But since then, even miracles work with what’s already there.
So what does consciousness appear out of? Philosophers, neuroscientists, psychiatrists, etc., and anyone else who cares enough to think about it have come up with only two possibilities. Everything else is just a variation on a theme:
Consciousness emerges out of biochemistry, just like biochemistry emerges out of chemistry and chemistry emerges out of physics. (I’m simplifying the process. Please don’t report this to your prof.)
This is one of those super-strange things about our universe: There are surprises at every turn. If you study quantum physics alone, you will never predict the world of chemistry that emerges from it. And if you study chemistry, you will never deduce from it the principles of quantum physics.This is one of those super-strange things about our universe: There are surprises at every turn. It goes on and on like that at every level of scientific inquiry.2
Nevertheless, a bright guy named Niels Bohr, who had an idea of how both nuclear physics and chemistry work, figured out the mechanics of how one emerges from the other. Something similar occurred with figuring out how biochemistry emerges out of chemistry. The same with many other disciplines, piled up in a hierarchy one above the other.
That’s why many believe that one day we will figure out how consciousness emerges out of biochemistry. Science has done so darned well until now, who knows what it will come up with next?
Yet from the earliest years of modern science, even the most hardened materialists have had trouble chewing that one down. Thomas Huxley, Darwin’s foremost protagonist and the man who contributed the word “agnostic” to our lexicon, put it like this:
. . . how it is that anything so remarkable as a state of consciousness comes about as the result of irritating nervous tissue, is just as unaccountable as the appearance of the Djinn when Aladdin rubbed his lamp.3
David Chalmers, today’s most vocal exponent of consciousness studies, explains the problem in simple terms:4 You need some sort of mechanism to explain how some new function emerges from a cluster of other functions. For instance, how the properties laid out in the table of elements emerge from the functions of electrons and protons. Or how a gene that transmits hereditary information emerges from the functions of a string of nucleotides. And guess what, we actually figured a lot of that out.
But what sort of mechanism can explain how the experience of observing things emerges out of the things it observes? Atoms, molecules, cells, organisms—these are “hard” tangible things that perform identifiable functions. Consciousness is a qualia (I didn’t make that up—that’s what they call it). There is noidentifiable function—and even if there were, that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about thisexperience of being. Just like an infinite string of words describing the moon landing can’t add up to the experience of being there, so all the functions of observable matter you can describe can’t add up to the experience of observing.
So there’s another idea:
Consciousness is everywhere, just like time and space. It doesn’t suddenly emerge at any point, it just becomes more pronounced.
This is sometimes called panpsychism, and it’s actually a very ancient way of thinking. You’ll find it echoed throughout the Psalms, as the trees, the hills, the sun and the stars sing their praises to their Creator. The ancient, cryptic and mystical Sefer Yetzirah (Book of Formation) describes the universe as made of “space, time and soul.”Not long ago, anywhere you went in the world, people assumed that they were surrounded by consciousness. Indeed, not long ago, anywhere you went in the world, people assumed that they were surrounded by consciousness.
But the idea fell out of focus as Galileo, Newton, et al proved highly successful at figuring things out by measuring them. After all, if you can’t measure it, why bother with it? And if you don’t bother with it, eventually you start to believe it doesn’t exist. So as people got smarter, the universe about them seemed dumber.
Nevertheless, panpsychism wouldn’t go away. It continued resurfacing in different forms. In fact, it’s had some darn prestigious names behind it: Baruch Spinoza and Gottfried Leibniz, two of the major figures who set the groundwork for the Age of the Enlightenment; the highly influential German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer; the father of American psychology, William James; and the 20th-century British logician Alfred North Whitehead.
Some have held that consciousness is a basic quality of all life. Others have gone further to say it is a basic quality of all matter. There have even been those who have crowned consciousness as the fundamental substance of the entire universe—everything else is a sort of epiphenomenon of a single grand consciousness.
But then there are also those who say, “Look, physicists have done a pretty good job explaining the universe without consciousness in the equation. So let’s just say that it’s another element of the universe that allows the universe to observe itself.”
That’s called the dualist approach, while the first—with its many variations—is called the monist approach.
3. But Some Things Are More Conscious Than Others
To be up front, I’m with the monist panpsychists. Actually, it’s a very Chabad kind of thing. The founder of Chabad, RabbiSchneur Zalman of Liadi, taught a radical form of monism. He wrote that matter itself is nothing more than a sustained articulation of Divine consciousness. (More on that in How Real Is Stuff? Part II.) Besides, quantum physics, according to the understanding of some of the greatest geniuses of modern science, does take consciousness into the equation.
But, instead of talking about the differences between these ideas, let’s talk about what they have in common. They both uncover a very neat problem. Neat, because it leads us to real information about consciousness:
On the one hand, if consciousness is universal, then why isn’t it equally everywhere, like time and space?If consciousness is universal, then why isn’t it equally everywhere, like time and space? On the other hand, if it’s an “emergent quality,” what does it need in order to emerge?
So here’s a really neat answer for that neat problem from a contemporary psychiatrist and neuroscientist, Giulio Tononi of the University of Wisconsin—Madison. It’s called IIT—integrated information theory.
IIT says that consciousness appears wherever there’s information. But not just any information. Integrated information. Meaning, wherever information works together to form a single entity.
So you can have a tiny piece of matter with an integrated information level just above zero, and there’s going to be some sort of consciousness there. But if you are a single, integrated entity with a large repertoire of highly differentiated states, you’re going to have a lot more consciousness.
Tononi’s idea has caused quite a stir in certain enclaves—especially because it provides a foundation to really study consciousness, by aligning it with information states. But even without embracing it lock, stock and barrel, it seems clear to all of us that consciousness has some sort of alignment with complex, integrated systems that generate information. Like us.
Which carries us back to our question, now on much firmer ground:
4. Is the Universe Conscious?
Let’s take a look. There’s a lot of information out there. It all works together—in awesome precision. Everywhere we look, whether under the sea, under a rock, up in the sky or in a galaxy far away, the same rules and the same constants apply. And if one of those dimensionless constants would be just a little bit off—if the gravitational constant would be just a smidgen more or less, or if the combination of the electron charge, the speed of light and Planck’s constant would be just a little off—there would be no hope for any integrated information at all. No life. No observer. Zero consciousness.
So is there any reason why the universe as a whole should not be considered conscious?
Okay, I can hear you saying, “That’s not proof that the universe is conscious. It’s just evidence.” But then, as I pointed out earlier, nobody has proof that anyone is conscious other than himself. Just evidence.
I would say you’re on stronger ground assuming that the whole universe is conscious than assuming that an individual is conscious.You’re on stronger ground assuming that the whole universe is conscious than assuming that an individual is conscious. Ask yourself: Which makes more sense—that conscious human beings gradually emerge over time out of the dynamics of dumb matter; or that a great consciousness articulates itself within particular instances of much smaller consciousnesses, and eventually that of us puny human beings?
And what makes more sense, a universe where everything just happens to follow the same rules, and no two particles dare be in the same state—even though they have no knowledge of what each other is doing, since they are just dumb particles—
—or a universe where a single consciousness holds everything in place, as an enormously diverse, thoroughly integrated set of information?
If that sounds just way too unscientific, I’ll throw in a quotation from one of the most significant physicists of the 20th century, without whom quantum physics might never have been imagined, Max Planck:
As a man who has devoted his whole life to the most clearheaded science, to the study of matter, I can tell you as a result of my research about atoms this much: There is no matter as such. All matter originates and exists only by virtue of a force which brings the particle of an atom to vibration and holds this most minute solar system of the atom together. We must assume behind this force the existence of a conscious and intelligent Mind. This Mind is the matrix of all matter.5
5. But Does It Care?
So is that G‑d? Depends. If you’re turned off by organized religion and never got along with your rabbi, we don’t have to call it G‑d. There are plenty of other worthwhile labels.
But if you do want to call it G‑d, I have no problem with that. It’s just that it’s a rather limited G‑d. It’s about as limiting as the way we define a person nowadays by “what do you do for a living?” Infinitely more so.
It makes more sense that this great consciousness is not limited to creating this particular universe as we know it.
After all, as far as we can tell, it’s a universe with limited time, space, matter and energy—as well as a limited set of rules. It’s a universe that screams out that it does not have to exist at all. It makes sense that beyond this temporal instance of being, there must be an absolute existence that has none of these limitations. It’s just that somehow that absolute being also expresses itself in terms of a limited universe.
So that’s a higher concept of G‑d. In terms of the Kabbalah, the first concept is called “the light that fills,” and the second, higher concept includes a concept of G‑d’s “encompassing light” or “infinite light.” In the rest of the world, the first concept is often referred to as pantheism, while the second, higher concept is sometimes called panentheism—that G‑d is both within and beyond.
Both these conceptions of G‑d are sensible. They don’t require faith, just a reasonable and objective look at what’s outside of ourselves.
I would go further and say that it is also reasonable to assume that this great mind acts purposefully and deliberately. As little as we understand about consciousness and the mind, deliberateness seems to be an integral element. A conscious being sees itself as an “I” because it chooses to act and how to act. So why shouldn’t the ultimate mind be the same? Which would mean that this existence of mine is not an accident, but has some sort of meaning.
And yet further: A grand consciousness, one would imagine, would be concerned with the details of all that emerges from it, down to every critter. Being unlimited and infinite, no job is too small, no critter too insignificant. A small mind can manage only the big things, but an infinite mind is found entirely in its every thought.A small mind can manage only the big things, but an infinite mind is found entirely in its every thought, as fractals of the whole.
G‑d, as one great architect used to say, is found in the details. Which means that nothing happens that is not a direct interaction between this little guy I call “me” and the ultimate “I,” the consciousness that brings all into being.
What Does It All Mean?
But what is that meaning? How on earth is a puny critter like me supposed to figure out what a mind that is capable of creating unlimited universes of unlimited parameters and forms wants from me? Yet, if it does want something of me, wouldn’t it at least speak up and give me some idea of what I am supposed to do?
All this is leading up to why Jewish belief is not blind dogma, but a very reasonable understanding of reality. It’s more a memory than a belief, the memory of a collective experience at Sinai where we were filled in on the basics of our mission, providing us an inkling of the meaning of all things.
It wouldn’t be fair if only the Jewish people were informed of their meaning. And sure enough, the Torah also tells that the first human being, Adam, was also provided instructions, as was Noah. And, further, that the mission of the Jewish people is to publicize those instructions. They are the seven mitzvahs of Noah, along with a general guideline that we are stewards of this world to care for it and improve it.
Going deeper, it seems that this great mind desires to be apparent within its work—much as an author strives to present more than a story, but rather the very essence of who he is, through the medium of the tug and pull, tension and resolution, the beauty of his work.6
The same with an artist or a composer—it’s not just beauty they strive to create; they yearn to uncover the reality of their own being within that beauty. Indeed, our stories, our songs, our creations of beauty are the only way we have to share our consciousness with other conscious beings.
And so too,The master consciousness is sharing the very core of its being through the unfolding drama of this world in general, and your life in particular. the master consciousness is sharing the very core of its being through the unfolding drama of this world in general, and your life in particular. Only that this drama can unfold only through your conscious participation. That’s left up to you.
So my advice to you, Nobo, is to acknowledge the existential angst (yes, they have a name for it), and then get past it. Get in tune with the higher consciousness that envelops you and all other consciousnesses. Feel the awe. And then find purpose. Rather than recoiling in horror at the loneliness, embrace the life of the universe and allow it to embrace you.
In practical terms, do something to leave the world better than you found it. You even have some pretty clear instructions that should give you some great ideas.
We are never alone, other than in our mind’s delusion. As long as there is meaning, we are never alone.
FOOTNOTES
1.Thomas Nagel, “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” Philosophical Review 83:4 (1974), 435–456.
2.This phenomenon is reflected in the concept of “fifty gates of understanding” mentioned in the ancient mystical Sefer HaBahir. See the explanation of this idea in Nachmanides’ introduction to his commentary on Genesis.
3.Thomas Huxley, Lessons on Elementary Physiology (London: 1866), chapter 8.
4.David J. Chalmers, The Character of Consciousness (Oxford University Press: 2010), part I, chapter 1. I’m butchering it here for the sake of brevity, so please go read it there.
5.Max Planck, “Das Wesen der Materie” (speech in Florence, Italy, 1944).
6.See Tanya, chapter 37.
YOUR QUESTIONS
What Does “Mazel Tov” Mean?
I always thought Mazel Tov meant “congratulations.” I recently heard that it actually means “good luck.” But I thought Jews don’t believe in luck . . . ? by Aron Moss
Does the Universe Know I Exist? What’s a conscious being like me doing in a cold universe like this? by Tzvi Freeman
Dear Ask-the-Rabbi Rabbi,
I don’t know if this bothers other people at some point in life, but I’m a college freshman and it’s really started to get to me. It’s like I’m inside this gigantic machine that’s rolling its gears, firing up its stoves, shoveling its gunk around—and all totally oblivious of my existence within it.
I’m the conscious being, the one observing this universe, yet I’m completely passive and insignificant. Nobody asks me whether the sun should shine today or the wind should blow. Whole galaxies are being formed at this very moment, and I don’t even know about them. This entire planet swarms with life whether I wake up in the morning or decide to sleep in—and who knows what’s going on elsewhere?
And get this: At any point, some tectonic plate could slip a few centimeters, sending a tsunami in my direction, wiping out my life into oblivion. So I need to know: Is the universe really as cold and indifferent as it appears to be?[Nobo D.]
Dear Nobo,
No, you’re not alone. It’s a quirk in the system. There’s just something about human consciousness that induces us into a state of absurd loneliness. The more you ponder your consciousness of yourself, the lonelier you feel.
But let’s get real: It really is the height of human audacity to assume that we are fantastic instances of consciousness that have somehow emerged out of a dumb universe—much like the teenager who can’t understand how such a bright guy like me came from parents who have no brains.
Let’s take this step by step:
1. Consciousness is Lonely
It’s absurdly lonely. After all, you can’t see it, you can’t touch it, you can’t measure it, you can’t replicate it, and you can’t even tell me what it is. But you’re stuck inside it. So you don’t really know if anyone is conscious other than yourself.
Remember, we’re not talking about intelligence. Or perception. We have definitions of those (hundreds of them, depending on which expert you ask), and we measure them, too. Consciousness is . . . well, we don’t know what it is. But we all say that we experience it.
Yet what is more real to us than our consciousness of our own selves?What is more real to us than our consciousness of our own selves? We know we aren’t just human beings—we know what it’s like to be a human being.1 We experience (sorry, we don’t know what that is either) that “I am, and I am observing this world about me.” It’s an experience that seems entirely unnecessary for survival, certainly not a tangible entity and not even some sort of mechanism. Just this sense of being me, and this meis dealing with that stuff out there. Weird.
Creates a lot of problems, too. First of all, if I see something, I can say to you, “Hey, do you see what I see?” and if you say, “Sure do!” then we’re not alone. You can even share ideas, or talk about how you feel.
But I guarantee I’m not going to ask you, “Have you seen my consciousness lying around anywhere?” Lonely.
So how do I know that anyone is conscious besides myself? I don’t. I just assume that since they act somewhat as I do, they must be conscious like I am. But a tree or a rock, well, they’re not my kind of company.
In fact, back in the days of the “Age of Reason,” and all the way into the 20th century, animals were considered to be automatons with no real feelings or consciousness. Descartes and his buddies found their entertainment tying torches to the tails of dogs and watching them attempt to chase after them—with the intellectual consolation that all the yelping and crying was no more than “a mechanical response.”
So no wonder a person who ponders his own consciousness of self is going to end up feeling like a foreign being plopped into a cold universe.
Fortunately, however, consciousness comes bundled with intelligence. Let’s use some and see if it shows us our way out:
2. Consciousness Doesn’t Appear Out of Nowhere
Where does your consciousness come from? A basic principle of science is that ex nihilo nihil fit—nothing comes out of nothing. Okay, the universe is created out of nothing. But since then, even miracles work with what’s already there.
So what does consciousness appear out of? Philosophers, neuroscientists, psychiatrists, etc., and anyone else who cares enough to think about it have come up with only two possibilities. Everything else is just a variation on a theme:
Consciousness emerges out of biochemistry, just like biochemistry emerges out of chemistry and chemistry emerges out of physics. (I’m simplifying the process. Please don’t report this to your prof.)
This is one of those super-strange things about our universe: There are surprises at every turn. If you study quantum physics alone, you will never predict the world of chemistry that emerges from it. And if you study chemistry, you will never deduce from it the principles of quantum physics.This is one of those super-strange things about our universe: There are surprises at every turn. It goes on and on like that at every level of scientific inquiry.2
Nevertheless, a bright guy named Niels Bohr, who had an idea of how both nuclear physics and chemistry work, figured out the mechanics of how one emerges from the other. Something similar occurred with figuring out how biochemistry emerges out of chemistry. The same with many other disciplines, piled up in a hierarchy one above the other.
That’s why many believe that one day we will figure out how consciousness emerges out of biochemistry. Science has done so darned well until now, who knows what it will come up with next?
Yet from the earliest years of modern science, even the most hardened materialists have had trouble chewing that one down. Thomas Huxley, Darwin’s foremost protagonist and the man who contributed the word “agnostic” to our lexicon, put it like this:
. . . how it is that anything so remarkable as a state of consciousness comes about as the result of irritating nervous tissue, is just as unaccountable as the appearance of the Djinn when Aladdin rubbed his lamp.3
David Chalmers, today’s most vocal exponent of consciousness studies, explains the problem in simple terms:4 You need some sort of mechanism to explain how some new function emerges from a cluster of other functions. For instance, how the properties laid out in the table of elements emerge from the functions of electrons and protons. Or how a gene that transmits hereditary information emerges from the functions of a string of nucleotides. And guess what, we actually figured a lot of that out.
But what sort of mechanism can explain how the experience of observing things emerges out of the things it observes? Atoms, molecules, cells, organisms—these are “hard” tangible things that perform identifiable functions. Consciousness is a qualia (I didn’t make that up—that’s what they call it). There is noidentifiable function—and even if there were, that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about thisexperience of being. Just like an infinite string of words describing the moon landing can’t add up to the experience of being there, so all the functions of observable matter you can describe can’t add up to the experience of observing.
So there’s another idea:
Consciousness is everywhere, just like time and space. It doesn’t suddenly emerge at any point, it just becomes more pronounced.
This is sometimes called panpsychism, and it’s actually a very ancient way of thinking. You’ll find it echoed throughout the Psalms, as the trees, the hills, the sun and the stars sing their praises to their Creator. The ancient, cryptic and mystical Sefer Yetzirah (Book of Formation) describes the universe as made of “space, time and soul.”Not long ago, anywhere you went in the world, people assumed that they were surrounded by consciousness. Indeed, not long ago, anywhere you went in the world, people assumed that they were surrounded by consciousness.
But the idea fell out of focus as Galileo, Newton, et al proved highly successful at figuring things out by measuring them. After all, if you can’t measure it, why bother with it? And if you don’t bother with it, eventually you start to believe it doesn’t exist. So as people got smarter, the universe about them seemed dumber.
Nevertheless, panpsychism wouldn’t go away. It continued resurfacing in different forms. In fact, it’s had some darn prestigious names behind it: Baruch Spinoza and Gottfried Leibniz, two of the major figures who set the groundwork for the Age of the Enlightenment; the highly influential German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer; the father of American psychology, William James; and the 20th-century British logician Alfred North Whitehead.
Some have held that consciousness is a basic quality of all life. Others have gone further to say it is a basic quality of all matter. There have even been those who have crowned consciousness as the fundamental substance of the entire universe—everything else is a sort of epiphenomenon of a single grand consciousness.
But then there are also those who say, “Look, physicists have done a pretty good job explaining the universe without consciousness in the equation. So let’s just say that it’s another element of the universe that allows the universe to observe itself.”
That’s called the dualist approach, while the first—with its many variations—is called the monist approach.
3. But Some Things Are More Conscious Than Others
To be up front, I’m with the monist panpsychists. Actually, it’s a very Chabad kind of thing. The founder of Chabad, RabbiSchneur Zalman of Liadi, taught a radical form of monism. He wrote that matter itself is nothing more than a sustained articulation of Divine consciousness. (More on that in How Real Is Stuff? Part II.) Besides, quantum physics, according to the understanding of some of the greatest geniuses of modern science, does take consciousness into the equation.
But, instead of talking about the differences between these ideas, let’s talk about what they have in common. They both uncover a very neat problem. Neat, because it leads us to real information about consciousness:
On the one hand, if consciousness is universal, then why isn’t it equally everywhere, like time and space?If consciousness is universal, then why isn’t it equally everywhere, like time and space? On the other hand, if it’s an “emergent quality,” what does it need in order to emerge?
So here’s a really neat answer for that neat problem from a contemporary psychiatrist and neuroscientist, Giulio Tononi of the University of Wisconsin—Madison. It’s called IIT—integrated information theory.
IIT says that consciousness appears wherever there’s information. But not just any information. Integrated information. Meaning, wherever information works together to form a single entity.
So you can have a tiny piece of matter with an integrated information level just above zero, and there’s going to be some sort of consciousness there. But if you are a single, integrated entity with a large repertoire of highly differentiated states, you’re going to have a lot more consciousness.
Tononi’s idea has caused quite a stir in certain enclaves—especially because it provides a foundation to really study consciousness, by aligning it with information states. But even without embracing it lock, stock and barrel, it seems clear to all of us that consciousness has some sort of alignment with complex, integrated systems that generate information. Like us.
Which carries us back to our question, now on much firmer ground:
4. Is the Universe Conscious?
Let’s take a look. There’s a lot of information out there. It all works together—in awesome precision. Everywhere we look, whether under the sea, under a rock, up in the sky or in a galaxy far away, the same rules and the same constants apply. And if one of those dimensionless constants would be just a little bit off—if the gravitational constant would be just a smidgen more or less, or if the combination of the electron charge, the speed of light and Planck’s constant would be just a little off—there would be no hope for any integrated information at all. No life. No observer. Zero consciousness.
So is there any reason why the universe as a whole should not be considered conscious?
Okay, I can hear you saying, “That’s not proof that the universe is conscious. It’s just evidence.” But then, as I pointed out earlier, nobody has proof that anyone is conscious other than himself. Just evidence.
I would say you’re on stronger ground assuming that the whole universe is conscious than assuming that an individual is conscious.You’re on stronger ground assuming that the whole universe is conscious than assuming that an individual is conscious. Ask yourself: Which makes more sense—that conscious human beings gradually emerge over time out of the dynamics of dumb matter; or that a great consciousness articulates itself within particular instances of much smaller consciousnesses, and eventually that of us puny human beings?
And what makes more sense, a universe where everything just happens to follow the same rules, and no two particles dare be in the same state—even though they have no knowledge of what each other is doing, since they are just dumb particles—
—or a universe where a single consciousness holds everything in place, as an enormously diverse, thoroughly integrated set of information?
If that sounds just way too unscientific, I’ll throw in a quotation from one of the most significant physicists of the 20th century, without whom quantum physics might never have been imagined, Max Planck:
As a man who has devoted his whole life to the most clearheaded science, to the study of matter, I can tell you as a result of my research about atoms this much: There is no matter as such. All matter originates and exists only by virtue of a force which brings the particle of an atom to vibration and holds this most minute solar system of the atom together. We must assume behind this force the existence of a conscious and intelligent Mind. This Mind is the matrix of all matter.5
5. But Does It Care?
So is that G‑d? Depends. If you’re turned off by organized religion and never got along with your rabbi, we don’t have to call it G‑d. There are plenty of other worthwhile labels.
But if you do want to call it G‑d, I have no problem with that. It’s just that it’s a rather limited G‑d. It’s about as limiting as the way we define a person nowadays by “what do you do for a living?” Infinitely more so.
It makes more sense that this great consciousness is not limited to creating this particular universe as we know it.
After all, as far as we can tell, it’s a universe with limited time, space, matter and energy—as well as a limited set of rules. It’s a universe that screams out that it does not have to exist at all. It makes sense that beyond this temporal instance of being, there must be an absolute existence that has none of these limitations. It’s just that somehow that absolute being also expresses itself in terms of a limited universe.
So that’s a higher concept of G‑d. In terms of the Kabbalah, the first concept is called “the light that fills,” and the second, higher concept includes a concept of G‑d’s “encompassing light” or “infinite light.” In the rest of the world, the first concept is often referred to as pantheism, while the second, higher concept is sometimes called panentheism—that G‑d is both within and beyond.
Both these conceptions of G‑d are sensible. They don’t require faith, just a reasonable and objective look at what’s outside of ourselves.
I would go further and say that it is also reasonable to assume that this great mind acts purposefully and deliberately. As little as we understand about consciousness and the mind, deliberateness seems to be an integral element. A conscious being sees itself as an “I” because it chooses to act and how to act. So why shouldn’t the ultimate mind be the same? Which would mean that this existence of mine is not an accident, but has some sort of meaning.
And yet further: A grand consciousness, one would imagine, would be concerned with the details of all that emerges from it, down to every critter. Being unlimited and infinite, no job is too small, no critter too insignificant. A small mind can manage only the big things, but an infinite mind is found entirely in its every thought.A small mind can manage only the big things, but an infinite mind is found entirely in its every thought, as fractals of the whole.
G‑d, as one great architect used to say, is found in the details. Which means that nothing happens that is not a direct interaction between this little guy I call “me” and the ultimate “I,” the consciousness that brings all into being.
What Does It All Mean?
But what is that meaning? How on earth is a puny critter like me supposed to figure out what a mind that is capable of creating unlimited universes of unlimited parameters and forms wants from me? Yet, if it does want something of me, wouldn’t it at least speak up and give me some idea of what I am supposed to do?
All this is leading up to why Jewish belief is not blind dogma, but a very reasonable understanding of reality. It’s more a memory than a belief, the memory of a collective experience at Sinai where we were filled in on the basics of our mission, providing us an inkling of the meaning of all things.
It wouldn’t be fair if only the Jewish people were informed of their meaning. And sure enough, the Torah also tells that the first human being, Adam, was also provided instructions, as was Noah. And, further, that the mission of the Jewish people is to publicize those instructions. They are the seven mitzvahs of Noah, along with a general guideline that we are stewards of this world to care for it and improve it.
Going deeper, it seems that this great mind desires to be apparent within its work—much as an author strives to present more than a story, but rather the very essence of who he is, through the medium of the tug and pull, tension and resolution, the beauty of his work.6
The same with an artist or a composer—it’s not just beauty they strive to create; they yearn to uncover the reality of their own being within that beauty. Indeed, our stories, our songs, our creations of beauty are the only way we have to share our consciousness with other conscious beings.
And so too,The master consciousness is sharing the very core of its being through the unfolding drama of this world in general, and your life in particular. the master consciousness is sharing the very core of its being through the unfolding drama of this world in general, and your life in particular. Only that this drama can unfold only through your conscious participation. That’s left up to you.
So my advice to you, Nobo, is to acknowledge the existential angst (yes, they have a name for it), and then get past it. Get in tune with the higher consciousness that envelops you and all other consciousnesses. Feel the awe. And then find purpose. Rather than recoiling in horror at the loneliness, embrace the life of the universe and allow it to embrace you.
In practical terms, do something to leave the world better than you found it. You even have some pretty clear instructions that should give you some great ideas.
We are never alone, other than in our mind’s delusion. As long as there is meaning, we are never alone.
FOOTNOTES
1.Thomas Nagel, “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” Philosophical Review 83:4 (1974), 435–456.
2.This phenomenon is reflected in the concept of “fifty gates of understanding” mentioned in the ancient mystical Sefer HaBahir. See the explanation of this idea in Nachmanides’ introduction to his commentary on Genesis.
3.Thomas Huxley, Lessons on Elementary Physiology (London: 1866), chapter 8.
4.David J. Chalmers, The Character of Consciousness (Oxford University Press: 2010), part I, chapter 1. I’m butchering it here for the sake of brevity, so please go read it there.
5.Max Planck, “Das Wesen der Materie” (speech in Florence, Italy, 1944).
6.See Tanya, chapter 37.
YOUR QUESTIONS
What Does “Mazel Tov” Mean?
I always thought Mazel Tov meant “congratulations.” I recently heard that it actually means “good luck.” But I thought Jews don’t believe in luck . . . ? by Aron Moss
Question:
I always thought Mazel Tov meant “congratulations.” I recently heard that it actually means “good luck.” But I thought Jews don’t believe in luck . . . ?
Answer:
Your confusion is understandable. The Talmud—the ancient encyclopedia of Jewish wisdom—seems to contradict itself on the issue. In one place it states, “On your birthday, yourmazel is strong.” Elsewhere the Talmud reports, “The Jewish people are not subject to mazel”!
The word mazel literally means “a drip from above.” Mazelcan have different connotations depending on its context, but they are all connected to this basic definition—something trickling down from above.
The signs of the zodiac are called mazalot. Jewish tradition sees the constellations on high as directing the destiny of individuals and nations down below. Thus mazel is the influence dripping down from the stars. (Over the years, bad or good mazel came to mean “luck” more than “destiny.”) When the Talmud says that we are not subject to mazel, it means that we are not limited to our destiny; rather, our own actions determine our fate.
There is another meaning of the word mazel that is more relevant to the phrase Mazel Tov. Mazel is the term used in Jewish mysticism to describe the root of the soul. The mystics say that only a ray of our soul actually inhabits our body. The main part of the soul, our mazel, remains above, shining down on us from a distance.
Have you ever experienced a sense of spontaneous intuition, where out of the blue you suddenly feel at peace with yourself and the universe? Or a sudden flash of inspiration that makes you see life in a new light? Occasionally we may receive an extra flux of energy from our soul above. It can happen at any time, but is most common at a time of celebration—a birth, birthday, brit, bar/bat mitzvah or wedding. It is especially at these times of joy that we are able to see beyond the mundane and the petty, and to sense the deeper truths of life.
When we tell someone Mazel Tov, we are giving them a blessing: May this drip of inspiration from your soul above not dissipate, but rather have a positive and lasting effect, that from this event onwards you should live your life with higher consciousness. You should be aware of the blessings in your life, and be ready to receive more and more.
In other words: Good Mazel!
My Wife Wants Another Child, But I Am Happy with Two
My wife and I have two children, an eight-year-old and a ten-year-old. My wife wants to have another child but I think we already have enough work and children - we do not have much time left to our day! by Mendy Kaminker
I always thought Mazel Tov meant “congratulations.” I recently heard that it actually means “good luck.” But I thought Jews don’t believe in luck . . . ?
Answer:
Your confusion is understandable. The Talmud—the ancient encyclopedia of Jewish wisdom—seems to contradict itself on the issue. In one place it states, “On your birthday, yourmazel is strong.” Elsewhere the Talmud reports, “The Jewish people are not subject to mazel”!
The word mazel literally means “a drip from above.” Mazelcan have different connotations depending on its context, but they are all connected to this basic definition—something trickling down from above.
The signs of the zodiac are called mazalot. Jewish tradition sees the constellations on high as directing the destiny of individuals and nations down below. Thus mazel is the influence dripping down from the stars. (Over the years, bad or good mazel came to mean “luck” more than “destiny.”) When the Talmud says that we are not subject to mazel, it means that we are not limited to our destiny; rather, our own actions determine our fate.
There is another meaning of the word mazel that is more relevant to the phrase Mazel Tov. Mazel is the term used in Jewish mysticism to describe the root of the soul. The mystics say that only a ray of our soul actually inhabits our body. The main part of the soul, our mazel, remains above, shining down on us from a distance.
Have you ever experienced a sense of spontaneous intuition, where out of the blue you suddenly feel at peace with yourself and the universe? Or a sudden flash of inspiration that makes you see life in a new light? Occasionally we may receive an extra flux of energy from our soul above. It can happen at any time, but is most common at a time of celebration—a birth, birthday, brit, bar/bat mitzvah or wedding. It is especially at these times of joy that we are able to see beyond the mundane and the petty, and to sense the deeper truths of life.
When we tell someone Mazel Tov, we are giving them a blessing: May this drip of inspiration from your soul above not dissipate, but rather have a positive and lasting effect, that from this event onwards you should live your life with higher consciousness. You should be aware of the blessings in your life, and be ready to receive more and more.
In other words: Good Mazel!
My Wife Wants Another Child, But I Am Happy with Two
My wife and I have two children, an eight-year-old and a ten-year-old. My wife wants to have another child but I think we already have enough work and children - we do not have much time left to our day! by Mendy Kaminker
Dear Rabbi,
I have an issue. My wife and I have two children, an eight-year-old and a ten-year-old. My wife wants to have another child, but I think we already have enough work and children—we do not have much time left to our day! Having another child will just burden us further.
In truth, as I am about to hit submit, I am laughing at myself. Why am I writing to you? As a rabbi, you of course believe that we should have more children! Maybe I am actually looking for the right person to convince me to make this decision . . .
Answer:
Throughout life we constantly make decisions. Some are short-term decisions—What should we wear? When should we leave our house? What should we eat? Who should we meet today? What should we tell our coworker? Others are long-term decisions—Where is the best place to raise our families? How will we raise our children? Which job is best for us?
How do we make decisions?
In most instances, we look for the most practical and worthwhile solution. If there is a chance it may rain, we will take an umbrella when we leave the house. If we are going out for a power walk, we will take our sneakers. And if we are on a diet, we will seek out healthy food.
However, there are times when we deviate from the rational voice. When you see a person hurt on the street, even though you are tired and your wife is waiting for you at home and you have no clue who the person is, your soul kicks in and tells you to stop and assist him/her.
When I first read the second paragraph of your question, I smiled together with you. What were you thinking? But you yourself are able to explain it. You have a gut feeling; your soul is telling you it is a good idea to have another child.
Rationally, it may be logical to be content with two kids. But for the child that is unborn, I ask you to listen to the call of the soul. Will a new child cause you to lose some sleep for the first year or so? Most probably, yes. But one thing is for sure—in the future this will be a decision that you will never regret, for children bring the deepest joy to their parents.
With regards to financial constraints—an understandable concern—when fulfilling the wishes of the Creator of the world, one can feel confident that He surely will provide sustenance for the children.
As with all decisions made from the soul, at first it may seem hard to fulfill. But these are the choices that we later look back on and recognize as the positive direction in our lives.
See Big Families: “How Many Children Are You Going to Have?”
Looking forward to hearing good news from you,
Rabbi Mendy Kaminker,
Ask the Rabbi @ our partner site in Hebrew BeitChabad.com
Why Does the Chazzan Repeat the Amidah?
I recently started attending synagogue services on a regular basis. After we pray the Amidah silently, the chazzan (cantor) repeats it word for word. Why? by Yehuda Shurpin
I have an issue. My wife and I have two children, an eight-year-old and a ten-year-old. My wife wants to have another child, but I think we already have enough work and children—we do not have much time left to our day! Having another child will just burden us further.
In truth, as I am about to hit submit, I am laughing at myself. Why am I writing to you? As a rabbi, you of course believe that we should have more children! Maybe I am actually looking for the right person to convince me to make this decision . . .
Answer:
Throughout life we constantly make decisions. Some are short-term decisions—What should we wear? When should we leave our house? What should we eat? Who should we meet today? What should we tell our coworker? Others are long-term decisions—Where is the best place to raise our families? How will we raise our children? Which job is best for us?
How do we make decisions?
In most instances, we look for the most practical and worthwhile solution. If there is a chance it may rain, we will take an umbrella when we leave the house. If we are going out for a power walk, we will take our sneakers. And if we are on a diet, we will seek out healthy food.
However, there are times when we deviate from the rational voice. When you see a person hurt on the street, even though you are tired and your wife is waiting for you at home and you have no clue who the person is, your soul kicks in and tells you to stop and assist him/her.
When I first read the second paragraph of your question, I smiled together with you. What were you thinking? But you yourself are able to explain it. You have a gut feeling; your soul is telling you it is a good idea to have another child.
Rationally, it may be logical to be content with two kids. But for the child that is unborn, I ask you to listen to the call of the soul. Will a new child cause you to lose some sleep for the first year or so? Most probably, yes. But one thing is for sure—in the future this will be a decision that you will never regret, for children bring the deepest joy to their parents.
With regards to financial constraints—an understandable concern—when fulfilling the wishes of the Creator of the world, one can feel confident that He surely will provide sustenance for the children.
As with all decisions made from the soul, at first it may seem hard to fulfill. But these are the choices that we later look back on and recognize as the positive direction in our lives.
See Big Families: “How Many Children Are You Going to Have?”
Looking forward to hearing good news from you,
Rabbi Mendy Kaminker,
Ask the Rabbi @ our partner site in Hebrew BeitChabad.com
Why Does the Chazzan Repeat the Amidah?
I recently started attending synagogue services on a regular basis. After we pray the Amidah silently, the chazzan (cantor) repeats it word for word. Why? by Yehuda Shurpin
Question:
I recently started attending synagogue services on a regular basis. After we pray the Amidah silently, the chazzan(cantor) repeats it word for word. Why?
Reply:
To answer your question, let’s go back in history close to 2,500 years.
It was the end of the Babylonian exile, and the Jews began returning to the Holy Land. Up until that point there had been no set text or prescribed structure to the daily prayers. It was up to the individual to come up with his or her own script. But seeing that much of the younger generation lacked adequate mastery of Hebrew to eloquently pray in the Holy Tongue,Ezra the Scribe and the Men of the Great Assemblyestablished the text of the Amidah and instituted that it be said thrice daily.1
But the problem was far from solved. This was long before there was even paper, never mind the printing press. With manuscripts few and far between, there were many people who were able to understand Hebrew but had no way to learn and retain the proper texts.
To remedy this, the sages instituted that a representative of the congregation (a.k.a. the chazzan or sheliach tzibbur) repeat the prayers. By hearing the repeated Amidah and answering “Amen” (which translates loosely as “I agree with what was said”), the unlettered Jews could fulfill their obligation to pray.2
But there’s no free ride. This works only for someone who lacks the knowledge to pray but understands what is being said. If you have the ability to pray, or if you don’t understand Hebrew, then you cannot fulfill your obligation through hearing the repetition3 (except for some of the High Holidays prayers, which are very long and hard for anyone to master4).
Why is the repetition said even when there may not be such people present?
The sages instituted that it be said after every Amidah,5since otherwise we’d need to interrogate each individual in attendance to ascertain whether there is a congregant who fits the criteria for the repetition.6
Nowadays, virtually no one fits the criteria. But there is another reason for the repetition—we recite the Kedushahand Modim prayers during this time.7
Prayer of the Whole Congregation
According to Maimonides, there appears to be an additional benefit. He writes: “What is implied by the term ‘communal prayer’? One person prays aloud and all the others listen. This should not be done with fewer than ten adult males. The leader of the congregation is counted as one of them.”8
This implies that—in addition to praying alongside the congregation—listening to the repetition is the path through which one fulfills the mitzvah of communal prayer.9
Prayer on a Higher Level
The mystics explain that everything has both a revealed and hidden reason. Although on a simple level the reason for the repetition of the Amidah is to accommodate those who are unlearned, there is a deeper reason that is as relevant as ever, even in an age where everyone can access a siddur, or at least a siddur app.
The chazzan’s repetition holds great spiritual power, and enables our individual prayers, which we recite quietly on our own, to reach even greater spiritual heights. Although the Kabbalistic reason is beyond the scope of this article, suffice it to say that it explains why our quiet prayers may be recited even without a minyan, but the repetition of the Amidah may be recited only in the presence of a minyan, and why it is recited out loud.10
Although there are some communities who are lax about the repetition (performing a truncated version known as a hoiche kedushah), in light of the above, those schooled in theKabbalah warn that it is extremely important that the entire repetition be said aloud and carefully listened to.
Besides for possibly being the vehicle for our communal prayer, the repetition, boosted by our amens, helps perfect our individual prayers and has the power to unite them into a powerful unit that goes directly to the throne of G‑d.
FOOTNOTES
1.See Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Tefillah ch. 1.
2.Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 34b. See also Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 124.
3.Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 124:1, and Taz and Magen Avraham ad loc. See also Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, Orach Chaim 124:2.
4.Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 35a.
5.Although the chazzan always repeats the Amidah, Maariv (the evening prayer) is an exception. Since it was not originally instituted to be as obligatory as Shacharit and Minchah (and Musaf), the rabbis didn’t institute the repetition of the Amidah. See Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Tefilah 9:9. See also Responsa of Rashba 1:183.
6.Furthermore, once a decree was enacted, even if it appears that the reasons for the enactment no longer apply, the enactment is still in force until a beit din of greater stature nullifies the enactment. See Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav 124:4.
7.Tur, Orach Chaim 124.
8.Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Tefilah 8:4.
9.See Rabbi J. B. Soloveichik, quoted in Nefesh ha-Rav, p. 123. He explains that according to Maimonides there are two types of communal prayer: (a) communal prayer, when a quorum of ten men get together and pray quietly(tefillah be-tzibbur); (b) a prayer that represents the entire community through one unified voice (tefillat ha-tzibbur). This is the chazzan’s repetition, which is similar to a communal offering.
10.See Shaar ha-Kavanot, Shaar Chazarat ha-Amidah 1; Pri Eitz Chaim, Shaar Chazarat ha-Amidah 1–2. See also Reishit Chochmah, Shaar ha-Kedushah 14; Siddur of R. Yaakov Emden, Hanhagot Chazarat ha-Shatz; Kaf ha-Chaim 124:2; Ben Ish Chai, Terumah 1:2; Maaseh Rav ha-Shalem 43, quoting the Gaon of Vilna.
VIDEO
A Head Start
The food that a child eats and the air that he breathes have an important impact on a child. Likewise, the actions of parents have an effect on the child. Here, however, we learn that even the parents’ conduct before the child is born play an important role in the child’s development.
Watch (4:53)
I recently started attending synagogue services on a regular basis. After we pray the Amidah silently, the chazzan(cantor) repeats it word for word. Why?
Reply:
To answer your question, let’s go back in history close to 2,500 years.
It was the end of the Babylonian exile, and the Jews began returning to the Holy Land. Up until that point there had been no set text or prescribed structure to the daily prayers. It was up to the individual to come up with his or her own script. But seeing that much of the younger generation lacked adequate mastery of Hebrew to eloquently pray in the Holy Tongue,Ezra the Scribe and the Men of the Great Assemblyestablished the text of the Amidah and instituted that it be said thrice daily.1
But the problem was far from solved. This was long before there was even paper, never mind the printing press. With manuscripts few and far between, there were many people who were able to understand Hebrew but had no way to learn and retain the proper texts.
To remedy this, the sages instituted that a representative of the congregation (a.k.a. the chazzan or sheliach tzibbur) repeat the prayers. By hearing the repeated Amidah and answering “Amen” (which translates loosely as “I agree with what was said”), the unlettered Jews could fulfill their obligation to pray.2
But there’s no free ride. This works only for someone who lacks the knowledge to pray but understands what is being said. If you have the ability to pray, or if you don’t understand Hebrew, then you cannot fulfill your obligation through hearing the repetition3 (except for some of the High Holidays prayers, which are very long and hard for anyone to master4).
Why is the repetition said even when there may not be such people present?
The sages instituted that it be said after every Amidah,5since otherwise we’d need to interrogate each individual in attendance to ascertain whether there is a congregant who fits the criteria for the repetition.6
Nowadays, virtually no one fits the criteria. But there is another reason for the repetition—we recite the Kedushahand Modim prayers during this time.7
Prayer of the Whole Congregation
According to Maimonides, there appears to be an additional benefit. He writes: “What is implied by the term ‘communal prayer’? One person prays aloud and all the others listen. This should not be done with fewer than ten adult males. The leader of the congregation is counted as one of them.”8
This implies that—in addition to praying alongside the congregation—listening to the repetition is the path through which one fulfills the mitzvah of communal prayer.9
Prayer on a Higher Level
The mystics explain that everything has both a revealed and hidden reason. Although on a simple level the reason for the repetition of the Amidah is to accommodate those who are unlearned, there is a deeper reason that is as relevant as ever, even in an age where everyone can access a siddur, or at least a siddur app.
The chazzan’s repetition holds great spiritual power, and enables our individual prayers, which we recite quietly on our own, to reach even greater spiritual heights. Although the Kabbalistic reason is beyond the scope of this article, suffice it to say that it explains why our quiet prayers may be recited even without a minyan, but the repetition of the Amidah may be recited only in the presence of a minyan, and why it is recited out loud.10
Although there are some communities who are lax about the repetition (performing a truncated version known as a hoiche kedushah), in light of the above, those schooled in theKabbalah warn that it is extremely important that the entire repetition be said aloud and carefully listened to.
Besides for possibly being the vehicle for our communal prayer, the repetition, boosted by our amens, helps perfect our individual prayers and has the power to unite them into a powerful unit that goes directly to the throne of G‑d.
FOOTNOTES
1.See Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Tefillah ch. 1.
2.Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 34b. See also Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 124.
3.Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 124:1, and Taz and Magen Avraham ad loc. See also Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav, Orach Chaim 124:2.
4.Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 35a.
5.Although the chazzan always repeats the Amidah, Maariv (the evening prayer) is an exception. Since it was not originally instituted to be as obligatory as Shacharit and Minchah (and Musaf), the rabbis didn’t institute the repetition of the Amidah. See Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Tefilah 9:9. See also Responsa of Rashba 1:183.
6.Furthermore, once a decree was enacted, even if it appears that the reasons for the enactment no longer apply, the enactment is still in force until a beit din of greater stature nullifies the enactment. See Shulchan Aruch ha-Rav 124:4.
7.Tur, Orach Chaim 124.
8.Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Tefilah 8:4.
9.See Rabbi J. B. Soloveichik, quoted in Nefesh ha-Rav, p. 123. He explains that according to Maimonides there are two types of communal prayer: (a) communal prayer, when a quorum of ten men get together and pray quietly(tefillah be-tzibbur); (b) a prayer that represents the entire community through one unified voice (tefillat ha-tzibbur). This is the chazzan’s repetition, which is similar to a communal offering.
10.See Shaar ha-Kavanot, Shaar Chazarat ha-Amidah 1; Pri Eitz Chaim, Shaar Chazarat ha-Amidah 1–2. See also Reishit Chochmah, Shaar ha-Kedushah 14; Siddur of R. Yaakov Emden, Hanhagot Chazarat ha-Shatz; Kaf ha-Chaim 124:2; Ben Ish Chai, Terumah 1:2; Maaseh Rav ha-Shalem 43, quoting the Gaon of Vilna.
VIDEO
A Head Start
The food that a child eats and the air that he breathes have an important impact on a child. Likewise, the actions of parents have an effect on the child. Here, however, we learn that even the parents’ conduct before the child is born play an important role in the child’s development.
Watch (4:53)
http://www.chabad.org/therebbe/livingtorah/player_cdo/aid/2586163/jewish/A-Head-Start.htm
http://www.chabad.org/2586163
Letting Go of Resentment
To forgive and let go of anger and resentment is good for our fellow man, and it’s even better for oneself.
by Dov Greenberg Watch (2:08)
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=2939122&width=auto&height=auto"></script><span style="clear:both;" class="lb" id="lbdiv">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</span>
Prison Rabbi Tells All
A veteran chaplain to Jews behind bars shares his experiences, inspiration, and advice culled from decades of working with people on the margins of society. by Binyomin Scheiman Watch (1:02:07)
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=3291228&width=auto&height=auto"></script><span style="clear:both;" class="lb" id="lbdiv">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</span>
PARSHAH
The Torah on Dirty Words
What is the Jewish stance on cursing and curse words? I've heard the line that our bodies are a temple, and that defaming G‑d’s name is very bad, but what about a little curse here or there when you are really mad? by Yisroel Cotlar
http://www.chabad.org/2586163
Letting Go of Resentment
To forgive and let go of anger and resentment is good for our fellow man, and it’s even better for oneself.
by Dov Greenberg
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Prison Rabbi Tells All
A veteran chaplain to Jews behind bars shares his experiences, inspiration, and advice culled from decades of working with people on the margins of society. by Binyomin Scheiman
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PARSHAH
The Torah on Dirty Words
What is the Jewish stance on cursing and curse words? I've heard the line that our bodies are a temple, and that defaming G‑d’s name is very bad, but what about a little curse here or there when you are really mad? by Yisroel Cotlar
Question:
Just curious, what is the Jewish stance on cursing and curse words? I’ve heard the line that our bodies are a temple, and that defaming G‑d’s name is very bad, but what about a little curse here or there when you are really mad? Thanks. :)
Response:
Think of someone wise, kind and caring. The type of man or woman you deeply respect and look up to as a role model.
Could you imagine such a person spewing out filthy language in a sudden moment of rage? Probably not. And for good reason. It just isn’t a holy thing to do.
In the beginning of the Torah portion of Kedoshim,1 we read an enigmatic instruction: Kedoshim tihyu, “Be holy.” This is different from the many other commandments that follow, which pertain to specific matters such as marital and ritual purity or holiness. The sages2 explain that the Hebrew wordkadosh, which is normally translated as “holy,” actually means to be “distinct” or “separate.” Thus, these words are actually a commandment to separate ourselves.
Separate from what? From vulgar language, for one.
To paraphrase Nachmanides,3 while the Torah forbids various behaviors and foods, at the same time it does permit intimacy between husband and wife, and the consumption ofkosher meat and wine. Thus, there can be a glutton who eats only kosher food; a drunkard who drinks only kosher wine; and a married man whose behavior with his wife is lewd, even though she is permissible to him. Or there may be a person who speaks in a disgusting manner, something that is not specifically prohibited in the Torah. Thus, it is possible for a person to actually be—in the classic words of Nachmanides—“disgusting with the permission of Torah.”
In other words, Torah itself demands that you go beyond the parameters it sets for you, and live a life that is truly distinguished and uplifted. The Torah tells you that to be holy; it’s not enough to “do this and don’t do this.” There’s something you have to do on your own to get up there: to go beyond just following instructions, at least a small step.
The truth is that using bad language does more than keep you from being one step above. It actually shleps you down.
The Talmud4 speaks very harshly about one who speaks in a vulgar way. Although we generally think of speech as just a superficial act, in truth it has a strong impact on your inner self. The words that leave your mouth make an imprint on your mind and heart. No matter how high up you are the rope of fine, noble character, a few rotten words can throw you back down to the ground.
And the flip side is also true. A crude person can become more refined if he improves the way he speaks. This is whyshemirat halashon, “guarding one’s tongue,” is considered one of the first steps that need to be taken before correcting more serious character flaws.
So is a choice word after stubbing a toe a horrible sin? Perhaps not. But being careful that all words that leave your mouth are holy is an important part of a living the “holy” life of a Jew.
FOOTNOTES
1.Leviticus 19:2.
2.Sifra ad loc.
3.Ad loc.
4.Talmud, Ketubot 8b.
How to Give Good Advice
What are the implications of the Torah’s cautionary remark about sensitivity towards a blind man? Personal liability is a topic that’s already been laid out in the Torah in graphic detail, so what’s the new mitzvah that G‑d is teaching us here? by Rochel Holzkenner
Just curious, what is the Jewish stance on cursing and curse words? I’ve heard the line that our bodies are a temple, and that defaming G‑d’s name is very bad, but what about a little curse here or there when you are really mad? Thanks. :)
Response:
Think of someone wise, kind and caring. The type of man or woman you deeply respect and look up to as a role model.
Could you imagine such a person spewing out filthy language in a sudden moment of rage? Probably not. And for good reason. It just isn’t a holy thing to do.
In the beginning of the Torah portion of Kedoshim,1 we read an enigmatic instruction: Kedoshim tihyu, “Be holy.” This is different from the many other commandments that follow, which pertain to specific matters such as marital and ritual purity or holiness. The sages2 explain that the Hebrew wordkadosh, which is normally translated as “holy,” actually means to be “distinct” or “separate.” Thus, these words are actually a commandment to separate ourselves.
Separate from what? From vulgar language, for one.
To paraphrase Nachmanides,3 while the Torah forbids various behaviors and foods, at the same time it does permit intimacy between husband and wife, and the consumption ofkosher meat and wine. Thus, there can be a glutton who eats only kosher food; a drunkard who drinks only kosher wine; and a married man whose behavior with his wife is lewd, even though she is permissible to him. Or there may be a person who speaks in a disgusting manner, something that is not specifically prohibited in the Torah. Thus, it is possible for a person to actually be—in the classic words of Nachmanides—“disgusting with the permission of Torah.”
In other words, Torah itself demands that you go beyond the parameters it sets for you, and live a life that is truly distinguished and uplifted. The Torah tells you that to be holy; it’s not enough to “do this and don’t do this.” There’s something you have to do on your own to get up there: to go beyond just following instructions, at least a small step.
The truth is that using bad language does more than keep you from being one step above. It actually shleps you down.
The Talmud4 speaks very harshly about one who speaks in a vulgar way. Although we generally think of speech as just a superficial act, in truth it has a strong impact on your inner self. The words that leave your mouth make an imprint on your mind and heart. No matter how high up you are the rope of fine, noble character, a few rotten words can throw you back down to the ground.
And the flip side is also true. A crude person can become more refined if he improves the way he speaks. This is whyshemirat halashon, “guarding one’s tongue,” is considered one of the first steps that need to be taken before correcting more serious character flaws.
So is a choice word after stubbing a toe a horrible sin? Perhaps not. But being careful that all words that leave your mouth are holy is an important part of a living the “holy” life of a Jew.
FOOTNOTES
1.Leviticus 19:2.
2.Sifra ad loc.
3.Ad loc.
4.Talmud, Ketubot 8b.
How to Give Good Advice
What are the implications of the Torah’s cautionary remark about sensitivity towards a blind man? Personal liability is a topic that’s already been laid out in the Torah in graphic detail, so what’s the new mitzvah that G‑d is teaching us here? by Rochel Holzkenner
A doctor and a lawyer were at a cocktail party, when the doctor was approached by a man who asked advice on how to handle his ulcer. The doctor mumbled some medical advice, then turned to the lawyer and remarked, “I never know how to handle the situation when I’m asked for medical advice during a social function. Is it acceptable to send a bill for such advice?” The lawyer replied that it was certainly acceptable to do so.
The next day, the doctor received an invoice from the lawyer: $200 due for legal consultation.
“Before the blind, do not put a stumbling block”—Leviticus 19:14.
What are the everyday implications of the Torah’s cautionary remark about sensitivity towards a blind man?
Here are some that come immediately to my mind:
So, Rashi wants to know, what’s the new mitzvah that G‑d is teaching us here?
He quotes the Talmud:
Someone who is blind in the matter at hand, you should not give advice which is unsuitable for him. Don’t say, “Sell your field and buy a donkey,” while you [plan on] setting him up and taking [the field] from him.
The Torah is saying: Don’t give someone dishonest advice. Not necessarily bad advice, just dishonest.
Let’s look at the example: “Sell your field and buy a donkey.” Not necessarily bad advice. In some cases, a donkey can be more valuable than a field; it works hard, produces offspring and is mobile. It may be a good idea to trade in the old field. But what’s problematic about this advice is the hidden agenda; it’s dishonest because it has the best interests of the advice-giver embedded within it. He wants that field.
The Torah is not telling us that we shouldn’t hurt other people; that’s obvious! It’s not even telling us that we shouldn’t give fictitious advice. The example about the donkey and field seems quite benign. And Rashi chooses this example since it’s hard to discern whether the advice is good or not. But what’s easy to discern is that it is good for the advice-giver.
So what the Torah is really telling us is this: When you give someone advice, don’t let your personal agenda be a part of it. Even if you’re not exploiting the other person with your advice. Even if your advice may be beneficial for him. If you stand to gain from it, then it’s murky advice.
It’s quite natural to look at any situation and search for personal benefit. But G‑d says that that’s not being amentch. That’s not an authentic way to communicate. “Love your neighbor as yourself!” When he asks you for advice, put yourself in his shoes, invest yourself in his dilemma as if it were yours. Then you can give some quality advice.1
FOOTNOTES
1.Based on the teachings of theLubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of righteous memory, recorded in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 27, pp. 141–148.
Kedoshim In Depth
A condensation of the weekly Torah portion alongside select commentaries culled from the Midrash, Talmud, Chassidic masters, and the broad corpus of Jewish scholarship.
Rabbi Levi said: Because the Ten Commandments are included therein:
1) “I am the L‑rd your G‑d,” and here it is written, “I am the L‑rd your G‑d” (19:3, et al).
2) “You shall have no other gods before Me,” and here it is written, “Nor make for yourselves molten gods” (19:4).
3) “You shall not take the name of the L‑rd your G‑d in vain,” and here it is written, “And you shall not swear by My name falsely” (19:12).
4) “Remember the Sabbath day", and here it is written, “And keep My Sabbaths” (19:3).
5) “Honor your father and your mother,” and here it is written, “Every man shall fear his mother and his father” (19:3).
6) “You shall not murder,” and here it is written, “You shall not stand by the blood of your fellow” (19:16).
7) “You shall not commit adultery,” and here it is written, “Both the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death” (20:10).
8) “You shall not steal,” and here it is written, “You shall not steal, [nor deal falsely, nor lie to one another]” (19:11).
9) “You shall not bear false witness,” and here it is written, “You shall not go about as a talebearer” (19:16).
10) “You shalt not covet . . . anything that is your fellow’s,” and here it is written, “Love your fellow as yourself” (19:18).
Sanctify yourself also regarding that which is permissible to you.
And in Exodus 20:12 it says, “Honor your father and your mother.” For it is revealed and known to G‑d that a person adores his mother more than his father, and that he fears his father more than his mother. G‑d therefore set the honor of one’s father first, and the fear of one’s mother first, to emphasize that one must honor and fear them both equally.
Although I have commanded you to fear your father, if he tells you to violate the Shabbat—or to transgress any other mitzvah—do not heed him; for “I am the L‑rd your G‑d”—both you and your father are obligated to honor Me.
At first they will be just “idols”; but if you turn to them, you will end up making them “gods.”
Indeed they are. A person may possess an evil trait or tendency, but his quintessential goodness, intrinsic to every soul, strives to control it, conquer it, and ultimately eradicate its negative expressions and redirect it as a positive force. But when this evil is spoken of, it is made that much more manifest and real. By speaking negatively of the person’s trait or deed, the evil speakers are, in effect, defining it as such; with their words, they grant substance and validity to its negative potential.
But the same applies in the reverse: speaking favorably of another, accentuating his or her positive side, will aid him to realize himself in the manner that you have defined him.
After traveling for several hours, they stopped at a wayside inn to eat and rest. Now the Baal Shem Tov’s disciples were pious Jews who insisted on the highest standards of kashrut; when they learned that their host planned to serve them meat in their meal, they asked to see theshochet (ritual slaughterer) of the house, interrogated him as to his knowledge and piety, and examined his knife for any possible blemishes. Their discussion of the kashrut standard of the food continued throughout the meal, as they inquired after the source of every ingredient in each dish set before them.
As they spoke and ate, a voice emerged from behind the oven, where an old beggar was resting amidst his bundles. “Dear Jews,” it called out, “are you as careful with what comes out of your mouth as you are with what enters into it?”
The party of chassidim concluded their meal in silence, climbed onto their wagon and turned it back toward Mezhibuzh. They now understood the purpose for which their rebbe had dispatched them on their journey that morning.
A man once came to see Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch, and proceeded to portray himself as a villain of the worst sort. After describing at length his moral and spiritual deficiencies, he begged the Rebbe to help him overcome his evil character.
“Surely,” said the rebbe, “you know how grave is the sin of lashon hara, speaking ill of a human being. Nowhere, to my knowledge, does it say that it is permissible to speak lashon hara about oneself.”
From where do we know that if one sees his fellow drowning in a river, being dragged off by a wild animal or attacked by robbers, that one is obligated to save him? From the verse “You shall not stand by your fellow’s blood.”
One who sees that his fellow has sinned, or is following an improper path, has a mitzvah to bring him back to the proper path and to inform him that he sins by his bad actions, as it is written: “Rebuke, rebuke your fellow.”
When one rebukes one’s fellow, whether it is regarding matters between the two of them or regarding matters between that person and G‑d, he should rebuke him in private. He should speak to him gently and softly, and should tell him that he is doing this for his own good, so that he may merit the world to come.
If that person accepts [the rebuke], good; if not, he should rebuke him a second time and a third time. He should continue to rebuke him to the point that the sinner strikes him and says to him, “I refuse to listen.”
Whoever has the ability to rebuke and does not do so shares in the guilt for the sin, since he could have prevented it . . .
One who is wronged by his fellow but does not desire to rebuke him or speak to him about it at all because the offender is a very coarse person, or a disturbed person, but chooses instead to forgive him in his heart, bearing him no grudge nor rebuking him—this is the manner of the pious. The Torah’s objection [to remaining silent] is only when he harbors animosity.
Our sages have said: “Words that come from the heart enter the heart.” It therefore follows that if you seek to correct a failing of your fellow and are unsuccessful, the fault lies not with him but with yourself. Had you truly been sincere, your words would certainly have had an effect.
Why is the word “rebuke” repeated? Because first you must rebuke yourself.
On one occasion Rabbi Aharon of Belz was informed that one of the town’s residents had desecrated the Shabbat. He immediately ordered both the informer and the Shabbat violator to appear before him.
“I order you to donate two pounds of candles to the synagogue,” said Rabbi Aharon to the informer, “in order to atone for the fact that you spoke negatively of a fellow Jew.
“And you,” said the rebbe to the second man, “I fine one pound of candles, for being the cause of your fellow Jew speaking negatively of another Jew.”
Said Rabbi Il’a in the name of Rabbi Elazar ben Rabbi Shimon: Just as it is a mitzvah for a person to say what will be accepted, it is a mitzvah to refrain from saying things that will not be accepted.
Rabbi Abba said: Indeed, it is an obligation [to act thus], as it is written (Proverbs 9:8): “Do not rebuke a fool, lest he hate you; rebuke a wise man, and he will love you.”
What is revenge and what is bearing a grudge? If a person said to his fellow, “Lend me your sickle,” and he replied “No,” and on the following day the second person comes to the first and says, “Lend me your axe,” and he replies: “I will not lend it to you, just as you would not lend me your sickle”—that is revenge.
And what is bearing a grudge? If one person says to his fellow, “Lend me your axe,” and he replies, “No,” and on the next day the second one asks, “Lend me your garment,” and the first answers: “Here it is. I am not like you, who would not lend me”—that is bearing a grudge.
Rabbi Akiva said: This is a cardinal principle of the Torah.
The explanation can be found in the answer to another question: How is it possible to love another “as yourself”? Are not self and fellow two distinct entities, so that however closely they may be bound, the other will always be other, and never wholly like the self?
As physical beings, one’s self and one’s fellow are indeed two distinct entities. As spiritual beings, however, they are ultimately one, for all souls are of a single essence, united in their source in G‑d. As long as one regards the physical self as the true “I” and the soul as something this I “has,” one will never truly love the other “as oneself.” But if the soul is the “I” and the body but its tool and extension, one can come to recognize that “self” and “fellow” are but two expressions of a singular essence, so that all that one desires for oneself one desires equally for one’s fellow.
Otherwise stated, the endeavor to love one’s fellow as oneself is the endeavor to cultivate one’s own spiritual identity: to see the soul and spirit as the true and ultimate reality, and the body and the material as extraneous and subservient to it.
This is the entire Torah.
A soul might descend to earth and live seventy or eighty years for the sole purpose of doing a favor for another—a spiritual favor, or even a material favor.
Love of a fellow is the first gate leading into the palace of G‑d.
To love a fellow is to love G‑d. For “you are children unto the L‑rd your G‑d” (Deuteronomy 14:1); one who loves a father loves his children.
“Love your fellow as yourself” is an elaboration and elucidation upon “You shall love the L‑rd your G‑d” (Deuteronomy 6:5). When one loves one’s fellow one loves G‑d, for one’s fellow contains within himself a “part of G‑d above” (Job 31:2). By loving one’s fellow, the innermost part of him, one loves G‑d.
So if you see a person who has a love of G‑d but lacks a love of Torah and a love of his fellow, you must tell him that his love of G‑d is incomplete. And if you see a person who has only a love for his fellow, you must strive to bring him to a love of Torah and a love of G‑d—that his love toward his fellows should not only be expressed in providing bread for the hungry and water for the thirsty, but also to bring them close to Torah and to G‑d.
When we will have the three loves together, we will achieve the Redemption. For just as this last exile was caused by a lack of brotherly love, so shall the final and immediate Redemption be achieved by love for one’s fellow.
One must love the lowliest of men as much as the greatest Torah scholar.
Rabbi Zusha was a living example of the maxim that “love covers up all iniquities” (Proverbs 10:12). What the ordinary observer would perceive as a glaring deficiency, or even an outright sin, would not “register” in his holy eyes and mind. Rabbi Zusha was simply incapable of seeing anything negative in a fellow Jew
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s ahavat Yisraelfound expression in his incessant efforts as an advocate for the people of Israel. Unlike Rabbi Zusha, he was not blind to their misdeeds and failings; but he never failed to “judge every man to the side of merit” to find a justification, and even a positive aspect, in their behavior. (A typical story tells of how, upon noticing a wagon driver who was greasing his wheels while reciting his morning prayers, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak lifted his eyes to Heaven and cried: “Master of the Universe! Behold the piety of Your children! Even as they go about their daily affairs, they do not cease to pray to You!”)
But the Baal Shem Tov’s love ran deeper yet. To him, ahavat Yisrael was not the refusal to see the deficiencies of a fellow, or even the endeavor to transform them into merits, but an unequivocal love regardless of their spiritual state. He loved the most iniquitous transgressor with the same boundless love with which he loved the greatest tzaddik; he loved them as G‑d loves them as a father loves his children, regardless of who and what they are.
I learned the meaning of love from two drunks whose conversation I once overheard.
The first drunk said: “I love you.”
“No, you don’t,” replied the other.
“Yes, yes, I do. I love you with all my heart.”
“No, you don’t. If you love me, why don’t you know what hurts me?”
Our sages have said: “Do not judge your fellow until you have stood in his place” (Ethics of the Fathers 2:4). Since the only person in whose place you can truly stand is yourself, this means that you are qualified to judge only yourself.
Regarding yourself, you must condemn your moral and spiritual failings, and be critical of your every achievement. Regarding your fellow, however, you must employ a double standard: your love and esteem toward him should be amplified by every positive quality you see in him, and should not to be affected in the least by any seemingly negative things you might observe.
Said Father: “There are things upon which one must look with a right eye, with affection and empathy; and there are things upon which one must look with a left eye—severely and critically. On one’s fellow man, one should look with a right eye; on oneself, one should look with a left eye.”
The Torah commands to “love your fellow as yourself.” Why only as much as yourself?
Indeed, chassidim have always maintained that the meaning of the verse is the very opposite of how it is commonly understood. Despite all that you know about yourself, the Torah is saying, you should try to love yourself as much as you love your fellow . . .
When you come into the land and plant any type of tree for food . . . three years shall it be orlah unto you: it shall not be eaten. In the fourth year, all its fruit shall be holy for praise-giving to G‑d. And in the fifth year you shall eat of its fruit, that it may yield to you its increase . . . (19:23–25)
Thus the fruit tree passes though all three basic halachic (Torah-legal) states: the forbidden, the sanctified and the permissible.
The fruit tree can therefore be seen as representative of the whole of creation, which likewise is divided among these three categories. There are, for example, foods that are forbidden to us (e.g., pork, meat with milk); foods whose consumption is a mitzvah—an act that sanctifies the food, elevating it as an object of the Divine will (such as matzah on the Seder night); and foods that are spiritually “neutral”—eating them is neither a transgression nor a sanctifying act. The same applies to clothes (the forbiddenshaatnez, the mitzvah of tzitzit, ordinary clothes); speech (gossip and slander, the holy talk of prayer and Torah study, talk of everyday matters); sexuality (adultery and incest, the mitzvah to “be fruitful and multiply,” ordinary marital life); money (thievery; charity; legal business dealings); and to every other area of life.
Otherwise stated: there are elements of our experience and environment that G‑d commands us to reject and disavow; elements that we are empowered to sanctify by directly involving them in our relationship with G‑d; and finally, there are elements which, even as they serve as the “supporting cast” for our fulfillment of G‑d’s will (such as the food that provides us with the energy to pray), remain ordinary and mundane.
In light of this, would it not have been more appropriate for the three stages of the fruit tree to follow an order of increasing sanctity—i.e., the forbidden, followed by the permissible, and culminating in the holy? Instead the Torah legislates three forbidden years, followed by a year in which the fruit is sacred and its consumption a mitzvah, after which the fruit becomes ordinary food! Even more surprising is the fact that the fruit of the fifth year is presented as the product and goal of the first four: for three years you shall abstain from a tree’s fruit, says the Torah, and in the fourth year you shall sanctify it, so that on the fifth year “it may yield to you its increase.” Keep from transgression and sanctify the holy, so that you should have a lot of ordinary fruit to eat!
In truth, however, the ultimate purpose of our lives lies in the realm of the “ordinary.” Only a small percentage of the world’s leather is made into tefillin; only a small part of a community’s man-hours can be devoted to prayer and Torah-study. The greater part of our lives falls under the “spiritually neutral” category: elements that, even as they serve a life that is predicated on a commitment to the Divine will, remain ordinary and mundane components of a material existence; elements whose positive function does not touch them deeply enough to impart to them the “holiness” that spells a manifest and tagible attachment to the Divine. But it is in this area that we most serve G‑d’s desire for “a dwelling place in the lowly realms”—that the ordinary landscape of material life should be made hospitable to His presence and subservient to His will.
The rabbis taught: I might think, even before an aged sinner; but the Torah uses the word zakein (“old man”), which refers to a sage . . . to one who has acquired wisdom . . .
But Issi ben Yehudah said: “You shall rise before the white-haired” implies any hoary head.
Said Rabbi Yochanan: The law follows Issi ben Yehudah. Rabbi Yochanan used to rise before the heathen aged, saying: “How many experiences have passed over these!”
This is in marked contrast to the prevalent attitude in the “developed” countries of today’s world, where old age is a liability. Youth is seen as the highest credential in every field from business to government, as a younger generation insists on “learning from their own mistakes” rather than building upon the life experience of their elders. At 50, a person is considered “over the hill” and is already receiving hints that his position would be better filled by someone twenty-five years his junior; in many companies and institutions, retirement is mandatory by age 65 or earlier.
Thus society dictates that ones later years be marked by inactivity and decline. The aged are made to feel that they are useless, if not a burden, and had best confine themselves to retirement villages and nursing homes. After decades of achievement, their knowledge and talent are suddenly worthless; after decades of contributing to society, they are suddenly undeserving recipients, grateful for every time the younger generation takes off from work and play to drop by for a half-hour chat and the requisite Father’s Day necktie.
On the surface, the modern-day attitude seems at least partly justified. Is it not a fact that a person physically weakens as he advances in years? True, the inactivity of retirement has been shown to be a key factor in the deterioration of the elderly; but is it still not an inescapable fact of nature that the body of a 70-year-old is not the body of a 20-year-old?
But this, precisely, is the point: is a person’s worth to be measured by his physical prowess? By the number of man-hours and intercontinental flights that can be extracted from him per week? Our attitude toward the aged reflects our very conception of “value.” If a person’s physical strength has waned while his sagacity and insight have grown, do we view this as an improvement or a decline? If a person’s output has diminished in quantity but has increased in quality, has his net worth risen or fallen?
Indeed, a twenty-year-old can dance the night away while his grandmother tires after a few minutes. But man was not created to dance for hours on end. Man was created to make life on earth purer, brighter and holier than it was before he came on the scene. Seen in this light, the spiritual maturity of the aged more than compensates for their lessened physical strength.
Certainly, the physical health of the body affects one’s productivity. Life is a marriage of body and soul, and is at its most productive when nurtured by a sound physique as well as a healthy spirit. But the effects of the aging process upon a person’s productivity are largely determined by the manner in which he regards this marriage and partnership. Which is the means and which is the end? If the soul is nothing more than an engine to drive the body’s procurement of its needs and aims, then the body’s physical weakening with age brings with it a spiritual deterioration as well—a descent into boredom, futility and despair. But when one regards the body as an accessory to the soul, the very opposite is the case: the spiritual growth of old age invigorates the body, enabling one to lead a productive existence for as long as the Almighty grants one the gift of life.
WOMEN
Israel: Where Kids Can Be Kids
How Israelis love kids, anyone’s kids. The country is a free-for-all for the youngest set, something I only truly appreciated once I started bringing my own children there. by Carin M. Smilk
The next day, the doctor received an invoice from the lawyer: $200 due for legal consultation.
“Before the blind, do not put a stumbling block”—Leviticus 19:14.
What are the everyday implications of the Torah’s cautionary remark about sensitivity towards a blind man?
Here are some that come immediately to my mind:
- Not discriminating against people who are handicapped.
- Not exploiting people when they are vulnerable.
- Not setting out alcohol in front of a recovering alcoholic.
- Taking responsibility for other people’s spiritual wellbeing, and not tempting them to sin.
So, Rashi wants to know, what’s the new mitzvah that G‑d is teaching us here?
He quotes the Talmud:
Someone who is blind in the matter at hand, you should not give advice which is unsuitable for him. Don’t say, “Sell your field and buy a donkey,” while you [plan on] setting him up and taking [the field] from him.
The Torah is saying: Don’t give someone dishonest advice. Not necessarily bad advice, just dishonest.
Let’s look at the example: “Sell your field and buy a donkey.” Not necessarily bad advice. In some cases, a donkey can be more valuable than a field; it works hard, produces offspring and is mobile. It may be a good idea to trade in the old field. But what’s problematic about this advice is the hidden agenda; it’s dishonest because it has the best interests of the advice-giver embedded within it. He wants that field.
The Torah is not telling us that we shouldn’t hurt other people; that’s obvious! It’s not even telling us that we shouldn’t give fictitious advice. The example about the donkey and field seems quite benign. And Rashi chooses this example since it’s hard to discern whether the advice is good or not. But what’s easy to discern is that it is good for the advice-giver.
So what the Torah is really telling us is this: When you give someone advice, don’t let your personal agenda be a part of it. Even if you’re not exploiting the other person with your advice. Even if your advice may be beneficial for him. If you stand to gain from it, then it’s murky advice.
It’s quite natural to look at any situation and search for personal benefit. But G‑d says that that’s not being amentch. That’s not an authentic way to communicate. “Love your neighbor as yourself!” When he asks you for advice, put yourself in his shoes, invest yourself in his dilemma as if it were yours. Then you can give some quality advice.1
FOOTNOTES
1.Based on the teachings of theLubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of righteous memory, recorded in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 27, pp. 141–148.
Kedoshim In Depth
A condensation of the weekly Torah portion alongside select commentaries culled from the Midrash, Talmud, Chassidic masters, and the broad corpus of Jewish scholarship.
Parshat Kedoshim In-Depth
Leviticus 19:1-20:27
Parshah Summary
The Parshah of Kedoshim (“holy ones”) begins with G‑d’s statement to the people of Israel:
Kedoshim also contains the dictum which the great sage Rabbi Akiva called “a cardinal principle of Torah” and of which Hillel said, “This is the entire Torah; the rest is commentary”:
Also,
And,
Kedoshim concludes with a list of prohibitions against illicit sexual relations: adultery, various incestuous relationships (a father’s wife, a daughter-in-law, an aunt, a sister, a sister-in-law, etc.), homosexuality, bestiality, and relations with a menstruating woman.
G‑d then proceeds to command numerous mitzvot, many of which are cardinal preceptsof Torah law. For example:
Every man shall fear his motherand his father, and keep my Sabbaths; I am the L‑rd your G‑d.Charity to the needy:
Do not turn to idols, nor make for yourselves molten gods; I am the L‑rd your G‑d . . .
You shall not steal, nor deal falsely, nor lie to one another.And you shall not swear by My name falsely; nor shall you profane the name of your G‑d. I am G‑d.You shall not defraud your neighbor nor rob him; the wages of one who is hired shall not remain with you overnight until the morning.
Equality before the law:When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not wholly reap the corners of your field, nor shall you gather the gleaning of your harvest . . . you shall leave them for the poor and stranger; I am the L‑rd your G‑d.
Also in our Parshah: the injunction not to “stand by your brother’s blood” (i.e., the duty to get involved when another’s life is threatened); the duty to “rebuke your fellow” over his wrongdoing rather than to “hate your brother in your heart”; prohibitions against slander and gossip, taking revengeand bearing a grudge.You shall do no unrighteousness in judgment—you shall not give special consideration to a poor man, nor honor the great; in righteousness shall you judge your neighbor.
Kedoshim also contains the dictum which the great sage Rabbi Akiva called “a cardinal principle of Torah” and of which Hillel said, “This is the entire Torah; the rest is commentary”:
In addition to these “mitzvot between man and man,” there are “mitzvot between man and G‑d” such as the chukim (supra-rational Divine decrees) against hybridcrossbreeding of different animal species, hybrid planting of plant species, andshaatnez—hybrid use of wool and linen in a garment.
Also,
When you come into the Land and plant any type of tree for food, then you shall treat their fruit asorlah (“uncircumcised”). Three years shall it be as orlah unto you: it shall not be eaten.The fourth year’s produce is to be taken to Jerusalem, where it is eaten in sanctity; “its fruit shall be holy for praise-giving to G‑d.” Only “in the fifth year shall you eat of its fruit, that it may yield to you its increase.”
And,
A severe warning is issued against those who assume the practice of the inhabitants of the land of Canaan, of sacrificing their children to the pagan god Molech.You shall not round the corners of [the hair of] your heads, nor shall you destroy the corners of your beard . . .Do not prostitute your daughter, to cause her to be a harlot, lest the land fall to harlotry, and the land become full of foulness . . .You shall rise up before the white-haired, and honor the face of the old man, and fear your G‑d; I am G‑d.
And if a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not wrong him . . . and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt; I am the L‑rd your G‑d.
Kedoshim concludes with a list of prohibitions against illicit sexual relations: adultery, various incestuous relationships (a father’s wife, a daughter-in-law, an aunt, a sister, a sister-in-law, etc.), homosexuality, bestiality, and relations with a menstruating woman.
You shall be holy to Me, for I, G‑d, am holy, and I have separated you from the nations, that you should be Mine.
From Our Sages
Speak to all the congregation of the children of Israel, and say to them: You shall be holy . . . (Leviticus 19:2)
Rabbi Chiya taught: This section was spoken in the presence of a gathering of the whole community, because most of the essential principles of the Torah are included in it.Rabbi Levi said: Because the Ten Commandments are included therein:
1) “I am the L‑rd your G‑d,” and here it is written, “I am the L‑rd your G‑d” (19:3, et al).
2) “You shall have no other gods before Me,” and here it is written, “Nor make for yourselves molten gods” (19:4).
3) “You shall not take the name of the L‑rd your G‑d in vain,” and here it is written, “And you shall not swear by My name falsely” (19:12).
4) “Remember the Sabbath day", and here it is written, “And keep My Sabbaths” (19:3).
5) “Honor your father and your mother,” and here it is written, “Every man shall fear his mother and his father” (19:3).
6) “You shall not murder,” and here it is written, “You shall not stand by the blood of your fellow” (19:16).
7) “You shall not commit adultery,” and here it is written, “Both the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death” (20:10).
8) “You shall not steal,” and here it is written, “You shall not steal, [nor deal falsely, nor lie to one another]” (19:11).
9) “You shall not bear false witness,” and here it is written, “You shall not go about as a talebearer” (19:16).
10) “You shalt not covet . . . anything that is your fellow’s,” and here it is written, “Love your fellow as yourself” (19:18).
(Midrash Rabbah)
Speak to all the congregation of the children of Israel, and say to them: You shall be holy . . . (19:2)
The easiest thing is to hide from the world and its follies, seclude oneself in a room and be a holy hermit. What the Torah desires, however, is that a person should be part and parcel of “all the congregation of the children of Israel”—and be holy.
(Alshich)
Sanctify yourself also regarding that which is permissible to you.
(Talmud, Yevamot 20a)
The meaning of this is that since the Torah has warned against forbidden sexual relations and forbidden foods, while permitting relations with one’s wife and eating meat and wine, the lustful person can find a place to wallow in promiscuity with his wife or wives, and be of “the guzzlers of wine and the gluttons of meat,” and converse at will of all licentious things (since no prohibition against this is specified in the Torah). He can be a hedonist with the Torah’s permission. Therefore, after enumerating the things which it forbids entirely, the Torah says: “Be holy.” Constrain yourself also in that which is permitted.
(Nachmanides)
The first dictum we heard from the Rebbe (Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi) was: “What is forbidden, one must not; what is permitted, one need not.”
(Rabbi Mordechai of Horodok)
And in Exodus 20:12 it says, “Honor your father and your mother.” For it is revealed and known to G‑d that a person adores his mother more than his father, and that he fears his father more than his mother. G‑d therefore set the honor of one’s father first, and the fear of one’s mother first, to emphasize that one must honor and fear them both equally.
(Talmud, Kiddushin 31a)
Although I have commanded you to fear your father, if he tells you to violate the Shabbat—or to transgress any other mitzvah—do not heed him; for “I am the L‑rd your G‑d”—both you and your father are obligated to honor Me.
(Rashi; Talmud)
At first they will be just “idols”; but if you turn to them, you will end up making them “gods.”
(Rashi)
You shall not go about as a talebearer amongst your people; you shall not stand by your fellow’s blood (19:16)
Said Rabbi Yitzchak: One who bears tales is a murderer, as it is written: “You shall not go about as a talebearer amongst your people; you shall not stand by your fellow’s blood”
(Masechet Derech Eretz 6:3)
Evil talk kills three people: the speaker, the listener and the one who is spoken of.
(Talmud, Erachin 15a)
The speaker obviously commits a grave sin by speaking negatively of his fellow. The listener, too, is a partner to this evil. But why is the one who is spoken of affected by their deed? Are his negative traits worsened by the fact that they are spoken of?Indeed they are. A person may possess an evil trait or tendency, but his quintessential goodness, intrinsic to every soul, strives to control it, conquer it, and ultimately eradicate its negative expressions and redirect it as a positive force. But when this evil is spoken of, it is made that much more manifest and real. By speaking negatively of the person’s trait or deed, the evil speakers are, in effect, defining it as such; with their words, they grant substance and validity to its negative potential.
But the same applies in the reverse: speaking favorably of another, accentuating his or her positive side, will aid him to realize himself in the manner that you have defined him.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
The Psalmist compares slanderous talk to “sharp arrows of the warrior, coals of broom” (Psalms 120:4). All other weapons strike from close quarters, while the arrow strikes from a distance. So is it with slander: it is spoken in Rome, and kills in Syria. All other coals, when extinguished, are extinguished on the outside and the inside; but coals of broom are still burning on the inside when they are extinguished on the outside. So is it with words of slander: even after it seems that their effects have been put out, they continue to smolder within those who heard them. It once happened that a broom tree was set on fire, and it burned eighteen months—winter, summer and winter.
(Midrash Rabbah)
Evil talk is like an arrow. A person who unsheathes a sword can regret his intention and return it to its sheath. But the arrow cannot be retrieved.
(Midrash Tehillim)
To what may the tongue be compared? To a dog tied with an iron chain and locked in a room within a room within a room, yet when he barks the entire populace is terrified of him. Imagine if he were loose outside! So the tongue: it is secured behind the teeth and behind the lips, yet it does no end of damage. Imagine if it were outside!
(Yalkut Shimoni)
Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov once instructed several of his disciples to embark on a journey. The chassidic leader did not tell them where to go, nor did they ask; they allowed Divine Providence to direct their wagon where it might, confident that the destination and purpose of their trip would be revealed in due time.After traveling for several hours, they stopped at a wayside inn to eat and rest. Now the Baal Shem Tov’s disciples were pious Jews who insisted on the highest standards of kashrut; when they learned that their host planned to serve them meat in their meal, they asked to see theshochet (ritual slaughterer) of the house, interrogated him as to his knowledge and piety, and examined his knife for any possible blemishes. Their discussion of the kashrut standard of the food continued throughout the meal, as they inquired after the source of every ingredient in each dish set before them.
As they spoke and ate, a voice emerged from behind the oven, where an old beggar was resting amidst his bundles. “Dear Jews,” it called out, “are you as careful with what comes out of your mouth as you are with what enters into it?”
The party of chassidim concluded their meal in silence, climbed onto their wagon and turned it back toward Mezhibuzh. They now understood the purpose for which their rebbe had dispatched them on their journey that morning.
A man once came to see Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch, and proceeded to portray himself as a villain of the worst sort. After describing at length his moral and spiritual deficiencies, he begged the Rebbe to help him overcome his evil character.
“Surely,” said the rebbe, “you know how grave is the sin of lashon hara, speaking ill of a human being. Nowhere, to my knowledge, does it say that it is permissible to speak lashon hara about oneself.”
From where do we know that if one sees his fellow drowning in a river, being dragged off by a wild animal or attacked by robbers, that one is obligated to save him? From the verse “You shall not stand by your fellow’s blood.”
(Talmud, Sanhedrin 73a)
more
You shall not hate your brother in your heart; rebuke, rebuke your fellow, but do not incur a sin on his account (19:17)
If a person is wronged by another, he should not hate him and remain silent, as is said in regard to the wicked, “Absalom did not speak to Amnon, neither good nor evil, for Absalom hated Amnon” (II Samuel 13:22). Rather, it is a mitzvah for him to make this known to him, and say to him, “Why did you do this-and-this to me? Why did you offend me in this way?” as it is written: “Rebuke, rebuke your fellow.” And if that person expresses regret and asks him for forgiveness, he should forgive him . . .One who sees that his fellow has sinned, or is following an improper path, has a mitzvah to bring him back to the proper path and to inform him that he sins by his bad actions, as it is written: “Rebuke, rebuke your fellow.”
When one rebukes one’s fellow, whether it is regarding matters between the two of them or regarding matters between that person and G‑d, he should rebuke him in private. He should speak to him gently and softly, and should tell him that he is doing this for his own good, so that he may merit the world to come.
If that person accepts [the rebuke], good; if not, he should rebuke him a second time and a third time. He should continue to rebuke him to the point that the sinner strikes him and says to him, “I refuse to listen.”
Whoever has the ability to rebuke and does not do so shares in the guilt for the sin, since he could have prevented it . . .
One who is wronged by his fellow but does not desire to rebuke him or speak to him about it at all because the offender is a very coarse person, or a disturbed person, but chooses instead to forgive him in his heart, bearing him no grudge nor rebuking him—this is the manner of the pious. The Torah’s objection [to remaining silent] is only when he harbors animosity.
(Mishneh Torah, Laws of Character Traits, ch. 6)
Our sages have said: “Words that come from the heart enter the heart.” It therefore follows that if you seek to correct a failing of your fellow and are unsuccessful, the fault lies not with him but with yourself. Had you truly been sincere, your words would certainly have had an effect.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
Why is the word “rebuke” repeated? Because first you must rebuke yourself.
(The Chassidic Masters)
Your fellow is your mirror. If your own face is clean, the image you perceive will also be flawless. But should you look upon your fellow man and see a blemish, it is your own imperfection that you are encountering—you are being shown what it is that you must correct within yourself.
(Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov)
On one occasion Rabbi Aharon of Belz was informed that one of the town’s residents had desecrated the Shabbat. He immediately ordered both the informer and the Shabbat violator to appear before him.
“I order you to donate two pounds of candles to the synagogue,” said Rabbi Aharon to the informer, “in order to atone for the fact that you spoke negatively of a fellow Jew.
“And you,” said the rebbe to the second man, “I fine one pound of candles, for being the cause of your fellow Jew speaking negatively of another Jew.”
Said Rabbi Il’a in the name of Rabbi Elazar ben Rabbi Shimon: Just as it is a mitzvah for a person to say what will be accepted, it is a mitzvah to refrain from saying things that will not be accepted.
Rabbi Abba said: Indeed, it is an obligation [to act thus], as it is written (Proverbs 9:8): “Do not rebuke a fool, lest he hate you; rebuke a wise man, and he will love you.”
(Talmud, Yevamot 65b)
What is revenge and what is bearing a grudge? If a person said to his fellow, “Lend me your sickle,” and he replied “No,” and on the following day the second person comes to the first and says, “Lend me your axe,” and he replies: “I will not lend it to you, just as you would not lend me your sickle”—that is revenge.
And what is bearing a grudge? If one person says to his fellow, “Lend me your axe,” and he replies, “No,” and on the next day the second one asks, “Lend me your garment,” and the first answers: “Here it is. I am not like you, who would not lend me”—that is bearing a grudge.
(Talmud, Yoma 23a)
You shall not take vengeance nor bear any grudge against any of your people; and you shall love your fellow as yourself (19:18)
How does one avoid acting vengefully? One should think: If a person were cutting meat, and the knife cut his hand, would that hand cut the first hand in return?
(Jerusalem Talmud, Nedarim 9:4)
Rabbi Akiva said: This is a cardinal principle of the Torah.
(Midrash Rabbah)
A gentile came before Shammai and said to him, “I wish to convert to Judaism, on the condition that you teach me the whole Torah while I stand on one foot.” Shammai drove him away with the builder’s measuring rod which was in his hand. When he came before Hillel, Hillel said to him: “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. This is the entire Torah; the rest is the commentary—go and learn it.”
(Talmud, Shabbat 31a)
Why did Hillel say that this is “the entire Torah”? Granted that it is the essence of all mitzvot governing our behavior “between man and man”; but the Torah also includes many mitzvot that are in the realm of “between man and G‑d.” In what way is the mitzvah to “love your fellow as yourself” the essence of mitzvot such as praying, or ceasing work on Shabbat?The explanation can be found in the answer to another question: How is it possible to love another “as yourself”? Are not self and fellow two distinct entities, so that however closely they may be bound, the other will always be other, and never wholly like the self?
As physical beings, one’s self and one’s fellow are indeed two distinct entities. As spiritual beings, however, they are ultimately one, for all souls are of a single essence, united in their source in G‑d. As long as one regards the physical self as the true “I” and the soul as something this I “has,” one will never truly love the other “as oneself.” But if the soul is the “I” and the body but its tool and extension, one can come to recognize that “self” and “fellow” are but two expressions of a singular essence, so that all that one desires for oneself one desires equally for one’s fellow.
Otherwise stated, the endeavor to love one’s fellow as oneself is the endeavor to cultivate one’s own spiritual identity: to see the soul and spirit as the true and ultimate reality, and the body and the material as extraneous and subservient to it.
This is the entire Torah.
(Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi)
A soul might descend to earth and live seventy or eighty years for the sole purpose of doing a favor for another—a spiritual favor, or even a material favor.
(Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov)
When two people meet, something positive must result for a third.
(Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch)
Love of a fellow is the first gate leading into the palace of G‑d.
To love a fellow is to love G‑d. For “you are children unto the L‑rd your G‑d” (Deuteronomy 14:1); one who loves a father loves his children.
“Love your fellow as yourself” is an elaboration and elucidation upon “You shall love the L‑rd your G‑d” (Deuteronomy 6:5). When one loves one’s fellow one loves G‑d, for one’s fellow contains within himself a “part of G‑d above” (Job 31:2). By loving one’s fellow, the innermost part of him, one loves G‑d.
(Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov)
The three loves—love of G‑d, love of Torah and love of one’s fellow—are one. One cannot differentiate between them, for they are of a single essence. And since they are of a single essence, each one embodies all three.So if you see a person who has a love of G‑d but lacks a love of Torah and a love of his fellow, you must tell him that his love of G‑d is incomplete. And if you see a person who has only a love for his fellow, you must strive to bring him to a love of Torah and a love of G‑d—that his love toward his fellows should not only be expressed in providing bread for the hungry and water for the thirsty, but also to bring them close to Torah and to G‑d.
When we will have the three loves together, we will achieve the Redemption. For just as this last exile was caused by a lack of brotherly love, so shall the final and immediate Redemption be achieved by love for one’s fellow.
(From the words spoken by the Lubavitcher Rebbe immediately following his formal acceptance of the leadership of Chabad-Lubavitch in 1951)
One must love the lowliest of men as much as the greatest Torah scholar.
(Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov)
Three great chassidic leaders were famous for their ahavat Yisrael (love of a fellow Jew): Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev and Rabbi Zusha of Anipoli.Rabbi Zusha was a living example of the maxim that “love covers up all iniquities” (Proverbs 10:12). What the ordinary observer would perceive as a glaring deficiency, or even an outright sin, would not “register” in his holy eyes and mind. Rabbi Zusha was simply incapable of seeing anything negative in a fellow Jew
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s ahavat Yisraelfound expression in his incessant efforts as an advocate for the people of Israel. Unlike Rabbi Zusha, he was not blind to their misdeeds and failings; but he never failed to “judge every man to the side of merit” to find a justification, and even a positive aspect, in their behavior. (A typical story tells of how, upon noticing a wagon driver who was greasing his wheels while reciting his morning prayers, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak lifted his eyes to Heaven and cried: “Master of the Universe! Behold the piety of Your children! Even as they go about their daily affairs, they do not cease to pray to You!”)
But the Baal Shem Tov’s love ran deeper yet. To him, ahavat Yisrael was not the refusal to see the deficiencies of a fellow, or even the endeavor to transform them into merits, but an unequivocal love regardless of their spiritual state. He loved the most iniquitous transgressor with the same boundless love with which he loved the greatest tzaddik; he loved them as G‑d loves them as a father loves his children, regardless of who and what they are.
I learned the meaning of love from two drunks whose conversation I once overheard.
The first drunk said: “I love you.”
“No, you don’t,” replied the other.
“Yes, yes, I do. I love you with all my heart.”
“No, you don’t. If you love me, why don’t you know what hurts me?”
(Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev)
Our sages have said: “Do not judge your fellow until you have stood in his place” (Ethics of the Fathers 2:4). Since the only person in whose place you can truly stand is yourself, this means that you are qualified to judge only yourself.
Regarding yourself, you must condemn your moral and spiritual failings, and be critical of your every achievement. Regarding your fellow, however, you must employ a double standard: your love and esteem toward him should be amplified by every positive quality you see in him, and should not to be affected in the least by any seemingly negative things you might observe.
(Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi)
When I was four years old, I asked my father: “Why did G‑d make people with two eyes? Why not with one eye, just as we have been given a single nose and a single mouth?”Said Father: “There are things upon which one must look with a right eye, with affection and empathy; and there are things upon which one must look with a left eye—severely and critically. On one’s fellow man, one should look with a right eye; on oneself, one should look with a left eye.”
(Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch)
The Torah commands to “love your fellow as yourself.” Why only as much as yourself?
Indeed, chassidim have always maintained that the meaning of the verse is the very opposite of how it is commonly understood. Despite all that you know about yourself, the Torah is saying, you should try to love yourself as much as you love your fellow . . .
(Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak of Lubavitch)
When you come into the land and plant any type of tree for food . . . three years shall it be orlah unto you: it shall not be eaten. In the fourth year, all its fruit shall be holy for praise-giving to G‑d. And in the fifth year you shall eat of its fruit, that it may yield to you its increase . . . (19:23–25)
Thus the fruit tree passes though all three basic halachic (Torah-legal) states: the forbidden, the sanctified and the permissible.
The fruit tree can therefore be seen as representative of the whole of creation, which likewise is divided among these three categories. There are, for example, foods that are forbidden to us (e.g., pork, meat with milk); foods whose consumption is a mitzvah—an act that sanctifies the food, elevating it as an object of the Divine will (such as matzah on the Seder night); and foods that are spiritually “neutral”—eating them is neither a transgression nor a sanctifying act. The same applies to clothes (the forbiddenshaatnez, the mitzvah of tzitzit, ordinary clothes); speech (gossip and slander, the holy talk of prayer and Torah study, talk of everyday matters); sexuality (adultery and incest, the mitzvah to “be fruitful and multiply,” ordinary marital life); money (thievery; charity; legal business dealings); and to every other area of life.
Otherwise stated: there are elements of our experience and environment that G‑d commands us to reject and disavow; elements that we are empowered to sanctify by directly involving them in our relationship with G‑d; and finally, there are elements which, even as they serve as the “supporting cast” for our fulfillment of G‑d’s will (such as the food that provides us with the energy to pray), remain ordinary and mundane.
In light of this, would it not have been more appropriate for the three stages of the fruit tree to follow an order of increasing sanctity—i.e., the forbidden, followed by the permissible, and culminating in the holy? Instead the Torah legislates three forbidden years, followed by a year in which the fruit is sacred and its consumption a mitzvah, after which the fruit becomes ordinary food! Even more surprising is the fact that the fruit of the fifth year is presented as the product and goal of the first four: for three years you shall abstain from a tree’s fruit, says the Torah, and in the fourth year you shall sanctify it, so that on the fifth year “it may yield to you its increase.” Keep from transgression and sanctify the holy, so that you should have a lot of ordinary fruit to eat!
In truth, however, the ultimate purpose of our lives lies in the realm of the “ordinary.” Only a small percentage of the world’s leather is made into tefillin; only a small part of a community’s man-hours can be devoted to prayer and Torah-study. The greater part of our lives falls under the “spiritually neutral” category: elements that, even as they serve a life that is predicated on a commitment to the Divine will, remain ordinary and mundane components of a material existence; elements whose positive function does not touch them deeply enough to impart to them the “holiness” that spells a manifest and tagible attachment to the Divine. But it is in this area that we most serve G‑d’s desire for “a dwelling place in the lowly realms”—that the ordinary landscape of material life should be made hospitable to His presence and subservient to His will.
(The Chassidic Masters)
The rabbis taught: I might think, even before an aged sinner; but the Torah uses the word zakein (“old man”), which refers to a sage . . . to one who has acquired wisdom . . .
But Issi ben Yehudah said: “You shall rise before the white-haired” implies any hoary head.
Said Rabbi Yochanan: The law follows Issi ben Yehudah. Rabbi Yochanan used to rise before the heathen aged, saying: “How many experiences have passed over these!”
(Talmud, Kiddushin 32b–33a)
The Torah considers old age a virtue and a blessing. It instructs to respect all elderly, regardless of their scholarship and piety, because the many trials and experiences that each additional year of life brings yield a wisdom which the most accomplished young prodigy cannot equal.This is in marked contrast to the prevalent attitude in the “developed” countries of today’s world, where old age is a liability. Youth is seen as the highest credential in every field from business to government, as a younger generation insists on “learning from their own mistakes” rather than building upon the life experience of their elders. At 50, a person is considered “over the hill” and is already receiving hints that his position would be better filled by someone twenty-five years his junior; in many companies and institutions, retirement is mandatory by age 65 or earlier.
Thus society dictates that ones later years be marked by inactivity and decline. The aged are made to feel that they are useless, if not a burden, and had best confine themselves to retirement villages and nursing homes. After decades of achievement, their knowledge and talent are suddenly worthless; after decades of contributing to society, they are suddenly undeserving recipients, grateful for every time the younger generation takes off from work and play to drop by for a half-hour chat and the requisite Father’s Day necktie.
On the surface, the modern-day attitude seems at least partly justified. Is it not a fact that a person physically weakens as he advances in years? True, the inactivity of retirement has been shown to be a key factor in the deterioration of the elderly; but is it still not an inescapable fact of nature that the body of a 70-year-old is not the body of a 20-year-old?
But this, precisely, is the point: is a person’s worth to be measured by his physical prowess? By the number of man-hours and intercontinental flights that can be extracted from him per week? Our attitude toward the aged reflects our very conception of “value.” If a person’s physical strength has waned while his sagacity and insight have grown, do we view this as an improvement or a decline? If a person’s output has diminished in quantity but has increased in quality, has his net worth risen or fallen?
Indeed, a twenty-year-old can dance the night away while his grandmother tires after a few minutes. But man was not created to dance for hours on end. Man was created to make life on earth purer, brighter and holier than it was before he came on the scene. Seen in this light, the spiritual maturity of the aged more than compensates for their lessened physical strength.
Certainly, the physical health of the body affects one’s productivity. Life is a marriage of body and soul, and is at its most productive when nurtured by a sound physique as well as a healthy spirit. But the effects of the aging process upon a person’s productivity are largely determined by the manner in which he regards this marriage and partnership. Which is the means and which is the end? If the soul is nothing more than an engine to drive the body’s procurement of its needs and aims, then the body’s physical weakening with age brings with it a spiritual deterioration as well—a descent into boredom, futility and despair. But when one regards the body as an accessory to the soul, the very opposite is the case: the spiritual growth of old age invigorates the body, enabling one to lead a productive existence for as long as the Almighty grants one the gift of life.
(The Lubavitcher Rebbe)
WOMEN
Israel: Where Kids Can Be Kids
How Israelis love kids, anyone’s kids. The country is a free-for-all for the youngest set, something I only truly appreciated once I started bringing my own children there. by Carin M. Smilk
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my husband frantically scrubbing my youngest son’s hands. We were about to unload our suitcases off the minibus we had taken fromJerusalem to the airport for the flight back home after two weeks in Israel. But the hand-cleaning was taking some time.
I walked over to my 4-year-old and saw streaks of sticky blue gum lining his fingers and wrists. Gum? We don’t do gum. Then I saw the look on our bus driver’s face. Yossi had taken instantly to my little one, and now I Gum? We don’t do gum.noticed the plastic container of gum on the stroller seat . . .
Ah, Israelis!
How Israelis love kids, anyone’s kids. The country is a free-for-all for the youngest set, something I truly appreciated only once I started bringing my own children there. When I was a teenager visiting Israel from the States, I noticed how people there just don’t allow a child to cry. One pout, one sob, and out comes candy, trinkets and eager smiles to turn a kid around. That would never happen back home—a stranger give a child candy?!—but in Israel, in a nation that still harbors a post-Holocaust mentality, there is no reason that a Jewish child should ever cry again, if someone can help it.
Okay, Yossi, so you get a pass. More than that, I took his business card and promised to call him again when I returned. As I did Baruch’s card, Tzion’s card and Zeev’s card—even though my two younger sons were bickering the entire time during Zeev’s highly trafficked ride to the science museum in Jerusalem. When I apologized for the racket, he laughed. “Yeladim,” he replied with a shrug.
Kids will be kids.
That’s an entirely different reaction than I get here at home. Spilled drinks in a restaurant, screaming children on the “Quiet Car” of the train downtown, hair getting yanked while in line at the post office—the peanut gallery casts frowns upon the pee-wee section. I usually wind up apologizing (then urge the little guys to do the same, with mixed results).
Flashback to our visit to the Kotel, the Western Wall in Jerusalem, where we were all a bit tense at the checkpoint. Placing our backpacks and camera bags on the moving security belt, a young Israeli soldier walked pointedly to the same 4-year-old. He looked down, reached into his pocket and gave the kid (and his 7-year-old brother) a handful of Magen David pins. Oh, the smiles!(Like the gum, sharp metal objects are not my choice of treats, but who was I to argue?) Oh, the smiles! Nervousness, gone. Talk about your “win-win.”
So, in between my visits to Israel, my second home, I tolerate the raised eyebrows that come with bringing four boys anywhere at once, and wait for the day when I am back, when some kind driver or elderly woman or friendly soldier offers the best present a parent can get: not aggravation, but ahavah.
My Husband, My Right Hand
Lasting impressions from my husband's funeral by Linda Goldberg
I walked over to my 4-year-old and saw streaks of sticky blue gum lining his fingers and wrists. Gum? We don’t do gum. Then I saw the look on our bus driver’s face. Yossi had taken instantly to my little one, and now I Gum? We don’t do gum.noticed the plastic container of gum on the stroller seat . . .
Ah, Israelis!
How Israelis love kids, anyone’s kids. The country is a free-for-all for the youngest set, something I truly appreciated only once I started bringing my own children there. When I was a teenager visiting Israel from the States, I noticed how people there just don’t allow a child to cry. One pout, one sob, and out comes candy, trinkets and eager smiles to turn a kid around. That would never happen back home—a stranger give a child candy?!—but in Israel, in a nation that still harbors a post-Holocaust mentality, there is no reason that a Jewish child should ever cry again, if someone can help it.
Okay, Yossi, so you get a pass. More than that, I took his business card and promised to call him again when I returned. As I did Baruch’s card, Tzion’s card and Zeev’s card—even though my two younger sons were bickering the entire time during Zeev’s highly trafficked ride to the science museum in Jerusalem. When I apologized for the racket, he laughed. “Yeladim,” he replied with a shrug.
Kids will be kids.
That’s an entirely different reaction than I get here at home. Spilled drinks in a restaurant, screaming children on the “Quiet Car” of the train downtown, hair getting yanked while in line at the post office—the peanut gallery casts frowns upon the pee-wee section. I usually wind up apologizing (then urge the little guys to do the same, with mixed results).
Flashback to our visit to the Kotel, the Western Wall in Jerusalem, where we were all a bit tense at the checkpoint. Placing our backpacks and camera bags on the moving security belt, a young Israeli soldier walked pointedly to the same 4-year-old. He looked down, reached into his pocket and gave the kid (and his 7-year-old brother) a handful of Magen David pins. Oh, the smiles!(Like the gum, sharp metal objects are not my choice of treats, but who was I to argue?) Oh, the smiles! Nervousness, gone. Talk about your “win-win.”
So, in between my visits to Israel, my second home, I tolerate the raised eyebrows that come with bringing four boys anywhere at once, and wait for the day when I am back, when some kind driver or elderly woman or friendly soldier offers the best present a parent can get: not aggravation, but ahavah.
My Husband, My Right Hand
Lasting impressions from my husband's funeral by Linda Goldberg
As I sat down in the dimly lit chapel, I saw that my grandchildren were sitting in rows on both sides of the aisle. Friends and relatives who had greeted me now sat in the back row seats. A fully lit menorah glowed in front of a placard with the 23rd Psalm written in Hebrew and English. In the middle of the aisle, a tallit-covered pine coffin. Today was the funeral of my beloved husband, Adam ben YitzchakLeib HaLevi, of blessed memory.
The rabbi walked to the lectern to speak. My son, David, and daughter, Debra, sat alongside me as the rabbi remembered his years with Adam. Adam, who had been an accountant, had tried to help the rabbi learn how to fundraise. But what the rabbi learned was about relationships.
Then David spoke of his dad, the dad who at 30 wasI put my handkerchief to my face and criedparalyzed with Guillain–Barré syndrome. Once he recovered, Adam had then visited others who were sick, showing that recovery was possible for them too. David remembered how his dad had said yes when asked to take his great-grandfather up two flights of stairs to get to synagogue for the holidays. How his dad had said yes when asked to help needy families with accounting advice.
David’s speech reminded me of my answer when I was asked why I married Adam. “He runs toward, instead of from, problems,” I answered.
The next to speak was the first of my four grandsons. Tuvya spoke of the good times he had with his zaydie on Shabbatand holidays, and the time just a few weeks ago when I had an eye operation and Adam stayed with Debra’s family. How grateful I had been for their help at that time. Adam could not be alone.
Services over, the funeral director took the tallit off of the coffin and asked, “Are there pallbearers?” As I stood up, I put my handkerchief to my face and cried. Along with Adam’s cousin Zion and others, my youngest grandson, Yoni, who has special needs, stood at the front.
When Zion said, “Let’s lift him up,” I gasped.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” said Zion.
David rushed over and said, “Yoni, stand in the middle.”
Yoni moved to the middle. They lifted up the coffin before they walked down the aisle.
Readying myself for the ride to the cemetery, I buttoned my torn sweater before putting on my black coat. Fumbling in my pockets, I could find only one of my black gloves. Where was the other one? How could I go through the rest of the day without a right glove? That’s like going through life without a right hand.
David, Debra and I were in the car following the hearse. As I changed into sneakers, I scrounged around the floor of the car for the missing glove.
Once at the cemetery, the funeral director asked for volunteers to carry Adam to the grave. Yoni answered the call and stood at the ready, bright-blue yarmulke covering his blond hair. David called to his cousin Eric to take over for Yoni.
The sun shone on the freshly fallen snow, making me feel warmer until I turned into the shadow behind the Cemetery Society building. It was a building filled with my grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ names. I wobbled along the snow and grass holding on to David and Debra.
Once at the grave, Yoni stood holding one end of a rope to lower Adam into the grave. Yoni my grandson, Yoni who had learned to chant the Torah portion in Hebrew for his bar mitzvah, was there for his zaydie. Once again, Eric took over for Yoni.
Just on the other side of a nearby fence was a tree. I loved seeing this tree: it would give shade and flower in the summer; its leaves would turn red, orange and yellow before falling onto the ground, before the white snow.
David and I listened as the dirt was dropped onto the coffin by the mourners, shovel by shovel. Debra cried. She had been crying for the past two weeks, each of us taking turns staying with Adam at the hospital. After a massive stroke, which left him partially paralyzed and unable to speak or even swallow, I didn’t want him to be alone.
Back at my home, family and friends surrounded me as I sat and looked around at the empty spaces where mirrors had been, at the yahrtzeit candle in the middle of the Family and friends surrounded medining room table now covered with kugels and salads and desserts, at the chair with arms that allowed Adam to prop himself up after his first stroke over a year ago. A long year ago.
Finally I agreed to eat an egg and have coffee. I did feel a little better, although I could not believe this was happening to me and my family. Eventually I ate something more substantial.
Later in the day, the rabbi came back for the minyan and said, “We need two more men.”
David called for the boys to come back to my home.
When the boys arrived, the rabbi said: “We need more yarmulkes.”
Yoni knew where they were, and passed them to the men who needed them.
Tears of thankfulness to G‑d rolled down my cheeks as Yoni stood as the 10th man. Yoni was needed, and he was special.
“Zaydie would be so proud,” I said later as I hugged Yoni.
I saw that when he was needed, Yoni ran toward instead of from, just like his grandfather.
A Little Brother for a Little Boy With Special Needs
I had to hold back my tears. But I honored the space he would need to accept and love this beautiful addition to our family. by Chana Scop
The rabbi walked to the lectern to speak. My son, David, and daughter, Debra, sat alongside me as the rabbi remembered his years with Adam. Adam, who had been an accountant, had tried to help the rabbi learn how to fundraise. But what the rabbi learned was about relationships.
Then David spoke of his dad, the dad who at 30 wasI put my handkerchief to my face and criedparalyzed with Guillain–Barré syndrome. Once he recovered, Adam had then visited others who were sick, showing that recovery was possible for them too. David remembered how his dad had said yes when asked to take his great-grandfather up two flights of stairs to get to synagogue for the holidays. How his dad had said yes when asked to help needy families with accounting advice.
David’s speech reminded me of my answer when I was asked why I married Adam. “He runs toward, instead of from, problems,” I answered.
The next to speak was the first of my four grandsons. Tuvya spoke of the good times he had with his zaydie on Shabbatand holidays, and the time just a few weeks ago when I had an eye operation and Adam stayed with Debra’s family. How grateful I had been for their help at that time. Adam could not be alone.
Services over, the funeral director took the tallit off of the coffin and asked, “Are there pallbearers?” As I stood up, I put my handkerchief to my face and cried. Along with Adam’s cousin Zion and others, my youngest grandson, Yoni, who has special needs, stood at the front.
When Zion said, “Let’s lift him up,” I gasped.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” said Zion.
David rushed over and said, “Yoni, stand in the middle.”
Yoni moved to the middle. They lifted up the coffin before they walked down the aisle.
Readying myself for the ride to the cemetery, I buttoned my torn sweater before putting on my black coat. Fumbling in my pockets, I could find only one of my black gloves. Where was the other one? How could I go through the rest of the day without a right glove? That’s like going through life without a right hand.
David, Debra and I were in the car following the hearse. As I changed into sneakers, I scrounged around the floor of the car for the missing glove.
Once at the cemetery, the funeral director asked for volunteers to carry Adam to the grave. Yoni answered the call and stood at the ready, bright-blue yarmulke covering his blond hair. David called to his cousin Eric to take over for Yoni.
The sun shone on the freshly fallen snow, making me feel warmer until I turned into the shadow behind the Cemetery Society building. It was a building filled with my grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ names. I wobbled along the snow and grass holding on to David and Debra.
Once at the grave, Yoni stood holding one end of a rope to lower Adam into the grave. Yoni my grandson, Yoni who had learned to chant the Torah portion in Hebrew for his bar mitzvah, was there for his zaydie. Once again, Eric took over for Yoni.
Just on the other side of a nearby fence was a tree. I loved seeing this tree: it would give shade and flower in the summer; its leaves would turn red, orange and yellow before falling onto the ground, before the white snow.
David and I listened as the dirt was dropped onto the coffin by the mourners, shovel by shovel. Debra cried. She had been crying for the past two weeks, each of us taking turns staying with Adam at the hospital. After a massive stroke, which left him partially paralyzed and unable to speak or even swallow, I didn’t want him to be alone.
Back at my home, family and friends surrounded me as I sat and looked around at the empty spaces where mirrors had been, at the yahrtzeit candle in the middle of the Family and friends surrounded medining room table now covered with kugels and salads and desserts, at the chair with arms that allowed Adam to prop himself up after his first stroke over a year ago. A long year ago.
Finally I agreed to eat an egg and have coffee. I did feel a little better, although I could not believe this was happening to me and my family. Eventually I ate something more substantial.
Later in the day, the rabbi came back for the minyan and said, “We need two more men.”
David called for the boys to come back to my home.
When the boys arrived, the rabbi said: “We need more yarmulkes.”
Yoni knew where they were, and passed them to the men who needed them.
Tears of thankfulness to G‑d rolled down my cheeks as Yoni stood as the 10th man. Yoni was needed, and he was special.
“Zaydie would be so proud,” I said later as I hugged Yoni.
I saw that when he was needed, Yoni ran toward instead of from, just like his grandfather.
A Little Brother for a Little Boy With Special Needs
I had to hold back my tears. But I honored the space he would need to accept and love this beautiful addition to our family. by Chana Scop
He was the first to greet me as we pulled into the driveway, his little face shining bright.
I called him over to peek inside the car, to glimpse his new baby brother, all of 12 hours old. And sure enough, he glanced briefly into the car seat, taking in the view of the cozy bundle of blue.
He shook his head and quickly turned to go back inside.
I had to hold back my tears. But I honored the space he would need to accept and love this beautiful addition to our family.
As I was greeted with hugs and excitement from the rest of our crew, Chaim Boruch kept his distance while keeping an eye on the scene. I knew to let things be, which was no easy task when all I really wanted was to know he was okay deep inside his little heart.
Did he understand and remember anything I shared with him for months prior, about the new baby?
I like to think he did.
Morning came, and so did all the kids, streaming into my room to take another look at their new sibling.
This time Chaim Boruch wasn’t too far behind.
I smiled a secret smile to myself. I knew that if I held on tight, the time would come.
That afternoon Chaim Boruch surprised me and entered the room, close enough to hear the baby’s newborn noises yet far enough to keep much-needed distance.
The moon and stars lit up the sky, and Chaim Boruch drifted off to sleep. I said Shema and prayed that with the dawn a new big brother would arise.
And sure enough, the following day Chaim Boruch climbed into my bed and took his first real look at this new little being. He looked at me with his thoughtful eyes, and I sent back a knowing look of understanding and love.
In a soft voice, I gently asked Chaim Boruch if he would like to hold his new baby.
And sure enough, that moment came.
A moment that bound our family together as a whole, as one.
A time of bonding, acceptance and pride, where all things wondrous and miraculous could happen, because space and respect were granted.
Chaim Boruch nodded his head in the affirmative, with the twinkle in his eyes that could light up the world. Gently I placed his baby brother in his arms, holding back much emotion and filling my heart with the warmth of the moment.
Within seconds my mind went to that faraway dreamland, where I pictured him being a loving father holding his own child . . .
And then my gaze fell back on the present. Where I was blessed to see him love and hold dear a new life. A new life born to our family.
And so too, Chaim Boruch was born anew. With pureness, acceptance, strength and love. A gift to the world.
How grateful I am for becoming a mother. Witnessing the miracle of life and living, of friendship and connection. Of two brothers, two souls. Where no difference exists between them.
Only the magnificent breath of sweet life.
STORY
The Rabbi and the Ox
One day, the neighborhood butcher came to the study of Rabbi Pinchas Horowitz (1730-1805), the famed rabbi of Frankfurt, with an halachic query... by Yanki Tauber
One day the neighborhood butcher came to the study of Rabbi Pinchas Horowitz (1730–1805), the famed rabbi of Frankfurt, with a halachic (Torah law) query. A defect had been discovered in the lung of a slaughtered ox, raising the possibility that it might be treif, forbidden by Torah law to be eaten. It was a complex borderline case, and the rabbi spent many hours studying the rulings of the great halachic authorities of previous generations, several of whom were inclined to forbid the meat under such circumstances. Finally, Rabbi Pinchas issued his ruling: the ox was kosher.
Later, one of his disciples asked him: “Rabbi, why did you go to such lengths to render the ox kosher? After all, the Shach (Rabbi Shabtai HaKohen, a great 17th-century halachist) deemed it treif. Would it not have been more advisable to simply throw away the meat rather than risk transgressing such a serious prohibition?”
Rabbi Pinchas smiled and replied: “You know, for every man there comes the day when he must stand before the heavenly court and account for his life. I imagine that when that day comes for me, I shall have to defend the decision I arrived at today. The ‘prosecution’ will undoubtedly call a most prestigious witness to testify against me: the Shach himself will question how I permitted the eating of meat whose kashrut is in serious doubt. I shall have to respond by citing the opinions of his lesser colleagues who ruled that the ox is indeed kosher, and by explaining why I preferred their rulings over his. You can be sure that the prospect fills me with trepidation.
“But what if I had ruled that the meat is treif? Then I would have to contend with another accuser—the ox. He will take the stand against me and bellow his rage: ‘How many hungry mouths might I have fed!’ he will cry. ‘How many hours of Torah study and prayer might I have sustained! How many good deeds might I have energized! And this man consigned me to the garbage heap, while there were grounds for rendering me kosher.’ To be sure, I could call on the great Shach to defend me. But, all things considered, I would rather take my chances against the Shach than confront an angry ox in court . . .”
I called him over to peek inside the car, to glimpse his new baby brother, all of 12 hours old. And sure enough, he glanced briefly into the car seat, taking in the view of the cozy bundle of blue.
He shook his head and quickly turned to go back inside.
I had to hold back my tears. But I honored the space he would need to accept and love this beautiful addition to our family.
As I was greeted with hugs and excitement from the rest of our crew, Chaim Boruch kept his distance while keeping an eye on the scene. I knew to let things be, which was no easy task when all I really wanted was to know he was okay deep inside his little heart.
Did he understand and remember anything I shared with him for months prior, about the new baby?
I like to think he did.
Morning came, and so did all the kids, streaming into my room to take another look at their new sibling.
This time Chaim Boruch wasn’t too far behind.
I smiled a secret smile to myself. I knew that if I held on tight, the time would come.
That afternoon Chaim Boruch surprised me and entered the room, close enough to hear the baby’s newborn noises yet far enough to keep much-needed distance.
The moon and stars lit up the sky, and Chaim Boruch drifted off to sleep. I said Shema and prayed that with the dawn a new big brother would arise.
And sure enough, the following day Chaim Boruch climbed into my bed and took his first real look at this new little being. He looked at me with his thoughtful eyes, and I sent back a knowing look of understanding and love.
In a soft voice, I gently asked Chaim Boruch if he would like to hold his new baby.
And sure enough, that moment came.
A moment that bound our family together as a whole, as one.
A time of bonding, acceptance and pride, where all things wondrous and miraculous could happen, because space and respect were granted.
Chaim Boruch nodded his head in the affirmative, with the twinkle in his eyes that could light up the world. Gently I placed his baby brother in his arms, holding back much emotion and filling my heart with the warmth of the moment.
Within seconds my mind went to that faraway dreamland, where I pictured him being a loving father holding his own child . . .
And then my gaze fell back on the present. Where I was blessed to see him love and hold dear a new life. A new life born to our family.
And so too, Chaim Boruch was born anew. With pureness, acceptance, strength and love. A gift to the world.
How grateful I am for becoming a mother. Witnessing the miracle of life and living, of friendship and connection. Of two brothers, two souls. Where no difference exists between them.
Only the magnificent breath of sweet life.
STORY
The Rabbi and the Ox
One day, the neighborhood butcher came to the study of Rabbi Pinchas Horowitz (1730-1805), the famed rabbi of Frankfurt, with an halachic query... by Yanki Tauber
One day the neighborhood butcher came to the study of Rabbi Pinchas Horowitz (1730–1805), the famed rabbi of Frankfurt, with a halachic (Torah law) query. A defect had been discovered in the lung of a slaughtered ox, raising the possibility that it might be treif, forbidden by Torah law to be eaten. It was a complex borderline case, and the rabbi spent many hours studying the rulings of the great halachic authorities of previous generations, several of whom were inclined to forbid the meat under such circumstances. Finally, Rabbi Pinchas issued his ruling: the ox was kosher.
Later, one of his disciples asked him: “Rabbi, why did you go to such lengths to render the ox kosher? After all, the Shach (Rabbi Shabtai HaKohen, a great 17th-century halachist) deemed it treif. Would it not have been more advisable to simply throw away the meat rather than risk transgressing such a serious prohibition?”
Rabbi Pinchas smiled and replied: “You know, for every man there comes the day when he must stand before the heavenly court and account for his life. I imagine that when that day comes for me, I shall have to defend the decision I arrived at today. The ‘prosecution’ will undoubtedly call a most prestigious witness to testify against me: the Shach himself will question how I permitted the eating of meat whose kashrut is in serious doubt. I shall have to respond by citing the opinions of his lesser colleagues who ruled that the ox is indeed kosher, and by explaining why I preferred their rulings over his. You can be sure that the prospect fills me with trepidation.
“But what if I had ruled that the meat is treif? Then I would have to contend with another accuser—the ox. He will take the stand against me and bellow his rage: ‘How many hungry mouths might I have fed!’ he will cry. ‘How many hours of Torah study and prayer might I have sustained! How many good deeds might I have energized! And this man consigned me to the garbage heap, while there were grounds for rendering me kosher.’ To be sure, I could call on the great Shach to defend me. But, all things considered, I would rather take my chances against the Shach than confront an angry ox in court . . .”
LIFESTYLE
Crunchy Homemade Falafel with Hummus, Tahini and Israeli Salad by Miriam Szokovski
Until recently I had never made falafel from scratch. For some reason I thought it was extremely complicated, fiddly and time-consuming, with only mediocre results, but I’m happy to report that I was entirely incorrect. Once I started experimenting, I discovered that it’s really quite easy, and the taste is infinitely better than the packet-mix ones.
The main thing I discovered during my research and experimentation phase is that you need to use raw chickpeas, not cooked or canned. Using canned chickpeas makes them taste like mushy fried hummus balls instead of crispy, light falafel.
I also used to look at the long ingredient list on some falafel recipes and feel overwhelmed. I’ve found that using a variety of herbs and spices is definitely necessary, but the process is extremely simple. It all goes into the food processor and gets pulsed together. That’s it. No need to crush your garlic or dice your onion. Just dump it all in. Like this:
Until it looks like this:
Stick it in the fridge for an hour, and roll it into balls:
Fry until crispy and brown on the outside, and fully cooked on the inside:
Mmm . . . just look at those delicious, crispy bundles of Israeli, falafely goodness!
Falafel is usually served in a warm pita, or on a plate, with your preferred condiments. My “go-to” accompaniments are hummus, tahini, pickles and Israeli salad. In a pita, of course!
Falafel Ingredients:
1½ cups dried chickpeas (also called garbanzo beans)
¼ cup fresh parsley
¼ cup fresh cilantro
1 small onion, cut into quarters (or half a larger onion)
3–4 cloves garlic
2 tbsp. flour
2 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. cumin
1 tsp. paprika
Vegetable oil for frying
Falafel Directions:
Place the chickpeas in a bowl or container and cover with water. The water should be a couple of inches higher than the chickpeas, because they will expand while soaking. Soak the chickpeas overnight, or for at least 3–4 hours. When ready, drain and rinse well.
Pour the chickpeas into the food processor, with all the other ingredients (except the oil). Pulse until mixture resembles a coarse crumb. Stop and scrape down the sides of the bowl a couple of times.
Cover the mixture and refrigerate for an hour.
Gently roll the mixture into balls. If it feels a little crumbly, apply some pressure while rolling, to help the balls come together. If the mixture is too crumbly and you cannot get it to stick together at all, you may need to return it to the food processor and pulse a few more times. But you don’t want the mixture to be too dense. It should not feel like meatballs or matzahballs. It should feel light and delicate, but able to hold its shape.
Pour oil into a pot or frying pan, about 1½ inches deep. Heat the oil over a medium-high flame until ready. To test if the oil is ready, drop in a small piece of the mixture. If the oil bubbles and the mixture floats, the oil is ready and you can begin frying your falafel balls. Fry the balls for 2–3 minutes on the first side, then gently flip them and fry for another 1–2 minutes. Be careful not to overcrowd the pot/pan. I like to fry them in batches of 6–8. When the falafel balls are fully cooked, remove with a slotted spoon and place on a plate lined with paper towel, to help soak up the excess oil so they don’t get soggy.
Serve with your choice of accompaniments, such as hummus, tahini, Israeli salad and pickles. Many people enjoy eating the falafel and condiments inside a warm, soft pita.
Yields: Approximately 30 falafel balls
Recipe is based on Tori Avey’s recipe, with a few tweaks.
Art: Love Your Fellow by Yoram Raanan
As Alberta Wildfires Continue to Spread, Chabad Supports Those in Need
As devastating Alberta wildfires continue to spread, Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries have been assisting families in shelters, keeping in contact with Jewish residents and pledging their help in what is sure to be a long road to recovery. by Reuvena Leah Grodnitzky
Crunchy Homemade Falafel with Hummus, Tahini and Israeli Salad by Miriam Szokovski
Until recently I had never made falafel from scratch. For some reason I thought it was extremely complicated, fiddly and time-consuming, with only mediocre results, but I’m happy to report that I was entirely incorrect. Once I started experimenting, I discovered that it’s really quite easy, and the taste is infinitely better than the packet-mix ones.
The main thing I discovered during my research and experimentation phase is that you need to use raw chickpeas, not cooked or canned. Using canned chickpeas makes them taste like mushy fried hummus balls instead of crispy, light falafel.
I also used to look at the long ingredient list on some falafel recipes and feel overwhelmed. I’ve found that using a variety of herbs and spices is definitely necessary, but the process is extremely simple. It all goes into the food processor and gets pulsed together. That’s it. No need to crush your garlic or dice your onion. Just dump it all in. Like this:
Until it looks like this:
Stick it in the fridge for an hour, and roll it into balls:
Fry until crispy and brown on the outside, and fully cooked on the inside:
Mmm . . . just look at those delicious, crispy bundles of Israeli, falafely goodness!
Falafel is usually served in a warm pita, or on a plate, with your preferred condiments. My “go-to” accompaniments are hummus, tahini, pickles and Israeli salad. In a pita, of course!
Falafel Ingredients:
1½ cups dried chickpeas (also called garbanzo beans)
¼ cup fresh parsley
¼ cup fresh cilantro
1 small onion, cut into quarters (or half a larger onion)
3–4 cloves garlic
2 tbsp. flour
2 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. cumin
1 tsp. paprika
Vegetable oil for frying
Falafel Directions:
Place the chickpeas in a bowl or container and cover with water. The water should be a couple of inches higher than the chickpeas, because they will expand while soaking. Soak the chickpeas overnight, or for at least 3–4 hours. When ready, drain and rinse well.
Pour the chickpeas into the food processor, with all the other ingredients (except the oil). Pulse until mixture resembles a coarse crumb. Stop and scrape down the sides of the bowl a couple of times.
Cover the mixture and refrigerate for an hour.
Gently roll the mixture into balls. If it feels a little crumbly, apply some pressure while rolling, to help the balls come together. If the mixture is too crumbly and you cannot get it to stick together at all, you may need to return it to the food processor and pulse a few more times. But you don’t want the mixture to be too dense. It should not feel like meatballs or matzahballs. It should feel light and delicate, but able to hold its shape.
Pour oil into a pot or frying pan, about 1½ inches deep. Heat the oil over a medium-high flame until ready. To test if the oil is ready, drop in a small piece of the mixture. If the oil bubbles and the mixture floats, the oil is ready and you can begin frying your falafel balls. Fry the balls for 2–3 minutes on the first side, then gently flip them and fry for another 1–2 minutes. Be careful not to overcrowd the pot/pan. I like to fry them in batches of 6–8. When the falafel balls are fully cooked, remove with a slotted spoon and place on a plate lined with paper towel, to help soak up the excess oil so they don’t get soggy.
Serve with your choice of accompaniments, such as hummus, tahini, Israeli salad and pickles. Many people enjoy eating the falafel and condiments inside a warm, soft pita.
Yields: Approximately 30 falafel balls
Recipe is based on Tori Avey’s recipe, with a few tweaks.
Art: Love Your Fellow by Yoram Raanan
You shall love your fellow as yourself. (Leviticus 19:18)
The commandment to love one’s fellow is said to be the foundation of the whole Torah. In this painting we see the interconnectedness of people, each one a part of the colorful tapestry of life. This was originally a vertical painting with intricate floral designs. When the canvas was turned sideways and white paint was added around the flowered shapes, figures emerged, harmoniously interacting with each other in a sunlit courtyard. According to the Baal Shem Tov, the love of one’s fellow is like a gateway into the palace of G‑d.
JEWISH NEWSAs Alberta Wildfires Continue to Spread, Chabad Supports Those in Need
As devastating Alberta wildfires continue to spread, Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries have been assisting families in shelters, keeping in contact with Jewish residents and pledging their help in what is sure to be a long road to recovery. by Reuvena Leah Grodnitzky
Rabbi Ari Drelich of Chabad of Edmonton, accompanied by some of his children, visited the Edmonton EXPO Centre at Northlands, bringing kosher food and spiritual support for kids and adults seeking shelter there.
As the devastating wildfires that have ravaged Fort McMurray in Alberta, Canada, for a week now continue to spread, Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries and volunteers have been assisting families in shelters, keeping in contact with Jewish residents and pledging their help in what is sure to be a long road to recovery.
The city’s population of approximately 90,000 has been evacuated, and the region—known for its oil industry—is currently under a state of emergency.
Rabbi Menachem and Rochel Leah Matusof, who directChabad Lubavitch of Alberta, Canada, have been reaching out to Jewish residents in the vicinity.
“Though there is no established Jewish community in Fort McMurray, we are working to contact everyone on our database—either by phone, email or in person, when possible—and through Facebook and other forms of social media to help anyone who needs it,” says Rabbi Matusof, who is located in Calgary, in the southern part of the province of Alberta, about 770 kilometers (nearly 480 miles) from the fires in the north. “There has been an outpouring of concern and support for the entire community there. So far, most of our contacts have confirmed their safety.”
Map of the Canadian province of Alberta
More concretely, they are trying to find an apartment for a family that fled to Calgary, and have offered assistance to volunteers from the Canadian Jewish Federation and the Israeli humanitarian-aid charity IsraAID, now on the ground in Fort McMurray.
Closer to the fires, Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries in Edmonton—including RabbiAri and Rifka Drelich, and Rabbi Mendy and Chaya Sarah Blachman—have visited the Edmonton EXPO Centre at Northlands, where evacuees have been passing through since leaving their homes. They are bringing kosher food to Albertans there, and helping a family with young children obtain furniture and a bassinet.
Over the years, young rabbinical students have traveled to Fort McMurray to connect with the 50 or so Jewish residents there.
Mezuzahs to Be Provided
Blachman notes that he helped one evacuated family reconnect with their Jewish roots. After he brought dinner to a shelter in Edmonton, a woman and her sister expressed their gratitude in a text to the rabbi that read: “Thank you! We ate the delicious lasagna and salad so loving of your wife to make for us. This text is to thank you for the nice gestures. I [say] the prayer you have [given] to us every day. It feels good.”
While Chabad centers in Canada are striving to do what they can, much of the real work, they note, as with most calamities of this type, will be associated with recovery and rebuilding.
The fire, which is moving towards Saskatchewan to the east due to high winds and dry weather conditions, is being declared one of the worst disasters in the country’s history and the costliest, with billions in damages. More than 2,000 homes and other buildings have been burned, and it could take months to put out all of the hot spots for good.
Chabad centers in Canada are offering help in the wake of devastating wildfires that have ravaged Fort McMurray for more than a week. (Photo: Alberta Wildfire Info)
The directors of Chabad Lubavitch of Alberta have been contacting as many people as possible through their database and social media. (Photo: Alberta Wildfire Info)
“We won’t forget about the fire, even when the world has moved on to something else,” says Matusof. “We will still offer assistance and support in its aftermath, when people truly feel the effects of what they’ve lost, including providingmezuzahs for all Jewish homes and businesses in the area.”
He thanks the many individuals and organizations in Calgary and Edmonton for their outpouring of support and care, including people opening up their homes, and donating furniture and clothing. Among them is Akiva Academy in Calgary for accommodating three children into the school for the duration of their stay there.
Chabad centers in this part of Canada encourage feedback on other families in need. They have also started an online drive to support outreach and relief efforts to families and individuals in need; learn more by clicking here.
The fire is being declared one of the worst disasters in the country’s history and the costliest, with billions in damages. (Photo: Alberta Wildfire Info)
The Drelichs try to put smiles on the faces of children as they hand them snacks.
Rabbi Moshe Muller, 43, Passes Away Suddenly in England
The Jewish community in Ilford and beyond is in mourning after learning of the untimely passing of a beloved emissary, Rabbi Moshe Muller, who served as assistant director at the Chabad Lubavitch Centre and assistant rabbi in the Chabad synagogue. by Menachem Posner
Rabbi Moshe Muller served as assistant director at the regional Chabad Lubavitch Centre and assistant rabbi in the Beis Hamedrash Chabad synagogue.
The Jewish community of Ilford, a large suburb northeast of London, was plunged into mourning upon learning of the untimely passing of Rabbi Moshe Muller, 43, who served as assistant director at the regional Chabad Lubavitch Centre and assistant rabbi in the Beis Hamedrash Chabad synagogue.
The rabbi’s responsibilities included youth activities throughout the year, koshering kitchens, wrapping tefillin, checking and replacing mezuzahs, home visits to the infirm and housebound, “under 35” Friday-night meals, classes and special programs, teenage summer and winter programs, festivals and the day-to-day running of the center.
“He was a gentle giant,” says Rabbi Aryeh Sufrin. “For two decades, he was a close friend to so many people here. He and his beautiful family are so much a part of our community in every way.”
Sufrin says the Muller home was open to all, and that the rabbi was “always running to do for others.”
Muller was born in London toYosef and Jenette Muller, who were both involved in the local Chabad organizations.
After learning overseas, including serving as a senior student in Sydney, the newly ordained rabbi returned to London, and began assisting Sufrin and his wife Devorah, who had been directing the Ilford center since 1983.
After his marriage in 1996 to Brocha Bernstein, he took up his position on a full-time basis.
A consummate professional and teacher, Muller guided anyone willing to learn—from beginners to Talmud students, often traveling several hours for a single individual interested in deepening his or her understanding of Judaism.
As many of Muller’s bar mitzvah and youth group students grew up, he expanded his offerings to accommodate them, having recently begun several classes and programs geared specifically for young professionals.
A soft-spoken, self-effacing man, he is remembered as a mentor to many.
The rabbi suffered a sudden heart attack and passed away on Sunday.
Within hours of his passing, two separate fundraising campaigns—one in England and one in the United States—were begun, bringing in thousands of pounds and dollars, respectively, mostly in small donations from hundreds of bereft community members and students.
In addition to his wife and mother, Muller is survived by siblings Rabbi Eli Muller, Rabbi Chaim Muller, Mrs. Malka Zarfati, Mrs. Yael Klyne, Mrs. Sarah Tuller, Mrs. Shoshi Serebryanski, Mrs. Tovah Vidal and Mrs. RivkahHershkowitz. The rabbi is also survived by his children: Chaya Mushka, Mendel, Shoshi, Yitzy, Shimi, Zalman, Yosef and Avraham Yisroel.
To support the Muller family, please visit this site to donate in U.S. dollars and this site for British pounds.
A Jewish ‘Communal Feel’ at Buffett Shareholders Meeting
In Nebraska, the celebration of Shabbat adds to the business palate. by Karen Schwartz
In Nebraska, the celebration of Shabbat adds to the business palate. by Karen Schwartz
A group gathers days before the 2016 Berkshire Hathaway Annual Shareholders Meeting in a local bar that served as a makeshift shul/Chabad Center in Omaha. Top, from left: Avraham Kenner, Andrew Greenwall-Cohen, Arnold Basserabie, Rabbi Mendel Katzman, Gary Yarus, David Cicurel and Rochi Katzman. Bottom, from left: Zelig Katzman, Yossi Katzman, Yisroel Benshimon and Zalmy Cohen
Once a year, Warren Buffett—known as the “Oracle of Omaha” for his investment choices and business acumen—holds an enormous event for company shareholders in his Nebraska hometown. It draws men and women from all over the world, though this year, there was an added nuance for Jewish participants as they maneuvered to get to the middle of the United States.
When Arnold Basserabie was deciding whether to fly in from Johannesburg to Nebraska for the 2016 Berkshire Hathaway Annual Shareholders Meeting on April 30, there were a number of things to consider. Passover was one of them.
Dubbed the “Woodstock for capitalists,” the event held by Buffett, the 85-year-old chairman and CEO of Berkshire Hathaway—an American multinational conglomerate holding company headquartered in Omaha—draws tens of thousands of attendees.
The conference, now in its 51st year, fell during the eight-day holiday for the first time that anyone can remember. Basserabie, like many other Jewish attendees, wanted to know what might be available duringShabbat, which was also the last day of Passover.
So the South African resident contacted Rabbi Mendel and Shani Katzman, who run Chabad-Lubavitch of Nebraska.
“We want visitors to associate strong Jewish feelings with their time here,” says the rabbi, “and for this experience to boost their Judaism as they discover its relevance in the midst of modernity and finance. We endeavor to enlighten guests with intrinsically valuable discussions that offer warmth and meaning, as well as a connection to the Divine amidst the tizzy of business and investing.”
Basserabie decided to attend, and in addition to shareholder events, took part in services and meals with Chabad on Thursday night, Friday morning, Friday night and Saturday morning. Visiting and local yeshivah students helped make the time uplifting and enjoyable, he says.
Warren Buffett (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)
Chabad welcomed more than 100 people over four days, according to Rochi Katzman, coordinator for the weekend’s events for Chabad, hosting many of them in a bar that was transformed into a shul/Chabad Center near the investor event.
The Chabad House has been holding such a program alongside the conference for years, usually beginning on Friday night; this year, they started a day beforehand because of Passover. To that end, they put in place “a makeshift Chabad House downtown to makekosher food and services available to the hundreds of Jewish visitors,” she says.
Saturday-morning services began early to accommodate those heading out to the meeting, and that night after the conclusion of Shabbat, an end-of-Passover Moshiach’sseudah—a special festive banquet focused on redemption—was held.
Yeshivah students flew in from Morristown, N.J., and from Baltimore, joining the Katzmans’ sons Yossi and Zelig in Omaha to lead prayers and be available to chat with guests over the long weekend. Rabbi Katzman also made it a point to thank Rabbi Moshe Kotlarsky, vice chairman of Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch—the educational arm of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement—for logistical assistance, as he has done in years past.
“They were very helpful,” Basserabie says of his Chabad hosts, “and went out of their way to meet my requirements regarding both food and services. They also ensured that the facilities would be within reasonable walking distance of my hotel and the conference center.”
There was good food, good conversation and the opportunity to break bread with other attendees. He especially enjoyed the lively discussion on Friday night, and developing relationships with Jews from around the world. “Chabad of Omaha really excelled in making our weekend meaningful, enjoyable and stimulating,” he says.
As for the conference itself, Basserabie says he was impressed by Buffett’s eagerness to listen to and answer questions comprehensively; his detailed knowledge of the underlying businesses in the group at large; Buffett’s relationship with his partner, Charlie Munger, 92, vice chairman of Berkshire Hathaway; and how they strived to keep things simple in their business deliberations.
He also got a chance to dip into Chabad wisdom. While waiting for services to begin, he picked up a book on theLubavitcher Rebbe—Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory—and was impressed with “his approach to life, his caring for people and his approach to solving problems before him.”
Buffett's home in Omaha (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)
‘Something in Common’
David Cicurel came in from London to attend the investor conference for the first time. While in Omaha, he took part in services and meals with Chabad, and was joined by his son and son-in-law. He says he valued the chance to be part of the pop-up community, noting the “great ruach [‘spirit’] and enthusiasm, as well as the inspiring conversation during the meals.”
He came away from the conference steeped in the wit and intelligence of Buffett and Munger, and their knowledge of facts and figures relating to their business and to the U.S. economy, he says. As for the Jewish-oriented events, “Chabad never disappoints!”
“We came with 38,000 people to listen to two brilliant guys who are great money-makers and want to leave nothing to their children, and ended up spending more time with 10 people trying to pass on our inheritances to our children,” he adds.
Jewish conference-goers gather for a photo before the meeting two years ago, when Chabad events were held at a Hilton Garden Inn.
Attendee Gary Yarus of Miami Beach, Fla., has been attending the conference for the past few decades. He was first invited to Shabbat dinner a handful of years ago when he ran into Rabbi Katzman and a mitzvah mobile in a parking lot during his stay in Omaha.
He traded in the provisions that he brought with him for a warm and friendly Shabbat table that welcomed like-minded conference-goers from all over the world. “I thought it was really wonderful that they reached out,” he says. “I met people I’d never meet, and we all have something in common. It’s just nice to see that there’s a chevra [group], and you feel at home.”
Yarus, who arrived on Thursday—the first day of Chabad activities this year—notes that he encourages other Jewish conference participants he meets to attend the Katzman-run events: “You learn the ways of the business world while talking Torah. You can talk with these bochurim [rabbinical students]—it’s amazing.”
The Chabad element also gives the conference weekend a communal feel. “It’s almost like a family connection. I see friends, people I only see there,” he says. “Buffett gives us a business-perspective check, and because of Chabad, I feel like I don’t have to compromise my Shabbat traditions.”
Rabbi Katzman with guests in 2014
A contingent from California that same year
Community Member Launches Effort to Help Her Rabbi’s Sick Child
The youngest son of Chabad emissaries in Connecticut needs constant care and special medical equipment. by Faygie Levy Holt
Rabbi Mendel Samuels—co-director of Chabad of the Farmington Valley in Weatogue, Conn., with his wife, Blumie—studies with his youngest child, Meir, who has a rare genetic disease called Familial dysautonomia.
Ask anyone who knows him, and they’ll tell you the same thing: Seven-year-old Meir Samuels has the sweetest smile.
Meir, the son of Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries Rabbi Mendel and Blumie Samuels—co-directors of Chabad of the Farmington Valley in Weatogue, Conn.—has a medical condition called Riley-Day syndrome, also known as Familial dysautonomia (FD), a rare genetic disease that affects less than 300 people worldwide.
“It affects everything—Meir’s whole autonomic system, from his ability to swallow to his ability to blink his eyes to his blood pressure and body temperature—all the things we take for granted. It is all uncontrolled,” explains Rabbi Mendel Samuels.
“When he is not well, he rapidly ends up in the hospital. When he’s sick, he looks like a different person,” his father continues. “He’s in pain and just lays there. It can last a week or a month. We just don’t know.”
When the Chabad couple married nearly 24 years ago, they had no way of knowing they were carriers of the disease—one of nearly a dozen genetic illnesses more common among Jews ofAshkenazic descent. Today, notes Samuels, thanks to the efforts of researchers like Dr. Berish Rubin and his colleagues, who discovered the gene mutation that causes FD in 2001, doctors can test for it and other diseases as part of the Jewish Genetic Panel, including Tay-Sachs disease, Gaucher’s disease, Canavan disease and more.
The abilities and health of those with FD varies, but because Meir had a stroke when he was just a year old, he cannot walk or talk. His father says he can communicate a bit through sign language.
Meir Samuels, 7, cannot walk or talk.
Frequent hospitalizations—and the need for constant care and nursing, along with specialized equipment that medical insurance does not cover—have taken an enormous financial toll on the Samuels family. Meir is the youngest of six children.
At one point, their insurance company stopped covering nursing care. The Samuels’ had to start paying for it out of pocket, which further put a toll on their finances.
‘Close to My Heart’
A few months after losing their nursing care, Rabbi Samuels made a trip to the Ohel in Queens, N.Y.—the resting place of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory. There, he prayed and read a pan, a “request,” that he wrote.
Then he read his wife’s letter (she was home with Meir),incorporating a plea for help in this time of hardship and need.
The rabbi hadn’t even left when his cell phone rang. It was a representative from the insurance company, notifying him that their nursing care would be reinstated for 40 hours a week.
“I started crying,” recalls Samuels. “I said to the woman on the phone, ‘Have you ever heard of the Lubavitcher Rebbe?’ She said she had. I told her where I was and what had just happened, and she started crying as well.”
Still, there are many other things the family must cover financially.
Deanna Lieberman, 23, a special-education preschool teacher, is trying to help Meir and his family.
After consulting with the couple, Deanna Lieberman, a special-education preschool teacher in Massachusetts, has createda GoFundMe account to raise money for Meir’s medical bills. Lieberman, a close friend of the Samuels family, grew up in Weatogue, Conn., and has known the family for 15 years. Her parents are active supporters of Chabad; in fact, her father, Andrew Lieberman, is currently president of the Chabad House directed by the Samuels.
“I’ve known Meir since he was born, and because both my mom and I are special-education teachers, this is close to my heart,” says the 23-year-old. “Meir has the biggest smile on his face, no matter what. And I have never met anyone as welcoming as the Samuels. They will give you whatever they have in a heartbeat.”
On the flip side, the Samuels aren’t exactly surprised that she is now giving to them.
“Deanna, following in the footsteps of her parents, has always been very close with Meir; they have a very special connection,” says the rabbi. “When she comes to town, she always stops by to visit with him. It is wonderful to watch how Deanna is so engaged with him. She has a specialneshamah, a special soul.”
In Connecticut are, from left: Deanna Lieberman’s aunt and uncle from Kentucky, Lisa and John Lieberman; her parents, Lauren and Andrew Lieberman; and Deanna.
The Samuels family
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