Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
A great person is often difficult to characterize. We can describe the facets of their personality, their goodness, their strengths and their accomplishments. But all too often, their essential spirit eludes us.
This week marks 71 years since the passing of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson, father of the Rebbe, of righteous memory. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was a halachist and Kabbalist of renown, who led the Jewish community of Yekaterinoslav-Dnepropetrovsk (Ukraine) through the difficult years of the demise of the Czarist empire and the Communist oppression that arose in its wake.
Much has been written, and has yet to be written, about Rabbi Levi Yitzchak (including my articles on his early life and career, his leadership in the Communist era, and his scholarly correspondence with his son).
But for a more transcendent glimpse of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s soul, I recommend that you read Start off on a High Note! by Mendel Rubin (no relation).
In describing the dramatic, joyous uplift of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s lively chassidic dance tune, Mendel captures the unique vigor of his personality. Even under the most oppressive conditions he celebrated his Judaism with remarkable boldness, hope and joy.
And even today, we can all emulate his spirit.
Eli Rubin,
on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team
P.S.: Over the past six months, we’ve experimented with using a new design style. Have you noticed the change? What do you think of the new style? Please share a comment. We really want your feedback. Thanks in advance.
The Editors
The Drama
All the cosmos came to be because G‑d chose to invest His very essence into a great drama: the drama of a lowly world becoming the home of an infinite G‑d. A marriage of opposites, the fusion of finite and infinite, light and darkness, heaven and earth.
We are the players in that drama, the cosmic matchmakers. With our every action, we have the power to marry our mundane world to the Infinite and Unknowable.[Sefer HaSichot 5750, vol. 1, pp. 103f]
This Week's Features:
Printable Magazine
The Times and Teachings of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson
The Times and Teachings of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson (1878–1944)
The life and legacy of the Rebbe’s father
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson, of righteous memory, father of the Rebbe, of righteous memory, was considered one of the greatest Talmudic and Kabbalistic scholars of his generation. He served as the chief rabbi of the city of Dnipropetrovsk, Ukraine, during the bloody Bolshevik revolution and the subsequent Communist oppression. Despite terrible persecution directed at religious leaders in those days, he remained fearlessly defiant in strengthening Jewish learning and practice in his city and throughout the Soviet Union. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was eventually arrested, tortured, and subsequently banished to exile in a remote village in Kazakhstan. His spirit, however, was not extinguished, even while his body was broken and eventually gave way to his early passing.
His selfless efforts for Jews and Judaism even in the face of a sadistic superpower regime determined to leave no trace of them were later tenderly nurtured by his son and disciple, the Rebbe. The Rebbe conducted Soviet Jewry’s affairs clandestinely from afar, and eventually saw the decades of his father’s effort blossom into full bloom upon the fall of the Iron Curtain and thepublic resurgence of Jewish life there.
Soviet Jewry, however, is not alone in the debt of gratitude it owes to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. His personal example, demonstrating how Judaism will survive against all odds and how we must adhere steadfastly and proudly to its ideals, serves as a shining beacon of inspiration for all of us today, and for all generations to come.
We are likewise collectively indebted to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and his life’s partner, Rebbetzin Chana, of righteous memory, for giving us the Rebbe, whose application of their teachings and way of life to all the rest of us changed the very course of world Jewry.
A collection of first-hand accounts, stories, and even the rebbitzen’s personal diary chronicling Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s valiant struggle to maintain Jewish life under Soviet oppression.
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Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was a profound kabbalist and a renowned Talmudist. Here are a few vignettes of his prodigious scholarship.
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On the 20th of Av—yartzeit of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak—the Rebbe would dedicate special talks to the teachings and legacy of his illustrious father.
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Translations of surviving letters the Rebbe wrote concerning his father, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson.
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Read the diary of the woman who shared Rabbi Yitzchak’s life. These personal entries paint a vivid picture of the valiant struggle to strengthen Judaism in the face of the harshest oppression.
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Memories of the people who knew Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, as well as a number of addresses by his son, the Rebbe.
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This joyous tune traditionally sung at the hakafot was a favorite of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. Here you can watch it sung by the Rebbe, his son.
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Rabbi Levi Yitzchak fought courageously to uphold Jewish life in Yekaterinoslav, where
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Your Questions
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Everyone knows that Jewish weddings take place under a chupah under the open skies. But no one I ask seems to know why. Is there a reason for this?
How Long Have We Been Using It?The word chupah appears as far back as the Bible, although it referred to a canopy or chamber designated for either the bride or groom before the wedding.1 Later, in the Mishnaic period, the word chupah came to refer to the marriage itself.2 And for the last 500 years or so, the word chupah has come to refer to the conventional canopy that is made of cloth and held up by four poles, as well as the ceremony that takes place beneath it.The Double Meaning of the ChupahA Jewish wedding is the sublime joining of two souls, but it is also an intricate legal transaction, by which bride and groom enter a mutually binding commitment. Many components of the wedding have both a legal as well as a spiritual aspect to them.Chupah as PlaceOn a legal level, the chupah’s function is for the bride and groom to be brought to a specially designated place (of unique appearance3 ) expressly for the purpose of marriage, thus effecting the phase of marriage known as nisuin.4The chupah has taken on various forms throughout the millennia. For example, at one point there was a custom to construct a hut-like structure made out of flowers and myrtle as the chupah under which the marriage would take place.5 Chupah as ActionAccording to other halachic sources, an action demonstrating the intention to designate the bride as a wife is sufficient to fulfill the legal mandate.Therefore, a custom developed to drape both the bride and groom with a cloth or a tallit6 during the blessing of the marriage ceremony. This is based on Ruth’s request to Boaz7 to “spread [his] robe over [his] handmaid.”8 Alternatively, just the bride would be covered with a veil,9 following the ancient practice that is first recorded in the Bible regarding the marriage of our ancestors Isaac and Rebecca: “She took the veil and covered herself.”10 The Conventional ChupahSometime around the 16th century, and perhaps a bit earlier, there emerged the present-day custom of getting married under a canopy of cloth held up by four poles,11 which serves as a designated room—with four doorways12—into which the groom invites his bride.13This combines both the “special-place chupah” and the “special-action chupah” (since the couple is covered by a cloth). The canopied ceremony is also preceded by the groom covering the bride with a veil, so that that element is there as well.14 After getting married under the canopy, the bride and groom seclude themselves together—yet another form of chupah.15 (Each element is integral and should not be discarded. After all, the new Jewish home must be founded upon the strongest possible Torah foundation.) Why OutsideThe custom is that the chupah be placed outdoors under the open sky, symbolizing that the couple should receive the blessing that G‑d gave our forefather Abraham: “I will greatly multiply your seed as the stars of the heavens and as the sand that is on the seashore . . .”16 17On a Spiritual NoteThe canopy held up by four poles forms a chamber with four oversized doorways, one on each side.According to Jewish tradition, Abraham and Sarah were so passionate about the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim, inviting guests, that they built a special tent with an opening on each side. That way, guests could walk straight in regardless of which direction they were coming from. When a bride and groom are forming the foundation of their future life, they do so under a canopy with four “doorways,” symbolizing their commitment to build a household that mirrors this tradition of goodness and kindness.
Rabbi Yehuda Shurpin responds to questions for Chabad.org's Ask the Rabbi service.
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Your Questions
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 Question:My son just got engaged to a wonderful Jewish girl, thank G‑d. We love and adore her—she is so good to him. But there is one issue: She has zero interest in Judaism. She thinks it’s “mostly rubbish,” but I know this is out of ignorance. I go to classes at my synagogue and ask her if she wants to join, but she never does. She eats ham and cheese sandwiches! How can I show her, involve her, embrace her, without being the revolting jam-it-down-your-throat type? I want to explain to her how easy keeping kosher is, how wonderful it is to keep a Jewish home, how it adds to your life and does not detract, etc. What do you think I can say to turn her around?Answer:Here is the best thing you can say to her: nothing.Don’t mention Judaism. Don’t tell her about the great Jewish book you have been reading. Don’t explain to her why you braid the challah. Don’t invite her to come to classes with you, and don’t give her a rundown afterwards of what she missed. Just do your thing. Be an example of a Jewish woman whose life is enriched by Torah. Be good to her, nice to her, accepting of her. Embrace her as she is right now. This will speak louder than any lecture you could give. If one day she asks you a question about Judaism, give her an honest and meaningful answer. But wait for the interest to arise from within her. In time she may come to it herself, in her own way. You have to let her travel her own path. This may not come naturally to you, but it will be better in the end. Pushing her will only push her away, from Judaism and from you. Many people turn to religion when they witness an open miracle. Well, you can perform a miracle right now. When she sees her passionate and outspoken mother-in-law letting her be, she will have to concede that indeed there must be a G‑d.
Aron Moss is rabbi of the Nefesh Community in Sydney, Australia, and is a frequent contributor to Chabad.org.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
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20 Av: Yahrtzeit of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak
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When you think of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson—father of the Rebbe, of righteous memory—what comes to mind?
Historians may recall his years of rabbinic leadership in Yekatrinoslav-Dnipropetrovsk, beginning in the Czarist era and bravely continuing in the face of intense Communist oppression. Others may best appreciate the profound Kabbalistic insights preserved in the lengthy letters he wrote to his son, and in the notes transcribed in the margins of the few precious books he had during his painful years of exile. But all chassidim, young and old, and of every inclination, are swept up in the euphoric, dramatic, joyous uplift of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s lively chassidic dance tune, Nigun Hakafot. It is told that this nigun is an old Chabad melody, dating back to the Simchat Torah hakafot (dancing) of the Alter Rebbe. But everyone refers to this nigun as “Reb Leivik’s Nigun” or “the Rebbe’s Father’s Nigun.” For many, this melody is how we best remember Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. There’s something different about this nigun, especially the way we heard the Rebbe sing it, which is most likely the way he heard it from his father. Most chassidic melodies start low and work their way up, the higher notes reserved for later in the melody. This reflects the question and answer of a nigun, as it mirrors and guides life’s struggles, and the gradual buildup of fortitude and inner strength to overcome challenges and obstacles, to arrive at higher and deeper levels of spiritual consciousness. A nigun works its way inward and upward, level by level, seeking and finding, then seeking anew. Not Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s melody. This nigun surges from the start. Watch how the Rebbe leads this song at the farbrengens (chassidic gatherings). True, the second stanza reaches even higher, especially when the Rebbe emphasized and encouraged it, but like the opening stanza, it starts on a high note. You have to gird yourself to take that leap, to jump above the fray, with vibrant and spirited chords of certainty and triumph. The Rebbe led this song at hakafot celebrations and farbrengens, continuing his father’s legacy. His singing emphasized the dramatic uplift, peaking at the very start of the melody. The Rebbe referred to this song as der emeser ra’ash—the truly dynamic uproar. To understand and appreciate this nigun, consider the image of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak singing this song on a Simchat Torah night in his place of exile. Rebbetzin Chana, his devoted wife, describes that night in her memoirs: We didn’t yet have a Torah in our possession. Our guest who ate his Yom Tov meals with us found work as a night watchman, and had to spend his nights in the fields guarding produce, so now he could come only during the day. Thus, only I was present with my husband in our room that night.Remember the context. This righteous man, a scholar and mystic, a teacher and communal leader, was exiled from home and community to a remote and distant village, with no one aside from his wife with whom to celebrate the holiday. Food was scarce, his health was failing, life there was extremely primitive. They were alone and isolated. But it was Simchat Torah, a time when one must dance with the Torah. He didn’t have a scroll, so he danced with one of the few Jewish books he had. He sang this song in that desolate place, the same way he had sung it back home in the synagogue. The reality is that we all have times when we’re down, when things fall apart, when life feels glum and the future feels bleak. We may feel isolated and alone; we may be missing resources and necessities. Everyone has their own challenges and difficulties. But like Reb Levi Yitzchak, we can still muster the strength to sing the type of song that is full of joy and hope, that starts right from the top, that allows no room for sadness, hopelessness, or even a gradual climb. We can have courage, we can be bold, we can soar way up to the heights with strength. There’s a vast repertoire of chassidic melodies that represent the spectrum of human emotion, various occasions of life and our personal spiritual journeys. Yet from time to time we must make room in our complex, confused and struggling hearts for Reb Levi Yitzchak’s melody, which soars from the outset, without even a need to climb.
Rabbi Mendel Rubin and his wife, Raizy, co-direct the Shabbos House Rohr Chabad Jewish Student Center in Albany, New York. He also teaches at the local Maimonides School.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
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20 Av: Yahrtzeit of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak
The Life and Writings of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson—Part Two | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
This article covers the life and rabbinic leadership of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson in Yekaterinoslav-Dnipropetrovsk during the first decade of the Bolshevik regime. On his early life and leadership during the Czarist era, see The Life and Writings of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson—Part One. An Era of Darkness UnfoldsAs the second decade of the twentieth century came to a close, World War I had finally come to an end, and Europe seemed to be heading into a new era of peace and rejuvenation. Russia, however, was spiraling deeper into humanitarian and economic crisis. Having signed the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk with the Central Powers in 1918, the forces of the Red Army were gradually consolidating power. Despite bitter opposition from the White Army and other anti-communist forces, they gradually drew the suffocating folds of Bolshevism across the former Czarist empire.Ukraine and Southern Russia saw some of the heaviest and most prolonged fighting between the Whites, the Reds and other military factions. Throughout this difficult period of strife, danger and uncertainty, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson continued to lead the Jewish community of Yekaterinoslav. At the end of 1919, Bolshevik forces finally gained permanent control of the city. Rostov on the Don, where Rabbi Shalom DovBer Schneersohn of Lubavitch had been living since the winter of 1915, was conquered a few months later.1 
Detail from 1923 letter of thanks to Dr. Joseph Rosen, with R. Levi Yitzchak's signature. Inset: digitly enhanced rendering of R. Levi Yitzchak's signature. The complete document can be viewed below.
While the czars had never been great friends of the Jewish people, they had never pursued systematic policies to destroy the central institutions of Jewish life. If anything, things had slowly been moving in a positive direction, with R. Shalom DovBer and his allies building ever-closer ties with governmental officials.3 But the designated “Jewish branch” of the Communist Party, the Yevsektsiya, was determined to destroy the religious heart of Jewish society. As this new threat was looming over the Jewish people, R. Shalom DovBer’s health rapidly deteriorated. On 2 Nissan (21 March) 1920 he passed away, leaving the community to confront an existential threat without his clearheaded foresight and fearless leadership.4 Thirty years later, Rebbetzin Chana, R. Levi Yitzchak’s wife, recalled that dark day in her memoir: I remember when the news arrived. At the time, contact by mail and railway was very poor. Yet we came to know of it that same day. Reorganization and ResilienceThe next few years were particularly desperate. Large swaths of Russia were gripped by famine and disease, and Chabad chassidim were scattered and disoriented. But R. Shalom DovBer’s son and successor, R. Yosef Yitzchak, had the fortitude to rise above his personal tragedy, raising funds and rallying the chassidim to reorganize and rebuild.In a letter penned the following summer, R. Yosef Yitzchak wrote: No one person can take on such a project without the help of beloved friends, each in their place . . . rallying the chassidim, and drawing people closer to service of G‑d. . . . It occurred to me to divide the country into sections. . . . I settled one of our students in Moscow . . . another in Chernigov . . . my friend (the addressee) is in Kharkov . . . and my relative Reb Leivik is in Yekaterinoslav. All of us together will work to make Torah study groups. . . . People will study and be inspired to actual service of G‑d . . . not sitting with folded arms . . .6By this time the Communist crackdown on religion had began in earnest, and in addition to his work on a local level, R. Levi Yitzchak was called upon to help orchestrate a general protest. After the Yevsektsiya threatened to close the Tomchei Temimim yeshivah, whose main center was then located in Rostov, R. Yosef Yitzchak’s son-in-law, Rabbi Shmaryahu Gourary, wrote to R. Levi Yitzchak: As they plotted, so they acted. They planted a sword in the study hall and said, “Anyone who enters will be run through!” Although they have not yet been able to actually expel the students and send them for hard labor . . . if we sit idle, with folded arms, only G‑d knows how it will end . . .If R. Levi Yitzchak successfully organized such a protest, it made little impact on the authorities. A sham trial was held, R. Shmaryahu was jailed for several days, all of R. Yosef Yitzchak’s possessions were confiscated, and theyeshivah was closed.8 From this point on, the students of Yeshivah Tomchei Temimim Lubavitch were forced to study underground, dispersing and opening clandestine branches of the yeshivah in towns and cities across the Soviet Union. When one branch would be discovered and shut down, the students and staff who managed to evade arrest would move to another location, either joining an existing branch or establishing a new one. With time Yekaterinoslav (or Dnipropetrovsk, as the city was renamed in 1926) would also host groups of yeshivah students, with a large contingent relocating there following the closure of the yeshivah in Nevel at the end of 1928.9 Famine and ReliefLed by an authoritative rabbinate and a philanthropic lay leadership, Yekaterinoslav’s Jewish community had previously run a wide range of religious and social institutions, including a hospital, orphanage and soup kitchen. But now the rabbis were relentlessly persecuted, the wealthy patrons had been robbed of their assets or forced to flee abroad, and the communal institutions were seized and shut down. Under these circumstances, only the synagogues and the burial society continued to function; mikvaot (ritual baths for the observance of family sanctity laws) and chadarim (traditional Jewish schools) were forced to operate secretly.10In the summer of 1921, R. Levi Yitzchak’s colleague in the Yekaterinoslav rabbinate, Rabbi Pinchos Gelman, was struck down by cancer and passed away. All the weight of the struggling community, numbering nearly a hundred thousand souls, now fell on R. Levi Yitzchak’s shoulders.11 The summer of 1921 also saw the beginnings of a famine that devastated the entire region. According to figures compiled by the Jewish Burial Society in Yekaterinoslav, more than two thousand Jews died of starvation, typhus, cholera, consumption, spotted fever and other famine-related diseases during the course of the year. Another 3,137 deaths were recorded for the first half of 1922 alone.12 In mid-1922 several humanitarian organizations, led by the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (known as “the Joint”), began pouring aid into the region, setting up medical clinics, orphanages and soup kitchens, and supplying farmers with agricultural equipment and resources.13 They managed to gain the trust of the Soviet authorities, and often provided relief to non-Jews alongside Jews.14 In the wake of these efforts the situation quickly improved, and in July 1923 the Jewish Telegraphic Agency (JTA) reported that “the mortality of Jews in Ekaterynoslav, Ukrainse (sic), has been reduced to less than one twentieth of the 1922 rate. Figures for March 1922 showed 786 deaths in Ekaterinoslav, while for March this year, only 36 deaths occurred in the Jewish population. Of the 786 deaths in March of last year, 283 were due to starvation while during the same period this year only one died there of hunger.”15 As leader of the Jewish community, R. Levi Yitzchak was deeply involved in the relief effort, and appears as the first signatory on an official certificate of thanks issued by the Yekaterinoslav Jewish community to Dr. Joseph A. Rosen of the Joint: The Jewish community in our city . . . considers it a pleasant obligation to communicate our thanks and blessing for all your tremendous achievements for the good of wretched people; for every trouble that should not come on our poor brethren . . . the aforementioned honorable committee comes like a saving angel to rescue them; to sustain the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick, to provide fuel to stoke the fires on cold winter days . . . An Invitation to JerusalemIn the spring of 1924, R. Yosef Yitzchak received a letter from the Chabad community in Jerusalem making known their intention to appoint R. Levi Yitzchak as their rabbi, and enclosing an invitation to be forwarded to him. In response, R. Yosef Yitzchak wrote:Your letter, together with the letter for my relative the famed rabbi and gaon R. Levi Yitzchak, arrived in order. I’m inclined to the idea, and agree that if only the honored rabbi and gaon will agree to your suggestion, you should make every possible effort to achieve this. I have fulfilled your request and sent your letter to the honored rabbi and gaon, my relative.17This was the first of several opportunities, over the course of more than a decade, that would have given R. Levi Yitzchak a way to escape the increasing weight of Soviet oppression. Ten years later he was invited to become chief rabbi of Tel Aviv–Jaffa, and he was also asked to head a congregation in the United States, but none of these proposals came to fruition. Rebbetzin Chana later recalled that “when the topic of possibly emigrating from the Soviet Union came up, my husband always declared that he had no right to do so”: If he would leave, he argued, there would be no more kosher meat in his region, no observance of family sanctity laws or Jewish religious practice in general. Since he couldn’t see anyone else taking responsibility for all this, how could he possibly forsake it all? Regarding immigration to the Land of Israel, his opinion was that he wasn’t at a lofty enough spiritual level to live there. “A Jew shouldn’t immigrate to the land of Israel only for the sake of his livelihood,” he would say.18In 1939, under interrogation by the Soviet secret police, R. Levi Yitzchak gave an account of some of these episodes, acknowledging that later in life he himself initiated a request for a visa to the Holy Land, “but I never applied to receive an exit pass for any one of those visas.” When asked why he requested a visa but never applied to leave the USSR, he explained his general position regarding immigration and the specific circumstances under which he did seek to travel to the Land of Israel: I don’t wish to travel to Palestine for arbitrary purposes; therefore I refused to travel there in 1925, 1924. Later, when I grew older, I wanted to travel there only because I am a believing Jew, and I wanted to live out the rest of my life there and be buried in the Holy Land. However the illness of my son, Berel, prevented me from traveling.19Invitations from such prestigious communities are a sign of how well regarded R. Levi Yitzchak was even beyond the borders of Soviet Russia. But instead of exchanging his struggle for a position where he would be treated with due honor and respect, he chose to remain in increasingly dire circumstances, in order to ensure that the spark of Judaism would not be extinguished, and to remain close to his ailing son. His interrogators asked him how the Jerusalem community knew of his status and expertise though he lived so far away, and the government transcript records his simple response, “I don’t know.”20 A Powerful PersonaIn the face of increasing anti-religious antagonism from the authorities, and subject to exorbitant “clerical” taxation, many rabbis felt compelled to lower their profile or even to abandon their posts.21 But R. Levi Yitzchak refused to be intimidated. He maintained the city’s religious institutions and openly encouraged his constituents to strengthen their commitment to Jewish life and learning, both personally and financially. At a time when mikvaot were being shut down, he was building new ones. He was widely known and respected throughout the city, commanding great influence even among card-carrying communists.22Zvi Harkavy, editor of the Yekaterinoslav-Dnepropetrovsk memorial book and a grandson of Moshe Karpas (the leading opponent of R. Levi Yitzchak’s initial candidacy23), came of age during the early Communist period, and recalled the “powerful charisma” of R. Levi Yitzchak’s persona: In truth, he was worthy of being a chassidic rebbe. . . . I remember him standing on the platform in the synagogue on Kazatzia Street, before the Musaf prayer on the festival of Shavuot, orating with flaming passion on the image of the Messiah.24To openly espouse so vigorous a vision of Jewish perpetuation and triumph was dangerous enough; to raise funds on behalf of Chabad’s underground yeshivah network was even more audacious. Rabbi Meir Gurkov was a graduate of the original Tomchei Temimim yeshivah in Lubavitch, and acted as a traveling fundraiser for the network between 1925 and 1927. When he came to a town, he would discreetly make himself known to those who could be trusted, and most would not run the risk of allowing him to make a public appeal in their synagogues. When he came to Yekaterinoslav-Dnipropetrovsk, however, he received a much warmer reception: I spent one Shabbat as a guest in the home of the Rebbe’s father, the scholarly genius, rabbi and chassid, R. Levi Yitzchak Schneerson. I prayed in his synagogue, and he greatly honored me, inviting me to speak following the reading of the Torah from up on the platform and explain the purpose of my arrival. That Shabbat I derived tremendous pleasure from his holy talk, and also from the chassidic teachings that he spoke with such fiery devotion, deep concepts explained according to Kabbalistic teachings . . .Rebbetzin Chana recalled that the mikvah built by R. Levi Yitzchak in the courtyard of the New Piyorovi Street synagogue continued to be used after the synagogue and mikvah were officially closed by the authorities, and even after R. Levi Yitzchak himself was arrested and exiled.26 Under interrogation following his arrest in 1939, R. Levi Yitzchak admitted that he was “guilty” of building another mikvah in the courtyard of the Kotsuvinskiya Street synagogue. Q. “Tell the investigators about your part in building an illegal mikvah in the city of Dnipropetrovsk.” A Secret MeetingWith the government doing everything possible to subdue the religious character of Jewish life, any amount of publicity for those actively promoting Torah study and mitzvah observance was downright dangerous. The individual who stood to lose the most was R. Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, who was then leading the struggle for survival from his base in Leningrad, the Communist capital.28 His operations were generally conducted in secrecy, but towards the end of 1926 the struggle to preserve Torah-true Judaism again became an issue of national prominence.29In R. Yosef Yitzchak’s view, it was crucial that the Jewish lay populence look to G‑d-fearing and scholarly rabbis for communal leadership and religious inspiration. Under wavering and unlearned leaders the bar would be set ever lower, and as governmental persecution increased, general religious commitment would dissolve all the faster. R. Yosef Yitzchak was therefore doubly concerned when lay leaders of the Leningrad Jewish community sought to convene a national meeting. Aside from the unwanted attention such a meeting would draw, R. Yosef Yitzchak argued that a meeting convened by lay leaders, many of whom did not themselves live religious lives, could easily play into the hands of the Yevsektsiya. Any suggestion that Jewish law and learning was not of utmost concern would be translated into an admission that Jewish religious life was an outmoded relic better replaced by communism.30 At the same time a group of traditional rabbis, led by Rabbi Shmuel Kipnis, sought to convene a rabbinic assembly in Korosten, Ukraine, in an effort to gain governmental recognition of the religious Jewish communities and their rabbinic leadership. Before acting upon his plan, R. Kipnis traveled to Leningrad to consult with R. Yosef Yitzchak. As the de facto leader of Russian Jewry, no such meeting could legitimately take place without his consent.31 Following his arrest in 1939, R. Levi Yitzchak’s interrogators cross-examined him about his role in the deliberations surrounding these proposed meetings: Q. “We know through our investigations that you attended and took an active part in a secret meeting of rabbis in the city of Leningrad, which occurred in 1927. Do you confirm this?”According to R. Levi Yitzchak’s testimony the meetings were attended by a select group of influential rabbis and lay leaders, and took place both in R. Yosef Yitzchak’s apartment and in the home of Rabbi David Tevel Katzenelenbogen, the chief rabbi of Leningrad. It is noteworthy that he was careful only to mention the names of individuals who were either no longer alive or who had safely left the country. As to the outcome of these meetings, R. Levi Yitzchak testified, “I formed the opinion that the congress should take place.” R. Yosef Yitzchak, however, “was opposed to the organization of a congress to discuss these issues.” While some might suppose that R. Levi Yitzchak was attempting to disassociate himself from R. Yosef Yitzchak’s stance, such a reading coheres neither with his forthright character nor with the record of his interrogations. In the very first session, without even being asked, he openly admits to the “crime” of being a lifelong adherent of Chabad chassidism, and on several occasions he freely discusses his strong family ties with R. Yosef Yitzchak, whose daughter would marry his oldest son in 1928. R. Levi Yitzchak’s testimony seems to reflect a genuine difference of opinion; R. Yosef Yitzchak did not call on R. Levi Yitzchak to act as a “yes man,” but because he could be relied upon to offer independent opinion and perspective. This also reflects R. Levi Yitzchak’s general stance vis-à-vis the Soviet authorities. He refused to run and hide, and openly confronted the authorities with his Judaism. On another occasion he publicly exhorted his constituency to declare their personal religious faith on official documentation,33 and in this case he advocated a similar stance on a communal level. R. Yosef Yitzchak’s reservations stemmed from the potential fallout of the proposed conferences. While he agreed that the effort to convince the Soviet government to officially recognize the religious communities and their leadership was a worthy cause, he correctly assumed that it would not be successful. His apprehension that these efforts would elicit even greater persecution also came to unfortunate realization. The conference proposed by the Leningrad lay leaders never took place, but the one organized by Rabbi Kipnis was convened in October 1926. R. Levi Yitzchak and R. Yosef Yitzchak did not attend, but it never would have taken place without the latter’s consent and financial support. Many of the participants were Chabad chassidim, and R. Yosef Yitzchak was declared the honorary president in absentia. This raised the ire of the authorities, and was one of the factors that led to R. Yosef Yitzchak’s arrest in June 1927.34 A Long-Distance CelebrationFollowing his arrest, R. Yosef Yitzchak was initially imprisoned, then exiled, and ultimately released on condition that he leave the Soviet Union.35 Select members of his family and household were also allowed to leave alongside him, among them R. Levi Yitzchak’s oldest son, R. Menachem Mendel, who was by then the intended husband of R. Yosef Yitzchak’s second daughter, Chaya Mushka.36 It was hoped that R. Levi Yitzchak and Rebbetzin Chana would be permitted to travel to Warsaw to participate in the wedding celebration, but the authorities refused to accommodate their request.37The enforced separation did not prevent R. Levi Yitzchak and Rebbetzin Chana from participating wholeheartedly in the celebration. “Our hearts were deeply distressed,” Rebbetzin Chana later recalled, “but we banished the anguish by rejoicing.”38 In one of several letters written to his son in the week before the wedding, which took place at the end of 1928, R. Levi Yitzchak wrote: Do not be anxious that we, your father and your mother, are not together with you for your wedding. . . . We are with you in our hearts and souls, and no spatial distance can separate us in this regard at all. We are absolutely together, literally united.39These were not mere words. The deep-felt joy exuded by R. Menachem Mendel’s parents swept up all their acquaintances, and the entire Jewish community of Dnipropetrovsk joined them in the exuberant wedding celebrations. R. Levi Yitzchak’s brother, R. Shmuel, traveled to the city to participate, and vividly described the rejoicing in a letter to the newlywed couple. “The measure of the preparations and the rejoicing,” he wrote, “was truly as if you were literally here, not only in spirit but also in body.” Invitations were sent out for a wedding feast in R. Levi Yitzchak’s home, and the festivities began several days earlier, on the Shabbat preceding the special day. Many people gathered in R. Levi Yitzchak’s synagogue, and after the morning prayers a celebratory kiddush was held. With true chassidic exuberance the assembled danced, not only the floor but on the tables too. For several days an unending stream of congratulatory telegrams poured in from across Russia and beyond.40 The wedding itself was all-night affair. It began with formal speeches on the part of R. Levi Yitzchak, his brother, and several community notables. All the synagogues in the city were represented, and the Jewish community council presented two official scrolls of blessing, one addressed to R. Levi Yitzchak and the other to R. Menachem Mendel. Hundreds of Jews from all sectors of the community converged on the Schneerson home, many of them standing packed together to participate in the celebration. Following the speeches, local musicians began to play, and the exuberant dancing lasted till the morning. For Rebbetzin Chana, the highlight of the evening was when her husband danced together with his brother R. Shmuel, and with her father, R. Meir Shlomo Yanovski. “The rabbis continued to dance for a long while,” she later wrote. “Everyone present remained standing, and couldn’t hold back their tears; this was the bittersweet sort of celebration it was.”41 R. Levi Yitzchak requested, then insisted, that R. Meir Shlomo dance with his daughter, Rebbetzin Chana, so that she too could give full expression to the pride, joy and hope with which her soul overflowed.42 The exalted atmosphere was tinged by a faint cloud of apprehension. But for a brief moment, the small space in R. Levi Yitzchak’s home had been lifted into a realm where the stifling grip of Soviet repression no longer mattered. “In the morning,” Rebbetzin Chana recalled, “everyone left to their daytime jobs. My husband’s inspiration had somehow transported them into a different world. No one wanted to consider what price they might pay for showing us such friendship and participating in the celebration. As they were about to leave, Dr. Baruch Motzkin and a lawyer who was a grandson of Rabbi Yitzchak Elchanan told me that in their entire lives they had never experienced such a remarkable night, nor will they ever forget this unique celebration and my husband’s powerful spiritual energy.”43 Over the course of the next decade R. Menachem Mendel and his father carried on an extensive correspondence, delving deeply into the most esoteric aspects of Torah thought. At the same time, R. Levi Yitzchak maintained the struggle for Judaism in the face of ever-increasing constraints. But with R. Levi Yitzchak’s arrest in 1939, and the outbreak of World War II, the lines of communication between them were cut.44 Tragically, his often expressed hope that he would soon be reunited with his beloved son and daughter-in-law was not to be fulfilled. In 1947, after twenty years of separation, Rebbetzin Chana was reunited with her son in Paris.45 R. Levi Yitzchak’s letters to his son, his activities in Dnipropetrovsk during the 1930s, his enforced exile to Kazakhstan, and the several volumes of manuscripts that survive from that period will be described in a sequel to the present article. 
Eli Rubin is a writer and researcher. He is chiefly interested in chassidic thought and history, rationalism and mysticism, as well as general Jewish studies.
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20 Av: Yahrtzeit of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak
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 Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson, of righteous memory, father of the Rebbe, of righteous memory, was considered one of the greatest Talmudic and Kabbalistic scholars of his generation. He served as the chief rabbi of the city of Dnipropetrovsk, Ukraine, during the bloody Bolshevik revolution and the subsequent Communist oppression. Despite terrible persecution directed at religious leaders in those days, he remained fearlessly defiant in strengthening Jewish learning and practice in his city and throughout the Soviet Union. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was eventually arrested, tortured, and subsequently banished to exile in a remote village in Kazakhstan. His spirit, however, was not extinguished, even while his body was broken and eventually gave way to his early passing.His selfless efforts for Jews and Judaism even in the face of a sadistic superpower regime determined to leave no trace of them were later tenderly nurtured by his son and disciple, the Rebbe. The Rebbe conducted Soviet Jewry’s affairs clandestinely from afar, and eventually saw the decades of his father’s effort blossom into full bloom upon the fall of the Iron Curtain and the public resurgence of Jewish life there. Soviet Jewry, however, is not alone in the debt of gratitude it owes to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. His personal example, demonstrating how Judaism will survive against all odds and how we must adhere steadfastly and proudly to its ideals, serves as a shining beacon of inspiration for all of us today, and for all generations to come. We are likewise collectively indebted to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and his life’s partner, Rebbetzin Chana, of righteous memory, for giving us the Rebbe, whose application of their teachings and way of life to all the rest of us changed the very course of world Jewry.
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Parshah
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“It’s a very appropriate video, Mommy. Look, it’s Jewish.”
I circled around to face my MacBook. How in the world did he find that clip? Probably through the endless video options that YouTube so generously provides relating to your initial video. He’s become so savvy, so self-sufficient, it’s scary. As much as I try to be vigilant, the transitions on the Web are so smooth, and the options are so tempting, that it’s too hard to monitor what the kids pull up. Mine are still too young to be looking for trouble on the Web and are quite entertained by Jewish music videos and plays about the holidays, but I’m concerned about their growing addiction to YouTube. So I laid down a new law. I sat next to them and broke it to How in the world did he find that clip?them gently. “You are amazing kids. I’m so thrilled that G‑d trusted me to raise you. You’re smart and good-natured. And my job is to help you grow smarter and more sensitive. Here’s the thing: watching lots of video clips on the Internet doesn’t help you become smarter. If anything, it can stop you from thinking, do you know what I mean? It’s not that anything you watch is bad, it’s just often silly. And the worst part about surfing the Web is that it’s addictive; it pulls you in and starts to control you.” I think they got it. “From now on, you are welcome to listen to music, audio stories, and even watch occasional DVDs, but no Internet.” “What about you, Mommy? How are you going to do your work without the Internet?” asked Chana. “Well,” I gulped, “we’re not shutting down the Internet. I may use it after you guys go to bed.” “Oh.” Note to self: Don’t let the Internet make you less smart. Don’t watch silly things. (Hey, if I said it to the kids, I can say it to myself.) Use the Web for work, but don’t kick off your shoes and let too much of your time get lost in cyberspace. Of course, it all starts with serious stuff: research, networking, writing. But then there’s always a little gossip, a little shopping and a little bit of nothing important. Would life be of a higher quality without the distraction of the Internet? At its most benign, the Internet provides us with entertainment and distraction. At its most malignant, it’s screen addiction and pornography experimentation. Some conservative-minded people see the World Wide Web as the devil incarnate because it’s a slippery slope of stimulation and temptation, with billions of vendors vying for your click and luring you at every corner and website. Is the wisest response to the Web to stay away? That’s got to be very inconvenient, but it kind of makes sense. What do you think G‑d would prefer? Does G‑d find the World Wide Web impressive or abhorrent? Let’s keep in mind that He’s the One who masterminded Internet technology. True, it took tremendous human ingenuity to develop the Web, but one can argue that people simply uncovered an amazing feature of G‑d’s universe: Light can carry encoded signals and then transmit that information! This optical networking system is the technology that enables the Internet. The Midrash says that “everything that G‑d created, He created for His glory.”1 From electricity to sound waves, everything was created with a clear intention, and generally speaking that intention is to benefit G‑d. But let’s be realistic; most people I know are not thinking about G‑d’s glory when they go online. Here’s the core question: How do we use Internet technology to reveal G‑d’s glory without getting caught in its claws of mental decay? The Torah addresses a similar question about money. According to the Midrash, the reason that the Jewish people made the golden calf was because they had a surplus of gold.2 After the Egyptians drowned in the Sea of Reeds, the Jews had collected the gold that washed ashore. When Moses left them for 40 days, they felt abandoned, and they made an idol out of their abundant gold. Later on the prophet Hosea rebuked the Jewish people, saying, “I gave her much silver and gold, but they made it for Baal (idol worship).”3 Does this sound familiar? When our idealism fades away, there’s always something we can fall back upon for joy and stimulation: money, and all that money can buy. The more money we have, the easier it is to become dependent on it for stimulation and security. When we’re not sure that G‑d’s with us, we worship gold. That was the story of the golden calf.4 In Parshat Eikev, Moses talks to the Jews about that terrible mistake they made 39 years prior, making a golden calf. Does this sound familiar?He remembers out loud when he persistently begged G‑d to forgive the Jews for their mistake, and how G‑d finally forgave them.5 And then G‑d told Moses what the Jews should do next—build the Tabernacle, His sanctuary on earth. G‑d asked the people to contribute the raw materials for construction, and the first resource He mentioned was gold!6 There was a lot of gold in the Tabernacle: the menorah was carved from solid gold; the ark was lined and overlaid with gold; the table of the showbread, the frankincense vessels and the spoons were all gold. It seems ironic that in the immediate aftermath of the worship of gold, G‑d would advise the recovering gold addicts to focus on glitz and gold again. Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to take a break from all that gold? The obvious message from G‑d was not to reject gold, even though it had been misused. Their fall with the golden calf didn’t incriminate the gold, only the people who lacked the maturity to use it wisely. As far as gold itself, the Midrash says, “The world is not worthy enough to use gold, so why was it created? For the Tabernacle and the Temple.”7 First Moses broke the tablets, and the Jews had a rude awakening: they’d gone too far. Their worship of gold had brought them to a place of dysfunction and self-destruction. They changed their attitude toward gold, and Moses in turn brought their feelings of remorse to G‑d, as he pleaded for their forgiveness for 40 days. So the gold was making them stronger already. They were consciously rejecting its allure and worship. G‑d created the glitz and glamour of materialism so that human beings would wrestle with it. Every time a person chooses not to overindulge or overfocus on materialism, she is playing right into G‑d’s master plan. Overcoming temptation makes us stronger, and G‑d wants us to be stronger. Pushing back against our base instincts lifts up G‑d’s glory in a big way.8 Then G‑d says, “You have gold; do something great with it. Make something special and G‑dly with that gold. That’s why I created it.” And that’s the second step in rehabilitation. It’s no longer “What can money do for me?” but “What can I do to maximize this money?” If you want to know how to use technology for its highest purpose without being harmed by its downside, look carefully at the story of the golden calf. It’s easy to worship our iPhones and laptops because they are so useful and stimulating. But all this technology and time spent online is like having lots of money—we’ve got to be careful not to become dependent on it. Choosing not to overindulge is part of the reason that G‑d created the technology in the first place. It’s good for us to say no to addiction. On the other hand, the Internet, like gold, was created as a tool to increase the awareness and glory of G‑d in the universe. It’s not “What can the Web do for me?” but “What does it want from me?” Over three billion people are using the Internet, and you can reach them from the comfort of your own sofa. So, nu? What do you have to say? In 1991, when international satellite hookup was relatively new for public use, In 1991, international satellite hookup was relatively new for public usethe Rebbe led a Chanukah celebration that united people in New York, Paris, Moscow, Melbourne, Hong Kong and Jerusalem with a live video broadcast from each country. For Jews in Moscow, it was the first time in over 70 years that a public religious celebration was legal, and with the coordinated efforts of the Rebbe’s new emissary to Moscow, it was attended by hundreds of Jews. The Rebbe, who experienced the stifling repression of religion under the Communist regime firsthand, was visibly emotional when the satellite focused in on the throngs of people standing in front of the menorah that was set up in the Red Square. Technology had brought Jews from seven countries together in celebration of Chanukah. As for my kids, once I can cut back on the screen addiction, I’ll have to teach them about the power that G‑d invested in the Internet. I’ll teach it to the kid inside of me, too! (Based on an address of the Rebbe, Sefer Hasichot 5748, p. 593.)
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What Is a Woman's Role in Judaism?
The unique role of the Jewish woman is described in terms of three archetypical mitzvahs -- Shabbat candles, family purity, and kosher. How do traditional ideas of Jewish femininity compare to modern feminist ideas about the role of women in society?
By Bronya Shaffer
Watch (40:00)<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=1834570&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>
More in Video:
• The Song of Torah (By Dov Greenberg)
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=2939773&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>
• My Father Risked His Life for Others
http://www.chabad.org/therebbe/livingtorah/player_cdo/aid/3024077/jewish/Giving-of-Oneself.htm
http://www.chabad.org/3024077
• My Father Risked His Life for Others
http://www.chabad.org/therebbe/livingtorah/player_cdo/aid/3024077/jewish/Giving-of-Oneself.htm
http://www.chabad.org/3024077
Judaism 101
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So, you’ve been invited to a farbrengen and aren’t sure what to expect. Well, you’re in good company—neither do most people.
Here is what it is: Farbrengen (fɑ:r-breɪng-ɪn)n. 1. Yiddish for “spending time together.” 2. an informal, inspirational chassidic gathering where words of Torah are shared and melodies are sung over refreshments and spirits. Also calledhitvaadut or hisvaadus in Hebrew. 
Photo: Mayanot.edu
Why Was I Invited?Farbrengens can be held to celebrate or commemorate all kinds of events. People often host them in honor of their birthdays (think of it as a spiritually inclined birthday party) or other lifecycle events that warrant celebration. Sometimes, they are timed to coincide with Jewish holidays or the anniversary of significant events in chassidic history—and sometimes they are held just because.
Photo: Lubavitch Chabad of Northbrook
In AdvanceA farbrengen is not a fancy event; no need to dress up. However, guys should make sure to cover their heads, and women should dress in a modest top and skirt or dress. You are not expected to bring a gift, so just come with an open mind and heart.
Photo: Lubavitch Chabad of Skokie
What Can I Expect to See?You’ll almost always find people arrayed around a table (or tables) with light refreshments. In days gone by, traditional farbrengen fare would have been onion salad, herring and other Eastern European staples. Today, you’re likely to also see hummus, chips and other snack foods. There will probably also be some vodka or other fine spirits.Farbrengens tend to be gender-specific, so guys will farbreng with guys, and gals will farbreng with gals.  Can I Help Myself?First thing, find a seat. There is no arranged seating, so just settle into an open spot.The food on the table is not there for show, so feel free to help yourself. The alcohol, when it is served, is a bit more complicated. Here is what you need to know: In chassidic culture, pouring yourself a drink is considered to be uncouth. Rather, someone else should pour for you. Also, drink in moderation; you don’t want to get to the point where you would act foolishly. Lastly, drink only when toasting l’chaim. You’ll notice that from time to time everyone lifts their glasses for a group l’chaim. That is a good time to do the same.  So What Are We Going to Do?There is no set procedure, but here are the basic elements that go into a good farbrengen:
Credit: Mordechai Lightstone
Credit: Mordechai Lightstone
Credit: Mordechai Lightstone
Photo: Flash90
Rabbi Menachem Posner serves as staff editor for Chabad.org.
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Story
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December 1700. It was a cold winter in Poland, and a blanket of snow covered the entire country. The city streets were filled with people bundled up in fur coats, and the country peasants were busy warming their homes with wood and themselves with vodka. The holiday season was approaching, and everyone was in good spirits.
But in the Jewish ghetto in Krakow, gloom and fear filled the air and moaned from every corner. Persecuted by poverty and hate, the Jews of Krakow had but one source of worldly joy, and that too was being taken from them: the children were dying of smallpox. It was the beginning of an epidemic. The doctors were helpless to stop it, and the various home remedies did nothing. Every day the town was visited with more heartbreaking tragedies. The only one they could turn to, as usual, was their Father in Heaven, and He didn’t seem to be listening to their prayers. The rabbi of the community had declared a fast day, then another, then three days of prayer and self-examination. But nothing seemed to work. A week of supplication was announced, but before it began, the elders of the community decided to make a she’eilat chalom, the “dream query” employed by the masters of the secret wisdom of the Kabbalah. It was a drastic move, but they felt that they had no other choice. They purified themselves, fasted, recited Psalms all day, immersed in a mikvah, and then requested from Heaven, according to ancient Kabbalistic formulas, that they be given some sort of sign that night in their sleep. And that night, they all had the same dream. An old man in a white robe appeared and said: “Shlomo the butcher should pray before the congregation.” Early the next morning they met in shul (synagogue) and related their dream to each other. It was clear what they had to do. The twenty of them solemnly walked to Shlomo’s home and knocked on the door. When his wife opened, she almost fainted at the sight of them. “Ye‑‑s?” she stammered, pushing her loose hair under the kerchief on her head. “We want to speak to your husband. Is he home?” said one of them, smiling and trying to be as pleasant as possible. “May we come in?” asked another. Shlomo came to the door, invited them all in, shook everyone’s hand and ran around looking for chairs. When they were finally all seated, one of them began: “Shlomo, we made a she’eilat chalom yesterday. We asked what to do about the epidemic, and we all had the same dream. We dreamed that you have to lead the prayers today.” Shlomo was dumbfounded. If it weren’t such a serious matter, he would have thought that this was some kind of joke. “I should lead the prayers? Why, I . . . I can’t even read properly. I can’t . . . I mean, what good will it possibly do?” “Shlomo,” the elders begged, “just come and do what you can. You don’t have to really lead, just pray in front of everyone. Maybe there will be a miracle. Just come and give it a try. We have summoned everyone to the shul. Just come and say a few words. Anything is better than what we have now.” So Shlomo, with no other choice, left his house and accompanied them. But as soon as they had they entered the crowded synagogue and closed the door behind them, Shlomo suddenly broke away and ran back outside and down the street, out of sight. What could they do? He’d disappeared. They didn’t even know where to look. They had no choice other than to wait. A few minutes later the door opened, and in came Shlomo, pushing a wheelbarrow covered with a cloth. All eyes were on him as he went up to the podium, pulled off the cloth and lifted an old set of scales out of the barrow. He’d brought his butcher’s scales into the shul! The scales were very heavy. But Shlomo lifted them high above his head, his face contorted with the effort, tears streaming from his eyes. “Here!” he yelled at the ceiling. “Here, G‑d! Take them! Take the scales! That must be why You want me to lead the prayers, right? So take the scales and heal the children! Just heal the children. Okay?” By now Shlomo was sobbing loudly, and the whole place was dead silent. A few men rushed over and helped him put the scales on a table in the front of the room, and the congregation began the prayers. That evening, the children were already getting better. You can imagine the joy and festivities that followed. They even made a nice glass case for the scales, and left the whole thing there permanently for all to see. But after a few days, when the excitement died down, the elders had to admit that they couldn’t figure it out. After all, there were tens of shops in the ghetto that used scales, and all of them were owned by honest, G‑d-fearing Jews. What could be so special about Shlomo’s scales? The answer was soon in coming. When they went around checking all the other scales, they discovered that every one of them, without exception, was a bit off. Certainly never enough to constitute bad business, but inaccurate nevertheless. It seems that Shlomo checked his scales twice every day, while the others checked only occasionally. “That’s what G‑d wants,” Shlomo explained. Legend has it that these scales remained on display in that Krakow synagogue for over two hundred years, until the Germans destroyed everything in World War II.
A popular teacher, musician and storyteller, Rabbi Tuvia Bolton is co-director of Yeshiva Ohr Tmimim in Kfar Chabad, Israel, and a senior lecturer there.
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Story
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Like any small town, Safed has a few professional beggars. None of them are drunkards, thank G-d, or homeless, G-d forbid. They just beg for a living. It's their job, and they work hard at it. They keep regular hours, and each has his own territory. Some of them work for religious organizations, like the fat guy who limps and carries a pushka (collection can), or the spry, skinny, little guy on the midrahov, our cobble stoned main street. He sings Yiddish and Hebrew folksongs and even dances around waltz-like on a good day, gentle and grateful, giving a brachah (blessing) and a sweet smile to every generous soul. Then we have a few others who are self-employed. They put out their hand, or an unlabelled plastic jar. Most of our beggars are clean, although I'm sure that some of them believe that they will have a more successful day if they look a bit down in the collar. But everyday, there they are.
Not that many years ago, I would turn my back on such sorts, suspicious of their need. Once I asked my Rebbe, "How do I know whether they really need the money? I'll bet some of them are better off than I am." His wise reply was, "If they ask, then they need it, even if only in their own minds, and you should give." So I give to them all every time I see them, which is usually every day, just ten aggarot, our smallest coin, worth about three cents, or a half-shekel, about 12 cents. It's the best bargain in the world, I figure--a blessing for a few cents. But the holiest of our seedier citizens isn't a beggar. When I first saw him loitering on the midrahov in old, torn clothes, with big holes in the heels of his socks that protruded far above the tops of his shoes, I thought he might be homeless, down and out. Then I started seeing him around regularly, often sitting at the cafe tables hanging out with friends. Were they feeding him, I wondered? Then the annual Safed Klezmer Music Festival happened. Tens of thousands of people flock to Safed to enjoy musicians playing in the streets, in the squares, in the parks, in every nook and cranny of town. I saw him there, at Klezmer. But he wasn't a spectator. I was attracted by the sound of the music, and I fought through the crowd until I could get close enough to see what they were watching. It was him. He was dancing. Michael was dancing all by himself, entertaining about a hundred spectators, all captivated by his grace and improvisation. His thin body was celebrating the ecstasy of the music. His deeply lined, tanned, old face was glowing from an inner light, his eyes dancing from the joy of pleasing the crowd. He danced like Anthony Quinn in "Zorba the Greek", his hands raised above his head to punctuate his movements. A Chasid all in black garb jumped up to dance with him. There they were, the two of them--young and old, religious and secular, respected and unrespected, yarmulka and stocking cap--dancing together before the crowd. Michael was putting so much of himself into his dancing that I felt like I was looking at his soul. I didn't see him after that for a while. Then one day, I saw only the familiar, tired yellow knit cap. Adjacent to my house is a common site in Safed, a horva, a ruin. Destroyed in the last earthquake that devastated the town, apartments or entire buildings are abandoned and inhabited only by stray cats and worse. I was coming into my courtyard through the back gate, and suddenly the old, metal gate of the horva slammed shut! A hand was reaching out, face and body hiding out of sight, to fasten the heavy chain and padlock. But his hat was visible. It was Michael's hat. What should I do? I didn't know. I was afraid to tell anyone. They might have the police come and evict him. There was no electricity, no water, no heat--there weren't even any windows. How could he sleep there in the cold Safed nights? I figured that he showered daily at the Shul down the street, where many of the men went every morning to use the mikveh (ritual bath house). That would explain how he was able to always look so clean. Was he dangerous? Was it because of him that people locked their doors? I had heard talk of a "few rotten apples" in the town. Could he be one of them? Was I safe? But I had seen him dance. Others might view him with suspicion. But I had seen him give himself to the people, holding nothing back. I decided to leave things as they were. He didn't know that I had recognized his hat. He was old enough to receive social security. If he wanted to live in a ruin, I wasn't going to meddle. I would keep his secret. Winter turned to Spring and quickly into Summer. Gradually, I figured out that almost everybody in town knew that Michael was living in the horva next door to me. They say that he works. So instead of being a bum, he's an eccentric. But there is one more story to hear about him, the best story of all. Michael saw a friend one day who was sitting at an outdoor cafe on the Midrahov. He was crying, his head down on the table, buried in his arms. Michael sat down to console him and asked what was wrong. The friend said that he was in a lot of trouble. He had divorced, and had not paid any child support. He hadn't paid in years, and now the authorities had caught up with him. He needed about $20,000 immediately, or he would go to jail. Michael reached into his shabby pants pocket. He took out a worn, crumpled Lotto ticket. Fingering it once more for the hundreth time, he showed it to his friend. Michael said, "Look at this. You don't have to cry anymore. You don't have to go to jail. I won this Lotto game. This is a winning ticket. It's worth $20,000. All week, I've been wondering, 'Why did I win it?' I knew I didn't need the money, so I figured that there must be some reason why I won. Well, this must be why. So take the ticket and your troubles are over." Perhaps you are wondering whether the story is true or not. Really, it doesnt matter so much. What is most important is that people here tell these kinds of stories. It tells us a lot about the kind of people who live in Safed. Even our bums and our beggars are holy. Perhaps they are the holiest of all.
Chana Besser was born in post-war Germany, grew up in Chicago, and raised her daughters in Denver, Colorado. She made aliyah in 1995 to Safed, where she teaches, learns Torah and occasionally writes.
Please do not publish or circulate without permission from the author.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
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Story
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I am lying in bed with my sick toddler.
I have never been against co-sleeping, but it was not something I actively pursued when she was a baby. Together with the fact that she didn’t nurse, this basically meant that co-sleeping was something we rarely did. But after her consistent bouts of coughing woke us both up for the third time tonight, instead of simply calming her down again, I asked, “Do you want to come and sleep in Mummy’s bed?” A very emphatic nod met these words. She reached out to me and I gathered her comfort blanket, her bottle and her doll, and we made the trek to the room next door to hers.She lies in the crook of my arm A space was cleared and a pillow wedged between the wall and the bed, lest the existing gap widen too much. And now she lies in the crook of my arm, her blonde curls touching my nose, her breathing slowing to a calm rhythm. Every so often, she looks up at me, and I see her eyes shining even in the darkness. “Mummy?” It is a question, but a statement at the same time. Mummy is here, next to me, I am in her bed, and that is so wonderful and comfortable and warm and right. As she drifts off, I think about a video I watched earlier, posted on a social media site. As viral videos tend to be, it was heartwarming, emotional and powerful, and probably very well-edited. And while I know that, I choose to look past the cynical side of it, and focus on the message it sent me and the feelings it evoked in me. The video depicted a woman in labor in her home. The home was set up for a water birth, the birthing team all experienced in home deliveries. And while the idea of a home birth is not something I might agree with, the video touched a chord in me that only the miracle of birth can touch. Maybe it’s because I’m pregnant myself. Maybe it’s because I’m an emotional and sensitive person. Maybe it’s simply because I’m a woman. But that four-minute intimate footage of a couple experiencing the last few hours of labor together had me crying copious tears. They were supporting each other, crying with each other, and then, at the end, welcoming a perfect little baby girl into the world amidst soft cries of relief and joy. The calmness of the pool of water, the background music, the soothing doula, the pain of the woman as she experienced each contraction . . . it was a sensual video in every sense of the word. I watched it three times, and cried each time. In my pregnancy, there are times when I panic at the mystery of it all. It is hard for me to feel out of control, to realize that the fate of this baby is not in my hands. Her movements are more foreceful and frequentI know that there is Someone above pulling the strings, and it is He alone who decides whether my baby will be healthy, whether I will deliver full-term, whether complications will arise, whether I will get through the birth with ease. And it is times like these that I feel myself letting go. I feel myself releasing the worry and trusting in Him, giving Him full rein, because ultimately it is He who wants the best for me and this child. Now, as my daughter sleeps peacefully in my arms, her little chest rising and falling, I feel her soon-to-be sibling squirming impatiently inside of me. Her kicks are getting stronger and stronger, her movements more forceful and frequent, her strength mounting as she grows ever larger inside of me. Tears rise, unbidden, to my eyes, as I marvel at the love that surrounds me in this moment. One daughter lying alongside me, another precious soul learning new things each day inside of me. Soon, I know, very soon, the steadiness of a one-child family will change to the quickening pulse of two, and despite all the warnings of how this change will impact my life, I lie here and feel lucky. Blessed. Wonderful. I feel sandwiched in love. And I am grateful to Him.
Blumie Abend is a wife and mother currently living in Crown Heights. She has a passion for writing and currently works as a freelance writer.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
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Essay
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Abstract: The suspicion that humankind can never meaningfully apprehend the truth of divine being seems to be affirmed by the tzimtzum narrative. But the Kabbalistic motif of the trace transforms the symbolic void oftzimtzum into a meaningful gesture of emptiness. In his elaboration and crystallization of the transformative significance of the trace, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi explains how withdrawal, concealment and limitation can most eloquently trace the true transcendence of divine omnipotence.
Rrevelatory trace of withdrawal. Photo by Michoel Ogince, Oneinfocus.
Introduction: A Qualifying ClauseAt the core of every discussion about our relationship with G‑d is the niggling suspicion that we are totally out of our depth. Consider the finite capacity of the human mind, and the limited data available to it. Can we really think meaningfully about the infinite, the ineffable and the omnipotent? However profound we think we are, it seems inescapably self-evident that the essence of divine being must lie beyond human grasp.1At the outset, it seems, this suspicion is affirmed by the tzimtzum narrative. As taught by Rabbi Yitzchak Luria and recorded by Rabbi Chaim Vital, the withdrawal depicted by tzimtzum embodies an unbridgeable chasm, utterly separating the limited realms of emanation and creation from the true transcendence of divine revelation.2 Even more intangible than the infinite revelation of divine presence, it might seem, is the ineffable essence of divine being. In a previous article we explained the Chabad view that the essence of divine being can never be concealed, and is therefore everywhere revealed. It seems inescapably self-evident that the essence of divine being must lie beyond human grasp.But this revelation emerges as the decidedly introverted disclosure of the ineffable. As Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi taught, this is exemplified in the child’s axiomatic apprehension of G‑d, which remains empty of informational content. Children apprehend G‑d’s essential being, but have no understanding or grasp of how G‑d is manifest or of what G‑d is.3 Yet the introduction of a much older Kabbalistic motif into the tzimtzum narrative significantly reverses this paradigm, and excavates a path through which G‑d’s essence can be intellectually grasped and intelligently perceived. Through the development and contextualization of this motif, the suspicion that we must ultimately remain out of our depth is compellingly laid to rest as the tzimtzum narrative is dramatically reread. Yes, tzimtzum is the withdrawal of divine revelation. Yes, we inhabit a fractured world of limitation and darkness. But the motif of the trace (reshimu or reshimah, which can also be translated as “impression”) enshrines such constriction as the very foundation of divine eloquence. From the new perspective this motif brings, the very chasm that tzimtzum depicts is revealed to be a bridge. It is specifically through the fathomable tangibility of our finite experience that the truth of divine being can be most clearly comprehended. In the Zohar, in the writings of Kabbalists like Rabbi Moshe Cordovero (1522–1570) and in the teachings of various chassidic masters, the motif of the trace appears in a range of different contexts,4 and is not necessarily associated with tzimtzum.5 R. Chaim Vital’s original formulation of the tzimtzum narrative does not mention reshimu at all. But subsequent Kabbalists of the Lurianic school, such as Rabbi Moshe Zacuto (1625–1697), introduced this motif into the tzimtzum narrative as a qualifying clause.6 The original tzimtzum narrative incorporates three general phases: the assertion of infinite light (ohr ein sof), its contraction or concealment (tzimtzum) to form a hollow or empty space (chalal, or makom panui), and the narrow revelation drawn forth to emanate forms and create realms (kav). According to R. Moshe’s amendment, the reshimu is an additional phase that precedes the emergence of the kav. The term “hollow,” he cautioned, “is not used with precision, because a trace of the light (reshimu min ha-ohr) remains there.” Even before the influx of the more imminent revelation of divinity, the hollow is only empty of the infinite, but the presence of the trace remains.Reshimu: The essential language that allows finite emanation and creation to express the transcendent essence of divine being. The association between reshimu and tzimtzum was further developed by the 17th-century Kabbalist Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Bacharach. His influential treatise, Emek ha-Melech, aligns with the somewhat controversial Sarugian school of Lurianic Kabbalah, and includes motifs that do not appear in the writings of R. Chaim Vital.7 The first section of this work elaborates on the divine delight (shi’shu’a) that is traced in the letters (otiyot) of the primordial Torah, and which is the impetus for the creative process heralded by tzimtzum. The emergence of the trace and the letters are further associated with the primordial aspect of restrictive discipline (din), implying that the divine capacity of constraint does not begin with the process of tzimtzum but actually precedes it.8 Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi elaborated and further developed these ideas, integrating them into his broader reinterpretation of the tzimtzum narrative.9 In two discourses, dating from 1806 and 1810, he transforms the motif of the trace from a peripheral amendment to the central linchpin, which endows the entire narrative with a new degree of significance and coherence. Extending and recontextualizing the themes articulated in Emek Ha-melech, R. Schnuer Zalman enshrines reshimu as the essential language that allows finite emanation and creation (ohr ha-kav and hishtalshalut ha-olamot) to express the transcendent essence of divine being (atzmut u-mehut ein sof).10 The Tension Before the TraceAn important subtext to R. Schneur Zalman’s 1806 treatment of reshimu is the implicit tension that arises when his interpretation of the tzimtzum narrative is combined with its original import. In its most plain sense, tzimtzumdepicts a path of divine descent. In R. Schneur Zalman’s interpretation, however, it also comes to depict a path of divine ascent. To address this tension, R. Schneur Zalman built on the conception of reshimu articulated by R. Moshe Zacuto and R. Naftali Bacharach, developing a conceptual model in which descent and ascent can coherently coincide.The original import of the tzimtzum narrative is that the entire project of creation represents an unprecedented departure from the infinite transcendence of G‑d. The infinite light, the unbounded revelation of divine presence(ohr ein sof), is understood to preclude the very notion that there could be something other than G‑d. This is not a revelation in the usual sense of the word, one that extends to otherly recipients, but might rather be thought of as an internal self-assertion of the absolute infinitude of divinity. In this context, the suggestion that G‑d should be manifest in the limited role of Creator, mitigating divine infinitude by bringing other beings into existence, is not only counterintuitive but utterly unthinkable. In order for form, finitude and otherness to arise as viable possibilities, and in order for the divine process of creation to emerge, the infinite assertion of divine presence must be completely withdrawn or concealed. An implicit tension arises when R. Schneur Zalman’s interpretation of the tzimtzum narrative is combined with its original import.First and foremost, tzimtzum depicts a divine descent of immense magnitude, from infinite transcendence into the distinct role of Creator.11 Central to R. Schneur Zalman’s rereading of the tzimtzum narrative is the distinction between the light (ohr ein sof), an unbounded assertion of divine presence, and the luminary (etzem ha-ma’or), the very essence of divine being. While the original tzimtzum narrative describes the withdrawal or concealment of the light, the luminary itself goes unmentioned. Accordingly, R. Schneur Zalman adduced, the concealment of the infinite assertion of divine presence does not obscure the ineffable essence of divine being. On the contrary, he asserts, tzimtzumdiscloses the truly noncontingent potency of divine being, uninhibited by the bounds of revealed presence.12 This does not simply mean that divine being is necessary, but that divine being is not dependent on the normal conditions of existence. Normally, things can only be said to exist if their presence is asserted in some way. A luminous source of light, for example, can be said to exist only if it actually is a source of light. But while tzimtzum curtails the assertion of divine presence (the light), it does not curtail the presence of divine being (the luminary). The presence of divine being, it emerges, is not contingent on anything. This distinction between the light and the luminary is understood to preserve the original meaning of the tzimtzum narrative, while adding an additional layer of significance. The concealment of the infinite light and the disclosure of the ineffable luminary are two sides of the same coin.13 Yet this combination of meanings creates a fundamental tension: on its original reading, the concealment of the light depicts the divine descent into the role of Creator. But on R. Schneur Zalman’s reading it depicts the ascent into the essential non-contingency of divine being.14 As transcribed by Rabbi Chaim Vital, the tzimtzum narrative states that “the light was . . . drawn aside . . . leaving empty room, a hollow space . . . where emanations and creations could be formed and made.”15 If, on R. Schneur Zalman’s reading, this hollow space is to be equated with the ineffable essence of divine being, it would seem that tzimtzum should not accomplish anything at all. Rather than a step towards the creative process, it represents a retreat from infinite revelation into the inexpressible essence of G‑d. The tension outlined above reflects the inherent paradox embodied in the introverted disclosure of the essential luminary. As mentioned above, R. Schneur Zalman asserts that tzimtzum reveals the luminary so that even children axiomatically apprehend the essence of G‑d. But he describes this apprehension as empty of informational content. Noting that because “the luminary is revealed even children know that G‑d is present,” he adds that “they have no understanding or grasp of how G‑d is manifest or what G‑d is.” This reinforces the impression that the disclosure of the luminary within the Such is the fullness of divine being that its presence spills over the boundary of absence into the “hollow space” of essential emptiness.realm of otherness and creation is also a retreat into the unknowable essence of divine being.16 Taking this tension one step further, R. Chaim Vital’s description of the space left by tzimtzum as “hollow” and “empty” takes on a dual meaning. In its original sense this description depicted the newfound possibility of otherness, emanation and creation. But on R. Schneur Zalman’s reading it can synonymously be read as a depiction of the contentless disclosure of G‑d’s essence. R. Schneur Zalman’s description of the child’s apprehension of the luminary suggests that while the divine essence may be utterly inescapable, it is also utterly inexpressible. The disclosure of the essence is utterly empty of informational content. On this reading, the “hollow space” left by the tzimtzum is a true void, the void of ineffable essentiality. The hollow is not empty of divine presence, as understood on the literal interpretation of the tzimtzum narrative espoused by some authorities,17 but it is utterly empty of divine expression.18 The infinite light, the internal self-assertion of the absolute infinitude of divinity, is withdrawn. But the unexpressed being of G‑d, indeed the inexpressible essence of divine being, is still absolutely present. Such is the fullness of divine being that its presence spills over the boundary of absence into the “hollow space” of essential emptiness.19 In its original sense, the “hollow space” created through the withdrawal of the light signifies divine descent and the revolutionary emergence of the possibility of otherness. But on R. Schneur Zalman’s reading, the “hollow space” also signifies divine ascent into the true void of G‑d’s inexpressible essence.20 If the overt significance of the tzimtzum narrative is to be preserved in tandem with this new interpretation, we need to explain why the possibility of otherness is not drowned in the disclosure of the utterly transcendent essence. Why is the possibility of otherness not drowned in the disclosure of the transcendent essence?If finite forms and created beings cannot emerge from divine infinitude, are they not even unlikelier to emerge from the true emptiness of the essential void? This is the question that arises implicitly from a careful reading of R. Schneur Zalman’s interpretation of the tzimtzum narrative before the motif of reshimu is introduced. R. Moshe Zacuto introduced the motif of reshimu to undermine the assumption that the term “hollow” is used with precision. In the context of R. Schneur Zalman’s approach it undermines the impression that the tzimtzum leaves a true void, utterly empty of divine expression and informational content. Instead we should realize that this void also embodies a tangible trace of revelation. The Language of AbsenceEchoing Emek Ha-melech’s association of the trace with the primordial aspect of constriction, R. Schneur Zalman describes the reshimu as “a limited symbol of something entirely without limit.” It is specifically in the constrictive act of tzimtzum, he explains, in the divine descent into the finite role of creator, that the true infinitude of divine being is traced.21Recast in the context of R. Schneur Zalman’s broader interpretation of tzimtzum, the motif of the trace modifies the image of an empty hollow. No longer does this chasm represent a retreat into the utter emptiness of the essential void. Instead, the withdrawal of divine revelation is itself recast as an alternative avenue of revelation, as a tangible assertion of presence traced in the language of absence. While R. Moshe Zacuto described the trace as remaining within the hollow, R. Schneur Zalman’s elaboration identifies the trace as the revelatory import embodied by the hollow. Tzimtzum is transformed from an empty gesture into a gesture of emptiness, at once insubstantial and significant. No longer does this chasm represent a retreat into the utter emptiness of the essential void, but an alternative avenue of revelation.The form of the gesture is emptiness, but the gesture carries weighty import. R. Schneur Zalman illustrates the infinite symbolism of the reshimu by comparing it to “the trace on a blueprint that builders make, delineating a large building with extremely insubstantial and narrow traces.” The blueprint is a scaled representation that accurately depicts a vast building within the narrow confines of a two-dimensional chart. In the theological analogue, thereshimu similarly depicts the omnipotent non-contingence of G‑d’s essence through the scaled veil of limitation and withdrawal.22 There is a long tradition in Jewish thought that the essence of divine being can never be described in positive terms. To do so would be to conflate essential being with assertive expression.23 But the absence enacted through tzimtzum has no positive content, and therefore serves as an eloquent description of divine omnipotence and essentiality. So absolute is G‑d’s omnipotence that it includes the capacity to limit the unlimited assertion of divine presence. Such is the fullness of divine being that only absence is a fitting language for the communication of its presence.24 It is not that nothing can be said about divine being, but that only nothing can say something about divine being. The absent presence of G‑d affirms that divine being is not dependent on the normal conditions of existence, and that divine omnipotence is not dependent on any of the normal conditions of possibility. This explains how tzimtzum is at once an ascent into the divine essence and a descent into the limited role of creator: Through tzimtzum, R. Schneur Zalman explains, “the infinite revelation of G‑d . . . becomes subsumed within the concealment of the essence,” but is also “drawn within the aspect of limiting capacity, the aspect of the trace that remains in the hollow, because He, blessed be He, is omnipotent and carries the capacity of limitation (ko’ach ha-gevul) too, It is not that nothing can be said about divine being, but that only nothing can say something about divine being.the capacity to limit the revealed assertion that is not limited at all.”25 Tzimtzum and reshimu, the void and the trace, accordingly emerge as two sides of a single coin. Tzimtzum is withdrawal and concealment. Reshimu is the revelatory import of that withdrawal, transcendent infinitude traced in the language of limitation. The very emptiness of the hollow embodies a trace of divine expression, a distinct characterization of the transcendent luminary. It is only through the absent presence traced in the emptiness of the hollow that we catch a glimpse of the true non-contingency of divine being and omnipotence. It is specifically the concealment of tzimtzum that draws the ineffable within finite grasp, articulating the absolute in the language of absence.26 Hebrew words that refer to esoteric concepts often translate badly into English. But reshimu is not one of them. Like its Hebrew analog, the English word trace also has paradoxical intimations. A trace may be a transient and insubstantial residue, but it may also be a concrete indicator, a clue upon which truth can be established. A trace doesn’t always point vaguely to something in the past, a trace can also be a precise outline delineating a clear vision for the future.27 In the context of tzimtzum, too, the trace points in two opposing directions. As the divine capacity of limitation it points both upward and down; to the true omnipotence of G‑d’s essence, and also to the divine capacity to descend into the limited role of Creator.28 In R. Schneur Zalman’s own words, “The root of the line of measurement (kav ha-midah), which measures and limits the revelation [and extends that limited revelation into the creative process] . . . comes and is drawn The secret revealed by the trace is that G‑d’s omnipotence “carries the capacity of limitation too . . . to limit the revealed assertion that is not limited at all.”from that very aspect of the trace that remains in the hollow.”29 In many discussions of tzimtzum R. Schneur Zalman emphasized its original meaning: that there is a complete removal of the infinite assertion of divinity, a complete divide between the transcendent revelation of G‑d’s essence and the immanent emanation of finitude and creation. His distinction between the light and the luminary, between the concealment of divine presence and the unconcealable essence of divine being, appears both to deepen that divide and to undermine it. On the one hand, the essence of divine being is depicted in even more transcendent terms. On the other hand, tzimtzum is described as the disclosure of that transcendence. Not only does this undermine our conception of the hollow as a chasm that separates G‑d’s transcendent essence from the narrow role of creator, it also begs the question: How can finitude and form ever emerge from the utter void of ineffable essentiality? R. Schneur Zalman’s treatment of reshimu brings these different readings and meanings of the tzimtzum narrative together. The secret revealed by the trace, he asserts, is that G‑d’s omnipotence “carries the capacity of limitation too, the capacity to limit the revealed assertion that is not limited at all.”30 It is precisely the emergence of limitation and the onset of the creative process that most articulately traces the true transcendence of divine omnipotence. It is divine limitation itself that most accurately delimits G‑d’s unbounded essentiality. The qualifying significance of the trace emphasizes that the divide between immanence and transcendence is ultimately an artificial one. The hollow void of tzimtzum is simultaneously the withdrawal of the infinite revelation of divinity and the even more eloquent articulation of the true infinitude of divine being. The Trace As TextThe above discussion of reshimu follows R. Schneur Zalman’s 1806 discourse, which primarily references Emek ha-Melech’s association of the trace with the primordial aspect of constriction (din or gevul). In a discourse delivered in 1810 he further developed his conception of the trace and further explicated its significance.31 The later discourse, however, more strongly reflects Emek ha-Melech’s association of reshimu with the letters of the primordial Torah in which divine delight is traced.32
Starry Shema, Acrylic on Stretched Canvas by Alyse Radenovic: The repeated letters of the words “Hear, O Israel, the L-rd is our G-d, the L-rd is One,” in Hebrew in gold on dark blue with silver, white, and light blue.
Central to R. Schneur Zalman’s discussion of the primordial letters is the role of text and language in human consciousness and expression, which is used as a model for their conceptual counterparts in the divine analog. We normally think of language as a tool for the external communication of internal feelings and thoughts. But the truth is that within our own minds too we use a more abstract form of language to makes sense of ourselves, to give shape and expression to our identity. Even our inner thoughts and feelings must be internally articulated, formulated, identified and analyzed.33 The external and internal strata of language are respectively termed “letters of speech” and “letters of thought.” Letters of thought are less tangible than letters of speech, and more transparent to the inner flow of consciousness. But even the loftiest experience of human consciousness must be encoded or depicted in some kind of language or symbolism. Even the most sublime sensation of delight or pleasure must be traced in the transcendent contours, the ethereal “letters," Even the most sublime sensation of delight or pleasure must be traced in the transcendent contours, the ethereal “letters,” which give form and substance to its content.which give form and substance to its content. The essential point here is that letters are not just used to formulate the spoken and written word, but are also the essential fabric of even the most sublime strata of human consciousness. The same applies in the divine analogue. There can be no revelation without letters. “The aspect of letters,” R. Schneur Zalman asserts, “extends to the apex of all levels.” Even the most infinite assertion of transcendent divinity must be carried by an ethereal trace of text.34 Like the transcendent contours in which human delight is traced, the primordial letters are initially so saturated with divine delight that their finitude and form are utterly intangible. This state of saturation, R. Schneur Zalman explains, “is synonymous with the revelation of infinite light (zehu inyan gilui ohr ein sof), and the phenomenon of tzimtzum is that the light should not shine and be revealed in the letters.”35 Earlier we described tzimtzum and reshimu as two sides of a single coin. But the association of the reshimu with the primordial letters forces us to revise that description. The letters of the trace, which embody the divine capacity of limitation (ko’ach ha-gevul), actually precede tzimtzum and transcend the creative process. It is through the creative process, however, that their essential presence is brought to the fore. The purpose of the letters is to carry revelatory import, but in fulfilling their purpose their finite forms are extinguished in the infinite light that they so eloquently articulate. The medium is utterly submerged in the message. Finitude is veiled in infinitude, and G‑d’s ultimate capacity to limit the unlimited is also obscured. The effect of tzimtzum is not the creation of letters, but “that the light should not shine and be revealed in the letters.”36 It is only when the revelatory import is utterly withdrawn, only when tzimtzum carves out an expressionless void, that the essential letters come into their own. It is only when the superficial facade of infinitude is withdrawn that we can perceive the unbounded fullness of divine being as it transcends the binaries of the unlimited and the limited, of absence and presence, of ineffability and articulation, even of transcendence and immanence. It is in the collapsing of binaries embodied by the unilluminated letters of the trace that G‑d’s essence is most accurately discerned. It is in the collapsing of binaries embodied by the unilluminated letters of the trace that G‑d’s essence is most accurately discerned.Emptied of blinding revelation, G‑d’s essential capacity to limit the unlimited is disclosed, and the underlying contours of all expression are tangibly exposed.37 By describing the trace as something akin to the most essential fabric of human consciousness, R. Schneur Zalman endows the emptiness of tzimtzum with even greater significance than before. This not a mere gesture towards the true transcendence of divine being, but the unveiled presence of divine essentiality. The finite trace of linguistic expression is G‑d’s innate capacity of limitation, transcending the explicit possibility of otherness that is signified by tzimtzum. Not only is this primordial capacity of limitation not a mitigation of the absoluteness of divine presence, it is actually a more essential embodiment of divine being.38 Reading Between the LinesBuilding on this conception of the trace as text, R. Schneur Zalman uses two versions of a single parable to illustrate the theological innovation that reshimu introduces. The reshimudoes more than resolve an apparent tension in R. Schneur Zalman’s interpretation of the tzimtzum narrative. It also adds a further layer of qualification to the nature of the concealment that tzimtzum represents. Elsewhere R. Schneur Zalman qualified tzimtzum (a) as concealment rather than removal, and (b) as a concealment of the light, but not of the luminary.39 In the present discussion of reshimu he further asserts that even the concealment of the light is actually a matter of perspective.At the center of this discourse is the parable of a scholar who has committed a tractate of the Talmud to memory, including “all the content, arguments and conceptions in it.”40 In the first version of this parable the scholar then turns his mind to an entirely different topic, or simply “sits idle.” The knowledge previously imbibed is not forgotten or removed from the scholar’s mind, and therefore can be summoned at will. R. Schneur Zalman uses two versions of a single parable to illustrate the theological innovation that reshimu introduces.For the moment, however, it is not consciously revealed in the scholar’s mind. This version of the parable illustrates the (by now axiomatic) notion that tzimtzum does not represent a literal removal of the infinite assertion of divine presence, but rather its concealment. At the same time, the specific image of a scholar sitting idle implies that this concealment might embody an utter vacuum of informational content. The scholar’s mind is completely empty of any expression of knowledge, even though that knowledge is fully committed to memory and unconsciously present in its entirety. In the theological analogue this recalls the earlier suggestion that the concealment represented by tzimtzum is absolute, and that the “hollow space” (chalal) indeed embodies a true void, utterly empty of divine expression.41 As we have already noted, it is precisely to undermine this misconception that reshimu is introduced into the tzimtzum narrative. Reshimu transforms the hollow from an empty gesture into a meaningful gesture of emptiness, the fullness of divine being expressed in the language of absence. In the present discourse the conceptual import of reshimu is accordingly illustrated by a modified version of the above parable, in which R. Schneur Zalman distinguishes between immersive analytic study and textual review. Just like in the previous scenario, the scholar has committed to memory an entire tractate of the Talmud, with all its questions and answers, and with all its depth and breadth. The scholar grasps all this knowledge with full clarity, encompassing all the relevant explanations in his mind with complete clarity. But in this version of the parable, the scholar does not sit idle. Instead, there are two ways in which the scholar’s knowledge is exercised; through immersive analysis on the one hand, and through textual review on the other.42 Immersive analysis brings the full scope of the scholar’s knowledge to the fore, especially when expressed verbally. But textual review conceals the full extent of the scholar’s knowledge even as it traces it. The words themselves express only a minimal synopsis, a trace, of the vast body of argument and explanation they represent. Another person listening to this textual review will be left completely in the dark. But for the scholar, even a cursory rereading invokes the full scope of the knowledge encapsulated in his mind. G‑d is like the scholar reviewing the text, and similarly sees the fullness of divine infinitude and omnipotence luminously traced in the dark constraints of the creative process.In each fleeting moment vast quantities of complex data flash before his mind’s eye, illuminating the cryptic concision of the text. As R. Schneur Zalman puts it: “All the intellect of this tractate and these laws are revealed and known to him effortlessly, and he encapsulates in one thought what it would take a long while to articulate in speech. . . . Accordingly, even when he is simply reviewing the words of the text alone, all the depth of the intellect that exists in this tractate is revealed and known and encapsulated in his mind and thought. It is not at all in the aspect of concealment and departure from his intellect and thought in the ways that it is utterly concealed from the other who listens to his reading . . .”43 With this parable in mind, R. Schneur Zalman explains, we can better understand how the motif of the trace modifies the tzimtzum narrative. G‑d is not like the scholar who sits idle, so that not even a trace of revelation remains. In entering the creative process, G‑d is like the scholar reviewing the text. Like the cryptic concision of the text, the finitude of creation does not overtly express divine infinitude. But like the scholar who sees all his vast knowledge traced in that concision, G‑d similarly sees the fullness of divine infinitude and omnipotence luminously traced in the dark constraints of the creative process. All of reality is traced as text, but its full import is disclosed only if you can read between the lines.44 Crystallization and ContentionThe double parable of the scholar beautifully crystallizes the duality that reshimu represents. As the divine capacity of limitation through which otherness and creation emerge, reshimuextends endlessly downward into the realm of otherness and creation. As the disclosure of the primordial letters in which divine delight is traced, reshimu extends infinitely upwards into the transcendent essence of G‑d. As the text in which all reality is traced it extends to every created thing, at once revealing and concealing, concealing and revealing. Its overt revelation represents a concealment of divine transcendence, but that concealment itself unveils a more essential dimension of divine being.More specifically, R. Schneur Zalman uses this parable is to crystallize the third in a series of qualifying interpretations of the tzimtzum narrative. The first of these qualifications is his adoption and innovative defense of the nonliteral understanding of tzimtzum: the removal of the infinite assertion of G‑d’s presence is recast as mere concealment. The second of these qualifications hinges on his distinction between the light and the luminary; while the infinite assertion of divine presence (the light) is concealed, the ineffable All of reality is traced as text, but its full import is disclosed only if you can read between the lines.essence of divine being (the luminary) remains openly disclosed. R. Schneur Zalman’s treatment of reshimu does not only elaborate on these qualifications, but also introduces an entirely new degree of qualification. Previously, the removal of the light was recast as concealment. Now that concealment itself is qualified. Previously, only the luminary, the essence of divine being, was said to be unaffected by tzimtzum. Now the impact on the light, the infinite assertion of divine presence, is also qualified. As the parable of the scholar illustrates, the concealment of the light is actually a matter of perspective. From the perspective of G‑d, the narrow constraints of withdrawal and absence are not only filled with the ineffable presence of the divine essence, but are even seen as yet deeper forms of revelation and presence. It is not simply that the ineffable essence of divine being (the luminary) stands beyond the categories of concealment and revelation, and is therefore unaffected by tzimtzum. It is rather that the infinite assertion of divine presence (the light) is concealed only from the perspective of “outsiders,” those who do not share G‑d’s perspective of the creation process as an even more revealing form of self-expression. In the words of R. Schneur Zalman, “Even as there is the aspect of tzimtzum, that the light departs and only the aspect of the trace remains, this is not a concealment at all on the part of light itself. And therefore ‘I, G‑d have not changed.’ . . . This need not even be said of G‑d’s being and essence . . . but in truth, even in the light there is no change . . . even the light shines in the trace as it did prior to the tzimtzum.”45 The motif of the trace emerges not only as the centerpiece, but also as the culmination of R. Schneur Zalman’s radical reinterpretation of the tzimtzum narrative. Reshimu is not simply an afterthought, a mere trace of the infinite light concealed by tzimtzum. Instead, the motif of the trace utterly transforms the symbolism of tzimtzum. What may previously have seemed an empty gesture becomes a meaningful gesture of emptiness. Reshimureframes divine absence as a deeper expression of divine presence. It is through the prism of reshimu, through the transcendent letters that embody the primordial capacity of constriction, that all the elements of tzimtzum can be coherently reinterpreted. It is specifically in descending into the role of creator, specifically in the emergence of absence and the possibility of otherness, The question of the relationship betweenreshimu and kav led to serious contention over the degree to whichreshimu is impacted bytzimtzum . . .that the omnipotent non-contingence of divine being is traced. Despite the clarity with which R. Schneur Zalman elucidates his understanding of reshimu, there are some points that remain ambiguous. The question of the relationship between the trace (reshimu), which is left in the hollow, and the narrow “line” (kav) of revelation, which is extended into the hollow, was discussed by R. Schneur Zalman and subsequent Chabad leaders, opening new avenues of investigation and insight. In the fourth and fifth generations of Chabad, these discussions led to serious contention over the degree to which reshimu is impacted by tzimtzum. We have already seen how previous debates concerning tzimtzum marked seminal theological disagreements between the early chassidim and their opponents.46But this new dispute would drive a wedge between two contemporaneous strands of the Chabad dynastic tradition. Once again, the scholarly debate ran parallel to a social schism. The motif of the letters, so central to the dual parable of the scholar, would become the nexus of this heated dispute.47
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Essay
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Over the past few decades, a new and distinctive movement has emerged among Jews who are attempting to reclaim some kind of spiritual meaning for their lives. The question has been: If we are recovering our connection to the divine, can we find that connection in traditional Judaism?
The question has been particularly difficult for many Jewish women because of the picture of G‑d we inherited. The G‑d we learned about as youngsters, that distant, kingly figure who watched over us seemed, for women discovering their feminine consciousness, too blatantly male. In popular feminism, the G‑d of the Hebrew Bible, of Jewish, Christian and Muslim tradition, has gotten a bad reputation as the patriarchal G‑d of Western culture. Some turned to other religions in search of a G‑d beyond gender or a philosophy that did not require a belief in G‑d at all. Is it true that G‑d in Jewish teachings is patriarchal, that is, thoroughly imbued with male characteristics and values? On first glance, it would seem so. After all, G‑d appears to be male. The siddur (prayerbook) and the Bible refer to G‑d only as He. Traditional Jewish teachings point out that G‑d is really beyond all attributes, including those of gender. But, feminist writers have argued, while that is a nice theory, we as human beings need to use symbols and words to express our experience of the divine. Can we not call G‑d She? Further, the words we have inherited for G‑d—Father, Judge, Creator, Lord—seem to spring from male experience, not female. Can a woman have an authentic relation to a G‑d named only by male titles? Feminists have suggested that the titles reflect deeper levels of experience and perception that are also thoroughly male. The feminine experience of the divine, whatever that might be, is simply not available in the tradition. This longing for something authentically feminine is deep and significant. From it has come the desire to create new women’s rituals and new feminine interpretations of the Bible. But how can these be also authentically Jewish? As serious Jewish feminists have recognized, we cannot create a new Judaism out of whole cloth. It might be possible in some other religion to create something new and still call it by the name of that religion, but not in Judaism: we are connected, intimately and deeply, to Torah itself, the Torah that was given at Sinai and has been passed down faithfully among our people through the ages. New creations lack depth unless they are connected to the tradition we have received, to our history, even if that history seems thoroughly male. Two responses to this issue have emerged. One is a radical rereading of the Torah from a modernist historical perspective, suggesting that Jewish women in ancient times had religious resources which were not acknowledged by the men who handed down the Torah. Some feminists argue that we can resurrect the goddess symbols of the ancient Near East. They suggest that the matriarchs themselves may have worshipped goddesses, and that Israelite women are known certainly to have done so. (We know of these practices from the criticisms heaped on goddess-worship by the prophets, but feminists dismiss those criticisms as mere propaganda of the zealous male followers of the patriarchal G‑d.) Therefore, they say, we can borrow from goddess worship its rich feminine imagery; we can speak of the Queen of Heaven rather than just the King; we can use images of birth and fertility as well as of creation and conquest. A second, more moderate view suggests that we do not need to return to goddesses. But, since G‑d is neither male nor female, we can use feminine language and symbols to express uniquely feminine aspects of G‑d. We can creatively retranslate Hebrew words, giving them a different nuance that is either beyond gender or has a feminine flavor. We can say Ruler of the universe rather than King, for example, to give a more neutral description. We can speak of G‑d as our Father and Mother; we can mention the matriarchs as well as the patriarchs in our prayers and stories. Thus the remembering and retelling of the tradition can come to have a less masculine cast, while remaining true to the words of the tradition as we have received it, and without passing over into idolatry. Imaginative as these might seem, there are certain problems with such proposals. First, on ancient goddesses: these figures are not as beneficent as they might seem. We might like to fantasize a goddess as an all-beneficent mother in contrast to a harsh, legalistic father figure. But this is not true of what we know of ancient religions. Goddesses were not always sweet and beneficent. Some of the ritual practices connected to the goddesses were violent and, by modern standards, inhumane. In some cases the rituals involved sexual practices unacceptable to Jewish sensibilities. Moreover, goddesses were not forbidden merely because they were feminine. Male gods were forbidden also, the Baals as well as the Asherahs. The prophets, from Moses onward, were struggling to unify the worship of G‑d in order to ensure that the Jewish people remained connected to their unique historical experience of G‑d, the G‑d who brought them out of Egypt. We cannot forget that no sooner had the newly freed slaves received the Torah than they began worshipping the golden calf, a favorite image of a Canaanite male god, even though they said, “This is the god that brought us out of Egypt.” It would have been easy to extend the confusion, to become involved in the worship practiced by the Canaanite inhabitants of the land of Israel, and ultimately to forget our own history. In fact, that is exactly what we did; that is why the prophets repeatedly had to call the people to stop worshipping idols. They were reminding us that the Jewish perception of the divine was connected with history, with purpose and direction that transcended any given place. The G‑d who brought us out of Egypt had something bigger in mind, something more than sustaining our life, bringing us success and prosperity, or even life after death. That sense of larger vision, of greater purpose, has sustained the Jewish people through the ages; and that larger vision assures us also that our G‑d is ultimately beyond gender. To borrow from other religious experiences just because they are female can, and in our history almost always did, dilute the reality of our unique Jewish experience. Women are attracted to goddess figures because it is possible to see in them characteristics women can imitate: strength, creativity, compassion. But this has been for centuries a major emphasis of Jewish thought about G‑d: Recognizing that we cannot know G‑d’s essence, we focus on the divine attributes or characteristics in order to learn derech Hashem, the way of G‑d, the things we can imitate and bring into our own lives. When we ask whether G‑d is patriarchal or matriarchal, male or female, we are asking about these characteristics. How indeed has G‑d revealed Himself/Herself, that aspect of the divine that we can understand, to our people? One would think, from feminist criticisms, that the Jewish view of G‑d’s attributes would list predominantly negative male characteristics: strength, warlikeness, imperialistic control, jealousy. But what in fact are the attributes which our sages have found in G‑d? We can take them from the Kabbalah of Rabbi Isaac Luria: wisdom, knowledge, lovingkindness, strength, harmony, perseverance, beauty, generativity, presence in earthly life. We can take them from the thirteen divine attributes: merciful, compassionate, slow to anger, abundant in kindness and truth, preserving kindness for thousands of generations, ever-forgiving. Indeed, our tradition finds a multitude of ways more than we can easily translate into English to describe the love and compassion of G‑d for human beings. In any case, there is clearly no justification for criticizing the Jewish view of G‑d as full of undesirable male characteristics. Yet the gender-specific language remains. If G‑d’s characteristics really transcend gender, why do we speak of G‑d only as He? Actually, there is nothing wrong with an individuals using feminine words for G‑d to address her as Mother or to imagine oneself talking to an intimate female friend. For some individuals, this helps to develop a richer and more intimate relationship to G‑d. We can also write and share our own interpretations of G‑d’s compassion, G‑d’s judgment, G‑d’s creative work in the world in feminine terms. This may help us to come to experience the fullness of G‑d in our lives. But this is not a full answer, for there is still the arena of public prayer, where tradition insists that we should adhere to the established text of the siddur. Here, many feminists are eager for changes in language and substance. Some Jewish organizations have rushed ahead to revise translations of the prayerbook, eliminating gender references, sometimes eliminating portions of the prayers themselves. We must say, first of all, that this does injustice to the Hebrew language itself, not to mention the centuries of prayer of the Jewish people, who cherished these words as the channels by which we might address G‑d. The issue is not merely introducing some feminine language for our personal enrichment, but our relation to the whole of Jewish tradition and the whole Jewish people. Nor is it only a matter of dutifully respecting the communal tradition. We are easily led astray here because of our cultural disposition to value individual self-expression. We tend to honor tradition only so long as it feels authentic to us. But what this really means is that we do not well understand communal expression, so we tend to brush it aside. We must ask: are there not some powerful reasons why our sages have, through the centuries, kept a certain kind of language for our address to G‑d, and have been very careful about what comes to be included in oursiddur? Indeed there are. The mystics tell us, following images used by the prophets, that our relation to G‑d, as a people, can be conceived in sexual terms. G‑d is male, the Jewish people is female. Shir HaShirim, the Song of Songs, which accompanies the celebration of Pesach and which in some communities is sung every Friday night, represents G‑d and Israel as two lovers. The holidays can be mystically conceived as representing seasons in the relationship between Israel and G‑d: Pesach is the first commitment of the two lovers, the engagement, so to speak; Shavuot is G‑d’s giving us His ketubah, or wedding contract; and Sukkot is the consummation of the marriage. In a related set of images, all souls of Israel together are the Shabbat Queen, who is also the Shechinah (feminine aspect of the divine), who unites with her husband, G‑d, on Shabbat. These images are a way to convey to us that the relation between G‑d and human beings is a dynamic model, of which our best understanding is the relation between male and female. If our imagination fails at this point, it is partly a failure of our society, particularly of the widespread weakening of marriage and family in our times. Our grasp of the true meaning of the marriage relationship is dim and vague. We tend either to idealize it as romance (the teenagers Romeo and Juliet), or we criticize it as an instrument of patriarchal oppression, where the husband owns and dominates the wife. Thus, some feminist writers have severely criticized the Jewish image of the divine/human marriage. For example, Rosemary Reuther attacks the images found in some of the prophetic writings which accuse Israel of being the harlot while G‑d acts like a petty, jealous husband. This criticism totally fails to understand the depth and richness of the husband/wife experience in Judaism and, in particular, the notion of fidelity as part of marriage. Most of us today can barely grasp this, so we miss how the symbol of G‑d as the husband and the Jewish people as the wife is the deepest imaginable relationship. Yet this image, this metaphor for G‑d and the Jewish people, holds the secret of the apparently patriarchal language of Bible and siddur, the masculine terms we use for G‑d. In our days of new feminine consciousness, when we are asking what it means to be female or male, this language turns us back to our fundamental relationship to G‑d. A woman discovering herself as woman first questions G‑d: Why do you appear as male? Or she questions the rabbis: Why did you write about Him as like you and not like us? But we must push the question to a deeper level: what do masculine and feminine, male and female, really mean? How are they unique, and how do they come together? We must certainly reject the interpretation that the male (G‑d) has all the power and the female (Israel) is his instrument. That would be thoroughly un-Jewish. We need only recall the famous Talmudic story of Rabbi Eliezer, who was intent on having G‑d put His personal seal on a certain halachic decision. The sages, however, decided the matter another way. G‑d’s response was, “Thus my children have decided.” G‑d might well have said, in the above anecdote, “Thus my wife has decided.” For in another context G‑d tells Abraham, “In all that Sarah tells you, listen to her voice.” The feminine has power, influence and impact on the world just as does the masculine. They are in continuous interaction, an ongoing dance, in which each elevates and enriches the other. This metaphor of G‑d and Israel as husband and wife helps us understand that when we address G‑d as a community, we address Him as male. When we pray in the traditional ways, we are not merely doing our duty by honoring what has been passed down. We are entering into a relationship with G‑d by our speech, helping to create a relationship that has its own dynamic, the dynamic of the people Israel speaking, in love and intimacy, to her divine partner. And, as with a marriage, it is only with years of practice that the full richness of this communication becomes a reality for us. The so-called patriarchal G‑d thus turns out to be only one face of G‑d. The question once was asked why, in our prayers, we address G‑d as G‑d of Abraham, G‑d of Isaac and G‑d of Jacob, rather than more simply as G‑d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The sages answered: Because G‑d showed a different face to each one. So also with us. We live in a time when many are speaking of the feminine faces of G‑d; this brings to our awareness dimensions of G‑d that we might have forgotten. We may also see Him in more traditional terms as Creator, Ruler, Redeemer, Giver of the Torah. We need not reject any of these, male or female, but only use them to deepen our understanding of ourselves as individuals, of our people and of G‑d. Learning to live with and think deeply into our words for G‑d is part of our spiritual growth, part of the deepening of consciousness we see in our times.
From Feeding Among the Lilies.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
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Lifestyle
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Smoothies are a good alternative to ice cream, snow cones or Slurpees for the health-conscious. No, it’s not an exact replacement, but it has a similar slushy icy taste, without any unhealthy ingredients.
 This strawberry-banana version is my “go-to” smoothie, because it’s so quick and easy to whip up, and it’s consistently delicious. The trick to sweetening this smoothie is the banana. Perfectly yellow ready-to-eat banana? That’s exactly what you don’t want to use for this smoothie. Think dark brown, and I mean really brown. The kind of brown you’d normally scrunch your nose up at and throw in the garbage. I buy bananas and leave them in the fridge for at least 2 weeks before using. Sometimes up to 3–4 weeks. Leaving them on the counter would be akin to throwing an all-out fruit fly party, but the fridge is the perfect place. It also minimizes the smell. Why such old, brown bananas? They develop an intense sweetness that makes the smoothie taste incredible. Interestingly, I also find the banana flavor less intense when I use the more overripe bananas. Aside from the banana, you’ll need some frozen strawberries. Yes, it’s very important that they are frozen. By freezing the strawberries, your smoothie will be thick and creamy. You won’t need to add ice, which would dilute the flavors.  So, banana, strawberries, and the milk of your choice. I usually use almond milk or coconut dream, but you can definitely use soy milk, cow’s milk or other milks. Depending on the shape and strength of your blender, you may need slightly more milk to get the fruit moving. But don’t add too much, or your smoothie will be too liquidy. Another trick to help with the blending is to have the banana closest to the blade. You can add in a scoop of chia seeds, flaxseed and/or wheat germ after the smoothie is fully blended. Just mix it in gently with a spoon.  Smoothies really need to be eaten immediately. They don’t last well in the fridge. So… smoothie up!  Ingredients:
Put frozen strawberries, banana and milk in a blender. Pulse until smooth. If you want to boost the nutrition level, gently stir in some chia seeds, flaxseed or wheat germ before eating.  What’s your favorite fruit combination for smoothies? Share your ideas in the comments so we can all get some inspiration.
Miriam Szokovski is the author of the historical novel Exiled Down Under, and a member of the Chabad.org editorial team. She enjoys tinkering with recipes, and teaches cooking classes to young children. Miriam shares her love of cooking, baking and food photography on Chabad.org’s food blog, Cook It Kosher, and in the N’shei Chabad Newsletter.
© Copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
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Lifestyle
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“For the L-rd your G-d is bringing you to a good land, a land with brooks of water, fountains and depths, that emerge in valleys and mountains, a land of wheat and barley, vines and figs and pomegranates, a land of oil producing olives and honey, a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, you will lack nothing in it, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose mountains you will hew copper. And you will eat and be sated, and you shall bless the L-rd, your G-d, for the good land He has given you. Beware that you do not forget the L-rd, your G-d…” (8:7-11)
In these verses, the word "land" is repeated seven times, emphasizing the bounty of the land and the natural resources with which it is blessed. The painting highlights abundant sources of water, with streams of water flowing from the valleys and mountains, as well as the fertility of the green verdant land, its golden grains, and the metallic resources embedded in the ground. Israel, a "land of mountains and valleys", is fed by the rain, unlike the land of Egypt where water came from the Nile. In the painting we feel how the land is revived by the rain from heaven while the sky reflects the exuberance and vibrancy of the earth. The land’s blessing of good bread and sweet water are what the people hungered for during their long sojourn in the wilderness and the painting exudes the feeling of celebration in anticipation of entering the land. "Flowing with milk and honey," Israel is characterized by the seven species. In the painting the fields have many flowers affording food for the bees to make honey, while the pasture provides for an abundance of milk. After extracting the many benefits of the land, and after we eat and are satisfied, we are called upon to bless G-d for our "goodly land".
Yoram Raanan takes inspiration from living in Israel, where he can fully explore and express his Jewish consciousness. The light, the air, the spirit of the people and the land energize and inspire him. His paintings include modern Jewish expressionism with a wide range of subjects ranging from abstract to landscape, biblical and Judaic.
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Jewish News
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This is the second in a series of articles on the unique lives of young Chabad-Lubavitch women.
A unique feature of the Women’s Division of the Mayanot Institute of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem are the shluchos—the young Chabad-Lubavitch women who serve as peer mentors for the women at the institute, most of whom are discovering Torah and traditional Judaism for the first time. Deena Schanowitz, 20 years old and a native of Chicago, has served as a shluchah at Mayanot since the fall of 2014. Q: Before we begin, can you share a bit about yourself, your family and your education? A: I grew up in West Rogers Park, the densely Jewish area on the North Side of Chicago. Both of my parents have taught at the local Chabad school where I went as a child. Many of my siblings are also teachers and/or Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries. After graduating Lubavitch Girls High School in Chicago, I spent a year studying at the Beit Chana Teachers’ Seminary in Safed, Israel. In September 2014, I came to Mayanot and spent the academic year there. Q: People wonder: What exactly is the job of a shluchah since you are both a student and a teacher at the same time? Can you describe your function at Mayanot? 
“Perhaps our primary purpose is simply to be ourselves,” says Schanowitz.
We also each have a specific job to take care of—whether it is arranging extracurricular activities or planning Shabbat on campus. But then, it’s understood that our most important function is the one that cannot be put into words. One woman told me that we taught her that she can be religious and still remain “normal,” showing her that she can live life in a deeper way. Q: What are some of the challenges that you’ve encountered? A: In the beginning, I was intimidated by the fact that the women were so much older and more secularly educated than me. I could not understand how I would be able to teach or become friends with a lawyer or doctor five or eight years my senior. Another challenge is the fact that the group was constantly changing. There were women who I had just begun building a relationship with who then had to return to college or their job. Some women come for so short a time that it is hard to connect to them in that quick span of time. 
“We learn with the women, try to add some liveliness into the atmosphere, and in the process, we develop very meaningful relationships with them,” says Schanowitz
Q: Is this your first time interacting with girls your age who did not grow up in a religious environment? A: “ I had a pretty insular upbringing, and the only previous interactions I had with girls my age who were not like me was when I worked as a counselor alongside junior counselors in Gan Israel camps throughout my high school years. It was challenging at first because I did not feel like I was able to relate to them on the same level I could relate to my other friends. I slowly began to relate to them more and more. It was such an eye-opening experience for me.” Each person comes from such a different background and has so much life experience in so many areas that I would have never been exposed to. I am constantly inspired by their bravery in examining a different spiritual path. It takes guts to be different, and it is fascinating to hear about their spiritual journeys. 
Some pre-Purim creative fun.
A: I definitely hope to—and have already begun to—keep in touch with the women. WhatsApp makes it very easy since we have a group with everyone who has been in Mayanot since the beginning of the year. G‑d willing, I plan to return to Mayanot for the coming year, as will quite a few of the women from last year, I believe. In addition, many graduates live in Israel now and will pop into Mayanot for a class or a chavruta [one-on-one partner Torah-study session]. Q: How have you grown through this experience? A: There are many things I took for granted growing up. I never really questioned why I do the things I do. Being in an environment like Mayanot has forced me to question and know the reasons behind everything in Judaism. Teaching others also caused me to deepen my own understanding so that I’d be able to give the material over on a relatable and clear level. The instructors have taught me be an independent and critical learner. I will carry this with me for the rest of my life. I also learned a lot from the perspective of Mayanot. The teachers are incredibly devoted to the students without pushing them at all. There are hardly any rules, but there is a lot of care. The first article in the series, “Scholarship and Help to Others: A Look into the Lives of Young Chabad Women,” can be read here. 
Life at Mayanot includes trip and lectures throughout Israel, many focusing on the central role of women in Jewish life and history.
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Jewish News
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Summer is a good time for many Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries, especially those based on college campuses, to get outside of their immediate surroundings—spending time with family, working with kids at camp, visiting friends or alumni. While the students are away, they also immerse themselves in planning and preparing for the upcoming year’s Jewish holidays, events and programs.
It’s also the right time for the annual Chabad on Campus Kinus, where emissary couples from 230 Chabad on Campus centers worldwide, serving some 500 different colleges, come together for three days of education, networking and the chance to savor time with like-minded colleagues. Also heralded at the conference last month were 20 new couples going out on shlichus, either to start a brand-new Chabad House at a university that has none or to join existing emissaries on a campus that has experienced significant growth over time. This year, the group gathered at the Crowne Plaza in Stamford, Conn., for programs and lectures that ranged from managing finances and keeping students engaged to modern-day dilemmas of Jewish law and the issues that crop up when spouses work closely together. Other topics touched upon classes and Torah study, Shabbat dinners, holiday programs and social events, and simply being there for students, whatever their needs may be. Rabbi Shmuel Tiechtel, director of Chabad at Arizona State University in Tempe, Ariz., put it this way: “The Kinus is a chance to rejuvenate, learn, spend time with friends and attend workshops that prompt new ideas for programs to take back home.” He spoke during an event and seminar targeted for emissaries in their earl years just starting out. Along those lines, he discussed how to set up a Chabad House, stay organized and make each day as productive as possible. “It was eye-opening to see the excited passion of the new shluchim,” he said. “And seeing the extensive network of Chabad on Campus, you realize how great the effect is.” “The Kinus represents an opportunity for Chabad-Lubavitch emissary families to gain support and advice from one another, as well as to learn from their collective experiences,” stated Rabbi Yossy Gordon, executive vice president of Chabad on Campus International. “Everyone needs time to re-evaluate, and to hear about others’ progress and successes, so that they can go forward with the tools they need to strengthen and grow Jewish life on college campuses everywhere.” ‘Food for Thought’
Rabbi Simon Jacobson of Brooklyn, N.Y., led a session on Israel advocacy (Photo: Bentzi Sasson, Chabad.edu)
“As a yeshivah bochur,” said the 25-year-old rabbi, “I spent time on campus, a few different ones, and I really loved it.” So far, the native of Melbourne, Australia, has been learning one-on-one with students and starting to gather together those who might want to be part of a Jewish student group. He attended the Kinus to meet other emissaries and learn from the experts: “It was good information, but more than anything, they raised a lot of issues that gave me clarity, issues I have to think about—a lot of food for thought.” One of his favorite talks was on the ins and outs of programming, he recalled, when the presenter spoke about the importance of stopping to contemplate why a particular event or class is being held. “Your goal is to build a community on campus for students,” he said. “You want to change the campus culture, and you want to meet people.” As such, it’s crucial to determine which ways to do so are most effective. Kluwgant decided at the last minute to attend the event—his wife had a baby just a few weeks beforehand—and flew in for the first night, a Sunday. He spent Monday and Tuesday soaking up the know-how and advice, he said. He also met a group of first-time emissaries he plans to be in touch with as they all move ahead with their work. 
The group gathered at the Crowne Plaza in Stamford, Conn., for programs and lectures that ranged from managing finances and keeping students engaged to the unique issues related to living and working with one’s spouse. (Photo: Bentzi Sasson, Chabad.edu)
“Everyone’s accessible there,” he said, noting that he hopes to go again next year. “Although the Kinus has grown 500 percent in the past 10 years, the feeling of camaraderie and family only gets stronger,” said Rabbi Moshe C. Dubrowski, director of programming for Chabad on Campus International. “The power of Chabad on Campus is that every shaliach and shlucha—some coming from as far away as Europe and South America—has brothers and sisters supporting them in tangible and intangible ways. For the Youngest SectorMeanwhile, the children of campus couples had a chance to spend time with their peers as well. After all, even the youngest members of these families are emissaries in their own right.“Growing up on campus is unique; it’s different than a typical Chabad House,” explained Rabbi Mendy Shanowitz, director of MyShliach, a program run by Merkos 302 that provides year-round programming and resources for young shluchim. The children grow up with college-aged students around all the time, he said, and not many other young kids like themselves. Many of the students become like family over the course of four years, but upon graduation, they leave—and completely new people arrive. 
The children of campus couples had a chance to spend time with their peers as part of the MyShliach camp program. Activities for girls included an international-themed carnival, crafts, juggling and a children’s rally. (Photo: Bentzi Sasson, Chabad.edu)
In addition to local trips, fathers and sons took part in a learning session on Monday night. The next day, the boys performed mivtzoim in the Palisades Center Mall in West Nyack, N.Y. (Photo: Bentzi Sasson, Chabad.edu)
Boys and girls ages 7 and up also participated in a session led by renowned scholar and lecturer Rabbi Manis Friedman, where they could ask questions based on their experiences in different Jewish communities throughout the world. The entire camp, emphasized Shanowitz, is centered on their roles as junior emissaries, where they, too, can talk about life on campus. He also noted that over the course of the academic year, “numerous mini-camps and Shabbatons are run for the children of shluchim,” so they can share their experiences, spend time in similar company, and get the opportunity to learn and grow from one another. 
Rabbi Moshe Kotlarsky, vice chairman of Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch—the educational arm of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement—and chairman of Chabad on Campus International spoke at Tuesday's luncheon. (Photo: Bentzi Sasson, Chabad.edu)
‘Looking Out for Each Other’Rabbi Mendel Deitsch, 25, the emerging co-director of Chabad at George Mason University in Fairfax, Va., with his wife, Raizel, said his friends encouraged him to attend the Kinus, where he wound up enjoying the diversity of presentations.“It was nice to see how everybody came with their own talents and perspectives,” he said, adding that he also appreciated hearing how Chabad-Lubavitch emissaries learned from their mistakes. Deitsch said he came away with information on having a sound financial plan, staying organized, and how to build relationships with students and faculty. He’s also excited about the mentor program, where emissaries get paired with one another for advice and interaction on matters that arise during the academic year. Besides meeting people, he said he really valued the family feel, and the eagerness in which participants shared their knowledge and experiences. “Everybody’s looking out for each other; everyone’s helping each other. That’s a really powerful feeling, especially for someone like me just starting out.” 
“The Kinus represents an opportunity for Chabad-Lubavitch emissary families to gain support and advice from one another, as well as to learn from their collective experiences.” (Photo: Bentzi Sasson, Chabad.edu)
“Although the Kinus has grown 500 percent in the past 10 years, the feeling of camaraderie and family only gets stronger.” (Photo: Bentzi Sasson, Chabad.edu)
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Jewish News
Months of preparation by Chabad as the 2015 Games open | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
It’s like nearing the end of a long marathon, with the finish line in sight.
After months of planning, preparing and organizing, Chabad of Berlin welcomed tens of thousands of people in town for the 2015 European Maccabi Games—wrapping tefillin with hundreds, hosting two impromptu bar mitzvahs, distributing brochures encouraging women to light Shabbat candles and handing out thousands of “Maccabi Games” kipahs on the first day alone. With an estimated 2,300 participants from more than 36 different countries and thousands of spectators from around the world, the Berlin Jewish community in general and Chabad in particular have rolled out the official welcome mat. More than 45,000 Jews live in Berlin—out of a total Jewish population of 250,000 in the country as a whole—many of whom moved to the capital city from Eastern Europe, France, Australia, Israel and the United States. Chabad’s presence at the games is due in large part to planning that began nearly a year ago by Rabbi Yehuda Teichtal, rabbi of the Berlin Jewish community and the head of Chabad of Berlin, and Rabbi Shmuel Segal, program director of the Chabad Jewish Educational Center in Berlin. Because of the sheer number of people on hand, Chabad of Berlin enlisted the help of eight yeshivah students to manage some of the logistical operations, such as talking with participants, fielding questions, handing out informational materials and providing opportunities for people to perform mitzvahs. The students are among approximately 300 young men who fan across the globe—serving communities from California to China—as part of the annual Merkos Shlichus “Roving Rabbis” program. 
Excitement is in the air for the competition, which runs through Aug. 5.
Volfman says he also made connections with people from close to home. “There was a guy I met from a smaller city in Michigan,” says the Detroit native, “and he gave me his contact info so that I can connect him to his local Chabad center. He is so excited about the idea of taking the Jewish inspiration he got here back home.” Symbolism Not LostThe European Maccabi Games are held every four years—two years after the worldwide Maccabiah Games. European delegations send their best Jewish sportsmen and women to compete.Participants will test their skills in 19 disciplines, including basketball, swimming, field hockey, fencing, dressage, golf, table tennis, chess and more. 
The offical kipah of the games
The fact that organizers are using sites that were built by the Nazis is not lost on the crowd; the symbolism is inherent. Among those who participated in the opening of the games are descendants of Jewish athletes who performed at the 1936 Olympics. (Jewish athletes from Germany were not allowed to participate at the time, although some Jewish sport stars from other countries did.) The relationship that has developed between Germany and Israel over the last five decades was also exhibited in the form of a youth orchestra, comprised of 50 musicians who performed during the grand opening. Half were Israeli; half were German. A Jewish band from Berlin also sang the official song: “Maccabi Chai.” Within the framework of the opening ceremony, Rabbi Teichtal met with Israeli Vice Prime Minister and Minister of the Interior Silvan Shalom; World Jewish Congress president Ronald S. Lauder; and Alon Mayer, president of Maccabi in Germany. 
Chabad representatives assist Jewish visitors in wrapping tefillin.
Shalom shared how moving it is that the Maccabi Games are taking place in the Olympic stadium in a country where today, young Jews are proudly displaying their pride and identity. Together, they spoke about the vibrant growing Jewish life in Germany and the role of the games in changing the image of the German capital in the international community. As Teichtal stated earlier this year: “We in Germany live in a free society, which recognizes the right of every individual to live a full and enriching lifestyle. In the 19 years that I have lived in Berlin, we have seen a Jewish renaissance that is still unfolding, and I have no doubt that it will continue to flourish, openly and proudly, with complete faith in G‑d.” The games will continue through next week. Maccabi is hosting a major Shabbat program this week that Chabad is helping to prepare; some are even suggesting that it will break the Guinness World Records for the number of participants at a Shabbat dinner. 
From left: Rabbi Yehuda Teichtal, rabbi of the Berlin Jewish community and the head of Chabad of Berlin; Israeli Vice Prime Minister and Minister of the Interior Silvan Shalom; World Jewish Congress president Ronald S. Lauder; and Alon Mayer, president of Maccabi in Germany
Chabad of Berlin enlisted the help of yeshivah students to field questions and provide opportunities for people to perform mitzvahs.
A table of information for players and fans, provided by Chabad. As their shirts read: “We're here for all your Jewish needs!” In the center is Rabbi Shmuel Segal, program director for Chabad of Berlin.
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Saratoga Springs in Upstate New York has long been known for the therapeutic waters of its namesake, in addition to the “three H’s”—health, history and horses.
You can also add a “J” to that equation. Among many other tourists, Jews from Montreal and New York’s metropolitan area flock to Saratoga during the summer. Chabad Lubavitch of Saratoga Springs welcomes the overflow. Rabbi Abba Rubin and his wife, Raizel, serve local Jews who live there year-round, as well as travelers visiting for a day or a week. They draw from the town and its environs; from nearby Lake George; from prestigious Skidmore College; and in the summer, from tourists and campers passing through. “We appreciate and welcome both locals and tourists,” says the rabbi. Saratoga’s year-round population of 27,000 triples in the summertime, with people staying there for a month or more, according to the local chamber of commerce. More pour into the area for shorter stays, including nearly a million people who go to the Saratoga Race Course. Less than a mile down the road from the track sits Chabad. The center is also located just five minutes from hotels off the main street, Broadway. The Rubins, who have four children, have extra bedrooms inside the Chabad House for visitors and also converted their large carriage house into guest rooms. For Raizel Rubin, the best part of the summer is having so many folks around: “I like it when we meet more people—it’s so nice.” Plenty of Activities
The minyan draws hundreds of worshippers most of July and all of August.
The popular “Lake George Minyan” in a large tent behind the Magic Forest Family Fun Park on Bloody Pond Road draws hundreds of worshippers most of July and all of August. (There is no minyan on Shabbat, as the site—two miles south of the well-known lake—is not within walking distance.) Rabbi Rubin calls it a unique setting for a minyan—the quorum of 10 for public prayer services—with people praying in a field under a tent, some in full-length caftans, many in shorts and T-shirts. No matter; he says, again stressing the fact that all are welcome. During Havdalah on Saturday nights in the summer, the rabbi is a familiar site along the main streets of Saratoga Springs talking to people, bringing spices to smell and handing out a little paper explaining what Havdalah is all about. It’s for Jews and non-Jews alike, whoever is walking by, adds his wife. They even hired a cellist to play as they spoke to people, all part of the effort “to make the locals and the tourists feel special.” The Rubins also offer take-out and catered kosher meals, from salmon to schnitzel. That means a great deal of preparation, especially if they get orders from the numerous camps in the area. Last summer, they made several thousand meals. Raizel Rubin recalls preparing 300 meals in a single day for a camp with 100 kids who needed breakfast, lunch and dinner. They are also catering a wedding this summer for 70 guests. 
People pray in a verdant field, some in full-length caftans, many in shorts and T-shirts. No matter, says the rabbi; all are welcome. (Photo: JDN)
‘Come One, Come All’Ana Avital, a radio producer and year-round resident of Saratoga Springs, has known the Rubins and their family for many years. “They are wonderful people,” she says, “with hearts of gold. They open their door with a smile.”She’s more than familiar with how the town fills up right now. When the Saratoga Race Course opens, she notes, there are “tons of people and not one available hotel room left.” She says she loves the Shalom annual festival, when the park is packed with people enjoying all the event has to offer. There are more people around for Shabbat during the summer, says Avital, yet it doesn’t matter if one person or a big crowd shows up; the Rubins don’t change their approach—the way they warmly welcome every person. 
Music is part of the annual Shalom Festival, this year on Sunday, Aug. 30.
The rabbi says he enjoys helping people and guiding them on their spiritual paths. With the tourists passing through, it’s often done on the go, but no matter. Even if they see him only once, he maintains that it’s a satisfying interaction. During this time of year, the rabbi can field as many as 100 calls a day. “It’s a challenge to answer everyone’s needs,” he acknowledges. “At the same time, I could speak to them for hours.” ‘A Nice Place to Live’Betty and Arthur Kay of Teaneck, N.J., have visited Chabad of Saratoga Springs a few times over the years, most recently in early July. They were staying at a bed-and-breakfast within walking distance of Chabad and ate their Shabbat meals there.Betty Kay calls the Rubins lovely people, noting how they bring others together: “They offer a nice array of food and make you feel comfortable around their table. They ask people to speak about themselves, about Torah, whatever you like.” 
On tap at the outdoor festival will be jugglers, kosher-food vendors, artwork and games like a big “Connect 4,” which requires participants to match four Jewish-themed similarly colored checkers in a row.
The rabbi understands the allure. A native of Albany, N.Y., he enjoys hiking and soaking in the natural scenery. Originally from Brooklyn, N.Y., Raizel Rubin says she never hiked until she married. “I was a real city girl,” she shares. “But you adjust to where you live. This is a nice place to live and raise a family.” Kay confirms that the Rubins make the area even nicer. “I wish that they continue to do G-d’s work,” she says, “and continue to attract more people to their Shabbat table.” 
Last year, the festival drew 1,000 people, many for its unique crafts.
The festival is a big draw for families, both local residents and visitors alike.
This will be the 14th year that the Shalom Festival has taken place.
Rabbi Abba and Raizel Rubin
Lake George is a well-known and serene area attraction, and part of the allure of nature that the Rubin family enjoys. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)
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Chabad.org Magazine - Editor: Yanki Tauber
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