WHAT'S THE OCCASION?

Each year the festival of Shavu’ot is celebrated in commemoration of “the occasion of the giving of our Torah” (zman matan toratainu);1 the climactic revelation at Sinai to the recently liberated Israelite nation. The Torah and Talmudic sources describe the delivery of the Ten Commandments as a unique experience—complete with thunder, lightning and a smoking mountaintop—and an event of historic significance.2 Yet the Talmudic account itself actually makes it quite difficult to understand what was so earth-shattering about “the giving of the Torah.”

According the Talmud, our forefather Abraham (and others before him) had studied the Torah3 and fulfilled its precepts centuries before it was “given” to his descendants at Sinai.4 In other words, a significant body of legislation and moral lore was already in existence long before the historic event described as “the giving of the Torah.” Indeed, even without the Talmudic tradition it would seem that all of the Ten Commandments given at Sinai are either philosophical axioms (e.g. monotheism), moral imperatives and ideals (e.g. do not murder, do not steal, honor your father and mother, do not covet), or previously received mandates (e.g. the Sabbath). In other words, not the sort of material that would seem to warrant a divine revelation—and certainly not one of such grandeur.5

One might further question why such basic philosophical and moral axioms need be enforced by divine “command” at all. As intelligent and responsible human beings, we should act upon them purely by virtue of their own inherent ethical quality. Surely G‑d Himself desires us to act upon such imperatives because we know them to be good and right, rather than as dutiful executors of His command.

The question begs to be asked: What momentous innovation did ‘the giving of the Torah’ at Sinai embody? Why is this event remembered and celebrated as the ultimate foundation of Torah authority and religious instruction?6

On a different note, was the revelation at Sinai relevant only to the Jewish people or does it carry a game-changing message of universal application?

Ostensibly, it is its revelatory nature that makes the event at Sinai noteworthy. Abraham, his descendants and disciples had previously adhered to a moral and mystical code inspired by philosophical inquiry into the purpose of existence. Before the revelation at Sinai, Torah study was an effort made by man to gain knowledge of divine intent, and the mitzvot were an attempt to live accordingly. At Sinai, G‑d provided the Jewish people with inside knowledge of that purpose. The foundation of legislative authority is shifted from the relative standards of human logic and judgment to the absolute standard of a divine mandate.7

Upon deeper examination, however, it is difficult to argue that the unique relevance of “the occasion of the giving of our Torah” lies in its revelatory nature alone. Several commandments were given to the Jewish people by G‑d prior to the revelation at Sinai (including the laws of the Sabbath),8 and even Abraham had been a recipient of direct divine instruction.9 Likewise, it is difficult to argue that the unique historic significance of this revelation lies in it being an occurrence of mass prophecy. According to Talmudic sources this would be the second time that the entirety of the Jewish people experienced prophecy, the first being on the occasion of the splitting of the Red Sea. “A maid-servant saw at the sea that which Ezekiel son of Buzi never saw.”10

COSMIC SHIFT

In chabad chasidic literature the answer to these questions is drawn from a Midrash, whose striking assertion invests the historic significance and eternal relevance of “the giving of the Torah” with an innovation of cosmic magnitude:

“When the Blessed Holy One created the world, he decreed and said, ‘The heavens are heavens of the Lord, and the earth He gave to the offspring of Man.’11 When He sought to give the Torah He nullified the earlier decree and said, ‘The lower realms shall rise to the higher realms and the higher realms shall descend to the lower realms, and I will be the initiator.’”12

Encapsulating an argument central to many chabad texts dealing with the issue, the seventh Rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, paraphrases the Midrash: “Before the giving of the Torah there was a decree... that the plane of divinity that is completely above the world shall not be drawn down into the lower realms. After the giving of the Torah He nullified the earlier decree and said, ‘The lower realms shall rise to the higher realms and the higher realms shall descend to the lower realms,’ to the degree that the lower creations can become united with the dimension of divinity that is completely above the world.”13

The chasidic reading equates the Midrashic “higher realms” and “lower realms” with a hierarchical conception of the relationship between divinity and created existence:

To one who creates and sustains a reality out of a complete void, that reality would seem to have no real consequence whatsoever. From this perspective, there is no reason that any of our actions or devotional efforts should bring us into any kind of relationship with divine essentiality. The “higher realms” are entirely transcendent relative to the “lower realms.”

True, we speak of divine immanence within creation, and the very act of deliberate creation implies a descent from the divine self into an association with created existence. But to confine our conception of G‑d to the role of creator would be a mistake.

Only insofar as G‑d does condescend to perform that role, may we surmise that created existence does serve some divinely ordained purpose. Through philosophical inquiry, Man may even achieve knowledge of that purpose, and make effective efforts towards its realization.

There is yet no apparent reason to suggest that this is more than a “divine whim,” rather than something of essential value to the divine self. We might assume that the divine self far transcends the peripheral role of creator, and is only mildly interested in the outcome of the creative project. Certainly, there is no way for the created being—however intelligent—to attain knowledge of the essentiality of divine selfhood and existence, which might have no association at all with the created realm. The very notions of selfhood and existence are themselves designations drawn from the reality constructed ex nihilo by the creator, and have no bearing at all on the essential “being” of divinity.14 There can be no way to enter into coherent discourse with the utterly ineffable.

This was the state of affairs before the giving of the Torah at Sinai. Man’s purpose, Man’s attempt to perfect the world, indeed the very concept of perfection, remained apparently irrelevant to the essentiality of the divine self. For all we knew it may have been no more than a peripheral whim. Created reality may have sought meaning, but in the face of the utterly unknowable, meaning itself—a concept that, like all others, is authored from the void—may be left bereft of true meaning.

* * *

At Sinai—the Torah tells us—“God descended upon the mountain.”15 This is a vision of hierarchical disintegration and collapse. The mountain is the bridge that leads across the infinite gap between created earth and the ultimate transcendence of the loftiest heaven. From this point on, man would be able to enjoy a direct relationship with the essentiality of the divine self. This is the moment when a cosmic shift of immense significance occurs: “The lower realms shall rise to the higher realms and the higher realms shall descend to the lower realms, and I”—says G‑d—will be the initiator.”

The significance of the Sinaitic revelation as the moment when the essential ineffability of the divine self is communicated within the created realm is alluded to in the opening statement of the Ten Commandments—“I am the Lord your G‑d.” Here uniquely, the word used for “I” is the Egyptian “anochi” rather than the Hebrew “ani” used elsewhere in the Torah. According to the Talmud,16 the word “anochi” is employed because it is an acronym for “ana nafshi ketavit yehavit,” an Aramaic phrase that expresses the unique depth and intimacy embodied in the giving of the Torah. G‑d is saying to the Jewish people, “I have written my very self into the Torah and given it over to you.17 In giving you the Torah I am giving you my deepest essentiality.”18

The true significance of the innovation embodied in “the giving of the Torah” is difficult to articulate precisely because it transcends any quantitative or qualitative measure. The innovation does not lie in the details; not in the precepts that were communicated, nor in the earth-shatteringly spectacular nature of the revelation. This is not about the path, but about where the path leads. The giving of the Torah at Sinai was the event that revolutionized the significance of organised religion and reinvented the relationship between Man and G‑d. From a legislative perspective the ten commandments are not revolutionary, but from a theological perspective—in terms of the subversion of the cosmic hierarchy embodied in these commandments—they are.

In a video interview recently published by Jewish Educational Media (JEM), a lawyer by the name of David Stauber recalled his 1973 meeting with the Lubavitcher Rebbe. By his own account, Stauber “had [at the time] a very skeptical and aggressive attitude towards Judaism.” He asked the Rebbe a single question, “If G‑d is so great, why does he insist on all these tiny details?” Reflecting on the conversation years later, he enlarged on the point, “It seemed to upset Him [G‑d] if you missed one... if you used a meat spoon in the cottage-cheese, you have to bury it and pull your hair out...19 I could never get that, it really was beyond me...” The Rebbe’s answer was breathtaking in its simplicity, “It’s not for G‑d” he said, “it’s for us. G‑d wants us close to Him and this is the path that He gives us.” The Rebbe’s response cast the commandments of the Torah in a whole new light. As Stauber puts it, G‑d is providing us with “a means to find proximity”—a means to create the deepest possible relationship with the divine self.

No longer must we resort to any kind of philosophical, mystical, sociological, or psychological rationalization to justify the rituals mandated by the Torah. The real significance of such precepts lies, not only in their quantitative or qualitative value, but in the divine essentiality with which they are imbued.20

ENDLESS POSSIBILITY

Such a view of the Sinaitic revelation and its significance, forces us to re-examine the very nature of morality. Given the supreme moral authority of the divine mandate, what role does natural moral intuition play? Led into discourse with the unknowable essence of the divine self, can the moral compass of human instinct maintain bearing and relevance, or is it rendered useless in the face of directionless inconceivability?

To phrase the question slightly differently: While the path of Torah may allow us to embody divine essentiality, can the Torah communicate such absolute ineffability in terms coherent to, and consistent with, human sensibilities and rational considerations?21 Are we forced to treat Torah as pure and absolute dogma to which any human reason must surrender absolutely? Is any attempt at reason futile and self-defeating in the face of the ineffable essence of the divine self?

To answer these questions we need to digress into the most esoteric of theosophic abstractions: In kabbalistic literature the most essential core of divine selfhood is referred to as “without limit” (ain sof). In the words of the fifth Rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch—Rabbi Shalom DovBer Schneersohn (RaShaB)— this term “negates all descriptions; it is the negation of finitude and the negation of infinitude, the negation of positive designation and the negation of negative designation.”22

Free of any definition, the possibilities are endless. As RaShab puts it, the term “without limit” (ain sof) precludes all descriptions “and by extension includes all within it.” At its very apex, the hierarchy of divine transcendence may itself be transcended, and the ineffable may be communicated.

In giving us the Torah, G‑d chose to communicate the ineffable, chose to become coherently accessible.23 The revelation at Sinai created a situation where man’s rational mind and moral compass can fully assimilate and reflect the ultimate potency of the divine self. Revelation does not render our moral compass obsolete. Revelation is the magnet that provides the compass with direction.24

But revelation is only half of the equation; by descending upon the mountain G‑d began a process. It is incumbent upon us, however, to finish the job. After telling us that "G-d descended upon the mountatin," the Torah tells us that Moses followed the instruction to "ascend" upon the mountain.25 Just as G‑d transcends the bounds of infinitude, so must we transcend our own limitations. It is for us to apply ourselves with rigour of mind and openness of heart to objectively discover and subjectively assimilate the mandated precepts of the Torah. It is for us finite beings to walk the bridge across infinity.

A “HIGHER” WORLD

In several instances, the Rebbe pointed out that while the Torah was given to the Jewish people, the revelation at Sinai was of momentous import to all of humanity. In a classic piece of Rabbinic hermeneutics, the Rebbe highlighted a passage in Maimonides's code of Jewish law, Mishnah Torah,26 which carries two apparently opposing messages. The passage begins with an exclusionary statement: “Moses our teacher did not bequeath the Torah and the commandments to anyone but the Jews... and to anyone who wishes to convert from the other nations.” Maimonides continues, however, to assert that the commandments to the Jewish people include a mandate to enforce a universal code of law for all mankind. While the universal code consists entirely of moral precepts and civil ordinances, Maimonides writes that a non-Jew who lives according to the code can only be considered “a righteous gentile” if he or she does so “because G‑d commanded so in the Torah, and made it known through Moses our teacher that mankind had previously been commanded such.”

This seems rather strange: Since the command delivered at Sinai is directed at the Jewish people specifically, it would appear that the non-Jew is not actually obligated by that command. It is only the Jew who is obligated by divine command to promote the universal code. Why then is it not sufficient for the non-Jew to follow such a civil and moral code simply by virtue of his or her own moral instinct? Why must the non-Jew consciously act in fulfillment of a mandate prescribed to the Jewish people at Sinai?

This anomaly is resolved if we take into account the cosmic theological shift embodied in the revelation at Sinai: The Jews were given the Torah in order to bridge the gap between heaven and earth, and raise the entirety of the “lower realm” into the “higher realm.” Such a project calls for a collaborative endeavor in which all the people of the world work to build a “higher” form of society. Many of us envision a civilisation that upholds a moral code for the just governance and mutual good of all the world. But the Torah vision of a higher world is far more ambitious. The Sinai mandate is to make all existence utterly transparent to the ineffable core of the divine self.

A universal code of moral and civil legislation can only reflect and communicate the absolute potency of the divine self if it is consciously practiced in fulfillment of the mandate prescribed at Sinai. Without that condition, the significance of such ordinances may be reduced to selfish utility. Reduced to selfish utility such a code is left bereft of real significance and potency, and risks deterioration or manipulation into amoral barbarism.27 With that condition, even the smallest act for the good is imbued with the absolute significance invested in it by the very essence of the divine self. If all mankind acted out of the reverential volition that such awareness might inspire, the world be a higher place indeed.28

It was the Jewish people who were charged with the Torah mandate, but in order to achieve its implementation they must enter into a partnership with all of humanity.29 According to the Midrash,30 the Ten Commandments were transmitted in all the seventy languages of the world, a mark of the universal relevance of the Sinai revelation to all of mankind.31 By harnessing ourselves to the divine cause revealed to the Jewish people at Sinai, all of humanity may rise higher than any human ideal. Together, we are empowered to walk the bridge across infinity, so that all reality embodies and communicates the infinite potency of divine being.32 Together, we can achieve the ultimate subversion of the cosmic hierarchy.

The city of Kursk in South-West Russia is best known for the great tank battle fought there in 1943. Sixty-five kilometers south of Kursk, and a little way west of the main highway, lies a tiny hamlet called Pyena. Today it hardly appears on the map, and no Jews live there. Two hundred years ago no Jews lived there either. But it was there that Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, founder of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, passed away on the eve following Shabbat the 27th of December 1812. This year the anniversary on the Jewish calendar—the 24th of Teves—falls out on Sunday the Jan. 6, 2013.

In anticipation of this bicentennial occasion the last year has seen the appearance of a plethora of publications—both in print and online—dedicated to the life, works and teachings of Rabbi Schneur Zalman.

In November 2011, the Zalman Shazar Institute published a biography by Professor Immanuel Etkes of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Etkes demonstrates that Rabbi Schneur Zalman was unique as a Chassidic leader who functioned primarily as an educator. According to Etkes, this pedagogical approach enabled Rabbi Schneur Zalman to successfully engage a wide cross-section of Jewish society, both the scholarly and the less educated, while preserving the central elements of the Baal Shem Tov’s mystic teachings. For more on this topic see here.

While this biography relies heavily on Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s magnum opus—the Tanya—and on his extant correspondence, it remains limited in its scope, failing to address Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s communal efforts or the more esoteric elements of his thought. Thankfully, however, Kehot Publication Society has paved the way for some of these gaps to be filled with two landmark publications. The first is a comprehensive collection of more than two hundred items of correspondence and is prefaced with weighty introduction by Rabbi Shalom DovBer Levine, head librarian at the the Central Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad in New York. This introduction provides much insight into Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s interactions with the wider Jewish community as well as with his own followers, and also details a wide variety of communal projects that he led.

The second contribution by Kehot is a twenty-six volume collection of all extant transcripts of Rabbi Shneur Zalman’s oral discourses. This collection represents a formidable challenge to scholars, and its outstanding value is eclipsed only by the absence of a general introduction.

More accessible to the wider public is “The First Imprisonment” by Rabbi Yehoshua Mundshine, a Chabad Chassid who is also an archivist in the manuscript division of the National Library of Israel. The imprisonment of 1798 was much harsher than the second imprisonment of 1801, and represented a threat not only to Rabbi Schneur Zalman as an individual but to the Chassidic movement has a whole. Mundshine has tracked down the original government files dealing with Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s incarceration in the Peter and Paul Fortress in S. Petersburg, including written testimony in his own handwriting, and the Tsar’s order to have him set free on the 19th of Kislev. Drawing on a wealth of documentary and anecdotal sources, he reconstructs the dramatic events as they unfolded step by step.

Mundshine also devotes several chapters to such tangential issues as the more benign 1788 imprisonment of Rabbi Eliyahu, the Gaon of Vilna, in the Vilna City Guest House, and the elusive personality of “the Rabbi of Volpe,” a gifted contemporary of Rabbi Schneur Zalman who apparently ended his days as a drunk. Between this work and the aforementioned introduction by Levine, much light is cast on the shadowy politics that beset the Jewish community in Vilna, making it a bastion of opposition to the Chassidic movement and a constant thorn in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s side. Ultimately, Rabbi Schneur Zalman emerged vindicated and triumphant, and established a good relationship with Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, leader of Lithuanian Jewry and successor to the Chassidic movement’s most authoritative critic.

The most recent edition to the growing list of relevant publications is “The Last Journey.” This work, also by Mundshine, takes us back to that hardly known village south of Kursk. What brought Rabbi Schneur Zalman to Pyena? Why did he pass away in the home of an anonymous peasant some five-hundred kilometers from his home in Liadi?

Five months earlier, Napoleon Bonaparte's Grand Armée had crossed the Neman River and invaded Russia. As the tension between the French Alliance and the Russian Empire came to a head, the Jewish community was split between the supporters of the French—heralds of liberalism and emancipation—and the patriotic supporters of the Tsar. Rabbi Schneur Zalman recognized that the Russians were no lovers of the Jews, and yet he committed himself utterly to the cause of the Tsar. The Tsar, he insisted, was a man of faith, and that faith endowed him with humility and kindness, making him fit that G‑d should ultimately grant him victory. He regarded Napoleon, on the other hand, as the complete antithesis of anything G‑dly; a man whose extreme egotism would lead him first to the depths of depravity—throwing away tens of thousands of lives for nothing more than his own glory—and ultimately to ignominious defeat.

Liadi lies close to the main road between Minsk to the west and Smolensk to the east, and Rabbi Schneur Zalman used a network of his disciples to track the eastward thrusts of the French army and report them to the Russian authorities. As the forces of Marshal Davout drew near, Rabbi Schneur Zalman resolved to leave Liadi and join the Russian Army under the command of General Neverovsky at nearby Krasnyi. On that very day—Friday the 29th of Elul (July 26)—General Neverovsky’s troops were attacked by a superior French force, and R. Schneur Zalman's party fled in the direction of Smolensk. They spent that Friday night in the woods, and arrived in the city on Shabbat morning.

A passport issued by the Civil Governor of Smolensk, Baron Ash, to “the Jew, Zalman Schneur from the town of Liadi,” certifies that, “By order of the Tsar... all military and government personnel everywhere are obligated to aid him and grant him free passage... In an instance that he needs it, he should be given all manner of protection and aid...” This passport—which is housed today in the Central Archives for the History of the Jewish People (CAHJP) in Jerusalem—together with other surviving documents, sheds much light on the wanderings of Rabbi Schneur Zalman and his entourage over the next few months. Mundshine’s scholarly approach does not prevent him from enriching the narrative with a vast reservoir of anecdotal material, and hundreds of period artistic impressions. Some of these depict the very places that Rabbi Shneur Zalman passed through some days before—now occupied by french troops.

Rabbi Schneur Zalman was nearing his seventieth year, and his wanderings extended deep into the Russian winter. On the 19th of Tevet he suddenly took ill. At the time he and his party were heading south-west, intending to establish temporary residence in Kremenchug, but they were forced to seek shelter in Pyena, some four hundred kilometers short of their destination.

Mundshine has collected an abundance of rich detail concerning Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s last days, including various manuscripts that record his final teachings. But unfortunately for the reader whose language of choice is English, “The Last Journey” was published in Hebrew, as were all the other works described above. Chabad.org, the flagship website of the international Chabad-Lubavitch movement, has stepped up to fill the language gap, creating a new mini-site devoted to the life, works and teachings of Rabbi Shneur Zalman, making a wealth of quality material available for the English speaking public.

A combination of video, audio and text makes the site versatile and engaging: In one instance, an article by Chabad.org Editor-In-Chief Rabbi Yanki Tauber that highlights a last minute turnaround in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s thinking about the nature of the physical realm is complemented by a video conversation on the same topic.

In some areas the English reader may be marginally better off than one who is limited to Hebrew. While the twenty-six volumes of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s oral teachings lack a Hebrew introduction, the present writer has attempted to articulate the nature of these teachings and highlight their importance in an article here. Theosophical meditations on the divine, yet intimately tied to the practical, transformative mission of each individual, these oral teachings formed the primary medium through which Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s idea were perpetuated both in his own time and in subsequent generations. Many other articles featured on the new site also do not have a competitive Hebrew counterpart.

In other areas we have rendered quality Hebrew material in accessible English. One example is a talk by the fifth Rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch, Rabbi Shalom DovBer Schneersohn, describing how Rabbi Schneur Zalman captured the spirit of his teachings in the most famous of his musical compositions. The translation is complemented by relevant multimedia.

Another example is an article by famed talmudist Rabbi Shlomo Yosef Zevin (1887–1978), which first appeared in commemoration of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s one hundred and fiftieth birthday. Now, the English reader too is exposed to the full significance of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s contribution to contemporary Jewish law. Rabbi Zevin lucidly illustrates three elements that make Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s style particularly unique—systemization, explanation and arbitration. Combined, they enable the preservation of scholarly depth and integrity without the sacrifice of accessibility.

Eli Rubin oversaw the creation of the new Chabad.org mini-site, The Life, Works and Teachings of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, Founder of Chabad.