1. Rosh HaShanah maamarim outdoors
The year 5656 (1895-96) still belongs to the period during which my father used to mark Simchas Beis HaShoevah by sitting and farbrengen with a group of chassidim on one of the evenings of Chol HaMoed Sukkos. In fact from the year 5654 (1893-94) there was a change in my father’s overt conduct as regards the assumption of the mantle of leadership1 — in matters such as receiving chassidim at yechidus, issuing written versions of the maamarim that he had delivered, and replying to the written queries that members of the chassidic brotherhood had sent to him.
A year earlier, a great number of chassidim had arrived in Lubavitch in time for Rosh HaShanah, 5653 (1892). On that occasion my father had delivered the maamar that opens with the words, “Shofar shel Rosh HaShanah,”2 and the one that opens with the phrase, “Amar Rabi Abbahu, ‘Tik’u l’fanai’“ — “R. Abbahu said,3 ‘Sound the ram’s horn before Me.’” Those discourses were committed to memory by hundreds of chassidim. Among the guests alone there were some scores who were able to readily and reliably memorize a maamar they had heard. Since that year Rosh HaShanah fell on Thursday and Friday, the next day, Shabbos Teshuvah, allowed them ample time.
In those years my father used to deliver his maamarim4 at home; only rarely — such as on Yom-Tov, when there was a larger audience than usual — would he do so at shul.5 On this Rosh HaShanah, even the minyan was extremely crowded. In fact, since that month of Tishrei was warm and dry (which was most unusual in Lubavitch), some of the visiting chassidim prayed outside in the courtyard. Late on Friday afternoon, on the second day of Rosh HaShanah, when my father delivered the maamar beginning “R. Abbahu said,” it was really crowded and hot inside. It seems that on his way home my father caught cold. On Shabbos morning he ran a fever, so that even though the weather was fine he could not go to shul.
Thus it was that for the first time in my childhood I saw the southern table being carried out of the minyan into the courtyard; someone put a chair on the table, and on the chair sat R. Leib Hoffman, who repeated from memory the Chassidus that everyone had heard from my father the day before. That was before davenen on Shabbos morning. The assemblage that filled the courtyard then divided up into several minyanim for davenen, and at three in the afternoon the maamar was repeated once more. The gathering was rounded off with singing and dancing that continued right up to a late Maariv.
2. A successor to the Rebbe Maharash?
The tenth anniversary of the passing of my grandfather, the Rebbe Maharash, fell on 13 Tishrei, 5653 (1892). That year (late 1892-93) was the first in which the spirits of the chassidim of Lubavitch were revived, as they saw a successor in the position of Rebbe.
Only a few weeks after the great joy of Shavuos 5642 (1882) — which had been immediately followed by the wedding of my uncle, R. Menachem Mendel,6 in honor of which several thousand people had arrived in town — my grandfather had taken ill. In the course of a few months his health deteriorated so seriously that on 13 Tishrei of the following year he passed away. (May his merit stand us, and the entire House of Israel, in good stead.) What took place during those few summer months had a heavy impact on the communal work that my grandfather had conducted for 20 years. His public activity had begun in 5621 (1861),7 with his third visit to Petersburg, where he had met with communal leaders and a number of ministers of state.
My grandfather’s passing struck the chassidim of Lubavitch a heavy blow. They were in a quandary. His eldest son, my uncle R. Zalman Aharon, had renounced the leadership, and my father had not assumed it.8
Moreover, my grandfather’s passing had such an effect on my father’s health that in conformity with the strict orders of his medical specialists in Petersburg and Moscow he was obliged to spend the next few years — with brief respites — in a variety of health resorts.
In a pamphlet entitled “Lubavitch,”9 I have recorded the experiences and outstanding events of those first ten years, as I heard of them from my father, from my grandmother,10 and from a number of elder chassidim who were intimate members of the household, such as my teachers the Rashbatz, R. Chanoch Hendel, R. Meir Mordechai, and R. Nissan.
Considering the brotherliness and the love that reigned among the chassidim, and the inner love that they felt toward my grandfather’s family in general, and to my father in particular, there is little wonder that they were so overjoyed to hear those maamarim of Rosh HaShanah. They sensed that they now had a Rebbe — a leader and guide, and that after an interval of ten years the sun of Lubavitch had begun to rise once more. The year 5653 (late 1892-93), then, is the year that Lubavitch felt itself being revived.
As for myself, this was the first year of my mitzvah-life, for on Yud-Beis Tammuz of that year I became bar-mitzvah.
3. Shemini Atzeres: lights and vessels
I began by speaking of Sukkos 5656 (1895). On Shemini Atzeres of that year, at the daytime Kiddush, my father delivered the first part of a maamar that opened with the words, BaYom HaShemini Atzeres — “On the eighth day you shall have a day of restraint.”11 (He delivered the second part on the eve of Simchas Torah.) Both parts — or rather, both maamarim — were difficult, and they spoke of how on Shemini Atzeres, joy is drawn down for the whole of the forthcoming year.
At one of these farbrengens my father said: “Shemini Atzeres is the time at which [the chassidic derush on] vehu yechalkelecha (lit., “and He will sustain you”)12 finds its truest expression. On Shemini Atzeres an or atzmi (lit., ‘an essential light’) is drawn down into one’s ‘vessels,’13 but those vessels are sealed and blocked on all sides.”
Now this is a profound thought that calls for both biur (say, “elucidation”) and hesber (say, “explanation”). For these are two distinct concepts. Biur is what enables one to clearly know the essence of what has been said; hesber is what then enables one to understand what has been said.
To return to our quotation. The relevant verse in Tehillim says, Hashlech al HaShem yehavcha, vehu yechalkelecha — “Cast your burden upon G‑d, and He will sustain you.” Rashi explains that yehavcha means “your burden.” Everyone has his own heavy load to carry, so everyone is here advised, “Cast your burden upon G‑d.”
This advice is illuminated in the Zohar (III, 79b): “R. Yosei came upon R. Abba when he was sitting and contemplating the verse that says, ‘Cast your burden upon G‑d.’ ‘Upon G‑d,’ he emphasized.”14
When this is done, the next stage is vehu yechalkelecha (lit., “and He will sustain you”) — G‑d will make the individual concerned into a vessel (כְּלִי), so that he will bear his burden. And once he has vessels, his burden is lightened.
In the verse, “your burden” translates יְהָבְךָ. This word is itself made up of two words — י״ה ב״ך. That which is drawn down on Rosh HaShanah is י״ה, as we explained in the maamarim of Rosh HaShanah (see Kuntreis 28), in the course of a discussion of the verse,15 Min hameitzar… – מִן הַמֵּצַר קָרָאתִי יָ־הּ. The vessels [into which this divine influence is to be drawn] are the 22 (כ״ב) letters that comprise the Torah. This is hinted at in the second component of our word — ב״ך (lit., “in you”). Those letters are drawn down on Shemini Atzeres and Simchas Torah.
We shall now be able to understand my father’s above statement: “Shemini Atzeres is the time at which [the chassidic derush on] the words vehu yechalkelecha finds its truest expression, for on Shemini Atzeres an or atzmi is drawn down. (This is the drawing down of י״ה, in the sense of the verse that says, anani bamerchav yud-kei — “G‑d (י"ה) answered me with abounding relief.”15) This or atzmi appears enclothed in vessels. (These are the 22 (ב״ך) letters of the Torah.) But those vessels are sealed and blocked on all sides.”
4. Abundant lights and few vessels
The virtue of Tikkun lies in keilim (“vessels”); the virtue of Tohu16 lies in oros (“lights”). This accords with the classic statement: “In Tohu there are abundant lights and few vessels; in Tikkun there are few lights and abundant vessels.”
Now the name Tohu is a descriptive epithet;17 in fact the whole point of talking is to describe what is being spoken of. A certain proportion of whatever a person says is a description and representation of something in such a way that the listener understands it just as if he himself had seen it.
To enable one’s speech to be explicit — brief and to the point, there exist certain fixed and universally-known nouns, each with its specific signification. Every such word is a descriptive term.
To this category belong the words Tohu and Tikkun. Each of these words signifies certain profound theological concepts, all of which have crystallized into a concise phrase: “In Tohu there are abundant lights and few vessels; in Tikkun there are few lights and abundant vessels.”
“Light” and “vessel” (or and kli), “abundance” and “fewness” (ribui and miut) are likewise descriptive terms, each of which connotes an entire concept. That concept in itself is well-ordered — a point of intellectual perception first produced by ko’ach hamaskil (the superconscious source of the intellect) and then amplified by the faculty of comprehension and explanation through numerous examples both positive and negative, these two directions being the defining limits of a concept. When expressed by a descriptive epithet, such an entire concept is telescoped into a single word, or at most into a brief phrase.
So it is with these words — “light” and “vessel,” “abundance” and “fewness.” Each of these terms involves a profound idea entailing an extensive need to comprehend — what is light, what are vessels, and what are their defining limits; that light is defined in terms of revelation, which finds expression in a point; that vessels are defined in terms of obscurity, which finds expression in darkness, and in the obstruction [of light]; that hence such light as is ultimately revealed [after being enclothed in vessels] appears extended in the dimensions of length and breadth; and that this very extension causes the original point of intellectual perception to become obscured — according to the well-known principle that every act of comprehension necessarily takes place at a distance from the essence [of the concept to be comprehended].
So too with the need to comprehend what is ribui (“abundance”) and what is miut (“fewness”). These are not merely quantitative or numerical terms; they embrace as well a qualitative dimension.
5. The lights of Tohu in the vessels of Tikkun
These four concepts — “light” and “vessel,” “abundance” and “fewness” — are each indicated by a single word, which suffices in each case to let the listener know what is meant. This knowledge is admittedly no more than of a general kind, for the single word used does not specify what manner of light or vessel, for example, is intended — but at least there is no room for mistake.
When we speak of the concepts Tohu and Tikkun, however, these two single words give us no knowledge whatever of what is intended — to the point that one could readily mistake their very meaning. They are therefore described not by single words, but by a whole phrase, which not only forestalls error, but also gives a general notion of the subject as a whole. That phrase is the above-quoted statement: “In Tohu there are abundant lights...” Though this “abundance” is qualitative, the state described is a state of Tohu. Its deficiency lies in the fewness of its vessels. In the world of Tikkun, however, there are capacious vessels. Accordingly, even though its lights are few, the limited light of Tikkun is superior to the abundant light of Tohu.
The divine intention desires that the abundant light of Tohu be drawn down into the capacious vessels of Tikkun; only thus can the divine intention [in creating the universe] be fully realized. However, if the capacious vessels of Tikkun are to be enabled to receive the great light of Tohu, they must first house the lights of Tikkun.
In a word: The virtue of Tikkun is vessels; the virtue of Tohu is lights. Perfection is attained when the lights of Tohu are integrated within the vessels of Tikkun.
6. The lights of haskalah in the vessels of avodah
As is known, an underlying principle of creation is expressed in the phrase, “Let us make man in our image,”18 for all the levels that are present Above19 are represented in man. This is what is meant when one says that the word אָדָם (“man”) derives from the phrase, אֶדַּמֶּה לְעֶלְיוֹן — “I resemble the One Above.”20 Man below parallels the lights and vessels which exist Above, and, as we have said, all the levels that are present Above are present in man below. (This is what enables him to have some understanding of what goes on Above.) Accordingly, when a man carries out within himself such matters as allude to the corresponding levels and aspects of the One Above, the spiritual impact of these matters is thereby effected in the world Above.
Tohu and Tikkun, as they are represented in man, are haskalah and avodah; Tohu is haskalah, Tikkun is avodah. Haskalah is Tohu, which is characterized by abundant lights and few vessels; avodah is Tikkun, which is characterized by capacious vessels and few lights. A life of haskalah, if unaccompanied by actual avodah matching the extent and content of the haskalah, is a life of Tohu. True enough, Tohu is not “empty and formless,”21 in the way people ordinarily misunderstand the word. Rather Tohu signifies abundant lights, profound concepts with a broad scope for the effort of understanding — but it is, after all, Tohu.
By way of analogy, we could consider the human faculty of inventiveness. If someone proposes a theory for the manufacture of a mechanized flourmill, for example, then if his mill grinds wheat into flour, not only will it have had that particular usefulness: its feasibility will also have validated his theory. If his invention does not work, then this indicates that his theory is not valid. Attractive it may well be — but not true.
Avodah is Tikkun. True enough, its lights are few, but those lights are enclothed in vessels: they give rise to actual and practical effects — in the perfection of one’s character traits, in the enhancement of one’s interpersonal conduct, and in the invigoration of one’s awe of Heaven.
The ideal state, as we have said, is one in which the lights of Tohu are to be found in the vessels of Tikkun. Only when the luminous lights of haskalah are vested in the ample vessels of avodah, can the divine intention in creating the universe be realized in its entirety.
On Shemini Atzeres, as stated above, an or atzmi is bestowed upon a man — but it is to be found in vessels that are sealed and blocked.
7. What does a person yearn for ?
One of our brotherhood who spent Rosh HaShanah in Lubavitch quite a few times in the days of my grandfather, the Rebbe Maharash, writes me that in the course of the maamar of Rosh HaShanah 5641 (1880), he heard my grandfather say that even a consummate tzaddik who loses time from his study of the Torah because of physical weakness has to repent fully from the depths of his heart.
It was really delightful to receive live regards from my grandfather, to hear a vort that was said 54 years ago.
We all know that “complete repentance”22 signifies teshuvah ila’ah (“higher-level repentance”).23 For the repentance that consists of regret over the past, and a positive resolve for the future, is teshuvah tata’ah (“lower-level repentance”);24 by “complete repentance,” however, is meant teshuvah ila’ah.
Every quite ordinary person has a goal in life for which he yearns and toward which he strives, and when he attains it, he experiences satisfaction. Each man’s goal accords with the measure of the man. Likewise, the intensity of his yearning for it, and the kind of satisfaction he experiences when he attains it, depend on the level of his spiritual sensibilities and faculties.
It is not at all easy to grasp the spiritual perceptivity and the mental gifts25 of a tzaddik gamur; accordingly, it is difficult to picture his yearnings. Nevertheless, a person who is able to give the matter his profound and involved consideration will understand that the complete teshuvah of a tzaddik gamur belongs to the second of the two levels of teshuvah ila’ah.
Chassidus provides a lush discussion of teshuvah ila’ah, and of its differences from teshuvah tata’ah. The essence of teshuvah tata’ah is regret over the past and a resolve for the future; the essence of teshuvah ila’ah is a longing to change to a degree of greater good. Regret over the past is not present in teshuvah ila’ah, for the tzaddik gamur has nothing to regret; this level of teshuvah consists only of the desire to attain a greater good. However, because of this intense longing — or, in profounder terms, because of his spiritual sensitivity to what good means — he comes to regard his accustomed levels of good as good no longer, and this alone makes his heart burst forth in a simple outcry.
8. A cry from the heart
This was the first of the two levels within teshuvah ila’ah. It was indeed a cry of anguish from the soul — but not from the essence of the soul, not from etzem hanefesh. The teshuvah that wells from the essence of the soul belongs to the second level within teshuvah ila’ah — a cry from the heart that is soundless, a yearning of etzem hanefesh that is revealed in no outward expression.
Every instance of yearning is a product of the dynamics of the soul. He who can have some grasp of the dynamics of the soul of a tzaddik gamur, and can ponder deeply upon his yearnings, — such a person will understand that the “complete repentance” of a tzaddik gamur is the second level of teshuvah ila’ah.
It is true that the first level of teshuvah ila’ah,26 the level at which the individual seeks to change to a superior degree of good, comprises no element of regret. His own spiritual condition, however, is involved in this level of teshuvah; in fact, this explains why his whole desire is to change to a superior degree of good. At the second level of teshuvah ila’ah, however, this desire for change is not the result of the specific contemplation of his own individual spiritual condition. This second level is not simply a loftier echo of the first level: it is essentially different.
At the second level of teshuvah ila’ah, the individual yearns to be just as the Divine Will truly wants him to be. And it is axiomatic in his soul that if in practice he is not just as the Divine Will wants him to be, then he is (G‑d forbid) the opposite of what the Divine Will wants him to be. Moreover, these two contrary states of mind — firstly, his intense desire to accord with the Divine Will, and secondly, the axiom in his soul that if he does not attain this he is the opposite of the Divine Will, — these two states of mind alone bring him to a state of being faint, even to the point of actual expiry of the soul.
True enough, the distinction between the two kinds of yearning that belong to the two levels of teshuvah ila’ah entails a profound study of the workings of the faculties of the soul. Nevertheless, every individual can understand it clearly, and from this understanding one can arrive at a certain gefihl, a certain perception, of the spiritual delight to be found in these two levels of yearning.
9. An encouraging glimmer of light
My grandfather says, as mentioned above,27 that even a consummate tzaddik who loses time from the study of the Torah because of physical weakness has to repent fully from the depths of his heart. This statement was made in the presence of hundreds of householders28 who were visiting town for Yom-Tov, and it was later repeated by hundreds of chassidim — rabbanim, shochatim, scholars, householders, and ordinary chassidishe folk. Its short, sharp message aroused all of them in the direction of teshuvah, each according to his measure. Live testimony to this is voiced by the letter that I just received, for its writer remains aroused by its sustained impact 54 years after hearing those words — that a tzaddik gamur has to engage in teshuvah, so how much more so must an ordinary individual do likewise.
And here (thank G‑d) lies the power of the teachings of Chassidus — that inherent in every discourse,29 and every vort, is a particular ability to give life and to awaken. Thus, for example, these few words of my grandfather’s breathed vigor into hundreds of hearts, and led them on to the loftiest heights.
Suppose that a person with a straight mind and a robust imagination were to take the time (“a long hour,”30 as the [Alter] Rebbe says) to picture to himself the workings of the soul of a tzaddik gamur, his perception of the good to be found in Elokus, and the longing that he experiences to the point of fainting in spiritual expiry. For such a person this very contemplation serves as a pillar of fire and a pillar of light that can alter his entire essence. Indeed, he thereby becomes temporarily elevated, out of all relation to his previous spiritual level.
His ascent is admittedly no more than temporary; this is not his own level, and he does not yet belong here; but those few moments during which he lived in the perception which he pictured to himself, themselves mean that a lofty light has appeared, a divine light that leaves in its wake an impact and a longing.
10. Perceiving more than mere intellection can grasp
In Tractate Yoma,31 the Gemara considers whether “the measure in which blessing is given is greater than the measure of punishment,” or whether the reverse is true, and comes to the conclusion that the measure of blessing is indeed greater. For in describing the Deluge the Torah says, “The windows of Heaven were opened,”32 whereas with reference to the granting of mann in the wilderness the Torah says, “He opened the doors of Heaven.”33 In Tractate Sotah34 the Sages state as an established halachah: “And in fact, the measure in which blessing is given is greater than the measure of punishment.”
When a person pictures something in his mind, and then ponders deeply35 upon it until he feels it, there are two possible kinds of thoughts and pictures — a good picture and an evil one.
It is quite superfluous to elucidate — how much more so, to explain36 — what is meant by picturing evil, for this is unfortunately the darkest little corner in the lives of some people, who suffer from sinful thoughts and imaginings, especially during their younger years. It is painful to talk about this, and painful and pathetic to remain silent.
The senses and faculties of imagination and contemplation are a special gift that G‑d bestows upon a man. They are the real means by which he may be raised up to a higher rung; they drag him out of his workaday life, save him from the seething tumult that reigns in the public domain, and set him up firmly in his private domain.
This is true so long as he utilizes the power of imagination and contemplation for positive ends; only then does it set him up at a superior level. For through imagination and contemplation a person can attain such perceptions of good, of truly pure and spiritual good, that through intellect would be forever unattainable. Intellect is merely a means of thoroughly understanding every aspect of a concept, whereas imagination and contemplation grant a gefihl, a spiritual sensation, of that which has been understood. And the gefihl that derives from imagination and contemplation is in certain respects superior to even the gefihl that is acquired through haamakas hadaas, through deep-delving concentration.
11. Experiencing a concept
The gefihl that is acquired through haamakas hadaas is a lofty level of perception indeed. Those who engage in the definition of concepts know the difference between (on the one hand) the intellection and comprehension known as haskalah and hassagah, and (on the other hand) the deep-delving concentration that is known as haamakas hadaas. For haskalah and hassagah are purely and simply comprehension; haamakas hadaas is hergesh (the Hebrew for gefihl). We once discussed37 the distinction between comprehending a concept and experiencing it. A genuinely wise man will not take his leave of an idea until he experiences it, for herein lies the truth of knowledge. It can be said that he truly grasps the idea only when he has experienced it.
All this, however, applies only to the world of haskalah, i.e., to the time during which that the person is actually engrossed in the world of ideas. [But beyond this time,] every gefihl experienced in a concept leaves a certain impression on the entire day. In other words, one may detect in the person’s daily conduct that here is someone who deals with ideas.
The impression left by imagination and contemplation is by nature more engraved; it is more intensely experienced38 (— a bodily sensation) than the impression left by haamakas hadaas, for the latter is more isolated from the things of this world.
Both kinds of impression, that left by haamakas hadaas and that left by imagination and contemplation, are the offspring of certain causes — and offspring always resemble the nature of their parents.
Haamakas hadaas is innately cold, and maintains a degree of reserve from the things of this world; moreover, the deeper it delves, the colder will it be, and the more distance will it keep from worldly and bodily concerns. Imagination and contemplation are by nature warm, concerned with the body, and close to worldly concerns.
Thus it is that both kinds of impression bear an innate resemblance to their respective sources. The impression left by haamakas hadaas cools one’s ardor for the things of this material world, to the point of apathy. The impression left by the exercise of imagination and contemplation, being warm by nature, cannot give rise to apathy; rather, it assumes the form of a certain hatred for the evil aspects of this material world.
The reason is that the intellectual processes of haskalah, hassagah and Daas are distant from the concerns of this world. On account of their very natures, the intellectual activity termed haskalah has no contact with the material world and its affairs, nor any influence over them, just as they have no contact with haskalah, nor any influence over it. (Here, it should be noted, lies the difference between haskalah and avodah.)
By contrast, imagination and contemplation are to some extent bound up with the concerns of the body and this world, and cannot remain aloof from worldly matters. Moreover, the impression they leave behind them is warm and ardent, so that the individual involved experiences two sensations — a yearning for his earlier gefihl, and a certain attitude to his feeling for the world.
This attitude varies according to the object of the individual’s imagination and contemplation. If it was evil, then his attitude to the world will be characterized by an evil pursuit of bodily desires, and thoughts of Torah and avodah will be unable to clamber into his head39 and secure a place there. No matter how well-meaning his mashpia, his mashgiach or his rosh yeshivah, their efforts will be of no avail. If, however, the object of the individual’s imagination and contemplation was good, then his attitude to the world will be characterized by the pursuit of Torah and mitzvos, and the divine service that takes place in the heart,40 i.e., prayer. Moreover, the not-so-good things of this world fall out of favor with him.
12. A whiff of a classic chassidisher farbrengen
Chassidus discusses how all revelations from Above depend on the avodah of man; through the performance of each mitzvah, for example, one elicits a revelation of divine light.
Thus it is that we find the following statement: “Now all this applies when a person serves G‑d truthfully, studying the Torah and performing the tangible mitzvos with insight and zest, engaging in ‘the service of the heart’ through prayer from the depths of his heart, and in addition bringing salvation to his soul by conducting himself in mundane matters according to the laws of the Torah. But he who has sinned, and caused a blemish,41 and left the path, wantonly following the desires of his heart….”
On one of the nights of Chol HaMoed Sukkos 5655 (1894) there was a farbrengen in Lubavitch in honor of Simchas Beis HaShoeivah. The main speakers were my teacher the Rashbatz, R. Chanoch Hendel, R. Shmuel Gronem of Zhebin, and several venerable guests who had been chassidim of my great-grandfather,42 the Tzemach Tzedek.43
The Rashbatz opened as follows: “Chassidim used to say that ‘in Chassidus there are two little men.’44 In other words, Chassidus talks about two kinds of people — an oved HaShem45 (‘a servant of G‑d’) and a mi-shepagamnik46 (‘one who has caused a blemish’).”
And the Rashbatz went on to describe both kinds of people at length. His description of the mi-shepagamnik brought the listener to the verge of tears,47 while his description of the oved HaShem aroused sheer spiritual bliss.
“What kind of conception,” asked the Rashbatz, “do we have of the workings of the soul of a tzaddik, that we should be able to understand what manner of ratzo48 toward Elokus he longs for, and with what degree of dveikus he cleaves to his Maker? But we do see the holy face of a tzaddik, we do hear his Torah teachings, and observe his avodah. True enough, these visible things are merely levushim, external garments, as it is written, ‘The wisdom of a man illumines his face.’49 Nevertheless, they are luminous garments, and through their transparency one may glimpse the light of the Holy of Holies, a radiance diffused by the Supernal Light that rests on a tzaddik.”
From this the Rashbatz proceeded to discuss how through the inner bond and the unlimited devotedness that a chassid experiences toward his Rebbe, he attains an intuition of what a tzaddik is.
When one used to hear talks of this nature one could perceive the firmly-based foundations underlying the upbringing that elder chassidim were accustomed to give their younger colleagues. The Rashbatz himself had received his authentic chassidic education in the township of Sventzian, at the hands of mentors who in their earlier days had been chassidim of the Alter Rebbe.
13. How a regular soul can connect Above
That same talk included a profound exposition of a subject appearing in the second chapter of Tanya: “Likewise, in every generation there are the leaders of the people of Israel, whose souls are in the category of ‘head’ and ‘brain’ in comparison with those of the masses and the ignorant… So, as it were, it is actually true of the root of every nefesh, ruach and neshamah in the community of Israel on high… Nevertheless they remain bound and united… for through attachment to the Torah scholars..., He and His wisdom being one, and ‘He is the Knowledge….’”
There was a fiery zeal about the way the Rashbatz spoke of the Alter Rebbe’s words, “Nevertheless they remain bound and united with a wondrous and essential unity with their original essence and being, namely, the extension of Chochmah lla’ah (Supernal Wisdom).”
“The soul of every utterly ordinary Jew,” explained the Rashbatz, “which means one who belongs to the ‘masses,’ even when he is occupied with his homely daily tasks, is united in extraordinary unity with Chochmah lla’ah.”
“United” means that the two things become one. At this point, then, the Rashbatz discussed the unification of a person who understands a concept with the concept50 itself, exploring the question as to what manner of unification this is; incidentally he made use of an analogy drawn from the halachic distinctions between mixtures of dry substances and mixtures of fluids;51 and ultimately he arrived at the conclusion that real unification is a state in which each of the component elements assumes the nature of the other. And such is the unification of the soul with Chochmah Ila’ah, Supernal Wisdom.
A prodigious impact was made on all those present at that farbrengen by a certain expression that the Rashbatz used. That was his characterization of man as “Chochmah Ila’ah in a sack of flesh and bones with seething blood.” And as he said it he broke into bitter tears.
The Rashbatz was one of the most esteemed chassidim in the time of my great-grandfather the Tzemach Tzedek, and one of the select maskilim in the days of my grandfather. At this farbrengen one could observe his broad and mellow understanding, his rich pictorial faculty, and his ample and ardent heart.
By this time a year had passed since I had first begun studying under him. In the course of that time I heard a great number of stories from his mouth, and saw what is meant by working on oneself. The Rashbatz was indeed a unique personality, both in haskalah and in avodah.
That farbrengen was the first occasion on which I heard R. Gronem of Zhebin. He was discussing what the Alter Rebbe says, in the same chapter of Tanya, about the words, uledavka bo – “And to cleave unto Him.”52
“Something can be done for the sack of flesh and bones,” he said, “and that is by following the teaching of our Sages, that ‘he who cleaves [to a Torah scholar is regarded by the Torah as if he had become attached to the Divine Presence Itself].’53 The seething blood, though, is evil, and it must be transformed to good — by implementing the advice that one hears at yechidus.”
The farbrengen went on all night long. At the table the next day my father asked me what was its central theme, and I told him of it.
Responded my father: “The first beginnings of external dveikus come through pictorial imagination; when this is accompanied by profound contemplation, one arrives at a superior level.”54
14. The choice of doors is yours alone
From all the above it must be clear to everyone that by middah tovah is meant55 contemplating and imagining that which is good; so too, by middas purannus is meant contemplating and imagining that which is evil. Moreover, since “middah tovah is greater than middas purannus,” the spiritual ascent that is attained through contemplating and imagining that which is good is incomparably greater than the debasement that sets in through the contemplation and imagining of that which is evil.
In Tractate Shabbos56 the Gemara says that “middah tovah appears faster than middas purannus.” This means that it is easier to draw upon oneself a thought and an image of that which is good than to draw upon oneself a thought and an image of that which is evil.
The explanation for this is to be found in the way the Gemara in the same tractate57 expounds the following verse in Mishlei:58 “If [one is drawn] to scoffers, he [too] will [eventually] scoff; if [he is drawn] to the humble, [his deeds] will find favor.”
“What,” asks the Gemara, “do we learn from this verse? ‘If one is drawn to scoffers, he will indeed scoff’; (Rashi: ‘If one scoffs of his own accord, he will be neither helped [from Above] nor restrained’); ‘if he is drawn to the humble’ (Rashi: ‘If he is drawn to middah tovah’), ‘his deeds will find favor’ (Rashi: ‘He will be granted help from Heaven’).
“What, then,” asked the Gemara, “do we learn from this verse? We learn the following: ‘He who seeks to be defiled, a door is opened for him;’ and ‘He who seeks to become pure is given help [from Above]’ (Rashi: ‘And an opening is prepared for him’).”
The former statement, about the individual who seeks to be defiled, means that if one knocks at the door it is opened for him. If, Heaven forfend, he seeks to be defiled, then he will be volunteered no help from Above, but if he insists, a door will be opened for him. The latter statement, about the individual who seeks to become pure, means that not only is he helped from Above to come nearer to his goal, but moreover, an opening — a door — is prepared for his entry.
To be more explicit: Everyone knows that a man is given free choice between the two paths that present themselves before him, one that would lead him to be defiled, and one that would lead him to become pure. These two doors — of tum’ah and taharah59 — are present in every one of the objects of this world whose consumption is permitted, and a man is enabled to choose which door and which path will be his. Though the choice is free, there is a difference between the two doors. If one chooses to enter the door of impurity, it is opened for him; that is not what is wanted Above, but if he does want this, the door is opened. If, however, one chooses to enter the door of purity, he is helped from Above, and that door is opened for him.
Here too one finds an expression of the principle that “middah tovah is greater than middas purannus.” For in the latter case, if a person insists on entering the door of impurity it is opened for him, and that’s that. In the case of the individual who wants to enter the door of purity, however, not only is he helped from Above, so that this door is opened for him, but moreover an entrance is prepared for him. What is crucial is that he should have the desire to enter such a door. Once he has that desire, along comes the help from Above, and for such a man stands prepared a door leading to purity.
15. The door is waiting to be opened
Let me tell you a story, from which you will understand what is meant when we say that Divine Providence leads a man who seeks to become pure, and prepares a door for him.
A certain young man had spent all his childhood years in a non-chassidic environment. His teacher, a misnaged, used to repeat to his pupils all the archaic, outdated and slanderous fabrications about chassidim. (Everyone can picture to himself the opinion of chassidim that can be nurtured in children by such stories and such an upbringing.) The boy grew up to be a sensible youth, and spent several years studying in a yeshivah. Though chassidim were not spoken of there in the tones used by his childhood teacher, Chassidus and chassidim were nevertheless taboo.
Through various circumstances he once arrived at a town which had a small chassidic minority. Though he had been stuffed to satiety with antipathy to Chassidus and chassidim, he was by nature an earnest young inquirer, so he began to observe the lifestyle of the local chassidim. Some time later, it so happened that he passed through a chassidic township for a day or two. A certain elder chassid was also visiting there at the time, and during his stay he repeated maamarim and conducted farbrengens with the chassidic townsfolk. Hearing about him the youth decided that he would like to make his acquaintance. This he did — and for him this was the door that is prepared for the man who seeks to become pure.
16. Are my attainments worth weighing?
There are some folk who are forever weighing themselves and measuring themselves, and concerning every step in avodah that one proposes to them they answer that this is beyond their level.
Such an answer could be valid if it came from the mouth of someone who works on himself. An individual who devotes himself to the labor of self-refinement may well speak of levels: yesterday he was at such a level, today he is at such a level, and tomorrow he will be at such a level. But as to the individual who is not involved in such endeavors, why is he weighing himself and measuring himself, to see whether any particular challenge in avodah suits his level, or transcends his level?
My father has said60 that “the first beginnings of external dveikus come through pictorial imagination.” The avodah of picturing to oneself that which is good can be done by everyone — and everyone should keep in mind that “middah tovah is greater than middas purannus.”
This statement appears in Tractate Sanhedrin:61 “We may conclude that middah tovah is greater than middas purannus.” There Rashi comments: “Hence one need not wonder how a man can have the strength to receive so much reward. For the Holy One, blessed be He, gives man the strength to bear middas purannus, the measure of punishment; how much more certainly must He give man the strength to receive middah tovah, the measure of goodness.”
It would be well for every individual to take these words of Rashi to heart — to translate them, so to speak, into his own vernacular.62 Everyone knows what is meant by imagining and thinking of something evil, and to what extent it drags a man down; how much more certainly must it be true that in the case of middah tovah, if any man seeks to become pure he can attain that which is truly good.
