Having survived the murder of his family by the Nazis, fighting for Russia in World War II, fifteen years of imprisonment in a Soviet work camp for helping his family flee from the Soviet Union, and finally immigration to the United States, gifted painter Chenoch Hendel Lieberman arrived in Paris, where he finally settled within the growing Lubavitch community.
At the time, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, R. Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, was living in New York. Seeking counsel, Lieberman wrote to him across the Atlantic, asking for help reconciling the two things in his life that still held meaning—his art and his religion—which he had often felt were at odds.
R. Yosef Yitzchak immediately understood the needs of the troubled artist, and he responded with his own spiritual perspective on the arts.
Like most called to the creative life, he wrote, Lieberman needed the opportunity to remake the world as seen through his own unique lens. He explained that for the true Chasid, all aspects of life must be integrated into a harmonious whole, and that the means by which each Jew approaches and understands G‑d is unique, including the way of the artist.
Thanks to this poignant response, Lieberman felt the tension between his artistic drive and Chasidic way of life dissolve, and he began painting again with previously unmatched dedication, employing the now harmonized aspects of art and spirit to initiate a new vision for his work. Paris, meanwhile, turned out to be the perfect place to nourish his reawakened inspiration.
Over the years, the traumatic memories of war and unimaginable personal loss returned to haunt the artist, and with those memories came renewed doubts about whether painting was an appropriate vocation for a Chasid. By then, R. Yosef Yitzchak had passed on, so he wrote to the Rebbe, who had since taken the mantle of Chabad leadership, for guidance.
The Rebbe responded by reminding him that the artist plays a uniquely holy role in creation, and that his purpose in life was to reveal the inner dimensions of the world through the lens of his particular artistic vision. In this way, the artist facilitates a special brand of redemption and tikkun, revealing beauty in things that most people take for granted, and thereby elevating the sparks concealed within the subject of each work.
The Rebbe wrote:
“Our mission in life—based on the simple faith that there is none else besides Him—is that we should approach everything in life from this perspective. That we should each strive to reveal, as much as possible, the Divine essence in everything, and minimize, to the extent that we are able, its concealment by the externalities of creation…”1
Ignited by the Rebbe’s reply, Lieberman moved to the growing Chasidic community in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. There, he took great comfort from the religious understanding that Chasidism provided. Now living in physical proximity to the Rebbe, he flourished even more. He was overjoyed to be occupying an honored position behind the Rebbe at prayers and farbrengens. The artist soon became an important figure in the Chabad-Lubavitch community, and he went on to enjoy great success and recognition for his talent.
Years later, while reflecting on his career, Lieberman quoted the Rebbe’s life-changing message that set him on his path:
“Each person on this earth is allotted a task. You have a talent...use it. True, in the old days, painting was not considered an acceptable way to achieve this aim [of bringing people to faith]. Today, it is. It is your way.”2
In line with the premise that the first place to look for our personal mission in this world is within our own inner composition and makeup, one of the major and recurring themes of the Rebbe’s guidance to individuals seeking their Divine purpose was to analyze and actualize the innate talents they were given by G‑d.
The Times They Are a Changin’
In earlier times, it was not standard belief in religious Jewish communities that artistic talents are Divine instruments that should be developed and used for a higher purpose.
This is because the world of creative arts throughout Europe following the Enlightenment—from music, to art, to literature and film—was known for pushing, rather than preserving, social and moral boundaries, introducing new voices and ideas that challenged the prevailing establishment. For hundreds of years, the secular arts were known for confronting and mocking traditional beliefs and ways of life, all in the name of uninhibited exploration. It is understandable, then, that there was resistance and suspicion in conservative religious communities regarding the arts. This misgiving, in turn, led to a general discouragement of artists indulging and developing such talents within their communities.
The Rebbe, however, believed that times had changed, and, in discussions with numerous people who sought his guidance regarding their unique artistic aptitudes, often echoed the words of his father-in-law, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, R. Yosef Yitzchak, who said:
“Talent is a gift from G‑d. Some people are endowed by G‑d with a talent for singing; others with a talent for oratory and elocution, or a talent for instructing; and some people are graced by G‑d with a talent for educating, and so on. Talents are [expressions of the] the soul’s spiritual powers—its limbs.
The soul’s essence extends into these limbs, animating them according to their particular character and enabling them [thereby] to carry out their unique tasks.”3
Indeed, according to the Midrash, one’s talent is more than a gift to be used or discarded at will; it’s an invitation, and even a directive, from on High to use their G‑d-given instrument to bring light and healing to the world.
As the verse states in Proverbs: Honor the L‑rd meihonecha—from your possessions.4
The word honecha in this verse literally means “your wealth” or “your possessions.” The simple meaning of this text is thus understood to mean that we should honor G‑d by using all of our material possessions for a G‑dly purpose. For example, by using our money to feed the poor, we honor G‑d.
The Midrash takes this line of thinking a step further by interpreting the verse to mean that we should not only use all of our material wealth to serve G‑d, but our wealth of talents, as well.5
A beautiful example of this can be seen in an exchange between the Rebbe and beloved Cantor Joseph Malovany.
Malovany is a world-renowned tenor vocalist and distinguished professor of liturgical music at Philip and Sarah Belz School of Jewish Music whose concerts have been attended by presidents and prime ministers alike.
In 1973, Malovany took the post of cantor at the Fifth Avenue Synagogue in New York. After some time there, Malovany was invited to a farbrengen at 770, where he first met the Rebbe. The Rebbe would often offer blessings for success in his career and urge him to use his talent to hold concerts around the world, including performances specifically dedicated to raising charity.
On one occasion, the Rebbe said, “You should honor G‑d with your voice,” explaining, “According to our Sages, the verse [from Proverbs], Honor G‑d with all of your possessions, can be read to mean, Honor G‑d with your voice, which applies to a cantor.”6
The Rebbe quipped, “If I would try, I don’t know if I’d succeed—the audience might run away. But when you sing, more people come, and they increase their donations as well.”7
From the Rebbe’s point of view, your talent is G‑d’s way of placing you on the doorstep of your life’s purpose. Whatever your skill set, artistic or otherwise, and whatever capacity it provides to do good in the world, your talent is a G‑d-given instrument that empowers you uniquely. This power is both a blessing and a responsibility. Using your talent isn’t merely allowed or worth the risk. Talent is a gift from G‑d, and it comes with a commensurate, sacred duty to put it to use for the greatest possible good. In this way, we become co-creators of a better world.
A Letter from the Grave
The following story illustrates just how deeply the Rebbe believed that steadfast and dedicated use of one’s talents will inevitably yield spiritual fruit.
Following the conclusion of Rosh Hashanah one year, Natan Yellin Moor, a secular Israeli writer, arrived at 770 to receive kos shel brachah from the Rebbe.8
Born in Vilna to religiously observant parents, Natan had studied at the city’s world-renowned Jewish academies. As a young man, however, Natan abandoned the beliefs and practices of Judaism in favor of secular Zionism, eventually becoming a staunch activist and fighting for an independent Jewish state. After the establishment of the modern State of Israel in 1948, Natan became disillusioned with the cause for which he had fought, and he began to regularly publish articles defaming everything Jewish, particularly the Jewish state and its policies.
Natan arrived before the Rebbe thanks to his acquaintance with the late Gershon Jacobson, editor of the New York-based Yiddish newspaper, The Algemeiner Journal. To the frustration of many of his readers, Jacobson had invited the self-proclaimed atheist to write for the Algemeiner, often publishing the venomously anti-Israel and anti-Jewish articles on his behalf. When Gershon suggested to Natan that he meet the Rebbe, the writer reluctantly accepted the invitation.
After introductions, the Rebbe turned to Natan, smiled broadly, and said: “I’ve read your articles.”
Natan was taken aback that a Chasidic Rebbe had read his inflammatory and often heretical articles. He was even more surprised when the Rebbe appeared to endorse his work!
“When G‑d blesses someone with a talent such as yours,” the Rebbe said, “one must utilize it to the fullest. This is a Divine calling and an immense responsibility. It is your G‑d-given power and duty to make full use of your capacity to reach out to others and influence them with your writing.”
Confused, and thinking perhaps the Rebbe had mistaken his identity, Natan asked: “Does the Rebbe agree with what I write?”
The Rebbe replied with a smile: “One need not agree with everything one reads.” The Rebbe then shifted the conversation back to his essential point. “What is most important is that one utilizes one’s G‑d-given talents. When one does so, one will ultimately arrive at the truth.”
Before the writer could process the Rebbe’s unexpected encouragement, the Rebbe asked a question that awakened something in his heart.
“Tell me,” the Rebbe said in a gentle tone, “what is happening in regard to your observance of Torah and mitzvot?”
Not wanting to deceive the Rebbe, Natan replied, “A Jew contemplates…”
“But in Yiddishkeit,” the Rebbe said, quoting a familiar Talmudic maxim, “it’s most important to do [i.e., not just contemplate]. ‘The primary thing is the deed.’”
Several months later, Natan was diagnosed with terminal cancer, with doctors giving him just months to live. Shortly before his death, he sent a sealed envelope to Gershon Jacobson with a note asking that it be published posthumously.
Gershon agreed, and following Natan’s death, the article was printed in The Algemeiner Journal.
“My dear reader,” Natan had written. “As you read this article, I am standing before the heavenly court and being judged for all the actions I took and the choices I made in the course of my life. No doubt, I will be judged for living a life totally antithetical to anything Jewish. In fact, I have severe doubts that I will even be allowed to speak in my defense. This is why I asked your editor to print this now, as I stand before the heavenly court, in the hope that what is being read and discussed at this moment on earth will attract the attention of the Supernal Judge. For I do have one merit I wish to present to the court in the face of all my failings and transgressions.”9
Describing his exchange with the Rebbe, Natan concluded, “The Rebbe told me that I have a G‑d-given talent, and that it is my sacred duty to utilize it to influence others. This I did to the best of my ability, however misguidedly. This is the only merit I can claim; may it lighten the destiny of my soul....”
The Rebbe believed that the merit and incorruptible potential that accompanies each person’s unique talents never expires. Even in the twilight of a life that had been lived in direct conflict with traditional Judaism, the Rebbe saw a spark of heavenly fire and marvelous possibility. He believed that as long as you live, and even after, you can always become what G‑d made you to be and put your talents to work for the benefit of the world and humanity.
Whether award-winning authors Herman Wouk, Chaim Grade, or Chaim Potok; sculptor Jacques Lifshitz; or renowned musicians such as American tenor Jan Pierce and Bob Dylan, the Rebbe repeatedly encouraged every individual to use his or her unique talents, artistic or otherwise, to promote goodness and G‑dliness in the world.
Each talent, he repeated often, comes with a distinct responsibility. Of course, the magnitude and bearing of that responsibility changes depending on the talents and capacity bestowed on the individual by G‑d. But no matter what the talent, aesthetic, or skill level, the Rebbe’s call was clear—your sui generis talents are remarkable vehicles to fulfill your personal mission in the world, and their power must be used, as with all other blessings, for the sake of revealing the light of G‑d in the world. In this way, your G‑d-given gifts will find their highest expression, bear their greatest fruit, and fulfill the world-shaping holy purpose for which they were intended.
Quiz Yourself
Do the Thought Exercise
Think of a particular talent or skill G‑d has blessed you with. How can you use that talent to serve Him?
Take the Challenge
The Rebbe believed that as long as you live, and even after, you can put your talents to work for the benefit of the world and humanity. Think of someone you know whose talent is lying untapped, and encourage them to dust it off and pursue it. It’s never too late!
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