Blog - Torah Insights

The Sound of Inspiration  

What is the most important ingredient in a relationship? Is it love, respect, trust, commitment, understanding, fun, loyalty? What is the foundation of the connection, without which all other aspects of the relationship would collapse?

The answer, the Kabbalists explain, is desire.

I may take you out to dinner, spend time with you, discuss your favorite ideas, I may be respectful and committed to you. I may be providing you with all you would ever want in a relationship, but if you sense that I don’t want to be here, that my will is not present, that I’d prefer to be elsewhere, then you would feel rejected and the foundation of the relationship would collapse. Thus, for a relationship to exist and thrive, the will, the underlying desire and delight to be in this relationship to begin with, must be nurtured and cultivated.

This, say the Kabbalists, is the essence of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year.

The infinite G-d, the creator of heaven and earth, is invested in a relationship with his creation. The relationship is multidimensional, it is imbued with G-d’s wisdom and love, with his ideas and his compassion. Yet, just as the new year is about to begin, G-d’s desire for the connection evaporates. After all, what possible benefit could the creation contribute to an infinite G-d? Why would he desire to relate to a universe that is utterly insignificant in comparison to his infinity?

As we move from the end of one year to the beginning of the next, the creation is bereft of its vitality, for, although it continues to be created by G-d, it nevertheless lacks the Divine enthusiasm, pleasure and desire. He is still in the relationship, He is still providing us with life and vitality, but He is unsure if He wants to be here.

The job of the Jew on Rosh Hashanah is to awaken that will. It is to communicate with G-d in a way that will inspire an even deeper dimension of desire and will for the new year. We do so through sounding the blasts of the shofar, a cry from our heart calling to G-d, telling him that we want to be connected to him. In the language of the Rosh Hashanah liturgy: we want Him to be our king and the king of the universe. We are saying that our deepest will and delight is to be connected to G-d.

Throughout the year the details of everyday life often obscure the big picture. We are busy paying bills, working, raising children and trying to carve out time for physical and spiritual well being. We sometimes forget to ask the big question: are we distracted and frustrated by our daily tasks to the extent that we are distracted from the vision of what we are working to achieve? Do we engage in our daily activities with will, desire and enthusiasm? Are we in touch with the spark of spirituality within everything we do?

As we hear the Shofar’s blast on Rosh Hashanah we know the answer. The Shofar is a scream from the depth of our hearts. Words won't do it. Words are too scripted. It must come from the deepest part of our soul. On Rosh Hashana we look into our soul and realign our will and pleasure with holiness. The cry of the Shofar peels away the outer layers of our consciousness and reveals the part of us which desires unity with G-d. G-d, in turn, desires us and showers us with blessing and potential for material and spiritual well being.[1]

^[1] Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Shir Hammalos 5734.  

The Center of His Universe 

When a baby is born the baby can be excused for assuming that it is the center of the universe. All the people around it, mother, father, grandparents, seem to be doing nothing other than caring for the baby. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, adults will respond to its calling. 

As the child begins to grow, as he or she develops from infant to child to teenager to adult, the child begins to recognize that he or she is indeed not the center of existence.  As children grow into adulthood they are burdened with the intellectual recognition that they are only one of seven billion people, that the entire human species, as well as the planet they inhabit, are but a speck in a solar system within a galaxy, containing one hundred billion stars, which is insignificant compared to the vastness of the universe.

Yet, despite this knowledge, something deep inside of us protests. Something deep within the psyche of the individual insists that he or she is special and indispensable. A healthy person cannot fully escape the perspective of the infant, something within himself will always look out at humanity, at the world, and at the universe, from a self centered, perspective.

And that is a good thing.

Moses’ greatest fear, as the Jewish people were about to enter the land of Israel, was that the Jew would not see himself as the center of the universe. Moses was afraid that once the Jews cross the Jordan River the individual would see himself as nothing more than one among millions; as merely one individual citizen whose choices don’t make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. Moses understood that in order for a nation to survive, for it to maintain a high moral ground, for it to live up to its calling of being a light unto the nations, each individual must appreciate that the destiny of the nation is in his or her hands. The greatest threat to morality is if every individual believes that the purpose of creation, that the mission of the Jewish people and the fate of humanity is out of his or her control. The greatest assurance that people will make the correct choices in life is when each individual understands that G-d looks to him or her as the center of the universe.

In the opening verses of this week's Parsha, Nitzavim, Moshe creates a covenant with the people, he gathers them together and tells them:

You are all standing this day before the Lord, your God the leaders of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel, your young children, your women, and your convert who is within your camp both your woodcutters and your water drawers. [1]

And then, after speaking to them in the plural, Moses says the following statement in the singular:

in order to establish you this day as His people, and that He will be your God, as He spoke to you, and as He swore to your forefathers to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.

The “you” in “in order to establish you this day as His people” is written in the singular. Moses is telling each and every Jew “you are not just one in a nation of millions”, you cannot outsource Judaism's great ideals to be implemented by others. Moses is telling each and every individual: “you”, in the singular, are G-d’s nation. Don’t look to others to carry the Jewish heritage for you. Don’t look for others to make the right decisions. There is no one else. You, personally and singularly, are G-d’s nation. He is looking to you to carry the torch.

You are the center of His universe. 

^[1] Deuteronomy 29:9-10.

The Heart of the Covenant 

It is a word that describes the heart of the bond between the Jewish people and G-d, yet no one knows for sure what the word means.

As the Jewish people were about to enter the land of Israel, as the time of Moses passing was fast approaching, Moses facilitated a covenant between the Jewish people and G-d, in addition to the covenant created at Sinai.

At Sinai it was G-d who pursued the relationship, he took the people out of Egypt and expressed his great love to them by selecting them to be a “kingdom of princes and a holy nation”. The people were passive recipients of this love. Forty years later, however, the relationship had matured, the people were active in its creation[1], they were the ones who pursued the bond with G-d, and G-d reciprocated to the commitment shown by his people.

The verb used to describe what the people did for G-d, and in turn what G-d did for the Jewish people is “Heemarta” (הֶֽאֱמַ֖רְתָּ) and “Heemircha” (הֶאֱמִירְך). What exactly does this verb mean? 

Rashi, the classic Biblical commentator, tells us that in the entire Bible there is no word precisely the same as this one, thus we don’t know for sure what the word means, yet he does suggest two possible meanings: 

We do not find any equivalent expression in the Scriptures [which might give us a clue to the meaning of these words]. However, it appears to me that [the expression הֶאֱמִיר] denotes separation and distinction. [Thus, here, the meaning is as follows:] From all the pagan deities, you have set apart the Lord for yourself, to be your God, and He separated you to Him from all the peoples on earth to be His treasured people.

Rashi continues:

 [Notwithstanding,] I did find a similar expression [to הֶאֱמִיר], which denotes “glory,” as in the verse “[How long will] all workers of violence glorify themselves (יִתְאַמְּרוּ)?”[2]

Why does the Torah choose to use a word that is so rare that it defies a precise definition? How is it that the Torah does not describe the heart of the covenant with a word whose meaning is clear? 

Perhaps the reason is that our relationship with G-d is multifaceted and multidimensional and does not always look the same. Thus the Torah specifically uses a word that has multiple shades of meaning so that it will encompass all phases of our relationship.  

Rashi’s first suggestion is that the verb describing the covenant “denotes separation and distinction”. This interpretation describes a person who is totally committed to a bond with G-d, and is not distracted or enticed by anything else. To him G-d is separate and distinct from anything else in the world, holiness is all that is worth pursuing, everything else in his life serves his relationship with holiness. Thus G-d is the only one who he has a relationship with, and he, in turn, is the one who G-d has a sole relationship with. The relationship is just like two people newly in love, who, while navigating through work and life, see nothing other than each other and experience an exclusive and wholesome relationship.

Yet there is more than one way to experience a relationship.

While sometime we feel a wholesome connection to the holy and to the spiritual, at other times we feel the struggle and pain. Our spiritual life is sometimes more like a warzone than a vacation resort. We try and fail. We sometimes face disappointment frustration and confusion. We experience a deep struggle in our attempt to bond with G-d.

This is why Rashi continues with his second interpretation.

Rashi tells us that the verb describing our relationship can also mean “Glory”, and the verse he quotes is one that describes “workers of violence”, which is a verse with a negative connotation. What Rashi is telling us is that while we prefer a wholesome, loving, tension free relationship, sometimes we “find” another meaning. Sometimes life teaches us that there is beauty in overcoming challenge. That struggle produces a deeper bond.

The verses describing our covenant can be read as describing the times when we are in love with everything good and holy. When we designate G-d as our exclusive love. In those times the verses read:

You have designated the Lord this day, to be your God, and to walk in His ways… And the Lord has designated you this day to be His treasured people.

Those same verses can also be read to describe the times of challenge and the beauty of engaging in the struggle. Describing this dimension the verses read:

You have glorified the Lord this day, to be your God, and to walk in His ways… And the Lord has glorified you this day to be His treasured people.

For indeed, the heart of the covenant is that the Jew is connected to G-d both in peaceful times and in challenging times. The nature of the relationship may be “separation and distinction” - where there is nothing that distracts from the exclusive relationship - or it may entail the “glory” of struggling with darkness, Either way the bond between the Jew and G-d is unbreakable.[3]

^[1] See Malbim. 

^[2] Rashi on Deuteronomy 26:17

^[3] Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe, Lekutey Sichos Ki Savo, vol. 9 Sicha 1.