2 for Your Sukkah

By properly performing the mitzvah of sukkah one is privileged to have a pure heart. That pure heart is your ticket to pouring out your heart to Hashem (God), telling Him your every concern.

The words you speak to Hashem are akin to ruach hakodesh.

OB: Our hearts lack purity because we are greedy. I don’t mean we are totally self-centered. I mean we indulge ourselves more than is necessary because we are selfish—we eat because we want to eat; we sleep because we want to sleep, etc. We focus on the pleasure for pleasure’s sake instead of doing what we need to do because we are responsible for taking care of our bodies.

But the primary mitzvah of sukkah—eating, drinking and sleeping withing its four walls—is an opportunity to re-focus, to remind ourselves that there is more to strive for. The quasi-roof of the sukkah (skhakh) may only be made from [1] materials that grow from the ground and [2] are insusceptible to tumah (ritual impurity). Part of the message of these qualifications is that we can elevate even the earthy to a higher-level of consciousness if we don’t corrupt it with impure motives and goals.

The openness of skhakh is flimsy from a material perspective. But from a spiritual perspective it is an invitation to realize higher levels of God-awareness. There is no pre-determined or fixed limit to how much you can grow. The limit is higher than the sky.

Once your hearts is freed—purified—from the petty pleasures of the body, she can speak openly to Hashem about her true concerns, about her aspirations and ambitions for coming close to Hashem. These words are not coming from a place within you that is constrained by your intellect. It is coming from an even more Divine, holy, point of contact that you have with Hashem. And it is even more than that, but what that “more” is cannot be told to you. You have to Divine/divine it yourself.

Properly performing the mitzvah of sukkah:

Is a segulah (nostrum, preternatural charm) to have children.
Saves a person from strife and argument.
Sukkah dissipates falsehood and strengthens the truth.
Reveals the genuine rebbe of the era. This means that every person sees the truth and understands who is the genuine tzaddik who can bring people back to Hashem. As a result of the true tzaddik’s fame, even the nations of the world come closer to Hashem, all with one mind.

OB: A sukkah is the Shekhinah’s nest. Wherever you see a sukkah, you are looking at a place that is, or could be, a resting place for the Shekhinah. Being the Divine “Mother,” the Shekhinah can bring fertility with her. As we‘ve seen from our Zohar-based posts about Shabbos, the hallmark of the Shekhinah‘s presence is peace. True shalom cannot exist if people lie or are deceitful to one another, even if their intentions are noble. Sooner or later, the truth will slip out and there is no guarantee that everyone in the relationship will be able to maintain his/her pacific attitude in light of the revelations.

Finally, as we learn from Rebbe Nachman‘s story The Lost Princess, the tzaddik is the one who dedicates his life, his soul, his all, to finding the Shekhinah and bringing her back home. By locating ourselves in the Shekhinah’s (temporary) abode, the sukkah, we make ourselves more capable of receiving the tzaddik’s da’at (awareness, mind-set). First, moving out of our homes and into a sukkah is the Shekhinah-seeking that the tzaddik engages in. Second, by actually “dwelling” with the Shekhinah and re-focusing to a higher, tzaddik-like mind-set, we find the tzaddik‘s teachings—or they find us!

As is well-known, there were 70 korbanot (offerings) made on Sukkot in the Holy Temple. These korbanot were brought on behalf of the 70 non-Jewish nations of the world. Just as an individual becomes spiritual, more Jewish, so too the nations of the world become more Jewish.

agut yomtov! Chag sameach!

Yom Kippur 5775

Now, it is Yom Kippur and we are being weighed in the scales of justice. If you’re like the rest of us, and you imagine yourself standing outside the courtroom looking in, you’ll see yourself sitting on the balance-pan which has “Guilty” written on it. You’re probably frowning and nodding your head. “Yeah, that’s me alright. I did a lot of things wrong and a lot of wrong things. Did some good things too, just not a lot and just not enough.”

You step into the courtroom to get a better look at the judge. You see who it is, but you can’t believe your eyes. You rub them, shake your head and take another look. You’re astounded. That’s the judge?! Really? It’s no wonder you recognize the magistrate—it’s you!

God is going to judge us on Yom Kippur for what we did and for what we didn’t do. You (we) are responsible for what you (we) said and did and thought. Actions have consequences. We must own up to that. God will decide, in His mercy, how best to arrange our lives to correct our mistakes so that we learn how to not repeat them.

Our good behavior, the nice things we said, the mitzvahs we hoped or thought to do? God takes those into account too. In His mercy, He will decide how best to arrange our lives so that we can get better at these and do them more frequently.

If it ended with this weighing, most of us would end up in the guilty-pan. But while God is judging your other actions, He is waiting to see how you perform the act judging your self. Will you convict and condemn yourself to “guiltiness,” to being a person who can never grow out of wrong thinking/speaking/behavior? Or will you say, “Hey! Yes, I did those wrong things and a lot, lot more, but that’s not me. Kiddush, charity, being respectful to the Torah scroll—it’s not that much, but that’s who I am!”

Yom Kippur is the day to “judge” and define yourself, to return to your innate goodness. Identifying with the good you’ve done makes you meritorious. The old you is gone and the guilty-pan a thing of the past. Being meritorious may not bring you a life of wine and roses, but it will put a song of God in your heart on and on your lips, come what may.

May you and yours be sealed in the Book of Life for Good Life. Amen.

Can’t Make it to Uman?

Here’s a letter I wrote to some friends who usually come to Uman for Rosh HaShanah, but can’t make it this year. Please apply whatever may work for you.

I know that you are upset/disappointed/etc. that you can’t be in Uman for this Rosh HaShanah. May I humbly suggest the following.

[1] BE HAPPY! This is not just the usual “b’simchah tamid,” (always be happy), but the simchah of the beginning of the Seven Beggars story, when the King tells the prince to be b’simchah even when he descends the throne. That whole part of the story (the transfer of the kingdom from Father [God] to son [humankind]) is about the creation of Adam HaRishon, the first human being.

[2] Reb Yitzchok Breiter zl (of blessed memory) writes that a person who was once at the Rebbe’s tziyon (gravesite) can draw the kedushah (holiness) of the tziyon to where he is! This takes a little work. So …

On erev Rosh HsShanah, BEFORE you come home from shul, go somewhere quiet (or just stay in shul later), close your eyes for a minute or two and picture yourself at the tziyon. Take that where you want—say Tikun Haklali and/or hisbodedus (private, personal prayer) and/or speak to the Rebbe zl. (You’re making a “long distance call,” as it were. This I confirmed with a leading Breslover whose name I will not share by email or on the web.)

If anyone asks why you came home late, say it was a long davening.

[3] On Rosh HaShanah keep your favorite sefer (work) of Rabbeinu zal at your place. You’re probably doing this anyway, but just in case.

Feel free to share with others who are staying home this year.

We will have you in mind.

kesivah v’chasimah tovah; may you and yours be written in the Book of Life, bsifran shel tzaddikim amitiyim. Amen.

Have No Tunnel Fear

The entire world—all of life—is a very, very narrow bridge, Rebbe Nachman teaches (Likutey Moharan II, Lesson #48). And, he says, the main thing is to not get frightened.

A tunnel built by those who want to kill you is not a bridge. And apparently, those built by Hamas frighten many, many people. I would like to make a humble suggestion that may help remove, or at least ease, the fear for some us.

Rabbi Yitzchak Ginsburgh (of inner.org fame) has what he calls, a “Divine space” meditation. Our bodies are, obviously, located in space. There are six directions: in front of us and behind us; right and left; above and below. Each direction relates to one of the six constant mitzvahs, i.e., the mitzvahs a person can do any time, any place.

The six mitzvahs are:

To believe in God’s existence
To believe that there is no god, power or force independent of God
To believe in God’s Oneness and Uniqueness
To love God
To fear God
To not stray after one’s heart or eyes

Rabbi Ginsburgh relates each mitzvah to a direction and to a pasuk (verse) of the Torah. For our purpose, we will relate just the two that are immediately relevant.

To believe in God’s existence is the first of the Ten Commandments, “I am the Lord your God (Exodus 20:2). Think of this mitzvah as being above you, “over your head,” as you sit, stand, walk or ride. I encourage people to think of this as being the Ultimate Iron Dome.

The second of the Ten Commandments—and what inspired this piece—is the mitzvah to believe that there is no god other than God Himself, “You will have no other gods before Me” (ibid. V.3). This mitzvah is “below,” it is the bedrock of our security. It is the ground we walk on.

Where we stand, where we stride, no force can touch us. We Jews have nothing to fear as long we are rock-certain that no one and nothing can do us harm, unless God wills it.

Don’t be afraid of tunnels or those that build them, who think they can hide their evil deeds from God. “Blessed are You, Hashem, Who protects His people Yisrael, forever.”

Tisha b’Av Reflection

“What has past is no longer, for our holy Temple has been burned to the ground. But now, as God looks forward to returning to us, and to return and build our holy Temple, the right thing for us is to not prevent the rebuilding of the holy Temple, God forbid. Instead we should make effort to see that it is built.

“Therefore, one should be very careful to rise at midnight to mourn the holy Temple’s destruction. Because perhaps in his first incarnation he was the cause of the Temple’s destruction. And even if not, perhaps he is now preventing the building of the holy Temple.

“Therefore, one should be very careful to rise at midnight to mourn greatly the holy Temple’s destruction. For God has guaranteed that anyone who mourns for Zion … will be given mochin, mind.” Likutey Moharan II, Lesson #67

The holy Temple, aka the Beit HaMikdash, was not just a building. When Rebbe Nachman zl says that perhaps one—you, me—was the cause of destruction or is interfering with the rebuilding effort, it implies:

Ozer, maybe you caused all those Jews to suffer in Babylon, in the Crusades, the Inquisition, Russian pogroms, Holocaust and Intifada. And maybe all the Exile’s misery, poverty and anxiety, of millions and millions of Jewish men, women and children, too, can be laid at your feet. (There are too many wars, revolutions, purges, Reigns of Terror, etc. of the world-at-large to list, none of which would have happened had there been a Beit HaMikdash.)

That’s an unbelievably heavy burden to bear. If a preaching-type would tell me that, I would run away or commit suicide. Who wouldn’t be crushed by the guilt?

But Rebbe Nachman zl doesn’t say it outright. And while he’s letting us know just how enormous the tragedy is, he’s telling us to not be overwhelmed, but to be strong and courageous and to face the challenge, because we can set things right, we can get to the root of the problem.

Waking at midnight, or at least stopping what we’re doing, in the middle of the darkness of life to mourn the destruction of the holy Temple is not just to go, “Boo-hoo those nasty terrorists are killing us,” or to whine that we don’t learn enough Talmud or Zohar.

The reward for mourning the Temple’s destruction is mochin, mind. The Beit HaMikdash wasn’t a symbol. It was a source of life-thinking. Its absence means that the world does not think clearly. It means that the world–including us–considers certain attitudes, beliefs and behaviors satisfactory when really–as we look anywhere around us–they most certainly are not. We have to mourn that we have lost our minds, individually and collectively.

Building the Beit HaMikdash, building a new and better world, requires the belief that you can contribute to that process. It requires your being sensitive enough to care about Jewish suffering and the world’s pain. It requires willingness to accept responsibility for your share of the world’s mess, and genuine willingness to change your attitudes, beliefs and behaviors.

The more Jewishly we think, the more anger, jealousy, violence, etc. become unwanted and untenable. Calm, camaraderie, helping and the like take their place. If we mourn losing our mind, we will be worthy of rejoicing when we regain it. May we live to see the building of the Beit HaMikdash, swiftly and soon. Amen.

The Wrong Kind of Smart

I don’t know much about building underground tunnels. Don’t know how to dig them, ventilate them or illuminate them. But I do know that it takes a lot of people a lot of time and effort to make it happen. It costs lots and lots of money. And like any building project, there’s a certain amount of danger that workers will get hurt. You can multiply my tunnel-ignorance many times over anytime a whole system of tunnels is built.

So I am impressed that Hamas invested so much time, effort, money, ingenuity and know-how to build what is basically an underground city. Can’t be stupid to think of an idea like that and can’t be stupid to actually execute it. You’ve got to be pretty smart. Sadly for them (and us), Hamas is the wrong kind of smart. “They are smart enough to do evil, but when it comes to doing good they don’t know how” (Jeremiah 4:22).

Imagine, and I know for some of us it will be difficult to imagine this, but imagine if Hamas had invested all that time, money, ingenuity etc., into building factories, schools, a hi-tech development center and the like. How many thousands of Gazans would have benefited? How many Gazans would be alive today? The Israeli blockade prevented this from happening? That’s patently false. Despite the blockade, Hamas managed to smuggle in everything it needed to build an underground city that leads all the way into Israel. And right under the noses of the vaunted Israeli intelligence, too.

Hamas could have done so much good for its own people and, by extension, the entire world. Not only would Israelis be safer, but people and nations across the globe would have been calm instead of angry, peaceful instead of belligerent, loving instead of hateful. Arab pride would have gone through the roof. (No pun intended.)

But Hamas couldn’t channel their energies in a positive way because they hate our guts so much. That blinds them to the good they could do. And it blinds them to making peace. “The way of peace they do not know. There is no fairness in the roads they take. They have twisted their paths; whoever walks them will know no peace” (Isaiah 59:8).

May the Blessed Creator soon open the eyes of all us to be the right kind of smart. Amen.

Dear Mrs. Breslover

You’re right. It’s dangerous now in Ukraine. Civilian planes getting shot down by undisciplined, unled para-military forces (aka white guys with dangerous weapons pretending to defend something they think is important). Political unrest in a country with a long history of violent Antisemitism. And your husband—God bless that fool—wants to go to Uman for Rosh HaShanah! What? Is he crazy?

If Rosh HaShanah was today, you would have a very good question and a real, legitimate cause for concern.

But Rosh HaShanah is not today. It’s in two (2) months, eight (8) weeks, sixty (60) days. As you surely know, much can change in two months, even for the good. And you can help make that change. Instead of telling hubby, “You are definitely not going!” daven (pray) to Hashem that He bring peace to Ukraine so that it will be safe and secure, so that Jews from all over the world can travel there to be part of Rebbe Nachman zl‘s Rosh HaShanah.

I’m writing this because I know many women have already expressed these feeling to their husbands. I also know that a Jewish woman’s tefilot (prayers) are powerful; they carry a lot of weight with The One Who Lives Forever. I also know what Rebbe Nachman says about the importance of his Rosh HaShanah, not only to the individual who is privileged to directly participate, but to the Jewish people in general and to the world at large as well. And I also know that if, even at a time like this, your husband is actually thinking of going, his presence will contribute immeasurably to the effectiveness of the Rebbe’s Rosh HaShanah.

Encourage your husband to make his reservations. Let it be tentative—”God willing you’ll be able to go and return safely”—make a back-up plan for getting there, but don’t say, “No.” Daven that he should be able to go. And God willing we will be blessed with a safe, happy and healthy new year. Amen.

Thankful for Chanukah

Do you remember that it was Chanukah, just a week ago? What do we take away from it? What do we take away from eight days of lighting candles (what’s so “spiritual” about that?), of saying Hallel (that’s pretty “religious”), thanking God (also “religious”) and maybe eating latkes. Oh, yeah, and playing dreidel. That’s very extremely religious, somehow. (Can’t believe that I didn’t spin a dreidel this past Chanukah. Then again, I was spinning myself around, taking care of Mother, so that counts for something.)

We tweeted one Chanukah day that one reason Chanukah is eight days, rather than seven, is to teach us that Chanukah never ends. We need to—we want to—keep on thanking Hashem, from this world clear into the next world. Thanking Hashem not only implies recognizing that you are being cared for, benefitted and that you owe something to the Giver, it is all of these. It is recognizing and communing with the Giver.

The more we thank Hashem for, the more He shines His light of goodness into the world. The ideal height for light the Chanukah menorah is between about 11–35 inches, a third of a meter to just under a meter. Why so low? It’s impossible to gauge the depth of wisdom encapsulated by the light of the Chanukah light, or even of its oil or its wick. But we are human and we are Jews. We are created with a desire to understand, to “explain” and “theorize” as much as we can. We find life so much easier when we (think we) know “why.”

But our Sages, who told us to light, told us that Chanukah light/luminosity is not meant to be used like ordinary light, even if we want to use it to learn Torah. It is a light placed low because we have to reflect on the humble, less glorious parts of life. We need to silently reflect that this great light is not only for the brain, or for the geniuses. It is a light for all of life, even the mundane and profane parts. It is a light for all of us, when we (think we) know and when we (realize that we) don’t know.

Because often, when we don’t know that’s when we can know the most. When we think we know or have the answers, we miss information, instruction and inspiration. By putting the Chanukah lights “off limits” and in “the strangest of places” (to light a light), our Sages are sending us a message: Be humble; be open; be aware. This is how we continue to be thankful and get to be more thankful.

Eight nights. Full circle and then some. It’s a long winter. You never know how dark or cold it’s going to get. Make sure to carry Chanukah with you. And don’t thank me; thank God.

Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

In honor of The Nine Days, the first nine days of the month of Av, which culminate with Tisha b’Av (9^th of Av), the anniversary of the destruction of the holy Temple in Jerusalem, let’s talk peace.

Rebbe Nachman says in Likutey Moharan II, Lesson #96: It is possible to whisper that a gun should not shoot.

If you read international news, national and maybe even the local news, you’re going to find many articles about people picking up guns, or stones, or knives. (And how many of us hurl poisoned words, sometimes with careful aim and sometimes carelessly?) The threat of violence is always lurking, seemingly everywhere. Every reported crime appears to inspire another. Aveirah goreret aveirah, one sin drags along another (Avot 4:2).

Rebbe Nachman once pointed out that many primitive ancient practices, such as child-sacrifice, have disappeared, but the misguided error of war and bloodshed still remain. He spoke disparagingly of inventors who develop weapons of mass destruction. “What geniuses they are, that they can figure out how to kill thousands of people at once! Is there anything more foolish than to kill people for nothing!” (Tzaddik #546).

Rebbe Nachman subtly reminds us, the children whose “voice is the voice of Yaakov” (Genesis 27:22), that even our whispers are strong enough to silence the guns of the world (“Esav’s sword,” ibid. v.40), to put a stop to wars and bring an end to violence. But we have to pray. Letters to editors or senators, gun legislation, police presence and such are band-aids at best. A collective change of consciousness is needed. And it starts with your whisper.

Even if you’re so distracted by your personal pain that you cannot care enough about humanity’s pain; even if you’re so disheartened by the constant and consistently amazing descent of human behavior, still it is possible to manage a whispered prayer: “Dear God! Please. No more violence. No more lifting swords against one another. No more learning war. Help us to beat the swords into plowshares already.” “It’s getting dark, too dark to see. Put our guns in the ground. We can’t shoot them anymore.”

Start with your whisper. The river that flows from the Temple (Ezekiel 47) also begins as a mere trickle, but gets deeper and stronger as it goes, pushing away death and bringing life and healing wherever it flows—speedily, in our days. Amen.

(Rebbe Nachman wasn’t a total pacifist. He was a realist. He taught that if there is a war, one must make the necessary preparations and not rely on miracles [The Aleph-Bet Book, Strife, A:5, 101].)

Chosen Person

We’re on the threshold of receiving the Torah, again. As we wrote earlier, one of the reasons we stay awake all Shavuot night to learn Torah, is to awaken our desire for living Torah, despite any obstacles we may face in life. And face obstacles we will.

Rebbe Nachman talks often of the desire to be a Jew, the desire to live Jewishly, the desire to actualize the desire to daven (pray) more/better, learn Torah more/better, be charitable and kind more/better, have stronger faith and love for God, etc. What’s the starting point for that desire? The starting point is to realize that not only are we Jews the Chosen People, but that you, in your Jewishness, are a Chosen Person. Without your having stood at Mount Sinai at the Revelation to receive the Torah, no Jew, not even Moshe Rabbeinu, would have the Torah.

You were chosen to be there and, like the rest of us, you accepted the invitation and the responsibility. And you’re going to fail. Not all the time, hopefully, but often enough to think about quitting or about moving the goalposts (i.e., lowering your standards of Judaism). But this misguided thinking is based on a lack of humility. Your failures—just like my failures and the other guy’s failures—should give you a clearer picture of what your currently capable of and where you need improvement. Your failures, and the humility they breed, should weaken neither your desire nor your resolve for Jewishness. On the contrary—they should strengthen them so much that your failures become stepping stones to Jewish success.

Have a beautiful yom tov. Don’t forget. Being happy that it’s yom tov is a mitzvah. Don’t get suckered into an argument or a funk because the cheesecake didn’t come out right or the rabbi’s class was too long.

Based on Likutey Halakhot, Hekhsher Keilim 4:18

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