Why I Go to Uman for Rosh HaShanah

Why do I go to Uman for Rosh HaShanah? Let me count the whys.

First of all, I go because the Rebbe said to come to him for Rosh HaShanah. This alone is sufficient reason to go. I need no other. If you have any inkling of the chassidic mind, you understand that if “the Rebbe” says to do something, the chassid does it. This is what it means to be a chassid. The Rebbe is the spiritual master and guide, and I, the chassid, am the perpetual novice.

I go for a number of personal reasons as well. Even though I live in Yerushalayim/Jerusalem, the Holy City, and regularly attend some of the local Breslov shtibels, I feel more strongly attached to Breslov as a chassidut when in Uman for Rosh HaShanah. (Thank God, I always feel connected to the Rebbe z”l, but to the chassidut most strongly when in Uman for the pilgrimage.)

I go to see my brother, who lives in New York, and my nephews and their children who also live Stateside. I go to see friends who live in California, Massachusetts, Michigan and elsewhere—including here, in Israel, whom I don’t see all year long. Catching up on each other’s lives, sharing Torah insights and struggles, offering help to newcomers and old-timers, and receiving from them as well. This, too, increases my feelings for and connection to Rebbe Nachman and Breslov chassidut.

I go to daven/pray with a minyan of 3,000-plus people, people who take their time to invest themselves in every word of prayer, screaming, shouting, swaying and singing. The nigunim/melodies alone are worth the trek. Not every prayer can be put into words. Some must be put into (or to) music.

I come to marvel at the diversity of Jews and Jewish “types” that come to Uman. I come to marvel at their self-sacrifice in making the hajj. I come to marvel at those who prepare tons of food—meals, snacks, drinks—for others, with no thought or interest in getting paid for it. I am humbled by all the volunteerism I see there.

I go to do hitbodedut in the Sofievka, an amazingly beautiful park.

I go to say the Tikkun HaKlali at the Rebbe’s grave site.

I go to speak to Rebbe Nachman z”l. Notice I write “speak,” not “pray.” We Jews pray to God and only to God. We Jews do not pray to any person, being or object whether animate, inanimate, tangible or intangible, but only to the One and Only Creator. How do I speak to a dead man? Before he passed away, Rebbe Nachman pointed out that for tzaddikim, dying is merely going from one room to another. Even though we are speaking to him from the other side of the door, he hears what we say. (In fact, he said all dead people hear what is said to them, but that not all of them are at their graves. But tzaddikim are always at theirs.) (How I hear his responses we will leave for another day.)

Returning (somewhat) to the first reason, I go because I “understand” (using the word loosely) that since Rebbe Nachman z”l uses Rosh HaShanah for tikkun haolam, my being present is a kindness for you and every member of humankind, past, present and future.

I don’t know if I recorded all the reasons I go, but these are some of them.

Please tell me quick—What is hitbodedut?

What is hitbodedut? It starts by your going to a place where you’ll be alone, with no one around. When you’re settled you tell Hashem/God everything—everything that’s going on in your spiritual life and everything that’s going on in your material life. You tell Him about the good things and the kindnesses, and you tell Him about your troubles, God forbid. You thank Hashem for being kind and nice to you; you plead with Him to take away all your suffering. You also take an honest look at yourself. Ask yourself questions like: Are you as patient and sincere as you should be? Are your faith and trust in Hashem as firm as they should be? Are you still more jealous and timid than you should be? Are you cutting corners in your prayers? Are you being honest in your financial dealings? Still telling white lies?

And answer these questions as if you were answering them to God. Because you are. You have to determine whether or not you are really meeting up to Hashem’s expectations from you.

Don’t Be Inferior

One of the biggest challenges we face in our quest to live Jewishly, is the feeling that we can’t measure up, that certain “levels” or accomplishments are just beyond us.

This is not a feeling that only a baal teshuvah might have. Many who are born and educated in even the most “religious” and/or spiritually dedicated homes feel inferior to someone who seems more gifted, privileged or just plain lucky. (”Mazeldik” is the technical term.) The feeling is real and too often is an impediment to becoming all the Jew you can be. What should you do to so that this feeling lifts you and doesn’t bury you?

First, ask a question that you should always ask any time you feel stuck in our Jewishness: Who says? Who says that just because I’ve bumped my head on the ceiling of my Jewishness that I can’t break through it? Asking this question requires two ingredients: chutzpah and ambition.

If you’re Jewish, you automatically have chutzpah. Ambition you may also have, but maybe not. And even if you do, you may not have exerted any of your ambition on growing as a Jew. If so, start now.

This question and this ambition show up in this week’s parsha. When everyone else was busy coming closer to Hashem by bringing the korban Pesach, a small group of Jews felt excluded. Heck! They were excluded. So they (respectfully) challenged Moshe Rabbeinu (Numbers 9:7). “OK, so there’s something seriously wrong with us. Does that mean we can’t move forward with the rest of our fellow Jews? Help us out!”

Their quest and question echoes that of Rachel Imeinu (our Matriarch). Hundreds of years earlier she was confronted by a very stark truth: her sister, Leah Imeinu, was privileged to build the Jewish people by bearing children to Yaakov Avinu (our Patriarch), but she, Rachel, was not. She was not to be denied though. It was her goal to be a builder of the Jewish people. What did she do? She prayed. And prayed. And she prayed some more and she prayed again and she continued to pray.

In order to equal her sister, to match her accomplishments, Rachel Imeinu was not only ambitious, but STUBBORN. She cried, she pleaded, she begged and screamed. And she remained barren, for years. Nothing. After trying for years and seeing no results whatsoever, normal human beings give up. But to build Judaism or Jewishness from the ground floor, you can’t be “normal,” you can’t accept spiritual defeat. (And you must realize, that your current level of Jewishness is the ground floor for your Jewishness yet to come.)

In what activity do we have to be the most stubborn? In tefilah, prayer. How stubborn? Reb Noson writes: “Even if you imagine that your words don’t help at all; even if you feel that you are a million light-years distant from your Jewish goal—after all, it’s years that you’ve been pleading with Hashem to achieve Jewish growth and nothing has happened—you must continue with ‘just because’ stubbornness.”

That’s right. You have to tell your inner-skeptic, “Yes, there is no good reason to continue praying for my goal, but I’m going to do it anyway.” Your success may be too small for you to measure, or may not satisfy you as much as you like. But keep at it, writes Reb Noson; you will ultimately be equal with your fellow Jews who are already tzaddikim.

What is Teshuvah?

What is teshuvah? Teshuvah is change—change of behavior, change of heart and change of mind.

When we change from cheeseburgers to chulent, from bar-hopping to beis midrash-going, and g’neivisheh shtick to kosher gelt, our new behaviors indicate (to others, but most importantly to ourselves) that other changes have taken place within us. Outside motions are sometimes nothing more than an act, but they are more often a test of our inner resolve.

Did we really have a change of heart? Did we really take stock of the gifts that Hashem Yisborakh (Blessed God) gave and gives us? Not just the sweet-tasting gifts, mind you, but the ones that make us sweat and put our shoulder to the grindstone, and the ones that make us weep. Did we stop to think about the gap between what we sense, what we intuit deep inside of our heart about what we know is the purpose of our life and what we really do, how we actually spend our time? Did we hear the inaudible scream of our heart that mourns the disconnect between our inborn Yiddishe neshamah and our lives hijacked by galus Edom (the current exile)?

Our outer changes give an indication that yes, we did. We felt, all things considered, life had to change, so we changed it. But our inner discontent, that nagging feeling that it’s not enough, that the gap is still too large, is a better indicator that our change of heart is still effective, still evolving, still pumping new life into our Yiddishkeit.

But after all this wonderful and necessary change, did we change our minds?

We all know the famous Gemara (Kiddushin 49b), that if a man says to a woman, “You are my wife on condition that I am a tzaddik,” she is married to him (if she said yes!). No matter what crimes he has done, no matter how often, no matter for how long he has been doing them, she is wife. Why? The Gemara explains, “Maybe he had a thought of teshuvah.”

He didn’t put on tzitzit or tefillin, didn’t give tzedakkah (charity) or drop his ham sandwich — yet. Nothing. But already, despite not doing anything positive, he is already a complete tzaddik because of one thought, “I will improve on my Jewishness.”

This Gemara has a flipside. If a man, even a known tzaddik, says to a woman, “You are my wife on condition that I am a rasha (villain),” she is married to him (if she said yes). Why? The Gemara explains, “Maybe he had a thought of idolatry.”

Another famous Gemara (Kiddushin 39b). A youngster climbs a tree to do the mitzvah of shiluach hakein at his father’s request, falls and dies. Acher didn’t understand how a person doing the two mitzvahs for which the holy Torah promises long life could die while doing them! The Gemara answers that the youngster had his thoughts focused on avodah zarah (idolatry). The value of what you do—including teshuvah—is set by your mind.

I once asked Reb Shlomo Freifeld zal why teshuvah is easier at the beginning stages, but becomes progressively harder as one continues his journey. He answered, “At first teshuvah is like cutting off a gangrened limb. Then it becomes brain surgery.” He was referring to the elimination of the many subtle traces of the poisonous influences that infect our motivation, our ego-worship and our greed among them.

I want to elaborate. We who have grown up in galus (exile), regardless which nation was our host, have been so attacked by goyish culture, attitudes and values that we are concussed. Without even realizing it, we have goals that our not Jewish, standards that are not Jewish, and ways and methods for dealing with ordinary (and extraordinary) situations that are not Jewish. (Of course, by “Jewish” I mean that which the holy Torah recommends or, at the very least, sanctions.)

That is, for the most part, we think like goyim. What’s worse is, we aren’t even aware that we do.

I’m not an anti-Esavian or an anti-Ishmaelite. On the contrary. I’m a member of the minute minority that holds that v’ahavta l’reiakha k’mokha means to love goyim as well. (Yes, there is such a pre-19^th century deah.) Doesn’t mean I want to be one or think like one, God forbid.

The real test of our teshuvah—and do yourself a favor: be ready to be tested over and over for the rest of your life—is how we think when confronted with a challenge. Do we analyze, reflect and consider our challenge(s) solely by the Torah’s attitude? Or do we mix in some political doctrine, philosophical inquiry or scientific bias in trying to figure out what the desired outcome is and how we might achieve it?

Let me be a bit more blunt. When we have a problem, where do we go for a solution? To the Torah? Or, God forbid, to Google? When we need a modus operandi for a situation, do we search for it with a talmid chakham, a Jew saturated with Torah knowledge and experience, or some bright guy with a Ph.D.?*

Teshuvah never ends. Up to and including our dying moment, we have to be vigilant that what (and how) we do, what we want and how we see life, fits the Divine wisdom we call Torah. It’s not always easy—even with Rabbeinu zal, good friends and hisbodedus helping us—but, hey, God chose you. You can do it—if you want to.

*I am quite aware that the ability to give good advice is not produced only by knowledge and level of religious observance. It also requires seikhel!

Open Gates

The fifth week of Sefirat HaOmer, the Omer Count, started Tuesday night. This entire week, through next Tuesday afternoon (30 April) the Gates of Heaven are open. It is an et ratzon, a time of favor. Your every prayer is viewed more favorably, and is more likely to be accepted. This is not only an opportunity. It is a responsibility.

Prayer is a tool, praying is a skill. Praying is not an isolated activity, unattached and unaffected by what you think and do the rest of the day. All that “stuff” is going to affect how much and what sort of energy you will bring to praying, and what—and whom—you will pray for.

Reb Noson’s Prayers

A few introductory words to this post. Reb Noson was Rebbe Nachman’s primary disciple. He wrote prayers based on Rebbe Nachman’s teachings, and later compiled them into Likutey Tefilot (An Anthology of Prayers).

Hisbodedus (aka hitbodedut) is talking to God in your own words about whatever you want to talk about. Some call it a “conversation” with God. The emphasis with which Rebbe Nachman recommended this practice cannot be overstated.

I’ve heard a lot of praises about Reb Noson’s Likutey Tefilot. Yet, I’ve never actually used them. Whenever I have merited to do hisbodedus, I have had what I would call an ego block that doesn’t allow me to go use Reb Noson’s prayers. Are there some words of encouragement or ideas that you could give me to help give me that boost and convince me to give them more of a try? I guess I always imagined that if it’s not my words, then how can I use them in conversation with God?

Well, first thing to do is ask your ego to sit down on the bench and rest for awhile. Let’s remember that we are latecomers to avodat Hashem (serious, dedicated Jewish practice). Reb Noson, on the other hand, was thoroughly immersed in Torah and prayer since birth, and was a student not only of Rebbe Nachman’s teachings, but of Rebbe Nachman the person. When he “prays” a teaching, he’s also teaching us. He’s teaching us some of the more subtle points of the lesson. He’s teaching us how to pray.

In all areas of life, beginners learn from watching and imitating experts. Prayer is no different. “Watching” how Reb Noson prays teaches us how we can pray, how we can be better Jews and what it means to be a Breslover Chassid.

That’s one. Also, Reb Noson gave us the Likutey Tefilot. When we say Tehillim (Psalms), we don’t think, “Hey, these are someone else’s words. They’re not going to help me.” When we say Tehillim, they become our words, our prayers. Similarly, Reb Noson’s words and prayers become ours.

Hope this helped.

148 West

NEVER EVER DESPAIR!

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