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.

© Copyright 2015 148west.com/O. Bergman

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.

Anchors Aweigh! Away? A Way?

While I was working on a project last night, I came across this short piece from Sichot HaRan (Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom) #121. I’ve taught it dozens of times and seen it even more than that, but it hit me with a new force. I literally felt as if the Rebbe zl  slapped me in the face. Here is the piece:

The Rebbe once lectured us to pray with concentration and energy. He emphasized that a person must exert himself to pray with all his strength. He said, “You put as much energy into your prayers as I did into pulling up the anchor.”

The Rebbe was once travelling by ship when an emergency arose. Everybody on board—crew and passengers—was pressed into service and forced to pull the rope with all his might to weigh anchor. “I went through the motions of pulling with all my strength, but really I wasn’t using any energy at all. I was actually pretending. I was being coerced, so I acted as if I was pulling with all my might. The is what your prayer ‘with energy and concentration’ is like.”

I had always taken away the obvious message: you’re not really putting in genuine effort; and obvious message #2: c’mon—you call that trying? But last night it hit me hard when I realized that the Rebbe zl was telling me why I wasn’t putting honest effort into my davening. I feel like I’m being coerced. On a subtle level, part of why I am in shul three times a day is that I have to be there.

Definitely some part of me wants to daven or I wouldn’t do it all. But since not all of my self is invested in davening, I don’t invest all of my energy into davening. I’m pretending to pull the rope to weigh anchor. I’m making all the appropriate gestures and noises that come along with it, but really I’m putting on a show. Sometimes it’s such a good show I fool even myself.

But as with anything in life that a person feels called to do, he’ll give it everything he’s got. Hearty davening!

© Copyright 2014 148west.com/O. Bergman

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:

  1. To believe in God’s existence
  2. To believe that there is no god, power or force independent of God
  3. To believe in God’s Oneness and Uniqueness
  4. To love God
  5. To fear God
  6. 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.”

© Copyright 2014 148west.com/O. Bergman

 

Shabbos Night (2 of 10)

 (In memory of Chaim Barukh Yehudah ben Dovid Tzvi zl)

K’gavna 

(In chassidic shuls, this piece of Zohar is said right before the start of Maariv, the nighttime prayer.)

Just as the six points of the sefirot unite Above to become one, the Shekhinah, too, unites her six points, Below. The two are aligned perfectly, in harmony, face to face (as it were). The Blessed Holy One is One. Above no one sits on His Throne of Glory until she—the Shekhinah—is as One in her realm as He is in His. This needs to happen in order for them to “unite” utterly. (We have been taught elsewhere {Zohar 2:134b] that Hashem is One and that His Name, aka the Shekhinah, is One.)

The secret of Shabbos? The Shekhinah’s name is Shabbos. This name has become unified in the One so that union with the One can take place.

The secret of the Shabbos (Friday) night prayer is linked one of the Shekhinah’s secrets. She is the secret of the Throne of Glory. She becomes fully integrated so that His August Royal Majesty will sit on His Throne.

When does the Shekhinah prepare herself? As Shabbos begins she becomes one within herself, totally detaching from the Sitra Achra (the Other Side, i.e., the evil side). All judgments leave and she remains, alone in union with the Holy Light. She crowns herself with many crowns, for the Holy King Who awaits her in the higher world, Atzilut.

All the demons created by anger, by haters and complainers flee—they can’t get out of her sight fast enough—to hide in the Sinkhole of the Great Deep. With their departure, no other force holds sway in the lower worlds, Beriyah, Yeztirah and Asiyah. All people, all beings, call out, loud and clear, in Hashem’s Name.

The Shekhinah’s face radiates the Holy Light. She is crowned by the prayers of the Jews; {Rebbe Nachman teaches* to say this next phrase with extra enthusiasm and joy} they, each and everyone, is crowned with a brand new soul, special for Shabbos. Now we can begin Maariv, to bless it joyfully, with shining faces. We can say, “Barkhu es Hashem hamevorakh”—”Hashem” means Hashem; “es” means the Shekhinah. We honor her by beginning Maariv with a blessing for her.

© Copyright 2014 148west.com/O. Bergman

* Sichot HaRan/Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom #270

Maybe It is My Fault?

In Tunis, the capitol of Tunisia, the chief rabbi, Rabbi Yehoshua Bassin, had police power granted him by the local authorities. One Tisha b’Av, a well-to-do Jew opened his store. Rabbi Yehoshua sent some people to the merchant with orders to close the store. The Jew refused.

The messengers returned, reporting the refusal. Rabbi Yehoshua sent them again and again the Jew refused. “That happened two thousand years ago. It has nothing to do with me.” The messengers came back, relaying the Jew’s rationale. Rabbi Bessin, “We’ll take our time with this one.”

Fast forward to the morning of Purim eve, some seven months later. Rabbi Yehoshua sends some of his “gendarmes” to the rich Jew with a summons to appear before him. In addition, they also have instructions to take him by force, should he refuse. Sure enough, when they arrive and tell him that he is to immediately go to the rabbi’s home, he refuses. “What?! It’s Purim eve. There’s so much to do and prepare. I don’t have time.” When he refused to go willingly, they handcuffed him (or however they did it in Tunis of old), and dragged him to Rabbi Bassin’s.

Rabbi Bassin told the merchant to wait outside his office. The unhappy merchant waited and waited. The longer he waited, the unhappier and more impatient he became. Finally, as the afternoon shadows become more pronounced, he can’t stand it any more. He jumps up and burst into Rabbi Yehoshua’s office. “Rabbi! You called me to your office. What do you want? It’s getting late. It’s almost Purim and I have much to prepare!”

The rabbi looked at him, “What are you in such a rush to prepare for? What’s the big to-do?”

The merchant was shocked. “What’s the big to-do? It’s Purim! The great miracle that God made for us through Mordechai and Esther, to save us from Haman!”

“That concerns you?” asked Rabbi Yehoshua. “That happened two thousand years ago, like Tisha b’Av. What has it got to do with you?” Rabbi Bassin continued. “Remember what King David says (Psalms 137:5), ‘If I forget you, Jerusalem, may yemini (literally, my right hand) be forgotten.’ If one forgets about the destruction of Jerusalem, he cannot properly recall the holiday of ish Yemini (Esther 2:5, a reference to Mordechai).”

The moral of the story (one of them, anyway) is that we cannot divorce any episode of Jewish history from our personal experience. One can’t be a “good time” Jew or a “fair-weather” Jew. The loss of the Beit HaMikdash (holy Temple), how, why and by whom it was destroyed, and the responsibility we bear for it has to be thought about it and taken to heart.

There’s a common mistake made by many, that Rebbe Nachman of Breslov’s teachings are always warm and fuzzy. The Rebbe zl is demanding as well. In Likutey Moharan (Part II, Lesson #67), Rebbe Nachman tells us that God is waiting with anticipation to return to us and build the Beit HaMikdash. Instead of getting in the way, we should assist in its building and pray for it. Then the Rebbe poses a suggestion:

Perhaps in your first incarnation you were the cause for its destruction. Even if not, perhaps now you are the one preventing its being rebuilt. That’s tantamount to causing its destruction.

Rough words, painful. Challenging. Are you part of the problem, or contributing to the solution? Let’s think about this honestly on Tisha b’Av (and other times during the year). Let’s accept responsibility for our past failures and start today to work on rebuilding the Beit HaMikdash. After all, it’s not just God’s home. It’s our home, too.

 

© Copyright 2013 O. Bergman/148West

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-19th 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!

 

© Copyright 2013 O. Bergman/148west.com

Stay Awake!

Why don’t we sleep on the night of Shavuot? Reb Noson of Breslov, Rebbe Nachman’s foremost disciple, gives an answer.

We already received the Torah at Sinai. So what are we receiving each year on Shavuot? A little more revelation of penimiyut, the innerness/essence of the Torah. The Torah’s panim, face, shines on us a little more, so that each of us can awaken from his sleep. We can wake and look more carefully and honestly at our lives, so that we can evaluate how our day to day life is contributing—or not—to a positive destiny.

When the Torah smiles and reveals to us more of her essence, we realize how many obstacles there are that keep us away from her. We realize that she alone is the one who can awaken us to our destined greatness. Receiving on Shavuot this new appreciation of the Torah’s greatness—and ours—is this year’s revelation.

Coming to realize how far we are from actualizing our potential greatness; coming to realize how impermanent things, false visions and values, and other tricks played on our minds keep us away from the Torah which can bring us to our God and our greatness; these realizations are the Torah we receive on Shavuot.

Staying awake Shavuot night is a reaction to these revelations. It is an antidote to the all too common human reaction of giving up and crawling under the blanket, quitting on the Torah when life gets too hard for us to reach the greatness we know deep within that we can achieve. Staying awake Shavuot night is a cry: I want to be a greater Jew! I can be a greater Jew! Even if I cannot achieve my Jewish goals as swiftly as I hoped, I will never ever stop hoping, and trying, to reach them.

Based on Likutey Halakhot, Hekhsher Keilim 4:26

Appetizer

Here’s a simple practice, that should be relatively easy to do. But as with anything worthwhile, it takes time time to establish its place in your life. So you have to take the time to do it, give it time to develop and not give up when you forget to do it. Just cone back to it and start it again.

Rebbe Nachman teaches that before you eat, put something into the pushka. Puskha is Yiddish for box, and colloquially it means specifically the charity box. The amount is not important; the giving is. My suggestion, because maybe you don’t have a pushka, is to make one.  I mean, what could be a better recycling project than that? Maybe even make two or three pushkas, because maybe you want to spread the wealth.

And yes, you can do this practice by donating to a charity via Paypal or with a credit card, but there’s also an important element gained by putting physical coins and dollar bills into a pushka. The jingle-jangle of charity coins is a sacred sound (Likutey Moharan I, Lesson #22:5).

Which charity? That’s a tough call. You have to pray hard to be worthy to give to a worthy Jewish cause. In many ways, it’s a personal call. As a Breslover, I incline to Breslov-related charities/causes/institutions. I’m partial to orphans and widows, with the ordinary poor being next. As you pray, you have to search your heart and mind to get the solution.

And when the money adds up, which it will do after a while, remember to give it to whom you’ve been collecting for!

pushka

© Copyright 2013 O. Bergman/148West