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Toil of the Mind and Heart: A Meditation in Memory of Rabbi Yehoshua Mondshine

Toil of the Mind and Heart: A Meditation in Memory of Rabbi Yehoshua Mondshine

by Eli Rubin

Rabbi Eli Rubin is a writer and editor at Chabad.org, and works to further intercommunal and interdisciplinary study of Chassidism. Many of his articles can be viewed online here .

This is his first essay at the Seforim Blog.

A new anthology mines the oral teachings of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi for new insight into the historical development of his leadership and the crystallization of his ideology, and also charts the impact of Rabbi Shlomo of Karlin and Rabbi Avraham of Kalisk on the emergence of Chabad as a distinct Chassidic movement. “HaRav: On the Tanya, Chabad thought, the path, leadership and disciples of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi” ed. Rabbi Nochum Grunwald, Hebrew, 798 pp. (Mechon HaRav, 2015).

In memory of the acclaimed Chabad scholar Rabbi Yehushua Mondshine who passed away one year ago, on the final day of Chanukah, 5775.[1]

Introduction – From Liozna to Liadi

The past few years have seen many new publications shedding light on the life and times of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, founder of the Chabad school of Chassidism, and making his teachings more accessible.[2] For the most part, however, the historical and the ideological domains have been treated in relative isolation from one another. Moreover, while R. Schneur Zalman’s magnum opus, the Tanya, has been a frequent object of study, less work has been done on the vast corpus of his oral teachings, transcriptions of which now fill some thirty published volumes.[3]

HaRav: On the Tanya, Chabad thought, the path, leadership and disciples of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, appeared just a few months ago as a rather belated marker of the 200th year since Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s passing on the 24th of Tevet 5772 (January 1813),[4] and comprises a collection of articles, teachings and commentary, on the topics referred to in the volume’s subtitle. Rabbi Nochum Grunwald, the volume’s editor and primary contributor, is a leading Chabad thinker and historian, and the editor of the Heichal HaBesht journal. Other contributors include Chabad scholars Rabbi DovBer Levine, Rabbi Eliyahu Matusof, Rabbi Aharon Chitrik, and le-havdil bein chaim le-chaim, the late Rabbi Yehushua Mondshine.

Of the volume’s six sections, it is the third—Shaar Ha-Maamarim, focusing on R. Schneur Zalman’s oral teachings—that is the most substantial, in terms of both quantity and content. In a loose series of articles, the volume’s editor, Rabbi Nochum Grunwald, takes several important steps towards the integration of the ideological content of these discourses within a broader historiographical context, giving particular attention to Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s relationship with Rabbi Avraham of Kalisk.

An article by Rabbi Shalom DovBer Levine—in the volume’s penultimate section—traces the impact of Rabbi Shlomo of Karlin on Chabad’s emergence as a distinct school of Chassidism, adding additional dimension to the developing picture.[5]

Grunwald’s overarching thesis pivots on Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s move from Liozna (90km North-West of Smolensk) to Liadi (Lyady, 70km South-West of Smolensk), shortly after being released from his second internment in Petersburg in the summer of 1801.[6] The precise reasons for this move remain unclear, but the distinction between the Liozna and Liadi periods—also referred to as the periods “before Petersburg” and “after Petersburg”—appears in a variety of Chabad historiographic traditions to mark an array of changes in his role as a leader and teacher of Chassidism. As one source has it, “when he dwelt in Liozna the quality of emotion toward G-d radiated from him, whereas afterwards, when he dwelt in Liadi, it was not so; there the quality of intellect radiated from him.”[7]

Grunwald’s discussion of how this shift developed is complicated by Levine’s account. And though their parallel theses are both presented in the present volume, it remains the task of the reader to integrate them.

Transcendence and Interiority

In a 1903 talk delivered by Rabbi Shalom DovBer Schneersohn (Rashab), the fifth rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch, he distinguished between the type of teaching that entirely transcends [מקיף] the students/listeners, but overwhelms, encompasses and transforms them instantaneously, and between the type of teaching that is directed to the interiority [פנימיות] of the students/listeners, to permeate their intellects, so that they can then transform themselves from within:

Before he returned from Petersburg the second time his Chassidic teaching would burn the world, for it was of transcendent quality… there was no one who would hear Chassidic teachings from him and remain in their previous condition. But after Petersburg it changed and it wasn’t so, because then… the Chassidic teachings began to be of internal quality… Through the accusations that were in Petersburg the interiority specifically was revealed…

Before this… the Chassidic teachings were specifically of transcendent quality… which causes very intense inspiration, and such examples are also found in Likutei Torah… But the ultimate intention is the quality of interiority specifically, for with the coming of Moshiach specifically the interiority will be revealed… and the quality and advantage of interiority is achieved specifically through great and extremely immense toil… with service of the mind and the heart…[8]

Here and elsewhere it is clear that the Rashab didn’t simply rely on Chassidic traditions alone, but drew philological insight from his own knowledge of the relevant texts.[9] It is this philological project that Grunwald seeks to expand, and following the Rashab, he rejects the suggestion of other scholars that the teachings of these two periods are primarily distinguished by their relative length.[10] Instead he describes six features that, in his opinion, characterize the teachings of the earlier period. It appears that the most central of these features is the almost exclusive focus on the practical challenge of serving G-d at the highest possible level. Theoretical issues are only mentioned and engaged with to the degree that that they are directly relevant to the specifics of divine worship.[11]

Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s preoccupation with this challenge is clear from Tanya, which began circulating in the early 1790s and was published in 1796. This work, as described in the author’s introduction, is comprised of “answers to many questions, asked in search of counsel… in the service of G-d.”[12] As Grunwald notes, the Tanya is a systematic presentation of the solutions and advice that its author provided in private audiences (yechidut) on an individualized and more immediate basis. “During this period,” Grunwald concludes, “the distinction between private audiences and the oral delivery of Torah was almost non-existent.”[13]

The purpose of the oral teachings during the earlier period, accordingly, was to directly inspire religious transformation by providing practical direction and immediately applicable solutions. They therefore do not digress into involved discussion of complex theoretical questions and abstractions,[14] nor do they linger on the stylistic niceties of orderly progression.[15] Instead they drive directly to the point, emphasizing it with sharp language[16] and vivid imagery,[17] and uncompromisingly demanding utter submission to the exclusive reality of divine being (“ain od milvado”). In the earlier period, Grunwald notes, such Chassidic exhortations “are not complicated by a mantle of explanation or justification, but are [delivered] straight… penetrating the gut.”[18]

In the later period, conversely, Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s oral teachings were often devoted to the theoretical explanation of a particular concept or issue, or to several related concepts. Here we find detailed and orderly expositions on the nature and purpose of the Torah and the mitzvot generally, or of particular mitzvot and festivals, as well as on complex Kabbalistic ideas. “In the extant discourses [from before Petersburg],” Grunwald writes, “it is almost impossible to find a delivery that is dedicated entirely to the clarification of an aspect of the cosmic chain of being [seder hishtalshalut], in order for it to be understood in depth and in conceptualized form. As a case in point, after Petersburg Rabbi Schneur Zalman delivered a discourse on the topic of ohr ain sof and tzimtzum nearly every year… but before Petersburg we don’t find anything like this at all.”[19]

Grunwald acknowledges that this distinction is a generalization, that in each period one can find anomalies, and that there is far more to say about the development of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s oral teachings with the passing years. But the distinct and rather rapid change in emphasis is clear enough to demand a broader historiographical explanation. The question is sharpened when we consider that the second part of Tanya, Shaar Ha-yichud Ve-he-emunah, which was circulated and published during the earlier period, does provide a systematic and thorough account of the unity and singularity of divine being, vis-à-vis the created realms. The orderly conceptualization and contemplation of esoteric concepts was already then a fundamental element of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s approach to the service of G-d.[20] (So fundamental, in fact, that—as discussed elsewhere in the present volume—Rabbi Schneur Zalman originally intended Shaar Ha-Yichud to be the first section of Tanya, rather than the second.[21]) Why then do we not find more of this kind of material in the oral teachings dating from this era?

The Making of a Tzaddik[22]

Conventionally, the onset of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s leadership—and the establishment of Chabad as a distinct school of Chassidic thought and practice—is dated to 1783, when he settled in Liozna, or to 1786, when Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Vitebsk and Rabbi Avraham of Kalisk wrote from the Holy Land prevailing upon him “to draw close the hearts of the faithful of Israel, to teach them understanding and knowledge of G-d.”[23] Grunwald, however, argues that throughout the Liozna period Rabbi Schneur Zalman continued to see himself—not as an independent leader of a Chassidic community, nor as a tzaddik in his own right, but rather—as a personal mentor and guide acting as the appointed representative of the Chassidic leaders in the Holy Land.[24]

One source that Grunwald would have done well to cite to strengthen and crystalize this nuanced conception of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s role is a 1786 letter by Rabbi Avraham responding to the complaint of the Chassidic community in the region of Lithuania and Belarus—which, along with Rabbi Menachem Mendel, he continued to lead from afar—that they were unable to hear Torah directly from the mouths of the Tzaddikim in the Holy Land. Rabbi Avraham instructs them to focus less on their desire to hear new wisdom, and more on the practicalities of action:

If only you would place action before hearing, and our sages already said (Avot, Chapter 3) “Anyone whose wisdom is more than their actions etc. [their wisdom will not hold.]” And in my opinion it is tried and tested that too much wisdom is detrimental to action… Commit your eyes and heart to one thing of Chassidic teachings that you have heard, and strengthen it with nails that it should be imprinted and dug into your heart… and due to this you climb and ascend… to exile materiality bit by bit…

And as for action you have a master, our honored friend and beloved, the beloved of G-d, precious light… our teacher the rabbi, Shneur Zalman… filled with the glory of G-d, with spirit, wisdom, understanding and knowledge to show you the path…[25]

Strikingly, Rabbi Avraham encouraged the Chassidic community to turn to Rabbi Schneur Zalman only as a master of “action,” as one who can guide them along the methodological “path” of practical service, but not as an independent tzaddik from whom to “hear” new wisdom.[26] More than a decade later Rabbi Avraham’s opinion “that too much wisdom is detrimental to action” would become a cause of contention between him and Rabbi Schneur Zalman.[27] Yet, even following the passing of Rabbi Menachem Mendel in 1788, and even as the crowds seeking Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s counsel turned Liozna into a bustling Chassidic court, the latter continued to restrict his instruction to the practicalities of actual service of G-d. In his introduction to Tanya too, in the same breath that he emphasizes that its content consists entirely of “answers to many questions, asked in search of advice… in the service of G-d” he continues to emphasize his deference and debt to “our masters in the Holy Land.”[28]

But not all Chassidim in the region were so eager to accept Rabbi Schneur Zalman as their mentor. A strong contingent looked for guidance and inspiration to his contemporary, Rabbi Shlomo of Karlin, who emphasized ecstatic faith and the centrality of the tzaddik, and was famed as a seer and wonderworker. As documented by Levine—following the earlier work of Rabbi Avraham Abish Shor—Karliner loyalists persistently lobbied the tzaddikim in the Holy Land to appoint Rabbi Shlomo in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s place, or to allow them to travel to visit him in Ludmir, Galitzia, where he settled circa 1786. Such agitation was consistently rebuffed, but never entirely quelled.[29] Rabbi Shlomo was shot by marauding cossacks in 1792, and the Karlin legacy was continued by Rabbi Asher of Stolin and Rabbi Mordechai of Lechevitch.[30] Despite the relative peace that reigned during this period, Rabbi Avraham continued to exhort the Chassidim to seek counsel from Rabbi Schneur Zalman alone into the early months of 1797, when he had apparently not yet seen the recently published Tanya.[31]

The period from 1788 to 1797 is described by Grunwald as an intermediate one, in which Rabbi Schneur Zalman came to ever increasing prominence and also crystallized the distinctly systematic approach to the service of G-d presented and published in Tanya. Neither by restricting himself to topics directly related to practical worship, nor by describing himself as a “compiler” (melaket) of a “collection of sayings”—rather than as the author of an independent work of Chassidic thought and instruction—was he able to mask the originality of his approach. No reader of the Tanya can evade the primacy given to intellectual contemplation, to toil of the mind, as the fundamental basis of heartfelt service and actual practice, a primacy that is further underscored by the discussion of divine unity in Shaar Ha-yichud Ve-ha-emunah.[32]

As Levine explains, the crystallization of this systematic methodology to the point of publication was seized by Karliner loyalists as an opportunity to press their case before Rabbi Avraham of Kalisk, eliciting his sharp critique of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s path in a series of letters penned between the latter part of 1797 and the summer of 1798.[33] Paradoxically, it was precisely this critique that led to Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s emergence as a Chassidic leader of a different stripe, and ultimately as an autonomous tzaddik in the fullest sense of the term.

In Grunwald’s words:

Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s two great confrontations, with Rabbi Avraham on the doctrine of Chabad, and with the Lithuanian mitnagdim on the doctrine of Chassidism, transpired and erupted at approximately the same time. The period from 1798 [when he was first arrested and taken to Petersburg on mitnagdic charges of treason] until after the second imprisonment marked the birth pangs that brought forth the shining era of the Chabad doctrine and Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s leadership… It is due to this [difficult] period that we merited the doctrine of Chabad in all its greatness and depth.[34]

According to Grunwald the distinction between the Liozna and Liadi periods is far greater than has previously been understood. Much has been made of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s unwillingness to deal with the worldly concerns (mili de’alma) of his constituents, and of the rules he imposed to regulate the throngs who traveled to Liozna to meet with him and receive spiritual guidance in person (takonat liozna).[35] But according to Grunwald the documentary record attests that these kinds of restrictions were only imposed during the Liozna period, when Rabbi Schneur Zalman insisted that his role was only that of a spiritual guide.[36] In the Liadi period, when he no longer acted as a personal mentor and took on the full responsibility of autonomous leadership, he no longer protested against those who came to him with their worldly concerns, and imposed no regulations on those who wished to come and hear Torah from his lips.[37]

The focus of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s leadership now shifted from the personal to the public, from direct inspiration and methodological instruction, to the coherent formulation, explanation and dissemination of a theoretical edifice accessible enough to be studied, assimilated and acted upon by every aspiring Chassid. It was only after Petersburg that Rabbi Schneur Zalman began delivering oral teachings each and every week, and often several times in a single week. It was in the later period too that new emphasis was placed on the systematic transcription of these teachings not only by Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s brother, Rabbi Yehudah Leib, but also by the former’s sons Rabbi DovBer (the Mitteler Rebbe) and Rabbi Moshe, his grandson Rabbi Menachem Mendel (the Tzemach Tzedek), as well as by noted Chassidim such as Rabbi Pinchas Reitzes. These teachings were not simply instructive or inspirational, each was a new window onto the transcendent philosophy of Chabad, to be carefully preserved, reviewed, studied, assimilated and applied, transforming the Chassid from within.[38]

Cerebral Love

According to Grunwald, the theoretical emphasis that emerged in the Liadi period also constituted a substantial shift in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s approach to prayer, and, more broadly, to the service of G-d with love and awe.[39]

In Tanya, Chapter 16, Rabbi Schneur Zalman distinguishes between love that is revealed openly in one’s heart, “so that one’s heart burns like flaming fire, and desires with heartfelt fervour, longing and yearning,” and love “that is hidden in the mind and concealed in the heart.” Both are the product of mindful contemplation of the greatness of G-d’s infinitude. Both provide the impetus to bind oneself to G-d through the Torah and its commandments. But the former bursts forth as an emotive outpouring of love (hitgalut ha-lev), while the latter remains “enclosed in the mind and the concealment of the heart” (mesuteret be-mocho ve’taalumat libo). Rabbi Schneur Zalman establishes it as “a fundamental rule in the service of ordinary people (beinonim)” that though open love is apparently more ideal, mere mindful animation is “also” acceptable impetus for Torah study and mitzvah performance “since it is this understanding in one’s mind and the concealment of one’s heart that brings you to toil in them.”

In a later teaching Rabbi Schneur Zalman specifically refers to this passage in Tanya, but argues that a more cerebral experience of love is actually preferable, rather than merely acceptable. For one thing, emotional experience is fleeting while cerebral animation achieves a permanently effective transformation. For another, an open experience of ecstatic love may itself be so spiritually satisfying that one will no longer seek to bind oneself to G-d through actual Torah study and practice of the commandments.[40]

Though the text in question bears no date, Grunwald devotes an entire article to a survey of several similar examples, each of which date from the period following the second imprisonment specifically. Yet Grunwald fails to note a fundamental distinction between these two texts: Tanya speaks of an individual whose “intellect and spirit of understanding is insufficient” and consequently suffers from emotional indifference. But the oral teaching he cites clearly addresses an individual who possesses the intellectual and spiritual capacity to experience open love, but is enjoined to use the intellect to exercise emotional discipline in order to cultivate a more pervading experience of submissive subjugation (bitul) before G-d.[41]

Contrary to Grunwald’s suggestion, this later text does not present a complete reversal of priorities when compared to Tanya.[42] It instead introduces a loftier form of service, through which toil of the heart is further refined rather than abandoned. As Grunwald explains elsewhere, emotional enthusiasm—even when directed towards G-d—is essentially a form of self-expression and self-affirmation, whereas the Chabad ideal is to internalize the recognition that nothing exists other than G-d.[43] Ecstatic experience can accordingly be counterproductive, and as already mentioned, may well remain limited to the realm of emotion. A loftier—and more thoroughly transformative—mode of worship uses the mind to exercise emotional self-discipline, subduing self-expression and subjecting the entirety of one’s being to the mindful apprehension of divinity and the practical service of G-d.[44]

The distinctions are perhaps not as sharp as Grunwald portrays them, but the shift is certainly a real one. In the earlier period Rabbi Schneur Zalman instructed his disciples to use their intellectual capacities to inspire emotional expression and exuberance (as reflected in Tanya). In the later period he taught them to cultivate a more contained and constant form of internal animation, channeling mindful enthusiasm directly into the practical service of G-d—Torah study and mitzvah performance—rather than allowing it to overflow into the heart unbridled.[45]

A related point, addressed in a different article, is the debate between Rabbi Schneur Zalman and Rabbi Avraham of Kalisk on the complex relationship between faith and knowledge. In 1805 the former delivered a series of discourses on the topic, elicited by the latter’s renewed critique, and Grunwald’s rich treatment of the sources further underscores the centrality of such theoretical issues in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s later teachings.[46]

As we have seen, the transition between the Liozna and Liadi periods was rooted in the parting of ways that transpired between Rabbi Schneur Zalman and Rabbi Avraham. One result of this transition—Grunwald further argues—was the subsequent parting of ways between Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s oldest son, Rabbi DovBer of Lubavitch, and his foremost disciple, Rabbi Aharon of Strashelye. As has been most extensively described by Naftali Loewenthal, these two personalities clashed precisely over the question of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s approach to emotional enthusiasm, particularly during prayer.[47] Rabbi Aharon first came to Liozna at the age of 17, shortly after Rabbi Schneur Zalman settled there in 1783. Rabbi DovBer would have been less than ten years old at the time, and he did not begin transcribing his father’s teachings until 1798—that is, at the very end of the Liozna period. Grunwald accordingly asserts that the eras in which they each matured as students of Rabbi Schneur Zalman can be broadly distinguished along the lines of their later disagreement.[48] While this claim rings true, it is complicated by the facts that Rabbi Aharon and Rabbi DovBer were close associates for many years, and that by 1798 the later would already have been 25 years old.[49]

Grunwald enriches his analysis of the relevant transcripts with several recollections and comments of the Tzemach Tzedek.[50] One example is a note in the latter’s own hand, appended to a teaching in which Rabbi Schneur Zalman categorically rejects any emotionalism, preferring the cerebral approach “even if it is only superficial and somatic… with very brief contemplation, and coldness…” The Tzemach Tzedek recalls that this extreme formulation was directed towards a particular individual whose enthusiastic conduct needed to be reined in, and was not necessarily intended to be applied more generally. More applicable is the general thrust of this teaching, which gives ultimate primacy to “the quality and substance of internal subjugation (bitul) in the mind and heart, in the aspect of prostration… without any detectable movement.”[51]

Another source records that seeing the Tzemach Tzedek’s note, one of his grandsons asked him if the specific individual referred to was Rabbi Aharon of Strashelye: “And his grandfather answered him… G-d forbid! I was not thinking of him, for he experienced G-dly enthusiasm…”[52] Grunwald relates this remark to a distinction drawn by Rabbi Schneur Zalman himself between the worship of an ordinary individual and that of a tzaddik, who is not susceptible to the pitfalls of ecstatic love and emotional enthusiasm. Regarding the difference between Rabbi DovBer and Rabbi Aharon, he refers to the vivid image provided by the Rebbe Rashab:

Like a burning stick of hay. When it is dry it burns with a flame. It burns through and nothing remains. [Such was the service of Rabbi Aharon] But when it contains moisture its substance is entirely burnt through, and yet [its form] remains standing. Touch it. It is nothing. Yet the form stands. Such was the Mitteler Rebbe [Rabbi DovBer]. This is the love of glowing flame, an all consuming fire, yet the form stands.[53]

Of Angels and Other Things

Notable both for its topical interest and for the broader significance of its central point is an analysis of the treatment of angels in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s teachings by Rabbi Aharon Chitrik. “Chabad teachings… present comprehensive and deep explanations, extending to very specific details of the nature of angels: their creation, their character, their station, their role, their subjugation to G-d, prayer and song, their constant service, their free-will or lack thereof, etc. etc.” But these discussions, Chitrik convincingly demonstrates, do not reflect any intrinsic interest in angels at all. Angels are only the focus of such intense discussion as a counterpoint from which we can achieve a better understanding of the unique nature of the Jewish soul, and its mission on this physical earth.[54] In an 1804 discourse explicating this point, Rabbi Schneur Zalman extends this principle to all Kabbalistic discussions of the cosmic chain of supernal realms: Ultimately all such theoretical investigations are but a stepping stone to achieve direct knowledge of G-d’s essence.[55]

Two additional articles are devoted to the Tzemach Tzedek’s intensive engagement with his grandfather’s discourses, firstly from a theoretical perspective,[56] and secondly as editor and publisher of Torah Ohr and Likutei Torah.[57] In Grunwald’s apt and illuminating formulation, the Tzemach Tzedek is to Rabbi Schneur Zalman as the Tosafists are to the Talmud Bavli: Surveying Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s different treatments of the same or related topics, the Tzemach Tzedek seeks to compare them and combine them, ironing out apparent conflicts through innovative explanation, differentiation, and harmonization, and also to contextualize the former’s teachings within the broader Jewish tradition of philosophical and mystical thought.[58]

For all the rich depth, analysis and insight of Grunwald’s scholarship, his work in this volume tends to suffer from a certain looseness of form. Moving from text to context, from observation and analysis to elaboration and speculation, order and balance is sometimes lost; some points are too often repeated, others scattered in footnotes or hardly developed at all. His article on the Midrashic notion of “a dwelling in the lower realms,” as developed in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s thought, abounds with relevant sources, thoughtful comparisons and observations. Yet it runs to nearly sixty pages and reads more like a voluminous draft than a tightly argued thesis.[59]

At the outset, Grunwald takes stock of the various perspectives within the Jewish tradition from which the purpose of the Torah and its commandments can be viewed—the Halachic, the philosophic and the kabbalistic—before proceeding to the unique contribution of Chassidism. Self admittedly his analysis is too sweeping. But it could also be better grounded in the relevant texts.[60] His conclusion that the Chassidic object of “a dwelling in the lower realms” is tied to the revelation of divine unity is in particular need of justification and elaboration. His initial discussion of the philosophical purpose of the Torah and its commandments similarly highlighted divine unity, a point that will further confuse many readers. The Rebbe Rashab explicitly discussed the Chassidic renewal of this midrashic conception in terms of its relationship with philosophical and kabbalistic approaches, and Grunwald is as familiar as anyone with the relevant sources. But it is not till footnote 99 that the first discourse of Yom Tov Shel Rosh Hashanah 5666 (“Samach Vav”) makes an appearance.[61]

Given the immensity of Grunwald’s project, as editor of this volume and its chief contributor, he is to be applauded for his successful effort to share such a great wealth of information and insight. Nevertheless, in several instances Grunwald’s arguments would have been substantively enhanced if he had the time and resources to ensure that they were composed and constructed with more orderliness and concision. In fact, the more one delves into his work, the more one can envision all that remains to be written. Many a brief note, expanded into a fully developed thesis, could be the topic of an independent article.[62]

Moving beyond the direct transcripts of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s oral teachings, the volume includes a substantial collection of short sayings and teachings attributed to R. Schneur Zalman in a wide variety of secondary sources.[63] A second collection draws exclusively on the oeuvre of Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn of Lubavitch (1880-1950), whose journals, letters and private talks preserve a rich reservoir of anecdotes and historiographical data passed down from the first generation of Chabad.[64] Both of these rich collections were compiled by Grunwald and benefit greatly from his critical notes, comments and citations.

Also included in this volume is a newly edited edition of the seminal commentary to the Tanya by one of the principal educators in the original Yeshiva Tomchei Temimim, Lubavitch—Rabbi Shmuel Groinem Estherman (d. 1921).[65] Even in its as yet incomplete form this is a substantial text, which bears study and review in its own right. Another article gathers information on the period spent by Rabbi Schneur Zalman in Mohyliv-Podil’s’kyi on the River Dniester, following Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Vitebsk’s ascent to the Holy Land.[66] Similar articles are devoted to some of the former’s Chassidim, including, but not limited to, the well known Rabbi Binyamin of Kletzk[67] and the lesser known —but perhaps equally influential, and certainly more intriguingly named—Rabbi Dovid Shvartz-Tuma.[68]

Subjective Transformation

Although the importance of Halacha for Rabbi Schneur Zalman and his work as a legal authority receives little attention in this volume, there are two notable exceptions. The first is Grunwald’s discussion of the relationship between the legal focus on physical activity and the mystical/Midrashic notion that G-d desired a dwelling in the physical realms specifically.[69] The second is a discussion by Rabbi Noach Green juxtaposing the objective rule of law in cases of monetary disputation with a more subjective process of arbitration and compromise. Rabbi Schneur Zalman prefered the subjective approach in practice, and also devoted several discourses to the mystical basis of that preference, explaining that this was the surer way of transforming our lowly environment into a “dwelling” for G-d.[70] As Green puts it: “The truth of Torah is imposed objectively, without actually refining the lowly material. Whereas the kindness of Torah is in accord with the nature of creation, and comes to refine the material as it is.”[71]

This preference—for subjective transformation rather than submissive acceptance of objective law—correlates with the ultimate focus of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s broader educational project. As we have seen, during the Liadi period his teachings delved deeply into the most esoteric of kabbalistic doctrines. But their purpose was ultimately focused on the conjunction of the highest highs and the lowest lows: direct knowledge of G-d’s essence and the physical practice of the commandments. As is often noted in Chabad teachings, this overcoming of the cosmic hierarchy will only be accomplished fully with the advent of the messianic era. But the period of the exile is not merely a ceaseless struggle between our reality and our ideals, and messianic revelation is not simply bestowed from above. As Rabbi Schneur Zalman asserts in Tanya, it is achieved through our subjective toil throughout the era of exile.[72]

But the question remains to be asked: Why did Rabbi Schneur Zalman place such an emphasis on the assimilation and contemplation of theoretical ideals, which most of us cannot yet adequately replicate in practice? Why did he not restrict his instruction to the more directly attainable elements of divine service, as he had in the Liozna period?

A fascinating array of sources related to these questions are collected in another article by Grunwald.[73] One example attributes the following distinction between toil of the heart and toil of the mind to Rabbi Schneur Zalman: G-d promises that with the messianic advent “I shall remove the heart of stone… and give you a heart of flesh,” but nothing similar is said of the mind. In the realm of the heart, of emotional inspiration and refinement, we may ultimately rely on divine intervention. But we must first ready ourselves for such revelation intellectually, independently toiling to “subjectively assimilate, and affix in our minds, all the stations that will be achieved with the messianic advent.”[74]

Grunwald argues that for Rabbi Schnuer Zalman this kind of intellectual work isn’t simply a technical condition to the messianic revelation. It is actually central to his vision of such revelation as something achieved through human toil, through the subjective transformation of our lowly reality into a lofty messianic state. It is only if we have internally readied ourselves that the messianic advent can be complete, with the mindful quality of interiority openly spilling over into our hearts.[75] In the words of the Rashab, cited earlier in this article: “The ultimate intention is the quality of interiority specifically, for with the coming of Moshiach specifically the interiority will be revealed…”[76]

Notes:

[1] On Mondshine’s life and work see Eli Rubin, “Rabbi Yehoshua Mondshine, 67, Acclaimed Scholar and Author, Passes Away in Jerusalem,” Chabad.org (25 December 2014), available here. See also David Assaf, “Avad Chassid Min Ha-aretz,” Oneg Shabbat blog (26 December 2014), available here.
[2] Notably, the new and improved edition of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s Igrot Kodesh (Kehot Publication Society, 2012), edited by Rabbi Shalom DovBer Levine, and the still ongoing publication of all extant transcripts of Rabbi Shneur Zalman’s oral discourses in the multi volume series Maamarei Admur Ha-zaken. See also Rabbi Shalom DovBer Levine, Toldot Chabad Be-russia Ha-tzaarit (Kehot Publication Society, 2010), and Rabbi Yehushua Mondshine, Masa Barditchev (2010), Ha-maasar Ha-rishon (2012) and Ha-masa Ha-acharon (2012), among other works. In English see, most recently, Immanuel Etkes, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady: The Origins of the Chabad School (Waltham, Mass.: Brandeis University Press, 2015). While this is a valuable introductory work that takes advantage of first-hand documentary sources, I have noted elsewhere that its scope is rather limited. See Eli Rubin, “Making Chasidism Accessible: How Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi Successfully Preserved and Perpetuated the Teachings of The Baal Shem Tov,” Chabad.org (10 September 2012), available here. The shortcoming of that work are further highlighted when compared with the insights offered of the present volume. See my related comment below, note three. For an earlier, but in many ways broader, more complex and more insightful work see Naftali Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite: The Emergence of the Chabad School (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1990). For a partial review of recent publications see Eli Rubin, The Rabbi Who Defied Napoleon and Made Mysticism Accessible: New publications illuminate the life and legacy of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi,” Chabad.org (11 January 2013), available here.
[3] For an important exception see Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 66-76 and 117-119. Though relatively brief, Loewenthal’s discussion is well grounded in the primary sources, and in several ways prefigures insights that are presented with far more elaboration in the present work. Another important work is Roman A. Foxbrunner, Habad: The Hasidism of R. Shneur Zalman of Lyady (University of Albama Press, 1992), which takes stock of some important aspects of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s teachings through a particularly wide analysis of the oral, as well as written, teachings. In certain respects this work similarly prefigures the present volume, but without the diachronic dimensions that will here be highlighted. For further treatments see Eli Rubin, “The Future is Now: Assorted reflections on the oral teachings of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi,” Chabad-Revisited (30 November 2015), available here, and Jonathan Garb, “The Early Writings of Rashaz,” delivered at Johns Hopkins University, April 2015, and available online here. Etkes’ fleeting discussion of the oral teachings (Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady, 50-54) relies on secondary sources, and at one point (note 93) confuses Rabbi Schneur Zalman with his great grandson, Rabbi Chaim Schneur Zalman of Liadi. It should be noted that none of these sources, including the present volume, address the two volumes of discourses published by Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s son, Rabbi DovBer: Siddur Tefilot Mi-kol Ha-shana Im Pirush Hamilot Al Pi Dach (Kopust, 1816), online here, and Bi’urei Ha-zohar (Kopust, 1816), online here. See also Elliot R. Wolfson, Open Secret: Postmessianic Messianism and the Mystical Revision of Menahem Mendel Schneerson (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), where many texts by Rabbi Schneur Zalman are contextualized within a discussion of the thought of Chabad’s seventh Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson; Elliot R. Wolfson, A Dream Interpreted Within a Dream: A Dream Interpreted within a Dream: Oneiropoiesis and the Prism of Imagination (Cambridge, MA: Zone Books, 2011), 197-217. For more on Wolfson’s oeuvre, see Joey Rosenfeld, “Dorshei Yichudcha: A Portrait of Professor Elliot R. Wolfson,” the Seforim blog (21 July 2015), available here.
[4] Such belatedness seems to be something of a custom with such publications. In the introduction to the present volume (p. 15) reference is made to Sefer HaKan, a collection of articles on Rabbi Schneur Zalman that was intended to mark the 150th year since his passing in 1962, but which did not appear till the beginning of 1970, and is available online here.
[5] For the relationship with Rabbi Avraham see Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 51-54 and 77-90; Nehemia Polen, “Charismatic Leader, Charismatic Book: Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s Tanya and His Leadership,” in Suzanne Last Stone, ed., Rabbinic and Lay Communal Authority (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 2006), 60-61; Immanuel Etkes, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady: The Origins of the Chabad School (Waltham, Mass.: Brandeis University Press, 2015), 209-258. On the relationship with Rabbi Shlomo see the articles of Rabbi Avraham Abish Shor, as cited specifically below.
[6] See Rabbi Meir Chaim Hillman, Beis Rebbi (Berditchev, 1902), Part 1, Chapter 20, note 5. See also the account in Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, Igrot Kodesh Vol. 3 (Kehot Publication Society, 1983), 444-445.
[7] Cited in HaRav, 401, and attributed to Rabbi Shlomo Zalman of Kopust in the name of his grandfather, the Tzemach Tzedek.
[8] Rabbi Shalom DovBer Schneersohn, Torat Shalom (Kehot Publication Society, 1970), 26.
[9] See Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 72-73. Grunwald, HaRav, 402-406.
[10] Torat Shalom, 114. Grunwald, HaRav, 412-413.
[11] This is the second of the six features described by Grunwald, HaRav, 415-416.
[12] Another article in this volume, by the late Rabbi Yehoshua Mondshine (HaRav, 609-650), collects extant accounts of such audiences, providing illuminating glimpses of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s interactions as a personal mentor.
[13] HaRav, 415, and at greater length, Ibid., 394-396. See, however, the discussion of Tanya as exoteric in relation to the esoteric aspect expressed in the oral teachings, as cited by Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, p. 235-236, note 67.
[14] HaRav, 416.
[15] HaRav, 415.
[16] HaRav, 420-421.
[17] HaRav, 416-418. See also Jonathan Garb, “The Early Writings of Rashaz,” delivered at Johns Hopkins University, April 2015, and available online here.
[18] HaRav, 413. On this last point see also Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 68. On the stringent demands Rabbi Schneur Zalman attaches to worship of G-d see Foxbrunner, Habad, 116.
[19] HaRav, 415. For an ongoing exploration of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s discussion of ohr ain sof and tzimtzum, on the part of the present writer, see my series here.
[20] See HaRav, 430-431.
[21] See the extended discussion in HaRav, 361-375.
[22] A formulation borrowed from Jonathan Garb, “The Early Writings of Rashaz,” delivered at Johns Hopkins University, April 2015, and available online here.
[23] See the introduction to Igrot Kodesh Admur Ha-zaken (Kehot Publication Society, new and improved edition, 2012), 42-43, and sources cited there; Levine, Toldot Chabad Be-russia Ha-tzaarit, 29-31; Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 42; Etkes, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, 9-19.
[24] HaRav, 391-396. See also pages 421-423 where Grunwald argues that Rabbi Schneur Zalman sought to deemphasize the role of the tzaddik in chassidim altogether. In my view the picture he paints is overly simplistic, and he himself notes that more research is required. As I have argued elsewhere, while Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s understanding of the tzaddik’s role was different to that of other Chassidic leaders, he understood it to be no less central than they; see Eli Rubin, “The Second Refinement and the Role of the Tzaddik: How Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi discovered a new way to serve G-d,” Chabad.org, available online here. For further comments on the role of the tzadik in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s teachings see below note 28.
[25] As published in Rabbi Aharon Surasky, Yesod Ha-maalah Vol. 2 (Bnei Brak, 2000), 85-86.
[26] In a similar vein see Rabbi Avraham Abish Shor, Kovetz Beit Aharon Ve-yisra’el, Issue 167, 137.
[27] See the related discussion of this source in Rabbi Avraham Abish Shor, Kovetz Beit Aharon Ve-yisra’el, Issue 157, p. 187).
[28] Elsewhere in the present volume, Rabbi Eliyahu Matusof points out that when, in 1806—that is, in the Liadi period—Rabbi Schneur Zalman published a new edition of the Tanya, this reference to “our masters in the Holy Land” was omitted. Both Matusof (HaRav, 344-380) and Grunwald (HaRav, 398, note 30) see this as evidence that the distinction between the earlier and later periods of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s leadership (as described in more detail below) is to be extended to Tanya as well. In the earlier period it served as a proxy for one-on-one mentorship (yechidut). In the later period (when references to yechidut were also omitted from the 1806 edition of Tanya) it was transformed into the foundation of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s broader project to formulate, explain and disseminate the unique theoretical edifice of Chabad in terms that were accessible enough to be studied, assimilated and acted upon by any aspiring Chassid for perpetuity.

Grunwald’s general thrust also provides an important counterbalance to the argument advanced by Nehemia Polen (Charismatic Leader, Charismatic Book, 53-64) that the Tanya was designed to craft a balance between control and empowerment, enforcing a rigid structure of social stratification, in which the tzadik is placed on a spiritual plain that the average man (benoni) can never hope to reach. Grunwald’s work complicates this sociological interpretation by demonstrating that during the period of Tanya’s composition the sociological structure of the Chassidic community had not yet been crystallized into distinct hierarchies led by individual tzaddikim, but was rather a complex network with a spectrum of different kinds of authorities and leaders, whose homogeneity Rabbi Schneur Zalman did not seek to break. It is my belief that Tanya’s portrait of the tzaddik in contrast to the average man is primarily to be read theoretically and psychologically rather than sociologically. That is, it relates to the inner world of man, rather than to the external world of the community. As Polen acknowledges, the entire distinction between the tzaddik and the beinoni is such that outwardly the latter may be mistaken for the former. Tanya does discuss the role of the tzadik within the community, but it primarily does so using the terms “wise men” (chachamim), “Torah scholars” (talmidei chachamim), “wise men of the generation” (chachmei ha-dor), and “visionaries of the community” (enei ha-edah), which carry more obvious degrees of social implication. This claim, I believe, is born out by the sources discussed in my article, as cited above, note 24. Moreover, the plural tense of these terms better reflects the less stratified sociological reality of the time.
[29] Levine, HaRav, 661-684; See also the important series of articles by Rabbi Avraham Abish Shor, Karlin Be-tekufat Galut, in Kovetz Beit Aharon Ve-yisra’el, as cited by Levine, Ibid., 662, note 9.
[30] See Rabbi Avraham Abish Shor, Al Harigato Shel Moshiach Hashem, in Kovetz Beit Aharon Ve-yisra’el, Issues 39, 39 and 40.
[31] Levine, HaRav, 668-669. During this more peaceful period a match was arranged between Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s widowed son-in-law—Rabbi Shalom Shachne, father of the Tzemach Tzedek of Lubavitch—and Rivka Rivla, the sister of Rabbi Asher of Stolin. See Shor, Kovetz Beit Aharon Ve-yisra’el, Issue 162, p. 139-140.
[32] See the relevant discussions in HaRav, 426-431; Immanuel Etkes, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady, 98-100; Jonathan Garb, Yearnings of the Soul (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2015), 50-57. This last source is particularly notable for its emphasis on the respective roles of the mind and the heart in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s teachings, which is also the broader theme of the present essay.
[33] Levine, HaRav, 670-672. See the excerpts appended to Igrot Kodesh Admur Ha-zaken (Kehot Publication Society, new and improved edition, 2012), 496, 498-500.
[34] HaRav, 400. The coincidence of these two ruptures is underscored in a letter by Rabbi Schneur Zalman noting his inability to respond to Rabbi Avraham’s critique until circa 1799-1800, due “to the distress of the times,” referring to his arrest. See Igrot Kodesh Admur Ha-zaken, 341; HaRav, 672.
[35] See the editor’s Introduction to Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi (ed. Rabbi DovBer Levine), Igrot Kodesh (Kehot Publication Society, new and improved edition, 2012), 35-37.
[36] With regard to mili de’alma see HaRav, 391, note 13; 409-410. With regard to takonat liozna see HaRav, 398, note 29; 408, note 65. See also Levine, Toldot Chabad Be-russia Ha-tzaarit, 36.
[37] In one of the very last texts penned by Rabbi Schneur Zalman before his passing he even went so far as to justify and explain this central link between material concerns and the spiritual service of G-d. See sources cited and discussed in the editor’s Introduction to Igrot Kodesh, 39. See also Yanki Tauber, “The Physical World According to Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi,” Chabad.org, available here.
[38] HaRav, 396-398; 388-389, note 6. See also the discussion by Shor, Kovetz Beit Aharon Ve-yisra’el, Issue 172, 151-152. Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 71-77. For a similar shift in the role that Tanya came to play in this period see above, note 28.
[39] For Grunwald’s extended discussion see HaRav, 432-461. See also Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 75-77 and 117-119. For a particularly extensive discussion of the nature and role of love and awe in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s teachings see Foxbrunner, Habad, 178-194.
[40] Maamarei Admur Ha-zaken Al Maamarei Chazal, 94. HaRav, 453-454. See also Foxbrunner, Habad, 186.
[41] My thanks goes to Rabbi Avraham Altein for bringing this distinction to my attention, and for providing other important comments and citations.
[42] HaRav, 438-552.
[43] HaRav, 433-434. See also Foxbrunner, Habad, 185.
[44] In a discourse delivered in the autumn of 1799 (Maamarei Admur Ha-zaken Ketuvim Vol. 1, 67 [96]), in between the first and second imprisonments (and misleadingly described by Grunwald as “the very beginning of the period following Petersburg”), Rabbi Schneur Zalman describes how to cultivate this cerebral form of love. It is noteworthy that this contemplation is explicitly directed from the mind to the heart:

Speak to your heart quietly and coolly, which is the opposite of the heated movement of the heart… Settled mindfulness (yishuv ha-daat) is cool, without any movement, and you shall delve deeply into settled mindfulness with ease and calm (be-nachat), and say to your heart: ‘The infinite revelation of G-d creates [existence], something from nothing, at every moment, it is clear in my intellect that this is so… If so how can I be separate [from G-d]? And [how can] all my thoughts and the capacities of my soul not constantly be cleaving to G-d… ?”
[45] See also Loewenthal, Ibid., where similar argument are made drawing on additional textual examples. Loewenthal also demonstrates an increased focus on abnegation (bitul) in contrast to emotionalism.
[46] HaRav, 473-505. See also Levine, HaRav, 675-684. Levine, Introduction to Igrot Kodesh, 49, points out that the year 1805 is when the term “Chabad” comes into use as a way of expressly distinguishing the followers of Rabbi Schneur Zalman from those of other Chassidic leaders.
[47] Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 100-138, and 167-174 and 195. See also Hillman, Beis Rebbi, Part 1, Chapter 26, and Louis Jacobs, Tract on Ecstasy (Vallentine Mitchell, 1963); Louis Jacobs, Seeker of Unity: The Life and Works of Aharon of Starosselje (Vallentine Mitchell, 1966). For more recent comments on Rabbi DovBer, Rabbi Aaron and the interrelationship of their thought see Wolfson, A Dream Interpreted Within a Dream, 210-214, and Garb, Yearnings of the Soul, 56-57.
[48] HaRav, 432-438.
[49] See also the accounts transmitted by Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn in Igrot Kodesh Vol. 3 (Kehot Publication Society, 1983), 477; and in Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, Reshimot Ha-yoman (Kehot Publication Society, 2006), 367.
[50] HaRav, 448-449.
[51] Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch, Ohr Ha-torah, Bereishit Vol. 3, 603-604 (Hebrew pagination). This last quote—as well as the source quoted above, note 44—further emphasizes the central role that the heart continued to play in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s thought, even in the later period. See Maamarei Admur Ha-zaken 5570, 207-210 for a discourse delivered by Rabbi DovBer in the lifetime of Rabbi Schneur Zalman, which similarly emphasizes this point, contrasting between the exteriority of the heart and the interiority of the heart (pnimiyut ha-lev). As Loewenthal puts it (Ibid., 122) Rabbi DovBer too demanded ecstasy: “not ecstasy of the self, but of the nonself…”
[52] Hillman, Beis Rebbi, Part 1, Chapter 26, note 4.
[53] Torat Shalom, 213.
[54] HaRav, 563-572.
[55] Maamarei Admur Ha-zaken 5565, 4.
[56] Rabbi Nochum Grunwald, HaRav, 573-586.
[57] Rabbi Nechemia Teichman, HaRav, 587-606.
[58] Grunwald’s description here is inspired by the comment of the Maharshal regarding the achievement of the Tosafists. See Yam Shel Shlomo, introduction to Chulin.
[59] HaRav, 506-562.
[60] For one relevant text that Grunwald does not discuss see Ma’amarei Admur ha-Zaken 5565, Volume 1, 489–90. For my own discussion of this text, as well as a contextualization of Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s approach within the broader streams of Jewish rationalist and mystical thought that differs somewhat from Grunwald’s approach see Eli Rubin, “Intimacy in the Place of Otherness: How rationalism and mysticism collaboratively communicate the Midrashic core of cosmic purpose,” Chabad.org, available here.
[61] HaRav, 544-545. Footnote 99, incidentally, is well worth reading. Among other points there, Grunwald makes explicit reference to Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s Halakhic Man. Indeed, hints to the similarities and differences between the latter’s approach and that of Rabbi Schneur Zalman are already apparent from the onset of Grunwald’s article. For more on this general topic See Elliot R. Wolfson, “Eternal Duration and Temporal Compresence: The Influence of Habad on Joseph B. Soloveitchik,” in Michael Zank and Ingrid Anderson, eds., The Value of the Particular: Lessons from Judaism and the Modern Jewish Experience – Festschrift for Steven T. Katz on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 196-238.
[62] Take for example page 562, footnote 145, where Grunwald gestures to the question of Jewish chosenness as developed in Chabad thought through the generations. For a lengthy treatment of this topic see Wolfson, Open Secret, Chapter 6. See also Eli Rubin, “Divine Zeitgeist—The Rebbe’s Appreciative Critique of Modernity,” Chabad.org, available here, and Wojciech Tworek, Time in the Teachings of Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi (dissertation submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy, University College London, 2014), 126-136. None of these treatments deal with the diburificating statement Grunwald points to Likutei Sichot Vol. 16 (Kehot Publication Society, 2006), 477-478: “When will it be achieved in a revealed sense that the Jews are a dwelling for G-d? …Specifically… when, through the Jews, the lower realms themselves become a place that is fit for G-d’s dwelling… Since the intention of a dwelling in the lower realms is [rooted] in G-d’s essence, it is impossible to say that this intention should be compounded of two things…”
[63] HaRav, 3-124.
[64] HaRav, 125-211.
[65] HaRav, 215-343.
[66] HaRav, 653-658.
[67] HaRav, 701-740.
[68] HaRav, 765-770.
[69] HaRav, 516-528.
[70] HaRav, 693.
[71] HaRav, 698. On Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s Halachik work and method Rabbi Shlomo Yosef Zevin, “Shulchan Aruch Admur” in Sofrim Ve-seforim Vol. 2 (Tel Aviv: Hotza’at Sefarim Avraham Tziyoni, 1959), 9-21 [Hebrew], translated and adapted by the present writer as, ‘Systematization, Explanation and Arbitration: Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi’s Unique Legislative Style,” Chabad.org, available here. For an overview of the current state of scholarship on this topic see Levi Cooper, “Towards A Judicial Biography of Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady,” Journal of Law and Religion 30, no. 1 (2015), 107-135. On the need to address the relationship between Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s Halachik and Kabbalistic work see Garb, Yearnings of the Soul, 155-157.
[72] Likutei Amarim, Chapter 37. For an extended discussion of the prominent place of the messianic idea in Rabbi Schneur Zalman’s thought, correcting a major gap in previous scholarship, see Wojciech Tworek, Time in the Teachings of Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi (dissertation submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy, University College London, 2014), especially Chapters 2 and 3. See the related discussion in Foxbrunner, Habad, 85-93, and also Eli Rubin, “The Idealistic Realism of Jewish Messianism: On Chabad’s apocalyptic calculations, and why Jews have always predicted elusive ends,” Chabad.org, available here.
[73] HaRav, 462-472.
[74] HaRav, 469.
[75] HaRav, 470-472.
[76] Torat Shalom, 26.




Screen for the Spirit, Garment for the Soul

Screen for the Spirit, Garment for the Soul
by Josh Rosenfeld
Josh Rosenfeld is the Assistant Rabbi at
Lincoln Square Synagogue and on the Judaic Studies Faculty at SAR High School.
This is his third contribution to the Seforim blog. His first essay, on “The
Nazir in New York,” is available here, and his second essay, “The Princess and I: Academic Kabbalists/Kabbalist
Academics,“ is available here.
ב״ה
אור לנר
ג׳, חנוכה ה׳תשע״ו
            Recent years have
witnessed a remarkable trend in the widespread study of Hasidic texts within
Orthodox communities that themselves do not self-identify as traditionally
Hasidic. Whether in much-discussed Modern Orthodox neo-Hasidic circles or
amongst the National-Religious in Israel, Hasidic texts canonical and obscure
merit serious teaching, engagement, and even reverence in these communities.
One of the earliest expressions of this trend was the introduction of such
texts into the curricula of Hesder Yeshivot, and arguably the man most
responsible for this was R. Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Shagar; 1949-2007).
R. Shagar began his career in the Hesder Yeshivot first as a student
at Yeshivat Kerem b’Yavneh, eventually returning from the Yom Kippur war to
become a popular RaM at Yeshivat
Hakotel, even filling in as interim Rosh ha-Yeshiva when R. Yeshayahu Hadari
took a sabbatical. R. Shagar, known as a Talmudic prodigy, branched out to both
found and direct other institutions on the cutting edge of the National
Religious educational framework, such as Beit Midrash Ma’aleh and Beit Morasha,
and finally, Yeshivat Siach Yitzchak in Efrat, with his longtime friend and
study partner, R. Yair Dreyfuss (1949- ). After a difficult period of
suffering, R. Shagar passed away from Pancreatic cancer on June 11, 2007, a
month after the announcement of a committee to begin preparing his voluminous
writings for publication.
R. Shagar wrote and taught on a level characterized as “extremely
deep”, and despite the resurgence of interest and posthumous publications of
his writings, a close student of his once told me “it was not always such a
great honor to be counted amongst his students.” There was some opposition to
some of his ideas, especially those relating to education and Talmud
pedagogy.[1] R. Shagar’s writings exhibit a sustained engagement with, in my
opinion, three central themes: postmodernism and its challenge to traditional
religion, spirituality and faith in the Modern Orthodox and National Religious,
and the development of a viable language, a discourse
– based upon traditional texts – to think and talk about the aforementioned
themes. R. Shagar’s writings are as quick to quote R. Schnuer Zalman of Liadi
as Slavoj Zizek, the Slovenian cultural critic and philosopher.
For English speakers, much of R. Shagar’s oeuvre remains a closed
book,[2] despite the rapid pace with which new material of his – developed from
the reportedly hundreds of files he left behind – is being published, and the
resurgence in his popularity in Israel. Despite that, a few articles and
introductions to his thought have appeared in English.[3]
What follows is an attempt at translation of an excerpt from one of
the most recent of R. Shagar’s works, To
Illuminate the Openings
(להאיר את הפתחים).[4]
The book is primarily a collection of R. Shagar’s discourses on the holiday of
Hanukkah, part of the “For This Time” (לזמן הזה)
series of R. Shagars derashot on the
cycle of Jewish holidays and festivals.[5]
This particular essay, “Screen for the Spirit, Garment for the Soul”
is an expansion and presentation of R. Schneur Zalman of Liadi’s[6]
phenomenological discourse on the candles of Hanukkah. R. Shagar uses the
language of philosophy, Maimonides, and Lacanian psychoanalysis to explain the
two religious paths that R. Schneur Zalman sees as represented in the candles,
wicks, and flames of Hanukkah. In doing so, a rich tapestry of religious
thought is woven, with R. Shagar characteristically bringing such diverse
thinkers as the founder of Chabad Hasidism and Professor Yeshayahu Leibowitz in
conversation with each other.[7]
“Screen for the Spirit, Garment for the Soul”
{A Translation and Annotation of R. Shimon Gershon Rosenberg, “To
Illuminate the Openings” (Machon Kitve ha-Rav Shagar: Efrat, 2014),
53-61}[8][9]
כִּי אַתָּה תָּאִיר
נֵרִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהַי יַגִּיהַּ חָשְׁכִּי (תהילים י״ח, כט).
כִּי נֵר מִצְוָה
וְתוֹרָה אוֹר (משלי ו׳, כג).
נֵר יְהוָה נִשְׁמַת
אָדָם (שם כ׳, כז).
The Soul and the Commandment
There is a well-known custom of many Hasidic
rabbis on Hanukah to sit by the candles after lighting and to meditate upon
them, sometimes for hours. This meditation washes over the spirit and allows
the psyche to open up to a whole host of imaginings, gleanings, thoughts, and
emotions – that afterward blossom into the ‘words of the living God’, to use
the Habad formulation. Therefore, it is instructive for us to look at the
physical entity, the elements of the candle and its light as crucial elements
in the development of these words of exegesis – the meditation upon the
candlelight. For example, in one stage of the discourse of R. Schneur Zalman of
Liadi[10] (1745-1812; henceforth, Admor ha-Zaken) that we shall discuss, Admor
ha-Zaken distinguishes between two different types of light emanating from the
candle: and the fact of the matter is
that the candle consists of both the oil and the wick – two types of light: a
darkened light directly on the wick, and the clarified white light
.[11]
This differentiation acts as a springboard for a discourse upon two pathways in
religious life. To a certain extent, it is possible to posit that the discourse
is the product of the Admor ha-Zaken’s meditation upon the different colors of
light in the candle’s flame, and without that, there would be no discourse to
speak of.
The motif of the candle and the imaginings it
conjures are a frequent theme in scripture and in rabbinic writing – The Mitzvah Candle; Candle of the Soul; The
Candle of God
– in its wake arise many Hasidic discourses seeking to
explain the relationship between ‘The Soul’ [נר נשמה]
and ‘The Commandment’ [נר מצוה], and between ‘The
Commandment’ and God [נר ה׳]. In our study of
the discourse of the Admor ha-Zaken, we will most importantly encounter the
tension between the godly and the commanded – the infinitude of the divine as
opposed to the borders, limits, and finitude of the system of commandments [תרי״ג מצוות]. However, prior to doing so, we will
focus our attention for a moment on the tension between the soul and the
commandment – the internal spiritual life of the believer relative to the
externalized performance of the commandment.
The emergence of Hasidism brought to the fore
the following challenge – does the fact of an increased individual emphasis
upon internal spiritual life mean that they will of necessity distance
themselves from the practical framework of Halakha? In a different formulation,
does the focus of Hasidism upon the ‘soul-candle’ mean that the light of the
‘commandment-candle’ will be dimmed? The tension between the two is clear: one’s
obligation to do specific things affixed to specific times stands in opposition
to one’s attunement with and attention to their own inner voice. Our own eyes
see, and not just in connection with Jewish religious life, but that when one
prefers their own personal truth, they do not behave according to the dictates
and accepted norms of society at large. For example, one who desires to be
‘more authentic’ may be less polite, as the rules of etiquette are seen as
external social constructions that dull one’s inner life. Similarly, for this
type of individual, when it comes to Halakha, it will be approached and
understood as a system that holds him back from his own truth, and not only
that, but it sometimes will be perceived as a lie: from a Halakhic point of view,
he must pray at specifically ordained times, but in his heart of hearts he
knows that right now his prayers will not be fully sincere – but rather just
‘going through the motions’. Must this individual now answer the external call
to prayer, or should they rather hold fast to their inner calling, thereby
relaxing the connection to the outer Halakhic reality?[12]
In truth, this question has yet another
dimension, within which we may be able to sharpen our understanding – the chasm
between objective and subjective experience. Should an individual seek out ‘The
Truth’ through their own subjective experience, or should they rather find it
in the absolutist objective realm of reality? Once a person apprehends ‘The
Truth’ as a construction of their own subjective internal experience, the
concept of truth loses its totality and becomes relativized. Truth instead
becomes dependent upon one’s specific perspective, their emotions, feelings,
and personal experiences. In this sense, Halakha is identified with the absolute
and fixed sphere of reality – within which God commanded us, and this type of
relativism is untenable in relation to it. (א)
It is possible to argue that the ideal state
is when the internal, personal truth is identified with the objective, external
truth.[13] The meaning of this situation is that on one hand, the individual’s
internal life is strong, on fire, and yet his sense of obligation to this
internality is unassailable. This leads to a perspective where the inner life
is understood as objective reality, absolute. A person in this type of
situation loses their sense of relativity and their inner directives obtain the
strength of an outside command, possessing no less force of obligation or
truth.
The problem with the situation within which we live is that our inner lives lack
strength and force; Our inner lives are prone to ups and downs, steps forward
and back. Because of the dullness of our internal lives, they are susceptible
to all kinds of outside influences, and thus there is a subsequent lack of
authenticity. This is the reason the Shulhan
Arukh
– not internal spirituality – is the basis for our religious
obligations, it is the absolute cornerstone of our lives.
To be sure, divine truth is revealed on a
number of different levels and planes in our lives, and it is forbidden for an
individual to think that this truth is obtainable only in one dimension – not
in the internal or external life alone. An encompassing, total reality takes
both lives into account and unifies them – both the internal and external;
however, in an incomplete, non-ideal reality, to every dimension and
perspective there are benefits and detriments, and we ignore either at our own
peril. To this end, our rabbis taught us that we must serve God through both
‘fear’ [יראה] and ‘love’ [אהבה]:
and so Hazal said, serve out of fear,
serve out of love
.'[14]
Admor ha-Zaken
Until now, we have seen the apposition between
the mitzvah candle and the neshama candle, to wit – the conflict
between the formal Halakhic system and the unmediated spirituality sought by
Hasidism. This is a spirituality that has as a central prerequisite the
authenticity of action, an authenticity that stands in opposition to the fact
that the believer stands commanded to perform certain actions at appointed,
limited times. In his discourse for Hanukkah, Admor ha-Zaken deals with yet
another tension addressed by Hasidism, especially in the system of Habad
Hasidism: What is the connection of physical actions – the performance of the
commandments – with the metaphysical, spiritual ‘payoff’ they are supposed to
engender, such as an attainment of closeness with God?
Furthermore, the commandments, as they are
sensed and experienced through action, are part of the world of tangibility [יש] – the finite and created human reality.
Therefore, what connection can these have with faith in the divine infinity? As
it appears, the progression of the Admor ha-Zaken is a dialectical approach:
one on hand, he presents the commandments in a strictly utilitarian manner without
any truly inherent value, but on the other, it is this very groundedness of the
commandments in our reality that accords to them their roots in the pure divine
will:
It is written: ‘A Mitzvah is a candle and
the Torah is Light,’ that the Mitzvot are called ‘candle.’ And it is also
written: ‘the candle of God is the soul of Man’, that the soul is called
‘candle’. And in the Zohar it is explained that the Mitzvot are called
‘garments’… and in order to be fully clothed, the soul must fulfill all 613 Mitzvot…
and to explain the matter of the soul’s garments…
[that]
there are boundless illuminations… for there are countless understandings of
the light and the glow, which is an emanation of the infinite light of
[God] Blessed
be He…
The delights that derive from the
infinite light, which is the source of all delights, are without end. Just as
we perceive with our senses even… physical delights are also without measure,
for there are infinite ways to experience pleasure… Because of this, the soul –
which is in the aspect of the finite – is unable to fully apprehend the
revelation of this glow, which is the very being of the divine, except through
a garment – a filter – and through that garment and filter
[the soul] is able to receive the light and the glow.[15]
The soul requires ‘garments’, for without
these garments and filters, there is no comprehension. I will try to explain
what I mean here: for example, when we speak of ‘eternal memory’ [זכרון נצח], are we talking about remembering the
content of that person’s life, as if we are recording into a computer a
reporter’s notes that are now being entered into the system? Of course that is
not what we are referring to. All these moments of a person’s life are
‘garments’, a medium for the real
that occurred in them. This real is
not something specific, not a definable factor, but rather is the thing that
grants meaning to the content of those experiences, even though it itself is
undefinable.[16] Thus, ‘eternal life’ is life that retains with it the meaning
of these experiences – something which can never be quantified or simply
entered into a computer.[17]
This undefinable thing that grants meaning,
the ‘lifeforce’ to everything else, is what Admor ha-Zaken calls the ‘glow of
the infinite light’ [זיו מאור אינסוף].
It is not simply ‘meaning’, but rather the ‘meaning of all meaning’. In the
discourse before us, as well as in other discourses of his, Admor ha-Zaken
draws a line, a parallel, between this glow and the actual substance of delight
and pleasure that in our world always appears via a medium, some physical
object. Pleasure will never materialize in this world in its pure state – like delight in the earthly realm that
always devolves from something outside it, like when we take pleasure in some
delicious food or in the study of some wisdom
.[18] If so, the commandments
are garments through which our world obtains its substance and standing – its
meaning. In the language of Admor ha-Zaken, the commandments act as a conduit
for the infinite light to penetrate into our world. That is to say, the
commandments as an entire system of life form a space within which a person may
experience the eros of true meaning. (ב)
Through them, an individual may feel alive, that is sensations of satisfaction,
excitement, longing, the joy of commandment, and intimacy – all these we may
incorporate metonymically into the word ‘light’ or ‘holiness’, that which Admor
ha-Zaken would call ‘delight’ or ‘pleasure’.
In order for this light to be apprehended, it
must be garbed in the outer trappings of the commandments. This is to say, that
the commandments themselves are not the essence of the light and de-light, that
they are not the meaningful point of existence, but rather only a garment, that
receives its light only by dint of the fact that the subjective experience of
holiness and pleasure are felt through it. As Admor ha-Zaken explains in the
discourse we are studying: behold, the
Mitzvah act… is not the way of the divine infinite light to be infused in them
[Mitzvot] unless it is through… the Godly soul itself that performs the Mitzvah,
and draws forth through them a revelation of the divine infinite light. As it
is written
[about Mitzvot]: ‘that the individual shall perform them’ –
that it is the individual that makes them into Mitzvot, in drawing forth
through them the infinite light
.[19]
The Source of The Commandments
To be sure, it is possible to say that any way
of life or cultural system is but a garment for the infinite light, for it is
this system which bears the weight of the meaning of life and the essence of
reality [for its adherents]. An individual experiences life through cultural
constructs and the social systems – especially the most critical ones such as
love, longing, lower/higher fears, loyalty, etc. – all these things grant to
life meaning and purpose, something we wouldn’t trade for anything. Therefore,
in Hasidism, recognition of this truth is related to the fact that the world
was created through ‘ten utterances’ [עשרה מאמרות] – that is to say, even without a specifically
religious language, such as the ‘ten
statements’ [עשרת הדיברות] through which the divine light is
revealed. For Admor ha-Zaken’s part, there remains a difference between these
systems and the system of the commandments: while it is true that the
commandments are a ‘human system’, ideally/from their very inception they are
rooted in the infinite reality from which they devolved. At this point, Admor
ha-Zaken ceases to see the commandments as merely a garment or tool alone, but
rather that they themselves represent constitute a direct encounter with the
presence of the divine in our reality. This is to say that the commandments are
a system meant to signify and symbolize the infinite itself.[20] They don’t
simply give expression to it, but direct us to it as well. How do the
commandments symbolize? As a system, they point to the divine will itself, for
as a closed system, they lack resolution, purpose. One might even say that it
is not that we have here a symbol signifying something that we are meant to
understand, but rather that the signified is incomprehensibility itself, the ‘void within the void’ [חור שבחור]. In order to understand these things, we
must pay attention to the differentiation Admor ha-Zaken makes between ‘the
infinite light’ [אור אינסוף] and the ‘essential
will of the infinite light’ [עצם רצון אא״ס]
:
It is impossible for the essential will
of the infinite light to be revealed to any created being, unless that divine
will is embodied in some physical act, the performance of the Mitzvah… and the
root of the Mitzvot is very lofty, rooted in the uppermost realms of the
supernal crown, ‘Keter’… until it devolves into our realm through physical
actions and things, Tzitzit and Sukkah, and it is specifically in these things
that the divine will is revealed, ‘the final in deed is first in thought’
[סוף מעשה במחשבה תחילה]… In action heaven was [created] first… but
in thought physicality came first… for the light is revealed from the aspect
of divinity that encompasses all realms… Thus the performance of Mitzvot,
whose root lies in this encompassing aspect of divinity – the supernal ‘Keter’
– cannot be expressed below in the aspect of ‘inner light’
[אור פנימי],
[in finite and internal experience], but rather must find their expression in
exterior, physical actions, as it is well known that that which in its essence
is more lofty and elevated falls to the deeper depths.
Therefore, through the performance of
Mitzvot, there is created a covering, an encompassing screen, so that through
the Mitzvot the [soul] may be able to delight in the delight of the infinite
light…
[21]
Admor ha-Zaken locates in the commandments a
type of dual identity based on the system he constructs: as a garment [לבוש], they are only a vessel through which the
infinite divine light finds expression – the delight of the soul, holiness, all
that is perceived as the essence of this world. The commandments themselves are
not the inner aspect of life but rather a medium for this interiority. On the
other hand, Admor ha-Zaken identifies them with the ‘encompassing’ lights [מקיפים]; a reality that cannot be truly
apprehended or experienced within ours. This is to say that the root of the
commandments are as vessels, conduits of a reality beyond ours – ‘the essential
will of the infinite light’. Manifest in this is a classic HaBaD teaching,
which Admor ha-Zaken formulates thusly: that
which in its essence is more lofty and elevated falls to the deeper depths
.
We locate the root of the commandments, which in reality are purely utilitarian
and without their own essential, inherent meaning, in the very essence and core
of the divine.
The claim of Admor ha-Zaken is that the source
of the commandments is to be found in the the divine will itself. The meaning
of the commandments is not resolved through adhering to some system of rules,
some ethical or moral ideal, or some historical-progressive idea through which
they were conceived.[22] In the most simple sense, God ‘wanted’
commandments, and through this there developed a system with meaning and sense,
which we might call ‘wisdom’ [חכמה],
but that system does not fully define the will of the creator, nor is it necessary in the absolute sense. In the
aforementioned discourse, Admor ha-Zaken holds that the actual ‘end’ action
precedes the thought that somehow explains and gives it meaning, because in
truth it is the action, the physical performance of the commandment is affixed
to the divine will that warrants it to be done this particular way and no
differently – for no humanly discernable reason. This is the way of the divine
will, to ‘desire’ without dependence upon any externally motivating factor. One
might say that as they [the commandments] are affixed in the divine will, the
commandments as such signify a degree
of arbitrariness and happenstance.[23] The commandments serve as a reminder of
the ultimate unknowability of the divine will that tautologically ‘desires
because it desires’. This is also the reason why the commandments primarily
take the form of actions and not intentions. As actions, the commandments
manifest themselves as closed, sealed objects, their meanings not easily teased
out nor defined by the meanings attached to them – ultimately, there is just
the [darkness and] light and the delight that we are able to attain through it.
______
Notes:
[1] For example, see “Shnayim
Ohazin
: A Conversation Between R. Aharon Lichtenstein and R. Shagar”, Shma’atin Journal vol. 136 (Nissan
1998); also appearing in Meimad, Vol.
17, August 1999; see further the synopsis and translation by Rachel Schloss for
the Lookstein teacher’s resource archive here; See also questions posed to R. Uri Sherki,
a popular National Religious lecturer and teacher on the topic of R. Shagar and
postmodernism, here.
[2] Two of R. Shagar’s monographs have been released in English: Chance and Providence (פור היא הגורל), trans. Naftali Moses (Efrat: Yeshivat
Siach Yitzchak, 2005), 108 pp. and The
Human and the Infinite: Discourses on the Meaning of Penitence
(על כפות המנעול), trans. Naftali Moses (Jerusalem: Toby
Press, 2010), 88 pp.
[3] To my knowledge, the most extensive study of R. Shagar in English
to date has been conducted by Miriam Feldmann Kaye of the Van Leer Institute
and Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Dr. Kaye holds a PhD from the University of
Haifa, and her doctoral dissertation deals extensively with the encounter of
Judaism and postmodernism in the thought of R. Shagar and Tamar Ross. It is
forthcoming as Jewish Theology in a
Postmodern Age
published by The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization
[2017]. Kaye’s draft study, “Hasidic Philosophy in the Age of Postmodernism and
Relativism: The Case of Rav Shagar” was discussed at the March 2015 Orthodox
Forum, “The Contemporary Uses and Forms of Hasidut” chaired by R. Shmuel Hain
and R. Shlomo Zuckier. Hopefully Kaye’s fascinating paper will see light in the
upcoming volume of in the Orthodox Forum series.
Ilan Fuchs deals, inter alia,
with R. Shagar’s perspective on Torah learning for women and Orthodox feminism
in Women’s Torah Study: Orthodox
Education and Modernity
(Routledge press: New York, 2014), 209-220
See Alan Jotkowitz, “And Now the Child Will Ask: The Post-Modern
Theology of Rav Shagar,” Tradition 45:2
(2012); R. Yair Dreyfuss, “Torah Study in Contemporary Times: Conservatism or
Revolution?”, Tradition 45:2 (2012);
Admiel Kosman, “A Letter in Search of a Destination” [review of The Remainder of Faith] in Ha’aretz, 2/27/15, available here;
R. Zvi Leshem, “Book Review: B’Torato
Yehageh: Limud Gemara Kibakashat Elokim
,” available here;
Alan Brill has dedicated several fascinating posts to R. Shagar, his thought,
and its larger ramifications for Israeli society on his blog, ‘The Book of Doctrines
and Opinions’. A good starting point is his discussion of a curious film about
R. Shagar produced by the Ma’aleh film school, available here.
[4] l’Ha’ir et ha-Petahim
(Efrat: Makhon Kitve ha-Rav Shagar, 2014) 242 pp.
[5] Other volumes that have already been released include In the Shadow of Faith (בצל האמונה) on Sukkot, A Time for Freedom (זמן של חירות)
on Passover, and On That Day (ביום ההוא) on Israeli national holidays.
[6] In general, see Roman A. Foxbrunner, Habad:
The Hasidism of R. Shneur Zalman of Lyady
(Jason Aronson, 1993); Immanuel Etkes, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady: The Origins of
Chabad Hasidism
(Brandeis University Press, 2015); Naftali Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite: The Emergence of the Habad
School
, (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1990).
[7] R. Shagar is accused of a certain naivete with regard to the
possibility and rigor of this type of thinking, see Kosman, idem. and see also
the editor’s introduction to R. Shagar, Luhot
ve-Shivrei Luhot
(Yediot Ahronot, 2013); 407 pp. for a discussion of the
autodidactic nature of R. Shagar’s engagement with general philosophy,
specifically postmodern thought.
[8] לכב׳ ראש השנה לחסידות יום שיחרור אדמוה״ז
זיע״א י״ט כסלו ה׳תשע״ו.
[9] Thanks is due to R. Eli Rubin for his insight and comments.
[10] R. Hershel Schachter once quipped that perhaps the name “Schneur”
was a portmanteau of שני אור (= two lights), in
the naming after two different people with the name “Meir” – quite appropriate
for one who was able to draw such deep meaning from even the two lights within
the candle’s flame.
[11] Torah Ohr, Miketz 33a.
[12] A prime example of this would be the controversy surrounding the
practice of postponing prayer times. During the formative years of Hasidism,
many Hasidic leaders (such as the the Seer of Lublin, The Holy Jew, and The
Kotzker Rebbe) held that in order to focus the heart properly for prayer it is
permissible to delay the time for prayer, despite violating the clear Halakhic
guidelines governing it in the Shulhan
Arukh
.
[13] Thus we reduce conflict between the soul-life and the
practical-life. See further torah no.
33 in Lectures on Likkutei Moharan
vol. 1, 295-310; torah no. 6, ad
loc., 68.
[14] Commentary of R. Ovadia Bartenura on the Mishnah, Avot 1:3. I
will point out, however, that it is basically impossible to impose upon someone
a completely external commandment, and so in this way even the ability to
follow an external command is a matter of personal prerogative, and therefore
related to the realm of personal freedom. This is to say that the internality
of a person itself transitions between many different phases – sometimes
appearing as the freedom to be unfree/limited and inauthentic.
[15] Torah Ohr, ad loc. 32d.
[16] We must differentiate between ‘sense’ and ‘meaning’ [english in
the original; JR]. As we shall soon see, ‘the glow of the infinite’ [that is to
say, the ‘spiritual background radiation’, the reflection of the infinite
source of light illuminating our moon-world; JR] is what gives ‘sense’ to
‘meaning’ [without it, the slip into nihilism begins; JR]. As long as ‘sense’
is completely attached to the level of content – words, actions, situations –
‘meaning’ becomes the internal, animating force behind these, granting these
things spiritual ‘weight’.
[17] There is a touch of autobiography here. R. Shagar worked
extensively on notes and files from his oeuvre, hundreds of which were saved on
his computer, from which the Institute for the Publication of the Works of R.
Shagar compiles, edits, and publishes his voluminous writings posthumously.
[18] R. Schneur Zalman of Liady, Likkutei
Torah
, addenda to Parshat Vayikra,
52a.
[19] Torah Ohr, ad loc. 33c.
[20] This may be likened to the Lacanian idea of the real. [see Jacques Lacan, Symbol and Language: The Language of the
Self
(Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1956); Dylan Evans, An Introductory Dictionary of Lacanian Psychoanalysis (London: Routledge,
1996), entry: “real”. JR]
[21] Torah Ohr, ad loc. pp.
32d-33a.
[22] The position of the Admor ha-Zaken here parallels in a certain
sense the positions of Yeshayahu Leibowitz with regards to the commandments.
See further R. Shagar, “Faith and Language According to the Admor ha-Zaken of
Habad,” Nehalekh b’Regesh, pp.
175-178.
[23] See R. Shagar, Pur hu ha-Goral;
32-37 (בענ׳ את יעקב אהבתי ואת עשו שנאתי).



Lunch and Learn with Rav Yechiel Goldhaber on Thursday 12/3/15 at 1:00 PM

The readership of the Seforim Blog is invited to a “Lunch and Learn” that will be taking place Thursday, December 3 from 1:00 – 2:00 PM. The shiur will be given by the noted scholar and author Rav Yechiel Goldhaber of Eretz Yisrael (link). He has written many wonderful articles and works on a wide range of topics most notably Minhagei Kehilos about customs, and Kunditon (link) about the Titanic, and the Cherem on Spain. 
The Shiur will take place at 919 Third Avenue New York, NY
Because of the security policies of the building, if you are interested in attending you must RSVP to yhalpert@debevoise.com by Thursday morning (tomorrow) so that you can be registered at the front desk. Picture ID will also necessary to enter the building.



Announcement – Lecture by Rabbi Yechiel Goldhaber at the Sprecher home

The readership of the Seforim Blog is invited to a shiur that will be taking place Sunday November 29 at 8:00 PM. The shiur will be given by the noted scholar and author Rav Yechiel Goldhaber of Eretz Yisroel (link). He has authored many wonderful articles and works on a wide range of topics most notably Minhagei Kehilos about customs, and Kunditon (link) about the Titanic, and the Cherem on Spain. 
The subject of the Shiur is על חרדים ויום השואה, and it will include fascinating information from newly unearthed documents. 
It will take place in Brooklyn at the home of Dr. and Mrs. Shlomo Sprecher, at 1274 East 23rd Street.



Assorted Comments on R. Jacob Emden, Ashkenazic Views of Sephardic Gedolim, and More

Assorted Comments on R. Jacob Emden, Ashkenazic Views of Sephardic Gedolim, and More
by Marc B. Shapiro

1. Since I have discussed R. Jacob Emden in many posts, let me add the following. If you examine Emden’s Birat Migdal ha-Oz you find that he refers to himself as הסריס. Here is the Berditchev 1836 edition of the work, p. 135a.[1]
I think all would agree that this is a strange title to give oneself. In this work, p. 116a, he also calls himself שלו.

On p. 44a he refers to himself as שאול.

On pp. 101b and 102a he refers to himself as שכוי.

Here is Lehem Shamayim (Wandsbeck1728), vol. 1, p. 1a (see also 2a) where he also refers to himself as שכוי.

Returning to Birat Migdal Oz, on p. 108b he refers to himself as שלה.

What is this all about? The answer was revealed by R. Meir Segal in his 1881 commentary on Emden’s siddur (although I am sure many people had already figured it out).[2] The gematriyot of all these words are either 335 or 336. This corresponds to יעקב בן צבי, the gematria of which is also 336 (and we know that gematriyot are allowed to be off by one number).
In Amudei Shamayim, vol. 2, p. 154a, which you can see here

Emden writes:
סוד פורי”ים בקצור רומז ג”א ממותקים בג”ה (ס”ה של”ו הוא בה”ס . . .)

As R. Segal explains,[3] this is to be “translated” as: 

סוד פורים בקיצור רומז ג’ א-להים ממותקים בג’ הויות ס”ה גימטריא של”ו הוא בעל הספר

ס”ה obviously stands for סך הכל and what it is saying – ignoring the kabbalistic allusion – is that the gematria of פורים equals 336 and this is also equaled by א-להים x 3 = 258 + הויה x 3 = 78 (258+78=336)..

As mentioned, Emden refers to himself as שלו. How is this supposed to be pronounced? Some people would assume shelo. I originally thought that a more likely meaning was shalev, which means “calm” or “tranquil”. R. Segal also understands it this way since he writes[4]  כנה א”ע בשם שלו כי השלום יאות לבוטח

Shilo is also sometimes spelled as שלו so that is another possibility.

However, these suggestions are incorrect, and the proper way to pronounce it is selav, as in quail. We know this because of the verse in Psalms 105:40:

שאל ויבא שלו ולחם שמים ישביעם

The second half of the verse has the words לחם שמים. This is the name of Emden’s commentary on the Mishnah. I am certain that the connection of שלו and לחם שמים was regarded as significant by Emden, and this also reveals how שלו should be pronounced.[5]

2. In Changing the Immutable, p. 205, I cite a letter from R. Elhanan Wasserman to R. Eliezer Silver and note that the published version of the letter, in Kovetz Ma’amarim ve-Iggerot, vol. 2, p. 97, omits R. Wasserman telling R. Silver that before R. Hayyim Ozer Grodzinski’s death the latter reached for his wife’s hand. R. Moshe Maimon informed me that the letter with the deleted words restored was published in R. Pinchos Lipshutz, Peninei Hen (Monsey, 2000), pp. 76-77. Here it is.

From the original letter we can see that R. Hayyim Ozer’s comment that things are not good was made to his wife. However, one who reads the letter in Kovetz Ma’amarim ve-Iggerot would have to conclude that this statement was made to R. Elhanan, as the passage reads:
שעה קלה לפני הפטירה . . . אמר: “דוא וויסט עס איז ניט גוט” (אתה יודע שהמצב אינו טוב)
As I mentioned in the book, I think it is significant that the publisher inserted three dots showing that something was deleted, since this is very uncommon among haredi publishers. But the following is also important: In the original letter R. Elhanan writes אמר לה, meaning that R. Hayyim Ozer made this comment to his wife. Also (and this point was made to me by Maimon), in the Hebrew translation what appears is אתה יודע which is masculine and indicates that the comment was made to R. Elhanan. These changes had to be made since once the line about holding his wife’s hand is removed, it would not make sense for the reader to see a reference to a woman, as in אמר לה.

Maimon also called my attention to the following: Here is a famous painting portraying Napoleon granting freedom to the Jews. Notice how Napoleon appears like Moses, holding a Tablet of the Law. 

Here incidentally is another image from a coin minted on the occasion of the meeting of the Sanhedrin summoned by Napoleon. Notice how Napoleon is handing the Two Tablets of the Law to Moses. In other words, Napoleon is portrayed as God.[6]

Returning to the painting of Napoleon, it is reproduced in R. Binyamin Shlomo Hamburger’s Meshihei ha-Sheker u-Mitnagdeihim (Jerusalem, 2009), p. 481, yet here sleeves have been added to the woman.

Since I have just mentioned R. Moshe Maimon, let me continue with a couple of his comments. In my book, p. 97 n. 67, I translate minhag vatikin[7] as a “long established practice”. I actually should have said “long established practice of the pious ones” (although some might see this as already implied). Maimon questions whether there is any relationship between vatikin and “long established”, or it if just means “the pious ones”. I always assumed that vatikin means the “pious ones of old”. Indeed, Jastrow translates the word as “the conscientiously pious men of former days”, and an online search reveals that others translate similarly.

Yet Rashi, Berakhot 9b, explains vatikin as אנשים ענוים ומחבבין מצוה, and in this explanation there is no assumption that the vatikin lived in former days. In other words, a practice developed by contemporary pious ones could also be regarded as a minhag vatikin, and there appears to be no reason for me to have thought that Rashi would assume that the vatikin he describes were also “men of old”.

While modern Hebrew uses the word vatik to mean old or one involved in something for a long time, e.g., מוותיקי הסופרים, I have to acknowledge that, with apparently one exception (see note 8), I have not found early uses of the term that have this connotation. One who paid attention during the High Holidays liturgy would have noticed the term and it has nothing to do with “old” here, e.g., הועד והותיקות, לותיק ועושה חסד, and others.[8] See also Arukh, ed., Kohut, s.v. ותק, which offers Arabic and Greek cognates that have no connection to age. For those really interested in the topic, you should consult David Golinkin’s learned and comprehensive article which also shows that the term vatikin has no connection to age.[9]

Maimon also made the following correction. On p. 229 n. 64, I refer to R. Hayyim Eleazar Shapira’s criticism of Slobodka students and his negative view of R. Moses Mordechai Epstein, and note that this was removed from some editions of R. Moses Goldstein’s Mas’ot Yerushalayim.[10] The censored material I refer to is from a conversation between R. Shapira, the Rebbe of Munkacz, and R. Solomon Eliezer Alfandari, and contrary to what I carelessly wrote, what was deleted was stated by R. Alfandari, not R. Shapira. This matter, and the censorship, is discussed by Maimon in a Seforim Blog contribution here.

Let me offer another example where Mas’ot Yerushalayim is censored (and this is not noted by Maimon in his post just mentioned). Here is Mas’ot Yerushalayim (Munkacz, 1931), pp. 91a-91b.

It mentions that after R. Alfandari’s death his writings were under the control of certain Sephardic rabbis who were associated with the Chief Rabbinate. These rabbis are referred to as .איזה רבני ומלקקי המשרד מהצפרדעי”ם The last word, צפרדעים (frogs) is a play on ספרדים.

Here is how the page looks in a later edition published in Israel (pp. 319-320). As you can see, the reference to the צפרדעים has been deleted.

The same deletion is found in the 2004 edition (p. 237)

Needless to say, Sephardic readers were not pleased to see this. But this wasn’t the only thing to upset them. Earlier in the book (pp. 26a-b in the first edition), we find that R. Shapira stated that he heard from R. Yehezkel Shraga Halberstam of Sieniawa that when the latter was in Jerusalem on the yahrzeit of R. Hayyim ben Attar, the Or ha-Hayyim, he observed that the Sephardim did not visit his grave. He inquired about this and was told that even though the Or ha-Hayyim was a Sephardi, he had disputes with the Sephardim and the latter did not recognize his greatness. Referring to the Sephardim, he quotes Psalms 82:5: “They know not, neither do they understand; they go about in darkness.” This is contrasted to the Ashkenazim who give the Or ha-Hayyim his proper respect.

Here is the passage.

The text was altered in the next edition.

In the Jerusalem 2004 edition it is back in its entirety.

When Mas’ot Yerushalayim appeared, R. Meir Vaknin, the rav of Tiberias, was quite angry upon seeing the two texts I have discussed and responded sharply.[11] He completely rejects the notion that the Sephardim do not properly respect the Or ha-Hayyim. He also denies that there was ever a dispute between the Sephardic community and the Or ha-Hayyim.

Why then do the Sephardim not go to the Or ha-Hayyim’s grave on his yahrzeit?  R. Vaknin explains that the reason is simple, namely, that Sephardim don’t have this minhag and they were never taught to do so by R. Isaac Luria. Therefore, they don’t go to graves on any yahrzeit, “not to the ARI, not to Maran the Beit Yosef, and not to the Rambam. Even to Rabbi Shimon Ben Yohai only a very small number go to Meron.”

R. Vaknin is speaking about the Sephardic community in the Land of Israel before the massive aliyah of the North African Jews. Today, of course, Meron is full of Sephardim on Lag ba-Omer (which people mistakenly believe to be the yahrzeit of R. Shimon Ben Yohai[12]), but R. Vaknin provides testimony about how things were very different not too long ago.

As for Mas’ot Yerushalayim referring to Sephardim as צפרדעים, R. Vaknin is simply outraged by this insult:

והאם טוב וישר הדבר הזה בעיני א-להים ואדם לכתוב ולכנות שם רע על העם הקדוש הספרדי כולו בכללותו, מי יוכל להתאפק על בזיון ושם רע על כללות עם הקודש, ואיזה תקון יועיל לכלות העון הזה ולהתם הפשע החמור, אפילו המכנה שם רע לחברו עיין ברז”ל כמה חמור ענשו, וכל שכן על כללות העם כולו אשר כמה וכמה גדולי תורה נמצאים בתוכו, כמה צדיקים וחסידים וסובלי חולאים וסיגופים ותעניות לכבוד ה’ ותורתו נמצאים בתוכו

R. Vaknin also printed a letter by R. Jacob Zarihan of Tiberias. He too was very upset by what appears in Mas’ot Yerushalayim.

The 2004 edition of Mas’ot Yerushalayim has Goldstein’s reply to R. Vaknin in which he apologizes if he caused offense.[13] He stresses that his negative words about the צפרדעים were only made with reference to those Sephardic rabbis associated with theמשרד , i.e., the Chief Rabbinate.[14] This could hardly have been of any comfort to R. Vaknin since unlike the Ashkenazic world, the Sephardic world did not have an extremist Edah Haredit, and almost all of the Sephardic rabbis had great respect for the Rishon le-Tziyon, R. Jacob Meir, and the other outstanding Sephardic rabbis who worked with him.

It is noteworthy that Goldstein’s rebbe, R. Hayyim Eleazar Shapira, also had some negative things to say about Sephardim. In his discussion about the apparently Sabbatean work Hemdat Yamim, R. Shapira refers to R. Hayyim Palache who in his Kol ha-Hayyim[15] defends the Hemdat Yamim, even if the author was a Sabbatian. As R. Palache states, Rabbi Akiva made a mistake in thinking that Bar Kokhba was the Messiah, but this does not disqualify the Torah teachings of R. Akiva. Similarly, we should not disqualify the Hemdat Yamim no matter what the author believed about Shabbetai Zvi. R. Shapira thinks that this is nonsense, and it is obvious to him that if the author of Hemdat Yamim was a Sabbbatian then the work must be shunned.

What angers R. Shapira even more is that R. Palache later states (Kol ha-Hayyim, p. 18a) that there is a tradition not to speak at all about the Shabbetai Zvi episode, not even in a negative way[16]:

וכבר יש קבלה מרבותינו ואבותינו הקדושים שלא לדבר מטוב ועד רע על ענין ש”ץ כי גם קוב לא תקבנו גם ברך לא תברכנו

R. Shapira finds this outrageous, since how can one not speak negatively about such an evil person as Shabbetai Zvi. He writes:[17]

ורחמנא לישזבן מהאי דעתא הנפסדת המטלת ספיקות מעין היש ה’ בקרבנו וכו’ והיתכן כי על משיח השקר שהמיר דתו למחמדנות באונס או ברצון ועכ”פ שהסית והדיח אלפים מישראל עליו כתוב “גם קוב לא תקבנו” ובודאי בע”כ שהטיל ספיקות אולי הי’ אמת ע”כ קוב לא תקבנו לרעה. לא יאומן כי יסופר שיהי’ כזה נדפס מרב מגדולי הספרדים לולי ראיתי בעיני – אוי לנו שכך עלתה בימנו שהפרוץ מרובה. ואולי [צ”ל ואילו] הי’ כזה נדפס בדור הקדום היו גדולי הדור מרעישים עולם.

After these harsh words, R. Shapira offers his explanation of how R. Palache could have written what he did, and it is perhaps the all-time greatest put-down of Sephardim in rabbinic literature. While R. Shapira has great respect for the Sephardim of earlier generations, and also for special individuals such as R. Alfandari,[18] he thinks that most Sephardim of recent years are simply not that smart, and are thus able to believe all sorts of nonsense.

וחשבתי להצדיק קצת את הה”ג ז”ל בע”ס כל החיים להיות הספרדים בימינו בטבעם רובם נמוכי השכל נוחין להתפתות ולהאמין לכל דבר ע”כ השיאם עון אשמה גם לגדוליהם רבניהם בספיקות כאלה.

What R. Shapira did not know is that this strategy of not speaking bad about Shabbetai Zvi had nothing to do with being sympathetic to him, and was certainly not an example of Sephardic stupidity. Rather, as Gershom Scholem notes, it was a strategy chosen by the rabbis in order to allow the community to return to normal.

In choosing this course, the rabbis of Constantinople and Smyrna may have attempted the impossible; at any rate they acted in what seemed to them the most reasonable and responsible fashion. . . . The messianic propaganda, which had not been checked by either the rabbis or the lay leaders, had roused their emotions and faith to such a pitch that rational criticism and appeals to traditional standards would probably have availed little. It seemed safer and wiser to ignore the whole matter as far as possible, and to let time and oblivion heal the wound. Neither condemnation nor apologies, but silence alone would enable the disturbed community to find the way back to normal life.[19]

Scholem quotes the passage from R. Palache cited above, and he also summarizes another passage from the very same section in R. Palache’s Kol ha-Hayyim.

The earlier version of the story was that R. Sabbatai Ventura of Sofia had shown disrespect at Nathan’s tomb, whereupon his hand dried up and remained paralyzed until he returned again to the tomb and prayed for forgiveness. When his son Abraham Ventura passed through the city on his travels on behalf of the community of Safed, “a drop fell on him during his first night there and he died . . .  and was buried next to the tomb of R. Nathan.” (The story is told by R. Hayyim Palache of Smyrna in Kol ha-Hayyim [Smyrna, 1874], pp. 17-18.)[20]

In the earlier Hebrew version of Scholem’s work, Shabbetai Tzvi  (Jerusalem, 1957), vol. 2, p. 794 n. 2, the direct quotation of R. Palache is a little different:

“נפל עליו טיפה בלילה ראשונה שנכנס שם וימת שם אברהם וקברוהו סמוך ממש לקברו” של ר’ נתן, כפי שסופר בס’ כל החיים לר’ חיים פאלאג’י מאיזמיר, דפים יז, יח.

Notice how in the Hebrew quotation from R. Palache there is no mention of “R. Nathan” (of Gaza). In other words, the English version is mistaken in including the words “R. Nathan” as part of the direct quote.

Most people who examine the matter will probably also assume that Scholem’s Hebrew text is mistaken, since the story R. Palache tells (which appears on p. 18a, not pp. 17-18 as mentioned by Scholem), has nothing to do with Nathan of Gaza and thus the latter should not have been mentioned by Scholem. As you can see from the page following this paragraph (from Kol ha-Hayyim 18a), R. Palache’s story is about the grave of the anonymous author of Hemdat Yamim, not Nathan of Gaza. (Scholem himself did not regard Nathan of Gaza as the author of Hemdat Yamim.[21])

What is going on here? Can we assume that a careful scholar like Scholem made such a blunder and inserted Nathan of Gaza into a story that has nothing to do with him? The answer is no, and let me explain what is behind what Scholem writes since for some inexplicable reason he doesn’t do it himself. In Mekhkerei Shabtaut (Tel Aviv, 1991), p. 251, Scholem notes that once R. Jacob Emden (mistakenly) identified Nathan of Gaza as the author of Hemdat Yamim,[22] most Ashkenazic scholars kept away from the book. However, the Sephardic scholars had a different view, and they continued to treasure Hemdat Yamim despite the fact that they regarded Nathan of Gaza as its author. Furthermore, they began to refer to Nathan of Gaza as הרב חמדת ימים.

So let us now look again at the passage from R. Palache. It mentions that R. Shabbetai Ventura visited the city of איסקופייא where the grave of הרב חמדת ימים is found. איסקופייא is none other than Skoplje in Macedonia, and this is where Nathan of Gaza died and was buried. In other words, when the story speaks about visiting the grave of הרב חמדת ימים it is referring to visiting the grave of Nathan of Gaza. In Kol ha-Hayyim, p. 17b, R. Palache states that we don’t know who wrote Hemdat Yamim, so it seems that he was passing on a tradition the significance of which even he did not grasp. (If my assumption is correct that R. Palache did not realize that the story he told was referring to visiting the grave of Nathan of Gaza, then he must have assumed that while his generation did not know who the author of Hemdat Yamim was, earlier generations did know, and even knew where his grave was.) What Scholem writes in Sabbatai Sevi about the grave of Nathan of Gaza and Rabbi Shabbetai Ventura and his son Abraham is incomprehensible without the explanation just given, and I have no idea why Scholem did not feel it necessary to provide it himself.

Returning to the comments of R. Hayyim Eleazar Shapira, I wonder what he would have said about the Ashkenazi R. Joseph Seliger who commented that it really doesn’t matter whether R. Jonathan Eybeschuetz believed in Shabbetai Zvi, and our respect for him would not be lessened by such an error.[23]

בדבר המחלקת שבין הגאונים ר’ יונתן ור’ יעקב עמדן כבר עשה העם כלו פשרה בין שני החולקים ששניהם היו חכמי אמת וצדיקים גמורים, אלא שר’ יונתן ז”ל היה נוח ועלוב וענו תלמידו של הלל. ולכן עלה גם בחכמה וגם במעשה מאיש ריבו הקנא והקפדן של שמאי. נושא המחלקת היה נכבד רק בשעתו, בעת אשר פשתה האלילות של ש”ץ וכמעט גמרה לבלע את כל ישראל ותורתו בהבליה ובקסמיה. היום הנה שאלה קלת ערך אם האמין ר’ יונתן בש”ץ או לא . . . לו האמין ר’ יונתן באמת בש”ץ, אין הטעות החלקית הזאת גדולה מהטעות הכללית להאמין בקמעות. ואם בכל זה כבוד ר’ יונתן במקומו מונח לפי מצב הדעות בזמנו, כי לא כל חכמי ישראל זוכים לאמונה צרופה כבן מימון, לא היה ר’ יונתן נופל בעינינו אף לו האמין בנביא השקר כר”ח בנבנשתי ז”ל. אבל באמת לא היתה בר’ יונתן האמונה הזאת לא ממנה ולא מקצתה.

Due to what R. Shapira said about Sephardim, R. Ovadiah Yosef was very unhappy with him. The following passage, from 24 Sivan, 5767, appears in R. Eliyahu Sheetrit’s Rabbenu.[24] This book is quite fascinating as it is a diary that Sheetrit kept during the years he learnt with R. Ovadiah and assisted him in publishing his books. Most significantly, only a few of the published texts of the diary have been censored.

רבנו כתב על החמדת ימים, ואז ראה בספר חמשה מאמרות של אחד מגאוני הדור הקודם שכתב בצורה לא יפה על הרבנים הספרדים ועל הספרדים בכלל, וגם נזכר במה שבזמנו אמר הגאון הנ”ל על הספרדים “צפרדעים”, וביקש ממני לעבור בספר, ובכל מקום שכתוב שמו של הגאון הנ”ל למחוק את המלה “הגאון”. עוד אמר רבנו, שהגאון הנ”ל ביקר אצל הגאון מהרש”א אלפנדארי, ושלשה ימים לאחר מכן, נפטר מהרש”א אלפנדארי (ואמר רבנו, שכנראה הגאון הנ”ל עשה עליו עין הרע).

It would be interesting to check if indeed R. Ovadiah’s books published after 2007 are missing the title הגאון before R. Shapira’s name. In the introduction to Hazon Ovadiah: Arba Ta’aniyot, published in 2007, R. Ovadiah refers to R. Shapira’s comments and indeed in this source not only is there no הגאון before his name, but R. Shapira also doesn’t get the less exalted הרה”ג, and he is left with just a ר’. As for what R. Ovadiah said about R. Shapira apparently unintentionally causing the death of R. Alfandari, this will obviously be a great insult to all Munkatcher hasidim.

It must also be noted that R. Ovadiah did not remember correctly, as it was not R. Shapira who referred to the Sephardim as צפרדעים but his follower Moses Goldstein.

R. Chaim Amsalem took note of R. Shapira’s comments about Sephardim and he too was quite offended, and placed these comments in the context of continuing discrimination against Sephardim by the Ashkenazic haredim. He writes as follows (adding a heavy dose Sephardic pride at the end):[25]

מה אני יכול לומר על דברים מעליבים ופוגעים שכאלו “בטבעם רובם נמוכי שכל”, אני רק יכול להודות לו שגלה דעתו האמיתית מה הוא חושב הוא ואחרים שכמותו, וא”כ אין פלא על יחס השחצנות והגזענות שהם מגלים כלפי הספרדים, שרי ליה מאריה, וכמה ראוי לו לבקש מחילה קודם כל ממושא הערצתו הגאון מהרש”א אלפאנדרי זצ”ל, הדברים כ”כ נמוכי שכל שאינני רוצה להגרר להעלבות וכדומה, דבריו מדברים בעד עצמם, אבל עוד יבואו ימים שכולם יאכלו מכף ידינו . . .

I am aware of another place where R. Shapira speaks negatively about a great Sephardic sage, R. Hiyya Pontremoli, author of the halakhic work Tzapihit bi-Devash. In Minhat Eleazar, vol. 4, no. 45 (p. 37a), R. Shapira writes as follows:

הנה עשה א”ע כאלו לא ידע או העלים בכונה סוף דברי רש”י . . . וכבר תמהתי עליו איך שכח או במזיד הביא להיפך ממ”ש במאירי

Simply put, he is accusing R. Pontremoli of intellectual dishonesty. R. Ovadiah Yosef[26] calls attention to the second part of the quotation just given, and expresses his great distress that R. Shapira spoke this way about R. Pontremoli.

ואנכי איש צעיר נוראות נפלאתי עליו הפלא ופלא, מפני היד שנשתלחה, לחשוד רב גדול כהגאון בעל צפיחית בדבש, ששכח או הזיד ח”ו בדברי המאירי. הס כי לא להזכיר.

In Abir ha-Ro’im, the recent biography of R. Ovadiah by his grandson, R. Yaakov Sasson, the latter also gives examples of Ashkenazic scholars belittling Sephardic gedolim.[27] The instances Sasson cites should not be understood as conscious belittling. It is just that in these cases the Ashkenazic scholars, not knowing anything about the Sephardic Torah greats, did not take them very seriously. One of Sasson’s examples comes from Iggerot Moshe, Hoshen Mishpat, vol. 2, no. 69 (p. 298), which is R. Moshe Feinstein’s famous responsum on abortion. Here R. Moshe writes:

ופלא שראיתי בספר רב פעלים לחכם ספרדי

Sasson is correct that this is not the most respectful way to refer to R. Joseph Hayyim. R. Moshe continues by rejecting R. Joseph Hayyim’s view and does not pay him much regard. It is because of this that R. Eliezer Waldenberg, in his response to R. Moshe, says as follows after expressing his surprise with the way R. Moshe deals with R. Joseph Hayyim:[28]

ושרי ליה מריה בזה

I would like to know, did R. Moshe even have any idea who R. Joseph Hayyim was? Someone obviously showed R. Moshe the responsum in Rav Pealim, but was it explained to R. Moshe that the author of Rav Pealim is the Ben Ish Hai, and that for many Sephardim R. Joseph Hayyim’s significance is the equivalent of what the Hafetz Hayyim is for Ashkenazim, i.e., a towering figure, both spiritually and halakhically? Did R. Moshe even know the name of the man who wrote Rav Pealim, since if he only had a copy of the responsum he wouldn’t see the author’s name, as there is no name given at the end of the various teshuvot?

It is possible that the answer to one or more of these questions is “no”, and R. Moshe therefore related to R. Joseph Hayyim the same way he related to other scholars, Sephardic and Ashkenazic, whom he did not view as top-of-the-line poskim. In the last paragraph of his responsum, when dealing with R. Eliezer Waldenberg, here too R. Moshe does not show great respect but simply refers to R. Waldenberg as .חכם אחד. Contrast this with how in this responsum R. Moshe refers to R. Hayyim Ozer Grodzinksi, R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg, and R. Isser Yehudah Unterman.

Leaving aside what I have just mentioned, R. Moshe’s responsum does have some problematic elements. R. David Feldman even claimed that it was not written by R. Moshe! Here is his letter that appears in Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 20, no. 56.

This is a very strange claim, as the responsum first appeared in 1978 in the Sefer ha-Zikaron for R. Yehezkel Abramsky. Are we supposed to believe that a responsum that appeared in R. Moshe’s lifetime was not written by him? This is clearly impossible. (When I made this point to R. Feldman he continued to insist that R. Moshe did not write the responsum.) Yet as I mentioned, there are indeed some problematic things in this responsum. For example, what is one to make of the following sentence in which R. Moshe attacks a point in R. Eliezer Waldenberg’s first responsum on abortion?[29]

וגם כתב שהשאילת יעב”ץ מתיר אף שאסר בפירוש, בשביל לשון וגם בעובר כשר יש צד להקל לצורך גדול, אף שברור ופשוט שלשון יש צד להקל הוא כאמר שיותר צדדים איכא לאסור.

R. Waldenberg states that it is “ridiculous” to claim that when R. Jacob Emden writes יש צד להקל that it really means that it is forbidden.[30] We, of course, would never use such language about something R. Moshe wrote, but the question remains, could R. Moshe really have believed that יש צד להקל means שיותר צדדים איכא לאסור?

R. Moshe Maimon wrote to me as follows:

As for the question of יש צד להקל – I think all R. Moshe meant is that when a posek says יש צד להקל he is conceding that the presumption is that it should really be אסור but nevertheless sees some ground for a קולא. To R. Moshe this indicates that this posek is more inclined to the צד איסור and can be counted on as a סניף supportive of a more stringent view.[31]

An alternative perspective is offered by a Lakewood scholar who wrote to me: “R. Moshe may have vehemently disagreed with the יעב”ץ but preferred to twist the meaning rather than say openly that the יעב”ץ was mistaken, a very typical thing for someone like R. Moshe to do.” I responded that I don’t find this compelling, since in the second to last paragraph of his responsum R. Moshe has no problem stating that Emden is mistaken, so why would he write differently in the last paragraph?

The Lakewood scholar replied as follows:

If it was a sensitive issue (I’m guessing) R. Moshe may have wanted to strip the opposing view of any legitimacy by insisting that the יעב״ץ didn’t mean it. It’s almost like saying he couldn’t have meant it. Regarding the general approach of twisting the words of achronim in order make it consistent with your own view: The Mekor Baruch describes a similar approach that he attributes to Rabbi Chaim Volozhin, that although one may rule against the Shulchan Aruch, one should nonetheless seek to find hairsplitting differences between your ruling and the Shulchan Aruch’s so not to appear as if you are going head on. The Chazon Ish would say that a טעות סופר נפלה rather than say a rishon made a mistake.

Similar to what the Lakewood scholar claimed, R. Chaim Rapoport, who has published a good deal on the Iggerot Moshe, wrote to me as follows:

מ”ש הגרמ”פ שם “שברור ופשוט שלשון יש צד להקל הוא כאמר שיותר צדדים איכא לאסור” [שיש שתמהו על זה], הנה לפענ”ד הדבר מתאים מאד לדרכו של הגרמ”פ כשהוא משוכנע לחלוטין בצדקת שיטתו ובשלילת השיטה החולקת, ובכה”ג הרגיש בעצמו שמוכרח הוא לקרב את הרחוקים בזרוע, כדי לקיים את מה שהי’ ברור בעיניו כשמש בצהריים.  

ובאמת, בנידון תשובה זו אין דבריו תמוהים כ”כ, שהרי לפעמים מצינו בדברי הפוסקים שכתבו שיש צד להקל ומ”מ אין להקל למעשה [וע”כ צ”ל דהיינו] בגלל שישנם צדדים אחרים [ואפילו צדדים יותר גדולים] להחמיר. ואם כי בנדו”ד הרי מתוכן דברי היעב”ץ אין נראה כן, מ”מ העמיס הגרמ”פ כוונה זו בדברי היעב”ץ, כי ‘ההכרח לא יגונה’. 

מה שזלזל הגרמ”פ בכבודו של הגרא”י ולדנברג בעל שו”ת ציץ אליעזר, הנה אם כנים הדברים, נראה שהי’ זה בגלל שהיטב חרה לו להגרמ”פ ע”ז שפרסם הגרא”י ולדנברג את היתרו להפיל עוברי ‘תיי-סקס’ – אשר לדעתו הר”ז בגדר שפיכת דמים ממש, ואורייתא הוא דמרתחא בי’. 

 ומ”ש הרב בעל ציץ אליעזר על הגרמ”פ “ושרי לי’ מרי’ בזה” [על מה שנראה מלשונו שמיעט בחשיבותו ומעמדו של הרב פעלים] נראה שכתב כן כלפי מה שכתב הגרמ”פ בתשובתו הנ”ל עליו [על הצי”א] “ושרי לי’ מרי’ בזה”, ועד”ז כתב הגרמ”פ בתשובתו (שם) על היעב”ץ, וע”ד מה שאחז”ל מדויל ידי’ משתלים. 

Finally, returning to the matter of negative portrayals of Sephardim, take a look at this bizarre passage in Israel Abraham’s classic Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, p. 122.

There was less warmth in the Oriental Jewish home, less of that tenderness which was once a common characteristic of Jews all the world over, but came in process of time to distinguish Western Jews from their gayer but more shallow brethren of the East. One seems to detect a feebler sense of responsibility in the mental attitude of an Oriental father to his offspring, just as one detects more volubility but less intensity in the Oriental Jew’s prayers.

3. For those who are interested, on Saturday night November 7 at 8pm, I will be speaking at Congregation Ohr Torah, 48 Edgemount Road, Edison, N.J. The title of the talk is “Some Unusual Orthodox Responses to the Rise of Nazism.”

[1] He also refers to himself this way in Birat Migdal Oz two pages later, which is mistakenly numbered as 135a. See also Torat ha-Kenaot (Lvov, 1870), p. 54, where he writes: ונמסר לי הסריס.
[2] Va’ad le-Hakhamim (Lublin, 1881), p. 3a.
[3] Ibid., p. 3b.
[4] Ibid., p. 4a.
[5] See R. Meir Mazuz, Emet Keneh (Bnei Brak, 2000), p. 227. R. Mazuz knows that Emden referred to himself as השכוי, but I can’t tell if he is aware that Emden also referred to himself as .שלו I say this since R. Mazuz mentions the gematria of שלו without indicating that Emden ever used the word. He then makes the connection to ולחם שמים ישביעם.
In 1756 the book Shevirat Luhot ha-Aven appeared. The title page says Zolkiew but this is probably intended to cover up its real place of publication, Altona. According to the haskamah, written by R. Abraham of Zamocz, the author is דוד אוז, an otherwise unknown person. There is no doubt, however, that this book was written by Emden. R. Menahem Mendel Goldstein even found a gematria to tie this name to Emden. See Etz Hayyim 15 (Tamuz-Av, 5771), p. 235 n. 46:
דו”ד או”ז עם ב’ הכוללים בגי’ יעק”ב ב”ן צב”י במספר קטן

[6] The image is from here. This site mistakenly explains that “The kneeling figure represents the Sanhedrin.”
[7] Technically, the word should be pronounced vetikin, with a sheva under the vav, but no one does this.
[8] See Ovadiah Hen, Ha-Ketav ve-ha-Mikhtav (Bnei Brak, 2014), p. 89. See also Ben Yehudah’s dictionary which does not list any early sources in which vatik means old. However, Michael Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic of the Talmudic and Geonic Periods (Ramat Gan, 2002), p. 396, gives “old” as a translation for ותיק, referring to its use in an incantation bowl.
[9] “Le-Ferush ha-Munahim ‘Vetikin’, ‘Vatik’, ve’Talmid Vatik’ be-Sefer Ben Sira u-va-Sifrut ha-Talmudit,” Sidra  13 (1997), pp. 47-60.
[10] Maimon and pretty much everyone else transliterate the title as Masaot Yerushalayim. I believe this to be mistaken. מסעות in the title is a construct, and is the same thing as מסעי. There should be a sheva under the samekh, not a kamatz. See here.
[11] See his Va-Yomer Meir, vol. 1, no. 10.
[12] For the origin of the notion that R. Shimon Ben Yohai died on Lag ba-Omer, see Eliezer Brodt’s post here.
[13] This letter originally appeared in Vaknin, Va-Yomer Meir,vol. 1,  no. 10.
[14] Mas’ot Yerushalayim (2004), p. 258.
[15] Ma’arekhet he, no. 18 (pp. 17ff.).
[16] I am surprised that R. Shapira doesn’t also criticize R. Palache for mentioning the tradition that R. Hayyim Joseph David Azulai was a gilgul of the author of Hemdat Yamim. See Palache, Kol ha-Hayyim, p. 18a.
[17] Hamishah Ma’amarot (Jerusalem, n.d.), p. 157 (Ma’amar Meshiv Mipnei ha-Kavod).
[18] Regarding R. Alfandari, see the first two stories here from Otzrot ha-Sofer 13 (Tishrei 5763), p. 89.

It boggles the mind to think that there are people who are so gullible that they can actually believe that R. Alfandari met the Hatam Sofer in Pressburg.

There are all sorts of legends about great rabbis visiting far-off places and meeting with other great rabbis. Sometimes the stories are chronologically impossible, e.g., the tale of Ibn Ezra visiting Rashi. See Naftali Ben-Menahem, Inyanei Ibn Ezra (Jerusalem, 1978), pp. 356ff. See my Limits of Orthodox Theology, p. 115, about the legend of Maimonides’ visit to France. See also Otzar ha-Geonim: Hagigah, p. 16, where we are told of the well known “fact” that R. Natronai Gaon magically came from Babylonia to Spain and then returned home.

ודבר ברור ומפורסם לאנשי ספרד ומסורת בידם מאבותיהם כי מר רב נטרונאי גאון זצ”ל בקפיצת הדרך בא אליהם מבבל וריבץ תורה וחזר, וכי לא הלך בשיירא ולא נראה בדרך
[19] Gershom Scholem, Sabbatai Sevi: The Mystical Messiah, trans. R. J. Zwi Werblowsky (Princeton, 1973), pp. 698-699.
[20] Scholem, Sabbatai Sevi, p. 926 n. 270.
[21] See Scholem, Mehkerei Shabtaut (Tel Aviv, 1991), p. 251.                                                             
[22] See Avraham Ya’ari, Ta’alumat Sefer (Jerusalem, 1954), p. 10.
[23] Kitvei ha-Rav Dr. Yosef ha-Levi Seliger (Jerusalem, 1930), p. 503. The last section of this book, where the quoted comment appears, has been deleted (censored?) on Otzar ha-Hokhmah. It can be found in full on hebrewbooks.org.
[24] (Jerusalem, 2014), p. 378.
[25] Gadol ha-Neheneh mi-Yegio (n.p., 2012), pp. 93-94. The three periods at the end of the quotation appear in the original.
[26] Yabia Omer, vol. 2, Orah Hayyim, no. 18.
[27] See Abir ha-Ro’im, vol. 2, p. 134.
[28] Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 14, p. 186.
[29] Iggerot Moshe, Hoshen Mishpat 2, p. 300.
[30] Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 14, p. 186.
 ומגוחח {צ”ל ומגוחך] הוא לפרש כוונתו ולומר דלשון יש צד להקל הוא כאומר שיותר צדדים איכא לאיסור
[31] Somewhat parallel to this is R. Yair Hayyim Bacharach’s view that when R. Moses Isserles write ויש מחמירין it actually means that he doesn’t accept the stringency, since if he did he would have written .ויש אוסרין See Havot Yair, no. 185.



Hot Tears For A Close Friend: Rabbi Eitam Henkin HY”D

Hot Tears For A Close Friend: Rabbi Eitam Henkin HY”D
by
Rabbi Yechiel Goldhaber
translated by Daniel Tabak
I shall never forget when I first met Rabbi Eitam Henkin HY”D three years ago. At the time I had begun preparing a study on the parting of minds in the kollels of the Old Yishuv in Jerusalem 150 years ago. I managed to get my hands on a lot of rare sources, but the morass of material only beclouded the depths of the goings-on in the city at the time. The main purpose of my study was to ascertain the causes of dispute between the various ethnic groups and kollels, but the facts grew ever larger and more ramified, and soon obscurity overtook clarity. As the saying goes, I could not see the forest for the trees.
One key element in the conflict centered upon Rabbi Yechiel Michel Pines. On the one hand, Rabbi Shmuel Salant viewed him as an ally, but on the other, Rabbi Yehoshua Leib Diskin, head of the rabbinical court of Brisk, loathed him. My study successfully identified this dispute as one of the main points of contention that whipped everyone in the city into a frenzy, a flashpoint whose consequences lasted decades.
Needless to say, I had the articles by Eitam Henkin about Rabbi Pines in front of me. I read them multiple times, and felt as if he had lived and breathed the alleyways of the Old City in those times. I struck up a connection with him,and he shared with me his textured perspective of the city with all its troubles. From then one, not two weeks passed when we did not speak by telephone about it.
About a year ago I needed to finish an article on Rabbi Shmuel Salant’s search for a rabbi who would support him as he entered his twilight years. I uncovered some rare documentation that shed new light on this episode, but to my dismay, I could not find anyone with whom to speak in order to clarify this complicated issue. Only Eitam Henkin lent me his ear.
In the meantime, we continued to speak about his great-grandfather Rabbi Yosef Eliyahu Henkin zt”l. I would contribute some of what I knew, and he would include me in his work on collecting and compiling material about his great-grandfather. Our discussions took us from Lithuania all the way to the United States, and everything in between.
We wrote each other a lot, and we had many conversations. He would begin each conversation by saying that he was very busy with his studies and editing articles, yet he still devoted many minutes to me.
I tried to get a hold of Eitam Henkin many times on the phone to obtain some point of clarification, but he was not always available. Quite often his wife Na’ama HY”D picked up the phone and I would“complain” that I was having trouble “catching” him on the phone. When I explained to her the urgency of the matter, because I had to publish the article in two weeks’ time, her answer was characteristic of a Torah scholar’s wife! She would respond very simply: “my husband is soaring in Torah study. I too take care not to disturb him.” When I heard sentences like those, I felt deep embarrassment.
His textual analysis was razor-sharp; he took pains with every word and letter. More than he questioned the written letter he investigated and interrogated the unwritten word or sentence absent from the document — “why was it missing?” he would ask, along with a barrage of similar questions.
His answers and conclusions were honest and artless; one never found him resolving a perplexity with a forced answer. How rare is that! His level of understanding in any given topic was very advanced, as someone who had completed many tractates of the Talmud along with their commentaries.
His modesty far exceeded what one could guess. He never boasted. His honesty was ever-present, in every field and topic, be it in Torah study, academic research, or this-worldly life.
Our final conversation took place between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I called him to wish him a Shana Tova. I mentioned the well-known bafflement about the statement of the Rabbis that there were never such good days for the Jewish people as Yom Kippur, when Jewish girls would involve themselves in happy matters…but is it not the most frightening day of the entire year? He responded on the spot:
“If every positive thing leads to happiness, then isn’t it logical that something negative that becomes positive should generate even greater joy? Within the darkness light can be seen. That is the deeper truth of repentance done out of love, from which willful sins are treated as merits; the negative causes an outburst of happiness. The Jewish girls chose this day specifically to concern themselves with matters of love, for there is no love quite like God’s love for his wayward servants who have reconciled themselves with him.”
Such words befit the one who uttered them…
Few are comparable to this wise young man, whose comings and goings were marked by humility, who was as familiar with the paths of the Heavenly Jerusalem as he was with the roads of Mateh Binyamin.
May Eitam and Na’ama’s memory be blessed.