Supernal Unification

Versus Refining the Sparks

Rabbi Yehoishophot Oliver

Adapted from the teachings of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneersohn זצ"ל

in honor of his yahrtzeit on 20 Av

“Yitzchak loved Esav because he would eat from his prey,[1] while Rivka loved Yaakov”.[2]

Although Yitzchak surely loved Esav as his son, how could Yitzchak have felt so favorably toward Esav that the Torah tells us that he specifically loved Esav, while it doesn’t declare that he loved Yaakov? Clearly Esav possessed some worthy quality that Yitzchak valued, and even more so than he valued the qualities of Yaakov!

Yitzchak’s divine service specifically resembled that of Esav, so he felt a special affinity with Esav.

Yitzchak was involved with “sowing” in “the field”, as it is written, “Yitzchak sowed in that year,”[3] and “Yitzchak went out to pray in the field”.[4]

The field, where plants grow and from which food is harvested, represents the spiritual task of birur hanitzutzos, refining the sparks of holiness trapped in physical objects. We accomplish this by being actively involved in the physical world and using it to serve Hashem. This was the focus of Yitzchak’s avodah—divine service.

Esav, too, was “a man of the field”,[5] whose main task was to be involved in the material world. (Unfortunately, he did not merit to do so by refining the sparks of holiness, as did Yitzchak.)

Moreover, the reason Yitzchak loved Esav was that “he would eat from his prey”, as Esav would bring him food from the field. In fact, Yitzchak desired not the food itself but the sparks of holiness hidden in the food that Esav would bring him.

Yaakov’s path was different. He had no connection to working in the field,[6] to active involvement in the physical world for the sake of refining sparks of holiness. He was a “man of simplicity who would sit in tents”.[7]

Rashi interprets that the plural “tents” refers to the two academies of the righteous Shem and Ever, where Yaakov would study Torah.[8]

Along these lines, the Medrash states that “tents” refers to “the tent of the Written Torah and the tent of the Oral Torah”.

Another interpretation is that a tent alludes to one’s wife and the mitzvah of marital relations, as in when Moshe instructed the Jewish men to “return to your tents”,[9] which our Sages explain[10] as granting permission to return to marital relations after a period in which it had been prohibited. Thus, Yaakov would “sit in the tents” of his wives, Leah and Rachel.

Modes of Malchus

On the kabalistic level, a wife corresponds to the sefirah of malchus of Atzilus, the feminine aspect of the divine. Thus, “sitting in the tents” means that Yaakov’s divine service was focused on malchus.

Yet we also find that the field, associated with the divine service of Yitzchak, alludes to malchus. How can this be, if the divine service of Yitzchak and Yaakov are different?

The “tent” and the “field” correspond to different aspects of malchus.

The “field” refers to the way malchus descends into Beriyah, Yetzirah, and Asiyah (b’ya for short) in order to refine the sparks of holiness found in the kelipos, negative spiritual energies, found there.

This is the meaning of “she gave teref—prey to her house”,[11] a reference to malchus. Teref (טרף) has the numerical value of 249, which corresponds to the 248 general sparks of holiness plus one (im hakolel).[12] Malchus descends to refine the sparks, which are then elevated to their supernal source.

In contrast, “tents” refers to marital relations, as above. Thus, “sitting in tents” represents ze’ir anpin, the masculine aspect of the divine, as it influences and unites with malchus, the feminine aspect of the divine. On this level, malchus remains in its original state in the utterly pure realm of Atzilus and is completely detached from the lower worlds of b’ya, where G–dliness is hidden in successively greater concealments.

Thus, a field alludes to the way malchus gives (shov)—the divine service of Yitzchak; while a tent, to the way it receives (ratzo)—the divine service of Yaakov.

Earth Versus Yerushalayim

This distinction parallels the difference between the earth (aretz) and Yerushalayim, which are also both said to refer to malchus.

The earth is the same concept as a field—it brings forth food.[13] Food represents refining the sparks because produce grown in a field contains an edible part—ochel and waste matter—pesoles. Eating involves birur—refinement, separating the useful part from what is to be discarded.

Thus, the earth/field is an analogy for the way malchus descends into b’ya in order to separate and refine the nitzotz, the spark of holiness, from the energy of kelipah in which it is encased there.

In contrast, Yerushalayim is called “the good [city]”,[14] which corresponds to the way malchus exists in Atzilus in a state of sublime purity.[15] The destruction of the physical city of Yerushalayim is merely a reflection and consequence of the “destruction” of the spiritual Yerushalayim, which is the estrangement between ze’ir anpin and malchus.

Rebuilding Yerushalayim means bringing ze’ir anpin to reunite with malchus, which we accomplish through Torah study.[16] Torah possesses this power because Torah, too, is pure goodness and holiness and is thus able to rebuild the spiritual Yerushalayim, which is similarly pure. This leads naturally to the rebuilding of the physical Yerushalayim as well.[17]

This is the deeper meaning of Yaakov, who corresponds to ze’ir anpin,[18] “sitting in the tents”—i.e., engaging in marital relations—with Leah and Rachel, who correspond to malchus. On a deeper level, this alludes to Yaakov’s Torah study, which effected the supernal unification of ze’ir anpin and malchus.

This fits nicely with the literal meaning of Yaakov “sitting in the tents”—Torah study.

Adapted from Yalkut Levi Yitzchak al HaTorah, Vol. 1, pp. 467-469.

________________________________

[1] This translation follows Onkelos.
[2] Bereshis 25:28.
[3] Ibid. 26:12
[4] Ibid. 24:63
[5] Ibid. 25:27.
[6] “לא היה שייך לשדה”.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Bereshis Rabbah 63:10.
[9] Devarim 5:27.
[10] Shabbos 87a.
[11] Mishlei 31:15.
[12] Cf. Sefer HaMaamarim 5663, p. 51.​​
[13] Berachos 49a.
[14] Berachos 48b.
[15] Cf. Likkutei Torah 15:3-4.
[16] Ibid. 29:3 ff.
[17] Ibid. 31:1-2.
[18] Cf. Reshimos vol. 169.

Monarchy, Democracy, and Rosh Hashanah

Monarchy, Democracy,
and Rosh Hashanah

Rabbi Yehoishophot Oliver

Monarchy—a difficult concept

The awesome day of Rosh Hashanah is almost upon us. The central focus of this day is accepting Hashem upon us as king (“kabbolas ol malchus Shomayim”).

Unfortunately, in our times this concept is foreign to us, for monarchy (in Hebrew, “malchus”) as it was practiced in bygone days is almost completely obsolete. But let us try our best to cast our minds back into the past—the vast majority of human history, in fact—and try to imagine what it must have been like.

Well, these are the basics: A king was an absolute authority, with power over life and death. His subjects typically were very afraid of him and very loyal to him. Why was it beneficial for the king to wield such great power? On the basic level, it was needed to keep the people in line—to maintain law and order.

Appointment of the king by grand coronation

Now, at first glance, monarchy sounds very different from modern-day democracy. But in a very important sense, it was not so different. Monarchy is similar to democracy insofar as it is a consensual relationship. The only way that a person could come to have the absolute power of monarchy is for the people to willingly grant him that power.

But how do the people do this—how do they willingly appoint their chosen candidate as king? It is not enough for them to feel that way in their hearts; rather, they must make an external show of their devotion and allegiance.

For this purpose, the people organize a grand coronation event. All the people rally there, declare that they want this man to accept the mantle of kingship, and affirm their unwavering loyalty to him.

Despite the vast differences between people—“their ways of thinking are different”[1]—all the citizens of the country—men, women, and children—join in this ceremony just the same—the simple subjects, the wealthy landowners, the low-level ministers, until the high-level ministers, who are especially dear to the king. They all prostrate before the king and fully commit to obey him. “Long live the king!”[2] they declare.

If, however, one becomes an absolute ruler without the people’s consent; instead, one seizes power by force, then Torah does not define that as malchus, monarchy, but as memshalah, dictatorship. The king assumes his role only by virtue of the people’s demand.

Monarchy vs. Democracy

Moreover, a true candidate for kingship does not aspire to become king. On the contrary, that is the last thing on his mind—he consistently shuns the limelight, and all he wants is to be left alone. But despite his reclusiveness, the people somehow find out about him, learn of his unparalleled greatness, and realize that he is truly worthy of the position. So they approach him and nudge him incessantly to become their king, with this nudging culminating in a grand coronation ceremony.

When the would-be king sees just how much the people want him to rule over them, this evokes within his heart a desire to do so. This feeling is not tainted by any arrogance or bossiness; rather, it is a feeling of humbly and apprehensively stepping up to a role of tremendous responsibility for the sake of serving the community. This is the hallmark of true leadership.

Here the comparison to democracy ends, for according to the democratic system, the candidate can only become elected if he is filled with ambition and aspires to be the leader so much that he “runs” for elections. Instead of the people convincing him to want to rule, he convinces the people to want him to rule.

Although the aspirant to democratic elections may also have some genuine desire to serve the community, it cannot be claimed that his intentions are pure and not tainted by an element of lust for prestige and power. After all, he doesn’t just want any worthy person to rule—he campaigns for the people to decide that he is more worthy than anyone else for the job.

So clearly, no matter what his rhetoric, the best interests of the people are not the only thing on his mind; rather, there is also a strong element of self-interest in his bid for power and his efforts to remain in his position. This self-interest inevitably taints his leadership, for if the interests of the people conflict with his own, he may succumb to temptation and allow his own interests to trump those of the people. For example, upon seeing that another person is much more fit to rule than he, his selfish craving for power may induce him to deny this and even seek ways to viciously condemn and discredit the one whom he views as a threat to his power.

Of course, monarchy also has its pitfalls, for if the king is unworthy, he can abuse his power far more than an elected president can. Much more could be said on this topic, but here is not the place. In any case, a true king only becomes king because the people convinced him so.

Renewing Hashem’s rule and creation

Likewise, Hashem, the King of all Kings, becomes King when we declare our devotion to Him, thereby inaugurating Him as our King.

The difference, though—of course, one of many—between a human king and Hashem, is that a human king does not create the people; he merely enforces law and order, enabling society to function productively. In contrast, when we speak of Hashem as our King, we mean that He creates the world and rules over every single aspect of it.

This is the theme of Rosh Hashanah. The prayers and customs of this day are entirely devoted to repeatedly pleading of Hashem to rule over us as King, especially when we blow the Shofar. This evokes within Hashem the desire to rule over us, such that he commits to continue creating the world.

But why is it necessary to accept Hashem as King every year all over again?[3]

It is written, “The eyes of Hashem, your G–d, are constantly on it [the Holy Land] from the beginning until the end of the year.”[4] What is the meaning of this apparently unnecessary phrase, “from the beginning until the end of the year”—isn’t that already clear from the word “constantly”?

Rather, this verse alludes to the fact that Hashem annually renews the life-force with which he creates the world (and the Holy Land is the subject of the verse, for the entire world receives its life-force through that given to the Holy Land). Each year at “the end of the year”—as the twenty-ninth day of Elul passes, and we enter the night of Rosh Hashanah—Hashem’s desire to create the world recedes, as it were, until it vanishes completely, and although we cannot see it, the world’s very existence is hanging by a thread.

Then, for the next two nights and days, we must devote ourselves to showing Hashem our total commitment to serve Him. We declare, “Our Father, our King!” ... “Be King over us in Your glory,” and so on. And in this way we renew His desire to create the world for the entire coming year, and then this cycle is repeated the following year, and so on.

“Judgment day”

This is how the concept of accepting upon ourselves the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven ties in with the other, perhaps more well-known, theme of Rosh Hashanah—that it is the “Judgment day” when Hashem judges every creature in existence.

As mentioned, Hashem’s decision to rule means that He commits to continue to create the world, and He does so because we submit to Him as King through our divine service on Rosh Hashanah. Now, this decision doesn’t only mean that Hashem decides to continue to create the world and not destroy it, G–d forbid. Rather, He decides the exact nature and amount of blessings that every single person is destined to receive in the coming year, in all areas.

And on what is His decision based? “Hashem sees the heart,”[5] and judges every individual according to their worthiness at the time of judgment.[6] So the sincerity of the individual’s acceptance of the yoke of Hashem’s sovereignty will determine whether Hashem’s ruling will be favorable, and exactly to what degree, and in which areas.

And this is the connection between Rosh Hashanah and Teshuvah. It is absurd to sin and simultaneously commit to serve Hashem. Until the person repents sincerely of his or her sins, they sully his heart and disqualify his profession of total devotion to Hashem on Rosh Hashanah. So on Rosh Hashanah we do Teshuvah, because Teshuvah is vital to accepting Hashem’s sovereignty.

This is also the reason that we are given the entire month of Elul to prepare for Rosh Hashanah. We don’t want to wait until Rosh Hashanah, when we are already being strictly judged, to start thinking about Teshuvah. Rather, we spend the month of Elul doing everything we can to rectify ourselves so that when Rosh Hashanah comes around, we will already be cleansed of sin and fit to commit to serve Hashem with all our heart. 

This is the reason that the atmosphere on Rosh Hashanah, especially according to the school of Chassidus Chabad, is very serious. For on Rosh Hashanah we are standing before Hashem, and He is scrutinizing our hearts carefully. Thus, it is the Chabad custom to spend as much time as possible between the prayers reciting the words of Tehillim with a broken heart, and if one can, avoiding all idle chatter.

May Hashem bless us and write and seal us all for a good and sweet new year in both the material and the spiritual, and may we witness the coming of Moshiach to usher in the true and complete redemption this year, and at its very beginning, NOW!

____________________________
[1] Berachos 58a.
[2] This declaration was used to appoint Jewish kings; cf. I Melachim 1:31.
[3] The explanation below is taken from Tanya, Iggeres HaKodesh, ch. 14.
[4] Devarim 11:12.
[5] I Shmuel 16:7.
[6] Rosh Hashanah 16b.

Dedicated by Avi Turner and family in honor of the Yahrtzeit of Mordechai Ben Yosef on 15 Av.

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Seraphim: Passionate Love for Hashem

Seraphim: Passionate Love for Hashem

Rabbi Y. Oliver

There are different types of angels, but the highest is the saraph (pl. seraphim). What are the seraphim?


The word saraph is etymologically related to the Hebrew word sereipha, burning up, for the seraphim are composed primarily of the element of fire. This means that their divine service involves becoming so heated up and passionate in their expression of love for Hashem that they burn up completely and cease to exist.


The reason that only the seraphim behave in this way is that they reside in the world of Beriah. Since in this world the Sefirah of Binah of Atzilus shines openly, all the levels in this world experience very profound Binah—intellectual grasp of Hashem’s greatness. This is also felt by the seraphim, and this causes them to become so excited that they burn up.


What do the seraphim comprehend, and why does it excite them? They grasp two levels, one after the other: The first is the divine light that shines into them in a way that they directly apprehend (“Hasogas HaMehus”). This light descends to their level, bringing them great pleasure, excitement, and joy, and sustains their existence, much as food sustains a person.


However, once the seraphim have enjoyed this divine revelation, they come to recognize that it is in fact severely limited and utterly incomparable to its source in Atzilus, which they comprehend in an indirect, abstract manner (“Yedias HaMetzius”).


The worlds of B’ya (Beriah, Yetzirah, and Asiyah, the three spiritual “worlds” below Atzilus) are created from Malchus of Atzilus, the lowest of the Sefiros of Atzilus. However, the light that shines from there into B’ya undergoes tremendous contractions (“tzimtzumim”) before it descends into B’ya, such that it morphs into a fundamentally different and inferior state.


One analogy for this radical change is from a name. A person only needs a name so that other people can refer to him or call to him. But when a person is alone, a name is useless. On a deeper level, the superficiality of one’s name stems from the fact that it is related to the more external part of his soul, the part vested in a body. The essence of the soul, however, transcends the level of one’s name. This is also the reason that one soul can descend into the world in multiple incarnations, each time vested in a different body with a correspondingly different name.


This analogy is associated with the Sefirah of Malchus because the word Malchus literally means royalty, and the quality of royalty is closely associated with the monarch’s name. The reason for this is that the bond between a king and his subjects depends upon the king’s name. Even if the nation has never seen the king, and they often haven’t, they identify themselves as his subjects, and are even willing to give up their lives for him, all on account of their identifying with his name.


Likewise, the light that emerges from the Sefirah of Malchus of Atzilus is similar to a name in that it is only an external light, which is incomparable to the intensity of the light of Atzilus in its own right.


The seraphim comprehend, albeit on an abstract level, the sublime loftiness of the light of Atzilus, and the abject inferiority of the diminished light that they receive. They grasp it so well that they become so intensely consumed with a desire to attach themselves to the superior light of Atzilus that they become burnt up and cease to exist.


By reflecting upon the seraphim (and all the angels)—particularly during the blessings of Kerias Shema, in which the angels and their worship of Hashem is discussed—we are able to imitate their feelings of love for Hashem, albeit on our incomparably inferior level.

Based on the Rebbe Rashab’s Sefer HaMa’amarim 5670, p. 232 
Cf. Etz Chaim, Sha’ar Penimiyus v’Chitzoniyus 13, and Malbim on Yechezkel 1:1.