From Rabbi Menachem Recanati(1223-1290), Commentary on the Torah, “Vayechi,” 37d; also cited in Rabbi Chaim Vital’s “Shaarey Kedushah,” Part IV. Translated by Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, “Meditation and the Bible” (Samuel Weiser or Jason Aronson editions), p. 88.
Prophecy and Visualization
The prophets would meditate (hitboded) on the highest mysteries of the Sefirot, as well as on the Supernal Soul, which includes all attributes. They would depict these things in their mind with their imaginative faculty, visualizing them as if they were actually in front of them.
When their soul became attached to the Supernal Soul, this vision would be increased and intensified. It would then be revealed automatically through a state where thought is utterly absent . . .
It was in this manner that the early saints would raise their thoughts, reaching the place from which their souls emanated.
This was also the method of attaining prophecy. The prophet would meditate (hitboded), directing his heart and attaching his mind on high. What the prophet would visualize would depend on the degree and means of his attachment. He would then gaze and know what would happen in the future. This is the meaning of the verse, “To Him shall you cleave” (Deuteronomy 10:20).
December 10, 2009
ENCOUNTERING ONE'S "DOUBLE"
An excerpt from Shoshan Sodot (“The Rose of Mysteries”), p. 69b (Koretz ed.), written by Rabbi Moshe ben Yaakov of Kiev (1449-1518).
From Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, “Meditation and the Kabbalah” (Jason Aronson or Samuel Weiser editions), pp. 109-110. Although footnotes have been removed, several source references have been restored to the text.
Encountering One’s “Double”
“The power of the prophets to liken a form to its Creator” is a very great mystery . . . I found an ancient teaching that explains this, and I will write it down here . . . These are the author’s words:
The following was told to me by the enlightened sage, Rabbi Nathan, of blessed memory:
When an individual completely enters the mystery of prophecy, he suddenly sees his own image standing before him. He becomes totally unaware of his own essence, as if it were concealed from him. Then he sees his own image standing before him, speaking to him and telling him of the future. It is regarding this mystery that our sages say, “Great is the power of the prophets, since they liken a form to its Creator” (Bereshit Rabbah 27:1).
Rabbi (Abraham] ibn Ezra (1089-1164) likewise taught, “He who hears is a man, and he who speaks is a man” (Ibn Ezra on Daniel 10:21).
Regarding this, another sage writes:
Through letter combinations and meditation (hitbodedut), I had a number of experiences. One involved a light, that followed me wherever I went, as I discussed in Sha’arey Tzedek (“Gates of Righteousness”). However, I was never worthy of attaining a level where I could see my own image standing in front of me.
Still another sage writes:
I am aware how insignificant I am, and I realize that I am certainly not a prophet or a disciple of the prophets. I have neither attained Ruach HaKodesh (Holy Spirit), nor have I made use of a heavenly voice (Bat Kol). Of such things, I have not been worthy, for I have not divested myself of my “cloak” or “washed my feet” (see Recanati, beginning of parshat “Vayera”). But I call heaven and earth as my witnesses, that this account is true.
One day, I was sitting and writing mysteries in the manner of Truth. Suddenly, it was as if I had ceased to exist. I then saw my own image standing in front of me. As a result of this, I was forced to stop writing.
In his commentary on the Guide to the Perplexed (I:46), Rabbi Moshe of Narbonne (d. 1362) writes:
When the sages teach that the prophets “liken a form to its Creator,” they mean that they liken the form which is in the prophet’s own soul . . . to its Creator, that is, to God. It is thus written, “Over the form of the Throne there was a form like an image of a Man” (Ezekiel 1:26). These forms and images exist in the soul of the prophet.
This also happened to us when we were writing this book. Once, in the late afternoon, we were placing the vowel points on the Explicit Name. All at once, our eyes were confronted with visions, appearing like definite forms made of red fire. This occurred a number of times while we were writing this book.
From Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, “Meditation and the Kabbalah” (Jason Aronson or Samuel Weiser editions), pp. 109-110. Although footnotes have been removed, several source references have been restored to the text.
Encountering One’s “Double”
“The power of the prophets to liken a form to its Creator” is a very great mystery . . . I found an ancient teaching that explains this, and I will write it down here . . . These are the author’s words:
The following was told to me by the enlightened sage, Rabbi Nathan, of blessed memory:
When an individual completely enters the mystery of prophecy, he suddenly sees his own image standing before him. He becomes totally unaware of his own essence, as if it were concealed from him. Then he sees his own image standing before him, speaking to him and telling him of the future. It is regarding this mystery that our sages say, “Great is the power of the prophets, since they liken a form to its Creator” (Bereshit Rabbah 27:1).
Rabbi (Abraham] ibn Ezra (1089-1164) likewise taught, “He who hears is a man, and he who speaks is a man” (Ibn Ezra on Daniel 10:21).
Regarding this, another sage writes:
Through letter combinations and meditation (hitbodedut), I had a number of experiences. One involved a light, that followed me wherever I went, as I discussed in Sha’arey Tzedek (“Gates of Righteousness”). However, I was never worthy of attaining a level where I could see my own image standing in front of me.
Still another sage writes:
I am aware how insignificant I am, and I realize that I am certainly not a prophet or a disciple of the prophets. I have neither attained Ruach HaKodesh (Holy Spirit), nor have I made use of a heavenly voice (Bat Kol). Of such things, I have not been worthy, for I have not divested myself of my “cloak” or “washed my feet” (see Recanati, beginning of parshat “Vayera”). But I call heaven and earth as my witnesses, that this account is true.
One day, I was sitting and writing mysteries in the manner of Truth. Suddenly, it was as if I had ceased to exist. I then saw my own image standing in front of me. As a result of this, I was forced to stop writing.
In his commentary on the Guide to the Perplexed (I:46), Rabbi Moshe of Narbonne (d. 1362) writes:
When the sages teach that the prophets “liken a form to its Creator,” they mean that they liken the form which is in the prophet’s own soul . . . to its Creator, that is, to God. It is thus written, “Over the form of the Throne there was a form like an image of a Man” (Ezekiel 1:26). These forms and images exist in the soul of the prophet.
This also happened to us when we were writing this book. Once, in the late afternoon, we were placing the vowel points on the Explicit Name. All at once, our eyes were confronted with visions, appearing like definite forms made of red fire. This occurred a number of times while we were writing this book.
GATES OF RIGHTEOUSNESS
From Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, “Meditation and the Kabbalah” (Jason Aronson or Samuel Weiser editions), pp. 107-108. Although footnotes have been removed, several source references have been restored to the text.
Gates of Righteousness
Although [Rabbi Abraham] Abulafia (1240-after 1291) presents an excellent overview of his [meditative] methods, he does not fit them together into a single system, nor does he discuss the form of his experiences in any detail. This is left to an anonymous disciple, author of Sha’arey Tzedek (“Gates of Righteousness”), a book that was most probably written in the year 1295 in Hebron. A clue to the identity of the author is provided in another manuscript, which indicates that the author’s name was Shem Tov. As mentioned earlier, Abulafia had a disciple by the name of Shem Tov of Borgus, and it is highly probable that he is the author of this book.
There is very little question that the master mentioned in this book is none other than Abulafia himself. And for the most part, the material here appears to parallel that in other works by Abulafia. Most important, however, is an autobiographical sketch, where the author speaks of his experience with Abulafia, describing his initial skepticism and ultimate enlightenment. We will not include this here, however, since it has already been published elsewhere in English.
Numerous copies of this book were made, and it exerted an important influence on the later Kabbalists of the Holy Land. Almost an entire chapter was copied two hundred years later in the main work of Rabbi Judah Albotini, whom we shall discuss in the next section. Another important Kabbalah text, Shoshan Sodot (“Rose of Mysteries”), actually quotes it by name.
The author speaks of three ways through which one can divest himself of the physical: the common way, the philosophical way, and the Kabbalistic way. The common way involves a method called “erasure” (mechikah), where one attempts to erase all images from the mind (Sha’arey Tzedek, 59b). The author notes that he was aware that the Moslem Sufis also made use of this technique, and that one method involved the repeated chanting of the name “Allah.” AIthough the Sufis are able to attain a degree of ecstasy in this manner, the author writes that they cannot know its significance, since they are not party to the Kabbalah tradition.
Discussing the philosophical way, the author speaks of a certain philosopher by the name of Ben Sina, who wrote many volumes while in a state of meditation (hitbodedut). When an idea was particularly difficult, he would concentrate on it and ponder it, often drinking a cup of strong wine, enabling him to sleep on it (Sha’arey Tzedek, 60a-b). This is of particular interest, since a very similar procedure is also discussed by Rabbi Isaac of Acco, and this is one indication that the two shared a common tradition.
It is in discussing the way of Kabbalah that the author mentions his master, who is identified as Abulafia. The master spent four months teaching him the methods of letter permutations, telling him to erase everything from his mind. Finally he told him, “The goal is not to stop at any finite form, even though it is of the highest order. Through the way of Divine Names, one can reach a level where the power is not under his control. The more incomprehensible the Names, the greater is their advantage” (Sha’arey Tzedek, 62b).
The master then showed him books composed of utterly incomprehensible Names and number combinations, saying, “This is the Path of Names.” The author spent two months deeply meditating on these, and finally, one night, he awoke to see a light shining from his face. At first he did not believe what he was seeing, but no matter where he walked in the dark, this light followed him, even when he hid under a blanket. He was aware that this was something that could not be explained in any natural manner.
Upon informing the master of this experience, the author was told to spend half his time permuting letters, and half making use of the Divine Names. One night while permuting the letters of the Name of Seventy-Two, he began to see the letters expanding before his eyes, growing until they looked like great mountains. His hair stood on end, and he began to speak automatically, saying words of wisdom.
On a later occasion, the author made use of a technique involving the Tetragrammaton. At first, he felt as if he would die, but after saying a sincere prayer, he suddenly felt as if he were being anointed with oil from head to toe. He then felt a tremendous spiritual experience, which he speaks of as indescribable sweetness of rapture and ecstasy.
Gates of Righteousness
Although [Rabbi Abraham] Abulafia (1240-after 1291) presents an excellent overview of his [meditative] methods, he does not fit them together into a single system, nor does he discuss the form of his experiences in any detail. This is left to an anonymous disciple, author of Sha’arey Tzedek (“Gates of Righteousness”), a book that was most probably written in the year 1295 in Hebron. A clue to the identity of the author is provided in another manuscript, which indicates that the author’s name was Shem Tov. As mentioned earlier, Abulafia had a disciple by the name of Shem Tov of Borgus, and it is highly probable that he is the author of this book.
There is very little question that the master mentioned in this book is none other than Abulafia himself. And for the most part, the material here appears to parallel that in other works by Abulafia. Most important, however, is an autobiographical sketch, where the author speaks of his experience with Abulafia, describing his initial skepticism and ultimate enlightenment. We will not include this here, however, since it has already been published elsewhere in English.
Numerous copies of this book were made, and it exerted an important influence on the later Kabbalists of the Holy Land. Almost an entire chapter was copied two hundred years later in the main work of Rabbi Judah Albotini, whom we shall discuss in the next section. Another important Kabbalah text, Shoshan Sodot (“Rose of Mysteries”), actually quotes it by name.
The author speaks of three ways through which one can divest himself of the physical: the common way, the philosophical way, and the Kabbalistic way. The common way involves a method called “erasure” (mechikah), where one attempts to erase all images from the mind (Sha’arey Tzedek, 59b). The author notes that he was aware that the Moslem Sufis also made use of this technique, and that one method involved the repeated chanting of the name “Allah.” AIthough the Sufis are able to attain a degree of ecstasy in this manner, the author writes that they cannot know its significance, since they are not party to the Kabbalah tradition.
Discussing the philosophical way, the author speaks of a certain philosopher by the name of Ben Sina, who wrote many volumes while in a state of meditation (hitbodedut). When an idea was particularly difficult, he would concentrate on it and ponder it, often drinking a cup of strong wine, enabling him to sleep on it (Sha’arey Tzedek, 60a-b). This is of particular interest, since a very similar procedure is also discussed by Rabbi Isaac of Acco, and this is one indication that the two shared a common tradition.
It is in discussing the way of Kabbalah that the author mentions his master, who is identified as Abulafia. The master spent four months teaching him the methods of letter permutations, telling him to erase everything from his mind. Finally he told him, “The goal is not to stop at any finite form, even though it is of the highest order. Through the way of Divine Names, one can reach a level where the power is not under his control. The more incomprehensible the Names, the greater is their advantage” (Sha’arey Tzedek, 62b).
The master then showed him books composed of utterly incomprehensible Names and number combinations, saying, “This is the Path of Names.” The author spent two months deeply meditating on these, and finally, one night, he awoke to see a light shining from his face. At first he did not believe what he was seeing, but no matter where he walked in the dark, this light followed him, even when he hid under a blanket. He was aware that this was something that could not be explained in any natural manner.
Upon informing the master of this experience, the author was told to spend half his time permuting letters, and half making use of the Divine Names. One night while permuting the letters of the Name of Seventy-Two, he began to see the letters expanding before his eyes, growing until they looked like great mountains. His hair stood on end, and he began to speak automatically, saying words of wisdom.
On a later occasion, the author made use of a technique involving the Tetragrammaton. At first, he felt as if he would die, but after saying a sincere prayer, he suddenly felt as if he were being anointed with oil from head to toe. He then felt a tremendous spiritual experience, which he speaks of as indescribable sweetness of rapture and ecstasy.
December 2, 2009
IN THE DESERT
Rabbi Trugman formerly served as Regional Director of NCSY in Denver, Colorado. He and his wife Rachel now live in Eretz Yisrael, where they have founded Ohr Chadash, a Jewish educational and outreach organization.
In the Desert
By Avraham Arieh Trugman
When the wind speaks to itself
in the desert
sheep keep on grazing
while shepherds
lift up their heads a bit -
looking for a sign.
When the wind sings a tune
in the desert
the sand dances
and the prophet gazes
intently into the future.
Silent and rolling
waves of hills
flow toward the horizon,
consciousness riding
along the crest.
For each time of day
there is the changing
of the color guard.
The silhouettes of morning
turn hazy in the afternoon
and then,
pink, red and purple promenade
in the kaleidoscope clouds
of the evening hue.
Each day has its beginning
and each life will reach its end;
footsteps in the sand
which are no longer -
still, every voice
and every step
are recorded in the dunes.
When the sun blazes
in the desert
shepherds gaze into the past
while prophets lift up their heads -
looking for a sign.
In the Desert
By Avraham Arieh Trugman
When the wind speaks to itself
in the desert
sheep keep on grazing
while shepherds
lift up their heads a bit -
looking for a sign.
When the wind sings a tune
in the desert
the sand dances
and the prophet gazes
intently into the future.
Silent and rolling
waves of hills
flow toward the horizon,
consciousness riding
along the crest.
For each time of day
there is the changing
of the color guard.
The silhouettes of morning
turn hazy in the afternoon
and then,
pink, red and purple promenade
in the kaleidoscope clouds
of the evening hue.
Each day has its beginning
and each life will reach its end;
footsteps in the sand
which are no longer -
still, every voice
and every step
are recorded in the dunes.
When the sun blazes
in the desert
shepherds gaze into the past
while prophets lift up their heads -
looking for a sign.
BAR YOCHAI
Rabbi Trugman formerly served as Regional Director of NCSY in Denver, Colorado. He and his wife Rachel now live in Eretz Yisrael, where they have founded Ohr Chadash, a Jewish educational and outreach organization.
Bar Yochai
By Avraham Arieh Trugman
In your cave at night
secrets hover like angels
looking for a friend.
You sit by your candle
and spin a web of connection,
unity of worlds barely perceived,
Piercing through galaxies
light years away,
river flowing down
of heavenly dew.
And you anoint with thought
the eternal soul,
that graces for a moment
its dwelling place below.
Bar Yochai
By Avraham Arieh Trugman
In your cave at night
secrets hover like angels
looking for a friend.
You sit by your candle
and spin a web of connection,
unity of worlds barely perceived,
Piercing through galaxies
light years away,
river flowing down
of heavenly dew.
And you anoint with thought
the eternal soul,
that graces for a moment
its dwelling place below.
December 1, 2009
RABBI SHIMON BAR YOCHAI AND LAG BAOMER
First published in TZADDIK Magazine, Erev Pesach 5760 / 2000, posted here with the kind permission of the author and Mosdos Nachal Novea of Tzefat.
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and Lag BaOmer
By Talya Lipshutz
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai is best known as the author of the Zohar, the classic work of Kabbalah. Explaining God's hidden mysteries, the Kabbalistic tradition was part of the Torah received by Moses at Sinai. In the early generations after the Torah was given, Kabbalah was discussed only through allegory and parable, which disguised the concealed secrets of the Torah and protected them from being misused by the unworthy. Until the time of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, explicit Kabbalistic terms were not used openly. By authoring the Zohar, Rabbi Shimon established a new school for understanding the Kabbalah, bringing its wisdom further down into the world. It remained unparalleled until the system of the Arizal, Rabbi Isaac Luria, was introduced in the Holy City of Tsfat in the sixteenth century.
Originally, the Zohar consisted of volumes of notes, restricted to a very small secret circle. When the group finally broke up, the manuscripts were hidden in a vault, and were not uncovered until the thirteenth century. They came into the hands of one of the most prominent Kabbalists of the time, Rabbi Moshe de Leon, who edited and published them in the 1290s. The kabbalists of that generation knew enough about the writings of the Zohar to recognize it as authentic, and they accepted the work with virtually no controversy. This led the way for the Arizal's new system in the late 1500s. The Arizal opened the doors to the Zohar of Rabbi Shimon, clarifying its mysteries and teaching the initiated how to apply its wisdom.
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai was born in the Galilee and became a Tanna, one of the great Sages of the Mishna. Living during the era of the Roman persecutions, he was a disciple of Rabbi Akiva in the second generation after the destruction of the Second Temple. The Talmud recounts that Rabbi Shimon was condemned to death for insulting the Roman government. He and his son, Rabbi Elazar, fled to a cave where they remained for thirteen years, meditating and studying the mysteries of the Torah together. They rose to such a level that they became worthy of mystical revelations from Elijah the Prophet. After twelve years, Rabbi Shimon and his son left the cave and while walking in the fields, saw people working the land, engaging in the mundane affairs of the world instead of learning Torah. They became so disturbed and angry by this that any place they looked upon immediately burnt up. A heavenly voice called out, "You came out of the cave to destroy the world? Go back in!" They returned to the cave and studied for another twelve months. They then raised their hands to heaven and said, "Merciful Father! Even the wicked aren't judged in Gehennom for more than twelve months, it is enough to be judged as the wicked are judged." Their prayers were accepted and a heavenly voice told them to exit the cave once again. This time they saw an old man hurrying along with two bundles of fragrant myrtles in his hands. He explained that he was bringing myrtles home in honor of the Sabbath. From this, Rabbi Shimon and his son were appeased. They saw how it was possible to reach the highest levels of holiness through everyday actions (Tractate Shabbat 33b). Subsequently, Rabbi Shimon established a new school of mysticism based on the Torah secrets he had learned with Elijah the Prophet. Seventy years after Rabbi Shimon's passing, his students wrote down his central teachings, forming the main body of the Zohar.
Rabbi Shimon passed away on Lag BaOmer, the thirty-third day of the Omer counting. The period of the Omer begins on the second night of Pesach and leads up to Shavuot, fifty days later. It is marked by many customs related to mourning, because it was during this period that 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva, men of exceptional caliber, were struck by a plague for their failure to accord one another proper love and respect. On Lag BaOmer, the plague ceased.
Lag BaOmer also marks the day of Rabbi Shimon's passing. Before he left the world he said that, every year, this day should be marked with celebration instead of mourning. The day is filled with a great light because of the secret wisdom he reveled to the world through the Zohar, and is thus a cause for tremendous rejoicing. To this day, Lag BaOmer is celebrated with special festivity in the Land of Israel through much dancing and singing. In particular, large torches and bonfires are lit and can be seen throughout the country from great distances.
In Meron, at the gravesites of both Rabbi Shimon and his son, Rabbi Elazar, the festivities and rejoicing are especially marked. Over 100,000 Jews, religious and secular alike, converge each year on the site in the Upper Galilee, making it one of the most popular national festivals. On this day, it is a time-honored custom to give the first haircut to boys who have reached the age of three, leaving them with sidecurls, called "peyos." Many people travel to Rabbi Shimon's gravesite for Lag BaOmer from other locations in the world to experience the unique holiness and extraordinary spiritual goodness of the day.
The Arizal and his students strongly emphasized the tremendous spiritual benefit of rejoicing in honor of Rabbi Shimon on Lag BaOmer. Afterwards, the Baal Shem Tov and his disciples, who continue the traditions based on the Kabbalah, also strengthened this custom. Rebbe Nachman of Breslev spoke of the greatness of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, as well, revealing his own connection to him through the discourse printed at the beginning of Likutey Moharan.
"Tzaddikim are greater after their passing than when they were alive" (Tractate Chullin 7b). Anyone who has been in Meron on Lag BaOmer can attest to the truth of this well-known statement from the Talmud. The sheer number of people who continue to visit his gravesite in Meron on Lag B'Omer, as well as throughout the year, indicates that the spiritual power of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai lives on.
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and Lag BaOmer
By Talya Lipshutz
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai is best known as the author of the Zohar, the classic work of Kabbalah. Explaining God's hidden mysteries, the Kabbalistic tradition was part of the Torah received by Moses at Sinai. In the early generations after the Torah was given, Kabbalah was discussed only through allegory and parable, which disguised the concealed secrets of the Torah and protected them from being misused by the unworthy. Until the time of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, explicit Kabbalistic terms were not used openly. By authoring the Zohar, Rabbi Shimon established a new school for understanding the Kabbalah, bringing its wisdom further down into the world. It remained unparalleled until the system of the Arizal, Rabbi Isaac Luria, was introduced in the Holy City of Tsfat in the sixteenth century.
Originally, the Zohar consisted of volumes of notes, restricted to a very small secret circle. When the group finally broke up, the manuscripts were hidden in a vault, and were not uncovered until the thirteenth century. They came into the hands of one of the most prominent Kabbalists of the time, Rabbi Moshe de Leon, who edited and published them in the 1290s. The kabbalists of that generation knew enough about the writings of the Zohar to recognize it as authentic, and they accepted the work with virtually no controversy. This led the way for the Arizal's new system in the late 1500s. The Arizal opened the doors to the Zohar of Rabbi Shimon, clarifying its mysteries and teaching the initiated how to apply its wisdom.
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai was born in the Galilee and became a Tanna, one of the great Sages of the Mishna. Living during the era of the Roman persecutions, he was a disciple of Rabbi Akiva in the second generation after the destruction of the Second Temple. The Talmud recounts that Rabbi Shimon was condemned to death for insulting the Roman government. He and his son, Rabbi Elazar, fled to a cave where they remained for thirteen years, meditating and studying the mysteries of the Torah together. They rose to such a level that they became worthy of mystical revelations from Elijah the Prophet. After twelve years, Rabbi Shimon and his son left the cave and while walking in the fields, saw people working the land, engaging in the mundane affairs of the world instead of learning Torah. They became so disturbed and angry by this that any place they looked upon immediately burnt up. A heavenly voice called out, "You came out of the cave to destroy the world? Go back in!" They returned to the cave and studied for another twelve months. They then raised their hands to heaven and said, "Merciful Father! Even the wicked aren't judged in Gehennom for more than twelve months, it is enough to be judged as the wicked are judged." Their prayers were accepted and a heavenly voice told them to exit the cave once again. This time they saw an old man hurrying along with two bundles of fragrant myrtles in his hands. He explained that he was bringing myrtles home in honor of the Sabbath. From this, Rabbi Shimon and his son were appeased. They saw how it was possible to reach the highest levels of holiness through everyday actions (Tractate Shabbat 33b). Subsequently, Rabbi Shimon established a new school of mysticism based on the Torah secrets he had learned with Elijah the Prophet. Seventy years after Rabbi Shimon's passing, his students wrote down his central teachings, forming the main body of the Zohar.
Rabbi Shimon passed away on Lag BaOmer, the thirty-third day of the Omer counting. The period of the Omer begins on the second night of Pesach and leads up to Shavuot, fifty days later. It is marked by many customs related to mourning, because it was during this period that 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva, men of exceptional caliber, were struck by a plague for their failure to accord one another proper love and respect. On Lag BaOmer, the plague ceased.
Lag BaOmer also marks the day of Rabbi Shimon's passing. Before he left the world he said that, every year, this day should be marked with celebration instead of mourning. The day is filled with a great light because of the secret wisdom he reveled to the world through the Zohar, and is thus a cause for tremendous rejoicing. To this day, Lag BaOmer is celebrated with special festivity in the Land of Israel through much dancing and singing. In particular, large torches and bonfires are lit and can be seen throughout the country from great distances.
In Meron, at the gravesites of both Rabbi Shimon and his son, Rabbi Elazar, the festivities and rejoicing are especially marked. Over 100,000 Jews, religious and secular alike, converge each year on the site in the Upper Galilee, making it one of the most popular national festivals. On this day, it is a time-honored custom to give the first haircut to boys who have reached the age of three, leaving them with sidecurls, called "peyos." Many people travel to Rabbi Shimon's gravesite for Lag BaOmer from other locations in the world to experience the unique holiness and extraordinary spiritual goodness of the day.
The Arizal and his students strongly emphasized the tremendous spiritual benefit of rejoicing in honor of Rabbi Shimon on Lag BaOmer. Afterwards, the Baal Shem Tov and his disciples, who continue the traditions based on the Kabbalah, also strengthened this custom. Rebbe Nachman of Breslev spoke of the greatness of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, as well, revealing his own connection to him through the discourse printed at the beginning of Likutey Moharan.
"Tzaddikim are greater after their passing than when they were alive" (Tractate Chullin 7b). Anyone who has been in Meron on Lag BaOmer can attest to the truth of this well-known statement from the Talmud. The sheer number of people who continue to visit his gravesite in Meron on Lag B'Omer, as well as throughout the year, indicates that the spiritual power of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai lives on.
"BAR YOCHAI"
This well-known zemer (religious song) was composed by the saintly Rabbi Shimon Ibn Lavi, whose name is formed by the acrostic. After escaping as a child from the Spanish Inquisition, the author arrived in Fez, Morocco, where he remained until 1549. He set out for Eretz Yisrael, but on his way there, he stopped in Tripoli, where he was persuaded to remain as the community's teacher until his death in 1588. He also was an accomplished kabbalist who wrote a commentary on the Zohar called Ketem Paz (“Sockets of Fine Gold”), and his burial place remains sacred to both Jews and gentiles of the region.
The song is a tribute to the “Tanna HaEloki” (“Divinely-Inspired Sage of the Mishnah”) Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. It is sung mainly in Sefardic Jewish communities on Shabbat; but on Lag BaOmer (which is Rabbi Shimon’s yahrtzeit), it is sung by Jewish communities all over the world, Sefardic and Ashkenazic alike. Today, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai is recognized as a universal figure, the very paradigm of the tzaddik, revered by all.
Several parts of the present translation reflect the Hebrew commentary of the twentieth century kabbalist, Rabbi Yeshaya Asher Zelig Margolios, published in “Biur HaShir ‘Bar Yochai.’ ” Our biographical sketch of Rabbi Shimon Ibn Lavi is also based on the research of Rabbi Margolios, published in “Hillulah De-RASHBY.”
Each stanza corresponds to one of the ten sefirot, in ascending order, as we have indicated; however, the composition is laden with kabbalistic allusions, which we have not attempted to explain. The song’s rhyme-scheme has been sacrificed in order to preserve the sense of the lyrics, although the result is at best an approximation of the song’s profound meaning.
“Bar Yochai”
By Rabbi Shimon Ibn Lavi
Introduction and new translation of the song “Bar Yochai” by Dovid Sears
Bar Yochai
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Malkhut/Kingship)
Bar Yochai! With oil of sacred anointment
You drew from the holy vessel.
You wore the golden head-plate, the diadem of holiness;
Bound upon your head, your beauty.
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Yesod/Foundation)
Bar Yochai! To a goodly dwelling did you retreat
On the day you ran, the day you fled.
In a cave among the cliffs you remained;
There you acquired your brilliance and your splendor.
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Netzach/ Eternity or Victory; and Hod/Splendor)
Bar Yochai! Like standing acacia beams in the Tabernacle,
God’s disciples engage in study.
With wondrous light, with fiery light, they burn—
Behold, your teachers, who shall instruct you!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Tiferet/Beauty)
Bar Yochai! To the Field of Apples you ascended
To gather precious things from afar,
Mysteries of Torah like blossoms and flowers.
“Let us make man” was said because of you!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Gevurah/Might)
Bar Yochai! You were girded with strength,
And in the battle of the “Fiery Law,” at the city’s gate,
Your sword you drew from its scabbard,
Wielding it against your enemies.
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Chesed/Kindness)
Bar Yochai! The visionary place of Marble Stones
You reached, and came before the Supernal Lion.
Even the orb of the crown set upon the star Arcturus
You beheld—but none can behold you!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Binah/Understanding)
Bar Yochai! In the Holy of Holies—
The “green line” that creates new manifestations—
Seven Sabbaths, the secret of Fifty,
You fastened the bonds of the letter Shin as your bonds!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Chokhmah/Wisdom)
Bar Yochai! The Yud of primordial wisdom
You gazed into its innermost glory;
The Thirty-Two Paths, the exalted point of origin.
You are a cherub anointed, the radiance of your generation!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Keter/Crown)
Bar Yochai! The wondrous light that shines above all
You feared to glimpse, for it is vast.
Divine mystery, "Ayin (Nothingness)" she is called.
Indeed, you declared, “No eye shall see You.”
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
Bar Yochai! Fortunate is she who bore you,
Fortunate is the people that learns from you,
Fortunate are those who can fathom your mystery,
Garbed in the Priestly Breastplate, Your sacred oracle!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
The song is a tribute to the “Tanna HaEloki” (“Divinely-Inspired Sage of the Mishnah”) Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. It is sung mainly in Sefardic Jewish communities on Shabbat; but on Lag BaOmer (which is Rabbi Shimon’s yahrtzeit), it is sung by Jewish communities all over the world, Sefardic and Ashkenazic alike. Today, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai is recognized as a universal figure, the very paradigm of the tzaddik, revered by all.
Several parts of the present translation reflect the Hebrew commentary of the twentieth century kabbalist, Rabbi Yeshaya Asher Zelig Margolios, published in “Biur HaShir ‘Bar Yochai.’ ” Our biographical sketch of Rabbi Shimon Ibn Lavi is also based on the research of Rabbi Margolios, published in “Hillulah De-RASHBY.”
Each stanza corresponds to one of the ten sefirot, in ascending order, as we have indicated; however, the composition is laden with kabbalistic allusions, which we have not attempted to explain. The song’s rhyme-scheme has been sacrificed in order to preserve the sense of the lyrics, although the result is at best an approximation of the song’s profound meaning.
“Bar Yochai”
By Rabbi Shimon Ibn Lavi
Introduction and new translation of the song “Bar Yochai” by Dovid Sears
Bar Yochai
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Malkhut/Kingship)
Bar Yochai! With oil of sacred anointment
You drew from the holy vessel.
You wore the golden head-plate, the diadem of holiness;
Bound upon your head, your beauty.
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Yesod/Foundation)
Bar Yochai! To a goodly dwelling did you retreat
On the day you ran, the day you fled.
In a cave among the cliffs you remained;
There you acquired your brilliance and your splendor.
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Netzach/ Eternity or Victory; and Hod/Splendor)
Bar Yochai! Like standing acacia beams in the Tabernacle,
God’s disciples engage in study.
With wondrous light, with fiery light, they burn—
Behold, your teachers, who shall instruct you!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Tiferet/Beauty)
Bar Yochai! To the Field of Apples you ascended
To gather precious things from afar,
Mysteries of Torah like blossoms and flowers.
“Let us make man” was said because of you!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Gevurah/Might)
Bar Yochai! You were girded with strength,
And in the battle of the “Fiery Law,” at the city’s gate,
Your sword you drew from its scabbard,
Wielding it against your enemies.
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Chesed/Kindness)
Bar Yochai! The visionary place of Marble Stones
You reached, and came before the Supernal Lion.
Even the orb of the crown set upon the star Arcturus
You beheld—but none can behold you!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Binah/Understanding)
Bar Yochai! In the Holy of Holies—
The “green line” that creates new manifestations—
Seven Sabbaths, the secret of Fifty,
You fastened the bonds of the letter Shin as your bonds!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Chokhmah/Wisdom)
Bar Yochai! The Yud of primordial wisdom
You gazed into its innermost glory;
The Thirty-Two Paths, the exalted point of origin.
You are a cherub anointed, the radiance of your generation!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
(Keter/Crown)
Bar Yochai! The wondrous light that shines above all
You feared to glimpse, for it is vast.
Divine mystery, "Ayin (Nothingness)" she is called.
Indeed, you declared, “No eye shall see You.”
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
Bar Yochai! Fortunate is she who bore you,
Fortunate is the people that learns from you,
Fortunate are those who can fathom your mystery,
Garbed in the Priestly Breastplate, Your sacred oracle!
Bar Yochai! You were anointed—fortunate are you!—
with oil of gladness, for the sake of your companions.
November 24, 2009
THE NATURE OF THOUGHT
From Rabbi Perets Auerbach’s “The Science, Art and Heart of Hitbodedut.” Explantory notes have been omitted from this online version. This work-in-progress may be purchased by contacting the author by email: peretsz@gmail.com. We thank Rabbi Auerbach for permitting us to present this and other excerpts from his writings here.
The Nature of Thought
The Baal Shem Tov taught, “A person is where his mind is” (Keter Shem Tov 56). The first thing is to be aware. Cease to take the mind and its designs for granted. It shouldn’t be left alone on “automatic.” Monitor everything that goes through the mind. We see how careful people are to keep their doors locked in order to make sure that no one steals, intrudes, or disturbs their home. How much more so should one keep a lock on the mind to prevent its attention from being stolen away to vanity, to keep bad ideas from intruding, to stop negativity from disturbing it.
“Everything begins in thought” (Zohar I, 246b). “They [i.e., the lost ‘holy sparks’ of Divinity] are all elevated in thought” (ibid. II, 254b). Rabbi Nachman states that thought is the tikkun ha-klali (“general remedy”), for everything (Likkutei Moharan I, 29:4). It all depends upon elevating the mind. The mind needs to be awakened from spiritual sleep. Everything we do is basically for the sake of getting out of a constricted state of consciousness (mochin de-katnut) and coming to heightened consciousness (mochin de-gadlut) (see Likkutei Moharan II, 72, end).
Paul McCartney refers to “the face that she keeps in the jar by the door” (“Eleanor Rigby”). There are different head-sets. People unwittingly go into certain mental states and become tied to them. However, just as a person can take off one set of cloths and put on another, so is it possible to “take off” a state of mind and “put on” another – whichever you choose. One of the main ideas of meditation is to reach the simple, indivisible, untrammeled inner essence. From that place one can experience how the self is a pure, simple, unrestricted light. It can don any mentality, any garment.
One can examine thought patterns and ask God to improve them. Request God’s assistance to activate the most productive ways of thinking. Expanding the mind expands reality (Likkutei Moharan II, 61). Heightening one’s consciousness upgrades, renovates, and uplifts the place that you really occupy. Sometimes you may need to move into a different house. Similarly, one might need to move out of an old mind-set and move into a completely new one. Hitbodedut is the way to accomplish this.
“You favor man with knowledge...” (Shemoneh Esreh prayer). Some have problems concentrating. There could be many reasons for this. Just as unworked physical muscles are flabby and need to be exercised, so it is with “mental muscles.” Laziness highly impedes their growth. The cranium needs to “work out.” But there is still something especially challenging about the mind: It requires extra help from heaven. This is the special favor that we request three times a day.
Prayer can affect, improve, and embellish anything (Likkutei Moharan II, 111). One should supplicate for concentration, memory, and all mental faculties – just like petitioning for sustenance, livelihood, and health. Mental necessities are no less important than physical ones.
A step further: “Think good, and it will be good” (Chabad saying, attributed to the “Tzemach Tzedek”). Ask to attain true positive thinking. The results attained through this are not psychosomatic, but quite viable and real. A person is always thinking. Thoughts create realities that endure forever (Likkutei Moharan II, 53). It is fitting to invest considerable effort to refine, purify, and elevate thought. Practice hitbodedut about all of your thought-processes. Ask to remove negative, self-destructive, damaging things from the mind. Request to strengthen, upgrade, and elevate all good things. The faculty of thought is above all others. It reaches to where all other abilities cannot (Sichot HaRan 46). Inner space dwarfs outer space – implode before exploding!
The universe of the mind is infinitely greater than the physical universe. Seek to see, investigate, and conquer its intriguing frontiers. It does not require any technology to explore – only words of prayer, focus, and meditation.
The Nature of Thought
The Baal Shem Tov taught, “A person is where his mind is” (Keter Shem Tov 56). The first thing is to be aware. Cease to take the mind and its designs for granted. It shouldn’t be left alone on “automatic.” Monitor everything that goes through the mind. We see how careful people are to keep their doors locked in order to make sure that no one steals, intrudes, or disturbs their home. How much more so should one keep a lock on the mind to prevent its attention from being stolen away to vanity, to keep bad ideas from intruding, to stop negativity from disturbing it.
“Everything begins in thought” (Zohar I, 246b). “They [i.e., the lost ‘holy sparks’ of Divinity] are all elevated in thought” (ibid. II, 254b). Rabbi Nachman states that thought is the tikkun ha-klali (“general remedy”), for everything (Likkutei Moharan I, 29:4). It all depends upon elevating the mind. The mind needs to be awakened from spiritual sleep. Everything we do is basically for the sake of getting out of a constricted state of consciousness (mochin de-katnut) and coming to heightened consciousness (mochin de-gadlut) (see Likkutei Moharan II, 72, end).
Paul McCartney refers to “the face that she keeps in the jar by the door” (“Eleanor Rigby”). There are different head-sets. People unwittingly go into certain mental states and become tied to them. However, just as a person can take off one set of cloths and put on another, so is it possible to “take off” a state of mind and “put on” another – whichever you choose. One of the main ideas of meditation is to reach the simple, indivisible, untrammeled inner essence. From that place one can experience how the self is a pure, simple, unrestricted light. It can don any mentality, any garment.
One can examine thought patterns and ask God to improve them. Request God’s assistance to activate the most productive ways of thinking. Expanding the mind expands reality (Likkutei Moharan II, 61). Heightening one’s consciousness upgrades, renovates, and uplifts the place that you really occupy. Sometimes you may need to move into a different house. Similarly, one might need to move out of an old mind-set and move into a completely new one. Hitbodedut is the way to accomplish this.
“You favor man with knowledge...” (Shemoneh Esreh prayer). Some have problems concentrating. There could be many reasons for this. Just as unworked physical muscles are flabby and need to be exercised, so it is with “mental muscles.” Laziness highly impedes their growth. The cranium needs to “work out.” But there is still something especially challenging about the mind: It requires extra help from heaven. This is the special favor that we request three times a day.
Prayer can affect, improve, and embellish anything (Likkutei Moharan II, 111). One should supplicate for concentration, memory, and all mental faculties – just like petitioning for sustenance, livelihood, and health. Mental necessities are no less important than physical ones.
A step further: “Think good, and it will be good” (Chabad saying, attributed to the “Tzemach Tzedek”). Ask to attain true positive thinking. The results attained through this are not psychosomatic, but quite viable and real. A person is always thinking. Thoughts create realities that endure forever (Likkutei Moharan II, 53). It is fitting to invest considerable effort to refine, purify, and elevate thought. Practice hitbodedut about all of your thought-processes. Ask to remove negative, self-destructive, damaging things from the mind. Request to strengthen, upgrade, and elevate all good things. The faculty of thought is above all others. It reaches to where all other abilities cannot (Sichot HaRan 46). Inner space dwarfs outer space – implode before exploding!
The universe of the mind is infinitely greater than the physical universe. Seek to see, investigate, and conquer its intriguing frontiers. It does not require any technology to explore – only words of prayer, focus, and meditation.
MANTRA, SILENCE, PROSTRATION
From Rabbi Perets Auerbach’s “The Science, Art and Heart of Hitbodedut.” Explantory notes have been omitted from this online version. This work-in-progress may be purchased by contacting the author by email: peretsz@gmail.com. We thank Rabbi Auerbach for permitting us to present this and other excerpts from his writings here.
Mantra
An ancient meditative technique is to say over a word many times. You internalize its nature, and its message becomes actualized in the awareness. This can be used as a method (Likkutei Moharan II, 96). The simplest, strongest thing is to chant “Ribbono shel Olam,” “Master of the Universe.” While saying this, one can ponder an infinite spectrum of Divine truths. Speech is extremely powerful (ibid.). Saying something is not just a sort of self-suggestion – it really invokes spiritual realities. Placing the mind and speech in “Ribbono shel Olam-space” really hooks the self to God. This is intensified if one merges with the word and “breathes” it in and out.
Similarly, any word/idea can be used in this way. “Shalom (peace)” is a powerful word/concept/idea to repeat and meditate on. Wherever one turns his attention and mouth, so that aspect will be awakened above and below.
“I make known Your faith with my mouth” (Psalms 89:2). “Faith depends upon a person’s mouth” (Likkutei Moharan II, 44). The Tikkunei Zohar (Introduction) states that “Malchut (kingship) is the mouth.” It is the last sefirah that mobilizes them all into expression. Speech that comes from it concretizes realities, both in the world and in the self. Saying anything is a powerful tool to make it happen – especially when the words are said to God. Repeat in a chant to God anything of a positive nature that you wish to materialize, within or without.
This applies even more so to specific words of emunah (faith), which also corresponds to malchut. Saying words of faith is itself an expression of faith, and brings one to greater faith (Sichot HaRan 146). Simply saying, “God, I believe in Your power to help Me!” strengthens belief and thereby helps to make manifest the needed aid.
If a person finds himself stuck without words, this very problem can be made into a prayer: “Ribbono shel Olam, I have nothing to say to You! Please open my mouth to communicate, because I want a connection with You...” Many things pass over a person in this world, and at times even this might be too difficult. Therefore, one should know that just taking some time to sit before God and yearn for Him is very precious and makes a great impression above (Likkutei Moharan II, 25).
The state of not being able to relate to God reflects being in the “empty vacuum (chalal ha-panui),” which the Arizal teaches was the prerequisite for the creation of all the worlds (Eitz Chaim, beginning). However, one who turns this very quandary into a prayer rectifies this problem at its root and reveals the Divinity hidden in the empty vacuum (Likkutei Moharan I, 64). This evokes a tremor in creation and helps everyone in the world to relate to and find God in all the places of concealment. For as Rabbi Nachman explains, if God seems distant it is only because He wants to bring you very close (Likkutei Moharan II, 12).
Silence
“There is no speech, no words” (Psalms 19:4). “To You silence is praise” (ibid. 65:2). “He sits alone (badad – the root of hitbodedut) and is silent” (Lamentations 3:28).
“Silence is golden.” Thus the Talmudic sages observe, “If a word is worth a selah (coin) - silence is worth two” (Megillah 18a). Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai said to his son, “Elazar, your silence built both Temples (corresponding to binah the upper, and malkhut, the lower” (Zohar I, Introduction). The Sages also state, “The best medicine of all is silence” (Megillah, loc. cit.), and “Silence is a fence for wisdom” (Avot 3:17). The Chashmal in Ezekiel’s “Merkavah” vision is ‘chash (silence)/mal (speech) – “speaking silence” (Chagigah 13a). “Sounds of silence.” As mentioned, if someone is wordless, simply sitting before God wanting to speak to Him, this is a great thing. Simply being alone before Him isolates the awareness and focuses it on God’s omniscience.
Moreover, silent hitbodedut can be utilized to come to a great awareness. Rabbi Nachman once told his disciple, Reb Noson, that one should turn red from shame before God’s awesome Presence (Si’ach Sarfei Kodesh, Vol. I, 730). The self is abashed once it is awakened to know that it is really before God every moment. This extends to include all worlds. Every single instant, they are all renewed yesh me-ayin, “something from nothing,” by the Divine will. They are all as naught before Him (Zohar, Daniel, Introduction). Practice this, and the silence associated with being “locked up” can be released, unearthed, and transformed into expanded consciousness.
Prostration
The above ideas about bitul (nullification of ego) can be more deeply implanted in one’s awareness through prostrating before God in hitbodedut. This was practiced in the time of the Temple and is also mentioned in the Talmud (Berakhot 34b). It is a basic principle that “externality awakens internality” (Mesilat Yesharim, chap. 7). The outer position of physical prostration helps bring the inner awareness to a state of nullification (Likkutei Torah from the Ba'al HaTanya). “They stood packed and prostrated with room” (Avot 5:8). All of Israel crowded into the Temple’s courtyard on the three pilgrim festivals (Chagigah 4b). Despite the fact that in the courtyard there was standing room only, when everyone bowed down each person found plenty of space around him. This is because the state of bitul (nullification) elevated them to mind-expansion (mochin de-gadlut), which propelled them into the exalted level of transcendent space.
Some mistakenly think that prostration should not be done anymore, because it is still practiced by idolaters. This is not true. In the time of the Temple idolaters also practiced it, and yet it was done. Today we also find prostration to be part of the services of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the “Days of Awe.” If so, there is no reason for the individual not to practice prostration. However, for halakhic reasons it is important to place an interruption, such as a towel, between the body and the ground (Orach Chaim 131:8).
“We have no one to rely upon except our Father in heaven” (Sota 49a). Sometimes a person needs to be emotionally stripped bare in order to come to this realization. When the Temple stood, there were wellsprings of spiritual experience available. Unquestionably, this was a great thing. However, the awesome lights that were accessible also presented a subtle test: Would one on a high level still be able to recognize that he is really absolutely nothing and totally throw himself on God? This is included in Rabbi Nachman’s teaching that one must be an expert in walking, in “running and returning” (Likkutei Moharan 6:3). “Running” refers to times of spiritual ascent. The expertise required at such times is to use the light to become more nullified to God, and not as a ‘spiritual Cadillac’ to indulge in.
“Tefilah l’ani . . . the prayer of a poor man” (Psalms 102:1). This is the remarkable quality of King David. Despite the fact that he was a king who lived surrounded by luxury, he always felt completely poor before God. He begged God for whatever he needed out of a realization of being undeserving, unworthy, and destitute. The Zohar tells us that this supplication of a poor man is the highest type of prayer (Zohar III, 195a).
Mantra
An ancient meditative technique is to say over a word many times. You internalize its nature, and its message becomes actualized in the awareness. This can be used as a method (Likkutei Moharan II, 96). The simplest, strongest thing is to chant “Ribbono shel Olam,” “Master of the Universe.” While saying this, one can ponder an infinite spectrum of Divine truths. Speech is extremely powerful (ibid.). Saying something is not just a sort of self-suggestion – it really invokes spiritual realities. Placing the mind and speech in “Ribbono shel Olam-space” really hooks the self to God. This is intensified if one merges with the word and “breathes” it in and out.
Similarly, any word/idea can be used in this way. “Shalom (peace)” is a powerful word/concept/idea to repeat and meditate on. Wherever one turns his attention and mouth, so that aspect will be awakened above and below.
“I make known Your faith with my mouth” (Psalms 89:2). “Faith depends upon a person’s mouth” (Likkutei Moharan II, 44). The Tikkunei Zohar (Introduction) states that “Malchut (kingship) is the mouth.” It is the last sefirah that mobilizes them all into expression. Speech that comes from it concretizes realities, both in the world and in the self. Saying anything is a powerful tool to make it happen – especially when the words are said to God. Repeat in a chant to God anything of a positive nature that you wish to materialize, within or without.
This applies even more so to specific words of emunah (faith), which also corresponds to malchut. Saying words of faith is itself an expression of faith, and brings one to greater faith (Sichot HaRan 146). Simply saying, “God, I believe in Your power to help Me!” strengthens belief and thereby helps to make manifest the needed aid.
If a person finds himself stuck without words, this very problem can be made into a prayer: “Ribbono shel Olam, I have nothing to say to You! Please open my mouth to communicate, because I want a connection with You...” Many things pass over a person in this world, and at times even this might be too difficult. Therefore, one should know that just taking some time to sit before God and yearn for Him is very precious and makes a great impression above (Likkutei Moharan II, 25).
The state of not being able to relate to God reflects being in the “empty vacuum (chalal ha-panui),” which the Arizal teaches was the prerequisite for the creation of all the worlds (Eitz Chaim, beginning). However, one who turns this very quandary into a prayer rectifies this problem at its root and reveals the Divinity hidden in the empty vacuum (Likkutei Moharan I, 64). This evokes a tremor in creation and helps everyone in the world to relate to and find God in all the places of concealment. For as Rabbi Nachman explains, if God seems distant it is only because He wants to bring you very close (Likkutei Moharan II, 12).
Silence
“There is no speech, no words” (Psalms 19:4). “To You silence is praise” (ibid. 65:2). “He sits alone (badad – the root of hitbodedut) and is silent” (Lamentations 3:28).
“Silence is golden.” Thus the Talmudic sages observe, “If a word is worth a selah (coin) - silence is worth two” (Megillah 18a). Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai said to his son, “Elazar, your silence built both Temples (corresponding to binah the upper, and malkhut, the lower” (Zohar I, Introduction). The Sages also state, “The best medicine of all is silence” (Megillah, loc. cit.), and “Silence is a fence for wisdom” (Avot 3:17). The Chashmal in Ezekiel’s “Merkavah” vision is ‘chash (silence)/mal (speech) – “speaking silence” (Chagigah 13a). “Sounds of silence.” As mentioned, if someone is wordless, simply sitting before God wanting to speak to Him, this is a great thing. Simply being alone before Him isolates the awareness and focuses it on God’s omniscience.
Moreover, silent hitbodedut can be utilized to come to a great awareness. Rabbi Nachman once told his disciple, Reb Noson, that one should turn red from shame before God’s awesome Presence (Si’ach Sarfei Kodesh, Vol. I, 730). The self is abashed once it is awakened to know that it is really before God every moment. This extends to include all worlds. Every single instant, they are all renewed yesh me-ayin, “something from nothing,” by the Divine will. They are all as naught before Him (Zohar, Daniel, Introduction). Practice this, and the silence associated with being “locked up” can be released, unearthed, and transformed into expanded consciousness.
Prostration
The above ideas about bitul (nullification of ego) can be more deeply implanted in one’s awareness through prostrating before God in hitbodedut. This was practiced in the time of the Temple and is also mentioned in the Talmud (Berakhot 34b). It is a basic principle that “externality awakens internality” (Mesilat Yesharim, chap. 7). The outer position of physical prostration helps bring the inner awareness to a state of nullification (Likkutei Torah from the Ba'al HaTanya). “They stood packed and prostrated with room” (Avot 5:8). All of Israel crowded into the Temple’s courtyard on the three pilgrim festivals (Chagigah 4b). Despite the fact that in the courtyard there was standing room only, when everyone bowed down each person found plenty of space around him. This is because the state of bitul (nullification) elevated them to mind-expansion (mochin de-gadlut), which propelled them into the exalted level of transcendent space.
Some mistakenly think that prostration should not be done anymore, because it is still practiced by idolaters. This is not true. In the time of the Temple idolaters also practiced it, and yet it was done. Today we also find prostration to be part of the services of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the “Days of Awe.” If so, there is no reason for the individual not to practice prostration. However, for halakhic reasons it is important to place an interruption, such as a towel, between the body and the ground (Orach Chaim 131:8).
“We have no one to rely upon except our Father in heaven” (Sota 49a). Sometimes a person needs to be emotionally stripped bare in order to come to this realization. When the Temple stood, there were wellsprings of spiritual experience available. Unquestionably, this was a great thing. However, the awesome lights that were accessible also presented a subtle test: Would one on a high level still be able to recognize that he is really absolutely nothing and totally throw himself on God? This is included in Rabbi Nachman’s teaching that one must be an expert in walking, in “running and returning” (Likkutei Moharan 6:3). “Running” refers to times of spiritual ascent. The expertise required at such times is to use the light to become more nullified to God, and not as a ‘spiritual Cadillac’ to indulge in.
“Tefilah l’ani . . . the prayer of a poor man” (Psalms 102:1). This is the remarkable quality of King David. Despite the fact that he was a king who lived surrounded by luxury, he always felt completely poor before God. He begged God for whatever he needed out of a realization of being undeserving, unworthy, and destitute. The Zohar tells us that this supplication of a poor man is the highest type of prayer (Zohar III, 195a).
November 18, 2009
THE HEART OF THE STRUGGLE
From Ozer Bergman’s “Where Earth and Heaven Kiss: A Guide to Rebbe Nachman’s Path of Meditation” (Breslov Research Institute), pp. 119-121. The subject this excerpt addresses is actually part of a larger and more complex discussion, one of the Breslov sources for which is Likkutei Moharan I, 49. There, Rebbe Nachman discusses the paradox of the necessity to fall into dualistic thinking for the sake of the world and the spiritual advantages that can only come about through our working through conflicting thoughts and emotions.
The Heart of the Struggle
Rabbi Ozer Bergman
Struggling is, well, a struggle. It’s hard—it may even hurt— to keep your mind free of wrong-thinking and keep it focused on right-thinking, but it’s part of the medicine the soul needs to take. The brit (covenant) which we Jews made with God includes the attitude, state of mind and dedication that is necessary for and characterized by tzaddik-like self-control in the face of temptation and distraction. The struggle takes serious effort and often drains us of happiness, a counterproductive by-product if ever there was one. So be smart enough, while you’re struggling, to take joy and smile: Despite my setbacks and failures, I’m fortunate to be allied with a teacher such as Rebbe Nachman.
Many an individual finds it disconcerting and discouraging that he has to battle his thoughts so long and so hard. Wouldn’t it be better, he thinks, if he could spend his time and energy discovering the cure for cancer? Wouldn’t it be better to spend his time on the obviously holy, like Torah study and prayer? Not necessarily. This kind of conclusion betrays our limited perspective. Do you think that while we’re busy doing our tikkun haolam, God is just sitting back, watching us and letting us make all the decisions about what to do next? Not at all. He intervenes, pointing each of us towards his next job. Often that “next job” is the “Battle of the Thoughts,” the score of which is not tallied by how many unwanted thoughts you cast out, but by your beads of sweat.
The fact that you invest so much time and effort in struggling against wrong-thinking and are prevented from coming up with a cure for cancer is not your concern. That’s Heaven’s affair. What you are thinking (i.e., your need to struggle) may be wrong for the goals you had hoped to achieve, but they are right for what God hopes from His creation. Just follow your teacher’s instructions.
Kola b’machashavah itberiru (“Everything is purified through thought” [Zohar 2:254b]). All tikkun haolam has its genesis in your thinking. All tikkun haolam begins in your mind. As thoughts come into your head, you have to select which ones to keep and which ones to reject.
The Midrash tells us that when Pharaoh set out to capture the Israelites by the Red Sea, he and his army came on horses of different colors—red, black, white and spotted. Each horse in Pharaoh’s cavalry had its own gait. Red horses ran to anger and to violence, and to passion for food, sex, money and power. Black horses galloped to the quicksand of depression and despair. White horses had the zealous gait of mistaken religious fervor for seeming mitzvot which are sanctioned by Rabbi Pharaoh, but which are not really mitzvot at all. Spotted horses had a drunken gait-thinking that is inconsistent at best and unstable at worst.
When the Egyptian army appeared on the horizon, the Israelites were rightfully terrified. They were so many of them! Moshe told the Jewish people to remain silent; God would fight their battle. We shouldn’t be frightened when encountering the unruly thoughts represented by Pharaoh’s horses. Moshe, the clear thinker, taught us to not respond directly to the wrong thought.
Surprising, counter-intuitive, but true: Direct combat with such thoughts only makes them stronger. Much too strong for us. The silent response (a la “don’t look over your shoulder”) is your strongest response. If one of Pharaoh’s horses canters into your mind, wait with patient silence. God will send one of His horses to take its place, and you’ll be back on track.
Pharaoh’s horses, the products of fantasy and imagination, are there only because God put them there. He put them there to get you to see through the illusion and choose God rather than the illusion.
Put your hand in His. Cry out for His help. If you cannot actually cry out, at least raise your eyes to seek His help.
The Heart of the Struggle
Rabbi Ozer Bergman
Struggling is, well, a struggle. It’s hard—it may even hurt— to keep your mind free of wrong-thinking and keep it focused on right-thinking, but it’s part of the medicine the soul needs to take. The brit (covenant) which we Jews made with God includes the attitude, state of mind and dedication that is necessary for and characterized by tzaddik-like self-control in the face of temptation and distraction. The struggle takes serious effort and often drains us of happiness, a counterproductive by-product if ever there was one. So be smart enough, while you’re struggling, to take joy and smile: Despite my setbacks and failures, I’m fortunate to be allied with a teacher such as Rebbe Nachman.
Many an individual finds it disconcerting and discouraging that he has to battle his thoughts so long and so hard. Wouldn’t it be better, he thinks, if he could spend his time and energy discovering the cure for cancer? Wouldn’t it be better to spend his time on the obviously holy, like Torah study and prayer? Not necessarily. This kind of conclusion betrays our limited perspective. Do you think that while we’re busy doing our tikkun haolam, God is just sitting back, watching us and letting us make all the decisions about what to do next? Not at all. He intervenes, pointing each of us towards his next job. Often that “next job” is the “Battle of the Thoughts,” the score of which is not tallied by how many unwanted thoughts you cast out, but by your beads of sweat.
The fact that you invest so much time and effort in struggling against wrong-thinking and are prevented from coming up with a cure for cancer is not your concern. That’s Heaven’s affair. What you are thinking (i.e., your need to struggle) may be wrong for the goals you had hoped to achieve, but they are right for what God hopes from His creation. Just follow your teacher’s instructions.
Kola b’machashavah itberiru (“Everything is purified through thought” [Zohar 2:254b]). All tikkun haolam has its genesis in your thinking. All tikkun haolam begins in your mind. As thoughts come into your head, you have to select which ones to keep and which ones to reject.
The Midrash tells us that when Pharaoh set out to capture the Israelites by the Red Sea, he and his army came on horses of different colors—red, black, white and spotted. Each horse in Pharaoh’s cavalry had its own gait. Red horses ran to anger and to violence, and to passion for food, sex, money and power. Black horses galloped to the quicksand of depression and despair. White horses had the zealous gait of mistaken religious fervor for seeming mitzvot which are sanctioned by Rabbi Pharaoh, but which are not really mitzvot at all. Spotted horses had a drunken gait-thinking that is inconsistent at best and unstable at worst.
When the Egyptian army appeared on the horizon, the Israelites were rightfully terrified. They were so many of them! Moshe told the Jewish people to remain silent; God would fight their battle. We shouldn’t be frightened when encountering the unruly thoughts represented by Pharaoh’s horses. Moshe, the clear thinker, taught us to not respond directly to the wrong thought.
Surprising, counter-intuitive, but true: Direct combat with such thoughts only makes them stronger. Much too strong for us. The silent response (a la “don’t look over your shoulder”) is your strongest response. If one of Pharaoh’s horses canters into your mind, wait with patient silence. God will send one of His horses to take its place, and you’ll be back on track.
Pharaoh’s horses, the products of fantasy and imagination, are there only because God put them there. He put them there to get you to see through the illusion and choose God rather than the illusion.
Put your hand in His. Cry out for His help. If you cannot actually cry out, at least raise your eyes to seek His help.
SO MANY CHOICES
From Ozer Bergman’s “Where Earth and Heaven Kiss: A Guide to Rebbe Nachman’s Path of Meditation” (Breslov Research Institute), pp. 163-166.
So Many Choices
Rabbi Ozer Bergman
Every now and then, use your hitbodedut as the first stage of defining and refining the values by which you want to live. Use it also as the venue in which you begin to formulate the goals and the plans that, stage by stage and step by step, will reflect your chosen values.
What exactly are those chosen values? Until you choose what you want out of life, you cannot formulate or pray for a plan to live by those values. As every good novelist knows, you always write the ending of your book first. Why? Because how the book ends will determine everything else that will be written in the story. Similarly, the ending which you choose for your life’s story will impact every decision you make. There is no more important choice you will ever make.
Alice asked the cat, “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the cat.
To make the right choices in life, you must turn your ear—and your heart—to listen closely and carefully, to hear through all the reverberating sounds and calls, the cacophony of wild beasts and wild claims. Your goal is to detect the genuine voice of Creation and reject its echoes. The genuine voice is a quiet, subtle, barely detectable whisper—until you hear it. Then it roars. You’ll never be able to hear it, though, unless you want it. If you don’t hear it, it’s either because you don’t want it at all or you don’t want it enough.
Rebbe Nachman once said to Reb Noson: “Everything you see in the world, everything that exists, is for the sake of free will, in order to challenge people.”
There are so many choices and oh so many voices—some yelling, some whispering, some in your face, some tugging and your sleeve. Some are so seductive, some so compelling. It can be maddening. A person may feel so overwhelmed that he makes a blind decision just to silence the noise.
Even if you have a fairly clear idea of what you want, some voices can mimic yours so well that you may believe that what they are saying is really you speaking. Is the choice you are making really yours? Is that really where you want to go? Are you fooling yourself or being fooled? Even if you’re sure that the choice is yours, are you certain that it leads to safe harbor?
Rebbe Nachman once remarked to Reb Noson, “You speak to people. Ask them, ‘What?’ Ask them to cut through all their excuses and rationalizations and honestly consider: What legacy will you leave for yourself? What will be your destiny?”
There’s an interesting experience one has almost immediately upon dying, an experience that is forced upon him: he gets to see that this world is vanity. He finally takes note that many of his “important concerns” were nonsense. This insight results from the great yishuv hadaat, the calm reflection, that comes when a person finally stops running and starts observing life from an unbiased perspective. Sadly, it is then too late to make use of this all-important piece of wisdom.
Lying there dead, one realizes that he wasted his days in vain. He will know that his most overwhelming desires were nonsense and confusion. Who really forced him! But a person must die before he fully perceives this truth.
Most things that people fear cannot harm them at all. The only time a person can think clearly is when he is dead. When he is lying on the ground, with his feet to the door, he will finally see the truth. Then he will realize that all his fears and worries were foolish and for nothing. What could anybody have done to him?!
While your fullest and most complete realization of this truth will hopefully wait for a good long while, Rebbe Nachman offers a valuable tip in the meantime: Use hitbodedut to reflect well on what you are doing. There is no need to wait till you’re absolutely dead and no longer able to busy yourself in the world to take a good, hard look at what’s truly important—and what is not.
Dedicating some of your hitbodedut to “comparison shopping” can be of inestimable value. An honest appraisal of the success that this world offers reveals that such pleasures are as permanent as passing shadows. They are, as Rebbe Nachman pointed out, as real as sunbeams in a dark room. It looks as if something is there, but if you try to grab it, you come up empty-handed.
Understand that this world is transient. From the day you’re born you begin to die. You’re never again going to live this day, this hour or this minute, ever. You need to remind yourself of this fact often because part of God’s genius was to hide it from us. Nothing is going to remain of all your fame, fortune, steak dinners or sexual pleasures. It may be necessary to occasionally make use of any or all of these for some nobler goal, but in and of themselves they have no value.
With hitbodedut you can detach from the furious and spurious pace and gauge accurately where your current path is leading. It usually takes more than an hour or two of hitbodedut to come to the intellectual realization and deep-rooted acceptance that this world has no enduring value. However long it takes, the hitbodedut invested is well worth it. Those sessions are your first steps and the crucial keys to easily divest yourself of your phobias and desires. From there, you can make hitbodedut the forum in which you determine, affirm and create your desire for living a life that is Jewish inside and out, from the inside out.
So Many Choices
Rabbi Ozer Bergman
Every now and then, use your hitbodedut as the first stage of defining and refining the values by which you want to live. Use it also as the venue in which you begin to formulate the goals and the plans that, stage by stage and step by step, will reflect your chosen values.
What exactly are those chosen values? Until you choose what you want out of life, you cannot formulate or pray for a plan to live by those values. As every good novelist knows, you always write the ending of your book first. Why? Because how the book ends will determine everything else that will be written in the story. Similarly, the ending which you choose for your life’s story will impact every decision you make. There is no more important choice you will ever make.
Alice asked the cat, “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the cat.
To make the right choices in life, you must turn your ear—and your heart—to listen closely and carefully, to hear through all the reverberating sounds and calls, the cacophony of wild beasts and wild claims. Your goal is to detect the genuine voice of Creation and reject its echoes. The genuine voice is a quiet, subtle, barely detectable whisper—until you hear it. Then it roars. You’ll never be able to hear it, though, unless you want it. If you don’t hear it, it’s either because you don’t want it at all or you don’t want it enough.
Rebbe Nachman once said to Reb Noson: “Everything you see in the world, everything that exists, is for the sake of free will, in order to challenge people.”
There are so many choices and oh so many voices—some yelling, some whispering, some in your face, some tugging and your sleeve. Some are so seductive, some so compelling. It can be maddening. A person may feel so overwhelmed that he makes a blind decision just to silence the noise.
Even if you have a fairly clear idea of what you want, some voices can mimic yours so well that you may believe that what they are saying is really you speaking. Is the choice you are making really yours? Is that really where you want to go? Are you fooling yourself or being fooled? Even if you’re sure that the choice is yours, are you certain that it leads to safe harbor?
Rebbe Nachman once remarked to Reb Noson, “You speak to people. Ask them, ‘What?’ Ask them to cut through all their excuses and rationalizations and honestly consider: What legacy will you leave for yourself? What will be your destiny?”
There’s an interesting experience one has almost immediately upon dying, an experience that is forced upon him: he gets to see that this world is vanity. He finally takes note that many of his “important concerns” were nonsense. This insight results from the great yishuv hadaat, the calm reflection, that comes when a person finally stops running and starts observing life from an unbiased perspective. Sadly, it is then too late to make use of this all-important piece of wisdom.
Lying there dead, one realizes that he wasted his days in vain. He will know that his most overwhelming desires were nonsense and confusion. Who really forced him! But a person must die before he fully perceives this truth.
Most things that people fear cannot harm them at all. The only time a person can think clearly is when he is dead. When he is lying on the ground, with his feet to the door, he will finally see the truth. Then he will realize that all his fears and worries were foolish and for nothing. What could anybody have done to him?!
While your fullest and most complete realization of this truth will hopefully wait for a good long while, Rebbe Nachman offers a valuable tip in the meantime: Use hitbodedut to reflect well on what you are doing. There is no need to wait till you’re absolutely dead and no longer able to busy yourself in the world to take a good, hard look at what’s truly important—and what is not.
Dedicating some of your hitbodedut to “comparison shopping” can be of inestimable value. An honest appraisal of the success that this world offers reveals that such pleasures are as permanent as passing shadows. They are, as Rebbe Nachman pointed out, as real as sunbeams in a dark room. It looks as if something is there, but if you try to grab it, you come up empty-handed.
Understand that this world is transient. From the day you’re born you begin to die. You’re never again going to live this day, this hour or this minute, ever. You need to remind yourself of this fact often because part of God’s genius was to hide it from us. Nothing is going to remain of all your fame, fortune, steak dinners or sexual pleasures. It may be necessary to occasionally make use of any or all of these for some nobler goal, but in and of themselves they have no value.
With hitbodedut you can detach from the furious and spurious pace and gauge accurately where your current path is leading. It usually takes more than an hour or two of hitbodedut to come to the intellectual realization and deep-rooted acceptance that this world has no enduring value. However long it takes, the hitbodedut invested is well worth it. Those sessions are your first steps and the crucial keys to easily divest yourself of your phobias and desires. From there, you can make hitbodedut the forum in which you determine, affirm and create your desire for living a life that is Jewish inside and out, from the inside out.
November 16, 2009
SOME REMARKS ON IMMANENTISM AND 'AYIN
The following is an excerpt from Dr. Moshe Idel’s “Hasidism: Between Ecstacy and Magic” (SUNY), pp. 107-111. Footnotes have been omitted from this online version, although we restored several source references to the text. We also took the liberty of fixing several typos and settling on the term “naught” exclusively as the English equivalent of ‘Ayin, where the author uses both “naught” and “nought.”
Some Remarks on Immanentism and ‘Ayin
Moshe Idel
The question of which is the more dominant factor in religion, and especially in mysticism – experience or theology – is not easy to answer. A more open theology, with immanentist leanings, might be considered to open up more easily the way for mystical experiences. However, mystical experiences are reported even within religions that cultivate extreme forms of transcendental theology. Thus, it may be that the spiritual predisposition, the opening of the human to the divine, is more important for the occurrence of mystical encounters than theology. Such an opening would select out of the many available theologies in the speculative reservoir of a particular religion the more immanentist or pantheistic one. As Erich Neumann has said, the “world and its content are numinous, but this is true only because man is by nature a homo mysticus” (Mystical Man, p. 385). Therefore, the emergence of a certain type of mystical theology should be an indicator of the experiential emphasis of the religious mentality within which this theology appears. Provided that mystical experiences emerge from and are encouraged by both immanentist and transcendental types of theologies, it seems reasonable to conclude that the latter do not impede upon the mystical experiences. Insofar as Hasidism is concerned, its theologies, which include strong immanentist formulations, are apparently not strong determinants of this religiosity, but more the effects of a theological selection determined by the strong openness of the Hasidic masters toward the numinous. This also seems to be true in the case of other Jewish mystical systems, more precisely ecstatic Kabbalah, especially in the forms espoused by R. Yizhaq of Acre and [R. Moshe] Cordovero. Indeed, a certain correlation between a tendency toward experiential mysticism and immanentism should be presupposed.
That immanentist theology cannot alone explain the emergence of full-fledged mystical experience may be deduced from a comparison between Hasidism and the thought of one of its great opponents. R. Hayyim of Volozhin, who used expressions that betray his deep interest in immanentist theology, as M. Pachter has shown. Therefore, the theological assumption that God is immanent in the world is far from being an innovation of Hasidic thought, but is one of the possible theologies that an eighteenth-century mystic could have adopted from a variety of classical Jewish writings. Strong unitive expressions, however, cannot be found in the writings of R. Hayyim. It would therefore be more plausible to look for the sources of Hasidic mysticism not in a certain type of theology, or at least not solely in it, but in a special spiritual opening, which drew on classical sources both in order to reach and to express the mystical state. The existence of a long history of mystical techniques, concepts, and systems in medieval Jewish mysticism proves that those texts that revealed them could have informed the Hasidic masters; thus we may assume that the role of immanentist theology in the emergence of Hasidic mysticism may be substantially reduced.
With this observation in mind, let us inspect briefly the history of the concept of “annihilation [bitul].” This concept is crucial for many of the Hasidic discussions of mystical experience and may be considered one of the most important components of the mystical technique in Hasidism. Indeed, its role as part of the technical aspect of the model is the expansion of consciousness, the break ing of the ego-centered personality, in order to assimilate to the divine and thereby receive the influx from above. It should be emphasized that assimilation by annihilation does not concern divinity in its immanent aspect but, on the contrary, the highest plane in the divine world, the divine Naught. Despite the remoteness of this aspect of the divine, it is possible to encounter the deity by inducing a certain state of mind and/or soul. In these discussions, while we are stressing the importance of experiential starting points over theological ones, the possible impact of the latter should not be ignored. We must assume, however, that the existence of mystical practices is far more important for the actualization of a mystical drive than the theosophical or theological structure within which a particular form of mystical revival takes place. In other words, the emphasis should be placed on the existence of a directive to imitate God by self-effacement as well as on the practices of solitude and mental concentration. Such practices reflect more adequately the emergence of a mystical search that may also adopt a variety of theologies as religious frameworks. Let us therefore examine the availability of a pivotal practice for the nascent Hasidism in earlier mystical traditions.
In a Talmudic discussion, R. Abbahu, a mystically inclined Amora, is quoted to the effect that “the world does not subsist ... but for the sake of someone who conceives himself as nonexistent” (Hullin 89a). The last phrase is a translation of the Hebrew words Mesim ‘azmo kemiy she-‘eino This awareness of personal “nothingness” has no direct relationship to a divine way of behavior, though it has, at least implicitly, a certain cosmic connotation: the existence of the worlds is conceived as depending upon this kind of person. The precise nature of such a person is not specified by the Talmudic source, which mentions in this context—though not in this specific case—names of biblical figures.
However, in another context, R. Yohanan is quoted as saying that the Torah does not subsist except for those who conceive themselves as “nonexistent.” (Sotah 21b). In this case, however, a prooftext is given: the famous verse in Job 28:12, “Ve-ha-hokhmah me-‘ayin timaze.” While the original sense of the verse is interrogative (“But where shall wisdom be found?”), in the Talmudic context the sense is that wisdom, namely the words of the Torah, [is] found in someone who regards himself as nonexistent, the last concept being represented in the verse by the word ‘Ayin. Interestingly, R. Shelomo Yizhaqi [Rashi], the most important commentator on the Talmud, uses in the context of the passage the form ke-‘Ayin, namely “as nonexistence,” or “as naught,” instead of ke-’eino. I cannot embark here on a full description of the implication of such a reading of the biblical verse in the Talmud. However, for our purpose, it is sufficient to point out that according to the above quotes, ‘Ayin can designate the spiritual state of the few, who play a special role both in sustaining the world and as teachers of the Torah.
A correlation between humility and the concept of ‘Ayin as the symbol of the highest Sefirah, Keter [Crown], is already evident in R. Moshe Cordovero’s Tefillah le-Moshe (fol. 219b): “ ‘Ayin ‘Aniy, the humble, Anavim who are within ‘Ayin, while the poor ones are within ‘Aniy.” This statement means that the humble ones can reach the divine Naught, which stands for the first Sefirah, while the poor belong to the last Sefirah, Malkhut [Kingship]. Even more important for the subsequent evolution of Jewish mysticism is a passage from Cordovero’s Tomer Devorah [“Palm Tree of Deborah”], in which he relates the imitatio dei to the imitation of the activity of the first Sefirah; in the second chapter of this book we read that the “quintessence of the humility is that man should not find in himself any value but should consider himself as naught [‘Ayin] ... because Keter is the first attribute ... which sees itself as naught in front of its emanator. Likewise, man should consider himself as naught, indeed, his ‘non-existence’ being better than his existence.”
As Bracha Sack has shown (“The Influence of Reshit Hokhmah”), this text has influenced Cordovero’s student’s important book, Reshit Hokhmah, and thereby also Hasidism. However, before turning to this work, let us ponder the meaning of the comparison between human behavior and the theosophical processes. The first Sefirah recognizes both its nothingness and its dependence when it ascends to receive the power of the Infinite. However, the first Sefirah does not disappear, and there is no reason to assume that the concept of self-negation is proposed here even implicitly. The Sefirot in Kabbalah can return to their source, but they do not lose their distinctiveness even there. By analogy, humility does not automatically assume a loss of identity, but may signify instead the proper understanding of the nature of reality and the absolute dependence of the individual upon the higher entities.
R. Elijah de Vidas, a major disciple of Cordovero, describes the first Sefirah as bowing in front of the emanator; it is called ‘Ayin, “since it considers itself as nothing when compared to the Emanator. And it lowers its head in order to watch over and to emanate onto the lower worlds, which all incline to suckle from it. Therefore, it is appropriate for man to think about himself as naught before His Greatness, blessed be He, which has no end or limit” (Reshit Hokhmah, The Gate of Holiness, chap. 1, para. 15, p. 582, [Appendix 5]).
Although there is no doubt that de Vidas was influenced by Cordovero, it should be mentioned that he also made recourse to the two talmudic texts quoted above (ibid. p. 618). However, there is one element that is hinted at in Reshit Hokhmah that does not occur in the context of the passage we have quoted above from Cordovero’s Tomer Devorah. According to de Vidas, the Kabbalist should imitate the first Sefirah not only through his humility or “annihilation” but also, he seems to be saying, through his influence on others. It should be emphasized that this is not an explicit statement: the emanation of Keter appears in de Vidas, but not explicitly in Cordovero, while the human counterpart of this act is not mentioned. Nevertheless, from the phrase “it is appropriate” we may infer that someone should also attempt to imitate the first Sefirah by service to others. Although this is only a possible inference, it is one which, indeed, was drawn by the Hasidic masters. It should be emphasized that the use of the term ‘Ayin, in order to express the mystic’s attitude of humility in relation to God, does not imply, at least in the above texts, individual disintegration or momentary annihilation. On the contrary, in some instances we may assume that by imitating the divine Naught the mystic is extending his consciousness by removing the boundaries of the self. Just as the divine Sefirotic realm starts with the infinite and moves toward the finite, so it is the case with human consciousness during this experience: by broadening his consciousness one not only transcends his regular, mundane state of awareness, but enhances his spiritual capacity, enabling it subsequently to capture or attract more sublime contents and stronger divine powers. This is the explanation of the ability to imitate the second type of divine act: the emanation or the production of the influx that descends upon the lower entities. This explanation ensures a certain logic of events, a Gestalt-contexture between the two divine acts as imitated by the mystic…
Some Remarks on Immanentism and ‘Ayin
Moshe Idel
The question of which is the more dominant factor in religion, and especially in mysticism – experience or theology – is not easy to answer. A more open theology, with immanentist leanings, might be considered to open up more easily the way for mystical experiences. However, mystical experiences are reported even within religions that cultivate extreme forms of transcendental theology. Thus, it may be that the spiritual predisposition, the opening of the human to the divine, is more important for the occurrence of mystical encounters than theology. Such an opening would select out of the many available theologies in the speculative reservoir of a particular religion the more immanentist or pantheistic one. As Erich Neumann has said, the “world and its content are numinous, but this is true only because man is by nature a homo mysticus” (Mystical Man, p. 385). Therefore, the emergence of a certain type of mystical theology should be an indicator of the experiential emphasis of the religious mentality within which this theology appears. Provided that mystical experiences emerge from and are encouraged by both immanentist and transcendental types of theologies, it seems reasonable to conclude that the latter do not impede upon the mystical experiences. Insofar as Hasidism is concerned, its theologies, which include strong immanentist formulations, are apparently not strong determinants of this religiosity, but more the effects of a theological selection determined by the strong openness of the Hasidic masters toward the numinous. This also seems to be true in the case of other Jewish mystical systems, more precisely ecstatic Kabbalah, especially in the forms espoused by R. Yizhaq of Acre and [R. Moshe] Cordovero. Indeed, a certain correlation between a tendency toward experiential mysticism and immanentism should be presupposed.
That immanentist theology cannot alone explain the emergence of full-fledged mystical experience may be deduced from a comparison between Hasidism and the thought of one of its great opponents. R. Hayyim of Volozhin, who used expressions that betray his deep interest in immanentist theology, as M. Pachter has shown. Therefore, the theological assumption that God is immanent in the world is far from being an innovation of Hasidic thought, but is one of the possible theologies that an eighteenth-century mystic could have adopted from a variety of classical Jewish writings. Strong unitive expressions, however, cannot be found in the writings of R. Hayyim. It would therefore be more plausible to look for the sources of Hasidic mysticism not in a certain type of theology, or at least not solely in it, but in a special spiritual opening, which drew on classical sources both in order to reach and to express the mystical state. The existence of a long history of mystical techniques, concepts, and systems in medieval Jewish mysticism proves that those texts that revealed them could have informed the Hasidic masters; thus we may assume that the role of immanentist theology in the emergence of Hasidic mysticism may be substantially reduced.
With this observation in mind, let us inspect briefly the history of the concept of “annihilation [bitul].” This concept is crucial for many of the Hasidic discussions of mystical experience and may be considered one of the most important components of the mystical technique in Hasidism. Indeed, its role as part of the technical aspect of the model is the expansion of consciousness, the break ing of the ego-centered personality, in order to assimilate to the divine and thereby receive the influx from above. It should be emphasized that assimilation by annihilation does not concern divinity in its immanent aspect but, on the contrary, the highest plane in the divine world, the divine Naught. Despite the remoteness of this aspect of the divine, it is possible to encounter the deity by inducing a certain state of mind and/or soul. In these discussions, while we are stressing the importance of experiential starting points over theological ones, the possible impact of the latter should not be ignored. We must assume, however, that the existence of mystical practices is far more important for the actualization of a mystical drive than the theosophical or theological structure within which a particular form of mystical revival takes place. In other words, the emphasis should be placed on the existence of a directive to imitate God by self-effacement as well as on the practices of solitude and mental concentration. Such practices reflect more adequately the emergence of a mystical search that may also adopt a variety of theologies as religious frameworks. Let us therefore examine the availability of a pivotal practice for the nascent Hasidism in earlier mystical traditions.
In a Talmudic discussion, R. Abbahu, a mystically inclined Amora, is quoted to the effect that “the world does not subsist ... but for the sake of someone who conceives himself as nonexistent” (Hullin 89a). The last phrase is a translation of the Hebrew words Mesim ‘azmo kemiy she-‘eino This awareness of personal “nothingness” has no direct relationship to a divine way of behavior, though it has, at least implicitly, a certain cosmic connotation: the existence of the worlds is conceived as depending upon this kind of person. The precise nature of such a person is not specified by the Talmudic source, which mentions in this context—though not in this specific case—names of biblical figures.
However, in another context, R. Yohanan is quoted as saying that the Torah does not subsist except for those who conceive themselves as “nonexistent.” (Sotah 21b). In this case, however, a prooftext is given: the famous verse in Job 28:12, “Ve-ha-hokhmah me-‘ayin timaze.” While the original sense of the verse is interrogative (“But where shall wisdom be found?”), in the Talmudic context the sense is that wisdom, namely the words of the Torah, [is] found in someone who regards himself as nonexistent, the last concept being represented in the verse by the word ‘Ayin. Interestingly, R. Shelomo Yizhaqi [Rashi], the most important commentator on the Talmud, uses in the context of the passage the form ke-‘Ayin, namely “as nonexistence,” or “as naught,” instead of ke-’eino. I cannot embark here on a full description of the implication of such a reading of the biblical verse in the Talmud. However, for our purpose, it is sufficient to point out that according to the above quotes, ‘Ayin can designate the spiritual state of the few, who play a special role both in sustaining the world and as teachers of the Torah.
A correlation between humility and the concept of ‘Ayin as the symbol of the highest Sefirah, Keter [Crown], is already evident in R. Moshe Cordovero’s Tefillah le-Moshe (fol. 219b): “ ‘Ayin ‘Aniy, the humble, Anavim who are within ‘Ayin, while the poor ones are within ‘Aniy.” This statement means that the humble ones can reach the divine Naught, which stands for the first Sefirah, while the poor belong to the last Sefirah, Malkhut [Kingship]. Even more important for the subsequent evolution of Jewish mysticism is a passage from Cordovero’s Tomer Devorah [“Palm Tree of Deborah”], in which he relates the imitatio dei to the imitation of the activity of the first Sefirah; in the second chapter of this book we read that the “quintessence of the humility is that man should not find in himself any value but should consider himself as naught [‘Ayin] ... because Keter is the first attribute ... which sees itself as naught in front of its emanator. Likewise, man should consider himself as naught, indeed, his ‘non-existence’ being better than his existence.”
As Bracha Sack has shown (“The Influence of Reshit Hokhmah”), this text has influenced Cordovero’s student’s important book, Reshit Hokhmah, and thereby also Hasidism. However, before turning to this work, let us ponder the meaning of the comparison between human behavior and the theosophical processes. The first Sefirah recognizes both its nothingness and its dependence when it ascends to receive the power of the Infinite. However, the first Sefirah does not disappear, and there is no reason to assume that the concept of self-negation is proposed here even implicitly. The Sefirot in Kabbalah can return to their source, but they do not lose their distinctiveness even there. By analogy, humility does not automatically assume a loss of identity, but may signify instead the proper understanding of the nature of reality and the absolute dependence of the individual upon the higher entities.
R. Elijah de Vidas, a major disciple of Cordovero, describes the first Sefirah as bowing in front of the emanator; it is called ‘Ayin, “since it considers itself as nothing when compared to the Emanator. And it lowers its head in order to watch over and to emanate onto the lower worlds, which all incline to suckle from it. Therefore, it is appropriate for man to think about himself as naught before His Greatness, blessed be He, which has no end or limit” (Reshit Hokhmah, The Gate of Holiness, chap. 1, para. 15, p. 582, [Appendix 5]).
Although there is no doubt that de Vidas was influenced by Cordovero, it should be mentioned that he also made recourse to the two talmudic texts quoted above (ibid. p. 618). However, there is one element that is hinted at in Reshit Hokhmah that does not occur in the context of the passage we have quoted above from Cordovero’s Tomer Devorah. According to de Vidas, the Kabbalist should imitate the first Sefirah not only through his humility or “annihilation” but also, he seems to be saying, through his influence on others. It should be emphasized that this is not an explicit statement: the emanation of Keter appears in de Vidas, but not explicitly in Cordovero, while the human counterpart of this act is not mentioned. Nevertheless, from the phrase “it is appropriate” we may infer that someone should also attempt to imitate the first Sefirah by service to others. Although this is only a possible inference, it is one which, indeed, was drawn by the Hasidic masters. It should be emphasized that the use of the term ‘Ayin, in order to express the mystic’s attitude of humility in relation to God, does not imply, at least in the above texts, individual disintegration or momentary annihilation. On the contrary, in some instances we may assume that by imitating the divine Naught the mystic is extending his consciousness by removing the boundaries of the self. Just as the divine Sefirotic realm starts with the infinite and moves toward the finite, so it is the case with human consciousness during this experience: by broadening his consciousness one not only transcends his regular, mundane state of awareness, but enhances his spiritual capacity, enabling it subsequently to capture or attract more sublime contents and stronger divine powers. This is the explanation of the ability to imitate the second type of divine act: the emanation or the production of the influx that descends upon the lower entities. This explanation ensures a certain logic of events, a Gestalt-contexture between the two divine acts as imitated by the mystic…
November 10, 2009
UNION
From Allen Afterman, “Kabbalah and Consciousness” (The Sheep Meadow Press 2005), pp. 71-75. A kabbalistic diagram and the author’s explanatory notes have been omitted from this online version, except where we restored several source references to the text. The late poet and mystic Allen Afterman studied with Rabbi Yitzchok Ginsburg of Chabad and Rabbi Gedaliah Fleer of Breslov, among others. One remark below calls for modification, however. Although it is true that the Chassidim put more stress on devekut (mystical cleaving) than their predecessors, at least in writing, the concept is found in several scriptural verses and is discussed by Rishonim (early medieval authorities) such as Ibn Ezra, Ramban and Radak, as well as in pre-Chassidic kabbalistic works such as those of the Maharal of Prague and Peleh Yo’etz. The method of hitbonenut (contemplation) he describes recalls the classic contemplative practice of Chabad Chassidism, although the author hastens to add that reflection in Torah study in general may be considered a sort of intellectual meditation.
Union
The innate desire of the soul is to reunify with the infinite. This is the root of every wanting; no other object, idea, or love can satisfy its desire. It is not only what the soul wants but what all of existence wants.' In the moment of union a person experiences all of existence uniting in himselfand all of its suffering, all of its yearning. This moment, as well as lower levels of mystical experience, is usually referred to as devekut. (being bound to, clinging, or cleaving to God) but also as “prophecy” and ahdut (becoming united, unification). The experience of devekut, however, is seldom elaborated upon in pre-Chassidic Kabbalah. The famous Talmudic story of the “four Sages who entered Paradise” expresses the dangers involved in the highest levels of transcendent experience. We read that Ben Azzai died, Ben Zoma became insane, Elisha Ben Abuyah renounced his faith, and only Rabbi Akiva “entered in [the state of] shalom and went out in shalom” (Chagigah 14a). In Chassidism, it is taught that while the other Sages did not commit themselves to return before the onset of their ascent towards God, Rabbi Akiva did. So that upon achieving union he naturally (unconsciously) returned. This is interpreted to reflect his commitment to the rectification of reality, which is the enduring value and purpose of union.
As the story of the four Talmudic Sages illustrates, mystical experience is inherently unstable, and is as potentially dangerous to the psyche as is its power of illumination. The process of “running towards God” is inevitably followed by a fall into ordinary consciousness. Falling is part of the natural spiritual rhythm in which transcendent experience is integrated into the routine of daily life. In order to achieve this integration, it is best that a person be committed to the spiritual path with its structure and collective experience, and if possible, to a teacher. If not, he may draw conclusions in isolation which lead into extreme asceticism, or egoism (most commonly in the form of messianism), or into psychosis. The ambivalent attitude of the Sages towards mystical experience is reflected in the teaching:
“Better is one hour of tshuvah (returning to God) and good actions in this world than the whole of life in the world to come; and better is one hour of the bliss of the spirit in the world to come than all the life in this world” (Sayings of the Fathers 4:17).
For such reasons the writings of Kabbalah are coded; its language and imagery is designed both to reveal and to conceal. Nevertheless, mystical union is the hidden core of Kabbalah, and is at the root of its total understanding.
Meditation
The traditional practices used by kabbalists to achieve devekut often involved Hebrew letter combinations and the recitation and permutation of divine names. These techniques are principally associated with the 13th century kabbalist Rabbi Abraham Abulafia and his school which in turn drew upon ancient sources. Letter combination and meditation on the names of God are still used by kabbalists and their students today. The intention of these meditations is explained by the Italian kabbalist Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto:
“God decreed . . . that when one would utter His Name, divine illumination and influence would be bestowed upon him. This is what God means when he says (Exodus 20:21), ‘In every place where I allow My name to be mentioned, I will come to you and bless you.’ When a particular name of God is uttered and used to call upon Him, it will result in the emanation of an influence (hashpa'ah) associated with that Name . . . God decreed that inspiration and prophecy should be attained in this manner . . . This occurs when one repeats one of these Names mentally, utters it verbally, or combines it with other words, and at the same time fulfills all the other conditions . . .”
Prayer, singing, meditation, secluded and silent communion with God, and speaking directly to God are the main paths to devekut. In prayer, the kabbalist concentrates his mind on the inner mystical intentions (kavvanot) and specific rectifications associated with each word or phrase. In meditation (hitbonenut), which may involve concentration upon spiritual ideas for many hours, the meditator reaches out through the intellect and then beyond. Such contemplation, although in a less concentrated form, is the essence of Torah study. The happiness which accompanies contemplation of the Torah (associated with Binah), underlies the great Jewish emphasis upon learning. The phenomenon of Jewish study for its own sake, of men spending the greatest part of their lives “learning,” is that of lifelong meditation. Nevertheless, no matter how much is gained in this way, it is not considered comparable to knowledge gained through direct spiritual inspiration.
“Turning one's face to God” is the direct and most uniquely Jewish approach to union. As is described by Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, one is “... imploring and entreating Him and being heard and listened to by the Blessed One in the same way that a man, speaking to his friend, is heard and listened to by him.”
Direct communion usually develops in the mind before being overtly spoken. One’s inner conversation is the continuation of Abraham’s and Sarah’s conversation. In the Jewish tradition, this right can be considered the inheritance and entitlement from the ancestors (z'chut avot); an inheritance which includes the right to argue with God and to question his providence and justice. When communion involves actual speaking or spontaneous speech, it may be called sichah. Sichah (conversation) is simply intimate speaking out loud to God. (The daily practice of sichah, which is strongly emphasized by Rabbi Nachman, is nevertheless called hitbodedut in his writings.) In general, Jewish prayer or communion begins with praise. But each person begins at his own beginning; one with silence, another with singing, another by speaking of the difficulty of speaking, etc. This opening is called “the arousal from below,” the creation of an opening in oneself in which the infinite may “dwell.” Eventually, perhaps after many periods of silence and deadness, a person’s speaking will be answered by the experience of the divine presence.
Song Meditation
Song always implies pleasure; even a song of pain is a song longing for life’s pleasure. Each and every part of the Creation sings to its Creator. In terms of the sefirot, both the root of song and of primordial pleasure arc in the second head of Keter, the Head of Nothingness (Resha d'ayin), which is also the root of primordial pleasure. The Head of Nothingness is also the root of the Torah; thus Torah itself is called song, and is sung out. Singing is pure speech; the union of air, water, and fire. Thus chassidim often begin the study of Torah with the singing of several niggunim (wordless songs) which open the learning with their rhythms and transcendent structures.
Song meditation is known from the time of the prophets and their schools. Music is both an analogy for the movement towards mystical experience, and also an actual technique used to achieve devekut. In meditation, the singer sings with God's presence before his eyes. [According to an interpretation of Rabbi Elijah de Vidas,] “ ‘Sing, tzadikkim, to the Name’ . . . so that this name is before you, in order that you unify in such a way that the song is the complete devekut. . .”
Singing is the dark path, the blind search of the lover. When a person enters into singing, he is searching for the Beloved One. Thus the Song of Songs (called the “Holy of the Holies” of the Torah) is the allegory of the love between the bride and groom, between the soul and God.
Poetry and song are the same word in Hebrew, shir. The song is intense being that disappears, whereas the poem is engraved or perhaps coarsens into words. The song that is sung expresses the upward motion, the stripping away of words. Poetry is the downward motion of enclothement, of capturing. Thus poetry is related to the concept in Torah of catching light, of catching arrows in midair; ultimately, of catching the expanding universe. Poetry is a power to catch something that is about to disappear. This power of the soul to catch comes from the Higher Mother, Binah. The power to catch the arrow is greater than the shooting itself. The poet hears singing and somehow tries to catch it. The poem expresses the outer limit and beyond what he has words for. His desire to preserve and to express it must be stronger than the experience itself. Form must be stronger than inspiration. The female must be stronger than the male. If experience is stronger, if there are no words, it disappears into being.
Union
The innate desire of the soul is to reunify with the infinite. This is the root of every wanting; no other object, idea, or love can satisfy its desire. It is not only what the soul wants but what all of existence wants.' In the moment of union a person experiences all of existence uniting in himselfand all of its suffering, all of its yearning. This moment, as well as lower levels of mystical experience, is usually referred to as devekut. (being bound to, clinging, or cleaving to God) but also as “prophecy” and ahdut (becoming united, unification). The experience of devekut, however, is seldom elaborated upon in pre-Chassidic Kabbalah. The famous Talmudic story of the “four Sages who entered Paradise” expresses the dangers involved in the highest levels of transcendent experience. We read that Ben Azzai died, Ben Zoma became insane, Elisha Ben Abuyah renounced his faith, and only Rabbi Akiva “entered in [the state of] shalom and went out in shalom” (Chagigah 14a). In Chassidism, it is taught that while the other Sages did not commit themselves to return before the onset of their ascent towards God, Rabbi Akiva did. So that upon achieving union he naturally (unconsciously) returned. This is interpreted to reflect his commitment to the rectification of reality, which is the enduring value and purpose of union.
As the story of the four Talmudic Sages illustrates, mystical experience is inherently unstable, and is as potentially dangerous to the psyche as is its power of illumination. The process of “running towards God” is inevitably followed by a fall into ordinary consciousness. Falling is part of the natural spiritual rhythm in which transcendent experience is integrated into the routine of daily life. In order to achieve this integration, it is best that a person be committed to the spiritual path with its structure and collective experience, and if possible, to a teacher. If not, he may draw conclusions in isolation which lead into extreme asceticism, or egoism (most commonly in the form of messianism), or into psychosis. The ambivalent attitude of the Sages towards mystical experience is reflected in the teaching:
“Better is one hour of tshuvah (returning to God) and good actions in this world than the whole of life in the world to come; and better is one hour of the bliss of the spirit in the world to come than all the life in this world” (Sayings of the Fathers 4:17).
For such reasons the writings of Kabbalah are coded; its language and imagery is designed both to reveal and to conceal. Nevertheless, mystical union is the hidden core of Kabbalah, and is at the root of its total understanding.
Meditation
The traditional practices used by kabbalists to achieve devekut often involved Hebrew letter combinations and the recitation and permutation of divine names. These techniques are principally associated with the 13th century kabbalist Rabbi Abraham Abulafia and his school which in turn drew upon ancient sources. Letter combination and meditation on the names of God are still used by kabbalists and their students today. The intention of these meditations is explained by the Italian kabbalist Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto:
“God decreed . . . that when one would utter His Name, divine illumination and influence would be bestowed upon him. This is what God means when he says (Exodus 20:21), ‘In every place where I allow My name to be mentioned, I will come to you and bless you.’ When a particular name of God is uttered and used to call upon Him, it will result in the emanation of an influence (hashpa'ah) associated with that Name . . . God decreed that inspiration and prophecy should be attained in this manner . . . This occurs when one repeats one of these Names mentally, utters it verbally, or combines it with other words, and at the same time fulfills all the other conditions . . .”
Prayer, singing, meditation, secluded and silent communion with God, and speaking directly to God are the main paths to devekut. In prayer, the kabbalist concentrates his mind on the inner mystical intentions (kavvanot) and specific rectifications associated with each word or phrase. In meditation (hitbonenut), which may involve concentration upon spiritual ideas for many hours, the meditator reaches out through the intellect and then beyond. Such contemplation, although in a less concentrated form, is the essence of Torah study. The happiness which accompanies contemplation of the Torah (associated with Binah), underlies the great Jewish emphasis upon learning. The phenomenon of Jewish study for its own sake, of men spending the greatest part of their lives “learning,” is that of lifelong meditation. Nevertheless, no matter how much is gained in this way, it is not considered comparable to knowledge gained through direct spiritual inspiration.
“Turning one's face to God” is the direct and most uniquely Jewish approach to union. As is described by Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, one is “... imploring and entreating Him and being heard and listened to by the Blessed One in the same way that a man, speaking to his friend, is heard and listened to by him.”
Direct communion usually develops in the mind before being overtly spoken. One’s inner conversation is the continuation of Abraham’s and Sarah’s conversation. In the Jewish tradition, this right can be considered the inheritance and entitlement from the ancestors (z'chut avot); an inheritance which includes the right to argue with God and to question his providence and justice. When communion involves actual speaking or spontaneous speech, it may be called sichah. Sichah (conversation) is simply intimate speaking out loud to God. (The daily practice of sichah, which is strongly emphasized by Rabbi Nachman, is nevertheless called hitbodedut in his writings.) In general, Jewish prayer or communion begins with praise. But each person begins at his own beginning; one with silence, another with singing, another by speaking of the difficulty of speaking, etc. This opening is called “the arousal from below,” the creation of an opening in oneself in which the infinite may “dwell.” Eventually, perhaps after many periods of silence and deadness, a person’s speaking will be answered by the experience of the divine presence.
Song Meditation
Song always implies pleasure; even a song of pain is a song longing for life’s pleasure. Each and every part of the Creation sings to its Creator. In terms of the sefirot, both the root of song and of primordial pleasure arc in the second head of Keter, the Head of Nothingness (Resha d'ayin), which is also the root of primordial pleasure. The Head of Nothingness is also the root of the Torah; thus Torah itself is called song, and is sung out. Singing is pure speech; the union of air, water, and fire. Thus chassidim often begin the study of Torah with the singing of several niggunim (wordless songs) which open the learning with their rhythms and transcendent structures.
Song meditation is known from the time of the prophets and their schools. Music is both an analogy for the movement towards mystical experience, and also an actual technique used to achieve devekut. In meditation, the singer sings with God's presence before his eyes. [According to an interpretation of Rabbi Elijah de Vidas,] “ ‘Sing, tzadikkim, to the Name’ . . . so that this name is before you, in order that you unify in such a way that the song is the complete devekut. . .”
Singing is the dark path, the blind search of the lover. When a person enters into singing, he is searching for the Beloved One. Thus the Song of Songs (called the “Holy of the Holies” of the Torah) is the allegory of the love between the bride and groom, between the soul and God.
Poetry and song are the same word in Hebrew, shir. The song is intense being that disappears, whereas the poem is engraved or perhaps coarsens into words. The song that is sung expresses the upward motion, the stripping away of words. Poetry is the downward motion of enclothement, of capturing. Thus poetry is related to the concept in Torah of catching light, of catching arrows in midair; ultimately, of catching the expanding universe. Poetry is a power to catch something that is about to disappear. This power of the soul to catch comes from the Higher Mother, Binah. The power to catch the arrow is greater than the shooting itself. The poet hears singing and somehow tries to catch it. The poem expresses the outer limit and beyond what he has words for. His desire to preserve and to express it must be stronger than the experience itself. Form must be stronger than inspiration. The female must be stronger than the male. If experience is stronger, if there are no words, it disappears into being.
November 4, 2009
THE REBBE OF KOTZK AND SOLITUDE
The following is an excerpt from Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s “A Passion for Truth” (Jewish Lights reprint, 2008, first published 1978), pp. 214-215. One of the 20th century scholar-mystic’s seminal works, “A Passion for Truth” compares and contrasts the spiritual approaches of Chassidic master Rabbi Menachem Mendl of Kotzk and his younger contemporary, Danish theologian Soren Kierkegaard.
The Rebbe of Kotzk and Solitude
By Abraham Joshua Heschel
Even as a child the Kotzker [Rabbi Menachem Mendl of Kotzk, 1787-1859] was inclined to loneliness. He preferred God's nearness, though it involved estrangement from people. He learned to extend his solitudes and to isolate himself. Life, he felt, should be lived apart from the self, for the sake of the greater One outside the Self. The individual had to keep his head clear of all digressions that prevented the splendor of God's thought from centering in the mind. There were tremors below and dizziness above, but the intense love must grow in silence and with painful patience.
Was it not promiscuous to mingle with people who, by mendacity and effrontery, kept the Almighty in isolation?
Even while surrounded by disciples, Reb Mendl lived apart from others. When he closed his doors, it was not he who was suddenly alone but those who followed him. In this way he rid himself of flatterers and mediocre companions and was able to foster his contemplative impulses and insights undisturbed. His soul dwelled so long in the midst of alarms, was afflicted with such frustrations, that only in seclusion could he nurture some crumbs of hope. When decisive acts have to be carried out, even God says, “I have trodden the winepress alone” (Isaiah 63:3).
There is an old tradition in Judaism about holy men, such as Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai, who spent much of' their time in solitude. It was this ancient sage's example that the Kotzker announced he would follow upon assuming the leadership of his Hasidic community. As a young man, Rabbi Yitzhak Luria, the founder of the Lurianic Kabbalah, removed to the banks of the Nile. For seven years lie he secluded himself in meditation, visiting his familv only on the Sabbath, speaking seldom and then only in Hebrew, which was not commonly spoken in his time. Hasidic lore tells us that as a young man the Baal Shem Tov spent many years alone in the Carpathian Mountains.
Solitude was a common practice among mystically inclined Jews. Even the non-mystical Jewish writers of the Middle Ages seemed to agree that solitary living was indispensable to the attainment of spiritual purity. This view may be found in the writings of Abraham Ibn Ezra, Maimonides, Badarshi, Falaquera, Gersonides, Albo, Crescas, and Abravanel among others.
What is there for one who seeks to save his authenticity other than withdrawal from the world's blaring lies and deceitful eyes? Proximity to the crowd, to the majority view, spells the death of creativity. For a soul can create only when alone, and some are chosen for the flowering that takes place in the dark avenues of the night. They may live on the brink of despair, alternating between a longing for fellowship and for privacy.
Even people who consider themselves moderately kind but also realistic tend to accept the use of God's name in association with falsehood or the daily murder of innocent people. How easily we develop indifference to evil and consent to mendacity as an indispensable fact of life.
Can a man of sense feel mercy if he himself has never experienced terror? The Kotzker is very close to us during the night – a night that lasts all day and opens up the horror that other people felt and saw, after which they died.
The Rebbe of Kotzk and Solitude
By Abraham Joshua Heschel
Even as a child the Kotzker [Rabbi Menachem Mendl of Kotzk, 1787-1859] was inclined to loneliness. He preferred God's nearness, though it involved estrangement from people. He learned to extend his solitudes and to isolate himself. Life, he felt, should be lived apart from the self, for the sake of the greater One outside the Self. The individual had to keep his head clear of all digressions that prevented the splendor of God's thought from centering in the mind. There were tremors below and dizziness above, but the intense love must grow in silence and with painful patience.
Was it not promiscuous to mingle with people who, by mendacity and effrontery, kept the Almighty in isolation?
Even while surrounded by disciples, Reb Mendl lived apart from others. When he closed his doors, it was not he who was suddenly alone but those who followed him. In this way he rid himself of flatterers and mediocre companions and was able to foster his contemplative impulses and insights undisturbed. His soul dwelled so long in the midst of alarms, was afflicted with such frustrations, that only in seclusion could he nurture some crumbs of hope. When decisive acts have to be carried out, even God says, “I have trodden the winepress alone” (Isaiah 63:3).
There is an old tradition in Judaism about holy men, such as Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai, who spent much of' their time in solitude. It was this ancient sage's example that the Kotzker announced he would follow upon assuming the leadership of his Hasidic community. As a young man, Rabbi Yitzhak Luria, the founder of the Lurianic Kabbalah, removed to the banks of the Nile. For seven years lie he secluded himself in meditation, visiting his familv only on the Sabbath, speaking seldom and then only in Hebrew, which was not commonly spoken in his time. Hasidic lore tells us that as a young man the Baal Shem Tov spent many years alone in the Carpathian Mountains.
Solitude was a common practice among mystically inclined Jews. Even the non-mystical Jewish writers of the Middle Ages seemed to agree that solitary living was indispensable to the attainment of spiritual purity. This view may be found in the writings of Abraham Ibn Ezra, Maimonides, Badarshi, Falaquera, Gersonides, Albo, Crescas, and Abravanel among others.
What is there for one who seeks to save his authenticity other than withdrawal from the world's blaring lies and deceitful eyes? Proximity to the crowd, to the majority view, spells the death of creativity. For a soul can create only when alone, and some are chosen for the flowering that takes place in the dark avenues of the night. They may live on the brink of despair, alternating between a longing for fellowship and for privacy.
Even people who consider themselves moderately kind but also realistic tend to accept the use of God's name in association with falsehood or the daily murder of innocent people. How easily we develop indifference to evil and consent to mendacity as an indispensable fact of life.
Can a man of sense feel mercy if he himself has never experienced terror? The Kotzker is very close to us during the night – a night that lasts all day and opens up the horror that other people felt and saw, after which they died.
November 2, 2009
WHERE SHALL I FIND YOU?
This devotional work by the great medieval poet and author of “The Kuzari,” Yehudah Halevi (before 1075-after 1141), bespeaks one of the central themes of Jewish mystical contemplation: the Creator’s simultaneous transcendence and immanence. (Rabbi Nachman of Breslov addresses this theme in Likkutei Moharan II, 7, as well as in numerous other lessons.) We have attempted to replicate at least an echo of the poem’s rhyme schemes, but our translation is more concerned with communicating the author’s message than the poetic qualities of his Hebrew, which remain untranslatable. Many of the poem’s lines allude to scriptural verses and rabbinic teachings.
Where Shall I Find You?
Yehudah HaLevi
Translated by Dovid Sears
God, where shall I find You?
Your place is lofty and concealed.
And where shall I not find You?
The whole earth is full of Your Glory!
Though present within the heart’s inner core,
The ends of earth You fixed of yore.
The stronghold of those who draw nigh,
You are hope and trust of those faraway.
Enthroned on the Cherubim above the Ark,
Yet You abide beyond space, beyond light and dark.
You are praised by Your hosts
But all praises You surpass.
The sphere of heaven cannot contain You,
Temple chambers, how much less!
Upon Throne most exalted
Over all things You preside.
Yet You remain closer to the living
Than their bodies and their lives.
That we have no Maker but You,
Faithful tongues declare.
Who shall not fear You
And the yoke of Your dominion bear?
Who shall not cry out to You
Who provides their daily fare?
Your Presence I have sought,
Calling out from the depths of the heart.
When after You, I went forth resolutely
There I found You, on Your way to me.
In Your wondrous might, in the holy place,
You allowed me to envision Your face.
That he has not seen You, who can say?
The heavens and their legions proclaim Your dread,
But their voices forever remain unheard!
Can the Infinite One dwell within finite creation?
What can human minds conceive, creatures of humble station?
Yet You, Holy One, make Your home amidst their adoration.
Living angels at the summit of the universe
Your awesome paradox proclaim.
Above their heads Your sublime Throne rests,
Yet all existence is borne by Your Name!
Where Shall I Find You?
Yehudah HaLevi
Translated by Dovid Sears
God, where shall I find You?
Your place is lofty and concealed.
And where shall I not find You?
The whole earth is full of Your Glory!
Though present within the heart’s inner core,
The ends of earth You fixed of yore.
The stronghold of those who draw nigh,
You are hope and trust of those faraway.
Enthroned on the Cherubim above the Ark,
Yet You abide beyond space, beyond light and dark.
You are praised by Your hosts
But all praises You surpass.
The sphere of heaven cannot contain You,
Temple chambers, how much less!
Upon Throne most exalted
Over all things You preside.
Yet You remain closer to the living
Than their bodies and their lives.
That we have no Maker but You,
Faithful tongues declare.
Who shall not fear You
And the yoke of Your dominion bear?
Who shall not cry out to You
Who provides their daily fare?
Your Presence I have sought,
Calling out from the depths of the heart.
When after You, I went forth resolutely
There I found You, on Your way to me.
In Your wondrous might, in the holy place,
You allowed me to envision Your face.
That he has not seen You, who can say?
The heavens and their legions proclaim Your dread,
But their voices forever remain unheard!
Can the Infinite One dwell within finite creation?
What can human minds conceive, creatures of humble station?
Yet You, Holy One, make Your home amidst their adoration.
Living angels at the summit of the universe
Your awesome paradox proclaim.
Above their heads Your sublime Throne rests,
Yet all existence is borne by Your Name!
"A STILL, SMALL VOICE"
From Rabbi Avraham Greenbaum, Tzaddik (English translation of Chayei Moharan, compiled by Reb Noson; Breslov Research Institute, 1987), “His Attainments,” sec. 241, p. 254.
“A Still, Small Voice”
I was told that the Rebbe [Rabbi Nachman of Breslov] once said: “When do I have my meditation? When everyone is standing around me, and I am sitting there in the middle. That is when I seclude myself with God. I know how to cry out in a ‘still, small voice’ (I Kings 19:12)! And my voice is heard from one end of the world to the other.”
I myself once heard the Rebbe say something to the same effect – that he had a “still, small voice,” and he could stand in a great throng of people and still cry out in this “still, small voice” from one end of the world to the other. And none of the people round about would hear anything at all.
The Rebbe said something similar with regard to dancing. He said that when he was sitting with other people he could dance the most wondrous dance.
I once heard him say that he could be sitting among other people and “I am like someone who is surrounded by all the people in the world, and he dances and dances.” As the Rebbe was saying this, a number of musicians passed by with their instruments on their way to a wedding.
On another occasion, the Rebbe elaborated on this idea, teaching us how it is possible to be among people and still cry out with a “still, small voice” (see Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom, sec. 16).
“A Still, Small Voice”
I was told that the Rebbe [Rabbi Nachman of Breslov] once said: “When do I have my meditation? When everyone is standing around me, and I am sitting there in the middle. That is when I seclude myself with God. I know how to cry out in a ‘still, small voice’ (I Kings 19:12)! And my voice is heard from one end of the world to the other.”
I myself once heard the Rebbe say something to the same effect – that he had a “still, small voice,” and he could stand in a great throng of people and still cry out in this “still, small voice” from one end of the world to the other. And none of the people round about would hear anything at all.
The Rebbe said something similar with regard to dancing. He said that when he was sitting with other people he could dance the most wondrous dance.
I once heard him say that he could be sitting among other people and “I am like someone who is surrounded by all the people in the world, and he dances and dances.” As the Rebbe was saying this, a number of musicians passed by with their instruments on their way to a wedding.
On another occasion, the Rebbe elaborated on this idea, teaching us how it is possible to be among people and still cry out with a “still, small voice” (see Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom, sec. 16).
TIME TO THINK
From Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, “Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom” (English translation of Shevachey HaRan and Sichos HaRan, authored by Reb Noson; Breslov Research Institute, 1973), “His Wisdom,” sec. 47, pp. 150-151.
Time to Think
You must be very worthy to be able to meditate for a given time each day and regret what you must.
Not everyone can have such mental tranquility each day. The days pass and are gone, and one finds that he never once had time to really think.
You must therefore make sure to set aside a specific time each day to calmly review your life. Consider what you are doing and ponder whether it is worthy that you devote your life to it.
One who does not meditate cannot have wisdom.
He may occasionally be able to concentrate, but not for any length of time. His power of concentration remains weak and cannot be maintained.
One who does not meditate also does not realize the foolishness of the world. But one who has a relaxed and penetrating mind can see that it is all vanity.
Many desire to travel widely and become famous and powerful. They do not have enough perception to realize that this is vanity and striving after wind (Ecclesiastes 1:4, 2:11). It is all the more folish because it does not actually result in pleasure even in this world. The main result of such fame is suffering and insults.
One of the Rebbe’s followers once had a strong desire to become a renowned religious leader. The Rebbe told him, “You cannot even say the prayer after meals sincerely! Everything you do must be acceptable to others. Never once do you do something for the sake of G-d alone.”
Time to Think
You must be very worthy to be able to meditate for a given time each day and regret what you must.
Not everyone can have such mental tranquility each day. The days pass and are gone, and one finds that he never once had time to really think.
You must therefore make sure to set aside a specific time each day to calmly review your life. Consider what you are doing and ponder whether it is worthy that you devote your life to it.
One who does not meditate cannot have wisdom.
He may occasionally be able to concentrate, but not for any length of time. His power of concentration remains weak and cannot be maintained.
One who does not meditate also does not realize the foolishness of the world. But one who has a relaxed and penetrating mind can see that it is all vanity.
Many desire to travel widely and become famous and powerful. They do not have enough perception to realize that this is vanity and striving after wind (Ecclesiastes 1:4, 2:11). It is all the more folish because it does not actually result in pleasure even in this world. The main result of such fame is suffering and insults.
One of the Rebbe’s followers once had a strong desire to become a renowned religious leader. The Rebbe told him, “You cannot even say the prayer after meals sincerely! Everything you do must be acceptable to others. Never once do you do something for the sake of G-d alone.”
THE LESSON OF ELIJAH'S CAVE
From Rabbi Shmuel Horowitz’s collection of Breslov oral traditions, Avaneha Barzel, sec. 24. Translated by Dovid Sears.
The Lesson of Elijah's Cave
At the time Rabbi Nachman delivered the lesson later published as Likkutei Moharan I, 66, he had a discussion with Reb Noson about the Cave of Elijah. [There the biblical prophet had secluded himself from the world in order to commune with God.] Reb Noson was given to understand that Elijah had only reached his lofty spiritual level through hisbodedus (secluded meditation and prayer). This so inspired him that he went to the women’s section of the synagogue nearby (knowing that it would not be in use at that time) and began to recite psalms and speak to God in his own language with intense fervor.
In the meantime, someone in the town announced that he wished to celebrate an engagement party and wanted to invite Reb Noson. The man searched for him, but couldn’t find him. However, he figured that his friend was probably engaged in hisbodedus. So he began to cry out in the streets, “Reb Noson! Reb Noson!” At this, Reb Noson left his place of seclusion and went along with his friend to the engagement party.
The Lesson of Elijah's Cave
At the time Rabbi Nachman delivered the lesson later published as Likkutei Moharan I, 66, he had a discussion with Reb Noson about the Cave of Elijah. [There the biblical prophet had secluded himself from the world in order to commune with God.] Reb Noson was given to understand that Elijah had only reached his lofty spiritual level through hisbodedus (secluded meditation and prayer). This so inspired him that he went to the women’s section of the synagogue nearby (knowing that it would not be in use at that time) and began to recite psalms and speak to God in his own language with intense fervor.
In the meantime, someone in the town announced that he wished to celebrate an engagement party and wanted to invite Reb Noson. The man searched for him, but couldn’t find him. However, he figured that his friend was probably engaged in hisbodedus. So he began to cry out in the streets, “Reb Noson! Reb Noson!” At this, Reb Noson left his place of seclusion and went along with his friend to the engagement party.
October 29, 2009
THE ESSENCE OF JEWISH MEDITATION
Originally posted on BBC's website, reproduced here by permission of Professor Les Lancaster, Liverpool John Moores University.
The essence of Jewish meditation
By Professor Les Lancaster
What is Jewish meditation?
'Meditation' is a word used extensively today, and it has connotations that do not sit easily with Jewish mystical practices. If you think of meditation simply as a means of relaxation, then you will not understand why Jewish mystics follow practices that can be highly complex. The typical Jewish meditation appears far from relaxing.
A deeper grasp of the term meditation paves the way for my discussion of Jewish mystical practices. We must recognise that there are, in broad terms, two different ways of thinking. The first is normal, everyday rational thought - thinking about things you have to do, or about ideas, or about people around you. The second is, by comparison, less logical and less oriented to immediate everyday goals. This second is a more penetrating kind of thinking.
It involves shifting the centre of gravity of the mind away from the sense of 'I' which normally dominates our goals. Like all meditative practices, Jewish mystical techniques are directed towards enhancing this second form of thinking. At the same time, these practices cultivate an awareness of the divine presence in all things.
In fact, the first type of thinking is simply a surface layer of thought. If you imagine the mind as a sea, then rational thought is simply the surface level of waves on the water. The major currents operate at the deeper levels of the ocean. The objective of meditation is to engage with these deeper currents.
One of the major texts of Kabbalah, the 12th-century Bahir, writes that the biblical prophet Habakkuk 'understood God's thought.' It tells us:
"Just as human thought has no end, for even a mere mortal can think and descend to the end of the world, so too the ear also has no end and is not satiated."
Jewish mystical practices enable us to use thought to 'descend to the end of the world', that is, to plumb the depths where mind and physical reality are no longer separate.
The goals of Jewish meditation
Within the overall framework of Judaism, meditative practices are intended to deepen the individual's engagement with all aspects of the religion. Meditation and techniques of concentration can:
-heighten one's understanding of the Torah
-develop an understanding of ritual and other religious observances
-give direction to prayer
-increase one's awareness of others' needs
More generally, Jewish meditation is understood as:
- promoting a greater closeness to God
- disciplining the mind, so that one has greater ability to focus mentally
- bringing an awareness of those regions of the mind that had previously been 'unconscious'
Examples and exercises
Examples of Jewish meditation
One of the oldest texts that describes Jewish meditation practices is the Sefer Yetsirah. Consider the following extract:
"Ten dimensions of nothingness. Their measure is ten to which there is no end.
A depth of beginning, a depth of end; a depth of good, a depth of evil; a depth of above, a depth of below; a depth of east, a depth of west; a depth of north, a depth of south.
The unified Master - God faithful King - rules over all of them, from His holy dwelling place, until eternity of eternities."
The meditation based on this passage entails consciously building up a deep sense of your place in relation to the dimensions.
We begin with 'depth of beginning'. You could ask yourself: what first triggered the situation in which you presently find yourself? As the mind arrives at answers (perhaps you are reading this because a friend thought you would be interested), continue by dismissing the idea that the answer might be definitive and final; there is always a further root (what is it about you that might have led the friend to think you would be interested; where did that quality in you develop from, and so on?).
When you can no longer put the answer in words (perhaps some ineffable intimation of a root in your soul), begin to move forwards in time.
What seem to be the likely consequences of your immediate situation? Again, continue to go beyond the immediate answers and stretch the bounds of your mental representations. In relation to the depth of good, the question to address concerns that which connects you to the larger whole - to God. And, for evil, what leads to a sense of disconnection? Always, you must stretch the bounds of the answers which pop into the mind.
The meditation continues with the first of the six directions of space. What is immediately above you? Air... the ceiling... other rooms... the roof... birds... sky... vastness of space... the infinite that cannot be formed in the mind...
It is as if you generate a beam of light from within that is gradually extended further and further whilst, at the same time, maintaining your awareness of the centre, the heart as the source of light... And then continue into the remaining directions. You may glimpse your inner core suspended at the heart of a web of infinite interconnections.
Ultimately, the objective is for you to experience a sense of meaning that can only be described as witnessing your self as a centre within a network of interconnections which plunge into an infinite nothingness.
The use of Hebrew in meditation: Visualising the Hebrew letters
The example on the previous page can be attempted without any specific background. However, most Jewish meditations require at least a basic knowledge of Hebrew, the sacred language of Judaism.
Jewish mystics view the Hebrew letters as the agents of creation. There are many techniques for visualising and working with the letters. The Sefer Yetsirah states that God engraved the letters, carved them, weighed them, permuted them, combined them, and formed with them all that was formed and all that would be formed in the future. Each of these processes is mirrored in a kabbalistic practice of visualisation.
Preparation for visualisation requires closing or half-closing the eyes. Normally, when you close the eyes you automatically turn the visual sense off inwardly as well. For this kind of a practice, however, you must remain acutely aware of the visual sense even whilst being closed to outward seeing. It is as if you are seeing the screen made by the insides of your eyelids.
Engraving means outlining the letter in the mind's eye; as the outline is built up, you must hold a clear intent to operate with a specific letter.
Carving entails establishing the letter as a powerful presence in visual consciousness; energy is focused on the letter until it blazes like fire on the inner screen of the mind.
The intent behind weighing is that of allowing the letter's qualities to impress themselves upon you; a receptive state must be cultivated, in which you might, for example, find meaning in the letter's shape, its constituent parts, its relations with other letters, and so on.
This is followed by permuting the letter with other letters; maybe, having focused on the letter's constituent lines, other letters using those lines arise in the mind.
Letters are then combined, enabling them to enter into relationships one with another.
The final stage concerns the meaning of those combinations; what kind of a presence is formed when those specific letters come together? It is not simply a matter of knowing the word (and, in fact, not all combinations produce words), but rather you should attempt to discern the nature of the entity depicted by the specific combination of letters. What tensions arise between the letters, or do they share a more harmonious relation?
Another meditation with the Hebrew letters introduces their sounds, as indicated in the following audio extract. These kinds of practice open up regions of meaning that extend beyond the reach of the everyday rational mind. As quoted earlier from the Bahir, they begin the process of forging deep links with 'God's thought'.
The essence of Jewish meditation
By Professor Les Lancaster
What is Jewish meditation?
'Meditation' is a word used extensively today, and it has connotations that do not sit easily with Jewish mystical practices. If you think of meditation simply as a means of relaxation, then you will not understand why Jewish mystics follow practices that can be highly complex. The typical Jewish meditation appears far from relaxing.
A deeper grasp of the term meditation paves the way for my discussion of Jewish mystical practices. We must recognise that there are, in broad terms, two different ways of thinking. The first is normal, everyday rational thought - thinking about things you have to do, or about ideas, or about people around you. The second is, by comparison, less logical and less oriented to immediate everyday goals. This second is a more penetrating kind of thinking.
It involves shifting the centre of gravity of the mind away from the sense of 'I' which normally dominates our goals. Like all meditative practices, Jewish mystical techniques are directed towards enhancing this second form of thinking. At the same time, these practices cultivate an awareness of the divine presence in all things.
In fact, the first type of thinking is simply a surface layer of thought. If you imagine the mind as a sea, then rational thought is simply the surface level of waves on the water. The major currents operate at the deeper levels of the ocean. The objective of meditation is to engage with these deeper currents.
One of the major texts of Kabbalah, the 12th-century Bahir, writes that the biblical prophet Habakkuk 'understood God's thought.' It tells us:
"Just as human thought has no end, for even a mere mortal can think and descend to the end of the world, so too the ear also has no end and is not satiated."
Jewish mystical practices enable us to use thought to 'descend to the end of the world', that is, to plumb the depths where mind and physical reality are no longer separate.
The goals of Jewish meditation
Within the overall framework of Judaism, meditative practices are intended to deepen the individual's engagement with all aspects of the religion. Meditation and techniques of concentration can:
-heighten one's understanding of the Torah
-develop an understanding of ritual and other religious observances
-give direction to prayer
-increase one's awareness of others' needs
More generally, Jewish meditation is understood as:
- promoting a greater closeness to God
- disciplining the mind, so that one has greater ability to focus mentally
- bringing an awareness of those regions of the mind that had previously been 'unconscious'
Examples and exercises
Examples of Jewish meditation
One of the oldest texts that describes Jewish meditation practices is the Sefer Yetsirah. Consider the following extract:
"Ten dimensions of nothingness. Their measure is ten to which there is no end.
A depth of beginning, a depth of end; a depth of good, a depth of evil; a depth of above, a depth of below; a depth of east, a depth of west; a depth of north, a depth of south.
The unified Master - God faithful King - rules over all of them, from His holy dwelling place, until eternity of eternities."
The meditation based on this passage entails consciously building up a deep sense of your place in relation to the dimensions.
We begin with 'depth of beginning'. You could ask yourself: what first triggered the situation in which you presently find yourself? As the mind arrives at answers (perhaps you are reading this because a friend thought you would be interested), continue by dismissing the idea that the answer might be definitive and final; there is always a further root (what is it about you that might have led the friend to think you would be interested; where did that quality in you develop from, and so on?).
When you can no longer put the answer in words (perhaps some ineffable intimation of a root in your soul), begin to move forwards in time.
What seem to be the likely consequences of your immediate situation? Again, continue to go beyond the immediate answers and stretch the bounds of your mental representations. In relation to the depth of good, the question to address concerns that which connects you to the larger whole - to God. And, for evil, what leads to a sense of disconnection? Always, you must stretch the bounds of the answers which pop into the mind.
The meditation continues with the first of the six directions of space. What is immediately above you? Air... the ceiling... other rooms... the roof... birds... sky... vastness of space... the infinite that cannot be formed in the mind...
It is as if you generate a beam of light from within that is gradually extended further and further whilst, at the same time, maintaining your awareness of the centre, the heart as the source of light... And then continue into the remaining directions. You may glimpse your inner core suspended at the heart of a web of infinite interconnections.
Ultimately, the objective is for you to experience a sense of meaning that can only be described as witnessing your self as a centre within a network of interconnections which plunge into an infinite nothingness.
The use of Hebrew in meditation: Visualising the Hebrew letters
The example on the previous page can be attempted without any specific background. However, most Jewish meditations require at least a basic knowledge of Hebrew, the sacred language of Judaism.
Jewish mystics view the Hebrew letters as the agents of creation. There are many techniques for visualising and working with the letters. The Sefer Yetsirah states that God engraved the letters, carved them, weighed them, permuted them, combined them, and formed with them all that was formed and all that would be formed in the future. Each of these processes is mirrored in a kabbalistic practice of visualisation.
Preparation for visualisation requires closing or half-closing the eyes. Normally, when you close the eyes you automatically turn the visual sense off inwardly as well. For this kind of a practice, however, you must remain acutely aware of the visual sense even whilst being closed to outward seeing. It is as if you are seeing the screen made by the insides of your eyelids.
Engraving means outlining the letter in the mind's eye; as the outline is built up, you must hold a clear intent to operate with a specific letter.
Carving entails establishing the letter as a powerful presence in visual consciousness; energy is focused on the letter until it blazes like fire on the inner screen of the mind.
The intent behind weighing is that of allowing the letter's qualities to impress themselves upon you; a receptive state must be cultivated, in which you might, for example, find meaning in the letter's shape, its constituent parts, its relations with other letters, and so on.
This is followed by permuting the letter with other letters; maybe, having focused on the letter's constituent lines, other letters using those lines arise in the mind.
Letters are then combined, enabling them to enter into relationships one with another.
The final stage concerns the meaning of those combinations; what kind of a presence is formed when those specific letters come together? It is not simply a matter of knowing the word (and, in fact, not all combinations produce words), but rather you should attempt to discern the nature of the entity depicted by the specific combination of letters. What tensions arise between the letters, or do they share a more harmonious relation?
Another meditation with the Hebrew letters introduces their sounds, as indicated in the following audio extract. These kinds of practice open up regions of meaning that extend beyond the reach of the everyday rational mind. As quoted earlier from the Bahir, they begin the process of forging deep links with 'God's thought'.
October 23, 2009
THE CELESTIAL FIRE
From The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse, edited by T. Carmi, pp. 87-88 (biographical note) and 221 (poem). However, we have slightly modified the translation here.
Yannai (sixth century), the first paytan (liturgical poet) of the classical period, lived in the Holy Land. He was virtually unknown until the 20th century, when I. Davidson discovered several of his compositions among the manuscripts in the Cairo Genizah. Subsequently, the research of M. Zulay led to the publication of over eight hundred poems, remarkable for their force, originality, and variety (from Editor’s Introduction). We have chosen this poem for its evocation of the mysteries of the prophetic experience.
The Celestial Fire
“Now an angel of the Lord appeared to Moses
In a blazing fire…”
A fire that devours fire
A fire that burns in things dry and moist
A fire that glows amid snow and ice
A fire like a crouching lion
A fire that manifests itself in many forms
An absolute fire that never expires
A fire that shines and roars
A fire that blazes and sparkles
A fire that flies in a storm wind
A fire that burns without wood
A fire that renews itself every day
A fire that is not fanned by fire
A fire that billows like palm branches
A fire whose sparks are flashes of lightning
A fire black as a raven
A fire curled like the colors of the rainbow!
Yannai (sixth century), the first paytan (liturgical poet) of the classical period, lived in the Holy Land. He was virtually unknown until the 20th century, when I. Davidson discovered several of his compositions among the manuscripts in the Cairo Genizah. Subsequently, the research of M. Zulay led to the publication of over eight hundred poems, remarkable for their force, originality, and variety (from Editor’s Introduction). We have chosen this poem for its evocation of the mysteries of the prophetic experience.
The Celestial Fire
“Now an angel of the Lord appeared to Moses
In a blazing fire…”
A fire that devours fire
A fire that burns in things dry and moist
A fire that glows amid snow and ice
A fire like a crouching lion
A fire that manifests itself in many forms
An absolute fire that never expires
A fire that shines and roars
A fire that blazes and sparkles
A fire that flies in a storm wind
A fire that burns without wood
A fire that renews itself every day
A fire that is not fanned by fire
A fire that billows like palm branches
A fire whose sparks are flashes of lightning
A fire black as a raven
A fire curled like the colors of the rainbow!
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