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When
A Rebbe Takes A Step Back
By
Rabbi Levi Yitzchok Ginsberg
Reb
Mendel Futerfas used to tell the story about a certain Chassid of
the Rebbe Rashab who was an affluent and successful businessman.
Whenever he came to Lubavitch, he would listen when the Rebbe
delivered a maamer, then sit down with the talmidim
of the yeshiva for a chazara.
Unlike
the other Chassidim, however, a single chazara wasn’t
enough for this particular Chassid. Despite the fact that he was a
learned Jew and could repeat the Rebbe’s words as well as anyone
else, he would insist on hearing the chazara several times
from the official chozrim.
At
this point Reb Mendel would pause in his recitation, and repeat
one of his favorite sayings of our Sages:
“It
states in Pirkei Avos,” Reb Mendel would always say,
“that when a wise man hasn’t heard something, he admits that
he hasn’t heard it. Indeed, this is one of the identifying marks
of the chacham — ‘and the opposite is true of the
golem.’ But what does this have to do with wisdom? If the golem
claims to have heard something he really didn’t, doesn’t that
make him a liar rather than a fool?
“The
answer lies in the exact wording of the Mishna: ‘Concerning what
(ma) he has not heard
he says, “I have not heard.”’ Even if he heard what
was being discussed but a certain ‘something’ (mashehu)
— even the tiniest detail — is still vague, he refuses to
claim to understand it. The chacham will not pronounce
himself an expert until the entire picture is clear and
understood.
“The
golem, by contrast, becomes an instant expert, even if he has no
idea what it means. He immediately announces ‘I have heard’
and stops listening.”
(Author’s
note: Reb Mendel Futerfas was the embodiment of this adage, and
was never ashamed to admit that he “had not heard.” Throughout
his life he never claimed to understand an issue until his
knowledge of the subject was thorough and complete.)
Reb
Mendel would then resume:
“As
mentioned before, this Chassid was very wealthy, so to slake his
unquenchable thirst for hearing the Rebbe’s maamarim, he
would handsomely pay any bachur who was willing to repeat a
maamer for him. As the students of Tomchei Tmimim rarely
had a cent to their names, this was a wonderful and welcome
opportunity.
“One
time the Rebbe Rashab delivered a maamer which employed the
analogy of a rav teaching his talmid an intellectual
concept. As the rav’s understanding is vastly greater
than the pupil’s, in order to convey the thought to the student,
he must first ‘constrict’ it down to his level.
“The
Chassid listened to this chazara intently, then, as was his
custom, asked that it be repeated several more times.
“There
was one bachur, however, whose manner of speaking was
particularly effusive. When he got up to the part about the rav’s
seichel being immeasurably superior to the talmid’s,
he was extremely enthusiastic in his description.
“At
that point the elderly Chassid interrupted him. ‘Wait a
minute,’ he said. ‘From the way you’re talking, it would
seem that the difference between the rav and the talmid
is only quantitative — that the rav has learned much
while the talmid has learned only a little. But that is not
the case; there is a qualitative difference! The rav’s
essence is utterly beyond that of the talmid, to the point
that they have nothing in common!”
“One
might say,” the Chassid continued, “that the maamer is
referring to a situation of a Rebbe teaching a Chassid. In this
case, the Rebbe is infinitely superior to the Chassid, and the
concept of ‘understanding one’s teacher after 40 years’ and
thus being able to attain the same level simply doesn’t apply.
For no matter how hard a Chassid works, no matter how great a
Chassid he is, he can never begin to approach what it means to be
a Rebbe!
“The
situation you are describing,” the Chassid concluded,
“pertains to a rav and talmid from the times of
the Gemara, when both are great Tannaim or Amoraim,
yet one has the advantage of having had an opportunity to learn
more. In the beginning, the talmid is far removed from the
teacher’s level. Yet if enough effort is expended, he can not
only attain the same greatness, but surpass it. The same rule
applies to two Rebbeim, when one Rebbe receives knowledge from a
previous Rebbe. A Rebbe is a Rebbe from birth, but he still must
work hard for many years with his own powers to reach the level of
the previous ones…”
*
* *
Chassidus
uses the analogy of a rav who is infinitely above his talmid
(see Seifer HaMaamarim 5670), yet at a certain point
decides to elevate him to a higher level than he would ever be
able to attain under his own power. (When this is accomplished,
“the talmid’s faculties become like the rav’s.”)
In
the beginning of the process, the concepts revealed to the talmid
are completely above his understanding, and the student flounders
in darkness. A state of nesira (separation) exists between
the two. The talmid acutely feels the distance between
himself and the rav.
In
the most literal sense, nesira implies breaking down the
beams of an existing building, in preparation for the
establishment of a new structure. But nesira is not a
simple matter of destruction for a later good. Rather, nesira
is an integral part of the process of elevation and tikkun.
To
illustrate: When a tailor cuts out his fabric to sew a suit, he is
not “destroying” the fabric for a higher cause; the cutting is
an important part of the procedure. Similarly, in the case of nesira
between a rav and a talmid, the descent is an
essential part of the desired ascent.
To
continue with the analogy of construction, when the teacher sticks
to concepts that are easily understood by the student, “they
both share the same wall.” The advantage of the rav over
the talmid is not readily apparent. The situation is
mutually satisfactory for the both of them, but the talmid
receives only the “external part,” or chitzoniyus, of
what the rav has to offer. The talmid is indeed
learning, but he is limited by his own intellectual capacities.
The rav’s p’nimiyus and essence remains
completely beyond his grasp.
In
this instance, the talmid is not aware that there is
something missing. Step by step he increases his knowledge,
progresses in his studies and feels fine. Yet because he doesn’t
know that anything else even exists, he will never be inspired to
strive any higher.
When
the time comes, however, that the rav wants to “boost”
the talmid upward with a hashpaa that comes from his
p’nimiyus, a period of nesira is required. In
order for there to be a “yichud panim b’panim,” an
inner union between teacher and student, the rav must step
back and temporarily separate from the talmid. In other
words, the talmid must be made to perceive the unbridgeable
gap that exists between them.
This
can sometimes lead to state of dejection, when the student
realizes that even after all his hard work he has achieved
nothing. But it is this feeling that will ultimately spur him on
to more elevated heights of which he was previously unaware.
When
the student realizes that he has yet to access the rav’s p’nimiyus,
it produces a state of longing. His efforts take on an entirely
different tone as he strives for “an inner union” and tries to
elevate himself to the rav’s level.
The
phenomenon of nesira, the whole purpose of which is to
bring the talmid to realize that something infinitely
higher exists, can also be accomplished through revelation, as the
rav gradually reveals higher and higher “lights.” In
the initial stages, however, the illumination is too intense for
the talmid to absorb.
In
Kabbalistic terms, this is known as “chesed cutting
through the trunks.” The chesed, the G-dly revelation,
“saws through” the “stems and leaves” of hispashtus
and separates the rav from the talmid. (The root of
the Hebrew word “nesira” means to saw.) Yet it is the
awareness of this separation that causes the talmid to
strive upward.
Again,
this is not a simple situation of “descent for the purpose of
ascent,” nor does the analogy of the rav temporarily
diverting his attention from the talmid to be able to
convey a loftier concept apply. In these cases, the rav
actually does briefly “abandon” the talmid, albeit for
a higher cause.
With
nesira, however, the rav never abandons the talmid
and is always with him. On the contrary, because the initial
revelation is so bright and blinding, the talmid may not
even realize that he has received anything. This is because he has
actually been given a “jolt” of the rav’s p’nimiyus.
In
Chassidus, these other analogies are used to illustrate the
descent of exile (and the inner meaning of Tisha B’Av, etc.),
where destruction actually occurred for the purpose of a later
ascent.
The
analogy of nesira, however, illustrates what happened at mattan
Torah, where the concepts of descent and destruction do not
apply, even though the revelation of G-dliness when the Torah was
given was so intense that “their souls departed from their
bodies.” The framework of the natural order first had to be
broken (i.e., “their souls departed from their bodies”), but
afterward, the revelation of G-dliness was actually absorbed
(“the Holy One, Blessed be He, revived them with the dew He will
use to resurrect the dead, the dew of Torah”).
*
* *
On
Gimmel Tammuz 5754 we received a traumatic shock from which we
have yet to recover. There is no possible explanation or
justification that can alleviate our pain.
There
is no Chassidus without a Rebbe. There is no Yiddishkeit
without a Rebbe. Indeed, the world cannot exist without a Rebbe.
Without a Rebbe, there is nothing. Although the concept is fully
elucidated in Chassidus (see Likkutei Sichos, Volume 26,
for example), the principle itself is fundamental and axiomatic,
and something we all take for granted.
Before
Gimmel Tammuz, we felt fine. There was hardly a need for emuna,
because the Divine truth of Lubavitch was evident to the physical
eye. It was the most wonderful thing in the world to be a
Lubavitcher Chassid.
We
could tangibly see the Rebbe conquering the world and leading it
to the Redemption with giant strides. We merited to hear the
Rebbe’s holy words every few days. We were surrounded by the
Rebbe’s miracles wherever we turned. The Rebbe provided us with
guidance for every detail in our lives. It was our normal mode of
existence, the most elevated way of life a Jew could aspire to.
(Also,
before Gimmel Tammuz, we all thought the same thing and shared the
same consciousness. Nothing could stand in the way of the mighty
army of the Rebbe’s Chasidim, as we all acted with the power of
the Rebbe behind us.)
Then,
suddenly, it was the first Zach Adar, followed by the second. Then
the final blow of the hammer fell on Gimmel Tammuz.
It
was the ultimate example of nesira, a nesira which
seemed to separate us from the Rebbe shlita. In the
strongest possible terms we were suddenly aware of the great
distance that exists between us. We do not see the Rebbe; we
cannot attend farbrengens. There are no Sunday dollars or Kos
Shel Bracha. There is no more ziseh lekach; no yechidos,
general letters, tzetlach, or verbal answers from the
Rebbe. To the physical eye it appears as if the captain has
abandoned ship, G-d forbid.
But
in truth, “the Rebbe foresaw everything.” There was no
destruction for a higher cause, or a “descent for the purpose of
ascent.” For years the Rebbe drummed it into our heads that we
would be facing a great nisayon which would not reflect the
true reality. Indeed, the word “nes” means a banner or
a flag; the whole purpose of a nisayon is to raise us up,
to elevate us from “an external union” to “an inner
union.”
For
this to occur, the talmid must be able to correctly
interpret what is happening. He must understand that the nesira
is an integral part of the ascent, a necessary component in the
progression toward the true and complete Redemption. The Rebbe
wants us to go above and beyond everything we’ve ever done
before, in order to reach a new and more exalted state.
Take,
for example, emuna and hiskashrus as they existed
before Gimmel Tammuz, when we obeyed the Rebbe’s directives
without regard for what the world might say. We internalized the
Rebbe’s words, lived with Moshiach and demonstrated ahavas
Yisroel for one another with true unity.
In
retrospect, however, it was only “an external unity.” What is
required of us now is to strive toward the next level.
Before
Gimmel Tammuz, our emuna was limited. We had emuna
because we could see, hear and understand; everything was
presented to us on a platter. Now, however, we must go beyond
that, and attain a level of emuna that is independent of
outside influences.
Before
Gimmel Tammuz, our hiskashrus was limited. We might even
have thought that there were moments when the Rebbe wasn’t
looking at us or aware of what we were doing, G-d forbid.
Intellectually, we realized that this was not so, but because the
Rebbe was visible to us we could sometimes become lazy.
The
nisayon we are now going through is for the sole purpose of
raising us to the ultimate level of hiskashrus and emuna.
Our entire essence must be completely bound with the Rebbe MH”M.
Indeed,
the awareness that the Rebbe transcends all limitations has grown
after Gimmel Tammuz. More and more people are consulting the Rebbe
about every aspect of their lives, and the sense that the Rebbe is
guiding us is stronger than ever.
Before
Gimmel Tammuz, we longed for Moshiach, we learned about Moshiach
and lived with Moshiach, but in a limited fashion. Today we must
be “crazy about Moshiach,” as the Rebbe once said in reference
to himself. Awareness of Moshiach must fill our consciousness,
until it spills over and affects the very lowest planes of
existence.
Another
fundamental point: Before Gimmel Tammuz, there was achdus
among Chassidim because it was easy. Everyone had the same emuna
and beliefs, and acted the same way.
Now,
however, we must love each other because it’s the right thing to
do, independent of any other motivation. We will love each other
despite our differences of opinion, simply because the Rebbe
Melech HaMoshiach has taught us to do so.
The
Rebbe wants us to understand what’s going on, to raise us up to
the ultimate level of all. For the true and complete Redemption is
about to commence. |
