By Rav Itamar Eldar
Translated by David Strauss
(To read Part I, click here)
From here, based on what he said thus far, R. Levi
Yitzchak of Berditchev proceeds to explain the wise son's question:
Do not ask: If so we should eat matza all
year round? Our Sages already sensed this question in the Zohar,
and answered that it suffices for us to have one awakening[8] a year. The
same applies in the matter under discussion. But if there is a difficulty, this
is the difficulty. Why do we need two hundred and forty eight positive
precepts? Surely the mitzvot are called by the holy Zohar two
hundred and forty-eight pieces of advice, that is to say, two hundred and
forty-eight pieces of advice through which one can come to the fear and love of
the Creator. This is explicitly stated in: "So that you learn to fear the
Lord, your God, all the days." For the entire Torah and all the mitzvot were
given in order to come through them to the fear of God's exaltedness and to His
love. But why do we need all this? Surely it would have sufficed for us to have
the mitzva of matza which testifies to the
renewal of the world at every moment, and in His hand is the soul of all life
and the spirit of all the flesh of man. (ibid.)
R.
Levi Yitzchak's question relates to the two hundred and forty eight positive
precepts, and it rests on the words of the Zohar, which speaks of "pieces
of advice through which one can come to the fear and love of the Creator."[9]
If
the mitzva of matza, asks the Kedushat
Levi, brings a person to recognize newness, that there is no moment, thing,
or action that is not from Him, why are "additional pieces of advice"
necessary in order to bring man to God?
In order
to fully understand the Kedushat Levi's question, we must
first understand the profundity of the idea that the mitzvot are
pieces of advice how to draw near to God. The two hundred and forty-eight
positive precepts allow a person to connect all his actions to God. When a
person eats, the blessing recited over the food gives religious significance to
his eating. The same is true when a person takes the four species, build
a sukka, or brings first-fruits to Jerusalem. Each mitzva relates
to a different element of reality, and allows a road to be paved from the heart
of the person who comes into contact with that element to God. Therefore, the
world of mitzvot relates to all levels of the world, including
the lowest among them. From plowing, through harvesting, through eating, and
even to the bathroom. There is no time or place in which there is no mitzva allowing
a person to harness his actions to his religious life.
Matza,
according to R. Levi Yitzchak, is absolutely different in its
objective. Matza does not wish to attach reins to particular
elements or to actions. Matza exposes the fact that every
particular element and action is something new from God. From the perspective
of matza, there is no mundane, but rather everything is holy, for
there is nothing old, and there is no nature, and everything is something new
from God, ex nihilo, a new creation, Divine revelation. From this
perspective, whatever a person sees before his eyes is the handiwork of God,
and thus there is no need for any harness or any external aide to come and
connect between the mundane and the holy, for there is no mundane, everything
being derived from Him. The Torah teaches man to connect the
"garments" which he encounters to God, but matza brings
man to the recognition that there are no garments, the body and the garments
all being one. Someone who conjoins with the Infinite does not need the vessels
holding on to the Yesh and trying to have an effect in the
field of action of the Yesh and the old. Thus continues R.
Levi Yitzchak:
The answer to this is that since we will later
eat chametz, there is a reasonable concern that we will forget
this, and the awakening of Pesach will come to an end. This is
the question of the wise son: 'What are the testimonies, decrees,
etc.'" We have enough with this mitzva of matza, for
surely it is from it that we learn to fear and love God; what need then is
there for testimonies, decrees, and ordinances. To this we answer: "One
may not eat desert after the Paschal Sacrifice." In other words, it is
specifically after the Paschal sacrifice that we cannot eat, but later we will
eat chametz and we are concerned that perhaps we will be drawn
after the evil impulse. (ibid.)
This
is the way that R. Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev understood the wise
son's question. After we have conjoined with God through the eating of matza,
and after we have experienced the governance of "renewal" that
infuses into our consciousness that there is no other than He, and that
everything is renewed by Him, everything is a miracle, everything is Divine
revelation – after all this, the wise son asks: 'What are the testimonies,
decrees, and ordinances?' Why is it necessary to leave this unmediated
encounter and return to the world of mitzvot which is a world
of garments and intermediaries. Surely we have conjoined with the Infinite, and
from now on all our actions are for the sake of heaven, even without the
"external garment" of mitzva.
To
this we answer: "One may not eat desert after the Paschal sacrifice."
R. Levi Yitzchak's technical answer that we do not remain forever with
the matza, but rather we return in the end to the chametz –
to the old – reflects a profound spiritual position.
Despite
this understanding of Pesach, we live in a natural world, and not a world of
miracles. Matza belongs to the haste of Pesach that passes
after seven days, when we return to the chametz that reflects
the old, the natural, the routine, the garments. The fact that we are planted
in a world of garments requires that we adopt the rules of this world – i.e.,
the mitzvot. The parting of the Sea was indeed a founding
experience that established the consciousness of "there is none other but
Him," but ordinary life does not constitute "holy convocations,"
and in day-to-day life seas do not part.
In
the world of Yesh, the world of the old, the consciousness of matza is
liable to become blurred, and when this disappears, man is left with nothing.
The mitzvot anchor a person in Godly activity, so that even in
the absence of the consciousness of matza, and even when a person
is immersed in chametz and lives in a world of law and order,
he retains a religious consciousness that is fashioned by the performance of
the two hundred and forty eight positive precepts.
The
days of Pesach and the matza that reflects them are days of
unmediated revelation, and in this manner, there is truly no need for any
other mitzva other than the mitzva of matza that
reflects the state of revelation. However, the ordinary days, which we enter
immediately at the end of the holiday, are days of concealment, and in a world
of concealment the mitzvot allow us to preserve our religious
consciousness.
The
wise son's question, then, is a question that arises out of the experience of
conjunction, reflecting the feeling that the world of testimonies and decrees
has an aspect of constriction and distancing from the Infinite. We therefore
answer him: "One may not eat desert after the Paschal sacrifice."
That is to say, that while the taste of the afikoman is still
in our mouths, there is in fact no need for the world of testimonies, decrees
and ordinances. However, once the taste of the afikoman has
passed, and chametz returns and seizes its place, we are in
dire need of the world of the two hundred and forty eight positive precepts.
And in a different manner, for the Creator, blessed be
He, renews and gives vitality, bounty and blessing to all the worlds. Now when
the created beings apprehend the Renewer and enter the gate of the Ein and
are effaced from this world, it is called matza, for this is the
first taste. Afterwards, however, it is called chametz when
they do not see the Renewer, in the sense of a soured and stolen taste. Now
when a person comprehends the Creator who renews, he can join himself to the
Creator, blessed be he, without action. But when he does not comprehend [Him],
he must perform mitzvot with fear and love in order to achieve
conjunction. And it is difficult why I should need testimonies, decrees and
ordinances. It would be preferable to conjoin with the Creator at all times, as
stated above. And the answer to this is that one may not eat desert, afikoman, afiku
man, man being the initial letters of the words mayin
nukvin, feminine waters, for by conjoining himself with His mitzvot he
raises the mayin nukvin. (ibid.)
At
the end of his teaching, R. Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev suggests another
understanding of the wise son's question, but the difference between it and the
first understanding lies primarily in the answer.
Once
again R. Levi Yitzchak confronts supreme apprehension, the recognition that God
renews His world at every moment, with the world of mitzvot. The
supreme recognition that God renews His world constitutes the unmediated
conjunction with the Ein. The world of Yesh, as we saw
above, is the world of nature and laws, and from this perspective, God's
dynamic intervention took place only at the moment of creation, in which God
turned the world from Ein to Yesh. This is
the miracle, and this is the full revelation of God's will in the world.
However,
from the perspective of "He who in His goodness renews the creation every
day, constantly," God each and every moment turns the Ein into Yesh. This
is the conjunction with the Ein that turns the entire world
into a constant revelation of Divine will at every moment and every hour. It is
now that God wants the sun to shine, the bird to chirp, and me to breathe. This
is "the first taste" of creation, which is the unmediated encounter
with the essence itself, with eternity. However, from the moment that the world
"becomes chametz," the first taste disappears, and the
experience of the Ein turning into Yesh hides
in the thickness of the orderly and natural world, and the world appears as if
it were running on its own.
The
consciousness of matza, as we have seen in the words of R. Levi
Yitzchak above, is the consciousness of conjunction, in which there is no need
for action. Action contributes nothing when a person is conjoined with the
Infinite, and perhaps just the opposite! Action is liable to distract a person
from conjunction. Action involves reconciliation with the world of Yesh,
and ignores as it were the Ein.
The
world of mitzvot, asks the wise son according to this
interpretation as well, gives up on conjunction with the Infinite. Why should
we give up a world in which it is possible "to conjoin with the Creator at
all times"?
This is
the same question that was raised earlier; the novelty lies in the answer to
the question. R. Levi Yitzchak already answered this question above, saying
that the taste of the chametz is liable to impair the
consciousness of matza and make a person forget the
recognition of "He who renews the world every day, constantly." The
tone of this answer of R. Levi Yitzchak is, however, one of bedi'eved,
second best. Since a person is liable to fall from the state of conjunction, he
needs the mitzvot, because they will allow him to live in the world
of garments but still remain firmly planted in the house of God. The mitzvot,
according to this understanding, constitute a sort of medicine that is being
offered before the injury, but certainly were it possible for a person to
remain in a state of conjunction, the mitzvot would be
unnecessary. This is what follows from the previous answer.
Here, so
it seems, R. Levi Yitzchak gives this same question an absolutely lekhatchila answer.
"Afiku man, man being the initial letters of the
words mayin nukvin, feminine waters, for by conjoining himself with
His mitzvot he raises the mayin nukvin."
The
term "afiku" means "take out," and the word
"man" constitutes the initial letters of the words "mayin
nukvin," "feminine waters." Taking out the
feminine waters is a kabbalistic concept based on the creation story. On the
second day of creation, the upper waters were separated from the lower waters.
This separation, according to kabbalistic teaching, is the "forced"
separation between the Divine bounty which went up and the Divine bounty which
is hidden in the depths of material reality. The water that seeps into the
ground symbolizes God's Shekhina that is hidden in the
thickness of the material world. Our aspiration in this world, teaches us
the Kabbala, is to raise these lower waters and restore the
connection between the upper and lower worlds.[11] This
idea turns us all into Gods' agents, and we are all potentially the messiah who
will redeem the lower waters, the Shekhina that dwells in
exile.[12][12]
Someone
who conjoins with the Infinite, teaches us R. Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, is
he who has plunged into the "upper waters." He, however, sins against
his mission in this world. He does not fulfill the spiritual imperative of
"Joyfully shall you draw upon the fountains of deliverance." God
planted us in this world and gave us the mitzvot, the instruments
through which we must act in the framework of this world, in order to redeem
the disjoined world, and work to reconnect the upper and lower waters.
The
transition from matza to chametz, according to
this, is not necessitated by man's fall, but by God's choice that demands of
man to return to the natural world, to the garments, and work within them. For
this, comes the Torah with its mitzvot, in order to provide man
with the tools with which to conduct his work in the world of garments.
According to R. Levi Yitzchak's second answer, we are not talking
about necessity, but with a mission. Man should not avoid this mission despite
his desire and yearning to conjoin with the upper world. R. Levi
Yitzchak of Berditchev describes the wise son who seeks the haste, the passing
over nature and processes, the total miracle that has no gradations or
moderation. He asserts, however, as did R. Tzadok at the end of his first
teaching, that in the end – "he can once again proceed with moderation and
slowness as is the law regarding the Paschal offering brought in later
generations." The redemption of reality takes place in the world of
moderation and gradation, the world of processes, in which a person slowly
lifts and redeems the reality in which he lives. R. Ya'akov Yosef of Polnoye writes
in similar fashion:
That which it says: "For the Lord will go before
you" (Yeshaya 52:12), using the name of Mercy, so that you
veer not to the left, "and the God of Israel will be your rearguard"
(ibid.), like Dan, the rearguard for all the camps, for He is behind
you. This is a description of God who is called the God of Israel, for the
name Elokim which is Justice, is behind you, so that you veer
not to the right, as stated above. This means that you should follow the middle
line which is graded and moderate, the opposite of haste and flight, which is
the inclination to [one of] the two extremes, right or left, which is not
constant, but only for the need of the hour. For occasionally one must go with
haste, as from Egypt, when their governance was above nature, called
haste, as I have explained elsewhere (Vayakhel, no. 4), see there.
That was to the far right extreme, for they all offered themselves for the
sanctification of His name, they taking a lamb that was the idol of Egypt and
slaughtering it, etc. "You shall not go by flight" (ibid.),
like one who sets out and must go by flight, so that he not remain there, God
forbid. But the middle road is constant so that it will be able to endure. (Toledot
Ya'akov Yosef, Ki Tetze 14)
God
wanted to create the world with the attribute of Justice, but, alludes R.
Ya'akov Yosef, He saw that it would not be able to exist, and therefore he
mixed in the attribute of Mercy, the quality of the middle path.
Justice
is the extremes, the haste, the level that is above nature. This is the
experience of the wise son who wishes to conjoin with the Infinite and pass
over the natural and gradated world. But, argues R. Ya'akov Yosef, the world
cannot exist in a reality of Justice, in the dynamics of extremes, in
uncompromising totality – "You shall not go by flight." When a person
is at the beginning of a process, R. Ya'akov Yosef agrees, he needs haste, he
needs a miracle, he needs an attribute that is above nature: "One who sets
out and must go by flight." And as R. Tzadok wrote, this is necessary
"so that he not remain there." But this is an emergency procedure
necessitated by the need of the hour.
In
contrast, "the middle road is constant so that it will be able to
endure." Waiving moderation means passing over this world, and this
passing over, when it persists, will lead to the world's destruction. This
world is a world of chametz, and we must not remain in a state
of matza, which would return the Yesh to Ein.
R.
Ya'akov Yosef is not describing a situation of "bedi'eved,"
"an anchor to protect against being carried away." Rather he speaks
about a way of life, about recognizing that this is the destiny that God
assigned to us in this world, to proceed in moderation along the middle path,
to maintain the world and elevate it. There is no passing over, no skipping of
stages. A moment of looking at the Ein, the miracle, the unmediated
revelation, the Divine haste that is above time and above nature, and then
immediately we must return to moderation, to nature, to gradation, to the
middle road – the Pesach of Egypt and immediately thereafter, the Pesach of
later generations.
We will
answer the wise son, perhaps with a bit of pain, "One may not eat desert
after the Paschal sacrifice." We are all dragged along with the wise son
to the parting of the Sea, to the plagues of Egypt, to the "Who, O Lord,
is like You among the gods," and like the wise son, we would all like to
stay there, not to fall into the little details that are so constricting and so
distracting. But we are obligated by God's eternal call: "Afiku man!
Take out, lift and elevate the world into which I have cast you," We are
commanded to take leave of the matza and return to the chametz,
out of a feeling of missing out on something, on the one hand, but out of a
feeling of mission and fidelity to God's will, on the other.
TORAH AND BLESSING
This
tension between conjunction to the Infinite, on the one hand, and the Torah
and mitzvot, on the other, also finds expression in the words of R.
Tzadok ha-Kohen of Lublin:
"Blessings are upon the head of the
righteous" (Mishlei 10:6). For
this reason, the Talmud begins with tractate Berakhot (blessings),
for the foundation of everything is "Know the God of your father" (Divrei
Ha-yamim 1, 28:9), and afterwards "serve Him." For one must
know whom one is serving. This is the blessing that one must recite before
every act to designate all of one's actions to God, as it is stated: "In
all your ways know Him" (Mishlei 3:6), as
the Rambam has written (Hilkhot De'ot 3:3). This is by way of a
blessing, as the Sages have said (Berakhot 48a) that
the standard is a child who knows to whom one recites a blessing. This is not
the case with the other mitzvot; there is no standard that a child
must know to whom one dons tefilin, or the like. It is clear then
that the essence of a blessing is knowing whom one is blessing, for it is for
this that it was established. And this is the beginning of one's entry into
Torah, as it is stated: "The beginning of wisdom is the fear of the
Lord" (Tehillim 111:10). The
fear of heaven is through "I have set the Lord before me at all
times," as the Rema writes at the beginning of Orach Chayyim.
This explains why blessings all begin in the second person, for immediately at
the beginning of a blessing, God, blessed be He, must be before a person's
eyes, as if He were standing over him and commanding him. And the conclusion
[of the blessing] is in third person, for He immediately disappears, as it is
stated: "Broods over her young" (Devarim 32:11),
touching but not touching, as is well known. (Tzidkat ha-Tzadik 2)
R.
Tzadok proposes an amazingly novel idea. He presents a fixed model, a
systematic pattern of beginning and end, that starts with immediacy and
presence, which is then followed by retreat and concealment.
This
model is applied in R. Tzadok's teaching in three ways:
1. Mitzvot
2. Blessings
3. Torah study
Let us
examine each one independently.
Mitzvot – Every mitzva involves
a blessing that is followed by an action. The blessing is what invokes God's
presence: "To designate all his actions to God." The action itself is
an act, but the act is meaningless if is lacks a blessing that preceded it and
directed it toward God. The act of the mitzva is performed in
a state of concealment, and it itself is merely a garment, but the blessing
that preceded it is what directs the act toward God, opening the entire process
with "Know the God of your father." In order for the act to have
meaning in a world of concealment, it must open with a consciousness of
revelation – this is the blessing.
Blessings
– The blessing itself is composed of a beginning and an end. The beginning of
the blessing makes God present – "Blessed are You, O
Lord." In the beginning of the blessing, there is once again the
consciousness of "Know the God of your father." The continuation of
the blessing is in third person, "who creates the fruit of the land"
– He; "who has sanctified us with His commandments" – He; "who
has fashioned man" – He.
The
substance of the blessing, which comes at its end, marks the act that is
performed in the material world: the formation of man, the creation of the
fruit of the land, and the like. As acts of God, however, these acts are acts
of concealment. Everybody sees the apple that has been created, but the
recognition that we are dealing with the hand of God is concealed. Therefore, a
blessing opens with an unmediated encounter with God: "Blessed are You,
O Lord." Not through His creation, nor through His commandments, but
through standing before Him – "Blessed are You." Only
after a person has experienced through his blessing that he is standing before
God can he move on to the concealed world – "who has created the fruit of
the tree," and see from the beginning of his blessing how the continuation
is also a revelation, though clothed in a garment, but nevertheless a
revelation of God.
The
Torah – It seems that this is R. Tzadok's most novel point. R. Tzadok asserts
that just as the mitzvot are a concealment, and they are
preceded by a blessing which is a revelation, and just as the end of a blessing
is a concealment, that is preceded by the beginning of a blessing which is a
revelation, so too Torah study is concealment, but it is preceded by awareness
that is revelation – "the beginning of wisdom is the fear of the
Lord."
R.
Tzadok teaches us that Torah study is also liable to be concealment. A person
involves himself with the discussions of Abaye and Rava. He engages in the laws
of neighbors, the laws of damages, or the laws of ritual slaughter. What have
all these to do with conjunction with God? The wise son's question, according
to R. Levi Yitzchak, still echoes in our ears. Torah study is a world of concealment,
in which God does not appear in an immediately apparent manner. R. Tzadok
teaches us that for this reason, as is the case regarding mitzvot and
blessings, one must begin with an awareness of revelation, of God's presence,
of unmediated standing before God. Every study of Torah must open with the
recognition of "I have set the Lord before me at all times," so that
in the course of study, concealment will not turn into disappearance.
R.
Tzadok teaches us that the world in which we live is a world of concealment.
And the tools with which we meet this world, through the mitzvot,
through the blessings, and through Torah study, are liable to fall before the
feet of concealment and they themselves will conceal and push away.
Therefore,
says R. Tzadok, these all begin with an act, a psychological movement, a
process of recognizing the presence and revelation of God. Blessed are You! I
have set you before me at all times. All these must preceded the act that
connects with this world, the world of concealment.
Israel's
redemption from Egypt began with revealed miracles. The Israelites
could stand at the Sea and say: "Who, O Lord, is like You among the
gods." It was only afterwards that the Torah, the mitzvot, and
the blessings came. Standing before God at the beginning of the process, the
haste at the beginning of God's service mentioned by R. Tzadok, reflects the
necessity of making God present and tasting of the hidden matza,
being cast into the lofty Ein and conjoining with the revealed
miracle, in order that afterwards we should be able to go down with great love
and fear to the hidden spring of "feminine waters" that penetrates
the thickness of matter and waits for us to draw water from it and declare the
unity of God and His Shekhina.
Have a happy and kosher Pesach!
NOTES
[8] The Hebrew term he'ara, in the sense
of arousing and waking, causing a person to wake up from his slumber and pay
attention to what is transpiring around him.
[9] Of
course, regarding negative precepts there is no question, for we are dealing
with fences that prevent man from falling into defiled places, and the validity
of these mitzvot is certainly absolute.
[10] We
have skipped over a small section in which R. Levi Yitzchak raises a second
possibility regarding the wise son's question, which in large measure presents
the second side of the coin regarding the relationship between nature and
miracles. He says as follows: "Or else: The wise son – what does he
say? 'What are the testimonies, decrees, and ordinances, etc.'… One may not eat
desert [afikoman] after the Paschal sacrifice. Now all the mitzvot of
this night are intended to serve as a remembrance of the miracles that He
performed for us. A person apprehends the Creator through miracles when his
mind is immature, but when he reaches maturity of mind, and apprehends the
Creator, blessed be He, through reason, he is called wise. And [then] he says:
'What are the testimonies, decrees, and ordinances, etc.' And the answer to
this is that it is possible to fall into small-mindedness. One must therefore
believe in the miracles and wonders that the Holy One, blessed be He, performed
for us, and this taste must remain forever. This is 'One may not eat desert
after the Paschal sacrifice.'"
According to this, belief in miracles and wonders
serves as an anchor in times of distance, what R. Levi Yitzchak calls –
"small-mindedness." When a person is in a state of
"large-mindedness" and he apprehends God with his reason, he does not
need the awareness of miracles. It is precisely when he has fallen that he
needs this. Therefore, the wise one who has apprehended God intellectually
asks: "What are the testimonies and decrees." In other words,
according to this explanation of R. Levi Yitzchak, this refers specifically to
the mitzvot of Pesach that are meant to remind Israel of the
revealed miracles, for a wise person has no need for them. Therefore, the Hagada answers:
All "large-mindedness" may end in a fall to
"small-mindedness," and then there is a great need for miracles.
It should be noted that in a great measure what is said
in this section contradicts what had been said earlier. Here it is precisely
the awareness of miracles that is seen as lowly recognition, this because the
miracle is not understood as closeness, but as proof, and this proof is only
necessary when one is not found on a high level of belief.
[11] This
is connected to the idea of "For the sake of the union of the Holy One,
blessed be He, and His Shekhina" (Le-shem yichud), that
we saw in earlier shi'urim.
[12] Following
the Kabbala, many Chassidic teachings have dealt with the role of
man in general and that of the tzadik in particular, being
"the agents of the Shekhina," who come to redeem it with
their prayers and actions and fill in whatever is lacking in it (for
example, Degel Machane Efrayim, Toledot, s.v.
vaye'ater).
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment