JEWISH WISDOM ON THE AFTERLIFE The Mysteries, the Myths & the Meanings by Rav DovBer Pinson
Read more...
Chanukah is traditionally referred to as the festival of lights. Speaking of the laws of this holiday, the codifiers of Jewish law strongly suggest that we increase the giving of charity during these special days. Giving charity is always a commendable act, yet the relationship between these two, the festival of lights and the art of giving is quite profound, and intrinsically connected.
Light contains an amazing quality in that it brings warmth, comfort, and illumination, and yet, as much as it gives to others it retains its perfect wholeness; so long as a flame flickers it has the potential to kindle as many lights as possible without detracting from its own luminescence
We live in a physical tangible reality and therefore assume that by taking something of ours, or something that we believe belongs to us and giving it to another, we are in effect, reducing what we have. If you have ten dollars and you give one to the poor now you have only nine. But our reality is but a creation of a higher reality, one in which the laws of nature have no bearing. In this ‘true’ reality, charity is much like a flame. Offering what seems to be something of yours to others does not subtract from what is actually yours and what you possess; in fact the more you give the more you have, and the more you get.
There is a verse in the Torah that says, “Asser Te’asser” which literally means, “and you shall surely tithe.” Yet the Talmudic sages tell us; that the redundancy of this verse is intentional, asser – tithes so that you may tith’asser – become wealthy. By giving you get more in return, and the more you give the more you actually have.
“The soul of man is a lamp of G-d”, the wisest of all men, king Solomon tell us. The soul is our higher self, the part of us that is our potential. Our souls are the background of our being, not a property we posses, rather who we are, it does not belong to us, it is us.
When we open our hearts to others we tap into the essence of who we are, and our light is shared with others and the whole world to enjoy.
What is their story? What are they telling us? Most clearly they are telling us is to simply quiet down. Often we become so entangled in the noise and onrush of day-to-day life that we fail to truly notice that which is important. Almost habitually we go around stressing about the future or violently regretting the past, that we neglect to focus on the present. The mind tends to settle in all directions of time except the moment. The gentle hissing sound of the flame begs us to slow down, relax, become more introspective, reflective, and take notice.
Meditating on the flame of the menorah is integral to the Chanukah lights. Unlike the Shabbat candles, for example, which are kindled to add kavod/honor to the ensuing day or for the purpose of oneg/pleasure so that we eat in light and do not stumble in darkness, the flames of the menorah are lit for no personal use whatsoever, rather simply, as the Rambam writes, “to manifest and reveal the miracle” or in the words of the prayer following the lighting: “These lights are holy. Permission is not granted to use them, merely to look at them.” Since looking is all that can be done, Chassidic teachers and Kabbalistic masters have suggested we do so. Once we light the flames we should sit gently next to the lights and look, notice and listen to them.
What is their story? And what are they telling us? Most clearly they are telling us is to simply quiet down. Often we become so entangled in the noise and onrush of day-to-day life that we fail to truly notice that which is important. Almost habitually we go around stressing about the future or violently regretting the past, that we neglect to focus on the present. The mind tends to settle in all directions of time except the moment. The gentle hissing sound of the flame begs us to slow down, relax, become more introspective, reflective, and take notice.
So we sit there quietly and listen, become attentive and introspect. In due time, as the light fills our imagination we become fully aware and realize that there is nothing fundamentally outside and besides the Ultimate Light.
Looking at the flames, what do we see? Noticeably there are three basic elements to the fire; the flame, the wick and the oil or wax. Says the Zohar; the body is similar to the wick, the flame itself is analogous to the divine presence that rests above the head, and the oil that fuses the two together, allowing the flame to join and remain connected with the wick is our ma’asim tovim-good and illuminating deeds. (3:187a)
“The wise man’s eyes are in his head” (Koheles. 2:14.). This means, says the Zohar, that the wise are continuously aware of the divine presence above their heads. More importantly, their awareness informs their actions and insures good deeds and proper comportment. Taking notice of the flames inspires us all to do the same.
In truth we are like a flame. The totality of who we are is reflected within the flame. The spiritual elements of self, the fire reaches upward, the physical body which gravitates downward is the wick, and our good deeds allows for a full integration among all aspects of self, body and soul.
The flame is who we are. Appropriately, the Hebrew word nefesh-spirit, comprised of the three letters, nun, pei, shin, is an acronym for ner/flame, pesilah/wick and shemen/oil.
Penetrating a bit deeper we begin to notice the fire itself and become aware of the different shades of color within the flame. Essentially, there is the dark, intense blue light on the one hand, and on the other extreme a white luminous, almost transparent light.
What do these colors represent? The Zohar describes the following;
“In the flame itself there are two lights: one white and luminous, the other black or blue. The white light is the higher of the two and rises steadily. The black or blue light is underneath the other, which rests on it as on a pedestal. The two are inseparably connected, the white resting and being enthroned upon the black…This blue or black base is in turn attached to something beneath it which keeps it in flame and impels it to cling to the white light above. This blue or black light sometimes turns red, but the white light above never changes its color. The lower light, which is sometimes black, sometimes blue, and sometimes red, is a connecting link between the white light to which it is attached above and to the concrete body to which it is attached below, and which keeps it alight. This light always consumes anything which is under it or which is brought in contact with it, for such is its nature, to be a source of destruction and death. But the white light which is above it never consumes or destroys and never changes. (1 Zohar. p. 51a.)
So there are two differences, one is that the darker light continually fluctuates and changes colors, whereas the white light is a constant. Another variant is that the darker fire, unlike the white light, needs to consume and destroy another to exist.
This lower more dense fire is a reflection of all of physical life, in which life feeds off death and everything in nature is continuously altering and putting on different coats. In the physical plane of existence, in order for one living organism to survive it must consume another form of life. After the body has served its purpose, it slowly rejoins the earth and transforms into the soil upon which new life grows. Mineral becomes plant, plant becomes animal, animal man, and man in turn returns to earth.
Higher, white fire is our spirituality, that which does not need to overwhelm or negate the other to exist. The whiter and more transparent the shade of fire becomes the deeper the level of soul it represents until the peak of the flame, a point in which the transparent fire becomes almost invisible and dips into the infinite space and merges.
Within the human psyche there are levels of varying consciousness. The outermost manifest surface self is our autobiography, that which is in a constant state of motion and movement, so long as we are sensing this part of self is expanding, much like the lower fire that fluctuates, jumps around, changes colors depending on the heat. Higher and deeper within us rests the core of self, the essence of soul. The self that is the unchanging that registers the changing, the continuous that observes the discontinuous, the uninfluenced that informs the influenced.
The ecstatic dancing flames as well as the more subdued gentle flames mirror life itself. Every moment we live, and with every breath we take we are constantly moving, shifting back and forth, inhaling and exhaling, expanding and contracting. Meta-physically speaking, every moment of life we are continually being recreated, becoming embodied and expiring and then re-embodying again.
The movement upwards and beyond is ratzu-a deep desire to expire and lift off, whereas the movement downward and within is shuv-a deep awareness that the purpose is within the here-and-now. The constant flickering of the lower flames jumping and leaping higher is the ratzu. Shuv is the more settled and clearer whiter light. The spiritually less evolved levels of self desire expiration, to transcend world, and in the process neglect body, yet the deepest awareness is one that is in total harmony with its divine purpose, which is to be within the world, as you are intentionally embodied, and there catapult a transformation. Obviously, the shuv reality is a profounder level and state of bitul-negation of separate self, as one is more in tune with the divine reality and the ultimate purpose.
Both the ratzu and shuv serve and enhance each other. The ratzu ensures a lightness of being–that our involvement with world and body does not devolve into preoccupation and eventual existential anxiety, whereas the shuv ensures that we do not slip fully into ecstasy and eventually expire.
Healthy living depends on balance, both physically as in breathing and spiritually as in ratzu and shuv. “Ve’ahavta Es Hashem“-You shall love Hashem. True love is movement in both directions; ratzu and shuv, drawing closer and moving back, rising upward and returning. The Hebrew letters that comprise the word ve’ahavta–vav/6, aleph/1, hei/5, beis/2, tof/400–has the numeric value of 414, twice the value of the word or-light–aleph/1, vav/6, riesh/200= 207. Genuine love, on all levels of reality, has direct light, as in giving, contracting and reaching out, and reflective light, as in receiving, expanding and opening up.
The entire cosmic inner structure and dynamics are reflected in the Hebrew word ner-candle. The word ner (nun/50, riesh/200 = 250) has a number equivalency with The Name (havaya/26), the Tetragrammaton, the ineffable transcendence, as the name is joined with ado-noi/65, with elokim/86 and with eheyeh/21 (26+65 = 91; 26+86 = 112; 26+21= 47), in total 91+112+47= 250.
Havaya represents the utter transcendence, beyond all definitions or relationship with time or space, and yet havaya is projected within ado-noi-Master of the world, elokim-Lord of the world, and eheye-the ever unfolding process of becoming. There is absolute oneness and unity.
Yet all shades of the flame rests upon empty space. Just below the flame, where fire and wick converge, there appears to be an empty region. The fire begins slightly removed from the wick, or so it seems. Ultimately, if we wish to exude light, warmth and wisdom we must first disappear, attain a measure of bitul, and then the light we project outwardly will be a warming, gentle and overwhelmingly inspiring.
Yaale Tachenuneinu — Reflective Light
The usual acrostic pattern of the Piyutim (the special songs of the High Holidays) follows the Aleph Beit, beginning with the first letter aleph and following the established order. But here we find the order reversed, and there is a reason why.
There are two forms of light: 1) or yashar or direct light, and 2) or chozer or reflective light. The normal Aleph Beit order symbolizes the normal progression of direct linear light. But the reflective light emerges out of the darkness as even more powerful than the direct light, much like a mirror may reflect the rays of the sun light more intensely than the ray of sun itself.
Teshuvah is or chozer, reflective light that emerges from a darkness. And thus here, on Yom Kippur, with its focus on teshuvah, the order of this piyut is reversed.
We may sometimes feel like the last letter of the alphabet, but we should never despair since light can emerge even from the lowest of places, and sometimes that light is that much more bright.
The Thirteen Attributes of Mercy
The Talmud teaches that when Moshe despaired after the people had sinned with the Golden Calf, believing that their transgression was so damaging the no repair would be possible, God revealed to him and taught him the”Thirteen Attributes of Mercy,” as follows:
“GOD, GOD, Almighty, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abundant in loving-kindness and truth, remembering kindness for thousands [of generations], forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, and erasing the guilt [of those who repent].”
God also told Moshe that whenever the people of Israel seek forgiveness in the future, they should recite the “Thirteen Attributes,” and they will be forgiven.
What do these “Thirteen Attributes” mean?
1 & 2) “GOD, GOD”—God is with us when we walk the right path, before we transgress, before we deviate from the Divine plan. But God is also there for us, and after we have strayed. God is there to extend an extra hand and help us find our way back to God.
3) “Almighty”—This name of God represents supernal kindness, a compassion beyond limitation. God’s initial desire to create the universe—and offer something to an “other”—has its source in this name.
4) “Compassionate”—God shows compassion even to those who are being punished, even to those whose negative actions caused a negative reaction, so that the consequences should not be so severe.
5) “Gracious”—God helps those who need the extra strength to overcome their negative temptations.
6) “Slow to anger”—God is patient with us, giving us the time to come to the right state of awareness and return.
7) “Abundant in loving-kindness”—God shows kindness even to those who have no merit whatsoever.
8) “[Abundant in] Truth”—Positive actions cause positive reactions and God ensures that this spiritual principle does not waver.
9) “Remembering kindness for thousands [of generations]“—Good deeds reverberate throughout generations and can bring benefit to our descendants.
10) “Forgiving iniquity”—God not only forgives but actually lifts up the sinner who embarks on a path of teshuvah.
11) “[Forgiving] transgression”—God does the same for those who have willfully transgressed, but now wish to amend their ways.
12) “[Forgiving] Sin”—He forgives and lifts up those who return from the ways of apathy and carelessness.
13) “Erasing the guilt”—Ultimately, we are given the power to go back in time and erase the negative activity as if it has never occurred. We can completely obliterate it from our consciousness and from reality. God erases it, and, through a teshuvah of love, allows our liabilities to be transformed into merits—vice becomes virtue.
Al Chet—Transcendent Confession
As we recite the Al Chet prayer, listing the terrible sins it contains, a question comes to mind: Are we truly so negative?
“Just as we ought to know our shortcomings, we should also know our value.” Just as it is important for us to acknowledge where we have failed in order that we can take responsibility and seek to amend our behavior, so, too, it is important that we don’t belittle ourselves by assuming responsibility for something we haven’t done. A person who keeps on knocking himself or herself down will not have the strength to get up, and this is especially true if there is, in fact, no reason to be down in the first place.
Of course, on a subtle level, most people, it could be argued, are guilty of every sin listed in some shape or form. For example, most people have “taken the blood” of another person by embarrassing someone. Likewise, most people have “committed idolatry” by expressing anger. But, even if this is true, what about the truly holy ones who have not committed these sins in any shape or form?
Another question that might be asked: Is this the right time to be confessing our sins? Can it be that on this holiest of holy days, in a holy place, among holy people, there’s nothing better to talk about than this? Were we not supposed to have examined our behavior, confessed our sins, and expressed our regrets in the month of Elul, which preceded Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur?
The theme of Yom Kippur is utter transcendence. The great twelfth century Jewish philosopher, Maimonides (Rambam) writes that Yom Kippur is a day when it is a mitzvah to “rest” from eating, drinking, and other physical endeavors—it is not a day when we refrain from food, but a day when we rest from it, when we transcend our physical selves. Indeed, everything we do or do not do on Yom Kippur is meant to mimic angelic behavior. Angels, as completely spiritual beings, have no physical needs or limitations.
These limitations are considered the opposite of angelic. Indeed, the Hebrew word for Satan (hasatan), which describes the satanic/ego consciousness, has the numerical value of 364. From this we learn that on 364 of 365 days of the year, we may struggle with our constricted, ego-oriented self, but on one day—on Yom Kippur—we are given the power to completely transcend these limitations and be angelic.
Considering this, it is even more troubling that we should speak of such terrible sins, while we are, or aspire to be, in this lofty, angelic state.
And yet Al Chet—this recitation of sins—fits precisely with the theme of transcendence.
Note that the language in the Al Chet is not singular but plural—”we” are guilty of these sins, not “I.” The use of the plural “we” is the ultimate expression of personal-ego transcendence. We are able to transcend our focus on “I” and connect to the collective soul of Israel—to the “we.”
When we recite the Al Chet and ask forgiveness, it is not—at least hopefully not most times—for our personal transgressions that we ask, but for the transgression of all members of our community. We share in the pain of others and feel their lack as our own. When we do so, we express the pinnacle of transcendence, reaching the place deep within where we are rooted in Divine oneness, where we are all one.
During the course of reciting the Al Chet, we follow the order of the alphabet to rectify this world, which was and is continually created through Divine speech—the Holy Aleph Beit—in which are contained all the sounds and vibrations of creation.
Selach Lanu, Mechal Lanu, Kaper Lanu
Every negative act, not only effects us negatively but has cosmic influence—repercussions that are felt throughout all worlds. When we commit by omission or commission a negative deed, we blemish the Divine light apportioned to existence, distorting, as well as reducing the divine energy immanent within creation. To replenishing what our actions has taken away requires reaching the divine energy that encompasses and is transcended of creation.
This encompassing surrounding infinite light is hinted at by the circular letter samech, which also points to our essential request in the Selichos penitential prayers: Selach lanu-”Pardon us, forgive us, atone for us.” The first letters of “Pardon us, forgive us, atone for us” comprise the phonetic spelling of the word samech. Pardon us for closing our eyes to the divine presence, for not honoring the Divine presence. Forgive us for not humbly fulfilling our obligations and Atone for our insensitivity to our Beloved, for blemishing our deep-rooted mutual love through a lack of awareness. And therefore, pardon, forgive, atone for us through the energy of samech, the infinite surrounding light.
Reading the Torah
On Yom Kippur, the Torah reading is divided into six sections or aliyot. During the week, the Torah is read with three aliyot, but on special weekdays a fourth aliyah is added, on holidays a fifth, and on Yom Kippur a sixth. In addition to the simple reason that we increase the aliyot in keeping with the holiness of the day, there is a symbolic reason as well:
Yom Kippur is called in the Torah: Shabbat Shabbaton. Just as Shabbat inspires an elevation of the six days that precede it, so on a more comprehensive level, Yom Kippur elevates the entire year. ‘Six’ represents the world of the ordinary (the world was created in six days); ‘seven’ represents the crowning of creation, the element of transcendence that completes creation. Yom Kippur comes along and completes the past, elevating the world of ‘six’ and embracing it within the reality of ‘seven.’
The Torah reading speaks of the aftermath of the death of Aharon’s two sons. There are various explanations of why they perished. The Kabbalah says that they died in ecstasy, in spiritual rapture. In their great desire to be at one with their Divine source, they literally transcended the physical world and expired. This is called ratzui bli shuv, “desire to transcend without a return.”
On Yom Kippur, we are like angels, operating in a transcendent consciousness devoid of materialism, and we need to remind ourselves that the ultimate purpose of our transcendence is in the return. Our moments of physical transcendence are not ends in themselves, rather they are a means to greater strength and clarity, so that once we return, we can be involved with our earthly reality below and yet remain above.
Haftorah for Shacharit
During the morning service we read from the Book of Yeshayahu (Isaiah), which contains one of the greatest of all prophetic calls for teshuvah. The prophet reminds us during our Yom Kippur fast that fasting without any ethical conduct is meaningless.
We need to keep in mind that our fasting is not mere affliction of the body, but a means to transcend our body—to transcend our ego-oriented existence and tap into the deepest resources of our soul. We do this in order to discard any negativity that holds us back from being one with God, and by extension one with our authentic self.
Yizkor — Remembrance
After the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, a custom developed to raise the memory of our lofty ancestors so that their merit should stand by us now and for our offspring in the future.
Every holiday when the Torah portion speaks of offering charity (tzedakah), those who no longer have parents say Yizkor and resolve to offer tzedakah in the memory of their beloved ones.
Yom Kippur is known in Hebrew as Yom Kippurim, the plural form indicating that it is a day of spiritual atonement both for the living and for those that have passed on. Thus on Yom Kippur, we also invoke the memory of our ancestors for a dual purpose: 1) that we can be sustained because of their holy memory, and 2) that through our positive actions, we inspire an elevation of their souls if such might be needed above.
Everything that exists on a physical level corresponds to what exists on the spiritual level—physical is a reflection of the meta-physical. When two people are related on a physical plane it is because they share the same root in the source of souls in a supernal sphere.
This means that although our actions can impact the entire world, those that are most affected by what we do are the souls most closely connected to our own soul. Thus, when children in this world give charity in honor and merit of their departed parents, this action can affect the ascension of the parents’ souls above.
In our world, there are choices; in the next world, there are only the effects. Free choice, the power to elect a new reality, to forge a new content/context, exists only in this manifestation. Since this is so, only in our world can people truly grow, expand and develop. There is always room for change and space to leap into new and unexplored realities. For this reason, any movement in the world of souls is dependent on the actions we take or actions we refrain from taking in this life. What level of integration our soul has with its source, or with what measure of intensity the personal light of our soul merges with the source of light, is contingent on what we do and refrain from doing in our present life.
This is so because the physical world below is founded on chesed (“loving-kindness”), and in the world of chesed, there are always second chances. This is not so in the spiritual world above, which is founded on gevurah/din (“strict justice”). There, everything is absolute and unconditional.
And yet, since our souls are closely rooted in the world above with our ancestors’ souls, our actions below can and do stir movement above. When we do something noble in the memory of our loved ones, not only are we ennobling ourselves, but we are essentially causing an elevation of their souls, an elevation that would otherwise not be available for them.
We fill their void, allowing for their soul’s ascent into the upper worlds, and by doing so fill the emptiness and void that their passing has left us. Yet, repeating the words of Yizkor alone is not sufficient. We need to be totally committed with strong resolve to do good, give to charity—in their name and for their benefit—and then certainly, the effects will be felt by them spiritually and by us spiritually, mentally and even physically.
Avodah — In the place of the High Priest
During Temple times, it was Kohen Gadol (the “High Priest”) who performed the essential service on Yom Kippur. Today, with the Temple in ruins, we are taught “its ruin is its repair,” meaning that the illness contains the cure. The fact that we don’t have the Kohen Gadol means that we must all become priests. By reading about the service of Yom Kippur, we not only recall the details but evoke the same energy so that our prayers stand in the place of the Temple offerings.
The Ten Martyrs
The story of the ten martyrs tells of a sadistic Roman ruler who questioned ten Jewish sages: “What should happen to a man if he is found kidnapping one of his brothers from among the children of Israel and selling him into slavery?” They instantly answered him, “That kidnapper shall die.” He then informed them that the Jewish people have yet to pay for the sin of the sale of Yosef by the ten sons of Yaakov, and that he means to correct this oversight. The story then describes in very graphic language the savage execution of the ten sages.
It should be pointed out that, in actuality, they did not die at the same time, although they all perished at the hands of the Romans. For example, Rabbi Yishmael, the High Priest, died at the end of the second Temple period, while Rabbi Akiva was murdered after the Bar Kochba revolt, some 60 years after the destruction of the Temple.
Therefore, we know that this recitation is not merely trying to relay historical facts, but a greater spiritual truth. It is not by chance that the numerical value of the Hebrew names of the ten sons of Yaakov equals 2858, which is the same as the Hebrew names of the ten martyrs. According to the Kabbalah, nothing is mere coincidence; everything is Divinely orchestrated, and when two words or concepts are related numerically, this is an outer indication that they are intricately related on a deeper level. Clearly, this numerical correlation is not what links them together, rather they share a deeper commonality, and the numerical correlation is an outer reflection of that commonality.
In our fragmented world, we perceive differentiated time and space; from our linear perspective, the past is gone, the future has yet to come, and all that exists is the fleeting present. But there is a deeper and higher view in the universe—of absolute unity and oneness—in which there is no differentiated time and space, no past, present or future, no beginning, middle or end. In that reality, everything exists in the eternal present.
The world of souls functions in that non-linear, unfragmented reality. Reincarnation—where some souls incarnate once again into this world in order to rectify past mistakes and retroactively affect souls that manifested here years ago—can only be understood from a perspective of a non-linear reality. Thus, the ten sons of Yaakov, who sold their brother Yosef into slavery, were later reincarnated as the ten martyrs in order to make a tikun—to rectify their past deed and elevate their souls.
Generally, reincarnation means that the entire soul that existed in one body descends into another for the purpose of rectifying or completing past life experiences. But the type of incarnation described in the ten martyrs’ story is different—more accurately it should be called not reincarnation but impregnation (ibbur).
During the course of one’s life, a person may become impregnated with an additional soul for a short period of time. The impregnated soul does not come to substitute for the present soul, rather it is like a guest within the host soul, achieving what it needs to and then it departs. Sometimes this soul impregnates the body in order to assist the host soul; at other times it does so for its own purpose—to live once again through certain physical experiences and as a result achieve a sought-after elevation.
Of course, the ten sons of Yaakov did teshuvah during their life for the sale of Yosef, as the Torah indicates, yet a slight blemish was still in place on their souls. And so they entered the bodies of these ten sages who were then martyred.
While it is true that the ten sons of Yaakov plotted to do harm to their brother, ultimately, as Yosef himself stated, their deeds served the Creator’s plan. “Although you intended to harm me, God intended it for the good, in order to accomplish… that a vast people be kept alive.” (See the Book of Genesis 50:20.) Indeed, if Yosef had not become the vizier of Egypt, his family would have succumbed to hunger. There are multi-dimensions to everything that occurs in life. Sometimes, what seems negative and destructive from a surface perspective is really positive or the source of something constructive.
In the context of Yom Kippur, once we reach a higher level of teshuvah—teshuvah from love—our past misdeeds are transformed into merits. What seemed previously totally negative and unredeemable, now, in its new context, is viewed in a positive light. The fault becomes the seed for virtue, transforming an obstacle into a rung of a ladder that allows us to climb to a higher place.
The Death of Rabbi Akiva
When Rabbi Akiva was taken out to be executed, it was the time to recite the Shema. He told his disciples, “All my days I have wondered about this verse of the Shema, ‘[love God] with all your soul,’ which I take to mean ‘even if He takes your soul.’ I asked myself, ‘When shall I have the opportunity of fulfilling this?’ And now I have the opportunity!” While they were raking his flesh with iron combs, he was accepting upon himself the kingship of heaven; he prolonged the last word of the Shema—echad, meaning “one”—until he expired. And then a heavenly voice could be heard proclaiming: “Happy are you Akiva that your soul has departed with oneness.”
Everything that occurs in life occurs on two levels: the physical outer level, and the metaphysical inner level. From the outside, it may look like the gentle and holy sage, Rabbi Akiva, was murdered by savage beasts, and yet, the heavenly voice proclaimed that Rabbi Akiva departed this earthly realm of existence in a state of ecstasy and oneness. While they were ravaging his body, he was simultaneously entering a lofty meditative state and saying the Shema, declaring God’s oneness.
The goal of Torah is to teach us to integrate the body and the soul—because, while we yearn to transcend the body, we cannot accomplish the soul’s true purpose without it. Rabbi Akiva used the suffering of his body to lift off into complete transcendence. He thus achieved oneness with God. And in this pure state of bliss, his lofty soul left his body.
Shema Kolienu
Our brains, our power, our art are all from God. Even when we decide—and it is our own decision—to do good and to restrain ourselves from the opposite, we are only playing our part in a cosmic script for which we were formed.
But we can call out to the Infinite Light and ask forgiveness. That is not in the script. When we do teshuvah—when we return to God—we return to a spiritual place where we unite with God’s oneness.
So, when we cry out, “listen to our voice,” perhaps we mean that God should disregard what we are saying, for our intention and focus might not be good, but simply listen to whom is speaking. This is the power of teshuvah, revealing the internal bond between our deepest selves and the Infinite Source of all light.
Reading the Torah for Minchah
“Spirituality” is not always synonymous with “Godliness.” In fact, sometimes the more “spiritual” a person becomes, the more open and receptive he or she becomes to adultery. There is an openness and receptiveness in spirituality which can lead a person to believe that everything should be open, and there should be free interchange on all levels of human interaction.
Reading this Torah portion (from the Book of Leviticus), which details with forbidden sexual relationships, ensures that such a mistake will not occur. Clearly, this reading is also necessary since many people struggle with such temptations, and those that have fallen are reminded to do teshuvah.
In addition, by reading this Torah portion, we are pleading to our Creator and saying, “Just as you have demanded of us that we do not “reveal the shame” (the literal translation of illicit relationships), so too we ask that You not reveal our shame—the shame of our mishaps and deviations—and bestow upon us all your blessings in the new year.”
Haftorah of Mincha: Yonah & the Fish
During the Minchah service, we read the Book of Yonah, which tells the story of the Prophet Yonah who was designated by God to bring the city of Nineveh to teshuvah, but who resisted the assignment.
The great city of Nineveh, a big Assyrian city with a population of over 120, 000 people, was notoriously corrupt. Yet God decided to give its citizens a chance to mend their ways, and He sent Yonah to warn them of the dire consequence of their negative actions. But, feeling overwhelmed by his Divine mission, Yonah chose to run away instead.
Often, we human beings choose to act this way or that, and then later invent reasons for our actions, which are not the real root cause of our behavior. The Talmudic sages tell us that Yonah reasoned that if, in fact, the people of Nineveh would change their ways, they would be spared, and then they would declare that his prophetic vision was false to begin with, or that Divine judgment does not exist. He also reasoned that if they succeeded in mending their ways, this would reflect negatively on the people of Israel, who were constantly being reprimanded for their negative behavior, and who had not mended their ways.
So Yonah fled. He boarded a ship only to find himself in a middle of a tremendous storm. Aboard the ship, everyone prayed intensely while Yonah slept. When they caught on that he was to blame for the savage sea, he told them to throw him into the water in order to save the ship. And so they did.
Once overboard, Yonah was swallowed whole by an enormous fish. Still alive inside, he prayed to God. In response, the fish spit him out. Thus chastised, Yonah went to Nineveh, preaching as he was directed by God. Nineveh heard him and repented.
A literal reading of the story teaches us many things—about the human tendency to flee our innate responsibility, a tendency which we dress up with justifications and rationalizations, and about the power of transformation and teshuvah, a power that can radically change our reality.
But everything in the Torah has at least four levels of meaning: 1) pshat, “simple/literal”; 2) remez, “allegorical/symbolic”; 3) drash, “implied/interpretive”; 4) sod, “secret/mystical.” Each level of meaning is not intended to supplement or exclude the others, rather it includes and supports the others.
In terms of the story of Yonah, while there was a real prophet named Yonah, his name (which means “dove” in Hebrew) suggests that we are also speaking here about the soul—which the dove represents—our deepest sense of self. In the Song of Songs, the dove is the image used to describe the loving and loyal lover, who is madly in love with her beloved (i.e., God).
Our love for God is our soul reality, and the soul is who we truly are. As the soul descends into this world, it becomes embodied and enclothed within a “ship,” a metaphor for the body, which carries the soul on the journey of life.
In a harmonious existence, the body and soul are joined as one—this is what it means to exist as a fully functioning human being. But the body and soul not functioning together are likened to a blind and a lame person. The soul on its own is lame—it sees where it needs to go, but it lacks the tools (the limbs of the body) to get there. The body on its own is blind—it may be able to go where it wants but (without the sight of the soul) has no inkling where. In short, the soul empowers us to see, but it is the body that actually gets us there. The body moves about, but it is the indwelling hidden spirit that directs the movement. Together, in harmony, they join and can become the best of friends.
Our task is to journey onward in life, to steer our ship to the city, and transform our surroundings. We choose the seas upon which we sail—they can be waters of Torah or waters of commerce and desire.
And then there are those doves among us that direct our ship deeper into the sea, away from the city, from our environment of responsibility. This includes those who run away from responsibility by immersing themselves further in the Torah, at the expense of assisting their fellows, and it also includes those who become fully engrossed in their own aggrandizement.
Of course, the city is not an appealing place. Nineveh represents a society gone astray, a civilization gone off course, a place where the dove/soul finds it difficult to live; it refuses to go there. Yet, God decrees to Yonah/dove that saving this city is its mission.
Those of us who shy away from responsibility—from building and helping our fellow man along the path of truth—do so until we run into rough water and encounter a tragedy. Sadly, it seems that tragedy brings us closer to the truth of our reality, to introspection and self-evaluation, even more so than a joyful experience, which generally merely reinforces arrogance. A tragedy tends to break down our ego’s resistance to the experience of truth.
Perhaps this awareness overwhelms and wrecks havoc with our internal paradigm, and believing that we lack the strength to change, we may gives up. We are like Yonah, who tells the sailors to throw him overboard. Of course, no sooner does he hit water than he is swallowed by a big fish.
The word for “fish” in Hebrew, dag, is related to da’aga, which means “worry.” Before the last strand of light is eclipsed, as we sink into oblivion, a Divine worry awakens within us—this is the soul still pulsating within our body, reminding us that there is still hope to realize our potential.
The Divine worry nags us, goads us, to return to our responsibilities and not give up. And in the belly of our worries and existential anxieties, a small glimmer of light emerges, and we find ourselves projected onto land once again.
Ultimately, like Yonah, we get back the city, and our arrival there inspires others to do teshuvah.
Neilah— Closing the Gates
In the context of prayer, Yom Kippur stands out among all other days and holidays.
On an ordinary weekday, we say three prayers: morning (Shachrit), afternoon (Minchah) and night (Maariv), corresponding to the three time zones of prayer that were initiated by the three patriarchs: Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, respectively. These time zones correlated in Temple times to the daily offerings. On Shabbat and on the holidays, there was extra offering known as the Musaf (“extra”), and today we say a fourth Musaf prayer on the Shabbat and on the holidays.
But on Yom Kippur, an extraordinary fifth prayer is added: Neilah “Closing of the Gates.” This either refers to the closing of the Temple gates at the end of the day or this alludes to the closing of the gates of heaven, as the day is coming to a close.
On the two days of Rosh Hashanah (considered a single “extended day”), we pray eight times; on Yom Kippur we pray five times. But, according to a mystical principle, each of Yom Kippur’s five prayers comprises ten, for a total of 50. Altogether the prayers of the Days of Awe number 58 (which is the numerical value of the Hebrew word chen meaning “grace.” These 58 prayers are meant to elicit God’s grace for the renewal of creation on Rosh Hashanah and to forgive iniquity on Yom Kippur. “The poor use entreaties,” says King Shlomo in his Proverbs (18:23), for chen represents the most beloved aspect of prayer.
According to Kabbalah, each of these prayers has the power to access a different level of soul, as follows:
| Level of Soul | Prayer | |
| 5 | Yechidah (Unique One) | Neilah (Locking of the Gates) |
| 4 | Chayah (Living One) | Musaf (Extra) |
| 3 | Neshama (Breath of Life) | Minchah (Afternoon) |
| 2 | Ruach (Spirit) | Shachrit (Morning) |
| 1 | Nefesh (Life Force) | Maariv (Evening) |
- The nefesh is the lowest and densest level of the soul, the part of the soul that most clearly interfaces with the physical. It is the nefesh that ensures survival and impels the body to nourish and protect itself. For the most part, the nefesh represents functional consciousness.
- The ruach manifests as emotional consciousness. It gives us the spiritual ability to rise above immediate existential needs and appreciate matters of emotional value. Music and all the fine arts are expressions of ruach, albeit in its lowest form.
- The neshama is the soul level of our intellectual ability. It gives us the power to rise above ourselves and elect our own destiny by exercising our freedom of choice. It helps us see beyond ourselves and catch a glimpse of transcendence.
- The chayah is the level of our dearest will, our want to be one with our source in God. With this level of soul, we not only have an awareness of transcendence but, in fact, do transcend.
- The yechidah is the highest, deepest, most profound level of soul—it represents uniqueness, oneness. It is the part of us that does not seek oneness, but is one with the Ultimate One.
Neilah gives us the chance to reach this the fifth level of soul, yechidah. As the sun is setting and the heavenly gates are slowly closing, we are faced with a moment of truth, and we respond by a full awakening of the deepest level of our soul.
As we recite the fifth and last prayer, we enter the deepest chamber above, and we move heaven to arouse Divine blessings for Ketivah Vechatima Tova, so that we are “written and sealed for good”—physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.
During the course of Yom Kippur we rip our hearts asunder, we open up completely, for this is what real teshuvah is all about, exposing ourselves, facing ourselves honestly. And so, as the day comes to a close, we recite this lofty neilah, which also means closing up, as in a closing-up prayer, putting everything that was spilled out back, and reintegrating and becoming whole again.
Shema, Hashem Hu, and the Shofar
We conclude the Neilah with the blowing of the shofar and the thunderous declaration of Shema (“Hear O Israel, GOD is our God, GOD is one”), we then shout out Baruch Shem (“Blessed be the name of His glorious kingdom forever and ever”) three times, and HaShem Hu Elokim (“GOD, He is God!”) seven times.
Having reached this point in prayer, we can loudly declare our firm belief in the absolute oneness of the Creator, and our willingness to live and die by this truth. We have journeyed inwards and upwards, and our unequivocal affirmation of oneness is absolute.
Then, we continue with the angelic praise of Baruch Shem and loudly pronounce it three times, demonstrating that God’s oneness permeates all dimensions of our reality—past, present and future.
HaShem Hu Elokim is a declaration that comes from the Book of Kings (18:39) which relates the confrontation between the Prophet Eliyahu and the 450 priests of the pagan deity Ba’al. To save the Jewish people from their idolatrous influences, Eliyahu had challenged the priests of Ba’al to offer a sacrifice alongside his sacrifice, in order to see which would be accepted first by a fire from heaven. Although the priests prayed and cried to Ba’al all day, their sacrificial bull only lay rotting on its altar. However, when it came Eliyahu’s turn, he uttered only one short prayer and a pillar of fire immediately descended, consuming not only the sacrifice but the altar as well. The people gathered there then loudly proclaimed: HaShem Hu Elokim! HaShem Hu Elokim!
Among the names of God listed in the Torah, the two of this declaration are the most significant. The essential four-letter name of God, the Tetragrammaton—which we are forbidden to pronounce and which we generally render as HaShem (meaning “The Name”) or in prayer as Adonai (most often translated as “Lord”)—stands for God’s transcendence. The name of God, Elokim (which we translate as “Almighty” or “God”), stands for God’s immanence, God’s manifestation as Creator of nature.
The declaration HaShem Hu Elokim testifies there is only Oneness—the Creator’s immanence and transcendence are part of the same. There is absolute unity, and everything in the universe of the many is included in the Creator’s Oneness.
When the Jewish people first uttered this declaration after witnessing Eliyahu’s demonstration, they affirmed this fact, which stands counter to the beliefs of idolatry that present a part as the whole, fragmenting one force and believing it to be “the All.”
HaShem Hu Elokim is a statement of our awareness that there is only One, that all is absolute unity. Such a declaration can only occur at the pinnacle of the Yom Kippur experience.
Blowing of the shofar symbolizes the ascent of the Divine Presence, the Shechinah, that has rested upon us and upon the day, as it says “God ascends with a teruah [sound of the shofar].” The declaration of HaShem Hu Elokim repeated seven times accompanies the Shechinah as it ascends above the “seven heavens,” returning to its source of emanation.
The blowing of the shofar is a sign of confidence—we are showing that we are confident that God has accepted our prayers. It is a Chabad custom to rise up in joyful song at this point. There is a tremendous spiritual relief that sweeps over the community as the prayers of Yom Kippur are coming to a close—we have unburdened ourselves of the negativity that has weighed us down, and we feel good that our prayers were accepted on high.
From a place of personal redemption, we express our yearning for global salvation—a yearning to have our exile come to an end, to return to Yerushalayim where we belong.
Higher Teshuvah
What now?
Have we not already cleaned our slate? So why are we again praying for forgiveness in the Amidah of Maariv following Yom Kippur prayers?
There is a Chassidic saying that, after Yom Kippur, the first thing we need to do is teshuvah. What can that mean?
There is a story told about Rabbi Saadiah Gaon, the 9th century Babylonian sage, that may shed some light. Once he was asked by his students why he was in a constant state of teshuvah. He replied that on one of his many trips, he spent a night at an inn, and the inn-keeper, being a pious individual, treated him very nicely as he did all his guests. The next morning, when the inn-keeper saw a huge crowd gathered at his inn to greet the great sage, he realized who his guest was. Some time later, with a bitter heart, the inn-keeper came to ask forgiveness from Rabbi Saadiah for the way he treated him. “But why are you apologizing?,” the great rabbi asked, “You treated me so nicely.” The inn-keeper replied, “No, I treated you as I would all other guests, but had I known who you were, I would have treated you as was fitting for a man of your stature.”
This experience, Rabbi Saadiah said, caused him to be in a constant state of teshuvah. As he explained, “Everyday that I live, I gain in my knowledge, awareness and understanding, and everyday I realize that compared to my understanding today, there is much more room to grow. Everyday, indeed every moment, calls forth for new measures of return.”
New possibilities—undiscovered spiritual opportunities—are opened to us with every new day lived. A new day can bring greater awareness and understanding, and with the new awareness can come a renewed understanding of our true and deeper potential. We learn how much more we can improve, and how much further we can grow.
If ever there was the perfect time to resolve and accept upon oneself a greater and more profound level of teshuvah, it is now, right after Yom Kippur. And so, at the end of this great day, we immediately begin the process of teshuvah—for teshuvah, as a reflection of life and growth, is continuous and ever evolving, bringing us always to new heights, but now our teshuvah is with love and integration, and spiritual elation.
The Joy of being Freed
When we are forgiven, we feel relief and are overjoyed. Though on a conscious level, we may not know whether we are forgiven or not, but the fact that there is great palpable joy felt in the air as Yom Kippur comes to an end is proof that we have all been forgiven. Deeply our souls sense this cleansing and feel purified and free.
As Yom Kippur comes to a close, a heavenly voice rings out, “Go your way, eat your bread with joy, and drink your wine with a merry heart; for God has already accepted your works.” (Ecclesiastes 9:7.) It is a time of great joy, as our teshuvah has been accepted, and our repairs are complete.
Customarily, we speak about building a sukkah, the booth of the holiday of Sukkot, which is referred to as “the time of Joy.”
Yom Kippur night is a unique time for men in that a prayer shawl (talit) is worn during the night service. Although we should make sure to put the talit on before sunset since we are commanded to wear the talit only during the day, when we do so at night, we do not recite the customary blessing. The reasons why the talit is worn at this unusual time are many: for one, during the Maariv service, the Thirteen Divine Attributes of Mercy are recited, and tradition has it that a talit should be worn when reciting them. Additionally, the talit, a white garment, is worn to mimic angelic behavior, and angels are said to “dress” in pure white.
While some people can reach teshuvah by simple inner reflection and introspection, others need a push, something external to impinge on them and inspire them. For some, a talit is worn as a sign of transcendent consciousness, for others the talit is a stark reminder of death and the transient nature of physical existence. Customarily, the dead are buried in a talit and a kittel (a white robe), and so on Yom Kippur these garments are worn to inspire (if needed) a will for teshuvah.
Kabbalisticaly, the covering of the talit shawl represents the light of makif, a surrounding all encompassing force that hovers above the penimi, the inner immediate present dimensions. It is the uniqueness of Yom Kippur where the divine nukvah-receiving force is elevated into higher dimensions, and that is why only on this night can the garment of makif, the talit, be worn.
The custom is to take out the Torah scrolls from the ark for the Kol Nidrei prayer. This is done to inspire the congregants to pray, and to insure that our prayers are linked to the Torah. The chazzan (the one leading the prayers) is flanked at both sides with two people holding Torah scrolls. This is done to mimic a court, a beit din of three, as a court is needed to annul vows. In addition, just as Moshe was flanked by Aharon and Hur, when he prayed for the Israelite victory during the war with Amalek, so too, on fast days, such as Yom Kippur, three people represent the community.
All vows
The prayer called Kol Nidrei (“All Vows”), whose author is unknown, dates back at least to the 9th century, a period of Byzantine persecution, though some say it was composed as early as the 6th century when the King of Spain ordered all the Jews to convert or die.
One might expect that the initiating prayer of Yom Kippur would express the theme of the day – perhaps speak of our soul’s deepest yearning to merge openly with its source or of our commitment to the transcendence of the day. But instead, this prayer speaks of annulling our vows, which suggests a lack of spiritual development, a way of avoiding responsibility.
Scholars have speculated that the Kol Nidrei prayer first gained prominence during the Dark Ages of Medieval Europe. Back then, many Jews were forced to relinquish their Judaism or die, and as a result, many converted, vowing allegiance to another faith. On the eve of Yom Kippur, these poor Jews would secretly gather and whole-heartedly beg God that the vows they made in the previous year would be totally annulled, thus reaffirming their complete devotion to their roots. With such a history, it is obvious why this emotionally charged prayer evokes an intense response from us.
While this may be true, its history cannot be the only reason that Kol Nidrei has such power.
For one, the Talmud states that the person who desires that his or her vows not be binding should declare in the beginning of the year that all future (and as some commentaries say, also past) vows be rendered powerless. Thus, as the year begins we render all vows void, and here is why:
Yom Kippur represents the oneness of time, space and consciousness. As such, it is a day when our essence has real potential to be revealed. It is a day when we have the ability, more than ever, to transcend material limitations and connect with the essence of who we are.
Our essence exists above and beyond all restrictions and confinements. It is a place within that is beyond plurality or fragmentation-a place where we are at one with all reality, with our Divine source. Externalities have no affect on this level of soul; it remains pure and in its perfect state under all circumstances and conditions.
During the course of the year, we live for the most part in a reality of the external. We operate in a physical universe with all its limitations, where we are connected to our lower self. So when it comes to keeping our word, we must. If we promise someone we will do him or her a favor, the honorable thing is to do it, even if we do not feel up to it. To be honest demands that we are mindful of our words, actions and thoughts; whether it is a promise made to our fellows or to God, we must keep our word no matter what.
Yes, we should do as we say, and part of the simple reason we offer this prayer is to remind us that although our words are binding, there is still a misalignment between our minds, hearts and actions, and a discrepancy between one day and the next.
Yom Kippur demands and inspires us to be more. As we begin the holiest of days, traveling deeper within, we annul future vows, saying to ourselves that we no longer need the external pressure of our words to inspire noble behavior. From now on, we plan to live mindful of what we feel deeply. We plan to fully integrate our actions, words and thoughts with our beliefs. Our minds and hearts will be in the same place. This is how we aspire to live in the year to come.
Yom Kippur affords us an amazing ability to tap into the deepest resources of soul, explore and reveal the essence of who we are, and then live accordingly for the entire year to follow.
Finally, since every action below affects a mirror reaction above, we plead with God: “True, we may have led a life full of dubious behavior, and we know that our spiritual alienation from our Source of Life causes a physical condition of exile and hardship. This has happened to us because You have token an oath to respond in kind to our behavior. But now that we are annulling our personal oaths, we ask that You to do the same, and once again allow Your Divine presence to rest among us in Your holy city.”
Building the Divine kingdom
From a more mystical perspective, the annulling of vows fits with the over-arching theme of the High Holidays: the building of the Divine kingdom – binayan hamalchut.
The building of the supernal kingdom awakens a renewed Divine desire to be a king – to rule, nourish and sustain physical existence.
According to kabbalah, the concept of kingdom/kingship-malchut is intricately connected with speech. After all, a king rules through his words, which become his commands.
In the language of Kabbalah, malchut is the “crown” of the lower universe. It is the final, and in some ways, the most important of the Ten Sefirot—the ten Divine spheres or channels with which God created the world and which continue to permeate all reality. Each of these ten channels is like a hologram, reflecting itself as well as the other nine. This means that malchut, in addition to being a sefirah in its own right, is also included in the other nine sefirot – within chochmah (“wisdom”), binah (“understanding”), daat (“knowledge”), chesed (“loving-kindness”), gevurah (“strength”), tiferet (“beauty”), netzach (“victory”), hod (“thanksgiving”), and yesod (“foundation”) — just as each of the other nine is included within malchut.
Since the objective of these Days of Awe is to inspire a renewed “building of a kingdom” within all the Ten Sefirot, we are given ten days — from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur — to do it. On each day, we seek to build malchut within another sefirah.
As a reflection to this truth, we also aspire to build our own malchut, by correcting/rectifying our speech. Every time we promise and say we will or will not do this or that, we create a form of reality through our words. Therefore, when our actions do not match that reality, an emptiness results. Vows uttered but not fulfilled are empty, lacking vessels of fulfillment. And in order to repair this lack, in order to build the necessary vessels, we need to remedy how we speak. We begin by becoming conscious of our words. And now it is clear why there is such an emphasis on vows during the High Holidays.
As we aspire to build malchut above, we correct and put in order our malchut below. A vow is the most powerful vehicle of speech, closely mimicking Divine speech. Creation came into existence through Divine speech-when God said “let there be light,” there was light, and so forth. While some primordial forms of creation emerged through direct speech, and others through more complicated and detailed word combinations and permutations, all in all, everything was – and is – created through Divine speech, which is an expression of malchut.
The creative ability of our own speech remains elusive, detached from practical and tangible reality, except in the case of vows. When we make vows using our speech, we must follow through with our actions.
And so, as we aspire to build malchut above, we do our part below building, correcting and putting in order our own malchut, our own speech, particularly that speech which is deeply associated with actions.
This powerful prayer is said to have been first published in the 11th century by Rabbi Kolonymus of Meinz, although it was not composed by him but by a Rabbi Amnon.
The story is that Rabbi Amnon was a wealthy sage, who for years had been pressured by the local authorities of Meinz to change his faith. Once, as a stalling tactic, he asked them to give him three days to think about it, only to realize that this created the impression that he might renounce his faith. Brokenhearted at the thought of what he had done, he cried inconsolably, and he could not eat nor drink.
When the rulers discovered that Rabbi Amnon had no intention of converting, they arrested him and punished him by cutting off his hands and feet. Dying from his wounds, he was brought to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, and just before the Kedushah, he asked the congregation to pause; he then recited Unesane Tokef, which begins, “Let us describe the great holiness of this day.” As he ended this prayer, his beautiful and holy soul ascended on high. A few days later, he appeared to Rabbi Kolonymus in a dream and taught him his prayer so that it could be introduced to all congregations.
Lamnatzeiach
In this powerful chapter of Psalms, the name of God, Elokim, appears seven times. Elokim is the screen that shields the receiver from the infinite overwhelming light of God, expressed in the essential four-letter name, the Tetragrammaton, which is spelled in Hebrew yud-hei-vav-hei, and which we are forbidden to pronounce. This essential name of God represents the infinite, while Elokim represents the finite, the Divine energy that is clothed within restrictions of time and space. When we recite this name the seven times, we pierce the seven heavens and overcome the seven levels of veils, and from our narrow, constricted, finite place—reflected in the narrow mouthpiece of the shofar—we extend into a wide, vast place of the Infinite light.
Koli Shima
Taking the first letters of these verses, we spell out kra Satan (rip apart Satan).
Satan is nothing more than a concealment of the Divine. It is the power of kelipa, which translates in our own life as uncertainties, doubts, and the inability to see our Divine purpose. In its grasp, we perceive life as random, giving rise to even greater confusion and covering over the Divine life force within us. But when we rip apart the kelipa, we realize what it is a shell. The kelipa is a mirage—when we peel it away, there is nothing there.
The sound of the shofar blasts open a cosmic opening in the restricted place of kelipa, allowing Divine energy to flow into this world and into our lives.
Min Ha’metzar
“From the depths I call out to you, and You answer me with expansiveness.” This is the theme of the shofar—a simple cry from the deepest parts of our soul, penetrating all worlds and inspiring a renewed and expanded desire for God to create and assume kingship.
The dramatic story of Chana captures the essential nature of prayer on Rosh Hashanah. In fact, according to some opinions, it was on Rosh Hashanah that Chana first prayed for a child.
As the story begins, we learn that Chana is bereft of children, and in her agony, she comes to Shiloh to pray for a child in the Holy Sanctuary there. As she is praying, Eli, the High Priest, speculates that she is drunk. In response to Eli’s accusation, she answers, “No, my lord … I have been pouring out my soul before God.”
Eli, the High Priest, whose life was detached from physicality, revolving as it did around the spiritual work of the Holy Sanctuary, thought that to ask for physical things (children included) in such a spiritual place, in front of God, was unbefitting. For him, there existed a clear divide between the physical and the spiritual, and this is why he thought her drunk—drunk with her own selfish needs, completely self-consumed.
She responded, “I have been pouring my soul out in front of God,” saying in effect, “Know that the reason I ask for children is not for personal aggrandizement or fulfillment, rather it is because my deepest self, my soul, is yearning to fulfill its mission and Divine purpose.”
We assume that when we are hungry for food, it is a mere bodily desire, when in truth, from a deeper level of reality, it is our soul that is in a state of want and desire. When we don’t nourish it, it languishes. As the Psalm (107:5) states: “Hungry as well as thirsty my soul withers within.”
Every individual has a particular soul task to gather Divine sparks of energy, which are scattered throughout creation and which are sometimes revealed but most often deeply concealed. Each soul feels an affinity for particular sparks which it must elevate and release. Some sparks are elevated and released via the individual’s involvement (positive attractions), while others are elevated and released via the individual’s resistance and restraint (negative attractions). The reason some people innately like certain foods while others dislike them, or some people are attracted to certain occupations and not to others, is because of their soul connection to particular sparks. Thus, our innate likes and dislikes, our inclinations and proclivities, are indicative of our unique soul task.
This is the meaning behind the prayer of Chana—a heartfelt soul prayer, emanating from the depths of her being, expressing her yearning to fulfill her ultimate soul mission, which is part of a Divinely orchestrated plan. This, too, is the real meaning of the prayers of Rosh Hashanah.
Perhaps on a surface level, it may appear that our petitions for health, wealth and physical well being are ego-oriented, but the truth is these are expressions of our deepest self, of our soul. To ensure that the Creator’s kingship infuses the entire creation, we ask for everything we need or think we need of the physical realm so that we can use it for a Divine and noble purpose, and so that this physical realm should express and become a dwelling place for the deepest essence of the Creator.
Before we begin reading the Torah, we open the ark and recite a passage from the Zohar.
The Baal Shem Tov once said that when the ark is opened and we recite these words with purity, faith and from the depths of our heart, God will fulfill our requests, whether fully or in part. It is a time of extreme holiness, as the Alter Rebbe, R. Schneur Zalman, once said: “When the ark is opened, the world of the Ark of the Covenant of God is opened as well. Herein lies all the exertion and self-sacrifice invested in all the Torah scrolls that we have ever written. The angel Michael then proclaims, “God is in His holy sanctuary, let all the world fall silent before Him!” At this time, when we say this prayer from the depths of our heart, the angel Michael intercedes on our behalf.”
What do we bring to the table of judgment? Our brains, our power, our art. These are all from God. Even when we decide—and it is our own decision—to do good and to restrain ourselves from the opposite, we are only playing our part in a cosmic script for which we were formed.
But we can call out to the Infinite Light and ask forgiveness. That is not in the script. Teshuvah (“returning to God’) is from the paradigm of cause and effect. When we return, we return to a spiritual place where we unite with God’s Oneness.
So, when we cry out “listen to our voice,” perhaps we mean that God should disregard what we are saying—for our intention and focus might not be good—and simply listen to whom is speaking. This is the power of teshuvah, revealing the internal bond between our deepest selves and the Infinite Source of all light.
We all believe. “Israel are believers, the sons of believers.” Some of us are consciously aware of our innate beliefs; others of us are not because life experiences and negative indoctrination have covered over our essential selves. At times, the very fact of speaking about our beliefs makes our inner beliefs manifest.
The voice arouses intention, which is, incidentally, one of the reasons why prayers need to be verbalized. It is through verbalization that our inner beliefs are revealed and discovered. The more we speak about a yearning (for example), the more augmented and real the yearning becomes. In fact, speaking of it will eventually bring us to the realization of that yearning.
After the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, a custom developed to raise the memory of our lofty ancestors so that their merit should stand by us now and for our offspring in the future.
Everything that exists on a physical level corresponds to what exists on the spiritual level—physical is a reflection of the meta-physical. When two people are related on a physical plane it is because they share the same root in the source of souls in a supernal sphere.
Every holiday when the Torah portion speaks of offering tzedakah/charity, those who no longer have parents say Yizkor and resolve to offer tzedakah in the memory of their beloved ones.
Invoking the memory of our ancestors has a dual purpose: 1) that we can be sustained because of their noble memory, and 2) that through our positive actions, we inspire an elevation of their souls if such might be needed above.
Everything that exists on a physical level corresponds to what exists on the spiritual level—physical is a reflection of the meta-physical. When two people are related on a physical plane it is because they share the same root in the source of souls in a supernal sphere.
This means that although our actions can impact the entire world, those that are most affected by what we do are the souls most closely connected to our own soul. Thus, when children in this world give charity in honor and merit of their departed parents, this action can affect the ascension of the parents’ souls above.
In our world, there are choices; in the next world, there are only the effects. Free choice, the power to elect a new reality, to forge a new content/context, exists only in this manifestation. Since this is so, only in our world can people truly grow, expand and develop. There is always room for change and space to leap into new and unexplored realities. For this reason, any movement in the world of souls is dependent on the actions we take or actions we refrain from taking in this life. What level of integration our soul has with its source, or with what measure of intensity the personal light of our soul merges with the source of light, is contingent on what we do and refrain from doing in our present life.
This is so because the physical world below is founded on chesed (“loving-kindnessâ€), and in the world of chesed, there are always second chances. This is not so in the spiritual world above, which is founded on gevurah/din (“strict justiceâ€). There, everything is absolute and unconditional.
And yet, since our souls are closely rooted in the world above with our ancestors’ souls, our actions below can and do stir movement above. When we do something noble in the memory of our loved ones, not only are we ennobling ourselves, but we are essentially causing an elevation of their souls, an elevation that would otherwise not be available for them.
We fill their void, allowing for their soul’s ascent into the upper worlds, and by doing so fill the emptiness and void that their passing has left us. Yet, repeating the words of Yizkor alone is not sufficient. We need to be totally committed with strong resolve to do good, give to charity—in their name and for their benefit—and then certainly, the effects will be felt by them spiritually and by us spiritually, mentally and even physically.
As we climb the four levels of prayer upward and inward, we come more in touch with our deeper levels of soul, and they become our internal reality.
Read more...Before we conclude the Amidah we take three steps backward, taking the intense energy that was present during our prayers and bringing it down into this world—into the three levels of creation (beriah), formation (yetzira) and action (asiya). Thus, we integrate and tie up our prayers so that there is no nourishment for the unholy from this holy place of prayer. Occasionally, the intensity of a spiritual experience can spill over into unwanted directions, and so we need to make sure that there is no such thing happening here.
As we recite the words ose shalom (“make peace…”) we bow to the right, left and center, bringing peace to the entire world.
During the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we substitute here the words ose ha’shalom—adding the letter hei—to create a phrase which literally means “make the peace.” The consequent word, ha’shalom, is comprised of five Hebrew letters totaling 381: hei equaling the numerical value of 5; shin equaling 300; lamed equaling 30; vav equaling 6; and mem equaling 40. The total, 381, is the same numerical value of the name of the angel Safriel, “the scribe of God.” It thus evokes our wish to be subscribed and sealed for a sweet good year.
In the prayer service, whenever there is a change between prayers, a break or movement, a special prayer called a kaddish (“sanctification” of the name of God) is recited in order to bring unity.
Whenever there is a separation in the prayers—or for that matter a “break” in life itself—we recite the Kaddish and declare, “Magnified and sanctified may His great name be…” Thus, we ensure that His name, the Source of all, is brought together in harmony, and a healing on all levels of existence takes place.
The essential four-letter name of God—spelled in Hebrew yud-hei-vav-hei—can be viewed as containing two parts. The first yud-hei, whose numerical equivalent is 15, represents the spiritual transcendence; the second vav-hei, whose numerical equivalent is 11, represents the physical immediate. This separation is the root cause of all dissension and separations, death included.
By reciting the Kaddish, “yisgadal veyiskadesh,” which contains eleven letters, we reunify the name and inspire a total reunification of the entire world.
God will extend a hand and assist us in the process of self-transformation and re-unification.
Read more...
This mystical prayer is attributed to the first century sage, Rabbi Nechuniah Ben HaKana. It is a prayer that consists of seven passages, corresponding to the seven emotional sefirot (of the ten sefirot, or “spheres of creation”) through which Divine energy sustains and nourishes our world, which was created in a seven-day cycle. Since this prayer represents the sefirot, it is recited whenever, during the prayers, there is a symbolic ascent of divine energy from a lower to a higher plane.
In each of the seven passages of this prayer, there are six words which represent the six directions (up, down, right, left, front, back). The six directions are connected with the verse in the Book of Yechezkel/Isaiah referring to his vision of the angels with six wings: “with two they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew.”
The first letters of each word spell out the 42-letter name of God, which is associated with the weekly unfolding of time. As such, each passage is linked to a six-letter segment within the 42-letter name since each passage corresponds to a different day of the week. When saying this prayer, we are to focus on the names mentally but not pronounce them.
