Mati V'lo Mati- Experiencing chassidus through seforim and the academy

One of the highlights of my week is the 45 minute chavrusa I have before mincha each Shabbos afternoon learning the Torah of the Piaseczna Rebbe. The combination of contemplating his approach to chassidus, along with the timing so close to the end of Shabbos, a time the Rebbe describes  as having the high that comes from having reached the highest stage of Shabbos, along with the sadness that it will soon be over, has a profound effect on me. Temporarily transformed, Mincha following this chavrusa is usually qualitatively different from the rest of my tefillos.

It is not just the chassidus of the Piaseczna Rebbe which draws me. In chassidus in general, I have found a psychologically profound approach, which has become a lens through which I see the world. The focus on interiority, and on finding Hashem in all parts of my life, has transformed the way I understand Judaism. At the same time, I not only do not consider myself a chassid, but I also find myself drawn to various academic approaches to chassidus, works which often pull back the curtain on that which I find so meaningful; analyzing, deconstructing, and, well, in some ways, neutering it. After recently picking up Mendel Piekarz’s book on Polish chassidus, I found myself wondering why I engage in two activities which, although somewhat connected, are in many important ways so diametrically opposed.

It would be easy to say that the academic approach adds to my appreciation of chassidus, helping flesh it out in a way somewhat akin to utilitarian nature of secular knowledge in the Torah Im Derech Eretz approach, but that would be letting myself off the hook. As much as there are times when the academic approach enhances my appreciation of chassidus, there are many others when it detracts. Even as I try to avoid those approaches which are more glaringly hostile, or coming with a strong agenda, it is not always possible to know what I will discover before proceeding. It is not always good to know too much about one’s heroes. In certain respects, less is more.

If I’m to be honest, there’s a part of me that is relieved to have some of the chassidus I learn demystified. I am deeply moved by much of what I learn, but I want it on my terms. I’m not interested in fully diving in, something that at earlier points in my life might have been tempting. While I have written glowingly (if you’ll excuse the pun) of someone who made the jump, I could never do so for all sorts of reasons.The academic literature helps put a bit of a brake, or even a damper, on some of my enthusiasm and passion. This helps create a “yes, however” approach in me, which leaves me somewhere in the middle, simultaneously drawn towards, and pulling away from the chassidus I learn, although not in equal measure.

The elusive balance which I’d love to achieve is best conveyed in a delightful story told by Rav Menachem Frohman about Professor Yehuda Liebes, which I encountered in a post by Rabbi Josh Rosenfeld on the Seforim blog. Rav Frohman writes:

         

I will conclude with a story 'in praise of Liebes' (Yehuda explained to me that he assumes the meaning of his family name is: one who is related to a woman named Liba or, in the changing of a name, one who is related to anAhuva/loved one). As is well known, in the past few years, Yehuda has the custom of ascending ( ='aliya le-regel)^[21] on La"g b'Omer to the celebration ( =hilula) of RaShb"I^[22] in Meron. Is there anyone who can comprehend - including Yehuda himself - how a university professor, whose entire study of Zohar is permeated with the notion that the Zohar is a book from the thirteenth- century (and himself composed an entire monograph: "How the Zohar Was Written?"^[23]), can be emotionally invested along with the masses of the Jewish people from all walks of life, in the celebration of RaShb"I, the author of the Holy Zohar?

Four years ago, Yehuda asked me to join him on this pilgrimage to Meron, and I responded to him with the following point: when I stay put, I deliver a long lecture on the Zohar to many students on La"g b'Omer, and perhaps this is more than going to the grave of RaShb"I.^[24] Yehuda bested me, and roared like a lion: "All year long - Zohar, but on La"g b'Omer - RaShb"I!"

(emphasis added).

I’d like to believe that somehow I can simultaneously be deeply immersed in chassidus, letting it mold and shape me, while at the same time imagining myself to be sophisticated enough to know the difference between what nourishes me, and what I can experience with a knowing wink, or even some skepticism or doubt. I don’t think I’m there yet, but increasingly I believe I can almost make out my destination from here.

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Looking More Broadly- On the value of chassidic thought for moderns (Part I)

It is well-known that Rav Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveichik used to give shiur in Boston each summer to his talmidim. What is not as well-known  is that one year, The Rav, as he was colloquially known, decided to give shiur in Likutei Torah, written by the Ba'al HaTanya, a sefer for which he had a strong affinity, rather than in gemara. When his talmidim protested and said they were not interested, he said something to the effect that his talmidim want his head, and not his heart.

Recently, there was a thoughtful conversation on Facebook about the need to come up with a theology that speaks to the modern observant Jew. Being as I see this as a valuable goal, although not one I am qualified to contribute to, I will not make a suggestion of what it might look like. Instead, I’d like to suggest a less obvious source which could be of value in coming up with such a theology, namely chassidus. Over a series of blog posts, I’d like to flesh out the idea of why I find chassidus to be a valuable source for the thinking modern-Jew who is interested in theology. To begin, I will explain why it is an under-utilized source.

All or Nothing Thinking

There are aspects of chassidus than many moderns, myself included, will struggle to accept. Theurgical ideas, based on kabbalistic sources, often do not speak to many of us.The idea that our mitzvos create worlds or have some sort of effect on God is not one that speaks to many people who might otherwise find value in the ideas of chassidus.

It is a mistaken notion that chassidus is a package deal that must be entirely embraced or rejected. One can, as I do, find great psychological and theological insight in the writings of various chassidic thinkers, without embracing all that they wrote.

Confusion

When I speak with people about chassidus, they are often confused by what I mean. Some think of it as having to do with chassidic communities, dress and mores. Others confuse it with neo-chassidus, which, while it can be of value to some people, is not what I have in mind. Others think of the “Na-Nach” Breslovers and assume that somehow, that approach represents chassidus and/or the thought of Rav Nachman. Whatever the reason, many people who are certain that chassidic thought has nothing to offer them, are rejecting an incorrect idea of what chassidic thought is really about.

Lack of Familiarity

I live in a community which has a large sefarim store. There are all sorts of sefarim and books which can be purchased there, including some which deal with philosophy, kabbalah, and Jewish thought. The one near-exception are works of chassidus. Misnagdic institutions have decided that, even when they touch upon hashkafa, that chassidus is out. This is somewhat surprising considering that some Roshei Yeshiva from that world were influenced by chassidic ideas. To cite just one example, Rav Hutner’s Pachad Yitzchak, in addition to quoting ideas from the Maharal and Ramchal, contains chassidic ideas as well from Ishbitz and Rav Tzadok among others.Additionally, the misnagdic and chassidic worlds of day have more similarities than differences.

Language

Many chassidic works contain language and ideas which are not easy to understand for those who do not have some familiarity with kabbalistic concepts. Even when these concepts are not referred to explicitly, they are part of the background information needed to fully grasp the ideas. Just as one who is not familiar with Greek philosophy misses out when trying to study the philosophical works of the Rishonim, so too some basic familiarity with kabbalistic ideas is required in order to grasp  many chassidic ideas.

I’ve laid out some of the reasons that make chassidic thought something that many thinking Jews find either inaccessible or not worthy of study. In a future post, I will attempt to make the case as to how these challenges can be overcome and why it behooves us to do so.

The Path From Pain to Joy- Hillel Zeitlin's gift to me

It is tempting to intellectualize what I want to say here. It would be much easier, indeed much safer, than what I wish to do. I do not want to share an idea. Rather I want to reveal a small part of my soul, but if I do so, and put what I write out there, I leave myself open to getting hurt from those who see it and respond. Still, at least in this case, my desire to reveal a side of who I am, is deeper than my fear of getting hurt.

There are few individuals whose words, ideas, and feelings have moved me as deeply as those of Hillel Zeitlin ztvk”l. I am hardly an expert in what he has written, as I am still at the beginning of exploring his works. Still, he is one of the very few rabbis of whom I could imagine being a chosid, sitting eagerly at his feet, drinking in his every word. In his writing, both poetry and prose (which itself often borders on the poetic) he is so open, so full of depth and introspection, so clear about his desire to serve HaShem. Imitating the Kivyachol, he pours out his soul onto the page.

He was a ba’al teshuva in the deepest sense of the term. Born into a chassidic family in Homel he lost his faith after encountering biblical criticism, and philosophy. Yet he came back. Changed, I’m sure, but with the deepest of faith, faith that flows out of every word he writes. Even in the writings which were written before his return that I have read, there is depth through which one can almost feel his inner turbulence. I have not yet had the chance to read his words where he explains how he was able to return, as, sadly, in what is often the deepest (unintended) compliment, his sefarim have not been reprinted, and are not so easy to come by.

What can I take from his words? Dare I think that I can aspire to be like him in even the smallest way? What can I incorporate into my Avodas HaShem from this tzaddik who went to his death from the Warsaw Ghetto, wrapped in his tallis and tefillin, and clutching his beloved Zohar, like a modern-day member of the Aseres Harugei Malchus?

I have not struggled as he did, but it does seem to me that when one experiences a feeling of great distance from HaShem, that the gap is seldom bridged by returning to what one was. The struggle, the search, the panic, fear, and sadness, all combine to generate a new path. It is a path that can not be found in any other way. In his joyous service of the Ribbono Shel Olam, I see in him a confirmation of my hunch that this path, once reached, leads to something that makes all the struggle and doubt transform into worship and service and joy.

Setting God Free- How language can bring us closer to God

There once was a king who appeared to be in mortal danger. A loyal follower stepped in to save him, but convinced it was the only way to save the king, he put him in a tower, where the king essentially became a prisoner. After a while, the king's subjects got so used to the king being in the tower that they gave no thought to restoring him to his palace.

Much later, another loyal follower realized what must be done, and released the king, but it had been so long since anyone had actually been in the king’s presence, that few realized who he was, so they refused to serve the king, thinking that in doing so, they were being loyal to the "real" king.

While I have already written about how halachic language can place a distance between us and God, there are other things which also weaken our relationship with HaShem. In this post, I will try and make the case that philosophical and kabbalistic ideas and language have created a gap in our connection to God, and that while they once served a beneficial purpose, that time has passed.

In the above-mentioned parable, I suggest that there was a time when God “needed to be saved”. It was an era where serious religious ideas were being discussed in philosophical terms in the Christian and Muslim worlds, and for Jews to not do so, was to suggest that our conception of God was not serious and thought-out. Into the gap stepped those like Rav Saadiah Gaon and the Rambam, writing philosophical works which showed that Judaism did not conflict with the ideas of thinkers like Plato and Aristotle. There was, however, a downside to this process. They put God in a castle whose bricks were made up of ideas like “the unmoved mover” and “negative theology”. It is one thing to pray to and serve a God who cares about us and listens to our every word. It is entirely something different to pray to and serve an abstract idea.

Of course, it was not just the rationalists who created the castle. Kabbalah, basing itself on Neo-Platonic thought, spoke of God as the Ein Sof, literally the one who has no limit or end. In using this phrase, it was suggested that, in essence, we could not even speak of God as existing, as that phrase can only describe things. Again, the gap between us and God was described as unbridgeable.

In recent times, two great thinkers, Michael Wyschogrod, and Rav Eliezer Berkovits, critiqued these approaches,. Wyschogrod suggested that we need to go back to the God of the Tanach. For him, even Chazal’s conception of God was not identical to the true God of the Tanach. He wrote:

It is of course necessary to mumble a formula of philosophic correction. No space can contain God, he is above space, etc., etc. But this mumbled formula, while required, must not be overdone. It must not transform the God of Israel into a spatial and meta-temporal Absolute . . . With all the philosophic difficulties duly noted, the God of Israel is a God who enters space and time . . . God dwells not only in the spirit of Israel . . . he also dwells in their bodies.

While philosophical language serves to prevent seeing God as physical, when used beyond the minimal necessary amount, it leads us to lose God as a reality in our experience.

Berkovits, in his God, Man, and History speaks of the Gods of philosophy and kabbalah, as “the gods of the pagans”. With this strong phrase, he too suggests we have lost the Jewish conception of God, only in his telling, that God is found in Tanach, as well as in the words of Chazal.

The Besht, and the early chassidic thinkers, as well as the Ramchal, offered an approach that set the king free. Even as they made use of aspects of kabbalistic thought, they brought it down to earth in a way that spoke to the average person, as much as it could speak to scholars and thinkers. Where God was once hidden “outside of the world”, they helped bring him back. In doing so, they helped create a partial revolution. I say partial, because they only captured some minds. For too many, the intellectual component of these thinker’s approach was not seen, and for too many, it was seen only as a movement for the masses. It is here that I turn to the application of these ideas to the Modern Orthodox world.

As I noted in my recent book review, for the most part, Modern orthodoxy hitched its wagon to the approach of Rav Yosef Ber Soloveichik. Even as he had a side of him that was drawn to the Tanya, his students, he said, “want his mind, and not his heart”. Modern kabbalistic and chassidic thought are seen as somehow out of bounds to much of the MO world. They are seen as simplistic, non-intellectual, and fanciful. Witness the negative response in much of the MO world to the development of neo-chassidus in their midst (I think this point stands, even as neo-chassidus does not always include all of the depth of classical chassidus). As my religious thought has developed, I’ve seen that this conception is very much mistaken. Whether it’s reading an essay by Hillel Zeitlin on applying William James’ thought to Judaism (available here), or seeing how Isaac Breuer uses Kant and Kabbalah to address biblical criticism, I’ve seen that chassidus and kabbalah can be every bit as intellectually stimulating, as any area of classical Western thought.

The language we use to talk about God matters deeply. Even as we recognize that God was locked in the tower of rationalism or kabbalistic terminology for a reason, it is time to let him out. At a time when religion is often on the defensive, it is only a close connection to God that will help us and our children weather the storm. It is time to exchange the gods of the Greeks for the God of Judaism.

"While I have already written about how halachic language can place a distance between us and God, there are other...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Wednesday, April 6, 2016