Simchas Torah 5771

Rabbi YY Jacobson

• September 27, 2010
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• 19 Tishrei 5771
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  The Rebbe’s Greatest Dance

  Do You Exist? Or Are You Alive?

  Rabbi YY Jacobson

  • September 27, 2010

  You Know Me?

  At a trial in a small town, a prosecuting attorney called his first witness to the stand in a trial, a grandmotherly, elderly woman. He approached her and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know me?"

  She responded, "Why, yes, I do know you Mr. Williams. I've known you since you were a young boy. And frankly, you've been a big disappointment to me. You lie, you gamble and take drugs, you manipulate people and talk about them behind their backs. You think you're a rising big shot when you haven't the brains to realize you never will amount to anything more than a two-bit paper pusher. Yes, I know you."

  The lawyer was stunned. Not knowing what else to do he pointed across the room and asked, "Mrs. Williams, do you know the defense attorney?"

  She again replied, "Why, yes I do. I've known Mr. Bradley since he was a youngster, too. I used to baby-sit him for his parents. And he, too, has been a real disappointment to me. He's lazy, bigoted, he has a drinking problem. The man can't build a normal relationship with anyone and his law practice is one of the shoddiest in the entire state. Yes, I know him."

  At this point, the judge rapped the courtroom to silence and called both counselors to the bench. In a very quiet voice, he said with menace, "If either of you asks her if she knows me, you'll be jailed for contempt!"

  The Blessing

  At every single Jewish holiday, including Shmini Atzeres ans Simchas Torah, we recite that beautiful, festive Jewish blessing, composed 2500 years ago by the Men of the Great Assembly in the beginning of the Second Temple era:

  Baruch atah Hashem Elokeinu melech ha'olam shehecheyanu vekeymanu vhigiyanu lazaman hazeh.

  Blessed are you, Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, who has granted us life, and has granted us existence, and enabled us to reach this occasion.

  Yet, the order of the blessing seems strange. First we express gratitude to G-d for granting us life, and then for granting us existence. But existence precedes life. You can exist without being alive (a corpse exists, but it is lifeless; a rock exists, yet it has no life); you can’t have life without existence. Should we have not said, “Baruch atah Hashem… shekeymanu vehechyanu,” Blessed are you G-d who has granted us existence, and (even more: He) has granted us life?

  Pain Vs. Joy

  This subtle change in the blessing represents the Jewish perspective on the great questions of life and happiness. It was presented by the Lubavitcher Rebbe at that once-a year unique gathering that he would hold on the eve of Simchas Torah before the Hakafos (the dancing with the Torah) in 1969. [1]

  Happiness, as we know, is a serious problem.

  Someone once shared this: I once heard Dr. Phil proclaim, "The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you have started and have never finished."

  So, I looked around my house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished, and before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of Zinfandel, a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, a bottle of Kalhua, a package of Oreos, the remainder of my old Prozac prescription, the rest of the cheesecake, some Doritos, and a box of chocolates.

  You have no idea how freaking good I feel right now…

  But for those of us who don’t have the luxury to engage in all of the above to feel good, as we observe the voyage of human life, it is clear that for many people their moments of agony exceed their moments of joy. Their times of duress and pain simply outnumber their times of satisfaction and wellbeing.

  Maimonides, the great Jewish leader and physician, living int he 11^th century, wrote a brilliant work of philosophy, “The Guide to the Perplexed.” In it (3:12) he quotes an Islamic philosopher, Abu Bichar Mahammad Alrazi (850-923 CE), who wrote these words in his work:

  “If you contrast the times of delight and pleasure to the times of pain, suffering, illness, wounds, worries, grief, and failure, you will find that life is nothing more than revenge against man, and the lot of human life is great misery.”  

  The great Jewish thinker Woody Allen put it simpler:

  “There's an old joke about two elderly women who are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of them says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know; and such small portions."

  Well, that's essentially how I feel about life—full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly…”

  Even for the many of us who thank G-d do not live in continues pain from illness, or loss of a loved one, or other problems, we all know that the moments of monotony and stress usually exceed the moments of happiness and fulfillment.

  Ask yourself, how many moments do you have each day, each week, each year, when you can say: Ah! This is what makes life worth it! You will see that these moments are far fewer and rarer than the boring and uneventful moments of life as you are just trying to get by the day, cover the bank and stay afloat.

  The Debate

  The Talmud records a fascinating dispute which continued for two and a half years, between Shammai's school and that of Hillel.

  תנו רבנן: שתי שנים ומחצה נחלקו בית שמאי ובית הלל, הללו אומרים: נוח לו לאדם שלא נברא יותר משנברא, והללו אומרים: נוח לו לאדם שנברא יותר משלא נברא; נמנו וגמרו נוח לו לאדם שלא נברא יותר משנברא; עכשיו שנברא - יפשפש במעשיו.

  Shammai's school contended that it would have been easier for man never to have been created. The school of Hillel said that it was easier for man to have been created. After two and a half years, they finally agreed and decided that man would have been better off if he had not been created! But now that he is created, let him be very careful what he does in this world. [2]

  G, thank you! Where does that leave me now?

  Is It Worth It?

  Now we can understand the depth behind the “shechayanu” blessing. If the blessing of “shecheyanu” would have read, “Blessed are you G-d for granting us existence” we might have asked the question: Should we really be thankful for our existence? The Talmud itself exclaims the verdict that it would have been easier never to have endured the agony of existence!

  That is why the sages changed the seemingly appropriate order of the blessing to: “shehecheyanu vkiymanu vhigiyanu lazaman hazeh,” we thank G-d first for granting us life, and only afterward for granting us existence.” In order to be truly grateful and happy about our existence, we must first have life.

  On the Definition of Life

  What is life? What is that mysterious reality which none of us can clearly define but which all of us experience—LIFE?

  The definition of life is that it is all-pervasive. You can’t stop living for a moment. You can stop eating, working, dreaming, speaking (that is almost everybody), moving, thinking, but you can’t stop living. A person can’t say: Now I want to stop living for two hours… if you’re not busy living, you are busy dying.

  Nor can a healthy life be relegated to a certain part of the body. All the faculties are regulated to specific limbs: I think with my brain, I chew with my teeth, I see with my eyes. Not so with life. Life penetrates every aspect of the body. My toe is alive just as my heart is alive; my nail is alive just as my liver is alive. Life is something which permeates every limb, organ, sinew, tissue and cell, just as it must permeate every moment.

  And this is why Torah is called life: ”Toras Chaim,” “Ki heim chayanu.” What is the function of Torah? To confer life upon existence.

  Just like life, Torah confers meaning upon every single moment and upon every single experience.

  G-d’s Interest

  Let us take work as an example. [3] For many people work is simply monotonous, meaningless and boring. For others it is filled with endless agony and stress. We go to work not because we want to; rather we feel coerced to go to work in order to feed our families and pay our mortgages. How passionate can I be about something I dislike?

  Yet the Torah gives us another perspective on work. The Talmud states, [4] that when a person dies, the first question he is asked in heaven is: “nasasa venasata bemunah?” Have you engaged in business with honesty?

  Why is it the first question heaven asks of man? Because to G-d, this matters deeply. When I go to my job I work with honesty and integrity, I treat people with dignity and respect, I work with my conscience not only with my brain, I am serving G-d, I am doing something that for the Almighty is extremely precious. And when I face Him after 120 years—that is the first thing He wants to hear about!

  With Torah, every moment and aspect of life is seen as purposeful.

  Aging

  Aging is another example.

  Three old guys are out walking.

  First one says, "Windy, isn't it?"

  Second one says, "No, it's Thursday!"

  Third one says, "So am I. Let's go get a beer."

  Aging has become for many an idle time, the elderly are often looked at with a combination of pity and scorn. The Torah has a very different approach. In the words of the Mishnah: “Elderly people who are engaged in Torah, the older they get, the sharper their minds.” [5]

  In 1992, a Jew from Worcester lamented to the Lubavitcher Rebbe that his 88 year old father was old and sick and now he could not go to synagogue anymore, which was his last joy. He now felt lonely and worthless. What could he do for his father?

  And the Rebbe, who was 89 at the time, responded:

  Every time a Jew does a Mitzvah he generates a delight in G-d. Imagine! A mortal, small, finite human being performing a single deed has an impact on G-d Himself. So every time your father does any mitzvah—like putting on tefilin or giving charity—he is achieving the most extraordinary feat! He is causing pleasure to G-d.

  This is the essence of Judaism. We are always in a meaningful encounter. Each moment has an opportunity for growth, for discovery, for integrity. To be alive means that G-d reaches out to us at each moment offering us to build a relationship with Him, with our soul, with history, with the people around us, and with the universe.

  From the moment we emit our first cry till the moment we shut our eyes, the Torah permeates us with absolute meaning and purpose. In the weltanschauung of Torah, there is no such a thing as “another day bites the dust”! “Sos”, which stands for “Same old spaghetti.” No way! Even a day of failure and challenge is can be seen as an opportunity for growth and for serving G-d. 

  There's a story told about the legendary head of IBM, Thomas Watson. On one occasion a senior manager made a serious business mistake that cost the company ten million dollars.

  Watson summoned him to his office. "I guess you want my resignation," the manager said. "Are you crazy?" Watson replied. "We've just spend ten million dollars educating you."

  The Bucket

  The two saintly brothers, Reb Zusha and Reb Elimelech, who lived in 18th century Poland, wandered for years disguised as beggars, seeking to refine their characters and encourage their deprived brethren.

  In one city, the two brothers, who later became mentors to many thousands of Jews, earned the wrath of a "real" beggar who informed the local police and had them cast into prison for the night.

  As they awoke in their prison cell, Reb Zusha noticed his brother weeping silently. "Why do you cry?" asked Reb Zusha.

  Reb Elimelech pointed to the pail situated in the corner of the room that inmates used for a toilet. "Jewish law forbids one to pray in a room inundated with such a repulsive odor," he told his brother. "This will be the first day in my life in which I will not have the opportunity to pray."

  "And why are you upset about this?" asked Reb Zusha. "What do you mean?" responded his brother. "How can I begin my day without connecting to G-d?"

  "But you are connecting to G-d," insisted Reb Zusha. "The same G-d who commanded you to pray each morning, also commanded you to abstain from prayer under such circumstances. In a location such as this, you connect to G-d by the absence of prayer."

  His brother's viewpoint elated Reb Elimelech's heart. The awareness that the waste-filled pail in the corner of the room allowed him the opportunity to enjoy an intimate -- though different -- type of relationship with G-d inspired him so deeply that he began to dance. The two brothers were now holding hands and dancing in celebration of their newly discovered relationship with their Father in heaven.

  The non-Jewish inmates imprisoned in the same cell were so moved by the sight, that they soon joined the dancing. It did not take long before the entire room was swept away by an electrifying energy of joy, as dozens of prisoners were dancing and jumping around ecstatically.

  When the prison warden heard the commotion coming from the cell, he burst open the gate, only to be stunned by the inmates enjoying such a liberating dance. In his fury, he attempted to stop the dancing, but to no avail: The prisoners were by now totally consumed by a deeper happiness, stemming from a very deep place within their souls.

  Finally, the warden pulled aside one of the inmates, demanding from him an explanation for what was going on.

  The frightened prisoner related that the outburst was not his fault, nor was it the fault of the other inmates. It was rather the two Jews dancing in the center of the circle who triggered the trouble.

  "And what inspired the two Jews to go into such a dance?" thundered the warden.

  The prisoner pointed to the pail in the corner of the room. "It is the pail, they claim, that brought about the joy in their heart."

  “How can this smelly pail make them happy?”

  “Well… they explained, that the pail allowed them to experience a new type of relationship with G-d. There was the pre-pail relationship… and the post-pail relationship… Somehow the pail transformed their spiritual perception.”

  "If that's the case, I will teach them a lesson," shouted the angry warden. He took the pail and threw it out of the cell.

  Reb Zusha turned to his brother and said: "And now, my brother, you can begin your prayers!"

  This is the essence of Judaism. We are always in a relationship. Even when we are in a psychological dungeon, and there is a bucket of dirt around us, we are empowered to live fully and to love fully.

  Pain

  Pain is another example. Torah does not explain or justify pain, but it helps us to find meaning and dignity in our pain.

  In the Jewish tradition, we recite twice each day the Shema Yisroel, the most reverent Jewish prayer, once in the morning and once in the evening. When dawn breaks and the sun emerges to embrace us with its warmth, we state: "Hear O Israel, the Lord is our G-d, the Lord is One." Each of us is essentially a reflection of G-d, a recipient of His grace. 

  When night falls and darkness pervades our lives, we once again declare: "Hear O Israel, the Lord is our G-d, the Lord is One." G-d is one means that the same G-d who was present during the "day," is also present during the "night." Darkness is painful, but it, too, is part of a dynamic relationship with life and with G-d. We are no less alive during the “night” than we are during the “day.”

  As King David sings in Psalms (ch. 139): “If I ascend to the heavens, there You are, and if I make my bed in the grave, behold, You are there. If I take up the wings of dawn, if I dwell at the end of the west, there too, your hand will lead me…”

  Life then Existence

  So the first thing we thank G-d for is “shehecheyanu.” For giving us life, for giving us the Torah which, like life, permeates every moment and every “limb” and aspect of our being. Now we can continue and thank G-d for “vekeymanu,” for giving us existence. Now that we have life, we can look at our existence, and declare: despite the challenges, the pain, the agony, the failures, and the suffering—we are grateful. Baruch Atah!

  [You may want your cantor to sing at some point the melody of “shecheyanu.”]

  The Dance

  As the Rebbe was delivering this above talk, on Simchas Torah night 1969, at his headquarters in 770 Eastern Parkway in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn, the person in the following story was unaware of the content of the Rebbe’s talk. He was in East Flatbush, a different neighborhood in Brooklyn. Yet it seems that somehow, the Rebbe’s words had an impact far beyond the walls where they were being heard…

  And here is the story:

  The man is dancing away as if there are no worries in the world. His legs pump in a rhythm only his soul could produce. He looks like a flame, flickering on and on, reaching for a place beyond anything he has ever known. Wow, how could that man be so happy?

  “Which man?”

  Startled, the 14-year-old boy watching this person dancing didn’t realize he’d asked that question aloud.

  “Which man?” His father asks him again.

  “That man,” the young boy points to the whirling man. “He must be the happiest man on earth.”

  As his father looks to where his son is pointing and sees the black-bearded man with five children in tow, his eyes fill with tears and he sighs. “That man just lost his young wife, six days ago.”

  “But then how can he be so happy, how can he possibly dance like that?”

  “Because today is Simchat Torah and it is a mitzvah to dance and to be happy. This is what a Jew does; this is what a real Chassid does.”

  The year was 5730, 1969, and, on the second day of Succoth, a young man, Reb Tzvi Hirsh Gansburg, a Lubavitcher Chassid living in the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn, lost his wife Rasheleh to leukemia. She left behind five young children. The youngest was seven year-old Shaindey (now married to Simon Jacobson.) Every year, on Simchat Torah, the young man would take his five young children to a small shul in East Flatbush (the rabbis name was Holtzbern) where they would dance with the Torah and rejoice with the community. That year, 1969, the young man did the same. The children’s grandmother, their mother’s mother, dressed them in their finest clothing and sent them off with their father to East Flatbush.

  It was there, in that little shul, that this dialogue between father and son took place.

  The Song

  After the dancing in East Flatbush ended, the young widower and his five children walked back to Crown Heights. He dropped his younger children off at home with their grandmother and hurried to 770 Eastern Parkway, the central Chabad Synagogue, where the Lubavitcher Rebbe was in the midst of a farbrengen (Chassidic gathering). Every year on Simchat Torah, before the dancing would begin, the Rebbe would speak for a number of hours, discussing the intricate energies of Simchat Torah and hokofos. This particular year, 69, the Rebbe dedicated the gathering to explore the deeper dimensions of the “shehechyanu” blessing, transcribed above. The Rebbe explained how Torah grants meaning and purpose into every experience of life, even the painful ones.

  At different times throughout the talk, the Rebbe would pause and the Chassidim would begin singing a niggun, a Chassidic melody sometimes dating back hundreds of years. The young man of whom we speak had the privilege to usually begin the niggunim at the Rebbe’s farberengens.

  The shul at 770 Eastern Parkway was packed from floor to ceiling; people were clinging to bleachers and rafters just as they did to the Rebbe’s every word. As the Rebbe finished one of his talks, about “shehechyanu,” this widower who has now returned from East Flatbush began to sing a song.

  And the people were shocked when they heard the song this man chose to sing at this moment.

  Through the hush of thousands of people, a small but defiant voice could be heard: “Mi vadiom nye patonyem, ee v’agniom nye s’gorim,” a hope-filled Chassidic Russian song of one-stanza meaning, “We in water will not drown, and in fire will not burn.” (Later, on Purim 1982, two young children applied the lyrics “we want moshiach now” to this single-stanza song. It is worth it to sing the melody at this point. The English translation works well with the tune too.)

  The Rebbe gazed to the direction of this man, and when he saw that it was Rabbi Gansburg who began this song, the Rebbe began emphatically swinging his arms. Then he suddenly jumped up from his chair and began dancing in ecstasy. The crowd became more and more excited, singing in a frenzy, “We in water will not drown, and in fire will not burn; we in water will not drown, and in fire will not burn.” Faster and faster they chanted, as if in a trance. Those present could not believe this little man, swinging back and forth, raising his voice from the depths of his soul, “We in water will not drown, and in fire will not burn,” as if G-d had not just taken his beloved wife, as if he was truly the happiest man alive.

  The Rebbe continued to jump and dance for a very long time, waving his hands in all directions. It has been said [6] that never has the Rebbe danced so strongly and passionately at a “farbrenen.”

  The Impact

  Fast-forward twenty years, to 1989.

  A phone call comes in to a major Jewish children’s organization in Brooklyn, called “Tzivos Hashem.”

  “Hello,” the voice on the other end of the line says. “My name is so-and-so and I’m wondering if you could send some manpower to assist me with a Simchat Torah program I am hosting for the children of my community.”

  “Sure,” the man working in the organization happily replies. “But, if I may ask, why are you hosting a children’s program for Simchat Torah – are you a youth director at a synagogue?”

  “No, I’m not, but when I was growing up, my father and I would go to a small shul in East Flatbush to celebrate Simchat Torah. When I was fourteen years old, as I stood watching the people dancing in a circle, I noticed one man who looked so happy, as if everything in the world was perfect. I stood there transfixed, wondering how this man could exude so much joy. I asked my father this question, and my father told me that I should know this man just lost his wife but, because he is a real Jew and the Torah says to be happy on Simchat Torah, he is happy. This made a very big impression on my 14-year-old mind – that a Jew could put aside all his pain and suffering and be happy just because it’s a mitzvah was unbelievable to me – so on that day I made myself a promise: in the future, when I have the means to do so, I will help other Jewish children celebrate the true happiness and joy of Simchat Torah.” 

  “Shecheyanu!”

  How did Reb Hirsh Gansburg dance that night?

  Because he said “shehechyanu ekeyamanu.” He had the Torah. And the Torah gives dignity and meaning to every single moment and every single experience. And he had the Rebbe, the living embodiment of Torah, who taught his Chassidim how to not only exist, but also to live.

  Even in the saddest of times, even when all seems lost, with a little joy, a little dance, a smile, everything can change.

  Yizkor

  As we say Yizkor, remembering our loved ones who not only existed but also lived, we commit ourselves not only to exist but also to live.

  And if we stay alive, then “We in water will not drown, and in fire will not burn.”

   

  ---

  [1] Sichos Kodesh 5730 vol. 1. Part of the talk was published in Likkutei Sichos vol. 19 Simchas Torah

  [2] Talmud Eruvin 13b

  [3] The Rebbe gave this example during his talk.

  [4] Shabbos 31a

  [5] End of tractate Kinim.

  [6] Rabbi Moshe Groner shared this with me at the wedding of his great nephew Rabbi Mordechai Telsner. Groner told me that if the orchestra would play this melody he would join the dancing, because it was during this melody sung on Simchas Torah of 1969 that he saw the Rebbe truly happy.

   

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