Uncovering Your True Self: Personality Types and the Four Species

Simplicity.  We all say we crave it.  But do we respect it?

Although we might profess to value the proletariat, to celebrate simplicity, to refrain from cultural and intellectual elitism, I’d bet few of us walk that talk.  How many people do you know who’ve named their kid after the local postman, or delivery man, or maid who cleans the night shift?  Forget about actually naming after someone of limited income, status, emotional sensitivity, intellectual prowess or fame!  How many of us give the “simple” folk in our lives the time of day?!  A warm good morning.  A sincere, “How are you?”  We’re in strong need of a remedy for our “attachment-to-fame disorder.” 

He wasn’t the first of the Rebbeim to hold “simple” folk in such high esteem.  The Baal Shem Tov, founder of Chassidut, is renowned for his appreciation of and love for the ordinary Jew.  Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson writes in his memoirs, ““It was this love for the common man that was, and remained, the real basis of the teachings of the Baal Shem Tov.  He did not seek for high scholarship amongst Jews.  He valued more the heart.  The Jew who could read his prayers in Hebrew, even if he did not know the translation, the mere fact of his sincere utterance of these holy words in Hebrew, was a source of satisfaction to the Almighty in heaven, the Baal Shem declared.”[1]

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The seventh day of the holiday of Sukkot provides much food for thought on the supreme value of “simplicity.”  We’re prompted to think about the worth of the naïve and guileless among us.  Hoshana Rabba, as it’s called, encourages us to let go of our attachment to all that is slick and sophisticated, to look beyond the “talented, special” ones among us and to instead pay attention to the straightforward, possibly naïve, yes…simple folk.  And it does this all through a practice involving willow branches.

In Temple times, the people would take willow branches from a place below Jerusalem called Motza.  Throughout the holiday of Sukkot, they placed them at the sides of the altar so that their tops bent over it.  Then they would sound the shofar.  They did this once every day of Sukkot and seven times on Hoshana Rabba.

Today in memory of this mitzvah, we circle the bimah in shul as was done in days gone by around the altar in the Temple.  And on Hoshana Rabba, we take five willow leaves, bind them together, say a special prayer and beat the bundle on the ground.

There’s no blessing for the latter, no fanfare.  Seemingly the act does not have sufficient “value” for us to make a blessing.  We simply take the lowly willow, beat it, and toss it on to the ark.

The willow certainly has a bad rap.  The Midrash[2] correlates the four species of Sukkot with four types of Jews.  The Etrog which has flavor and fragrance corresponds to those Jews who have both Torah and good deeds.  The palm fronds have taste but no fragrance just like those Jews who have Torah but not good deeds.  The myrtles by contrast have fragrance but no taste.  They correspond to those Jews who have good deeds but lack Torah.  And “this willow has neither taste nor fragrance…(like those) who have neither Torah nor good deeds.”

You really don’t want to be a willow person!  Or do you?  Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson states that the willow is “indicative of simple people whose fulfillment of the commandments is with simple faith.”[3]

This comment brings out a profound depth of the Midrash and explains the inner content of the willow.  Superficially the Midrash seems to be implying that only the Etrog has both the advantage of Torah knowledge and good deeds.  The three other species it would seem are lacking one or both of

these.  The Rebbe clarifies and qualifies this understanding.  He is of the opinion that “all Jews are equal” when it comes to both learning and action.  All four categories of Jews alluded to in the four species fulfill both Torah and Mitzvot.

His reading of the Midrash makes a lot of sense.  Think about it just a little.  The lulav-Jew is immersed in study.  But as our sages say, true learning brings one to action.  So if the said Jew is learning in the way study is meant to happen, he or she is also fulfilling the actual commandments.  Similarly with regard to the myrtle-Jew.  This is the person who’s doing good deeds.  That by necessity implies knowledge!  You have to know what Torah requires in order to fulfill its requirements.  By the same token, the willow-Jew does study and does act.  This person is part of the same bundle of folks who are like citrons, palms and myrtles.  The willow persona is one of a totality of individuals whose lives are bound up with the Torah and its commandments.  The identifying feature of this person, says the previous Rebbe, is that all they do is permeated with simple faith.

It’s a beautiful reading of our people and the Midrash.  But it leaves us with a question: If they’re all endowed with both qualities, why then make distinctions and overtly imply that there’s a definite continuum from the “have-alls” to the “have-nots”!?

The inner meaning of the Midrash though is that whilst we are all equal when it comes to our connection to the Torah and our abundance of good deeds, there is a difference in the manner and quality of the way in which we both study the Torah and enact the commandments.

We access Torah through intellectual pursuit.[4]  So according Rabbi Schneerson’s interpretation when the Midrash refers to someone as having “Torah” it implies someone who has superior intellect.  Good deeds on the other hand emphasize the advantage of the emotional attributes which drive our actions.  So having “Mitzvot” in the language of the Midrash is indicative of a person with emotional intelligence.

This throws new light on the difference between the four species.  They are each connected to both Torah and good deeds.  It’s just that they do it differently!  The etrog folk have both high IQ’s and profound emotional intelligence.  Contemporary culture might call them “Renaissance Men.”  In Torah terminology, they would be called “Adam” – a term reserved for those who have mastered both mind and heart.  The lulav personas are the Harvard grads.  They’re the Torah scholars who soar on the wings of reason and intellectual exploration.  Myrtle people are highly skilled at identifying and managing both their own and others’ emotions.  They’re likely to be in the helping professions, empathize with others and know how to make them comfortable.  They’re skilled at applying the Torah to daily life.  Last but not least are the willow members of society.  These are the “simple” folk[5] who form the bedrock of society – good, honest, sincere people whom we might be dismissive of but whom we feel awfully comfortable being around!  These are Jews whose fulfillment of Torah and mitzvot lacks both the advantage of intellect and emotion.  Their access to study and fulfillment of mitzvot is permeated with a simple and pure faith.

Through looking at the four species in this light, it becomes clear that there’s a special aspect to the willow that surpasses the other species.  The tree gives no fruit and the leaves give off no fragrance.  Yet it is precisely in that “blandness” of being that we recognize the presence of something beyond.  The willow’s minimalism is indicative of the inner point of the Jewish soul which is indivisible and thus empty of discernable distinctive qualities.  We all have this point within us but it is most felt in the “simple” unlettered and emotionally unadorned individuals.  The Baal Shem Tov states that the “simplicity” of the common people is synonymous with the essential simplicity and unity of G-d Himself.  It is precisely in the unaffected and possibly naïve individuals that G-d’s presence is to be felt most.[6]

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This special quality of the “willow” folk is reflected in the physical qualities of the willow itself.  The mitzvah to “take for (ourselves)” the four species is comprised precisely of these four because each encapsulates the theme of unity and oneness.

The etrog is an evergreen tree and the fruit “lives on the tree from year to year.”  Not only does it not shrivel, wilt or die with the change of seasons – it actually grows.  In this way, all four seasons of the year are united through the individual fruit which remains on the tree throughout the year.  The lulav frond has many leaflets that come together in one tip.  Myrtle leaves surround the stem in groups of three, all of which meet at one point.  And willows are called achvana, a “brotherhood,” because they grow together in groups, or be’achva.

The world we live in is characterized by the very opposite of unity.  In fact, the Hebrew word for “world” is olam, and is etymologically related to the word he’elem which means “concealment.”  As such the world manifests division and plurality.  If anything on this physical plane does in fact express something of unity then it’s an indication something of the original, supernal Unity that is the source of everything is shining through that object.  In other words, the “ego” of the object is less manifest and its source is more revealed.

This concept is evident in the four species.  Each of them displays unity albeit in different ways.  As such one doesn’t experience their natural “ego identity” which exists simply by virtue of being of this world.  Rather, one is touched by their nullification to their source.  This existential subordination brings about a revealed unity even on the physical plane.

Yet even within the four species themselves there exists a difference in the nature of that unity.  When it comes to the etrog, lulav and myrtle one notices that the unity we’re talking of exists within each plant at an individual level.  The leaves of this particular palm or myrtle and this particular etrog display something of oneness.  But that unity is not connected to other plants of the same species.

Conversely willows grow in groups, in “brotherhood” with one another.  The fact that in this physical world willows grow in unison, expressing unity, is because they are subordinate to their source more so than the other three species.  It is precisely the willow which surrenders its “ego” – or sense of being an independent existence outside of G-d – that reveals the one and simple supernal root of reality within the concealment of creation.  That’s why even its name reflects unity.

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The willow’s unusual display of unity also says much about the unique qualities of simple faith.

At a purely physical level, although the etrog, palm and myrtle are in actuality chosen because of their manifestation of unity, one could make a mistake.  Their respective flavors and fragrances draw attention to themselves.  As such they conceal the simplicity and unity that underlie them even though that simplicity is even more transcendent in its root than the quality that draws our attention.  One might mistakenly think they’ve been selected for the mitzvah not because of their unity but because of their benefits.

The willow by contrast has nothing special about it at all.  And being that there’s nothing to draw our attention, nothing to mask its clear-cut identity, the oneness of the willow radiates outwards.  There’s simply no way to make a mistake as to why it’s included in the group.  The only reason it could be there is because of this notion of oneness.

The same thing applies to us as individuals.  Those of us who are “rich” in intellect and emotion face a challenge.  Our gifts inevitably conceal our simple faith.  We lose access to the simplicity and innocence that exists within us and are instead swept up by our abilities, seduced by our gifts.  We lose access to the very essence of who we are.

It is precisely in the “simple folk” who are bereft of intelligence and “specialness” that “essential supernal unity and simplicity” shines.

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Given all the above, we can now understand the greatness of Hoshana Rabbah particularly as it was practiced in the Temple and as it is practiced today.

The willows of Hoshana Rabbah are of an even higher level than those of the four species.  The latter are bound together with three other plants each of which reveals something of G-d singular Oneness and simplicity but each of which at the same time is remarkable for something distinctive.  As a result, the willows associated with the group is somewhat compromised.  It’s simplicity is not entirely pure because by association it is connected with other distinctive attributes.

The willows the Jews placed around the altar in the temple however was entirely plain.  It was not bound with anything.  No other species lent it “importance” and it had no notable features of its own.  As such they served as visual, physical analogies of pure and unadulterated simplicity.[7]

The practice of placing the long willow stems around the altar is not explicitly stated in the Bible.  It is a law that has been passed down to us from Moses as he received it from G-d at Mount Sinai.[8]  These kinds of commandments are connected to profound levels within the soul.  There are dimensions within us that are connected to G-d through overt instructions.  They are fed by all the deeds laid out in the Bible and their corresponding commentaries.  Beyond these dimensions, there is a point within us where our essence touches that of G-d.  It is a place where we are so connected that we don’t need to be overtly commanded to do something in the Written Law.  This point manifests its bond with G-d through the commandments that were received by Moses at Mount Sinai and passed down to us across the generations.  It is a point of simplicity within the soul itself.

Today’s practice of the willow touches even one step deeper.  We take five willows which correspond to the five dimensions of severity.  Holding them we say a prayer, bang them on the ground and then throw them over the ark in shul, or the lintel if we’re at home.[9]  It is a custom that was instituted by the prophets.  So it’s neither a law explicitly stated in the Bible nor one received from Moses.  At the surface it’s “just a custom” – of minimal significance.  However in actuality Jewish custom is rooted in the very essence of our souls and collective consciousness.

Certain practices were revealed to us by the prophets.  But they didn’t come at the people in a heavy-handed way.  They simply took on to act in a particular way and the people followed of their own accord.  In this sense, Jewish custom reflects the Jew’s ability to intuitively sense the cosmic means of connection to G-d that are available.  It is for this reason that our sages tell us that “Jewish custom is Torah.”  The overt meaning is that we cannot dismiss these practices because they take on the status of actual law.  The deeper reading is that as a people we have the power to “create” Torah through collectively intuiting the patterns of conduct that bind us with G-d.

Thus the custom of the willows of Hoshana Rabbah as we practice it today reveals the very root and essence of our soul.  The willow, devoid of flavor, devoid of fragrance, reflects that point of undifferentiated unity and simplicity within each of us.  When we access this place within us, the lowly willow suddenly becomes the most radiant of all the plants of Sukkot.  At that moment, we can forgive ourselves for all we’re not and celebrate ourselves for the untouchable and indescribable essence of who we are.  And then we’re able to look at others differently too.  We are able to see the wonder of a water-carrier.

Qualities	Citron/Etrog	Palm/Lulav	Myrtle/Haddas	Willow/Arava
The “Labels”	The Saint The Egoist	The Sage The Intellectual	The Intuitive The Drama Queen	The Mute The Oracle
Body Part	Heart	Spine	Eyes	Mouth
Parallel in the Tree of Life	Keter	Chabad	Chagat	Malchut
Sense fed by the plant	Taste and Smell	Taste	Smell	Neither taste nor smell
Advantages according to overt meaning of Midrash	Learns Torah and does good deeds	Learns Torah	Does good deeds	Has neither Torah nor good deeds
A deeper reading of the Midrash	Has both the advantages of Torah and good deeds	Learning brings to action.  Thus although this Jew focuses on learning, that in and of itself implies doing	Performs the required deeds thus must have knowledge of the what and how of Torah	Included in the same prestigious group of individuals who are imbued with both Torah and good deeds and by extension has both as well
Personality types and strengths of the individuals	Highly intelligent and emotionally gifted	Excels in intellectual arenas	High in emotional intelligence	Imbued with guileless, pure and simple faith.  “Blandness” touches one’s essence
Physical qualities of the Species that reflect Oneness	Lives on the tree from year to year.  All four seasons of the year are thereby united	All leaves come to one unified point	All the groups of three leaves come to one point at the stem	Are called achvana, “fraternal,”  because they grow beachva, ”together”
The Up and Downside of Each Type (Inverted for the Willow)	Essence point of the soul is concealed by the sparkling mind and personality	Essence point of the soul is concealed by the gift of intelligence	Essence point of the soul is concealed by gift of emotional intelligence	No revealed gift and therefore the essential, unified and “simple” point of the soul is manifest
G-d said, “Bind them all together and they will atone for each other.”

This article was originally published on www.TheJewishWoman.org.

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[1] Rabbi Y.Y. Schneerson, Memoirs Vol 1

[2] Vayikra Rabbah, 30:12

[3] Yom Tov shel Rosh Hashana 5710

[4] Each of us receives the Torah as an inheritance.  Our wanting the Torah, having a tradition of studying it in our nuclear family and the like have nothing to do with the fact that it belongs to you by virtue of your birth.  The Torah belongs no more and no less to anyone one of our people (which may explain why we get in to such heated arguments over its meaning at times and each feel we have the correct reading of an issue at hand.)  Nonetheless, absorbing the Torah into our own consciousness requires mental exertion.

[5] Anashim peshutim in Hebrew.

[6] It is interesting to note that the spheres of  Netzach, “Ambition,” and Hod, “Humility,” are called “willow leaves.”  This is because they have no unique flavor but are rather extensions of the higher soul powers of love and awe.  Nonetheless, just as the willow has a uniquely superior advantage over the other three species, they are rooted in an even higher source both love and fear.  (See Likkutei Torah, Shir HaShirim 27:4)

[7] In this light, it is interesting to note that for the four species one needs at least three moist leaves to fulfill the mitzvah.  In fact we take three stalks each of which must have leaves that meet in twos at the stem.  The minimum requirement for the Temple practice of the willow was one stem with one leaf.

[8] Halacha le’Moshe miSinai

[9] Some people throw them onto the roof of the Sukka at home.

Exchanging Supermom for Everywoman

by: Shimona Tzukernik

About a year ago I spoke to a group of women in Pittsburgh.  The topic was, “Will the Real Jewish Woman Please Stand Up?”  The energy was already upbeat and intimate by the time I made reference to the famous text, “Woman of Strength” which Jews customarily sing at the Friday night meal.  Before I could work my way into the point I intended to make, a woman blurted out something to the effect of, “I hate that song.”  I turned to her inviting her to elaborate.

“Well…She’s just so…perfect!  I feel like a complete failure every Friday night.  I mean, do you know anyone like her?”  Laughter all round.

I love when that happens – a real, visceral response to the topic at hand (especially when it resonates with my ownself’s inner passion, hesitancy or conflict around a particular idea.)  How many times had I balked at the words?!  Using the Hebrew letters as a springboard it is a veritable Alphabet-Soup of Perfection.  I won’t overwhelm you with all the details but how’s this for starters?

·         Alef – She’s an Eishet Chayil, a “strong” woman.  The word chayil connotes the power of war.  She’s a warrior.  And a spiritual one too, with all the attributes needed to carry out any task at hand.  Friday night rolls round, we haven’t even gotten past verse one and I’m up against “Jewish Tiger Mom!”

·         Beit – Batach bah lev ba’alah, her husband’s heart trusts in her.  Hmm.  I can count on one hand (okay, two fingers) the number of girlfriends whose husbands’ are at peace with their wives’ take on life and what’s best for them.  Verse two and I’m dealing with not only a powerhouse but someone who’s wise and gentle enough to inspire confidence in her mate!

·         Gimmel – Gemalthu tov, she imparts goodness and kindness to him, never evil.  Who is this gal?

In short, a brief read-through of the song reveals that Kosher Tiger Mom has a loving, trusting husband; she’s an entrepreneur and successful business woman; she’s industrious, charitable, wise, empathic and intuitive.  To boot she’s well groomed (read manicures, facials and Sacks Fifth Av if not Vera Wang) and even has the time and cash to buy gorgeous bedroom linens in mindful attention to her sex life.

Is it any wonder the second phrase, in breathless pursuit of the words Eishet Chayil, asks “Who can find (her)?”  She is not me!  All of which leaves me with the question of how to read and apply King Solomon’s song to my life – along with the implications it has for my role not only as wife but as daughter to my mother and mother to my own children.

It seems to me that Eishet Chayil is “Everywoman,” an archetype of us all.  No, I’m not just looking for a backdoor escape from my perfectionism, a way to avoid the reflections of my flaws which I encounter on a daily basis.   I ask myself whether she represents an attainable goal.  Certainly in a utopian era we may each come to embody the Eishet Chayil described by King Solomon but in the here-and-now of life-as-we-know-it, I’ve yet to meet the woman who lives up to the persona he portrays.  Rather than take the text as a description of Supermom, it seems to me, it serves to connect us with the universal image of wife and mother.  After all, the passage has been interpreted as a metaphor for the Shechina, the Sabbath, the Torah and the soul.  Doesn’t it make sense that the acrostic, spanning all twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet, alludes not to one woman’s all-encompassing virtues (Supermom) but to our collective identity (Everywoman)?

Just before my marriage, a spiritual midwife told me, “King Solomon says, ‘The wisdom of a woman builds her home.’  The literal translation though states, ‘The wisdom of women (plural) builds her home (singular.)  You will build your home on the wisdom of many women.  Pay attention to how they live and what they have to say.”  How right she was.  I have enriched myself and my home through the collective wisdom and experience of the thousands of women I’ve merited to connect with.  I carry them within me and am personally empowered by who they are.  As Eishet Chayil is sung each Friday night, it affords me some brief moments of contemplation to rejoin with them and also to be eased by the knowledge that our physical and spiritual interconnectedness mitigates my own flaws, enabling me to bring their lights into my home.

By extension, I have access to the larger, cosmic Everywoman, namely the energies and insights of the women who have come before me all the way back to Sarah.  (In fact, one reading of Eishet Chayil is as the eulogy Abraham said for Sarah before he buried her.)  It may be a span of thousands of years between me and my first mother but it’s not more than around 175 generations.  That’s not an impossible divide.  I want some of the wisdom and joy of the women between the two of us.  I now know how far from the truth my youthful stereotype of the shtetel Bubby – naïve, somewhat simple, lacking emotional subtlety – is.  Today I’d love to have her over for brunch and glean her insights and tools on how to handle my life.  The same goes for all the women throughout those interceding generations each of who has her own shining letter from the Alphabet-Soup of Perfection to impart to me.  As their daughter and grand-daughter I am bound with their point of perfection.  Thereby, at some level, despite the fact that I’m no Supermom, Eishet Chayil is in my home each Friday night.  More so I even carry her, the collective “Everywoman”, within my own being.

In this way, I gain access to a dimension of myself that is way beyond my highest personal aspirations for if the totality of who I can be is purely a result of my own endeavors; I will be very small indeed.  Rather, it is in surrendering to my imperfections and humbly admitting the bigness of Eishet Chayil that I open the window to the full expanse of who I am.

But to me, the collective gestalt of Jewish womanhood embodied by Eishet Chayil allows us even more than access to this larger, truer self.  In addition to this priceless gift, she affords us the possibility to reconfigure our relationship with our mothers.  I know, easier said than done.  The most potent reaction I ever got to a presentation was a lecture called, “Moms, the Magic and the Madness.”  The audience – and yours truly – wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or weep.  Our relationship with our mothers is incomparably multi-dimensional, complex, overlaid with love and with anger.  It’s a real big one to navigate but one which we are nonetheless expected to manage and even heal.

It’s not that we can disregard the relationship if it’s uncomfortable for us.  “Honor your father and mother” made it to fifth on the list of the Big Ten!  Yet for many, this instruction on how we ought to relate to our parents is something they find absurd.  I can hear the disdain: “My Mom hangs out at the gym all day and gossips non-stop.  She’s dishonest in business, self-centered – nay narcissistic – and materialistic.  She never had the courage to face her wounds so I get to be the beneficiary of her dysfunctional inheritance!  Yadda, yadda…”  Alright, this is Everymom we’re talking about.  But you get the idea.  How are we to honor and respect our Moms despite their often startling imperfections?

Ultimately the reason we honor them has nothing to do with their personal or moral stature.  G-d’s directive is rooted in the fact that at the moment of conception, our parents take on something of the Divine.  They become co-creators with G-d in bringing us into being.  That’s why honor of our parents is immutable.  It’s not about the gym or manicures, how they do or don’t pay taxes and show up in life.  It’s about the fact that in relation to us they are G-dlike in a certain respect.  That’s the ground-zero of honoring our parents and until we get it most nothing else we say or hear will be of use to us in moving the relationship forward.

But this immutable point of greatness aside, each Friday night Eishet Chayil reminds us of two key ideas which can change the way we negotiate our very first relationship.  The first is that, as mentioned, none of us is perfect – and that’s okay!  The second is that in some mysterious way we can, if we choose to, receive what we need through the collective Everywoman.  In this way, we learn to lower the bar on our mothers.  We don’t have to hold them to an impossible standard.  Whew!  In fact we can begin to accept our mother for who she is and learn to get our needs met elsewhere if she is not able to do so.  We can stop blaming our unhappiness on someone who would not – or more accurately could not – come to the table in the way we needed her to.  Eishet Chayil, Everywoman, becomes a reservoir of healing and nourishment for our being.

Through this forgiving of her for her imperfections, we become able to put down the aspects of our own emotional and mental inheritance we’d rather do without.  One of the first things we learn about our father Abraham is that he smashed his parents’ idols!  I am embarrassed to admit it but it was only well into my thirties that I realized I had to do the same.  I’d spent decades bowing to my folks’ false beliefs, accepting it as fact that I was doomed for time everlasting to live with the limitations those beliefs generated.  Then one day the teaching about Abraham took hold in my mind with a vigorous vitality.  I took an inventory of what I’d inherited.  In addition to the abundant goodness and wonder, it included beliefs about how much I was likely to earn, how to respond when angered, what the appropriate response to suffering is, who I am and a whole lot more.  I trust you get what I’m talking about.  How liberating to realize that I could systematically smash those idols – without betraying my parents!!  I was not being faithless to them in subscribing to different truths and happiness.

The catch in doing so is to disown the false beliefs yet remain in the relationship.  Abraham smashed Terach’s idols but he continued to live with him – for another seventy-two years.  Granted Terach came round to Abraham’s way of thinking but our first father would have managed to negotiate the relationship regardless.  I believe that is because connection with G-d was the singular driving force in his life and as such he was able to a) see his father’s flaws but b) not take them personally and c) not feel limited by them, thereby being able to d) detach with love so that he could e) actually help Terach.  He was able to not own another’s dysfunction and yet remain connected to the one he loved.

To accomplish this mode of conduct, we must discover a new mental set and learn to shift our reading of the events and relationships in our lives.  Most of our pain in relation to our parents (and pretty much everything else) has to do with our own perception.  We interpret things to mean what they are not.  As such, we tend to live in the rather unhappy space between the way things are and the way we think they should be.  We walk around confessing the sins of G-d and others in our life.  And of course, we know our mothers’ sins best of all!  To be whole with her, we must find that new mental set which allows us to let go of the expectations we have of her as well as of our interpretation of the interactions between us.  For me, Eishet Chayil enables me to at least begin to navigate this.  It teaches me that I am not perfect but that that’s okay – and the same goes for my Mom; that I no longer have to hold her to an impossible standard; and that I can be enriched by my universal family of sisters and mothered by generations of women whose sterling qualities are inestimable.  In other words, although I’m not Supermom I have access to the superlative perfection of Everywoman.  Turns out that Jewish-Tiger-Mom liberates me through the abundant truth that although none of us is perfect, we have access to a flawlessness that is way beyond pearls.

Written for, "More Precious than Pearls," edited by Mark Pearlman.  Check out his site   Sinai Live

Hot-Ice for Channukah

A Lesson in Metaphysics from a Street Drain, Hot Ice, and the Chanuka Flames





Marion Place surrounded a wild field where scorpions roamed and hardi-ha birds nested. We lived at number 66 and the field was our other playground. I loved the rawness of the place. There were large stones on which to sit and dream, and places to hide in play. The street circled the field like a belt. Beneath it ran a drain gutter. Etched in my memory like scratches in the tar is the recollection of lowering my body into the channel, raising my hands to receive the pushcart passed to me, taking my seat and gazing down the tube whose only light came from rain drains up above. G-d knows what could have been if the heavens opened and flooded the intestine of the road. But time and again I took off, racing faster and faster down the hill, fleeting beneath the slatted light, and finally curving to a halt at the bottom of the hill. Then the long walk back and the haul out. Each ride was always a first!

The upside of the street held its pleasures too. Sitting on the rubber tire swing, we read stories about children who sold lemonade on the curb. They were stories of other lands. No one really passed Marion Place other than the people who lived there. And no one was interested in buying lemonade, or the biscuits we baked. But that didn't stop us from setting up our stand. And then we'd wait, like Charlie Brown, for the elusive customer who never came.

What children did buy was ice-cream. The ice-cream man rode by most afternoons. His skin burnished deep and dark. He rode a bike to which a large box was attached at the front. It was filled with hot ice. Playing on the front lawn, shaded by a garden-bed packed tight with aloes and stralitzias, we'd hear his bell. It was a tin manual one, strapped with string to the handlebar. Inside the darkness of the box his ice smoked, its metallic smell mixed with that of the sugars and chocolates of the ice creams. Oh how good it was to dip my hand into the black space and pull up wrappers of different colors, searching for the chocolate cone, the orange sorbet, the milky bar…

It was a Sunday when I learned how hot the cold was. Dad offered the ice-cream man some extra pennies for a chunk of the stuff and cut a deal. He pulled on the work gloves tucked into his pocket and lifted the ice from the darkness. It smoked white and hard against the backdrop of his shirt, then past the shrubbery and along the red brick wall that skirted the driveway.

“Come see,” he said, walking towards the pool.

He was our Pied Piper, leading us to the water that glistened beneath the sun. Smells of chlorine and fermenting peaches mingled in the air.

“Let me touch Dad, let me touch”

“Careful, it burns”

“No ways,” I bounced, reaching my hand out.

It sure did, sticking to my skin and holding it as I pulled back in surprise.

“Step away,” he said, flinging the ice into the water.

Boom! It exploded in an instant, a white volcanic eruption right there in the very water we splashed about in noon-after-long-African-afternoon. Our mild pool, reserved for gentle play, or spirited dives and games of Marco-Polo at most, was spewing forth hot vents as if it were a deep dark ocean bed. Bubbles burst to the surface and popped open from the blue below. It fascinated me that something so cold worked like fire. The ice burned a memory within me.

It was one of those days you don’t get the full significance of until later. I frequently return to the black tar and the open veld. To the street’s underbelly with its slatted light. To memories of my father. I am standing poolside and the ice is burning, bubbling. It frightens me. And it excites me. Was it that even then at the age of ten I intuited the questions I would only articulate with the weight of a couple more years? Are things as they appear to be? Or is everything also its opposite? Is heat hot? Or is it cold as well? Is ice fire? And am I no-thing?

I think of that day and ponder most deeply how each thing contains its opposite as I sit before the fluttering glow of the Chanuka lights and our children twirl their dreidels, tossing hazel nuts at each other across the floor. I gaze at the flames. They are born of oil rather than wax and glow gold against the doorway, luminously balancing the mezuzah which shines behind my back. They pull me in to their glimmer. At the epicenter float black cords – silent charred strands blacker than night. Yet it is this darkness that feeds the fire. Each wick is framed by a purple light itself surrounded by a pale light, and then ephemerally framed by a halo hovering between matter and spirit. I look at the flames and then I’m standing at the pool watching the ice burn. Just as that moment was soaked with contradiction; it jars my mind that the black wick is the core of the plasma and halo. How is so much light and such radiance born of the charred stuff? And how is it that the fire is hottest right there where the wick is dying?

In some way gliding on my rocker with the lights on low as the flames multiply night to night, I sense I am sitting before the secrets I spend my life in search of. The flames are a parable not only of my body and soul but also of my purpose. The black wick is my body, the flame is the G-dliness my labors of love generate, and the oil the Divine deeds enacted each day that fuel the fire.

The body sweats and excretes, desires pleasure, decays and dies. Even in its prime it proclaims its limits. It is black in death and albeit pink, is black in birth. But the inner dimension of that darkness is brilliance. It is shining luminescent G-dliness. With my body I birthed our children. My wick is the fulcrum from which I host guests, give charity, wipe a bleeding nose, sweep the floor, light the lamps. My body serves my life just as the wick serves the flame. In the same way that the cotton cord is the anchor for the light so too is my physical existence the anchor and support for my entire existence.

The world itself, the very matter I engage with, is also a wick. Black beans. Black table. Black fruit which even in its robust sweetness is decaying. A world of wicks. The universe is matter that in and of itself is dense and dark even as it is pleasurable. But – and this is the crux of it all – when I use that world in service of the Divine, it becomes a source for Divine radiance. This is our deepest purpose. To be lamplighters.

Lest the light die quickly, I feed the flame with oil. The fuel for G-dly light is the acts my Creator charges me with: Take a citron with a palm frond, some willows and a sprig of myrtle. Wave it just so. And lo and behold, Divine light. Take the skin of an animal, tan it fine. Take ink and write the following words on the leather. Lo and behold, Divine light. Take money and give it to someone in need. Lo and behold, Divine light!

So dark is light, and black matter is G-dliness. Each thing is transmutable. The principal holds true for every act mandated by G-d. A mitzvah is a candle. But the two mitzvot that most embody this principal are the Shabbat and Chanukah candles. Both shine forth the secret that counter-intuitively each entity holds within itself its contrary dimension. Each shines forth the message that the darkness of matter is in essence Divine light when properly channeled. Beside the menorah, our children play. The dreidel spins…Everything is in motion, each thing is itself and simultaneously its opposite. The oil has become flames and the flames are light and the light is the desire of G-d. G-d’s presence is hovering manifest in our dining room, shining at us from the cups of oil.

This notion that matter can be transformed is uniquely Jewish. That’s why it so irked the Greeks. “You want to philosophize? Fine. Go ahead and indulge in pleasure. But don’t come telling us that you can take a wick and turn it into a holy flame. Don’t spew nonsense proclaiming that oil squeezed from a bitter olive can be sacred!” And so, in violent reaction to the radical notion that ice is fire and black is light and matter is Divine, they ransacked the Temple looking for…for what?! For cruses of oil! They would not, could not have us calling out that either physical pleasure or philosophical inquiry or anything in between can be G-dly.

A small group of radicals persevered. They were the visionaries of their generation. They knew the secrets of ice and fire and light. And their entirely non-logical relationship to reality undid an entire army bent on their destruction. They lived from the place of the impossible. Their grasp of the contradictions inherent in reality enabled them to re-invent the way people saw themselves. They gave us back our access to the wondrous principal, “Let there be light.” At the very outset of the creative process, “in the beginning,” G-d told us our mandate was to bring forth the light from all the chaos. The Maccabees took that command and ran with it. The G-dliness they generated captured the primordial vision of G-d and still shines forth from each Chanukah candelabra lit anywhere on the globe. Let there be light.

With this point I can risk the death of my ego. Let it burn! The death will be a birth. Through the surrender of selfhood and in giving over our personal willfulness to the will of G-d, we generate light. We do not have to hold on to the external form of reality. Entering the hidden opposite dimension sets us free. Existence is transmutable. When I think of Marion Place, I realize that the drain belly of that crescent was as sweet for me as the ice-cream lying in the box above. And the tar was as black as the belly. It was always the same street, just top and bottom. Both were dark and both were sweet. Even in the bowels, there was a thrill. Even in the cold, damp darkness the pushcart raced beneath the grids of light and filled my heart with heated joy.

This article was originally published on www.thejewishwoman.org. If you're a writer, submit your work to the editor Sarah Esther Crispe here.