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.

The Butcher and the Bone (Or When NOT to Say, "I'm Sorry"

 b”h

There are more people who won’t talk to me – nay look at me – than I care to think.  Truth be told, even one is too many.  No?  Well I have a handful.  But not for lack of trying to repair the breeches.  I’ve apologized.  In one case, make that fourteen conciliation attempts.  Now it wouldn’t be nice if I just blurted out and told you everything.  So I’m going to knead these women up into one person.  I’ll call her…I’m tempted to say “Pinkellafant”, akin to the proverbial white elephant we allow to sit on the living room rug while we peek round its chunky hips and make pleasant conversation.  But that doesn’t feel comfortable.  You see, I really like her.  For all the cold shoulders, I do.  So I’ll call her Penelope instead.

We were friends for over a decade.

On the evening of our fall out, I needed to get out of the house for a bit.  The apartment felt sticky to my soul.  “Penelope!” I thought, and off I went.  Outside it was even stickier but at least there was space.  On my way across the street, a cop car idled by and pulled into action just behind my shoulder.  The siren hit me with a slap.  Maybe I should have paid attention and gone indoors.  But I just kept right on walking.  I knocked on Penny’s door.  No answer.  I knocked again.  No-one.  So I called her on the cell.  Often she’d be playing music in the back of the house and not hear the bell.

“WHAT!” she barked.

That’s the way she’d been picking up of late.  Stressed, feeling down.  I mostly let it ride.  Just walked straight past the “what!” right into the relationship, like a guest missing her queue at the door.  But that night was different.  I was feeling too vulnerable to push past.

“Uh.  It’s okay.  Nothing.”

Silence.

“WHAT!?”

“It’s okay Penny.  Nothing.”

“Why d’you ring?”

“Listen, I can’t talk.  I just have to go.”

“Don’t hang up!”

“I’m not.  I just have to go.”

“Shimona!!”

“Listen, I can’t talk.  Everythings OK.  I have to put the phone down…”

At the bottom of the brownstone steps lay leftovers from someone’s Wendy’s dinner.  The cops and a crowd were gathered at the corner.  It was too many lights and sounds for 9:30pm.  I sat down against the low wall outside our building where grass from the garden offered fragrant relief.

On the corner, I saw Penny.  She was advancing towards me with the same force she puts out on her evening route round the park.

“What’s going on!?” she demanded.  Her concern was spiked with anger.

“I told you.  I’m okay.”

“I came all the way over.”

“Penny, now’s not the time.”

Her mix of anger and concern was shifting with each push to talk and each “not now” I countered with.

“I left what I was doing…”

“It’s okay, you can go back to it.  We’ll talk another time.”

Penny spun round and walked away.  “I’ll call her from the cab on my way to the airport,” I thought as I watched her go.  But she called first.  She called minutes after I discovered that both my driver’s license and passport were misplaced along with $500 to boot!

“Penny, I was just about to call you.  Can’t find my license.  My ride’s waiting downstairs.  I’ll be in the cab in a few minutes.  Will call you then…”

My check, license and passport were still nowhere to be found and I was relying on some miracle to get past security at the airport.  Mine was not what one would call an elegant state of mind.  As soon as we pulled away from the curb, I called Penelope.  But by the time I dialed, it was too late.  I left numerous messages that Sunday.  And I apologized when I met her on the street Monday morning.

“I want to apologize for having hurt you,” I said.

The road to reconciliation was closed and despite calls, a letter, more calls, an invitation that she join me for lunch, going over there…well, other than a hello, or a sentence about nothing squeezed out of air; that was the last we spoke to each other.

As the expression goes, “It blows my mind!”

Each time something like this happens, I find myself confused and in pain.  I’ve been told I’ve apologized too soon, that I needed to “let the bird sit on the egg.”  I’ve apologized too late, in the wrong way, I should try again, or let it go, or I didn’t apologize at all because my words were “I want to apologize”.  There seems to be an art to this and it sure is one I don’t have the knack for!  I’m left muddling over whether it’s only me, and how much of this is about her.  Here’s a journal entry from my diary of a few weeks back:

Penny’s husband advised that I send yet another email.  This is where I’m at though.  I’ve spent many years apologizing to people for things that were not bad or mean acts.  They were mistakes or decisions that others disagreed with…

Maybe I’m sick?  All this running to fix things up.  Does it stem from low self-esteem and feeling that the other is correct in refusing to forgive me?  The relationship has always been more important to me than who’s right or wrong.  At least that’s what I think. If I’ve shared what hurt me and inadvertently caused pain, or allowed myself to not be “on” in a dynamic, I made a mistake yes, but is that something for which I should not be spoken to for months, years, a decade!  Where does one go when the response to an apology is, “Forget about it!  It’s passed” – when in reality it’s the relationship, not the tension, that has come to an abrupt halt?  If our relationship was so fragile that I couldn't share my experience of what-is, was there really one to talk of?  The question I ask myself is, “Has it been holy or unhealthy behavior that has driven me for years to ask Penelope for forgiveness?”

I’m fully aware that one need only ask for forgiveness three times.  It’s Jewish to forgive.  That’s one of our distinguishing traits.  The sages tell us that G-d expects us to say, “It’s okay.  Let’s move on.”  And to then really do that!  I’m also aware that it’s noble to keep on trying and to go beyond the letter of the law when someone can’t forgive.  But is persevering with an apology ever undesirable.

I need to figure out the meaning of a story in the Talmud.  Here it is:

Rav had a complaint against a certain butcher.  When the butcher did not come to him on the eve of Yom Kippur to ask his forgiveness, he said, “I’ll go to him and calm him down.”

Rav Huna met him on his way there and asked, “Where are you going?”

He replied, “To soothe the butcher.”

“You will cause his death.  He should be mollifying you.  He will be punished on account of your degrading yourself.”

But Rav went anyway.  When he arrived, the butcher was sitting and chopping the head of an animal.  Rav stood next to him.  The butcher raised his eyes and saw him.

“You are Abba,” he said with contempt, addressing the sage by his first name.  “Go away!  I will have nothing to do with you!”

While he was chopping the head, a bone jumped off, stuck in his throat, and killed him.

Some story.

Who’s culpable?  Rav or the Butcher.  Rav Huna warns the former, “Don’t go.  It’s not the time.  Your attempt is going to backfire, and with disastrous consequences.”  But he goes anyway.  Sooooo, if Penelope was not ready, I should have “sat on the eggs” – just as her husband suggested!  When I rush head-on into an attempt at resolution and make things worse by forcing the situation, then who’s to blame?  I ponder, and rest much of it on my shoulders.

But the butcher had his issues too, to say the least.  It was the eve of Yom Kippur and he was sitting chopping the head of an animal.  Can you see it?  Everyone else is dressing in white, going to the mikva, thinking of mending things, and there he sits with his butcher’s knife chopping at the head of a beast.  I’m not pointing fingers.  I do that too.  Obsess over what’s gone wrong and indulge in grievance that is.  But a couple of hours before the Day of Atonement?!  When Rav walks in, you stand up.  You wipe your hands and say, “I’m sorry.”

Both felt wronged.  Ditto with Penelope and me.  Her sister later told me I’d, “Slammed the phone down on her and essentially told her to ‘get lost.’”  That was her reality.  For my part, I felt let down by a friend and pushed to the limits of comfort when she wasn’t there at the time I needed her; and then demanded that I open up when she was ready but I wasn’t.

I’m not playing Rav and putting her in the role of the butcher.  Not at all.  I myself am “Rav” and the “butcher.”  I pushed too hard for reconciliation.  And I’m choking on my own bone.  Stuck in my throat, plugging my life force is the desire that there be peace.  It sounds like a noble ideal but m-a-y-b-e it’s just my ego.  As I asked, has my pursuit of peace been coming from a holy or selfish place?  That’s my question this eve of Yom Kippur.  If I send Penelope just one more birthday gift, just one more bunch of flowers, or email, if I call again, then I run the risk of standing at the door of her discontent and being party to her gagging on her own negative feelings.

So I say to myself, I think this Yom Kippur, I’m going to sit tight.  I’m going to listen to Rav Huna and a different voice within.  I’m going to draw the arrow backwards with the intention of shooting it forwards.  My sense is that my yearning for harmony is largely about wanting to appear to others and myself as a “good person.”  Well it’s time to let that go.  The Work in this moment is to just do my next best effort and let-others-live. 

So Penelope, if you’d prefer to hack at a grievance, then go ahead.  And if you want to tell me the conflict’s all over, that there are no pink elephants in the room or gripes on the table, then so be it.  My sense that I can change your way of being in the world is a delusion.  I want to wear white (at least I’m going to give it a shot) and leave you be.  Let’s do things on your timetable for a change.  This Yom Kippur I’m going to try spending the day confessing my own sins and not worrying if you have any.  And maybe I’ll look up from my prayer book after a moment of intense concentration to find you beside me, and you’ll say, “Shana Tova.”  To you too my friend.

But instead, I ignore the voice of Rav Huna. Call it co-dependency, call it lack of self-esteem, or call it anything else. I have to ignore the labels. Because just maybe my impulse to call is a real desire for peace and it’s hidden inside those cloaks. So I pick up the phone to call “Penelope.” I find it a more compelling notion than the thought that there’s ever a time not to say, “I’m sorry.”

p.s. This piece was written a while ago.  I'm going to give you the post script on this evening's Kabbalah Class Teleseminar.  You can sign up here if you want.  In the meantime, climb in to the fray.  I'd love to know your thoughts.

This article was originally published on www.TheJewishWoman.org.  Thank you Sarah Esther, my dear friend and editor for getting me to put some of what's in my head into print.

What is Kabbalah?

B”h

On my Facebook page, I invited friends to submit their questions to (yours truly) the Kabbalah Coach.  A bunch came in.  After hanging out exclusively in Mamaland and getting the twins back to school, my daughter to Milan (MISS you Chan!) and son Levik…well, he only needed me to write and sign a letter…Where was I?  Yes, after hanging out in Mamaland, I finally got to the list of questions and began writing a response to the one that to my mind came conceptually first.  As I wrote, I realized it merited a blog post.  So here you have it, my first post to one of the questions asked:  What is Kabbalah Coaching?

The reason I couldn’t bite into the question itself right away is because that question begs a different one namely, “What is Kabbalah?”

The “Eternity in a grain of sand” answer is that Kabbalah is a blueprint of reality.  It addresses the Identity of The First Cause.  Kabbalah explores the Who and What of G-d.  It fleshes open the mystery of G-d's Oneness yet immanence within all the infinite details of Creation.  It articulates how this Divine entity interacts with Existence.

And Kabbalah explains the purpose of it all.  Yes, even the purpose of slipping on ice, falling in love, losing your job, having a baby, dying slowly and painfully in a smelly hospital, the reason your venture took off, the reason your venture failed, why you invested in the right stock and why you invested with Madoff!  I could go on.

One of the root words from Kabbalah is derived from is lekabel, which means “to receive.”  Another is lehakbil, which means “to align.”  I will explain.

Kabbalah is a received tradition.  It can be traced back to the Revelation at Sinai and then some, all the way to the Garden of Eden itself.    To become a vessel for this wisdom we must a) become willing to receive its truths and b) to seek and find our teachers.  Kabbalah cannot (only) be learned from books.  It is an Oral Tradition.  And those who teach should be those who live it.  Eat (receive) only from masters who embody the teachings.

All easier said than done!  We may say we are willing to receive the truths but…well…we just ain’t.  Recently I shared an insight with someone who professes to love the teachings of Kabbalah and the KC method.  Truth is she likes to listen to me talk to others!  It all sounds good and easy, all fits together so well when the focus is on someone else.  But when the principals were applied to her, my primitive mind coulda sworn she turned into a cat with claws.  Don’t worry.  I’m not talking about you.  I’m talking about her.  And me.  To become willing is a great blessing.  I think it takes Grace to be able to GET HONEST and GET OPEN.

The second aspect of receiving involves imbibing from Holy sources.  Meriting this also takes Divine Grace.  I’m not going to get myself into a law suit (thank you very much.)  Suffice it to say there’s a robust troupe of imitators on the loose.  When you touch and taste the truth from the source, you get it!  Rare.  Delicious.  Divine.  And truthfully, once in a lifetime is enough.  It helps weed out the charletans.  Keep looking; keep asking until you find the authentic thing.

So much for the “receiving” of Kabbalah.

The second meaning has to do with “aligning,” making one thing parallel to another.  My all-time favorite school teacher taught me about Correspondances by Baudelaire.  It prepped me for this understanding.  In their source, all things are aligned with each other.  But in the Garden we slipped a spiritual disc.  We got out of alignment. 

Kabbalah is a chiropractic adjustment for the soul.  Our purpose is to recover the balance and alignment we once had, even if only for a few brief hours.  In so doing we don’t only find our way up the river to the Garden, we generate something radically new.  So Kabbalah is the body of teaching which helps us re-access and even surpass our original state.  It aligns us with The Way Things Are.  We uncover the delusions, we recover the Truth.

I want to say one last thing about it before I fall asleep.  And that is that Kabbalah loosens the delusion of independent existence.  G-d creates ex-nihilo.  Our creative contribution happens in the reverse.  We must reveal the Nothing within the Apparent Somethingness of Existence.  It’s an inverse creative process.  Practically this means we surrender our ego.  THAT feels like death.  And THAT’S what the sages mean when they say, “There is no such thing as a free person other than one who toils in the study of Torah.”  Dying is the most life-affirming thing we can do.  It means we become G-d centered.  We surrender the ego.  In surrendering our sense of self, we discover who we are.  Holding on to the Tree of Life, we gain the courage to let the Ego die.

Having said this, it becomes obvious that Kabbalah is largely about the letting go of our sense of self and discovering who we actually are. But I’ll go in to this more at another time. The clock just turned 2:46am. Cinderella is long gone, her carriage turned into a pumpkin. My mind feels like a pumpkin too. Goodnight. I will look for the rest of this answer among the seeds and pips of my mind by the light of morning.

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

Western, Ethnic, Jewish Art - What's Your Gift?

by: Shimona Tzukernik

A couple of years ago, I conducted an interview with Mel Alexenberg, then Professor and Chairman of Fine Arts at the Pratt Institute. He traced archetypes of creative expression back to the book of Genesis, meandering past the Giving of the Torah and deep into the Sanctuary whose construction we read of in this week’s Torah portion.

The first paragon of Jewish art resides, according to Alexenberg, in the Biblical persona of Noach. His three sons each exemplify a different sense modality, the specific interaction of which generates the Torah ideal of beauty. When spelled in reverse, noach reads chen, meaning grace or beauty. And chen itself is an acronym for chochmat nistar, hidden wisdom. Thus the word may be more properly understood as denoting inner beauty.

Of Noach’s three sons, we read, “God shall enlarge Yaphet. He shall dwell in the tents of Shem and Cham shall be their servant.”[1] The name Yaphet, the progenitor of Greek and Western civilization, is related to the word yafa, visible or surface beauty. Shem is related to the word shmia, or hearing, and Cham to chomer, or matter and tactility. Just as the family of Noach included the three of his sons, so too chen, true artistic beauty must incorporate each of these modalities, the visual and aural, and their manifestation in the physical world.

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For the Jewish people at the foothills of Sinai, the world of the spiritual was as concrete as that of the physical.
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In the art of different cultures, one or other of these modalities tends to dominate. Ethnic art is largely tactile and utilitarian, albeit symbolic and conceptual. It is art that requires a close proximity and interaction between object and observer. The principal modality of Western art is visual, necessitating a certain distance between the work and its viewer. And the art of Arabian countries, according to Alexenberg, functions primarily in an auditory modality. “Its symbol, the crescent, echoes the domes of its architecture, which like the repetitive fluid patterns, envelop one like sound.” The concept of hearing is actually embodied in the name of the father of the Arabian people, “Yishmael”, which means, “God hears.” Though the art of each of these cultures necessarily employs all modalities, in each case there is one that emerges to the fore.

Jewish art, Chen, requires a union of modalities, an equal incorporation of the visual, aural and material. An example of this complex relationship between sight and sound emerges from a close study of the Biblical narrative of the Giving of the Torah. Our commentators explain that at this climactic moment, occurring after years of oppression and their miraculous departure from Egypt, the people heard that which was normally seen and saw that which was usually heard. By and large, physical reality is perceived visually, and that which is more abstract is sensed aurally. Thus the implication of this kinesthetic inversion is that for the Jewish people at the foothills of Sinai, the world of the spiritual was as real and concrete as that of the physical.

That the senses of sight and hearing are understood to be intimately connected with the faculty of comprehension is evidenced explicitly in other places in Jewish writings. For example, asked at Mount Sinai if they would accept and follow the laws contained in the Bible, the Jewish people responded, “We will do and we will hear, “ which our Rabbis interpret to mean, “We will do and then we will come to understand.” Seeing too is not always understood as limited to surface perception. It is associated with insight. “Some people,” says Alexenberg, “see the external and hear the internal. In Judaism, the opposite is true. Panim, “face” and P’nim, “internal” are the same word.” This dynamic interplay between seeing, hearing and understanding of both surface and interior, is reflected in the way the command “understand” is translated in the Talmud and the Zohar. In the Babylonian Talmud (the revealed, legal aspect of oral Jewish tradition) we find the word tashma, “come and hear,” whilst in the Zohar (the concealed, mystical dimension of the Torah, the name itself connoting “glow”) we read tachazeh, “come and see.”

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The Temple he built was the epitome of beauty because King Solomon had the ability to penetrate the interior in a way that echoed the the Jewish people's perception of the spiritual at Mount Sinai.
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The union of the aural and visual, a perception that penetrates beyond the surface to the interior, is as essential to Jewish art as it is in its religious literature. This vital interplay between surface and interior existed in the first Temple, one of the most glorious manifestations of multi-sensory Jewish artistic expression. We find it alluded to in the writings of Rashi, a foremost commentator on the Bible of the twelfth century. On the clause, “and God shall dwell in the tents of Shem,” Rashi states that God’s enlarging of Yaphet refers to His enabling Cyrus, of the descendants of Yaphet, to build the Second Temple. Rashi continues, “Nonetheless, there did not dwell in it the Divine Presence. And where did it dwell? In the First Temple, which King Solomon built.”[2] The First Temple is perceived as being on a higher level than the Second precisely because it housed the divine Presence. Yaphet, the visual, no matter how masterful, was not sufficient for creating a complete beauty. King Solomon, one of the most righteous of Jewish leaders, was able to actualize the ideal of “Chen.” The Temple he built was the epitome of beauty, because King Solomon had the ability to penetrate the interior in a way which echoed the Jewish people’s perception of the spiritual at Mount Sinai.

The interplay required in Jewish art is not only one between the different senses, but extends to the physical and spiritual dimensions of our lives. This is not surprising given that dynamism is a fundamental aspect of Jewish consciousness in general. As Alexenberg notes, “The first time we read of a Jew, Abraham, in the Bible, is in the portion entitled Lech Lecha. Lalechet meanst to walk or go. The word for Jewish law too, halacha, coming from the same root, reflects this dynamism.” Commenting on an article sent to him by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, he points out that the word for spirit, ruach (raysh-vav-chet) and the word for matter, chomer (chet-mem-reysh) are intimately related when inverted since the letters “vav” and “mem” are interchangeable in the Hebrew alphabet. “Unlike certain traditions where you have to renounce physicality in order to attain spirituality, in Judaism they are essentially one. All that changes is one’s angle of vision, the way we perceive. Jewish art is about the spiritual nature of one’s encounter with the physical world.” Since this encounter is constantly changing, so too Jewish art must be ever dynamic and responsive to its surroundings.
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Jewish are is a multi-media, all involvement event.
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Such dynamism entails an open-endedness and necessity for active involvement on behalf of both artist and viewer which is paralleled in the “happenings” of the art world of some decades back. Happenings attempted to break the passive observance of traditional western art by incorporating the audience into a process or event which was in itself, or out of which rose, a final “artistic product.” Alexenberg contrasts Jewish art with, for example, the more passive process of traditional Western theatre. “Jewish art is a multi-media, all-involvement event.” He perceives the Pesach Seder and the Sukkah as examples of Jewish “happenings.” “We follow a text, the Haggada, at every Seder. There is a narrative flow, but it is not linear in the sense of a classic text. We have the four cups of wine, the children running after the Afikomen, the Charoset, the bitter herbs which bring tears to our eyes. The audience and the performers are the same people. It’s a multi-sensory, multi-media happening. A Sukkah is the same thing. We have a chance to get out of the house, the world, civilization…and observe. Yet we are inside and outside at the same time. I remember discussing with Alan Kaplan, innovator of the first happening, as to how he developed the concept. It grew organically…I mentioned to him the parallels between happenings and the Pesach Seder and he saw the correspondences. Having himself sat around a Seder table, he subconsciously had the parameters of a happening there all the time.”

This idea of “happenings” in Jewish art has its original root in the building of the Mishkan, the temporary sanctuary built by the Jews in the desert upon leaving Egypt. It is the paradigmatic happening. In the Mishkan is embodied the totality of service to God which was played out through the smell of the incense, the eating of sacrifices and the splendor of its visual objects. The Mishkan however, is more than a happening. It establishes not only the form, but also focus of Jewish art. Out Rabbis teach that from the textual juxtaposition of the Biblical portions describing the construction of the Mishkan and injunction to keep the Sabbath; we learn that the types of work that were involved in this construction are precisely those that are forbidden on the Sabbath. On the seventh day, we abstain from our creative activities to realize that we too have been created. The day serves to humble us to that we may reorient and purify our weekly actions. The Mishkan’s association with the Sabbath infuses Jewish are with these concepts. The Mishkan was the quintessential creative endeavor, the work of man solely for the service of God. As the essential prototype of Jewish art, the Mishkan then reminds us of the imperative to direct our creativity away from narcissism, away from the creation of art for the sake of art alone, towards the higher goal of revealing the spiritual in the physical, the ruach in the chomer. This is the true purpose of Jewish art – and life.

[1] Genesis 9:27
[2] Rashi on Genesis 9:27