Of shoes, corkscrews and bittul

A friend of mine said: “Shoes are directly related to self-esteem”.

In Lubavitch, we spit at self-esteem. Who are you? You are a nobody. You are a vessel for Hashem’s work in this world. Sure, a vessel must be fitting. A shoichet’s knife must be sharp. A writer’s keyboard must be crisp. An electrophysiologist’s pipettes must be well-pulled. A Jew must not look like a shlepper. But to go beyond that and give a special touch to one’s look where it goes beyond your mission? The external looks are for beheimos. For the beheima within yourself (your nefesh ha’bahamis) and for the beheimos outside who look at you and whom you are trying to influence. It is important not to identify with either of them.

A story from Frierdiker Rebbe’s diary:

For Passover of 5650 [1890] — I was several months short of my tenth birthday at the time — a new suit of clothes was made up for me, together with a brand new pair of shoes.

In my hometown of Lubavitch, the preparations for the festival were conducted in a meticulous and thorough manner. On the day before Passover, a strict procedure was followed: first, all chametz was searched out and eradicated from the yard, chicken coop, and stable. The caretaker, Reb Mendel, was busy with this for a good part of the night before and followed up with a double-check in the morning. Then, the chametz was burned, following which we would go immerse ourselves in the mikvah, dress for the festival, and bake the matzas mitzvah for the seder. Finally, there were always the last-minute preparations to be taken care of.

Among these final odds and ends was a job entrusted to me: to remove the seals from the wine bottles and to partially pull out the corks. The latter was a most challenging task, for one had to take care that the metal of the corkscrew should not come in contact with the wine.

That year, I was busy at my appointed task in my father’s room. I went about my work with great caution, careful not to dirty my new suit and, most importantly, not to dull the shine on my new shoes.

My father noticed what was uppermost in my mind and said to me: “The Alter Rebbe cites the following metaphor: A great nobleman sits at a table laden with all sorts of gourmet dishes and delicacies. Under the table lies a dog, gnawing a bone. Can you imagine the nobleman climbing down from his chair and joining the dog under the table to chew on a luscious bone?”

My father’s words so affected me that I was ashamed to even look at my new clothes.

This is education.

There is another story about bittul. A few old men are sitting and repeating: “Ich bin gürnischt, Ich bin gürnischt.” (“I am nothing, I am nothing”). A young man walks in and starts mocking them: “Ich bin gürnischt, Ich bin gürnischt”. One of the old men looks up and says to the young man: “Du bist takeh gürnischt” (“You really are a nothing”).

It is important to be ayin, one with G-d and not giving any significance to one’s existence. But, at the same time, not to be takeh gürnischt. If Hashem cares about your existence, it means you must care too. But for the same reason that Hashem cares.

The saying “Ein am ha’aretz chassid” (“An ignoramus cannot be a chossid”) is well known. One has to be a scholar of Torah, an intelligent, educated and wise person (besides being humble) to be a chossid. One must, however, also be a mentch.