On shlichus in Alabama

A report of Lag Ba’Omer experiences to follow soon. Meanwhile, a joke I heard on Shabbos:

There was a tzaddik who said that if any of his followers ever finds himself in a difficult place, he should call out the tzaddik’s name, and he will come to save his follower. So, sure enough, one of the tzaddik’s chassidim ends up in Gehennom and calls out the tzaddik’s name. The tzaddik shows up and pulls him out of Gehennom.

So, a Lubavitcher chossid who once heard this somehow ends up in Gehennom himself. He decides to call on the Lubavitcher Rebbe to pull him out. He calls out: “Rebbe, Rebbe!” The Rebbe shows up, sees the chossid and says, giving him a dollar: “Oh, you’re there? Good. I need someone there. Brocho and hatzlocho on your shlichus.”

And now on something completely different:

Trees behind the forest

(click on the image to enlarge)

The picture above (source; courtesy of e) reminded me of a statement by the Rogatchover Gaon: “People say there are seventy faces in Torah. But I see ten faces. And if I was smarter, I would see only one face.” Meaning, the smarter and the more erudite in Torah (not to mention the holier) one is, the more one sees Torah not as a bunch of details, but as a small number of klalim (principles, main ideas).

I thought recently while studying Gemara with my chavrusa that this goal is important to keep in mind not just for the whole Torah but even for a small sugya.

(Also, check out “How the Rebbe saw Torah” to hear how one talmid chochom who would come to discuss nigleh with the Rebbe said that the Rebbe is like Rambam.)

On the other hand, I remember a statement by my local rabbi that if there is an inherent danger in studying deep sugyas of Chassidus, then it is in focusing on the “grand scheme” and losing sight of the everyday, simple things. Like thinking how by giving tzedaka one creates giluim in Atzilus, or achdus of Soveiv and Memalei, or Dira b’tachtoinim, but not thinking about the fact that you are simply helping another Jew.

I know, the immediate answer from most people is: well, the two are connected. Can’t have one without the other. And so on. And, yes, that is how it is supposed to be, but my point is: it is easy to loose sight of this.

There is a famous story with Alter Rebbe and Mitteler Rebbe. The latter’s little son once fell out of his crib and was crying. Mitteler Rebbe, who was sitting nearby, was so engrossed in his learning that he didn’t realize that his son was crying. Alter Rebbe came in from another room, picked up the child and calmed him. Then he told Mitteler Rebbe that “however deeply one is absorbed in study, prayer, or the performance of mitzvos, one must always have an ear open to the cries of a Jewish child”.

There is a similar story of Alter Rebbe being a chazan on Yom Kippur. In the middle of Neila,  the holiest prayer of the day, when the essence of one’s soul becomes truly united with the Essence of G-d, he stopped, took off his talles and left the shull. On the outskirts of the town a woman had given birth to a child. Alter Rebbe chopped some wood, lit up fire and cooked a soup for the woman.