Evidence for Judaism. Links from Rabbi Gottlieb

What University education really gives
you is the knowledge how to use sources.
— Andrzej Sapkowski

A friend of mine asked me to send some evidence for Judaism. I usually recommend Rabbi Dovid Gottlieb's stuff for the start. Here's my response, which includes other links for Rabbi Gottlieb that I found useful in the past.

Dead pages of Gemara

It is amazing how Frierdiker Rebbe’s stories are no less important and poignant today than they were 100 years ago in his time, or 300 years ago in Baal Shem Tov’s time.

There are two types of people who learn Gemara on a subway. Those who elevate the subway and those that lower the Gemara. How do you know which one you belong to? Are you learning Hashem’s Will and Wisdom or are you learning a detective story about oxes and cows?

Alter Rebbe writes in one of his letters that one who lacks bittul, whenever he doesn’t understand something in a work of nigleh — he is right, and the seifer is wrong. When a chossid doesn’t understand something — he is wrong, and the seifer is right. This, the Rebbe says, is what Ramac (Reb Moiseh Cardovero) meant that someone who doesn’t learn pnimiyus of Torah (Kabbala — and, in our times, Chassidus) is a heretic. What he meant is that he has a very good chance of becoming a heretic.

Knowing Shas be’al’peh never prevented someone from becoming an apikoires. It is very difficult to see how someone can learn in depth and understand Chassidus Chabad and not see Hashem in Torah and in the world.

Now, on with The Making of Chassidim:

They had been singing for quite some time when Reb Mordechai reached a high level of excitement and began to deliver a fiery lecture on the subject of "a mitzvah done without its inner intent is like a body without a soul."

In concise terms, Reb Mordechai explained to them what avodah is all about; for without avodah, all the Torah that they studied and all the mitzvos that they did amounted to no more than lifeless corpses.

"A vast cemetery!" declared Reb Mordechai, looking at the young scholars, including Reb Sholom Ivansker's sons-in-law, and particularly at the foremost scholars among them. "A vast cemetery filled with the corpses of your dead pages of Gemara is what you've built up in the World of Truth. You lead the sages of the Talmud around bound up in the chains of your vanity and arrogance.

"The only thing any one of you is concerned with is that people acknowledge that you are right; each one desires to be known as the foremost scholar; none of you cares about the true essence of Torah - that the Torah is the Word of G-d. How much longer will this sinful situation continue? Young fellows," the maggid cried out in a tearful voice, "take pity on yourselves and on your own souls that have entered your bodies to perfect the world around you.

"[It is written]: 'Bathe yourselves and purify yourselves, ... study well, seek out justice.' [The meaning is] 'bathe yourselves' - wash away your haughty spirits; 'purify yourselves' - become cleansed of your arrogance; 'study well' - put your soul into your study; 'seek out justice' - apply whatever you study in judging your own conduct, and determining whether your behavior conforms to the character traits demanded by the Torah you are studying."

Reb Mordechai related how the Baal Shem Tov had sent a great scholar and tzaddik, the Rabbi of a large congregation, to a butcher, to learn the trait of fearing G-d; another great scholar and tzaddik, who had lived a solitary and chaste life for many years, was sent to the shammes of a beis hamedrash to learn the trait of humility.

"The Rebbe," said Reb Mordechai, "is very fond of the simple Jews, with their unpretentious davening and Tehillim. The Rebbe, the Baal Shem Tov, says that the most unsophisticated Jew is an eternal, untapped treasury of faith and trust in G-d, and possesses the finest character traits."

All the while Reb Mordechai was speaking, Reb Chayim sat and wept silently. Reb Mordechai's lecture comparing mitzvos without their inner intent to a body without a soul affected him greatly. Having sat for so many years in the grave diggers' beis hamedrash, and having attended so many funerals (may we be spared), an image of the faces of several corpses had remained engraved upon his mind. Now when Reb Mordechai compared study without vitality to a corpse without a soul, and he spoke about the cemetery of the dead pages of Gemara that they had studied, Reb Chayim was deeply moved.

In his imagination he pictured the cemetery for the pages of the Gemara, and a chevrah kadishah of angels performing the funeral rites for the dead pages. As Reb Mordechai continued speaking, Reb Chayim, lost in the crowd and crammed among the people, continued to weep. The more Reb Mordechai spoke words of arousal, the more bitterly Reb Chayim cried. When Reb Mordechai reached the part about "take pity on yourselves and on your own souls, that have entered your bodies to perfect the world around you ... bathe yourselves ... purify yourselves," Reb Chayim began weeping violently; this made a deep impact upon all who were present in the beis hamedrash.

Most of the people assembled in the beis hamedrash took special delight in Reb Mordechai's stories about how the Baal Shem Tov held simple Jews in such high esteem, and even sent great scholars to simple Jews so they could learn good character traits from them. The Baal Shem Tov's saying, that "Every Jew, even the most unsophisticated, is an eternal untapped treasury of innocent faith and trust in G-d," became etched in everyone's mind and heart.

Suddenly, Reb Mordechai remembered where he had been at that same time a year earlier, and he began singing a passionate niggun, one of those that were regularly sung at the Baal Shem Tov's table. This particular niggun was called the "Search and Find" niggun. It consists of three movements, and each movement contains three themes. The first theme of the first movement of the "Search and Find" niggun depicts a mood of solitude, creating an image of someone sitting isolated in a field deeply hidden among the mountains, next to a blue stream of running water. In the distance, at the other end of this valley, appears a rocky precipice upon which a few sparse trees grow; here, the singer sits alone and sings his song of solitude.

The second theme depicts a mood of introspective meditation; the solitary singer becomes more introverted, debating with himself and subjecting himself to rigorous self-examination. The longer he sings, the more deeply introverted his thoughts become; he is dissatisfied with himself, and begins to discover certain flaws in his own character. Now comes the third theme, in which the singer breaks into weeping - at first silently, but becoming progressively more intense.

The niggun's second movement also contains three themes; although they differ in sequence and key, they possess a common motif: a song of searching and of longing. This movement creates an image of a person searching for some elusive object for which he longs. Suddenly, he perceives a ray of hope, a promise that he will eventually find the thing for which he seeks and craves; but this ray of hope evaporates, for it turns out that the object is not what he was hoping for after all. Once more, he becomes submerged in melancholy, until finally he finds the thing he has been seeking.

Then comes the niggun's third movement, also containing three themes. The overall mood of this movement begins in a joyous mode, with a beat that make one lift his feet to dance. As the niggun progresses, the beat becomes faster and more fervent, reaching a fiery crescendo that leaves the singer panting for breath. The music now consists of only a few isolated notes issuing forth from the depths of the heart, creating the impression of musical notes chasing after and desperately trying to keep up with the rapidly moving, feverishly dancing feet, and evoking images of the impassioned but content faces of the dancers.

This was the niggun that Reb Mordechai wished to teach the young folk and bochurim. To everyone's amazement, they assimilated the whole niggun after the first three repetitions, and by the fourth time the young folk were singing the song correctly by themselves. Some of the bystanders were able to join in with a few bars of the melody. When they came to the third movement, Reb Mordechai took hold of Reb Chayim and began to dance with him in earnest, requesting that everyone present join them in the dancing.

[Several generations later,] Reb Berel Ivansker related that whenever Hirshel, the son of Reb Sholom Ivansker, told the story of what happened in the large beis hamedrash on that night after Yom Kippur, it was a pleasure to listen. In spite of Reb Hirshel ben Reb Sholom's advanced age, he would demonstrate the brisk steps with which Reb Mordechai and Reb Chayim had danced while singing the third movement of the "Search and Find" niggun.

Everyone was astounded that Reb Mordechai and Reb Chayim were able to dance for so long, and with such a quick step that their slippers barely touched the floor. They were especially amazed by Reb Chayim's performance, for he was no more than skin and bones. It was obvious that they were possessed by some supernatural power. Everyone else, including the youngest, had collapsed like bundles of straw, and they lay there drenched with perspiration, without a drop of strength remaining, but Reb Mordechai and Reb Chayim were still dancing. Their faces were flaming red, their eyes shut, and their hot breath - along with extremely rapid panting sounds - issued from their mouths. Finally, Reb Chayim began to waver and drop, and a few of the bystanders caught him and led him to a bench to rest.

Reb Mordechai managed to continue dancing a bit longer, but then he emerged from his deveikus and inquired what time it was. Upon learning that it was almost two o'clock in the morning, he sighed and went into to his private room, saying that it was time to recite Tikkun Chatzos.

Being a proper person — yes or no?

Once, the Alter Rebbe was given a silver tobacco box as a gift. Being a non-smoker, he used the cover of the box as a mirror to straighten his tefillin during prayer. A chossid relating the story said, “The Alter Rebbe broke the silver box and used its cover…”. Upon hearing this, Tzemach Tzedek corrected the Chossid, saying, “My grandfather never broke anything. He must have released the springs of the box, thus freeing its cover.”

(source)

First, the terms:

By “proper Jew” I mean somebody fully devoted in his life to service of G-d. There is only G-d, and my purpose in life is to connect to Him, to serve Him, to fulfill the essential reason why He created me and this world.

By “proper person” I mean a proper human being from Greek perspective — as far as intellectual awareness of the world is concerned (not in other… departments). A person fully implementing his potential as a human being. If you don’t like the term, use whatever term want. Use “proper iguana” for all I care.

Now, then. A Jew can ask the following questions in his life:

1. How can I be the proper Jew?
2. How can I be the proper person?
3. Will being the proper Jew help me be the proper person? If so, how?
4. Will being the proper person help me be the proper Jew? If so, how?

The first question is a question of an Orthodox Jew. The second question is a question of a secular Jew from intelligentsia family. The third question is a question of a Modern Orthodox.

The fourth question is a question of a pseudo-chassidic ba’al teshuva with baggage.

Can we utilize our knowledge of the world in our service of G-d? Bediyeved — seemingly so. What about lehatchilo? Can we do ishapcha to the goyishe Universe?

(I don’t mean just atoms and electrons. I mean a lot more. Lib… I can’t believe I am writing this. Liber… OK, deep breath, here goes: Liberalartsandsciences.)

* * *

Thoughts out loud… Yes, I have read Ch. 8 of Tanya. Yes, I probably just can’t let go of the baggage. I don’t need a shrink to tell me that. That doesn’t mean the question is not valid.

(This was probably a sniff-box, used for sniffing tobacco.)

* * *

Thanks to Rationally Pious for making me think about this.

Emotions which have not been internalized

Today, my car battery died. I found someone willing to give me a jump, but because my car was in the driveway, I had to shift to neutral and push it onto the road, so that the other car’s hood could come close to mine.

This made me think about some objections raised against Chabad “suprematism”. More about that further down.

* * *

One of my rabbis likes to tell this story:

One time, a man had to have a part of his body amputated. He came to a doctor and said that he feels uncomfortable in the mikve and asked for a prosthesis. The doctor could only offer him a prosthesis made of wood. The patient agreed.

After a week or so, he came back and said: “Doctor, I have feelings in my prosthesis.” The doctor said that it was impossible. “No, I really have feelings there.”

“Fine, let me take a look.” The doctor examined the prosthesis and said: “It’s not feelings. It’s termites.”

The moral of the story is that not every feeling is genuine.

The insistence of the teachings of Baal Shem Tov is that Hashem has be served with joy — simcha. In fact, there is a strong statement of Baal Shem Tov that you cannot serve Hashem without joy, because without joy one cannot fully attach himself to G-d (let alone have emunah in Hashem) and fight yetzer ha’rah. For explanation of this concept in Tanya, see this shiur.

It is a very strong and central opinion of Alter Rebbe that for an emotion to be real, it has to be internalized. When a husband does all his duties in the family and to his wife, but experiences no emotion towards her, this is not a marriage but a social contract. When a husband experiences emotion towards the wife but doesn’t know anything about the wife herself, this emotion is not about the wife — it’s about himself, his own experiences regarding the wife. It’s termites.

Likewise, one can experience an emotion about some aspect of Jewish culture — and not about Judaism itself. It is possible to do all the mitzvos — and technically fulfill one’s obligation in the realm of action — but still not fulfill the mitzvos completely (Arizal comments that Torah doesn’t say “all mitzvos”, but “the whole mitzva”, which includes fulfilling a mitzva with feeling, conscious intent and understanding the essence of the mitzva). Meaning, still fulfill the mitzvos and study Torah not for Hashem, but for oneself.

Finally, it is possible to fulfill the mitzvos (and pray to Hashem) with emotion — with this emotion being fake. How does one know it’s fake? It’s not about G-d. Why not? Because you don’t know anything about G-d.

Now, some may object that it is impossible to know anything about G-d. That’s true to a degree. One cannot know anything about G-d’s Essence — one can still learn about His revelation of Himself. Lehavdil, one cannot truly know anything about his wife’s essence (and the longer one is married, the more he realizes this), but this doesn’t mean one should give up trying to understand and learn about his wife, her personality, her views, thoughts and specific desires.

One cannot know anything about G-d’s Essence. But, thank G-d, we don’t have to. Our relationship with Hashem starts much lower — in the relationship He established with us and with this world; the interface He created for us to relate to Him. And one can learn about this interface.

One can learn those aspects about Hashem that are perceivable and important for us (His Oneness, His simplicity, uniqueness, lack of change; how He fills and encompases all the worlds — and what this means); those that Torah itself discusses and stresses. One can learn about the purpose for which Hashem created this world, and how we are capable of fulfilling it. At the very least, one can learn about the aspects of G-d that have to do very closely and personally with our everyday lives — His revelation of Himself as our King and Creator and as our Father.

Some may object that these concepts may be too difficult for a simple person to learn. That is why Chabad Chassidus explains these ideas in a way easy enough for everyone to understand. And I don’t hear too many people saying that Gemara should not be studied, because it’s too difficult. Is Chassidus too difficult? Fine, find a teacher. One should learn Torah with teacher anyway. And nowadays, one can even find someone able and willing to explain Chabad Chassidus online. [Update: see the next post for more detail on the supposed difficulty of learning esoteric concepts.]

But what if thinking about Hashem cannot produce emotion? That’s impossible, says Alter Rebbe, because mind rules naturally over the heart.

Now, of course, there is such a problem as “narrowness of the neck” (when understanding and knowledge of intellectual concepts does not penetrate into emotion and action). To rectify this problem, one must increase his learning of Chassidus (for me, Chassidus stopped being purely philosophical when I started learning about the most philosophical, mystical and intellectual concepts of it — for “the beginning is wedged in the end”).

One can also learn things that have to do more with his everyday reality. One can find a mashpia, or try to be surrounded by warm Jewish community — not so that the mashpia or the community create emotiona about Hashem and Torah (those emotions would be fake again), but so that they can pave the way for the real emotions, influenced by intellect, to arise.

At the end of the day, it is absolutely necessary for one’s emotion to be internalized and both it and one’s actions come from intellectual understanding.

* * *

To someone who has learned Chabad Chassidus, all of the above is as obvious as a statement that a car’s motion needs to come from the engine’s rotations. “Well,” one could say, “it’s also possible to shift the car to neutral and push it. Or tie it to a horse and have the latter pull it.” Yes, but for how long — and most importantly, that is not what the car is about, is it? The whole chiddush of the automobile was internal combustion engine. The whole chiddush of Chassidus is serving Hashem with pnimiyus.

Aye, sometimes the battery dies, and the engine cannot be turned on, or the transmission is messed up, and the engine is working, but the wheels are not turning — fine, so fix the car. Don’t tell me it’s the problem with the car’s design. This particular car is broken, and before the internal combustion engine can be utilized, all the parts connecting it to the wheel need to be in place.

* * *

This reminds me of something I read in Likkutei Diburim from Frierdiker Rebbe:

In our times, Chassidus is used not for what it was intended.

Fixing of middos does not have anything to do with Chassidus. The correction of middos has to happen earlier. For fixing of middos, and certainly for sur mei’roh and correction of bad moral qualities — for this Chassidus should not be used for sure. Even for asei toiv — the good moral qualities and ahavas Yisroel — even for this, the path of the service of Chassidus should not be used. [...]

The ultimate purpose of Chassidus is haskolo and hasogo [learning and understanding], even in the service of the heart. [...]

It used to be that people prayed with hishtapchus ha’nefesh — today one cannot see this at all. And to “think Chassidus”, to hold one’s though on some idea for several hours — people don’t even know the taste of this.

Infinitely stupid

(click on the snapshot to enlarge)


One of the new professors sent everybody this article. This caught my attention (editing in bold is mine):

My Ph.D. project was somewhat interdisciplinary and, for a while, whenever I ran into a problem, I pestered the faculty in my department who were experts in the various disciplines that I needed. I remember the day when Henry Taube (who won the Nobel Prize two years later) told me he didn’t know how to solve the problem I was having in his area. I was a third-year graduate student and I figured that Taube knew about 1000 times more than I did (conservative estimate). If he didn’t have the answer, nobody did.

That’s when it hit me: nobody did. That’s why it was a research problem. And being my research problem, it was up to me to solve. Once I faced that fact, I solved the problem in a couple of days. (It wasn’t really very hard; I just had to try a few things.) The crucial lesson was that the scope of things I didn’t know wasn’t merely vast; it was, for all practical purposes, infinite. That realization, instead of being discouraging, was liberating. If our ignorance is infinite, the only possible course of action is to muddle through as best we can.

In Chabad Chassidus, a similar feeling (and process) is called bittul. The word is loosely translated as “self-nullification”, but it is also realization that you’re nothing in comparison to the infinity and omnipresence of G-d. Once you realize this, you can start to learn: you allow G-d to enter you. The difference between holiness (kedushah) and unholiness (klippah) is that the former allows G-d to “rest” upon it, while the latter does not. How does something allow G-d to rest upon it? Through bittul, through understanding that it is nothing. The moment the arogant I disappears, something can enter.

To be sure, this is not self-nullification of the outer form (here Chabad Chassidus differs from Mussar movement). The form of I must exist, but in essence it becomes nullified to G-d. The union of the infinite (rather: unbound, undefined) with the finite (defined) — that’s what the creation and existence of the world are all about.

What’s the practical consequence of this nullification? Structuring your life in such a way that your every act is connected to Torah. If it is not connected — why are you doing it, as a Jew? So, to reach to the point where everything you do has inner purpose, defined by Torah, from waking up to going to work to eating ice cream, one must first have bittul.

* * *

About the article itself: good stuff. I like this part:

I don’t think students are made to understand how hard it is to do research. And how very, very hard it is to do important research. It’s a lot harder than taking even very demanding courses. What makes it difficult is that research is immersion in the unknown. We just don’t know what we’re doing. We can’t be sure whether we’re asking the right question or doing the right experiment until we get the answer or the result. Admittedly, science is made harder by competition for grants and space in top journals. But apart from all of that, doing significant research is intrinsically hard and changing departmental, institutional or national policies will not succeed in lessening its intrinsic difficulty.

All graduate students find this out by their third year. It takes a lot for this realization not to break you. This part, however, is what the article is all about:

Productive stupidity means being ignorant by choice. Focusing on important questions puts us in the awkward position of being ignorant. One of the beautiful things about science is that it allows us to bumble along, getting it wrong time after time, and feel perfectly fine as long as we learn something each time. No doubt, this can be difficult for students who are accustomed to getting the answers right. No doubt, reasonable levels of confidence and emotional resilience help, but I think scientific education might do more to ease what is a very big transition: from learning what other people once discovered to making your own discoveries. The more comfortable we become with being stupid, the deeper we will wade into the unknown and the more likely we are to make big discoveries.

When I just started coming to the Computational Neuroscience journal club, I realized that I like the “leap into unknown”. Sometimes it is nice just to sit in the middle of information most of which you do not understand and just get a “preview” of how it all looks once you do understand. Rather like peeking into the middle of a book. I advice anyone to take such “peaks” when learning any new area: just go to a really difficult lecture, talk, open a really difficult text, watch a full-length movie in a language you’re just starting to learn. Enjoy the cold and empty vacuum of the unknown — at least for a while.