April 19, 2012 | 5:56 pm

Accidental Talmudist: Day 855 -  Talmud and Kabbalah

Posted by Salvador Litvak

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We are now counting the days from Pesach (a.k.a. Passover, commemorating our redemption from slavery in Egypt) to Shavuot (commemorating our receiving the Torah at Mt. Sinai). This seven-week period, called Counting the Omer, offers the ideal opportunity to begin discussing a question I am often asked on the AT discussion page on Facebook, namely, what is the relationship between Talmud and Kabbalah?

First, we must understand that we are now in a time of mourning.

It may seem strange that we are not waiting in mounting joy for Shavuot, and indeed we will end our mourning on Lag B’Omer, the 33rd day of this period, and then perk up considerably as the birthday of Torah in this world approaches.

But first come these 33 days of mourning for a plague that happened some two thousand years ago.

They said: R’ Akiva had twelve thousand pairs of disciples…and all of them died at the same time because they did not treat each other with respect. (Yevamos 62b)

R’ Akiva, or Akiva ben Yosef, is known as Rosh la-Chachamim, or the Head of All Sages. His teachings are absolutely integral to any understanding of Rabbinic Judaism, and he influenced the nature and manner of the Talmud’s compilation more than anyone.

He is also a fascinating character, and I hope to relate many Akiva stories in future AT blogs. Perhaps the most interesting thing about the Head of All Sages, is that he did not begin learning Torah until he was 40. Prior to that, he thought of Torah scholars as his enemies, whom he wished to “bite like a donkey.” (Pesachim 49b)

The dramatic redirection of Akiva’s life can be attributed to his wife, Rachel. Before they fell in love, he was a hired shepherd and she was the boss’ daughter. She agreed to marry him only if he would cease being an am ha’aretz, or ignoramus, and learn the ways of Torah.

Her father so opposed the match that he disinherited her, and she lived in poverty for 12 years while Akiva studied. Upon returning to her, Akiva overheard an argument between Rachel and a neighbor critical of his long absence. He also heard her reply, “If I had my wish, [Akiva] should stay another 12 years at the academy!” So back he went.

After 12 more years, he returned as the greatest Rabbi in Israel, with 12,000 pairs of students hanging on his words. When a poor woman tried to make her way toward the famous Sage, she was rebuffed.

“Make way for her!” he told them, “For my [learning] and yours are hers.” (Nedarim 50a)

If Akiva is the Head of All Sages, and these were his own 12,000 pairs of students, how is it possible they behaved so badly that a plague was dispatched to wipe them all out? After all, murderers and thieves routinely live long lives. What exactly did these students do that was so wrong? The first hint is that they did not treat a poor woman with respect.

These students were so engrossed in amassing knowledge and the honor that attends such knowledge, that they forgot how to behave like true Torah scholars. They lost the qualities of humility and courtesy which are essential to their profession.

Ben Yehoyada says they were arranged in pairs because Akiva sensed trouble brewing. He tried to avert tragedy by matching strong and weak so proper respect would be paid, but the students only became more jealous of each other’s accomplishments. And because their spiritual level was so elevated thanks to their teacher Akiva, their sin was punished quickly, and completely.

Thus, the great, unbroken line of the Oral Teaching, first given to Moses at SInai, was now held only by the aging Akiva. The world teetered on a precarious edge.

Rabbi Yehudah Prero teaches that the death of a great sage atones for a generation if that generation seizes the event to elevate their spirituality. In Akiva’s time, 24,000 Sages died. What did that generation do? What Jews have always done: they wrestled meaning from tragedy, changed their ways, and moved forward.

Rabbi Akiva began teaching again, and though his later students were only five, they were men of great kindness as well as understanding, and it was through them that the Oral Teaching was saved.

One of those students, R’ Shimon bar Yochai, is traditionally credited with originating the teachings compiled in the Zohar - the foundation text of Kabbalah, or Jewish mysticism. It would take many, many blogs to explain the meaning and history of Kabbalah, but it will suffice for now to say that there has always existed within Judaism a stream of mystical thought, dedicated to understanding the relationship between Creator and Created so that one may experience it.

Such an understanding is necessarily incomplete and ephemeral, but it arises from deep and careful study of every aspect of the Creation, including its most flawed and wonderful component: us.

G-d is perfect, we are not. This everyone knows, but the Talmudist and the Kabbalist share a keen interest in the precise nature of our flaws, so that we may do the crucial work of Tikkun Olam, or repairing the brokenness of the world. That repair starts with the self.

The way Jews take meaning from tragedy is to make themselves better people. Akiva made himself a better teacher. His student, Shimon bar Yochai and his spiritual progeny, the Kabbalists, developed a system for mapping the Creation based on 10 emanations of the Creator’s will. These emanations or sefirot, are defined by and can be understood through our intellectual and emotional capacities because we are created in G-d’s image. Sefirot literally means “enumerations,” the same word used for “counting” the days between Pesach and Shavuot.

In the realm of the Infinite, G-d is undifferentiated, unchanging, and perfect, i.e., One. To create a place for us, and to enable us to have free will, G-d carved out a space within the One that is not perfect. This place is necessarily broken because it cannot contain the infinite light that shines around it. But we can let that light flow through us if we try.

And that is what Counting the Omer is all about. During this period, we engage in a practice of reflection upon the emanations of G-d as we experience them in our own personalities, and try to rectify the flaws which prevent G-d’s light from flowing through us as It desires to flow. For a good primer on the daily meditations one can use to engage in the work of repairing one’s flaws, visit the Chabad website here.

Talmud and Kabbalah thus work hand and hand, and the greatest thinkers in Jewish history all studied both. Examples in the last thousand years include Rambam, Ramban, Maharal, Arizal, the Baal Shem Tov (founder of Hasidism) and the Vilna Gaon (the principal opponent of Hasidism). One of my favorite thinkers is the Baal Shem Tov’s great grandson, Reb Nachman of Breslov and I will leave you with one of his teachings - a teaching which is especially appropriate while we are Counting the Omer.

Reb Nachman taught that we must spend some quiet time every day talking with G-d, not as some insect would talk to a Giant King in the Sky, but as you would talk with your own True Friend. Rabbi Mordecai Finley taught me to start with just 60 seconds a day, but to do it every day. You must schedule it. I have an alarm on my phone that goes off every afternoon. My computer is also set to perform a backup at that hour, so I have to stop.

If you try this practice, you’ll find three things: 1) it’s very enjoyable to have a little cessation every day you can count on, like a mini-Shabbat, 2) it’s very enjoyable to chat with G-d because He is an excellent Listener, and 3) every question you ask during this time will give rise to a truth you already know, but didn’t stop to heed.

What do I do wrong? How do I do it? Why do I do it? What can I do about it? How will I start? What can I do right now? What shall I do after that?

All these questions have answers that will arise during your daily chat with G-d, if you schedule it. As you become aware of those answers, you will naturally modify your behavior toward a good balance of understanding and kindness, like the latter students or R’ Akiva.

Amazingly, Shimon Bar Yochai died on the anniversary of the day which ended the plague that killed the 24,000 - Lag B’Omer (May 10, 2012). It is customary to celebrate his yahrtzeit with great rejoicing, as we turn the mourning of the first part of the Omer into the joyous expectation of the latter part.

May we all merit to grow in both understanding and kindness this Omer season, and may we all drink wisdom from the interconnected streams of Talmud and Kabbalah.

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Salvador Litvak wrote and directed the Passover comedy and cult hit “When Do We Eat?” His current film, “Saving Lincoln”, explores Abraham Lincoln’s conflicted tenure as commander-in-chief through the eyes of his dear friend and bodyguard, Ward Hill Lamon.

April 6, 2012 | 12:41 pm

Accidental Talmudist: Day 2544 - The Substitution Principle

Posted by Salvador Litvak

My mom loves that I’ve been reading the Talmud for seven years, and that I am now the Accidental Talmudist. In all this time, however, she never asked what I am actually learning…until today.

It would’ve been nice if this morning’s page contained one of those profound sound bites that instantly spark conversation. For example:

Hillel would say… One who increases flesh, increases worms; one who increases possessions, increases worry. (Pirkei Avot 2:7)

In truth, however, I had been reading a difficult passage about the laws of sacrifices in the ancient Temple - a passage so difficult even the Sages had trouble with it:

This itself is difficult! First you said, “All can make temurah…” Then the Mishnah taught, “Not that a person is permitted to make temurah.” (Temurah 2a)

A temurah is a substitute for an animal previously designated as a sacrificial offering. Remember that in the ancient world, religion without sacrificial offerings did not exist . When the Almighty revealed the Torah at Sinai, however, the nature and manner of the sacrifice was radically redefined.

First, no more human sacrifice - a bizarre and horrific idea to us, but altogether common among agrarian pagans who feared they’d starve if they did not propitiate their weather and fertility gods.

Rambam says the human race needed the age of Temple sacrifices to help it transition out of its barbaric infancy, and that is what happened. Recall that the Temple was not just a place where Jews offered their gifts - many others came as well. And the world evolved.

Inherent to that evolution were the very specific laws of the sacrifices. One such rule is that once an unblemished animal is designated for offering upon the Altar, it belongs to Almighty, even before it is slaughtered. If the giver then tries to substitute a new animal for the first, he commits a transgression, with the result that both animals become consecrated.

“All can make temurah” refers to the fact that different classes of individuals can commit this transgression, even though one might have thought certain classes were exempt if one were expert in the applicable laws. Subtle distinctions abound, and generations of Sages debated every case and nuance of the temurah principle.

My mom nodded, and then asked what any reasonable person who has not studied Talmud might ask. “But why spend so much energy understanding these laws now, when the Temple has been gone for 2000 years?”

Many answers have been given. The Sages themselves taught that one who recites the Torah’s description of sacrificial rites is considered as if he actually performs them. (Taanit 27b)

That’s quite a claim: study the rules governing an action, and you are credited with performing the action itself - I wish that were the case with taxes!

But in this situation, the equivalency works because the purpose of sacrifices was never to “feed” the Holy One. G-D doesn’t need our sacrifices. The sacrificial system was given to us for our benefit, not His. And we can receive that benefit without spilling blood if we dig into the system’s rules in search of inherent principles by which that system elevates our souls.

In the case of temurah, Rambam says our innermost intentions are known to the Torah, and this law serves to forestall us from thinking, “Boy, I know I have a lot to atone for, but I just dedicated my choicest ram for the Altar, and I’m sure G-D will be just as thankful for that ram over there,  which might be smaller, but has such nice wool…”

In other words, we use our big brains to fabricate excuses, and we dilute the holy urge for atonement and personal growth.

Now let’s apply the substitution principle to a modern situation. Last week, I wrote about the approaching Passover Seder as an opportunity to free yourself, with G-D’s help, from Pharaoh, i.e. a bad habit which enslaves you (to read last week’s post, “Be Da Mensch,” click here). Examples of Pharaohs might be smoking, shouting, passivity, lack of exercise, etc.

If you bring a conscious desire for your own personal redemption to the Seder, (and our Christian friends might recall that the Last Supper was a Seder) you can make 2012 the year that you cross the Red Sea, and leave that Pharaoh behind.

Invariably, however, you will slip backwards in your newfound freedom, as the bad habit lulls you back toward your old patterns. And the mechanism by which we slip is substitution.

For example, I want to start exercising more, and I have an treadmill in my basement. The first day I use it. The second day, I think it’s so cold down there, but if a go to the driving range, it will be sunny, and hitting balls is also a kind of exercise. The third day I think, I was frustrated at the range yesterday, but If I watch the pros play golf on TV, I’ll learn something that will motivate me to go back tomorrow. And by the fourth day, the couch has enslaved me again.

So the temurah principle is a pattern interrupt for those wishing to grow in mind, body and spirit. When you catch yourself slipping back toward Egypt, by rationalizing a substitute for the action required by your new plan, you DO BOTH! Hit the treadmill AND the range.

That will cost you a lot of time today, but it will help you remember not to engage in substitution tomorrow, and then you will not slip back toward Egypt.

And my mom liked that.

May we all merit to learn wisdom from our ancients, and may we all grow in spirit, heart, and mind this Passover. Chag Pesach Sameach!

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Exchange ideas with Salvador Litvak and other Talmudists at facebook.com/accidentaltalmudist (and please LIKE the page to help enlarge our community)

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Salvador Litvak wrote and directed the Passover comedy and cult hit “When Do We Eat?” His current film, “Saving Lincoln”, explores Abraham Lincoln’s conflicted tenure as commander-in-chief through the eyes of his dear friend and bodyguard, Ward Hill Lamon.

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