Not Love Alone

Rabbi Friedman reading Live From the Hilltop from my laptop

(The following is based on a class given by Rabbi Manis Friedman)

Society, with all its music and images, has persuaded us that love makes a happy marriage. Judaism says, “Yea, we know that. But there must be more to the picture.”

Love is an expression of kindness.Sounds good, right?

Yes, but not on its own.

By nature, love is indiscriminate. Indiscriminate kindness is very messy. You give away everything to everyone. It’s total chaos.

What we need in our marriages is a little bit of the fear factor.

Fear is an expression of judgment – it means measure, consideration, restraint.

What does love and fear mean in a marriage?

Love is the feeling of fullness and closeness.
Fear is a feeling of distance, smallness, being insignificant.

Because of love, we say nice things.
Because of fear, we’re careful not to say the wrong things.

For love to truly flourish, it needs to be discriminate. Discriminate love means finding the right bounds in which to express your kindness. Is this the right time and place to give a compliment? Is this even the appropriate compliment? Adding fear to the love makes us examine whether the love is appropriate in context. Someone who doesn’t fear their spouse is probably abusing them. They have love, maybe – but its expression is not personal. It’s out of hand. Only fear can keep the expression of love appropriate. Love alone can never be so undoubtedly sensitive. It’s on a role, and doesn’t want to stop to truly reflect on its tact - the what, where, when, or how.

A man can abuse the same wife he loves so immensely. What he lacks is fear, not love. In fear, there is the humility, respect, and restraint that wouldn’t allow one spouse to emotionally or physically abuse the other.

A marriage where both spouses fear each other has the ultimate capacity for romance. Romance means knowing exactly when and how to express your love. It means picking exactly the right night to surprise your husband with a fancy dinner, and choosing the food he likes.

The husband who has lots of love but lacks fear cannot be romantic. He tells his wife he loves her when she is coming through the front door holding bags of groceries. There is no insight into his wife’s situation, her needs. All he knows is that he loves her, wants to show it, and it must be now. Real romance means delicately choosing the context of your words and actions. That’s when love is really alive and at its best.

It’s for this very reason that G-d had a “change of plans” when he created the world. Originally breathing the world into existence through kindness, he then added judgment. That’s the only way the world would spin. G-d wanted his interest and love to be personal and unique, not just splattered.

So let’s not splatter our love, our kindness. When it comes to true harmony in a marriage, “what’s love got to do with it?” A lot. But not everything.

I'm alive!

Movement

I know I'm spiritually in tune when the small things matter.

Correction:

I know I am spiritually in tune when nothing is small at all.

That was the theme that pulsated through every experience I had in Tzfas.

For me, learning Chassidus was all about discovering the unity inherit in everything.

Learning a Sicha, and experiencing how the Rebbe weaves through various levels of Torah and reveals the interconnectedness.

Seeing how tiny decisions have cosmic affects on my growth.

Realizing that my learning in the classroom was was in sync with the trees outside.

Being alive to a spider.

Yea, that's when I know that I am sane. Thats when I know I am okay.

--

So I was walking to the bank yesterday.

I was opening my wallet to make sure I had my check on me.

And just then, right before crossing Eastern Parkway, a quarter fell out of my wallet.

I didn't flinch. I didn't chase it. After all, it was just a quarter.

My coin did a little dance and a few twirls before landing on Kingston Ave, close to the sidewalk.

It glistened in the sun, my little quarter. But I wasn't about to actually go pick it up. Whatever, you know?

My light had turned green. I started walking. It was just a quarter.

And then it hit me.

"Just a quarter?"

The Mimi that sits on a Hilltop and is inspired and is learning and is good and is....yea, her - she never would have said, "Just a quarter."

I thought, "Mimi, you may not feel like you're on a Hilltop lately, but goshdarnit! Start making decisions like she made 'em!"

I was already crossing Eastern Parkway, but turned around. Inside, I couldn't believe what I was doing.

But I am realizing, the thing that feeds inspiration is a certain aliveness to the world; always, and in every detail. Enough pretending its only about farbrengens.

As Jews, our separating title is the belief in one G-d. One G-d as the living force behind everything.

This demands something of me.

I cannot be a robot careening through this world. I must be alive and active, finding the purpose in everything.

Yes, I must go dashing after my fallen coins.

That quarter - that coin that was willed into existence by our mutual Maker - is twenty-five cents of worth. Twenty-five cents of hope. Twenty-five cents of possibilities.

Twenty-five cents of purpose.

After about a minute and a half episode of mental battle, laziness waiting to be conquered, and a good dose of anti-Jewish "whatever"ness squashed by inspiration from "nowhere," I bent down, picked up my quarter, and put it in my jacket pocket.

A bochur who had also been crossing the street saw my mad dash and turned around, giving me a quizzical look.

That's right, dude. Twenty five cents of purpose, right here. In my pocket.

---

I haven't felt this aliveness to details in a long time.

I must say, it feels amazing. It's like returning to myself.

Thats the Mimi I know and love. Chasing a run-away coin to better the world.

Yup, I'm going to be just fine after all.

Here I am

I have no excuses.

And I don’t even know what I am doing back here.

It’s really just like what Rabbi Friedman says about praying:

“The most challenging thing about praying is to be honest. To let G-d see you as you are. To bare your soul. If you can do this once a day, you’re a very real person. Stop defending yourself. Stop protecting yourself. Just show up.”

Just check in. Present yourself. With all your fears. With all your faults. Maybe even with all your blood and brains spilling onto the floor.

So here I am. Just showing up. In all my lack of composure and sophistication. With nothing but my moving fingers and a desire to just be here.

Sometimes you know where you have to be but you don’t know what to bring with you or the best route to take. And sometimes you just have to get up and start moving your feet. Or else you’ll just sit there forever, staring out the window.

I don’t want to stare out the window anymore.

So enough of this waiting for something “real” to say. Enough of this waiting for something to wow me so that I can wow you. Enough with the wows altogether, you know?

I just want to be honest.

Why can’t I just tell you that my mind is elsewhere?

Why can’t I tell you that I just went for a walk down Kingston and up and down Eastern Parkway and I felt like a foreigner?

Why can’t I tell you that I know where I want to be holding, and that I’m not there yet?

Why can’t I tell you that it takes a lot more to inspire me lately?

Why can’t I tell you that I want to try harder?

At a farbrengen last night, Rabbi Posner started crying. He recalled the days when he would bring students to the Rebbe, for them to experience firsthand the Rebbe’s love for every Jew. To experience themselves in the presence of what Rabbi Posner called “truth.”

“So what do you want from me?” he addressed the students.

“I try,” he said, “I try just to give you one drop of the Rebbe’s love. If only I could just take you to the Rebbe. "

He sobbed.

"But no, you’re stuck with me...and I’m sorry.”

Rabbi Posner is an honest man. He was saying, “Here I am. I am nothing. But here I am.”

It was probably his refreshing honesty that jolted me back here, to write to you.

Because, even when someone is uninspired, helpless, a little antagonistic, and wanting more...perhaps their honesty can cause at least a little stir.

And perhaps just sharing the tiny steps towards getting to where you need to be is all that matters anyway.

Death and a Wedding

Yesterday, the corner of Kingston and Eastern Parkway was the scene of a life’s tragic end. A young Jewish man’s sudden death was witnessed by bystanders, who came out of the subway station screaming. The police and ambulance were called and sirens flooded the streets. Shomrim arrived, with their faces white, and soon after, Hatzalah and Zaka, to collect the body for burial.

Upstairs in my museum office, I head the sirens like I always do, not bothering to look outside. When a phone call alerted me to look outside, I saw the flashing lights and crowds surrounding the subway station stairs. I ran downstairs.

From all sides of the street, fellow Jews saw the crowds of skirts and black hats and drew near. First, there was shock, then confusion, followed by an intense sadness that lingered in the air for hours. Pacing back and forth and waiting for details - for a name - bystanders stood frozen in time.

People stepped aside when, finally, the body was lifted from underneath the ground. Everything around me rhymed with pain. I stood still while my insides shook. And just then, when the pain had reached its raw peak, a beautiful melody was heard.

The Alter Rebbe’s niggun.

Right there, a mere few steps away from death and unbearable pain, a wedding was underway in front of 770. Mocking our chaotic hearts and minds, the tune was a symbol of life, of joy, of a future. At first piercing the throbbing pain, the Chuppah song slowly became intermingled with the sorrow spreading all over the street corner.

Tears of sadness erupting aside tears of joy.

Mazel Tov!

Baruch Dayan HaEmes.

The crowd from the subway meshed with the crowd from the Chuppah. Suddenly, the line between life and death was very blurry. Suddenly, happiness knew no limit, and sadness was eternal – all at the same time.

I felt like I was going to explode.

-----

At that very moment, G-d was both a dear friend, and a bitter enemy.

You want the whole world to stop and recognize the loss, but weddings will go on. Babies will be born. Cake will be served at the birthday party.

And when all you want is to experience unbridled joy, lives will be destroyed. Fires will consume. Lives will end.

What does G-d want from us?

There’s no way a human is designed to balance these opposite poles.

But G-d conducts a world where both pain and happiness are ever pressing realities, forcing us to respond to fortune and catastrophe all at once. And it’s striking, that, even when G-d stops the world from turning, it is speeding forward at the same time.

-----

G-d, you stretch out your hand, yes you do.

You do it to strike and you do it to heal.

Yes, you are the ultimate giver.

But you give tears just like you give smiles.

You create fire, and you make it both to consume and to warm.

G-d, please reveal the fusion, the interconnectedness. Where is the beauty in the breakdown? I want to see it, but how can I? What do you expect, G-d? You weigh us down with bricks, and expect us to play hide and seek? You smash us with your hands, and demand us to rise. You burn our core, and request we feel light. You mark frowns and creased brows, but wait for our smiles.

And sometimes I feel like I just don’t know you.

But, one thing is certain. When you are my enemy, you allow it. You never cease to validate our pain. And more than that, you still let us use your shoulder to cry on. After being screamed at, you still hosts our tears. You are behind it all. When we want to escape you, you are there. When we want to embrace you, you are there. And there's no greater harmony than that.

While we may often struggle with the placement of our reactions and emotions, let us pray that our happiness is always more demanding than our pain. May feelings of true growth and gain be more potent than feelings of loss, and may G-d draw near a time when all sorrow will permanently vanish in the face of our joy.

The King is in the Field

In Likkutei Torah, the Alter Rebbe describes the tightening of the bond between G-d and the Jewish people in the month of Elul with the following parable: Before a king enters his city, its inhabitants go out to greet him and receive him in the field. At that time, anyone who so desires is granted permission [and can] approach him and greet him. He receives them all pleasantly and shows a smiling countenance to all....*


The sun’s rays are ravenous.

It attacks my field then hungrily aims for my soul.

I stand here, bending down, and bending down and bending down.

Down, down, down, reaching for the wheat sheaves.

Separating the good from the bad.

This is good, this is bad.

This we can turn to food.

This we must burn.

Bending down, my rough hands grab stalks.

Like a tortured robot

Sharp cries in my spine make this unbearable.

Yet, day in and day out, I try.

Searching my field.

Picking my field.

All to uphold the universe.

But every now and then, I feel like I am going to break.

And no amount of water can stop the murderous drought within me.

Today is such a day.

I must stop.

I close my eyes.

Tears and sweat, intermingled on my lips.

I straighten my back, and let the aches come to a standstill, resting on my bruised feet.

I breathe, but there is no air.

---

Suddenly, my eyes feel a shadow, and it has become cool.

I open my eyes.

The clouds are covering the sun.

Air rushes to my lungs.

Suddenly, the field is moving, rocking like the sea.

Like soldiers, the stalks of wheat are bending solidly in one direction.

The field is bowing.

I look in the direction of their focus.

And then I almost lose my breath.

I drop the sheaves in my hand, and freeze.

Is that really Him?

My heart begins to beat.

On the earth soaked with my sweat, the King is standing.

----

He is miles away. But His smile is aimed directly at me, piercing the distance between us.

Why has He come here?

I am dressed in ruins. Thorns have pricked my skin, and the blood on my garments proves my toil. Calloused feet and dirty hands are enough to keep me from His embrace.

But there He is, standing tall and shadowless in this place I have called my home.

Is He waiting for me?

It’s been so long. And now He’s here.

I want to run to Him.

The cooling weather is suddenly numb to the warmth glowing inside me.

The King is here.

I’ve been waiting so long.

I have a Heart inside me that’s been growing solid without His face.

I had almost forgotten Him.

And yet, He has come to my field.

So the King does want me.

My grateful tears gush forth, providing the field’s long awaited rain.

I decide then and there - enough with missed opportunities.

---

Like lightening are my feet.

Thousands of stalks are grazing my sides. My feet float above the earth as I speed through the sea of brown and green.

My breathing is thick, scratching at my throat. My fists are tightened.

My feet are stomping like my speeding Heartbeat.

And then, nothing is moving anymore.

---

We are face to face.

My sweaty hands dangle nervously at my sides, and I look down.

That’s when I see.

The King isn’t wearing shoes.

He has come to my place of toil, and left His royal garb at the palace.

Suddenly, I cannot tremble. I can no longer avert His eyes.

The King is in the field, and His entire presence is an invitation.

I smile back.

Oh, King.

I have a lot to tell you, a lot to ask.

He opens His arms.

In His divine embrace, I find the entire map of my soul.

For the first time in a while, it’s clear:

The King sees me, in me, through me.

And so we walk through the field, the King’s every word raising me up.

---

It is now raining, and the entire field is glowing in never-seen-before colors.

The work of my hands is soaked in divinity.

With the King at my side, a newfound strength makes some space within.

I know what I have to do.

When the King leaves, I must keep Him here forever.

In my blood, sweat, and tears.

In my dirty hands and calloused feet.

When the sun sets today, the light will still flood these grounds.

Today, by running to the King, I have plowed a new field.

*[http://www.sichosinenglish.org/books/timeless-patterns/51.htm]

A kiss on the 3 train

All is black

Except for the white girl on the train

A silent car

Piercing with the stares of the many

The white girl is mumbling

No, reading

Hebrew?

Swaying a little bit?

People are looking

Why?

She looks different

And shes moving her lips

Another train mumbler

Except this time she is white

And not drunk

Suddenly

The girl drops her little book

Her holy book

It makes a smacking sound on the ground

Opening the eyes of the man across from her

And bringing the attention of the many

While she had already felt a little odd

Mumbling on the train and all

In what seemed like an hour

She thought to herself

As she stretched out her hand to pick up King David's words

Would she give her habit free reign on the train?

She picked up her little brown book

Her holy book

She stared it in the eye

She brought it close

She kissed the little brown book

And you know what?

Stranger things have been seen on the 3 line