The first night of Chanukah, my roommates and I gathered enthusiastically in the doorway to light our Menorahs. Together, we sang the blessings out loud and lit our eight-winged lamps. Then, with great enthusiasm, we sang "HaNerios Hallulu" and danced.
After our long and involved ceremony, Chanukah was here.
Last night, night number two, I stood with my roommates as we, once again, sang the blessings and lit our Menorahs. Then my roommate started to sing "HaNeiros Hallulu" out loud.
As for me, I naturally launched into the prayer with a mumble.
I looked up at my singing roommate. What? She wants to sing it out loud? Again?
Deep down, somewhere in an ugly part of my subconscious, I had associated singing aloud with the inaugural night, not something that needed to be continued throughout all eight nights. I mean, come on, the first night was exciting! The first night was new! The first night was…well, the first night!
I quickly realized that, with my embarrassing thoughts, I was casting the other seven nights of Chanukah into a boring abyss of purposeless monotony. I needed help, or my entire menorah lighting would be nothing but a blur or un-tapped energy and meaning.
No, Mimi, you are not going to let the eights nights of Chanukah fall prey to your robotics!
Suddenly, I was singing absurdly loud (I apologize to my roommates, but at least I have an explanation!).
Right then and there, I vowed to uproot my scarred attitude to Judaism's often repetitive rituals. While sometimes things may seem repetitive, nothing is extra in G-d’s plans. Eight nights of Chanukah means eight nights of separate opportunities. Every Menorah lighting holds within it a unique power to enlighten and transform.
No individual service to G-d can ever be repetitive, because, by its very definition, it is asked for.
When it comes to doing for G-d, it is always just the beginning. Sure, eating Latkes may get tiresome. But when it comes to lighting the Menorah, all eight days have an inaugural night. So every night, I must sing. Every night, I must dance. I have five nights left, but I will never get to do this again.
On Thursday, the Jewish Week announced "Matisyahu's New Spiritual Groove," baring one of the first concrete interviews on the topic of Matisyahu’s affiliation with Chabad. The article makes the following clear: Matisyahu's continued exploration of Judaism has led him to connect with a sect of Breslav Chassidism, he isn't inspired by Chabad teachings like he once was, and his spiritual shift has been in the making for four years.
To many Lubavitchers, the news hurts. When anyone who is connected to the Rebbe and his teachings suddenly turns his ties elsewhere, it is hard not to take personally. Moreover, Matisyahu is a public figure, who many of us feel experienced success largely by his connection to Chabad. It is wholly warranted to feel like Matisyahu’s recent comments are biting the hand that fed him.
To me, there was nothing like seeing a Chabad Chassid dance in front of a crowd of thousands while singing about the Rebbe and wearing an “Ad Mosai?” yarmulke. When he said “Chabad philosophy/That’s the deepest wellspring,” I believed him, and was overjoyed that he was telling the world. To know that I no longer share this passion with an artist I admired and propagated is deeply disappointing.
I feel like addressing the issue is almost unjustifiable. Firstly, because a reaction to a newspaper interview can never be strong basis for a discussion on someones real-life circumstance. Furthermore, on the most basic level, Matisyahu is not only my fellow Jew, but my neighbor.
At the same time, though, someone needs to balance and focus the slander and immaturity that is bound to follow the Jewish Week's article.
I hear a lot of people expressing that they “saw this coming.” This is totally beyond me. You’d have to be a prophet to predict that Matisyahu would grow an interest in Karliners, a rare sect of Chassidim that scream during prayer. However, more accurately, people DID expect that the so-called pressures of fame would force Matisyahu to forgo his passion for Yiddishkeit and come down from a “high” (one that note, there is absolutely nothing to be proud of in having anticipated that Matisyahu’s passion for Chabad fall lifeless).
It is imperative, then, to recognize that Matisyahu’s is still a “Hassidic Reggae artist.” His new interest is a continuation – and in no way and end - of a spiritual journey. Matisyahu speaks of feeling more connected with his new teachers and style of learning. It is his desire to connect to G-d that has affected his transition, not the opposite. While many people (myself included) feel that Chabad Chassidus is, yes, “the deepest wellspring,” Matisyahu’s continued evaluation of his spiritual needs (particularly in front of the whole world) is praiseworthy.
People should recognize that, while we may have gained – both personally and globally –from Matisyahu’s connection to Chabad, that doesn’t rob him of his entitlement to honest spiritual exploration. Yes, I am bothered that he told the world “Chabad philosophy is the deepest wellspring” but longer singing those lyrics. On the other hand, I never owned Matisyahu’s spiritual standing (though many people felt they did).
I certainly wish Matisyahu would have more tact when it come to vocalizing his new views. But the statement made by Matisyahu’s “break off” is not as telling as our reaction is going to be. The way we acknowledge his new standing will speak louder and be the tell-tale sign of our community’s character.
The world is watching.
College students are asking campus Shluchim.
We have a choice.
Will we be the elitist community who grimaces at a former “member,” or will we be the ones who, in sync with the philosophy we advocate, cares for the soul of the matter?
Will we be the Chabad that inspired a revolutionary artist? Or will we be the Chabad that ostracized him?
Hopefully this is an opportunity for Chabad's true colors to show some light. Our personal hurt should only be a symbol of our pride in Chabad, and never a catalyst for bashing and further ostracizing another Jew – regardless of how often his music plays on MTV.
In the Jewish Week interview, Matisyahu points to the fact that, when he was first becoming religious, he would pray alone on the roof of his college and scream his prayers to G-d. For him, this was a mode of connecting. And now, he has discovered a sect of Judaism that does just that - approaching prayer in a way that Matisyahu himself discovered on his own. While Chabad only saw Matisyahu as a Lubavitcher, people should realize that a persons spiritual journey (especially when it involves returning to Judaism) are multi-faceted, complex, and personal.
I look forward to Matisyahu’s next album. Not because his sharp Chabad vibe strengthens me – for it no longer does – but because he is an honest searcher with a sincere interest in serving G-d in truth. It won’t be similar to the inspiration I glean from a Shliach, but like the joy I find in any Jew sharing a positive message, any Jewish warrior fighting for his soul. While I can’t necessarily relate to (or even believe in) a "universal message" or soul-search excluding Chabad, I am still convinced that Matisyahu’s musical journeys will always have a spark of something we hold in common.
Some time ago, a girl named Basya commented on my blog, reacting to my notions about Chabad being “the truth.” Her questions inquired into my reasoning for promoting the Chabad way of life, and the learning of Chassidus.
While I can only say I try to live a Chabad life, and I wish I learned more of the Chassidus I so passionately preach, Basya pointed out that I may have had some experiences that can serve to answer her questions, which she says no one has ever properly addressed.
I have had brief interaction with her via e-mail, and have decided – especially by the demand of other Hilltop enthusiasts – to respond to Basya on my blog. This way, a larger audience can benefit from our interaction.
Basya’s question was personal. Therefore, so is my response.
The following is my second letter to Basya. Read the first one here.
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Dear Basya,
I am going to ignore my instinct to apologize profusely for the lapse of time since our last dialogue (but hopefully this counts!).
Let’s just jump right back in.
So you’re demanding to know what Chassidus brings to Judaism.
You want to know how it’s different.
You ask, “What does Chassidus have that should lead me to its study?”
Today we celebrate the Alter Rebbe release from prison, 209 years ago. Known simply by its date Yud-Tes-Kislev, the day marks a renewed strength in the spreading of Chassidus. Considered the New Year of Chassidus, Yud-Tes-Kislev revives our personal obligation to live and spread its truth, light, and warmth.
So I’ll tell you, Basya.
I’ll tell you why my insides burn with regret when a day passes that I don’t learn Chassidus.
I’ll tell you why I consider all my talents to be null when not used for the spreading of its wellsprings.
I’ll tell you why I left a world of black-and-white Judaism to pursue the four-worlds.
I’ll tell you why I am here, writing to you.
Before my encounters with Chabad Chassidus, I was seeped in environments that either espoused a limited and cold Judaism devoid of an involved father or schools with teachers that believed in a “fully cooked” Jewess who earns the right to be stagnant (judging and preaching the less fortunate on the side).
After years in non-Chabad schools, my desire to take time to learn Chassidus came from a combination of family, distaste for zealous, black-and-white Judaism and a strong dose of inspiration coming from “nowhere.”
It only took one class in Chassidus to evaporate my years of uninformed Judaism.
It took a tiny dose of the Rebbe’s light to return me to dust.
While my previous learning had made me feel huge and satiated, all I had to do was learn one chapter of Tanya to shrink to the size of an ant. A starving little ant.
Unlike learning devoid of attention to Torah’s inner dimension, Chassidus didn’t teach me to get from point A to point B. It just proved to me that being a Jew means never staying at one point altogether, but to constantly move and search and find and search and move.
Chassidus forced me to view Torah as more than a guidebook or inspiring dictate. After learning Chassidus, the only appropriate relationship to Torah was a deep acknowledgment of its vastness, a struggle to approach its magnitude, and a fresh daily journey to begin integrating its purpose everyday.
With Chassidus, Torah isn’t just a lot to know, but a lot to live.
Basya, take a look around. There are people who are soaked in Torah learning but have yet to approach Judaism through the prism of this generation’s greatest treasure. Compare them to the Lubavitchers you say you have learned from. Tell me what you see. My own experiences have revealed a clear distinction.
Indeed, Chassidus plucked me from stagnation into a revolutionary journey that makes me feel like an ant. But being an ant with a meaningful – albeit eternal - journey is much better than sitting on a muddy watered plateau thinking I’m a goddess.
Chassidus saved me from the danger of being a “settled” Jew. Learning Torah’s inner dimension has shown me that Judaism is not something I can ever hold in my hand. It threw me into the recognition that G-d and His world are too great a treasure to merely hold, but enlivening forces that I must incessantly run after at every moment.
That is why I am here. I am here because truth is big. I am here because feeling my own smallness has given me the key to a personal relationship with G-d and a never-ending voyage with my soul.
This is why my insides burn with regret when a day passes that I don’t learn Chassidus.
This is why I consider all my talents to be null when not used for the spreading of its wellsprings.
This is why I left a world of black-and-white Judaism to pursue the four-worlds.
This is why I am here, writing to you.
While every level of Torah learning is profound and necessary, there is no excuse for avoiding Torah’s inner calling. Imagine a world where every Jew recognized that Yiddishkeit is immeasurable. Chassidus is today’s demand that enables this awareness, and dismissing its insights means robbing yourself of something so essential.
Basya, I write to you but am speaking to myself. If only I always felt like an ant. I can only hope to actively live the lessons of Chassidus I all-too-often admire from afar.
Thank you for providing me with the opportunity for renewed consciousness, while hopefully inspiring you and others along the way.
There is no other focus like the one I experience every seven days when lighting the candle that ushers in Shabbos. For me, it is both a moment of deep reflection of the past week, and sincere prayers for the one fast approaching. It is a thank-you note to G-d, and a supplication for a new era. It is the whole world wrapped in a flame.
My hand brings the match to the candle and an image of a million other hands burns in my mind. The faces of my ancestors praying for future generations. The faces of the women who lit candles during persecution. The faces of many of today’s women who look forward to it as their only spiritual and connecting ritual.
Sometimes I see the flame as a soul imprint of the past week. It knows the routine and often perplexing patterns of daily existence that have brought me here, searching for tranquility.
Gazing into the purples and blues of the flames center, I am summoned to face my mission in the world. By lighting the candle, I say two things: I am a Jewish woman. And more than that, I am G-d’s. The light-filled ceremony concretizes the fusion of these realizations, and I’m a new person…once again.
I am a Flame
The setting sun has commanded me into existence. I stand erect, dancing slightly. With my birth, all chaos has been consumed, and my warmth transforms to harmony within the people, air, and walls that make this home. I hear whispers of reflection, and prayers for the coming week. I am the ultimate witness to the pain and joy, the hopes and dreams, the transformation, and the fresh renewal within Jewish women worldwide. I am a flame. I am more than a flame. I am the fireworks inside every Jewish home. I may be small, but I set the world aglow.
Something to Count on
The Jerusalem sun is threatening to set with its darkening orange display. Shabbos is arriving in ten minutes, and I’m in a lost taxi on nowhere street. With each minute passing, a drum bangs in my stomach. My whole body cringes as I sit in disappointment. Shabbos, which holds the gift of spiritually recharging, was not meant to be greeted this way - in a mad rush, hair undone, and racing against time.
When I finally arrive at my hosts, I have one remaining minute that gets quickly used up with dropping my bags and greeting the family. Time is taking its command, and I am suddenly standing still before the unlit candle which was prepared for me.
I strike the match, and I feel the world around me spin into a new creation. All chaos freezes. A flame is born, and a warm harmony suddenly seeps from within and sinks into the air, and the very walls around me. The world is both standing still and dancing in the life’s most poetic movement. Shabbos is here.
In the madness, I had forgotten - when you light Shabbos candles, you’re under its rule. There’s no escaping the clarity and deep peace it naturally brings. The candle would not let my rushed mood be a barrier to its holy mission. Standing in its warmth, I recite the blessing with a refreshed appreciation for this unique commandment. While cab drivers in Israel may be completely unreliable, the blessing that is lighting Shabbos candles will always be something to count on.
North of the promised land, the Tanya danced in my mind, visions of a mission took no search to find. When the truth just couldn't sit, I said this is it, get this out, give a shout to the world and make a vessel of the crowd, say it loud and clear. The Rebbe's thoughts as the face of this journey, so it's burning inside, yearning not to hide, to say it live. Here I am, there you are, no two Jews are too far - so let's go, are you in? Let's take it for a spin, the deepest wellsprings, Chabad philosophy and me - from the Hilltop.
