Bloggerai: Reminiscing...
Today I was studying a Chassidic discourse, a Ma'amar, that I had not looked at for several years. Nearly a decade ago, I was a young, impressionable yeshiva bochur, a child for all practical purposes, exactly at the age that was open and thirsting for some guidance, direction, meaning. The age when an authentic call to morality, to a higher responsibility, to service of G-d, would make an indelible mark on his thinking and approach to life.
The Ma'amar (ד"ה אחרי ה' אלקיכם תלכו, ה'תרצ"ז) dealt with the different levels in which we as Jews relate to G-d simultaneously; as children, and as servants. The Rebbe proceeds to elaborate on the difference; the child is by definition devoted to his parents, and anything that is dear to the parent will be of necessity likewise dear to the child. No commitment is required on the child's part; the relationship is natural and automatic.
The Ma'amar then proceeds to the relationship between a (true) servant and his master; the servant has no inherent interest in doing what he does for his master, receives no renumeration, will never inherit his master. If it would be up to him, he would do anything but serve his master. Nonetheless, once he has become a servant, he is characterized by total, single-minded devotion to the master's command, with no expectation of renumeration ever. He knows no rest from his labor; even when he sleeps, it is a sleep that can at any moment be cut short because he must arise to do his duty. With time, his servitude becomes second nature, to the point that notwithstanding that he has no personal interest in whatever he may be doing being done, his ultimate hapiness in life is to see his master pleased by his toil. The master's hapiness becomes his own hapiness: his identity is his own no more; but since he has surrendered himself to serving his master, his self-definition is that of a servant; that which pleases his master, is what makes him rejoice. The analogy in our service of G-d is obvious.
In this age of "freedom", where unhindered pursuit of self-gratification is the norm, when any bounds, at least those of basic humanity, are anything but the norm, the idea of one being entirely given over to a calling that will bring him no immediate happiness is anathema. But it is the type of radical idea that will readily capture the heart of one searching for a deeper truth.
Many years have passed, and all it took was one short look at that Ma'amar to bring me back to those days of confusion, clarity, longing and security that mark a child raised in a morally strong environment passing into the turbulence of adolescence. It is refreshing to know that those feelings are not entirely gone yet, not entirely swept away by the "stability" of ceasing to look for anything (baalabatishkeit בלע"ז); they are dormant just beneath the surface, waiting to be reawakened.
Emotions are a beautiful thing, but they are not enough; they must be harnessed into some useful change in one's day-to-day life. We are in Elul; time to get moving.
Today I was studying a Chassidic discourse, a Ma'amar, that I had not looked at for several years. Nearly a decade ago, I was a young, impressionable yeshiva bochur, a child for all practical purposes, exactly at the age that was open and thirsting for some guidance, direction, meaning. The age when an authentic call to morality, to a higher responsibility, to service of G-d, would make an indelible mark on his thinking and approach to life.
The Ma'amar (ד"ה אחרי ה' אלקיכם תלכו, ה'תרצ"ז) dealt with the different levels in which we as Jews relate to G-d simultaneously; as children, and as servants. The Rebbe proceeds to elaborate on the difference; the child is by definition devoted to his parents, and anything that is dear to the parent will be of necessity likewise dear to the child. No commitment is required on the child's part; the relationship is natural and automatic.
The Ma'amar then proceeds to the relationship between a (true) servant and his master; the servant has no inherent interest in doing what he does for his master, receives no renumeration, will never inherit his master. If it would be up to him, he would do anything but serve his master. Nonetheless, once he has become a servant, he is characterized by total, single-minded devotion to the master's command, with no expectation of renumeration ever. He knows no rest from his labor; even when he sleeps, it is a sleep that can at any moment be cut short because he must arise to do his duty. With time, his servitude becomes second nature, to the point that notwithstanding that he has no personal interest in whatever he may be doing being done, his ultimate hapiness in life is to see his master pleased by his toil. The master's hapiness becomes his own hapiness: his identity is his own no more; but since he has surrendered himself to serving his master, his self-definition is that of a servant; that which pleases his master, is what makes him rejoice. The analogy in our service of G-d is obvious.
In this age of "freedom", where unhindered pursuit of self-gratification is the norm, when any bounds, at least those of basic humanity, are anything but the norm, the idea of one being entirely given over to a calling that will bring him no immediate happiness is anathema. But it is the type of radical idea that will readily capture the heart of one searching for a deeper truth.
Many years have passed, and all it took was one short look at that Ma'amar to bring me back to those days of confusion, clarity, longing and security that mark a child raised in a morally strong environment passing into the turbulence of adolescence. It is refreshing to know that those feelings are not entirely gone yet, not entirely swept away by the "stability" of ceasing to look for anything (baalabatishkeit בלע"ז); they are dormant just beneath the surface, waiting to be reawakened.
Emotions are a beautiful thing, but they are not enough; they must be harnessed into some useful change in one's day-to-day life. We are in Elul; time to get moving.
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