By Rabbi Dan Lewin
Parashat Devarim
The Creator (whom we believe in) is necessarily infinite (i.e., without restriction, beyond comprehension, etc.). As Maimonides outlines in his explanation of the first of the Ten Commandments, which we read again next week, this idea of infinity means eternal, the source for all beings, who brings them into existence from nothingness, noncorporeal and unlike the existence of anything we know.
“Okay, fine,” a 21-year-old student recently asked me, “but does ‘infinite’ also imply good?” That was a tough question, likely propelled by a deeper existential struggle regarding the nature of G-d’s kindness.
On the one hand, I began to explain, one could argue that theoretically, these two terms have nothing to do with each other: Infinite refers to being limitless, whether qualitatively or quantitatively, while the idea of “good” is a moral categorization we humans use to navigate within the “world of falsehood” and competing inclinations.
Yet, from a Jewish mystical perspective, anything “bad” comes from diminishing divine light until it’s completely hidden from our eyes in this material existence. Perhaps that is why “darkness” is often used as a literary metaphor for evil or bad — the meaning, purpose and kindness behind the person or occurrence is concealed.
Despite the reassuring teachings of our Sages, like the statement that “no bad descends from Above,” we must still grapple with the bitter reality of pain, hardships and loss while trying to maintain faith in the bigger picture amidst life’s challenges. This level is referred to as “hidden goodness” (which may or may not transmute later into revealed good).
Infinity, on the other hand, connotes a revelation beyond all finite worlds (even spiritual realms), a layer of reality where the boundlessness of divine light shines in a revealed manner. So, in this sense, the true Infinite is necessarily good. While one of the characteristics of “bad” is that it’s bound by the “accidents” of the natural world — its decay, diffusion, stopping and diminishing — true good, in its most essential form, transcends the dynamics that apply to physicality. It doesn’t die or decay; it is infinite and eternal.
The dark calendar period
Beneath the surface, every Jewish festival or commemorative event has a unique design, saturated with flavor and customs designed to evoke a very specific emotion. A perfect example is the carnival-like imagery of Purim: Colorful costumes, sweet-tasting gift baskets, abundant and elaborate feasts alongside trills of joyful music and entertainment — all exude a light and celebratory atmosphere.
In stark contrast lies the doom of Tisha B’Av(the ninth day of the current month), the tragic date on which both Temples fell. On this day, there is no trace of contentment. Jews gather for a heavy and solemn prayer service, without food and water; slow and mournful melodies permeate lyrical yet harrowing lamentations of our burdened past.
The task in studying and observing any important calendar period is to target its particular profile to uncover the richness of its nuanced messages. Usually, the prevailing mood is clear and well-defined. However, this coming Shabbat is a more complex case.
The month of ‘Menachem (consoling) Av’
This week signaled the harshest period of the year — the start of the month of Av. “When the month of Av enters, we reduce our joy ….” (Talmud, Taanit 26b) To remain in tune with the times, Jewish law provides a vast package of collective mourning customs — no meat, no wine, no wedding celebrations — that entails precise refraining from certain pleasures. The tragedies of the month are also reflected in the choice of Haftorahs.
This week’s Haftorah relates the famous “Vision of Isaiah,” which gives its name to the day, “Shabbat Chazon” — the “Shabbat of the Vision.” Traditionally, it reads as a powerful condemnation of a rebellious people (“An ox knows its owner and a donkey its master’s crib; Israel does not know….”). Crisis is the standard sentiment.
But Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev (1740-1809), one of the early Chassidic leaders, true to his character and Chassidic outlook, detects within the apparent misery glimmers of hopeful anticipation. With engaging analogies, he explains that every year, during the reading of these outwardly sharp passages, a subconscious vision appears within each attentive soul. It is a vision of the third Temple, a foretaste of the future restoration of our undisturbed sovereignty and safety in the land of Israel. Indeed, the word for the vision of Isaiah, “chazon,” indicates an indirect vision.
This teaching seems odd, even paradoxical: If any time of year, during any prophetic passage, we should gain such insight into the third Temple, it should seemingly come during passages of praise, as a reward for our good standing or during a joyous occasion. Yet we are shown this glimpse in the very moment of our loss. The purpose here, however, is to arouse a yearning to directly see this edifice, a motivation to improve and realize this dream.
A similar paradox is found in the practical observance of this Shabbat. As described, the sense of mourning, of being “in the straits,” dominates our consciousness for nine days. Yet the mood is suddenly broken by Shabbat, a day on which joy must prevail, a day described as “a taste of the World to Come.”
Logic may dictate that this break is only a temporary pause, until the mourning days resume Saturday night. Yet our custom is not simply to suppress sadness — this Shabbat we make an extra effort to add joy and ensure that no melancholy or sorrow from the surrounding days trickles in to intrude on the Shabbat spirit. We adopt an attitude of brightness despite the surrounding desolation.
Personal takeaways
This unique Shabbat mood and Haftorah teaching each contain a lesson and life application. The first is simple and practical: within our lives, our family time and our home, we must establish untouchable periods of joy, times protected from all sorrow, where no surrounding negativities can interfere. The second conveys the empowering insight that within every difficult present, one can detect a hidden haven, a glimpse of future success.
Or from a different angle: There are periods where suffering is beyond our control. But just as we are granted a vision of the third Beit Hamikdash during this painful time and we dig deeper to infuse joy on Shabbat, so too (1) our souls are given extra strength during externally difficult times and (2) we must look for opportunities to infuse joyful moments into our days and interactions with others — even when the outside mood seemingly calls for despair. In response to this effort, G-d will shine His goodness in a revealed way.
Rabbi Dan Lewin is director of the nonprofit Maayan Chai Foundation. For information, visit www.maayan-chai.org.