Transcending the Physical
by Cindy Ruskin
Dear friends,
“Rabbi David of Lelov was frustrated. He had devoted his life to matters of spirit. He ignored the talk of the town, the news and gossip, and instead focused on eternal matters. He followed the laws of his ancestors, prayed, did acts of loving kindness and charity, studied and taught. And yet, he was still stuck in the physical realm, thinking about his needs, his pains, his desires, his worldly aspirations. He couldn’t transcend this body of his no matter how hard he tried.
He looked to the Prophets of old and found that many of them lived with little food or drink, not to mention sex. Following the advice of a mystic several hundred years before his time, Rabbi David decided he would deprive his body until it left him to unite with his spirit. For six years he fasted all week long, eating only on Shabbat.
When the six years had been completed, and the seventh was upon him, he awaited the spirit’s appearance. “Now,” he thought, “God will be with me.” But no such experience took place. Dispirited, he committed himself to another six years of fasting between Sabbaths. After twelve years of fasting, however, no transcendence emerged. The rabbi still thought about food and sex, he still felt jealousy and resentment, still sought the approval of others, was still consumed with desires. God had not appeared to him as he had thought. “Surely,” he thought, “I must be very close. But some invisible door is blocking me from entering to see the Queen.”
The rabbi knew who would be able to show him that door and unlock it. So, he travelled all week to the village where his old friend, Rabbi Elimelech lived and taught. He arrived on the eve of Shabbat, and entered the small synagogue, which was already filled with beautiful singing. When the prayers had been completed, the song turned to warm smiles and a sweet sense emerged of a community that had entered together into a new mental space. Rabbi Elimelech, with his son by his side, approached each person and greeted them warmly, with embraces and warm words. Everyone, that is, except for Rabbi David, whom he passed by without a word.
R’ David was distraught. He was offended, humiliated, deeply hurt. Sitting in his room at the inn late that night he calmed himself down. “Many years have passed. I look different, so much thinner than I was, and grayer and older. He must not have recognized me. I will return tomorrow for the morning prayers.”
The next morning again the prayers rose high, and the people lifted one another toward the heavens with their singing. But when the post-prayers Kiddush was completed, and all had drunk some wine to warm their souls, again Rabbi Elimelech greeted each person – except for Rabbi David.
This time R’ David was angry. His mind raced with fury. “How could he do this to ME?!” He packed his small bag so that he could leave as soon as Shabbat ended and planned not to return to the little shul ever again. But as the evening approached R’ David found his legs pulling him toward the Shul. He knew that R’ Elimelech always speaks words of wisdom during the final meal of the Sabbath before the holy day ends, and he couldn’t get over his draw to hear what he would say. So he placed himself outside of the shul by the open window. The assembled community drank their vodka and savored their pickled herring and other delights as they shared stories and sang nigguns. At last R’ David heard the voice of his old friend.
“You know,” opened Rabbi Elimelech, “People come to me with a gaunt and sad body, after having fasted and tormented themselves for twelve years. They believe they have done penance, removed the barriers between themselves and God. After that they believe themselves worthy of the spirit of holiness, and they come to me to help them through the threshold. They are ready to walk through the door and come in front of the queen, and just need me to show them where this door is.”
The rabbi paused, took one more sip of his vodka, and continued.
“But the truth is that all their discipline and all their suffering is less than a drop in the sea: all that work they’ve done does not rise to God, but to the idol of their pride. Such people must turn away from everything they have been doing, and begin to serve God from the bottom up with a truthful heart, a full belly and a song on their lips.”
These words cut R’ David to the heart. His breathing stopped, his legs failed, and he reached his hands to the wall so he wouldn’t fall over. When his breath returned, he felt his body tremble and tears burst out of his eyes like a river.
When the Havdalah prayers were concluded, R’ David opened the synagogue door in great fear and waited on the threshold without entering. Rabbi Elimelech rose from his chair, ran over to R’ David and embraced him. “Blessed is the one that comes,” he cried out. He helped the broken rabbi to the table and sat down by his side. At this the rabbi’s son couldn’t contain his amazement: “Father,” he said, “This is the man you turned away twice because you could not endure the mere sight of him!”
“Not at all,” replied the rabbi. “That was an entirely different person! Don’t you see that this is our dear Rabbi David?”
This Hasidic story was adapted from The Penitent in Martin Buber's Tales of the Hasidim.
This Sunday I invite you to join me at noon at Washington Square Park for the demonstration against the Israeli government's terrifying plan to gut the court system, where I've been asked to share some words.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Misha