Fighting Chutzpah With Chutzpah

 

With this we can appreciate why the yetzer hara works so hard to poison the healthy emotion of bitterness with an unhealthy does of sadness and depression.  For when that happens, a person who is on the verge of true repentance and repair can be thrown into a morass of despair and melancholy from which he will have to work very hard to extricate himself.

 

The Mishnah teaches, ”In the period that precedes the arrival of Moshiach, there will be a great increase of chutzpah (insolence, arrogance)” (Sotah 49b).  This is usually understood in a purely negative sense, but Rabbi Uri of Strelisk found a positive meaning to this prediction, one from which we can learn an important lesson in avodat HaShem (Divine service).  In the generation before the Moshiach, he explained, the evil inclination will try to prevent people from serving God by bringing a cloud of sadness and depression into the world.  Even people who are sincerely devoted to Torah study and prayer will be overwhelmed at times by an utterly irrational sense of sadness and failure.  After such a person is weakened by melancholy, the evil inclination will begin to shout within his mind: “You’re not worth anything!  You’re empty!  After years of avodah (Divine service), what do you have to show for it?  You still don’t know anything, and your midot are terrible!  You’re a miserable failure!”  Then the yetzer will feign a tone of a sympathetic advisor: “You see that you’re not really cut out for Torah study or prayer.  So why do you even bother?  With your limited abilities, how could you ever have imagined that you would become close to God?”  And so on, and so forth.  By means of such thoughts, the yetzer hara can make a person so depressed that he loses the will to continue, and he stops trying to serve God altogether.

           

The first step in resisting such an attack as the one described is to recognize the source of such thoughts.  The clue is the fact that such thoughts of unworthiness and failure rarely come to a person when he is preparing to eat a meal or to go to sleep – for the simple reason that the yetzer hara has no objection to those activities.  It is only when a person wants to engage in Torah study, prayer, or mitzvot that such thoughts rise up in his mind like a black cloud of hopelessness.

 

Our Sages have called the yetzer hara a "meisit umeidiach" – a "meisit" – "an enticer," and a meidiach – “one who pushes away.”  In other words, first the evil inclination entices a person to do a sin, and then, when the same person wants to study Torah or pray, the evil inclination tries to push him away from the service of God by making him feel unworthy because of the sins he committed (attributed to the Seer of Lublin).

           

Once we have identified the enemy, the second step is repelling the attack, said Rabbi Uri of Strelisk, is to respond with a chutzpah that stems from the side of holiness.  We must scream out: “I don’t care what you say!  I still intend to study Torah and to pray!  I still want to be close to God … and that’s all there is to it!  It may be true that I’m not worthy and I’m full of flaws… but my answer is: ‘So what!’  I’ve made up my mind to do it, and there’s nothing to talk about!”

 

If we take this approach, we can defeat the yetzer hara.  The Sages of the Mishnah are teaching us that in the period before the arrival of Moshiach, this type of chutzpah will be a very great and important thing.  In fact, it is the only truly effective weapon for fighting the evil inclination in such difficult times.

 

This is very similar to Rebbe Nachman’s teaching (Likutey Moharan I:22  see also Lessons I:147 and I:271) that the only way to overcome the “insolence of the body” (azut haguf) and to enter the realm of holiness is to make use of “the insolence of holiness” (azut dekedusha).

 

 

Because we live in a time of exile, a time when God’s presence is concealed, we struggle with many questions about God: “Why is there so much evil and suffering in the world?”  “Why does God allow such things?”  “Why does He remain hidden?”  “How long will He let us suffer?”  In a time of darkness, it is easy to ask questions about the way that God runs the world, or to think that we have discovered contradictions in God’s words.

           

It often happens that even when we are deeply troubled by questions and doubts, we are also aware that it is because the evil inclination has brought us to a state in which we are ready to pass judgment on God Himself.  At such times, even though we are distressed by our inability to find answers to our questions, we take comfort in the knowledge that there are excellent answers, although they are presently concealed from us.  When we deal with our questions and doubts this way, we are still connected to God.  In fact, the questions themselves will make us call out to God to save us from the doubts that afflict us.

           

Rebbe Nachman (Likutey Moharan II:46) pointed out that the letters of the Aramaic word kushiya (“a difficult question” or “a contradiction”) are the first letters of the phrase, Shema HaShem koli ekra… – Hear my voice, God, when I call out (to You)…” (Tehillim 27:7).  In other words, even when we are plagued by doubts, if we believe in our heart that there are answers, and we call to God for help, we will eventually find the answer we need.  When we are troubled by such questions – question that drive us to search for answers, because they are rooted in the belief that there is an answer – then we are in a state that is similar to the motion of bitterness.  Although we feel dissatisfaction and pain, our faith and our hope for the future are undiminished, and we turn to God for help.  Such questions are ultimately beneficial, for they lead us to answers and to a level of understanding that is deeper than what we would have attained had the questions not bothered us in the first place.

           

On the other hand, there are questions that do not prompt us to look for answers – because they are not rooted in the belief that the answer can be found.  Such questions must be rejected, for they are questions with which the evil inclination tries to separate a person from God.  Such questions are rooted in sadness and depression, and hence they can only lead us downwards.  Just as the emotions of sadness and depression are to be avoided, so too the only useful response to such questions is to dismiss them from our minds and direct our attention to healthier matters.

 

But when our questions are rooted in faith, and we respond to them in a manner that is based on faith, they can lead us to the greatest benefits.

 

 

The Rishonim (early Rabbis) give a deep and beautiful parable to illustrate this idea:  There was once a wise and wealthy king who had a young son.  The king owned an immense treasure that he wanted to give to his son, but he knew that it would be years before the boy would be able to use it responsibly.  He therefore hid the treasure in a secret place that was known to no other person – not even to his son.

 

Years passed and the kind died, never having revealed the location of the treasure to anyone.  He left his son a large, beautiful palace that was constructed with marvelous precision and astonishing beauty.  It had high, vaulted ceilings and immense rooms which were brightly illuminated by the splendor of golden chandeliers.  Ornate tapestries covered the walls, and the floors were decorated with colored mosaics showing beautiful pictures and intricate geometrical designs.  Everyone who entered the palace was amazed at the artistic inspiration, the meticulous planning, and the ingenious craftsmanship evident in every aspect of its construction.

 

One day, as the prince was walking through the palace admiring its beauty, he saw what appeared to be a mistake in one of the pictures on the floor.  It was quite a conspicuous error, one than anyone would notice after a little reflection, and it seemed to indicate a carelessness that was completely at odds with the careful professionalism of every other aspect of the palace.  The prince was first astonished and then upset by his discovery.  “How could this be?” he wondered.  “My father worked for many years to construct this palace.  He spent a fortune on it and hired the most skillful artisans in the world.  He planned it all in advance, supervised every stage of the work, and he checked it all when it was finished.  How could he have failed to notice such a glaring mistake?”  The question disturbed him deeply.

 

The prince however, was an intelligent and thoughtful person, and he knew how careful his father had been to do everything perfectly.  As time went on, he began to suspect that the aberration was not really a mistake.  Although he had no way of explaining what it was, he decided that he would continue to believe with complete faith that his father could never have made such an obvious mistake.  “There must be a good reason for what my father did here,” the prince told himself.  “True, it looks like a mistake to me.  But I believe that my father knew exactly what he was doing.”  And so the prince was convinced that there was an explanation for the strange picture, but one that could only be understood through a wisdom higher than his own.

 

Time passed, and one day he was thinking about the great treasure his father had hidden away.  “Why didn’t my father tell me where he put the treasure?  Didn’t he want me to have it?” he wondered.  Suddenly, it occurred to him that this question might be related to the other question that had been troubling him, the one about the strange picture on the floor.  Perhaps if he could understand the meaning of that picture, it would also solve the mystery of the treasure.

 

He began to examine the picture again, carefully analyzing what seemed to be wrong with it.  After weeks of intense thought and profound contemplation, he finally understood its secret.  Everything in the picture was intentional and precise.  At every point where there appeared to be a flaw, a deviation from the usual aesthetic rules, there was actually a hint, a sign that pointed to the hidden treasure.  When he decided to follow these instructions, he was overjoyed to discover that they quickly led him to the location of the treasure.

 

Only then did he fully appreciate his father’s great wisdom.  Now all his questions were answered: he saw that his father’s handiwork was perfect, and he understood that the treasure had been concealed as part of a profound plan that was ultimately for his own benefit.  The prince now saw with his own eyes that which he had previously known by faith: what had seemed to be crooked was actually straight, and what had looked like darkness was really full of light.

 

This is a parable about our faith in God.   It teaches that even when the exile causes us to struggle with painful questions and doubts, we must continue to believe with all our hearts that God is good and just, and everything He does is for our best.  And it also teaches that if we live with his faith, we will ultimately see for ourselves how truly well-planned His deeds are – even the ones that seemed to be incomprehensible in the darkness of the exile.

 

In the parable, there were two things that made it possible for the prince to find the treasure.  The first was the fact that he was troubled by what seemed to be a flaw in his father’s work: the second was the fact that he continued to have faith in his father’s perfection, and to act accordingly, even when his faith appeared to be contradicted by the “evidence.”  Similarly, it is the questions and difficulties we experience in the exile, together with the fact that we maintain our faith in God, which will lead us to the Redemption.

 

 

Once, in a yeshiva in Bnei Brak, the students found what seemed to be a very serious difficulty in the Maharsha’s commentary on the Gemara.  It looked as though the words of the Maharsha were contradicted by the Gemara, and although the students discussed the question for several days, no one could present a satisfactory solution.  Even the leading scholars of the yeshivah were unable to help.  It seemed to everyone as if the Maharsha had misunderstood both the Gemara and the explanation of Tosefot.  Finally, they decided to ask the Chazon Ish.

 

After hearing the question, the Chazon Ish admitted that it was very difficult to understand, but he said he needed time to think about it himself.  For the next few days he applied himself to the problem with single-minded devotion and tremendous exertion.  In his search for a solution, he set aside his preconceptions and analyzed the Gemara in ways that were profoundly original.

 

When the students returned, he snapped his finger and declared, “We are children compared to the Maharsha!  How could we have thought that he would make a foolish mistake?”  The Chazon Ish then explained how the Maharsha understood the Gemara and Tosefot.  They saw that the Maharsha’s words were not only correct, but also provided a whole new way of understanding the Gemara that was wonderfully clear and simple.  The entire yeshiva was delighted by the Chazon Ish’s answer.

 

This teaches us that if a person is sincere in his questions, if he believes that an answer exists, and if he does not leap to hasty conclusions, then he will eventually find the true answer.  Just as in this story, it was precisely the difficulty of the question – and the belief that there was an answer – that eventually led to such a wonderful solution.  Had they not been troubled by such a difficult question, they would never have attained such a clear understanding of the Gemara.

 

 

The entire exile is a kind of “question” – an enormous, difficult and painful question.  Just as every question is a statement of ignorance, so too in every period of exile we experience a concealment of God’s presence.  But the long, bitter exile in which we find ourselves today is an especially difficult and painful question. 

 

In Likutey Halachot, Reb Nosson explains that the present exile is essentially different from all the previous ones.   In each of the earlier exiles, the Jewish people were told in advance that the exile would last for only a specific, limited period of time: the Egyptian exile was to last for, at most, four hundred years; the Babylonian exile, for seventy years.  As a result, the redemption that followed each of those exiles was also for a limited period of time, and it was followed by another exile.  But the exile in which we find ourselves today is the final exile and God is preparing to bring a redemption that will be truly eternal and unlimited, one that will be accompanied by such a boundless revelation and joy that all the previous redemptions will seem almost insignificant in comparison.  That is why we have not been told how long the final exile will last, for in this way we experience the exile as if it were unlimited, as if it were eternal…  Indeed, there were times when it seemed as though we were headed for complete destruction, God forbid.  Our Sages (See Bereishit Rabbah 2:5, on the phrase, “… on the face of the deep” <Bereishit 1:2>) have referred to this final exile as “the deep,” because if often seems like an immense, bottomless ocean in which we are in danger of drowning.

 

But even as we struggle with the question of the exile – a question that is truly unbearable at times – we must continue to believe that the painful question is only a preparation for the wondrous answer we will receive together with the lofty revelations of the Redemption.  And when the light of the Redemption arrives, we will look back and realize that without the darkness of the exile, we could never have attained such a wondrous light, and so we will view the exile itself as an integral part of the Redemption.  (See Likutey Moharan I:21, on the verse, “…then they will say among the nations, God has done great things for them” <Tehillim 126:2>)  Just as the shadows of evening must precede the morning sunrise, and together they make a single, unified day, as the Torah writes: “And it was evening, and it was morning, one day” (Bereishit 1:5), so too we will eventually understand that the night of exile and the dawn of redemption are two aspects of the same luminous day.

 

 

This is the lesson of the Three Weeks: that even in a time of exile, even when God is most concealed, we must call out to Him with hearts that are full of hope and anticipation for the Redemption.  If we take the pain and bitterness of the exile and transform it into sighs of longing and expectation, then we will surely experience the fulfillment of our Sages’ words: “Whoever mourns for Jerusalem will merit to see its joy” (Berachot 33a).  That is, even in the midst of exile, we can see a glimmer of light from the future Redemption – we will “merit to see it” from a distance, and this will add joy to our lives even now.

           

Rabbi Levi Yitzchok of Berditchov said something similar in connection with the verse: “I will call out that God is to be praised, and I will be delivered from my enemies” (Tehillim 18:4).  Since the verse mentions praise before deliverance, Rashi explains that Dovid (David) was saying: “I will praise God at all times, even before the deliverance comes, because I trust that He will save me.”  And Rabbi Levi Yitzchok explained that when King Dovid would pay to God in the midst of his troubles, he would picture himself as already being saved praising God for the deliverance.  So too, even in the darkest moments of exile, we can anticipate the Redemption, and that will help us call out to God.

 

To be continued…

 

 

(Excerpt from The Scent of Gan Eden, by Rabbi Yaakov Meir Shechter, Keren Ohr Publications. Used with author’s permission.)