"Festivity is of the essence"

While the heart of Shabbat observance is refraining rather than doing, one cannot underestimate the positive dimension of the “culture” of Shabbat.

It is this dimension that makes it, in the words of the liturgy, “A day of joy and rest, quiet and security,” a day of holiness, a day when one acquires a neshamah yeteirah, an “extra soul.”

To a certain extent, the meaning of Shabbat (and this is what distinguishes it from imitations adopted by other peoples) lies in the fact that it is not a day of gloom, hedged in by strict prohibitions.

On the contrary, festivity is of the essence.

Even one who is newly bereaved or has a fresh memory of some other personal catastrophe must stop mourning when Shabbat arrives.

The neshamah yeteirah each Jew is said to acquire on Shabbat is really an augmented ability to rejoice in tranquility, to accept life with a feeling of wholeness and contentment.

Shabbat is a time to disengage oneself from workaday affairs—even reading, speaking, and thinking about them are forbidden.

Even when it comes to spiritual matters, vexation and anxious self-analysis should be avoided. The holiness of the day must be sought in a spirit of pleasure, relaxation, and ease.

--Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

from The Miracle of the Seventh Day: A Guide to the Spiritual Meaning, Significance, and Weekly Practice of the Jewish Sabbath by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, p.4

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"Jews in the Diaspora have only two choices"

Rabbi Steinsaltz writes:

Jews in the Diaspora have only two choices.

Either they can give up, close shop, and say, “We are defeated,” or they can create a new way, a new hope.

If people want to go on, if they have a feeling that there is something in it, if the memory of the half-obliterated document still possesses some compelling power, then the Jewish life in this country (the United States) must be rebuilt.

Let me say something full of chutzpah: there is a need for, a use for, and even a possibility of making this place something like Galut Bavel, the ancient Jewish place of exile in Babylonia.

It is possible to create a second center, comparable to, possibly better than, the main center in Israel.

But to accomplish this, one has to do much more than survive.

If you cannot do it right, if you cannot create something that will be worthwhile spiritually and intellectually, it is not worth doing at all.

--Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

From “What Will Become of the Jewish People?” p.186-187, in We Jews by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

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"The potential for holiness persists for ever"

Anticipating tomorrow's celebration of Israel's 60th year, I went back to my favorite book, The Thirteen Petalled Rose, to review what Rabbi Steinsaltz teaches about the Holy Land.

Rabbi Steinsaltz writes:

"The Holy of Holies is a point situated in our world and other worlds at the same time.

As such it is a place subject to the laws of all the worlds, and so outside the ordinary laws of time and place.

That is why the Holy of Holies was barred to all men, except for the brief entry of the high priest of Israel once a year, on the Day of Atonement.

As may be surmised, the holiness of this place is made manifest only when everything is as it should be, when the Temple stands at its appointed location, and when everything in the Temple is so perfectly ordered and arranged that it is pervaded by the Shekhinah (Divine presence).

Since, however, the site chosen (by prophetic revelation) is that one place in space where such a divine connection can be made at all times, the holiness of the site persists even when the Temple itself is no longer there.

So that even though this holiness may not be manifest now, the possibility of its manifestation is eternal.

From the Temple site the circles of holiness extend even farther into space, becoming fainter as they recede from the Holy of Holies to the Temple Court, from the Temple Court to the Holy City of Jerusalem, from the Holy City of Jerusalem to all of the Holy Land, and then, of course, beyond.

Each of these bounded spaces implies a wide range of obligations and privileges.

The holier a place is, the more strict is the general obligation—in addition to all the more specific obligations devolving upon those who live, or like priests, function in a sanctified area—to relate to it in a certain way.

Though the potential for holiness persists for ever, it is true that the holiness of the Land of Israel cannot be adequately manifested unless all the constituents of the circles of sanctity radiating from the center in Jerusalem are in their proper places.

Thus, when the Temple is not standing, all the aspects of holiness that grow out of it become vague and uncertain, some of them sinking into a state of only latent sanctity, indicating no more than a possibility and a starting point.

The holiness of the Holy Land has nothing to do with who the inhabitants are or what they do; it is a choice from on high, beyond human comprehension."

--Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

From “Holiness,” The Thirteen Petalled Rose.

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"The Existence of that Inner Core"

In 1998, when Israel was celebrating its 50th year, Rabbi Steinsaltz gave a talk in which he said:

" Thirty years ago, I taught a class on the issue of who is a Jew.

We said then that a real Jew is one who would choose to sanctify God’s Name, even die for the choice, rather than worship idols.

Jewish history is replete with thousands of examples – not only of righteous people, but also of simple Jews who died for the sanctification of God’s Name.

In a sense, the Jewish people is just as proud of its thieves and prostitutes who died on the sanctification of God’s Name as it is of its rabbis and righteous ones.

It is the thieves and prostitutes who attest most to the existence of that inner core – independent of tradition or erudition – which is the very essence of being a Jew.

One of the people in the class then asked me: This was surely true in the past, but do you think it is still valid?

At that point, I did not know what to reply, and the question was left hanging.

The next day, I flew to a kibbutz near Eilat and spoke there. I do not remember exactly what I said, but I do remember that I managed to make my listeners furious.

At some point one man, who could no longer contain himself, got up and screamed: “I am a secular Jew, and so were my father and grandfather; but I am telling you: if someone would force me to worship idols, I would die rather than do it.”

This was almost like a voice from Heaven:

I received the answer some 24 hours after having been asked the question, and not from someone who heard it, but rather from someone who innocently, at a moment of rage, answered exactly the question that I had asked."

--Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

From “Israel at 50” --a speech delivered at the Aleph Society Dinner in Jerusalem, October 13, 1998

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"Jerusalem is a Fault-line in the Stratification of the World Order"

"The Resonance of Jerusalem"

by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

Everyone who lives in Jerusalem — especially those like me who were born here — is in love with the city, really in love.

For us, it is not just a place, not just a house; it is a home.

But it is even more than that: It is an object of love. Even visitors are in some way ensnared by Jerusalem. So many of their hearts are captured, but in different ways, for different reasons.

Why is it so?

Jerusalem is many things to many people, because it is — and always has been — a kind of enigma.

It is a place that is composed of many parts. They may seem to clash with one another, but somehow they achieve a kind of harmony that is felt by anyone who walks her streets or breathes her air or soaks up her sunshine.

Jerusalem is simple, but not naive.

Jerusalem is simple in a most sophisticated simplicity, because Jerusalem has passed sophistication.

It is a very old city. It is a city that has suffered much and has known so many things that it is now very simple, like some of those great masterpieces.

The simplicity hides so many things. You look at it, you dream about it, and you think, what really is it?

Jerusalem is also, in many ways, a combination of contradictions:

It is called, and its name itself implies, “City of Peace,” yet so many wars took place here. It is perhaps one of the most quarrelsome and troublesome places in the world, but it is still a city of peace.

There is a saying, especially in Jewish tradition, that it is “the house of God.” The gate to heaven is understood to refer to Jerusalem, but Jewish tradition also identifies the valley of Gehinom (hell) near the walls of the Old City.

This is Jerusalem.

This is what the Psalmist described as ir she’chubra lah yahdav, a city that was joined together.

It is not just joined together because there is old and new, or because it is home to religious and non-religious, Arabs and Jews and Christians. It is a place that combines differences and brings them, somehow, together in a kind of harmony of contradictions.

And there is another explanation, which seems very beautiful to me, that the name Jerusalem comes from yir’e shalem, which may be translated as “a complete view,” another form of harmony.

It is historically, and perhaps theologically, significant that Jerusalem is unlikely as the site of a capital. It is not on a road, or on a river, or near the sea. It is somewhere ...in nowhere.

Even so, it is a center — the place the Bible tells us that God chose.

But why?

In life, as in geology, there are many strata: of substance, of meaning, and of energy. And in life, as in geology, there is physical causality, in which things move and are understood according to physical laws and reasoning.

This physical causality — which some might call “real life” — is one level of existence.

There is also another, higher and very different level of causality — a spiritual one — in which there are rewards and punishments for good and evil.

Usually, there are no connections between the physical and spiritual strata; they don’t mix. People may move from one level to the other, but they don’t mix.

But there are — in spirituality, as in geology — points at which the levels touch, where two strata of existence somehow come together in one point, like a corner formed by two walls. The corner has no substance of its own, but — like a lap — exists because of the relationship of two other planes.

This juncture is what Jacob called the ladder or gate to heaven, a place where influence, power, and insight can move either way, between the spiritual and material worlds.

Such a point is Jerusalem.

No one knows why it should be so, but Jerusalem is a fault-line in the stratification of the world order.

Just as water may spurt forth from a geological fault, so, too, Jerusalem is a gushing wellspring of existence, a source of goodness and benefit.

Because this point where the physical and spiritual worlds meet is the place where they can work together, things happen in Jerusalem that do not conform to ordinary rules.

Here, more than anywhere else, the smallest events take on a cosmic meaning and enigmatic complexity that are beyond our understanding.

An event that happens in Jerusalem reverberates all over the world, yet a similar incident elsewhere passes almost unnoticed. Only here does the causality of the material world become entangled with the entirely different causality of the spiritual world.

The energy of justice and the energy of power are pulled toward Jerusalem, as toward a lightning rod, and become entangled, sending shock waves around the globe.

Jerusalem is a place of power and resonance, waiting — perhaps hoping — for a voice that will be heard all over the world, a voice that will renew the message of peace and wholeness and holiness that has always issued from this holy city.

"The Resonance of Jerusalem" Syndicated column--July 21, 2005

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"I cannot mix in the company of such knowers"

Sixty years ago the the modern state of Israel declared its independence. This week, on Thursday, Jews throughout the world will be celebrating this extraordinary anniversary.

On this occasion, throughout the week, I'll be reviewing many of the things Rabbi Steinsaltz has written about Israel over the years, beginning with the following:


"People are worried about what is happening in the State of Israel, about what is going to happen to the Jews living East of the former Green Line.

Of course, everyone — rabbis, generals, politicians — knows the answers.

They are not the same answers, but everyone knows exactly what will happen in one, two, ten years from now.

I cannot mix in the company of such knowers.

And also, I am far more worried about what is happening on the Western side of the Green Line."

--Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

from a speech delivered at the King David Hotel in Jerusalem on Chol HaMoed PesachApril 7, 1996

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"There is an attempt by many to take out the spiritual part"

I once asked Rabbi Steinsaltz:

In my conversations with many Reform, Conservative and Orthodox rabbis over the years, it is clear that many of them have an aversion to spirituality, even sometimes claiming that Judaism is not spiritual! What in the world is going on when rabbis represent spirituality as some fringe element in Judaism?

Rabbi Steinsaltz responded:

What is the problem? It is really a double or triple problem.

One of the big problems is historical. Most of the people you have encountered are relics. They really live in the past when anything about spirituality was some kind of a taboo.

In a strange way we are still living 19th century Judaism. And 19th century Judaism was in an age that was completely rationalistic. It was a whole rationalistic world in which the highest spiritual move was perhaps some kind of charitable feeling to others, and you didn't even overdo that.

So because of this historical burden, some people are, in a certain way, afraid of anything that has to do with spirituality.

In our times there is a growing and a widespread fake Jewish Spirituality that is perhaps as dangerous as anything that can happen.

You have things that seem to be spiritual but are somewhere between confidence games and magic tricks.

All of these things are making people, and some honest people, turn away from the experience of anything to do with spirituality.

That is the reason why when a seeker or searcher somehow finds his way to a Jewish prayer place, he or she usually finds it dry, boring, and unappealing, especially if the seeker has any kind of a spiritual tendency-- which in some way most people do have.

Now, the fact is that there is a very old and very rich Jewish spirituality, as ancient as anything else.

I am speaking about very clear-cut and very public forms that appeared not just in the last century, but have been a part of Jewish life for as long as we know about Jewish life.

It is not a matter of esoteric corners of Judaism.

There is an attempt by so many people to take out the spiritual part and to leave the sometimes-practical message and sometimes no message whatsoever in order to make it fit within some preconceived notion of what Judaism is.

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