The encounter with God only takes place in the land of Israel, and it is an encounter that enables dveykut (attachment) and creation from positive inspiration and joy. It is the optimism of the human spirit. When we see it, we can see an exceeding happiness even in loss and emptiness.
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Nourishment of the Ayin (Nothingness) and the Joy of the Yesh (Being)
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I would like to add another dimension to this expression. My friend, an accomplished artist, told me that he had stopped a long-time habit of listening to classical music while painting. He had started to pick up on a melancholy element that repelled him. According to him, non-Jewish artists create out of melancholy, despair and dissolution – from the nothingness of an empty space. Jewish art, on the other hand, must grow from happiness, from a place of optimism. He told me that his friends tell him that he is not a true artist, because his faith grants him a ‘safety net,’ one that does not let him fall apart entirely, nor stand before the godless black hole that is the source of free creation. But my friend wishes to create from a place of faith, a process that he considers the hallmark of Jewish creativity.
In truth, the picture is more complicated than that. In Chabad hassidism, there is an approach that holds that it is only a broken heart can gain access to the secrets of Torah, deep dveykut (attachment) and revelation. The middle Admu”r (Rabbi Sholom Dov Ber Schneerson) writes:
“And this is something I heard from the Aamu”r z”l who heard it from the Rav Hamagid z”l, that a person cannot come to a true receiving of the razin d’orayta (mysteries of the Torah) and grasping profound truths in the light of the ein-sof (Infinite) until it becomes completely fixed in his soul, unless there is a natural, dark melancholy that is strong and rooted in him from youth, of a primitive, all-encompassing quality, coming from the very depths…until he despises his life completely, at every hour – it is then that the root of all life – the source of all – settles in him, to lift up the spirit of the depressed…and then his sigh, and his black melancholy, is transformed into happiness and joy only due to the part of the Divine that saturates his soul. But without this – and especially in the opposite [case], one whose natural melancholy is white and light-headed, even if he may be a ready vessel to receive every secret – it cannot happen for his soul, and he will walk in darkness all his days, deceiving himself because God is not with him in any way.”
It is a penetrating pronouncement: only one who is crushed inside can truly sense a secret – only the broken heart can create a context for deep contact. These are very profound words indeed – but it is a torah that grows from melancholy, from despair, from an immense experience of the ayin (nothingness). The encounter with God at the end – the happiness and joy that grows from the sigh – come not from a place of receiving reality, but rather of running away from it. The happiness is “only due to the part of the Divine that saturates his soul,” from the “source of all life” and not from life itself. This is not the place I would like to discuss here, the place I feel is present here in the story of Rav Nachman. In my eyes, these are matters that belong to a torah of chutz la’Aretz, of diaspora. As Chaza”l said, in the diaspora there is a loss of God: one cannot meet Him there, and this state leads to a gathering together and nurturing from absence. The encounter with God only takes place in the land of Israel, and it is an encounter that enables dveykut (attachment) and creation from positive inspiration and joy.
Oftentimes we are frustrated that we are still nourished by a Torah of chutz la’Aretz, a situation that creates a tension between Torah and our very real existence. Sometimes you will see yeshiva bochurs (students) who arrive at university and suddenly are filled with verve and vitality; in yeshiva something caused them to shrink, emptying them of energy from the ‘outside’.
In art, too, these approaches still predominate. A friend told me that he opposed his daughter’s study of music, because he feared that art would cause her to be depressed. And indeed, oftentimes professional art comes at the price of losing a good spirit, a simple joy. After many years of learning Torah, I know this point well. For this reason, there is something in the idea of the Torah of Eretz Yisrael that speaks to me. I am not speaking of different ‘buzzwords’ that we may hear nowadays. I am talking about something very profound: the messianic age. In my eyes it is not only a territorial matter but one of the spirit of an age, of opportunities that are wide open. Rav Kook spoke of a time of ‘the messianic Eden.’ And indeed, one can sense that his work comes from intuition, an inspiration that is connected to his encounter with the landscapes of the land and the spirit of that period. I think Rav Kook was open to this because he did have an anarchist side – he was not afraid to burst forth to new places rather than crumbling into nostalgia over what has passed. Rav Kook did not break with his rabbis, but he did illuminate them with an Eretz Yisrael light, from a messianic place. This is a very important point for all of us.
The locus of optimism, of saying “yes,” comes from a very deep place. The creativity we had spoken about earlier came from a space that was completely empty. But the creativity we are speaking of now comes from a faith in reshimo, the dimmed lights that remained after tzimtzum (contraction) and histalkut (disappearance). This is faith with an optimistic foundation that comes from absolute freedom, following the breakdown of all frameworks; similar to the optimism of the body, a framework that is always striving to repair, heal and continue forwards. This is re’ava d’reavin, the desire of desires rooted in the depth of being, from which the world is created anew after the shattering.
This inexplicable optimism is the point of covenant, a distinct point which has no selfhood because nothing can be said about it. It is a vantage point from which one can see the no-thingness in the world, an experience of existence in which man is no-thing even as he lives and breathes. As opposed to the modern attempt to build different types of “yesh” (being) to grasp on to – idolatry dressed up in new clothes – here there is a position of letting go of any grip, touching ein-sof infinite-ness which demands existence – even with all the emptiness and no-thingness inside it.
Even a light conversation between a man and his wife reminds us of this dynamic. It is the shift of our forefather Abraham, who broke the idols, forsook astrology and became the father of a faith. This is a shift that may be called “post-critical”: not a conservative return to what was, but a growth of new foundations following the shattering of the old. In my eyes, this is the quality of messianic time, when new souls descend to the world.
There is a part of this experience in my life, and it is this part that I think of as messianic. It is expressed in my arising every morning and saying “yes,” trusting in other human beings. This does not come from a naive, superficial place: like everyone else, I see schisms and problems in our day and age. But this does not breed melancholy in me; instead, it creates the pronouncement of “yes.” This optimism is the source of honesty, of desire to express warmth and goodness, to turn towards the other and bless, give, come to unity with the other through speech. This is a very lofty point that lies at the very base of humanity itself, in the people who create an atmosphere of openness and empathy towards the other. It is the optimism of the human spirit. When we see it, we can see an exceeding happiness even in loss and emptiness: there are people like that in the world, there is joy, there is a messianic spirit.
It is from this place that Rav Nachman speaks of happiness upon a descent from kingship. It is moving to see how far off, two hundred years ago in a distant Ukraine, Rav Nachman is breathing the Torah of Eretz Yisrael. He anticipated the Eretz Yisrael atmosphere that we are seeking today, and it can be seen right here in the opening of his story.
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[1]The speech can be found in: Rav Shagar and Yair Dreyfus, Re’im Ahuvim - Drashot Chatuna(Efrata: תשס”ח), p. 19.
