Towards a Progressive neo-Hasidism
Avidan Halivni, September 30th 2024
Art by Eva Sturm-Gross
Author’s Note:
The following story is offered as a companion to a teaching from R. Shneur Zalman of Liadi (1745-1812), the first rabbi of the Chabad movement. R. Shneur Zalman, the “Alter Rebbe,” teaches that the month of Elul is an auspicious time of year when “the king is in the field” – an analogy that depicts a king who makes himself available in a space outside his regular jurisdiction — “the field” — rather than in “the city” where he can only relate to his subjects as their sovereign. In other words, it is possible in Elul to initiate a relationship with God decontextualized by the typical hierarchies of power. This relationship is based on love, rather than the severity of judgment. Following the month of Elul, when one does approach the“king” again in the severe moments of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the previous intimacy of the relationship may be evoked to arouse divine mercy.
The verse that anchors the Alter Rebbe’s teaching is from Song of Songs 6:3, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine / ANI L’DODI V’DODI LI / אני לדודי ודודי לי,” whose initial letters form the acronym ELUL / אלול. The story continues to play with the imagery of this verse, especially the contours of the letters of the Hebrew word “beloved / DOD / דוד.”
The original text of the Alter Rebbe’s teaching and its translation may be found below the story.
I. Elul I
They say the king was in the field this time of year, but I had never seen him there.
The thought of it was preposterous, laughable even. The king rarely left the palace anymore, preoccupied as he always was with matters of state-wide importance: who had died and who had lived; who had suffered from earthquakes and who from plague; who to fire and who to promote. Most of his time was spent in judgment, brow furrowed as he meted out justice according to the rules of the kingdom. Every subject of the kingdom would at some point pass through the palace courtroom, like a flock of sheep, shuddering in fear as they crossed the threshold into the royal palace and into the king’s presence. [1] I had heard stories from those that survived the encounter who said that, in those moments, terror swallowed up every other emotion.
He must be lonely, I thought to myself, as I strode through the city one evening. Yes, he must know that the inhabitants of the city think about him constantly, frequently addressing him by name and crafting tributes to his greatness to ask for his favor, but those were the petrified petitions of a frightened and vulnerable citizenry. As long as he was the ruler of the city, how could anyone interact with him any differently? Having relationships built entirely on fear must be painfully isolating. He may hold our fates in his hands, but his fate is inescapably solitary.
I spared a moment to pity his loneliness, my footsteps beating the Hebrew letters of the word badad, lonely. Bet-daled-daled, two daleds. [2] We were those two daleds, he and I, like twin domains of daled amot, [3] completely separate from each other in our experience of the world.
My pace quickened. Bet. Daled. Daled. Bet. Daled. Daled. I looked ruefully at the city skyline,
wishing a bridge would wink into existence so that I could walk across and reach the king, to
stretch out my arm and clasp his hands across our solitudes.
What would it mean, I wondered, for our isolated daled-domains to encounter each other, to have a channel in between our realms. A bridge across the void, a vav emerging to connect the two daleds – transforming BADAD into DODI. [4] But to reach the king, secured behind the impenetrable fortress of the palace walls, would a bridge even suffice? Better to approach each other from below, through an underground passageway – itself also a vav – that links the lowly provincial lands to the lofty palace grounds. [5] I imagined the king digging a tunnel of his own out through the loamy soil of the palace garden, his royal brow slick with sweat as he toiled under the late-summer sun.
I stopped in my tracks, caught off guard by the force of the image. The vision swelled in my mind of the king carefully and diligently burrowing into the ground, hoping that he might meet his people on the other end. I spun around and headed towards the city limits, picturing the open fields that surrounded the city on all sides, a vast meadowland which extended for miles. When I reached the tall grass that marked the farthest edge of the city, I picked up a rusty metal shovel that I found lying in the dirt and began to dig.
II. Elul II
I worked for what felt like hours, removing one shovelful of dirt after another, feeling the fortified walls of my daled amot soften with each movement. My subterranean vav swerved left, then right, until suddenly the resistance from the soil grew weaker. With a final effort, the head of my shovel broke through into a small clearing underground and landed in a pile of debris.
I stepped through the hole, stunned to have stumbled upon what appeared to be an ancient corridor deep within the ground. I noticed a few rays of sunlight filtering through the earth and followed the beams to a shaft with a ladder that led to the surface. I popped open the metal cover, and, squinting in the morning sun, saw a solitary figure in the middle of the open field leaning comfortably against a tree, a shovel of his own lying beside him as he scrawled in a notebook.
The king smiled as I approached him, waving a dirty, calloused hand. I bowed my head, waiting for him to speak first.
“You seem surprised to see me,” the king said, in a pleasant voice devoid of the booming, menacing qualities he was reputed to have. Without the amplifying effects of the cavernous palace rooms, his tone was kind and unassuming.
“I come out here every year,” he said. “Those that put in the effort usually find me. And I’m always happy to see them.”
I nodded weakly, my mind racing for something to say. We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“This is your tunnel?” I asked.
“Yes. I dug this ages ago for those moments when I want to make myself accessible without walking through the whole city. Over the course of the year it fills with loose dirt, so I return around this time every year to touch it up.”
We chatted about architectural structures and proper shoveling techniques for a while, and I found myself enjoying the mundane conversation. I described a particular grip that had decreased the tension on my wrists and demonstrated it for him, which the king appeared to appreciate and assured me he would practice. It felt improper to speak to him so casually, but something about us sitting cross-legged in the field, away from the grandeur of the palace and the atmosphere of the city, put me at ease. Our daleds were meeting; we were not ruler and subject here, we were something else.
The king stirred, frowning as he looked back towards the entrance to his tunnel. I paused mid-sentence, noticing his expression change. The light in his eyes that had accompanied our whole interaction slowly vanished, replaced by the stony grimace of a dispassionate monarch about to return to his post. The darkness of his visage matched the setting sun in the distance.
“What should I say to you when we meet again?” I asked softly.
The king sighed. “Remind me that we met out here,” he said. He tore out a piece of paper from his notebook, folded it twice and handed it to me. As I tucked it into my pocket, I caught a few disjointed words in the fading sunlight: merciful – gracious – slow to anger – plentiful in kindness. [6] I understood that I was receiving a special glimpse into his interior life, an account of the king’s qualities in his own words. I looked up to thank him for the gift, but he had already descended back into the ground.
III. The Days of Awe
Before long, my turn came to pass before the king.
The brass door of the courtroom swung shut behind me and an imperial trumpeter sounded a loud blast from a horn. Though I knew it was designed to announce the presence of a new subject in the court, it landed on my ears as a warning: know before whom you stand. [7] I hastily straightened up, the awe of the moment pulsing through my body, and readied myself for my appeal.
The king, seated behind an ornate dais, peered over his nose at me. The stern contours of his face were impossible to read. As he picked up my file and scanned it for indiscretions, the sleeves of his robe shifted slightly and I caught a glimpse of one of his hands, noticing that it still had flecks of dirt under the fingernails. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding: this was indeed the same figure I had met so recently out in the field. In an instant the awe that permeated the room transformed entirely, its core elements of dread and apprehension replaced by the familiarity of an existing relationship.
Buoyed by the reminder of our connection, I blurted out the words I had seen in the king’s notebook. I said them too quickly at first, embarrassed by the intimacy of the gesture, then repeated them, relaxing slightly as the strange sounds grew more comfortable on my tongue. The king’s severe expression softened and his eyes widened with recognition, then wrinkled at the edges in a barely perceptible smile.
The king closed the file and placed it on the right side of his desk. [8] We locked eyes and he motioned to me to approach the dais. I froze – this was not part of the typical court procedure. He reached into the pocket of his robes and, withdrawing a small, leather pouch, opened it and tipped it into my hand. A single seed fell out. I looked up, bewildered.
“For the year ahead, my friend,” he said.
“Make sure it gets plenty of rain.”
R. Shneur Zalman of Liadi, Likutei Torah Parashat Re'eh 10
אני לדודי ודודי לי. ר״ת אלול. והענין כי באלול מתחיל בחי׳ אני לדודי דהיינו בחי׳ אתערותא דלתתא עד ר״ה ויוה״כ שהם בחי׳ המשכת אלהותו ית׳ למטה בבחי׳ התגלות, כמ״ש שמאלו תחת לראשי וימינו תחבקני
שמר״ה עד יוה״כ הוא בחינת שמאלו בחי׳ יראה לפי שאז הוא זמן התגלות מלכותו ית׳. ולכן קוראין לו המלך כי מלכותך מלכות כל עולמים. פי׳ שאפילו בעולמות הנעלמים תפול עליהם אימת המלך ופחדו (עיין בזהר פנחס דף רי״ד ע״ב ובהרמ״ז שם). ומזה נמשך גם למטה על כללות נשמות ישראל לקבל עול מלכות שמים עליהם ותהיה יראתו על פניהם כל השנה …, וזהו בחי׳ ודודי לי
רק שצריך תחלה לעורר את האוי״ר על ידי אתערותא דלתתא שהיא באלול. והנה נודע שבאלול הוא זמן התגלות י״ג מדות הרחמים, ….
אך הנה יובן ע״פ משל למלך שקודם בואו לעיר יוצאין אנשי העיר לקראתו ומקבלין פניו בשדה ואז רשאין כל מי שרוצה לצאת להקביל פניו הוא מקבל את כולם בסבר פנים יפות ומראה פנים שוחקות לכולם. ובלכתו העירה הרי הם הולכים אחריו. ואח״כ בבואו להיכל מלכותו אין נכנסים כ״א ברשות ואף גם זאת המובחרים שבעם ויחידי סגולה.
וכך הענין עד״מ בחודש אלול יוצאין להקביל אור פניו ית׳ בשדה, כי הנה כתיב יאר ה׳ פניו אליך שהוא ענין הארת י״ג מדות שיהי׳ פנים בפנים דהיינו שיאיר גילוי פנימיות רצונו ית׳ למקור נש״י ע״י שיהיה עיקר פנימיות רצונו אליו ית׳ לדבקה בו בלב ונפש מעומקא דליבא במסירת נפש …
“I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.” (Song of Songs 6:3) – forming the acronym “ELUL.” Elul begins in the aspect of “I am to my beloved,” [9] which is the aspect of “arousal from below / it’aruta d’l’tata.” [10] This lasts until Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, which themselves draw Godliness downwards in the form of Divine Revelation, as is written “His left hand is under my head and his right hand embraces me” (Song of Songs 2:6).
Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are in the aspect of “His left hand” – the aspect of fear – since that is a time of the revelation of God’s dominion. Hence God is called “The King,” as His kingdom endures for all time. This means that even the hidden [supernal] worlds fall into fear and awe of the king, which is drawn downwards onto the souls of Israel to accept the yoke of the kingdom of heaven, so that fear of heaven may remain with them throughout the whole year. … This is the aspect of “And my beloved is to me.”
And yet: one must first awaken the element of love within awe through the “arousal from below” that is Elul. It is known that Elul was the time of the giving of the 13 Attributes of Mercy…[11]
This concept may be understood by way of analogy: Before a king enters a city, its inhabitants may go out to the field to greet him and have an audience. At that time, anyone who so desires may approach and meet him. He receives them pleasantly [12] and shows a smiling countenance to all. [13] And when he goes towards the city the people walk behind him. But when he reaches his royal palace no one may enter without permission, and even then only the elite, a select few.
The explanation of the parable: in the month of Elul, we go out to the field, as it were, to receive the Light of His face, as it is written “God will shine His face upon you” (Num 6:25), which is the essence of the giving of the 13 Attributes of Mercy, that it should be received “face to face;” that the revelation of His Will will illuminate the souls of Israel so that they may cleave to him from the deepest parts of their hearts, in total devotion.
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Notes
For more on the genealogy of the “the king in the field” motif, see this source sheet put together by R Ebn Leader.
[1] A reference to Mishnah Rosh Hashanah 1.
[2] This play on the letters of the Hebrew word for “lonely” is inspired by a teaching from the Maggid of Mezeritch, Or Torah #143.
[3] “Daled Amot,” lit. four cubits, is a unit of measurement in Jewish ritual and property law that denotes the boundaries of one’s personal space.
[4] There is also an additional layer here in relation to the Jewish calendar: during the month of Av which precedes Elul, we read the book of Lamentations, which opens with the phrase “How lonely [BADAD / בדד] sits the city.” On the other hand, the month of Elul, as the Alter Rebbe points out, is an acronym for the words of the verse “I am my beloved’s [DODI / דודי] and my beloved is mine.” The image of BADAD becoming DODI through the insertion of a VAV which conjoins the two DALEDS – literalized in the story as an underground passageway – is an allusion to the month of Elul succeeding Av, with its accompanying shift in the possibility of any interaction with God.
[5] This is a reference to the Kabbalistic notion known as “itaruta d’l’tata / arousal from below.” This phrase appears many times in the Zohar and throughout numerous pieces of hasidic literature. It refers to the concept of human participation in initiating a relationship with God "from below," which has an effect on the heavenly realms above. The opposite of this idea is “it’aruta d’l’eila / arousal from above,” which is God’s descent or emanation downwards from heaven, unprompted by and without need of human action. Arousal from below plays a significant role in the Alter Rebbe’s teaching about Elul.
[6] These terms are part of the sequence described in Exodus 34:6-7 known as the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy. According to Midrash Tanhuma Ki Tisa 31:1, these attributes were given to Moses on the first day of Elul. These terms figure prominently in the liturgy of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, as well as in the selichot services in the days of Elul preceding the holidays.
[7] This phrase appears in the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Berakhot 28b. It adorns the ark in many synagogues.
[8] In Kabbalistic metaphysics the right side is associated with hesed, lovingkindness and mercy, as opposed to the left side, which is associated with judgment and severity.
[9] He plays with the ambiguity of the preposition in the phrase “my beloved’s / Le-Dodi,” with emphasis on the literal nature of the directionality, going towards the other, which is why this phrase is rendered here as “I am to my beloved.”
[10] See note 5.
[11] See note 6.
[12] A reference to M. Avot 1:15.
[13] A reference to Rashi on Numbers 6:25, foreshadowing the usage of this verse in the explanation of the parable.
Avidan Halivni
Avidan Halivni is the Associate Director of the Jewish Learning Collaborative, a new platform for Jewish professional development that offers customized, one-on-one Jewish learning for professionals and lay leaders at Jewish organizations. He graduated magna cum laude from Columbia University in 2019 and holds an MA from the University of Chicago Divinity School in the History of Judaism. He is descended from the Vizhnitzer Rebbe on one side of the family and is a fourth generation Chicagoan on the other.