Rabbi Harold M. Schulweis Sermons

Selichot, 1995

by Harold M. Schulweis

The Hasidim tell the story of a deaf man who passes a large window of a house. He looks through the window and sees a circle of people waving their hands and their legs, using odd gestures and fierce motions. He concludes that this must be an asylum of mad people. Because he is deaf he cannot hear the music to which they are dancing. Because he cannot hear the music he cannot know the ecstasy of the moment. To understand the ecstasy of Hasidism you have to do more than follow the external motions. You have to hear its melody.

The following is a description by a scholar Jiri Langer on his first personal encounter at the Hasidic court of Belz on a Friday evening in the second decade of this century. The old Belzer Rebbe has advanced to the Bimah in order to lead the Hasidim in the recitation of Tehilim for Kabbalat Shabbat. "It is as though an electric shock had suddenly entered those present. The crowd which till now had been completely quiet, suddenly burst forth in a wild shout. No one stands in his place. The tall black figures run hither and thither round the Synagogue, thrashing past the lights of the Sabbath candle. Gesticulating wildly they throw their whole bodies about, shouting out the words of the Psalms. They knock into each other unconcernedly, for all their cares have been cast aside. Everything has ceased to exist for them. Seized as by a convulsion, the old man throws himself about, each shutter of his body permeates with the glory of the Most High. Ever so often he claps the palms of his hand together."

Hasidism favored violent motion in prayer. Not merely the duties as described in the Talmud, the bowing of the head and body at the beginning and end of the Amidah but active, energetic, fierce swaying in prayer.

It was reported that Rabbi Schnaer Zalman of Liady, the founder of Habad, used to bang his hands on the walls of the shtebal during his prayers so that blood would be found in his hands. Eventually the Hasidim placed soft hangings on the wall so that the rabbi would come to no harm.

Why do they pray with such energy?

The Hasidic world look around and found that people pray frozen, that Jews lacked passion, that there was grayness and staleness and routine in prayer. They called for "frishkeit" – freshness, spontaneity -- to struggle against mechanical prayer of which the prophet Isaiah spoke: "With their mouth and lips they honor Me but they have removed their heart far from Me and their awe toward Me is taught by rote." (Isaiah  29:13)

The sober Misnagdim pray stiff, motionless, like a heavy stone. Said Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav, the great-grandson of the Baal Shem Tov, "Set the heart of fire, create an inner friction so that you can melt the wax that embalms you."

The Kotzker Rebbe more humorously made fun of those who prayed and expressed their piety without emotion, in comfort, serenity and quiet. Once when they installed some heating in the Mikvah he said, "Once when there were cold mikvahs there were warm Jews, now there are warm mikvahs and cold Jews."

This same Kotzker said, "Sameness is a sickness. Routine is a paralysis of the spirit."

"He who prays today because he prayed yesterday is worse off than a wicked man."  Do you pray because it is commanded?  And where is your melody?

The Hasidim prayed, moved, shook and danced at prayer. The others scoffed at them, made fun of them. One Misnaged criticized the Hasidim for shuffling their feet even during the silent, meditative prayer and quoted a verse from Ezekiel "Their feet were straight" arguing that the feet must remain side-by-side straight during the prayers. The Kotzker answered "It doesn't mean straight in a literal sense. It means that you should not pray with one foot in the heaven and one foot in hell. It means to be whole in prayer, not mind in and heart out."

In the same period of time there emerged in Manchester England pietists who were called by their enemies "Shakers --Shaking Quakers" who doubled their feet and head together and rolled over in a hoop. At much the same time the disciples of the Maged of Mezeritch did somersaults in their prayers. The Reb Chayim of Kalisk and Reb Hayim Hikel of Amdur engaged in pious acrobatics during prayer and cried out, "Cartwheels for God's sake and for the rabbi's sake."

And why somersaults?

"When a man is affected with pride, he must turn himself over." That is t’shuvah – turning, twisting oneself back to God. Why these odd preparations for prayer? It is like running. One must run fast till the end of the path and then one can leap. But if you stand stock still and then leap in the air you will not travel far. Prayer is a journey that requires a head start.

Hasidim were placed out of the conventional religious community. Some were excommunicated. The rabbis, the scholars, the great Talmudists ridiculed them. Listen to no less a light than Rabbi Jacob Emden in his book Mishpat Sefarim, published in Altona in 1768, "These men perform strange movements, weird and ugly gestures in the prayers of the eighteen benedictions. They clap their hands and shake sideways with their heads, and turn backwards, and the faces and eyes turn upward contrary to the ruling of the rabbis that the eyes should be turned upward when the Kedushah is recited and even then the eyes should be closed."

Rabbi Emden goes on to quote Ezekiel 1:24:  "When the angels stand they let their wings down" but these Hasidim make wings for themselves to fly to heaven. Ask yourself if they will dare to act so in the presence of a king of flesh and blood. Why, the king would have them thrown out that their limbs would be shattered and their bones broken. If I ever see those who do such things which our ancestors never dreamed of, I shall break their legs with a bar of iron."

What lies behind all this Hassidic-Misnagdic acrimony? What lies beneath the external motions? Here is a conflict, a serious debate as to the character of the religious life, how a person should live, and what is ultimately important. The audacious question that was asked, "Which is more significant, study or prayer, Torah or tefillah?" What a strange question.

For the rabbis, for the Misnagdim, there was no question. Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai and his son, sequestered in a cave, did not pray but occupied themselves with the study of Torah. Many of the sages hastened prayer because they were too busy studying. The ideal is learning, the importance is the intellect, the highest level is to become a Talmid Chachham.

"I have gone through the Shas six times already,” the young Talmudic scholar boasted. The Chasidic Rebbe asked him "And how many times has the Shas gone through you?"

For the Hasidic world, study has its limits, even dangers. The Maharal is fearful that study may even jeopardize true communion with God.  That a man should try to commune with God while he is studying is indeed very hard, very questionable.

Torah touches the head. Prayer touches the heart. And the Hasidim insisted God wants the heart. And what is involved in prayer is "avodah shebelav.”

Prayer must be passionate. How can you sit or stand still and pray before God? "All my bones shall speak God." When they informed the Baal Shem Tov that the Misnagdim were laughing at their motions and their shaking, he said to them "Look, when a man is drowning in a river and thrashes around desperately so that someone should save him, do the observers on the shore laugh at him? No one should scorn a man who makes fierce gestures when he prays for he is trying to save himself from the husks, from the klepot and from evil thoughts."

The Misnagdim prayed because it was a duty to perform. But the Hasidim thought differently. "What do you think prayer is? And for whom?  Do you think it is for your sake that you petition God? Do you think that is prayer? To ask for money or for furs or for power or for children?  Do you think that prayer is for you, that God's whole world is for your sake?”  But that is not prayer. That is egoism, spiritual narcissism, that is selfishness, that is begging.

Here we have a Hasidic Copernican revolution in prayer. Prayer is not for your sake. Prayer is for God's sake. It is God who needs prayer. It is God who is in exile. It is God who cries for the universe: It is God who is broken. The "yah" is split from the "vav hey.” Yichud...unity God, make him whole.

Do not ask what God can do for you. Ask what you can do for God. God needs you, needs your prayers because whatever happens below affects what happens above.

What is first line of Psalm 145? “I will extol You my God. I will raise You, I will lift You up."

Why do we shake the body? Not for our sake but for God's sake. We seek to shed the conceit of our self. We seek "hitpashtuth gashmiyooth" - the stripping of our corporeal nature, of your evil thoughts. Shake the greed out of yourself.

In prayer the intent is "bittul hayesh" – the annihilation of the self. Your prayer elevates you to see the world not through your limited, self-centered eyes, but through the eyes of God who is "eyn sof" – limitless, infinite. In prayer movement we shake the arrogant ego out of ourselves. In prayer movement we seek to forget ourselves. Lose yourself so as to find your divine self.

When Rabbi Eliezer complained to his father-in-law, Rebbe Chayim of Zans, "Look, my hair and beard have grown white and I have not merited God's atonement." The Rebbe of Zans replied "Oh my son, you are thinking only of yourself. How about forgetting yourself and thinking of the universe." Shake off the husks of your vanity so that the spark of your holiness is released.

And what are those sparks in you, in us for? For what purpose is the divine image of God? To help God, to raise God, to elevate God, to bless the "ribbono shel olam.”

What? Are we flesh and blood to bless God? Precisely. Do you not remember that Moses when he ascended the mountain was met by God who asked him, "Moses, are you angry at Me?" "Why?" Moses answered. "Because you do not greet Me with a blessing. You do not say "God replied. Moses asks, "But does a mere servant dare to bless his master?" "Moses, let not thy blessings be small in your eyes. Bless me, Moses." Therefore we say "Shalom" to each other. For "shalom" is the name of God.

Therefore we recite baruch atah, adonai – Blessed are You.  Therefore when we recite, we say “Be blessed, be strong, be exalted, be magnified.” The Kaddish is not for man's losses, but for God's losses. We recite the Kaddish to console God who is diminished in the death of one of His children.

Yehay shmey Rabbah mevorach – May His great name be blessed. Hasidic prayer is like breaking a shell or breaking a seed. As a Hasidic master put it, "If a person desires that a new creation should come out of him, he must come to nothing -- the "ani,” the I must be transposed to "ayin" -- to nothing. The seed does not sprout until it has gone down into the earth.

Bow and fall on your face to lift up God's face darkened by His exile.

A Hasid is never disappointed in prayer because it is not for himself that he prays. Every prayer he recited with love and enthusiasm strengthens God. And that is always accomplished.

We are not Hasidim and we cannot pretend that we are. It is not our theology. We are not Hasidim. But we have good reason to appreciate the intensity, the passion, the seriousness of their prayers. And we can do more. We can translate their idea of altruistic prayer, of magnifying God by our devotion to repair the world.

From the critique Hasidic masters we can learn that prayer can degenerate when it becomes nothing but wheedling for favors from the celestial "Giver.” Prayer can become a manipulation of God by sycophancy. Prayer can become a form of idolatry, the Hasidic rabbis warned. Not all the Hasidim understood the rabbis. They imitated the Rebbe's gestures but they did not grasp the deeper intent of the swaying. But "you can imitate everything but the truth.”

The truth of the purpose was to rid oneself of self-preoccupation and concentrate on the spiritual exercise of lifting God on the shoulders of devotion. We can pray to lose our self-centeredness, to pray for more than beads and baubles. To pray for more than more. The Hasidim told a popular parable. A king grew angry at his son, the prince and exiled him. The prince left and wandered among the people for many years. The king had a change of heart. He sent courtiers to find the prince. They did and asked him what he wanted. "I want a pair of strong, stout shoes." "Woe to those,” the Rabbi said. Who forget who they are and pray for small things. Do not forget that you are the sons and daughters of the King. Do not ask like an exiled orphan. Do not pray like paupers. Be not small in your own eyes, for you are not so in God's eyes. Pray with high purpose.

"Why do you pray?" the Rebbe asked. "To perfect myself,” the Hasid answered. "No. You pray to lift up the heavens. And you do so in every gesture of your hand." So it is told of Enoch the cobbler, that with every stitch of his awl that sewed the upper part to the sole of the shoe, he joined God and His Shechinah. What happens below helps fulfill the world above. That is one of the great secrets of the Kabballah which entered into Hasidic prayer. Of this we will speak at Friday evening services throughout the year, to discover the insights and intentions of Hasidism that can be applied to our prayer life.

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