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Old City of Tsfat

2013-01-10T22:59:42+02:00

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Tsfat winter

2013-01-10T22:55:31+02:00

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Tragedy to Triumph

2012-09-20T21:29:34+03:00

An interview with Prof. Elie Wiesel, Honorary Chairman of the Tsfat Education Fund, and Rabbi Ephraim Kenig, on Faith in a Post-Holocaust Era.

Download PDF Version of Interview

In what ways have chassidic teachings shaped your work as a writer, teacher, thinker and Jew? Also, do you consider yourself a chassid in any way?

Elie Wiesel: The answer is yes, I am a chassid, because when I am asked what kind of Jew I am, there are so many different ways to be Jewish, so the easiest response is yes, I am a chassidic Jew. I grew up in Chassidut Vizhnitz, but I also became very close to the late, great, Lubavitcher Rebbe. Although I wasn’t his chassid, I was his friend. I also love Rebbe Nachman of Breslev. I grew up with other chassidic influences, but for me, it is like a love affair with Rebbe Nachman. He deals with love, which is seen through how he viewed the world and the way he told stories. If I could write in the way he wrote, I would probably be better off. I received much from Rebbe Nachman. But truthfully, I have also taken a lot from my Jewish learning. I learn gemara every single day because that’s who I am.

Naturally, I went through spiritual crises after the war, but I never abandoned my passion for study. Many have endured the same events and tragedies as I. People often ask, “How did you survive?” I don’t know how I survived. Believe me, I have no idea. My question, on the other hand, would be different. I would ask how did we remain normal in a world that was so inhuman? We came out of the war as defenseless, absolutely naked. What saved us?

I know what saved my sanity was Torah study. After the war, the moment I arrived at an orphanage in France, the first thing I asked for was a masechet from a Talmudic tractate I had brought with me when I entered the camps. I wouldn’t be who I am today without the influence of Rava and Abaye, Rabbi Akiva, Rebbe Yishmael and actually, also the Baal Shem Tov. I have never given up learning. So I am a chassid in the best sense of the word, despite the fact I don’t look like it. Perhaps if there had been no war, I would be wearing a shtreimel today together with Rav Ephraim—and I say this with nostalgia.

I would like to return to the subject of your special connection to the writings and teachings of Rebbe Nachman of Breslev, in particular because the community that Rav Ephraim leads is devoted to the teachings of Rebbe Nachman. You remarked that of all the chassidic masters, Rebbe Nachman holds a special place in your heart and soul. For example, you teach the stories of Rebbe Nachman to a very wide range of students at Boston University. How have these stories personally impacted you as well as your students?

EW: I began studying chassidic literature as a child. I also studied many other chassidic masters in addition to Rebbe Nachman. I loved stories, and I can tell you exactly when and where it happened that I found Rebbe Nachman’s stories, which are called Sipurei Maasiot. When I was about ten years old, I discovered his stories in Yiddish at home during Shabbat. You are supposed to sleep in the afternoon on Shabbat, but I never slept. I always read. So while my father and mother slept, I began to read those stories and whatever I felt then, I still feel today. His life, his vision, his attacks of anxiety, his writings on how to overcome anguish—Rebbe Nachman was an extraordinary man. I don’t know of any other writer with such creative imagination. Therefore, he had a tremendous impact on many great writers of the 20th century. For instance, there is no doubt in my mind that Franz Kafka was profoundly influenced by Rebbe Nachman.

Sometimes, I realize that I owe something to Rebbe Nachman. I once wrote a novel in French called, “The Town Beyond the Wall.” At the end of the book, I describe how my young protagonist is arrested by the communist police. They put him in jail and torture him in their own way. Afterwards, they place him together in a cell with a madman. It was very clear in the story that if these two remained together, my hero would be contaminated by the insanity of the madman and become insane himself. So I didn’t know what to do with his character at the end. I dislike writing novels or telling stories that do not help a young reader find hope in a hopeless situation, or to write about someone who doesn’t ultimately find faith in a world that denies it. I cannot write such things. So I waited to know what I could do to resolve the end of the story. I then realized it was very simple. In order to save his own sanity, my protagonist would try to cure his cellmate, the madman. While studying one of Rebbe Nachman’s short stories again many years later, [called the “Turkey and the Prince”], I said, “This is Rebbe Nachman!” By using a madman, I saw my story as exactly what he is teaching us. His stories are full of madmen, princes and beggars. These characters are in my novels as well, but he does it better than I. Nonetheless, I learned from him.

So, I teach Rebbe Nachman on occasion at Boston University. I am one of those professors who never give the same course twice, and I can tell you that something extraordinary happens in this class. We also have many non-Jewish students, and at the end of the course, each one, Jew or not, is deeply affected by their studies of Rebbe Nachman. For example, there was a Jewish student who had nothing to do with Judaism. As the course progressed, he suddenly discovered his Jewishness and began to study and observe mitzvot. Another student, who was not Jewish, decided to become a priest and entered a school of theology as a result of her studies of Rebbe Nachman. So his impact is extraordinary to this day. This is why I love Rebbe Nachman.

This question is addressed to both Rav Ephraim as well as Professor Wiesel. We made a conscious decision to host this dialogue in the Museum of Living Jewish Heritage here in Lower Manhattan, which is not only a memorial for the Holocaust, but is steps away from “Ground Zero,” the site of the devastating terror attack which occurred on September 11, 2001. The human capacity for evil, whether because or in spite of technological advancements, has been a difficult dilemma for modern man. Professor Wiesel, you’ve traveled to Cambodia and Bosnia, and have addressed human rights violations in Rwanda and Darfur. You have organized conferences through your charitable foundation on the anatomy of hate and the perils of human indifference in an effort to bring the world toward a proper response to human suffering. In your own teachings of chassidut to your many students, what perspective can Rebbe Nachman’s teachings offer as a response to the tragedies and dilemmas of modern man? I first address this question to Rav Ephraim since his community in Tsfat is dedicated to living and teaching Rebbe Nachman’s spiritual pathway. What do the teachings of Rebbe Nachman have to offer us in the complexity of today’s world?

Rav Ephraim Kenig: When I am asked to expand upon Rebbe Nachman and Breslev Chassidut, I am hesitant and apprehensive since it is an extremely subtle topic. In order to understand it, we must remove all preconceived notions on the subject to date regarding chassidut in general, as well as on the differences between the various chassidic groups. This is because Breslev Chassidut has a completely different purpose than other more recognized chassidic groups. Although Rebbe Nachman lived only 38 and a half years, we see today, 200 years after his passing, the revolution in thought he caused and the vitality his ideas infused into the world for both Jews and non-Jews.

Rebbe Nachman tells us to consider how we are each born and evolve through childhood to teenage years, until we marry and become involved in raising a family. As we age, we slowly accumulate a bit of intelligence as to how the world runs. Towards the end of our life, we view ourselves as old and feeble, with no strength. Yet, now with our accumulated wisdom, how can we start all over again in order to live the right way? This is exactly the unpleasantness that Rebbe Nachman sought to prevent. He tells us, “Don’t make the same mistakes most of the world makes.” He came to arouse the innermost point of a person—to grab him and say, “Just a second… take the time to think a little about who you are and what you are doing with your life!”

EW: To be absolutely honest, these are all moral questions others have asked in their own style. For instance, Rebbe Elimelech of Lizensk asked these same questions, except he did it in his unique way. Yet since Rebbe Nachman had this tremendous imagination, he managed of course to communicate in a different manner, which deeply touches the entire mind and heart.

As to the question of what his teachings offer today, it can be said that Rebbe Nachman was interested in modernity. He read books on philosophy, science, and anything evolving in the field of culture. He was aware of modernity because he wanted to be aware of it. He met alone with people who perhaps we wouldn’t have wanted to meet personally. He went by himself to their meetings. He listened to them and argued with them. To this day, there are all kinds of theories as to why he befriended these people, who were known as maskilim and atheists. Why did he want to meet them in their quarter and hear what they had to say? Perhaps one reason is that he wanted to bring them back into the fold and return the holy spark every human soul possesses. In any event, his interest in them was evident.

As to the world today, I am sure he would tell us what we are already trying to say in our own words. We are all on a train, racing to the precipice, to the abyss. The only thing we can do is pull the alarm—and we must pull the alarm. I don’t ever remember it being like this, where a certain danger that began in a few isolated places has now invaded the entire world. Someone therefore needs to appeal to the Jews, as well as everyone else, because the whole world is in danger. We discussed earlier how we organized conferences on global issues such as infectious diseases and an endangered world. I would like to organize a similar conference or summit meeting but this time, for all world leaders, in order to discuss what to do with hate. If I were to participate, I would certainly bring a page of Rebbe Nachman and read to them what he has to say about hope or despair, and about humanity as well as the abyss that lies before us. There is much to learn from Rebbe Nachman.

Returning to the subject of faith as a response to tragedy, I would like to pose the question of faith to both of you. With all the travails the world is undergoing, what is your approach to the issue of faith in a post-Holocaust era?

RE: Jewish faith has remained unchanged since the creation of the world. It is also the same faith that Abraham revealed to the world. And yet, although faith remains faith, one must always express it in response to historical developments. Some view the tremendous technological advances in the world as posing a contradiction to faith, as if another type of power exists in the world today. This is a fundamental error. A Jew believes that G-d looked into the Torah and created the world. We witness how as more time passes, an increasing abundance of books are written that clarify the Torah, the Talmud, each detail of halacha, along with many chiddushim. Together with this, many different types of wisdom in the field of science came down into the world, which caused a tremendous leap forward in technology. The Holy Zohar, written many years ago, specified the exact date the gates of wisdom would open in the future, [which occurred during the Industrial Revolution in the 1800s]. We witnessed it play out exactly as it was written, since everything in creation is rooted in the Torah.

As much as we’d like to explain faith exactly, it is not possible, since faith constantly hovers above the intellect. It always exists a level beyond the intellect, so as long you are still utilizing your intellect to understand something, faith in inoperative. When you understand, there is no need to rely on faith. On the contrary, you need to exert yourself to understand something within the realm of your intellect. However, when faced with something we don’t understand, we need to defer to our lack of understanding and ascend higher to a level just beyond your intellect and believe with simple faith that there is One Who gives life to the universe and controls everything that happens in the world.

EW: Yes and no. Yes, if one is ready for it, if one is worthy of it, if one is capable of it. But we live in a world of questions. I have spent my adult life asking questions and teaching students how to ask questions. Sometimes we must be satisfied with the question and simply say, “Sorry, I don’t have an answer.” Does it mean I haven’t read enough if I say I don’t have an answer? I’ve read all the books and I still have no answer.

We mention tragedy. If someone comes to me and says, “Listen, I went through everything [during the war] as a very religious person. Now I can’t be religious anymore.” In this case, I respect that person. If someone else comes and says, “Before the war, I was totally secular, and because of what I went through, I became religious,” I have respect for that person too. However, what I cannot accept is the person who remains the same before, during, and after. But I don’t judge, I never, ever judge. I am a witness, not a judge. Yet one thing is clear to me. I can personally tell you that I had a childhood filled with fervor and total faith. I knew nothing else but study and prayer, study and prayer. When I came to France [after the war], I immediately became extremely pious. The crisis came only later, as I was open to the world. I realized that there were questions I cannot avoid—I have to face these questions. This doesn’t mean they negated my faith, only my faith is now a wounded one. But it is still faith. It is because I have faith that I have questions. Someone with no faith has no questions—what does he care about the Ribono shel olam? What does he care whether He is good or not?

Yet I do have faith and therefore I have tremendous questions that increase every day. It is not only about what happened to us during the Holocaust, but with every tragedy that occurs—it is about humanity itself. Ribono shel olam! I really want to know why He created us? Why did He want the world? We say lichvodo—for His honor? What honor? I still really don’t understand why G-d Almighty felt the need to create a world with human beings who have been nothing but trouble. The question remains a question for me.

So how do we respond in light of Rebbe Nachman and all the others? The fact remains that we are here, therefore we must repair the world. By repairing the world, we cannot simply preach to the world, we must first examine ourselves. If I don’t want to be a hypocrite, I cannot tell you what to do unless I first tell myself what to do. Naturally, I must first consider what are my obligations as a Jew, as a chassid as well, but mainly as a Jew. Yet as a Jew, I believe I can do something for non-Jews as well. After I received the Nobel Prize, my wife and I created a foundation to provide care and education to 1,000 Ethiopian children in Israel today. She actually does everything—I only help her. In addition, we organize worldwide conferences on global issues. As a Jew with faith, I do these things.

Professor Wiesel, we’ve heard you remark on different occasions that in your mind, you can be a Jew with G-d or even against G-d, but not without G-d. One of the places in Israel that you describe is in so much peril right now, is in the north of Israel, Tsfat, the home of Rav Ephraim. So as we move towards the conclusion of our conversation, I’d like to ask both of you to comment on what is so special about the unique combination of Tsfat, the beautiful city of kabbalah in the northern Galilee, and wisdom of chassidut that Breslev embodies, as we respond to the challenges of our times. Rav Ephraim, what is the connection between Tsfat and Breslev? How did the shidduch between these two elements come about?

RE: I would simply say the following: It is known that because Rebbe Nachman passed away many years ago, Breslever Chassidim have a special affinity and connection to the resting places of tzaddikim. There are many such sites hidden and resting in Tsfat. Because of this special connection and understanding, the chassidut makes them more sensitive and thus obligates them in a sense, to supervise and administer these holy sites. It was this relationship that caused them to be concerned and become involved with the holy sites in the Upper Galilee, when they suffered from severe neglect and abandonment, particularly with the many tzaddikim buried in the ancient cemetery of Tsfat, like the Arizal. They weren’t merely buried there, these tzaddikim also lived and breathed the holy air of Tsfat during their lifetimes.

Thus, the Breslever Chassidim sought to restore honor and respect to these holy sites. At that time, people would come to visit these sites, even with no connection to Breslev, to recite a chapter of Psalms and return home without looking back at what other treasures there were in the area. For example, how many know where the yeshiva of Rabbi Yosef Karo [who codified the Code of Jewish Law] is located? During his lifetime, this yeshiva held 700 students—and it was in Tsfat. Is it not a pity to come to Tsfat and miss out on the opportunity to see such a place?

These were the thoughts of the Breslever Chassidim, who were more connected to these places, and because of this, they felt the pain of Tsfat and her abandonment. This is not to even mention what my father and teacher [Reb Gedaliah Aharon Kenig, zt”l] received from his teacher, Reb Avraham Sternhartz, about the subject of rebuilding Tsfat. He told my father that it would be a huge favor to the world if Tsfat was rebuilt, and entrusted him with this mission. When Reb Avraham first came to Tsfat on Rosh Chodesh Shevat from the Ukraine, he shed a flood of tears over the situation in Tsfat. He spent a full month in the area until Zayin Adar, a week before Purim. While he was at the nearby resting place of the Tanna, Rebbe Shimon bar Yochai in Meron, he spoke a great deal about the neglect and abandonment of Tsfat and how good it would be for the entire world if she were to be rebuilt and restored. This is the legacy received from Breslev Chassidim—and it will yet be finished, iy’h.

We know that Rebbe Nachman traveled to the Land of Israel in 1799 and reached Tsfat and other holy places in the Galilee. This was the source of the idea that if Tsfat could be revived, and its spiritual power reactivated, it would greatly benefit the Jewish people and the world. So there is a natural connection between Tsfat as a platform and spiritual center of great Torah wisdom, and the contemporary message of Rebbe Nachman, as Professor Wiesel described. Tsfat’s spiritual power, linked with Rebbe Nachman’s interest and message to modern man, is a remarkable combination. Since our dialogue is entitled, “Tragedy to Triumph,” we speak about how humankind in general and the Jewish people in particular can move past tragedy towards personal redemption and geula.

Finally, at the behest of our special guests, Professor Wiesel and Rav Ephraim, a special edition of one of Rebbe Nachman’s stories was published in honor of this evening. The story is called “The Seven Beggars,” a famous tale which lacks a conclusion and is the final of Rebbe Nachman’s thirteen stories. It is about the seven-day celebration after a Jewish wedding, called Sheva Brochos, yet the story spans six days, not seven. Thus it lacks a conclusion and final triumph. In closing, my question is posed to both of you: Why did you select this story and what message does it contain regarding triumph after tragedy?

RE: Rebbe Nachman begins a story about a king who wanted to bequeath his kingdom to his son during his lifetime. The story abruptly stops in the middle without revealing what happened to the king’s son. Rebbe Nachman then continues with another story, which describes a certain wedding between two young children. There are seven days of celebration after a wedding, called Sheva Brochos. Rebbe Nachman’s story revolves around six of these days. Regarding the seventh day, he said the end of the story would only be told in the days of the Mashiach.

The obvious question is why didn’t Rebbe Nachman tell the end of the story? In my heart, I believe he refrained because he himself did not know the end of the story or what would be in the future, because we are now living in the seventh day. The seventh day is dynamic since it depends upon us and our deeds. There is a Divine process to history that depends upon our choices and actions. Through this story, Rebbe Nachman is telling us about the history of the Divine creation process, even reaching back well before the creation of the world. He then brings the story all the way to where we are currently standing in human history, and extends it into the future. However, as to exactly how it will unfold, this simply depends upon our own good deeds. If we will improve our deeds, and truly desire our complete tikkun, there will be much more to the story than what it now tells us—it will be much more beautiful. Yet it all depends on us, as possessors of free choice.

EW: Rebbe Nachman’s story of the Seven Beggars is a masterpiece. I like the beginning of the story, where he says, “I want you to know how people used to rejoice…” Then stories within stories unfold and each one of them is magic. A magical voice draws you further and further inside until you wonder if you are not in the presence of seven distinct beggars, but rather the same beggar who returns seven times in different disguises. And then, you wonder, perhaps you are the beggar…

In 1967, I was in Israel at the time Jerusalem was liberated during the Six-Day War. I had the sensation that Jewish history was running and everybody was running with it. Everyone was running to the kotel—running, running running—and I too was running. It was then I began to write a novel. I wrote it first with my lips. Every day I would arrive at the kotel and write down what I had written with my lips. To me, it was a kind of prayer. It was this novel that I called, “A Beggar in Jerusalem.” Why did I call it a beggar again? Sometimes, I am certain it was simply because of Rebbe Nachman. There are pages in this novel that, to me, became my own prayers. It was these prayers that no one can ever hear except the One to whom these prayers are addressed.

And this, Rebbe Nachman said, is how people once rejoiced. Yet, how can we rejoice? It is so difficult. King Solomon said there is a time to be born and a time to die, etc. But this is, of course, what Rebbe Nachman wants to teach us, that you must dance even when everything in you is broken.

Transcribed from an dialogue facilitated by Rabbi Jay Yacov Schwartz, at the Museum of Jewish Heritage-A Living Memorial to the Holocaust in Lower Manhattan.

In Manhattan: Why is Tsfat Important?

2010-08-09T10:37:54+03:00

Tsfat.Com

Why Tsfat is the "Field of Dreams"

2010-08-08T16:45:39+03:00

Rabbi Moshe Weinberger of Aish Kodesh in Woodmere, NY, addressing a diverse gathering in Manhattan at the Museum of Jewish Heritage-A Living Memorial to the Holocaust. He speaks on the higher significance of Tsfat to our generation in the context of Chassidic teachings.

The Ukraine, Tsfat and Nachal Novea

2010-07-22T02:15:57+03:00

Tsfat.Com

The Catalyst for the Rebuilding of Tsfat

2010-07-22T01:58:00+03:00

Tsfat.Com

The Argument for Strong Jewish Education

2010-07-20T17:50:41+03:00

The commanding officer at the Russian military academy (the equivalent of a four-star general in the U.S.) gave a lecture on "Potential Problem and Military Strategy." At the end of the lecture, he asked if there were any questions.

An officer stood up and asked, "Will there be a third world war? And will Russia take part in it?"

The general answered both questions in the affirmative. Another officer asked, "Who will be the enemy?"

The general replied, "All indications point to China."

Everyone in the audience was shocked. A third officer remarked, "General, we are a nation of only 150 million, compared to the 1.5 billion Chinese. Can we win at all, even survive?"

The general answered, "Just think about this for a moment. In modern warfare, it is not the quantity of soldiers that matters, but the quality of an army's capabilities. For example, in the Middle East, we have had a few wars recently where five million Jews fought against 150 million Arabs, and Israel was always victorious."

After a small pause, yet another officer, from the back of the auditorium, asked, "Do we have enough Jews?"

Thanks to Dr. Roger Meyer of Washington, D.C. for the story.

The Galilee's Strategic Importance

2010-07-20T17:38:23+03:00

Tsfat is one of the four holy cities, alongside Jerusalem, Hebron and Tiberias. Resting on the third highest peak in Israel, Tsfat is a vital military and strategic stronghold in the Upper Galilee, in an area that is 60% non-Jewish. Unlike the other three holy cities, Tsfat is entirely Jewish, with a population of over 25,000 residents.

On Preserving the Ancestral Bond

2010-07-20T14:55:50+03:00

It was a dark, cold night in the Janowska Road Camp. Suddenly, a stentorian shout pierced the air: "You are all to evacuate the barracks immediately and report to the vacant lot. Anyone remaining inside will be shot on the spot!"

Pandemonium broke out in the barracks. People pushed their way to the doors while screaming the names of friends and relatives. In a panic-stricken stampede, the prisoners ran in the direction of the big open field.

Exhausted, trying to catch their breath, they reached the field. In the middle were two huge pits.

Suddenly, with their last drop of energy, the inmates realized where they were rushing, on that cursed dark night in Janowska. Once more, the cold, healthy voice roared in the night, "Each of you dogs who values his miserable life and wants to cling to it must jump over one of the pits and land on the other side. Those who miss will get what they rightfully deserve - ra-ta-ta-ta-ta."

Imitating the sound of a machine gun, the voice trailed off into the night followed by a wild, coarse laughter. It was clear to the inmates that they would all end up in the pits. Even at the best of times it would have been impossible to jump over them, all the more so on that cold dark night in Janowska. The prisoners standing at the edge of of the pits were skeletons, feverish from disease and starvation, exhausted from slave labor and sleepless nights. Though the challenge that had been given them was a matter of life and death, they knew that for the S.S. and the Ukrainian guards, it was merely another devilish game.

Among the thousands of Jews on that field in Janowska was the Rabbi of Bluzhov, Rabbi Israel Spira. He was standing with a friend, a freethinker from a large Polish town whom the rabbi had met in the camp. A deep friendship had developed between the two.

"Spira, all of our efforts to jump over the pits are in vain. We only entertain the Germans and their collaborators, the Askaris. Let's sit down in the pits and wait for the bullets to end our wretched existence," said the friend to the rabbi.

"My friend," said the rabbi, as they were walking in the direction of the pits, "man must obey the will of God. If it was decreed from heaven that pits be dug and we be commanded to jump, pits will be dug and jump we must. And if, God forbid, we fail and fall into the pits, we will reach the World of Truth a second later, after our attempt. So, my friend, we must jump."

The rabbi and his friend were nearing the edge of the pits; the pits were rapidly filling up with bodies. The rabbi glanced down at his feet, the swollen feet of a fifty-three-year-old Jew ridden with starvation and disease. He looked at his young friend, a skeleton with burning eyes.

As they reached the pit, the rabbi closed his eyes and commanded in a powerful whisper, "We are jumping!" When they opened their eyes, they found themselves standing on the other side of the pit.

"Spira, we are here, we are here, we are alive!" the friend repeated over and over again, while warm tears streamed from his eyes. "Spira, for your sake, I am alive; indeed, there must be a God in Heaven. Tell me, Rebbe, how did you do it?"

"I was holding on to my ancestral merit. I was holding on to the coattails of my father, and my grandfather and my great-grandfather, of blessed memory," said the rabbi and his eyes searched the black skies above. "Tell me, my friend, how did you reach the other side of the pit?"

"I was holding on to you," replied the rabbi's friend.

Based on a conversation of the Grand Rabbi of Bluzhov, Rabbi Israel Spira, with Baruch Singer, January 3, 1975. Originally published as "Hovering above the Pit," in the book Hasidic Tales of the Holocaust by Yaffa Eliach, Oxford University Press, 1982.