The Zohar’s remarkable answer to why the Jewish people suffer—and how the Rebbe’s heartbeat continues to give life and hope to every Jew.
There is a remarkable story in the Zohar in Parshas Pinchas. A certain wise man from among the nations came to Rabbi Elazar bar Rabbi Shimon and challenged him with several questions. He began by saying that the Jewish people claim to be closer to G-d than all other nations, and someone close to the King should live with joy and without suffering. Yet, he argued, the Jewish people seem to experience more pain, hardship, and sorrow than anyone else, while the nations of the world do not. Perhaps, he suggested, the opposite is true: perhaps the nations are closer to G-d and the Jewish people are farther away.
This question is still asked today. If the Jewish people are Hashem’s chosen nation, why do they appear to suffer more than others? One would expect that those closest to the Almighty would enjoy greater blessing, security, and happiness.
The man continued with another challenge. Jews are careful to observe the laws of kashrus and avoid foods forbidden by the Torah. Logically, he argued, this should make them healthier and stronger than everyone else. Yet many Jews suffer from illness and weakness, while others eat whatever they wish and seem perfectly healthy and even much stronger. How can that be?
Through these two questions, he sought to undermine the very idea that the Jewish people are chosen. If you are truly close to Hashem, he argued, why do you suffer more and why do you not enjoy physical advantages over everyone else? He concluded dismissively, saying, “Old man, do not answer me, for I will neither listen to you nor accept your words.”
The Zohar relates that Rabbi Elazar gazed at him, and he became “a heap of bones.”
Interestingly, this question is not new. Already in this week’s Parshah, Parshas Shelach, we find the roots of this issue. Moshe Rabbeinu sent twelve spies to scout the Land of Israel and determine how it could be conquered. They returned admitting that the land was indeed “flowing with milk and honey,” but they also insisted that conquering it was nearly impossible because of the strength of its inhabitants and their fortified cities.
Their report frightened the people and caused them to lose faith in Hashem. As a result, Hashem told Moshe that He wished to destroy the nation and create a new people from Moshe himself. Moshe pleaded with Hashem and said, “Why should Egypt say?” What would the Egyptians conclude if the Jewish people remained in the wilderness? They would say that Hashem succeeded in taking them out of Egypt, but was unable to bring them into the Promised Land. If He is all-powerful, and if Israel is His beloved nation, why did they fail to reach their destination?
This is essentially the same question that people continue to ask throughout history. If the Jewish people are the chosen nation, why have they endured so much suffering, persecution, and tragedy?
The Zohar continues that after Rabbi Elazar calmed down, he said, “These same questions I once asked Eliyahu HaNavi, and he told me that they had already been discussed in the Heavenly Academy before Hashem.”
The answer given there was that the Jewish people are the heart of the world. Just as the body cannot survive without the heart, the world cannot survive without Israel. The heart is soft and delicate, yet it sustains all the other limbs. No organ experiences pain and suffering the way the heart does. Furthermore, the heart is the organ closest to the brain, the source of wisdom and understanding. Similarly, the Jewish people are closer to the Holy King than any other nation.
The Heavenly Academy explained that precisely because the Jewish people are the “heart” of the world, they feel more deeply. The heart is the most sensitive organ. It experiences pain before the other limbs do. Thus, the fact that the Jewish people encounter more challenges is not a sign that Hashem is distant from them. Quite the opposite. It reflects their unique role and heightened sensitivity.
The Zohar answers the second question in a similar fashion. The heart does not absorb everything that circulates through the bloodstream. It receives only the purest and finest nourishment because it is more delicate and sensitive than the other organs. The remaining organs receive even the coarser elements and are therefore stronger and tougher.
So too, Hashem gave the Jewish people special dietary laws and restrictions because their role resembles that of the heart. Kashrus was not intended to make Jews physically stronger than everyone else. Rather, it was designed to cultivate greater spiritual refinement and sensitivity. According to the Zohar, the Jewish people are meant to be the holiest and most spiritually sensitive nation, just as the heart receives the purest nourishment because it is the most delicate organ in the body.
32 years since Gimel Tamuz
The Rebbe brings these words in a sichah from 6 Tishrei 5737. In connection with the Rambam’s statement concerning the king that “his heart is the heart of the entire congregation of Israel,” the Rebbe explains that just as the Jewish people are the heart among the nations, the king is the heart of the Jewish people. What does it mean to be a heart? From the Zohar we have already learned that it means to feel another person’s pain.
But the Rebbe adds another fascinating point. The Zohar refers to the heartbeat as “d’fiku d’liba”—the beating of the heart. Unlike every other organ, the heart never rests. As long as a person is alive, the heart beats day and night without interruption, continuously giving life to the entire body.
Everything else in creation requires periods of rest. The land rests during Shemittah. Plants and trees go through periods of renewal. Everything in creation needs a pause from time to time. Only the heart is different. It may not stop, even for a moment. As long as life continues, the “d’fiku d’liba” continues. That is what makes the heart unique.
This Thursday, Gimmel Tammuz, we mark thirty-two years since the Rebbe’s histalkus. Thirty-two is the numerical value of “lev”—heart.
The Rebbe is the heart of the Jewish people. He feels the pain, needs, and concerns of every Jew, wherever they may be. And just as the heart never stops beating, the Rebbe never stopped working on behalf of the Jewish people—encouraging, guiding, helping, and giving life and hope. The Rebbe’s “d’fiku d’liba” is his unceasing devotion to every Jew.
The Tefillin of the Rebbe
I would like to share a remarkable story that illustrates this idea.
Toward the end of 1959, Shelly Baer received a draft notice for the United States Army. Before leaving, he entered the Rebbe’s room and informed him that he would report for service on November 17. The Rebbe blessed him.
After basic training, he learned that he would be sent to Korea. Shortly before his departure, he received a brief leave. When he arrived home, his mother told him, “770 called. The Rebbe wants to see you.”
He hurried to the Rebbe. The Rebbe greeted him warmly and asked the secretary to bring in a package. Inside was a pair of tefillin. Shelly protested that he already had a pair from his Bar Mitzvah, but the Rebbe replied, “I know. But I want you to take these tefillin. Promise me that you will put them on and say Shema every day.” Shelly promised.
Then the Rebbe added, “I want to prepare you. Things will be very difficult there. And even if, for some reason, you cannot put on tefillin, you must still say Shema.”
In Korea, on the first morning, his commander came in and quietly told him, “I know that you are Jewish. Be very careful.” Every morning Shelly tried to put on tefillin without drawing attention, but it was almost impossible. The commander gave him the hardest and most unpleasant jobs. He even tried to prevent him from leaving for a Jewish weekend retreat, even though he was entitled to it through the army.
In order to get to that retreat, Sholom Ber had to fly in a tiny plane built for only two people. During the flight, the engine suddenly stopped working, and the plane began to lose altitude. The pilot could not restart the engine and tried to make an emergency landing in a rice field. But just before they hit the ground, the engine suddenly came back on, and they were saved.
At that point, Shelly still did not connect this miracles to the Rebbe’s tefillin, which he had held throughout the flight. He returned to the base, but the commander continued to harass him. Shelly felt that he could not take it anymore, and he stopped putting on tefillin. He only continued saying Shema.
A short time later, he received a letter from his mother. She wrote, “My dear son, I just received a message from 770. The Rebbe says that you are not keeping your promise.”
Shelly was shocked. He realized that he had to transfer to another unit where he would be able to live as a Jew. He was told that the only possible transfer was to a unit where no one wanted to serve, and he agreed. He was placed in a combat engineering unit that operated behind enemy lines, in dangerous missions such as blowing up bridges, removing mines, and destroying military installations. But there, despite the danger, he was able to put on tefillin every day. He later said that this was compensation for all the dangers he faced.
After about seven months, near the end of his service in Korea, an alarm suddenly sounded. His unit was on the front line, near the border between South Korea and North Korea. Even after the ceasefire of the Korean War, fighting and hostility continued there. Suddenly, they came under heavy artillery fire. The soldiers found themselves in muddy trenches, with bullets raining on them. They had been caught completely by surprise and did not have enough ammunition. The situation was terrible.
In the middle of the shelling, a soldier who slept in the same barracks turned to him and said, “Baer, we need G-d! You have those boxes that you put on every morning. You need to pray for all of us!” Shelly did not think this was the right time, but the soldier looked at him and shouted, “Pray for us, or I will shoot you!”
He took out the tefillin, even though his hands were covered in mud. He put them on quickly, and in the middle of the noise of the shelling, he lifted his eyes to Heaven and cried out, “Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad!”
At that very moment, the shelling stopped. Complete silence filled the area. Shelly later said, “I could not believe what I was seeing.” They came out of the trenches and returned to camp alive and safe.
He said that at the time he had no idea what had happened. He felt as if he was in another world. Later, he learned that the crisis had ended. Not long afterward, he was allowed to return home and continue his life.
The Rebbe was sitting in New York, yet he felt that Sholom Ber was not putting on tefillin in Korea. That is what it means to be the heart of the Jewish people.
As we approach the Rebbe’s yahrtzeit, may we learn from the Rebbe to feel not only the pain of the Jew sitting beside us, but also his joy. In doing so, we will bring true nachas ruach to the Rebbe.
On the way to Korea, he narrowly missed boarding a plane that later disappeared and was never found. Later, while flying in a tiny two-man aircraft, the engine failed and the plane nearly crashed before the engine suddenly restarted. At the time, he did not connect these miracles to the Rebbe’s tefillin, which he held throughout the flight.
Eventually, because of pressure and harassment from his commander, he stopped putting on tefillin and only continued saying Shema.
Shortly afterward, he received a letter from his mother. “My dear son, I just received a message from 770. The Rebbe says that you are not keeping your promise.”
He was stunned. How could the Rebbe know what was happening to him thousands of miles away in Korea?
Determined to remain a proud Jew, he transferred to another unit where he was able to put on tefillin every day.
Months later, while serving near the front lines, his unit came under intense artillery fire. As shells exploded around them, one of his fellow soldiers shouted, “Baer, we need G-d! You have those boxes you put on every morning. Pray for all of us!”
With mud-covered hands, he quickly put on his tefillin and cried out, “Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad!”
At that very moment, the shelling stopped. Silence. They emerged from the trenches alive and unharmed.
Not long afterward, he returned home safely.
The Rebbe sat in New York and felt that Sholom Ber had stopped putting on tefillin thousands of miles away in Korea. That is what it means to be the heart of the Jewish people.
As we approach the Rebbe’s yahrtzeit, may we learn from the Rebbe to feel not only the pain of the Jew sitting beside us, but also his joy. In doing so, we will bring true nachas ruach to the Rebbe
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