An educational lecture by Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Jacobson

00:00 Speaker 1 We will now invite our guest speaker, one of our educators. Besides his gift for speaking, he is an educator in the field at Oholei Torah in the United States. We invited him for an entire week. Usually people use the summer for a vacation, but we issued him a call-up order, as they say here in Israel in the army. He didn’t know. A call-up order—you know what that is? He left all his work, gave up his vacation, and came to the Holy Land to make a round of talks in all the communities of Anash. Thank you very much for that. Please welcome Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Jacobson.

00:58 Speaker 2 Thank you very much. Welcome, everyone. First, about the illustration Rabbi Mendelson gave: I have to tell you that I once called a home and asked the child if I could speak to his father. A few minutes later he came back and told me, “My father told me to say he isn’t home.” As the Gemara relates about Rabbah’s practice, cited by the Alter Rebbe in Tanya, chapter 7, he would begin with a humorous remark. So they tell a story about two brothers who were extraordinarily mischievous. Their names were Yankel and Shmuel, and throughout the town they were known as thieves and liars: they broke things, stole, grabbed, and snatched. Their mother and father didn’t know what to do with them. One day, a great rabbi came to town, a respected rabbi known for his skill in education. Their mother brought both boys to him and tearfully begged him to influence them. The rabbi said to bring them in one at a time—Yankel first, and then Shmerel. So Yankel came in, and the rabbi turned to him and said, “Yankele, where is Hakadosh Boruch Hu? Where is G-d?” Yankel jumped up from his chair, fled the room, ran home, went into Shmerel’s room, shut the door, and said, “Shmerel, you won’t believe what happened today.” “What happened?” he asked. “Hakadosh Boruch Hu is missing. He’s disappeared, nobody can find Him, and they think we did it.” One of the great challenges in the world of education is that sometimes educators or parents have no idea what is happening in the inner world of a child, a boy or a girl, a young man or a young woman. Someone recently told me a story he heard from a Gerer chossid. It’s an interesting story. Perhaps we could ask everyone to turn off their cell phones for a while. Thank you. In Crown Heights in the 1940s, before 5710, the Rebbe lived in a building at the corner of New York Avenue and President Street, until he moved to a new home farther along President Street, I think in 5707. It was on the corner

04:37 Speaker 2 on the third or fourth floor of a building at the corner of President Street and New York Avenue in Crown Heights. One early evening, a boy from the neighborhood or a nearby neighborhood came by. He was a Gerer chossid, from a Gerer family. He was going door to door collecting money for a tzedakah fund, an institution, or some project. He reached the door of the Rebbe’s apartment and rang the bell. The Rebbetzin opened the door and invited him in. He was ten years old. He had come on his bicycle, left it outside, and gone in. At that moment the Rebbe was standing by a table in the living room, or whatever room it was. The table was piled high with books, and the Rebbe was standing there looking into a book without a hat or jacket, wearing only a white shirt. The boy came in. The Rebbe asked, “How are you? What would you like?” He said, “I’m asking for money. I’m collecting for this and that.” The Rebbe gave him a dollar, or whatever it was he gave him. Then he asked, “So, what did you learn in yeshiva today?” The boy was apparently mischievous and rather cheeky, and he also had no idea whom he was talking to. So he said to the Rebbe, “Today our teacher in yeshiva told us that when a Jew learns Torah, he should be wearing all his garments, with awe and reverence, trembling and fear. That is how one must learn Torah. That’s what we learned today in yeshiva: with all the garments.” The Rebbe looked at him and said, “Please tell your teacher that here in Chabad we were taught that what matters most is what’s beneath the garments.” To this day, that Jew, now an older man, remembers the story and tells it to my friend. It taught me a fundamental principle about education. Let’s talk about yeshivos, for example. Some yeshivos are extremely particular about the garments. And of course garments are necessary; they matter. But I personally

07:30 Speaker 2 know yeshivos where there can be bochurim—I’ll speak openly, with everyone’s forgiveness. I know bochurim who spend years in yeshiva without putting on tefillin, and nobody knows about it. The administration doesn’t know. The roshei yeshiva don’t know. The mashpi’im have no idea what is happening inside their hearts. The same is true in homes. People talk about this and that and deal with one thing and another, all of which may be important, but these are what we call the more external garments. In education, the foundation must be a readiness to understand and enter the inner world of a child, a boy or a girl, a young man or a young woman, throughout all the years of their growth and education. Without that, authentic, genuine education is impossible. With that as our foundation, I would like, with your permission, to present this evening a few broad principles of education, drawn from the perspective of Torah, especially Chassidus, and most particularly from the Rebbe’s sichos over the years. In them he built an entire magnificent edifice and addressed the finest details of education. The first point concerns the responsibility involved in education. It says in Chassidic works that in the book of Bereishis, in Parshas Bereishis, when the world was created, Hakadosh Boruch Hu created everything on His own. “And G-d said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.” Hakadosh Boruch Hu creates everything: light, the firmament, water, animals, fish, the great luminaries, the greater luminary and the smaller luminary, and so on. There is one exception: the creation of man on the sixth day. “And G-d said, ‘Let us make man.’” “Let us make” is plural. Our Sages immediately ask: Why the plural? It gives heretics an opening to claim that there are two powers. “Let us make man.” Rashi discusses it, the Midrash discusses it, and Chassidus offers an explanation. All other creatures, after Hakadosh Boruch Hu created them, are more or less fully developed after a few weeks or months. Every animal, every fish: they are born, and before long they are ready to live, survive, and do what they need to do in deserts, fields, seas, forests, jungles, and so on. There is one exception, and that is the human being. For a human being, it does not happen after a few weeks or months. It takes years and years before a child, before a person, is ready to be independent. They develop an identity of their own and become ready to go out and live independently, without being so dependent on their surroundings, their parents, their family, or those close to them. It takes a long time and an enormous investment. “And G-d said”—Hakadosh Boruch Hu turns to every father and every mother and says, “Let us make man.” In other words, let’s make a person together. Let’s shape a human being together. Hakadosh Boruch Hu is saying, as it were, “I cannot do this alone. I can create a body, and I can place a soul in that body, but making a person does not happen automatically.” It takes years of investment in shaping a person physically, emotionally, spiritually, and psychologically. He says, “Let us make man. I need the mother; I need the father.” We must take this little child, this infant, and turn him or her into a person in the fullest sense of the word. To do that, we must know not only about our children’s garments but also what lies beneath them. We must understand what is happening in their hearts and minds. With that foundation, let us sketch out a few basic principles. I wrote down for myself at least ten major principles in the Rebbe’s approach to education. To cover them all, we would be sitting here for several nights. I have a week to speak about them, but at least let’s begin.

10:21 Speaker 2 More or less fully formed. Every animal, every beast, every fish. They are born, and after a short time they are ready to live, survive, and do what they need to do to sustain themselves in deserts, fields, seas, forests, jungles, and so on. There is one exception, and that is a human being. It doesn’t happen after a few weeks or a few months. It takes years and years before a child, before a person, is ready to be independent. He or she has a distinct personality that has been shaped, and is ready to go out and live independently without being so dependent on their surroundings, their parents, their family, or the people close to them. It takes a long time, and it requires an enormous investment. “And G-d said”—Hakadosh Boruch Hu turns to every father. Hakadosh Boruch Hu turns to every mother and says, “Let us make man.” In other words, let’s make a person together. Let’s make a person; let’s shape a human being together. What I mean is that Hakadosh Boruch Hu cannot do this alone, so to speak. I can create a body, I can place a soul in that body, but making a person does not happen on its own. It takes years of investment to shape a person physically, emotionally, spiritually, and psychologically. He says, “Let us make man.” I need the mother; I need the father. We must take this toddler, this baby, and make him or her into a human being in the fullest sense of the word. And for that, we must know not only about the children’s outer garments, but also what lies beneath them. We must, we must understand what is happening in their hearts, what is happening in their minds. With that as our foundation, let’s sketch out a few basic principles. I wrote down for myself at least ten major principles from the Rebbe’s teachings on education. To cover them all, we would have to sit here for several nights. I have a week to talk about the subject, but at least let’s begin.

12:41 Speaker 2 In the opening points: The first foundation of education, especially in our generation, is love, as we will explain, with Hashem’s help. Let’s begin with a story. I heard this story firsthand. I have a relative by marriage who is a Sanz-Klausenburg chossid. His name is Reb Binyamin Viliger. He is a warm, chassidic Jew who lives in Boro Park, Brooklyn, New York. In many matters, he served as the contact between the Klausenburger Rebbe and the Rebbe. Reb Binyamin Viliger had been with the Minchas Elazar of Munkacs before the war, and in Boro Park he is regarded as a chossid of the old school. Reb Binyamin tells it in his rich Yiddish style: “One night, around midnight, I was already going to sleep. I had changed into my pajamas, said Shema before bed, and was under the blanket with my eyes closed. Then I heard the telephone ring. It was already one in the morning. I picked up the phone. This was in 5751. On the other end was Rabbi Yehuda Leib Groner. He asked, ‘Is this Reb Binyamin Viliger?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ Rabbi Groner asked me, ‘Who publishes the Sanz newspaper? There’s a Sanz newspaper that comes out in New York several times a year—I think quarterly, four times a year, maybe five. Who publishes it?’ “I thought to myself: Did he have to call me at one in the morning for that? Does he want to invest money in the paper? Why does he need to know? But Rabbi Groner asked, ‘Do you publish it?’ I said, ‘No. It’s published by members of the Rebbe’s family, the Klausenburger Rebbe’s family.’ He said, ‘Listen, Reb Binyamin, in the latest issue they printed a maamar—

15:37 Speaker 2 “‘—by the Klausenburger Rebbe, who was still alive in 5751. It was from an address he had given around 5717–5720. They found a recording or notes and printed it. The piece is full of words of rebuke—very harsh words of rebuke. The Rebbe asked me to ask you to ask the publishers not to print such harsh pieces in the future.’ “‘Why?’ Reb Binyamin asked Rabbi Groner. He answered, ‘The Rebbe said, in these words: “Because the Jewish people need encouragement and strength.” Now is a time when the Jewish people need encouragement and strength.’” So he hung up and went back to sleep—and I hope he slept well. I wanted to know the other half of the story: What had happened? Rabbi Groner told me. He said that at a quarter to midnight he went into the Rebbe’s room just to finish up the last few things. Usually, before he left, the Rebbe would say, “A gut, gute nacht”—good night. He had gone in for just a minute to deliver something. He saw the Rebbe sitting at his holy desk, looking troubled. Something was weighing on him. The Rebbe was looking at a newspaper through his glasses, reading something, and Rabbi Groner could see on his face that it troubled him deeply. When the Rebbe saw him enter, he looked up and asked, “Who publishes the Sanz newspaper?”—the paper he was reading. Rabbi Groner said he didn’t know. The Rebbe said, “Please call Reb Binyamin Viliger and tell him that this newspaper printed a piece containing harsh rebuke, and ask them not to print pieces like that. Because this is a time when the Jewish people need encouragement and strength.” This is a time to lift the people up, not to put them down or press them with harsh words of rebuke. Rabbi Groner said, “I thought to myself: It’s already—

18:27 Speaker 2 “—close to midnight. By the time I leave the room, it will be midnight. Wake someone in the middle of the night? An older Jew, an important Jew—could I wake him in the middle of the night? The next issue wouldn’t be printed for months. But this was weighing on the Rebbe as though it were urgent. I didn’t know what to do. As I was about to leave, I turned to the Rebbe and said just one word: ‘Now?’” The Rebbe looked up again and said, in these words: “Yes, for this you may wake him from his sleep.” Afterward they discussed other matters. When Rabbi Groner left, he called Reb Binyamin, did indeed wake him, and delivered the message. Reb Binyamin Viliger, that Sanz-Klausenburg chossid, told me, “At that moment I understood what it means to be a Rebbe.” It’s midnight. Any ordinary Jew—even a rabbi, even a tzaddik, even a distinguished chossid—is sitting and learning or doing whatever he is doing. Somewhere in Brooklyn, a Jew is reading a Sanz newspaper, and it contains a piece of rebuke. So what? Who reads it? Is it being read by five million nonobservant Jews who, because of that piece, will enter mixed marriages, start eating pork, eat on Yom Kippur, or stop putting on tefillin? Its readers are observant Jews, wholehearted G-d-fearing people who grew up in chassidic homes, and they will read some words of rebuke. What is so urgent in the middle of the night? But the Rebbe was thinking of the Jewish people: someone is sitting up at night reading a piece that speaks harshly about them, and it weighs on him so deeply. Now is a time to lift up and encourage the people. I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to take that statement of the Rebbe’s and say—

20:45 Speaker 2 —the same thing about education. Today is a time when children, boys and girls, young men and young women, need encouragement and strength. We must love them, lift them up, encourage them, strengthen them and elevate them in every way and in every detail. If you ask, what happened to respect? Respect, too, is a G-dly attribute. What happened to judgment? What happened to restraint? What happened to reward and punishment? What happened to all these things? If I am not mistaken, I think the way we apply them has also changed to some extent. But I don’t want you to think I am putting forward ideas of my own. Hashem brought something to my attention, and I found a moving idea in a work of Polish Chassidus. It says: The Gemara asks why, in Shemoneh Esrei, we say, “Blessed are You, Hashem, our G-d and the G-d of our fathers, the G-d of Avraham, the G-d of Yitzchak and the G-d of Yaakov.” Why not “the G-d of Reuven, Shimon, Levi and Yehudah”? Hakadosh Boruch Hu was their G-d too. The Gemara says that Hakadosh Boruch Hu told Avraham Avinu in Lech Lecha: “I will make you into a great nation”—the G-d of Avraham; “I will bless you”—the G-d of Yitzchak; “I will make your name great”—the G-d of Yaakov. Might we conclude the blessing with all three? The verse says, “And you shall be a blessing”: We conclude with you, not with Yitzchak and Yaakov. That is why, at the end of the blessing, we say, “Blessed are You, Hashem, Shield of Avraham,” not “Shield of Yitzchak” or “Shield of Yaakov,” unlike at the beginning of the blessing. Chassidus explains that throughout world history and the history of the Jewish people, there are three ways to serve Hakadosh Boruch Hu. There is “the G-d of Avraham”: one can see Hakadosh Boruch Hu reflected in Avraham and reveal G-dliness through Avraham’s approach. Avraham was the father of love. One can also serve Hakadosh Boruch Hu and see Him as “the G-d of Yitzchak”—strength and judgment. And there is “the G-d of Yaakov”—harmony and compassion. All three are there at the opening of the blessing. “Might we conclude with all three?” One might think that at the end of the exile, too, in the final footsteps of exile, all three approaches will still be used to conclude. The verse therefore says, “And you shall be a blessing”:

23:25 Speaker 2 “With you they conclude.” At the end of the years of galus, as we stand on the threshold of the Geulah, we say, “And you shall be a blessing”—“Shield of Avraham.” This means that the approach emphasized in education, almost to the exclusion of everything else, is love, love, and more love. “Shield of Avraham.” An educator told me a wonderful story he had heard from a school principal who was not Chabad. This principal came to visit Buenos Aires, Argentina, where there is a large Chabad school. He went in to see the school and asked Rabbi Grunblatt, the shliach in Argentina, to show him the different rooms and classrooms. Rabbi Grunblatt took him into one classroom, and he said, “I want to see another one, and another one, and another one.” Rabbi Grunblatt was already getting tired of it. It’s a very large school. The walls are the same, the pictures are the same. What more is there to see? Another room, another classroom, and another classroom. But the visitor went through every room, every classroom, and every lesson. When he finished, Rabbi Grunblatt said to him, “Nu, perhaps now you’ll explain what this is about.” He said, “Before I came to Argentina, I went into yechidus with the Rebbe. I told him I was going to Argentina, and he asked me to visit the Chabad school. He added one thing: ‘I just want to know one thing. Please go into every classroom and see whether the children are smiling.’” That was all. The Rebbe did not ask him to report on the standard of learning; he would not have been able to determine that from him. He wanted to know whether, when you enter a classroom, you can see that the children are happy. In the language of the Gemara, whether they are glad they were created or would rather not have been created. And while we’re on the subject, all those who spent years in 770 know that when the Rebbe would come in for Mincha in the small zal upstairs, he would sit during the chazzan’s repetition, his holy face toward the congregation. Every

26:18 Speaker 2 single day, the Rebbe would raise his hand, place it against his forehead, and look into the siddur throughout the chazzan’s repetition. He did this for decades. Then one day the Rebbe sat down on the bench—he did not sit on a chair, but on a bench by the table, the table my grandfather, Reb Yankel Lipsker, z"l, had built—and did not raise his hand to his forehead. He simply looked into the siddur, with his hands resting on the table. Those who noticed were puzzled. What had changed? The following day it happened again: he did not raise his hand. One of the bochurim approached a member of the secretariat and asked what it meant. He replied, “What are you watching for? What is this?” But the bochur said, “No, no, no. That’s just it. I really don’t know how I’m going to find out.” The next week was strange. One day the Rebbe raised his hand, the next day he did not. One day yes, one day no. This went on for two weeks. On most days he did not raise it. But after a few weeks things went back to normal, and the Rebbe again raised his hand to his forehead every day. One bochur could not sleep; he had to know what had happened. So he came up with a clever idea. One day he davened Mincha beforehand, and when the Rebbe sat down during Mincha, he watched carefully to see what was happening in the room. This was in the later years, in the 5740s. The room was packed, and the bochurim stood pressed together. Physically, there was no room to bow—they were packed like sardines, if you’ll pardon the comparison. It took him quite a while to catch on. That bochur

28:44 Speaker 2 finally caught on to what had happened. You surely remember the man, since he lived here in Israel. I grew up in Crown Heights, so I remember him well, and many of you surely know whom I mean. Every year or two, a Jew would come to Crown Heights to collect money. He had been injured here in Israel in a terrorist attack by the PLO, may their name be erased, in the 5730s, and his face was terribly swollen. Do you know whom I mean? He would come to Crown Heights every couple of years for a few weeks to collect money. He was a Jew from Israel, blind, a man with a good heart. But as a child, I was afraid to look at him. His face was very, very swollen, especially his lips, and his face had been completely burned. He could not see, and his lips in particular looked utterly unusual. His whole body looked very different; he had simply been burned in the attack. As a child, when I saw him in the street, I would run away. I was afraid to look at him. The bochur noticed that whenever this Jew entered the zal to daven Mincha, even if he stood in a corner where the Rebbe would have had difficulty seeing him, at that Mincha the Rebbe did not raise his hand to his forehead. Apparently, the Rebbe did not want anyone to think he was raising his hand to his forehead because he felt uncomfortable looking at this Jew. When the man was not there, the Rebbe returned to his previous practice and raised his hand. The Rebbe did not place his hand on his forehead for comfort. Like all the practices of the Rebbeim, it had deep significance in Kabbalah. Kabbalah discusses the connection between Mincha and the forehead of Adam Kadmon, or that aspect of the forehead. That is why the Rebbe had done it for decades—and yet he set aside this practice, a practice

31:09 Speaker 2 rooted in the holiest teachings, with depths beyond our grasp, so as not, G-d forbid, to hurt a Jew’s feelings. The man might have found out, or someone else might have thought that the Rebbe did not want to look at him and that this was why he covered his forehead. If this applies to a Jew who could not see, how much more so does it apply to young boys and girls who are growing up, whose character we are shaping. Today especially, a lack of love and sensitivity toward who they are can hurt them deeply. Listen to how an educator speaks. I spoke with an educator in California who told me that before he went into education, he visited the teacher who had taught him when he was four years old. He had loved that teacher, so he went to learn from him how to educate children. His teacher, by then an elderly man, told him, “I have just one principle to tell you. An educator must love his students. If he cannot love children because they drive him crazy, he should find another job in the school. That’s fine—find another job in the school, but don’t be a teacher. If you do not have it in your mind and heart to love your students, this isn’t for you. It isn’t for you.” The new teacher asked him, “But what do you do when you hate a child? What if there’s a boy or girl in your class who drives you crazy?” As we say in English, “He makes your life miserable.” Meaning, you come home every day with a terrible headache because of that kid. What do you do with him? The old teacher said, “You have to love that child twice as much.” He asked, “Why? That doesn’t make sense. Tell me I have to love him equally—but why twice as much?” He answered, “Because last year’s teacher hated him. You don’t just have to love him; you have to make up for what happened last year. You have to love him twice as much.” But here

33:53 Speaker 2 The big question is: Still, how? Today, fathers and mothers are preoccupied with earning a living, with spiritual concerns and material concerns. Being a parent is not easy. It never was, and especially not today. There is confusion and pressure from within and without, in spiritual and material matters—especially when, bli ayin hara, there is a large family, or when, G-d forbid, there are problems in the family, material or spiritual. The pressure can be so great, so overwhelming, that even ordinary people and good parents buckle under the burden of raising their children. They let out their tension, usually on the little ones. If they cannot take it out on the rabbis or the educators, they take it out on the little ones. They take it out on them. There is a wonderful sicha on this, and I identified with it. It is truly a foundation for this whole subject. The Rebbe spoke about it in a yechidus for guests, I believe in Adar 5717, after Purim, I think. There was a yechidus for guests who had come for Purim, and the Rebbe spoke about the pressure involved in raising children and how it should be handled. He then cited the words of our Sages on “They shall make Me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell within them.” The Shelah, Reishis Chochmah, Or Hachayim, and the Alter Rebbe in Likkutei Torah write: It does not say “within it,” but “within them”—meaning, within each and every Jew. And in his distinctive way of portraying it, the Rebbe put it like this: Now imagine—imagine this. I am going to use the Rebbe’s words; he said it in Yiddish, and I am translating more or less. A tiny baby, a little boy or girl, is lying in a cradle in the corner of the room, crying without stop, as babies do. Mothers certainly know this, and perhaps some fathers do too. Crying without stop. And it is possible—put plainly, in my own words—it can drive you crazy. And certainly

36:46 Speaker 2 a feeling opposite to love can develop. The Rebbe says: Now we have to think. Shlomo said of Hakadosh Boruch Hu, “The heavens and the heavens of heavens cannot contain You.” Nothing can serve as a vessel or a place for Hakadosh Boruch Hu to dwell, because He is truly infinite and without limit. “The heavens and the heavens of heavens cannot contain You.” Nothing can contain the infinite light of His Essence and Being. Hakadosh Boruch Hu says: But I have placed Myself in one place. Where? In the heart of this tiny baby who is crying without stop: “I shall dwell within them.” In that heart. This is how the Rebbe said it in Yiddish: in the little heart of the tiny child lying in a cradle in the corner. Within the tiny heart of that little boy or girl lying in the cradle, within that little heart, within those tears, within that tiny body, lies, so to speak—this is how he said it—the Essence and Being of the Infinite One, blessed be He. Is there any task in life more important or greater than caring for, educating, and shaping that heart, than being sensitive to it? And this holds true throughout all the years of raising a child. We look at a boy or girl and hear that they have problems: this problem, that problem. They are difficult in this way. We need to—this is not a child who is a nuisance; this is not a child with problems. This is a heart, the one place here in which the Essence of the Infinite One dwells. And, as the Rebbe told the parents in yechidus, it is only of Jews that He said, “I shall dwell within them”—within this heart. And you, you have been given the privilege, the privilege of raising this heart, of shaping it. [unclear] That is already a different outlook. And on this first point, the point of love, it is impossible not to conclude with a teaching of the one whose yahrzeit we are marking, the holy scholar and kabbalist

39:19 Speaker 2 Reb Levi Yitzchak Schneerson. He once commented on what is written in Parshas Ki Sisa. After the sin of the Golden Calf, when Hakadosh Boruch Hu says, “Leave Me be, and I will destroy them and make you into a great nation,” Moshe Rabbeinu says to Hakadosh Boruch Hu: “And now, if You will forgive their sin—and if not, erase me, please, from Your book that You have written.” All the commentators ask: The wording does not fit; a word is missing. “And now, if You will forgive their sin”—then what? A word needs to be inserted: “good.” If You forgive their sin, good; and if not, “erase me, please, from Your book that You have written.” But that is not what the Torah says. It says, “And now, if You will forgive their sin, and if not.” So the commentators write that the verse is abbreviated and leaves out that word. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak offered a very striking insight here: Moshe Rabbeinu meant something else. “If You will forgive their sin, and if not”—whether You forgive them or not, even if You do, “erase me, please, from Your book that You have written.” Why? Why could Hakadosh Boruch Hu have considered destroying all the Jewish people? Because of “I will make you into a great nation.” Since Moshe Rabbeinu existed, the oath to the forefathers could be fulfilled through Moshe. Moshe said: If my presence in the world, my presence in the world, can make it conceivable for Hakadosh Boruch Hu to destroy all the Jewish people, then “erase me, please, from Your book that You have written.” If I can be the cause of the destruction of all the Jewish people, I do not want to be there in the Torah. I—I am out of here. I want no part of it. “If You will forgive their sin, and if not.” And indeed, this is why it comes to pass in Parshas Tetzaveh that Moshe Rabbeinu’s name is not mentioned there, since the words of the Baal HaTurim on this are well known. They tell of a time when the Frierdiker Rebbe told Rabbi Chatche Feigin, may Hashem avenge his blood, his secretary, to bring the outstanding bochurim

41:43 Speaker 2 into the room, into the yechidus room. He wanted to deliver a maamar of Chassidus before the outstanding Temimim. Reb Chatche was not only a wonderful chossid but a clever man as well. He entered the hall and knocked on the table. He said, “The Rebbe has instructed that the outstanding Temimim may come in to hear a maamar of Chassidus.” But he understood what a burden that was. He opened the door to the yechidus room and told one of the bochurim, one of those who talks a lot, “Let everyone know the door is open.” How did he put it? “The Rebbe’s door is open.” What bochur would be foolish enough not to go in? So they all went in. He had done what was required of him: he had relayed the instruction to the bochurim. But he opened the door and, by indirect means, made it known that the door was open, and everyone went in. The Frierdiker Rebbe raised his holy eyes. He knew the bochurim, of course, and saw who was in the room. Presumably, he understood that the bochurim were standing right in the front row, because the outstanding ones were probably more embarrassed. I once heard from Reb Leibel Groner that he went in to the Rebbe one morning. Incidentally, the Rebbe asked him, “Was there a farbrengen yesterday at 770?” He said yes. The Rebbe asked, “Who led it?” He said, “Reb Nissan.” Reb Nissan was in New York and had led a farbrengen. The Rebbe asked, “Nu, what did he speak about?” He said, “Reb Nissan was farbrenging, and the bochurim were standing there. He said: ‘How can a bochur who is not properly careful in thought, speech, and action stand like this before the Rebbe? If throughout the day he is not careful in thought, speech, and action—we are not talking about character traits, but about thought, speech, and action as we have learned, about stray thoughts and so on, and about speech and action—how can he stand there? Isn’t he ashamed?’” The Rebbe looked at Groner and said, “He is right, after all.” And that was that. He is right. In any event, the Frierdiker Rebbe raised his eyes and saw what was happening. So he did not say

44:10 Speaker 2 Nothing. He delivered the maamar. The boys went out, and the Frierdiker Rebbe turned to Chatshe and said, “Where are the outstanding Temimim? Didn’t we agree that the best boys would come in? What did he do now?” Chatshe turned to the Rebbe and said, “They are all beloved, they are all beloved.” The Frierdiker Rebbe said, “Yes, but are they all pure?” Chatshe said, “Rebbe, I don’t know, but they are all strong.” The Frierdiker Rebbe said, “Yes, but are they all holy?” Chatshe said, “Rebbe, I don’t know, but they all do the will of their Maker with awe and reverence.” The Rebbe said to him, “Thank you.” That’s what the Rebbe said to him. Because Chatshe did not educate through discipline. He was a chossid. He understood that they are all beloved, they are all pure. No—but they are all strong, they are all fighting, and they all face difficult struggles within their hearts. They are all extraordinarily holy, but there is some point at which they do not do the will of their Maker with awe and reverence. And this is the end of the galus. This is a time when every Jew needs encouragement and strength. Every boy and girl, every young man and woman—we must value them, cherish them and love them deeply, truly and sincerely, if we are to succeed in education. That is the first point. It is also the second and third point, but let’s call it the first point of the second part. There’s a story people tell. A Jew I know, a Vizhnitzer chossid, told me this: He was in a yeshivah, and there was a boy about whom rumors were going around that, G-d forbid, he was not careful about keeping Shabbos. Well, the rumor reached one of the heads of the yeshivah. He called the boy in and threw him out of the yeshivah. “This is what they’re saying about you. I don’t want to see you. Go, get out of here, and don’t come back.” “What am I supposed to do with my life?” “That’s not my problem. You don’t belong here.” A more senior head of the yeshivah heard what had happened. He called in the educator under him and asked, “Why did you throw him out of the yeshivah?” “What do you mean? They say he isn’t

47:16 Speaker 2 careful about keeping Shabbos.” He said, “I don’t understand. You know that today, throwing a boy out of yeshivah is a matter of pikuach nefesh. He’ll go out onto the streets. He won’t go to a kollel; he won’t go to a shtiebel to sit and learn. He’ll go out onto the street, and who knows what he’ll do there. So I have a simple question for you: You didn’t have to kill him. But there is an explicit Mishnah in Sanhedrin: capital cases are judged only by twenty-three. Was there a Sanhedrin of twenty-three judges here, twenty-three judges who decided together that this boy deserved a death sentence, or the like?” He said, “No. I made the decision myself.” “Capital cases are judged only by twenty-three. Bring the boy back.” But by then, ego had entered the picture. And when there is ego and fighting among educators, G-d forbid, he says, “Listen, no, this is a matter of my honor now. Either you take the boy back and I leave, or the boy stays out and I stay.” The senior head of the yeshivah was an expert, so he said, “Listen, throwing the boy out is a capital case. Throwing you out is a monetary case. And for that there is a Mishnah: monetary cases are judged by three, or by one qualified expert. I’m one qualified expert. This is a monetary case. You’re out, and the boy is in.” And that’s what happened. He was supposed to give the shiur the next day. But that boy who was brought back—and I know his name—is now a respected Jew living in the Holy Land, with a beautiful family of sons, daughters and grandchildren, and almost great-grandchildren, with Hashem’s help; a whole, G-d-fearing Jew. Now we’ll move on, with Hashem’s help, to the second point, which is closely connected to the first point we discussed, but is in a somewhat different area. It is also especially relevant to the present time. In Chassidus there is an interpretation offered half in jest, as a hint, but it’s delightful. Yosef is in Potiphar’s house, and Potiphar’s wife wants to cause him to stumble. G-d forbid.

50:06 Speaker 2 The Gemara in Sotah says that Yosef almost gave in to Potiphar’s wife’s repeated requests, as we know from the whole story in the Gemara. What happened in the end? He saw the image of his father Yaakov’s face. Just before he stumbled, Yosef saw Yaakov’s image, and because of that he did not stumble. So everyone asks: What did he see there? He knew he was Yaakov’s son, and that had never helped him. What changed when he saw the image of his father Yaakov’s face? I once heard a Chassidic interpretation. He saw the image of his father Yaakov’s face. Meaning, it wasn’t that he saw Yaakov’s image. It means that Yosef Hatzaddik saw his own image as Yaakov Avinu saw him. He saw the image of his own face. He saw himself from Yaakov Avinu’s perspective. Thank you very much. What does that mean? Why does a person usually commit a sin or stumble? Because he sees himself as some lowly creature, some vermin, some animal—lazy, in a bad mood. Yosef Hatzaddik saw himself as Yaakov saw him. When educating a boy or girl, I think we must instill this point in them: help them understand what their own image looks like through Yaakov’s eyes. I can wake up in the morning, you can wake up in the morning, a chossid can wake up in the morning and feel lazy, feel like an animal, feel low, feel unimportant, feel dirty and contaminated. In a bad mood. But we need to stop for a moment and think about one thing: Would Yaakov Avinu agree with this assessment of me? Would the Rebbe? How does the Rebbe think of me? What does the Rebbe think of me, or of you, or of you, the girl? Does he also think I’m an animal and a nobody, contaminated and dirty, a demon and lazy, messed up, distant, repulsive, depraved and loathsome? And in a bad state?

53:12 Speaker 2 Would Yaakov Avinu agree with that assessment? A chossid needs to ask himself: How does the Rebbe see me? The Rebbe sees me as a part of G-d above, with a spark of the Infinite within me, and therefore able to transform the world and change the world. You’re a demon? You’re a piece of infinity, a piece of infinity. That is how we need to educate a child today: that they are a piece of infinity. And I think that perhaps we need to change our approach in many of our institutions and homes, too. Among chassidim, Chabad chassidim, the custom for many years was to farbreng, and the boys would farbreng. And there is a familiar expression among us. A mashpia, an educator, says: “Who are you? You’re nothing. You’re nothing, and especially after [unclear], you’re certainly nothing. You’re nothing. Utterly nullified, truly of no account. You’re a nobody; a mosquito preceded you.” And sometimes this is a major approach to education—in farbrengens, in classes, in private conversations. I think—perhaps I’m mistaken—but I think that in this period, it is a clear educational mistake. And the fruit it produces will not be good fruit. Let me give a classic example through which I came to identify with this outlook this year. I’ll give an example. One of the foundations of Judaism is reward and punishment. If you do mitzvos, Hakadosh Boruch Hu will reward you. If you commit sins, there are punishments. And children hear about it constantly: reward and punishment, reward and punishment, reward and punishment. When I was growing up, some of my teachers were good and some were not so good. Oops. And many children from my class, to this very day, feel fear toward Hakadosh Boruch Hu. I don’t mean reverence; I mean fear. As though there were some [unclear] standing in heaven with a knife: if you do a mitzvah, he’ll throw you candy—how do you say “candy”? A sweet. If you commit a sin, he’ll push the knife into the child’s back. If not in this world, then in the next world. I once spoke to Jewish women and girls in Boro Park about

56:34 Speaker 2 Yom Kippur, and I spoke about how on Yom Kippur there is a revelation—the revelation of the yechidah of the soul. Fifteen minutes out of a two-hour talk were about the revelation of the yechidah of the soul. A woman came up to me in Borough Park, trembling. I asked, “Why are you trembling?” She said, “Is what you said part of Judaism? That on Yom Kippur the yechidah of the soul is revealed?” I said, “Yes, I think so. I haven’t studied other religions.” She said to me, “I don’t know. For forty years I was brought up to believe that Yom Kippur is the most cursed, dreadful day of the year. Hakadosh Boruch Hu sits with His books: this one dies, this one lives; this one dies by fire, that one by plague; this one by strangulation, that one by stoning. And you made it about the yechidah of the soul.” I told her, “I took it from Likkutei Torah, Parshas Pinchas.” She said, “I’ve heard of that.” It isn’t my own innovation. Likkutei Torah is part of Judaism. She didn’t believe it. She simply didn’t believe that I was speaking about Judaism. How do we speak about reward and punishment? How do we speak about it? Let’s take a sicha of the Rebbe’s from 6 Tishrei 5745. The Rebbe made a siyum on Tractate Sukkah. Tractate Sukkah ends with a very dramatic story about Miriam bas Bilgah. Our Sages penalized the watch of Bilgah, one of the priestly watches, because of what happened with Miriam bas Bilgah. What happened with Miriam bas Bilgah? The Gemara tells us that during the Greeks’ war against the Jewish people, she went and married a prominent Greek general. She entered the Beis Hamikdash together with the Greeks, though she was a Jewish girl from a priestly family. When they entered the Beis Hamikdash, the Greeks burned and desecrated it, breached it, broke things and defiled the Sanctuary and the entire Beis Hamikdash. This was before the victory. The Gemara tells us that Miriam took off her shoe, went up to the altar and began striking it with the shoe, shouting, “Lukos, lukos!”

59:09 Speaker 2 “How long will you consume the Jewish people’s money and not stand by them in their time of distress?” “Wolf, wolf”—lukos, lukos. The Maharshal says that lukos means “wolf” in Greek. How long will you eat up the Jews’ money? Every day they sacrifice two lambs upon you. Like a wolf, you eat the lambs; you eat up all the Jewish people’s money. But when they are in trouble, when the Greeks are burning, killing and murdering, you do not stand by them in this time of distress. You sit here in silence. Is this the reward for hundreds of years’ worth of money, for sacrifices you keep eating and eating? Because of this shocking act, the entire watch of Bilgah was penalized. To this very day, in our times. Hundreds of years. What a story. The Gemara [unclear]. The good and the bad, the good [unclear] the siyum of Tractate Sukkah. So when the Rebbe delivered a hadran on Tractate Sukkah, he chose to bring out the positive in Miriam bas Bilgah and made several points. But there are two points I want to convey here. He says something here about the inner response of a Jewish soul. If I were learning the Gemara, as we learn the Gemara, I would say she did something terrible, and that’s that. Where is the Jewish soul in all this? It’s hard to understand. Let me put the question in my own terms: Sixty years ago, if a Jewish girl from Warsaw or Krakow or Łódź went and married Adolf Eichmann, may his name and memory be erased, or Himmler or Mengele or Rommel—those accursed murderers—a Jewish girl! Any Jew who heard this could say, like the prophet Jeremiah, [unclear]. How far can a person fall? Well, apostasy—I can understand that. But to enter into marriage with a German murderer who wanted to exterminate the Jewish people? There are no rational words to describe it. And that is what she did. Then that Jewish girl

1:02:07 Speaker 2 who married a Nazi—and a general, not an ordinary soldier—enters the Beis Hamikdash in Kfar Chabad, takes off her shoe and starts banging it on the bimah. “Lukos, lukos.” You might say, “Oh, big deal.” Surely the greater offense overshadows this one. That’s the point. The fact that she married a Nazi isn’t discussed; it’s almost an aside. She took a shoe and struck the altar, while all around her the Greeks were destroying the entire Beis Hamikdash. So there’s one more shoe on the altar. A great desecration: she is desecrating the altar. The Rebbe says: Compared to what she had done, what did this amount to? What did it amount to? The greater offense overshadows it; it’s nothing. She struck the altar—but think of what she had done! What a rebellion, what a rebellion against the Jewish people. A filthy, repulsive rebellion, with no basis even in the most basic human morality. And the Rebbe said: But here we see what a Jew is. He cited the Rambam’s words in Igeres Hashmad, among the Rambam’s letters. The Rambam writes that when Yeravam ben Nevat is punished, he will be punished not only for introducing idolatry throughout almost the entire Holy Land. He brought down the spiritual state of the nation, as our Sages say, and caused the Jewish people to sin. The Rambam says Yeravam ben Nevat will also be punished if Yom Tov fell on a Friday and he cooked on Friday for Shabbos without making an eruv tavshilin. By law, he will be punished for that too. That is what the Rambam writes. The Rebbe asked: Is that a novel point or not? On the face of it, it’s obvious. Just because he worshipped idols, should he not be punished for failing to make an eruv tavshilin? If a religious Jew, a moral Jew, a good Jew fails to make an eruv tavshilin, he receives a punishment. So because Yeravam ben Nevat is such a tremendous sinner, he should not receive a punishment for that? As our Sages say in the Gemara, in Bava Metzia,

1:04:36 Speaker 2 “If someone ate garlic and his breath smells, should he go back and eat more garlic so that his breath smells even worse?” Just because I already smell, should I make the smell worse? Yet the Rambam presents this as a novel point. What is novel about it? The Rebbe explained: This is the novel point. Seemingly, if Yeravam ben Nevat built two great golden calves in Dan and Beis El, if Yeravam ben Nevat dragged the entire Jewish people down to the lowest depths of idolatry—actual worship of Baal—he devastated the soul of the nation. He reduced the Torah to chaos, G-d forbid. Surely he cut off his soul from G-dliness. So why should I care whether he cooks on Yom Tov? Is he any worse than a non-Jew, who may cook on Yom Tov for Shabbos? To this the Rambam says something remarkable: Because Yeravam ben Nevat is a Jew, it may be that he devastated the entire soul of the nation, and seemingly you could say that he separated himself completely from the living G-d. But, as the Rebbe put it in Yiddish, “The Rambam says: An action of Yeravam ben Nevat touches the very essence of Hakadosh Boruch Hu.” Separated? Who is separated? An action of Yeravam ben Nevat touches His very essence. With Miriam bas Bilgah, one might say that she threw her soul to the dogs, to Satan, or [unclear]. Why should it matter? The Gemara says: If she is a Jew and comes to the altar and says, “Lukos, lukos,” expressing her pain on behalf of the Jewish people, then His very essence cannot be indifferent to it. Yes, she married a Greek, one of the enemies of the Jewish people, one of those murderous Greeks. That’s true. But when she strikes the altar, that is a Jew. What a connection to the essence of the Infinite! And the Rebbe went on to say: So we see there how she cursed the altar, how she cursed the altar. Why did she care? “Lukos, lukos.”

1:06:54 Speaker 2 “You consume the wealth of the Jewish people, yet you do not stand by them in their time of distress.” And here—and this is on tape too—the Rebbe burst into bitter tears. Everyone who was there remembers how shaken they were. He wept intensely and said: [unclear]. Look at this: a Jewish girl marries a Greek man. But why does she hate the altar? And why does she say, “You do not stand by them in their time of distress”? Why don’t You save all the Jewish people? Why don’t You care about all the Jewish people? That is what troubles her. By the way, this was on Vav Tishrei. On Simchas Torah, the Rebbe gave a sicha saying that he had received many complaints: How could one speak in defense of Miriam bas Bilgah? How could one do that? Immediately after saying this, he began telling a story, and everyone understood that it was his answer. He said, “Well, there is a story about that.” He told a long story about the Alter Rebbe. Once, a Jew came to him. It is a terrible story. A Jew came to him, and the Alter Rebbe began delivering a maamar in defense of those who murdered Zechariah the prophet. They murdered Zechariah the prophet on Yom Kippur. Scripture says of him, “Zechariah son of Jehoiada the priest,” a prophet, “in the courtyard of the House of Hashem.” They murdered Zechariah in cold blood, and the Alter Rebbe spoke in their defense. It is a long story, but the point, in the briefest terms, is that the Alter Rebbe said: Why did they murder Zechariah? Because they sensed that he was about to deliver a prophecy that the Beis Hamikdash would be destroyed and the Jewish people would be exiled and killed. They knew that once a prophet uttered a prophecy, it became much harder to change. So they sacrificed themselves, not only in this world but in the World to Come. They killed a Jew to save the Jewish people as a whole; they sacrificed themselves. Certainly, it was a mistake, a grave sin, but the Alter Rebbe spoke in their defense. What happened at that moment? The Rebbe said: The Jew who had come

1:09:16 Speaker 2 to the Alter Rebbe was possessed by a dybbuk. When the Alter Rebbe finished speaking, the dybbuk left and the Jew was healed. The Alter Rebbe said it was the soul of the person who had murdered Zechariah. For thousands of years it had sought rest and could not find it, until someone spoke in its defense. Then it found rest. The Rebbe finished the story and said, “So why do they mind if we spoke in defense of Miriam bas Bilgah?” Everyone understood what had happened at the farbrengen on Vav Tishrei. There is a second matter connected with this. At that time, there was a respected woman in Crown Heights who, within months, became mentally ill. Those close to her knew about it. The fact is that afterward, on Sukkos of that year, she recovered. So there is that. The connection is only a guess, and to my mind it is not the point. This also has to do with how we educate. I thought to myself: If the Rebbe had not given that sicha on Simchas Torah and someone had asked me, “So, what did the Rebbe speak about at the farbrengen?” I would have said, “An enjoyable sicha about Miriam bas Bilgah.” That’s all. Would I ever have dreamed that if they brought that person to the Rebbe, a dybbuk would leave, a soul would be saved, and the soul of Miriam bas Bilgah would also find rest? Who could have guessed that? It only teaches us that with thousands upon thousands of sichos and sayings and so on, we do not even begin to know. In Rashi’s words, [unclear]. But what can we say about this approach? As the Rebbe—how shall I put it—already points out, the book of Amos says: “You alone have I known of all the families of the earth; therefore I will call you to account for all your sins.” The Rebbe explained: “You alone have I known”—“known” is an expression of affection. Because I love you, “therefore I will call you to account for all your sins,” because your sins cause Me pain. A concrete example: If a person is unmarried—if

1:11:50 Speaker 2 a person is unmarried and does not return phone calls for a year, well. But if a person is married and out of the country, and his wife tries to call him for one day—we are not talking about a year—and he does not return her calls, she will suffer from it. Why will she suffer, and rightly so? Because there is a relationship. There is a bond. If I am alone in this world, no one cares what I do or do not do. I can call or not call. But if I am connected to another person, what I do or do not do affects that person’s life. So if I behave negatively, it changes me and it changes her, and that has negative consequences. In this sense, a boy or a girl needs to understand: every movement of theirs touches Hashem’s very Essence. They are not alone in a world where their existence counts for nothing. Every movement in thought, speech, and action by every person touches the very Essence of Hakadosh Boruch Hu. That is why, “Therefore I will call you to account for all your sins.” When a Jew does not call the One to whom he is bound, who asks, “Please, come and daven Shacharis. I need your Shacharis. I need your attention,” there are negative consequences. And that is the approach, the second point here in education: There is a way to give up on someone, or to subdue them, and sometimes even to shame them. But I think that in our time, in this era, when it comes to education we must always emphasize and reveal the infinite depth and wonderful potential in the life of every Jewish boy and girl. That is why reward and punishment have a place, and so on.

1:14:33 Speaker 2 Time is short, so I want to conclude very briefly with one more point that I think is very important. Thank you. There is no need for that. What lies beneath the garments matters. Well, I will take the liberty of saying something I just thought of, because the second point could be misunderstood. And Kfar Chabad in particular is a sensitive place, full of energy in several ways. We need to be careful here. Those who study the intellectual teachings of Chabad Chassidus know what the Tzemach Tzedek writes in Derech Mitzvosecha, in the mitzvah of the unity of Hashem. This is the whole point of Chassidus: “There is no ‘I,’” as we say in Yiddish. The whole point of Chassidus is that there is no “I”; the ego does not exist. To turn “ani,” “I,” into “ayin,” “nothingness.” All the maamarim—the majority of the maamarim of Chabad Chassidus—revolve around this axis of bittul. Bittul, bittul, bittul, bittul. Bittul hayesh, bittul bimetzius, the bittul of yichuda tata’ah, the bittul of yichuda ila’ah, the bittul of Yetzirah, the bittul of Beriah, the bittul of Atzilus, the bittul of before the tzimtzum, the bittul of light, the bittul of vessels. Everything revolves around bittul. So how does that naturally get applied in education? People sit at a farbrengen, and a mashpia turns to the students and says, “The whole point of Chassidus is that you have to know you are nothing.” And a few more words that I will not repeat—cutting words, cutting words. But anyone who has studied the Rebbe’s maamarim and sichos knows—many people do not notice this—that while the Rebbe began speaking a great deal about bittul, he also began speaking along a line that seems to be its opposite. It is not a contradiction, but he began speaking along an opposite line. He spoke a great deal about the created being’s sense of self, and how the very foundation of the created being is also connected to the true Being. This is connected to the whole idea of a dwelling place in the lower realms—in the lower realms specifically. So much so that I remember a sicha from Shavuos, [unclear], in which the Rebbe told the story of the Alter Rebbe studying with

1:18:06 Speaker 2 Reb Avraham the Angel and almost experiencing kelos hanefesh, his soul’s yearning to leave his body. He studied with Reb Avraham the Angel, and afterward they saw him eating a bagel with butter. They asked, “What is this?” He said that when he had come to the beis midrash with Reb Avraham the Angel, he felt his soul was about to leave his body, so he ate a bagel with butter to hold himself back. The Rebbe asked a wonderful question. He said: It is not fair; there is something wrong with the way this story is told. The story tells us how the Alter Rebbe prevented his soul from leaving his body by eating a bagel with butter. Why don’t they tell us how he nearly reached that state in the first place? Our problem is not how to prevent kelos hanefesh. We have no great difficulty eating a bagel with butter. It does not take a great struggle against the yetzer hara to eat a bagel with butter. For the Alter Rebbe it was a struggle; had he not eaten a bagel with butter, his soul might have left his body. So eating was an act of iskafya for him. The Rebbe said: Why don’t they tell us how he did it? How does one reach such a level? That was the question he asked in the first sicha. Then the Rebbe said something wonderful. He said that this is not what distinguishes the Alter Rebbe. The Alter Rebbe’s innovation in Judaism is not kelos hanefesh. The Alter Rebbe’s innovation in Judaism is that—lehavdil! Though why say “lehavdil”?—even a bagel with butter is part of the very purpose. And then the Rebbe said, “Perhaps we need not say ‘lehavdil.’ Perhaps we need not say ‘lehavdil.’” And [unclear], he spoke at length about how the created being’s sense of self and individuality can also reflect G-dliness. Why? Why did the Rebbe begin speaking about this so much? In truth, it began with the Rebbe Rashab; he had already begun speaking about it too. So much so that at the end of one of the great series of maamarim, the series of 5666, there are whole maamarim on the higher perspective, in which below is nothing and Above is Being, and the lower perspective, in which below is Being and Above

1:20:17 Speaker 2 No—and that perception is not true, while the higher perspective is true: above there is existence, and below there is none. [unclear] But the deepest truth is like the lower perspective: below there is existence, and above there is none. That is only in the days of Moshiach, because the ultimate intention is precisely that there should be existence below. But as far as revelation is concerned, we have to say that the higher perspective is true and the lower perspective is not true. This is a very deep matter. This is not the place, and now is not the time, to explain it. But I think there is another important point here. We need to be aware of it. You may not believe me, but I think it is almost certainly a fact. One of the greatest psychological problems of our generation—one cannot say it is the greatest problem—is this: In contrast to previous generations, the generations of the Alter Rebbe, [unclear], or even a thousand years ago, throughout all those generations until ours, people felt that they were a “something.” They felt they existed, and they had confidence in themselves. The Baal Shem Tov and the Alter Rebbe came and said: We need to know how to turn “I” into “nothing.” In our generation, people hate themselves at a very deep level. Deep in their souls, people do not regard themselves as a real existence. Many, many men and women, young men, boys and girls suffer from a lack of an independent sense of self and identity. Paradoxically, we are more comfortable with the idea that we are nothing than with the idea that we are something. Yet Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s intention was to establish the lower worlds as a real existence, and for that existence to choose to connect with the nothingness. So this is how education needs to work today, too. It has to be this way. When raising boys and girls, we need to give them an identity. We need to build up their sense that they are real. They already know on their own that they are nothing; you do not need to tell them

1:23:03 Speaker 2 that. Do not tell them they are gornisht—nothing. Tell them they are infinite. That is what they need to hear. Today they need to hear that the created “something” also has hope; that a bagel with butter also has hope. And not merely “also”: that His very essence dwells there, around you. As it says in Chassidus, “Kiddush is only recited in the place where the meal is eaten.” Chassidus explains: Where is Kiddush? Where the meal is. That is where the main holiness dwells—in the place of the meal. [unclear] “Kiddush is only recited in the place where the meal is eaten.” Your existence matters. Young men today suffer from an astonishing lack of self-confidence. They think they are nothing. A mashpia sits at a farbrengen and says, “You’re an animal.” Yesterday I met a young man in Jerusalem, the son of a shliach. It was Shabbos, and he was dressed not quite as one dresses on Shabbos—more like when you are building a sukkah. I spoke to him on Shabbos with a smile. I asked him, “What are you doing?” He said, “Soon I’m going to enlist in the army.” He is from America, the son of a shliach, but he came to enlist in the army. I could see it on his face. He knew me; I did not know him. I could see him jut his face forward, as if to say, “Well, let’s see what you say now. What are you going to say?” I went over to him—it was not easy—and hugged him. I said, “Much success. I hope you’ll be happy there.” He was stunned, in shock. He had not expected that. He had not expected that. But what happened? Afterward, he spoke with me. The channels opened up; the channels opened up. When Reb Shlomo Chaim Kesselman, Reb Nissan Nemenov, Reb Mendel Futerfas—[unclear]. I said this at the educators’ conference. They would sit at a farbrengen. Reb Mendel would turn to a young man and say, “You’re an animal, you’re a worm, you’re a misnaged, you’re a religious fanatic,” and so on and so forth. The young man would look at him. He knew that Reb

1:25:48 Speaker 2 Mendel Futerfas had spent ten years in Siberia. He knew that Reb Mendel Futerfas had gone eight days of Pesach without eating because he had nothing kosher for Pesach. When Reb Mendel told him, “You’re gornisht,” he took it differently. But today someone sits at a farbrengen, afflicted—as we all are—with a craving for honor, and says, “You’re gornisht.” That mashpia, with his craving for honor, ate a steak last night and enjoyed it, enjoyed it. It does not work. It does not work. It is not authentic today. It really is not authentic, and it starts at home. “The image of his father Yaakov.” Tell your sons and daughters—and believe it—that a single thought of theirs touches the very essence of the Infinite, blessed be He; that their personalities and their faculties can connect with His essence; that their own lower worlds can become a dwelling for Hashem. This is an essential point in education in our time. Once, at a farbrengen, the Rebbe spoke about iskafya. His hands were always under the table. He spoke about iskafya—about what happens when a Jew practices iskafya just once, breaks a desire: the entire order of hishtalshelus is overturned, as it says in Tanya, chapter 27. Then he said [unclear]: A Jew breaks a single desire. He took his hand out, took his hand out from under the table, and said, “The entire order of hishtalshelus is overturned.” That is what he said: “The entire order of hishtalshelus is overturned.” He gestured like this, with emotion. It was rare for the Rebbe to take his hand out. He took it out: “The entire order of hishtalshelus is overturned.” He did it once more when speaking about the Mitteler Rebbe’s davening, when sweat would come out of his shtreimel—again, to make it vivid. The point is this: that the “something” should choose to join with the “nothing.” Hakadosh Boruch Hu does not want robots—robots, as they say. Huh? Robots. He does not want gornisht. He wants a real person who chooses to connect with Hakadosh Boruch Hu, who chooses to set aside his ego, who chooses to do it, so that it permeates his very being. Well, of course,

1:28:27 Speaker 2 there is much more to say about all this, many more points, but I have already gone twenty—twenty minutes over my time. So I will finish with just one more story. This I saw. The rest I heard; this I saw. I was a child. The Rebbe would leave 770 and go into the library in the other building. Next to 770 there is a building, the library building. In later years, in the later 5740s, he ate there on Shabbos. He would go there on Friday night, and when there was a farbrengen on Shabbos afternoon, he would eat the Shabbos meal in the library with the Rebbetzin. One Shabbos afternoon, though, there was no farbrengen. The Rebbe stayed in his room for some time after davening and came out late to eat. By then the crowd was no longer there. There was only a very small crowd; in those years the crowds were smaller in general. But some children who had finished eating were playing outside. I was playing with a friend, and there were a few other children there. When they saw the Rebbe coming toward the library, the children stood in two lines, leaving a space—a path up the steps and into the library. Well, as bad luck would have it, a girl was standing in the line on the right, and another girl was standing opposite her in the other line, just as the Rebbe arrived. The adults who noticed could not push them aside, because the Rebbe was already standing there. They did not know what to do. There were two girls. According to the Gemara in Pesachim, page 111, the Rebbe did not want to pass between them. I was a child, and I wanted to know: Well, what is he going to do? Huh? With a six-year-old girl, right? Huh? I did not know the Gemara then, but I knew that you do not pass between two—between... Well, if I had been an educator, what would I have done? I would have turned to the girl and said, “Listen, little girl, you’re a good Jewish girl, but I’m not allowed to walk through like this.

1:31:18 Speaker 2 “Please move over there so I can pass.” Yes, and we wouldn’t call that negative education. That’s a lovely way to teach. You didn’t shout, you didn’t get angry; you asked. But the Rebbe didn’t do that. First of all, he didn’t speak aloud. He bent down to the ear of the girl on his right and said something to her with a smile. The Gemara in Pesachim doesn’t usually bring a smile to your face, especially if there are feminists in the audience. So I wondered: What was he smiling about? What could there be to smile about—that he couldn’t get past? He smiled and whispered something in her ear. What I saw was that the girl began smiling from ear to ear; her whole face lit up, and she ran to the other side. She said something to the second girl. The Rebbe waited. Even though she had already moved to the other side, he waited, watched, smiled even more, and then went up. Right after that happened, we ran over to the girl and asked, “What did he say to you?” She said, “The Rebbe told me, ‘Do me a favor: Go to your friend and wish her a good Shabbos for me.’” He said it in Yiddish. She was filled with joy. The Rebbe had given her a shlichus to go wish another girl a good Shabbos, and that made her happy. When I got older, I thought about that story. If the Rebbe had told her things as they were—“Listen, according to halachah, I have a problem passing here; please move”—then today, twenty years later—she was in second, third, or fourth grade at the time—she would think: “I spoke with the Rebbe once in my life, and what did he say to me? He rebuked me for inadvertently causing him to stumble.” That would have been her memory of the Rebbe. What does she remember now? That the Rebbe gave her a shlichus to wish other Jews a good Shabbos. That’s what she remembers. She learned the same lesson, but through two opposite approaches,

1:34:09 Speaker 2 two opposite approaches. We can educate our children by constantly telling them what they’re doing wrong. Or there’s another way: We can fill and illuminate their hearts with their shlichus from Hakadosh Boruch Hu and His servants, the prophets, to bring Shabbos to the entire world. Thank you very much.