The avodah of refining one's character traits | Parshas Shoftim

00:00 In the weekly parsha, we find a verse that is one of the great and important verses in serving Hashem. At the end of Parshas Shoftim it says, “For man is a tree of the field.” What is the verse telling us by comparing a person to a tree of the field? There are many interpretations, explanations, and insights about this. What is the point? Why compare a person specifically to a tree of the field? I ask this simple question because, if the idea is that a person resembles a tree—that a tree has qualities that serve as a metaphor for a person—then anything in the world could serve as a metaphor, not just a tree. We can learn from everything. As the verse says, “He teaches us through the beasts of the earth and makes us wise through the birds of the heavens.” We can learn proper conduct and good character traits from any animal. “Go to the ant, you sluggard” tells us that we can learn good character traits even from an ant. What is new about “For man is a tree of the field,” comparing a person to a tree? There are, in fact, a number of explanations. One is that a tree bears fruit. Similarly, a Jew must bear fruit. In other words, it is not enough for him to study Torah and observe mitzvos himself; he must raise students, and students of those students as well.

01:33 In this way, he raises students—fruit that bears more fruit. That includes his students’ students. These are all things we learn from a tree of the field. But I ask: none of these things is unique to a tree. Other things bear fruit too. We do not need a tree as a metaphor for that. An animal produces offspring. Everything in the world produces fruit. A person himself has children, and from that we can learn that “the offspring of the righteous are good deeds.” What is so special about a tree of the field that the verse says, “For man is a tree of the field”? The Gemara in Tractate Taanis expounds on this verse and asks, “Is man a tree of the field?” Is a person a tree? That is the Gemara’s puzzling question. In other words, the Gemara implies that a person can be compared to all sorts of things. What is special specifically about a tree of the field that leads us to say, “For man is a tree of the field”? It seems this is not just another detail, another resemblance in some particular respect, as we find with everything in the world. We can find something good in anything and say that a person should learn from it. “Go to the ant, you sluggard”—we should learn diligence from the ant.

02:58 We learn modesty from a cat, as the Gemara says in Eruvin. In other words, we can learn things from everything. But here it says, “For man is a tree of the field,” implying that this expresses his very essence. And that raises the question: “Is man a tree of the field?” Is a person’s entire essence nothing more than a tree? Why? A person has other qualities. On the contrary, a tree belongs only to the plant kingdom. Of the four levels Hashem created in the world—inanimate, plant, animal, and human—the human level is far higher than all the others. And the animal level is also higher than the plant level. An animal has qualities and vitality that a plant does not have. Is a person no more than a plant? If so, why do we say, “For man is a tree of the field”? The Gemara in Taanis says that “For man is a tree of the field” refers to a Torah scholar, someone who studies Torah. Of him it says, “For man is a tree of the field”: if he is a worthy Torah scholar—meaning that, in addition to studying, he is also a decent person, a good person with good character traits—then “you may eat from it.” We should learn his Torah and can benefit from his wisdom. But if he is not a decent person, we should not learn from him.

04:30 And so on: we should refrain from receiving Torah from him because he is not a good person. In other words, the Gemara derives an entire teaching from the verse and explains it in terms of serving Hashem: “For man is a tree of the field” speaks about refining one’s character traits. This is why it says, “For man is a tree of the field”: when it comes to the person—and consequently to the field and the Torah he studies—we must know that he has to be a decent person, a good person with good character traits. The question is how this relates to the verse. Where does the verse speak about good character traits? And how does this answer the question we asked earlier? After all, this is another particular point, one concerning good character traits. How can we say that this is the answer? The verse says, “For man is a tree of the field”—that man is a tree of the field. There are other details to this comparison, and we can learn additional lessons from other parts of the world as well. The wording “For man is a tree of the field” implies that there is something fundamental here. What is it? The overall explanation, the central point, is that the Torah is teaching us here the greatness and importance of refining one’s character traits. That is, good character traits are a person’s purpose, essence, and innermost self. “For man is a tree of the field” comes to teach us

05:59 that a person must know: for all the other virtues he may have, where do his principal virtue, his ultimate purpose, and the main goal of his life find expression? In his character traits being good. “For man is a tree of the field.” Before we explore this, we need to understand: how are these ideas connected? Where do we see character traits here, and what is new in the statement “For man is a tree of the field”? What do we learn from it for ourselves? What is the deeper point? We will begin, as usual, with a story the Rebbe told. The Frierdiker Rebbe heard it from his father, the Rebbe Rashab, who heard it from his father, the Rebbe Maharash. This is the story: Once, the Rebbe Maharash called his son, the Rebbe Rashab, and told him, “Two chassidim came to me today. One gave me great pleasure, and the other caused me great distress.” He then told him what had happened in each case. Chassidim would come to the Rebbe, spend Yom Tov with him, and afterward go in for yechidus, as had always been customary among Lubavitch chassidim. After Yom Tov, when they had come to the Rebbe for Shabbos or Yom Tov, they would go in for yechidus. There the chossid would meet the Rebbe privately, personally, and speak about the matters on the chossid’s mind and the Rebbe’s mind. One chossid went in to the Rebbe and gave his name: he was the chossid Reb Eliyahu Blar. Reb Eliyahu Blar was a simple chossid, a simple man by his own estimation, but he was a chossid and deeply attached to the Rebbe Maharash. When he entered, the Rebbe Maharash asked him, “How are you?” Reb Eliyahu said, “I’m well, baruch Hashem. Everything is good, and I thank Hakadosh Boruch Hu for everything. I came to ask on behalf of my friend Yosef.” He told the Rebbe Maharash that he had a friend who lived in his town, a poor fellow for whom everything went wrong. Whenever he tried to start a business—for example, he bought a horse and wagon—even that failed: the horse died. Then he bought something else, and that did not work out either. Whatever livelihood he tried, everything went wrong, and he did not succeed. He said, “Rebbe, I want to ask on behalf of this Yosef, that the Rebbe bless him with success in earning a living too.” The Rebbe Maharash was struck that a Jew had come in for yechidus and the only thing troubling him, the only thing he asked about, was his friend.

07:27 [unclear]

08:46 The Rebbe Maharash gave him a blessing and then told him that he wanted to enter into a partnership with him. Reb Eliyahu was completely taken aback: “Rebbe, the Rebbe wants to be partners with me? The Rebbe knows how lowly and coarse I am,” and so on. But the Rebbe Maharash told him that yes, he wanted to be partners with him. When Reb Eliyahu went to the marketplace and shared a Torah thought there, that was the whole purpose, the intention, and it gave the Rebbe great pleasure: he would meet a Jew, speak with him, and offer him a kind word. The Rebbe gave him a coin and said he wanted a share in his undertaking, and blessed him with all kinds of blessings. That chossid gave him great pleasure. Afterward, another chossid came in—a Torah scholar, a prominent rabbi in his city. The Rebbe Maharash asked him what was happening in his city, and he told him there was a group of young married men studying Nigleh, Chassidus, and so on. Then the Rebbe Maharash asked him, “And how do they do when it comes to acts of kindness and good character traits?” The rabbi answered, “Well, with them

10:12 “That trait is like what you find among wealthy Jews.” The expression meant that they were somewhat [unclear]; they lacked good character traits—that is, they were absorbed in themselves. But the Rebbe Maharash told him that before returning to his city, he should gather the group of young married men and tell them that each of them should take half his dowry—the money he had received when he married—and bring it to him. He wanted the rabbi to bring him the money so he could use it for charitable purposes. But the rabbi said, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to get them to do that.” In other words, they would not want to give it. But the Rebbe Maharash said, “Tell the chassidim, the young men, that if they don’t give the first half, they’ll lose the second half too.” Well, that frightened him, and he said he would get them to do it. At that point the Rebbe Maharash told him, “I hope that when you come back, there will be better news about their character traits.” The first chossid, Reb Elyebele, was a chossid who gave him great nachas, while the second chossid caused him great distress. And what was the point? That—

11:37 The whole purpose of Chassidus is good character traits. If there is a deficiency in one’s character traits, then what is the Chassidus worth? If the work of refining one’s character is missing, what is the purpose of all the teachings of Chassidus? On the verse “For man is a tree of the field,” Chassidus explains that all four categories of created things that make up the world—the inanimate, plants, animals, and human beings—also exist within the human soul. For man is the crown of creation; he is the center around which the entire creation of the world revolves, and everything was created for his sake. All these categories are present within man: the inanimate, plants, animals, and human beings. What does Chassidus explain? That the inanimate category in the world corresponds to the faculty of action, which is itself inanimate. The plant category in the world corresponds to character traits. In other words, matters of character are like plants. Why? What is distinctive about a plant? It grows, emerging from nothing and developing from small to large. Character traits have this quality of growth. A small child’s traits, emotions, and feelings concern small things. As he matures, his character traits grow and develop from small to large. That is the connection between plants and character traits. Then there is the intellect, which corresponds to the animal category in the world. And—

13:12 Speech, the faculty of speech, is the ability to go beyond oneself. What is speech about? Being receptive to others and giving to them. That is the distinctive quality of the human being: he can go beyond himself and give to someone else. The inanimate, plants, animals, and human beings. Of these, plants correspond to character traits. In addition, continuing with what we have been discussing, a human being is called by four names. As is well known, they are Adam, ish, gever, and enosh. Chassidus explains: What are these four names? What do they express? The distinction of “Adam” is intellect. Adam is named for [unclear], for intellect. Adam has the numerical value of mah, as in “And what are we?”—the faculty of mah. This is the distinction of chochmah, the distinction of intellect in the world. So he is called Adam because of his intellect, which is man’s principal distinction. Then there is “ish”: “For a man’s strength”—this refers to character traits. Then there is “gever”—the strength a person needs to overcome obstacles and strengthen his intellect and character traits. And then there is “enosh,” which denotes weakness. “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately weak”; enosh denotes weakness, weakness in intellect and character traits. These are the four types of human beings. Accordingly, if “Adam” refers to the distinction of intellect, what is the Torah telling us when it says, “For man is a tree”

14:39 “of the field”? What is the insight here? What is the deeper meaning of “For man is a tree of the field”? The Torah wants to tell us that man’s principal distinction is the plant—the tree of the field—his character traits. At first glance, isn’t man’s distinction his intellect? Animals have character traits too. So what distinguishes man from an animal? Isn’t it his intellect that makes him human? Especially when we are speaking of the intellect of the Torah, G-dly intellect, which is so elevated and gives such profound understanding. Nevertheless, we must know that man’s distinction is not expressed in intellect alone. When is a person truly human? When he is “a tree of the field”: when his mind, his intellect and understanding, affect his character traits, so that he has good traits, refined traits, traits guided by intellect. In other words, gentle, cultivated traits that he directs through his intellect. Not just natural traits, but traits that his intellect teaches him when to use, how to use, and how to use properly. That is how man’s distinction is expressed. This is the well-known saying of the Tzemach Tzedek about the purpose of Chassidus. What is the purpose of Chassidus? He was asked what he sought to achieve through Chassidus. He replied that the entire purpose of Chassidus, in his words, is “to change the nature of one’s character traits.” The whole aim of Chassidus is to change the nature of one’s traits. And he explained: not only natural traits,

16:14 but also the nature of one’s traits. What does that mean—not only natural traits, but also the nature of one’s traits? The explanation is given in sichos in several places, and we can understand it by first relating another story. The story concerns a chossid, Reb Zalman Zezmer, who was one of the great chassidim of the Alter Rebbe, the Tzemach Tzedek, and the Mitteler Rebbe. He was a great man and a brilliant thinker, a remarkable scholar of Chassidus. There is a well-known expression, and it is even recorded that many said Reb Zalman Zezmer was wise in the very essence of the faculty of chochmah. In other words, he truly possessed extraordinary wisdom, tremendous [unclear]. And he relates that when Reb Zalman Zezmer wanted [unclear], he told this story. In that city there was a Jew who was a great scholar and a great Torah scholar. At the same time, he also had exceptionally fine character traits. But he knew nothing of Chassidus. He was [unclear], a Torah scholar, a diligent student, and exemplary in his character. His good traits were truly [unclear]. Once he met Reb Zalman Zezmer and began asking him what the avodah of Chassidus was. Reb Zalman told him that Chassidus

17:45 is [unclear], the superiority of intellect over character traits. That was the substance of it: that [unclear] the traits of the mind, the traits of intellect, the traits [unclear]. He did not quite understand what Reb Zalman had told him. Afterward he went to the Alter Rebbe. He came to the Alter Rebbe and asked him, “What is Chassidus?” The Alter Rebbe explained it to him. He said: We find that a person has character traits, and some traits are natural. But animals have natural traits too. This is the meaning of the verse, “He teaches us through the beasts of the earth and makes us wise through the birds of the sky”—a person can learn good traits from animals. The eagle, in the words of the verse, is [unclear]. And there are good traits one can learn from all sorts of animals. Every animal has its own traits—agility and so on—which we learn from different animals. A person can be full to overflowing with wonderful, good traits, but these are still the traits of an animal, of a beast. As the analogy goes: when you take an animal and put it in a stable, it stays in the stable. It cannot get out; it is confined. Similarly, when a person takes his traits, puts them within a defined framework, and behaves like a decent human being, that is like

19:16 an animal standing in a stable; it is still not man’s distinctive quality. Man’s distinction is that Hakadosh Boruch Hu gave him traits guided by intellect. These are not natural traits. When a person’s traits are merely natural, he is of course a good person, because his nature is such that he is a pleasant person who loves to do good. But that has nothing to do with serving Hashem. Animals have that too. The distinction Hakadosh Boruch Hu gave man is that his traits can be guided by intellect. Traits guided by intellect do not come from nature. And because Hakadosh Boruch Hu wanted to give the Jewish people merit, the Alter Rebbe says, a Jew can attain such traits through his own avodah, through his own effort. The most elevated traits come after work: a person works with his intellect, changes his traits, and transforms them from one extreme to the other. That is how he becomes truly human. When that Jew reflected on this and heard what the Alter Rebbe said, he was suddenly shaken. He realized that everything about him until then—all the good traits and all the good qualities he had possessed up to that day—had actually been animal traits; they were not human traits at all. [unclear] He fainted. When they revived him from his faint, after

20:46 He was shaken by the whole matter and utterly surprised. He said, “Rebbe, if this is Chassidus, how does one do it?” He understood the mission and examined his conduct until then: How does one reach this kind of work on one’s middos? The Alter Rebbe said that Chassidus is “Shema Yisroel, Shema Yisroel, Shema Yisroel, Shema Yisroel, Shema Yisroel, Shema Yisroel.” Shema Yisroel means middos, good middos [unclear]. Reb Zalman Zezmer would tell this story, and it was [unclear]: everything we learn in Chassidus must be brought into actual practice, into refining our middos. This helps us understand the Alter Rebbe’s words about the difference between natural middos and middos shaped by the intellect. Natural middos simply mean that a person has certain traits within him. Those traits have a coarseness and a material quality, and sometimes they can be used in ways that are not good. They need to be reined in and given limits, so that they become what they should be according to the Torah: the proper measure of kindness, the right way to treat another Jew, and the right way to use every trait a person has within his soul. The trait of kindness, of love; the trait of strength, of awe; the trait of joy—every person has

22:23 many traits within him. When he works on those traits so that they accord with the Torah’s path, it means he has changed and worked on his natural middos. But that is still not a person’s true distinction. A person’s true distinction comes when a Jew contemplates the greatness of Hashem and reaches the full depth of human understanding, the distinctive capacity of a human being, through studying Torah and, in particular, the inner dimension of Torah. Then his middos are transformed from one extreme to the other. He can elevate them to the highest degree, even changing the very nature and essence of a trait, so that all his middos become G-dly middos. Then he can move entirely beyond his limitations. Moving beyond his limitations means that even if he is naturally a person of strength, he can turn himself into a person of kindness; or conversely, a person of kindness can turn himself into a person of strength. He can change his middos from one extreme to the other. Chassidus gives an example of this from Avraham Avinu, whose whole being was kindness. When the Akeidah came, it was said, “Now I know that you fear G-d.” Was it only at the Akeidah that it became known that he feared G-d? The question is straightforward: What does this mean? Avraham Avinu was 137 years old at the time of the Akeidah. He had undergone ten tests, had a bris milah, and had risked his life for various things. What suddenly happened that made it “now”?

23:49 “I know”—did He not know this before? One explanation given in Chassidus is the Alter Rebbe’s explanation of “changing the nature of one’s middos.” Avraham Avinu had served Hakadosh Boruch Hu for 137 years until the Akeidah, but all of that had come from his own nature, in keeping with his natural middos. His nature was to be a man of kindness, a man of love, to love Hakadosh Boruch Hu, and his soul thirsted for Him. But all of that was connected to the traits of his soul. Here, at the Akeidah, Avraham was required to break with his dominant trait entirely and employ the trait of strength in taking his son to the Akeidah. There, Hakadosh Boruch Hu commanded him to set aside his trait of love and place himself in the mode of awe, the trait of strength. “Now I know”—only then—“that you fear G-d.” This is the meaning of “For man is a tree of the field.” The Torah tells us that a person must recognize the distinction of the “human being” within him: the distinction of the mind, of intellect and understanding, of studying and understanding deep concepts in Torah and in the inner dimension of Torah. But what is the purpose of everything that distinguishes a human being? What should be the ultimate aim of all that study and understanding? The ultimate aim of the “human being” is “a tree of the field”: that his middos should be true middos, G-dly middos. That his middos should truly be that way, and that he should serve Hakadosh Boruch Hu and do a kindness for another Jew with genuine bittul, with

25:14 genuine love and devotion. To see another person and think about him with complete dedication and generosity. This applies to every aspect of one’s middos: they should come from bittul and devotion to G-dliness, not merely from the soul’s natural tendencies. From this we can understand another central point in the Torah’s specific wording, “For man is a tree of the field.” A tree has something no other kind of creature has. What is the tree’s distinctive quality? A tree can grow only while it is connected to its root and source. The moment it is uprooted from its root and source, it stops growing. Other creatures can move from place to place. A tree grows above the ground, but when does it grow? Only as long as it remains connected to the earth. A fish needs to be in water; when it leaves the water, it dies. But fish do not leave the water. A tree grows out of the earth, and to grow it must be connected to it, to the source from which it draws nourishment. This is a central point in working on our middos. Why do we make middos such a

26:37 central matter and say that the ultimate purpose of a person’s work is specifically “to change the nature of his middos”? Seemingly, a person’s distinction is his intellect. Why don’t we say that intellect is the central thing about a person? Because middos are connected to the source of life. It is specifically in his middos that we find the person himself. Intellect is understanding. A person can understand something that does not touch him personally; he remains outside it. I understand, I hear, I learn—but who am I? I and what I learn are two separate things. Emotion, by contrast, is connected to the soul and reveals where the person himself stands. It is something that touches his very being; it is the person himself. “For man is a tree of the field”—specifically the matter of middos. All Torah study and all understanding must also find expression in one’s middos, because that is where the soul is found. The middos are the connection to the source of life. The essence of the soul is expressed specifically in the middos; that is where a person’s essence is revealed. And on this he says: The strength of the Jewish people—and this is what we say about human beings in general, about humanity, and about the Jewish people and their distinction—is that they are the children of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, the forefathers. And when we speak about the forefathers, what do we emphasize

27:56 about them? Specifically their middos. When we speak about the forefathers, Avraham embodies love and kindness, Yitzchak embodies awe and strength, and Yaakov embodies harmony and compassion. Specifically the middos. We do not find that, when speaking about the forefathers, we emphasize their power of choice or their intellectual distinction. They, too, had great levels of intellectual attainment and understanding, and possessed all these qualities. But when we say “the three forefathers,” and that Jews are the children of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, what does that emphasize? The middos. Because the middos reveal the essence of the soul. And here Judaism demands of the Jew, in his connection to Hakadosh Boruch Hu through the forefathers, that he refine his middos. This is expressed in love, awe, and compassion, for all Jews are compassionate, modest, and performers of kindness. As explained in the sefarim, performing kindness comes from Avraham Avinu; modesty comes from Yitzchak, from the trait of awe and strength—awe born of modesty; and compassion is the trait of Yaakov. These are the three traits found in people, and they reveal the essential distinction of the Jewish people. This is what we mean: When can Jews grow as a Jewish people? When they are connected

29:16 to their roots and connected to the forefathers, and that connection is revealed in their middos—Jewish middos, healthy middos, and living middos. This is “For man is a tree of the field.” As it says in [unclear], the main work must be to refine our middos and remind ourselves of the forefathers and their middos, to be a worthy Torah scholar, to be a person with good middos, proper middos, and G-dly middos. And this is the main work of a person at this time: refining one’s middos. This is the preparation for the future conquest of the seven peoples, the seven Canaanite nations, corresponding to the seven middos. Afterward will come the three as well—the Keini, Kenizi, and Kadmoni—which represent the distinction of [unclear], refining the [unclear] as well. The ultimate purpose of the work, then, lies in the middos: that a person should be [unclear], “For man is a tree of the field.”