The Deep Meaning of the Holiday of Geulah - 12 Tammuz | Living for Kiddush Hashem

00:00 Let’s talk about mesirus nefesh—self-sacrifice. When we speak about it, it sounds like something very, very lofty. Throughout the history of the Jewish people, Jews have shown mesirus nefesh, giving their lives al kiddush Hashem to keep the flame alive, to preserve Judaism and the faith. In every generation, Jews gave their lives al kiddush Hashem and endured bitter trials—in the Inquisition, in Soviet Russia, and in many other periods of history. But can we do that today too? What does mesirus nefesh mean in the world we live in now? Certainly, when we look at the soldiers at war, risking their bodies and lives for the Jewish people, we see it. For a long time now, we have been witnessing Jews truly giving of themselves to save other Jews. What we have seen over these past months, over this year, has been extraordinary acts of mesirus nefesh. But is mesirus nefesh really only for moments like those, when someone is pushed to the limit? Does it only mean giving up one’s body, giving up one’s life? The truth is that today we’re going to look at and learn about another kind of mesirus nefesh: mesirus nefesh in everyday life. It can come from a place of ease, even when a person is living through calm, restful times. There is a place for mesirus nefesh in daily life. That is what Chassidus teaches us. We are in the days of the Geulah of 12–13 Tammuz. The Frierdiker Rebbe’s birthday was also on 12 Tammuz. He was born on Shabbos, 12 Tammuz 5640, and he was also released from imprisonment—the famous imprisonment

02:35 of the Frierdiker Rebbe in 5687, when he was arrested in Soviet Russia at the most difficult time and faced the harshest punishment. As is well known, the Frierdiker Rebbe was imprisoned because he had risked his life to keep the flame of Judaism alive in Russia during those terrible years. Torah study was forbidden; opening yeshivos, schools, cheders for children, and mikvaos was forbidden. He stood alone, undaunted and unafraid, against a mighty government, until they arrested him with the intention of sentencing him to death, rachmana litzlan. Then came the great miracle: on 12 Tammuz, his birthday, as he turned forty-seven, he received the wonderful news that he would be freed. Since then, 12 Tammuz has been celebrated as the Festival of Liberation, a celebration of mesirus nefesh. More than anyone else in recent generations, the Frierdiker Rebbe embodies mesirus nefesh. Already in his own time, he was known throughout the world as someone who had stood up against a powerful regime. And after he left Russia, he did not stop there. He continued to act with mesirus nefesh in every way, even when he came to America. In those years, America was a spiritual wilderness from a Jewish perspective, a place where it seemed impossible to maintain a proper Jewish life. There too, with mesirus nefesh, he opened, founded, and built educational and Torah institutions in America, and from there, throughout the world. So this is a time for us to look a little deeper and understand how mesirus nefesh translates into everyday life today—even when a person lives in comfort, in peaceful places and peaceful times. Mesirus nefesh is still an essential part of a Jew’s service of Hashem. Let’s begin with a story

05:07 that the Frierdiker Rebbe told about himself. He related that in 5655, on 12 Tammuz, when he turned fifteen, his father—the Rebbe Rashab, who was the Rebbe at the time—called him in. This was the day before his birthday, and his father said, “Tomorrow is 12 Tammuz. It will be your birthday, and I want to go with you to visit the holy Ohel, the resting place of my father and grandfather”: his father, the Rebbe Maharash, who was the Frierdiker Rebbe’s grandfather, and his grandfather, the Tzemach Tzedek, who was the Frierdiker Rebbe’s great-grandfather. The Tzemach Tzedek and the Rebbe Maharash are buried together in the town of Lubavitch to this day, and the Rebbe Rashab lived there at the time. So he said to his son, “We’ll go together to visit the holy Ohel.” And that is what they did. Early the next morning, after going to the mikveh and making all their preparations, they set out. It was midsummer, and they were staying some distance from Lubavitch, in a sort of resort town. From there they traveled to Lubavitch and went to the resting places of the Tzemach Tzedek and the Rebbe Maharash. When they arrived, they prayed at the holy resting place. There was a small shul beside the Ohel, with an aron kodesh. The Rebbe Rashab went in and opened the aron kodesh. Father and son stood face to face, and with warm tears in his eyes, the Rebbe Rashab began to speak to him. Today, as his son turned fifteen, he was bringing him to the Akeidah, the Binding of Yitzchak. He explained that the Akeidah was the moment when Avraham Avinu brought his son Yitzchak, his only son, to the point of mesirus nefesh. From then on, the Jewish people have had the capacity for sacrifice, the strength for mesirus nefesh. There is the Binding of

07:23 Yitzchak, and the Rebbe Rashab told him that now, at fifteen, the time had come for him to begin a life of mesirus nefesh. He then learned with him a passage from Tanya on the verse, “She girds her loins with strength.” He explained the girdle, the strength, and the loins. The loins are what support the entire body. For a Jew, they represent mesirus nefesh, self-sacrifice—the strength that enables a Jew to stand firm. It is the power of mesirus nefesh that supports the Jew’s entire body. The body of a Jew is Torah, mitzvos, and faith. But what upholds a Jew’s whole being? That strength. And what is that strength? Mesirus nefesh. Then the Rebbe Rashab gave him the key phrase, the one that expresses the essence of mesirus nefesh more than anything else. What is mesirus nefesh? He put it in Yiddish: “Azoy un nit andersh.” In translation: “This way, and it cannot be otherwise.” That was the concise definition with which the Rebbe Rashab taught his son what a life of mesirus nefesh means. Mesirus nefesh means: this way, and no other way is possible. There is no room for anything else. The Frierdiker Rebbe relates that from that moment, from that period, a new chapter began in his life—the chapter of mesirus nefesh. And that is how he lived until his last day. What does “this way, and it cannot be otherwise” mean? A Jew has an inner bond with Hakadosh Boruch Hu. That bond is not only a practical one. There is a practical bond: I observe mitzvos, I follow halachah. But a Jew’s bond with Hakadosh Boruch Hu also comes from a deeper place. Beyond action, he has feeling too. He loves Hakadosh Boruch Hu. He has fear of Heaven, and that moves him to observe mitzvos. There is a bond

09:43 There is a higher level: the intellectual connection. He studies Torah and understands the greatness of Hakadosh Boruch Hu. He understands the depth of the mitzvah and why he fulfills it. But there is a connection deeper than all of these: the essential connection between a Jew and Hakadosh Boruch Hu—that He and I are one. In the words of the Zohar, “Israel and Hakadosh Boruch Hu are all one.” A Jew and Hakadosh Boruch Hu are one. My soul is literally a part of G-d above. And if Hakadosh Boruch Hu is my true reality, then it cannot be otherwise. If you are connected to Hakadosh Boruch Hu only because of what you understand, or only because of a feeling, or only because of outward action, then things can change. The moment it gets hard, the moment it stops making sense, the moment I no longer feel it, I grow weaker. A person whose entire connection to Hakadosh Boruch Hu rests on intellect, emotion, or action may lose that connection at a certain point. Today I don’t understand. Today it doesn’t sit right with me; today I don’t feel it. Today I got up on the wrong side of the bed. Today things aren’t simple. There are tests, there are difficulties. Sometimes things don’t go the way I want, the way I think they should. All kinds of difficulties and tests pile up in life. Well, this isn’t what I had in mind. I tried, I wanted to, but it just isn’t working. But when we’re talking about a connection of the very essence, an essential connection between a Jew and Hakadosh Boruch Hu, then there is no other way. As the Alter Rebbe expressed it in another way, when speaking about a Jew’s capacity for mesirus nefesh, he said his famous saying: “A Jew does not want to, and cannot, be

11:36 separated from Hakadosh Boruch Hu.” There is something very, very strong in a Jew, something very, very deep: Hakadosh Boruch Hu is embedded deep within, present in the depths of a Jew’s soul, in a place so inward and deep that a Jew says, “I don’t want to, and I cannot, be separated.” Why can’t I be separated? Because we are one. Just as a person cannot separate from his own essence, from his life, because that is who he is. You don’t need explanations for that. Explain to me: why does a person want to live? Why doesn’t he want to be cut off from life? A person doesn’t need explanations for that. I am who I am, and that’s that. There are no calculations here, no explanations, no intricate arguments, no ups and downs. That’s how it is. This is me, this is life, and I will not be separated from life. It cannot be otherwise. A Jew’s connection with Hakadosh Boruch Hu is an essential connection. It cannot be otherwise. The Rebbe Rashab says to his son at the age of fifteen, when he takes him to the Akeidah, so to speak—that is, he brings him to this place of inner connection to Hakadosh Boruch Hu—“What does mesirus nefesh mean? Mesirus nefesh means: this is how it is, and it cannot be otherwise.” There is a Chassidic saying about the verse, “Fortunate is the people for whom it is so; fortunate is the people whose G-d is Hashem.” What does “Fortunate is the people for whom it is so” mean? This is exactly the point we’re making. What is it about the Jewish people that makes them so special? “It is so.” A Jew has this connection, this firmness, this Jewish stubbornness: this is how it is, and it cannot be otherwise. What Hakadosh Boruch Hu asks of me—that is how it is. We don’t get into arguments here, or back-and-forth debate, or explanations. This is how it is, and it cannot be otherwise. “Fortunate is the people for whom it is so;

13:33 fortunate is the people whose G-d is Hashem.” That is Hakadosh Boruch Hu. Just as Hakadosh Boruch Hu chose the Jewish people. Listen carefully: here, the choice goes both ways. Hakadosh Boruch Hu’s choice of the Jewish people is not a choice based on intellect—because we are important, because we are a wise and discerning people, because we are such a refined people, and that is why He chose us. No. Because if a choice is based only on explanations, on reasons, on rationales, then the moment those no longer hold, the reason falls away and the choice falls away too. The choice by which Hakadosh Boruch Hu chose the Jewish people is an essential choice. It is a choice in which Hakadosh Boruch Hu says, in the words of the well-known Midrash, “To exchange them for another nation is impossible. I cannot.” So to speak, Hakadosh Boruch Hu bound Himself, connected Himself, and chose the Jewish people from the deepest place, saying: “I chose the Jewish people. It is impossible to choose anyone else.” It is inconceivable that this should change. “Either way, you are My children.” The Jewish people are children of Hakadosh Boruch Hu. Sometimes they behave better, sometimes less so. The connection is eternal. It is an essential connection. It is a connection that cannot be otherwise. And we, too, choose Hakadosh Boruch Hu from that same place, in that same way, from that same depth. A Jew connects himself to Hakadosh Boruch Hu and chooses Him with the conviction: this is how it is. This is how it is, and it cannot be otherwise. This attitude, this feeling, needs to run through us at every moment, at every point in life. If we reflect on this, we’ll understand that it really isn’t tied to any particular difficulties. There don’t have to be particular decrees; nothing special has to happen to awaken it within us. This is how it is, and it cannot be otherwise. In fact, this

15:44 happens to us every single day, even in the simplest things in daily life. There are days when you get up in the morning and don’t exactly feel like davening with a minyan. Today I don’t exactly feel like going to a Torah class or setting fixed times for Torah study. Today I don’t really feel like doing my service of Hashem in this way or that. There are all sorts of things in daily life that we’re supposed to do, but I’m feeling lazy; I don’t feel like it. Today I don’t want to; it’s hard for me. Tests pile up. Sometimes today is precisely when I need to go sort something out at the bank or deal with one problem or another. This is where a Jew says to himself: “This is how it is. It cannot be otherwise.” Yes, the moment I have that firmness, that resolve—the resolve that this is the Divine will, this is what Hakadosh Boruch Hu wants of me—then even though it isn’t easy or pleasant, this is how it is, and it cannot be otherwise. That is mesirus nefesh in everyday life. And here we come to a very important, fundamental point about mesirus nefesh, which the Frierdiker Rebbe discusses at length in his maamarim. It really speaks to the depth of mesirus nefesh that belongs to each and every person, at every moment and at all times. In many of his maamarim, the Frierdiker Rebbe speaks emphatically about the difference between Avraham Avinu’s mesirus nefesh and Rabbi Akiva’s mesirus nefesh. This is exactly the point—a basic, fundamental, deep, and beautiful point that concerns every one of us if we want to know what mesirus nefesh means in everyday life. The Frierdiker Rebbe says in his maamarim: We find mesirus nefesh with Avraham Avinu, and we find mesirus nefesh with Rabbi Akiva. Everyone knows Rabbi Akiva’s story. Rabbi Akiva showed mesirus nefesh in order to teach Torah publicly. Rabbi Akiva lived at a time of terrible decrees under the Roman Empire. The Romans forbade Torah study,

17:58 They forbade the observance of mitzvos. It was a matter of life and death. And Rabbi Akiva, as the Gemara and the Midrashim tell us, risked his life: he gathered people publicly and held Torah classes, teaching Torah in public. Someone met him and said, “This is a danger to your life. Why are you doing it?” What did Rabbi Akiva answer? He told him the parable of the fox and the fish. A fox was hungry. He stood by the river, saw fish, and wanted to eat them. So he began trying to persuade them: “Why are you staying in the water, darting about in the cold? Come with me, and we’ll make a home on dry land.” The fish said, “Fool! They say you’re clever, but you’re the biggest fool of all. If you take us out of the water, we won’t live.” Rabbi Akiva said to the man who had questioned him, “What do you think? If Jews stop learning Torah, will they live? Torah is our water, our life. Without Torah, we have no life.” Then, as we know, Rabbi Akiva was soon captured by the Romans, and in the end he was killed al kiddush Hashem. The Gemara tells us that as they raked his flesh with iron combs, rachmana litzlan—killing him in an exceptionally cruel way—Rabbi Akiva recited, “Hear, O Israel, Hashem is our G-d, Hashem is One,” with very deep concentration. They could sense his tremendous joy. His students said to him, “Our teacher, even now? How can you recite Shema Yisroel with such peace of mind at this moment, while they are tearing at you and killing you so brutally?” What did Rabbi Akiva answer? “All my life I longed for the chance to fulfill the verse, ‘You shall love Hashem your G-d with all your heart and with all your soul’—even if He takes your soul.” In other words, Rabbi Akiva was telling them: Ever since I began

20:04 learning Torah, observing mitzvos, and drawing close to Hashem, I understood that the highest level of connection to Hakadosh Boruch Hu is self-sacrifice: to give my life al kiddush Hashem, “with all your soul”—even if they take your soul. Wow! So all my life I waited for the chance to reach the highest level of connection to Hakadosh Boruch Hu, self-sacrifice at its highest level: to give myself for the honor of Hashem, al kiddush Hashem. And now it’s happening. So how could I be distressed? This is what I asked for. This is what I waited for all my life. That is Rabbi Akiva. That is self-sacrifice on the highest level. But, says the Frierdiker Rebbe, he sought self-sacrifice. Rabbi Akiva wanted self-sacrifice as a level, as a spiritual attainment, as an unparalleled level of inner elevation and closeness to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. We do not find that Avraham Avinu sought or hoped to give his life al kiddush Hashem, though Avraham did face that test. But Avraham had a different outlook on the whole matter. Avraham Avinu did not seek self-sacrifice. Avraham Avinu sought one thing and one thing only. He knew he had a mission and a purpose in the world. What were they? To make the name of Hakadosh Boruch Hu known throughout the world. That is what he lived for. That is why he was here. From the moment Avraham recognized his Creator—as the Rambam tells us in Hilchos Avodah Zarah, and as we learn from the well-known Midrashim, the verse “and he called,” and the Gemara in Sotah: Do not read it as “he called,” but as “he caused others to call”—Avraham Avinu devoted his entire life to one thing alone: How can we bring awareness of Hakadosh Boruch Hu into the world? How can we ensure that all creation recognizes the existence of Hakadosh Boruch Hu? That is what he lived for. He did not think about himself; he did not think about his own spiritual perfection.

22:13 He did not even think about his own self-sacrifice. That was not what he was seeking. He did not seek spiritual levels or elevation. He did not seek to attain some level of perfection. He sought one thing alone: What is the way to make Hashem’s name known throughout the world, and how can it be done? Of course, if self-sacrifice is needed, I’m here. I’m ready. Ready to make that sacrifice. But no, that was not what I was seeking. The maamarim of Chassidus explain that Avraham Avinu’s self-sacrifice is, in fact, the ideal self-sacrifice. It is self-sacrifice that is not tied to times of hardship or decrees, as we said. If we are talking about moments when you face an actual test of kiddush Hashem—when nations, enemies of the Jewish people, come and say, “Either give up your faith or we will kill you”—and then a Jew’s power of self-sacrifice awakens, enabling him to withstand the test al kiddush Hashem: Wow. That is an extraordinarily great thing. But the self-sacrifice a Jew possesses, which we inherited from Avraham Avinu, is a self-sacrifice that does not seek self-sacrifice. It is not self-sacrifice to die al kiddush Hashem. It is self-sacrifice to live for Hashem. It is the self-sacrifice of a Jew who says: I surrender my nefesh—my will. Here we come to the true meaning of nefesh. Nefesh does not only mean life; it also means will. Self-sacrifice does not only mean giving up your life. It means surrendering your will. We see in Tanach that the word nefesh is used to express a person’s will. “If it is your wish, listen to me and intercede for me,” Avraham Avinu says to the children of Cheis when he is buying the site of the Me’aras Hamachpelah. “If it is your wish”—nefesh means my will. The self-sacrifice of surrendering one’s will. Where is my will directed?

24:14 Is my will directed toward what is good for me? Is it directed toward what I feel like doing, what I love—even, sometimes, in spiritual matters? I seek holy things, lofty things, things I want because through them I will attain some kind of perfection or reach a certain level. Chassidus says: Self-sacrifice means surrendering my will, so that what I want is not what I happen to desire, but “Set aside your will before His will.” What is the Divine will? What does Hakadosh Boruch Hu want? When that question shines within us—what does Hakadosh Boruch Hu want of us?—self-sacrifice takes on an entirely different form. Then, at every moment and at every stage of life, every single day, we face this challenge of serving Hashem with self-sacrifice. This is the self-sacrifice we need to bring into daily life: to be Jews who live expansively and joyfully, while surrendering our will to the Divine will. What does Hakadosh Boruch Hu want from me? Hakadosh Boruch Hu wants me to make His name known in the world: to go out into the street, find a Jew, teach him about Judaism, and bring him closer to Torah and mitzvos. That is my role in the world, and I am completely devoted to it, without calculations. That is “and he called”—do not read it as “he called,” but as “he caused others to call”: he caused the name of Hakadosh Boruch Hu to be spoken by every passerby. So we need to bring these days into our everyday lives. What does it mean to be a Jew who lives with self-sacrifice? It means having the firmness to stand strong against the things that get in our way. Sometimes those things can be very simple. Sometimes what gets in my way is me myself, with the thoughts in my head that hold me back: I would have liked to do this or that, all kinds of calculations. Sometimes it can be friends who try to weaken my resolve a little. It can

26:17 take all sorts of different and unusual forms. Where does it show up? That is when we make the decision to stand firm. “Fortunate is the people for whom this is so”—this way and no other way: to stand with the firmness of self-sacrifice and not think about myself and my own perfection, but about what Hakadosh Boruch Hu wants from me, about our mission. Our mission today is clear: we are in the final moments of galus, and we have a task—to illuminate the world, bring the light of Torah and the light of holiness, and bring another Jew closer to Torah and mitzvos. We carry out this task without calculations or fears. This is how it must be; there can be no other way. That is the strength of a Jew. And specifically through this, we, “a people that dwells alone,” will merit—with Hashem’s help—to reach that moment, as it says in the weekly parsha: “Behold, a people that dwells alone, not counted among the nations.” And later in the parsha comes the revelation of Moshiach: “I see him, but not now; I behold him, but not near.” May we reach the revelation of Moshiach Tzidkeinu, who will come, redeem us, and take us to the Holy Land speedily in our days, amen, and may the Beis Hamikdash be rebuilt speedily in our days.