Likkutei Amarim Tanya - Chapter 29 - Part 3

00:01 He explains here: When a person works on himself—when he sees himself as lowly and despicable, humbling himself—he thereby breaks the spirit of the sitra achra. “What does one crush? The person’s body.” Who is “the person”? It is the animal soul that belongs to kelipah. By breaking the “person” within himself—his mind and heart—and coming to see himself as lowly and despicable, he automatically brings about the breaking of the sitra achra. He says this is the difference between a tzaddik and a beinoni. For a tzaddik, his “person,” his animal soul, has become good. His body, too, is good; nothing comes from it except G-dliness. By contrast, for a beinoni, his “person” is his body and animal soul. That is kelipah, though it is something he carries, not his true essence. And so, by breaking himself—that is, by seeing himself as lowly and despicable—he breaks his body and animal soul. This, in turn, breaks the sitra achra. By breaking the sitra achra, he can awaken to love of Hashem, draw close to Him, overcome evil through holiness, and win his battle. We’re three lines from the bottom here; look inside: “But the beinoni—rather, his own essence on the side of kelipah and sitra achra, namely, the body and animal soul.” So, since for the beinoni his essence is sitra achra, and he has not transformed it into [unclear]—that is what I was emphasizing. In other words, in terms of his own essence, he is detached. That was a little difficult for me. So what does he do? He compels himself and leaves behind his own self, which he

01:59 will not leave behind. Now, I’m saying: this causes him to behave [unclear]. But as far as his own essence is concerned, that is the heart of the matter: it is evil itself. It follows that, in the animal soul, the sitra achra is evil itself. What is its essence, what is the evil, what is its power? It is the kelipah of the sitra achra. And that is what we said earlier: when he breaks himself, he breaks the sitra achra, and the kelipah is thereby broken. Now the Alter Rebbe makes a pivot here—how shall I put it? He changes direction. He takes the point he has just explained and uses it for another point. Look: he sets out the whole difference between a beinoni and a tzaddik. For the beinoni, the essence of kelipah is, in effect, his own essence, whereas for a tzaddik, the essence of the sitra... ah, for a tzaddik, the essence of kelipah... while for a beinoni, his essence is sitra achra. But why did the Alter Rebbe bring this up now? To explain the connection between a person humbling and breaking himself and the breaking of the sitra achra. What is the connection? The explanation is that breaking the body and the animal soul breaks the sitra achra as a matter of course, because they are the same thing. Here the Alter Rebbe takes that whole point he has just explained and says that this, too, has an effect on the beinoni. You want to break the sitra achra through iskafya, by breaking the animal soul. But this very point—the whole reckoning we have just made, that the beinoni’s essence is bound up with the sitra achra—should itself, as soon as I contemplate it, bring a person to self-nullification and detachment. When he contemplates just how

03:49 far he is from the state of a tzaddik, whose essence is holiness, while his own essence is kelipah and sitra achra, that contemplation itself should already bring him to self-nullification and detachment. This is what the Alter Rebbe goes on to say. Down here he says: “For he is exceedingly far from Hashem, at the utmost distance.” When I contemplate this very difference between a tzaddik and a beinoni that we have just learned—that I am utterly far from G-dliness—and also contemplate how [unclear]... In other words, he has the ability, the possibility, to turn back and leave it behind. But in this respect, he is utterly far from G-dliness. Exactly the opposite. What does that mean? It relates to what we explained earlier. We also spoke about this in one of last week’s classes: the general difference between a beinoni and a tzaddik is the extent to which G-dliness permeates their sense of reality. For a beinoni, the world is a reality. Even though the beinoni has the strength to act, is devoted to Hakadosh Boruch Hu, and wants to fulfill the mitzvos—yes? A beinoni has the strength to act, is devoted to Hakadosh Boruch Hu, and has all these good qualities—because the world is real to him, worldly things are not inconceivable to him. He does not want to commit a sin, but the idea is not inconceivable to him. That is why thoughts can at least arise in him. Not thoughts of actually committing a sin, but thoughts connected with sinful things. Who would do it? Who wants to do it? Yet the thought itself is not inconceivable to him. He takes hold of himself with both hands; he has the strength to act. But the very fact that such a thought can arise in him shows that the world is not inconceivable to him. For a true tzaddik, though, as we explained,

08:12 a tzaddik reaches a level where anything outside—G-dliness alone is his reality, and anything outside G-dliness is inconceivable to him. So it follows that, as he says, because of the power to desire, he is not like creeping creatures and insects. An animal does not commit a sin, nor does it desire to commit one. But a person’s power to desire draws him toward things of this world. They are not inconceivable to him, so he can be drawn toward them; they are not repulsive to him. In that respect, he is as far from G-dliness as can be. “And in this he is worse, more loathsome and more abominable than unclean animals, creeping creatures and insects, as stated above.” In this respect, then, this person, this beinoni, is worse even than creeping creatures and insects. Here the Alter Rebbe adds a remarkable new point that he did not make earlier. Earlier, if you remember, he said in his explanation that a person who commits a sin is worse than animals, worse than creeping creatures and insects. Why? Creeping creatures, insects, and animals cannot go against the will of Hakadosh Boruch Hu, right? They do not sin. Everything they do is what Hakadosh Boruch Hu wants. Even the mosquito, which takes in and does not give out—“the mosquito preceded you.” Why? Because it, too, cannot go against the Divine will. Hakadosh Boruch Hu created it that way. But when a person commits a sin, he goes against the Divine will, so he is worse than an animal. That is what the Alter Rebbe said. What new point does he add here that he did not make earlier? Yes? We’ll see in a moment. What new point does he add? It is not only someone who has committed a sin who is worse than an animal. An animal commits no sin and does not even desire to commit one. But what about the person? Sin is

10:25 not repulsive to him; it is not inconceivable to him. So the very fact that it is not inconceivable, that he has a desire connected with sin—even if he does not actually commit it—makes him worse than an animal. The Alter Rebbe says this explicitly. Even because sin is not repulsive or inconceivable to him, he is worse than an animal. For what does he say? “I am a worm and not a man.” He says, “I am a worm and not a man.” Who says that? It means he is worse than an animal. Who says it? King David says, “I am a worm and not a man.” So what do we see from this? He compares himself to a worm. He adds, “I am a worm and not a man.” Why does he add “and not a man”? “I am a worm”—in other words, by saying... One could ask: how does the Alter Rebbe bring proof from the verse “I am a worm” that someone who commits a sin, or wants to commit a sin, or is capable of committing one, is worse than an animal? The verse says he is like an animal: “I am a worm.” It does not say he is worse than an animal. Where does the Alter Rebbe get the idea that a person who sins is worse than an animal? It is because King David says, “I am a worm and not a man.” What is he adding? He wants to emphasize that the worm was created that way. When a worm behaves like a worm, what do you expect of it? Hakadosh Boruch Hu created it a worm, so it behaves like a worm. You cannot demand that when a worm eats, it should [unclear]. It was born a worm, so it lives like a worm. But when a person behaves like a worm, that is worse. Because with a worm, it is not

12:16 A person. Yes, I need to be a person, and when I behave like a worm, that is much worse. The same applies to the beinoni: he has the ability to do these things, even though in practice he does not do them. But is the very idea of doing them unthinkable to him? No. In that respect, he is worse than an animal, because animals do not even have the possibility of doing wrong. It is not only that animals do not commit sins; they do not even have the ability to commit a sin. And because he does have that ability, he is worse even than an animal. There is a well-known Rashi in Parshas Tazria. Rashi asks why the passage of “When a woman conceives,” with all its details of the laws of tumah and taharah, comes after the passages about creeping creatures and animals. Only at the end does the Torah discuss a person’s tumah. Rashi says that just as man was created last, so too the laws concerning his tumah come last in the Torah. Why was man created last? So that if he sins, he can be told, “The mosquito preceded you.” If a person commits a sin, he is told: What are you so proud of? Even animals do not have the ability to commit a sin. Similarly, the Torah first gives the laws of animals and only afterward speaks about a person’s tumah.

14:17 But the Rebbe asks: What does that explain? We understand why man was created last: if he becomes proud, he can be told, “The mosquito preceded you.” He can be asked, “Why do you consider yourself above the animals?” But how does that explain the order of the laws of taharah? What is the connection? Why must the laws concerning a person come afterward? The fact that he was created last is not enough to explain why the laws concerning his taharah come last. So the Rebbe says that the answer lies in a wonderful precision we can see from this passage in Tanya. Tanya’s point here is not only that a person is worse than an animal because animals do not commit sins and a person does. It adds that a person is worse than an animal simply because he can commit sins. In other words, it is not only a matter of what he does, but also of his very makeup. A person has such a coarse nature that he is capable of committing sins; evil is not repulsive to him. That alone makes him worse than an animal. This is the point the Rebbe makes in the letter: even the very possibility of committing sins makes him worse than an animal. Now we can understand why the laws concerning him also come last. In the order of Torah study, as explained in section two, a person begins with easier subjects and then moves on to more difficult ones. That is the order of Torah study. What does a young child begin with? Chumash, then Mishnah. We progress from the easier to the more difficult. The same applies to the subjects we study: we first study the easier ones, and afterward we study

16:01 the more difficult ones. That is the order of learning. So here, too, when a person comes to study the laws of tumah and taharah relating to a human being—what is considered tamei, what is tahor, what can be refined and what cannot—he first studies the easier matters and then the more difficult ones. Even when a person does nothing wrong, the very potential to commit sins makes him worse than an animal, even in terms of his soul. That makes the laws concerning him a more difficult subject. So in the order of study, we first learn about animals, which are easier to deal with, and then move on to a person, which is much more difficult. This is what Rashi means when he says about the laws concerning a woman who has given birth: just as man came last in creation, so the laws concerning him come last. That is why the Rebbe says in the sicha that Tanya gives us a way to understand Rashi’s point. But what concerns us here is the Alter Rebbe’s point. The Alter Rebbe says that this is part of the contemplation a person needs in order to have a broken and contrite heart and to be “despised and contemptible in his own eyes.” He reflects that, by his very nature, he is capable of things that are, G-d forbid, far from Hakadosh Boruch Hu—to the point that he is worse even than animals. This self-examination will make him feel despised and contemptible in his own eyes and bring him to a broken heart. In this way he will break the sitra achra. The Alter Rebbe adds another point: even when he overcomes his inclination to sanctify and purify himself during davening, even when he has

18:00 love of Hashem as well. After all, during davening he davens with love of Hashem. So how can you say he is worse than an animal? He also has love of Hashem. It is not merely that in practice he refrains from sin; he has love of Hashem too. Nevertheless, the Alter Rebbe says that the beinoni’s love of Hashem is not entirely true in the fullest sense. Although it is strong at the time, after davening that love of Hashem passes. Throughout davening the beinoni experiences love of Hashem, but afterward he no longer has that same kind of love. It weakens somewhat. So it follows that even during davening it was not completely true. This is like the familiar case of an intermittent spring. Although there is water in it now, because the water will later stop flowing, even now it is not considered a true, living spring. To be considered “living water,” it must have a lasting source, not be in a place where there is water today and none tomorrow. Yes, there is water there right now, and it is the same water. But because a time will come when it is gone, even now it does not have that status. The same applies to the beinoni: since his love of Hashem passes after davening and is present only during davening, apparently even then it is not entirely true. The Alter Rebbe is precise here: he says that it is not true “in the fullest sense.” He does not say that it is not truly true; he says it is not true in the fullest sense. That is because

19:50 the Alter Rebbe wants to resolve a question. If you remember, in chapter 13 of Tanya the Alter Rebbe said the opposite. There he discusses the beinoni and says that the beinoni’s love of Hashem is genuine. He says that although the beinoni’s love is of no account compared with that of a tzaddik, his love during davening is nevertheless genuine: “The lip of truth shall be established forever.” It was something real for him. The Alter Rebbe explains there that the beinoni’s service of Hashem is considered true service, because it is the utmost the beinoni can achieve. He goes on to explain that truth extends from one end to the other: at every level there is a service that is true for that level. That is the explanation at the end of chapter 13. So there appears to be a contradiction. In chapter 13 the Alter Rebbe says that the beinoni’s love of Hashem is genuinely true, while here he says it is not. The Alter Rebbe resolves this by adding one word: “entirely.” It is not entirely true in the fullest sense. The meaning is straightforward: when we said in chapter 13 that it is genuinely true, we meant that it is genuinely true for the beinoni—true for him. In other words, that is his truth. The utmost truth for a beinoni is the highest level he can attain given the level of his soul, the soul of a beinoni and not of a tzaddik. At a level where the world ultimately still has a certain reality for him, what counts as genuine truth? What is true service? It means reaching his innermost point, the deepest point within him

21:40 In the soul. That is the point from which his love of Hashem is aroused. That’s it; he cannot go beyond that. For him, that is called love of Hashem. The Alter Rebbe says there that he can always daven. A beinoni—with Torah, davening, and love of Hashem. Since a beinoni can do the work if he wants to, he can be in a state of davening all the time. He doesn’t need a Rebbe; he can do it. He can arouse it at any time—his understanding that leads him to daven—and that is love of Hashem. So because he has that capacity, at his level it is considered truth in its fullest sense. True, in practice he does not feel love of Hashem all the time in the same way. But because he has that capacity, as soon as he engages his understanding and arouses himself through the work of davening, he will have love of Hashem. And that can happen at any time. So for him, it is already considered truth in its fullest sense. But that is truth in its fullest sense at the level of the beinoni. If, however, we look at what constitutes truth in its fullest sense for the middos, that is not what the beinoni has. From the perspective of the middos—of truth in its fullest sense, completely. What does “completely” mean? As the truth stands from the perspective of the middos, the very fact that he does not have love of Hashem all the time, and that once davening is over, his love of Hashem fades and he constantly needs to find ways to arouse it, certainly means it is not inherent. It is not something intrinsic, and therefore it is not considered truth in its fullest sense completely. That is what the Alter Rebbe is saying. So even though he has love of Hashem, because it is not truth in its fullest sense completely, his understanding can help him with something that, from the perspective of the middos themselves, is empty.