Likkutei Amarim Chapter 30 - Part 6

00:00 We’re up to the end of chapter 30, page 39, the last lines of the chapter. Here the Alter Rebbe discusses the teaching of our Sages, “Be humble before every person.” The Alter Rebbe explains how a person can reflect and come to feel humble before every person, even before someone on the lowest level. How can that be? We’re talking about a beinoni, someone whose thought, speech, and action are, in practice, as they should be. So how can he feel, in complete truth—not just pretend, but genuinely feel—that he is lower than every other person? In chapter 30, the Alter Rebbe gives us a very interesting, very deep reckoning. When you assess yourself in relation to someone else, you can’t look only at what you do in practice and what the other person does in practice. That isn’t a fair reckoning. The fact that you enjoy learning and therefore learn, while the other person finds it hard because he lacks “zitz fleish,” as they say—the ability to sit still—or perhaps his intellect isn’t as developed as yours, doesn’t make you better than him. The little he learns may be worth more than the great deal you learn, because the main thing isn’t the quantity; it’s how much effort he puts in. As is known, Hashem doesn’t count the pages but the hours. It isn’t how many pages you learn; it’s how much time you invested. And sometimes it isn’t even about the hours, because someone may naturally be a diligent learner, so sitting and learning for several hours

02:04 doesn’t take that much effort for him. For someone else, sitting for ten minutes is mesirus nefesh. So the reckoning has to be how much effort he puts in. That is the meaning of our Sages’ teaching, “Do not judge your fellow until you have reached his place.” You can’t judge another person unless you’ve been in his place. His “place” can be a physical place. You may be within the four cubits of Torah and the four cubits of prayer, in a yeshiva or beis midrash twenty-four hours a day, sitting in an environment of Torah. The other person is out on the street. Certainly, someone out on the street faces much greater challenges than someone sitting in a yeshiva. That’s his physical place. Then there is his spiritual place—his level. The other person may have a hotter nature, an evil inclination that burns like a blazing fire, while you are naturally a cool person. So the fact that he has more desires than you still doesn’t make you better than him. What, then, should the reckoning be? It should be measured against the effort demanded of that person. Am I exerting myself to the same degree? After all, that person doesn’t have an excuse either. Even though he is out on the street, and even though he has a very strong evil inclination—his nature is heated and his inclination burns like a blazing fire—he must fight himself. Hakadosh Boruch Hu gives him the strength to overcome it, and he must work on himself. Out of fear of Heaven, out of fear of Hashem, he can overcome his inclination. He will have to wage an immense battle, and he certainly must do so. Right? So the question is: Are you, the beinoni, fighting your own battles? True, you don’t have the same desires he does, but you have challenges on your own level. That

04:04 means, for example: Do you daven with kavanah with the same exertion? Do you put as much effort into your davening as a person on the lowest level must put in to overcome his desire? Do you learn diligently, with extra effort, to the same degree that he must fight his desire? And the same applies to turning away from evil. For you, these may be subtler forms of evil: lashon hara, speaking negatively about someone else. They may involve eating or drinking. But since these are where your struggle lies, you need to fight and exert yourself to the same degree that he must fight his own battles. And here the Alter Rebbe concludes the chapter. According to this, I can’t consider myself greater than the other person. I can’t feel superior to him, even though I am a beinoni and he is on the lowest level. The fact that I am a beinoni doesn’t necessarily mean I am better. Work and struggle are demanded of me just as they are demanded of him. His challenges are in more basic matters, while mine are in loftier matters, but work is demanded of both of us. A person has to weigh and examine himself: Am I serving Hashem with the effort demanded of someone on the lowest level? That is what the Alter Rebbe has said up to this point. Now, at the end of the chapter, the Alter Rebbe asks: But why should I feel lower? All this says is that we are the same. Why are we told to “be humble,” to feel even lower than someone on the lowest level? It still doesn’t mean that I am lower; it means we are equal. And this is what the Alter Rebbe

06:07 explains at the end of the chapter. We return now to page 39, to the line that begins “mentioned earlier.” “But in truth,” says the Alter Rebbe, “if he is learned.” Here the Alter Rebbe explains why a beinoni who does not fight himself to the extent he is capable of is worse off than someone on the lowest level, and why he should therefore feel humble even before him. The Alter Rebbe says something remarkable here, something deeply relevant to each of us in our service of Hashem. “But in truth, if he is learned”—we are talking about a beinoni who is learned, who knows how to learn. He holds fast to Hashem’s Torah. Generally, he is someone for whom Torah and mitzvos are part of his life; that is what he is about. “And he desires closeness to G-d.” He wants to be close to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. The Alter Rebbe says that for such a person, “his sin is too great to bear, and his guilt is multiplied many times over.” He is on a level where he understands the depth of these matters. He knows something of G-dliness, and Torah and mitzvos are part of his life. He is a beinoni. So when he doesn’t fight, when he doesn’t exert himself, his failing is much greater: “His sin is too great to bear, and his guilt is multiplied many times over in that he does not fight and overcome his inclination with an immense battle, as explained above.” Much more is demanded of you, because you are capable of much more. Since you are capable of much more, failing to fight and exert yourself as demanded of you is considered a far greater failing than the failure of someone on the lowest level, one of those who sit on street corners,

08:20 far from Hashem and His Torah. A person on the lowest level, one of those who sit on street corners, is not so conscious or aware of the value of Torah and mitzvos. He doesn’t really understand the gravity of his failing or why it is a problem that he doesn’t exert himself. He doesn’t have the same sense or grasp of G-dliness, so he cannot be held as accountable. They are “far from Hashem and His Torah, and their guilt is not so great for failing to subdue their inclination, which burns like a blazing fire, because they are far from Hashem and His Torah.” They cannot be held as accountable because they lack that awareness and are not so connected to Torah and mitzvos. They don’t fully understand the significance of what their actions bring about. So they cannot be held as accountable as someone who does know the significance of his actions. “For the guilt of one who is closer to Hashem, His Torah, and His service” is greater. By contrast, you, the beinoni, are someone who is close to G-dliness, so much more is demanded of you. The Alter Rebbe brings a proof for this, saying, “As our Sages said also concerning Acher.” There is evidence for this in the revealed teachings of Torah. The Gemara speaks about Acher. Who was Acher? Acher was Elisha ben Avuyah. The Gemara tells us that he was one of the Tannaim; he is also mentioned in Pirkei Avos. It says that Elisha ben Avuyah later strayed from the proper path. May Heaven protect us, he became a heretic. And then the Gemara says that a heavenly voice went forth and declared, “Return, wayward children—except for Acher.” Everyone could do teshuvah except for Acher, as he was called. After he, after he left

10:14 So they did not want to call him by name; they called him Acher, “the Other.” They said that a heavenly voice went out and said that Acher’s teshuvah would not be accepted. Why not? Anyone who does teshuvah has his teshuvah accepted. Why was it said, “Return, wayward children”—except for Acher? The Gemara explains: “Because he knew My glory.” Acher knew who Hakadosh Boruch Hu is. When an ordinary person sins, it comes from a dullness of mind and heart. G-d forbid, he does not feel what the sin does to him; a spirit of folly takes hold of him, and he falls. He also does not really understand what is so terrible about what he is doing. So Hakadosh Boruch Hu is more forgiving toward him. But Acher “knew My glory,” and so on. Acher was one of the four who entered the Pardes. It was not merely that he observed Torah and mitzvos, or that he was a Torah scholar. He also entered the Pardes. He studied Kabbalah, the inner dimension of Torah. He knew the greatness of Hashem. He reached very high levels. He was a contemporary of Rabbi Akiva, and so on. He was a student of Rabbi Meir. He was on a high level and knew about G-dliness, and nevertheless he became a heretic. He distanced himself from— So in his case, Hakadosh Boruch Hu— In his case, the degree of blame is much greater. The Alter Rebbe brings this as an example, as proof that the same applies here. Why do I say that one should “be lowly of spirit before every person, in absolute truth”—that the beinoni must genuinely feel lowly of spirit before every person? A beinoni observes Torah and mitzvos with complete perfection. He is sound in thought, speech, and action. How can I genuinely feel lowly of spirit before every person? When I reflect on it, the opposite is true: precisely because I am a beinoni,

12:04 I know more. I have learned; I am committed to Torah; I want to come closer to G-dliness. So more is expected of me. When I sin, what is the sin? It is not a sin in the literal sense; it is a lack of effort. But that effort is what is required. That is what Hakadosh Boruch Hu expects of you. So for you, not davening with the concentration a beinoni is capable of is a more serious sin than the actual transgression committed in the street by someone on the lowest level. That person is not so aware of his sin, while you are aware. Here the Alter Rebbe gives us a tremendous principle in serving Hashem: how to look at a person’s service of Hashem. We cannot measure a person by his actions alone. We cannot measure a person by his actions alone. We have to look at things in proportion to how aware a person is of what he is doing. It is like this in ordinary life: you cannot shout at a child—a child who does something harmful, causes some damage, makes a mess—the way you would get angry at an adult who did the same thing. If a little child throws something out the window, that is childishness. But if a yeshivah student does it, that is a serious offense. What do you mean? Are you a little child? Are you in kindergarten? You are grown up; that is beneath you. A different standard is expected of you. In other words, sometimes we do not look at the act itself; we look at the person’s level. What level are you on? Your conduct has to match that level. The same applies in spiritual service. There are people who never learned because that is how their lives unfolded. A child

14:10 who was raised without a Jewish education did not grow up in a yeshivah. He does not know what a mitzvah is; he does not know the value of Torah. He too must serve Hashem, and things are expected of him as well. As the Alter Rebbe said earlier in Tanya, demands are made of every single person. Nevertheless, because he lacks that knowledge—as he says here, look at what he says now: “And of them our Sages said, regarding an am ha’aretz, that their deliberate sins are considered inadvertent sins.” What does the Gemara say? The Gemara in Bava Metzia says there is a difference between an am ha’aretz and a Torah scholar. For a Torah scholar, inadvertent sins are considered deliberate sins. “Tell My people of their transgression, and the house of Yaakov of their sins.” For Torah scholars, inadvertent sins are considered deliberate, while for an am ha’aretz, deliberate sins are considered inadvertent. Why? For the reason we explained here. An am ha’aretz, because he has not learned, does not feel the value of Torah and mitzvos. He does not know how precious they are; he does not know what they are. He is not aware of what he is doing. So even when he does something deliberately, poor fellow, he does not know better; he has not learned. He is not aware. It is therefore viewed more leniently, like an inadvertent act. But you, the Torah scholar, do know. You have learned. Much more is expected of you. That is what the Alter Rebbe is saying here. So it follows that when a person reflects on this point, he will come to a broken heart. That is what the Alter Rebbe wanted to explain here in chapter 30: how does a person bring himself to have a broken heart? This continues chapter 29. In chapter 29 the Alter Rebbe said that when you have a piece of wood and the fire does not catch in it, you have to break the wood into pieces. The Alter Rebbe said to have a broken heart, so that this breaks

16:12 the kelipah, the coarseness and crudeness of the animal soul. Then love of Hashem can begin to take hold; it breaks the heaviness, the dullness of heart. That is what the Alter Rebbe discussed in chapter 29. What is the difference between chapter 29 and chapter 30? In chapter 29 the Alter Rebbe discussed things connected to what a person did in the past: his connection to kelipah and the sitra achra, the sins he once committed. Today he has already done teshuvah, but he has not done enough teshuvah, and apparently he still has a dullness of heart, and so on. That was the explanation in chapter 29. Now the Alter Rebbe offers a different kind of explanation. Relative to what a person ought to be, and relative to what is expected of me, my service is really not as it should be, not at all. For a beinoni, the effort required is immense; it is out of all proportion to what I actually do. That too will bring about a broken heart. As the Rebbe explains in one of his sichos, the explanation in chapter 30 is, in a sense, even more forceful than chapter 29. At first glance it seems the opposite. Chapter 29 speaks about sins—not current sins, but past sins. It speaks about transgressions. Chapter 30 speaks only about a lack of effort. That would seem much subtler. But the Rebbe says it is also the other way around. In chapter 29, the Alter Rebbe is speaking about a situation in which the person has no sins now. He says only that his dullness of heart shows that an impression remains from something in the past. In chapter 30, by contrast, the Alter Rebbe says: No, you are sinning now. You, the beinoni—if today you are not exerting yourself as much as you should and can, then that counts as your sin right now. That is what the Alter Rebbe says

18:03 here at the end of the chapter: “And his guilt is many times greater.” That is what counts as an actual sin for you now. Reflecting on this will bring a person to a broken heart. And the purpose of a broken heart is not to bring a person to sadness, G-d forbid, but to bring him to a sense of bitterness. Through that bitterness, he will break the coarseness in his heart and be able to rise higher—to awaken his love of Hashem, to kindle the fire. As the Alter Rebbe goes on to explain in the following chapters, from bitterness one reaches true joy. That is what he will explain next, in chapter 31. There is a story connected with this point—two stories, actually. One is a story people tell about the Mitteler Rebbe, connected with this point the Alter Rebbe makes about judging oneself according to one’s level. The Mitteler Rebbe was the mashpia for the younger chassidim. As is known, during the Alter Rebbe’s time, he appointed the Mitteler Rebbe as mashpia for the young married men. There is a story that the Mitteler Rebbe once held a farbrengen. He was young then. He held a farbrengen, and he demanded a great deal. His farbrengens were very sharp, and he expected a lot from the chassidim. On one occasion, at a farbrengen, he spoke sharply to one of the chassidim and told them that their whole service of Hashem was not what it ought to be, and so on and so forth. One of the young men stood up in the middle of the farbrengen and said to the Mitteler Rebbe, “Rebbe, what does the Rebbe want from us? You are the Alter Rebbe’s son. When the Alter Rebbe needed to bring you down into the world, he entered the treasury of souls. He chose the loftiest soul he could find and brought it down into the world, and did everything

20:22 What you need is to be born in holiness and purity, with everything that goes along with it. Then you have a pure soul, you have holy garments, you grew up in a home where you received the best education, so you can learn and daven. We know that our parents brought us into the world like animals, that our souls were drawn from the very lowest depths, and that our garments are coarse. Then each of us has his own nature, and we have challenges. We have to go out and earn a living. We have to travel among non-Jews in the villages, borrow and lend, and go talk to someone about trivial things so he’ll pay what he owes you. And after all that, we still have to sit and learn Chassidus and daven. So what do you want us to be? It’s simply not possible. The Mitteler Rebbe heard this. He became very serious and said, “You’re right.” He stopped the farbrengen, went into his room, and shut himself in for some time. He began working on himself in an entirely different way. They say that the Alter Rebbe thanked that chossid, because it was thanks to him that the Mitteler Rebbe reached the level he did—because of what that chossid had said to him. So how does that relate to what we’re learning here? The point is that demands are made of each person according to his level. That’s one story. Here’s another. There are several details to the first story; perhaps I didn’t tell it precisely, but that’s its substance. There’s another well-known story that Reb Mendel Futerfas used to tell often, about Reb Chatche Feigin. There was a period when Reb Chatche lived in Riga, I think, and there were Jews there who opened their shops on Shabbos. Reb Chatche told the bochurim they had to go protest and get them to close their shops on Shabbos. Afterward, Reb Chatche said, weeping, “We demand of them

22:47 not to desecrate Shabbos. But we ourselves desecrate Shabbos! That Jew doesn’t know what it means to desecrate Shabbos. He wants to earn a living, and he thinks this is how he’ll make money. That’s his desecration of Shabbos. But we know what Shabbos is. We learn Chassidus. What does our Shabbos look like? We’re the ones who truly desecrate Shabbos. Instead of learning Chassidus and davening on Shabbos, instead of making Shabbos a special day, we can spend it absorbed in kugel and challah, in an afternoon nap—‘so that your ox and your donkey may rest.’ That isn’t Shabbos. That’s a terrible way to spend Shabbos; it’s a desecration of Shabbos. So we’re the ones truly desecrating Shabbos.” Among chassidim, too, there was this idea: You demand mesirus nefesh of someone else, you make demands of someone else—but what do you demand of yourself? On the contrary, you’re capable of so much more, so the demands on you must go much deeper. I once heard something about Reb Berke Chen—Reb Berke Chen, the grandfather of the Chinsbergs[?]. Yes, Reb Berke Chen. When he arrived in Eretz Yisroel, the Rebbe had just launched the tefillin campaign in 5727. So Reb Berke Chen bought four pairs of tefillin. He began putting on Rashi’s and Rabbeinu Tam’s—what are they called?—he had all four pairs and would put them on. Why did he do that? He said, “If the Rebbe asks us to put tefillin on a Jew in the street, if we ask a Jew in the street to put on tefillin—that’s asking something of him. I have to ask something of myself too.” So he began looking for a way to be more meticulous about tefillin. Some say it was something else: that he began putting on tefillin at sunrise and saying the morning Shema at sunrise. In any

24:54 case, he looked for an added stringency. What could he add? If you ask something of someone else, you have to add something yourself too. That’s what we’re learning in this chapter: each person has to look at himself in terms of what he is capable of. This applies in yeshiva, too, to bochurim. Sometimes a bochur needs to know how to make demands of himself. Not like Noach, of whom it says that he was righteous in his generations. Compared with his generation, he was righteous enough. A bochur looks around and thinks, “Well, I learn better than so-and-so, so I’m already a good bochur. I behave better, so I’m a more chassidisher bochur.” You have to examine yourself not in comparison with someone else, but in light of the abilities you have and what you’re capable of. Then you can demand much more of yourself.