Chapter 10 - Part Three

00:01 Today we’ll explain the subject a little and get our bearings, since there was a break as well. In chapter 10 of Tanya, the Alter Rebbe explains the difference between a tzaddik vetov lo and a tzaddik vera lo. Ultimately, the Alter Rebbe wants to explain the beinoni. But to understand what a beinoni is, we first need to understand everything around him. That’s the order here in Tanya. The Alter Rebbe wants to explain the nature of the beinoni, so he lays out the whole structure of a person and all the extremes. He explains the two sides of the tzaddik, the two levels of the rasha, and then, in chapter 12, we’ll be able to understand the beinoni. So in chapter 10, the Alter Rebbe explains the tzaddik. What follows only recalls things we’ve already learned, to remind us where we are. In chapter 9, the Alter Rebbe explained the battle between the two souls, and how each soul wants to have complete control over the entire person. That, in fact, is what a tzaddik is: when the G-dly soul succeeds in its aim of taking control of the person, of his entire being, that is the level of a tzaddik. So chapter 10 explains what actually happens when a person reaches that perfection, and in doing so, the Alter Rebbe explains the two levels of a tzaddik. That’s the point of chapter 10. Afterward, he’ll explain the opposite extreme—when the animal soul prevails, which is the level of a rasha—and within that, he’ll discuss several levels. Only then will we come to the beinoni. So this is what the Alter Rebbe explains here. I want to explain it a little, because we’ve already read half the chapter inside, but what’s missing is an explanation of precisely the difference between a tzaddik who has good and a tzaddik who has evil

02:07 within him. What, what, what is the explanation? The Alter Rebbe’s words here in Tanya are that one hates evil completely and the other doesn’t hate it completely; one loves Hakadosh Boruch Hu absolutely and the other doesn’t love Him absolutely. These all seem like terms that are hard to define. What exactly distinguishes a tzaddik vetov lo from a tzaddik vera lo? “Absolutely,” “not absolutely”—what does that mean? What do the words of Tanya mean? Chassidim have always worked hard to understand how to explain this. I want to explain it today based on an explanation we have—boruch Hashem, the new Tanya has just come out, with explanations from our Rebbeim. It includes material from the Tzemach Tzedek and the Rebbe Rashab, which gives us language we can use to explain the matter. So there is an explanation that helps clarify the difference between a tzaddik vetov lo and a tzaddik vera lo. There is a formulation quoted—I think it’s also on the Maskil Prati website [unclear], and it’s what we’re studying here this evening—that says a tzaddik vetov lo is a tzaddik of the world of Atzilus, while a tzaddik vera lo is a tzaddik of the world of

03:56 Beriah. So if we understand a little of the precise difference between the world of Atzilus and the world of Beriah, it can give us a very simple, fundamental understanding of the meaning here in Tanya. Now, in Chassidus we learn that the world of Atzilus is a world in which the oneness of Hashem shines openly. Atzilus is a world of “He and His life-giving emanations are one; He and His vessels are one.” He alone exists, and there is nothing besides Him. That is the level of Atzilus: utter bittul. As for the world of Beriah, Chassidus explains that on the one hand, it is called Beriah—there are created beings there. On the other hand, Chassidus says that in Beriah, too, the created beings are completely nullified to the word of Hashem. Chassidus describes the world of Beriah as being like fish in the sea. The created being is completely permeated by the word of Hashem. In other words, we’re speaking of something coming into existence, but in such a way that the created being feels that its entire existence is the G-dly power bringing it into being. So if that’s the case, what exactly is the difference between Atzilus and Beriah? You say that in Atzilus, He alone exists and there is nothing besides Him. But you also say that about Beriah: the created being feels that its entire existence is the word of Hashem bringing it into being. If it feels that the word of Hashem is its entire existence, then it too is nothing at all; it too is nullified. What exactly is the difference? In the language of Chassidus, the difference is that in Atzilus, the bittul is such that from the outset, there is nothing besides G-dliness. In the language of Chassidus, this is sometimes called “nothingness.” In Beriah, by contrast, we’re speaking about an existence and saying that this existence is G-dliness through and through. There is a very big difference between saying that, from the outset, everything here is G-dliness, that we’re speaking only about G-dliness to begin with, and speaking of an existence

06:01 that feels that its entire existence is G-dliness. To put this in simple terms, to bring it a little closer to our understanding: it’s like what the Rebbe explains in Likkutei Sichos about the difference between “I was created to serve my Creator” and “I was created for nothing other than to serve my Creator.” It’s a well-known thought that’s quoted in many places. The Rebbe cites it in several sichos in connection with different subjects—the difference between “there is nothing besides Him” and the notion of something else. The Rebbe spoke about this a number of times in various ways. There is a statement in the Gemara, in Kiddushin, with two versions. The usual version is, “I was created to serve my Creator.” Another version reads, “I was created for nothing other than to serve my Creator.” What difference does it make? Surely you’re saying the same thing. So the Rebbe explains it this way: When you say, “I was created to serve my Creator,” the first thing you say is, “I was created.” There is an existence, a created being. But what are you saying about it? That the entire purpose of this existence is to serve my Creator. In other words, there is a created being, and its whole purpose, its whole existence, is to serve my Creator. So that is bittul—but there is a created being, and its role is to be nullified. When, however, I say, “I was created for nothing other than to serve my Creator,” what am I saying? I’m saying that, fundamentally, there is no independent existence. The starting point is “I was not created.” There is no world, no independent existence. What is the existence? Serving my Creator. Hakadosh Boruch Hu wanted there to be service of my Creator, and therefore there is an existence. So this isn’t just wordplay; it’s an entirely different reality. When I say, “I was created,” I’m saying that at the foundation, at the base, there is me—my “I”—and its entire purpose is to serve my Creator. When I

07:53 say, “I was not created,” you’re negating that independent existence. The whole point is only to serve my Creator; from the outset, there is no other existence besides serving my Creator. In the Rebbe’s sichos, the Rebbe gives a very tangible example of this: the difference between gold and the tachash in the Beis Hamikdash. Concerning the gold used for the Mishkan, it says, “The world was not worthy of gold, and it was created only for the Beis Hamikdash.” In other words, gold didn’t really need to exist in the world. The world isn’t truly worthy of gold. Why, then, did Hakadosh Boruch Hu create gold in the world? So it could be used in the Beis Hamikdash. Similarly, regarding the tachash skins, it says that the tachash did not exist before that time or afterward. The animal called the tachash was created only for that generation, so they could use its skins for the Mishkan’s coverings. So the Rebbe explains the difference. Both gold and the tachash were created for the Beis Hamikdash. Nevertheless, when speaking of the tachash, you say that it didn’t exist in the world before, and it isn’t here today. There is no animal called a tachash today, and there wasn’t one earlier either. Its entire existence was created from the outset only for that time, for the Beis Hamikdash. Gold, by contrast, exists today and existed before then. Fine—and why, in practice, did Hashem create it? For the Beis Hamikdash. Similarly, says the Rebbe, that is the difference between saying “I was created” and “I was not created.” “I was created” means that your existence

09:45 It is for the sake of serving my Maker. But in practice, there is a created being whose entire purpose is to serve his Maker. So there are two subtle points here. When I say, “I was not created,” there is only serving my Maker. Broadly speaking, this is the difference between bittul in Atzilus and bittul in Beriah. In the world of Atzilus, chochmah shines; in the world of Beriah, binah shines. It says so in the Zohar. What is the difference between chochmah and binah? This is exactly the difference. Chochmah is koach mah—the capacity for bittul. Chochmah is a level at which, from the outset, one feels that “there is nothing besides Him.” That is chochmah. Chochmah is seeing. The truth shines, and when the truth shines, from the outset there is no reality apart from the truth. This is also explained in the maamar we are learning here in Israel now: the difference between the inner dimension of seeing and chochmah, and the inner dimension of binah. Binah, too, involves bittul, especially its inner dimension. The truth is felt: through binah, a person understands the truth that there is nothing besides Him. He understands the truth that He alone exists and there is none other. Through his understanding, he actually becomes one with it. But ultimately, binah is about how I understand. There is a reality, and that reality has a place. So the oneness of Hashem that shines in Atzilus and the oneness of Hashem that shines in Beriah are different. Although in both I say “there is nothing besides Him,” in both I speak of Hashem’s oneness, and in both I say that everything is G-dliness, there is a very great subtle difference. Here I say that, from the outset, there is nothing besides Him. G-dliness is the only reality; nothing exists apart from Him. In Beriah, by contrast, a sense of one’s own existence is felt. So you start with the matter of your own existence. Even when I come to recognize that there is nothing besides Him, that is how things are in practice, but not how they are inherently. That is another way to describe the difference between Atzilus and Beriah. In Beriah I say that, in practice, everything is G-dliness, but not

11:33 that it could not be otherwise. It could. The possibility is not ruled out. In the world of Beriah, the possibility of something not being G-dliness is not ruled out. In practice, there is nothing besides Him, according to the whole explanation, the whole discussion. That is how I understand it. With chochmah, from the perspective of Atzilus, what is felt is: it cannot be otherwise. This is the truth; it cannot be any other way. That is the feeling of seeing and chochmah. It is self-evident. That is how it is; it cannot be otherwise. Along these lines, this is the distinction the Tanya makes between a tzaddik who has only good and a tzaddik who still has some evil. The latter works on himself in practice. Through contemplation, guidance, refinement of the soul, and so on—the whole process—he has reached such a level of love for Hashem. He has come to recognize that there is nothing besides Him, and therefore he loves Hakadosh Boruch Hu with an exceptionally great love. His love causes the evil within him to be completely subdued. But in practice, in the world of Beriah, that is how things are; is the alternative inconceivable to him? It is not. That is what the Alter Rebbe means when he says that he “does not utterly loathe” evil. He has not reached a state in which it could not be otherwise. That is a tzaddik who still has some evil. And that is why the Alter Rebbe says he is called an incomplete tzaddik. In other words, it has not yet permeated every part of him—it has not become so ingrained in him that anything not connected to G-dliness is utterly inconceivable to him. By contrast, a tzaddik who has only good is one in whom the truth of G-dliness shines as it does in Atzilus. “I was not created”—there is nothing apart from G-dliness. Anything else is simply impossible. The oneness of Hashem as it shines within a tzaddik who has only good is such that G-dliness is absolute. If G-dliness is absolute, anything that is not G-dliness is utterly inconceivable to him. That is why the Alter Rebbe says he “utterly loathes” it. Anything not connected to G-dliness is inherently repugnant to him.

13:19 So that is the essential difference between the two. In earlier generations, chassidim would always look for analogies to illustrate this. I once heard Reb Nissan Nemenov explain the difference between a tzaddik who has only good and a tzaddik who still has some evil. He wanted to explain it a little more deeply, in concrete terms, and he said something interesting. He said that during the war in Russia there was a period of famine. As is well known, during World War II there was a terrible famine. Many chassidim, rachmana litzlan, died of hunger. This happened in Leningrad, as is well known, and afterward in Tashkent and Samarkand as well. Rachmana litzlan, many chassidim died during that period because the famine was so severe. During the famine, people searched for something to eat. They ate whatever they could find. Reb Nissan said that even during the worst famine, people ate things out of the garbage. Yes, they ate things that in normal times would be repulsive—disgusting, rotten things you would not touch. But they were so hungry that they even ate garbage and things like that. Yet, he said, no one ate excrement. Why? There are two kinds of repulsion. Some things are repulsive because you have wholesome food available, so you would never eat them. If you have wholesome, normal food, you will not eat rotten or spoiled food. But when there is nothing else, you have no choice. As a last resort, well, under pressure—it is still something; it is still food. But there are things that are altogether beyond the pale. In other words, they are utterly unthinkable. He wanted to explain the difference between a tzaddik who has only good and a tzaddik who still has some evil, and he said that this is the difference. A tzaddik

15:23 who still has some evil looks at everything on the side opposed to holiness as he would look at spoiled food, at garbage. It is repulsive to him, but he does not utterly loathe it. A tzaddik who has only good looks at that opposing side as he would look at excrement, so he utterly loathes it. In other words, it is a question of degree—just how repulsive it is. Of course, this is a nice analogy, but it does not explain why. By contrast, the explanation we discussed—how the Rebbe Rashab explained the underlying difference between a tzaddik who has only good and one who still has some evil—also gives us some basis for understanding why it is so inconceivable. I once heard another explanation. It is all connected, really. These are just analogies and examples to bring it a little closer to our understanding. I once heard people describe the difference between a tzaddik who has only good, a tzaddik who still has some evil, and a beinoni. They spoke of three levels. What happens if someone eats something and then finds out that it was not one hundred percent kosher—that there was a problem with its kashrus? What does he do? There are three levels. They would say that the beinoni is someone who, the moment he hears the food was not one hundred percent kosher, immediately puts his fingers down his throat and throws up what he ate. It was non-kosher food, so he immediately makes himself throw up. A tzaddik who still has some evil does not need to put his fingers down his throat. He merely hears that it was not kosher, and he throws up. In other words, he does not have to do anything to get it out; the moment he hears something was wrong with it, he throws up. And a tzaddik who has only good does not just throw up—he faints as well. How could it have entered his body?

17:21 Of course, this has no practical bearing, because Hakadosh Boruch Hu protects the tzaddik. It says, “No harm will befall the tzaddik.” It is not possible for this to happen to a tzaddik. Chassidim would just say it to give some sense of the difference. How repulsive is it? His reaction depends on how repulsive he finds it. For a beinoni, whose revulsion is only on the practical level, an action is needed to get it out of him. For a tzaddik who still has some evil, it is already repulsive to him within his soul as well, so it happens, as it were, on its own. But for a tzaddik who has only good, it is so utterly inconceivable that the thought of how it could ever have happened to him causes him to faint completely. And incidentally, they tell a story about Itche der Masmid along these lines. I do not remember all the details now. I heard it many years ago. Today there is already a book; you can look it up there. But this happened in Russia, during the difficult times there, when there was also famine and so on. In the place where Itche der Masmid was living—I do not know whether it was Kharkov or somewhere else, one of the places he lived at a certain point in his life—there were two bakeries selling bread. One bakery maintained the very highest standard of kashrus. The other was kosher too, but not to the exceptionally high standard Itche der Masmid observed. It was kosher, but not mehadrin min hamehadrin, as Itche der Masmid preferred. Now, there was a period of famine. He had not eaten for several days, and the bakery with the highest kashrus standard had nothing to sell. In short, it was closed. The other bakery was open. The chassidim saw how serious the situation was and decided they had to do something: Itche der Masmid needed to eat. So they obtained some bread for him and decided not to tell him the

19:13 The truth about where it came from—and they told him it came from the more scrupulous bakery. So he went and began; he washed his hands. In short, he took the bread, held it in his hand, and began to say the blessing. And he smelled it, and smelled it, and smelled it. He just couldn’t. Eventually he fainted, and that was it. In the end, he didn’t eat it. Eventually they had to tell him the truth: it wasn’t from the more scrupulous bakery. So that was a kind of protection from Hakadosh Boruch Hu. He didn’t know, but he had a feeling something wasn’t right. Yes, that’s the level of chassidim who truly loved Hashem. I don’t know what level Itche der Masmid was on. There’s the level of a beinoni, the level of a tzaddik v’ra lo, and a tzaddik v’tov lo. I don’t know exactly what level he was on. But he was certainly on a level. The point of the story is that, in practice, Hashem protected him. He didn’t eat that food. At any rate, these are stories about great chassidim. But in practical terms, what the Alter Rebbe is teaching us here is that when we speak about the avodah of tzaddikim—about the extent to which physical things, things of kelipah, are utterly out of the question for a person—it depends on the level of his connection to G-dliness. As we said, it depends on the level of love. In other words, in Tanya it’s expressed as a level of love, but it’s all really connected: how much G-dliness fills your soul. That’s what the Alter Rebbe says: “According to the measure of the greatness of the love for Hashem.” If, for you, G-dliness is the whole truth, the whole of reality, and nothing else is possible, then that love has become your entire reality. That is called ahavah b’taanugim, love of delight. What did we say? We explained in previous classes that ahavah b’taanugim means it has become your very essence, your reality. So if that’s your reality,

21:11 then anything that isn’t part of it is completely out of the question, utterly inconceivable. Whereas if you’re not on that level, then, in a subtle way, some sense of self remains, and so it’s still possible. That’s why evil is not completely repulsive to him: when G-dliness fills his entire being, the evil is nullified, but it hasn’t been transformed completely, from one extreme to the other. So that, broadly speaking, explains the difference between a tzaddik v’tov lo and a tzaddik v’ra lo. As we said in another class, what connection do we have to these levels? Who are we talking about here? We’re ordinary people. But as the Rebbe writes in one of his maamarim—the maamar I already mentioned in another class, “Bila Hamaves Lanetzach”—at certain times, at least, when a person truly wants to, anyone can sometimes have a moment in which they experience this: a state of mind in which they’re so immersed in Chassidus and in serving Hashem that, for a moment at least, undesirable things become repulsive to them. And the Rebbe writes that in the final generation before the Geulah, since we’re living in the time before Moshiach’s coming, and that is the level the world will reach—in the future it will be that “death will be swallowed up forever” and “I will remove the spirit of impurity from the earth,” when the world will reach this level we’re discussing, of revulsion toward evil; that will be the revelation of the future—so, since there needs to be preparation for that future revelation, each of us must have at least a little of it, at least sometimes: to be so immersed in matters of holiness and G-dliness that something undesirable becomes repulsive to us.