The Higher Rise, The Harder Fall

As noted, sparks of holiness fell into two types of klipah. Our holy masters revealed that the sparks embedded in the three completely impure klipot actually come from a higher spiritual root than those found in Klipat Nogah.

For precisely because they originated from a loftier level, when they fell, they fell lower.

As the holy Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch, of blessed memory, writes (Derech Mitzvotecha, p. 190a):

“To what is this comparable? To a stone or brick falling from the top of a wall—it will land far from the wall; but one falling from the bottom of the wall will land close to it. The higher the point of origin, the farther out the fall.

So too above: anything that is extremely high, when it falls through a breaking or shattering, plunges to the lowest realm. Therefore the sparks of Tohu, whose root is exceedingly exalted, descended to the lowest depths during the breaking of the vessels...”14

Before explaining the mission placed upon us, let us quote Rabbi Menachem Mendel’s explanation of the very idea of klipah (Derech Mitzvotecha, ibid.):

To understand klipah, consider the shell of a walnut. The shell is hard and encases the fruit completely. One sees only the shell; the nut inside is entirely hidden. Only when the shell is cracked open can the fruit be accessed. Without breaking the shell, there is no way to reach the nut.

So it is with the fall of the sparks of holiness into the klipot. The sparks are exceedingly lofty, yet they fell and became swallowed within the klipah. The klipah conceals them entirely; only the outer shell is visible. But within that shell lies a spark of holiness—in a state of exile.

To extract the spark and restore it to its source, one must break the klipah. When the shell is broken, the spark is revealed and elevated15—just like a walnut whose shell is cracked so that its hidden fruit may be retrieved.

Wellsprings of Wisdom

14. In a talk delivered by my father Rabbi Yoram Michael Abargel, of blessed memory (Betzur Yarum, vol. I, p. 335), he said as follows:

“Our sacred Torah is ‘longer than the earth and broader than the sea’ (Job 11:9). Its height, width, and depth are without end. Every Jew grasps it according to the measure of his ability and according to the root of his soul above.

If his soul is of a lower grade, he will find it difficult to absorb and comprehend. If his soul is of a higher grade, he will be able to grasp much—and with little effort.

But even one whose soul is lowly should know that he too is capable of attaining understanding. But his path can become far easier if he finds a true teacher—a holy person—who is willing to walk with him hand in hand. For a tzaddik has the power to lift souls upward to the loftiest levels.

At times, souls of exceedingly high stature descend and are clothed within a dark and lowly body. The reason for this is the ‘shattering of the vessels.’

As is well known and recorded in the books of Kabbalah, during the ‘shattering of the vessels’ many souls fell into the depths of the kelipah; and the holier they are, the longer is their path of ascent from there.

One such soul was Reish Lakish:

Reish Lakish was a holy man whose light was heavily concealed by the kelipah. Thus, at first he became a bandit, even taking lives. Rabbi Yochanan served as the emissary to draw him up from the depths of the kelipah. He said to him: ‘Your strength should be devoted to Torah! And if you seek women, come with me—I will give you my sister, who is modest and upright, and even more beautiful than I am.’

Rabbi Yochanan—who was the leader of the generation—sat and taught him Torah. And on every matter that Rabbi Yochanan said, Reish Lakish would raise twenty-four brilliant objections. With each exchange, he reshaped Rabbi Yochanan’s entire framework of understanding. Rabbi Yochanan would sit for long hours to resolve all his questions.

Until one bitter and fateful day when they entered into a dispute regarding the dagger and the spear—at what point they would become susceptible to ritual impurity—as explained in the Gemara (Bava Metzia 84a). Rabbi Yochanan took offense from their bitter exchange, and Reish Lakish passed away.

After this, Rabbi Yochanan was overwhelmed with anguish over the loss... His students, hoping to calm his spirit, brought to him Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat. But it did not help. Even with him, Rabbi Yochanan found no solace.

Rabbi Yochanan was disappointed: “I need a study-partner who will challenge me, not one who simply supports me. I need a student like Reish Lakish who would pose many questions, compelling me to respond with new reasoning in that halachah—so that the discussion would expand and bear fruit. But Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat not only fails to challenge me; on the contrary, he merely endorses what I say! Do I need confirmation for my words?”

Reish Lakish had risen to such a level (Yoma 9b) that “anyone whom Reish Lakish would converse with in the marketplace would immediately be granted credit without witnesses”—that is, anyone he spoke with was assumed to be an honest man.

And it was Rabbi Yochanan, as noted, who lifted Reish Lakish to that exalted height. He was the one who stripped away the kelipot, allowing Reish Lakish’s endlessly lofty soul to shine forth.”

15. This is the greatness of the sages of Israel, who know how to break the klipah that covers the soul.

On this matter, Rabbi Zalman Ruderman related (Bein HaDagim LaZemirot, vol. 1, p. 24):

During a long train journey, the Slonimer Rebbe, Rabbi Shmuel Weinberg, was studying quietly when a distinguished, elegantly dressed man boarded and sat nearby. Curious about the Rebbe’s retinue, he struck up a conversation with the gabbai and soon mentioned, with great pride, that he was the grandson of holy ancestors. Hearing this, the Rebbe warmly invited him to sit beside him.

As they spoke, it became clear that the man—wealthy, accomplished, even a former physician to the Czar—had drifted far from the ways of his forefathers. The Rebbe listened kindly, asking gentle questions to understand how far this “descendant of holy ancestors” had strayed from the path of Judaism. The man admitted he had not touched tefillin in nearly forty years.

After a pause, the Rebbe told him a story about his own great-grandfather, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev who called upon Yankel the drunkard to return to G-d year after year, and he would brush off the tzaddik’s calls until he finally broke down in remorse on his deathbed. At that moment of raw honesty, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak said, Yankel’s soul soared upward as a complete ba’al teshuvah.

The story pierced the doctor’s pride. His once-confident expression softened, and he sat in thoughtful silence. When the Rebbe quietly took out a pair of tefillin and offered them, the man extended his arm without a word. He did not protest later when the Rebbe gifted him the tefillin.

Years later, the Rebbe’s gabbai met an elderly pious Jew who asked, “Do you remember the Czar’s doctor whom the Rebbe invited to sit beside him on the train?”

The gabbai suddenly recalled.

“I am that man,” the elder said.

“The Rebbe’s story—and the tefillin he placed into my hands—rekindled the hidden spark inside me. They lit the path that brought me back to G-d and His Torah.”