As we enter the spiritually charged days of Rosh Ha-shanah and Yom Kippur, we naturally turn inward seeking to refine ourselves, to deepen our service of Hashem, and to return to Him with renewed authenticity. It is during this season that we ask a fundamental question: how do we confront our Yetzer Hara? Do we engage it directly and transform it into a force for good or do we retreat from it entirely, distancing ourselves from its enticements?
This very question was the subject of a profound dispute among the great Chassidic masters.
The Baal Shem Tov taught that the optimal way to overcome the Yetzer Hara is not to ignore or reject it, but rather to engage and elevate it, and thereby transform our base desires into tools of Avodas Hashem. According to this approach, one channels physical cravings and emotional impulses toward mitzvos and spiritual growth.
In sharp contrast, Rav Tzadok HaKohen of Lublin vehemently disagreed. He warned that confronting the Yetzer Hara directly is too dangerous. Instead, he advocated a strategy of avoidance, wherein one flees from temptation rather than risk being ensnared by it. Better to keep one’s distance from that which is tempting altogether than attempt to sanctify it and fail.
Rav Dessler, in Michtav Me’Eliyahu (Chelek Alef), notes that this dispute is echoed in a surprising place: the Midrashic discussion regarding the mitzvos of Shabbos and Bris Milah.
The Midrash relates a debate between these two mitzvos, each claiming superiority over the other. Ultimately, Milah prevails, as Bris Milah overrides Shabbos if the eighth day falls on Shabbos. This halachic reality serves as proof of its greater status.
But what does this mean?
Rav Dessler explains that Shabbos represents the worldview of the Baal Shem Tov, kedushas ha’taiva, the sanctification of physical pleasure. On Shabbos, we delight in food, rest, and comfort, but all in the service of Hashem. It is about embracing the physical and channeling it toward the spiritual.
Bris Milah, by contrast, symbolizes the ideology of Rav Tzadok: shviras ha’taiva, cutting off desire at its root. Milah removes the orlah, physically and spiritually, signifying the subjugation of human passion to Divine will. It is not about elevating taiva, but about suppressing and transcending it.
Thus, Milah overriding Shabbos is not merely a halachic ruling, but a theological declaration. When weighing the two approaches, the Torah sides with caution: it is safer to subdue the Yetzer Hara than to risk sanctifying it and being consumed by it. As Rav Dessler concludes, in theory, elevating taiva is a loftier path, but in practice, avoidance is often wiser.
This dialectic is also reflected in a curious Gemara in Chullin (91a). When Yaakov wrestled with the Sar Shel Eisav, the angel appeared either as a Talmid Chacham or as an idol worshipper. Why such vastly different images?
One interpretation, as offered by Rav Moshe Aaron Friedman, is that the Yetzer Hara wears two disguises. At times, he comes like a brazen sinner, attempting to lure us into open transgression. But at other times—far more dangerously—he cloaks himself in the garb of piety and logic, like a talmid chacham. He manipulates Torah concepts, offers sophisticated rationalizations, and tries to convince us that an aveira is actually a mitzvah.
This duality is captured in Yaakov’s tefillah: “Hatzileini na miyad achi, miyad Eisav—Rescue me from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Eisav” (Bereishis 32:11). Why the redundancy? The Beis HaLevi explains that Yaakov feared two manifestations of Eisav: one as the external, antagonistic enemy, and one as the friendly “brother” seeking to influence him subtly and draw him away from Torah.
We can now reinterpret the two opinions about the angel’s appearance.
The opinion that the Yetzer Hara appeared as a Talmid Chacham aligns with the Baal Shem Tov’s view that taiva can be engaged and transformed. This is the Yetzer Hara that enters our minds, encouraging us to integrate, elevate, and spiritualize our desires.
The opinion that he appeared as an idolator reflects Rav Tzadok’s position that taiva is an external danger to be avoided, a foreign force that does not belong in the Jewish soul, and must be resisted or escaped.
Both strategies are true. Both are valid. The challenge lies in discerning which to apply, and when.
As we approach the Yomim Noraim, let us take both messages to heart. There are times when we must run, like Yosef fleeing from Potiphar’s wife. And there are times when we must engage, like Dovid HaMelech, who said, “Libi chalal bekirbi—My heart is hollow within me,” (Tehillim 109:22). He had slain his Yetzer Hara and now used his passions to serve Hashem.
The ideal is to sanctify desire, to elevate the physical and draw it into the realm of holiness. But when that is too risky, the wise choose retreat. We must be humble enough to know which battle we are fighting.
May we all merit to stand before Hashem with clarity, honesty, and courage, engaging when we can, escaping when we must, and knowing the difference.
