BEYOND THE LIGHT: FINDING G-D HIMSELF

By Rabbi Moishe New

ABRAHAM’S CHOICE

This week’s Torah portion, Vayeira, opens with an extraordinary incident in the life of Abraham. At the age of ninety-nine, Abraham had circumcised himself in accordance with G-d’s command. It was now the third day following his circumcision, traditionally the most painful period of recovery. Yet despite his discomfort, Abraham was sitting at the entrance of his tent, in the heat of the day, looking for travellers whom he might invite into his home.

Abraham and Sarah had established their home at a crossroads, where wayfarers would frequently pass. Their tent, our Sages tell us, had entrances on all four sides, so that travellers approaching from any direction would find themselves welcome. Incidentally, this is one of the beautiful significances of the chuppah beneath which a Jewish bride and groom stand. The chuppah represents their future home, but strangely, it has a roof without walls. One explanation is that their home, like the home of Abraham and Sarah, should be open and welcoming from every direction.

The Torah tells us that on this particular day, G-d appeared to Abraham. What is unusual about this revelation is that G-d says nothing. Ordinarily, when G-d appears to a prophet, it is to communicate something. Here, there is no message whatsoever. Our Sages explain that G-d had come to visit Abraham in his illness, teaching us the importance of visiting the sick. One might know perfectly well how a person is doing, but a visit provides something that mere knowledge cannot: strength, comfort and encouragement.

And then something astonishing happens. While Abraham is experiencing this divine revelation, he notices three strangers standing at a distance. Immediately, he interrupts his encounter with G-d and runs to welcome them. Imagine! G-d Himself has appeared to Abraham, and Abraham effectively says, “Excuse me, I have guests to attend to.” One would think that this was almost an insult to G-d. Yet our Sages derive from this incident an extraordinary principle: Receiving guests is greater than receiving the Divine Presence.

How can this possibly be? Surely, the ultimate objective of our existence is to connect with G-d. What could be greater than experiencing His presence directly? To understand this remarkable teaching, we must address one of the most profound paradoxes in Kabbalah.

WHY DESCEND TO BEGIN WITH?

We believe in the eternity of the soul. It exists before birth and continues to exist after death. Where was the soul before entering the body? In heaven, in the presence of G-d. Which raises an obvious question: Why did it have to leave? If the soul was already enjoying the splendour of heaven, why descend into a physical world, with all its difficulties, temptations and spiritual concealment?

The conventional answer is that the soul descends in order to earn and therefore truly appreciate its place in heaven. In heaven, there is no temptation, no conflict and no meaningful choice between good and evil. By entering this world, facing challenges and choosing to do what is right, the soul earns a deeper appreciation of its eventual reward. That is certainly a meaningful explanation. But Kabbalah introduces something far more radical: the ultimate connection with G-d is something the soul cannot achieve in heaven at all.

WHEN LIGHT OBSCURES

Imagine a gathering of the world’s most eminent physicists, assembled to hear Einstein present his revolutionary theory of relativity. As he speaks, they become utterly absorbed in his ideas, captivated by a radically new understanding of reality.

Now imagine that following the lecture, Einstein is placed in a lineup and the scientists are asked to identify him. They cannot. Why? Because they were so completely absorbed in his intellectual brilliance that they scarcely noticed the man himself. They were, quite literally, blinded by the light.

But suppose a young child had attended the same lecture. The child understood nothing of Einstein’s theories, yet could readily identify him. Precisely because he was not captivated by Einstein’s brilliance, he was able to identify Einstein himself.

This illustration reveals the extraordinary distinction between heaven and earth. In heaven, the souls are overwhelmed by the revelation of G-d’s wisdom, love, compassion and infinite glory. So magnificent is the divine light that it obscures G-d Himself. The souls experience His attributes, but not His essence.

Our world, by contrast, is a place of concealment. Indeed, the Hebrew word for world, olam, is related to he’elem, meaning concealment. Here, G-d’s presence is so hidden that a person can deny His existence altogether. Yet therein lies the paradox: precisely because we are not overwhelmed by His revelation, we can connect with G-d Himself.

And how is that connection made? Through a mitzvah.

When a Jew puts on tefillin, lights Shabbos candles, gives tzedakah or eats kosher food, he is carrying out G-d’s will in the physical world, forging a bond with His very essence. Think of a simple example. You sit down to eat a kosher sandwich, make the appropriate blessing beforehand and recite the blessing afterwards. Do you necessarily feel a profound spiritual transformation? Probably not. Yet through this seemingly ordinary act, you have achieved something inaccessible to even the loftiest soul in heaven.

For in heaven there is no performance of physical mitzvos. The soul may rise endlessly through ever-higher levels of spiritual revelation, but it cannot accomplish what a soul in a body can achieve through fulfilling a divine commandment.

This also explains a fundamental principle concerning reward in Torah. Reward is not some unrelated prize that G-d bestows upon us for doing what He commands. The reward of a mitzvah is the connection created by the mitzvah itself. When we perform a mitzvah today, we establish that bond, although we may be entirely unaware of what has occurred. One day, when the divine truth becomes revealed, we will experience what we have already achieved.

A SMALL, INTIMATE SPACE

The Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Chassidic movement, taught that a person is truly found where he wants to be. At first glance, this sounds rather strange. Surely a person is wherever he happens to be physically. But consider how much of our lives we spend doing things merely as a means to something else. A person works to earn a living. If he could receive the same income without working, he might gladly abandon the work. A student studies for a degree. A traveller undertakes a journey to reach a destination.

In each case, the activity itself is not necessarily what the person truly desires. His deepest will is directed towards the result. The Baal Shem Tov teaches that where a person’s innermost desire is invested, there you find the person himself.

Now apply this principle to G-d. Kabbalah describes a vast hierarchy of spiritual worlds, ascending through increasingly magnificent levels of divine revelation. Our physical universe occupies the lowest level of this entire structure. Yet G-d declares that His ultimate desire is to have a dwelling place specifically in this lowest world.

Why, then, did He create all the higher worlds? Because in order to have a lowest world, there must be higher ones. They are part of the process through which His ultimate purpose is achieved. But His deepest desire is invested here, in the world we inhabit.

And what is a home? A home is the place where a person can simply be himself. Outside, we fulfil roles, perform tasks and pursue objectives. At home, we are not defined by what we accomplish or how we present ourselves. We can simply be who we are. Home is the place where share ourselves in the most intimate way with our soulmate and family.

G-d’s desire for a home in this world means that His very essence, not merely a manifestation of His greatness, should find expression here. And it is here in this world that He desires to share Himself with each one of us – His ‘soulmate’. He wants us to create that home by transforming the physical world and bringing it into harmony with His will. The higher spiritual worlds reveal His greatness, but this world is where His innermost desire is invested.

CLOSER STILL

We can now return to the question with which we began. Abraham is sitting at the entrance of his tent, experiencing an extraordinary revelation of G-d. Suddenly, three travellers appear. Abraham leaves his sublime spiritual experience and hastens to prepare a meal. He is no longer absorbed in divine revelation. He is arranging food, preparing the table and attending to the needs of his guests. On the surface, this seems like an enormous spiritual descent.

But what was Abraham actually doing? He was fulfilling G-d’s will through an act of hospitality. And by doing so, he was achieving a connection that transcended even the magnificent revelation he had been experiencing. Abraham did not abandon G-d. He drew closer to Him.

This is precisely the model of the soul’s descent from heaven into the physical world. The soul exchanges the experience of divine splendour for the opportunity to fulfill G-d’s will through physical action. What appears to be a descent is, in its ultimate purpose, the greatest ascent.

There is a parable about a king who opened the doors of his magnificent palace and invited his subjects to take whatever they wished. The first person entered and was overwhelmed by the splendour of the royal stables and their magnificent furnishings. He could imagine nothing greater, and chose to remain there. Another entered the palace itself and was captivated by its extraordinary architecture, gold, silver and priceless treasures. Others ventured further, each becoming overwhelmed by an even greater display of royal splendour.

Finally, one individual entered and declared, “I want the king himself.”

That required extraordinary courage. For in choosing the king, he was not choosing splendour, wealth or personal gratification. He was choosing a relationship with the king himself, one that meant placing the king’s will above his own. The others had been captivated by the king’s possessions and glory. This individual wanted the king.

There is a profound lesson here concerning the nature of our spiritual lives. We naturally associate spirituality with feelings of inspiration. We imagine someone sitting in a synagogue, deeply absorbed in prayer, tears streaming down his face, experiencing an extraordinary closeness to G-d. Certainly, such moments are precious. But consider another person, quietly performing a mitzvah, without any particular feeling of spiritual elevation. Which moment represents the deeper connection?

The answer depends not on the intensity of the experience, but on whether the person is fulfilling G-d’s will. The distinction is between experience and truth.

Ultimately, we will enjoy both. When Mashiach comes, the divine reality concealed within our physical actions will become revealed. We will experience the extraordinary connection that every mitzvah has already created. The world will not become meaningful only then. Rather, the meaning already present within it will finally be visible.

In the meantime, we have the privilege of taking this physical world, with all its ordinary activities, and transforming it into a home for G-d. And every time we perform a mitzvah, no matter how simple or seemingly mundane, we are not merely approaching the splendour of the palace.

We are embracing the King Himself.