Mussar Discussion and Study

November 15, 2018
GooD News
The Mussar Tradition
THE MUSSAR WAY

“By this time I had already come to see myself as a soul. That’s one
of the first things any student of Mussar needs to understand and
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acknowledge, deeply and clearly. Each of us is a soul. Mostly we
have been told that we “have” a soul, but that’s not the same
thing. To have a soul would indicate that we are primarily an ego
or a personality that in some way “possesses” a soul.
The first step on the path of Mussar is to unlearn that linguistic
misconception and to realize that our essence is the soul and that
all aspects of ego and personality flow from that essence. At its
core, the soul is pure, but habits, tendencies and imbalances often
obscure some of that inner light.
The lessons of Mussar are all intended to help us correct whatever
shortcomings may be preventing the light of our soul from shining
through.” —Climbing Jacob’s Ladder by Alan Morinis
WHAT IS MUSSAR?
Mussar is a path of contemplative practices and exercises that have
evolved over the past thousand years to help an individual soul to
pinpoint and then to break through the barriers that surround and
obstruct the flow of inner light in our lives. Mussar is a treasury of
techniques and understandings that offers immensely valuable
guidance for the journey of our lives.
The Jewish community spawned Mussar to help people overcome
the inner obstacles that hinder them from living up to the laws
and commandments—the mitzvot—that form the code of life.
That community tends to see Mussar as inseparable from its own
beliefs and practices, but the human reality Mussar addresses is
actually universal, and the gifts it offers can be used by all people.
MAP OF THE INNER LIFE

“The soul fills the body, as God fills the world. The soul bears the
body, as God bears the world. The Soul outlasts the body, as God
outlasts the world. The soul is one in the body, as God is one in
the body, as God is one in the world. The soul sees and is not seen,
as God sees and is not seen. The soul is pure in the body, even as
God is pure in the world…” —Rabbi Simeon Ben Paz
The inner life that we experience, and the roots of thought that
reach down into the darkness of the subconscious, are features of
the life of the soul.

ASPECTS OF THE SOUL
Neshama
Neshama is the most elevated and purest aspect of soul and it
shines at the deepest core of our being. “In my body he has
kindled a lamp from his glory,” begins a poem by Moses ibn Ezra,
referring to the light of the neshama. In the morning prayers it
says “God, the soul [neshama] you have given me is pure”.
Ruach
The next dimension of the soul that Mussar identifies is called
ruach, that aspect of the soul that is the source of animation and
vigor – no more, and no less, than the “spirit of life.”
Nefesh
Nefesh, the third level of the soul is the aspect that is most visible
and accessible to us. It includes all those inner aspects that link us
to our lives on earth, including the physical body, so that body
and soul are, in fact, a single, indivisible whole. Without the soul,
the body is dust. Without sensation and the play of physical
forces, the soul has no connection to the earth. It is the union of
body and soul that gives rise to human experience.
The nefesh is the seat of all our emotions and appetites, the realm
of personality and identity. If our nefesh is clear and unblemished,
the light of the neshama will shine through without obstruction; if
it is foggy, the light will be obstructed. Just as clouds determine
how much sunshine makes it to earth, the nefesh acts as the
“atmosphere” of our lives. The features of the soul that connect us
to this world – personality, character, appetites, aversions,
strengths, weaknesses – determine whether the holiness that is
there at our core shines out or not, or to what degree. The goal of
Mussar is to help us build up, or reduce, or balance the features of
our life that cause the light within to brighten or dim, and so it
focuses our attention on the nefesh.
Mussar Discussion and Study Guide

A. Introduction
This issue of Reform Judaism magazine has a special focus on Mussar
which, as Leonard Felson explains, is a Jewish practice for self-
improvement “which focuses on living a more conscientious life and
heightening awareness of the world and one’s responsibilities; in
short, becoming more of a mensch.” Another way to put it is that
Mussar aims to help us become more holy, and more whole.
Because Jewish tradition sets such high standards for human
behavior, leading thinkers in previous generations took it upon
themselves to help us identify the areas in which we personally
excel and fall short, and guide us in making strengths out of our
weaknesses. This strand of Jewish thought and practice began to
emerge in the 10th century and became a full-fledged movement
in the Jewish world of 19th-century Lithuania. Until recently,
Mussar existed only in the Orthodox community, which explains
why members of other denominations have been little exposed to
its teachings and practices.
Although the focus of Mussar is on personal spiritual development,
it is not a selfish or self-interested activity. Mussar teachers insist
that we are assigned our spiritual curriculum in life—addressing
those inner traits (middot) that need balancing—so we can
struggle to become more whole: but not just for our own sake. If
you are habitually impatient, then developing patience will not
only improve your own life; it is your assignment to make the
world a more patient place. If you are more often stingy than
generous, then generosity is your assignment on behalf of your
soul and the world. And so on, through the full range of traits.
B. Overview Discussion
The following quotes from prominent Mussar leaders of past
centuries present core Mussar concepts. The accompanying review
questions will help you explore and discuss these Mussar ideas.
1. “The one stone on which the entire building rests is the concept
that God wants each person to complete himself, body and soul.” –
Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, author of the seminal work The Path
of the Just(1740)
• What do you think of the notion that each individual is
meant to use this life in order to become more “whole”?
• The Hebrew word for “wholeness” is shlemut, and an
individual who is whole would be described asshalem. Both of
these Hebrew words share a root with the
word shalom (peace). What might be the connection between
wholeness and peace?
• What do you think wholeness might look like in a person,
given that each human being has flaws and weaknesses?
Have you ever encountered a person who impressed you as
embodying a measure of wholeness? What was it about that
person that made you perceive him or her as whole?
• Can you begin to reframe your life, seeing everything you do
in terms of bringing you closer to wholeness?
2. “The entire purpose of man’s existence is to purge every negative
trait and character attribute from his heart.” – Rabbi Yisrael
Salanter, the 19th-century founder of the Mussar movement
• Of the list of traits below, which ones do you see as being
relatively problematic in your life?
o patience / impatience
o generosity / stinginess
o gratitude / deprivation
o trust / worry or fear
o honor / judgmental
o enthusiasm / laziness
• The Mussar teachers recognize that change requires practice.
Which of the following actions could you commit to doing
daily for one full week?:
o patience [savlanut] – identify the specific situation in
which your patience is most tried on a daily basis, and
commit to “bearing the burden” of your impatience for
the first 5 minutes you are in that situation
o generosity [nedivut] – do 3 generous acts daily. Note
that you can be generous not only with money but with
possessions, time, emotions, physical assistance, etc.
o gratitude [hakarat ha’tov] – say thank you to everyone
who does the slightest thing to help you, including
things like letting you change lanes on the freeway,
doing their jobs, being in your life, cleaning public
spaces, etc.
o trust [bitachon] – whenever you feel worry or fear
arising in you, recite to yourself the phrase, “I am in
good hands.”
o honor [kavod] – greet everyone you meet with a smile
and a kind word. Go out of your way to do so.
o enthusiasm [zerizut] – jump into action, from getting
out of bed the moment you awaken to taking care of
things you might otherwise put off.
• At the end of each 7-day practice, do a personal stocktaking
of your experience: What happened? How do you feel at the
end of the week in contrast to how you would ordinarily feel
about this “trait of your heart” you were addressing? Did any
experiences bring to mind purity or impurity of heart?
C. Middot Discussion
To assist us on our personal spiritual curriculum, Mussar teaches us
to strive toward the positive and strengthen the opposite of the
trait with which we struggle. So, for example, if you tend to be
miserly, generosity would be on your personal curriculum. A
judgmental person (one who judges others) would work on the
trait of honor (honoring every human being), and so on through
the full range of middot.
Based on the traits discussed in Reform Judaism’s Focus section,
here are passages that can help deepen your discussions with
others.
Discussion #1: Awareness – Zehirut
“Our Rabbis taught: For two and a half years Beit Shammai and
Beit Hillel were in dispute, the former asserting that it were better
for man not to have been created than to have been created, and
the latter maintaining that it is better for man to have been
created than not to have been created. They finally took a vote
and decided that it [would have been] better for man not to have
been created than to have been created. But now that he has been
created, let him examine his actions. Others say, let him feel his
actions” (Babylonian Talmud, Eruvin 13b).
Before examining and feeling comes awareness. In his book, The
Path of the Just, Rabbi Luzzatto begins his progressive series of
steps for the spiritual seeker to follow with the trait of zehirut,
usually translated as watchful or cautious. “The task of
watchfulness,” writes Rabbi Luzzatto, “involves a person being
cautious in his actions and his interests, which is to say, conscious
and aware of whether his deeds and his ways are for the good or
not. The point is to avoid abandoning his soul to the danger of
destruction (God forbid) and not to go in his habitual ways as a
blind person in darkness. This is a thing that our intelligence
knows and ought to dictate.”
Questions to discuss:
• What exactly does Rabbi Luzzatto wish us to be cautious
about?
• What recent action of yours was for the good? What action
was not for the good?
• Had you been actively practicing the trait of caution before
you did the negative action in question, do you think you
still would have done it?
• What does it mean to you to be cautious in your “interests”?
When you think about your own interests in light of Rabbi
Luzzatto’s teaching here, are there any interests that you
know ought to be avoided?
• Rabbi Luzzatto credits our intelligence with knowing that we
should be cautious. If so, why don’t we simply follow such
common-sense guidance?
• What happens to awareness and free will when actions are
taken in a habitual way?
Discussion #2: Compassion – Rachamim.
“Compassion," writes Rabbi Avraham ben Ha'Rambam in The Guide
to Serving God, "is one of the lofty traits and one of the Torah's
objectives. It is the first of the traits ascribed to God— 'a
compassionate God' (Exodus 34:6). The Torah repeats the phrase—
'the Almighty your God, is compassionate' (Deuteronomy 4:31).
And the prophets said, 'for You are a kind and compassionate God'
(Jonah 4:2)... Your temperament should be inclined away from
callousness, toward compassion and sensitivity. Thereby, you will
be kind to one who deserves compassion, helping one in distress,
saving the oppressed from oppressors, feeding the hungry,
clothing the naked, and the like."
The American Heritage dictionary’s definition of compassion is
“deep awareness of the suffering of another, coupled with the wish
to relieve it.” Reform Judaism author Fran Zimmerman quotes a
Mussar teaching that guided her in being more compassionate in
her relationships: “For our response to be truly compassionate, we
must not just feel with another person, but also try to see things
from the other’s perspective.”
Questions to consider:
• What difference do you see between the above dictionary
definition and the Mussar guidance Zimmerman cites?
• How much effort do you make to see things from another
person’s perspective?
• Could/might you do more?
Discussion #3: Patience – Savlanut
“Woe to the pampered person who has never been trained to be
patient. Either today or in the future he is destined to sip from the
cup of affliction.” – Rabbi Menachem Mendel Leffin, Cheshbon Ha-
Nefesh As RJ magazine author Gary Shaffer describes, rush-hour
commuting can easily ignite impatience. You need to be
somewhere and the person in front of you is moving too slowly, or
the traffic is jammed. Or it’s just your luck to arrive at the one
ticket counter staffed by a trainee.
Actually, the cause of our impatience is never the situation itself,
though that is how it appears to us. A situation that infuriates us
might not cause the slightest bit of concern to another person who
doesn’t approach it brandishing the same fuse as we do. We
experience impatience only when we strain against a situation we
cannot control.
The Hebrew term for patience, savlanut, is made from the three-
letter root samech-lamed-nun [S-L-N] shared by the following words:
• sevel (suffering)
• lisbol (to suffer)
• sevolet (tolerance)
• sovel (burden or load)
• sabol (a porter or carrier)
Seeking out the common element in all these words teaches us a
fundamental lesson about patience, as Jewish tradition would have
us understand it. Being patient does not mean that you are in a
completely calm and unruffled state of mind, but rather that you
are able to bear the burden of your hostile and explosive feelings
without reacting. Think of your emotional load as a heavy
suitcase, and you as the porter who can take it on his shoulder to
bear the burden.
Still, it is not enough to learn the meaning of the
word savlanut. If learning remains purely intellectual, the Mussar
teachers insist, it is unlikely to have any impact on your behavior.
That is why Rabbi Elya Lopian defined Mussar as “Making the heart
understand what the mind knows.”
• What can you do to internalize your understanding that
patience means bearing a burden of emotions in the midst of
the situation?
• What image, phrase, or other prompt might you use to
remind yourself that the burden of your feelings of
impatience are to be picked up and carried on your shoulder?
Discussion #4: Trust – Bitachon
“Internalizing the attribute of bitachon [trust in God] leads to two
benefits,” says Rabbi Yosef Yozel Hurwitz in Madregat Ha’Adam.
“First, he who trusts in God is freed from all the troubles of the
world. He is spared the emotional fragmentation caused by overly
intense involvement in too many worldly concerns. He is also
saved from wearing himself out, body and soul…Second, he has
acquired the habit of trust, a path and a course in life. The
direction that one has in this world is even more important than
the benefits to which it leads. The advantages gained
through bitachon are only indicators of its supreme value and by
no means its only measure.”
There are other advantages of cultivating trust in God, says Rabbi
Bachya ibn Paquda in The Duties of the Heart:
• Freedom from worldly cares.
• The peace of mind that comes from not having to travel on
faraway roads, which is so physically ruinous and menacing.
• An easy profession that earns him a good reputation which
allows him enough leisure time to reflect and fulfill his obli-
gations to study Torah and do the other things he must do.
• Few professional cares, even when his product does not sell,
when he cannot collect money owed him, or when he
becomes ill.
• He is pleased with everything, even it if goes against his grain.
• If Mussar is Jewish spiritual practice, and if the trust under
discussion here is trust in God, why doesThe Duties of the
Heart text emphasize the worldly benefits of this trait?
• What practice might you do to cultivate trust in God?
Discussion #5: Humility – Anavah
“Humility is associated with spiritual perfection,” writes Rabbi
Abraham Isaac Kook in The Moral Principles. “When humility
effects depression it is defective; when it is genuine it inspires joy,
courage and inner dignity. At times it is not necessary to be afraid
of greatness, which inspires a person to do great things. All
humility is based on such holy greatness.”
Humility (anavah in Hebrew) is a much misunderstood trait. In the
Jewish view, humility does not mean being a meek, silent,
cowering person who is always deferring to others. How could that
be when the Torah tells us that Moses, who repeatedly confronted
Egypt’s god-king, led the Jewish people out of Egypt, and cut such
a large figure in Jewish history, was “the most humble man on the
face of the earth” (Numbers 12:3)?
A modern definition of humility, based in Mussar thought, is
“limiting oneself to an appropriate space while leaving room for
others” (Everyday Holiness).
• Given the modern Mussar definition of humility, do you see
yourself as needing to expand or contract the personal space
you tend to occupy in your life situations?
• How might you go about contracting or expanding the
personal space you fill up?
Discussion #6: Holiness – Kedusha
Acquiring holiness is like climbing the highest mountain: there are
blizzards and treacherous conditions that prevent all but the very
strongest from reaching the summit. The heroes who make it are
afraid of nothing. Persistent, courageous, and determined, they
refuse to give up no matter how many times they fall. Besides
their physical strength, they have enormous powers of spirit—
unshakeable confidence. As Proverbs 24:16 says: “The tzaddik falls
seven times and still gets up.”
The goal of Mussar practice is to become more holy, in fulfillment
of the Torah’s injunction kiddoshim tihiyu, “You shall be holy”
(Leviticus 19:1).
But what exactly is holiness?
Rashi analyzes the Hebrew word for “holy”—kadosh—and tells us
that being holy means separating from that which is impure and
improper. He calls on us to remove ourselves from all “sins,”
though he specifically focuses on improper sexual behavior: “You
should keep distant from sin and licentiousness, for wherever you
find decrees against sexual misconduct you find holiness” (Rashi
commenting on Leviticus 19:2). Rashi’s message is that all we need
to do to be holy is to keep ourselves from defilement.
Rabbi Moses ben Nachman (known also as Nachmanides, or Ramban),
who followed Rashi by 150 years, writes in his commentary to
Leviticus 19:2 that "In my opinion, the separation being discussed
here is not to separate oneself from licentious behavior, as Rashi
maintains, but rather this separation is the one referred to
throughout the Talmud. Thus the rabbis are always referred to as
‘Prushim,’ those who separate themselves…. The issue is that the
Torah forbade certain sexual conduct, and prohibited certain foods
and drink. It also permitted intercourse between husband and wife,
and the consumption of meat and wine. This might allow a person
to act licentiously with his wife, or his many wives, and to be a
glutton for meat and drink, and speak vulgarly as his heart desires.
For the Torah does not forbid any of these things, and he would be
allowed to be a vile disgusting person with the Torah's permission."
Instead, Ramban emphasizes self-restraint as a measure of holiness.
In The Path of the Just, Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto says that
holiness means attaching yourself to God: “Even when you are
embroiled in matters of the world for the sake of the well-being of
your body, let your soul not be moved from its state of great
attachment. As it is said (Psalms 63:9), ‘My soul attaches itself to
You, for Your right arm supports me.’”
• Why do you think that there is so much disagreement about
holiness? Is there something about holiness that makes this
concept especially difficult to define?

• Are these three definitions in disagreement, or is each
touching on one aspect of a larger view?
• Why would you pursue holiness?
D. Beginning Practice
“Matters of piety, reverence and love, and purity of heart,” writes
Rabbi Luzzatto, “are not ingrained in your heart…[or] come upon
nonchalantly like…sleep and wakefulness, hunger and satiety….
In truth, you have to foster means and devices to acquire them.
And there is no lack for things to keep them back from you.”
To transform your personal inner life, it is not enough to study
Mussar as a body of Jewish sources. As the Mussar masters teach, it
takes practice, practice, practice to effect change in one’s character.
1. Reciting Phrases
Reciting phrases is a good place to begin your own practice.
Below you’ll find some soul traits and phrases that can be recited
to cultivate them. Print or write out one or more of these phrases
on a card and place it where you are sure to see it every morning.
Some people tape their card to the bathroom mirror, the
coffeemaker, or their computer screen. Then, every day for one
week, when you make contact with your card, spend 5 to 10
minutes reciting the phrase to yourself, either aloud or silently as
a meditation. In 19th-century Lithuania the tradition was to recite
the phrase with building emotion and adding a melody. You can sit
still or you can move. The point is to repeat the phrase enough
times and with enough forcefulness that it imprints deeply and
strongly in the mind. Then go about your day.
The Mussar teachers tell us that each episode of repetition “leaves
a trace on the soul.” That means you are not likely to see or feel
any instant change. But you will be laying down these traces
nonetheless, and over time they will accumulate, until one day
you find yourself in a trying situation and a new thought or
impulse—aligned with the phrase you recited—arises in you.
Then, you will see that the practice has done its work.
Do one phrase for one week and then take on another. Once you
have completed a week of recitation for each trait on your list, go
back to the beginning and repeat.
TRUST: “Blessed is the person who trusts in God, and whose trust
is God” (Jeremiah 17:7).
PATIENCE: “Everything in its time.”
HUMILITY: “No more than my place, no less than my space.”
GENEROSITY: “The generous heart gives freely.”
2. Visualization
All too often in the busy, tiring, and stressful world in which we
live, we allow ourselves to be ruled by our emotions. Instead of
enjoying the calm steadiness of equanimity, we live volcanic
lives—about to explode, exploding, or cleaning up the mess
following the last eruption. In contrast is the desirable inner
quality of equanimity, an even-tempered mind-state. The Hebrew
term menuchat ha’nefesh literally means calmness of the soul.
In Reform Judaism, author Henry Wodnicki suggests one way of
developing this prized quality which makes it so much easier to
bear the ups and downs of life: “Visualize the flame of a match
touching the fuse. See how the flame moves to touch off the fuse.
Now in your mind’s eye, imagine the flame moving more slowly
toward the fuse. Next, try to picture yourself in control of the
flame, in charge of how quickly, or how slowly, the flame will
ignite the fuse. You, and you alone, can control when the
explosion will occur…. You, and you alone, can control how and
when your anger will affect yourself and other people.”
Many Mussar teachers have extolled the practice of holding vivid
mental images in mind in order to enlist the power of the
imagination to etch impressions deep within. The mental images
you choose to visualize create real experiences for you, and we are
all shaped by our experiences.
Wodnicki’s suggested visualization of a match—standing for influ-
ences that stimulate a reaction in you—and a fuse—signifying
your readiness to react—can be practiced. Set aside a small period
of time, at least 5 minutes, to visualize the following sequence:
• a match is lit
• the match is brought toward a fuse
• hold that image steady
• then expand the space between the match and the fuse
• keep expanding that open space
Impressing this image on your mind through several sittings will
likely equip you with a new tool, imprinted in the mind (or, some
would say, the heart). You won’t experience the change until
somebody acts in a way that would typically have provoked you
and suddenly the image of the space between the match and the
fuse appears in your mind, giving you the option to respond
differently, preserving your equanimity. Try it and see.
E. Resources
Climbing Jacob’s Ladder, by Alan Morinis
Everyday Holiness, by Alan Morinis
Cheshbon Ha’Nefesh, by Rabbi Menahem Mendel Leffin
Orchot Tzaddikim (anonymous)
The Path of the Just, by Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto
The Guide to Serving God, by Rabbeinu Avraham ben HaRambam
The Duties of the Heart, by Rabbi Bachya ibn Paquda
Strive for Truth!, by Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler
The Practice Corner

The Hebrew word for patience is savlanut, which comes from the
same root as “suffer” [sevel] and a “porter” [sabal]. Being patient
means bearing or carrying your own emotional suffering. In
practice, that means becoming aware of difficult emotions as you
experience them, and then just holding them, even embracing
them, so they do not take you over and dictate your behavior. You
still respond, but it is you responding, not just the passion of the
moment roaring through you.
A Mussar practice that applies here is to visualize a potentially
provocative situation before it occurs.
If you anticipate that you are going to find yourself in
circumstances that might get heated, imagine in advance the
argument that might take place. Then, should the hot words
actually start to fly, instead of shooting back from shock and
affront, your experience will be one of recognition: “This is what I
prepared for.” That very thought will help pry open the space
between the match and the fuse, that precious territory within
which free will and wisdom reside.
Practice Corner
By Alan Morinis
The traditional Mussar practices for fostering humility tend to be
kabbalot (practical exercises). That’s because ego is so strong and
so entrenched in our perspective that we cannot get any leverage
on the issue except through direct experience. This is the example
par excellence of the Mussar teaching that “the heart follows the
deed” (as Sefer HaChinuch puts it). We can learn so much from the
way we position ourselves in our lives, and changing that can have
the impact on ego we seek.
The focus for the practice comes from something that I wrote
about in my book Everyday Holiness:
One student in a Mussar course … had the habit of sitting in the
front at public gatherings and of wearing colorful clothes. When
she was learning about humility, she decided to try out toning
herself down for the next event she attended. “This time, I packed
my suitcase with beige, black, white and brown clothes and made
the choice to sit in the back of the room.” Despite this retraction
of self, she reported, “I had a great time, so much so that some
people noticed and asked me what I was up to.” But what really
struck home was the realization she had that the sitting in the
front and the colorful clothing were reflections “that I lacked a
solid foundation in self-esteem.”
Based on this insight and teaching, here are exercises to try for
this period:
For the person tending to the arrogant end of the spectrum,
the practice is to set a time period in which you will reduce the
amount of space you occupy in every realm you can think of. This
could involve determining that for one week you will do some or
all of the following:
• Wear less colorful or eye-catching clothing (and note that a
man’s tie or socks can be as much a call for attention as a
woman’s boots).
• Wear shoes with soft soles and heels that won’t call
attention.
• Sit toward the back of the room and not the front.
• Never be the first one to speak to a question or issue.
For the person tending to the excessively humble end of the
spectrum, the practice is to set a time period in which you will do
exactly the opposite practice:
• Wear colorful or eye-catching clothing (including that bright
tie or socks or dramatic boots).
• Wear shoes with hard soles and heels that will call attention
as you click down the hall.
• Sit toward the front of the room and not the back.
• Try to be the first one to speak to a question or issue.
Once you have done this exercise for a number of consecutive
days, notice what effect you see as a result. Even what you feel
when doing the exercise is a result. This is an excellent focus for
journaling.
Through a Mussar Lens:

Being Slow to Anger
By Alan Morinis ANGER / KA’AS
I get angry too often and too easily, and in that I am not alone. In
this fast-paced and self-oriented world, any obstacle or unexpected
circumstance can set off the inner flares of anger. Though it may
seem that the prevalence of anger is a reflection of how we live
today, in truth there is nothing new in our anger. Our ancestors
grappled with this powerful, sometimes volcanic, emotion no less
than we do. They have lessons to teach us.
We hear every day about anger demolishing relationships,
smashing property, and even leading to self-destruction. The
Talmud is categorical: “The life of those who can’t control their
anger is not a life” (Pesachim 113b). It is also written there that
breaking things when angry is as sinful as idol worship (Shabbat
105b). Jewish sources relate anger to foolishness—“foranger
lingers in the bosom of fools” (Ecclesiastes 7:9), and to loss of
wisdom—“One who becomes angry, if he is wise, his wisdom leaves
him” (Pesachim 66b). And, really, these are just two sides of the
same coin. How does someone in a rage look to you? Wise? How do
you think you appear to others when you act out of anger?
Perhaps foolish? Indeed, anger is more often than not an
ineffective or even counter-productive tactic, and only a fool
willingly does something that is counter-productive. And so it is
that our sages taught that it is “Better to be slow to anger than
mighty, to have self-control than conquer a city” (Proverbs 16:32).
It’s not that anger in itself is bad. Quite the contrary. Anger is a
valuable inner signal that something is wrong and something
needs to be done about it. Nobel Peace Prize winner Kailash
Satyarthi claimed that, “All my best ideas were born of anger.” He
recognized that anger is a powerful source of energy to transform
ideas and action.
The issue is not anger; the issue is how we act in response to that
trigger. And what we learn from Jewish wisdom is that we should
strive never to lose our mastery over our emotional lives. We see
that in the liturgy that has us praise God’s quality of being slow to
anger. On festival days and especially on Yom Kippur, we intone,
“Adonai, Adonai! Compassionate and gracious, slow to anger,
abounding in kindness and faithfulness .…” Notice that being “slow
to anger” is high on the list of characteristics we ascribe to God.
God’s quality of being “slow to anger” provides a role model for us,
and Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, a prominent kabbalist and Mussar
teacher of the 16th century, gives us a clear description of how we
know this to be the case, writing in Palm Tree of Devorah, that,
“…there is no moment when a person is not nourished and does
not exist except by virtue of the divine power that flows down
upon him. It follows that no one ever sins against God without the
divine outpouring flowing into him at that very moment, enabling
him to exist and to move his limbs. Despite the fact that he uses it
for sin, that power is not withheld from him in any way. Instead,
the Holy One, Blessed be He, bears this insult and continues to
empower him to move his limbs even though he uses the power in
that moment for sin and perversity offending the Holy One,
Blessed is He, who, nonetheless, suffers it.”
Since one of the primary forms of Mussar practice is to model our
behavior on what we know of God’s ways (i.e., to walk in God’s
ways—v’halachta b’d’rachav; Deuteronomy 28:9), it follows that if
God is slow to respond angrily to provocation, then we too should
strive to delay our reactions. As the verse says: “At a time of anger
God reminds Himself of God’s own mercy” (Chabakuk 3:2). By
breathing deeply and not jumping to react, we open a space in
which to remind ourselves that we have the capacity to choose
another response in place of our anger.
Being slow to anger does not mean
accepting being a victim, but
neither is there great virtue in
acting out one’s anger even in
responding to injustice. In fact,
reactivity is an instinctive
characteristic of animals, and what
distinguishes humans from
animals is our ability to override emotions with wisdom. My Mussar
teacher, Rabbi Yechiel Yitzchok Perr, speaks of Mussar practice
helping to open “a space between the match and the fuse,” which
could be a definition of wisdom itself. Being slow to react affords
us a better perspective from which to respond.
A story is told about a Chassidic leader who would dispense “holy
water” guaranteed to eliminate all domestic conflicts. Whenever a
husband or wife had an urge to argue, he or she was to hold some
of the water in his or her mouth without swallowing for as long as
possible. This “holy water” proved to be very effective in stopping
arguments and diffusing anger. Similarly, the Alter of Kelm made a
personal resolution never to get angry unless he first put on a
special garment he had set aside as his “anger clothes.”
The sages recognized that what lies at the root of anger is often
exaggerated pride or self-centeredness. Rabbi Yisrael Salanter
reflected on a story in the Talmud (Berachot 18b) about a man
who was insulted by his wife and then went to sleep in a
cemetery. He explained that the man did so with the intention of
breaking the pride that was prompting him to respond with anger.
Learning from God, we do not want to rush to righteous judgment
because that does not create a space in which the other person has
the opportunity to correct what they have done to offend us. How
much better to receive an apology that can heal a rift than to
deliver a blow (even if only verbal) that deepens one.
Another good reason to be slow to anger is that you may not have
your facts right. I was once waiting for my bags in an airport and
overheard a woman berating someone over the phone because the
other person was not there to pick her up. After a stream of
invective came a pause, and then, “You mean there’s a time
difference?”
You have to wonder, too, if getting angry is the most skillful and
effective response you can come up with. Since I mention airports,
I was once in line at customer service because the airline messed
up and I had missed my flight. I had every right to be annoyed
and I was. The line was long and as I was forced to wait, I had
time to cool down enough to realize that if I unleashed my
righteous anger, it would feel very good in that moment, but
almost certainly I’d be paying for my own hotel room that night. If
I could smooth out that anger and respond from a different place,
there was a chance the airline would pay for my room. How much
better to be an effective victor than a self-gratified loser.
Here we have three good reasons to be slow to anger. And there
are more, too. In fact, it is hard to think of a single reason to
praise being quick to anger.
Anger and Injustice

By Rose Ashford

We tend to regard anger as bad, even though like all emotions it is
neither good nor bad. Anger can be positive when it is directed at
injustice and leads to some corrective action. But what injustice
makes us angry?
Back in the 1980s, California along with many other states enacted
tough-on-crime laws aimed at getting criminals off the street.
Many convicted of simple drug possession or minor theft were
locked up as felons. Recently, these laws have been revised to be
more reasonable. But perhaps a million people in the state have
felony convictions for non-violent crimes. A felony conviction on
your record not only prevents the person from obtaining social
services such as housing assistance but, more importantly, severely
limits employment opportunities.
Just recently I volunteered at an event held at our synagogue
aimed at informing convicted felons that they can get their
criminal records reclassified to what they would be if the crime
had been committed under today’s laws. I learned a little of what
life is like when you are working two minimum wage jobs but still
cannot afford a car and are dependent on public transport to get
to essential appointments. Or you have been clean and sober for
years, but still can’t get employment and housing that would
enable you to regain custody of your kids. That a synagogue had
opened its doors, and that agencies such as the Sheriff’s Office and
the Probation Office had come together to help rather than punish
them, was enough to bring some of them to tears.
Now I am angry. I did not step on the wrong side of the law during
my troubled youth, but that was more luck than judgment on my
part. I am no different from these people: “there but for the grace
of God go I.” I want to see the people I talked to get back on their
feet and enjoy all the benefits I have been fortunate enough to
receive. There are many opportunities for me to continue working
on this and other restorative justice issues. I have much work to
do.
What is the injustice that makes you angry? Is it a trash-strewn
beach, homeless people on the street, or ever-increasing income
inequality? Does it make you angry enough to roll up your sleeves
and do something about it? Jewish tradition teaches us: “You are

not obligated to complete the task, but neither are you free to
desist from it” (Pirkei Avot 2:21). Perhaps we all have work to do.
Rose Ashford is a member of an Environmental/Social Justice va’ad
that will be contributing regularly to Yashar.

Treat the Stranger with Honor
By Alan Morinis
HONOR / KAVOD
Alan MorinisAs the year progresses, our series on “public virtues”
becomes all the more pertinent as the onslaught continues. In
previous installments we have sought to reinforce the Jewish values
of humility and truth, and now turn to another primary Jewish
value that is currently under assault, which is kavod [honor,
respect]. This trait is sorely in need of our support these days.
The level of disrespect that is considered acceptable in public
discourse continues to rise and, in consequence, expectations of
respect decline. Insult has become the coin of the realm.
Disrespect flies in all directions. Where there is no respect for the
individual, there is also now no respect for the office. Too often, it
seems that even the critic and incumbent alike have no respect for
the high offices of the land.
In the Jewish view, the starting point is that all people are
deserving of kavod because the Torah is so clear in saying that
human beings are made b’tzelem Elohim [in God’s image]
(Genesis/Bereishit 1:26). When we honor people, we are honoring
the divine through the image in which people are made. “Beloved
is humankind, who was created in God’s image” (Pirkei Avot 3:14).
Rabbi Elazar was riding along on his donkey one day when he
happened upon a man who greeted him, saying, “Greetings,
Rebbe.” Rabbi Elazar did not respond in kind. Rather, he said:
“Empty one! Are all the people of your town as ugly as you?” The
man shot back: “I don’t know, but you should go to the Craftsman
who made me and tell Him how ugly is the vessel that he made”
(Babylonian Talmud, Ta’anit 20a-b). That retort made Rabbi Elazar
realize how disrespectful he had been, and he begged forgiveness.
Of course, the man whom Rabbi Elazar insulted was a stranger to
him, and that adds an additional level of offense to his behavior,
since it is a primary Jewish mandate to respect the stranger.
Respect? Actually, we are commanded to “love” the stranger. In
the book of Leviticus/Vayikra (19:34) the verse states: “The
stranger who sojourns with you shall be as a native from among
you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in
the land of Egypt. I am the Lord, your God.”
If we are commanded to love the stranger, how much more obvious
and imperative it is that we respect the stranger, and, indeed, the
Torah commands us in this very thing: “You shall not taunt or
oppress a stranger.” Here, too, the same reason is given to explain
why this is such an important behavioral rule for us to follow: “for
you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Shemot Ex 22:20-21).
The commandment to be very careful about how we treat strangers
is actually mentioned 36 times in the Torah, which is more than
any other commandment. Some Talmudic sages find it mentioned
in 46 places (Baba Metzia 59b). In fact, so important is the
treatment of the stranger that it is not the focus of one mitzvah,
but four of the 613 commandments:
53 To love the stranger
54 Not to wrong the stranger in speech
55 Not to wrong the stranger in buying or selling
257 Not to pervert the judgment of strangers
The language of the Torah enjoins against “ill-treatment” of the
stranger and “oppression” of the stranger. The sages wondered
about the difference between these two forms of mistreatment and
concluded that “oppression” referred to taking advantage of the
stranger by robbery or overcharging (i.e., in monetary matters)
while “ill-treatment” took place through verbal abuse. And of
these two, which was the worse offence? Verbal abuse is more
severe. Why? In the Talmud, Rabbi Eleazar answers by saying that
one type of abuse affects the person, the other only his money.
And Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahmani explains that for one of these,
restoration is possible, but not for the other.
When it comes to the treatment of strangers, acting with respect is
more important even than acting justly.

Mistrust, or even hatred, of those who are different from us is an
ancient passion. Indeed, when we lived in tribes and foraged for
food, there was good reason to fear and reject the stranger. The
civilizing influence of the Torah came to counter that deep
instinct at a time when we no longer lived in a way that warranted
that fear. But the Torah goes far beyond saying that mistrusting
the stranger is anachronistic. It says over and over that the reason
we must welcome the stranger and treat him or her with full
dignity and justice is because we ourselves were once in that very
position. We are being told to remember how it felt for us to
endure the weakness and loneliness that the stranger and the
refugee experience, and to identify with that experience, and to be
the source of succor and support, just as we would have wanted
when we were the ones on the outside, hoping to get in.
History has made of the Jews the archetypal stranger, the icon of
otherness. And yet our generation enjoys an unprecedented degree
of acceptance compared to only decades ago when Jews were
banned from certain country clubs, neighborhoods, law and
medical schools, and public offices. Compare that to the present
situation, well represented in the recent American presidential
election, when the one thing that was absolutely certain was that
no matter which candidate won, there would be a Jewish son-in-
law attached to the White House.
Once we have become insiders, accepted and comfortable, we are
likely to forget. The Torah hammers home the point so that will
not happen. You know the soul of the stranger, it says. Remember!
And from that inner place, show respect and do good to that
person at their time of dislocation and need. They may not look
like you or sound like you or dress like you, but they deserve your
respect because they are made in My image, just like you. And as I
did not forget you in your hour of need, you cannot forget them.

Humility, the Primary Public Virtue
By Alan Morinis
ANAVAH / HUMILITY

The world seems to have taken a sharp turn toward being a harder,
colder and less caring place. Virtues and strengths of character
that the Jewish tradition has held out as ideals for millennia are
under attack in the public square. Truth, compassion, humility,
loving-kindness and generosity are being run roughshod by lies,
hatred, arrogance and self-interest.
From my perspective, there is only one thing to do, and that is to
stay the course. We must continue to be pursuers of virtue. My
words sound to me like what a mutual fund manager says to clients
when the market is in turmoil. The best investment strategy is to
set long-range goals from which you do not deviate just because the
market has hit a patch of rough weather. If that is the best
investment strategy for money, how much more so is it the right
approach when we are talking about the qualities of our very souls?
When leaders and their minions tell blatant lies, we owe it to
ourselves to be the standard-bearers of truth. When ego is
flaunted, our own spiritual lives require that we be champions of
humility. When hatred is normalized and whole nationalities
demonized, then if for no other reason than for the sake of our
own souls, we must step up in their defense.
The great temptation of the moment is to let our emotions rule,
which is the equivalent of selling our stocks in a moment of panic.
In this case, that would mean allowing ourselves to get provoked
into mimicking the debased thought, words and deeds that are
currently polluting public discourse. As Jews, we have paid a high
price for the virtues that are so central to our identity, our
tradition, our mission and our selves. This is a moment of test
when we need to be strong and vigilant, to ensure that we do not
look back and realize that we bought high and sold low.
With that goal in mind, our Yashar newsletter throughout 2017 will
focus on a set of character strengths that the Mussar tradition says
a person who aspires to be whole requires, which are also the very
traits that we see being demeaned by some leaders and their
followers.
As is almost always the case when we bring a Mussar lens to bear,
we have to start with humility as the personal and public virtue
that precedes all others.
************
Yogi Berra was bemoaning the weather when he said, “It ain’t the
heat; it’s the humility.” But his slip of the tongue provides an
accurate description of our current situation. There is so much
heat in public conversation and it is still escalating. But the core
issue is not the heated words; it is the lack of humility we are
experiencing in some of our leaders.
The Torah gives us an amazing model for leadership by naming
Moses as “the most humble person on the face of the earth”
(Numbers 12:3). Moses who stood up to the Pharaoh, who called
down plagues on his oppressors, who put down rebellions and
fought wars, who led a slave nation to freedom, was humble. The
same idea is carried through to the Jewish king, who was required
to write a copy of the Torah and to read from it all the days of his
life, “that his heart be not lifted above his brethren” (Deut 17:20).
And, in parallel, the Torah gives us the archetype of the arrogant
ruler in the Pharaoh, who saw himself as being so far above others
that he proclaimed himself the intermediary between the gods and
man, and who would himself become divine after death.
About the Jewish king, Maimonides says (Hilchot Melachim 2:6):
He “should bear the nation's difficulties, burdens, complaints and
anger as a nurse carries an infant.” The contrast to the Pharaoh
could not be starker because, as we know, the Egyptian ruler hard-
heartedly enslaved and exploited people.
We can take some comfort in the fact that the arrogant leader is
always brought down to earth. We find that said in prophecy: “I
will cause the arrogance of the proud to cease, and will lay low the
haughtiness of the tyrants” (Isaiah 13:11). The Bible also points to
arrogance to explain the fall of kings: “But when [Babylonian king
Nebuchadnezzar’s] heart became arrogant and hardened with pride,
he was deposed from his royal throne and stripped of his glory”
(Daniel 5:20). It is also true that in our own lifetimes we have seen
many arrogant rulers, few of whom have held onto power for very
long. What is very unfortunate and disquieting, however, is all the
suffering in the period of rule by the arrogant as well as when it
crumbles to earth.
When we look deeply into the problem, we are forced to see that it
does not start with the leaders themselves but only ends up there.
The problem actually starts with the tolerance—even celebration—
of egotism in the culture at large. The leader mirrors the people,
and we are not a humble people.
In October of 2016 I attended an academic conference on the topic
of humility (hosted at the Institute for the Study of Human
Flourishing at the University of Oklahoma), where I met Pelin
Kesebir, a psychologist whose work focuses on humility. Dr.
Kesebir used Google Books to survey books published between
1901 and 2000, and her finding was that use of the words
“humility” and “humbleness” had declined by 43.3% over the
period. It should not be surprising, then, to see the rise of
arrogant leaders, which is really just a reflection of the decline in
the general regard for humility in the culture.
We should aspire to restoring humility to leadership, and we should
be prepared to take steps to bring more humility into public life.
The first step in that direction has to be restoring or cultivating
humility in our own lives. Puffing up to confront the arrogant only
brings more of the same into the world. What undoes the arrogant is
the genuine humility of those who would confront them.
It is important to emphasize that humility as understood in Jewish
tradition has nothing to do with meekness or diffidence. At the
humility conference, whenever someone slipped into speaking
about humility in terms of knowing one’s limitations and
weaknesses, I would pipe up to add “and strengths.” In doing so I
was following the lead of Rabbi Yerucham Levovitz (1873–1936),
the famed Mussar supervisor of the Mir Yeshiva, who said, “Woe
[oy] to the person who does not know their weaknesses. But
double woe [oy vavoy] to the person who does not know their
strengths.” The truly humble person knows the reality of how
limited he or she is, but at the same time does not deny the gifts
of capability he or she has been given.
As I have said and written many times, humility is a matter of
occupying your rightful space, not more than is appropriate but
also not less. The place to begin bringing more humility into public
life is with the people around you—family, friends, neighbors,
workers. To think you could do otherwise is actually a kind of
arrogance as you would demand from others a standard that you
yourself do not keep. But when we do become models of humility
in our personal lives, that is actually a political act, because values

are contagious. When we tolerate our own arrogance—or, at the
other end of the spectrum, our own self-denigration—we
contribute to making this an egotistical world, and we end up with
arrogant leaders. When we are humble in the right measure in
every corner of our lives, we align with the side that will win out
in the end, and, in fact, hasten that victory.
Through a Mussar Lens: To Defend

Truth, an Obligation to Rebuke
By Alan Morinis EMET / TRUTH
There has been no greater victim of recent events in public
discourse than truth.
There is a midrash (Genesis Rabbah 8:5) that tells of God “casting
truth to the ground,” and it seems that our contemporary leaders
have been “walking in God’s way.” Truth has been ground under
the heel of fake news, lies, anti-science, partial facts and a general
disregard for what is verifiable. The most shocking (and saddest)
recognition of the desecration of truth is the Oxford Dictionary
declaring “post-truth” as its Word of the Year for 2016—an
adjective defined as “relating to or denoting circumstances in
which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion
than appeals to emotion and personal belief.”
Continuing with our series on “public virtues” we will focus now on
truth (emet) as a Jewish value that currently needs our support.
The Jewish approach to truth is not self-evident. On the one hand,
truth is praised. In the Talmud we read that: “Truth is the seal of
God” (Yoma 69b). In Pirkei Avot (1:18) Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel
calls truth a foundation of the world: “The world stands on three
things: on judgment, on truth and on peace.”
Yet truth is not seen to be hard and objective. Rather, it is
situational. That distinction comes up in a classic argument
between the sages Hillel and Shammai over the well-established
mitzvah to gladden a bride and groom.
Shammai takes the position that a bride should be praised only
according to her objective personal qualities, while Hillel states that
all brides should be praised as being “beautiful and gracious.” The
law follows Hillel, who teaches us that our primary concern should
be not for truth per se but for the impact that our statement will
have on another person. Something may be very blemished—
anyone can see that—but are we entitled to speak that truth? His
answer is no—not if a person will be hurt by our speech.
We see the same approach in the perhaps surprising license to lie
that we are given in Jewish tradition. There is a very clear
principle that “It is permitted to tell an untruth (literally, “to
change” the facts) for the sake of peace” (Yevamot 65b).
Here we find the crucial distinction. One is permitted to lie for the
sake of peace, but not to gain advantage over someone else, to
disparage them with false accusations, to deny facts or to ignore
scientific evidence. In other words, Jewish law recognizes that
holding to objective truth in all situations is foolish, but the
circumstances that warrant deviating from the truth must be for a
higher purpose (peace), and can only be sanctioned when the
deviation from truth is intended to have a positive impact on
another.
That sets the guideline: hew to the truth unless changing the facts
will result in a more peaceful world and others will benefit.
But what do we do when we find ourselves confronted by people
who blatantly ignore those principles, for whom truth is
expendable? In that case, what comes into play is another Jewish
practice, which is the obligation we have to rebuke.
Jewish law and contemporary society are at real odds over the
issue of rebuking others. General social values stress tolerance,
live-and-let-live and non-involvement. But Jewish law tells us the
opposite. It establishes the mitzvah of tochecha (rebuke) and finds
a source in the verse: “Hocheach tocheach et amitecha” (Vayikra /
Leviticus 19:17)—which can be translated as “You shall surely
rebuke your fellow” or, alternatively, as “You shall rebuke your
fellow over and over again.” The Rambam rules (Mishnah Torah,
De’os 6:7): “One who sees his friend transgressing, or going in
ways that are not good, must bring him back to goodness, and
inform him that he is transgressing with his evil deeds.”
Rebuke is a verbal martial art and a practice that is much needed
in a time when truth is being abused. What we get from Jewish
sources is the message that we are actually obligated to speak
corrective words to those who are trampling truth. Indeed,
rebuking others is such a strong obligation that if you are in a
position to rebuke and do not do so, Jewish law holds you
accountable for the very sin done by the other person.
The principle is clear: when we see wrongdoing being perpetrated,
we are obligated to stand up and voice our opposition.
But our rabbis were realists and they recognized that giving
negative feedback is actually a very dicey proposition. Rabbi
Tarfon observed (Erchin 16b), “I doubt if there is anyone in this
generation who is fit to rebuke others.”
There is a parallel problem in people’s difficulty in hearing rebuke.
Rabbi Eleazar ben Azariah responded to Rabbi Tarfon by saying, “I
doubt if there is anyone in this generation who is able to receive
rebuke.”
Even way back then it was difficult to find the words to rebuke
someone, and no one wanted to hear other people’s criticism. They
must have reacted much as we see so commonly today, when
people tend either to ignore feedback or to lash out at the person
who had the temerity to highlight the error of their ways.
While Jewish law is unequivocal about our obligation to speak up
when others are doing wrong, there is awareness of the need to do
so skillfully. Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, whose 18th century
book Mesilat Yesharim / Path of the Just is a pillar of the Mussar
tradition, writes:
How often does a person rebuke sinners at the wrong time, or in
the wrong place, so that they pay no attention to what is said!
The one who rebukes is thus the cause of their becoming more
confirmed in their wickedness, and of their desecrating the name
of God by adding rebellion to sin.
Rabbi Luzzatto goes on to say that if you know that your rebuke
will be ineffective, your higher obligation is to remain silent. And
Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin rules that if the only way a person is
capable of giving rebuke is with anger, then that person is relieved
of the obligation to rebuke.
There are many other rabbinic rulings that limit or qualify the
obligation to rebuke, or provide reasons to forgo rebuke. But we
need to be very careful not to excuse ourselves from this
obligation too quickly or easily. The general tendency is to be
lenient and accepting of others’ speech. It’s an issue of free
speech, isn’t it? Yet despite how difficult it is to do effectively,
and the risks and even the likelihood of failure sometimes, the
commandment to rebuke still stands, and we are obligated.
Defending truth falls under the obligation to rebuke. When
falsehood is being used to disadvantage, if not outright hurt, other
people, we are individually obligated to be vocal in defense of
truth. The challenge our ancestors and our tradition have handed
to us is to find ways to be intelligent, sensitive and creative in
giving rebuke so it will be heard and have effect. Only wise and
thoughtful words spoken without anger, patiently, and with
genuine compassion have the potential to open hearts and to
direct people away from wrongdoing.
That is our challenge as we pursue the goal of bringing more
holiness to the world. When God threw truth to the ground, God
proclaimed: “Let truth grow up from the land.” It is we who are
entrusted to cultivate and protect truth, from the grassroots up.
Rebuke in the Public Square

By Amy Eilberg
Rabbi Ami EilbergWe live in a time of tremendous social upheaval.
We are regularly bombarded by dramatic accounts of momentous
political news and analysis. Internally, we may have strong
reactions to the news, to our political leaders, and to the many
people who weigh in on highly polarizing issues. Our nervous
systems are constantly assaulted, and it is difficult to be our best
selves as we converse with friends, family and community members
and navigate our roles as American citizens. How can our Mussar
practice orient us during these highly contentious times?
Jewish tradition, of course, has much guidance to offer on the
conduct of disagreements. The Rabbinic category of mahloket
l’shem shamayim, or disagreement for the sake of heaven,
anticipated by nearly 2,000 years the concept of “constructive
conflict” in the contemporary study of conflict resolution. In their
reflection on this crucial idea, the classical commentaries
articulated criteria for engaging in sacred disagreement: keeping
the relationship primary, even in the midst of argument; staying
focused on the higher purpose of the dispute; cultivating openness
to learning and even to being persuaded by “the other side”; and
the recognition of elements of truth within multiple perspectives
on a single issue.
Most political arguments should be approached in the spirit of
mahloket l’shem shamayim. But in today’s political environment,
beneath the specifics of arguable policy, many Jews believe that
fundamental values of compassion, respect, truth, and humility are
under attack. At such moments, many feel that protest is a
morally imperative response. Even at such times, Jewish tradition
has much to teach on sh’mirat halashon, or mindful speech.
In the Book of Proverbs, we find the arresting teaching, “Life and
death are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21). Rabbi Ila’a
offers the stunning reflection, “The world exists because of those
who restrain themselves in a moment of argument” (Babylonian
Talmud, Hullin 89a). And a well-known but widely ignored
principle in Jewish law asserts, “One who embarrasses another in
public is like a spiller of blood” (Bava Metsia 58b).
Last month Alan Morinis brought us teachings on the mitzvah of
tochacha. Generally translated as “rebuke,” many commentaries
broaden the mitzvah to apply to a range of interpersonal “difficult
conversations”—not only when someone has done something
objectively wrong, but when they have hurt us personally. So, too,
I suggest that the category of tochacha applies to our own political
speech: our posts on social media, our letters to the editor, and
our political conversations at the Shabbat table and in community.
Jewish law is quite clear that tochacha must be done with respect
and gentleness, with full awareness of the humanity of the one
being spoken to (or about), in private before going public, with
awareness of one’s own motives, in a way the other may be able to
hear, and with appropriate timing. These guidelines suggest a
rigorous discipline of speech far different from the unreflective,
pugilistic style of much contemporary political discourse.
We need our Mussar practice more than ever if we are to have a
chance of conducting ourselves in Jewishly appropriate ways, even
when we believe that strong political expression is needed. We
must draw on our study and practice of da’at (self-awareness),
chesed (kindness), kavod (respect for others and self), sh’tikah
(silence), anavah (humility), and g’vurah (discipline), among other
key middot. Without these resources, we have little chance of
restraining emotionally driven speech that may rupture the fabric
of community and betray the very ideals we seek to defend.
In the midst of this politically volatile season, we are reminded of
the historical message of the 9th of Adar, when discourse between
the famously respectful Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai went terribly
wrong. The Pardes Center for Judaism and Conflict Resolution
encourages Jewish communities around the world to observe a
worldwide Jewish Week of Constructive Conflict, dedicated to
promoting the values of machloket l’shem shamayim and the
practice of tochacha. In so doing, the 9Adar Project invites us to
rededicate ourselves to redifat shalom (pursuing peace)—a way of
being in relationship in families, friendships, workplaces, and
communities that appreciates difference and also acknowledges the
underlying unity of all people, including those with whom we
strongly disagree.
Mussar practice gives us precisely the wisdom and system of
practice we need to maintain a high level of ethical behavior, even
in the midst of political storms. These practices can help us to be
our best selves, pursuing
peace even as we promote
justice, and carrying
ourselves in the world
with humility, balance,
curiosity, and kindness.
We can even pray that our
example might inspire
others to do the same.
Ignite the
Spark of
Mussar
By Ruth Schapira

Remember when your comfort with Mussar vocabulary first
emerged and you began peppering your speech with words like
equanimity, bitachon, and savlanut? Words that weren’t just flat
and stagnant but came alive with your imprint?
Think back to the beginning of your Mussar journey—when Mussar
was so new to you that you were still figuring out what space it
would hold in your life. Was the potential for change dramatic and
palpable for you? Perhaps there was a quickening pace in your
heart and flutters of anticipation as you imagined your soul
receiving renewed breath. At what point did the true meaning of
Mussar touch your soul?
How can you introduce to others this process of self-awareness and
growth you experienced? In what ways can you and others be
supported in your spiritual lives?
“The Jewish Spirituality Challenge” (JSC) opens conversational
doorways around these topics, while introducing people to the
potential that Mussar holds for transformation. Would people you
know want (re)exposure to Mussar learning?
Terri Thornton, a Manchim trainee and a soon-to-be-facilitator at
the JSC, sees the program as a way to recharge our batteries and
gain a feeling of hope—something we can do if we come together.
I agree with Terri that we could all benefit from joining in
discussions around issues that make us feel more human. Make us
feel more in touch with one another. More connected. Imagine
sharing time with people in your community around these
important questions:
What would make my spiritual life more satisfying? What role might
my Jewish community play in helping me develop my spiritual life?
Path of
the Soul
#1:
Discoveri
ng Mussar
Jul 19, 2003 | by Dr. Alan Morinis
How to close the gap between the high ideals we hold in mind and
the living truth of how we act in life.
This new series explores Mussar, a traditional Jewish spiritual

discipline that offers sound guidance to help you cultivate the
qualities of your soul. Rabbi Elya Lopian, a contemporary master,
defines Mussar as "Making the heart feel what the intellect
understands." Mussar's teachings and practices help us work a
radical inner transformation by showing us how to close the gap
between the high ideals we hold in mind and the living truth of
how we act in life.
That's just what Mussar did for me. I discovered Mussar at a time
when I badly needed its guidance. But first, a bit of background.
I haven't always taught Mussar. In my first career, I was an
anthropologist, having received a doctorate from Oxford
University, where I went on a Rhodes scholarship. My studies took
me to India where I lived for three years, learning two Indian
languages and studying with a yoga master and meditating in the
Himalayas. I wrote books and published articles and eventually got
a tenure-track job at a good university.
But the routines of university life did not satisfy my soul, and so I
made a leap to making films. That work kept me for 15 years,
always in the independent film community, where I developed and
produced my own projects.
My film work crashed to an abrupt halt in 1997 when my company
hit the skids. That's not such an uncommon occurrence in the
tenuous project-by-project world of independent film, but my
problems were actually not the typical ones that plague that
insecure industry. What ultimately backfired on me were choices
and decisions I myself had made. I hadn't been nearly as honest as
I should have been or as I saw myself to be. I thought I was being
practical and pragmatic, even effective. But one day what I can
only call my crookedness caught up with me and I was brought

face-to-face with a painful vision of who I had become at that
time.
I had suddenly been handed a very meaningful curriculum: my
mission was to redo my life, from the inside out.
Confronting my dark side set off a crisis, though I didn't
completely fall apart. In a strange way, I actually felt energized by
my unmasking. I had suddenly been handed a very meaningful
curriculum: my mission was to redo my life, from the inside out.
My task was to make very real changes that would reach into the
foundation of my deepest being
But where to get the guidance I so obviously needed? My own
inner compass had clearly let me down, so I couldn't rely on that.
Nor was I much of practising anything at that time. Though born a
Jew, most of my life I lived as if I were only "Jewish on my
parents' side" (to quote my friend and teacher Ram Dass, a.k.a.
Richard Alpert). I was a lapsed yogi and an inactive meditator.
I started reading. I read books on Hassidism and Kabbalah. I read on
the Jewish festivals and the teachings of the Torah. I read spiritual
biographies. Then one day I happened on an article on Mussar as it
erupted in 19th century Europe in the form known as the Mussar
movement. Everything I read on Mussar spoke directly to my soul's
longing for practical yet deeply transformative guidance.
The Mussar approach to living offered me two great things. One was
that the rabbis who observed human life and recorded their findings
developed a very acute understanding of our inner selves and how
we function. Their map of the soul lined up very closely with my
own experience and helped me understand the way my own life was
going. And second, they had developed a discipline of transfor-
mative practices meant to help people like me and you adjust the
specific inner traits that are stumbling blocks to living as the
beautiful and luminous souls we all have the potential to be.
In my youth I had been drawn to the spiritual disciplines of the
East. In Mussar I found a path of personal practice laid out and
expressed in Jewish terms. In that encounter my soul came alive
and I wanted to know and do more. I read everything I could find.
Eventually, I sought a teacher and was fortunate to find a wise,
compassionate, creative guide in Rabbi Yechiel Yitzchok Perr, Rosh
Yeshiva of the Yeshiva of Far Rockaway on Long Island. My
encounters with Rabbi Perr form the basis for my recent book,
Climbing Jacob's Ladder.
What I have learned from Mussar is that each of us comes into life
with a curriculum. We are free to ignore or even deny that
curriculum, as the prophet Jonah tried to do, but we are wiser to
embrace it, because it describes the path of growth our soul is
meant to follow. The Mussar masters knew that, and the tools they
have handed down to us are the best guidance the soul could ever
want.
Their insights and teachings are what we will be exploring in this
series. My prayer is that through this exploration, you will gain
some new (and yet time-tested) insights and tools that will help you
walk the path of your personal spiritual curriculum as it lies before
you, embedded in your middot ha-nefesh, the traits of your soul.
The Way of the Soul
Mussar teaches that in our essential nature, each of us is a soul.
Through the centuries the Mussar masters evolved an accurate,
insightful map of the interior world that has at its center the soul.
We're not so familiar with the soul today, but Mussar teaches that
in our essential nature, each of us is a soul. If we do talk about
soul at all, we are more likely to say we "have" a soul. But that
way of putting it implies that the soul is somehow a possession or
appendage of the "I."
Mussar sees it differently. Identity is not the main feature of our
inner being, despite the ego's insistent and noisy protests to the
contrary. The ego claims to be king, but I liken its true role to that
of valet. When it is put firmly in that role, serving the soul of
infinite depth as its master, our lives become aligned in a profound
way we could hardly previously imagine. Each of us is a soul.
That's who we are.
With only limited exceptions, everything that exists in our inner
world is an aspect of soul, including personality, emotions, talents,
desires, conscience, wisdom, and so on. Even the faculties we
ordinarily assign to the "mind," like thought, logic, memory and
forgetting, are features of the soul.
But not all facets of the soul are accessible to conscious thought.
Well before Freud introduced the notion of the unconscious, the
Mussar teachers were working with an understanding that there is
a dark inner region that is the source of all that appears in the
daylight of our lives. These interior dimensions of the soul live
within us at depths that are not accessible to the rational mind.
The Mussar teachers speak of different aspects of soul but they
insist that in reality, the soul is an undivided whole. Their
template is holistic and sees no divide between heart and mind,
emotions and intellect. All are faculties of the soul.
This topography of the inner life has been developed for a practical
purpose. Mussar's goal is to help us transform so that the light of
holiness shines more brightly into our lives and through us into
the world. Making that journey of change is how we fulfil the
promise and also the charge of the Torah, "kiddoshim tihiyu" – you
shall be holy.
All the holiness we could ever hope for already exists within us, at
the core of the soul.
We don't have to go far to find the light of holiness we seek. All
the holiness we could ever hope for already exists within us, at the
core of the soul, called neshama. This deep inner kernel is
inherently holy and pure and is the seat of the "image and
likeness of God" in which we are created. The neshama cannot be
tainted, not even by evil deeds. We acknowledge that reality in
the daily liturgy when we recite, "God, the neshama you have
given me is pure."
So what is it that blocks the light of our holy neshama from
shining constantly in our lives and into the world? Mussar points
here to another dimension of the soul called nefesh. While the
neshama is always stainless, the nefesh is the dimension of the
inner life that houses all our recognizable characteristics, named
the middot ha'nefesh, the traits of the soul. The neshama is
unchanging but in the nefesh we find traits that can be in or out
of alignment in ways that can be helpful or obstructive.
Each of us has some inner traits that are perfectly aligned but we
also have certain inner qualities that are not as refined as they
could be. Maimonides says that each character trait that is out of
alignment creates a veil that screens the light of holiness. It is
these unbalanced soul-traits that obstruct the flow of inner light.
These traits define our spiritual work.

The issue is never the inner qualities themselves – Mussar tells us
that all human qualities, even anger, jealousy and desire, are not
intrinsically "good" or "bad." It's when we have too much or too
little of a trait that our spiritual problems arise. Everyone has
some anger in his or her soul but only too much anger is a
problem. Desire is natural and healthy, but lust is an excess of that
soul-trait. And so on with all the traits.
The Mussar classic Orchos Tzaddikim was written in the 16th
century but the people it describes are still with us today:
One man is wrathful and always angry, and another even-tempered
and never angry. Or, if he is, it only very negligible over a period of
many years. One man is exceedingly proud, and another exceedingly
humble. One man is lustful, his lust never being sated, and another
exceedingly pure-hearted not desiring even the few things that the
body needs... One man afflicts himself with hunger and goes
begging..., and another is wantonly extravagant with his money.
And, along the same lines, the other traits are found, such as
cheerfulness and depression, stinginess and generosity, cruelty and
mercy, cowardliness and courage, and the like.
A soul-trait can be set at too high a level – like rage in the place
of anger, and hatred in the place of judgment, or too low – like
self-debasement in the place of humility, or indifference in the
place of equanimity. A soul-trait that is out of alignment whether
in excess or deficiency creates a veil in the nefesh that blocks the
inner light of the neshama. Through introspection and self-
examination each of us can identify the handful of traits that are
operating as hindrances in our own inner lives, and thus we
pinpoint the curriculum for our personal transformative work
Where does this route lead? Toward holiness, we are told, though
that's a mysterious and ineffable notion. One thing I do know is
that this can't mean that we all aspire to reform ourselves to come
out looking and being identical, squeezing ourselves into a mould
of ideal qualities. The goal of Mussar practice is not to take on pre-
ordained characteristics, but to become the most refined,
perfected, elevated version of the unique person you already are.
To do that, we must first come to know and embrace our soul
curriculum, which means tackling each one of our personal middot,

traits, that hang as thick veils blocking the holy inner light from
entering our lives.
© Alan Morinis
Path of the Soul #3: Gratitude

Aug 16, 2003
Making something of beauty out of what we do have, incomplete as
it may be.
The Mussar teachings on the attitude of gratitude are tough,

because they don't let us feel sorry for ourselves, no matter how
little we may have. One Mussar master began a talk with a thump
on the table and the words, "It is enough that a human being is
alive!" Then he ended his talk right there.
There is a story -- maybe an urban legend, but full of truth
nonetheless -- concerning the famous violinist Itzhak Perlman.
One evening, Perlman was in New York to give a concert. As a child
he had been stricken with polio and getting on stage is no small
feat for him. He wears braces on both legs and walks with two
crutches. Perlman crossed the stage painfully slowly, until he
reached the chair in which he seated himself to play.
As soon as he appeared on stage that night, the audience
applauded and then waited respectfully as he made his way slowly
across the stage. He took his seat, signaled to the conductor, and
began to play.
No sooner had he finished the first few bars than one of the
strings on his violin snapped with a report like gunshot. At that
point Perlman was close enough to the beginning of the piece that
it would have been reasonable to bring the concert to a halt while
he replaced the string to begin again. But that's not what he did.
He waited a moment and then signaled the conductor to pick up
just where they had left off.
Perlman now had only three strings with which to play his soloist
part. He was able to find some of the missing notes on adjoining
strings, but where that wasn't possible, he had to rearrange the
music on the spot in his head so that it all still held together.

He played with passion and artistry, spontaneously rearranging the
symphony right through to the end. When he finally rested his
bow, the audience sat for a moment in stunned silence. And then
they rose to their feet and cheered wildly. They knew they had
been witness to an extraordinary display of human skill and
ingenuity.
"Sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much beautiful
music you can still make with what you have left."
Perlman raised his bow to signal for quiet. "You know," he said,
"sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much beautiful
music you can still make with what you have left."
We have to wonder, was he speaking of his violin strings or his
crippled body? And is it true only for artists? We are all lacking
something, and so we are all challenged to answer the question:
Do we have the attitude of making something of beauty out of
what we do have, incomplete as it may be?
The Hebrew term for gratitude is hikarat hatov, which means,
literally, "recognizing the good." Practicing gratitude means
recognizing the good that is already yours.
If you've lost your job, but you still have your family and health,
you have something to be grateful for.
If you can't move around except in a wheelchair but your mind is
as sharp as ever, you have something to be grateful for.
If you've broken a string on your violin, and you still have three
more, you have something to be grateful for.
When you open up to the trait of gratitude, you see clearly and
accurately how much good there is in your life. Gratitude affirms.
Those things you are lacking are still there, and in reaching for
gratitude no one is saying you ought to put on rose-colored
glasses to obscure those shortcomings. But most of us tend to
focus so heavily on the deficiencies in our lives that we barely
perceive the good that counterbalances them.
There is no limit to what we don't have and if that is where we put
our focus, then our lives will inevitably be filled with endless
dissatisfaction. This is the ethos that lies behind the great biblical
proverb, "Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their own lot" (Pirkei
Avot 4:1).
When you live charged with gratitude, you will give thanks for
anything or anyone who has benefited you, whether they meant to
or not. Imagine a prayer of thanks springing to your lips when the
driver in the car next to you lets you merge without protest, or
when the water flows from the tap, or the food is adequate?
When gratitude is this well established, it is a sign of a heart that
has been made right and whole. Gratitude can't coexist with
arrogance, resentment, and selfishness. The Hasidic teacher Rebbe
Nachman of Breslov writes, "Gratitude rejoices with her sister joy
and is always ready to light a candle and have a party. Gratitude
doesn't much like the old cronies of boredom, despair and taking
life for granted."
To what and whom should we feel thankful? In the Torah, when
Moses brought the plagues onto Egypt, he wasn't the one who
initiated turning the Nile River into blood and bringing frogs from
the river. His brother Aaron invoked those plagues. The medieval
commentator Rashi explains that since the river had protected
Moses when he was an infant, he could not start a plague against
it. God was teaching Moses a powerful lesson in gratitude: we can
open in gratitude even to inanimate objects.
Whenever Rabbi Menachem Mendel, the Kotzker Rebbe, replaced a
pair of worn out shoes, he would neatly wrap up the old ones in
newspaper before placing them in the trash, and he would declare,
"How can I simply toss away such a fine pair of shoes that have
served me so well these past years!?" I felt the same way when I
gave away my 1984 Honda that had ferried me so reliably for 18
years.
The Mussar teacher Rabbi Eliyahu Lopian (1872 - 1970) was once
talking to a student after prayers, and at the same time was
folding up his tallis [prayer shawl]. The tallis was large and he had
to rest it on a bench to fold it. After he had finished the folding,
Reb Elyah noticed that the bench was dusty, and so he headed out
to fetch a towel to wipe it off. The student to whom he was
speaking realized what Reb Elyah was doing and ran to get the
towel for him. Reb Elyah held up his hand. "No! No! I must clean it
myself, for I must show my gratitude to the bench upon which I
folded my tallis1."

If we can be grateful to rivers, shoes, cars, and benches, which help
us involuntarily, how much more so to human beings who have free
will and who help us consciously out of the goodness of their
hearts? Or to the mysterious source out of which our lives have
come? When Leah, wife of the patriarch Jacob, had her fourth child,
she named him "Yehudah," which means, "I am grateful," to reflect
her gratitude to God for the gift of another son. The name Yehudah
is the source of the Hebrew name of the Jewish people (Yehudim),
revealing the very direct tie between Judaism and gratitude.
Gratitude opens the heart and that's why it provides a fine
orientation equally to the inanimate, human and divine
dimensions of the world.
A simple and effective way to practice gratitude is by making
giving thanks part of your everyday life. For example, it is an
established Jewish practice to recite 100 such blessings a day. The
term for "blessing" in Hebrew is bracha, which comes from the
same root as the Hebrew word for "knee." When you say a blessing,
it is as if you have bent your knee in an act of gratitude. The habit
of saying blessings can remind you to be thankful when you hit a
green light, or the salad is fresh, or the garden is getting the rain
it needs, or your child came home from school as usual.
Can you see how such a practice might slowly but insistently
change your orientation to the world and your life?
Path of the Soul #4: Patience

Aug 30, 2003
The root of impatience is the erroneous belief that we are the
masters of our fates.
Every day I face some sort of frustrating delay or obstacle, and too
often my response is to strain against how things are. Those
feelings sneak up and overtake me while driving the car, or as the
water fills the tub ever so slowly, or as I wait as a child struggles
with clumsy fingers to master the complexity of a shoelace, or on
those days when nothing -- not my internet server, not my spouse,
not the postman, NOBODY!! -- does things when or how I want.
Impatience never makes things happen faster or better, and instead
only causes agitation, pain and grief. It serves up failure, because
most often the things we pursue take time and effort. It is divisive,
separating friends, straining marriages, and breaking hearts. It's also
a short step from impatience to rage and we all know what harm
can come from uncontrollable anger. Impatience is like an inner
blaze that burns us up without giving off any warmth.
"Woe to the pampered one who has never been trained to be patient.
Either today or in the future he is destined to sip from the cup of
affliction." -- Rabbi M. M. Leffin, Cheshbon ha-Nefesh
So who wouldn't be delighted to deepen their ability to meet life's
challenges with more patience? We get very clear support for doing
so from Torah, where it tells us that we should "walk in His ways"
(Deut. 8:6, 19:9, 26:17). In practical terms, we emulate God by
practising virtue or, as I like to call it, living in "virtuous reality."
As God is merciful, we too should be merciful to those around us.
As God is forgiving, so too should we strive to be forgiving. And so
on with all the other qualities of goodness, including patience.
There is no doubt that the ultimate source of life is patient,
especially when compared to us. Think of the pace of earthly eras,
creeping along as slowly as glaciers advancing and retreating. The
Mussar tradition offers as evidence for God's patience the fact that
our lives are sustained even when we do wrong. It's not hard to
imagine a universe where there is absolutely no margin for error,
where punishment is instantaneous and total, but that isn't the
world we live in. God is patient, and preserves our lives even when
our actions hit way off the mark, so we have time to come to
deeper realizations, make amends, and return to a straighter way.
If we understand that the highest way to live is to bring the divine
virtues down to earth through us, then we should be patient. The
question is, "How can we cultivate patience?" One of the great
gifts of the Mussar tradition is the instruction it gives on how to
foster divine qualities like patience in our lives.
The Hebrew word for patience is savlanut, which also means
"tolerance." The same root gives rise to words that means "suffer"
(sevel) and "burdens" (sivlot). We learn from this that patience is
not a necessarily a pleasant experience. We should expect patience
to be the hard work we usually find it to be. That may mean
enduring and tolerating, and the experience may even mean
bearing a burden.
We only need patience when we are already impatient. If you are
standing in line in the bank and it is taking forever but you are cool
as a cucumber and whistling a happy tune, you have equanimity
and don't need patience. It's when you are fuming and about to boil
over that you need to be able to call on the soul-trait of patience.
We get into trouble with impatience because of our reactivity.
Sure, the issue may be real. You're late. You need it now. There
will be consequences. But whatever the problem, no matter how
great or how small, it is one thing to face those life issues just as
they are, and quite another to slosh impatience all over the
situation. Reactivity like this only increases our burden by adding
a whole extra dimension of inner suffering to an already difficult
experience.
I have heard this distinction used to clarify the difference between
pain and suffering. Pain is the sensation caused by a stimulus;
suffering comes from our reaction to the pain.
It usually takes only a split second for the first glowing embers of
impatience to ignite and send flames coursing through us. Before
you know it, you're leaning on the horn, or you're going hoarse
yelling at your child, or cursing the postman. At that point we
don't even recognize ourselves, and there is little to be done but
to try to rein in those feelings enough to minimize any damage we
might do.
It's so much better to be able to catch our impatience as it is
arising, and to nip it in the bud. We make a first move in this
direction by developing more awareness of the telltale signs of
impatience right in the instant that they begin to stir. We
experience impatience through these physical indicators, and need
to become sensitive to them so we can identify them as they first
arise in us, before they take charge.
The practice is to witness and name the feelings just as they come
up. Tell yourself that at the first appearance of signs of impatience
in you, you will say to yourself, "I'm feeling impatient," or,
"There's impatience." Just by forming those words, you will hold
open at least a tiny crack through which the light of consciousness
can still shine, and if you can do that, impatience is suddenly no
longer so certain to rule, despite the fact that the triggering
problem remains.
The real root of impatience is the erroneous belief that we are the
masters of our fates. The truth is otherwise. We are actually wired
into all kinds of larger circuits and systems, from the molecular to
the social to the spiritual, and it's an illusion to think that we
control very many of the factors that shape our lives. Least of all
can we expect to rule the timetable according to which life takes
place, which is usually the focus for our impatience.
The Mussar teachers encourage us to contemplate these truths,
because when we realize a deeper understanding of our rightful
place in the universe, that helps us avoid getting all worked up
when things don't go just precisely as we'd like. Really, why should
they, considering how small we are, and how many other agendas
and needs are always involved? Even though we often have our
eyes focused so directly in front of our noses that we don't
perceive these truths, all our lives are actually integrated within
grand schemes of time, space, spirit and matter, moved by hands
that are not our own.
Of course we are not totally powerless, but it is important to sort
out what is actually within our power and what is not. And as the
cliche goes (and just because it is a cliche doesn't mean it isn't
true), the remarkable thing is that in both cases, we are better off
to be patient -- patient with the things that are within our control
to change, and patient with those that aren't.
Nor does patience mean we become passive. We still make a
genuine effort to set the pace and trajectory of our lives, but we
just don't react to every delay or deflection as if it were a denial,
whether that means a denial of our selves or a denial by God.
In those moments when I am good at being patient, I restore
myself to the here and the now despite pressures to go somewhere
else. I reduce my straining against reality. I return myself to a
middle path, not leaning to the one extreme of being inactive and
fatalistic -- because that way I err by negating the powers I have
been given, limited though they might be -- nor veering to the
other extreme, where impatience, chaos and destruction reign.
Path of the Soul #6:

Giving from the Heart
Oct 6, 2003
Generosity is a movement of the soul that erupts when you are
pierced by the recognition of your direct connection to another soul.
The soul-trait of generosity is named "nedivut" in Hebrew. Mussar
clearly distinguishes this type of generosity from another kind,
called tzedakah, which means obligated giving, such as tithing.
Nedivut-type generosity comes not from obligation nor rational
thought, but out of an irresistible feeling that stirs deep within.
Your heart compels your hand to dig into your pocket. It's a
movement of the soul that erupts when you are pierced by the
recognition of your direct connection to another soul. I give to
you because your need is my need, your suffering is my suffering.
I feel one with you and respond as freely as if for myself.
The overall goal of Mussar practice is to help us fulfill our
potential to really live as the holy souls we are. To move toward
holiness, one must yearn for it. One must be propelled by a
spiritual willingness -- nedivut ha-lev -- a generosity of the heart.
Because we live in a money-centric culture, we tend to think of
generosity only as a question of reaching into our wallets. But as
with all character traits, generosity is a trait of the soul and so it
can find expression in many ways, including how you share your
time, your energy, and your possessions. When your heart is
guided by an open, trusting, voluntary, inspired, internal
motivation that overflows from the depth of your caring in
response to the needs of, or love for, another, you will always find
a way to respond.
If you have money in your pocket, you give money. If you have no
money but there's food in your home, you give food. If there's no
food in your home but ideas in your mind, you give helping words.
If there are no words in your mouth but love in your heart, you
offer your heart itself.
We are naturally inclined to give like that, but we can act on that
inclination only when our heart is open. That isn't always the case.
When our hearts are closed or walled off, we are suffering from a
spiritual ailment that the Mussar teachers have called timtum ha-
lev, literally meaning a stopped-up heart. Think of Pharaoh.
Instead of being open, flowing, and generous, we are sluggish,
constipated, and unwilling at our core.
Why does that happen to us? If the heart is generous and ready by
its nature, how does its flow get to be so obstructed that we live
without being generous? And what can we do about it?
Sometimes we end up with timtum ha-lev, a stopped-up heart,
because we willingly blockade our own hearts. We build barriers to
separate ourselves from others.
In India, you hear disparaging stories about beggars -- that they are
professionals who earn a fortune off the unwary, or that mothers
mutilate their children so they will be more successful at begging,
and so on. These stories are likely untrue. In a population of a
billion people, a high proportion of whom are poor, it just isn't
necessary to create the physical ailments that make people into
beggars. But stories like these circulate because they are useful for
building a wall around the hearts of people who are confounded by
the demands being made on them. We fear the sensitive heart won't
be able to bear the full onslaught of the monumental suffering of all
of India's beggars. Drawn by the heart to respond, yet threatened by
fear of overload, how comforting it is to have a rationale for turning
away from that overwhelming pain.
Can you see any ways you build walls around your own heart? Do
you rationalize rather than commit the effort it may take to be
generous in a relationship? What reasons do you give yourself to
turn away?
Sometimes this blockage done to us. Life experience can play its
part in shutting down the heart. The heart wants to be open, but
sometimes it is just not capable of keeping its shutters open in the
face of the brutal battering it has been handed. In this case, we
can empathize with peoples' need to close off their hearts.
And yet if it is we who have been the victim, and we accept that
situation, we do a different kind of violence to the heart. When
your heart is closed, you are the first among those who suffer from
that closure. There may be good reasons why it feels too risky to
open up, but by tolerating that condition, we accept an imposed
timtum ha-lev. With a walled-off heart, our lives will be so much
less than they could be.
When you let your imagination run toward being spontaneously
generous, can you identify any fears that arise in you that cause
you to hold back? Can you see how these fears are walls and gates
that keep your own heart locked up and closed down? Can you see
how accepting these scars as unchangeable realities perpetuates
the damage done by the original offense?
More common than being abused in harsh and scarring ways is the
tendency to sacrifice the ways of the heart for the needs of the
ego. The ego sees the riches of the world as a fixed pie, and works
to get the largest slice, believing that somebody's only going to
get crumbs. All of this works against the heart's inclination to
spontaneous generosity.
Ask yourself: do I give spontaneously from the heart? If you are
aware that the condition of timtum ha-lev -- blockages obstructing
the heart -- applies to you, then one Mussar approach is to
identify the traits that are the source of the fear and clutching,
and to work on these specific soul-traits. The fears that restrain us
can be strong and the scars that constrain us can be hard, so you
can expect to have to be persistent (remembering to be
compassionate to yourself at the same time) as you look for and
then endeavor to adjust the levels of your middot, so the heart can
fulfill its role.
Another approach applies more for people whose hearts are being
enslaved to ego, where the inner voice says, "How can I give when
I don't even have enough for ME?" Here you might cultivate a
sense that what you do for others is actually a great gift to
yourself. No one loses.
Rabbi Simcha Zissel Ziv, the founder of the Kelm school of Mussar,
explained how bearing the burden of the other is a profound
spiritual practice. He brings as his example the story of Moses, who
began his spiritual journey cocooned in Pharaoh's palace but
ultimately became the greatest of prophets by responding to the
suffering he saw around him. "He saw their suffering," the Torah
tells us, and what he felt had a formative impact on the
development of his soul.
In basing his Mussar on the idea of "bearing the burden of the
other," Rabbi Simcha Zissel was working out details of a spiritual
method pointed to by his own teacher, Rabbi Israel Salanter. In
one of his most memorable sayings, Rabbi Salanter comments that
"the spiritual is higher than the physical, but the physical needs of
another are an obligation of my spiritual life." In order that I can
follow my spiritual path, I have to pay attention to the needs of
others. Generosity would be one of the most accessible ways to do
that.
When an opportunity to be generous presents itself, no inner debate
is called for. Just do it.
The Hassidic teacher, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, teaches that
anyone who does not practice generosity has "a heart of stone."
Don't think about it too much. Don't analyze. When an
opportunity to be generous presents itself, no inner debate is
called for. Just do it. That's how you thaw that frozen heart. Each
act of generosity works to pry open the heart a little, like clearing
a blocked stream one pebble at a time. The flow of spontaneity is
then freed to follow.
It might seem paradoxical to aim to have your generosity impact
your own soul, since that would appear to give a reward to the
giver. Not so, because of the magic of generosity. It rewards all. In
Hebrew, the phrase "and they shall give" (v'natnu) is spelled
vav-nun-tet-nun-vav It's a palindrome, a word that is spelled the
same way whether you read it left to right or right to left. Such is
the flow of generosity.
It isn't enough just to give money or an object; God wants us to
give our hearts. Wrapped up in our hearts are the inner qualities
that can adorn our generosity. Will your gift be just a thing, or
will it be accompanied by empathy, commitment, love or other
soul-traits you have the power to cultivate in yourself? When you
undertake to give your heart, you change an element of yourself.
With each act of generosity you make yourself into a more giving
(or empathic, or committed, or loving, or...) person. And when you
change yourself, you change the world.
Ultimately, the reward we reap for generosity is that the presence
of God dwells among us.
Path of the Soul #7: Loving Kindness

Oct 18, 2003
Stretching ourselves in our caring for each other is central to our
spiritual job description.

The world is a vale of tears, no doubt about it. At the drop of a
simple "how are you" anyone can open their big book of loss,
disappointment and pain. It's true for all of us, though surely more
for some than others. Black threads are woven into the very fabric
of every life.
No wonder, then, that the Jewish tradition elevates deeds of
loving kindness (chesed) to the highest possible ranking among
soul-traits. Only some problems have solutions, but all are
alleviated by the loving response of those around us.
In Pirkei Avot (2:1) we learn that: "The world stands on three
things: on the Torah, on the service of God, and upon acts of loving
kindness." The fact that chesed is one of the three pillars on which
the world stands underlines how very important this soul-trait
must be.
Chesed is a primary attribute of God. In fact, of the whopping 245
times this word appears in the Torah (telling you something right
there), about two-thirds of these instances speak of God's
character and actions. God is the Master of chesed, because, as the
Psalm states, "The world is built on chesed"(89:3). For God to have
created the world at all was nothing short of an act of chesed!
He has told you, O man, what is good! What does your God ask of
you, that you do justice, love loving kindness, and walk humbly with
your God. - Micah 6:8
God is also constantly engaged in sustaining all of Creation
through acts of chesed. So where is the chesed in the suffering and
tears that plague our lives? Even though it may be hard to see,
there is great love extended to us at every moment. We are weak,
and we all stumble and fall. We transgress against others, against
ourselves and against God. And yet we are not snuffed out like a
feeble candle, as well we might be. We persist in breathing, our
hearts go on beating and we find the strength to rise again
because God sustains us. That's God's chesed.
We can learn from God's chesed that what we call loving kindness
involves acts that sustain the other. In the Mussar view, there is
little value in fostering unconditional good will in your heart and
wishing someone well. You have to tap those feelings to reach out
your hand with real sustenance to another, by way of money,
time, love, empathy, service, an open ear, manual assistance, a
letter written, a call made, and on and on. People can and do draw
sustenance from many sources.
Yet not all acts that sustain constitute chesed. We do some things
out of obligation -- paying taxes sustains programs that sustain
people, but it would be a big stretch to call paying taxes an act of
chesed. Or we might be repaying goodness done to us, or offering
sustenance with a plan of getting something in return. Those
motives don't reflect chesed either.
Here the notion of kindness comes back into the picture. Chesed is
sustaining action all right, but it has to come out of kindness and
compassion, no other motive. That means that acts qualify as
chesed only when they are motivated by a spirit of generosity. You
are not obligated to do it, you aren't repaying an act done for you,
you don't hope to get anything in return -- you are generously
reaching beyond those limited acts to give of yourself in a spirit of
honest and selfless generosity.
With these considerations in mind, I'd now translate chesed as
generous sustaining benevolence. That's more clumsy than the
already clumsy "loving kindness," but it conveys so much more
than just being nice and wishing well!
Giving in the way of chesed requires that we go beyond the
boundaries that are familiar and comfortable to us. We have to
stretch into chesed or it isn't chesed. That makes it sensible why
the Jewish tradition accords service done to the dead as chesed
shel emet, true chesed. Only with a dead body can we have
absolutely no hope or chance of a payback for our generosity.
I can already hear somebody saying, yes, but what of the inner
feeling people get when they know they are doing something
good? Isn't that a "reward" of sorts? There is a joy that comes from
doing a mitzvah. Unless you do the act specifically to get that
feeling, being joyful in chesed does not invalidate the fact that in
giving you had to stretch yourself beyond the boundaries of the
usual and the comfortable to offer benevolent sustenance to
another, which is how you enter the territory of chesed.
Mussar points out that some people are moved to acts of chesed
whenever they meet up with someone in need of their help. Others,
however, don't wait for the opportunity to come to them, but rather
search out any chance to act generously in ways that sustain others.
This is what the Sages meant when they wrote that the way of
those who do chesed is to run after the poor (Shabbat 104a).
The demand is to not only do acts of kindness, but to love doing them
Another way to understand this distinction is to recognize that
there are deeds of chesed, and then there are souls that are totally
infused with the spirit of chesed. That's the profound quality
pointed to in the quote from Micah: "do justice, love loving
kindness, and walk humbly with your God." We are not told that we
fulfill our spiritual destiny by doing acts of loving kindness but
rather by loving those acts. Of course if we love them, we will
engage ourselves in doing them, so the doing is still covered, but
really only as a spin-off. Our focus is not on the doing but on the
quality of the heart that lives within us. Love loving kindness!
What a profound demand!
The words of tradition unremittingly remind us that life is not to
be lived every man for himself. Hillel puts it, "If I am only for
myself, what am I?" (Pirkei Avot 1:14). It is central to our spiritual
job description to stretch ourselves to sustain each other, and the
most important dimension of that behavior is bearing in your heart
love for the very act of caring for the other. Done for any other
motive and the act is not chesed and it does not sustain the world,
which is the outer mandate of chesed, nor does it move us closer
to realizing the very purpose of our souls, which is its inner
mandate. But when we get it right, our perfected chesed makes us
pious and righteous people (hence the linguistic relationship
between chesed and Chasidim).
Focus inwardly and then ask of your heart: enter joyfully into the
love of generously sustaining the other. Then put that spirit into
action. The heart and the world are called to connection, linked by
flowing loving kindness. Succeed there and your world will be
totally transformed, within and without.
Path of the Soul #8:

Strength of a Hero
Nov 1, 2003

Surrounded by a culture that celebrates self-indulgence, the real
hero is one who practices self-restraint.
My wife keeps a cartoon stuck above her desk that is titled: "The
Surrendered Mom." The drawing is of a shell-shocked woman, and
the text reads:
"Drive you and six friends to the mall? Why, I'd love to!"
"You need $500 for a beanbag chair? Sounds like a plan!"
"You're quitting middle school? Well, you know best."
A parent like this is likely motivated by what seems to her to be
love, but she's in fact misdirected because she's missing the
necessary counterweight of judgment and restraint. Love without
judgment is like jello without the bowl; it's just a jiggling mess.
The converse is also true; strong judgment without loving kindness
is harsh and unfeeling. Power -- whether in the home, workplace
or government -- works best and is sustainable when tempered by
mercy and love. The ideal lies in the blending, though the point of
balance will be different for each of us. Where these traits come to
balance is called tiferet, a kabbalistic concept that implies balance,
harmony, and beauty.
A man who does not restrain his own spirit is likened to a breached
city without a protective wall. -- Proverbs 25: 28
The middah or soul-trait of gevurah means "strength." It shows up
in many places and many ways, and you can read an entire
newspaper as a commentary on the role of gevurah in public and
private life. Are the police using too much unrestrained power?
Should the government draw the line on certain things that are
happening in society? Was the family lax in discipline? Where's the
limit to the display of sexuality on television and advertising?
Take a look at the daily news from this point of view and you will
see what an important trait gevurah is and how illuminating it is
to bring this framework to understanding ordinary events.
In Mussar thought, the strength that concerns us is not the power
to move mountains but the strength you need to overcome your
greatest challenge: yourself. This is an especially important
concern for our generation because we live surrounded by a culture
that exuberantly celebrates complete self-indulgence, the very
opposite quality from self-restraint.
It's true that not everyone needs to develop self-restraint. Some
people are already masters of saying "no" to themselves and would
do much better to foster soul-traits that will help them loosen up
and unbind themselves. Still, everyone still has much to gain from
this exploration, even if gevurah is not a major subject on your
curriculum at this time.
Self-restraint works for us in a positive way when it helps us say
"no" to those desires that are not nourishing. Self-restraint is
negative when it keeps us from doing things that actually are good
for the soul.
Saying no to ourselves is not a hugely popular concept today. Look
at the significant portion of the population that is overweight.
Even among those who do want to hold their body weight within a
healthy line, many prefer diet pills to the disciplined act of
pushing away the plate. How can so many people continue to
smoke cigarettes in the face of all the proof that it is nothing less
than suicide? And among those who would stop, sales of anti-
smoking products boom because people can't simply stop
themselves from striking the match.
Exercising self-restraint has always been difficult. Perhaps that's
why the Hebrew word gevurah contains the Hebrew word for hero,
gibor. Exercising self-restraint is nothing less than a heroic act.
You can be a hero by saying no to that chocolate. (You can fill in
your own place of dynamic challenge here. Maybe it's coffee, wine,
television, lottery tickets, pulp fiction? Where in your life do you
have difficulty saying no to your desire?)
Casting the exercise of gevurah as a heroic act reveals something
essential about the Mussar view of life. We all face inner
challenges and it's foolish to condemn ourselves for our
weaknesses because we are actually supposed to have them. They
define our spiritual curriculum. Life is set up to challenge us to be
heroes who turn our weaknesses into strengths.
The Jewish tradition in no way condemns our desires per se. We
have no tradition of monastic or priestly celibacy. Wine is
sacramental. Feasting is more common than fasting. The issue is
not desire itself, because the rabbis recognize that desire is a
constructive force in life. We read in a midrash (Bereshit Rabbah

9:7) that the world would not exist but for desire, because without
it, "no one would parent a child, build a house, or make a career."
But the picture changes drastically when desire is allowed to go
unbridled. Without fences and limits, our otherwise healthy desires
become a source of enslavement. The Jewish tradition provides us
with many laws and communal guidelines to help us restrain our
desires -- you shall not kill; you shall not steal; you shall not
commit adultery; you shall not covet -- though these
commandments for self-restraint are actually not enough to guide
a spiritual life. As soon as we encounter rules, it seems to be
human nature to start to get very clever about finding ways to
gratify our desires even within the parameters of the rules.
The great biblical commentator, Nachmonides, brings out this idea
very clearly in explaining the Torah's need for the all-
encompassing commandment, "You shall be holy." He points out
that "The Torah has... permitted sexual relations between husband
and wife and has permitted the eating of flesh and the drinking of
wine." But then he cautions against the unconstrained indulgence
in these permitted activities whereby a person with strong desires
can become"sordid within the permissible realm of the Torah!" No
laws are contravened, yet the person is "sordid." The only thing
that will save him or her is the development of personal self-
restraint. Nachmonides' call is to develop personal gevurah, which
means learning how to draw the line on our desires.
"How is a person to habituate himself to the trait of gevurah?"
begins a chapter in the kabbalistic Mussar book Tomer Devorah, by
Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, one of my favorite Mussar texts. He warns
us that gevurah is latent in the universe and that when we over-
indulge our desires, the consequence is that this background
"might" is stirred up, and we can expect to face severe judgment.
The way to avoid that external and severe punishing gevurah is to
exercise our own capacity for internal gevurah, in other words,
self-restraint.
This rule doesn't operate 100% of the time, as we well know
because wrongdoers do sometimes seem to get away with it in this
life, but it certainly describes some of my own experience of
learning "the hard way." Sometimes the results come in almost
immediately: lips that leak lies can set up instant disasters.

Sometimes the severe judgment takes longer: my wife treats
people with lung cancer secondary to smoking, and the
punishment that arrives decades later is severe and ugly in the
extreme.
The kabbalistic insight tells us that the entire universe is
permeated with the quality of limitation and judgment. There is
absolutely no choice whether there will be gevurah in your life,
but where you do have major choice is over whether you prefer to
exercise internal gevurah, in the form of self-restraint, or would
you rather be subjected to external gevurah according to the
principles of justice God built into the universe?
Personally, at this stage in my life, I wholeheartedly opt for self-
restraint and I urge you to do the same. It is not only the less
painful choice; in the end we gain something positive through the
development of our own heroic qualities. We grow closer to the
ideal version of who we truly are.
Self-restraint depends on self-awareness. Knowing yourself
accurately reveals those areas where you may have the capacity to
exercise self-restraint. Desires can be very powerful, and so you
also need to have a sense of whether simple self-restraint is likely
to be feasible or not. The Mussar way is to set out very small steps
for yourself, because no one wins through failure. If you think you
may have difficulty holding back totally, try cutting the goal in
half.
When Rabbi Israel Salanter, the father of the Mussar movement,
wanted to help the longshoremen of Danzig become observant of
Shabbat, he didn't ask them to stop working on that day, only to
stop smoking while they worked. Similarly, you may not be able to
go cold turkey on some habit, but it may be entirely within your
power every second or third day to pass up whatever currently has
you in its grip.
© Alan Morinis
Path of the Soul #9: The Calm Soul

Nov 16, 2003
Tranquility doesn't spell the end of our spiritual struggles; it's the
inner quality that equips us to handle them.
How sweetly the velvety voice of tranquillity beckons:
In lush meadows He lays me down, beside tranquil waters He leads
me (Psalm 23).
Jewish sources use several terms to name the soul-trait of
undisturbed equanimity. The most descriptive is menuchat
ha'nefesh, calmness of the soul.
"A person who has mastered peace of mind has gained everything."
-- Rabbi Simcha Zissel Ziv
The calm soul is centered and rides on an inner even keel,
regardless of what is happening within and around you. I liken it
to surfing. Even as the waves are rising and falling, the calm soul
rides the crest, staying upright, balanced, and moving in the
direction you choose, though exquisitely sensitive to the forces
that are at work all around.
But before we surf off into this peaceful and beguiling garden, I
want to bring up one of the first Mussar teachings that caught my
attention and piqued my interest in this tradition. It was from
Rabbi Israel Salanter, the father of the Mussar movement, who
said:
As long as one lives a life of calmness and tranquility in the service
of God, it is clear that he is remote from true service.
Here we are being cautioned that "calmness and tranquility" are
contrary to spiritual service. That sentiment is echoed in a more
general way by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, who writes in The Thirteen
Petalled Rose:
The Jewish approach to life considers the man who has stopped
going -- he who has a feeling of completion, of peace, of a great
light from above that has brought him to rest -- to be someone
who has lost his way. Only he whom the light continues to beckon,
for whom the light is as distant as ever, only he can be considered
to have received some sort of response.
These teachings tell us that the Jewish spiritual journey isn't
supposed to lead you to a station called peace and tranquillity,
and if that happens to be where you lodge at some point along the
way, then you better realize you've been traveling on the wrong

track. If you're living in a state of equanimity, you need to shake
yourself awake because clearly you've fallen asleep.
This is a very wise caution. It's so seductive to think of a total
escape from the storms and turmoil of life. Comfort, sweet and
soft, invites us to snuggle down and drift off to sleep, and that
can't be a spiritual goal. Imagine you're on a ladder. Would you
want to be asleep?
Comfort can't be a spiritual goal. Imagine you're on a ladder. Would
you want to be asleep?
So how can we square these cautionary teachings with a positive
appraisal of equanimity in Jewish spiritual practice?
The fact is that we can have both. Having the soul-trait of
equanimity doesn't spell the end of our struggles, but rather is an
inner quality that equips us to handle them.
Trying situations -- large and small -- crop up in everybody's life.
This is not accidental. Life is constructed to give the soul spiritual
trials (nisyonot in Hebrew) that score direct hits on the traits of
your inner life -- anger, compassion, greed, generosity, and on
through a long list -- where you yourself are particularly
vulnerable. That's what makes them tests! If you are a person
prone to anger and someone steps on your toe (literally or
figuratively), or you are sorely tempted to steal and someone
leaves an open purse right under your nose, or lust gets you every
time and the hotel desk-clerk is just your type, then here you
have a spiritual test.
What's the ideal? To rise to the test and to triumph with flying
colors, which would mean stretching into the middah (soul-trait)
in a way that is both difficult for you and good for the soul.
What's the reality? You could go either way. That's why the test is
real. If you pass a test, then that aspect of your inner being gets
strengthened and you earn the right to move on -- to face yet
another set of challenges. Otherwise, you are likely to encounter
the same test again at some future point.
I've seen this situation play out most clearly in the relationships
people take on in their lives. Once the honeymoon is over, the
relationship can look like nothing but tests. Too often people run
from these trials, get divorced, and then proceed to find another
relationship that tests their middot -- in exactly the same way.
When you think of tests along your curriculum for growth, they
are likely negative challenges -- lust, greed, rage, arrogance come
to mind. But there are positive challenges, nisayonot, as well.
Success, for example, can sometimes be more of a challenge than
failure. Arrogance and greed can feed on success even more
effectively than on failure.
So life keeps delivering tests to our doorstep, whether we happen
to be living through days of darkness or when things are going
well. We do ourselves a favor by embracing our struggles because
they are inevitable, woven right into the plan. In fact, if we are
committed to our own growth, we won't even want our struggles
to end.
When you see struggle as not only inevitable but as spiritual
practice, you are being true to the insights of Rabbis Salanter and
Steinsaltz about staying awake on the Jewish way. This says
nothing, however, about the inner attitude you adopt as you
contend with your challenges. Here's where equanimity comes into
play.
ATTAINING INNER DISTANCE

What guidance does our Jewish tradition offer in the way of inner
calmness?
In his letter to his son, Rabbi Moses ben Nachman (the Ramban)
advises: "distance yourself from anger." And in the Orchos Chaim
[Ways of Life] of the Rosh, we are advised, "distance yourself from
pride." This phrase, "distance yourself," shows up elsewhere as
well. We are surely not being told never to be angry, proud,
jealous, etc., because Mussar teachers consistently assert that this
would be an unrealistic goal -- everyone experiences the full range
of inner states, and in and of themselves, every inner trait is
neither good nor bad. More important is how we respond to what
we feel.
"Distance yourself," then, can mean only two things. Either we are
to stay physically far from people who are angry, proud, etc., or
we are being directed to develop some kind of inner distance from
the experience of our own anger, pride, and other incendiary
middot.

Although there are definitely times when we ought to stand away
from powerful outer forces, we should be less concerned about
falling under external influences than we should the impulses that
arise in us. We are solely responsible for the powerful inner forces
that can lead us astray and so these are our first priority. The
guidance we are being given here is to cultivate an inner attitude
that creates some distance between the stimulus that comes at us
and our reactions to it. We make this space by cultivating an inner
stance as witness.
When you have a strong inner witness, outer influences are seen
for what they are and that will help you keep from being infected
by sentiments that swirl around you. That same inner faculty also
keeps you from being pushed around by the forces that arise
within you -- the distanced witness is not susceptible to the tides
of doubt, temptation, jealousy, etc., that wash through the
interior world.
Do we still face real struggles? Yes. Do the consequences matter?
Yes. Do we still feel the full range of human emotions and drives?
Yes. In other words, every aspect of your current life is real and
important. You would be wise to embrace it because it's your
curriculum. But cultivate the witness who will make you the
master of the inner realm and not the victim.
The most touted way to cultivate an inner witness is through
meditation. While sitting still and silent, many inner states will
arise, and over time you can get quite good at living in their
presence without feeling that you are a slave to any of them,
whether repugnant or alluring.
I'd like to offer another way to practice to the same end, one that
encourages the experience of the witness in every context in
which you might find yourself. Rabbi Steinsaltz describes the
Jewish spiritual experience as a constant beckoning to the light. If
we take that word "constant" seriously, then the light we seek
must be present at all times and in all situations, no matter how
murky or even dark they appear to us.
It is the job of the witness to keep an eye out for that light. When
you realize that, and assign this task to the inner witness, and
strengthen that practice, then over time you will grow to be

increasingly aware of the radiant Presence that is a constant in the
ever-shifting contexts in which you live.
An inner eye connected to the constant light won't give you a life
of fewer challenges and struggles, but it will give you equanimity
from which to engage and triumph. It's hard to imagine a better
way to be as you take on the trials that come your way. Perhaps
that is why the Alter of the Kelm school of Mussar tells us: "A
person who has mastered peace of mind has gained everything."
Path of the Soul #10: Trust

Dec 6, 2003
Once you recognize that the world is not meant to be comfortable,
certain, or easy, but rather an ideal training ground for the soul,
trust in God can begin to take root.
The soul wants to live in an atmosphere of trust since the

alternative is anxiety and worry. But people find it difficult to trust,
for so many good and valid reasons. This world is so unreliable.
Hurricanes, earthquakes, wildfires and other natural disasters can
strike at any moment. Your life can suddenly be overturned by
illness or accident. And most of all, there is the unaccountable
cruelty, incompetence and stupidity of people. A level-headed view
of life seems to offer us every reason not to trust.
How and where could we possibly put our trust?
The Hebrew term for the soul-trait of trust is bitachon. To the
Mussar teachers the only place to put our trust is in God, therefore
bitachon means "trust in God." Including God in the definition may
offer you some help, or it may bring on an additional challenge,
depending on the role faith plays in your life. Growing in bitachon
is a very different proposition for a person who already has a
strong relationship to the divine as opposed to someone who has
no active sense of Who/What he or she is being asked to trust.
A person who tries to practice trust in God while leaving himself a
backup plan is like a person who tries to learn how to swim but
insists on keeping one foot on the ground. - Rabbi Yosef Yozel
Hurwitz

But who could possibly trust a God who allows a million children
to be killed in the Holocaust, who permits AIDS and smallpox and
ALS, who rains fire on the innocent and allows the guilty to die in
their comfortable beds? If this is the best that omniscient,
omnipotent divinity is capable of, then it seems you'd have to be
crazy to trust that God.
The fact that this is a difficult world is no accident or sign of bad
design. The Source of all has made our world just as it is so we will
not become complacent and lethargic, but instead be surprised and
challenged. The stretching and pulling -- by love as well as by
blows -- is what brings us to the threshold of growth that we
would likely never otherwise approach.
With your free will, you have it in your power to turn away from
the opportunity to grow, and instead to build thicker walls of
anger, hatred and despair around your heart. Or you can offer up
your heart for its initiation. The Kotzker Rebbe said, "There is
nothing so whole as the broken heart." Once you recognize that
the world is not meant to be nice, or comfortable, or certain, or
easy, but that it is set up to be the ideal training ground for the
heart, you can trust in God because the world is working just as it
should be.
The suffering or difficulty in our lives almost never makes sense in
the moment, and only reveals its logic in time. Have you ever
looked back over a section of your life, or your whole life itself,
and only been able to see the storyline in retrospect? How many
people have you heard say something like "losing that job turned
out to be the best thing that ever happened to me" though at the
time it seemed like a blow to the solar plexus? Maybe you've
already had an experience like that yourself.
At the beginning of World War II, the Mussar teacher Rabbi
Yehudah Leib Nekritz, along with his wife and children, were
exiled from Poland to Siberia. The Russians had invaded the part of
Poland where the Nekritz family lived, and because Rabbi Nekritz
had been born in Russia, he was judged suspicious and was sent to
labor in the harsh north country. Of course everyone in the town
was distraught for the poor Nekritz family, since all the others
were allowed to remain at home while this one family was singled
out for the punishment of exile. "Terrible, terrible," they moaned,

and it was indeed terrible, except for the fact that remaining in
the town ultimately turned out to be an even worse fate -- the
Nazis rolled into that part of Poland and consigned all the Jews
who lived there to the death camps.
At the end of the war, the Nekritz family was released and made
their way to the United States. The exile to Siberia had been their
ticket to survival.
Who in the moment could have seen the big picture? No one in the
middle of a story is able to see how everything will work out in the
end. So our reactions to what unfolds in life are either pure
speculation or they reflect our clinging to a story we ourselves
generate from our unconscious.
This is true for personal events and for history as well. The Mussar
teaching is to call up trust to counteract our reactivity. When you
recognize the truth that you do not write the full script of your
life nor do you direct all the action, then it sinks in that there is
really nothing to worry about. Trust.
I am not saying that evil and suffering are not real. But it is
available to us to see everything that confronts us in life as a
challenge to our own soul-traits. We are meant to be good and
loving, generous and kind, but we can't make any of those
qualities take firm root in our inner soil unless we face the
challenge of rejecting their opposites. Only if these challenges are
entirely real will can we use them to help our hearts to grow in
positive ways. When Rabbi Nekritz would be asked by the peasants
in Siberia, "Why have you been sent here?" he would always
answer, "To teach you bitachon, trust in God."
Do we draw from all this that having strong bitachon means being
fatalistic? In its extreme form, the answer is actually yes. There is a
Hassidic story about a rebbe who saw a frantically busy man, and he
asked the man where he was running in such a frenzied rush. "I'm
chasing my destiny," the man answered. To which the rebbe replied,
"How do you know it isn't also chasing you? Maybe all you have to
do is to stand still for a moment to give it a chance to catch up."
While our destiny is surely in the hands of God, we are still obliged
to make our own efforts.
But we can also find more measured voices telling us that while
our destiny is surely in the hands of God, we are still obliged to
make our own efforts. To rely exclusively on God implies that we
have absolutely nothing in hand to bring about change, when that
is seldom if ever the case. Everyone has some powers that are
gifted to them, like the ability to think, to speak, to write, to lift
objects, to move about, to care -- and even if you are lacking one
or more of these capacities, you should put what capabilities you
do have to work to bring about the outcomes you see to be the
best, rather than rely totally on God. God is the source of these
capacities, so wouldn't it dishonor those gifts and especially their
Giver not to put them to use?
When wise bitachon has taken root in you, you recognize how
important it is to act on your own behalf. Making genuine effort to
improve yourself, your relationships, and other circumstances in
the world is a sign that you understand and accept your real
responsibility for yourself and the world. It also reflects your
acknowledgement of the gifts God has already put into your
hands. Yet with bitachon, you also recognize that the outcome of
your actions is always beyond your control.
In short, Mussar's guidance is that you should try to make things
work out the way you think is best, and then be fully prepared to
accept whatever occurs.
It's easy to see that practicing trust in this way will inevitably give
rise to peace of mind. Effort combined with trust yields calmness --
because when you willingly accept whatever results come out of
your actions, what could there possibly be to worry about? Jewish
sources stress that through trust -- casting your burden on God --
you free yourself from worldly cares, bringing on the calmness and
tranquility so many of us long for and that we often try to find in
less-than-Godly ways.
Strong trust also makes you brave. Once you have developed the
attitude that you will be just fine with whatever comes out of your
actions, you will feel freer to speak out and take steps that reflect
your deepest convictions, without concern for consequences. In
this way bitachon helps strengthen soul-traits that are susceptible
to fear. For example, people (like me, though thankfully more so
in the past than today) often slip into saying things that are not
true out of fear of consequences, which means that a person with
strong trust is likely to find fewer challenges to being honest. And

so on for any other traits that might be knocked off their proper
measure by the force of fear.
When fear or worry strikes you, recognize the experience as a
signal calling on you to fan the inner sparks of your bitachon. Your
task is to become aware of feelings such as fear, anxiety, and
clinging right as they are occurring within you, and to respond to
them inwardly by identifying them as signs of not trusting. That
naming should not be confused with self-recrimination. By being
sensitive to feelings that imply a lack of trust, you call yourself to
be conscious of what is happening within you. From that
foundation of self-awareness, you can remind yourself of the other
option that lies before you in this situation -- to trust.
Bitachon is not a mere philosophical principle; it is an act that
requires practice. How do we practice trust? Let me prepare you
with a story adapted from the Chofetz Chaim.
There was once a man who was visiting a small town in Europe. It
was Shabbat morning, and he went to the local synagogue.
Everything was just as you might expect, until unusual things
started happening. There were well-dressed, obviously prosperous
people seated near the front, but all the honors for the Torah-
reading were given to scruffy men who stood clustered at the back
of the room. When it came time for the rabbi to say a few words of
wisdom, all he spoke about was the weather. After the prayers
were finished, lovely food was spread on the table and nobody ate.
The man was flummoxed by all these incomprehensible goings-on.
What kind of place was this? Was everyone here crazy? Finally, he
pulled aside one of the locals and asked, "What's going on here?
The men who got the Torah honors, the rabbi's talk, the uneaten
food… nothing makes any sense!"
The man explained, "Those scruffy looking men had been unjustly
imprisoned and the community worked long and hard to ransom
them to freedom. Isn't it wonderful that they are now free to come
to bless the Torah? The rabbi spoke only about the weather
because there has been an unusual drought this season and the
farmers have nothing on their minds but their crops, and the rabbi
knew and cared for their concerns. Why didn't anyone eat? One
Shabbat every month the community prepares its usual lunch but

instead of eating it, the food is donated to the local home for the
elderly."
"I can see how it might have looked to you," the local man told
the guest, "but when you can only see part of a picture, it's easy
to put together a faulty impression of what is going on."
This story offers a useful parable for our own lives. When you can
only see part of the situation -- and in the present moment, all
any of us can ever see is part of the picture -- then you can't
possibly know what is really going on. That will only be revealed
in the fullness of time.
But I introduced the story by saying that trust in God needs to be
practiced, and I had in mind suggesting a way in which you can do
that by making use of this story. Just by recognizing the truth in
this parable, and keeping it in mind, it is there to serve you
whenever you are shaken awake by something happening that
doesn't fit your expected story line. Maybe the disaster will turn
out to be a strangely packaged gift. Maybe in time it will be
revealed that what appeared to be a glorious boon was actually the
doorway to disaster. This happens, of course. Because at any
moment you can only see part of the picture, and because this
world and its Maker are ultimately trustworthy, you can trust.
A Very Non-
Expert
Introduction to
Mussar
Posted on December 27, 2010
I spent the later part of the
afternoon yesterday meeting
with a friend and congregant
to compare notes and discuss
Mussar. Mussar is a movement
coming out of Lithuania in
the 19th century. Mussar is about working on the improvement of
character (the middot, or measures of goodness in a person).
My friend and I are reading a few books like Alan Morinis’s
Everyday Holiness and the 1845 classic Cheshbon Ha-Nefesh by R.
Menachem Mendel Levin and Mesillat Yesharim by R. Chaim
Luzzatto.
My original impetus for all of this is the Messianic Jewish program
called Riverton Mussar, which I think, could be the basis of some
great community and useful growth and change in our circles.
Instead of focusing on ideas or methods, which too often divide
us, Riverton Mussar focuses on being the kind of people we ought
to be for each other, for God, and for ourselves. And keep reading
for a few more thoughts by a non-expert beginning the subject.
First, if you start reading Mussar books and you have not read
widely in Jewish as well as Christian literature, you may be put off
by some of its quirkiness. Writers will sometimes state specific
ideas about a subject with a certainty that seems overstated. You
will find some strange and extreme ideas at times (like “a man
should not have a conversation with a woman” and similar).
Lest you think this is some particular crime of the Mussar
literature, know that in many movements of practical holiness or
spirituality these quirky and overly authoritative statements are
made. It is a danger in any movement that seeks to be practical
and which passes down traditions and practices from teacher to
student.
For example, I remember a period in which I read a great deal of
Christian mystical and devotional literature. A particular favorite
of mine at the time was Thomas a Kempis’ Imitation of Christ. For
those familiar, it is the rare Catholic devotional book that gets the
blessing of many Protestant leaders and is on many recommended
reading lists outside of Catholicism. And I remember that I found
both gems and lead in that book. In one place Thomas said you
should not get too close in friendship with any person, as this will
detract from your devotion to Christ. Needless to say, I did not
agree at all.
So, in reading traditional, practical, devotional literature such as
the works of Mussar, you have be prepared to disagree with some
advice and accept other advice.
Second, if you have not read any Mussar and you are looking for
something that is Jewish, that need not be controversial, that will
not result in any internet arguments, but that will instead help
you become a better husband/wife/son/daughter/friend/person,
then Mussar is it. It is one of the streams of Jewish traditional
writing and teaching that diverse people can easily get behind.
Path of the Just (Mesillat Yesharim)

Posted on February 21, 2011
This is not exactly a book review, though it is on the way to being
one. I will do a full book review at some point.
At the Society of Biblical Literature this year, I once again had the
chance to talk with Alx Block of JPS. JPS is a publisher of
numerous useful and educationally convenient books. The JPS
Commentary series is one of the best overall, a good mix of
practical and academic. The Commentator’s Bible series is the best
English-Hebrew Chumash in existence (in my opinion, and only
Exodus, Leviticus, and
Numbers complete so far).
Anyway, I had showed
interest in JPS’s new edition
of Mesillat Yesharim and by
the end of SBL, Alx gave me
a copy. Publishers do this
with bloggers. It is
understood that giving a
free book does not obligate a
blogger to give a positive
review. I’d be a fool not to
give Path of the Just and
especially this edition with
Rabbi Ira Stone’s
commentary a positive
review.
And I want to explain a
little about mussar, about
Riverton Mussar, and why
Mesillat Yesharim is more than just any old book for me and my
community.
How Mesillat Yesharim Has Become Important to Me
I already knew that mussar was going to bring together a number
of things I love: the biblical wisdom literature, the ethical
teachings of the rabbis, a modern movement of ethics and
devotion that is <em<very comparable to the Christian classic
devotional literature, and the powerful call to ethical and radical
living I have been finding in my close reading of the life and
teachings of Yeshua the last few years.
When I got back from SBL, I loaned my gifted copy of Mesillat
Yesharim to a friend and proposed that he and I become chevrutah
partners in the study of mussar.
He devoured Mesillat Yesharim and is now on his third reading of
it. As we develop a community of learners here in Atlanta at our
Tikvat David Community Learning Center, I definitely plan on
having mussar classes. And I’ve already asked my chevrutah
partner to teach them.
I was thrilled when Rabbi Jason Forbes started the Riverton Mussar
community (no matter where you live you can participate).
There is a need in broader Judaism, in Messianic Judaism, in
Judeo-Christian groups, and in broader Christianity for a radical
discipleship that is not merely waiting for Messiah to come (or
come again).
In many small movements in Judaism (independent minyanim,
various charitable organizations, synagogue movements involved
in hands-on justice and charity work, and so on), there is a
realization that radicality is an important part of Judaism.
In many emerging streams of Christian devotion (neo-monasticism,
emergent church, missional church, and so on) people have been
coming to the same realization. Waiting for the Second Coming or
for death and afterlife is not discipleship.
In both Judaism and Christianity there are plenty of historical
precedents for an active faith that is giving, participatory, radical,
alternative, and focused on bringing the World to Come into the
here and now.

Mussar is a Jewish stream that will contribute greatly to the depth
of this kind of active faith for Jews and Messianic Jews and any
Judeo-Christians who wish to join in. Just as the classic works of
Christian devotional literature (I could name favorites like
Augustine, Bernard of Clairvaux, a Kempis, Brother Lawrence,
Francis of Assisi, and Francis de Sales) often bring us to practical
transformation of character, so mussar is concentrated on
character development with very practical and hands-on methods.
And the similarity of mussar concepts to New Testament ethical
texts and to Christian devotional texts ought to be an
encouragement. The Spirit is working in many places.
Why JPS’s Edition of Mesillat Yesharim is Great
Rabbi Ira F. Stone adds his helpful commentary to this ancient
work of character refinement. Modern people reading ancient texts
often need a modern interpreter who has put in the time, who has
the depth of reading in similar literature, to make it all the more
relevant and comprehensible.
This is exactly what Rabbi Stone does.
Good Reading for the Convinced
If you are a Christian and you want to develop a more radical life
of discipleship, I can make plenty of recommendations. For some
free reading, go to MJPassages.com and check out my
“Discipleship” page. For good Christian books, I love Augustine’s
Confessions and a Kempis’ Imitation of Christ. You’d do well to
consider Bonhoeffer’s Cost of Discipleship or Willard’s The Divine
Conspiracy.
If you are Jewish or Judaically informed in your practice, I
encourage you to join Riverton Mussar. You’ll thank me. And get
Mesillat Yesharim as well as Alan Morinis’ Everyday Holiness. I also
hope you will look at MJPassages.com on my “Discipleship” page,
which is a work in progress. And a booklet on Discipleship in
Yeshua is coming as a Yeshua in Context project in the somewhat
near future.
Meanwhile…
As the Ramchal (Rabbi Moses Hayyim Luzzatto, author of Mesillat
Yesharim) says:
… there are those who penetrate into the innermost
sanctuary of knowledge, which is the study of Holy Torah.
Of these, some pursue the study of dialectics, some study
Midrash, and others study the Codes. There are but few
who study the nature of the love and fear of God … we
cannot grasp that to which we give no thought … Is it
proper … that we leave to habit and blind custom that
which constitutes our main duty to our Creator?
Elul Meditation: Who Shall I Fear?

Posted on August 13, 2010 by Derek Leman
Psalm 27 is read morning and evening throughout this month of

Elul.
The first half of verse 1 has a nice rhythm in Hebrew (which
matches the second half):
?? ???? ?????
??? ????
Adonai ori v’yishi
Mimi ira
Adonai is my light and my rescue;
Of whom shall I be afraid?
?? ???? ???
??? ????
Adonai ma’oz chaiyai
Mimi efchad
Adonai is the strength of my life
Of whom shall I be in dread?
Who shall I fear? The question is ironic, because the answer is God.
While in general it seems that being afraid is a bad thing, the one
fear that is positive is fear of God. It is also ironic because, though
he is my light (we said this means his face shines with favor on
me) and my rescue (even though adversity happens, we said at
bottom, God’s plan is rescue), still he is the one I fear, and the
only one I need ultimately to fear.
In freeing me of all other fears, I have one fear left. It is God.
http://www.messianicjudaism.me/musings/2010/08/13/elul-
meditation-who-shall-i-fear/
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haOlam, shehaKol eyeh bavaro

(Blessed are you, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, that
everything will be according to His Word.)
God Bless – Freddi

Jesus is the KING of Kings and LORD of Lords!
God intends us to do everything –TOGETHER!!

Mussar Discussion and Study

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November 15, 2018

THE MUSSAR WAY

MAP OF THE INNER LIFE

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Mussar Discussion and Study Guide

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The Practice Corner

Through a Mussar Lens:

Anger and Injustice

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Through a Mussar Lens:

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Through a Mussar Lens:

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Through a Mussar Lens: To Defend

Rebuke in the Public Square

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This new series explores Mussar, a traditional Jewish spiritual

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Path of the Soul #3: Gratitude

The Mussar teachings on the attitude of gratitude are tough,

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Path of the Soul #4: Patience

Path of the Soul #6:

Path of the Soul #7: Loving Kindness

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Path of the Soul #8:

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Path of the Soul #9: The Calm Soul

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ATTAINING INNER DISTANCE

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Path of the Soul #10: Trust

The soul wants to live in an atmosphere of trust since the

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Path of the Just (Mesillat Yesharim)

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Elul Meditation: Who Shall I Fear?

Psalm 27 is read morning and evening throughout this month of

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haOlam, shehaKol eyeh bavaro

God Bless – Freddi

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