Personal Development

_ The Jewish Way

A Guide to the Perplexed

Servant of God

With Reflections on Repentance

in the Book of Jonah

Rabbi Ze’ev Haim Lifshitz

Sadnat Enosh Publications

2010

Translator: Sarah Nathan

Editor: Michael Morris

Assistant editor: Deena Weinberg

This book may also be ordered in the Hebrew original

and in French and Russian translation from:

Sadnat Enosh

9 Etzel Street

Jerusalem, Israel

972-2-5817094

Cover: Peppi Marzel

Layout: Moshe Kaplan

Cover detail: Philip Ratner

Second Edition, 2010

ISBN 1-56821-219-4

Printed in Israel

In Loving Memory of

Carolyn Glasser Nathan

(Esther baht Mordechai)

*******

In memory of my beloved wife

Milka Morris

Michael Morris

Contents

1. Only Yesterday

2. Jonah in New York

3. Jonah's Tale – In a Nutshell

4. Some Difficult Questions

5. The Five 'Senses'

6. The Pagan

7. The Symbolist

8. The Mythologist

9. The Intellectual

10. The Technologist

11. Inter-Relatedness of Approaches

12. Be Human! (The Jewish Sixth Sense)

13. Be Both Spiritual and Natural

14. Repentance and the Sabbath

15. Supernatural Powers of the Repentant

16. Repent with Love

17. Rotten Fruit

18. The Four Levels of Self

19. Repentance – The Self Awakens

20. A Brief History of Repentance

(From Passive to Active)

21. How to Find Your Place

22. Accept Your Fate

(Advanced Freedom of Choice)

23. Repentance and Time

24. The Failure of the Western Approach

(Senses/Intellect)

25. Focus On Values

26. Get Connected! (Body and Soul)

27. Become a Godly Being

(Without an Instruction Manual)

28. Apply Your Entire Personality!

(To Torah and Mitzvot

29. The Rebellion Against Torah and Mitzvot

(and How To Prevent It)

30. How to Unify God

31. "Why are you sleeping? Get up!"

(Jonah, 1:6)

32. Converse with God (In Five Stages)

33. The Womblike Experience

34. Inner, Outer, and the Third Verse

35. Love People – See without Being Seen

36. The Split Personality

37. Be Free – By Belonging

38. Every Nuance of Your Life

is a Sign from God

39. The Difference between Israel

and the Nations of the World

(And Why You Should Never Be Lonely)

40. Hold On! (To Peace, Health and Love)

41. Be for God – and for Yourself!

42. Inferior and Exalted Must Unite –

Jewish Theology (Jonah, 2:8-9)

43. God Is Hiding – Inside You!

44. You Take the First Step –

And God Will Take the Second

(Jonah, 2:10-11)

45. Love People – Like God Does

Epilogue:

Principles of Jewish Psychology

1. Introduction

2. The Need for Definitions

3. The Jewish Perspective

The Seven Pairs of Opposites

4. Self and Ego

5. Creativity and Self-preservation

6. Being and Doing

7. Pleasure and Duty

8. Freedom and Belonging

9. Patriarch (Judgment)

and Matriarch (Compassion)

Inner and Outer

Additional Concepts

10. Two Scriptures: Complementary Opposites

11. The Three H's: Head, Hand and Heart

12. Three Steps to Heaven

*******************************************

Only Yesterday

I have so many memories of my childhood. How can I even begin

to tell you about them? Ah, but of course, you want to know about

Jonah the Prophet, and how I became so interested in him.

It was such a long time ago. And yet it's as clear in my memory

as if it were only yesterday…

I am a seven year old child. I live in a tiny home. It is one among

hundreds, crowding along the narrow alleys of Jaffa.

Every year at Rosh Hashana my mother complains to my father:

"Why do you insist every year on waking up at dawn?" she asks

him. "Do you really have to get up with the first star of morning? I

simply can't understand it."

My father sits with a volume of the Talmud open before him.

"And why," she continues after a brief pause, "do you have to recite

the Rosh Hashana prayers with your two friends, the old judge and

Maishyankel, long before the congregational prayer service begins? I

didn't accept it last year, and I'm not going to accept it this year either!"

My father looks up for a moment, nods his head, and continues to

read.

"I have one more question on this subject," says my mother. "I have

said it before, and I will say it again. I do not like the fact that you

immerse yourself in the sea to purify yourself before the shofar blowing

while you ignore the boy." She means me. "It's always the same

story, and you are so stubborn."

My mother's opinion is that my father should wait patiently and

pray later with the entire congregation. After all, he is the rabbi of

the synagogue, and a rabbi must never neglect his congregants.

In his usual way, my father continues his perusal of the Talmud

and makes no reply.

My father's friend, Maishyankel, likes me. 'Haimke, Rabbi's son',

he calls me. He is always busy, running around and chattering. He is

always overflowing with excitement and inspiration. I love to watch

him banging his shoemaker's hammer, energetic as a young man. I

love to listen to him leading the daily communal prayers. His voice

is hoarse, but the melodies he sings are sweet as honey. They will

echo in my ears forever and ever.

It is the morning after the sacred day, Yom Kippur. My father is

immersed in his studies in the smaller of the two rooms we live in.

In the other room my mother's strength is waning and her voice is

exhausted. She is trying to penetrate the dim recesses of a lazy pupil's

mind.

My moment has arrived, and I can escape unnoticed. I jump out of

the ground-floor window, then head toward the seashore. I reach the

cliff-tops over the wild, deserted beach. Then I descend and sit on a

great boulder.

How it revives me after the oppressive atmosphere at home! It feels

like a lull in the midst of a fierce battle – my own Sisyphean battle

against a harsh, unyielding existence. It is an escape, I must admit.

Yet I am not just running away. How can I explain it to you? It is

something much more significant than that. You see, for me it an encounter.

It is a meeting with the titanic forces of nature – the Creator's

real soldiers.

As I sit and watch, the waves shatter against rocks, crashing into

my boulder as well. One of them rises to its full, threatening height,

then suddenly collapses, helpless. It hurries to make room for the next

one. The next wave rises up. It too will try its luck.

Yet the great rock is fearless. It stands firm, fixed to the place assigned

to it by its Creator. It shall never forsake its duty.

The waves roar and crash like thunder. They remind me of the eternal

tune which I heard only yesterday.

Only yesterday I was listening to the reader chanting from the

Prophets at the afternoon prayer service. "The waters surround me

unto my very soul; the deep surrounds me; seaweed is upon my

head…" (Jonah, 2:6)

Only yesterday, fat Jonah, the richest man in our neighborhood,

was weeping like a child as he read from the Book of Jonah before

the congregation, "And He answered me out of the belly of Hell."

(ibid. 2:3)

"How could a mere fish have swallowed such a fat man?" I wondered,

as I sat there in the synagogue listening. "I think it was Jonah

who had 'the belly of Hell,' not the fish!"

After a moment of contemplation, I concluded that Jonah the

Prophet, who so moved me to compassion – and to whom my heart

still goes out, anxious about his fate – must have borne no resemblance

to our local Jonah.

Now, as I sit on the great boulder, I start to think again about Jonah

the Prophet. My eyes search for the place where he must have stood

– so many years ago – at the Port of Jaffa as he waited for his ship

to arrive. Perhaps he sat on this rock! My heart begins to lurch

slightly.

A ship appears on the horizon. "Could Jonah's story possibly repeat

itself?" I wonder, suddenly afraid. I do not envy Jonah. (To this very

day my heart goes out to him, poor man.) I ponder his bitter fate, and

think to myself: "Surely he deserved better treatment!"

Then I spot Maishyankel, the shoemaker. He is a mere bowshot

away from me. Like me, he is all alone. He too sits on a rock that is

sprayed by the wind and sea. In his hands he grasps a fishing rod.

I climb down from my boulder and walk slowly towards him, uncertain

of myself. He doesn't notice me, though. He sits motionless,

immersed in his own thoughts.

I feel both wonder and anxiety for this lovable, thin, old man. I

have never seen him so utterly still. His eyes are focused intently

upon the waves. He is searching, perhaps for some precious object he

has lost in the depths of the sea. His lips are moving. Suddenly he

notices me approaching. His eyes light up now with laughter, as they

always do when he discovers my presence.

"Why are you fishing, Maishyankel?" I ask him. Maishyankel

chuckles to himself.

"Fish for Shabbos. It's a mitzvah."

I recall how my father once told me that it is a mitzvah to eat fish

on Shabbat. The purpose – he explained – is to perfect the souls of

the Righteous – who have been reincarnated in fish.

"Why were the souls of the Righteous reincarnated only in fish,

Maishyankel?" I ask him.

But Maishyankel is gazing at the sea again, murmuring incoherently

to himself. I am disappointed. Maishyakel has always been so

kind to me. Why is he so different today?

"They are reincarnated in fish, Haimke" he answers at length, "because

the sea cannot become impure. You know, there's no purer place

to be than in the sea." His eyes continue to search the waves. He

seems to be trying to uncover something which they are hiding from

him.

"Was Jonah the Prophet also reincarnated in a fish?" I ask

Maishyankel.

"Yes, Haimke. In the great fish that swallowed him," he answers.

"But he succeeded in escaping. God ordered the fish to spit Jonah

out onto the shore!" I insist. A tear of sorrow glints in one of my

eyes, a tear of anger in the other.

Maishyankel makes no reply. His gaze, somber and worried, continues

to comb the waves.

The waves that were furious and frothing have become calm, and

a wonderful smell wafts from the sea. It is a wet salty smell, rising

with soft breezes. The wind, at ease now, dries my salty tears.

The sun dips to the horizon of the shiny sea. Tiny fish leap and

glitter in blinding flashes of light. The sea is so serene and tranquil,

free from the dry land's world of problems. The waves and I make

peace.

We almost belong to each other, the waves and I. Yet I cannot completely

forget how they threatened me, only yesterday, from their dark

ominous depths. Only yesterday, out of the chanting of the Book of

Jonah in the synagogue, they surged forth and charged towards me,

roaring like thunder.

"Where is Jonah now?" I ponder.

"Whatever became of him in the end?"

Suddenly Maishyankel jumps up from his seat, trembling. A guttural

cry breaks forth from his throat.

Then: "Haimke, come quickly! Hold the handle of the fishing rod!"

"Tighter! Pull!" he shouts, "For God's sake, pull!"

We pull with all our might, Maishyankel and I. With our very

souls! But in truth, we ourselves are being pulled by mighty forces

into the fathomless depths. The crumbly ground betrays my grip. The

soles of my feet lose their hold. Like a weightless feather, I am drawn

into the waves.

"Don't let go!" Maishyankel screams to me.

"The hour is at hand. He is come!" he yells. I pull with all my

might, but I am sucked further into the water. Meaningless words

emerge from Maishyankel's mouth.

I continue to pull. Somehow I have no fear of the deep water. I pay

no attention to the incomprehensible words which Maishyankel keeps

repeating.

The sun is about to set. We are being pulled further and further

downwards. Yet in my heart there is no fear. I sense that an immense,

invisible Hand holds onto us. A Hand with vast power.

I continue to pull. Waves erupt over my head, but I never let go of

the rod. Maishyankel pulls too, and murmurs, his strength nearly exhausted.

I feel no fatigue. I am next to Maishyankel, trusting him

somehow.

The sun sets and we are flung onto the beach. We lie there,

sprawled on our backs. Maishyankel is completely spent by the effort.

I am overcome by a great numbness.

Maishyankel is weeping. "We missed the opportunity!" he cries.

"He didn't come," he murmurs to himself. "The generation is unworthy."

"Who didn't come, Maishyankel?" I ask him.

"The Messiah…It was Jonah, reincarnated in the fish, who

came…He took the bait. He was calling to us…but now everything

is lost!"

Maishyankel breaks down into bitter sobs. A chill penetrates my

damp clothing. A reddish half-moon hangs above us, indifferent. The

pale city lights do not disturb the stillness.

As the years passed, Maishyankel became known throughout the

Jewish world. Even the famous rabbi, the Chazon Ish, would come to

his door to seek his blessing. The two of them would meet privately

and discuss matters pertaining to the survival of the Jewish people.

Our little alleyway was continuously filled with people. They came

to his house, at all hours, to ask for advice and his blessing.

On the Simchat Torah that preceded the Six-Day War, Maishyankel

departed for a better world. He left us a comforting letter, having

asked that it not be opened until after Passover. In it he foretold the

miracle of deliverance that was about to unfold.

Jonah in New York

I am visiting New York – the modern Nineveh.

A bird's-eye view from my seat on the plane shows a lovely stretch

of land that spreads as far as the eye can see. The Creator of the universe

was generous with this spot. An endless ocean kisses a broad

river. Both of them embrace an island. Its flowering slopes descend

towards the sea.

As I take a taxi from the airport, I am struck by the contrast between

what the Creator lovingly sculpted and what man has perpetrated.

Smoking, grey warehouses have taken the place of the golden

sands. There are great chunks of concrete and rusting iron wrecks.

These have taken an ugly bite out of the love encounter between sand

and wave.

Skyscrapers squeeze the broad spaces of the island into their murky

cellars. Do you remember those thin cows in Pharaoh's dream? They

swallowed the fat cows, yet they remained as thin and ugly as before.

(Genesis, 41:4)

Gleaming steel-and-glass buildings blot out the star-strewn heavens.

Man's awe of God ceases here. It is replaced by a fear of heights.

Here the city-dwellers, in their pride, look down at the humble seafarers.

Seafarers have been modest from time immemorial.

As I look out of the window of the taxi I wonder: How did Jonah

feel as he arrived at the great city of Nineveh?

I leave the taxi and walk down to the beach. As I approach the sea

the city noises melt away. Now the lament of the waves replaces

them. Occasionally the two sounds meet – the turbulence of the city

and the volcanic action of the waves. They close in upon each other

in mutual menace.

On the upper wharf, a winding row of smoking vehicles wends its

noisy way. Below them stretch the sands of gold. Colorful parasols

shine in the forgiving sun.

In the blue distance, tiny white sailboats glitter. Beyond them, however,

the infinite horizon announces the irrelevance of man.

Helplessness is a feeling known to all seafarers, including Jonah,

for man is a land animal by nature. Facing the great sea, man contemplates

the horizon kissing the sky. He listens to the uproar of the

waves.

Then he enters into their domain, losing the solid ground beneath

his feet. Of what use are his wisdom and his power facing the might

of the Creator? He hears the voice of Jeremiah, the Prophet of Rebuke,

rising from the thunderous waves:

"Will you not fear Me? Will you not tremble before My Presence?

For I have placed sand as a boundary to the sea." (Jeremiah, 5:22)

There is nothing as fine as the sea for acquiring humility. Here is

an encounter with the titanic forces of nature. Here man meets God

face-to-face.

Jonah goes down to the sea. It is no coincidence that Jonah's drama

unfolds against an ocean backdrop. His sobering realizations and his

discovery that one cannot escape one's mission took place far beneath

the waves, in the fathomless depths of the sea.

Trapped in the intestines of the fish, Jonah feels the power of the

Creator and the irrelevance of man. Will he succeed in communicating

this sensation to the people? They are protected within man-made fortresses.

Will he succeed in breaking through their wall of

self-importance, which allows them to imagine that they can dominate

God's creation?

Soon Jonah finds himself standing on a beach. He is smelly and

wet. A strand of seaweed hangs from his hair, still reeling from God's

touch. A miserable castor-oil plant shades him, providing flimsy shelter.

He is beaten and shamed.

Before him, the great city hustles and bustles in its arrogant importance.

He feels it mocking him. Then he feels something else. It is

something harder to digest. The city is mocking the whole of God's

creation.

'Are its people worthy of repentance?' he asks himself.

This Book – Small But Big: In this book I shall present the tale

of Jonah as it is told in the two complementary sources, the Written

Torah and the Midrashim of the Oral Torah. To anyone interested in

examining these sources in more detail, I can recommend the commentary

of the Malbim (Rabbi Me'ir Libush, 1809-1879) which makes

comprehensive use of them. I have also drawn upon his commentary

My book is not intended to be a new commentary on the Book of

Jonah, nor does it presume to meet the rigorous standards of philosophical

scholarship. Furthermore, I have to admit that my real purpose

is not to understand the book of Jonah at all! It is to understand

man's existential condition.

It might seem to be a big undertaking for a small book. However

this the reason why God gave the Torah to man. To help him make

sense of his own existence.

It is quite a challenge, I know. But I am lucky. I have at my disposal

two supreme resources that have stood the test of time – the

Written and Oral Laws.

The Written and Oral Laws:

The Hebrew Bible (Tanach) is written in such a way that makes it incomprehensible without the Oral Torah – the Midrashic, Mishnaic and Talmudic commentaries. The

written text of the Tanach lacks connecting links between events.

Thus the narrative of events and the connections between various

events invite readers to provide their own associations. This opens the

door to diverse interpretations.

Certain interpretations, however, could empty Scripture of its spiritual,

value-oriented meaning. Laymen's explanations – arbitrarily

given to the whims of any reader – are apt to make a sham of the

Holy Scriptures. For this reason the Written Torah was given to Moses

bound together with the Oral Torah.

Had the Torah been written in a clear-cut style – with its meaning

obvious and closed to man's creative spirit – the reader would not be

able to apply what is written in the Torah to his own personal situation.

Nor would he be able to learn from it a way of life. The Oral

Torah contains the rules and principles of Torah study by which the

reader may apply Scripture to his individual, changing, existential reality.

Furthermore, without the Oral Torah, the reader might artificially

impose his own needs on the Scripture. The Oral Torah thus protects

both sides. It keeps watch over Scripture so that it does not efface its

readers, and it keeps watch over Scripture's readers so that they do

not efface Scripture...