My Story 28

Spiritually, I was at a great low. The Israeli Jews I knew were, for the most part, not very pleasant. Although their personalities were, to say the least, fine, their ideologies had rendered them unthinking, and often unfeeling. In many ways, these ideologies were more insidious than the lack of ideology of secular Israelis. The rabbis of the Kooknik communities espoused a neo-Fascist concept of Klal Yisrael (Universal Israel) that put a great divide between Jew and non-Jew, and put a huge emphasis on "Mamlachtiut" ("Kingdomism"). Israel, according to them,, is a kingdom, governed by G-d, through politicians who were, to be sure, corrupt, but were being used by G-d to fulfill the prophecies. Individuals were of little significance. The settling of the Land was the supreme ideal, leading up to the full Redemption. A community leader once said to me "I would gladly lose my entire family in a terrorist attack if it would strengthen our hold on the land, and support of settlement activity". A few months later, he was driving home from a Hanukkah party at a relative's home, when terrorists shot up his car. His wife was killed, as was his son (a friend of two of my sons), while a daughter was badly wounded. This man is one of the two owners of Arutz 7. A media circus ensued. Politicians came to pay condolence visits. But they were told, "don't cry for my wife and son. Build more houses here instead!". All the official, government-approved rabbis were politically involved as well. Most were party hacks. But even those who weren't would come out before elections with outrageous statements that the Torah requires us to vote for this or that party. This even resulted in divorces when husbands and wives honored different rabbis, who declared it an obligation to vote for a particular party. Among the followers of Rabbi Nachman, too, there were numerous warring factions. The Breslovers I had known in America, were, for the most part, like brothers. There were squabbles, but they were few. Rabbi Nachman had commanded that his followers were to "come to him" for Rosh HaShanah. It had been impossible to get to Uman for Rosh HaShanah for half a century. Breslovers began to gather in central places instead. Ah, but which central place? In Israel, there were two; Jerusalem and Miron (the resting place of Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai). People would argue about which was right. There was even one man who would alternate each year between the two, so that he would at least be "right" for half the years of his life. I had been in Israel barely three months when Rosh HaShanah came. Sima had given birth less than three weeks before. She had not had an easy time of it. The nurses and midwives neither gloved nor masked, and she got a serious infection. When I spoke to the hospital officials, I was informed that "everyone who gives birth gets an infection". Nevertheless, she told me that she wanted me to go to the "kibbutz" (gathering) for Rosh Hashanah. I went to Miron. This caused me a great crisis of faith. The people were plain nasty to each other. In the tomb of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, there were about a hundred people praying fervently. Outside the tomb, there were thousands milling about, drinking coffee, talking politics, and, in some cases, throwing spitballs. There were communal meals. But the first ones into the dining room quickly grabbed the food, leaving little or nothing for those who didn't push. I was perplexed. Was this the embodiment of the noble teachings of Rabbi Nachman? For the first time, I questioned the value of being a Breslover. This "cooked" in me all year, but I tried not to think about it. Anyway, I had many other problems that kept me preoccupied. But when Rosh HaShanah loomed again, I felt the crisis. I took time off from work, and went to Tsfat to pray and contemplate. I particularly prayed at the tombs of the Holy ARI, and of Rabbi Shimon of Kremenchug, who had been a student of Rabbi Nachman. Our sages tell us that after the destruction of the first Temple, prophecy was given over to children and fools. At the grave of Rabbi Shimon, a man approached me who looked and spoke in a most abnormal way. I couldn't understand how he was allowed to walk the streets. He asked me "why have you come?" I told him that I was praying about what to do for Rosh Hashanah, which was only a month away. He said "Rosh HaShanah is a big Klipah" (Klipah means "shell" or "husk", and is used in Kabbalah to mean a great evil that is hiding a great good.) He proceeded to tell me about my life; my wife and kids, my work...he knew it all! He even ventured to tell me what "blemish" was causing my problems. He took me to his apartment. The walls had burn marks from a fire. The windows were broken. I slept on his floor that night. He advised me to visit a hidden Tzaddik in Jerusalem, named Rabbi Kiwak. I did so a few days later. We had a pleasant talk, but nothing that I would call special. A week later, I was riding on a bus in Jerusalem, studying the Likkutei Moharan; Rabbi Nachman's main teachings. A question popped into my mind. I looked up, and saw that the bus was passing Rabbi Kiwak's home. I got off the bus and knocked on his door. "Excuse me Rabbi for coming without calling first, but I have a quick question on Likkutei Moharan". "come in and sit down". He smiled, and said "your question is this, right?" I was flabbergasted! "Yes". He proceeded to speak about my question for the next two hours, taking down from his library books of both halachah and Kabbalah. In the meantime, he had given me a new perspective on life. He seemed to completely understand what I was going through. What's more, he had answers! What were his answers? That will be my next post.