Chassidut.ai

Recap and opening — what kind of mesirus nefesh?

Welcome back to the tenth lesson on the maamar Basi LeGani 5711 — and we continue in ois gimmel.

Let’s recall where we stood. In the previous lesson we learned the special quality of the seventh: that its whole greatness is built on being seventh to the first. And the first is Avraham Avinu, whose entire greatness comes from his service — and whose service, said the Rebbe Rayatz, was with mesirus nefesh (self-sacrifice).

And here we stood before a question. When one says “mesirus nefesh,” the first image that comes to mind is of a person ready to die al kiddush Hashem — to be burned at the stake rather than deny G-d. And that truly is an immense self-sacrifice. But the Rebbe Rayatz is about to reveal to us that Avraham’s mesirus nefesh was davka something else — deeper, and perhaps more surprising.

What is that mesirus nefesh? And why davka is it the heart of his service? With this we’ll begin today.

The novelty — Avraham did not seek mesirus nefesh

The Rebbe Rayatz, says the maamar, “is not yet satisfied with this” — it is not enough for him to say that Avraham’s service was with mesirus nefesh. He adds a precision: “the manner of his self-sacrifice was that he did not seek mesirus nefesh.”

Stop on this sentence, because it is the opposite of what one would expect. There have been figures in history who yearned for martyrdom, who saw in the very act of dying al kiddush Hashem the summit of their service. Avraham — says the Rebbe Rayatz — was not like that. He did not seek out the self-sacrifice. It was not his goal.

And this davka reveals a deeper mesirus nefesh, not a lesser one. Because one who seeks the sacrifice — there is in him, somewhere, still a point of “I”: I am giving myself, I am the hero of the moment. But Avraham was not occupied with himself at all. He was so utterly given over to something else, greater than himself, that the question “what will become of me” simply had no place. He gave himself over — but not to death; he gave himself over to the mission.

And if so — what did Avraham seek? Toward what was his whole soul turned, if not to the sacrifice? This the maamar reveals in the words that follow.

Avraham versus Rabbi Akiva — two kinds of mesirus nefesh

And in order to sharpen what Avraham’s mesirus nefesh is, the maamar sets it against another figure, no less great, of self-sacrifice — Rabbi Akiva. “This is the difference,” says the maamar, “between the mesirus nefesh of Avraham Avinu and the mesirus nefesh of Rabbi Akiva.”

Rabbi Akiva, our Sages tell, all his days was distressed and would say: “When will it come into my hands — that I may fulfill it.” When will the opportunity finally come to me to give my soul al kiddush Hashem, and then I will fulfill it. He yearned for that moment, longed for it. Mesirus nefesh was for him a goal, an aspiration, a summit he was seeking. And in the maamar’s words: the mesirus nefesh of Rabbi Akiva was “vos er hot gezucht mesirus nefesh” — that he sought the mesirus nefesh.

Avraham was entirely different. “His mesirus nefesh was b’derech agav,” in passing, as a by-product. He did not seek to give his soul; he sought something else entirely — to publicize G-dliness in the world, to bring his fellow to call out in the Name of G-d, “vayakri.” And if along the way, incidental to this mission, actual mesirus nefesh was demanded of him too — it was there, in full, without hesitation. But it was not the goal; it was what stood at the side of the road to the destination.

And don’t mistakenly think this is a lower level than the mesirus nefesh of Rabbi Akiva. On the contrary. Think a moment: one who seeks the mesirus nefesh — there is in him, somewhere, still a point of “I”: I will give myself, I will reach the great moment. Rabbi Akiva, in all his tremendous greatness, still “saw” his mesirus nefesh as a longed-for goal. But Avraham was so given over to the Almighty and to the mission, that his mesirus nefesh didn’t even stand at the center — it was simply present, of itself, when there was a need. This is a giving-over so complete that there isn’t even a consciousness of “I am giving myself.” And that davka is the deepest giving-over of all.

‘Vayakri’ — that the other should call out too

For further explanation the maamar brings the verse about Avraham: “and he called there in the Name of Hashem, G-d of the world” — Avraham called there in the Name of Hashem, G-d of the world. Simply put: he publicized the Name of G-d in the world, proclaimed the existence of a Creator.

But our Sages make a famous precision: “Do not read ‘vayikra’ but ‘vayakri.’” Do not read “vayikra” — that he called — but “vayakri” — that he caused, brought about, made others call. The difference is between one who himself prays, and one who sees to it that the other prays too. And the maamar brings the words of our Rebbes in Yiddish, in a plainness impossible to mistake: “az yener zol oich shrayen” — that the fellow too, the other one too, should cry out; that he too should recognize G-d and call to Him.

This was the service of Avraham. Not only to reach the Almighty himself — but to bring the whole world to recognize Him. He opened a tent on every side, fed guests, and then taught them to bless and thank the Master of the house of the world. He was not content with a private light; he wanted every candle to be lit.

Picture a person who found a treasure. One will rejoice to himself and keep quiet, so he won’t have to share. Avraham was the opposite: the moment he found the truth, his whole being was to run and tell everyone, to kindle in every person that same fire. That is “vayakri.”

And now the maamar returns to mesirus nefesh, and sets it in its proper place: “and if for this, in passing, mesirus nefesh was needed — that too was present.” That is: the goal was always “vayakri,” to publicize G-dliness and arouse the other. And if along the way, incidental to the mission, actual mesirus nefesh was demanded too — Avraham did not flinch, that too was in him. But it was the result, not the goal; what stood at the side of the road, not the destination. The heart was the other, the revelation of G-d in the world — and the readiness to die was only one more expression of that same complete giving-over.

Not for the elite few — but demanded of every Jew

And now one might think a despairing thought: all this is beautiful and exalted — but it belongs to Avraham Avinu, to a spiritual giant. What have I to do with such a service? And the maamar demolishes this thought entirely. It says: “there is no limitation in this, that we should say it is wondrous and belongs only to the elite few.”

That is: do not think this is a far-off level, “wondrous,” reserved for a chosen few. On the contrary. The maamar brings from Tana D’vei Eliyahu, as it is cited in the teachings of Chassidus: “every Jew — even a manservant and even a maidservant — can attain the resting of ruach hakodesh (the holy spirit).” Every Jew, without exception, even the simplest of the simple, can reach the very highest holiness.

And not only “can” — but is obligated to aspire. “Each and every one of Israel is obligated to say: when will my deeds reach the deeds of my fathers, Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov.” Note the holy audacity in this sentence. Every Jew is commanded to lift his eyes to Avraham Avinu himself and say: when will my own deeds reach there? Not “I am small and far off,” but “this is my goal.”

But immediately the maamar balances it, so we won’t err to the other side: “but nevertheless one must know that ‘in the place of the great, do not stand.’” That is — yes, aspire to the deeds of the fathers; but do not imagine in your soul that you have already arrived, do not place yourself in the position of the great. Hold both ends together: the aspiration endlessly high, and the humility genuine to the end.

And this is a delicate balance we all know from life. A parent says to a child: you can reach any place, there is no limit to your ability — and in the same breath: but know your worth, don’t be arrogant, don’t look down on one greater than you. The two statements do not contradict; together they make a healthy person. So too here: to aspire to be like Avraham, and to know that I am not Avraham.

The belovedness of the seventh — to continue, and davka below

And now the maamar ties it all together. “The whole superiority of the seventh,” it says, “is that he is seventh to the first — that he can continue the service and mission of the first, of ‘do not read vayikra but vayakri.’”

That is: remember we said that the superiority of the seventh comes “from his birth,” not from his service? Now it becomes clear why this is so great. Davka because the seventh is connected to the first, he can carry forward the entire enterprise of the first — the “vayakri” of Avraham, the work of publicizing G-dliness and arousing the other. The seventh does not start anew; he carries forward a fire that has already been kindled, and brings it to its destination.

“And this is the belovedness of the seventh,” the maamar concludes, “that he draws down the Shechina.” And here it adds two levels, one upon the other: “and not only that, but he draws down the ikar Shechina, the essence; and more than that — that he draws it down in the lower realms.” Return a moment to everything we’ve built throughout the chapter. The seventh does not merely restore some presence — he draws down the ikar Shechina, the Essence, the innermost. And not to some exalted spiritual place — but davka in the lower realms, here, in this physical world. Exactly that essence, and exactly that place, of which we spoke from the very beginning of the maamar.