MY BIRTH

But what could that be? I knew that RABASH longed for Kabbalah to be revealed to all the people, so I had long been planning on writing a book.

“Should I invest myself in a book?” I asked him.
“Absolutely. You must write one,” he said. “And I will help you however I can.” And he would often check up on my progress.

The book was being born in me very naturally, as if I had been pregnant with it. After all, I had been copying virtually everything I learned from RABASH, including all the diagrams he would regularly fix for me. I was already capable of writing and drawing out an abridged version of the entire system of worlds.

Today I’m being accused of revealing Kabbalah and teaching it to everyone, not caring for their nationality, age, or anything else. These people claim that RABASH would not have allowed it. What nonsense!

Yes, he had been born to an Orthodox family. Yes, he had lived all his life in a religious environment. And yet, like his father, Baal HaSulam, his mindset was global. He knew that we were entering a time when Kabbalah would be revealed to everyone, and he was preparing me for it. This is why he fully supported my idea to write books in Russian. He understood perfectly well that these books would be disseminated in Russia not just to Jews, and it did not concern him whatsoever.

When the book had fully ripened within me, I sat down and wrote it in literally two months, splitting it into three smaller books. I poured out everything that had been causing me anguish, realizing that if I hadn’t written it, I would have burst from that internal tension.

That was how I birthed it. I cannot think of a more fitting term.

When all the books were finished and printed, I brought them to RABASH. The sight of him sitting there, his head slightly cocked with a cigarette in his mouth as he read through the pages and checked the diagrams, filled me with joy.

Then he asked me: “How many copies will you be printing? And what will be the sale price?”

“I would just give it out for free,” I said.
“No. It needs to be sold, and not for cheap, either. Price it like a regular book,” RABASH said.

And so I did.

Throughout the process of working on the book, I felt a continuously elated. But as soon as the book came out, I felt deflated, as if all the air had come out of me. Even when you know that descents are necessary states on the path, even when you’re prepared for them, nothing helps when a descent actually arrives.

MY DESCENTS

How did descents come? Unexpectedly. All of a sudden, RABASH’s undisputed greatness would crumble. It was like falling from a great height.

I had thought that I was prepared for them, “safeguarded” by RABASH. But when a descent did arrive, nothing helped, and I fell into negative infinity.

One descent in particular I would never forget. I became very upset with RABASH, so I stayed home, unable to go to him.

Later on I was relayed the scene of RABASH standing in our study hall, arms spread in bemusement, and repeating, “How do you just abandon a friend?!”

He was talking about me! I was the friend! And I had abandoned him!

I was stupefied when I found out. If only they had told me right away, I would have dropped everything and gone back to him!... But then, right away I realized the truth: Even if they had told me, I wouldn’t have been able to rise above my grievance. No, I would not have gone.

I stayed home for a whole week. A grown man in good health, I felt like a total rag. Despite all efforts, I simply couldn’t overcome myself.

Then came an unexpected call from RABASH.

“What is it, Michael?”
“I can’t get up.”
“Get up and come, right now!
“I can’t!”
“Come!”
“I can’t get out of the house,” I began to cry. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had cried, but now I found myself unable to hold back the tears. “I can’t force myself to move, Rebbe!” I said.

The next thing he said was spoken in a calm, even tone.

“Do you hear me, Michael?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be waiting for you this evening. We will sit and have a meal. I understand you.”

Later that evening, guys from the group came to my house, his messengers. They took me to the meal, where RABASH poured me a glass of whiskey.

“Now you’re just as much of a rag¹ as I am,” he said. “That’s good. Now drink.”

I drank. It was our typical quiet meal, with internal prayer, and I felt right away that it worked! I was a different person!

Tomorrow, at the next morning lesson, I was back at RABASH’s side, and he made no comment or gesture to remind me what had happened.

ANNULLING BEFORE THE TEACHER

This is of utmost importance, as was explained to me over the course of my life alongside RABASH. In order to receive from the teacher, you must nullify yourself before him. It is a necessary condition.

Once, I was driving home Moshe Ashlag, RABASH’s brother. I was really new at the time, and as we were talking, Moshe suddenly said a phrase that etched itself into my memory forever. “Nothing is going to help you. You must adhere to your Rebbe.”

It is the word “adhere” that wouldn’t let me rest. I dreamed of this pinnacle of unity between me and RABASH—it was my life’s aspiration. I spoke about it many times with him, especially while in Tiberias, about the connection “from mouth to mouth.”² And the answer I heard back was invariably the same: total annulment before the upper one, resulting in a common screen—when the upper one comes down to the level of the child and leaves in him an imprint of the spiritual.

You must become zero, to “enter into” your teacher, to fully devote yourself in his service, so he can transform you into your next state. Like a child being pressed to the parent’s chest, so you must nullify yourself, open your mouth and receive from your teacher.

That is what my experience taught me, and the realization was crystal clear.

In the beginning, I remember searching for an opportunity to become invisible next to RABASH, dreaming of entering his “cave” and sitting there with him. That became increasingly harder as the ego continued to grow. And nullifying became ever harder as the teacher yearned to bestow more.

WHEN “NIGHT” FALLS

These days, whenever “night”³ falls, I invariably remember what a rock RABASH was. A rock! And as I evoke within me a sensation of belonging to this rock, I draw strength from it. I draw strength from him! And if not necessarily strength, at the very least, I draw patience. Without it, I would not have been able to continue, no doubt about it.

I saw a man who had traded his whole life for spiritual attainment, and continued sacrificing himself at every moment.

It never happened, whenever a problem would arise, whether external or internal, that RABASH would take time to dwell on it for a while, and then react. His reaction was lightning fast even as he remained absolutely calm on the outside. An instant was all he needed! And he kept going forward with total conviction.

He was showing me the nature of true spiritual work. Be a cogwheel without even thinking! Correct yourself to such an extent that you keep moving in the same direction as the whole system.

This is the meaning of being a “slave of the Creator.”⁴ Yes, there must be analysis and a decision, the making of a decision, but it happens at such frequencies and speed that the beginning and the end practically merge together.

That was the kind of man RABASH was.

MISTAKES

That was how our entire group saw him. And we yearned to be just like him.

As a result, we rushed and made mistakes.

Once, several people persuaded the group to create a commune.

I was against the idea, considering it artificial and premature. I realized that the intention was good, yet I protested.

Their argument was along the lines of: Why do we study Kabbalah and the articles of RABASH about love of friends? Why do we call each other friends, even brothers?!

It was decided to start with what was considered the most basic: put all our salaries together and divide them evenly.

The following day, after a gathering of friends, RABASH and I were taking a walk. Unable to hold back, I told him everything.

The reaction I got was entirely unexpected.

He stopped in the middle of the street, red in the face.

“What?!”

I repeated, stuttering. I hadn’t seen him like this in a long time.

“We wanted to express our love of friends...” I began to explain.
“Who gave you the right to do that?!” he yelled.

I realized then that something terrible had happened.

“What can we do now? Everyone decided...” I mumbled.
“Who decided?!”
“Everyone.”

He turned around sharply and started walking. Then he stopped and added brusquely.

“I’m not getting involved. You all started it, so you deal with it!”

I went back to the guys right away and told them about RABASH’s reaction. We put an end to the venture at once.

Later, I wondered how we could have been so blind. How could we have made such a decision despite knowing full well how all such revolutions end up? Especially me, of all people. I had experienced those things firsthand. I had seen what it means when egoists resolve to live in brotherly love—they invariably flood the streets with blood. And all because they didn’t realize the cunning nature of the ego, didn’t complete the necessary long and thorough preparation, didn’t educate the new generation... That is why it always comes crashing down. As would have been the case with us.

RABASH foresaw this failure of our group, into which he had invested so much. He foresaw the hatred that would have inevitably torn us apart. He saw that we weren’t ready to rise above the hatred to love.

He scared us, so we nipped it in the bud. Thank God we did.

It so happened that the main instigators behind this venture ended up leaving the group several weeks later. It was as if they were pushed out from above...

...At the end of a busy week, we headed back to Tiberias.

Almost without fail, along the way we would visit RASHBI’s grave on Mount Meron.⁵

RABASH’S POWER

RASHBI’s⁶ burial site was always special to RABASH. I noted how inspired he always was to walk in there, touch the stone and say a few words to himself.

He never said anything out loud, never opened Psalms or a prayerbook like everyone else tended to do. Instead, he remained perfectly focused deep within as he stood there for several minutes. With me by his side.

Sometimes he would ask, “Well, did you feel anything? What did you feel?” I would share my impressions, but it only underscored how far I was from him.

Once, I saw a different RABASH at RASHBI’s grave. It was on the holiday of Lag BaOmer.⁷

With each year, RABASH showed less and less enthusiasm to come here for the holiday. The reason was that hundreds of thousands of people started visiting the grave on Lag BaOmer, making the site something like a cult. The inner modesty and silence characteristic of being at the grave of RASHBI were gone, replaced by ostentatious displays and commercialism. Masses of people flooded the site to buy a hamsa,⁸ a mezuzah,⁹ to fix their lives...

Getting close to the grave became a struggle that required bad manners and sharp elbows.

1984 became the last year we visited the grave during the holiday.

I remember battling our way toward RASHBI’s grave, like storming a castle. Facing RABASH and holding his hands, I walked backwards to push through the crowd. It worked at first, but as we got closer to the grave, I was forced to stop. Though I kept pushing with my back as hard as I could, the person behind me wasn’t moving even an inch.

I turned around and came face to face with a stocky fellow who just wouldn’t budge. When I tried to push through again, he held me back easily and deliberately, a smirk on his face. I knew then that any further efforts were useless.

Suddenly I heard RABASH say, “Step aside.” Without waiting, he pushed me aside himself, then reached out, grabbing the man’s shoulder and turning him toward himself.

The man turned around, ready for battle, but the moment he laid eyes on RABASH, his face grew pale, his eyes rolled backwards, and he began to scream. It was wild! The man started stuttering with fear and flailing his arms, trying to get away from RABASH. But the crowd was too dense, squeezing us all together. Still he kept yowling and bellowing in panic...

And it wasn’t like he experienced physical pain, as RABASH had barely touched him. Yet, there was something in RABASH’s eyes that had driven him to this state.

I haven’t a clue what it was that RABASH had conveyed to him with his look, but the man recoiled as if he’d been scalded. And he pushed the crowd to part as he did, opening a path to RASHBI’s gravestone. RABASH walked over, put his hand on the stone, stood there for a brief moment, and left.

I still remember how quiet the crowd was while he stood there.

When it was over, RABASH headed back to the car without saying a word.

It was with these episodes that I discovered RABASH every day, every hour. And I realized that there would be no end to these discoveries. There would never come a moment when I could confidently say, “I know RABASH.”

HOW RABASH TREATED FEAR

Shortly after, I would see yet again how little I knew him. We drove out of Tiberias early, eager to make it to the lesson in Bnei Brak on time, where the rest of the guys were waiting. Engaged in conversation with Rebbe, I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere as we found ourselves driving along an unfamiliar road with unfamiliar signs. And then, all of a sudden, we were in an Arab town. The streets, the stores, and the people—were all Arab.

It was a time of serious political unrest, with Intifada on the horizon. And suddenly there we were, all alone in their city: two Jews with long bears wearing black robes and hats, the works! Some noticed us right away, stopping and pointing us out to others. Others began running after or parallel to the car. I realized then that nothing prevented them from stopping the car and dragging us into some dark alley to kill us. Better yet, they could bury us under a pile of rocks right then and there.

Such a scenario was very realistic. I had served in Nablus¹⁰ while in the army, and we dared not go near the city unarmed.

I was already hearing their shouts to one another, seeing their beast-like expressions... And all I could think was, “Rebbe is here with me, what do I do?!”

I looked over at him and saw that he was perfectly calm. Not a trace of concern on his face. And then he said to me: “An interesting place. I’ve never been here before. Don’t rush. Drive normally.”

I slowed down as per his command. The crowd was still running after and alongside the car.

But RABASH imparted onto me a kind of calmness, as if he weren’t seeing them at all. I did see them, though! As a large crowd began gathering ahead, I realized that they were going to stop us... What should I do?

Suddenly, a bus emerged from behind the corner. An Israeli Eged bus. I immediately began to tailgate the bus, following its route precisely. Thus we drove through the town and up the hill until we were out.

Once back to safety, I stopped the car, fell back in my seat and lit a cigarette. My hands, my entire body was shaking.

“Rebbe, I was terrified!” I confessed.
“I wasn’t,” RABASH replied.
“How come?!” I asked.
“I was certain that nothing would happen,” he said.

Now how could that be? I looked at RABASH in disbelief, but he was perfectly calm, smiling even.

“What do you think they thought when they saw us?” he asked.
“That we’re dead men!” I said.
“No, they thought that if men like us came to their town, we must have come for a reason, perhaps to meet with one of their sages. Maybe we were even invited by their Imam,”¹¹ he said with total seriousness, nodding for emphasis.

Later, I realized that he hadn’t thought that at all, but had simply said it to calm me down. His attitude toward fear was completely different from that of a regular person.

When you’re connected to the Creator, you have no fear. I saw this firsthand with RABASH. The way he would always relate everything to the Creator, to himself, to the whole world—in a way that erased all differences. And all the fears and doubts dissolve in this connection—when you realize that everything comes from the Creator, that the purpose of all that happens is to bring you to adhesion with Him. If that is the case, what room is there for fear?

And then, right in the car, RABASH took out his blue Shamati notebook and opened it on just the right page: “Concerning Fear that Sometimes Comes Upon a Person.” Yet again I read the words of Baal HaSulam: “When fear comes upon a person, he should know that there is none else but Him…”¹²

That was how RABASH lived. Not in fear, but in fear of the Creator. And it never ceased to amaze me that this connection could be constant. I wanted to live the same way.

THE UNFORESEEN

And then the unforeseen happened.

We returned from Tiberias with plans to go back at the end of the week. A small meal was arranged, I don’t remember for what occasion. My wife Olga and our daughters were upstairs, on the second floor, with the other women, including Yoheved, RABASH’s wife.

Suddenly I saw Olga and instantly realized that something was wrong. She was screaming at me from the second floor, in Russian, “Michael, come upstairs! Quickly!” Everyone looked at me—none of them spoke Russian. “I need to go up,” I said and hurried upstairs.

When I made my way upstairs, I saw the Rabbanit¹³ lying motionless on the floor. Her eyes were open and she was breathing, but not moving at all. As it turned out, she had had a stroke! We had a doctor in attendance, and I called for him immediately, without explaining anything to anyone. “Doctor, come quick!” The doctor went upstairs and immediately realized what had happened.

Our next move turned out to be a mistake. “Let’s move her to the couch,” the doctor said, though you shouldn’t move a person in such a condition. We carried her to the couch, and I was about to call for RABASH when he showed up. He saw everything... and fell quiet, standing perfectly still. He then carefully made his way to the corner of the room and sat down, watching closely what we were doing. The trepidation and tenderness in his eyes, I will never forget the way he watched her. The look in her eyes was the same. It was as if she was comforting him, though he already understood everything.

Then the ambulance came and took her to the hospital.

RABBANIT YOHEVED

RABASH loved his wife very much. They lived together sixty-four years. She was a year or two his senior and came from a prominent Jerusalem family. The family had lived in Jerusalem for seven generations, the so-called “noble aristocracy.”

Rabbanit Yoheved was a tall, beautiful woman with refined manners. I knew her very well—we shared an inner connection of sorts. Perhaps it was because she sensed my utmost affection for RABASH, like that of a son for his father. She, in turn, looked at me like a son. She would send us fish every Shabbat—nobody else got such a present; only my family.

She had the hard personality of a true Jerusalemite. RABASH loved her and respected her, and even deferred to her somewhat.

Even with this knowledge of their affection for one another despite their outward differences, what I witnessed following her hospitalization truly stunned me.

AT THE HOSPITAL

It was the way RABASH cared for her.

A respected ADMOR, a teacher and a Kabbalist, he cared for her with the fondness and tenderness one would show an infant. I could never have imagined such a thing. I just sat there and stared, dumbfounded, when I first saw it—and couldn’t get used to it thereafter.

With time, she regained her speech and control of some of her body parts, but not her legs.

Sure, she was visited by her daughters and was attended in shifts by my wife and by Feyga, but for the entire four years that followed, RABASH stayed with her every night: caring for her, cleaning up after her, feeding her. He kept at her side always, sensing that she needed him above anyone else. They shared an incredible inner bond.

Yet again I witnessed the extent to which he was able to nullify himself to an unattainable, impossible state. He gave all of himself—to the point where he simply didn’t exist.

You looked at him and realized what a savage you were by comparison, how infinitely far you were from his state. And you marveled at his exaltedness.

It was true love. Not our corporeal, egoistic love, but a faithful love between two beautiful people.

LOVE

Love is above one’s ego. RABASH and I didn’t much discuss this topic, but I do remember his one description: “Love is a pet that feeds on mutual concessions.”

This was how he lived with Yoheved, building love in two parallel dimensions. In one dimension, they argued and disagreed with one another. Again, they were radically different: a Jerusalem aristocrat raised in an Orthodox spirit on one side, and a Kabbalist on the other. But in the other dimension, they build a connection above all the contradictions. This is the meaning of “Love covers all crimes.”

Looking at them, it became clear that this was the only way for two people to forge a loving, strong, healthy, and truly human bond.

PARTING

Rabbanit Yoheved died four years later, having never fully recovered from the stroke.

It happened at 11 at night. I received a phone call, “Michael, you must get here quick! We don’t know what to do with the Rebbe.”

I came straight away. RABASH was lying down in his room—opposite her empty bed. I came in and sat down next to him. “Do you want to say anything to everyone?” I asked. “No,” was his reply.

He stayed silent for a long while. I didn’t want to break his silence, so I just sat there quietly. We could hear women’s voices through the door. “What do they want, Michael?” RABASH asked. “Go find out.”

I came out to his daughters who said that they want to charter buses to Har HaMenuchot Cemetery¹⁴ in Jerusalem. I went back to RABASH and told him. His reaction was that of surprise. “Har HaMenuchot? Jerusalem? Why?! Look in the window—there’s a cemetery three hundred meters from this house. Let’s bury her there.”

This didn’t come from negligence towards his wife; rather, it was his attitude towards all corporeal things. Of course, his daughters didn’t understand it and grew indignant. “You want our mother, a Jerusalem native, to be buried in Bnei Brak and not in Jerusalem?! Impossible!” To this, RABASH replied, “Let them do what they want. I’m not getting involved.”

And so, Yoheved was buried in Jerusalem.

RABASH SHOCKS ME YET AGAIN

During the seven days that followed Yoheved’s funeral, RABASH kept quiet, deep in thought. After we finished sitting Shiva, he said something that shocked me yet again.

He showed me what it meant to cling only to the goal, to see nothing but the goal, to focus on and be devoted wholly to the goal. Above reason, above feelings, above all the conventions of this world, above everything.

He came to me and said, “Help me find a wife.” I stood there, baffled, not knowing what to say. Meanwhile, he continued, “I need to make a Chuppah.”¹⁵

By then, I had already understood the spiritual root of this requirement. I knew that a Kabbalist must be married, but I couldn’t possibly predict RABASH making such a lightning-quick decision.

He and Yoheved had been inseparable in joy and in grief. With Yoheved passing, I thought that he would wait a year, maybe two... but no. He couldn’t wait—he had no right. Being married—even formally married—was a requirement from above, and as such, it was above all else for him, because it was a spiritual requirement.

And so, in the twilight of his life, RABASH waged a new revolution...

Following a lengthy search, it was Feyga, who had been caring for Yoheved and in whom RABASH saw a devoted student, who became his second wife. With this move, RABASH proved yet again that he was prepared for any revolution, notwithstanding what others may say or think. If the matter related to the goal, he was ready for anything. But we’ll talk more about that some other time.

RABASH GROWS WEAK

Another year had passed. Each day spent with RABASH was special—being next to him was the highest form of bliss. Of course, I would have loved for it to last forever, but I understood that eventually our physical bodies would part.

I tried not to think about his death, but one day I had a real fright.

RABASH was already 85, and suddenly it became noticeable that the “running Rebbe,” as he came to be known around Bnei Brak, was no lnger so “running.”

Every summer the two of us would go to the beach, but this summer he stopped swimming altogether. Each time, I would wait for him to enter the water, but he wouldn’t do it. “Go on, don’t wait for me,” he would say.

He had always been first in the water, eager to do his four hundred vigorous strokes. Yet here I was, swimming all alone, casting constant glances at the beach. He would wave at me as he walked back and forth on the sand, in his own thoughts.

In a way, he had already let himself go. He accepted it. Only I hadn’t understood it. He had cut himself off from all treatments, which had never happened before. Typically, he would go to doctors and observe their instructions without objection. But when I suddenly discovered that he had started suffering from bloody discharges, I grew worried and started talking about treatment. In response, he gave me an odd look and said, “Don’t worry, it’s all right.” “But Rebbe...” I began to object, but he cut me off, “Not another word!” I still remember the way he waved his hand dismissively, as if to say, “Let it go.”

He knew very clearly that he was departing.

He felt it with absolute certainty even as I thought that it would all pass.

He didn’t even want to buy any Etrog or Lulav¹⁶ for the holiday of Sukkot; he didn’t want to do anything in advance. Holidays were approaching: Rosh Hashanah,¹⁷ followed by Sukkot, yet he wasn’t talking about building a sukkah. I knew the trepidation he had for this holiday, demanding that everyone observe the smallest aspects of sukkah construction, bringing up the matter as far as a month before the holiday’s arrival. Yet, this time, he was quiet.

He remained constantly in his own thoughts.

Looking back, it’s shocking to me that I hadn’t raised an alarm. I should have persuaded him to go to the doctor and do all the tests. I should have insisted until he agreed and submitted to treatment...

But I wasn’t allowed to do it. And we somehow forgot the warning we had received a while back. My friend Yossi Gimpel told me that in conversation with some woman in Beer Sheva, she had suddenly mentioned that RABASH would soon pass, then added a peculiar statement, “Why are you acting this way, Yossi?! You have someone you can turn to and find out all this. And he wishes for you to do it, but you cannot.” Yossi replied to her, “You’re right, I cannot. I don’t know how. I don’t know how to come to him and how to ask. I badly want to do it, but don’t know how.” So she said to him, “Very well, let it be. But remember that you have only through 1991.” That happened four years prior to RABASH’s death. And it was later forgotten, erased from memory. We just didn’t think it was reasonable to believe all these predictions.

Yet, the prediction came true.

Today I understand that you can be fully blocked, to have your brain, emotions, fear and anxiety simply switched off. We are under full control of the upper one. He commands absolutely everything.

And RABASH knew this better than anyone. He kept a constant inner dialogue with the Creator.