Film "The Holy ARI"

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Film "The Holy ARI"

January 04

04:59 AM

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The Galilee. Its aura of peace and serenity remains unchanged even after thousands of years. Far from the city noise, its breezes clear the mind. Here you can rest on grasses, dream into the pure blue sky, watch deer sip water from a forest stream. Before the destruction of the First Temple, Galilee was the most densely populated place in the land. Houses there huddled tightly together. Even in such close quarters, neighbors lived in peace and harmony. After the First Temple fell, Galilee became desolate. Even though people could have continued to live as they had, they started abandoning their homes. It was as if something about the place began disturbing them, as if an unseen inner force was pushing them away. Then suddenly, fifteen centuries later, people started returning to this place. A restoration of Galilee was underway. And standing proudly above the entire region, the city of Sfad became its capital. The study of Kabbalah flourished there, and once again it became a spiritual center. Most people think of the center of the world as the place where money, political, and military power might hold sway. It seems that way to us because today egoism has humanity firmly in its control. But in those days, people understood that the center of the world is where spiritual values dominate, that they hold the world together. If it weren't for the light and the people who draw it here, the world would cease to exist. One of the greatest Kabbalists living in Sfad in the 16th century was Rabbi Moshe Cordovro, the Ramak. He taught from the point of view of the light because that's the way he experienced it. Which means that as he attained the spiritual world, he simply described what he sensed of it. Only the purest souls could receive and be inspired by the Ramak's Kabbalah. At that point, the time of such pure souls had already passed, and a new stage in human development had arrived. More coarse, egoistic souls descended five to our world, and they needed a practical, realistic method. That's the method the Ari brought us: laying the ground for the correction of the entire world. One day, the Ari told me about his childhood. He was born in Jerusalem in 1534. When he was eight, his father passed away, dying with an expression of absolute peace on his face because he knew who would succeed him. Soon after his father's death, his mother told him about a dream his father had. I was approached by a man dressed completely in white. I can't recall his face, but he told me that I will have a son who will be named Isaac, and that our son would free the people of Israel from the power of impure forces. That because of him, the gates of the wisdom of Kabbalah would open for the entire world. After his father's death, times became very hard for the family, and his mother was forced to move away from Jerusalem, taking the Ari to Egypt. One day, while in the midst of prayer, the Ari noticed an old man enter the room, sit by a window, open, and immerse himself in reading a volume that looked nothing like a prayer book. He'd never seen that book or that man before, and he studied the old man's face carefully. "Isaac," the man suddenly spoke without moving his lips. "You must begin studying the innermost part of the Bible. You must learn the wisdom of Kabbalah." After that encounter, the Ari locked himself in his house, and he dove into the Zohar hour after hour, day after day, never leaving. The world seemed to disappear. All that remained was the search for what truly lay behind its words. What is the earth? What is Rabbi Shimon? A cave. Rabbi Chaya. A river. The sky. In the wake of every word was a vast attainment of self and upper governance. Years passed, and as with any man, the natural responsibilities of life must be tended to. In a moment of frustration, the Ari confided to his father-in-law, "There's too much stopping me from focusing on the study, and so much I still need to do. The thought terrifies me that I won't be able to wrest all of the secrets from the wisdom of Kabbalah." Taking his words to heart, his father-in-law built a house on the banks of the Nile, complete with ten servants, to care for the Ari's every need. Now he could devote every moment and thought to the study of the wisdom. In constant contemplation, rung by rung, deep mysteries unfolded as he ascended to the grand secret of the universe, transforming himself and the world. A harsh winter fell on Egypt. Torrential storms tore at buildings as the river rose. It buried nearby villages under a flood of water and mud. Surrounded on all sides by the water, his house stood miraculously untouched. When the Ari and his servants managed to board a boat and get safely to shore, immediately he went to the temple to thank the Creator for sparing his life. As he finished praying, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, and there stood an old man. The very same old man who had years ago led him to Kabbalah. "Greetings, old man," said the Ari. "How long has it been since I last saw you? Where have you been?" "I was on the other side of the Red Sea," he answered, and added, "Listen to my advice. You have to stop working alone. Take your family and go to the town of Sfad. You're expected there." And with that, the old man turned towards the door, and he vanished into the dark street. Then too, the Ari seemed to have vanished, and for years no one knew his whereabouts. Then suddenly, at the age of 35, he reemerged in Sfad, a master Kabbalist who had attained all 125 rungs of the spiritual ladder. He was ready to teach. Here he contemplated and walked these streets. At 35, he had but six months left to live. But in those short months, he put the world on a new course and created a spiritual revolution. Not with banners and posters, or without even asking anyone to join him. People just instinctively felt that a great spiritual man had finally come to this town, this place of Kabbalah, and they flocked to him. This is how I first met the Ari. As I spoke with him, I had the sensation that he already knew everything I was going to ask him. I understood who was sitting before me, and I promised myself never to forget. After that encounter, I felt extremely shaken, even afraid. I couldn't leave my room for two days and kept begging the Creator to give me the strength to become like the Ari and to never stop on my path to him. When a person studies the method of the Ari, he learns that the upper spiritual world rests on a single law: the law of absolute love. What else does one gain from this method? A person begins to understand that as long as he stays in his egoism, he cannot know this upper world. The upper world will remain hidden from him, along with all the happiness that awaits him. And then one comes to understand that his own egoism is his chief and only enemy, consuming all the fruits of his labor. Only it is what prevents him from enjoying his present and future life. And he is not the only one who suffers from his egoism. He brings pain to the entire world. The Ari created a method that allows a person to transcend his egoism without suppressing or destroying it, but to transcend, to rise above it. It's called the method of the screens, and it gives a person a chance to find what he's been searching for over the entire course of human history: freedom, hope, peace, and love. The Ari revealed not just the method, but also how to present it to any person so that he too could ascend to the spiritual world and reach the bliss that awaits everyone there. Rabbi Isaac used to say, "Imagine that you are standing next to a spring and are dying of thirst. You dip your jug in the water, you wait for it to get filled, you start drinking, only to discover how muddy it is. But spring water is always clean. It's your jug that's dirty, and it is the cause of the pain. If your jug is unclean, it doesn't matter how clean the spring water is. In a dirty vessel, clean water doesn't taste clean. It tastes like the vessel. It will only hurt. If, however, you clean it by giving it a thorough wash, then the spring water becomes a source of pleasure to you. It is the only way. Only when you purify your internal vessel from egoism that is planted in you will you be able to taste all the great delights the Creator has prepared for you, the great light that always surrounds and illuminates you. When you tune yourself to revealing this light, you will start yearning for it. Only then will you be able to purify your internal vessel." The Ari often told us, "It's good that you don't understand. Your mind is only a mirror of your egoism, an instrument in its hands, a constant thought about how to grab more for yourself. You can come to the Creator only if you have a burning passion for Him. You won't understand anything until you attain it. I see those who are collecting knowledge. I look at them and I keep silent. They will gain nothing. Until you start aspiring to the Creator with all your heart, He won't answer your pleas. If you don't remove this external shell and start aiming for your inner desire, you won't comprehend anayoda of the Ari's teachings." Gradually, those who couldn't bear the new method left, and a new circle of Ari's students formed. We called ourselves the sons of the Ari. We tried as hard as we could to unite with each other in our eagerness for the Creator. We understood that that was the key. Chaim Vital did not leave the Ari for a second. After each lesson, he accompanied him to his home, always at the Ari's right. Together, they walked the streets of Sfad. Behind the spilt soup, the rain that catches you in the woods, the spider hiding in the corner of your house, the old man who suddenly appears beside you and opens the book of Kabbalah, behind all this stands the Creator. This is how He invites you to come to Him. Please try to understand it. Go to Him. There is none else beside Him. And all you see surrounding you is Him, His actions, His light filling everything. This is how the light calls you to purify yourself. And the purer we become, the closer we come to the Creator and receiving the infinite pleasure He's prepared for us. There is no blade of grass that doesn't have an angel that stands over it and tells it, "Grow." One day, when the Ari and Chaim Vital were walking, he began reciting a poem. The words simply flowed from his lips on their own like a spring. He clearly spoke each word, each letter, and every upper thought. That is how the Ari's famous poem, "The Tree of Life," was born. Behold, that before the emanations were emanated and the creatures were created, the upper simple light had filled the whole existence. And there was no vacancy, such as an empty atmosphere or hollow or a pit, but all was filled with simple, boundless light. And there was no such part as head or tail. But everything was simple, smooth, light, balanced evenly and equally. And it was called endless light. This poem contains the entire wisdom of Kabbalah. Thousands of doctorate theses could be written about it, and we still won't understand a fraction of what it conceals. There, after the restriction, having formed a vacuum and a space precisely in the middle of the endless light, a place was formed where the emanated and the created might reside. Then, from endless light, a single line hung down, lowered into that space. And through that line, He emanated, created, formed, and made all the worlds. We are yet to see in the coming generations just how much the Ari concealed in this poem, so that we could attain the very depth of the wisdom of Kabbalah, layer by layer, and by actualizing it, come to the highest point of human essence. Eighteen months had passed since the Ari arrived in Sfad. He finally felt he had completed all that was given to him from above to do, and now it was time for him to depart from this world. For a Kabbalist of Ari stature, the date of your death is not a secret. In the shade of the branches of this great oak, he told me of the day that his soul would leave this world: the 5th of Av, the 15th of July, 1572. "In seven months, you'll be on your own," he said. "You must continue on our path exactly as I've taught you." His words pierced me like nails. I became so attached, so accustomed to my teacher's presence that I could not imagine a day without him. "Teacher," I said, "how can I not see your face or hear your voice any longer and live? How can it be that you are leaving when the world needs you so much? I don't want our souls to part." Emotion overpowered me. I burst into tears and collapsed to my knees, begging him to spare me and everyone he was leaving behind here. The Ari kept silent, just watching me as I struggled to stop sobbing. Those empty minutes felt like eternity to me. I must have been a bad teacher if I failed to explain the truth to you. Don't you know that it isn't us who decides how long our soul remains in the body? The day and the time are written. Our only purpose is to use the time we're allotted here correctly, which means that we must do our best to come closer to the Creator, to become similar to Him, to acquire His exalted property of bestowal. If somehow I fail to convey this truth to you, my greatest student, how little the others must have received. There's nothing to fear in this, Chaim. Chaim Vital, you know that joy is what signifies faith. I know you learned this, but now you must make it real. You must take everything with joy. And if you do, there will be no place for despair, none. And you will see there's no evil in this world. In the last remaining days of his life, the Ari began to withdraw from his students. He made a decision they hardly expected to hear. He forbade them all from any future study of Kabbalah, all of them except Chaim Vital. He did this because he knew that Kabbalah could be passed to future generations in the most accurate and responsible manner only through him. When he knew he was in the throes of death, the great Ari summoned his disciples. Everyone came, everyone but me. On that day, I had to leave the town on a short errand. And when I heard what happened, I could not understand why the Creator hadn't permitted me to hear the final words of my beloved teacher, hadn't let me say farewell. Even now I think about that hour, when all my friends stood around the teacher as he left this world, and I was not among them. They told me that in his last moment, he raised his head, and his eyes searched the room, and he said, "But where's Chaim Vital?" They told him I had gone from town. He gave a deep sigh and said, "It's a pity that he isn't here at this moment. Then tell him, 'I will not abandon him. If he remains my faithful student, I will be with him.'" Then he told everyone to leave and to cease the study of Kabbalah, telling them he didn't see in any of his disciples someone who could continue his spiritual path except me. As he moved from place to place, from Jerusalem all the way to Damascus, Chaim Vital was unable to find any student capable of learning the method of the Ari. Over the course of his long life, he had seen much and lived through even more. Alone, without disciples, he died and was buried in Damascus. היה האור עליון פשוט, ממלא את כל המציאות, ולא היה שום מקום פנוי בבחינת האוויר ריקני. וחלל, אלא הכל היה מלא אור, האינסוף הפשוט. ויתרו, כי טרם שנצלו הנצלים, ונבראו הנבראים. היה האור עליון פשוט, ממלא את כל המציאות, ולא היה שום מקום פנוי בבחינת האוויר ריקני. וחלל, אלא הכל היה מלא אור, האינסוף הפשוט. ויתרו, כי טרם שנצלו הנצלים.