Tallis as a Vehicle of Gratitude and a Reminder of Death

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Caption: body of former Israeli army's chief rabbi, Avihai Ronsky, on April 1, 2018. 

Tallis as a Vehicle of Gratitude and a Reminder of Death

I had just finished my pre-shacharis meditation. I said the birkas ha’mitzvah on my tallis, which I wrapped around my head, shoulders, and upper body, as I do every morning. While still enwrapped, I was suddenly filled with a rush of gratitude. I felt grateful to Hashem for commanding us in mitzvos like tzitzis as tools of zechirah (remembering) to save us from the perpetual threat of shichechah (forgetting). In contrast to non-Jews, who are left to their own devices and practice – like the meditation I had just done – we Jews are obligated in a regimen designed to foster awakening, mindfulness, and true human development.

Upon experiencing these feelings, I decided I’d try a new experiment: every day, right after saying the berachah and wrapping myself in my tallis, I would take a Sacred Pause to reflect on my gratitude to Hashem for all mitzvos. I then laughed at the unoriginality of what I had just proposed upon realizing that this is exactly why Ezra and his Beis Din instituted a birkas ha’mitzvah in the first place! My “experiment” was nothing more than an intentional following through with what halacha had already prescribed.

I shared these thoughts with my chavrusa, noting that tallis is the perfect vehicle for this reflection because tzitzis were designed to remind us of all mitzvos. My chavrusa added: “Not only that, but your tallis is like a hug!” That comment, strange as it may sound to some, inspired me to add an element to my experiment. 

In Radical Compassion, Tara Brach shares a “hugging meditation” developed by Thich Nhat Hanh. The two partners begin by embracing each other fully and mindfully. While in the embrace, they take three deep breaths together. During the first breath they each reflect: "I am going to die." During the second: "You are going to die." And during the third: "And we have just these precious moments together."

I decided that while I was wrapped in my tallis, reflecting on my gratitude to Hashem for  mitzvos, I would take three deep breaths. During the first I would reflect: “I, who have been granted this life of mitzvos, am going to die.” During the second: “You, all the other people in my life, are going to die.” And during the third: “And we have just these precious moments together to live this life enriched by mitzvos.”

I then realized that the tallis, itself, is a reminder of mortality, on account of the minhag to bury Jewish males in their tallis. Although there is a machlokess whether this tallis should or should not have tzitzis (see Shulchan Aruch Yoreh Deah 351:2), this has no bearing on the memento mori association to the tallis itself. Additionally, there are Gemaras which explicitly relate the mitzvah of tzitzis to the awareness that we will one day be niftar (i.e. dead and rendered exempt from mitzvos), such as Berachos 18a:

R’ Chiyya and R’ Yonasan were walking in a cemetery and the techeiles of R’ Yonasan’s [tzitzis] was cast to the ground [and dragging across the graves]. R’ Chiyya said: Lift it, so [the dead] will not say, “Tomorrow they will come to us, and now they are insulting us?”

This is the current incarnation of my tallis experiment. My hope is that this practice will enhance my overall gratitude to Hashem for the life of mitzvos He has given me, and that this appreciation will set the tone for my davening and for how I experience the rest of my day. After doing this every morning for a whole week (and counting), I can say that if the only moment of kavanah I manage to have in my entire shacharis is this three-breath pause for gratitude and reflection on the preciousness of this one life of mitzvos I have been given, then the experiment was well worth it.

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

On Being Present in Tefilah

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On Being Present in Tefilah

Let go of what has passed.

Let go of what may come.

Let go of what is happening now.

Don’t try to figure anything out.

Don’t try to make anything happen.

Relax, right now, and rest.

The early Sages would pause for a full hour before davening in order to have proper kavanah in tefilah (Mishnah Berachos 5:1). The Rambam (ad loc.) explains that they would pause “so that their [inner] conversation and thoughts would cease.” In other words, they did not use this hour to fill their minds with specific ideas in preparation for tefilah, but to empty their minds, in order that they may be refilled through their engagement in tefilah.

Earlier this year I conducted a radical tefilah experiment in which I sat with my eyes closed doing absolutely nothing for a full hour right before davening. I did this for three consecutive days. The results were remarkable. For the first half hour or so, my mind was a loud and chaotic traffic jam. Thoughts and feelings were honking their horns and yelling for attention. My inner productivity taskmaster strained against its seat belt, refusing to be still and wait. My inner skeptic berated me for wasting time. But eventually, these inner voices quieted down, and my mind settled into tranquility. And when I davened, I had better kavanah than ever before. Why? Because all the thoughts that would have distracted me during davening were allowed free reign to do and say whatever they wanted before davening!

I don’t have time to sit for a full hour before davening every day. Instead, I’ve been experimenting with a scaled down version: doing a guided meditation for 15-25 minutes before shacharis every morning and striving to continue that presence into tefilah. This week I’ve chosen Tara Brach’s Letting Go and Letting Be. It begins by focusing on the breath, continues with a body scan, and culminates in a reflection on the six-line teaching cited at the beginning of this article.

I was recently asked by a fellow Jewish educator: “Mindfulness practices are about being present. How does that jive with a religion that teaches: ‘Who is wise? One who sees the future?' (Tamid 32a).” I answered that worrying, stressing out, and having anxiety about the future is not the same thing as seeing the future. Obsessing over the “virtual reality” in my head isn’t the same thing as living in reality. By focusing on the present, these mindfulness practices uncloud my mind of the thoughts and feelings which warp and obscure my ability to see the future clearly.

Tefilah requires the same clarity and presence. The types of thoughts and feelings which interfere with my kavanah – planning, rehearsing, fretting, fearing, doubting – all stem from my egoic preoccupation with the future. When my head is stuck in the future, I can’t be present enough to engage in mindful shevach (praise), bakashah (request), and hodaah (thanks) in the present. Chazal teach that ego and God cannot dwell together in the same world (Sotah 5a). As long as my ego continually asserts itself in its efforts to control its future, then I am incapable of standing before Hashem in tefilah. By pausing and letting go before tefilah, I can be present in tefilah. I can say “hineini” (here I am).

Let go of what has passed.

Let go of what may come.

Let go of what is happening now.

Don’t try to figure anything out.

Don’t try to make anything happen.

Relax, right now, and rest.

________________________________________________________________________________

If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

On Seeing the Hearts of Human Beings

Today’s Torah content is dedicated to the joyous occasion of the marriage of Jon Deutsch and Avigayil Lev. Jon has "graduated" from student, to coworker, to chavrusa and friend. Avigayil, another former student and fellow Slytherin, remains a daily presence in my virtual beis midrash. I am happy for them and I'm excited to see where their life leads them.

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Artwork: Dack Fayden, by Terese Nielsen

On Seeing the Hearts of Human Beings

Seeing the Heart of David

With few exceptions, Tanach tends to eschew descriptions of the physical appearances of its characters. Two of those exceptions can be found in Sefer Shmuel. The first is Shaul: “And [Kish] had a son, whose name was Shaul, young and handsome [1], and there was not among the children of Israel a more handsome person than he: from his shoulders and upward he was taller than any of the people” (I Shmuel 9:2)

The second notable exception is David, about whom it is said: “Now he was ruddy (admoni) with beautiful eyes (yafeh einayim) and a goodly appearance (tov ro’ee)” (ibid. 16:12).

In context it is easy to see why these physical descriptions are relevant to the narrative. Shmuel ha’Navi is sent by Hashem to anoint a new king to replace Shaul. He is told that the new king will be one of the sons of Yishai. He makes the journey to Yishai’s house, and the sons are summoned:

And it was upon their arrival that Shmuel saw Eliav and said: “Surely Hashem’s anointed is before Him.” But Hashem said unto Samuel: “Do not look at his appearance or at his tall stature, for I have rejected him; for it is not as man sees – for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart” (ibid. 16:6-7)

Shmuel then cycles through the rest of Yishai’s sons, before finally settling on David:

Yishai then called Avinadav and brought him before Shmuel, but he said, “Hashem has not chosen this one either.” Then Yishai brought Shammah, but [Shmuel] said, “Hashem has not chosen this one either.” Yishai presented his seven sons before Shmuel, but Shmuel said to Yishai, “Hashem has not chosen these.” Shmuel said, “Are these all the boys?” and he said, “The youngest one is still left; he is tending the sheep now.” So Shmuel said to Yishai: “Send and bring him, for we will not sit [to dine] until he arrives here.” He sent and brought him. He was ruddy with beautiful eyes and a goodly appearance. Hashem then said, “Arise and anoint him, for this is he!” (ibid. 16:8-12)

The question is: What was Shmuel’s mistake? The fact that Hashem had to correct him, saying, “Do not look at his appearance or at his tall stature … for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart” implies that Shmuel erroneously focused on David’s outward appearance. How are we to understand Shmuel’s error? Are we to think that such a great prophet as Shmuel got caught up in appearance-based superficialities? And if Shmuel was merely concerned about how the new king would be perceived in the eyes of his people, did he really think that such considerations outweighed the quality of the king’s heart?

The Malbim [2] provides a conceptually and textually sound answer:

“he was ruddy”: Here is shown to us the truth of what was written earlier: “for it is not as man sees – for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart.” For David was ruddy, [indicating] that “redness” was dominant in him [3], and he was [therefore] genetically disposed to [commit acts of] bloodshed. At the same time, good qualities were also indicated in him, for he “had beautiful eyes and a goodly appearance,” which indicated that he was analytically sharp-minded and had a healthy constitution …

If Shmuel had only relied on his human perception, he would have concluded that [David] was not worthy [of being king,] but Hashem “sees hearts” and knew that out of his good free-will decisions he would do only justice and righteousness, and that he would use the nature of “redness” implanted within him to wage the wars of Hashem and to annihilate the doers of iniquity from [every] city. This is what is desirable in the eyes of Hashem, that even though a person has a natural inclination towards evil, he should rule over it with righteousness and good free-will decisions. This is [the intent of] that which was written: “Arise and anoint him, for this is he” – [namely, this is the one] who is desirable before Me.

According to the Malbim, Shmuel’s mistake did not stem from a misguided overvaluation of appearances. Rather, he was legitimately concerned that David’s natural disposition towards violence, as indicated by his ruddy appearance, would render him unfit to be king over Israel. Indeed, this was a legitimate concern. This is precisely why Hashem needed to step in and provide assurance from the perspective of Divine omniscience, saying: “It is true that such a disposition could render a man unfit to be king, but this man will harness his aggressive nature and channel it towards the good.” “He was ruddy with beautiful eyes and a goodly appearance.” His potentially destructive nature will be actualized, but for the good.

Seeing the Hearts of Our Fellow Human Beings

One of the central ethical mitzvos of the Torah is ve’halachta bi’drachav (“you shall walk in His ways”). The Rambam [4] defines this mitzvah as follows:

We are commanded to make ourselves resemble Him (exalted is He) in accordance with our ability, as it is stated: "you shall walk in His ways" (Devarim 28:9). This commandment has been repeated in the statement: "to walk in all of His ways" (ibid. 11:24). The [Oral Torah's] explanation of this matter is as follows:

"Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'merciful,' so shall you be merciful. Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'gracious,' so shall you be gracious. Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'righteous,' so shall you be righteous. Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'kind,' so shall you be kind" (Sifre).

And this commandment has been repeated in different words: "you shall follow after Hashem, your God" (ibid. 13:5), and its explanation is also that we should make our good actions and lofty character traits resemble those which are ascribed to Him (may He be exalted) by way of allegory. May He be exceedingly exalted over everything.

The core of this mitzvah is that we should model our own actions and characteristics after the allegorical descriptions of Hashem’s actions and characteristics. If so, then Hashem’s statement to Shmuel, “for it is not as man sees – for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart” is not to be understood merely as a particular correction of a particular man’s mistake, but as a universal ethical imperative. Accordingly, we must ask ourselves: What can we do to emulate the Divine attribute of looking past outward appearances of our fellow human beings, and instead, to “see their hearts”?

I recently finished reading Dr. Tara Brach’s book Radical Compassion. In Chapter 9, “Seeing the Goodness,” Tara writes about techniques for remembering to see the basic goodness in all human beings. Rather than attempt to summarize the main ideas of the chapter, which are built upon the previous chapters, I’d like to relate a story the author heard read at a Christmas Eve church service. When combined with the Malbim’s commentary, I believe this provides us with an approach to answering our question:

One Christmas Day, a woman, her husband, and their year-old son had driven a long way before they found an open diner by the side of the road.

It was quiet and almost empty, and they were waiting gratefully for their food when the little boy began waving from his high chair and calling, "Hi there!" to someone behind them. To the mother's dismay, it turned out to be a wreck of a man, unkempt and unwashed, obviously a homeless drunk. Now he was waving back at her boy and calling, "Hi there, baby, hi there, big boy ... I see ya, buster."

The woman and her husband exchanged looks, and the few other people in the diner were shooting disapproving glances their way. And the old guy went on, even after their food came. "Do you know patty-cake? Attaboy ... Do you know peeka boo? Hey, look, he knows peekaboo." The mother tried turning the high chair around, but her son shrieked and twisted to face his new buddy.

Finally, giving up on their meal, her husband got up to pay the bill, and the mother took the baby in her arms, praying that she could quickly get past the old drunk, who was seated by the door. But as they approached, her son reached out with both arms – his pick-me-up signal – and propelled himself into the man's open arms.

But now the mother could see tears in the man's eyes as her son laid his head on his shoulder. He gently held and rocked the boy, and then he looked straight into her eyes. "You take care of this baby," he said firmly. And as he slowly handed him back, "God bless you, ma'am. You've given me my Christmas gift."

She must have mumbled something in return, but as she rushed to the car, tears streaming down her face, she could only think, "My God, my God, forgive me."

This woman underwent a shift in her perspective akin to what Shmuel ha’Navi experienced. At first she could only see this man’s outward appearance. He was homeless. He was drunk. He was dirty. He was what Tara calls “an Unreal Other” – a person who happens to belong to the same species as ourselves, but is somehow “less real” than ourselves and those with whom we identify. And this man’s homelessness, drunkenness, and dirtiness served as evidence to expand his Unreal Otherness by generating a complete past, present, and future of him in her mind. On that basis, whether consciously or unconsciously, this man was written off as being intrinsically worth less than she, her husband, and her baby, and was destined to remain as such.

It was only when she saw the man’s reaction to her baby – to her baby’s natural and unbiased reaction to another human being – that she was able to “see the heart” of this man. And when he looked into her eyes and expressed gratitude, he became a Real Person, just like her.

Now, one might object to this line of reasoning, saying that seeing an Unreal Other as a Real Person has nothing to do with emulating Hashem’s “seeing the heart” mentioned in Sefer Shmuel. After all, according to the Malbim, Hashem’s proclamation of David’s worthiness to be king was predicated on the knowledge that he would make good free will decisions, choosing to channel his natural tendencies to his service of God. Such knowledge can only come from Divine omniscience, which – by definition – is impossible for finite human beings to emulate, and wouldn’t even fall under the purview of ve’halachta bi’drachav.

I disagree. When the Rambam introduces the mitzvah by saying, “We are commanded to make ourselves resemble Him … in accordance with our ability,” and “we should make our good actions and lofty character traits resemble those which are ascribed to Him … by way of allegory” he is acknowledging the fact that the Divine attributes are intrinsically different from our human emulations of them. Indeed, the entire first section of the Moreh ha’Nevuchim substantiates this reading. Moreover, as my Rosh ha’Yeshiva pointed out, the Sifre cited by the Rambam bears out this point. Chazal don’t say: “Just as Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu is merciful, so shall you be merciful” but rather, “Just as Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu is called merciful, so shall you be merciful.” In other words, Hashem’s mercy is of a fundamentally different nature than human mercy, and there is absolutely no way we can emulate it. Rather, we must study Hashem’s modes of action as presented in Tanach and translate them into human ethical standards.

Such is the approach I am suggesting here. Unlike Hashem, we lack the ability to see into the hearts of our fellow human beings to know what choices they will make. But like Hashem, we can take active steps to look past their outward appearances, to refrain from making definitive judgments and predictions of future behavior on the basis of what our eyes see – as if we were as omniscient as God – and instead, to see them as a fellow tzelem Elokim (“created in with a divine form”), with the same humanity as ourselves.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that we ought to be naïve or unrealistically optimistic in our dealings with other people. If, for example, an actual mugger approaches us on the street, we should take whatever precautions are necessary. But at the same time, we can still see that person as a fellow human being.

Seeing Our Own Hearts

Most importantly, this perspective must be applied to our own hearts. When we look in the mirror, we must see past the misplaced feelings of certainty we have about our “destiny” based on our dispositions and the lot we were dealt in life. There is no such thing as destiny. "See, I have placed before you today the life and the good, and the death and the bad … Choose life, that you and your offspring may live" (Devarim 30:15,19). We cannot choose our genetics or our circumstances, but we can choose what to do with them. By seeing our own heart through Divine eyes, we unlock our ability to “choose life.”

[1] The pasuk uses the phrase “tov” (“goodly”), but the Targum translates this as “shapir” (“beautiful” or “handsome”), and the end of the pasuk supports this translation.

[2] Rav Meir Leibush ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer I Shmuel 6:12

[3] I don’t fully understand what he means, but my guess is that it reflects some sort of theory of humourism. I don’t think it matters much, as long as we take it as his factual premise and then see how he applies it.

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Sefer ha’Mitzvos: Mitzvas Aseh #8

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

Help! I've Fallen Into Sufi Poetry and I Have No Idea What I'm Doing!

This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Sol and Chummie Azose, in honor of the upcoming 81st birthday of the Rosh ha'Yeshiva, Rabbi Yisroel Chait, and the 91st birthday of Sol's father, Hazzan Isaac Azose. If you're interested in sponsoring a day's or a week's worth of Torah content, you can contact me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com.

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a haiku by 12th grade Matt Schneeweiss

Help! I've Fallen Into Sufi Poetry and I Have No Idea What I'm Doing!

Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I hated poetry. I hated reading it, I hated discussing it, I hated writing it. I recently stumbled upon a trove of poetry assignments that I was “forced” to write in high school, and this haiku (or “haiku”) perfectly captures my stubbornly resentful attitude at the time:

“I hate poetry,”

he said. “No, you really don’t.”

“Yes, I really do.”

This attitude remained staunchly in place for many years after high school. Then I discovered Thoreau. This was the first time I encountered a thinker writing in poetry in prose. That blew my mind. I was reading ideas, but they weren’t expressed in the way I thought ideas had to be expressed. At first, I thought this was just Thoreau, but after seeing examples of this in Bruce Lee, Emerson, Rav Soloveitchik, and others, I identified the quality I enjoyed: being immersed in the world of ideas as perceived by the mind of a poet.

Fast forward to May 2021, when I started reading Tara Brach’s books, and June 2021 when I started listening to her lectures and meditations – all of which are interwoven with excerpts of poetry. Of the several poets whose works are quoted more frequently than others, one has stood out to me: Rumi.

Jalāl ad-Dīn Mohammad Rūmī (1207 – 1273 C.E.) was a Persian Islamic teacher, scholar, and philosopher-poet. He was also a Sufi mystic. What does that mean? I have very little idea, other than what I’ve gleaned from the internet (against my own better judgment). But as the Rambam said, “accept the truth from whoever says it,” and I have found truths in these poems. There’s a lot of other stuff in these poems as well – non-truths, mystical flights of fancy, lexical paroxysms – but it’s the truths which interest me.

I am fascinated by Rumi’s cryptic style. Take, for example, such stanzas as “Be empty of worrying. Think of Who created thought!” “Why do you stay in prison when the door is wide open?” “Darkness is your candle. Your boundaries are your quest.” “Your old life was a frantic running from silence.” Such lines strike me in an entirely different way than the prose I typically read. They stay with me throughout the day, repeatedly calling back my thoughts. The feeling is akin to what Morpheus said to Neo:

What you know, you can’t explain, but you feel it. You’ve felt it your entire life … You don’t know what it is, but it’s there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad.

What do I hope to get out of my Rumi reading other than truth? Well, for years I’ve learned and taught Tehilim (Psalms), Kinnos (liturgical lamentations), and Selichos (supplicatory penitential prayers). I’ve become more and more in touch with the poetry of these texts, but I often feel like I’m missing something essential. But when I read Rumi’s poetry, I feel like I’m expanding my intellectual imagination. I’m not entirely sure what I mean by that, but that’s what it feels like. My hope is that reading such poetry not in the context of learning will help me unlock the poetry in learning.

I also sense that by exploring these new and unusual forms of thought-in-language, I am familiarizing myself with the boundaries and limitations of language as a medium of thought. Rumi would conclude his poems with statements like: “Let that musician finish this poem.” David ha’Melech ended Tehilim with a chapter about praising Hashem with musical instruments, alluding to the inadequacy of praising Hashem with words. Language is limited, but perhaps by recognizing and striving to transcend these limitations through poetry, we can catch just a fleeting glimpse of the sublime. "Your boundaries are your quest."

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

Bodily Posture as a Sensory Anchor for Kavanah in Tefilah

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Bodily Posture as a Sensory Anchor for Kavanah in Tefilah

In Hilchos Tefilah Chapter 4, Rambam identifies five essential requirements for tefilah (i.e. the Amidah). One of these is kavanas ha’leiv (mental focus): “a person should empty their mind of all thoughts and see themselves as though they are standing before the shechinah (Divine presence)” (Hilchos Tefilah 4:15).

In Hilchos Tefilah Chapter 5, Rambam lists eight additional requirements for tefilah. Although these eight are obligatory, they are not indispensable for discharging one’s obligation. One of these requirements is tikkun ha’guf (preparation of the body):

When he stands in tefilah, he needs to place his feet side by side; he should direct his eyes downwards, as if he is looking at the earth; his heart should be faced upwards, as if he is standing in the sky; he places his hands clasped over his heart, the right on the left; he stands like a servant before his master, in awe, fear, and dread; and he shouldn’t rest his hands on his hips. (Hilchos Tefilah 5:4)

I am aware that there are specific ideas associated with each of these requirements. For example, the Rashba (Chidushei Aggadah Berachos 10b) explains that by placing our feet side by side and clasping our hands together – positions which restrict our movement – we are emulating the malachim (angels), whose movements are bound and determined solely by the will of God. However, I haven’t yet learned all the sources, so I can’t say anything about the general halachic character of tikkun ha’guf.

That being said, I recently discovered a new function of tikkun ha’guf, even if it’s not the actual purpose. In her book, True Refuge: Finding Peace and Freedom in Your Own Awakened Heart, Tara Brach writes:

[The] path to mindfulness begins with concentration – a one-pointed focusing of attention. It’s difficult to be mindful of your experience if your mind is lost in a continuous stream of discursive thought. So first we collect and quiet the mind by directing attention to a sensory anchor. This might mean following the breath, or scanning the body for sensations, or listening to sounds … With practice, whatever anchor you choose can become a reliable home base for your attention; like a good friend, it will help you reconnect with an inner sense of balance and well-being.

I had just read this passage in Tara Brach before davening one day and I realized: “Hey! I wonder whether the bodily postures of tikkun ha’guf could serve as sensory anchors for helping maintain kavanah?”

I decided to try it. When I stood up for my amidah, I paused and focused on my bodily sensations. I felt my two feet next to each other. I felt the weight of my right hand clasped on my left. I felt my left hand resting on my beating heart. I felt my bowed head. I felt my downward eyes. I began to daven … and it worked! In my usual davening, I’ll often “wake up” in the middle of a later berachah, my mind having wandered without realizing it. But after anchoring myself in the somatic sensations of my tefilah posture, whenever my mind started to wander, my focus would snap back to my bodily awareness, and be redirected to my kavanah. It kind of felt like a trampoline safety net: whenever I fell off the kavanah beam, I’d hit the trampoline of bodily awareness, and bounce back onto the beam. This occurred many times throughout my Amidah, and it’s worked for every tefilah in which I’ve consciously implemented it.

To be clear: I’m not saying that this is the purpose of tikkun ha’guf. The purpose undoubtedly lies in the particulars. All I’m saying is that utilizing tikkun ha’guf as a sensory anchor for kavanas ha’leiv has helped me to have better kavanah in my davening, and if you give it a try, maybe it’ll help you too.

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

The Tenth of Av, Seven Haftaros of Consolation, and Life After the Pain

This week's Torah content is sponsored by a generous donor who wishes to remain anonymous, and told me, "No thanks needed!" so I'm not going to thank them. 

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Artwork: Gift of Estates, by Alexis and Justin Hernandez

The Tenth of Av,  Seven Haftaros of Consolation, and Life After the Pain

Every year, after Tishah b’Av is over, I find myself eager to just put it all behind me and get on with enjoying my summer. (To be honest, I think some of this attitude is residual “halachic resentment” from when my friends and I followed a psak which prohibited almost all social gatherings of more than two people; suffice it to say, that put a dent into my summer vacation.) It’s always a drag to break the fast after Tishah b’Av and still be bound by many of the prohibitions of the Nine Days until midday on the Tenth of Av.

This year, however, I am going to attempt to relate to the Tenth of Av differently. Tara Brach’s book, Radical Compassion, is about the mindfulness practice of RAIN: an acronym for Recognize, Allow, Investigate, Nurture. There is a fifth step called “after the RAIN,” which she describes as follows:

The four steps of RAIN involve active ways of directing our attention. In After the RAIN, we shift from doing to being. The invitation is to relax and let go into the heartspace that has emerged. Rest in this awareness and become familiar with it; this is your true home. Now, paying attention to the quality of your presence – the openness, wakefulness, tenderness – ask yourself: “In these moments, what is the sense of my being, of who I am?” “How has this shifted from when I began the meditation?”

There are examples of “after the rain” type practices in halacha as well, most notably in tefilah:

And he should not make his tefilah like one who is carrying a burden who casts it off and goes on his way. Therefore, he must sit for a little while after tefilah, and only then may he depart. The early pious Sages would pause for an hour before tefilah, and an hour after tefilah, and they would extend tefilah for an hour. (Rambam: Hilchos Tefilah 4:16)

What are we supposed to do during this post-tefilah “pause”? Presumably, we engage in a process akin to what Tara describes: to reflect on what transpired during our davening, to allow our thoughts and feelings to integrate the effects of our tefilah, and to prepare to reenter life enlightened by the experience.

We observe mourning practices of the Tenth of Av because the Beis ha’Mikdash continued to burn. On a basic level, turning away from our metaphysical trauma and running back to our normal lives would reflect a callous attitude towards the tragedies of Tishah b’Av and their implications. Imagine someone in the middle of a commemorative ceremony at Auschwitz saying, “Sorry, I gotta go. I have tickets to the new Marvel movie, and it’s starting in an hour.” The extension of mourning protects us from this insensitivity.

However, I would like to suggest that the extension of our mourning into the Tenth of Av can function as an “After the RAIN” pause – a time when we can sit in the aftermath of our painful reflections and our national teshuvah and reflect on how to reenter our lives in light of these transformative three weeks.

This function is also served by the Sheva d’Nechamta – the seven haftaros of consolation we read between Tishah b’Av and Rosh ha’Shanah. I haven’t learned these haftaros in-depth, nor have I learned about why we read them, but I know one thing for certain: if we took the messages of these haftaros to heart, then we would not simply cease thinking about the Three Weeks, the Nine Days, and Tishah b’Av at midday on the Tenth, and then return to our lives. Instead, we would utilize this period of seven weeks to build a bridge from our metaphysical trauma and subsequent teshuvah, through the remaining summer months, until the Moadim of Tishrei. I don’t know exactly what this bridge is supposed to look like, but I’m sure that if it’s done correctly, the experience will be transformative. I’d like to give it my best shot.

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle/Chase QuickPay and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

If you would like to sponsor an article, shiur, or podcast episode, or if you are interested in enlisting my services as a teacher or tutor, you can reach me at rabbischneeweiss at gmail.com. Thank you to my listeners for listening, thank you to my readers for reading, and thank you to my supporters for supporting my efforts to make Torah ideas available and accessible to everyone. 

Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here.