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By Alan Morinis In February of this year, while in Israel, I went to visit a rabbi (who prefers to go unnamed) who for many years supervised a Beis Hamussar (Mussar study house) in Jerusalem and was menahel ruchani (principal) of the yeshiva founded by Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe, the great Mussar teacher who died in 2005. I was so looking forward to meeting someone as steeped in the ways of Mussar as this rabbi must surely be. This meeting was arranged by my colleague and friend, Rabbi Avi Fertig (author of the wonderful Mussar book, “Bridging the Gap.”) R’ Avi had given me the name of the yeshiva where the meeting was to take place, and the name of the neighborhood where the yeshiva is located, but nothing more specific. I took off in a taxi with a driver who knew where to find the general area I sought, and we did a lot of asking of directions as we drew closer. As it happened, I pulled up in front of the yeshiva precisely at the arranged meeting time. I stepped from the taxi and a man standing on the sidewalk greeted me: “Shalom aleichem.” To which I responded in kind. “Chodesh tov,” he added, since the day of the visit was the first day of the month of Adar. I responded with “Chodesh tov,” wondering at the friendliness of this stranger, who then said, “I am the rabbi you have come to meet. I came down to make sure you had no trouble finding the place.” This man, who was my senior in so many ways, had positioned himself on the sidewalk to ensure that I would have no trouble finding him, a sign of the sensitive and caring soul that is the hallmark of Mussar. We went into his office and after some general inquiries, the topic turned to the subject that we began to explore last month in this column, which is Mussar chanting (hitpa’alut or hispailus). I have developed a strong interest in this practice, which the Mussar teachers from Rabbi Yisrael Salanter to Rabbi Wolbe have praised as being a necessity in the work of personal transformation that is the way Mussar. Though so roundly and highly lauded, I have only very rarely encountered someone who actually does this practice. The rabbi began by declaring, “Mussar is for yechidim [individuals], and has always been so.” What’s the relevance of that fact to the practice of hitpa'alut, I wondered? That connection became clearer as he explained how the chanting I was seeking to explore is part of a larger process of Mussar learning and action. In all traditional Mussar study, the starting point is a statement of the sages from the Talmud or a Mussar text. Having that quote in front of you, the first step is to understand the plain truth that is embedded in the words. Unpacking the teaching begins with an effort to understand it on its own terms, as a general principle. He explained that there is a particular way to clarify this truth, which is by means of analogies. That is an interesting topic in its own right, but not directly relevant to our subject of chanting, which comes as a later step in the learning process. Understanding the general principle expressed in the text is the first step, but no more. The goal of this Mussar practice has not changed since Rabbi Salanter eloquently expressed the necessity of using methods that cause key concepts to penetrate deeply, far more profoundly than intellectual knowledge, to the point where the inherent truth of the concept resonates deeply within me and within my life. That is how the concept moves from being information to transformation. Once the general concept is well understood, a person needs to try to find real situations where that concept plays out in his or her life. This is a reflective stage of the process, asking: How does this idea apply to me? Where does it show up in my life? Can I really see the truth about the gap between how things are for me and the Torah’s ideal? The best way to ask these questions is aloud, whether alone or with another person, to give extra impact to the reflection by invoking the power of verbalization. By this point in the practice, what we have achieved is a sharply clarified understanding of a concept, and an accurate reading of how that concept does and does not reach the ideal in our own life. The final step brings us to chanting, because the reality is that our inner defenses, self-delusion and denial incline us not to identify with the teaching we are learning in a Mussar text. Hitpa’alut is the method that causes the truth of the concept to penetrate within and so begin to lay the groundwork for closing the gap. The methods of clarifying, verbalizing, and chanting are classic Mussar techniques. Chanted recitation turns the received truth into a living truth that is clearly seen and felt as applying to ME! The point is to do what is required to bring about a complete and penetrating self-realization of that which has been learned. The rabbi said that chanting a phrase is a traditional way—though, he stressed, not the only way—to bring about this penetrating transformation. Whether a person chants or uses another specific method is of secondary concern, he said. What is primary is to project truth into the core of one’s being, and whatever causes that to take place for an individual can be called hitpa’alut. In that case, I wondered aloud, could a person who related to the world more through the body than the voice accomplish that ultimate goal through dance? He immediately agreed that that would theoretically be possible. Nevertheless, chanting is the method the Mussar masters have used and bequeathed to us, and that is there for us to explore. To illustrate all that I have said to this point, let’s seek a phrase that conveys a truth that it would do us well to internalize. There is a prayer in the morning liturgy that contains the line: Elohai neshama sh’natata bi, tahora hee, which translates as, “My God, the soul [neshama] that you have given into me is pure.” The Hebrew reads: אלהי נשמה שנתת בי טהורה היא Surely there is a message in this one line of liturgy that few of us have brought into our lives in such an acute and penetrating way as to affect the very foundation of how we live, from the inside out. According to the rabbi, the first stage of the practice is to study the phrase to grasp its literal and factual meaning. Do you have a clear understanding of what we are talking about when we say “neshama”? Or what about “tahora,” a Jewish notion of purity that has many conceptual subtleties not conveyed in the simple English word “pure.” And what about “Elohai”? Do you have a firm sense of divinity in your life, and how that relates to you, personally? It is likely that some study may be required to gain a clear grasp of the concepts embedded in this verse. Next, how does this vision of the inner life come into play in your own life? Do you see your deep inner core as pure? In what ways do you honor or dishonor that profound inner purity? How might you treat yourself differently if you lived your life from such a vision of inner spiritual purity? How might you treat others differently, both because you see yourself as a pure soul, and you extend that recognition to others as well? This reflection may well reveal a gap here between the ideal that tradition holds out for you and the reality of how you live. This brings us to the third step of hitpa’alut practice, which is to chant the words of the prayer in such a way as to project them deep within your self. I’ll close with two examples of how to do that chanting. One is modeled on hitpa’alut chanting as I have learned it from Rabbi Zvi Miller. To hear me chanting Elohai neshama in a melody I learned from Rabbi Miller, click here. But, recall that the rabbi with whom I met said that our focus should be fixed not on the mechanics of we do the practice, but rather on the effect it brings about. In our meeting, he then demonstrated a way of doing Mussar chanting that is not so melodic as Rabbi Miller’s technique. To hear me chant Elohai neshama in this other way that the rabbi demonstrated, click here. There is clearly room for variation in how this practice is done, and when we appreciate that the sole measure we are meant to apply to evaluate the technique is the transformative effect it brings about, we can understand that different techniques might work better for different individuals. Which is exactly what he had in mind by opening our conversation by saying, “Mussar is for yechidim [individuals], and has always been so.” |
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