How do you define a לב שבור, a broken heart? I don't know about you, but when I hear the term "broken heart" my brain usually just conjures up a depiction of the classic red heart shape (which btw, does actually not look like a real human heart!) with a jagged line running down its center. Something tells me, though, that there is more to a "broken heart" than this oversimplified symbol.

As I sat down to write, I knew I wanted to discuss this topic of brokenheartedness, and so I began with what I thought was the perfect title: "Nothing as Whole as a Broken Heart." The truth is, I don't always begin my writing process with the title; often it comes at the end. Be it as it may, I began this piece with the title: "Nothing as Whole as a Broken Heart." Of course, this is not my own quote, rather it's a beautiful quote famously attributed to the Rebbe of Kotzk: אין דבר שלם מלב שבור — there is nothing as whole/complete as a broken heart.

For several minutes, I just sat by my computer, staring at the document open on my screen. The page was blank, with the exception of the title and a little blinking vertical line (called a caret, the text cursor) beckoning me to start writing. But I had too many questions. What is brokenheartedness? How can I express this idea in a language that resonates? Is it good or bad to have a broken heart? Suddenly, my internet connection was lost, albeit for a few seconds. In that span of time, a small pop-up appeared literally right on top of the "Nothing as Whole as a Broken Heart" title. It read: "Trying to Reconnect." The pop-up message quickly left, but the underlining message stayed with me and resonated deeply.

Maybe this is precisely what it means to have a לב שבור. It means: "I am just trying to reconnect." Reconnect to my soul-purpose. Reconnect to my true calling. Reconnect to Hashem, My loving Father.

I quickly changed the title to what you see now. It's true, there is nothing as whole as a broken heart. But what is a broken heart? It's the vulnerable feeling inside of just trying to reconnect.

In Sichos HaRan (42), Rebbe Nachman explains the fundamental difference between the negative middah of עצבות (sadness/depression) and the positive middah of לב נשבר (brokenheartedness). Depression is in the realm of anger and rage, like a complaint against Hashem for not fulfilling one's wishes. A broken heart, however, is entirely different. Rebbe Nachman describes it as: כבן המתחטא לפני אביו, כתינוק שקובל ובוכה לפני אביו על שנתרחק ממנו — like a child pleading before his father; like a baby crying and distressed because his father is far away.

A Son Just Trying to Reconnect

A son just trying to reconnect. That is what it means to be brokenhearted.

Dovid HaMelech taught an amazing thing: קרוב ה' לנשברי לב — Hashem is close to the brokenhearted (Psalms 34:19).

Brokenheartedness is a feeling of distance, but that feeling is actually closeness. Like the good old saying goes, "Distance makes the heart grow fonder." When a person feels distant from his father, he cries out to him for help; he yearns for closeness and connection. As such, the distance one feels in Avodas Hashem is actually a tremendously positive component to achieving intimacy and closeness with the Divine. Rebbe Nachman (Likutei Moharan, Tinyana 48) says a powerful line: ובאמת כל ההתרחקות הוא רק כלו התקרבות — the truth is that rejection/distance is really closeness.

Dovid HaMelech taught further: זבחי אלקים רוח נשברה, לב נשבר ונדכה — true sacrifice to Hashem is brokenheartedness (Psalms 51:19). We can offer a lot of things to Hashem. Big animals, small animals. Expensive animals, inexpensive animals. We can learn a lot of Torah, do lots of Mitzvos, and pray all the tefilos. But it's still entirely possible that the most important element is still missing: You!

Hevel Brought Himself

In Parshas Bereishis, the Torah says that both Kayin and Hevel brought a Korban to Hashem. But Hashem only accepted Hevel's offering. Because it was bigger and nicer? That cannot be, since we know that the size/niceness of an offering is inconsequential compared to the dedication and intent within a person's heart (מלבד שיכון את לבו לשמים). If you look closely at the pesukim, the Torah adds two words by Hevel's offering: גם הוא, also him. Maybe, just maybe, the Torah is hinting at this point. Hashem turned to Hevel and accepted his offering, because Hevel didn't merely bring an animal offering; he brought גם הוא, himself! He was being real, authentic and vulnerable. He was brokenhearted, feeling distant from his father, and wanted so dearly to come closer.

When it came to Kayin, the Torah says ויבא קין, but by Hevel it says והבל הביא. Notice the placement of their names, one is before and one is after the word "bring/brought." It's true, Kayin brought a Korban, but he was an afterthought. He did what "needed" to get done. He dotted the i's and crossed the t's. But he wasn't very present. Hevel, on the other hand, brought so much more. He brought himself. And that, my friends, is the single greatest offering a person can bring to Hashem: oneself.

Broken Vessels Let the Light Through

Avodas Hashem is different than any other type of "work." Usually, work demands a person to fix problems and create solutions. Fix, fix, fix! Avodas Hashem requires a person to break. To have a broken heart. To be humble, real, and authentic. To live with less ego. And guess what? Something amazing happens. Through this imperative middah of לב שבור, that is how we actually achieve and come to the greatest tikkun (fixing) of ourselves.

The Midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 7) shares a dramatic teaching: אמר רבי אלכסנדרי: ההדיוט הזה, אם משמש הוא בכלים שבורים, גנאי הוא לו, אבל הקדוש ברוך הוא, כלי תשמישו שבורים — Rabbi Alexandri said: The layman, if he uses broken utensils, it is demeaning for him. But the vessels of the Holy One blessed be He are broken.

We are Hashem's vessels, broken vessels. Real, authentic, and humble vessels. Vessels with no cracks/holes, cannot shine forth light. Only vessels that have cracks and breaks can allow light to pass through. A stone hearted person is dwelling in the abyss of darkness. A brokenhearted person, though, basks in the light of the Divine and becomes a conduit for dispelling that light yet further into the world.

The Bas Ayin: Yasher Koach on a Broken Heart

The heiliga Bas Ayin (Bereishis 1) explains that people don't stay on a spiritual high their entire lives; it's just not possible. We all have ups and downs, times of drawbacks and distance. But what do we do then? What is our approach? When Moshe Rabbeinu broke the Luchos, it represented the breaking of one's heart. And what happens? Hashem says: Yasher Koach! We see the tremendous advantage of living with a לב שבור, a broken heart. It's a good thing…Yasher koach!

That feeling a person has of being distant from Hashem is represented by the shards, the Shivrei Luchos, and gets placed in the Aron Kodesh. Their value is retained. It is beloved by Hashem. The person with a broken heart experiences a light that would not have been otherwise attainable. The Bas Ayin says an incredible thing: ולבחינה זו היתה רצון הבורא ברוך הוא בבריאת העולם — It was for this attribute [of a broken heart] that Hashem desired to create the world. This is because a person living with the humble authenticity of brokenheartedness results in an even stronger connection to Hashem.

The Torah Itself Spells Lev — Heart

I mentioned earlier the amazing quote from the Rebbe of Kotsk: "There is nothing as whole as a broken heart."

This year, as I was thinking about the idea of a broken heart, I began to wonder if the structure of the Torah itself is an expression of this very idea.

It is known (based on Tikunei Zohar) that the end of the Torah is connected to the beginning of the Torah, as it spells לב (heart). The last word of the Torah is ישראל and the first word of the Torah is בראשית, hence: לב. There really is no greater broken heart than this. Why? Think about it. A sefer Torah consists of 304,805 letters (how this fits with the Zohar who states there are 600,000 letters is a valid question, there are answers), which means that the letters לב that are formed from the beginning and ending of the Torah are actually separated by 304,803 letters! It cannot get more broken than that!

But maybe that's actually the point. Hashem created the world with the desire for this attribute of a broken heart. The entirety of the Torah is filled with stories, messages, and commandments. There are ups and there are downs. Moments of connection and moments of disconnection. Moments of loss and moments of joy. Moments of closeness and moments of distance. But it's perfect. The Torah is whole and complete. It is real and authentic. It's the way it's meant to be.

Everything in the Torah is subsumed within the context of the broken לב, the beginning and ending of the Torah. The Torah is one big broken heart. Because at the end (and beginning) of the day, there is nothing as whole as a broken heart.

Wherever we are in life, even (especially) during moments of distance, let us strive to be as real and authentic as we possibly can, and tap into the space and framework of "I'm just trying to reconnect."

Have a heilige Shabbos!
Questions/comments/feedback – rabbistrumo@gmail.com

The world views student graduation as the successful completion of a degree, course of study, or school program, or the formal event celebrating this milestone.

Yiddishkeit views student graduation as

Exactly my point. I left the space blank intentionally. Because in yiddishkeit, the concept of "student graduation" is just not a thing. Of course milestones are important. Celebrations to commemorate milestones are also important. But from the perspective of life, we are always meant to be growing and learning. We are always meant to be students; it's not something we graduate from!

One of the great mistakes in our history was the moment when we left Har Sinai. Not too long after having experienced the wondrous Torah revelation, the Jewish people left the area. Our Sages say they left "like a child running away from school." After the great spiritual experience of Matan Torah, the Jewish people perhaps thought they graduated. No more school! But guess what? This mindset was incorrect. Why? Because a Jew never leaves school. His whole life is school. He never has student graduation because to be a Jew means to be a perpetual and constant student.

In fact, the Hebrew term for a Torah scholar is תלמיד חכם (Talmid Chacham), which literally means: a student of wisdom. While the world views wisdom as knowledge, information, and power, our Torah teaches us that wisdom contains a much deeper and delicate truth. Wisdom is actually not-knowing. Like Rebbe Nachman teaches: תכלית הידיעה שלא נדע — the purpose of knowledge is to not know. A Jew lives with the humble recognition that "I am still learning."

Ben Zoma (Avos 4:1) shares a powerful five-word teaching: "איזהו חכם — הלומד מכל אדם — Who is wise? He who learns from everyone." If every person is meant to be your teacher, by definition it means that you are always a student. Student graduation is just not a thing!

You might ask, "Really?! Learn from everyone?!" The answer is yes. Ben Zoma says מכל אדם, from everyone!

"But wait, what about that criminal who just robbed a bank? You're not telling me that I have what to learn from him too, are you?!"

Even a Thief Can Be a Teacher

Again, Ben Zoma says מכל אדם, from everyone, which means that yes, even a bank robber can be our teacher.

In HaYom Yom (3 Iyar), the Lubavitcher Rebbe shares an unbelievable teaching: כל המדות, אף גם המדות הלא טובות, או גם רעות בשמן ושמותיהם, אפשר להשתמש בהם לעבודת ה' על פי התורה — All character traits, even those that are not good, or are even evil in name and description, can be used [as a lesson] in serving Hashem according to the Torah.

In this vein, the Lubavticher Rebbe then shares how the saintly Reb Zusha of Hanipoli learned seven approaches to his Divine service by pondering the work ethic of a thief: 1) a thief is modest, 2) he is prepared to endanger himself, 3) the minutest details are as important to him as greater considerations, 4) he labors with great exertion, 5) he works quickly, 6) he exhibits trust and hope, and 7) if he fails the first time, he tries again and again.

So yes, we can literally learn from everyone. We are never meant to graduate as students. There's always more to learn and grow and apply in our service of Hashem. One of the most important words in a Jew's life is "channel." There is nothing in this world that doesn't have meaning, purpose, and Divine energy. Even a "lifeless" rock is infused with tremendous spiritual energy and vibrancy, what we call חיות, vitality!

The G-dly Intellect in Everything

At the beginning of his magnum opus, Likutei Moharan (1), Rebbe Nachman teaches about the imperative of every Jewish person to find the G-dly intellect that exists in all matter: כי איש הישראלי צריך תמיד להסתכל בהשכל שיש בכל דבר, ולקשר עצמו אל החכמה והשכל שיש בכל דבר, כדי שיאיר לו השכל שיש בכל דבר, להתקרב להשם יתברך על ידי אותו הדבר — The Jew must always focus on the inner intelligence of every matter, and bind himself to the wisdom and inner intelligence that is to be found in each thing. As a result, the intelligence which is in each thing will enlighten him and draw him closer to Hashem through that very thing.

The world is filled with things. With stuff. The very things that so many people use to harm themselves, others, and the world, can be directed and channeled towards holiness, G-dliness, and spirituality. There is nothing on this world that is devoid of חיות אלוקית, a G-dly spirit. What we do with it and how we channel it is up to us.

Noach: Channeling Passion, Darkness into Light

The Bas Ayin (Noach 1) explains that this was actually the chidush of Noach HaTzadik. The world was in the realm of רבה רעת האדם, completely saturated with evil. The people of the world were going bananas, and as we all know, bananas are super slippery! The world was slipping away, falling to lowly levels never seen before since Creation. The average "Joe" walking the planet prior to the Flood was emphatic and passionately in love with the physical world. Noach saw all of this. He saw people deeply connected to the transitory lures of this world.

And so, he looked around, saw what was going on, and made a simple Kal Vachomer to himself, saying: "Wow, look at all this strength, passion, and energy that these people possess. Let me take that strength, passion, and energy and apply it to Torah and Avodas Hashem."

Noach didn't look the other way. He looked right at them. Not to copy their wayward ways, chas v'shalom, but to copy their energetic passion of misplaced דביקות and channel that energy accordingly.

The Bas Ayin further reveals that the numerical value of ישראל is the same as אור חשך, because the Avodah of a Jew is to transform darkness into light. To take the darkness of this world and apply it towards a holy purpose. Even more, says the Bas Ayin, the Roshei Teivos (first letters) of נח איש צדיק תמים is also the exact same gematria as ישראל, as אור חשך.

Because this was the chidush of Noach. He didn't look away. He didn't run away from "school." He humbled himself and became a student of the situation he was in. He became a student of the terrible people around him, and he asked a very simple question: How can I apply all of this stuff and direct it to Hashem?

My friends, if there is one takeaway message from all this, I believe it's this. Abolish whatever concept you have of "student graduation" from your life's dictionary, and live by the powerful dictum of Ben Zoma: Who is wise? He who learns from everyone.

Because when we approach life in this manner, always willing to be a student of this world, then we can be the chidush that Noach was in his generation. We will be able to direct and channel everything and anything towards our life's calling and purpose, connecting to Hashem in the most meaningful way we can.

Have a heilige Shabbos!
Questions/comments/feedback – rabbistrumo@gmail.com

I hope you're doing amazing. I want to share with you an idea from the Heilige Bas Ayin.

Imagine you're there in your kitchen, Erev Shabbos Kodesh, cooking up a storm. And on the stove is a delicious pot of chicken soup. You're adding in the final touches, the final ingredients — a little bit of pepper, a little bit of salt, stirring it here and there. You put in some of those Osem croutons — why you put them in your actual soup pot, nobody knows other than you. But you're there cooking it away, and it's mamash almost ready.

And then your two-year-old comes into the kitchen, opens up the cabinet that's sitting on top of the stove — and a chocolate chip falls in. A dairy chocolate chip.

You know, we have this concept called bateil b'shishim. That is: if you have, let's say, a large chicken soup, and a little teeny bit of dairy falls in, it will be okay. This soup is going to be fine. Why? Because of this concept of bateil b'shishim. And this applies in other areas of kashrus as well.

But the concept also applies in life. Klal Yisrael is called shishim — shishim ribo, six hundred thousand. And there is an idea of being bateil b'shishim: of being part of the klal, of being mevateil yourself to the tzibur, of saying, "I'm in." And even in my personal avodah, of course I have to work — I have to work hard, being the best that I can. But there's an idea of being part of the tzibur, where Hashem overlooks certain individual specifics when we become part of the tzibur.

There's that concept, which can be an idea in its own right — and it is its own idea. But then there's this other idea that perhaps stems from here, and that is the concept of being bateil ourselves: of nullifying ourselves, becoming one with something that's bigger than ourselves.

So, yeah: we could be bateil b'shishim — being bateil ourselves to be part of the tzibur, that is the klal, and we tag along and join in all in the merit that is the klal. But there's another idea that I want to focus on, and that is the idea of being bateil ourselves to Hakadosh Baruch Hu. To Hashem.

Everybody has their own wills, their desires, their wants. But ultimately, the job of life is to align: what we know is the right thing, what we feel deep down, what we know is true — what is emes — to align our desires with God's desires. That's really the goal: to live in that realm of alignment. And that requires us to be mevateil ourselves.

I used to think the concept of bittul — self-nullification — was like a negative thing. It's mamash the opposite. It's the most positive thing. It's not negating oneself, that "I'm a nobody," and that "I'm less than." It's much deeper than that. It's that when a person nullifies his wants and his desires, and when a person is mevateil himself to that larger pot, to something bigger than himself — when a person is mevateil himself, nullifies himself, and he does that to Hashem — then the most amazing thing happens: he actually becomes bigger.

See, the little bit of dairy that goes into the fleishig pot: we view it that it's not even dairy anymore. It's now chicken soup. It's chicken soup.

You know, we're human beings. We're flesh and blood. And yes, we're given a soul, and we have a unique mission. The Hayom Yom makes the point that we're a cheilek Eloka mimaal mamash — a part of Hashem from above, literally. And "mimaal" and "mamash" are fundamentally opposites. Mimaal represents the ruchnius she'b'ruchnius — the spirituality of spirituality. And mamash represents the gashmius she'b'gashmius — the physicality of physicality. And that's the avodah of a Yid: to connect the two. And we have the capacity to do that.

Yes, we're human beings, flesh and blood. But we're given an ability to be mevateil ourselves, to nullify ourselves — not in a negative way, but to make ourselves bigger by negating the self. Now we become subsumed in creation. We become subsumed, in a good way, in the big chicken pot. We become subsumed in God's reality, in Hakadosh Baruch Hu.

That's an amazing thing, because we don't want to be small. We want to be big. And this is the quickest, easiest way to do that: to be mevateil ourselves, to liken ourselves to God by following what He wants us to do, by acting accordingly, by following in His ways. When we do that, we become so much bigger than perhaps we thought.

Avraham: The First to Call Him "Adon"

The Bas Ayin tells us, in this week's parsha, a beautiful idea. He says: Avraham Avinu was the first person to call Hakadosh Baruch Hu "Adon," a Master — to refer to God as a Melech. Ein melech b'lo am — there is no king without a nation.

Yes, God is the Creator. But that's sheayach to everything — that's relevant to all of creation. Not just humanity: God created the angels, and He created the mountains and the stars and the moon and the sun. God in the realm of Creator — that's true for every creature. And that's what He's called: a Creator.

But this term, this idea that God is a Melech, a King — there needs to be a people who connect to that God. Who connect to that King. Who emulate that King. Who are like that King. And that is the chiddush of Avraham Avinu. Avraham Avinu was the first to call Hashem "Adon," a Master. The Bas Ayin says that Avraham accepted upon himself the aspect of God's sovereignty, of the malchus of Hashem. But before Avraham, there was not a single person to whom it was sheayach — who called Him Adon, who referred to Hakadosh Baruch Hu as a Master, who related to this realm of kingship, of sovereignty — ki im al Avraham — except for Avraham.

A kingship, a kingdom, a King represents the fact that now there's a people who follow in His ways, who emulate God. It represents a relationship, a connection. Avraham Avinu understood that, and he was mechadeish this. And this is the Jewish people.

He says: there is only the plausibility of using this terminology of a Melech, a King, when there's someone that's dimyon — when there's someone that's acting like the King.

Animals act on instinct, right? Obviously, everything has a cheilek of Elokus, of godliness — we've mentioned this concept before. Everything has meaning. Everything has sechel, even a lifeless rock, of course. But it's only the person in particular, the Yid, that has the ability to appreciate Hashem as Melech. And therefore understand that "I'm the am." And therefore I can be mevateil myself and align my wills to Him. And I can be mevateil myself to the big chicken soup and become much bigger than my own little self. If I just remain isolated and levado — but if I'm willing to become bigger and open my horizons, then I can be adameh l'Elyon. I can be like the King. I can connect to Him. Avraham opted that. And that's the Jewish people.

And the Jewish people were given a special thing called Shabbos Kodesh. Shabbos represents that gift of malchus: "Yismechu b'malchuscha shomrei Shabbos" — those who keep Shabbos rejoice in Your kingship. It's that element of the Jewish people and God. It's specifically the Yid that's nikra Adam, that's called "Adam" — who's in the realm of "Adam," and the same letters of "Adam" can be arranged to spell "adameh," to be similar, adameh l'Elyon — that we have the capacity to relate to Kodesh, to relate to God, to copy Him, to emulate Him, to imitate Him, right? That's this concept of "Mah Hu rachum" — just like God is merciful, we are meant to be merciful. It's a Yid who has that capacity of adameh l'Elyon, to liken ourselves to God.

There's a quote that's often shared: that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Flattery is nice — "I admire you, great." But a higher level, a higher madrega, is imitation. When you imitate somebody — first of all, people often find it funny if you do a good imitation — but when you imitate somebody, you have a rebbe, a teacher, and you don't just listen to their classes, but you imitate their ways, that's the greatest thing that you can do. And we, as Yidden, have the capacity to do that with Hashem. He's merciful, He's good — all these attributes that we speak of God, we can tap into them.

Lech Lecha: Go Toward the Kaf

And that's Lech Lecha. Lech Lecha — go to yourself. But the Bas Ayin learns it a little bit deeper. Lech Lecha — go towards what? Kaf, the letter kaf. Why the letter kaf? Because the letter kaf — if you've learned grammar, Hebrew grammar — when you want to say the word "like," k', you put a kaf before the word; it's a prefix for "like." He says: Lech Lecha — lech, go — go towards the aspect of kaf, which is the b'china of kaf hadimyon, which represents the similarity, which represents the likeness, which represents imitation — k'. That we should be in the b'china of dimyon amiti, a true likeness. We are meant to be k'. We are meant to be adameh l'Elyon. So we're meant to liken ourselves to Hakadosh Baruch Hu, and follow in His ways, and be a giver of goodness, and do great things, because that's what God is. That's what Hakadosh Baruch Hu is. And when we tap into this ability to emulate Him, to imitate Him, that's the most amazing thing.

Lech Lecha — go towards kaf, that kaf hadimyon. And that requires kefifah. That requires humility. That requires hisbatlus. That requires that nullification. That requires you to say: "You know what, I want to be part of this bigger chicken soup of life. I want to become bigger than just my little self, because I am so much bigger. When I take that cheilek Eloka mimaal mamash — yes, I'm gashmi; yes, I am ruchni; I'm a mixture of both — but I can be mevateil myself and become part of that shishim, become part of something much, much bigger than myself."

Lech Lecha — go towards the kaf. And hopefully, we should all be zocheh to tap into this idea, and always strive towards that kaf — that kaf hadimyon — to liken ourselves to Hashem. And in whatever it is we're doing, every decision we make, to say: "Hey, is this a godly choice that I'm making? Is it bringing me closer, or is it bringing me further away?" If it's bringing you closer — go for it. If it's bringing you further — we're on our way.

Wishing you a holy and beautiful Shabbos!
— Ori Strum (rabbistrumo@gmail.com)

The heiliga Bas Ayin (second piece on Parshas Devarim) teaches (based on Vayikra Rabbah 36:4) that the primary purpose of creation was for the sake of the Jewish people, whose job it would be to bring out the light amidst the darkness; to turn darkness into light — ויהפכו חשוכא לנורא. That is, through their studying Torah and performance of Mitzvos, the Jewish people would reveal/release/relinquish the sparks of holiness that are hidden/concealed/contained inside the kelipos (the shells that hide the interior light).

The Bas Ayin reveals that the very name ישראל has a gematria of 541, which is exactly the same as the value of the words אור and חושך (light | darkness), together. This alludes to the Divine mission of the Jewish people: to unearth and uncover the holy light that exists even in dark/impure/evil places.

No matter how dark/bleak a situation may appear, a Jew recognizes that there is always light; there is holiness and positivity. When experiencing times of judgement (דין/גבורה), the job of a Jew is to look at the goodness hidden in the darkness, as it says (see Berachos 54a): "A person is obligated to bless Hashem on the bad just like he blesses Hashem on the good." Because in truth and actuality, גם זו לטובה — even this seemingly bad thing is really good!

Gam Zu L'Tovah: Even the "Zu" Is for the Good

The Bas Ayin explains this concept based on a teaching from Rabbi Chaim of Krasni zt"l. The Tetragrammaton (the Name of Hashem that we use, Y-H-V-K) represents the attribute of compassion; it is the attribute of חסד. The Name Kuzu (כוזו), however, is the "backside" of the Tetragrammaton (the letters that come after yud, hei, vav, and hei are chaf, vav, zayin, and vav), which represents the attribute of harsh judgement; it is the attribute of גבורה. The first two letters of כוזו are כ (chaf) and ו (vav), which have the same value as Y-H-V-K (26). It turns out that the full name Kuzu, which is the attribute of Gevurah, exceeds the Name Y-H-V-K, which is the attribute of Chessed, by the letters זו (zu). This means that the letters ZU (זו) indicate harsher judgment than the other letters represent, since it is the hidden part of the "backside" Name of Hashem. This is the deeper meaning of גם זו לטובה: "Even this — even זו (zu), which is the attribute of Gevurah — is for the good!"

When Nachum Ish Gam Zu would go around saying "Gam ZU L'Tovah," he was expressing this idea: that even the ZU (זו, two letters that represent Gevurah) aspects of life have goodness and compassion within them.

This is what it means when we say in the first paragraph of Shema: "Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad" — there are aspects of Y-H-V-K (compassion/chessed) and aspects of ELOKIM (judgement/gevurah), but ultimately, Hashem Echad — it's really all compassion!

Ever HaYarden: Remove the Harshness

The Torah tells us that the rebuke from Moshe Rabbeinu to the Jewish people took place בעבר הירדן (see Devarim 1:1) — "On the other side of the Jordan River." The Bas Ayin asks a fundamental question: The "other side of the Jordan" is not a clear identifying description of where Moshe was actually standing, because the "other side" is relative to wherever you are standing. So what is being expressed with the phrase "the other side of the Jordan"?

The Bas Ayin explains that the phrase בעבר הירדן (the other side of the Jordan) is — indeed — not indicating Moshe's location at that time, but rather it refers to the message that Moshe was conveying to the people. The word בעבר means להעביר, to remove. And the word ירדן comes from the word רידוי, striking/hitting, which represents the attribute of גבורה/דין (harsh judgment). Moshe was teaching the Jewish people a powerful message: Your job is בעבר הירדן — to remove the aspect of harshness and discover the goodness/light that is concealed beneath the surface!

Switching the Letters

In Eicha (2:1), we read the following pasuk that discusses the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash: השליך משמים ארץ תפארת ישראל — "Hashem threw the glory of Israel down from Heaven to earth." The Bas Ayin, however, sees this pasuk in a positive light. The word ארץ comes from the word רצון, as Chazal say: "Why is the earth called ארץ? Because the earth desired — רצה — to do the will of its Creator." When the pasuk says השליך משמים ארץ, it means: Hashem threw down from Heaven רצונו, His desire. What is that desire? His desire is for the Jewish people to discover Hashem's love and the good in every situation. His desire is for the Jewish people to transform darkness into light.

And how do we do this? Says the Bas Ayin, through היפוך צירוף אתוון — by changing around the order of the letters, from seemingly negative words into positive words.

There are times of צרה (distress), but a Jew can find the רצה — that which is good/desirable — beneath the surface. There are times of מרה (bitterness), but a Jew can find the רמה — that which is elevated/holy — hidden inside. There are times of נגע (negativity), but a Jew can find the ענג — that which is pleasurable — deep down.

A Jew is given the unique ability to switch the letters around and transform difficulty into positivity.

The Fasts Add Up to 26

The Bas Ayin reveals an astounding gematria based on the pasuk in Zecharia which delineates the various fast days. The pasuk says (8:19): צום הרביעי וצום החמישי וצום השביעי וצום העשירי — "The fast of the 4th (Shiva Asar B'Tamuz), the fast of the 5th (Tisha Be'av), the fast of the 7th (Tzom Gedalia), and the fast of the 10th (Asara B'Teves)." If you add the values of each month — 4, 5, 7, and 10 — you get a total of 26, which corresponds to the Name of Hashem — Y-H-V-K — that represents kindness and compassion. The fast days represent times of hardship and difficulty that befell the Jewish people. However, hidden beneath the surface — as always — is goodness/hope/positivity.

Churban Spells Nivchar: Chosen

On Tisha Be'av, we reflect on the חרבן, the destruction of the Temple. On the surface, it represents harshness/judgment/negativity. However, if we apply the same sacred challenge — to switch around the letters — we will discover that חרבן also spells נבחר, chosen. Beneath the dark surface, we understand that we are the עם הנבחר, the chosen people, and despite the loss of the Beis HaMikdash structure, we are still around!

In addition, as we read the קינות (kinot) and connect to the sadness of the day, there is positivity that exists beneath the surface. When rearranged, the letters of קינות can also spell תיקון, which conveys fixing and rebuilding. It also spells תינוק, which is a child — thus teaching us that beneath the bleakness and darkness of exile, we recall our relationship with Hashem. He is our Father (hence, Tisha Be'av is in chodesh Av, אב), and we are His children.

On this Shabbos before Tisha Be'av — Shabbos Chazon, the Shabbos of Vision — we connect to this unique ability of the Jewish people to see the positivity and holiness that exists beneath the dark surface; to transform darkness into light!

Good Shabbos!
— Ori Strum