Ilya Ehrenbourg - and fixing pure kindness

On Tuesday, August 5, 2008 I published a short story written by Ilya Ehrenbourg, it is a pretty nice portrait of some of the qualities and beauty of Breslov. This led me to wonder who Ilya was, and the little research I did on him was far from positive so I rather not get into details but you can google him and see what you find. The fact of the matter is, Rabbainu taught in a few places, bringing from the Zohar, that G-d's holy name is aggrandized and glorified much greater when those that are far from holiness recognise and praise Him. Thus when an estranged Jew like Ilya writes so positively about Breslov this is a huge glorification of the The Tzadik, Rabbainu HaKadosh, and thus it is the ultimate glorification of G-d.

Chazal (early Rabbis) taught that the kindness done for the dead is called truthful, because the dead will not be reciprocating the kindness, so the one doing it is doing it in purity. This is very holy and noble. Rabbi Nachman was very involved in rectifying the souls of the dead. We, the Nanach, the true chasidim - followers of Rabbainu, should follow the ways of G-d, the ways of Rabbainu, the ways of the Nanach, and help rectify the soul of Ilya who is now in the Olam Huemes - the world of truth- and he probably doesn't have too much to say for himself (though we would never know for certain), so by reading his promotion for Breslov and showing it to others this will undoubtedly earn him defense and protection up there, and give him power and succor to achieve eternal bliss.

This is the power and the importance of connecting and supporting the Tzadik Huemes - The True Holy Righteous Man, for after everything is said and done, if the person was with the Tzadik, the Tzadik will see to it that he will come to a proper lot.

A similar thing is found in the Talmud regarding Acher, the elite sage who deviated from proper faith. After his death the Rabbis said to one another, was he not one of us, so they saw to it that he was able to enter paradise.

Ilya wrote a pretty nice essay about Breslov, so let it be his ticket to take him up, and probably this alone will be sufficient for him to enjoy what the most righteous of the opposers will never merit.

Here I will post, in the merit of Ilya Ehrenbourg:

NA NACH NACHMU NACHMUN MAYUMAN!

Here's the story:

[Out of the corner of my eye I spotted this book: A Golden Treasury of Jewish Literature, and something told me that for sure Rabbi Nachman was included, and I think it just took me a few seconds to find this title and follow my suspicion that The Zaddik would undoubtedly be Breslov. Upon reading the story I immediately typed it out and completed it right when I had to go. The story I dedicate to Mojo who I was sure would appreciate it. He has since verified his appreciation.]

With difficulty I have at last succeeded in finding a real Zaddik. He is, perhaps, one of the last. His name is Reb Yosele from Skvernovic. He lives in Warsaw, in the neighborhood of the Jewish paupers. A tiny unheated room. I am reminded: "Do not forget to cover your head". This is his only request. The Zaddik is a tall, good-looking Jew of about fifty-five years of age, with a long traditional beard and the kind, yet sad eyes of a village dreamer. He is dressed poorly, and everything around him is poor and shabby. The chairs are broken and the tapestry torn. This Zaddik resembles a great poet who is read only by ten or twenty people. His followers are poor workers from Nalevki.

The Zaddik offers me a cigarette and lights one himself. By the awkward movement of his fingers, and his strenuous puffing, it is obvious that he is not a habitual smoker. Perhaps he only lit the cigarette so as to soften the tension of our strange meeting.However, he soon feels at ease and answers my questions. I ask him about the essence of Hassidism. He answers readily without stopping to think a moment; sometimes smiling ironically, sometimes inspired, like a real poet.

"The Misnagdem consider the 'Law' above all. But soldiers are trained differently in different countries. The English soldiers are taught differently from the Polish. However, soldiers of the world are trained to obey the commands of 'one-two'; the good one forgets everything he has been taught."

The Zaddik caresses his long beard and looks at me questioningly. It seems that he is not certain whether I understood. He adds: "All life is war....

"You ask what is 'Heaven' and 'Hell'? After death a man with strong will power lives his life all over again. The joy from the love and kindness he dispensed through his life is 'Heaven'. And 'Hell'? 'Hell' is shame...

"In order for a man to rise he must first fall. One cannot rise without having fallen. This is the law of life and the law of G-d....

"Poverty is the path to G-d. In the book Zohar it is said that G-d has many attires, but he is always dressed in the prayers of the poor."

My last question: "What is more important, the relation between man to G-d or between man to man?"

The Zaddik smiles.

"At first it seems that his relation to G-d is the more important. For G-d is everything, and man - dust. But when you think about it, especially if you have lived and experienced, you will realize that man's relation to man is the most significant. If a man insults G-d, he has insulted G-d alone. But when a man insults a man, he has wronged both, G-d and man."

Reb Yosele has a score of followers. They always come to him for advice: "What's to be done, the daughter is sick?" or "Soloveichik will not return the ten zlotys he borrowed." His wisdom remains withing the four walls, hidden under a faded cap, bent over an old book.

The Zaddik reminds one of an old master who remembers a secret of an ancient craft, but does not know where to apply it. Reb Yosele still remembers the words of the Besht, but his words nobody understands any more. He cures hearts not with his inherited wisdom but with his title of "Zaddik," and with a kind and generous smile.

The rich Jews go to the better-known Zaddikim. There, they too may expect some honor or benefits; the right to sit with the Zaddik, at one table, or with his influential assistants in some commercial scheme. These Hasidim wear silk talletim (prayer-shawls), their beards are neatly trimmed, and Saturdays, they wear silk caps with borders of yellow fur. They call themselves Hasidim, but if you ask them about the teachings of Besht, they will not be able to answer. For them more important than the joy and ecstasy is - who will sit today next to the Zaddik, Aaron Shmulevich or Hayyim Rosenberg?

There are still other places where Hasidim is yet alive, not its philosophy but spirit - amid the poor of the synagogue of the so-called "Brazlav Hasidim." They have no Zaddik at all. Their Zaddik died long ago - a century and a half ago. His name was "Reb Nachman from Brazlav." He was a great philosopher and poet. His sayings, legends and poetry were recently published in a German translation. This first emergence of historical Hasidism from the borders of the Ghetto was full of belated glory, to the classical astonishment of the descendants. "Whence such daring thought? Whence such poetry? From Brazlav?... Nobody ever knew about it..."

Yes, only his Hasidim knew it. For them Reb Nachman was a great Zaddik. And when he died, they did not take another one in his place. They have chosen for their adviser the memory of this Zaddik-poet. Among the Brazlav Hasidim there are neither rich nor hypocrites. These have nothing to do here, their place is at the table of the living Zaddik. And here? Here are only the paupers of the Nalevki: peddlers, tailors, cobblers.

I enter the synagogue. It is a small room in a worker's house, dimly lit by a tiny electric lamp. It is crowded to capacity, and with difficulty I manage to elbow my way inside. At first it seems as though it were a trade union meeting. But no, here is a different century, a different chronology. Perhaps it is altogether beyond the concepts of our time. Bearded men in dirty caps who toil the whole week selling rags and herrings, pounding out a monotonous dreary existence. But now is Sabbath Eve. They came here to rejoice. And they are happy, not because it has been prescribed to be happy. No, in them is still alive the belief which is already dead outside of this tiny room. They are meeting the "Sabbath-Queen". They clasp their hands and sing. At first, they say words of prayer. But neither the tongue nor the mind can keep up with the gayness of the soul Soon, the words are heard no more, only a gay, wide, soul-captivating melody. The feet will not stand in one place any longer, and they begin to jump. And they dance in this tiny and dimly-lit room. Happiness! Life! I observe the faces and wonder. Who changed them? Who erased from their minds the memory of insults, hunger and "Zlotys"? One can speak here even about Catholicism, Freud or "Mass Hypnotism." But is it worth while? These things can be read by everyone in solid books. Would it not be better now to accept the smile of the Brazlav Hasidim as an extraordinary happiness? Even though it is foreign, inaccessible, but human till the end. The joy of losing oneself in a greater joy, the joy of honesty and forgetfulness, the joy of simple and childish souls. Rejoice!!!...

Na NaCh NaChMa NaChMaN MayUMaN