Introduction1

Introduction

The Vision

Of the millions of words recorded over time describing a perfect world of peace, brotherhood and harmony, perhaps none speak more eloquently than these:

And they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore… [At that time] the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard lie down with the kid, the calf and the beast of prey shall feed together with a little child to herd them.[1]

These words belong to the Jewish prophet Isaiah. They describe what all humanity yearns for, a vision of the perfect future—a future without war, without hunger, without strife.

This vision is better known as the Messianic vision, because it is expected to become reality upon the coming of the Messiah, the Anointed One, the Great Peacemaker, the Ultimate Leader.[2]

At the present moment, this vision seems very far from ever coming true. And yet the Bible says that it is not only possible, but possible now![3] And furthermore, that it is the primary responsibility of the Jewish people to bring this vision about.[4] This is why in Isaiah’s prophecy Israel is called a “light unto the nations.”[5]

It is an awesome responsibility, because it means no less than leading the world to its ultimate fulfillment.

But how?

How can an average Jew—who perhaps is worried about his or her next paycheck, the state of his health, or the lack of values her children are exposed to daily—even begin to contemplate such an awesome task?

The answer, which will be examined in depth in this book, can be summed up simply: by cultivating, in everyday personal life, his or her own innate leadership qualities. Modest as the effects of this effort may seem, they will ripple out into the collective unconscious of one’s community, eventually transform the Jewish people, and then ultimately change the world. When the stage is thus set, the Ultimate Leader will emerge to fulfill the hopes of all good people.

Presently, there is no doubt that the world is waiting for true leadership, poised, as it is, on the brink of chaos.

An Ancient Prediction

The Zohar, the classic text of Kabbalah composed nearly two thousand years ago, predicted the advances in civilization that would precipitate this state of affairs in our day and age.[1] It states that in “the six-hundredth year of the sixth millennium”[2] the “lower waters” of knowledge would burst forth throughout the world. The six-hundredth year of the sixth millennium corresponds roughly to the beginning of the scientific and industrial revolutions and the myriad of changes they have wrought in their wake.[3]

Indeed, the radical changes in lifestyle and the revolutionary advances in science, medicine, communications, and government in the last 150 years have truly “flooded” and overwhelmed traditional morals and values without regard to national borders, religion, or culture. The world is being transformed at such an astounding speed that nations and individuals are at a loss to adjust to constantly changing reality.

We face a crisis situation at all levels of society; wherever we look we see dysfunction, instability, turmoil, apathy, confusion.

At the crux is a crisis in leadership and the concurrent weakening of morals and ethics.

It is unclear whether the lack of leadership is the cause of the general weakening of society’s moral fiber, or whether the disintegration of stable institutions and the subsequent weakening of ethics have caused a vacuum in leadership. No matter what the source of the problem, it is obvious that traditional leadership roles have lost much of their power and respect.

Corruption in the highest ranks of almost every nation on the globe has left the world largely cynical and skeptical about leadership in general.[4] Not only has this disillusionment with leadership poisoned people’s attitudes about today’s leaders (or possible leaders), it has caused them to suspect the great leaders of the past as well. The world no longer believes in heroes or true leadership, and this loss of faith has opened up a huge void that seemingly no single individual could ever fill.

In the Jewish world, the acute lack of leadership is felt as a result of an additional reason—the devastation of the Holocaust. The murder of six million Jews and the wholesale destruction of thousands of established communities and institutions have wreaked such havoc that its effects continue to be felt to this day.

And yet darkness is always juxtaposed with light in Jewish history.

One of the most significant contributions of the Jewish people has been its ability to inspire the world at large. Many religions, philosophies, social causes, political movements and artistic endeavors throughout the ages have drawn sustenance from the Bible (the Five Books of Moses, the Prophets, and the Writings). Although this fact is largely forgotten today, the values that are now inseparably linked with just government based on human rights and dignity came from the Five Books of Moses, the Torah. The ideas of love, brotherhood, justice, equality, peace, compassion, social responsibility, kindness to strangers and the poor, holiness of human purpose, reverence for life, and self-discipline, all have their origin in the teachings of the Torah, which broke all precedents when it first emerged in the ancient world. And, from it, too, came the ideas of how the world can be changed for the better—what Kabbalah calls tikun olam—how the world can be rectified and brought toward the universal vision of redemption. That this will eventually take place we know from the Jewish prophets: Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Micah and others.

The prophecy of Isaiah is outstanding in this regard—his words of salvation and consolation reverberate throughout the generations.

At the same time, the writings of Isaiah (as well as the  other prophets) contain dire warnings and threats of terrible consequences should society ignore the principles of loving-kindness, peace, and justice.

The first chapter of the Book of Isaiah, which opens with the words, “the vision of Isaiah…,” is traditionally read[5] in synagogues on the “Shabbat of Vision” which, in the Hebrew calendar, immediately precedes the 9^th day of the month of Av. The 9^th of Av—Tisha B’Av—is the catastrophic day in Jewish history when the First Temple was destroyed by the Babylonians; when the Second Temple was destroyed by the Romans; when the Jews of Spain were given an ultimatum by the Inquisition—leave, convert, or die; when World War I, the prelude to the Holocaust, began; and when many other calamities were visited upon the Jewish people. It is at a time of the remembrance of such terrible darkness that the vision of Isaiah is also recalled.

It begins with chilling words, as the prophet describes the sad state of affairs in Israel of his time, but it ends with words of consolation, a promise of hope and redemption.

Out of Destruction

We can infer from this that a Jewish vision of redemption is one that ultimately emanates out of destruction. For this reason the “Shabbat of Vision” precedes the 9^th of Av—in order that the vision of future redemption can combat, neutralize and ultimately vanquish the destructive forces concentrated on this fateful day.

Similarly, standing on the brink of chaos, a true visionary has the ability to see a glorious future.

This idea is embodied in the statement of the sages who teach that this True Visionary, the Ultimate Leader, the Messiah, will be born on the 9^th of Av. He will be conceived in the collective super-conscious of the Jewish people and his birth will be the manifestation of the deeply held belief in the ultimate redemption of the world.

Even now, at a time of such great turmoil, we have a sense that the utopian vision of which the world dreams is just around the corner, and that, if we could but pull the curtain back, we would see it advancing toward us.

The Talmudic answer to the question, “Who is Wise?”—“He who sees what is [to be] born”[1]—can be understood as: “He who sees all the potential in the present moment and how it will actualize in the future.”[2]

Although there may be no prophets walking the earth today, each person retains the potential glimmer of prophecy deep within his or her soul. Indeed, a vision of the ultimate future can only be grasped through our present reality; and it can be actualized by each one of us through the dynamics of leadership as outlined by the Kabbalah. These dynamics of leadership are potent tools for contacting deeply dormant powers of the soul, enabling us to manifest the redemptive process as an essential part of our everyday lives, and, in so doing, to bring the future into the present.

This book was written with the current crisis in mind. Unlike many books on the subject of leadership, the emphasis here is not on external skills, strategies, or techniques of political manipulation, but rather on the Kabbalistic and Hassidic view of the inner qualities needed to nurture and develop authentic Jewish leadership—on the personal level, on the community level, within the nation of Israel, and worldwide. This perspective presents an antidote to a major aspect of the present leadership crisis—namely, the overemphasis on, and even an obsession with, superficial appearances and power games, and disregard for tangible manifestation of true leadership qualities.

We will first look at the general nature of leadership as it is understood in Jewish mystical writings, and then go on to examine in depth the five dynamics or inherent qualities of leadership and how we can apply them in our lives.

It is our sincere hope that, once empowered with this knowledge, the reader will be inspired to act within his or her sphere of influence to create meaningful contributions, however small, to the awesome task of realizing the ultimate vision for the world. For as Hillel, the great teacher of two thousand years ago, said: “If not now, when?”[3]

1 - Leadership Defined

Carrying the World

Among the great allegorical classics of the Hassidic tradition is the story of “The Seven Beggars,” told by Rabbi Nachman of Breslov,[1] and widely considered his masterpiece. It is a mystical tale of two small children, a boy and a girl, separated from their parents in the midst of war. Lost in the woods, hungry and desperate, they encounter seven beggars who feed and comfort them. One of the beggars is blind, the second deaf, the third stammers, the fourth has a crooked neck, the fifth is a hunchback, the sixth has no hands, and the seventh has no feet. Each beggar, before he leaves the children, blesses them that they might become like him.

Eventually, the children find their way out of the woods; years pass and when they decide to marry, the beggars of the kingdom organize a wedding feast in their honor. Over the seven days of rejoicing, the seven beggars from the forest return and now announce their intention to complete the blessing that each had bestowed long ago—what was potential then is to be actualized now.

Each beggar then reveals that his apparent physical disability is only superficial and, in fact, is a source of great spiritual strength.

When the fifth beggar, the hunchback, arrives, he announces:

“When you were little children, I blessed you with a wish that you would be like me. Now I grant you this as my wedding gift to you. I am not a hunchback at all. The reason I appear to be so is because my shoulders are ‘the little that holds much,’ and I shall tell you how I know this to be true.”

He then tells a story of a group of people who searched in vain for the way to a tree in whose shade every animal would want to lie and in whose branches every bird would want to find shelter. The people knew such a tree existed, and that birds and animals of every kind lived there, all mingling and playing together and never harming each other. They desired very much to go to that tree, for they realized that such a tree must surely be in Paradise. But no matter how they tried to get there, they kept getting lost.

Then they learned from a wise man that only those who were like the tree could reach the tree, for the roots of the tree were faith in God, awe of God, and humility; and its trunk was truth. So the people worked very hard to improve themselves and develop these traits until they were finally ready. They set out together and, after a lengthy journey, they saw the tree from afar. And that is when they realized that the tree did not grow in soil; it existed in another dimension altogether. But if the tree existed in a realm that was beyond space, how could they reach it? They were dismayed until the beggar, who was with them, said that he could carry them all to the tree on his back.

“I could bring them to the tree which is beyond space,” explained the beggar, “for I exist at the threshold between space and that which is beyond space. I brought them to the tree, and that is how I know that my shoulders are ‘the little that holds much.’”

And so the beggar blessed the newlyweds that they should be like him and carry the world on their back to another, higher dimension.

Each generation has its hunchback beggar—a leader capable of carrying the world on his shoulder to the Tree of Life[2]—the place of redemption—where there is only peace and brotherhood and love, and where the wolf lies down with the lamb. But the leader can only do so if the rest of us are willing to take the journey beyond our present reality, toward the vision of the future.

If we do, the leader becomes a bridge between this world and the future order that the prophecies describe.

When we examine these prophecies, we see that they paint a picture of a world that is similar to ours in some ways but radically different in others[3]—a picture of a world operating within dimensions of reality that we cannot readily grasp with our limited intellects.

To take Isaiah’s famous prophecy as an example, we can imagine nations signing disarmament treaties and agreeing not to wage war anymore. It may be a far-fetched dream, but it could conceivably happen without requiring any supernatural alteration of reality. But in order for the wolf to lie down with the lamb, some fundamental change in the nature of reality will have to occur that will alter the way wolves and lambs think and behave. Familiar as this image of peacefulness is, in order for it to become real, the world will have to function in a whole new way.

Although, at present, our world appears to be three-dimensional, we can nevertheless live with an awareness that there exist other levels of reality beyond what our physical senses can immediately detect. The closer we examine the prophecies about these other levels of reality, the closer we come to this utopian world of the future which is meant to sprout out of our chaotic present.

Each one of us has the capacity right now to reveal the World to Come as a world that is already becoming.[4] By pioneering new models of understanding, based on the prophetic visions of the future, and improving the world within the purview of our influence, we become active agents of redemption.

We have the ability to connect with the future and to envision the Ultimate Leader who will bring it about because each one of us has a spark of the Ultimate Leader deep within. We can have a vision of the future, because it is already contained in us. (Indeed, this is one of the key teachings of the Ba’al Shem Tov, the great 18^th century teacher and founder of the Hassidic movement.) [5]

Ultimately, we are all responsible to do everything we can to ignite that inner spark. Thus we can inspire others as well, carrying them to new heights of awareness and empowering that one person among us who—like the beggar—could take us to heretofore unreachable levels.

According to Jewish tradition, there is one individual in every generation who has the potential to be the Ultimate Leader. He encompasses the total, inclusive consciousness of all the myriad sparks that are present in his generation. He awakens and enlivens within as many individuals as possible a spiritual vision, which in turn affects the entire world. Thus, each generation makes its unique contribution, paving the way for the ultimate redemption.

A potential Ultimate Leader attempts to unite everyone together, taking upon himself the awesome weight of responsibility of the entire people. According to the merit of his generation, he manages to accomplish at least part of his mission.

An individual and generation will arise in the future that will succeed in this endeavor and, finally, the entire task will be completed. Only then will we understand the total historical process—how each person, generation, and particular leader contributed his or her unique piece to the overall puzzle, until the final, complete picture emerges in all its pristine grandeur.

The unique ability and task of the potential Ultimate Leader, is thus to lift his generation to a state of transcendence above the limitations of time and space. This he can best do with the power of his words, and with the power of his silence. In order for his speech to reflect his silence, and his silence to speak, he must be truly humble. Humbleness, especially as experienced in heartfelt prayer to God, links silence to speech.

We will now examine these three general qualities of leadership—speech, humbleness, and silence—and how they enable the leader to establish a true union between himself and his followers.[6] Inasmuch as all of these qualities are reflected in speech, they may all be seen as levels of speech:

1. expressive, explicit speech
2. humble, quiet speech
3. silent speech—the “still, silent voice” which the prophet Elijah heard when he fled into the wilderness[7]

The Power of Speech

The sages declare, “There is but one leader of a generation, not two leaders of a generation,”[1] and in so doing use the word dabar which means “leader” but, more specifically, “spokesman.” Thus, we learn that the sense of speech—and its ability to affect the world—lies at the foundation of the Jewish view of leadership.

The fact that a leader derives his authority from his power of speech is expressed in many places in the Bible. For example, King Solomon says in Ecclesiastes, “For the word of the king is authority.”[2]

A further connection between speech and leadership is found in the Zohar,[3] where each of the ten sefirot—the Divine channels through which God creates and relates to the world—is identified by a physical idiom best describing its essence. The last of the ten sefirot is malchut (“kingship”), which is referred to as malchut peh, literally meaning, “kingship is the mouth.”

The Book of Genesis lists ten instances when God spoke and an aspect of the creation came into being.[4] And the Divine power to create through speech is mirrored in man, who is created “in the image of God.”[5]

And God formed man from the dust of the earth and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. [6]

The Aramaic translation of the Hebrew for “a living soul” is “a speaking spirit,”[7] which further emphasizes that it is the ability to speak that ultimately separates man from all other living creatures. Along with the gift of speech comes the responsibility to rule:

And God blessed them and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, replenish the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”[8]

Created in the image of God, human beings were endowed with the power that brought creation into being—God’s metaphoric faculty of speech, which is one and the same as His power of action. This unique gift is mirrored in our ability to affect our surrounding reality—for positive or negative—through speech. We have all experienced words that wound; an inspiring speech that changed our moods, attitudes, or, at times, our entire lives; or a verbal command by an authority figure that established immediate order out of chaos.

The Talmud, recognizing the power of speech, describes one who embarrasses another in public as nothing less than a “murderer,”[9] while the sages point out numerous violations of Torah law caused by lashon hara, literally “evil speech,” meaning speech that is derogatory of others.[10] Choosing our words carefully in order to promote good and not cause harm, and being mindful and sincere in their delivery, is seen by Judaism as fundamental.

The direct connection between the power of speech and leadership is manifest today to a degree greater than perhaps at any other time in history due to technological advances and the media. Never has an individual had at his or her disposal the opportunity to address such a wide audience so quickly and at such frequency. If we understand all communication to be an extension of speech, then today’s common access to television, instantaneous satellite news coverage, E-mail, and the Internet has presented the world with an unprecedented opportunity for widely effective leadership, cooperation, problem-solving, and harmony.  A shallow concept of leadership, however, can engender the misuse of these powerful communication tools to the detriment of all humanity. History testifies how one man in Germany, through his mesmerizing use of speech and propaganda, was able to wreak worldwide havoc, wipe out a third of the Jewish people, and plunge the world into a spiritual abyss from which it is still trying to recover. In contemporary politics, this pattern is repeating itself as in-depth treatment of complex issues is being replaced by catchwords and slogans in response to media that feed on multi-second sound bites.

Another connection between speech and leadership is found in one of the most ancient texts of Kabbalah, Sefer Yetzirah.[11] Among other mystical concepts, the book deals with the twenty-two Hebrew letters, which it describes as the building blocks of creation, and which it divides into sub-groups based on both grammatical and spiritual considerations.[12]

Each letter in the sub-group of the twelve “simple” letters is seen as the spiritual source associated with one of the twelve months of the year, as well as one of the twelve tribes of Israel. Sefer Yetzirah further identifies each letter with a specific “sense” in the soul and a certain limb or organ of the body that directs that sense.

The first of the simple letters is the letter hei. It is the spiritual source associated with Nissan, the month of Passover, when the Jewish people were freed from Egyptian bondage, and with the tribe of Judah, blessed by both Jacob and Moses to be the leader of all the tribes. It is from Judah that future kings would arise, most specifically King David and his lineage. Its sense in the soul is speech, while its “leading” limb is the right foot, alluding to the forward thrust inherent in leadership.

An allusion to speech is contained in the name of Judah—in Hebrew Yehudah, the root of which is hod, a word of multiple meanings each connected to an aspect of speech. Depending on its context, hod can mean “praise,” “acknowledgment,” “confession,” “thanks,” “echo,” or “glory.” Judah received his name from his mother Leah, as the Torah relates:

She conceived again and gave birth to a son. She said, “This time I will praise [odeh] God.” She therefore named him Judah [Yehudah].[13]

The ability to praise and acknowledge comprises the basic attitude reflected in the Psalms of David and in all subsequent formal prayers as formulated by the sages.[14]

An additional aspect of acknowledgment, connected to another meaning of hod, is the ability to admit or to confess misdeeds and shortcomings.

The defining moment in the life of Judah was the drama involving his daughter-in-law Tamar. Twice widowed and denied by Judah marriage to his third son, Tamar posed as a prostitute and seduced Judah himself. Then, pregnant, she silently faced death for adultery, rather than embarrass him. Finally realizing that he was the father, Judah confessed his mistake by publicly declaring, “She is more righteous than I.”[15]

Through his admission of guilt, Judah became the first person in the Torah to accept responsibility for misdeed willingly, thereby becoming the archetypal example of sincere and wholehearted repentance. His descendant King David likewise had the strength of character to acknowledge personal failings in an incident involving the pregnant Bathsheba. When confronted by the prophet Nathan with his deeds—which included sending Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, to the battlefront where Uriah met his death—David openly declared, “I have sinned to God.”[16]

From this line of great leaders, who were capable of the greatest humility before God, will eventually come the Ultimate Leader, Mashiach ben David, “the Messiah, son of David,” who will lead the world to true unity in the consciousness of God.

When applied to speech, the different meanings of hod—“acknowledgment,” “praise,” “thanks,” “echo,” “confession,” and “glory”—relate to another of the central teachings of the Ba’al Shem Tov. He taught that Divine consciousness is achieved through a three-stage process of spiritual growth:[17]

• “submission”
• “separation”
• “sweetening”

The first stage of spiritual growth, that of “submission,” corresponds to the aspects of hod discussed above—praise, echo, acknowledgment, thanksgiving, and confession—all of which depend on accepting the reality of a higher force that leads our lives and recognizing the need to adjust our behavior appropriately.

“Separation” is the second stage of spiritual growth, where God’s law plays a decisive role in directing all of one’s thoughts, speech, and actions.[18] When we separate ourselves from the transitory and mundane and immerse ourselves in the Torah, then even speech relating to the mundane aspects of life can be infused with spirituality and may serve as an example to others.[19] Here hod acknowledges the ultimate truth of the Torah and fully identifies with its way of life, as echoed in every utterance of one’s mouth.

The culminating stage of spiritual growth is “sweetening.” This relates to the most common translation of hod—“glory,” as in “the glory of kingship.”[20] The level of speech alluded to here is speech that “leads” by elevating and inspiring others. Such speech reflects the Divine creative process and the power to sweeten reality.[21]

Although Mashiach ben David is expected to be both a military and political leader, he will ultimately conquer the world through speech: by illuminating all of Israel and the world with the light of Torah.

At that time, the prophecy of Zephaniah of 2,600 years ago will be fulfilled:

“For then I will convert the nations to speak a pure language, so that they may all proclaim the Name of God, to serve Him with a united resolve. ”[22]

The Might of Humility

It is a paradox that the more one is aware of becoming a conduit for God’s will—that is, the more humble one becomes—the greater one’s leadership ability. This is because the more one rectifies the ego, the more one empowers the soul. And the way to a rectified ego is, of course, a connection with God. As the great 3^rd century sage Rabban Gamliel teaches:

Make His will as your will, that He may make your will as His will. Nullify your will to His will, that He may nullify the will of others to your will.[1]

The central word representing the self—“I”—appears in many verses relating to both ego and leadership.

Adonijah, the son of King David, who wanted to assume the monarchy while his father was still alive and the acknowledged ruler, began his “campaign” with the statement, “I shall rule.”[2] In Kabbalah, this statement is viewed as the quintessential example of unrectified ego. King David, on the other hand, said of himself, with total humility, “poor and desolate am I.”[3]

Interestingly, in Hebrew, the words “poor” and “I” are pronounced alike (ani) but one is spelled with the letter ayin and the other with the letter alef, which phonetically are very similar and in many instances interchangeable. Therefore, when King David says, “poor…am I,” the letter ayin of the word for “poor” is transformed into the letter alef of the word for “I.” From this we learn that the process leading to a rectified ego occurs through an existential sense of lowliness and spiritual poverty.

Another allusion to the idea of clarified self-consciousness is found by permuting the letters of the word ani, “I,” (alef-nun-yud) to spell the word ayin, “nothing,” (alef-yud-nun). One of the most basic Jewish beliefs is that God created the world ex nihilo, “something from nothing,” which, as explained in mystical teachings, is not an event that occurred once in the distant past, but is rather a continuous Divine act that sustains all of reality. Experiencing continuous re-creation from an infinite, all-knowing Creator rectifies one’s ego and cultivates leadership qualities in one’s soul.

Of God the Creator, it is said in the Talmud:

In every place that you find the greatness of God, there will you find His humility.[4]

The greatness of creation reflects God’s infinite humility to “lower” His infinite essence to involve Himself, as it were, with finite reality. Just as God Himself is humble, how much more so should this hold true for a human being created “in the image of God.” Humility reflects Godliness and prepares one for leadership.

According to Kabbalah and Hassidism, the essential rectification of ego occurs through heartfelt prayer. This is alluded to in King David’s statement: “I am prayer,”[5] which may be understood to imply, “the rectification of my ‘I,’ my ego, is through prayer.”

Prayer in Judaism is therefore envisioned as enveloping and affecting the individual’s entire being. Thus, the Amidah, the prayer of silent devotion, is divided into three sections, each section corresponding to a different fundamental attitude deemed necessary for prayer to reflect a true, existential relationship with God: praise, request, and thanks. In addition, we are taught that our prayers of silent devotion should not be totally inward, but should be articulated ever so quietly (by the movement of the lips), thereby transmuting thought into breath—which is the origin of speech—and into action.[6]

The statement of the sages, “Would it only be that a person would pray all day,”[7] reflects not the desire that one should remain in the synagogue all day praying, but that one’s world view, which informs all one’s daily activities, should emanate from the continuous state of humility and closeness to God that prayer engenders.

Paradoxically, the Hebrew word for “lowliness” (shefel) is numerically equal to the word for “pride” (gei’ut).[8] In Hebrew, these terms also stand for “low tide” and “high tide,” which are equal and complement one another. Ego and pride, when clarified and rectified, give power to an individual—especially a leader—to initiate and inspire.

When speech and ego are purified through prayer, what follows is the awakening of compassion and commitment from on high, as well as from within, to bring salvation to the world. This is expressed in the words of Isaiah:

I [who] speak with righteousness, am mighty to save.[9]

The Strength of Silence

The fourth of the Five Books of Moses is commonly called Numbers (due to the census that begins it), but in Hebrew this book is known as Bamidbar, which literally means “in the desert.” It is fascinating to note that the root of the word for “desert” (midbar) is daber, which means “speech,” and that one of the recurring themes of the Book of Bamidbar is the ongoing leadership struggle—the dialogues and debates—which took place throughout the forty years the Jews wandered in the desert.

And yet, paradoxically, when envisioning a desert, one usually thinks of a great barren expanse and penetrating silence.

Jacob, Moses, and David were all leaders of the Jewish people who cultivated their innate potential for leadership while tending their flocks in the meditative quiet of the desert. Many of the prophets, as well, found the desert silence the perfect environment for prophetic experience.

An allusion to the silence which precedes, and leads to, the potent speech of a leader is contained in the most mysterious word of the Bible—chashmal—used by the prophet Ezekiel to describe his astounding vision of the chariot:

And I looked, and behold, a storm wind came out of the north, a great cloud and a fire flaring up and a brightness was about it, like chashmal, out of the midst of the fire.[1]

Chashmal is most often translated as the “color of electrum” or the “color of amber,” but the sages understood that chashmal was not just a color but an energy, and indeed modern Hebrew translates it as “electricity.” Dividing chashmal into syllables produces two antithetical concepts—“silence” (chash) and “speaking” (mal). This suggests that a state of rectified speech follows the quiet, meditative preparation of silence. On an even deeper level it describes a simultaneous state of “silence” within speech, and “speech” within silence.[2]

The idea of speech within silence is illustrated in the life of another prophet, Elijah. Fleeing the wrath of King Ahab and his wife Jezebel, whose evil ways he had condemned, Elijah reached the desert of Sinai. And it is there that he had an encounter with God, described in an unforgettable passage in the Book of Kings:

And behold, God passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before God, but God was not in the wind. And after the wind—an earthquake, but God was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake—a fire, but God was not in the fire. And after the fire—a still silent voice. And when Elijah heard it he wrapped his face in a mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave. And then a voice addressed him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”[3]

This “silent” voice is the manner in which God speaks to each and every person, according to his or her readiness to hear His personal message.

Elijah’s experience with the still, silent voice of God occurred in the desert, a place where God, in many cases, reveals Himself to the potential and sometimes unsuspecting leader. This is the place where the leader first comes face to face with the task before him—the mission that is uniquely his.

Conceptually, the desert represents the mental space wherein the spark of leadership, dormant within each individual, has the opportunity, like a desert plant, to grow despite the forbidding environment. The desert provides a natural atmosphere of separation and isolation. It provides space for contemplation and meditation, the silence needed before the leader is revealed—first to himself and God—and only later to his people.[4]

The phenomenon of a future leader experiencing a period of “dormancy” or “silence,” only later to step into his role, is present in some degree in the stories of almost all Biblical heroes—most dramatically with Moses and David. Their stories illustrate an important facet of leadership—a call to action. God seeks out a leader for His people and challenges him to lead.

In the case of David, God commanded the prophet Samuel to find a replacement for King Saul, who had not followed God’s orders regarding the war with the nation of Amalek:

And God said to Samuel: “How long will you mourn for Saul seeing I have rejected him from reigning over Israel. Fill your horn with oil and go, I will send you to Jesse of Bethlehem, for I have provided for Me a king among his sons.”[5]

In the case of Moses, the dialogue at the burning bush stands out as a prime example of God appointing an initially resistant individual to assume a public role.

“Now go, I am sending you to Pharaoh, and you will bring My people, the children of Israel, out of Egypt.” Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh? Am I able to bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?”[6]

This, in itself, points to a further paradox—the prototype of the Jewish leader as an introverted person, who by nature shies away from taking center stage. It is precisely this type of individual, who does not seek fame or glory, that God chooses to lead.

The comparison of this model of leadership with the model of modern society is striking. Today, one seeking to lead studies political science or goes into politics as a profession, sharpening those skills that will allow him or her to compete in the world of money and power. In Jewish thought, leadership is a responsibility that one may need to assume, but it is never a means to fulfill a need for power or self-aggrandizement.

King Solomon was only twelve years old when he assumed the throne as successor to his father, King David. Shortly after, God appeared to him in a dream in which He invited Solomon to make a request for himself. Solomon answered:

“And now my God, You have made your servant king instead of David my father, and I am but a small child…. Give, therefore, your servant an understanding heart to judge your people…” And God said, “Because you have not requested riches and honor but only that which would benefit all the people, I will give you not only an understanding heart like none other before or after you…but also riches and honor like no other king in your days.”[7]

The sages confirm in many statements that honor eludes one who aggressively pursues it and crowns the one who does his best to avoid the illusionary trappings of power. If a person is truly destined or fitting for leadership, then opportunities will present themselves in a natural and organic way.[8]

This contrasts sharply with the manner in which, for example, the Communists came to power in Russia in 1917. While they represented numerically only the smallest of ideological minorities, they seized power and imposed a seventy-year, iron-fisted reign over their entire region. Any regime that comes to power in such an unnatural way is bound to eventually collapse under its own self-imposed delusions of grandeur.

The historical dynamic as just described mirrors a much deeper reality. Kabbalah speaks of a state/world of “chaos” (tohu) preceding the state/world of “rectification” (tikun). According to the Ari,[9] the great 16^th century Kabbalist, this first world broke apart due to the inability of its vessels to contain and mutually share the Divine light flowing into them, thereby causing their own destruction. The mystics find a parallel to this idea in the Book of Genesis[10] where eight Edomite kings are named “who ruled before a king ruled in Israel”; after the name of each king it states, “he ruled and he died.” According to Kabbalah, these kings represent the “breaking of the vessels” in the world of chaos. Similarly, false leaders and ideologies eventually “break” and fade away. Only concerning the last king, Hadar, does it state that “he ruled” but not that “he died.” Hadar alludes to the beginning of the world of rectification.[11]

While the potential for true and authentic leadership presents itself repeatedly throughout the Bible (and indeed, a number of honest, God-fearing leaders rose to the challenge),  generally, the rulers we find described there were egocentric and destructive individuals lacking the most fundamental prerequisite of leadership—submission to God’s will. The final result of unrectified leadership was the destruction of the Temple and the exile of the Jewish people.

Of all the kings of Israel, it is King David who shines forth as the paradigm of a true Jewish leader. Even his shortcomings and trials bring out redeeming factors worthy of emulation. Only to David did God promise an everlasting kingdom and only from his line will the Ultimate Leader, the Messiah, sprout forth.

Deep within the complex nature of the soul of David lies a simple, all-encompassing submission to God. From that undiluted point, the composite soul of Israel is vividly expressed through the rectified speech of David, as revealed in the Book of Psalms, the crowning legacy given to the world by the “sweet singer of Israel.”[12] In the future it will be Mashiach ben David who shall sing the tenth and final archetypal song of creation—“a new song to God.”[13]

The Union

The capacity to lead rests ultimately upon the feeling of the leader’s followers that he reflects their conscious and unconscious dreams, aspirations and beliefs. An essential spiritual bonding occurs between the leader and each of his followers. More than a mere state of identification, the union of leader and followers opens new vistas and dimensions within the souls of both.

The Hebrew word for “king” (melech) contains within it the word for “speaking” (mal) and the word for “going” (lech). This alludes to the teaching of Sefer Yetzirah quoted above that the right foot “leads” the sense of speech and corresponds to Judah, the tribe of kingship. The purpose of a leader is to lead, to take his people somewhere they would not be able to reach on their own.

The Book of Numbers tells the story of Korach, who attempted to overthrow Moses and Aaron as leaders of the people.[1] Although the story begins: “And Korach took…” what follows gives no indication of what he “took,” or where exactly he “took” his followers.[2] The sages interpret this to mean that Korach “took” the people through his charismatic speech. Moses, on the other hand, had a physical speech impediment, which, interestingly enough, was turned to an advantage—whenever Moses addressed the people flawlessly, it was clear that the Divine Presence was speaking through him.[3]

In the Talmud, a series of prophetic predictions are given regarding events that will occur before the coming of the Messiah. One of these “signs” is that the preceding generation will have “a face like a dog,”[4] meaning that its leadership will, in some way, resemble a dog. One interpretation of this analogy is that a dog always runs ahead of his master appearing to lead, but always looks back to his master to get a sign as to which direction he should take. This analogy describes most of today’s so-called leaders who lead only in appearance, forever looking behind at the press and public opinion polls to gauge which opinions to adopt.

Within this negative phenomenon is actually hidden a positive aspect if properly understood and applied. A true leader also “looks back,” in a sense, but for different reasons. He not only leads but is forever “looking back” to God—the source of his mission—for instruction as to which direction to pursue.[5] In addition, a compassionate leader is always “looking back” to his generation, forever strengthening the soul-connection between them and himself, and never demanding of them more than they can carry.

The most telling sign of a good leader is whether his people are joyous and content. The Hebrew letters of the word Mashiach, when re-arranged, spell the word for “will gladden” (yesamach). At the conclusion of the dedication of the Temple by King Solomon, the Bible relates:

On the eighth day he sent away the people and they blessed the king and went to their tents joyful and glad of heart for all the goodness that God had done for David His servant and for Israel His people.[6]

It is not a coincidence that the people rejoiced on the eighth day. The number eight signifies a level of consciousness above nature and logic. The bond between the people and their ruler transcends all other relationships, touching the deepest super-conscious point of the soul,[7] the origin point of the spark of the Messiah, the Ultimate Leader, within each individual Jewish soul. The sense of joy emanating from the soul-union of leader and people creates an experience of redemption and new life.

This is described by Isaiah as the passionate yearning “to see the king in his glory.”[8] The phenomenon of movie stars, rock stars, and sports figures drawing huge, occasionally even near-hysterical, crowds is but a perverted shadow of this reality.

The story of creation begins with the Hebrew word bereshit, commonly translated as “in the beginning.” Whenever this word appears in the Bible subsequently, it is always in conjunction with the beginning of the reign of a Jewish ruler. In a time to come, we will again hear this word, signaling the arrival of the Ultimate Leader. The Messianic era will truly be a new beginning, infusing all of reality with a new life force and the exhilaration of true and complete redemption.

The Five Dynamics of Leadership

Having defined the concept of leadership in broad general terms, we will now explore five specific dynamics of leadership.[1] The qualities of leadership that will be discussed are not external Machiavellian manifestations of power politics, but rather inner, soul properties of spiritual refinement. These five dynamics have been identified through an intense investigation of the subject of leadership as it is treated in the full spectrum of ancient sources and more contemporary commentaries. Specifically, the mystical tradition—as revealed in Kabbalah and Hassidism—serves as the main source of inspiration.

The five dynamics of leadership which we will be exploring in detail are:

1. The Art of Compromise
2. The Drive for Wholeness
3. The Power of Compassion to Inspire
4. The Drive for Integration
5. A Sense of Folly

Our sincere desire in this exploration is not merely to bring certain ideas to light, but to inspire the reader to search for and find the sparks of leadership within himself or herself.[2]

Complete redemption will come when enough individual sparks of the Ultimate Leader, the Messiah, are ignited and activated in the world. May we all merit to see a “new light shine on Zion,” [3] speedily in our days.

2 - First Dynamic

The Art of Compromise

The first prerequisite of leadership is the ability of the leader to find favor in both the eyes of God and man. The 1^st century sage Rabbi Chanina Ben Dosa teaches that the way others relate to us—if they like us or not—is an indication of how God relates to us:

If the spirit of man is pleased with him [the leader], the spirit of God is pleased with him; but if the spirit of man is not pleased with him, the spirit of God is not pleased with him.[1]

Authority imposed upon people is power, not leadership, since to lead implies consent and approval. But the quality of being likable very often is misinterpreted in practice to mean that one should curry favor with others in order to receive their approval and support. As a result, political office-seekers routinely betray their purported ideals simply to garner votes.

A true leader on the other hand draws his strength and genuine connection to others from a sense of empathy. The Torah relates[2] that God chose Joshua to succeed Moses because Joshua possessed a special spiritual quality—the ability to identify with everyone and to relate in love to each individual’s inner character.[3] The ability to empathize with others, when developed and applied to interpersonal relations, manifests itself in the art of compromise. Compromise, in this sense, does not mean settling for second best or satisfying two opposite sides halfway; rather, it is nothing less than the art of unifying opposites for the sole purpose of achieving peace.

The test of a real leader, or any individual for that matter, is to know how to steadfastly guard moral and ethical principles while still maintaining the flexibility to facilitate compromise and conciliation.[4]

To understand this balance we need to delve into opposing opinions in Kabbalah regarding the dynamics involved in the creation of the world. In the 1500s, the Ari elucidated the concept of tzimtzum, the primordial “contraction” of God’s infinite light, which made possible the creation of a “vacuum”—the mystical space wherein finite worlds could exist. Later Kabbalists argued whether the Ari’s teachings were to be understood literally or figuratively. Did God literally and completely remove His Presence so an existence “outside” of Himself could come into being? Or, is the concept of tzimtzum to be taken figuratively and God’s so-called absence is only a perception from a finite viewpoint?

(Hassidic philosophy is based on the understanding of tzimtzum as figurative—the impression of God’s infinite light remains present in the apparent “vacuum,” although His very essence is totally hidden; by aligning ourselves with the will of God, we can touch and reveal His infinite light, and ultimately, His very essence.)

The two understandings of tzimtzum give rise to two completely different ways of relating to reality, including the issue of compromise.

If the tzimtzum is to be understood literally, binary logic applies—God is either present or not, and one side of a dis-agreement is deemed right, and by implication, the other side wrong.[5] If, on the other hand, we understand tzimtzum as a phenomenon of our limited perception, there then is room for paradox and simultaneous contradictory realities—there is room for making judgments based on strict application of principles and for a simultaneous flexibility to facilitate compromise.

In Kabbalah, one of the deepest idioms employed to describe God’s essence is “[the One] who sustains opposites.” This idea—that plurality can be upheld and paradox resolved in the absolute oneness and unity of God—is the source of the consciousness that gives rise to compromise.

It is precisely in our world of apparent contradictions, where the Divine essence is hidden, that God wants us to reveal a higher logic whereby paradoxical and contradictory realities can coexist and ultimately be united. For this reason the sages ruled that it is better to pursue compromise whenever possible, thus allowing the kernel of truth on both sides to be revealed. Finding a mutually agreed-upon resolution is considered preferable to a mentality that conceives of tzimtzum literally, wherein one party to a conflict is absolutely right or wrong.

The two perceptions of tzimtzum and reality are symbolized by the two trees in the Garden of Eden. The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, comprising two opposites, corresponds to binary logic. The Tree of Life, singular and unified by nature, corresponds to the ability to transcend a reality of mutual exclusion.

(Another symbol of a figurative rather than literal perception of tzimtzum is the Star of David, which consists of two oppositely oriented yet interlinked triangles, representing the intuitive ability of the Jewish mind to overcome the paradox of logical contradiction. Rather than viewing each triangle as a separate entity, the Star of David unites them.)

Cultivating a sense of compromise entails merging with the very heart of the Torah, which is “the Tree of Life for all those who grasp it,” as taught in the Book of Proverbs. “Its ways are ways of pleasantness and all its pathways are peace.”[6]

Standing on the periphery leads to a mentality of severe judgment, whereas the closer one approaches the heart of Torah the more one experiences God’s oneness and His desire that we do all in our power to promote unity and peace in His world.[7]

The Limits of Compromise

What has been discussed up to this point regarding compromise does not apply if the conflict is between Torah and a superficial, materialistic view of reality. To think peace can be achieved by violating Torah is in fact the negation of peace, because, as stated above, the heart and soul of the Torah is genuine, lasting peace and compromise. It is therefore self-defeating to compromise Torah to conform to a reality that is based on a consciousness of duality.[1]

The desire to want to make Torah conform to the world originates in a fear of what Torah really is. This can be compared to an unmarried person who has a psychological fear of marriage, even though in truth he longs to marry. This causes a schizophrenic love-fear of the opposite sex.

The fear of true exposure to Torah in those who are unaware of its eternal relevance causes avoidance by some individuals, who, in their hearts, long for authentic, eternal values by which to live. The end result is the same love-fear response—the love of principles that emanate from Torah, yet fear of commitment to live by those principles. That fear may translate itself into an attitude that Torah is unrealistic and must, therefore, conform to prevailing man-made morality and ethics.

An example of this distorted perception of reality is how many people view Shabbat observance. At first, they balk at the number of actions forbidden, and view Shabbat as a day of severe restriction. But if they come to understand that these prohibitions create an atmosphere of welcome relief from the non-stop frantic haste of contemporary society, and a unique opportunity to cultivate an inner spiritual essence while strengthening family and community bonds, then they experience observance of the day quite differently. In a world screaming out for peace of mind, sense of purpose and spiritual contentment, Shabbat represents the ultimate gift of God’s loving-kindness.

The fact that Shabbat is so misunderstood indicates just what an intense level of “sweetening” reality actually needs. It is therefore significant that the Messianic era is referred to as “a time that is entirely Shabbat,”[2] for then, the outer and inner perceptions of reality will be united.

Two examples from the physical world serve as parables for the paradoxical nature of reality as we experience it. When the human eye views an image, the image is projected onto the retina upside down. Only when the brain takes the image and reverses it do we see right side up. Another example: From where we stand on the planet, the sun’s rising in the east and setting in the west clearly indicates that the sun revolves around the earth, yet from the perspective of the astronomer, the earth clearly revolves around the sun. The fact that God has created the world in a manner that both realities can be perceived as correct verifies the fact that the type of paradoxical logic we have been speaking of underlies all reality.

As a way to recognize and reconcile the paradoxes of nature, Rabbi Shalom Dovber of Lubavitch[3] would often recite the verse from Psalms, “Blessed are You God, teach me Your statutes.”[4] Basing his interpretation on the double meaning of the Hebrew word for “statute” (chok), which also can be read as “engraving,” he taught that “the statutes of Torah are engraved in every phenomenon of nature.” His prayer was that God would teach him to appreciate that nature itself is a reflection of Torah and deepen his Torah study through which the revelation of Godliness is ever increased in the natural world.

The inverse is also true. By deepening our study of the natural world, we increase our understanding of both God and Torah. (This idea will be elaborated upon in the discussion of the fourth dynamic of leadership.)

The attitudes and beliefs emanating from different perceptions of the role of nature defined the essential battle over the soul of the Jewish people between the Greeks and the Jews at the time of Hanukah. On one side was the Greek system of binary logic, based on a superficial experience of nature, and on the other side the Jewish embrace of ultimate unity emanating from a Torah worldview.

The attitude of the Greeks had a genesis in their ancestry. Descended from Japheth, the son of Noah whose name literally means “beauty,” the Greeks were meant to bring the beauty of the natural world into the study halls of Torah, in accordance with the blessing of Noah to his sons that “the beauty of Japheth will dwell in the tents of Shem.”[5] (Shem was the brother of Japheth from whom the Semites, and particularly the Jewish people, descend.) However, this type of integration—which would have required compromise—was foreign to the Greeks and the system of binary logic by which they lived.

The art of compromise is what made the Jews different. The giving of the Torah at Sinai permeated Jewish consciousness with this ability, as we learn from two seemingly contradictory teachings.

The Midrash relates allegorically that before giving the Torah to the Jewish people, God “held the mountain over their head” and declared, “If you accept the Torah today, good; if not, this will be your burial place.”[6] The implication here is that the Jews had no choice in the matter—they could accept the teachings and commandments of the Torah or die. However, the Torah itself, contradicts that notion:

He [Moses] then took the Book of the Covenant, and read it in the ears of the people. They said, “All that God has spoken, we will do and we will hear.”[7]

This statement expresses the epitome of free choice, not coercion as implied above, so which is true?

Both are true; indeed they represent one of the most primary of all paradoxes—that of free will and God’s omnipotent and universal Providence. Each facet is absolutely true despite the fact that they appear to be mutually exclusive. The great 11^th century philosopher, Maimonides,[8] states that even if all the seas were ink it would not be enough to write on this one issue. But complex as the idea may be, the wisdom to grasp the fact that both free will and God’s Providence exist simultaneously, and that one does not negate the other, lies at the heart of one’s ability to promote compromise and reconciliation.

In Kabbalah, the Midrash is explained by noting that the word “mountain” symbolizes light. Indeed, there are five two-syllable synonyms for “light” in Biblical Hebrew, each one ending with the syllable har, meaning “mountain”: zohar, bohar, tohar, nohar, tzohar. (It is further noted in Kabbalah that the tzimtzum resulted in the disappearance of five levels of Divine light, corresponding to these five synonyms for “light.”) Therefore, “mountain over their heads” represents an all-encompassing consciousness of God’s light and love, and an awareness of the power of compromise that sustains opposites.

This analogy can be compared to a loving doctor who seemingly “coerces” his patient to undergo a certain treatment in order to heal him.[9] By holding the mountain—or His light—over their heads at Sinai, God “forced” the Jews to respond with great love from below to His overwhelming love from above.

According to tradition, it was not until the time of the Babylonian exile—nearly a thousand years later—that the Jewish people accepted the Torah completely out of free will.[10] It took generations to internalize and integrate Torah to the necessary extent. We might compare this process to what happens when a parent first forces a child to accept certain restrictions, such as not touching fire or not running into the street without looking; only later, as the child matures, does he or she accept the logic of those rules.

In the Messianic era, both “force” and acceptance will be manifest, but will occur nearly simultaneously and be suffused with pleasantness.

Compromising Torah

We have spoken above about the importance of not compromising the principles of the Torah in order to adjust to perceived reality. But every general rule has an exception and this holds true here as well.[1]

Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish, a 3^rd century sage who figures prominently in the Talmud, stated that sometimes compromising Torah “is its very foundation.”[2]

Indeed, the Torah itself allows for nullification of almost all of its commandments when that is what is necessary to save a life, even in cases where only a suspicion exists that a life may be in danger. (The exceptions to this exception are three categories of commandments—prohibitions against murder, idolatry and sexual offenses, such as incest for example—that cannot be violated under any circumstances; indeed, many Jews have gone to their death rather than commit such heinous acts.)

Since every event we encounter—whether it be personal, communal, or global—is a manifestation of Divine Providence, being in a situation where we would be required, for example, to temporarily nullify the Torah laws of Shabbat in order to save a life, indicates that until then, on some conscious or unconscious level, our personal Shabbat was somehow not totally rectified. The temporary nullification is necessary in order to reach a newer and more elevated level of Shabbat. This is a particular example of the general principle of “descending for the ultimate sake of ascending.” The descent actually creates a new and stronger foundation for future ascent.

Simply put, we need not despair when it is necessary to take one step back, if the end result is that we can then take two steps forward. In this way, all of life’s negative moments become springboards for subsequent betterment. An awareness of this basic dynamic helps turn a negative or pessimistic attitude into a positive and optimistic view of life.

Ideally, human nature should be balanced enough to integrate all the wisdom of the Torah, but this is not always possible. The cosmic allegory of the “breaking of the vessels” (which we discussed in the previous chapter), when translated into psychological terms, serves as a powerful model to explain many common personal situations. People who take upon themselves more than they can handle, who push themselves too hard or stretch the cord of their minds and senses too strongly, may come to a situation where too much “light” or energy “breaks their vessels,” that is, breaks the bounds of their realistic ability to integrate Torah wisdom into everyday life. This presents a potentially unhealthy psychological situation. In such a case, what may appear as a temporary compromise with regard to intense Torah-study for the ultimate sake of strengthening boundaries is, in fact, a positive development. This phenomenon is especially relevant to some newly-observant Jews, who in their initial excitement at finding the truth of Torah, dive headfirst into its sea of wisdom until almost drowning if not careful.[3]

Thus, the Ba’al Shem Tov spoke positively of taking a step backwards to regain a more holistic perspective, for example allowing time for relaxation and recreation as a means of fine-tuning a person’s inner spiritual metabolism to delve into greater depths of wisdom. The state of temporary relaxation should produce a new injection of energy and renewed desire to learn.

A delicate balance is needed to properly integrate Torah on the personal psychological level as well on the community level. This is why every personality—as well as the personality of the community—is comprised of three components. We each embody within us the holy, the wicked, and the in-between.[4]

On occasion, due to immediate circumstances, one component of the personality, in its momentary enthusiasm, attempts to force a new reality on the whole personality. If an inner majority of one’s being can live with it, the minority can be persuaded to accept the new situation and nullify or suppress itself for the good of the whole. Other times though, it happens that the inner majority is weak or apt to crumple under pressure. As a result, the suppressed psyche may rebel, requiring a total reassessment of the situation.

The human personality, as we know from both Jewish and modern psychological sources, is made up of multiple levels of consciousness and is incredibly complex. An individual must appoint an inner leader who can unite all the various powers of the soul, directing in unison thought, emotion and action. Without an inner leader, the human psyche can be compared to a rickety boat trying to traverse a raging river, ever in danger of capsizing.

The Hebrew letters of the name Israel may be permuted to read li rosh, meaning “I have a head,” alluding to the natural internal leader of the Jew. Although the intellect must, at all times, be in contact with, and inspired by, the emotional and innate powers of the soul, the “head” must, nevertheless, assume its natural position as leader. This applies as well to how a community and its leaders should direct its affairs in the spirit of balance and compromise.

Ego vs. Soul

In order to cultivate an inner sense of compromise, one needs a balanced ego. An inflated sense of self that dominates thought, speech, and action, creates an “I vs. you” mentality of binary logic that makes compromise impossible. When the ego is refined and the self seeks to reunite with its source in God, the end result is the ability to see a bigger picture of reality—the Divine outlook on life.[1]

In true paradoxical form, ideal leadership emanates not from the powerfully inflated ego that is commonly evidenced by persons who hold the reigns of power in our world, but rather from genuine humility that carries within it an inner strength to empower and inspire others.[2] Indeed, when properly cultivated, humility creates a rectified ego able to deal responsibly with the temptations and the peripheral trappings of power, leadership, and public exposure.

While it is taken for granted that the average person has to continually struggle with ego refinement, it is assumed that those who have reached higher spiritual planes have, in so doing, also achieved a higher level of self-awareness. True as this may be, it does not automatically follow that such people are exempt from the ongoing work of ego refinement. In the Talmud, the sages go so far as to state:

The greater the person, the greater his evil inclination.[3]

This implies that such people, because of their advanced level, must confront even greater, though more subtle, challenges and further continue the work of ego refinement in order to reach even higher levels of consciousness.[4]

Although many techniques have been developed to assist one in the arduous task of ego rectification, there are no set formulas that will work for everyone. It is, therefore, important to find a spiritual leader with whom one can identify and feel a deep soul-connection. A true leader, along with guiding and inspiring, helps one to contact the place deep within the soul where ego clarification can occur. In this sense, marital partners, parents, siblings, and friends can all assume the role of guide and leader for each other at different stages in life.

The process of ego rectification may proceed in an orderly, disciplined manner, or at times may be quite sudden and powerful, coming as a total shock. The Midrash relates that the Israelites were so awe-struck by their initial encounter with God at Mt. Sinai that their souls repeatedly left their bodies in order to cleave to the Divine Presence and that they had to be brought back to life time after time.[5]

The image of the soul departing and returning in response to the words of God alludes to one of the fundamental dynamics of the soul, referred to in Kabbalah as “running and returning.” The source of this concept is Ezekiel’s vision of the chariot, the same vision in which the mystery word chashmal appears. In the center of this electrifying energy, Ezekiel saw “living creatures” whom he described as having the figures of human beings, but each with four faces (that of a man, a lion, an ox, and an eagle) and each with four wings:

And the living creatures ran and returned like the appearance of a flash of lightning.[6]

It is explained in the Talmud[7] that Ezekiel is describing here the “pulsation” of certain angels who ascend higher and higher toward Divine Presence, and upon reaching the apex of their “run” attain a glimpse of the Divine light.  The shock of the encounter, however, causes them to retreat immediately and “return” below. Nonetheless, their desire to experience Divine revelation motivates them to ascend again. This process of run and return in the celestial worlds continues endlessly.

Similarly, the soul longs to ascend and reunite with its Divine source, but is ever drawn back to the body through which it must attempt to fulfill its mission on earth.

The basic bodily rhythm of the heart beating manifests this spiritual reality within the most essential pulse of life. The dualistic nature of humanity, and in fact all of reality, being simultaneously spiritual and material, mirrors this dynamic as well. This apparent dualism may lead to an initial illusion of binary logic, which on a superficial level is true, but which disappears when viewed within a higher spiritual dimension. We are constantly bidden to transcend the lower awareness of reality in order ultimately to unify all opposites.

It is taught in Hassidism that one of the most effective ways to begin the process of soul purification is not necessarily by intense, inner spiritual work, but by doing good for others. Sometimes we are so absorbed in our own selves, even if for positive reasons, that we lose sight of the broader reality around us. But if we take care to pay attention to, and to be grateful for, the continual goodness shown to us by God, we also become motivated to emulate His goodness by doing good for others.[8]

Hillel, the great sage of the 1^st century BCE, taught, “Be like the students of Aaron—loving peace and pursuing peace; loving all people and drawing them close to Torah.”[9]

Hillel used Aaron, the first High Priest, as his model because Aaron was especially beloved by the people due to his continual efforts to promote compromise, reconciliation, and peace. If two people—a married couple or a pair of friends, for example—were experiencing difficulties, Aaron would go to each party individually and, by stretching the truth, would make assurances that the other one had expressed words of love and wanted to resolve their dispute. In this way he facilitated peace. The example set by Aaron was firmly established by the later sages when they stated: “For the sake of peace one is allowed to change [the truth].”[10] Note that the precise language is not “to lie” but “to change.” According to the lower logic it may, in fact, be lying, but from a higher perspective it is adjusting logic in order to embrace both sides of a dispute for the ultimate purpose of compromise and peace.

An example of this is found in a dispute between Hillel, and another great sage of his time, Shamai, as to whether it is permissible to describe a bride as beautiful, if, in fact, she is not. Hillel taught that all brides are beautiful, and so did the other sages concur.[11]