The Two Stages Of Jewish History

In our previous article, we began exploring the Torah concepts of seeing and hearing. To briefly review: The spiritual concept of seeing is the idea of observing something as it is, i.e., in a completely static state. There’s no process of constructing the picture in your mind; everything is just there, at once, without any effort.

The spiritual concept of hearing, in comparison, reflects a process; a movement through time; an organization of parts. You must collect all the pieces of sound together and then reconstruct them within your mind to grasp their meaning.

We saw how these two concepts can be used to explain many areas of Torah, including the relationship between Olam Haba and Olam Hazeh. The relationship between hearing and seeing also explains the difference between the two stages of Jewish history.

Two Stages

The first stage lasted until the time of Chanukah, the second stage spans from Chanukah until today. The first stage was a time of nevuah and miracles, a time of “seeing.” Hashem openly revealed Himself to the world and was clearly known to all. This is why a Navi was called a “chozeh,” a seer; it was a time where all people, not only the Neviim, saw Hashem with absolute clarity. But right around the time of Purim and Chanukah, nevuah ended and the world fell into darkness. What was the meaning behind this transition?

The first stage was a stage of seeing, where everything was clear and easy. Now, however, we live in a world of darkness, a world of hearing, where we need to choose to see past the surface, connect the pieces together and create that clarity ourselves. There were no open miracles on Purim; we had to connect the pieces together ourselves and see the miraculous within the natural to see Hashem within the world we live in. In the light, you can see; in the dark, all you can do is hear. You must pick up on every hint of clarity you receive, put the pieces together, and form the image in your mind while still walking in darkness.

When you see something, you experience it all at once; there’s no process, no surprises. When hearing, when taking a journey, there can be a long-winding path, twisting and turning in all directions, leading you on a seemingly endless quest. Then, at the very last moment, there can be a sudden revelation that retroactively changes your perspective on the entire journey! Like a twist ending in a great story, the last turn can change the way you perceive the entire quest. This is the nature of the final geulah (redemption). When Mashiach comes, we will suddenly see how all of history was leading us toward our ultimate destination. This is why the end of days is compared to laughter: one laughs when there is a sudden change, and the destination one thought they were heading toward suddenly shifts into something completely unexpected.

Personal Megillah: “Hearing” in Our Own Lives

The same is true in our own lives. Sometimes, only by looking back and putting all the disparate pieces together can we finally see the beauty and hashgacha in events that occurred throughout our lives. Any individual moment of your life might seem meaningless, but held in context of your entire life, this moment suddenly shines with infinite brilliance, as it’s seen as integral and deeply meaningful; its true purpose and meaning becoming clearer. As we have mentioned before, this why the baalei machshava suggest writing your own personal “megillah,” keeping an account of events, experiences, and choices that occur throughout your life. Megillas Esther contains no open miracle, but when you put all the pieces of the puzzle together and read them in order, you clearly see the yad Hashem, and the hidden miracles. “Megillah” shares the same root as the words le’galgel (to roll) and me’galeh (to reveal). When we roll through the scroll of the Megillah, we reveal the presence and hashgacha of Hashem.

The same is true for our own personal story. We can suddenly see the turning points in our lives; we retroactively perceive the life-changing decisions and events that until now seemed meaningless and random. Whether it was choosing a specific school, meeting a friend or spouse at a specific time, or visiting a certain place when we did, our past becomes a masterpiece, ready for us to admire and appreciate.

Torah She’bichsav vs. Torah She’baal Peh

We can take the concept of “hearing” and “process” a step further and apply this to Torah as well.

• Torah She’bichsav, the written Torah, represents seeing; you learn it by seeing the text, not by hearing it orally. It’s static and complete, nothing will ever be added to it.
• Torah She’baal Peh, the Oral Torah, is learned through hearing; you listen to your rebbeim (teachers). It was originally transmitted orally alone, and only later was it actually written down to ensure that the mesorah would not get lost. But Chazal did so in such a way that ensured the need for a rebbi–talmid relationship. In other words, you can’t read the Gemara; you must learn it to break it down, question, and fight tooth and nail in order to understand every step of the shakla v’tarya (back and forth).

Torah She’baal Peh is the epitome of hearing (Rav Tzadok HaKohen, Pri Tzaddik, Lech Lecha 8.). If you’ve ever learned Gemara, you’ll notice that every time you spend two pages proving a certain idea, you then reject it; you then spend two more pages building up another idea, and then reject this as well. What’s the meaning of this? No science textbook in the world would ever teach in such a way!

But the answer is profound. Gemara is a process of hearing, a thesis, followed by an antithesis (rejection), followed by a synthesis (solution), and then repeat (chesed, din, and tiferes). Our job in this world is to take the shards of truth which we have, and try to build up an understanding of the truth. We introduce a hava amina (assumption), and then break it down in order to develop a better one. We then build an updated hava amina before breaking that one down as well. The search for truth requires a constant process of breaking down and rebuilding to get an even better understanding of the truth. You have a theory, you break it down and reject it, until you create a better and improved theory; then you repeat.

But the greatest example of our hearing comes in our unique relationship with Torah She’baal Peh. Unlike Torah She’bichsav, which is complete and static, Torah She’baal Peh is continuously developing and growing. Every Jew has the ability to add their own legitimate novel chiddushim and insights to the mesorah of Torah She’baal Peh.

This is why Torah She’baal Peh itself begins with the discussion of Shema – the word for hearing! The very first Mishna in Berachos discusses when one should say Shema. Furthermore, this Mishna discusses saying Shema at night. This is because the entire theme of Torah She’baal Peh is about hearing, about listening in the dark, putting all the pieces together, and creating clarity amidst chaos and confusion.

Shema: Hearing within the Darkness

We can now return to our original questions. Why did Yaakov recite Shema as he embraced Yosef, instead of fully experiencing this emotional reunion? The answer is that he did fully experience this emotional reunion precisely through his recitation of Shema! Shema represents the concept of process, of hearing in the darkness, of recognizing that one day all the pieces will come together. By saying Shema, Yaakov was expressing his recognition that all the years of darkness and pain that he experienced were ultimately leading toward this moment of revelation and clarity. (See Maharal, Gur Aryeh, Bereishis 46:29.)

This also explains why the brothers responded to Yaakov by proclaiming Shema. To eliminate Yaakov’s concerns, they declared in unison, “Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad.” Only after this declaration did Yaakov understand that his inability to see the keitz ha’yamim was not due to a lack in his children, but rather because Hashem did not want to reveal these secrets at this point in time. How did the Shevatim eliminate Yaakov’s concern by reciting Shema?

Shema represents the idea of creating oneness out of disparate parts, just like listening involves gathering all the different words and pieces into a collective whole. At first, Yaakov was concerned that there was a lack in his children as individuals, but this concern was alleviated once he was assured of their spiritual purity. However, even once it was clear to Yaakov that there was no lack in his children, he thought that perhaps they were only pure as individuals, but not as a unit, as a collective whole. In other words, maybe they were twelve independent and separate Shevatim, unable to unite and harmonize as a single, cohesive unit.

The brothers therefore proclaimed, “Shema Yisrael.” We, the twelve Shevatim of Klal Yisrael, are united as a collective whole; “Hashem Elokeinu Hashem Echad.” Just like Hashem is absolute oneness, so too we are a single nation, a collective whole. With this, it became clear that Yaakov did not lose his nevuah due to a lack in his children as individuals or due to a lack in their unity, but rather that Hashem had chosen not to reveal these secrets at this point in time. The question is, why did Hashem not want the Shevatim to know the timing and details of Mashiach?

Hashem did not want to eliminate our free will; He wanted us to live in a world where we have to listen! To hear in the darkness, to build toward Mashiach, without knowing when, where, or how it will take place; to embark on a genuine journey of “Shema Yisrael.”

The Jewish Bamboo HisToREE

In our last article, we began with the following story: There was a man who visited his friend in a far-off town once a year. When he arrived one year, he was shocked to find a new tree in his friend’s backyard, standing well over sixty feet tall. Perplexed, he asked his friend, “I was here just a year ago, and this tree wasn’t here. What happened?” His friend smiled and explained, “This is the Chinese bamboo tree, a very rare and unique tree. Once you plant it, you must water it every day and make sure it has adequate sunlight. For five years, you must tend to the plant diligently, without seeing a single inch of growth. But once you’ve cared for the seed for five years, the tree grows at an accelerated rate, expanding exponentially over the course of just a few months to a staggering height of over sixty feet.” The man was shocked to hear this, and as he and his friend walked away, he began to ponder the meaning of this strange tree. He eventually asked out loud, “Does the tree take five months to grow? Or five years?”

Now, we can come back to this question: our history is like the Chinese Bamboo Tree. This unique tree spends years in darkness, accomplishing what seems to be very little, lost in the void. Years go by, and all investment toward its growth appears to be in vain. Only with belief and undying trust can one get through this phase of darkness. Then, when all hope seems lost, it suddenly skyrockets toward its true, towering height – out in the light, for all to see. Only then, once it arrives at its full figure, does everything become clear. At that moment, one realizes that it didn’t take five months for the tree to grow; it took over five years.

The same is true with Klal Yisrael; one day, we will see how centuries of tragedy were actually bringing us closer and closer to our ultimate destination. The same is true for each of us; we must be willing to listen in the dark, to see past the surface. We must ride the waves of hardship and challenge, recognizing them as opportunities to grow and not only as burdens. One day, we will see clearly, we will recognize

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