Finding new life in the underground

By Harav Y. Reuven Rubin Shlita

Water is water, but then again maybe it’s not. Reading the label on a popular brand of bottled water I learnt that the said liquid is especially pure and “organic” because it comes from deep under the ground and has to be brought through seven layers of rock and volcanic ash until it reaches the bottle. The word organic especially tickled my funny bone, for what sort of water wouldn’t be organic? Even so, in truth this bottle was telling us something far deeper than any merchandising department could ever conjure up.

Chazal tell us that there are two sources of water. One is from the heavens and comes to us as rain. These waters flow from above, down streams, forming lakes and rivers, ultimately reaching the seas. Then there is another source, that which can be found deep beneath the ground and must be sought after by digging wells and such. The waters from below are called mayim chaim, waters of life, and it is with reference to these that I would like to share a thought or two. The Torah is likened to water, and perhaps we can understand a vital ingredient of Torah adherence within the nature of those waters from below. Chazal explain that these deep waters have the gift of spiritual growth, and that this comes because in their quest to reach their goal, they will crash through many obstacles on their way. Freshness and growth can only come when objects that block our path are overcome. We can never grow if we don’t meet head on the limitations that set themselves before us. Growth does not emerge from stagnation. Life is generated through a battle for existence.

Every neshomah is brought to this world because there are hurdles it must overcome in reaching greater holiness. We each have our own unique path, one determined by Hakodosh Boruch Hu at the first moment of creation. Every time we falter and lift ourselves up again we are creating more vibrancy, more living waters of kedusha. The beginnings of living waters are below, underneath dirt and filth, yet it is this very fact that makes them vibrant. The very same dirt becomes the filtration medium through which life grows. When we don’t face these obstacles and see them for what they can be- unique sources for our development- then we stop growing and become tinged with the silt of spiritual decay.

For too many, growth has become something feared and even shunned. We have allowed ourselves to believe that our battles are not worthy, and that greatness is the province of others. Nothing could be further from the truth; every neshomah has a need to remain vibrant, to face its tribulations with vigour and audacity. This will bring greater life to your Yiddishkeit, and with that life will become your tikun.

The Friedeker Rebbe of Lubavitch ztl told a story that he had heard from his melamed. He said that a great king in a far off land ruled with great splendour. This monarch had everything one could hope for and amongst all this was a pet parrot that he cherished greatly. He taught the bird to speak and had a special cage made to house it. The king spent hours enjoying his pet, and everyone knew how much the bird meant to the king.Over the years the parrot got older, it lost some of its feathers, broke a wing, yet the king showered it with attention and affection. One day the inevitable happened and the parrot died. The sovereign was terribly distraught; after all the bird had been his favourite. The courtiers seeing the kings sadness, decided to have a replica made from silver and gold. After some time the gift was ready, and true enough it looked just like the old parrot. Upon receiving the gift the king broke down and cried. When asked why, he said, “Don’t you see, that old pet of mine was alive. Sure he was a bit scarred from life and his wing was fractured. But he was alive and vibrant. What you have brought me is certainly of great beauty, but it is cold and frozen. There is no life to it; it’s just an imitation.”

We must ensure that we do our utmost to make our Yiddishkeit vibrant, and not just a cold imitation. Torah life must never become an imitation; we must keep ourselves flowing just like the waters from a wellspring. Sure, there may be moments where we are wounded, where something becomes slightly tarnished, but we must never give in and lose the will to thrive.

My bottle of water boasts that its contents have gone through six layers of volcanic rock. It advertises that with each layer another mineral has been imparted, giving it a uniquely vibrant flavour.

The waters that make up our lives have also traveled through an environment laden with difficulties and tribulation. However, each drop is rich with the taste of a living Yiddishkeit.