Chabad is a cognitive approach that has faith in the divine spark within each of us, and empowers us to find that spark and fan its flames. Not through coercion, not through guilt or tirades from the pulpit, nor by promises of instant enlightenment does Chabad reach the Jew, but by facilitating each one in his or her own path.
A survey of the roots of this question, the scientific context, the classical
Kabbalistic answers, and the explanation offered by the Chassidic masters
If you were to create a world, the first thing you would need to master is tsimtsum. Tsimtsum is a way of being present in your absence. Get that one down, along with creating something out of nothing, and everything else is a piece of cake.
How could there be light before there is anything at all? What would it illuminate, if nothing yet exists? Where would it radiate, if space is yet to be invented? What is its frequency, considering that time has yet to begin?
Just as we invoke the existence of a force of gravity to explain things falling and an electromagnetic force to explain a host of otherwise very mysterious phenomena, so we invoke the existence of a soul-force to explain our inner experience of being alive, conscious, and self-directed.
Within each of us is a breath of the divine, a neshamah. Everything else is created by speech. She is created by breath and by thought. Everything else is obsessed with being just what it is. But the neshamah hears the music of creation and yearns for it to be heard.
He’s in the heavens, and He’s here on earth. He’s in the ethereal world of the philosopher, and He’s in the pragmatic world of the trucker speeding down Interstate 86. He’s in the putrid world of the worker digging out the city sewers down the street, and He’s in the aroma of the garlic our cook was now sprinkling on the chickens for tonight’s dinner. None of this could exist if He were not there. So, He’s certainly in your field of vision. Why can’t I see Him?
We intuitively think of matter as something very static, just sitting there. It’s strange to think of matter as a tune being played by a string. What if our entire reality is just that?
Why would an infinite Oneness create a finite, fractured world? For the same reason that a musician forces himself within the confines of a small wooden box with strings. Or a poet within the rigid structure of a sonnet.
If matter is made almost entirely of empty space, why can’t my hand go through it? The answer is more mystifying than the question, and leads to some profound implications about our reality.
The Jewish take on creatures that have their own mind
By Tzvi Freeman
Isn’t everything predetermined by the mechanics of the universe? I’m just a programmed machine; how can I be blamed for being what I am? Since G-d knows the future, what choice do we have in it?
What’s a conscious being like me doing in a cold universe like this?
By Tzvi Freeman
It is the height of human audacity to assume that we are fantastic instances of consciousness that have somehow emerged out of a dumb universe—much like the teenager who can’t understand how such a bright guy like me came from parents who have no brains.
If G‑d is not to be a dangerous idea, G‑d must be good. But that would seem to be a small G‑d, a defined G‑d, limited by the parameters of goodness. How can we believe in a G‑d that contains all of existence and yet believe that His goodness is real and absolute? There is only one solution, but it is a very strange and radical solution...
Once upon a time, there was a world that was a place of magnificence, awe and beauty. We, as cognizant beings, were privy to a small glimpse of that beauty—even to grasp some of the wisdom that stood behind it.
When a maamar is spoken, something new and vital has entered the world. How are we to approach the maamar? How much of it are we capable of understanding? How is it meant to change us, and our world?
An elucidation of the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s comments on the topic
By Tzvi Freeman
The very substance of the cosmos continually oscillates between a state of being and not-being. This oscillation, say the chassidic masters, is the primal source of Time.
The signature metaphor in Tanya to describe all human activity, popping up in some form or another on almost every page, is clothing. Life, according to Tanya, is less about who you are and more about what you wear.