Repent and walk at liberty, humbly with HaShem!
Tefillin and the Unity of Creation
Jeremy Springfield
I am a Baal Teshuva.
At least, that is what people would label me when I tell them that I have returned to the faith of my ancestors.
But Teshuva is not something I have totally achieved.
To label me a Baal Teshuva would be a great misnomer. Repentance is not something I have mastered. I have only begun. Repentance is an ever-present journey, an ongoing trek towards a destination which I have only glimpsed from afar.
I step forward every day, closer to that goal for which I am striving. But the steps are small. Gradual.
I use this excuse to explain why, during Sukkot 5766, I went camping. Camping has been a tradition in my family for as long as I can remember. Striking out into the wild and leaving everything behind.
Much has already been left behind, seeing as how I carry the label ‘Baal Teshuva’. Traditions of my family that were rooted in paganism, beliefs held that were contrary to Torah. Many things have been left behind. But not everything. Not quite. Not yet.
My excuse is to leave behind the fabricated, material worlds we have built with the work of our hands, the sweat of our brows, and embrace instead the pristine world the Holy One created with His own words and with unspeakable love. The tabernacles we have built for everyday use, along with all the mundane spheres that surround them, serve only to function as worlds constructed to shut out the real world that He has made for us.
And so I went camping.
During the festival I strove to find unique times where I could get alone, away from the camp and from my family and friends. In this I sought a moment of solitude, to have time to perform one of the commandments that I have come to hold most dear to me: tefillin. Those leather straps bind me to a people, a family, who I was estranged from for so long. Those leather straps also bind me close to the One whom I was separated from for even longer. They are sincere expressions of unity for me, but I was not aware just how much this is so.
One morning I set out, eager to find a tranquil scene, a peaceful setting where I could daven -- pray and listen. That is the normal routine. Pray and listen.
Like I said, I have not mastered anything. The prayer part comes easily. I can gush with the best of them. But the listening -- that is a difficult task. So often, in the rush of routine, in the current of the needs of the day, my listening is severely cut short.
This day, I would discover, my routine would be slightly changed.
I found my destination: a large wall of rock and boulders concealed amongst the thick leaves of the trees. It ascended before me to a height of thirty feet or so, blocking off the morning sunrise, bathing me in shadow and chill. I left my truck at the road that snaked through the camping area fifty yards away.
My ascent began slowly, scaling a small flight of broken rocks that crudely made a stair reaching about two-thirds of the way to the top. I climbed carefully the rest of the way to the summit, and as I topped the highest cropping of stones, my eyes grew wide with wonder.
Below and behind me - yards away - was my truck and the road: symbols of civilization - but before me lay an expanse truly breath-taking; an expanse which spoke of wild, purity, and unity.
Miles of trees broad with growth and the painted colors of fall, solemn and comforting; the landscape rolled out before me, unified and wonderful. In the distance, beyond the seemingly endless growth of trees, a lake sparkled blue with white caps glistening in the morning sun. The face of the rock, awash in the sun’s bright glow and splashed with earthy tones of moss and lichen, fell down at my feet some sixty feet to the forest floor far below.
For a long while I sat in silence. Appreciation of the scene which lay before me prevented me from beginning my prayers. I moved slowly, carefully, across the sharp edge of stones, to a place where my footing was sure. After a few minutes of climbing I found a secluded rock, shaped curiously like a reclining chair: a perfect setting.
I removed my tefillin from my backpack and wrapped them there as I sat on the heap of stones.
But before I could even begin my prayers, thoughts began to stream into my head. Like I said, I haven’t mastered anything. Ritual never reigns supreme in the life of one who continues to wrestle with repentance.
The thoughts came quickly, one after another, catching me off-guard in such a way that I could not ignore them so as to begin with the prayers. The thoughts came as my gaze was fixed upon the seven wraps winding down my arm. And then to the landscape surrounding me, enveloping me, including me.
The rough stones which bore me up.
The soft earth of the forest floor far below.
The dark blue of the waters in the lake far away.
The patchwork-quilt of trees that blanketed across the forest.
The cloudless sky, a dome stretching from east to west, north to south.
The brisk wind flowing over my skin, and the chorus of the trees it carried along.
The presence of myself, feeling out-of-place, in the midst of this wonderment, this unity.
And just as quickly as the thoughts came, there came as well an understanding.
I am a piece of it all/ a piece with it all.
A part of His creation/ a part with His creation.
My life is not the end-all, be-all, of this beautiful world. Man was created to fit seamlessly into creation; to join with the earth, rocks, trees, and water, in being a living tabernacle wherein the Holy One can dwell.
Again my eyes were drawn to the tefillin on my arm. The seven windings stood out, strikingly warm against my skin in the heat of the morning sun, and they spoke to me of the unity of His creation. Each winding appeared to be unique, self-existing. But the appearance was not the truth. The truth was that there is only one strap, one binding. And furthermore, they did not cease at my wrist, but continued on, forming the Shin upon my hand.
Shaddai.
Shalom.
Shuva.
Unity
It is the purpose of creation to point to the Almighty, to return to our blessed Holy One. It is the purpose of this world and all that is in it to reach for and culminate at the Divine Presence. The end-all, be-all, is Shaddai. Shalom. Shuva. Unity.
I have a small part in this, yet a part nonetheless. In this role, it is my duty to seek to bring my own selfish desires and actions into a unified state with all of creation.
For the truth is, I am no Baal Teshuva. I don’t think that I ever can be. Not by myself, anyway. The whole world is in a state of return, of teshuva. I am to return with it, but my return is only a portion of the greater returning. In the end, we --creation and man-- master it together.
It is my purpose to return as much as I can, as much as my role allows. And there is so much to which I must return.
The trees have no trouble being trees. The stones do not strive to be anything other than stones. The waters do not wish to overflow their shores. Each part functions in unity, in the boundaries of its creation. Only man, in all his wonder, found his purpose troubling, strove to be that which he could not, overstepped his boundaries.
The role of man was to tend the garden, steward the creatures, fill the world and consecrate it to be an acceptable tabernacle for the Presence of our Father and for the coming of Moshiach.
My tefillin bring this glaring fact home in a humbling way. These truths of Torah must be grasped not only as a fact, but in my mind, captured in the chambers of my heart, and then flow out into the works of my hands. They cannot remain merely leather and parchments that I lay upon my flesh. They must become truths that taint me through and through, that cause a reaction between myself and the world in which I am but a part of. My head, heart, and hands must be unified as I seek earnestly to be in unity with creation; as I seek to live each and every day as a fitting piece in the world – the succah -- of the Holy One.
This day I did not daven. I did not recite any prayers at all. And yet, in spite of this, I had heard His words to me clearly. He spoke silently, and I listened.
The tefillin were placed back in their pouch. The impressions of the strap that had wound down my arm remained, and stood for a deeper impression that had been made somewhere far beneath my skin.
I stood up to make my way back down the rocks. My hands reached out to touch the rough stone underneath me, the smooth leaves of the trees around me. A chilly gust of wind picked up. I inhaled deeply a refreshing breath of air, like the meeting of an old friend, and then released it slightly back into the flowing breeze, letting the wind carry me away.
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Page Last Updated 25th day, 7th month of 5767 / 10-16-06