G-d always loves me! Does He always love my actions?
G-d always loves me! But is He always pleased with me?
Wait, don’t get me wrong—I love this song very much. What’s amazing about it is that it flows into my heart and onto my lips even before I consciously think about what I’m saying. It just flows naturally, energizing and uplifting, filling my heart with joy and warmth without even waiting in line at the entrance.
But still, we are in the month of Kislev, the month of Chassidut in general and Chabad in particular, and Chabad demands inner depth.
Anyone who encounters the Alter Rebbe, whether in the Tanya, in his discourses, or even just through stories and sayings, will immediately see that there is no “free hug” there, no mere love—it’s mainly about a great deal of demand. Chabad Chassidut requires anyone who comes into contact with its teachings to engage in inner work.
Moreover, the Tanya, being a book for beinonim (intermediates), explains to a person that they have an animal soul and an evil inclination. They must recognize this and not ignore it. Otherwise, there can be no true work. And this work must come from one’s own effort.
It’s not just the Alter Rebbe; all Chabad Rebbes, up to and including our Rebbe, emphasized this. Immediately after accepting the leadership of Chabad on the 10th of Shevat, 5711 (1951), the Rebbe told the Chassidim:
“Listen up, Jews! In general, Chabad has always demanded that every individual do the work themselves, without relying on the Rebbe. This is the difference between the Polish approach and the Chabad approach. The Polish approach follows the verse ‘And the righteous shall live by his faith’ (tzaddik b’emunato yichyeh). Do not read it as yichyeh (will live) but as yechayeh (will give life). But we in Chabad must all work on our own—with all 248 limbs and 365 sinews of the body and soul.
‘Everything is in the hands of Heaven except for the fear of Heaven.’ I do not absolve myself, Heaven forbid, from helping, to the best of my ability. But since everything is in the hands of Heaven except for the fear of Heaven, if the work is not done individually, what good will it do to give ‘writings,’ sing melodies, or say l’chaim?
We must transform the folly of the other side and the fiery passion of the animal soul—into holiness.”
Does G-d always love me? Certainly, of course.
Does He always love my actions? No, absolutely not. He certainly expects me to improve my deeds.
Does this affect G-d’s love for us? Heaven forbid. As the verse says, “I have loved you, says the L-rd.”
My dear children, some of whom may read these words, know that I love them infinitely and unconditionally. Love is unconditional. Do I love everything they choose to do? The answer is no, and they know that too.
Rabbi Yossi Paltiel, whom I can call my teacher and mentor even though I’m not sure I’ve ever met him in person, said in one of his online classes (and I recommend anyone who understands English and wants to learn Chassidus to visit InsideChassidus) that in his opinion, just as the Alter Rebbe wrote a “book for beinonim,” Rebbe Nachman wrote a book for tzaddikim (righteous individuals). In other words, with the Baal Shem Tov and his great-grandson, Rebbe Nachman, there’s much faith and love and less demand. Everyone is a tzaddik just as they are. It’s no coincidence that people greet each other with, “How are you, tzaddik?” or “What’s up, my brother tzaddik?” These are not just figures of speech; it’s a pathway in divine service.
As the Rebbe stated above, Polish Chassidut largely told the Chassid to connect to the tzaddik, and the tzaddik would take care of them. But in Chabad Chassidut, we are told, as the Rebbe emphasized immediately upon becoming Rebbe: “I am here and will help, but the work is yours.”
Both approaches are the words of the living G-d; the Torah and its service have seventy faces. The Alter Rebbe does not send you to isolate yourself in a forest and speak to your Father in Heaven openly and intimately. That’s beautiful and amazing, but the Alter Rebbe wants you to reflect inwardly, to recognize what’s within—the good and the bad. He sends you to confront it, and then, step by step, descend for the purpose of ascent, to elevate and feel, and ultimately, to reach a point of truth.
After a Tanya lesson, it’s not so easy to break out into a joyful dance. When the lesson delves into the struggles of the beinoni and the wicked person, into the “intermediate shell” and the “three impure shells,” and into the depths of forbidden thoughts and actions, spontaneous dancing does not come naturally. What feels more appropriate might be a meditative tune, or even a sense of bitterness, introspection rather than exuberance.
And yet, with a bit of reflection, we arrive at one clear realization: G-d always loves me. Shall we dance?
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Zalman Wishedski