The SilenT Sun

Simon Jacobson

How powerful is the sun? Do you ever find yourself basking in the sun and thinking that the same sun is shining on and warming billions of other people? You may be sunbathing on your porch or in some far flung corner of Earth, while someone thousands of miles away – or even an astronaut millions of miles into space – is staring at that very same ball of light. Even after the sun sets, this very sphere will continue to bring light to people on the other side of the planet.

One sun – touching and affecting so many different people, each in their own personal way. As one person lays tanning on the beach, another is ruminating over a beautiful sunrise or staring at a mesmerizing sunset, while yet another is warming his shower or powering an appliance by tapping the sun for its solar energy.

Indeed, the same sun which sustains life in one place, especially on a cold desolate morning on the frozen tundra, can be the source of misery and even death in the scorching heat of the Sahara Desert.

Rarely do we find one luminary simultaneously affecting so many different entities, in so many different ways.

No wonder some primitive peoples worshipped the sun. And for one fleeting moment even Abraham considered the sun as a deity until realizing that the sun is just another part of creation.

In truth, there is only one G-d, Who created the sun, the earth and all of existence. Yet, even as a creation the sun serves as a metaphor for the Divine: “Shemesh u’mogen Hashem Elokim,” the sun and a shield is the revelation of G-dliness (Havaya) manifesting, through the filter and shield (of Elokim), in existence.

Interestingly, Moses – the quintessential leader – is also compared to the sun: “the face of Moses is like the face of the sun,” meaning that due to his utter and absolute selflessness he is able to mirror the Divine sun.

The sun, therefore, offers us many lessons in life. It helps us understand G-d and His Divine secrets (the sun and the shield), as well as appreciate the nature of true leaders like Moses (who is “like the face of the sun”).

Simply put: The sun that shines on every one of us, wherever we may be and whatever we may be doing, teaches us how Divine energy animates each of us. It also demonstrates for us the role of a true leader – one who selflessly serves as a shining role model of what it means to be a man of G-d. A leader who, like the sun, illuminates and warms each one of our souls, motivating and igniting our spark to live up to the Divine image in which each of us was created. Instead of being self-centric, driven by our own short-sighed self-interests, we should be G-d-centric, dedicated to serving others with love. To be givers instead of just takers.

But what happens when that sun stops shining? After ceaselessly casting its light on existence, faithfully serving day in and day out as a source of energy and warmth, one day this sun suddenly falls silent, stopping in its tracks. What to do then?

This is what happened on Gimmel Tammuz, the third day in the Hebrew month of Tammuz, when the sun stopped not once, but twice.

Personally, I find it difficult to speak about Gimmel Tammuz, more than twenty years when the soul of my Rebbe, our Rebbe, stopped shining through his body, when the sun ceased radiating through its shield, illuminating everyone and anyone, the way it did for 92 years, since his birth in 1902.

This difficulty is not merely an emotional one, due to the physical loss of someone that can be considered closer than a parent. The primary difficulty for me is the sad reality that mortality can and has impacted the immortal. You see for me the Rebbe, even as I knew and recognized him soul within body, represents the immortal Torah. I for one am repulsed by the idea of worshipping any human being. Judaism categorically and unequivocally rejects that notion. If I am going to worship a mortal, I might as well worship myself. Long ago G-d declared “you are my servants not the servants of my servants.” My relationship with the Rebbe was not to the person; but to the non-person. Not to his body but to his soul: To the Divine sun that emanated through his selfless life; to the immortal Torah that he embodied; to the cause he represented; to the all-pervasive Divine he exuded.

Of course I loved the man. I loved the way he gazed at children with such adoration, recognizing their innate innocence. I loved how he smiled and empowered every person he met, every fiber of his being emanating love. How he danced on Simchat Torah and sounded the shofar on Rosh Hashana. How he laughed and cried about the sheer insanity of life. How he persistently invested thousands of hours hammering and chipping away at the complacent hearts of his listeners, drilling into them the message that you can change the world – now. How he unceasingly waged war against apathy, even as his audiences were consumed by apathy. I loved and continue to love the man because his “human” self was completely aligned with his “Divine” self. But the total dedication to the Rebbe was not to the “man” but to the Divine cause he manifest.

Indeed, the Rebbe’s predecessor and founder of the Chabad Chassidus, Rabbi Schneur Zalman known as the Alter Rebbe, writes in a consolation letter published in

Tanya (Iggeret HaKodesh epistle 27), that the true life of a Tzaddik is not one of flesh, but one of spirit – his awe, faith and love of the Divine.

That is a remarkable statement. Imagine, a person whose life is not his beating heart, blood flowing through his veins, mind and central nervous system, but his faith! A man driven not by biological life but by spiritual life.

What is even more extraordinary is that this spirit manifests in a human body, who looks, talks and acts like the rest of us, yet his life is pulsating with love and awe of G-d.

There were certainly people who connected to the charisma and physical presence of the Rebbe. But this writer always connected to the spirit of the Rebbe. And therefore the very disconnect that happened on Gimmel Tammuz – calling the day by its date is perfect for dissonance and ambiguity – is difficult for me to speak about. How does one speak of mortality and immortality in one breath?

So when I see various attempts at commemorating the “anniversary” of Gimmel Tammuz – with no disrespect to anyone – I simply don’t relate. I understand that everyone is trying to honor the Rebbe. But how do you mark a day like this? Every person is entitled to their way of honoring this day. Indeed, the Rebbe’s brilliance, like the sun, meant something unique to anyone he touched. I am simply articulating about my own personal and subjective reaction.

I say this also as an answer to many questions I have received whether I am writing a book or doing some other special activity in connection with Gimmel Tammuz. I simply have nothing to say – except a call to action: That the best way to connect to the Rebbe is to connect to his core essence – his teachings and life lessons, in which he poured and engraved his soul. That lives on and is indeed immortal.

Actually, if I were to say anything I would repeat what I wrote in my epilogue to Toward a Meaningful Life:

I initially titled this book Reality because, for myself, “reality” is the one word that embodies the Rebbe. And the Rebbe is, in one word, reality. When speaking to, listening to, or reading the words of the Rebbe, I — like most people — became transfixed by something that was truly real. No superficiality, no vanity, no gossip. There was a constant sense of urgency, a sense that actions truly matter, that people really matter — that you and I, and everything we do, is of vital importance. And in a climate of cynicism and selfishness, it was more than revitalizing to experience a taste of such reality.

I believe that beneath the surface, many of us are just plain complacent. The pressures of society have convinced us that any one person hardly matters — that we will live and die and, ultimately, the world will remain unchanged. More than anything, the Rebbe taught that such an attitude is simply wrong. Like a good teacher, he communicated this through his actions as well as his words — through his ability to speak from heart to heart well into the wee morning hours; through his sensitivity to our frailties and insecurities; through his patience as a teacher in repeating an idea over and over until it was absorbed; through his unending pleas with G-d to alleviate human pain and suffering. In all these ways, the Rebbe embodied an unyielding commitment to virtue and an unwavering confidence in the human spirit. In our mercurial world, such confidence creates a security that can never be shaken; it gives a person something truly meaningful to live for.

I miss the Rebbe. I cry for the Rebbe, a true man of G-d. In my heart and mind, he still speaks for hours upon hours, his countenance shining, sharing a taste of reality with us. And I am committed to sharing the Rebbe with everyone with whom I come in contact. There is no doubt in my mind that the Rebbe and his message will prevail. Reality always does; such is its nature. EM

Rabbi Simon Jacobson is the author of Toward a Meaningful Life: The Wisdom of the Rebbe and the director of the Meaningful Life Center (meaningfullife.com).