Only in the dark do we begin to see. Focusing merely upon our actions, thoughts, and words is not enough to navigate this darkness. All of these are deeply influenced by our state of being. We must tend to that deeper state that is often kept in the dark. We should dare not let any challenge go to waste. In the dark times of our lives, we are able to start seeing things more clearly than when surrounded by the normal light of day. These spaces in our lives commit us to contemplation, to learning, and to grasping the world in a new light.
A physical Torah scroll is made up of two parts: the black ink written on the parchment and the white space around the ink. The Rabbis taught that it is required that every single letter should not be touched by another letter (mukaf gevil) and only surrounded by white space (Menachot 29a). Rav Kook taught that this white space is a crucial aspect to the Torah, akin to the white fire of Sinai that revealed the hidden, mysterious dimension of Torah. The black fire of Sinai, conversely, represents the intellectual realm, the place where the big ideas of the world are formed. It’s this dialectical tension between white space and black ink, action versus contemplation, which exists between every moment of speaking and listening, doing and being.
Prayer, introspection, meditation, writing, sacred time, and solitude are needed more than ever. The frightening alternative may be that, at some point, individual conscience and inner voice will be swallowed alive, too quiet to hear. In the twentieth century, Sigmund Freud enlightened us on the personal unconscious state, that which is unique to our individual experience, whereas Carl Jung steered us toward the collective unconscious state, giving us the frame to recognize the psychological archetypes shared throughout all humanity. We may feel more connected to the collective unconscious state in our hyper-interconnected age, especially as our lives become more frantic; returning to the authenticity of the self is essential to the shared human experience.
Avot d’Rebbe Natan teaches that the Torah works when our learning leads us to help others; in particular, one who “fears God” is one who learns Torah, then goes out to save lives, (8:5). Our life and love of learning are deeply connected to our lives of action and our lives of silent contemplation; they are deeply connected to both.
We need not learn about our unconscious state merely to feel fulfilled. Rather, we must lead from that personal place. The greatest contributions we make emerge from our unique experiences. We teach from our sacred wounds and scars of defeat. We inspire from our beautiful glories.
We should dare not live passively and unreflectively. In Gratefulness, The Heart of Prayer, David Steindl-Rast, wrote:
As long as we wait for an improvement of the situation our desires will make a great deal of noise. And if we wait for a deterioration of the situation, our fears will be noisy. The stillness that waits for the Lord’s coming in any situation – that is the stillness of biblical hope. Not only is that stillness compatible with strenuous effort to change the situation, if that is our God-given task. It is only in that stillness that we shall clearly hear what our task is… The stillness of hope is the expression of a perfect focusing of energy on the task at hand. The stillness of hope is, therefore, the stillness of integrity. Hope integrates. It makes whole. (138-39)
Within places of darkness, we must cultivate hope. In The Revolution Of Hope, Erich Fromm wrote that we must be patient:
Hope… is neither passive waiting nor is it unrealistic forcing of circumstances that cannot occur. It is like the crouched tiger, which will jump only when the moment for jumping has come… To hope means to be ready at every moment for that which is not yet born, and yet not become desperate if there is no birth in our lifetime (9).
We cannot merely look outward for our answers. We must look inward and do the deep spiritual work of listening to our hearts. Terry Tempest Williams in wrote in Engagement:
The human heart is the first home of democracy. It is where we embrace our questions. Can we be equitable? Can we be generous? Can we listen with our whole beings, not just our minds, and offer our attention rather than our opinion? And do we have enough resolve in our hearts to act courageously, relentlessly, without giving up – ever – trusting our fellow citizens to join with us in our determined pursuit of a living democracy?
It is not only in the Torah but also in our own hearts that we hold black fire and white fire. The black fire is our own narrative, our stories. The white fire is the deeper unconscious realm, the core of our existence. Only in the dark do we begin to see. Each of us must discover our own white fire and use it to bring light the world.
Rabbi Dr. Shmuly Yanklowitz is the Executive Director of the Valley Beit Midrash, the Founder & President of Uri L’Tzedek, the Founder and CEO of The Shamayim V’Aretz Institute and the author of seven books on Jewish ethics. Newsweek named Rav Shmuly one of the top 50 rabbis in America.”
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