The Wisdom of Letting Go
“If only it were possible for us to see farther than our knowledge reaches, and even a little beyond the outworks of our pre-sentiment, perhaps we would bear our sadnesses with greater trust than we have in our joys.”
This quote comes from “Letters to a Young Poet,” a collection of ten letters which were written between 1903 and 1908 by the Bohemian-Austrian poet Rainer Maria Rilke, to the young military officer Franz Xaver Kappus.
I brought this passage today because of the beginning of Behar, part of this week's double portion Behar-Bekhukotai.
Behar opens:
וַיְדַבֵּ֤ר יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה בְּהַ֥ר סִינַ֖י לֵאמֹֽר׃
יהוה spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai:
דַּבֵּ֞ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם כִּ֤י תָבֹ֙אוּ֙ אֶל־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אֲנִ֖י נֹתֵ֣ן לָכֶ֑ם וְשָׁבְתָ֣ה הָאָ֔רֶץ שַׁבָּ֖ת לַיהֹוָֽה׃
Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: When you enter the land that I assign to you, the land shall observe a sabbath of יהוה.
What does it mean that the land will observe the Shabbat? The answer follows:
שֵׁ֤שׁ שָׁנִים֙ תִּזְרַ֣ע שָׂדֶ֔ךָ וְשֵׁ֥שׁ שָׁנִ֖ים תִּזְמֹ֣ר כַּרְמֶ֑ךָ וְאָסַפְתָּ֖ אֶת־תְּבוּאָתָֽהּ׃
Six years you may sow your field and six years you may prune your vineyard and gather in the yield.
וּבַשָּׁנָ֣ה הַשְּׁבִיעִ֗ת שַׁבַּ֤ת שַׁבָּתוֹן֙ יִהְיֶ֣ה לָאָ֔רֶץ שַׁבָּ֖ת לַיהֹוָ֑ה שָֽׂדְךָ֙ לֹ֣א תִזְרָ֔ע וְכַרְמְךָ֖ לֹ֥א תִזְמֹֽר׃
But in the seventh year the land shall have a sabbath of complete rest, a sabbath of יהוה: you shall not sow your field or prune your vineyard.
Our sages, Torah commentators and countless Jewish thinkers attempted to answer Rashi’s question about this: “What does the matter of the Sabbatical year have to do with Mount Sinai?”
It was curious that Mount Sinai was mentioned here so long after the fact — moreover, no other commandment is tied to Mount Sinai directly. Why the commandment about the Sabbatical above all else?
I’d like to bring an answer from a Chassidic source, specifically from the Slonimer Rebbe in Netivot Shalom.
The Slonimer Rebbe suggests that the Shmita, the Sabbatical of the land, is the commandment which is at the very core of faith itself.
He explains that there are three aspects of faith which we perceive:
The faith we perceive with our brain - meaning the logical conclusion which we can draw about the presence of the divine; the faith which we perceive with our heart - meaning the feeling that we get, the awe as we stand before the divine presence (when we encounter art or nature for example); but above all else, we have the faith which we perceive through the rest of our bodily organs.
The Shmita is difficult. It is asking of us to let go of our livelihood, to risk our stomachs and our health and to have full trust in the Creator, trust which is beyond any logic or feeling that God will provide despite us letting go of work.
These are the concepts in Chassidut which are called Emunah and Bitachon - faith and confidence.
They stem from the Kabbalistic concept that abundance comes the moment you let go.
If we go beyond the social and economical benefits of Shmita and really examine it as an allegory to our inner selves (which Chasidut does often) we learn from our portion that the hardest yet most powerful ask of us is to truly be able to let go of something which is precious to us, something which we probably worked hard to achieve. We learn that there is a tremendous blessing in giving up control and mastering the courage to live with uncertainty.
In “Letters to a Young Poet,” Rilke attempts to give advice to the younger, 19 year old Mr. Kappus, who struggles with his own work as a poet and is still confused as for his chosen vocation in life.
Rilke, refuses to directly comment on Kappus’ poetry, but does give him incredible and inspiring advice on how to connect to his creative self and find his voice as an artist. In fact, I would recommend any writer, composer or other creative give it a try.
Bur Rilke also provided advice to Kappus on other aspects of life, such as how to embrace loneliness, or how to handle love and grief.
Rilke, just like our Chasidim, also advises Kappus to embrace the courage of living with uncertainty and does so beautifully here:
“You are so young, so much before all beginning, and I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”
