Usually the yiddish word Rebbe is translated as Grand Rabbi, and in a sense that is right. Either it means teacher, as when a boy in yeshivah talks about his rebbe, or it means Grand Rabbi, a Rabbi whose wisdom and purity and special connection to God have brought him devoted followers who come to his synagogue to pray, who come to his table to learn from him, and who count on him to tell them how to live. One such Rebbe of about two hundred years ago was the Bratzlaver Rebbe, who lived in Bratzlav. Usually when a Rebbe dies, his son or very close male relative becomes the next Rebbe. This did not happen with the Bratzlaver Rebbe, and yet he has followers even today, called by some Toyter Chassidim, "dead" chassidim, because their Rebbe died so long ago.
Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav was an exceptional person. He wrote mysterious, perplexing fairy tales to illuminate spiritual truths. He also seems to have struggled with depression, and this brings me to the reason I am writing about him. A few summers ago, in a period when I was supremely happy and the world seemed to promise so much, I picked up one of the small translations I have of some of his works, and there a phrase struck me powerfully, although I realize to others it may not seem particularly profound. "Do all manner of things to make yourself joyful."
For a Rebbe whose life was lived according to strict, strict rules and regulations, whose every moment was supposed to be a devotion to God, to be concerned that we make ourselves joyful seemed so humane, so full of love, and also, if you listen to the words carefully, full of acknowledgement and compassion that many of us have trouble feeling joyful.
Lately I have wondered, what could he have done to make himself joyful, back in the early 1800s, in a poverty-stricken village? I know he and his chassidim believed in prayer outdoors, walking in the woods and nature, and that is indeed a profound source of joy. I know they sang - and studies today confirm that singing out loud is a way to make oneself happy. They could have spent time with good friends, discussing worthwhile things, and they would even have joked and laughed. They would definitely have found joy in the company of their children. Chassidim also loved dancing, so they would have danced. (And I find satisfaction in thinking that those Chassidim who were artistically-inclined could have created silver ritual objects, or made elaborate papercuts, or painted decorative scenes.) One thing is certain, they did not go out to the mall to shop recreationally (although they would certainly have gone to a macher sefarim - someone who sold books). They didn't turn on a television set or sit, scrolling through the internet. They didn't text inane coded messages to each other, or "tweet," or any of the other superficial, short-cut types of communication so popular now. And I know that the answer to joy lies more in their solutions than in contemporary ideas of what makes one happy, and I hope I can learn from them.
I may have written before about the flashes of profound happiness and contentment I have gotten from the natural world - lilacs unexpectedly blooming in the shadows; a wisteria dripping with color-saturated bloom. I remember thinking when I saw the wisteria - if one has the essentials -why does one need more than this beauty in addition? But the human soul being what it is, our more specifically, my human soul being what it is, I still like to buy things for the visual pleasure and stimulation they afford me. But I do try to walk in my small, rather mangy garden daily for a reminder of the most important things in life, and I think of the Bratzlaver Rebbe with love and admiration, and a tinge of sadness that this great heart and mind should have suffered from such sadness.
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