06 Jan PARSHAT SHEMOS THE BURNING BUSH AND THE TANYA

The Inaugural
Vision
The inaugural vision
in which Moshe was
appointed to become
the leader of the
Jewish Nation and its
eternal teacher, we
should assume, contains within it the essence
of Judaism.
Moshe, shepherding his father-in-law’s sheep
in the Sinai wilderness, suddenly sees a
blazing thornbush. “G-d’s angel appeared to

Moshe in a blaze of fire from amid a thorny-
bush,” we read in Shemos. “He saw and

behold! The bush was burning in the fire but
was not consumed. Moshe said to himself, ‘I
must go over there and gaze at this great
sight—why isn’t the bush burning up from the
flames’”. When Moshe approaches the scene,
G-d reveals Himself to him, saying: “Don’t
approach here. Remove your shoes from your
feet, for the place upon which you stand is
holy soil.” He then speaks to Moshe,
identifying Himself as the G-d of your
fathers,” and charging him with the mission of
leading the Jewish people to redemption.
It is a perplexing story. Firstly, what was the
symbolism behind the vision of a burning
bush? G-d has made numerous appearances in
the Torah till this point. Yet never was it in a
burning bush not being consumed.
Second, why did G-d tell Moshe not to
approach the bush? What would be wrong
with him coming closer?
Third, what does G-d mean when He says,
“The place upon which you stand is holy
soil?” Why was the actual earth upon which
he was standing holy? The burning bush was
holy, for G-d was present in the flame, thus
Moshe was standing in a holy place. But why
the emphasis on the actual sand and earth?
Interpretations abound. Today I will present a
profoundly moving insight on the matter.
The Thorns in the Fire
Since this revelation was the genesis of
Moshe’s appointment as the leader of Israel
who would transmit the Torah to Israel, this
vision captures one of the common dilemmas
in the life of the Jew and indeed of every
searching human being.
One of the great challenges of any sincere
person striving to grow spiritually is that even
when he or she manages to ignite a fire in their
soul, the fire never consumes the thorns
present in the psyche. The passion is aglow,
the heart is aflame, the ecstasy is ablaze, but
the thorns refuse to be sublimated in the flame.
Toxicity and anxiety take over. A person may
be in the midst of sincere prayer to G-d, but
suddenly a most ugly thought or craving will
flare up in his brain. You may be experiencing
a most happy moment in life, but suddenly the

most obnoxious emotion surfaces in your
heart. Even in our most potent fires, the thorns
abound. Even in our most intimate, subtle,
refined, joyous, spiritual experiences, we
confront irrational fears, demons, and traumas.
They often surface to the conscious in the
least expected moments.
The story of the burning bush which would
not consume the thorns embodies the duality
in every heart. On one hand, we experience a
desire to be good and moral. But then, at other
times, we are mundane and careless, overtaken
by beastly tendencies, selfish impulses, and
ugly emotions. What is worse, these polarities
are often experienced in such close proximities
with each other. In the morning, I may be
infused with a sense of awe, wonder, splendor,
amazement. At those times, I am inspired,
motivated to serve G-d, to pray, to learn Torah,
to engage in mitzvos, good and holy deeds.
Barely several hours—sometimes minutes—
pass, and boom! The sublime ecstasy withers
away. This spiritual person suddenly has a
hard time refusing a slice of pizza, a particular
website, or a terrible angry impulse.
When my heart is idealistic, I say to myself, “I
really love this. It’s great. Life is beautiful. I
wouldn’t give this up for anything in the
world.” And then, it’s all gone. The whole
spiritual high is naught. I am reduced to a
small, petty, ridiculous, fearful, depressed,
and angry creature.
Doubt
This dichotomy is one of the main factors
causing people to give up on living a
meaningful and joyous life. The tension is too
deep, and I can’t be a hypocrite.
Moshe, the first and greatest Jewish teacher,
approaches the thorn bush. He has one
question: “Why does it not get consumed?” If
the fire is real, why does it not consume the
thorns?! How is it possible, Moshe wonders,
that if a person’s spirituality is authentic, it has
no bearings on his or her thorns? Unless of
course, the fire was a delusion.
G-d responds: “Remove your shoes from your
feet because the place upon which you stand is
sacred soil.” These words revolutionize our
approach to the enduring struggle. Holiness
lies in the very place upon which you stand.
Don’t wait till you reach your own
psychological utopia; rather, the very place
where you stand is holy; a relationship with
G-d does not mean that you are darkness-free,
thorn-free, struggle-free. You must encounter
the holiness in your present situation.
Then G-d continues to tell him: “I am the G-d
of your father.” I am present in the midst of
this thorny bush. I am in this flame, even
though the thorns have not been eliminated.
The Tanya
It took another three millennia for the message
to be articulated lucidly. This notion, one that

has brought comfort and healing
to millions of soul-climbers, is
one of the central themes of the
Tanya—the magnum opus of
Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi,
the founder of Chabad, known as
the Alter Rebbe (1745-1812),
whose passing over 200 years
ago, in 1812, will be marked on
the 24th of Teves.
The theme is captured in the very
name of the book.
The Alter Rebbe termed this
work with a very original and
beautiful name: Sefer shel
Banunim, which means The Book of the
Intermediate People, or the Guidebook for the
Ordinary Person.
Who is the banuni? Who is this prototype the
Alter Rebbe places in the vortex of his great
work? The banuni is a person who possesses
in a conscious way a duality—not like the
tzadik, who has achieved moral perfection.
The banuni operates on two levels of
consciousness, his life dichotomized between
two souls: The “reptilian brain,” an insecure
and self-centered consciousness, focusing on
survival and fast comfort, and a Divine,
transcendental soul, aligned with the infinite
depth and purpose of existence. His life
constitutes a struggle between these two
perceptions of the self and the world.
Here is the Tanya’s profound idea—all based
on that vision of the burning bush: “Remove
your shoes from your feet because the place
upon which you stand is sacred soil.” Never
doubt the potency and authenticity of your
inner holiness and Divinity, just because there
are ugly thoughts still lingering in your brain.
Never allow your external animal self to
dictate and take control of the narrative of
your life. The toxic voices are here to help you
crystallize who you really are; each of them
coming to make you grow and become the
human being you are capable of becoming.
G-d does not want you necessarily to become
the tzaddik, the toxic-free person, free of
every last coping mechanism born the terror
of feeling alone in a scary world. Not everyone
can attain the spiritual perfection of the tzadik.
But not everyone must achieve that state. The
hero of the Tanya is the banuni: he opens up a
door for every human being in every situation
and on every level, to find his or her own place
among those who are striving to soar on
high—to connect and become true servants of
G-d.
The banuni is not the individual who always
wins, but he is also not the human being who
is defeated. He is the individual who fights
daily to uncover the truth of his own infinite
depth; the clamor of his efforts is exquisite
music to the Divine ear.

The Alter Rebbe termed his work the Sefer
shel Banunim because he was attempting to
address who we are rather than who we are
not. He was attempting to make Judaism, to
make the Divine path, real; to make it
intimately close (“karov elecha”)—to you, to
me, to us, people for whom the world seems
no less real than G-d, maybe even more real.
To human beings to whom materialism is as
powerful as spirituality, maybe even more
powerful.
Many previous books of Jewish ethics and
spirituality aim to elevate and inspire man
toward the ideal of the tzaddik, ‘the perfectly
righteous individual.’ But there is a problem.
Some people indeed can become truly
righteous, the rest of us give up, or we become
fake. Hence, the value and contribution of the
Tanya. With it, the Alter Rebbe brought
healing and hope to millions.
I would say that the entire Tanya is based on
that single passage G-d told Moshe: “for the
place upon which you stand is holy.” Wherever
you are, you can find holiness and develop a
real relationship with the Almighty. Even as
your thorns do not disappear and do not forfeit
their sting in the flame of your soul, never
doubt the truth of your core identity, as a
Divine ambassador in this world. Serving G-d
does not mean becoming sacred; it means
having the courage to fight for truth even
amidst thorny foes that crave to undermine
you.
Moshe wants to approach the fire. We all want
to transcend our conditions and become
Divine. So G-d says, no! You must realize that
holiness is where you stand today! You may
have lots of earth and gravel—but that itself is
holy. You were given the mission to light a
candle of truth and hope in a space of darkness
and hopelessness. Your inner darkness is
waiting to be transformed. To be a Jew means
to know that just as in math we have the
Asymptote, a line that continually approaches
a given curve but does not meet it at any finite
distance, we may feel that we never reach the
full truth. Yet, wherever you are in life, you
can become a conduit for the infinite and
bring heaven down to earth.