The Rocket of the Tzadik
From the Struggle Against Evil to the Challenge of Good
The Circumcision of the Heart
The Torah tells us:
“G-d, your G-d, will circumcise your heart and the heart of your children, to love G-d, your G-d, with all your heart and with all your soul, for the sake of your life.”
Nachmanides explains that this “circumcision of the heart” will take place in the Messianic era, when choosing to do good will become second nature. In his words:
“For in the Messianic era, the choice of good will become natural to them. Their heart will no longer desire what is improper, nor will it have any desire for it at all. This is the ‘circumcision’ of the heart mentioned here. For lust and desire are the foreskin of the heart, while circumcision of the heart means that one will neither covet nor desire [what is wrong].”
Nachmanides continues:
“At that time, man will return to the state in which he existed before the sin of Adam. He will naturally do what is proper, and there will be nothing within his will that is opposed to it.”
He then connects this prophecy to Jeremiah’s description of the future:
“Behold, days are coming, says G-d, when I will make a new covenant with the House of Israel and with the House of Judah—not like the covenant that I made with their fathers…”
And:
“For this is the covenant that I will make with the House of Israel after those days, says G-d: I will place My Torah within them and write it upon their hearts.”
Nachmanides explains that this refers to the nullification of the evil inclination and to the heart naturally choosing what is proper. Therefore, the prophet continues:
“I will be their G-d, and they will be My people. They will no longer teach one another, or one another’s brother, saying, ‘Know G-d,’ for they will all know Me, from the smallest to the greatest.”
It is known that “the inclination of man’s heart is evil from his youth,” and therefore people need to be taught and guided. But at that time, Nachmanides explains, the evil inclination will be completely nullified.
Similarly, Ezekiel states:
“I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will place within you… and I will cause you to follow My statutes.”
The “new heart” alludes to man’s natural disposition, while the “new spirit” refers to his desire and will.
This is also what our Sages mean when they say, “The years will arrive of which you will say, ‘I have no desire in them’”—a reference to the days of Moshiach, when there will be neither merit nor liability. In the days of Moshiach, a person will have no conflicting desire; rather, he will naturally perform what is proper. Consequently, there will be neither merit nor liability, because merit and liability depend upon one’s desire.
Why Yearn for a World Without Struggle?
Nachmanides’ powerful words raise a significant question.
Why will the Messianic Age be superior to the present age of exile? And why do we yearn so intensely for the coming of Moshiach if a meaningful life resulting from effort and struggle will no longer exist?
To be sure, there will be universal peace. Illness will cease, and poverty will disappear. But these are secondary, or even tertiary, considerations relative to the spiritual benefits for which we yearn.
Why, then, should we long for a time when our service of G-d will be devoid of the challenges that we presently face? Aren’t these very challenges what make our lives purposeful and meaningful?
Indeed, the Rebbe Rashab, the fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe, described how, in the Messianic Age, we will look back nostalgically upon the days of exile and yearn for the challenges and struggles that we endured.
Nevertheless, our yearning today for Moshiach is incomparably greater. How are we to understand this apparent paradox?
The Tzadik Who Has No Struggle
The Rebbe addressed this question by extending it to a similar situation that exists even today with regard to the Tzadik.
The Alter Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the founder of Chabad Chassidus, challenges the conventional understanding of the three categories of Jewish personality described by the Talmud: the rasha, the wicked person; the benoni, the intermediate person; and the tzadik, the righteous person.
Classical sources explain that a rasha is someone whose sins exceed his merits, a tzadik is someone whose merits exceed his sins, and a benoni is one whose deeds are equally balanced.
The Alter Rebbe explains that this is not the true definition of a tzadik, but rather a description of a person’s status with regard to Divine judgment. Since G-d judges a person according to the preponderance of his deeds, someone whose merits exceed his sins is called a tzadik in this borrowed sense because he emerges vindicated in judgment.
The true meaning of tzadik, however, is someone who has not merely refrained from sin, but has actually transformed his animal soul and evil inclination into a positive force.
Consequently, the tzadik does not have to struggle to avoid transgression, nor does he have to struggle to perform a mitzvah. His entire being is naturally aligned with holiness.
Here too, we may ask: What is the value of the tzadik if he does not have to expend the effort required to overcome the negative forces with which everyone else must contend?
The Airplane and the Rocket
The Rebbe answered with an analogy drawn from two means of flight: the conventional airplane and the rocket.
A conventional airplane flies through interaction with the resistance of the atmosphere. Its wings utilize the surrounding air to generate lift. The airplane’s ability to rise is therefore dependent upon its interaction with an external force.
A rocket, by contrast, is designed to travel beyond the atmosphere, where there is virtually no external resistance. It therefore cannot depend upon the resistance of the surrounding air. Instead, it generates its own propulsion, utilizing Newton’s principle that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The rocket creates a force in one direction in order to propel itself in the opposite direction.
The distinction is profound.
From External Resistance to Internal Propulsion
The same is true of spiritual growth.
Our present avodah in galus resembles an airplane. We encounter resistance from the yetzer hara and from a world that conceals G-dliness. We are tempted to engage in forbidden activities, while at other times we experience resistance to performing positive mitzvos.
We must overcome these forces. The struggle itself enables us to rise.
The Tzadik, however, as well as all of us in the Messianic Age, is compared to the rocket rather than the airplane.
The Tzadik does not experience the same resistance from the yetzer hara. And in the Messianic era, when the evil inclination will be nullified, we will no longer be challenged by the struggle between good and evil.
But this does not mean that there will be no challenge.
On the contrary, there will be an entirely new form of challenge: the challenge within holiness itself.
Instead of being pulled between good and evil, we will be pulled in different directions within goodness and holiness. We will have to generate our own spiritual propulsion.
This can be understood on three levels: depth, breadth, and length.
Depth: Never Remaining at the Same Level
Even when the Tzadik has no temptation to sin, he can still face another challenge: the temptation to remain at his present spiritual level.
A person may be completely satisfied with the level of Torah knowledge and observance that he has already attained. Having reached a certain level of spiritual accomplishment, he may simply coast from that point onward.
The Tzadik, however, defies this natural tendency.
He refuses to remain where he is. He strives to go higher and deeper in his Torah study and in his observance of the mitzvos.
This too is a struggle, because it requires a person to leave his comfort zone and transcend his natural inclinations.
This is the dimension of depth: the challenge to penetrate more deeply into Torah and holiness rather than becoming comfortable with one’s existing accomplishments.
Breadth: Moving Beyond One’s Natural Disposition
There is also the dimension of breadth.
We are composites of many different faculties, each of which can pull us in a different direction.
Our intellect, for example, consists of Chochmah, Binah, and Daas. A person may be naturally creative and gifted with Chochmah, yet less inclined toward Binah, the analytical dimension of intellect. Another person may excel in both creativity and analysis but struggle to develop Daas—the ability to internalize an idea and transform intellectual knowledge into an experiential reality.
The same applies to our emotions.
The primary emotional attributes include Chesed, kindness and expansiveness, and Gevurah, restraint and discipline. Some people are naturally inclined toward Chesed: giving, nurturing, revealing and reaching outward. Others are more naturally drawn toward Gevurah: judging, withdrawing, exercising restraint and remaining inward.
The Tzadik, however, refuses to be confined by his natural disposition.
Even when he is naturally drawn toward one mode of Divine service, he can tear himself away from it and enter an entirely different mode.
This is the challenge of breadth: expanding beyond the one spiritual path that comes most naturally and developing every dimension of holiness.
Length: Reaching Beyond One’s Natural Sphere
There is a third dimension: length.
Some people are naturally drawn to teaching and influencing those who are beneath them in knowledge or spiritual development. Others are more comfortable interacting with their peers.
The Tzadik, however, seeks to extend his influence beyond the boundaries dictated by his natural inclination.
If he is naturally inclined to interact with people on his own level, he will nevertheless reach downward to teach, nurture and influence those who are at a lower level.
He extends his influence to places and people that lie beyond his customary sphere.
This is the dimension of length: extending holiness farther than one would naturally be inclined to reach.
The Constant Movement Within Holiness
In more general terms, the role of the Tzadik—and ultimately the role of all of us in the Messianic Age—will be to move continually from one dimension of holiness to another.
Consider, for example, a Tzadik who is completely engrossed in a profound and intricate Torah subject. He has become so immersed in his intellectual experience that he feels completely united with the subject he is studying.
Suddenly, he is called upon to pray—a form of avodah shebalev, the service of the heart.
He must detach himself from the blissful intellectual experience of Torah study and enter an entirely different world: the world of powerful emotion and attachment to G-d.
He has been pulled in one direction and is now required to turn in the opposite direction and become completely immersed there.
And then comes another transition.
After reaching an emotional climax in prayer, he is called upon to engage in a practical act of kindness—perhaps to help someone repair a flat tire.
This requires yet another dramatic shift: from the heights of Torah study and prayer to an ordinary, mundane task.
The transition itself can be painful. He must detach himself from a lofty spiritual experience and descend into the practical world in order to help another person.
Yet this is precisely the challenge of the Tzadik.
The Challenge of Geulah
The same will be true in the Messianic Age.
The world will be radically transformed. Evil will no longer confront us as it does today. The yetzer hara will no longer pull us toward sin, and the struggle to overcome darkness will cease.
But spiritual growth will not cease.
Instead, we will face a higher form of challenge: the challenge of moving from one level of holiness to another.
There will be no need to fight against evil, but there will always be a need to rise higher.
The struggle will no longer be good versus evil. It will be good versus better.
And this is perhaps the deeper meaning of the Messianic promise.
Geulah does not mean the end of avodah. It means the end of the painful struggle against evil and the beginning of an infinitely higher form of spiritual striving.
Today, we are like an airplane: we rise by overcoming resistance.
In the future, we will be like a rocket: we will generate our own propulsion and ascend from one level of holiness to the next.
Thus, the Messianic Age will not deprive life of challenge and meaning. It will reveal a new and far more sublime dimension of them.
We will grow exponentially—not through the pain of exile, but through the ceaseless movement from strength to strength, from holiness to greater holiness, and from good to better.
