Not So Black and White

Not So Black And White: An Inside Look at the Hassidic Community

A chill hovers in the morning air. The bright brass buckle on his leather shoe shines dully in the diffuse sunlight. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. His movements echo on the pavement.  I catch his gaze in the distance. His eyes are intense. Smokey gray, their look scorches. A black velvet cap sits perched atop his head, crowning his shining curled ringlets. He holds a small velvet pouch embroidered with elaborate beading and  gold thread. It is his prayer bag. He clutches it to his side. He looks at me, then looks away.His steps grow faster, more intense. He is in a rush. Please stop, I beg. I can’t, he replies. Just your name, I persist. At least that. Ya’akov, my name is Ya’akov. How old are you Ya’akov? I’ll be Bar Mitzvahed next year, he responds, and walks away, leaving only a rush of air behind him.

Yes he’s different. It’s as though time has frozen in 19^th Century Europe. Speaking a foreign tongue and donning strange, archaic attire, the Hassid stands inert against the quickly changing landscape of time. Exuding distance and aloofness, the Hassid turns his back to the world, closes his eyes and seals his lips in silence. To an outsider, the Hassidic community seems like an impenetrable fortress- one impossible to infiltrate, and even more impossible to understand. But beyond the closed doors and beyond the locked lips there lies a story. A story worth telling.

Theirs is a culture of tradition. Formed in an era of extreme Anti-Semitism and brutality, the Hassidic movement sought to return hope to the Jewish people. Its teachings emphasize sincere devotion to G-d and closeness to one another. When the outside forces threatened to destroy them, they insulated themselves with spirituality and love.

It is midday. The sun shines down lazily. The slow melodic lap of the water pulsates serenely against the shoreline. A cluster of Jews stand praying by the Bay. Their bodies sway in rhythm with the water. They close their eyes, and open their hearts.

Prayer is an integral aspect of the Hassidic culture. It is seen as a means of connecting to God, by infusing the mundane with the spiritual. Orthodox Jews pray thrice daily. The prayers which are composed in ancient Hebrew, contain emotional passages and heartfelt pleas where the supplicant concedes his utter dependence upon G-d. Men pray in groups, while women often pray in private. Men don a tallis, or prayer shawl in their morning prayers. The shawl is made of a thick white cloth with vertical black stripes running its length. Worn over the head, it acts as a physical reminder of G-d’s enveloping care and omnipotence.

A boy attains religious maturity and is considered responsible to fulfill all the Torah commandments when he becomes Bar Mitzvahed at the age of 13. For boys, among their many new responsibilities, they must wrap phylacteries, or tefillin, every day of the week. Tefillin are comprised of small black boxes that contain verses of scripture and are secured to the forehead and arm with leather straps. Tefillin contain a symbolic value and were described by one Hassid as thus:

“You have a mind. It is in one world. You have a heart, it is in another. And your hands are often distracted with something completely foreign to both of them…So you put on your tefillin. First thing in the day, you connect your head, your heart and your hand…”

Though prayer has a ritualistic dimension to it, it is not seen as something rigid or fixed. To Hassidic Jews, prayer is a natural action, a logical progression of  their reality. Jews never neglect their prayers- they stop whatever they are doing, wherever they are and pray. Yoili, a Hassid seen praying outside of Yankee Stadium said: “I talk to G-d the way I talk to you. G-d is everywhere so wherever I go, I go with G-d.”

Jews have been called ‘a people of the book.’ Literacy is an important part of their legacy;  it is what binds them to their religion and to each other. The Torah, or Hebrew Bible, is composed of the Five Books of Moses, Prophets and Scriptures.  Jewish heritage also contains an oral tradition, which is an interpretation of the many verses of the Torah. Over the past two thousand years, Jewish scholars have studied the tractates of the Torah and have written extensive commentaries about its passages. Their works have been condensed into the Gemara and Talmud, which Jewish men spend hours a day reviewing. It is believed that the stories of the Torah are not just to be understood in their literal sense, on a deeper mystical and philosophical level, which can only be discovered through methodical study and debate.

The school day has not yet ended. The  sweet voices  of the children singing are heard above the din of traffic. One little boy looks out the window, impatient. Scores of bright yellow school busses line the curb, waiting to take the boys home from yeshiva. They are identical to ordinary school busses- save for the black Yiddish lettering etched neatly along the sides of the bus.

Education is highly valued in Hassidic tradition. Beginning at the age of three, young children are sent to Yeshiva, an inclusive school system wherein they are taught both Secular and Judaic studies. The school day is long;  it starts at 7 A.M. and ends at 6 P.M. Hassidic children are rarely without a book at hand.

If we are to get past the strange garb, the  unusual customs, the unfamiliar language, if we go beyond all the externals, what shall be uncovered? If they let down their guard, what shall be revealed at their very core? Surely the heart of a man beats within this people. Surely they leads lives like you and me, with needs like yours and mine. Surely they’re just people. Just like you and me. Just people. With hearts that bleed and emotions that sear and passions that arouse.

Hassidim believe that the entire purpose of being is to connect to G-d. Devotion to G-d through prayer, however is just one aspect of this ideal. They feel that they must also connect to each other and to themselves, by linking their emotion and cognition. Their reality is fashioned by a single thought: that G-d created everything and so everything belongs to Him. Nothing can exist outside His realm, and so the notion of “separation” is just an illusion. Hassidim see each person as part of a greater whole and as such, as an extension of themselves. Because of this, they are tightly bound together with a loyalty that’s analogous to brotherly kinship. One Hassid, a man named Shmiel explained: “G-d made us all. Amongst us, there is no such thing as a stranger. I see you need something, I run to get it, just as you would for me.”

The primary force of connection to another is attained through marriage. Matrimony is seen as sacred; it is a channel by which the soul of a man and woman are linked as a whole. Because of the holiness of this union, any sort of physical contact is prohibited before marriage. Dina, 19, a newlywed woman explained that physical touch before marriage is “caused by lust only and is not real.”

The first dance between a groom and his bride is considered to be intensely spiritual and is the first time they are to touch.  This dance is considered to be a special moment, where not only do the bride and groom’s hands touch, but their souls touch as well.

The cello cries out its mournful notes as the violin reaches its crescendo, and you are no longer standing in a crowded hall with your feet scraped raw from a night of dancing. Despite the late hour, you aren’t weary. You aren’t worrying about tomorrow. You are just watching, transfixed. The music intensifies, and you are transported into a profound, beautiful, surreal world where no one exists but them. Nothing exists, but love.

The heart of Hassidic culture lies in “the family” and a strong marriage is thought to be the foundation from which to build a family. The mother is seen as the nurturer, the one who soothes, calms and defends, while the father is seen as the educator, disciplinarian and protector. During the week the parents are busy working, and the the children  are at school. As such, the Sabbath is very important to them, as it is the one day the entire family is together.

It is late Friday afternoon in the Klein household. Four clean-scrubbed young children smile shyly. The baby wails, but is quickly soothed.  The spacious front windows glisten and the hardwood floors shine. The house is spotless, immaculate. A silken white tablecloth decks the long dining-room table and Shevy, the oldest daughter sets it with crystal glasses and silver tableware. Two crispy golden braided challahs are placed at the head of the table near the gleaming silver Kiddush cup.

Beginning at sundown on Friday, the Sabbath is initiated with the lighting of two Shabbath candles. In Judaism, fire symbolizes spirituality, as it is the only physical entity that does not diminish as it gives of itself. As such, candles are used to represent the spirituality of the twenty-five hour period of the Shabbath. After the candles are lit, the men go to Synagogue, or shul, for Friday night services. Women are encouraged to go but are not required to, and many choose to instead join their own prayer circles to recite Psalms and pray for the sick.

On Shabbath, a total of three meals, or seudot, are eaten. The first meal is eaten Friday night, while the remaining two are eaten the next day. The Friday night meal is initiated with the recitation of the Kiddush, the traditional blessing of  the wine. After Kiddush, challah, is sliced and eaten. The Friday night meal marks the peak of the Sabbath. It is a time when the family sits together uninterrupted by ringing phones and beeping pagers. Parents and children are reunited after a hectic week, and for those few hours, they are once again a cohesive family unit. Through singing, conversing and debating the week’s Torah portion,  not only is the familial bond strengthened, but each individual’s connection to G-d is reinforced as well.

Begun in Eighteen-century Europe as an offshoot of traditional Orthodox Judaism, the Hassidic movement was fashioned in an era when the morale of the Jewish people had been broken, their spirits shattered. Many had turned away from religion, in the hopes of securing an easier existence. Stressing spirituality and love, the movement hoped to heal the spirit of a broken nation. They once tried to blend in. But they couldn’t. They once said, “it can’t happen here.” But it did. And the price they paid was too heavy. The price  they paid was their own blood. Over and over again. Theirs is the story of the Viceroy butterfly. Like the butterfly, the only way they could survive was by blending out.

After spending weeks photographing the community, a question still lingered, unanswered. After all this time, why remain so different, so separated, so alienated?  Have the years done nothing to heal the wounds of the past? I posed this question to Yitzchak, a wizened old Hassid, who sighed deeply and said, “Let me explain with a parable.”

Imagine you are at Lincoln Center on opening night. You have front row seats to the Opera. Would you want the outside noise to come and infiltrate the purity of the music? The reality in which we live is one centered around our Creator. Anyone who cannot see the absolute truth in that, cannot appreciate the beauty of it, and so some form of separation must exist.

Walking away somewhat unsettled, I found myself wondering, “Yes, but what is the price of admission?”

*kanei“Kanei”: Sung by Cantor Yitzchak Meir Helfgot
Composed by Yossi Green

Music plays a central role in the lives of Hassids and is a prominent aspect of their prayer services. Chazzanut is a genre of music of lyrical prayer sung in an operatic style.