551) R. Joseph Ber Soloveitchik’s adaptation of German Volk elements.

R. Yosef Ber Soloveitchik in 1944

Introduction

This article—based extensively on the research by Professor Daniel Herskowitz[1]—examines how certain elements of Germanic Volkish (volk = folk) thought, circulating in interwar Germany, are evident in the writings of R. Yosef Ber Soloveitchik, also known as the Rav (1903-1993). Volkism was a folk, cultural, and ideological movement which began in Germany in the late 19th century. R. Soloveitchik studied cultural themes that also appeared in Volkish and later National Socialist discourse, but R. Soloveitchik’s use was philosophical, not political. To be clear, although R. Soloveitchik adopted Volkish thought, he severely criticised it when it became politicised, adopted and weaponised by the Nazi party in Germany in the 1930s. Nevertheless, Volkism did indeed become the basis of the National Socialist movement in Germany. 

Background to R. Joseph Ber Soloveitchik

R. Soloveitchik was born in 1903 in Imperial Russia to a long line of important rabbinic figures dating back many centuries. After a traditional study period in elementary Talmud Torahs as well as private tutors, he journeyed to Warsaw in 1924 to study political science at the Free Polish University. In 1926, he went to Berlin to study at the Friedrich Wilhelm University, where he engaged with the work of European philosophers, particularly neo-Kantian thought, and earned his PhD in 1932, in the epistemology and metaphysics of the German philosopher, Hermann Cohen. R. Soloveitchik went on to become a leading Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshiva University and was fundamental in shaping its intellectual development. 

Volkish ideology

To understand how R. Soloveitchik was influenced by Volkish ideology, it is important to understand how the movement emerged. The term ‘Volkish’ was first used in late nineteenth-century Germany. It began around Germany’s unification in 1870, and became very popular around World War I. Volkism then re-emerged around the 1930s. Essentially, it was an anti-universalist movement that glorified ancient German heritage and traditions. The German nation as a whole was seen as one ethnic body or peoplehood. A Volk, according to the political philosopher, Isaiah Berlin (2013:431), reflects “the pattern of life of a society…similar to that of a biological organism.” While it comprises separate components, it still functions as a collective and unified being. All the people in the Volk are expected to “operate in a united and harmonious manner as if they were a biological organ” (Herskowitz 2015:2).  

According to Johan Huizinga, a Volk was so ethereal that it took on a religious temperament where the people: “are aware of a mission, of having a calling, of being chosen for something” (Huizinga 1959:155). 

Rural life was idealised, and a rural and agrarian way of life was encouraged. The Volkish movement was distinctly anti-modernity. It rejected liberalism, urbanisation, and cosmopolitan culture. In terms of religion, many adopted a Germanised form of Christianity, while others turned to a reconstructed German paganism. 

The problem was that Volkish ideology led its followers to apply its thought literally, and therefore, they often resorted to racism and anti-semitism. 

Already in 1907, a secret society in Germany used the image of the swastika on its flag. Many of these ideas were later adopted by the Nazi Party as Volkish ideology naturally led to the exclusion of the ‘other,’ particularly Jews. These ideas are perpetuated to this day by far-right-wing parties like AfD, who have rekindled Volkish discourse. 

Before applying some of these Volkish ideas to R. Soloveitchik—who certainly rejected the radical racist elements that later began to define the movement—we must first understand how Volkish ideology divided society into two distinct categories: Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft. This distinction was to have a profound bearing on his writings. 

Two types of society: Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft

Gemeinschaft represents an ideal, well-integrated and cohesive community that lives with a singular purpose. The members of this type of society romantically share the same heritage and “are able to realize the spiritual link between past, present and future generations” (Herskowitz 2015:3). In the extreme, such groups often resort to occultism (like the Nazi Party), and they perpetuate a strong mythical folklore. Dedicated people from a Gemeinschaft also tend to be prepared to sacrifice, struggle, and even lay down their lives for the good of the community. 

Gesellschaft, on the other hand—which literally means an ‘association’—represents a divided, impersonal, selfish and incohesive community. The ties to other individuals, when they exist, are usually contractual. 

According to Herskowitz (citing Mosse 1970), many twentieth-century Jewish thinkers adopted Volkish ideology. Martin Buber, for example, a great early Zionist, was indeed a:

“devoted advocate of volkish ideology, though the volk he spoke of—the Jewish volk—was, in his opinion, destined eventually to transcend its limited borders and encompass all humanity” (Herskowitz 2015:2).  

Echoes of Volkism in R. Solovetichik’s writings

We shall now examine four examples of R. Soloveitchik’s use of Volkish terminology and ideology: 

1) The metaphysical entity of the community

R. Soloveitchik deals primarily with the individual and the existential and religious questions that arise around the individual. However, in his writings, that individual is always framed as living in a community. In fact, R. Soloveitchik sees the individual as formed by the community and, simultaneously, as one who forms the community (Horwitz 1997:50). His writings about the ‘community’ reflect Volkish definitions of a ‘community’: 

“The community is not just an assembly of people who work together for their mutual benefit, but a metaphysical entity, an individuality: I might say, a living whole…[It] is not a conglomerate, it is an autonomous entity, endowed with a life of its own” (Soloveitchik 1978:3). 

2) Adam I = Gesellschaft and Adam II = Gemeinschaft

In his 1965 book, “The Lonely Man of Faith,” R. Soloveitchik draws attention to two biblical narratives or two creation stories as found in the first two chapters of Genesis. Each story depicts a different version and vision of Adam or Man, and he calls them, respectively, Adam I (the conquering and majestic man) and Adam II (the man of faith). Each Adam establishes their own separate community. Adam I establishes his utilitarian and transactional community, while Adam II sets up his covenantal community. Adam I (conquering man) employs his creative faculties to subdue and master his environment, while Adam II (the man of faith) surrenders himself in submission to his Master. Adam I is tasked to “fill the earth and subdue it” and to “have dominion” (Gen. 1:28) over the environment. Adam II does not subdue the garden, but tills it and preserves it. He is introduced by the words “It is not good for man to be alone” (Gen. 2:18), and he seeks companionship (with community and the Divine) to relieve his existential loneliness. 

This closely resembles the Volkish distinction between Gesellschaft (utilitarian and transactional) and Gemeinschaft (transcendent of the individual). Yet, R. Soloveitchik also expresses a departure from the Volkish understanding of a distinction between Gesellschaft (utilitarian) and Gemeinschaft (transcendent of the individual). In his interpretation, he maintains that both Adam I and Adam II have to inhabit the same world and learn to live together. R. Soloveitchik is also alluding to the need for secular Jews (Adam I) to live side by side with religious or covenantal Jews (Adam II). In a break from Volkism—and remarkably similar to the stance of Rav Kook—neither community alone fulfils God’s will. It is most likely that R. Soloveitchik’s references to secular Jews are generally to secular Zionists—although not exclusively—when read in the context of the 1960s. Religious Zionism only began to take root in the aftermath of the 1967 War [see: Kotzk Blog: 507) The rise of contemporary Religious-Zionism]. 

3) Gemeinschaft = Congregation (destiny), Gesellschaft = Camp (fate)

In his Fate and Destiny, R. Soloveitchik again shows his commitment to Volkish thinking in his separation between two forms of society, which he labels as Congregation (Eida) and Camp (Machaneh). He writes: 

“The camp is created as a result of the desire for self-defence and nurtured by the sense of fear; […On the other hand, a] congregation is a group of individuals possessing a common past, a common future, common goals and desires, a common aspiration for a world which is wholly good and beautiful, and a common unique, and unified destiny” (Soloveitchik 2000,58-59). 

In this extract, Camp—with its need for self-defence—corresponds to Gesellschaft (utilitarian), while Congregation corresponds to Gemeinschaft (transcendent of the individual). The Camp is subject to its fate depending on the outcome of its defences, while the Congregation experiences its destiny. R. Soloveitchik goes on to explain how a nation can function as a Camp or as a Congregation. National fate is often the result of external and historical conditions, like the slavery of Egypt. In contrast, that same nation can choose a destiny which is represented by the Sinai experience, which followed the Exodus. Once again, as evident from this extract from Fate and Destiny, R. Soloveitchik uses the distinct Volkish language of ‘fate’ and ‘destiny.’ 

In R. Soloveitchik’s Lonely Man of Faith, the ‘lonely man’ seeks companionship, destiny, heritage, tradition and a community of like-minded members of the same covenant in order to coexist together. These members provide not just a temporary haven (that would be a Camp), but they share a history and destiny (which makes them a Community): 

“Every covenantal time experience is both retrospective, reconstructing and reliving the bygone, as well as the…anticipation [of] the ‘about to be’  (Soloveitchik 2000: 42).

4) Prepared to die for, and belief in the community

The Volkish notions of sacrifice and laying down one’s life for one’s people are also reflected in probably one of the most innovative of R. Soloveitchik’s writings: 

“The Jew who believes in Knesset Israel [the Community of Israel] is the Jew who lives as a part of it wherever it is and is willing to give his life for it, feels its pain, rejoices with it, fights in its wars, groans at its defeats and celebrates its victories. The Jew who believes in Knesset Israel is a Jew who binds himself with unseverable bonds not only to the People of Israel of his own generation but to the community of Israel throughout the ages” (Peli 2004:120). 

While some might argue that this has nothing to do with Volkism, but is merely an age-old Jewish belief in dying al kidush Hashem [for the sake of God], this expression of R. Soloveitchik goes further. He personifies Knesset Yisrael, which feels pain and joy. The nation is not just a political entity but a living being with feelings. Furthermore, while in the past people gave their lives for God (al kidush Hashem), in R. Soloveitchik’s schema, one dies not only for God, but also for the nation!. One might even say that there is also a belief not only in God, but also in the nation, Knesset Israel! This is evident in his writing about “[t]he Jew who believes in Knesset Israel” (as per Peli, Ibid.). 

Summary

We have touched upon four examples of R. Soloveitchik’s apparent adoption of Volkish thought, especially the dichotomy between Gemeinschaft (transcendent of the individual) and Gesellschaft (utilitarian). The notion of these two types of communities—the well-integrated, cohesive community and the divided, impersonal, selfish and incohesive community—is a recurring theme in Volkish ideology. 

However, R. Soloveitchik went further and innovated a synthesis that did not exist in Volkish ideology, in that he didn’t see Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft as a binary choice of accepting Gemeinschaft and rejecting Gesellschaft. Instead, he maintained that a perfect society combined both elements of Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft. In other words, his view of society: 

“grows from a volkish conceptual framework and simultaneously diverges from it… [This works well from a Jewish perspective because] [t]raditional and secular communities do, after all, together constitute the metaphysical entity of Knesset Israel” (Herskowitz 2015:8).  

In fact, it could be argued that R. Soloveitchik went a step even further by actively innovating and incorporating the Volkish notion of dying for one’s people and incorporating that into Judaism! Before this, Judaism only had the traditional virtue of dying for one’s God! 

By the same token, R. Soloveitchik boldly innovated belief, not only in God but also in the nation, Knesset Israel (as we saw in example 5)! 

Analysis

The truth is that some of these Volkish ideas already existed in Jewish thought, in the writings of Maharal and some of the Kabbalistic and Chassidic writers, but it does seem that R. Soloveitchik, having been schooled in German universities, used them intentionally in a Volkish context: 

“The years as a philosophy student in Berlin in the early 1930s were formative for the young Soloveitchik” (Herskowitz 2015:9).  

He encountered the thought of Hermann Cohen as well as the schools of existentialism, which “left a lasting mark on him” (Herskowitz 2015:9). He was also interested in the pragmatic philosophy of Max Scheler, who earned his PhD in the relationships between logical and ethical principles. R. Soloveitchik wrote his PhD dissertation on Hermann Cohen, who developed a rigorous Marburg Neo‑Kantian approach that emphasised the role in Judaism of pure thought and ethics rather than metaphysical speculation. In other words, Hermann Cohen maintained that Judaism is a religion grounded in moral law and universal justice rather than supernaturalism. This, obviously, influenced R. Soloveitchik’s own thought. 

R. Soloveitchik’s fellow student in Berlin was Alexander Altmann, who wrote his PhD. dissertation on Scheler.  

These multiple, deep scholarly associations profoundly shaped R. Soloveitchik. Particularly, the German zeitgeist of the period—marked by an interest in Volkish thought—likely entered his intellectual capital and helps explain why Volkish themes recur in R. Soloveitchik’s influential writings. 

This was not the first time that German folk beliefs were incorporated into Jewish thought. Chassidei Ashkenaz, or German Pietists flourished in the German Rhineland during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. They too adopted many of the prevailing German folk customs [see: Kotzk Blog: 228) CHASIDEI ASHKENAZ – ‘THESE ARE NOT SUPERSTITIONS’!]. 

Yet, there remains a great irony in R. Soloveitchik drawing from general German Volkish ideas because “many of the thinkers held intellectually responsible for the [Nazi] horrors of the time were volkish thinkers” (Herskowitz 2015:12). R. Soloveitchik’s methodology, however, is selective and corrective. He adopts the evocative vocabulary of Volkish thought, but he reinterprets and restrains those concepts within reason and ethical limits (as per Hermann Cohen), avoiding the dangerous binary interpretations that can lead to fanaticism.

 

Bibliography

Berlin, I., 2013, ‘Nationalism: Past Neglect and Present Power’, in Against the Current: Essays in the History of Ideas, edited by Henry Hardy, Random House, Princeton.

Herskowitz, D., 2015, ‘Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s endorsement and critique of Volkish thought’, Journal of Modern Jewish Studies, Routledge, 1-18.

Horwitz, R., 1997, ‘Rav Soloveitchik’s View of the Religious Experience and Mystery’, in Emuna Bizmanim Mishtanim, Edited by Avi Sagi, Eliner, Jerusalem, 45-74. (Hebrew)

Huizinga, J., 1959, ‘Patriotism and Nationalism’, in Men and Idea: History, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, Translated by James S. Holmes and Hans van Marle, Princeton University Press, New York.

Mosse, G.L., 1970, Germans & Jews: The Right, the Left, and the Search for a ‘Third Force’ in Pre-Nazi Germany, H. Fertig, New York.

Peli, P.H., 2004, On Repentance: The Thought and Oral Discourses of Rabbi Joseph Dov Solo veitchik, Jason Aronson, Maryland.

Soloveitchik, J.B., 1978, ‘The Community’, Tradition: A Journal of Orthodox Jewish Thought, vol. 17, no 2. 7-24.

Soloveitchik, J.B., 2000, Fate and Destiny: From the Holocaust to the State of Israel, Ktav Publishing House, New York.

---

550) Likutei Halachot: Reinterpreting Halacha as a means to connect with the Tzadik

My copy of Likutei Halachot by R. Natan Sternhartz

Introduction

This article—drawing extensively on the research by Dr Leore Sachs-Shmueli[1]—examines the nineteenth-century Chassidic work, Likutei Halachot, by R. Natan Sternhartz of Nemirov (1780-1844). R. Natan worked on his manuscript of Likutei Halachot for forty years, from 1806 to two days before his passing in 1844. His autograph (i.e., original) manuscript is housed in the  National Library of Israel. This work by R. Natan, the foremost student of R. Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810), essentially redefines Halachic practice as a mnemonic (memory system) and theurgic (spiritually manipulative) means of connecting with the Tzadik, R. Nachman of Breslov (or more accurately Bratslav).
 

A ‘mnemonic’ is something that helps one remember information more easily. It’s like a mental shortcut or memory symbol. It can include not only acronyms, rhymes, symbols, repetition, stories, but even pilgrimages, rituals and laws depending on how they are presented.. 

Historic attempts to provide reasons for the commandments

The traditional literary genre of Taamei haMitzvot, or reasons for the 613 mitzvot (commandments) of the Torah, may be said to have begun with Rav Saadia Gaon (883-942) and Maimonides (1138-1204), who philosophically expounded on rationales for the biblical commandments. This was later developed by the mystics like Nachmanides (1194-1270) and the Zohar. In fact, there was a profusion of works dealing with conceptualised reasons behind the mitzvot in the era just preceding the emergence of the Zohar in 1290. 

Thus, traditionalists of both the rationalist and mystical schools sought to provide their reasons, meanings and explanations for the commandments. However, perhaps one of the most creative, if not radical, attempts to reinterpret the mitzvot according to subjective reasoning was R. Natan Sternhartz, in his Likutei Halachot. In this work, he breaks with the style of earlier traditions and anachronistically explains that the reasons behind the biblical mitzvot are to draw us closer to the teachings of R. Nachman of Breslov. Breslover Chassidim might word that a little differently and claim it is simply a collection of teachings based on the Shulchan Aruch (Code of Jewish Law), in light of the mystical doctrine of R. Nachman of Breslov. 

It is interesting to note that another Chassidic group, Chabad, also produced a work in this genre—Derech Mitzvotecha—which preserves the unique style, mnemonics and conceptual idioms of the Chabad movement. This was written by the third Chabad Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneersohn of Lubavitch (known as the Tzemach Tzedek), between the years 1814 and 1828. Written during the same time period as R. Natan’s Likutei Halachot for Breslover Chassidim, Derech Mitzvotecha (published in two volumes) remains a cornerstone of Chabad philosophy, studied both by scholars and newcomers seeking to understand the inner mystical meaning of the mitzvot according to Chabad Chassidism. 

R. Natan’s system of mnemonic textual prompts

The first thing that strikes the reader of Likutei Halachot is the enormity of its eight volumes. This is: 

“by far the most comprehensive work in the Hasidic ta‘amei ha-mitzvot tradition…whereas most comparable works consist of a single volume.” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:2). 

The style of Likutei Halachot is a complex and lengthy web of concepts that develops a logic or correspondence of its own, where one idea leads directly into another seemingly disparate idea—all leading to the Tzadik, R. Nachman of Breslov. R. Natan’s thematic connections, often between unlikely ideas, unfold vividly. This pattern corresponds to the “highly associative…network of symbols within each teaching” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:1-2) already found in the Likutei Moharan, the writings of the founder himself, R. Nachman of Breslov. Sachs-Shmueli (2025:1-2) refers to this associative style as a “distinctive mnemonic strategy,” full of “symbolic associations,” which become “the living textual conduit for bonding with the tzaddik.” 

Put diagrammatically, if A and B are Halachic or theological concepts, then: A = B, B = C, C = D, and D = R. Nachman. 

The following is an extract I randomly selected from a single column in Likutei Halachot (vol. 1, Hilchot Tzitzit, p. 92). The abbreviation בחי' stands for ‘bechinat,’ which is used to compare one mystical concept with another (like the sign ‘=’). Note how the chain ends with a reference to the Tzadik: 

שפגם נח היה בבחי' הפגם של חטא אדה"ר...היה בבחי' הפגם המבואר בהתורה הנ"ל...שזהו בחי' והנחש היה ערום...בבחי' דין של הבעל כח...שהוא בחי' חוט של ציצית...ולהכניע בחי' אחיזת והנחש היה ערום...שהוא בחי' אכילת עץ הדעת...ע"י התפלה בבחי' דין של הבעל כח...שזהו בחי' זוהמת הנחש שהוא בחי' בלבול המדמה...בבחי' דין...עד שנתתקן הכל...שהוא בבחי' מטה עוז...בחי' אתה פוררת בעזך...וע"כ נקרא זה הצדיק ציר נאמן לשלוחיו על שהוא מוסר נפשו בשביל ישראל

Effectively, in Likutei Halachot, R. Natan deconstructs R. Nachman’s original teachings and associations as found in Likutei Moharan and repurposes them within a Halachic framework. Through Likutei Halachot, ancient and classical Halachic practice now becomes an expression of the Breslov tradition. More importantly, while all Chassidic works openly venerate their founding Rebbes: 

“Likkutei Halakhot is exceptional in the systematic bond it constructs between the performance of halakhic practice and the enduring spiritual presence of the deceased master. Rabbi Nathan’s [Natan’s] project is not only exegetical but also mnemonic and theological: it aims to embed Rabbi Nachman’s teachings within the rhythms of Jewish law so as to preserve his authority and revitalize communal identity in the absence of a living leader” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:2). 

Political considerations

Certainly, one finds in Likutei Halachot a distinct challenge to Haskalic (Enlightenment) ideas that were emerging within secular Jewish society at that time. Furthermore, there was also dissent among the followers of R. Nachman of Breslov as to who would represent the leadership of the movement after his death. The voluminous work of Likutei Halachot cemented R. Natan’s role as primary student and de facto organisational leader of the Breslov movement after the passing of its Tzadik, although he did have some opposition from other senior members of the group. Notwithstanding these political factors, which should not be ignored, R. Natan engineered a unique and creative system of mnemonic thought where every minute detail of Halacha can and does: 

“serve as a point of access to the symbolic dimensions of Bratslav Hasidism, shaping the practitioner’s consciousness” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:3). 

Applying cognitive and mnemonic theory to R. Natan

Whichever way one chooses to view how R. Natan interprets R. Nachman as the endpoint of the Halachic journey, one thing is certain: it was an effective stratagem. Applying contemporary cognitive and mnemonic theory to R. Natan reveals how brilliant his project was. 

According to the British social anthropologist and cognitive scientist of religion, Harvey Whitehouse—who studies how religious traditions are transmitted and remembered—different kinds of rituals, some highly emotional and rare, others repetitive and routine, create distinct forms of memory and community cohesion: 

“Transmitting a religion…requires the development of forms of mnemonic support that are costly to maintain in terms of the most basic human resources: labor, time, and energy. A set of viable supports, once established, can bring about appropriate conditions for its propagation” (Whitehouse 2004:58-9).^[2] 

In other words, rituals, stories, and traditions are like ‘memory tools.’ They’re difficult to set up and keep going, but once they exist, they create the right environment for the religion to grow. Successful sects or religions survive and spread because they build systems that help people remember teachings. These techniques are called “mnemonic supports.” 

Similarly, R. Natan successfully and uniquely, turns the unlikely material within Jewish law, Halacha, into a functioning mnemonic system to promote Breslover Chassidism: 

“Through frequent repetition and the addition of further analogical links, Rabbi Nathan [Natan] constructs a symbolic matrix that is designed not only to be interpreted but to be remembered” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:4). 

Through the lens of Likutei Halachot, every time the practitioner performs a Halachic duty, they are subliminally reminded of the broader teachings of R. Nachman. Through R. Natan’s pen, Law becomes a pedagogical tool that “reanimates Rabbi Nahman’s teachings in the consciousness” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:4). This is a novel approach to Halacha as the legal authority is now connected hermeneutically and mnemonically to R. Nachman. R. Natan does not approach Halacha in the traditional sense through pilpul or technical legality. That would had diluted his interpretations. Instead, he charged Halacha with symbolic meaning drawn from the teachings of R. Nachman, and drawing the reader directly to back to the Tzadik, R. Nachman. 

Removing rationality

R. Natan—and Breslov theology in general—teach about the importance of Emunah Peshuta  (simple faith), as opposed to Emunat haDaat (intellectual faith), which is to be avoided. Breslov encourages the withdrawal of intellect as a worthy goal that must be achieved (Mark 2009: 126-28).[3] This now elevates basic religious simplicity—without interference from the mind—to the highest levels of spiritual advancement. By adopting this simplistic approach, it is easier to affect the strategy of association across dissociated ideas. 

The notion of withdrawing the mind and leaving everything up to the Rebbe is well attested to in the following extract in R. Nachman's own words:

ואמר שראוי לו לשמוח בהשי"ת ואעפ"י שאין אתם יודעים מגדולת השי"ת ראוי לכם לסמוך עלי כי אני יודע מגדולתו ית', והזכיר אז את הפםוק (תהלים קל"ה) כי אני ידעתי כי גדול ה' וגו', וראוי לכם לשמוח בי מה שזכיתם שיהיה לכם רבי כזה

"[R. Nachman] said that it would be appropriate for him [i.e., some individual who approached him] to find happiness in God: 'And even through you do not know about the greatness of God, it would be fitting for you to rely on me because I know about the  greatness of God.' [R. Nachman] then quoted a verse from Psalms (135), 'For I know that God is great etc.' and [continued] 'It would [therefore,] be fitting for to rejoice in me for you have [the privilege] of having a Rebbe like me'" (Mekor haSimcha 14, 191).

Constant repetition and mnemonics would similarly replace comprehension and understanding. In a similar sense, once the mind has been removed, the Koach haMedameh (power of imagination) has an important role to play, and the spiritual ideal is to further develop this imaginative (as opposed to intellectual) faculty: 

“Rabbi Nathan articulates the purpose of the commandments as the refinement of one’s imaginative faculty through the submission of one’s will to the divine will. This submission is demonstrated in the performance of the commandments, which is grounded in faith rather than rational reasoning. Thus, the engagement with the ta’amei ha-mitzvot is less about providing justifications for the law and more about facilitating a process of spiritual refinement” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:7). 

Theurgy and the power of the Tzadik

Besides creating a distance from rationality, R. Natan imbues his Halachic interpretations with extreme theurgy (manipulative spirituality), where the very cosmos depends on the actions and intentions of each simple religious practitioner. This becomes the essence of the Breslov project.

Significantly, to this end, other Kabbalists and Chassidic Rebbes outside of the Breslov tradition are rarely mentioned in the vast corpus of internal Breslov literature. This omission seems to intentionally position Breslov—and R. Nachman in particular—in direct line and continuum from the Zohar. Sixteenth-century Lurianic concepts (from the Arizal) are mentioned, but mostly without attribution, again inferring and reinforcing the perceived historical link and importance of R. Nachman in the mystical chain (Mesora): 

“Unlike most Hasidic texts that draw on a diverse range of sources and mystical traditions, the entire symbolic system in Likkutei Halakhot is built almost exclusively on the teachings and authority of Rabbi Nachman” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:10). 

The result

By weaving symbolic meanings into everyday Halachic details, R. Natan ensures that Breslov teachings aren’t just remembered abstractly, but embedded in daily practice. This way, every ritual act becomes a mnemonic or ‘memory trigger’ that recalls R. Nachman’s theology and keeps the Breslov community’s identity alive. Even complicated mystical ideas are repeated and made to relate to routine Halachic practices: 

“These links function as cognitive codes and mnemonic devices, enabling ritual observance to activate a repertoire of Hasidic meanings without explicit doctrinal instruction. Through repetition, structural parallels, and thematic cross-referencing, Likkutei Halakhot fosters a mode of engagement in which the study and performance of commandments become a mechanism for internalising and transmitting the spiritual vision of Rabbi Nahman” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:3). 

Conclusion

Strategically and pragmatically, R. Natan’s innovative approach to Halacha, at that particular time in the movement’s history, ensured that: 

“Rabbi Nachman remains spiritually operative, guiding the Hasid’s consciousness and practice in the absence of his physical presence” (Sachs-Shmueli 2025:11). 

I have a copy of the Breslov work, Mekor  haSimcha, which is all about joy. It is quite a thick book with much material, but it repeats the exact same motif of the importance of happiness in the quest for spirituality, literally over and over again. After reading one page, it seems as if that single page is merely repeated almost verbatim throughout the entire book. This is probably the most extreme example of the use of mnemonics in Jewish literature that I have ever seen. Sachs-Shmueli’s research seems to confirm that this is typical of the writing style of many Breslov sefarim (books), and it appears to be intentional and strategic. 

This strategy, evident in Likutei Halachot, proved particularly effective given the distinctive nature of the Breslover movement, which, unlike other Chassidic sects, did not establish a dynastic line to inspire successive generations of followers.

---

[1] Sachs-Shmueli, L., 2025, Ritual as Mnemonic: Weaving Jewish Law with Symbolic Networks in Likkutei Halakhot by R. Nathan Sternhartz, Religions, vol. 16, 821, 1-13.

[2] Whitehouse, H., 2004. Modes of Religiosity: A Cognitive Theory of Religious Transmission, AltaMira Press, Walnut Creek.

[3] Mark, Z., 2009, Mysticism and Madness: The Religious Thought of Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav,  Continuum, London.

I thank Dr Avi Harel for the following sources:

אליעזר שטיינמן, כתבי רבי נחמן - חלק א בסדרת באר החסידות, הוצאת כנסת, תל אביב, ה'תשי"א

יוסף וייס, מחקרים בחסידות ברסלב, בעריכת מנדל פייקאז', ירושלים: מוסד ביאליק, תשל"ה

מנדל פייקאז' - "חסידות ברסלב: פרקים בחיי מחוללה ובכתביה", ירושלים: מוסד ביאליק, תשנ"ה (מהדורה שנייה מורחבת)

ארתור גרין, בעל הייסורים - חייו של ר' נחמן מברסלב, הוצאת עם עובד - ספריית אופקים

צבי מרק, מגילת סתרים: חזונו המשיחי הסודי של ר' נחמן מברסלב, הוצאת אוניברסיטת בר-אילן, תשס"ו

צבי מרק, מיסטיקה ושיגעון ביצירת ר' נחמן מברסלב, תל אביב: עם עובד ומכון שלום הרטמן, תשס"ד

צבי מרק, התגלות ותיקון בכתביו הגלויים והסודיים של ר' נחמן מברסלב ירושלים: מאגנס, תשע"א

מלכיאל אליעזר, חוכמה ותמימות, הוצאת משכל

מיכה אנקורי, מרומי רקיעים ותחתיות שאול - מסע הנפש של רבי נחמן מברסלב, תל אביב תשנ"ה

צבי מרק, כל סיפורי ר' נחמן מברסלב - המעשיות, הסיפורים הסודיים, החלומות והחזיונות, ירושלים: מוסד ביאליק וידיעות ספרים, תשע"ד.

רוני בר לב, אמונה רדיקלית, אוונגרד האמונה של רבי נחמן מברסלב, רמת גן: הוצאת בר-אילן, 2017

רועי הורן (עורך), החיים בגעגוע: קריאת חדשות בסיפורי מעשיות של ר' נחמן מברסלב, תל אביב: ידיעות אחרונות/חמד, 2010

יעקב אבן-חן, ר' נחמן מבראסלאב - סיפור חייו, הוצאת מבוע, ירושלים, 1981 (הספר בקטלוג ULI)

ציפי קויפמן, הולדת האב - ר' נחמן מברסלב והבעש"ט - השפעה והבניה, הוצאת מאגנס, 2020

צבי מרק, סודות שמים וסודות אדם - רבדים חזיוניים וספרותיים בספר "ליקוטי מוהר"ן" וזיקתם לגאולה ולארץ ישראל, הוצאת אוניברסיטת בר-אילן, רמת גן תשפ"ד.

יונתן מאיר, שלוש הרצאות על חסידות ברסלב, ירושלים, מכון שוקן למחקר היהדות, תשפ"ד[50]

יוסף וייס תורת הדיאלקטיקה והאמונה לר' נחמן מברסלב, ירושלים - ברלין, הוצאת בלימה, תשפ"ה.

549) From Serafim to Sefirot: The Kedusha and the rise of human participation in the cosmic drama

The Kedusha in a 1745 Siddur according to the custom of the Arizal

Introduction

This article—drawing extensively on the research by Dr Leore Sachs-Shmueli—examines a fundamental shift in the mystical interpretation of the Kedusha, recited during the communal repetition of the Amidah (standing prayer). The Kedusha, with its liturgy dating to the fifth century CE (Fleischer 1998:305), was understood in early Jewish mysticism—particularly the Heichalot and Merkavah literature beginning from around the second century CE—as an opportunity for earthly worshippers to imitate and mimic the prayers of the heavenly angels who united heaven and earth through their recital of the Kedusha. In this ancient framework, human prayer was conceived as an echo of the primary celestial liturgy. However, with the emergence of the Zoharic corpus in the late thirteenth century (the Zohar first circulated around 1290), a significant theological shift took place. The angels, who were once conceptualised as being central to the Kedusha, were now relegated to the margins, while humanity assumed the pivotal role in a cosmic drama that sought to unite heaven and earth. 

 

548) Early Mussar: Demonic threat management and displacement of the Divine

Yiddish translation of Kav haYashar

Introduction

In a previous article, we delved into the possibility of Sabbatian connections to, if not outright authorship of an early Mussar (ethical) text, the  Kav haYashar [see: Kotzk Blog: 303) MYSTICAL YIDDISH TEXTS AS A CONDUIT FOR CHASSIDIC THOUGHT:]. This article—drawing extensively on the research by Professor Isaac Hershkowitz—explores a different dimension of the Kav haYashar with its striking emphasis on angelology and demonology. These themes are not incidental but central to the work, to the point where they appear to eclipse God in the text’s pursuit and development of religious-ethical development (Mussar). In early Mussar, such as Kav haYashar, ethical conduct is shaped more by obedience to a cosmic system of angels and demons. In this scheme, God is to a notable degree marginalised—eclipsed, displaced, if not altogether absent—from the process of moral perfection. Likewise, the individual’s own self-effort is detached from the work of ethical refinement. Instead, early Mussar emphasises the conceptual struggle of enlisting good angels and combating demonic forces as the primary path toward moral righteousness. 

547) From the Nile to Safed: Egyptian Judeo-Sufism as an influence on Lurianic Kabbalah

 

Cairo Geniza fragment of the writings of  Maimonides' son, Avraham ben haRambam

Introduction

This article—drawing extensively on research by Professor Paul Fenton—expands upon the previous discussion of six generations (Fenton 2025-)[1] of Maimonides’ Egyptian descendants who embraced and disseminated a synthesis of Jewish mysticism and Islamic Sufism, known as Judeo-Sufism. This movement, with large numbers of adherents known as Chassidim, followed a mystical path called Derech haChasidut (Fenton 2017:50). Its influence eventually reached Safed, transmitting Judeo-Sufi ideas and practices that arguably informed the Arizal’s sixteenth‑century Lurianic Kabbalah. 

546) Jewish Mystics and Rationalists seeking Islamic Fatwas during the Maimonidean Conflicts

 

Ben Ezra Synagogue in Cairo

 Introduction

This article seeks to explore how thirteenth-century Jews often sought Fatwas (religious edicts) from Islamic courts to intervene during the intense period of Maimonidean Conflicts. These Conflicts—also known as the Maimonidean Controversies—erupted after Maimonides’ passing in 1204, and were more like Jewish civil wars between the Maimonidean rationalists and the emerging mystics, with the Zohar first published eighty-six years later in 1290, in Christian Spain. The mystical opponents of Maimonides were often backed by Christian authorities such as the Dominicans, Franciscans and even King James I of Aragon [see: Kotzk Blog: 263) THE POLITICS BEHIND THE PIETY - BRINGING THE BATTLE INTO THE SIDDUR:]. 

545) Psychedelics: Cutting-edge science or shamanic ritual?

Homological scaffolds of the brain before and after psilocybin (Petri G., et al. 2014).

Introduction

This article builds on the previous discussion, which explored how psychedelics are increasingly being framed as “cutting-edge science,” embraced by “all the professors”—and, most troubling in my view, promoted as a new expression of Jewish mysticism and experientialism [Kotzk Blog: 544) Acculturating Alcohol and Sanctifying Psychedelics: It’s time to stand up]. While this article departs from the usual style of discourse on this platform, a recent encounter prompted me to dig deeper. After hearing an average, conservative, middle-aged man explain that he was about to embark on an ayahuasca journey because of its “proven scientific value” and its common use among “trusted religious people” in his community, I decided to examine the academic literature on psychedelics more closely. I aimed to assess how solid the claim of a scientific foundation truly is. In the interest of fairness, I have included scholarly arguments both for and against the use of psychedelics. 

544) Acculturating Alcohol and Sanctifying Psychedelics: It’s time to stand up

Introduction

Alcohol and drug abuse have long been perceived as problems external to the Jewish religious community. Currently, however, the rising visibility of alcohol consumption alongside drug and psychedelic practices, is closer to home than we may have imagined. According to psychologist Dan Wolf,^[1] the difficulty lies in the fact that, whereas in the past, a range of methodologies were actively employed to counter alcohol and substance abuse, the prevailing attitude seems to be that quiet and moderate use is perhaps the most reasonable approach. Today, the issue of substances and psychedelics is no longer abstract or distant; it is reshaping the very fabric of our communal life, demanding recognition, response and a solid stance. 

543) Where are the first Chassidic texts?

Zemir Aritzim, published in 1772: Under the directive of the first Rebbe of Chabad, all existing copies of Zemir Aritzim were gathered and burned, leaving only two surviving copies. 

Introduction

This article—drawing extensively on the groundbreaking research of Dr Elly Moseson[1]—examines the obscure world of early Chassidic manuscripts that circulated well before the first printed, and official Chassidic book, Toledot Yaakov Yosef, in 1780. We explore the nature of the earliest Chassidic handwritten manuscripts, produced in the two decades between the passing of the Baal Shem Tov in 1760 and the publication of the first printed Chassidic book in 1780, before Chassidism became institutionalised. 

542) Zoharic Kabbalah as mystical resistance to Christianity

 Introduction

This article—drawing extensively on the research of Professor Hartley Lachter[1]—examines how Medieval Kabbalists constructed a theology of resistance in response to negative Christian portrayals of (particularly) the male Jewish body, as flawed, inferior and weak. In response, the Kabbalists advanced a counter-narrative that framed Jewish bodies as sacred, resilient and transcendent of time. This Kabbalistic interpretation also allowed Jews to see themselves as instrumental in a redemptive history, turning accusations of faithlessness by rejecting Jesus into affirmations of faithfulness to divine mystery. They were no longer inferior, but— through Kabbalah—indeed superior. 

541) Romancing the Manuscript: The politics of knowledge in Chatam Sofer’s rejection of print.

Manuscript fragment of Toledot Yeshu

Introduction

This article—drawing extensively on the research of Professor Maoz Kahana[1]—examines R. Moshe Schreiber (known as Chatam Sofer, 1762-1839) and his ambivalent stance toward the well-established print culture of Jewish books, which had flourished since its beginnings three centuries earlier in 1475. In place of embracing print as the dominant medium, he issued a striking call for a return to manuscripts. Chatam Sofer is a major rabbinic figure who “carries the aura of a founding figure in the sociological fabric of modern Judaism” (Kahana 2025:300). 

By privileging manuscripts, Chatam Sofer reinforced rabbinic control over textual transmission, resisting the democratisation of knowledge that print enabled. As opposed to mechanical printing, manuscripts circulated in smaller, more controlled circles, limiting exposure to the unorthodox ideas that sometimes sprouted from the Enlightenment movement (Haskalah), which—significantly—used print aggressively to promote its agenda. 

540) Theo-politics of early rabbinic printing and the race for first publication

Levush haOrah by R. Mordechai Jaffe first published in 1603

Introduction

This article—drawing extensively on the research of Professor Eric Lawee—examines the publication of rabbinic texts during the Late Medieval and Early Modern Periods,^[1] in the aftermath of the invention of the printing press around 1450. It focuses on the printing struggles of R. Mordechai Jaffe (c.1530–1612)—also known as the Levush, or Baal haLevushim—and especially on the personal reflections contained in the epilogue to his Levush haOra. 

The first Hebrew books were printed in Rome around 1470. Rabbinic books (sefarim) were not always selfless, intellectual and spiritual contributions for the edification of the People of Israel. The reality of rabbinic publishing was far more complicated. Publishing was not just about scholarship, but also about authority, the tension between tradition and innovation, and the practical challenges of getting a manuscript into print. It was about survival in a crowded marketplace of ideas, where every published gloss and commentary bore the promise of Chashivut—legitimacy, influence, power and authority—for its author. But behind the finished published product sometimes lay a hidden world of rivalry, negotiation, polemics and politics.