Imagine That
by Velvel "Wally" Spiegler

Our divine soul mysteriously governs our life; it is the source of our virtues and our vices. Everything we say, everything we think and everything we do is controlled by the soul’s influence on our character. If we wish to make permanent changes in our lives, we have to affect changes in our soul first. The problem is that our soul lies beyond the sphere of our conscious thoughts. Gilgul, the Jewish theory of reincarnation states that everyone’s purpose here on earth is to heal the imperfections of the soul. If we fail at that task, we reincarnate over and over again until we get it right. The question is how can we communicate with this mysterious, unknowable aspect of ourselves. Judaism’s primary intent is to provide us with a system with which we can consciously exchange information with our soul.

For most of us who were neither brought up in the tradition or who got turned off to the tradition, living the observant Jewish life is not easy. There are the “baalei tshuvot”, those who, made the conscious decision to return to orthodoxy, but their numbers are few in relation to the total Jewish population. The rest of us seem to muddle along trying to keep a few mitzvot alive, for some rather unclear reasons. However we could all achieve a certain amount of spiritual development by reading into tradition a little more carefully. Somehow the second half of the Twentieth century turned Jewish tradition became overly involved with secular matters, perhaps to fortify our position in the world—holocaust issues, Israeli politics, and interfaith relations. A quick look in any local Jewish newspaper will illustrate the point. Previously Judaism never cared much for secular political sparring; its emphasis has always been to focus on the spiritual aspects of life.

The main pathway to the soul is through our imagination, that human faculty which creates pictures in the mind with the ability recall them at will. The Torah, the Five Books of Moses, is in itself a vast tapestry, rich with intense stories that stir our imaginations each time they’re retold. Listening to the Torah portion read aloud in the synagogue every Shabbat is like guided imagery taking our minds to places beyond time and space, to never-never land, which is precisely where we need to go in order to heal the shattered soul.

I wasn’t brought up in the Orthodox world. I made a short-lived attempt at it, to realize that my conditioned lifestyle wouldn’t honestly adapt to it. Those years, however, brought me closer to tradition with a deep respect for the teachings of rabbinical Judaism. I learned to read into Jewish customs with an eye for imagery—the teaching tool of the early Rabbis. For example, we take special care to start festive meals with a blessing for wine and then one for bread. Why those two foods in particular? In doing a little digging we find that the bread and wine are items specifically included among the ceremonial sacrifices. Upon ritually consuming bread and wine, we can, through the power of our imagination, taste once more the purity of the holy Temple.

Our imagination enables neural pathways to render the Biblical tales as real as jumping backward in time to actually relive the ancient events. The mitzvot, too, the core of how we express ourselves Jewishly, are not randomly scattered throughout the text, but they are organized in close regard to the narrative. In that respect, the laws relating to Passover in the Torah are to be found nestled into the account of the Exodus from Egypt. Jewish tradition is like that. It ties religious legislation to story, so that the ritual sacred actions lift us directly into the outer reaches of the soul.

Even though the soul is out of conscious reach, we hear its voice through a number of everyday experiences. We hear the soul through the kinds of improper behaviors that frequently get us into trouble or those that we would rather not admit—our shadow side, the broken part that needs to heal. We hear soul stirrings from our virtuous side—our bright ideas, our hunches, our premonitions—the information that seems to come from nowhere, and our compassion towards others. We can amplify soul sounds by paying careful attention to the faint impulses we receive from studying Biblical text. Torah narrative contains allegories, which appeal to the needs of the soul.  We can expand them even further by performing the mitzvot associated with each passage. On a more spiritual level, the mitzvot are little dramas that enable us to act out the narrative, making the adventures even more real. We get a good taste of that at the Passover Seder when we are commanded to act as if we, in remembrance of our ancestor’s plight, are slaves exiting from bondage in Egypt.
 
Learning to create mental images every time you attend synagogue services helps you to absorb beneficial spiritual energy. Each time the ark is opened, picture the holiness of God radiating upon the congregation. When you’re instructed to rise from your seat (that happens a lot), see yourself ascending upwards toward God. As the Torah procession passes by, notice that its cover shields the overpowering light of holiness from your eyes. There are many more physical metaphors in synagogue rituals; see if you can find some yourself. When you arrive back home, take a moment to reflect upon the mezuzah on your doorpost. Realize that it separates the outside from the inside, just as your outer life is separated from your inner life. Then, visualize the Shabbat dinner table set with the utensils of the Temple altar—the challah (the showbread), the glowing candles (the menorah), the kiddush wine (the drink libation)—all radiating the purity of the holy Temple.  

Certainly, we can’t do all 613 Mitzvot, but we can practice visualizing them, as a means getting in touch with holiness.  When you visualize things, they happen. It doesn’t do a lot of good getting overly intellectual with Jewish tradition; true benefit arises by creating mental pictures of the ancient rites, which heal our soul.