Preface

More than a decade ago, I began the study of kabbalah with Rabbi Yitzchok Tiechtel of Nashville, Tennessee. We began by learning the Tanya each Shabbat, each Saturday afternoon, that we were both in town. The Tanya, first published in 1796 by Rabbi Schneur Zalman, today remains the "Bible" of the Chabad-Lubavitch school of Chassidic thought, which descends from the teachings of the Bal Shem Tov. It is a compilation of Hebrew Scriptures, Talmud, and esoteric wisdom, or kabbalah. The Tanya is not a text that one can read in a few sittings, nor is it a work that one can ever say he has completed; rather than learning a chapter at a time, the reader is more likely to read a few pages or perhaps only a line or two.

The layman who reads a translation will not only encounter a language barrier, but will find it necessary to span a stretch of thought extending more than 200 years, and then beyond. Yet, what is most difficult about the Tanya is that in relatively condensed wording, it speaks of spiritual concepts and metaphors, which because of their connection to G-d, possess an infinite nature and cannot easily be described in our physical and finite world.

Learning Tanya is not a dispassionate intellectual exercise whereby at each sitting one carries away a simple concept or opinion. It is a personal journey, a crossing, and a true journey is one that takes a person to a place that he could never imagine before he started. It is more akin to working a personal holistic puzzle over a period of time, because the message of the text is spiritual and therefore individually tailored for each soul.

From the beginning, the Tanya spoke to me and its metaphors stirred my soul. I was returning to my spiritual home and I looked for a means to pass this gift to others. Initially, I was encouraged to write a text explaining the Tanya from a layman's point of view. I wrote a preface and first chapter and was encouraged to continue. But discussing intellectual concepts could not convey the full feeling of the Tanya journey. It would be necessary to tell a story, so that it could be better absorbed and comprehended by readers on emotional and spiritual levels.

Attending an ice hockey game one night, I glimpsed a small understanding of what a tzaddik might encounter in this world. So from the chochmah, or epiphany, of that hockey game, portrayed at the beginning of chapter three, I knew much of the message I wished to convey. The tzaddik, while perhaps a more interesting character on a macro scale for a tale, nevertheless, as any human soul, must confront the same issues and choices regarding his mission as all of us.

I cannot take credit for the creation of this novel, other than being a willing vessel to receive it. All creativity is G-d given. And as I wrote, usually in the middle of the night, when the reception from the universe is best, I was often surprised by what would appear in various scenes.

This book, as are all projects for each of us in our lives, has been a journey for me. Its development has been a microcosm of what I set out to convey from the beginning in this novel: that of Divine providence — that nothing we do is accidental or insignificant. We are a vast community of incredible human souls and when we unite, we break through our perceived limitations.

I hope that you will find part of what you seek in this book.