An Energetic, Vibrational Understanding of Judaism

It was a freezing winter night in Karlin, now part of Belarus, in the middle of the 19th Cent. Everyone in the city was home, shivering in their dark, cold apartments, as no one dared break the curfew. The Russian authorities were not known for their compassion to anyone who broke the law. However, one devout chassid, Reb Feitel, found the curfew impossible to observe. His heart was aflame with a desire to see his rebbe, Rav Aaron of Karlin, and do service to God. Clutching a book of Tehillim, Psalms, wearing only a thin overcoat, he hurried through the streets. Suddenly, a Russian police officer towered above him, blocking his path. The policemen leered at the hapless chassid, who quickly slipped the Psalms into his pocket. “Spy! Counter-revolutionary!” the policeman shouted. “You’re going to regret this nighttime excursion,” as he trussed the man’s hands and marched him off to jail at gunpoint. The jail cell, a dank pit in the cellar of the city hall, reeked with mold and grime. It was inhabited by half dozen vagabonds. Feitel was thrown inside and the door was locked from the outside. Dazed and stunned, all he could do was stand in a corner and try to make sense of his surroundings. His hands had not been tied well, and he tugged at the rope until it was slack. Now that his hands were free, he reached for the Psalms in his pocket. “It wasn’t bashert for me to see my rebbe tonight, but at least I have my Psalms,” he mused. Feitel opened to the first chapter and began to chant with tremendous fervor. The criminals around him watched, open-mouthed, as this strange man communed with his G-d. His dismal surroundings melted away, and all that remained was a Jew and his Psalms. Suddenly, the jail cell swung open, and a rough pair of hands grabbed the Psalms from him. Now Reb Feitel stood, alone and bereft. A small kernel of despair wormed its way inside his heart. But only for a moment. Suddenly he caught himself. A Jew never gives up hope. “They took me away from my rebbe, and they snatched away my Psalms,” he murmured. “Still, I am a Jew, and they can’t take that away from me!” He was suddenly suffused by a tremendous wave of joy and gratitude that he was from the Chosen People, God’s beloved. Reb Feitel, trapped in a Soviet prison with the dregs of humanity, lifted his feet, raised his arms in the air, and began to dance. As he danced, he hummed a merry niggun, “Ya da da da dada di da da.” He kicked up a storm as he twirled to the tune in his head. Once again, the door to the jail cell burst open, and the prison guard stood there, eyes bulging in shock. “Get out of here, imbecile!” he shouted. “This prison has no room for crazy people. You belong in a mental institution!” As the other prisoners watched, the guard shoved him out of jail, up the stairs, and into the freezing night. As soon as he was freed, Feitel ran through the darkened streets until he arrived at the home of his rebbe. “Nu, the rebbe said with a smile, so now you know that with simcha, joy, one can break his chains of captivity!”