There was a man who visited his friend in a far-off town once a year. When he arrived one year, he was shocked to find a towering tree in his friend’s backyard, standing well over 60 feet tall. Most puzzling was the fact that just last year there had been no trace of such a tree, not as much as a small sapling. Perplexed, he asked, “I was here just a year ago, and this tree wasn’t here. What happened? Did you plant a fully-grown tree in your yard?” His friend smiled and explained, “This is the Chinese bamboo tree, a very rare and unique tree. Once you plant it, you must water it every day and make sure it has adequate sunlight. If you miss even a single day, the seed will die. For five whole years, you must tend to the plant diligently, without seeing a single inch of growth for your efforts. But once you’ve cared for the seed for five years, the tree grows at an accelerated rate, expanding exponentially over the course of just a few months to a staggering height of over sixty feet.”
The man was shocked to hear this, and as he and his friend walked away, he began to ponder the meaning of this strange tree. He eventually asked out loud, “Does the tree take five months to grow? Or five years?”
History As a Puzzle To Reconstruct
As we explained in the previous article, the spiritual concept of seeing is the idea of observing something as it is, i.e., in a completely static state, lacking any movement. When you see a picture, you grasp the entire image instantaneously. There’s no process of constructing or building the picture in your mind; everything is just there. The spiritual concept of hearing, in comparison, reflects a process; an evolutionary progression entailing effort, concentration and organization of parts.
The relationship between hearing and seeing also explains the difference between the two stages of Jewish history. The first stage lasted until the time of Chanukah, the second stage spans from Chanukah until today. The first stage was a time of nevuah and miracles, a time of “seeing.” Hashem openly revealed Himself to the world and was clearly known to all. This is why a Navi was called a “chozeh,” a seer; it was a time where all people, not only the Nevi’im, saw Hashem with absolute clarity. But right around the time of Purim and Chanukah, nevuah ended and the world fell into darkness. What is the meaning behind this transition?
During the first stage, one of seeing, everything was clear. Now we live in a world of darkness, a world of hearing, where we need to choose to see past the surface, connect the pieces together and create clarity for ourselves. There were no open miracles on Purim; we had to connect the pieces ourselves and see the miraculous within the natural – to see Hashem within the world we live in. In the light, you can see; in the dark, all you can do is hear. You must pick up on every hint of clarity you receive, put the pieces together, and form the image in your mind while still walking in darkness.
When you see something, you experience it all at once; there’s no process and no surprise. When hearing, as when taking a journey, there can be a long path twisting and turning in all directions, leading you on a seemingly endless quest. Then, at the last moment, there can be a sudden revelation that retroactively changes your perspective on the entire journey! Like a twist ending in a great story, the last turn can change the way you perceive the entire quest. This is the nature of the final geulah (redemption). When Mashiach comes, we will suddenly see how all of history was leading us toward our ultimate destination. This is why the end of days is compared to laughter: one laughs when there is a sudden change, and the destination one thought they were heading toward suddenly shifts into something completely unexpected.
Personal Megillah: “Hearing” in Our Own Lives
The same is true in our own lives. Sometimes, only by looking back and putting all the disparate pieces together can we finally see the beauty and hashgacha in events that occurred throughout our lives. An individual moment might seem meaningless, but held in context of your entire life, this moment suddenly shines with infinite brilliance, integral and deeply meaningful. As we have mentioned before, this is why the baalei machshavah suggest writing your own personal “megillah,” keeping an account of events, experiences and choices that occur throughout your life. Megillas Esther contains no open miracle, but when you put all the pieces of the puzzle together and read them in order, you clearly see the yad Hashem, the “hand of G-d,” and how all the seemingly random events fit together perfectly to create the hidden miracle of Purim.
“Megillah” shares the same root as the words le’galgel (to roll) and me’galeh (to reveal). When we roll through the scroll of the Megillah, we reveal the presence and hashgacha of Hashem. The same is true for our own personal story. If we put all the pieces together by connecting the dots, we begin to see the beauty manifest in our own megillah. We suddenly see the turning points in our lives and retroactively perceive the life-changing decisions and events that had seemed meaningless and random. Whether choosing a specific school, meeting a friend or spouse at a specific time or visiting a certain place when we did, our past becomes a masterpiece, ready for us to admire and appreciate.
Olam Haba vs. Olam Hazeh
The relationship between seeing and hearing also reflects the relationship between Olam Haba (the World to Come) and Olam Hazeh (this world). This world is a place of movement, change and growth, reflecting the process of hearing. In this world, you get to choose who you’ll become. Olam Haba is the place of being, where you experience the ecstasy of everything you’ve built, and thus reflects the concept of seeing – static and unmoving. No longer can you move or become, but instead, you enjoy everything you created during your life in Olam Hazeh.
Weekday vs. Shabbos
Another manifestation of this principle is the relationship between Shabbos and the six days of the week. Throughout the week we build and grow, whereas on Shabbos we rest from creative activity, experiencing what we have accomplished during the week. This is why the Gemara says that Shabbos is “me’ein Olam Haba – A taste of the World to Come” (Berachos 57b). Just as Olam Haba is the place where we enjoy everything we have built in this world, Shabbos is the time where we enjoy everything we have built during the week.
This explains a seemingly strange verse regarding Matan Torah (the receiving of the Torah). The pasuk says that when Hashem gave us the Torah, “Ro’im es ha’kolos,” we “saw the sounds” (Shemos 20:15). Of course, we don’t see sounds. What, then, does this mean?
This world, the place of movement, is the place of “hearing.” In this world, we build our “selves”: we learn, we work, we grow, we become. The spiritual realm, Olam Haba, is a place of “seeing” – of being.
Matan Torah was an experience of Olam Haba taking place within this world. At Matan Torah, we transcended the physical world of time and space; we all became prophets and experienced the infinite spiritual nature of reality. In such a dimension, there is no hearing or movement, only sight. Therefore, sounds weren’t heard; they were seen. Movement became static, became being.
The Jewish Bamboo Tree
Our history is like the Chinese Bamboo tree. This unique tree spends years in darkness, accomplishing what seems to be very little. Years go by and all investment toward its growth appears to be in vain. Only with belief and undying trust can one get through this phase of darkness. Then, when all hope seems lost, it suddenly skyrockets toward its true, towering height for all to see. Only then does everything become clear. At that moment, one realizes that it didn’t take five months for the tree to grow; it took over five years.
The same is true with Klal Yisrael; one day we will see how centuries of tragedy were actually bringing us closer and closer to our ultimate destination. The same is true for each of us; we must be willing to listen in the dark, to see past the surface. We must ride the waves of hardship and challenge, recognizing them as opportunities to grow and not only as burdens. One day, we will see clearly and recognize the “why” behind every “what.” Until then, we must learn to listen, to believe, to have faith. For only one who listens will one day truly see.
