Tanya, Part I; Likkutei Amarim 13:1

Hook

Beloved companions on this journey of remembrance, we gather today at a sacred juncture – a place where memory meets meaning, where the echoes of what was intertwine with the unfolding of what is. Perhaps you find yourself here carrying the quiet ache of a recent loss, or perhaps the familiar thrum of a grief that has long been a companion, surfacing anew with unexpected tenderness or a sharp, sudden pang. Whatever its texture, grief often feels like a landscape of paradoxes: immense love coexisting with profound absence, fierce gratitude alongside piercing sorrow, the urge to retreat battling the call to connect.

Today, we invite you to lean into this complexity, to create a spaciousness within yourself for the nuanced tapestry of your inner world. We are not here to deny the pain, nor to rush its healing. Instead, we are here to acknowledge that the journey of grief is not a linear path towards an endpoint, but rather a continuous, unfolding process – much like the deep spiritual work of life itself. We will explore an ancient wisdom that speaks directly to this ongoing internal dialogue, offering a gentle lens through which to understand our own experiences and to honor the enduring presence of those we remember. This is a moment to breathe into the truth of what is, to seek comfort in the wisdom of our shared humanity, and to consider how the very act of living fully, even amidst sorrow, becomes a profound act of legacy.

Text Snapshot

From the profound insights of Tanya, Part I; Likkutei Amarim 13:1, we are offered a lens into the human soul's perennial dance:

"Therewith will be understood the commentary of our Sages that 'intermediate people are judged by both [the good and evil natures], for it is written, “When He stands at the right of the destitute to deliver him from the judges of his soul.”' Note that they did not say “ruled” by both, G–d forbid... The evil nature [in the benoni], however, is no more than, for example, a magistrate or judge who gives his opinion on a point of law, yet it is not necessarily a final decision to be implemented in deed, for there is another magistrate or judge who is contesting this opinion. It is, therefore, necessary to arbitrate between the two, and the final verdict rests with the arbitrator... The final verdict comes from the arbitrator—the Holy One, blessed is He, who comes to the aid of the good nature... Yet, inasmuch as the evil in the [heart’s] left part of the benoni is in its innate strength... such a person is likened to a “wicked man.” In the words of our Sages, “Even if the whole world tells you that you are righteous, in your own eyes regard yourself as if you were wicked”—not as actually wicked. But one should consider oneself to be a benoni... Even one whose whole aspiration is in G–d’s Torah... this is still no proof whatsoever that the evil has been dislodged from its place... in its essence and substance, the divine soul in the benoni has no preponderance over the animal soul, except at the time when his love for G–d manifests itself in his heart on propitious occasions, such as during prayer and the like... But it is not entirely abolished, in the case of the benoni; it is so only in a tzaddik... But in a benoni it is, by way of example, similar to a sleeping man, who can awaken from his sleep. So is the evil in the benoni dormant, as it were, in the left part, during the recital of the Shema and the Prayer [Amidah], when his heart is aglow with the love of G–d, but later it can wake up again... Nevertheless, in relation to the rank of the benonim, it is regarded as a truly perfect service in terms of their [level of] truth... For truth is the attribute of Jacob, who is called the “middle bolt which secures [everything] from end to end,” from the highest gradations and degrees to the end of all grades. And in each gradation and plane it fixes its bolt through the most central point, which is the point and quality of its attribute of truth."

This profound passage from Tanya introduces us to the benoni, the "intermediate person," a concept that offers a deeply empathetic and realistic understanding of the human condition. It describes us not as perfectly righteous (a tzaddik) nor entirely wicked, but as beings in a constant state of internal dialogue. Within us, the text suggests, reside two "judges" or "natures": the animal soul, rooted in worldly desires and self-preservation, and the divine soul, aspiring towards connection, meaning, and spiritual truth.

The crucial insight for our journey of grief and remembrance is that for the benoni, neither of these natures is ever fully vanquished. The "evil nature" (interpreted broadly here as impulses that pull us away from our higher selves or connection) is never "dislodged from its place." Instead, it is like a "sleeping man, who can awaken from his sleep." Even during moments of profound spiritual elevation, like prayer, when the heart is "aglow with the love of G-d," this other nature is merely dormant, not abolished. When it reawakens, it's not a failure, but a natural part of the benoni's experience.

The text assures us that divine aid is always present, helping the divine soul to gain "mastery" over the animal soul's impulses, ensuring that its opinions are not the final verdict. This mastery is not about eradication, but about governance – choosing which voice to heed, which intention to manifest in thought, speech, and action. And even the "love of which we speak in the case of the benonim... is, in comparison with the degree attained by the tzaddikim... not called 'true service' at all, since it passes and disappears after prayer." Yet, the text immediately qualifies this, stating that "in relation to the rank of the benonim, it is regarded as a truly perfect service in terms of their [level of] truth," because the divine soul "has the power to reawaken this kind of love constantly." This ongoing capacity for reawakening, this continuous return to our higher intentions, is what constitutes our unique "truth," symbolized by Jacob, the "middle bolt" that connects and secures everything.

This ancient wisdom offers us a profound framework for understanding grief: it is not a state to be "fixed" or "overcome," but an ongoing internal process, a dialogue between conflicting emotional states and impulses. It acknowledges that the pain of loss may become dormant, but can always reawaken, and that this reawakening is not a failure, but an invitation to re-engage with our deepest truths and our capacity for enduring love and meaning.

Kavvanah

Our intention for this ritual, this sacred holding of space, is to embrace the paradox of ongoing internal dialogue and continuous reawakening, thereby honoring the fullness of our internal landscape as we connect with memory and forge legacy.

The Inner Judges of Grief

In the landscape of grief, we often experience an internal conversation, a dynamic interplay of conflicting emotions and impulses. Drawing from Tanya's wisdom, we can understand these as our "inner judges." On one side, there is the voice of sorrow, longing, perhaps anger, regret, or despair—the "animal soul" in its manifestation of deep, raw human emotion, craving what was, struggling with what is. This voice may urge us to withdraw, to dwell in the pain, to resist change, to feel that life cannot possibly continue in the same way. It is a powerful, primal force that demands attention, articulating its "opinion" on the profound wound left by loss. It is not inherently "evil" in a moral sense, but rather that part of us that, left unchecked, might pull us away from connection, growth, and the possibility of new meaning. It expresses the deep, human attachment to what is gone, the instinct to protect the pain as a last vestige of connection.

On the other side, there is the voice of our divine soul—our inherent capacity for resilience, for love that transcends presence, for finding glimmers of hope, for seeking connection, meaning, and purpose even amidst desolation. This voice might gently remind us of enduring love, of the beauty of shared memories, of the desire to live a life that honors the deceased, or the yearning for peace and healing. It is the judge that offers a different perspective, a counter-argument to the overwhelming pronouncements of despair. It speaks of the possibility of integration, of transforming loss into a source of wisdom or compassion, of finding ways to carry forward the light of the beloved.

The Arbitrator and Divine Aid

The wisdom of Tanya teaches us that for the benoni, neither of these judges issues the final verdict alone. There is an "arbitrator"—the Holy One, blessed is He, who "comes to the aid of the good nature." In our personal ritual, this "arbitrator" can be understood as our deepest inner wisdom, our connection to a higher power, or the inherent capacity for self-compassion and discerning choice that resides within each of us. This divine aid is not about eradicating the voice of sorrow or anger, but about providing the "glow radiated by the Divine light" that illuminates the divine soul, allowing it to "gain the upper hand and mastery over the folly of the fool and evil nature."

This "mastery" is not a battle to suppress or deny the pain. Rather, it is the gentle act of choosing to listen to the divine soul's counsel, to allow its light to guide our thoughts, speech, and actions. It means acknowledging the raw truth of grief without letting it become the sole ruler of our inner city. It is the recognition that even when the animal soul cries out with immense longing, the divine soul can still find a path towards remembrance that is imbued with love, gratitude, and a forward-moving spirit, however small. The divine aid helps us to prevent the "evil nature" from gaining "control and dominion" over our entire being, ensuring that its powerful opinions are not the only ones that shape our reality. It allows us to hold the pain within the context of enduring love and meaning, rather than being consumed by it.

Dormancy, Reawakening, and the "Lip of Truth"

Crucially, Tanya emphasizes that for the benoni, the "evil nature" is not "entirely abolished"; it is "similar to a sleeping man, who can awaken from his sleep." This insight is profoundly liberating for those navigating grief. It teaches us that the intense sorrow, the moments of profound longing, the unexpected waves of sadness—these do not signify a failure in our healing process. They are not setbacks. Instead, they are the natural reawakening of a dormant aspect of our experience. Just as the benoni's love for G-d can manifest intensely during prayer but then "pass and disappear" only to be reawakened, so too can our moments of peace and connection in grief be temporary, followed by a reawakening of pain.

This understanding allows us to approach these reawakenings with compassion, rather than self-judgment. When grief resurfaces, it is an invitation to re-engage with the "arbitrator," to once again allow the divine soul to illuminate our path, to choose how we respond to this reawakened feeling. Each time we do this, even if the peace is fleeting, it is "regarded as a truly perfect service in terms of their [our] truth," because our divine soul "has the power to reawaken this kind of love constantly." These small, consistent acts of re-centering, of returning to love and meaning, are our "lip of truth established forever." They are the authentic expression of our unique journey, a continuous affirmation of our capacity to hold both sorrow and enduring love.

Jacob's "Middle Bolt" of Truth

Finally, the text connects this ongoing process to "truth," the attribute of Jacob, who is called the "middle bolt which secures [everything] from end to end." In our grief, this "middle bolt" represents the central, unwavering truth of our connection to the beloved, a connection that transcends physical presence and spans all gradations of time and emotion. It is the truth that, even amidst the internal dialogue of conflicting feelings, there remains an enduring bond, a legacy of love, a core meaning that cannot be undone.

To hold this kavvanah is to approach our grief with radical acceptance: to acknowledge the cacophony of internal voices without judgment, to trust in our inherent capacity for resilience and discernment, to understand that reawakened pain is a natural part of the journey, and to continuously seek the "middle bolt" of truth that anchors our love and remembrance across all experiences. It is to find hope not in the denial of pain, but in the enduring power of our deepest self to continually choose light, love, and meaning, even in the shadow of loss. This choice, this reawakening, is our legacy.

Practice

Our practice today invites you to engage with the inner dialogue of grief, to acknowledge its complexities, and to seek the "middle bolt of truth" that anchors your enduring connection. This is an invitation to gentle introspection, a spacious exploration of your internal landscape, rather than a task to be completed.

Preparing the Space

Find a quiet, comfortable place where you can sit undisturbed for a few minutes. You might choose to dim the lights, perhaps light a candle as a symbol of the "glow radiated by the Divine light" that helps illuminate our path. Close your eyes gently, or soften your gaze. Take a few deep, slow breaths, allowing your body to settle and your mind to quiet. With each exhale, release any tension you may be holding. With each inhale, draw in a sense of peaceful presence.

Acknowledging the Inner Dialogue

As you settle, bring to mind the person or aspect of life you are remembering, the source of your grief. Allow their presence, or the feeling of their absence, to gently fill your awareness. Notice the feelings that arise within you. There is no need to judge them, just to observe.

The First Judge: The Voice of the Animal Soul in Grief

Now, gently invite the "first judge" – the voice of the animal soul – to speak. In the context of grief, this might manifest as:

• Longing: A deep ache for what was, a yearning for their presence, their touch, their voice.
• Sorrow: A profound sadness, perhaps tears, a heavy heart.
• Anger: Frustration at the unfairness of the loss, anger at circumstances, at others, or even, perhaps, at the person who is gone.
• Regret: Thoughts of what could have been, what you wish you had said or done differently.
• Despair/Withdrawal: A feeling of hopelessness, a desire to retreat from the world, a sense that joy is impossible.
• Resistance: An unwillingness to accept the new reality, a clinging to the past.

Allow these feelings, these "opinions" of the first judge, to arise. Give them space. Notice where you feel them in your body. Perhaps you feel a tightness in your chest, a knot in your stomach, a pressure behind your eyes. Acknowledge these sensations without judgment. This voice is part of your truth, a natural response to profound loss. It is not "wrong" or something to be suppressed. Simply observe it, as you would a magistrate giving their opinion. You might even silently say to this feeling, "I see you. I hear your truth." Stay with this for a few moments, allowing yourself to fully register its presence. There is no need to try and change it, only to acknowledge.

The Second Judge: The Voice of the Divine Soul in Grief

Now, gently shift your awareness to invite the "second judge" – the voice of the divine soul – to emerge. In the context of grief, this might manifest as:

• Enduring Love: A deep, unshakeable feeling of love for the person you remember, a love that transcends their physical absence.
• Gratitude: A profound thankfulness for the time you had, for the memories created, for the gifts they brought into your life.
• Connection: A sense of spiritual presence, a feeling of their enduring spirit, a connection to something larger than yourself.
• Resilience: A quiet strength, an inner knowing that you possess the capacity to navigate this path, however difficult.
• Meaning/Purpose: A desire to honor their legacy, to live a life that reflects their values, to find new meaning in your own journey.
• Hope: A subtle glimmer of possibility, a sense that even amidst sorrow, life continues to unfold, bringing moments of light.

Allow these feelings, these "opinions" of the second judge, to arise. Notice where you feel them in your body. Perhaps you feel a warmth in your heart, a lightness in your chest, a gentle expansion. Acknowledge these sensations without judgment. This voice, too, is part of your truth, an inherent capacity for love and meaning that resides within you. You might silently say, "I see you. I hear your truth." Allow yourself to fully register its presence. These two judges, with their distinct voices, represent the rich, often contradictory, tapestry of your grieving heart.

Engaging the Arbitrator: Inviting Divine Aid

Now, consider the space between these two judges. This is the realm of the "arbitrator"—that inner wisdom, that subtle "glow radiated by the Divine light" that helps you discern, to make choices about how you will hold and integrate these conflicting truths. This is not about forcing one judge to silence the other, but about allowing a deeper wisdom to guide your response.

Ask yourself, not with your mind, but with your heart:

• "How can I hold both these truths – the sorrow and the love, the longing and the gratitude – without letting one dominate the entire 'city' of my being?"
• "What small act of intention can I offer right now that honors both the pain and the enduring connection?"
• "Where can I feel the subtle 'aid' within me, guiding me towards a path of gentle integration, rather than absolute control by either extreme?"

Imagine this divine aid as a soft, warm light expanding from your center, gently illuminating both the voice of sorrow and the voice of love. It doesn't erase either, but it offers perspective. It helps you remember that the sorrow is real, but so is the love. The longing is true, but so is the enduring connection. The "mastery" here is not about eliminating the sadness, but about preventing it from becoming the only story, about allowing the divine soul's capacity for love and meaning to provide context and direction.

Reflecting on Dormancy and Reawakening

Consider the Tanya's image of the "sleeping man, who can awaken from his sleep." This reminds us that grief is not abolished; it becomes dormant, and then, often unexpectedly, it can reawaken. This is a normal and natural part of the journey.

• If your grief feels dormant right now, acknowledge the peace you feel, knowing that if it awakens again, it is simply an invitation to re-engage with your inner arbitrator.
• If your grief feels freshly awakened, acknowledge its presence without self-judgment. This reawakening is not a sign of failure, but a natural pulse of your heart's continuing relationship with loss. It is another opportunity to practice allowing the divine aid to illuminate your path, to choose how to respond to this reawakened feeling with compassion and wisdom. Each reawakening, and each gentle re-engagement with your inner arbitrator, is a step on your unique "lip of truth."

Seeking the Middle Bolt of Truth

Finally, bring your awareness to the "middle bolt" of truth, the attribute of Jacob, which connects everything from end to end. This "middle bolt" is the unchanging essence of your connection to the person you remember, the core truth that anchors your love and their legacy. It is the understanding that even when the "judges" within you are in active dialogue, there is an underlying, unifying truth that holds it all together.

• What is the enduring truth of your connection to this person?
• What is the central truth of their legacy that resonates most deeply within you?
• How does that truth connect your past memories with your present experience and your future intentions?

Breathe into this "middle bolt"—a sense of unwavering love, an enduring presence, a deep meaning that spans all experiences. Allow it to be a gentle anchor amidst the dynamic interplay of your inner world.

Concluding the Practice

As you prepare to conclude this practice, take one more deep breath. Offer yourself a moment of gratitude for showing up to this sacred work, for listening to your inner landscape with such care. Gently bring your awareness back to your body, to the room around you. When you are ready, slowly open your eyes. Carry this awareness of your inner judges, the divine aid, and the middle bolt of truth into your day, knowing that you are always in process, always capable of choosing love and meaning.

Community

Navigating the landscape of grief can often feel like a deeply solitary journey, yet the wisdom of Tanya reminds us that even our most profound internal struggles are part of a larger human experience. The concept of the "benoni," engaged in an ongoing dialogue between conflicting impulses, suggests a universal truth about the human condition—a truth that, when shared, can forge powerful bonds of community and support. How we engage with others, how we ask for and offer support, can become a profound extension of our inner ritual, transforming solitary struggle into shared strength.

Sharing the "Benoni" Truth: Authenticity in Grief

One of the most potent ways to engage community in this process is by sharing the "benoni" truth of your grief—that it is complex, non-linear, and often contradictory. There can be immense pressure, both internal and external, to present a "resolved" or "healed" front, to act like a tzaddik whose "evil nature" (in this context, the raw pain) has been abolished. But Tanya tells us that for most of us, this is not the reality. Our grief, like the "evil nature" of the benoni, may become dormant, but it can and will reawaken.

• Offer choice: Instead of saying "I'm fine" when you're not, consider offering a more nuanced truth: "Today is a day where the longing feels strong, but I'm also finding moments of gratitude." Or, "I thought I was doing well, but a wave of sadness just washed over me, and that's okay." This authenticity gives others permission to be real in their own experiences and validates the fluctuating nature of grief.
• Ask for specific support: Instead of a general "How can I help?", sometimes a griefer needs specific support. When you are ready, articulate what you need, even if it's about acknowledging your internal contradictions. "I need someone to listen to me talk about them for a while, even the hard memories, without trying to cheer me up." Or, "Can we just sit quietly together? Sometimes the silence with a trusted friend helps me arbitrate these feelings." This empowers your community to respond meaningfully to your authentic state.

Being an Arbitrator for Others: Offering Presence and Discernment

Just as the Holy One, blessed is He, serves as the "arbitrator" for the benoni, coming to the aid of the good nature, we too can serve as "divine aid" for those in our community who are grieving. This doesn't mean offering solutions or trying to "fix" their pain. Rather, it means holding space for their internal dialogue, validating both their sorrow and their budding hope, and offering a steady, non-judgmental presence.

• Listen without judgment: When someone shares their conflicting emotions, resist the urge to offer platitudes or dismiss their pain. Listen deeply to both "judges" speaking within them—the anger and the love, the despair and the resilience. Your presence, your willingness to simply hear, can be the "glow radiated by the Divine light" that helps them feel seen and held.
• Affirm their "lip of truth": Remember that for the benoni, even fleeting moments of love or peace are "true service." When a grieving friend shares a small moment of joy or a glimmer of hope, affirm it without diminishing their underlying pain. "It sounds like you're really holding onto that beautiful memory, even amidst the sorrow. That's a powerful act of love." This acknowledges their capacity for reawakening meaning, even if it passes.
• Offer practical, gentle support: Sometimes "divine aid" is a meal, a run to the store, or simply a text message that says, "Thinking of you today, no need to respond." These small acts demonstrate care and help ease the burdens that can amplify the "evil nature's" pull towards isolation.

Creating a "Middle Bolt" Community: Collective Remembrance and Legacy

The "middle bolt" of truth, the attribute of Jacob, "secures everything from end to end." In community, this can manifest as shared rituals and collective acts of remembrance that connect disparate experiences and hold the enduring truth of a loved one's life.

• Shared Storytelling: Gather with others who knew the deceased and share stories—not just the happy ones, but the complex, funny, challenging, and poignant ones. This collective act of remembrance acknowledges the full person, creating a more complete "middle bolt" of their legacy that connects different perspectives. Each story, each memory, is a thread contributing to this unifying truth.
• Communal Acts of Legacy: Consider engaging in a project or act of tzedakah (righteous giving) in the deceased's honor. This could be planting a tree, volunteering for a cause they cared about, or supporting a scholarship fund. These collective actions embody the "divine soul's" desire for purpose and connection, transforming grief into tangible legacy. They are a communal "reawakening" of love and meaning, ensuring that the "lip of truth" of their life is established forever, not just for a moment.
• Honoring Individual Timelines: Within a community of grievers, it's vital to respect that each person's "benoni" journey is unique. Someone's "evil nature" (pain) might be deeply awake, while another's is dormant. A community that understands and honors this diverse landscape of grief creates a truly inclusive and supportive space, where all "gradations and degrees" of truth are held with reverence.

By consciously engaging with our community through the lens of the benoni and the "middle bolt" of truth, we transform the solitary journey of grief into a shared tapestry of remembrance, resilience, and enduring connection. We offer and receive the "divine aid" that helps us all navigate the complex internal dialogue, ensuring that love and meaning continually reawaken, securing the legacy of those we remember from end to end.

Takeaway

As we conclude this time together, carry with you the gentle wisdom of the benoni: that your journey through grief is a dynamic, living process, an ongoing internal dialogue where conflicting emotions and impulses will arise. This is not a flaw, but a fundamental aspect of being human, a testament to the depth of your love and the richness of your inner world.

Remember that the pain of loss may become dormant, but it can always reawaken, and this reawakening is not a setback, but an invitation to re-engage with your deepest wisdom. You possess an inherent "divine aid" that can help you discern, to choose how to respond to these moments with compassion, allowing love and meaning to continually shine forth.

Embrace the fullness of your experience, trusting that even fleeting moments of connection, gratitude, or peace are valid and profoundly true for you—your "lip of truth" established forever. And know that in sharing your authentic journey with others, and in offering your gentle presence to them, you become part of a larger "middle bolt" of truth, securing the enduring legacy of love and connection across all dimensions of time and experience. May you walk this path with courage, spaciousness, and an unwavering sense of your own profound capacity for both remembrance and renewal.