Using the Only Power We Have

“There must always be a beginning; otherwise, it is impossible to achieve Lishma [for Her sake]. That is, one must believe that in all the corporeal lusts, meaning eating, drinking, and the rest of the lusts, as well as in pleasures found in learning external teachings, control, vengeance, and so forth, as it is written in general, “Envy, lust, and honor take a person out of the world,” in those pleasures there is nothing more than a thin light, as The Zohar says.

Conversely, great lights are deposited in Torah and Mitzvot [commandments], unlike corporeal pleasures, in which only sparks of the light of Kedusha fell.

Hence, Klipot [shells/peels] give one an awakening to enter Kedusha because they want to be rewarded with great lights. This is called Lo Lishma [not for Her sake]. Afterward, from this Lo Lishma, he can be rewarded with Lishma.”

Rabash, Assorted Notes 119. From Lo Lishma to Lishma

We are born with only one real engine.

A single force drives every thought, every desire, every movement inside us: the desire to receive pleasure for ourselves.

No matter how noble we appear, how compassionate we sound, or how generous we try to be, beneath every calculation stands the same root: What will I gain from this?

This is not an accusation. It is not evil. It is not a flaw.

It is simply the material from which we were created.

The Creator formed us this way deliberately.

If we were born already loving as He loves, giving as He gives, existing beyond ourselves as He exists, then we would never truly know Him. We would never consciously attain Him. We would remain instinctive creatures, acting automatically without recognition, without awareness, without independent participation in creation.

So we were made opposite.

Entirely opposite.

And this opposition is the beginning of everything.

The human being does not naturally desire spirituality.

Even the so-called “point in the heart,” that strange inner longing that awakens a person toward something higher, does not initially seek bestowal, love, or selflessness.

It too is egoistic.

A person imagines spirituality as a greater pleasure. A more exalted fulfillment. A superior form of enjoyment.

Even the yearning toward the Creator initially comes in a “beastly” form: “I want Him because He will fulfill me more than this world can.”

And this is precisely how it must begin.

We should not pretend otherwise.

The path does not begin with purity. It begins with self-love.

This realization is shocking to the ego because we desperately want to believe we are already capable of loving others selflessly.

But if we examine ourselves honestly, we discover something painful: even our sacrifices are measured. Even our kindness is calculated. Even our love contains hidden demands.

We give in order to feel worthy. We help in order to feel important. We sacrifice in order to feel righteous. We love because of what returns to us emotionally.

Everything remains within the boundaries of self.

And yet — this very ego, this very selfish desire, this very hunger for fulfillment, is the only power we possess.

Without it we would not move even a millimeter.

So the wisdom of Kabbalah does not demand that we destroy the ego at the beginning of the path.

It teaches us something infinitely more subtle.

It teaches us how to use the ego.

How to harness its fire. How to ride its power. How to trick Pharaoh into carrying us out of Egypt.

This is the great secret of the spiritual group.

The group is not built from angels.

It is built from selfish people who want spirituality for themselves.

People full of envy. Full of ambition. Full of lust for meaning, revelation, greatness, eternity.

And precisely these qualities become the fuel of ascent.

Kabbalists explain this almost brutally honestly: we come to the friends in order to “buy” their yearning.

We want their inspiration. Their excitement. Their longing for the Creator.

Not altruistically. Egoistically.

“If he yearns and I yearn, then I will fly forward twice as much.”

This is the holy game.

Not hypocrisy. Not deception. But conscious spiritual engineering.

We artificially magnify the greatness of the goal before one another.

We speak about the greatness of the Creator. We show excitement. We demonstrate yearning. We elevate the importance of connection. We inspire each other deliberately.

And slowly the ego begins to burn for spirituality.

Not because it suddenly became holy, but because it was shown a greater fulfillment.

This is why the environment is everything.

Alone, a person has almost no chance.

Because spirituality does not shine directly into egoistic vessels.

Money shines directly. Honor shines directly. Physical pleasures shine directly.

The ego immediately understands them.

But spirituality appears opposite to our nature.

To the ego, true bestowal feels like darkness. Like emptiness. Like death.

To our original nature the true goal appears “repulsive.”

Not poetically. Literally.

The ego senses, subconsciously, that authentic spirituality threatens its entire existence.

And therefore no natural attraction exists toward it.

A person can work all his life for money. For status. For heavenly reward. For paradise. For recognition.

Because all of these still enter the ego directly.

But spirituality demands inversion.

Not fulfillment inside oneself, but existence outside oneself.

Not receiving, but becoming similar to the Creator.

And this the ego cannot tolerate.

So what do we do?

We use the only power we have.

We create an atmosphere where spirituality becomes important.

Not internally at first. Externally.

We speak about the greatness of the goal. We uplift each other. We awaken envy. We awaken ambition. We awaken longing.

We create a field where everyone infects everyone else with yearning.

This is why the friends need to give one another: a good mood, upliftment, enthusiasm, confidence, greatness.

Without this mutual ignition, nothing moves.

A person remains with a tiny spark and eventually falls asleep spiritually while imagining he is progressing.

The group exists to enlarge desire.

To multiply yearning.

To create pressure toward the Creator.

And yet the group itself cannot perform the actual transformation.

This is another painful revelation.

The friends can awaken longing. They can enlarge desire. They can elevate the greatness of the goal.

But they cannot give bestowal.

No human being can insert divine nature into another human being.

Only the Light can do this.

Only the Creator can perform the inversion.

As we progress and make 100% efforts in the group, the Light gradually implants something of its own nature into the vessel.

A miracle occurs.

The person begins not only wanting to enjoy spirituality, but wanting to resemble its source.

Not only wanting fulfillment, but wanting adhesion.

Not only wanting pleasure, but wanting to love.

And this transformation does not come through moral effort.

It comes from the influence of the Surrounding Light.

This is our salvation.

Because if spirituality depended on our own purity, nobody would ever enter it.

We begin selfishly. We advance selfishly. We even use the friends selfishly.

And yet, through the holy game, through connection, through mutual inspiration, through exertion against resistance, something higher slowly descends upon us.

The Creator clothes us in a second nature.

A nature that did not previously exist within us.

The “royal clothing” of love and bestowal.

But before this happens, the ego fights desperately.

Until the final moments it believes spirituality will somehow still belong to it.

That beyond worldly pleasures there exists an even greater egoistic fulfillment waiting.

And only at the threshold does Pharaoh finally understand:

he has been pushing the person toward his own destruction.

This is the inner meaning of Exodus.

Pharaoh himself drives Israel out of Egypt.

The ego itself pushes us toward spirituality.

Its suffering. Its emptiness. Its hunger. Its endless dissatisfaction.

All of it gradually forces us toward another mode of existence.

Until finally a person reaches a state where spirituality becomes life itself.

Not an idea. Not philosophy. Not inspiration.

Life or death.

And then a true prayer is born.

Not words. Not rituals. But an inner scream:

“Take me. Change me. Do whatever is necessary. Only do not leave me imprisoned within myself.”

This is the moment a person places himself on the spiritual operating table.

And only then can the Creator perform the surgery.

Only then can the sea split.

Only then can the second nature be born.

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