The Piaseczna Rebbe Broke My Heart

The Piaseczna Rebbe broke my heart.

2019 was my gap year in Israel, where I spent hours a day in attempt to answer the one question of “what am i doing here?”

Chassidut seemed like the promise of answers to these questions, so reading the words of the Piacezne carried weight before I ever even opened his books.

But when I first read his writings on Parshat Chayei Sara, he stated an answer that was so shocking and familiar, it felt like ten more questions in one.

The Rebbe of the Warsaw ghetto, the Rebbe among the living dead; the voice of light in a symphony of darkness. The Rebbe we hope will give us an answer, a truth that triumphs over the questions of faith. Yet, in his commentary of Sara Imeinu dying out of pure shock upon the news of Avraham’s alleged sacrifice of Yitzchak—he says plain and simple: Hashem, sometimes, it is too much.

I have never felt more broken by words.

How can we possibly gather strength if the light we look upon accepts the pain we fear so deeply?

What life teaches us more than anything is that the people we love, most often break our heart. The Piaseczna Rebbe taught me that anything we love can break our heart. Hashem, time and even places. Each a finger on the pulse of love and pain.

The land of Israel breaks my heart sometimes.

It just feels too much, too many bodies under her soil and not enough above. Too many Shiva houses and not enough people coming home. Too many tears in shul and yet the love is not enough. Too many hours scrolling and not enough breaths. Too many “hasbara” videos and not enough truth (yet).

I’ve been recently looking through poems and posts and feelings that now have a year-old stain. I just keep hearing the words of the Piaseczna pounding in my brain.

Hashem, sometimes our “not enough” is “too much” and too much really is enough.

Maybe the Piaseczna teaches us strength in new, unexpected ways. That the wild paradox of “too much” and “not enough” remind us what we’re doing here. How much more we have to give, as heartbreak often teaches us. How much love we have to receive, as open hearts often remind us. Thank you Rabeinu, Aish Kodesh–for fueling the tattered heart and shaken soul of Am Yisrael. For giving space in faith for pain to exist. For loss to own its weight. And most importantly, for us to know how much love there is yet to gain.

Hashem–please hear the heartbroken, heart open cry of faith and love and pain and exhaustion.

Let this time, right now. Let this “too much” be enough.

Let our collective sigh be the breath that blows that final Shofar cry.