New Book Provides a Sweeping Overview of the Rebbe’s Torah Teachings

On the Absurdity of Engaging the Essence

In 2009, Elliot Wolfson published his commentary on the Rebbe’s thought, Open Secret. Now, in 2024, Yosef Bronstein has published Engaging the Essence: the Torah Philosophy of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. It seems a consensus is forming: The only approach to the Rebbe’s thought is through a juxtaposition of opposites, an utter paradox. Can a secret be open and remain a secret? Can the essence, which stands beyond all grasp, ever be engaged?

In Chabad thought, the answer is no. Just as the unknowable cannot be known, so the Essence cannot be engaged.

“Imagine,” wrote the founder of Chabad, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, “someone would say, ‘That idea is so deep, I can’t touch it with my hands.’ We would laugh at the absurdity.”

You don’t touch ideas with your hands. “Deep” is only metaphorical. The same, writes R. Schneur Zalman, can be said of someone who says that G‑d is too profound to be understood. Just as ideas are not pebbles at the bottom of a pond to grasp with your hands, so G‑d is not an idea to grasp with your mind. He is Essence. The only true essence.

That is what is meant by “essence”: The thing itself. That which cannot be grasped through the disclosure of information, through investigation and analysis, or even the keenest insight. Not because it is too deep. Because it is not an idea. It is.

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And the only thing that just is, not becoming, not contingent on anything for its being, is G‑d.

Yet, for this very reason, the title of Bronstein’s work, Engaging the Essence, is absolutely correct.

The Motif

I would go so far as to say that this title provides a profound encapsulation of the “Torah philosophy of the Lubavitcher Rebbe”—indeed, of all chassidic thought back to the Baal Shem Tov: In utter cognizance of the paradox of the matter, nevertheless, Torah is the engagement of the essence, the very essence of G‑d.

Bronstein knows this, and the theme figures strongly throughout his book, pointing out how behind diverse ideas and approaches of the Rebbe you can feel the same underlying motif, the same essence: this paradox that in everything a Jew does in this world, whether it be studying the Torah, eating kosher food, resting on Shabbat, healing the sick, making a living, or just trusting in G‑d that everything will turn out good—it’s all about engaging that which is essentially non-engageable, knowing that which cannot be known, grasping in a finite fist an infinite G‑d.

Engaging the Essence is an important work, one that may become a landmark in Jewish scholarship.

Elliot Wolfson showed us the Rebbe through his prism of mysticism and messianism. Telushkin’s prism was biography. Wexler gave us a sociological perspective and Steinsaltz a book of memoirs. This is the first attempt towards a comprehensive study of the worldview of the Rebbe, largely considered the most outstanding Jewish leader of the 20th century, whose ideas, advice, and calls to action fanned the post-Holocaust ashes of European Jewry into a renaissance of Jewish practice and revived a people spread over the entire globe—something for which you will be hard put to find a precedent, even over a history as vast as that of the Jewish people.

The Rebbe’s contribution as an activist is well known, especially with the broad popularity of Telushkin’s highly engaging Rebbe. The philosophy behind that activism, however, remains mostly under the covers, out of reach, and often misunderstood or even distorted. Bronstein lifts the hood off the engine, revealing a depth of ideology loaded with the weight of thousands of years of Jewish scholarship as perceived by an astonishingly fluent and brilliant mind, and all tied together by a single thread.

The Wholesaler

In the Rebbe’s talks and writings, one idea becomes an entire world. Bronstein acknowledges this repeatedly. He lets us down, unfortunately, with his hesitancy to plunge deeper and take the engine apart. The few incisions he makes border on the cardinal sin of literary scholarship—to murder the subject by dissection.

Yet it may be unfair to criticize him for this. An artist, to paint a portrait of a subject, must ask himself “what is it like to be this person?” A scholar who wants to understand the “Torah philosophy of the Rebbe” must learn to think like the Rebbe.

To do that, at the very least, you would have to be well-versed in the gamut of Talmud, halachah, philosophy, kabbalah, and Chabad texts. That last item alone comprises a sizable library. With the Rebbe, a familiarity with 20th-century philosophy, physics, medicine, military strategy, and Middle Eastern and American socio-politics would certainly be helpful.

The only academic I know of who comes close to those qualifications is Elliot Wolfson. But how many of us understand Wolfson? You have to learn his exclusive lexicon to know what he’s saying. And even then, to paraphrase a Talmudic idiom of which I’m sure he’s quite aware, for every portion he reveals, he hides two more.

What’s most vital about Bronstein’s work is that he’s gone ahead and done what Wolfson or any other scholar would rebuff as foolish. He’s thrown down the gauntlet, opening the door for others to rush in. The outline is there, as is the thesis. Now, Bronstein’s book beckons, you try.

And then, as the Talmud puts it, “We all depend on the wholesaler of raw goods.” Meaning it’s nice to have those thinkers who poke into every written word, taking them apart and asking, “What’s behind this? What did he truly mean?” And it’s also nice to have those creative geniuses who uncover the common roots and threads, connecting all the loose pieces. But someone has to just deliver the goods in the raw. Give us the leads, anthologize key excerpts. Provide a condensed bibliography, plus an outline. These are access points that can empower readers to do the hard work of studying and thinking, becoming students of the Rebbe themselves.

The successful reader of Yosef Bronstein’s book will be one who is ready to commit to some serious thinking and studying of their own. If you are ready to do that, Engaging the Essence will prove a valuable companion and guide.

A Thorough Outline

Bronstein’s outline is quite thorough, filling a more-than-700-page tome. It includes the most relevant biographical information, leaving room for skepticism on some details. Although somewhat lacking in depth, there’s a basic rundown of the contents of Tanya, the fundamental work of Chabad. At least some mention of the teachings of the Baal Shem Tov and the Magid of Mezritch, the founding fathers of the chassidic movement, would seem crucial at the outset of such a study. Perhaps it’s assumed that the reader already has some familiarity.

A review of the six generations of Chabad literature, between the Tanya and the Rebbe, is unfortunately lacking, as is a review of the major classic texts on which Chabad thought is structured, such as Lurianic Kabbalah, Maharal, and Shnei Luchot Habrit of Isaiah Horowitz, but then we’re already into Encyclopedia-Land. You get the idea—it really is immensely challenging to adequately introduce, contextualize, and present an anthological overview of the Rebbe’s Torah philosophy in its full scope.

Nevertheless, Bronstein plunges forward, describing the “coronation speech” of December 1950 that kicked off an entirely new era of Jewish activism. He then turns to the key concept of “a dwelling in the lower world,” which features at the core of almost everything the Rebbe taught.

At this point, I have to disclose a tinge of frustration. “Reb Yosef,” I found myself muttering, “Are you seriously going to tackle this one without picking up the seminal works of Rabbi Shalom Dovber Schneersohn, the fifth rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch, on the topic? These works, with their rich and lengthy conceptual explorations are central to the curriculum of every student of a Chabad yeshiva. The breadth and depth of that background amplified and illuminated the words that rang in the ears of the listeners as they heard the Rebbe deliver his first formal Chabad discourse on that December day. How did you jump from the year 1800 to 1950 as though nobody conceived a single idea in between?”

In his treatment of this central topic, Bronstein forces a yet greater leap of epochs—this time from the 12th century. Maimonides famously wrote that the ultimate reward will be after the resurrection of the dead, when the souls will once again leave their bodies and experience eternal bliss in non-physical form. But the Rebbe (following Tanya) believed that the ultimate purpose of creation was to be found in this physical world. Quite radical, it would seem.

But no, because Judaism neither began nor ended with Maimonides. In fact, this was likely the most controversial statement he made. History records that when the esteemed, elderly Rabbi Shimshon of Paris was read Maimonides’ Mishnah Torah, he was quite impressed. Until they got to those words about the end of days. Then, in consternation, he declared, “No, this is not the tradition. This author has drunk from foreign wells.”

Nachmanides, the principal defender of Maimonides before his many detractors, had to concede to them on this issue. Yes, bodies are painful. Who needs them? Bliss is so much more blissful without them. Yet the tradition is that the ultimate reward of the souls is within physical bodies.

The puzzle endured for centuries. Until Rabbi Schneur Zalman, founder of Chabad, explained that the Midrash had already answered the question. The only meaning and purpose of even the loftiest spiritual realms is G‑d’s desire to be found in a physical world. This earthly realm, the Midrash insists, is His pleasure garden.

And why? This is what Chabad explains, especially in the works of Rabbi Shalom Dov Ber: Because only down here, where the lights have been turned off, can you engage the Essence.

And similarly, only having immersed in R. Shalom Dov Ber’s lengthy discussion and development of this idea, can you appreciate why it must be so.

As far as Nachmanides’ contribution to the discussion, Bronstein does mention it eventually, alongside Nachmanides’ view that the body can be purified through the work of the soul. But what should feature as a linchpin argument is relegated to an afterthought in a later chapter on a related topic. The book, in general, would benefit from better structuring and development of ideas.

But then, we are dealing with a corpus in which each idea is fundamentally, essentially, bound up with all its other layers and facets. Structure is always a challenge; here it is monstrous. Bronstein’s pragmatism in rising to this challenge is commendable: the bookends of this work are chronological, giving a very general sense of the arc of the Rebbe's intellectual biography from its roots in earlier Chabad thought to its climactic push for messianic revitalization. But the bulk of the book's many chapters are grouped thematically.

Profound and Practical

The opening chapters form a stage upon which Bronstein builds the main structure of his work. No less than six chapters are devoted to different dimensions and applications of “the theology of Dira BaTahtonim.” And five more expand on how that theology plays out in new/old approaches to living a “Godly life.” The more profound the Rebbe’s Torah philosophy becomes, the more eminently practical.

In a chapter on trust in G‑d, for example, Bronstein vividly demonstrates how the Rebbe took a concept that some dismissed as a kind of simplistic superstition and developed it into an empowering philosophy of life in realtime. When the Rebbe advised people that their trust in G‑d could move mountains (and it worked), he was once again “engaging the essence.” He took the simple faith of their ancestors and the advice of their sages, and bared its lifeblood, its inner soul that rests in the teachings of his forebears, so that the mind could now cognate that which the heart always knew to be true.

A chapter on the Rebbe’s Talmudic scholarship is a welcome retort to those who assume that if the Rebbe was so busy with outreach, how could he have had a chance to learn Talmud? Bronstein reports, quite accurately, that most of the Rebbe’s talks actually centered on Talmudic matters. And again, we find the underlying motif of the Rebbe’s approach in the world of Talmud: The search for the essence of things, at every level, in every diverse way. Bronstein takes us step-by-step through a wonderful example of this approach, providing useful context and commentary that a typical student would likely miss when studying the original text.

This chapter would have been nicely complemented by similar chapters on the Rebbe’s approach to the Rambam’s halachic code and Rashi’s commentary to the Torah.

Later in the book we find chapters on the Rebbe’s approach to various “demographics” and to “contemporary issues.” Here we find one of this book’s finest set pieces, a discussion of how the Rebbe married the unlikely couple of universalism and particularism, without letting go of either end of the stick. This is a valuable read, including for many of the Rebbe’s own chassidim.

Straddling Worlds

This is Judaism’s elephant in the room: Tribalism should have died with the rise of the first empires. First Christianity, then Islam universalized belief systems. The American and French revolutions introduced brotherhood for all humankind, regardless of beliefs. And yet, Jews stubbornly cling to their particularness. Indeed, as Bronstein points out from the top, pull this one idea out and the whole bundle unravels.

And yet, the Rebbe insisted on the uniqueness of the Jew, all the while speaking of a universal vision for every denizen of the planet. Somehow, his vision straddled two worlds, two seemingly competing paradigms.

It’s a paradox that vexes Wolfson without respite. Every other paradox, he was able to embrace, but this, he declares unresolved and beyond rational comprehension. “The attempt to synchronize Maimonidean universalism and mystical individualism,” he writes near the conclusion of Open Secret, “may be considered typical of the hybridity that shaped the seventh Rebbe's orientation throughout his life… The coalescence of these disparate intellectual currents produced a curious, and not altogether coherent, apocalyptic disbanding of the dyadic clash between Jew and non-Jew, but in such a way that the one remains other to the other, and thereby indifferently the same.”

Yet from Bronstein’s treatment of the subject, within his framework of information and essence, the puzzle pieces slide into place. The essence of all things, it is almost a tautology to say, is universally everywhere, in all things. If the messianic era is to be about revealing the essence, how could anyone or anything be left out?

A revealing quotation cited by Bronstein on this: Addressing those who were rubbed the wrong way by his campaign to promulgate the Noahide laws amongst non-Jews, the Rebbe noted that…

This...flows from a fundamental misunderstanding regarding the very belief in the coming of Mashiach. It seems that the Jew who asked this question thinks that the coming of Mashiach means that Mashiach will take him out of exile and then he can live a good and peaceful life...

The truth is, however, that not only will the coming of Mashiach redeem the Jewish people, but the entire world will experience redemption - the existence of the entire world will be "perfect[ed] ... under the sovereignty of the Almighty."

To the Orthodox Jew who believes Moshiach comes for Jews alone, the Rebbe replied that, no, every human being must have his or her personal spiritual and physical liberation. If any corner of the world is left without divine light, that is hard evidence that it’s not the true divine light shining. If it’s infinite, if it’s essence, it’s everywhere.

Yet to the Jew who asks, “So, in the end of days, will there be any distinction between Jew and gentile?” the Rebbe responds, “Absolutely.”

Why? Because someone has to carry this divine light to the world. Someone must be the bearer of this essence. For reasons He has not revealed to us, G‑d chose that it be a particular people and not every one of us. And for this people to carry out their mission, it’s not enough that they know their Creator through reason or empiricism. They must know G‑d innately, from their essence. And that is a Jew: a bearer of the essence-light that reveals the essence of every person and every thing.

At the foundation of the Noahide Laws, Bronstein reports, the Rebbe astutely places a dictum from Isaiah, that “the world was not created for nothing; it was formed to be settled.” (Isaiah 45:18) Again, here, the Rebbe illuminates the inner soul of the verse—and of these laws humankind: The world was created to be settled peacefully and meaningfully by human beings created in the divine image. When they do so, the One in whose image they are created also dwells peacefully in this world, as all that is in heaven reflects that which is upon the earth.

More on the Menu

I was eager to read the chapter on “The Rise of Women in the Final Generations.” I can’t think of a greater challenge to halachic Judaism in the modern era than the radical shift in women’s social roles and the Rebbe’s position is intriguing, yet somewhat elusive. What did he really want done? What changes did he want to see? Where are the boundaries?

The difficulty is that any attempt to apply the Rebbe’s statements to these pragmatic questions is futile without a grasp of the spirit behind those words. And that spirit is built almost entirely upon Lurianic Kabbalah, the maamarim on Solomon’s Song of Songs printed in Likutei Torah, and other crucial texts, such as those of the above-mentioned Rabbi Shalom Dov Ber from the fall of 5759 (1898).

Without a firm grounding in these earlier sources, Bronstein’s presentation struck me as superficial. Would one write a study of Marx without mentioning Hegel? Of Beethoven without Bach? Yes, we do get plenty of interesting information. But the texts he places before us are like pretty flowers snipped off from their roots, somewhat wilted and dry.

Another chapter deals admirably with one of Chassidism’s most central institutions, the leadership of the community by a superlatively spiritual individual, a tzaddik, who bridges heaven and earth. Yet another takes on the thorny and controversial topic of how Torah and science relate to one another. A third attempts to illuminate the complicated question of the Rebbe’s views on Israel. Each of those topics deserves an entire book to themselves. But then, this work is already more than daunting in its volume and density.

Nevertheless, Bronstein valiantly marches forward. And to the benefit of us all. It’s like finding a deer path in the forest—not a finished path, but at least we now know where to go, how to get there, and what to investigate along the way. That itself is eminently illuminating and instructive and we owe Bronstein for his intrepidity and for the grind.

A better description of this book is a sort of menu. Menus, as far as I know, don’t usually taste like the real thing. Neither can they be relied upon to describe the experience of consuming the fare they advertise. If something looks good, you still have to try it first hand. The same here: If something tickles your neshamah, or your curiosity, order the real thing and taste it yourself. Or find a local Chabadnik to study it with you—they’re usually more than eager.

The final chapters discuss the centrality of messianic hope and expectations and how this theme underpins all the Rebbe’s teachings, and drove the Chabad movement. (It still does.)

Bronstein fairly and objectively presents what the Rebbe actually said and how it was interpreted by diverging groups. I’m sure many readers will jump straight to these chapters, and I believe it will provide some clarity for them—as long as they don’t expect to find all the dust settled and all questions answered. For that, they will have to await Moshiach himself.

Engaging the Essence deserves your attention and a place on your bookshelf. Click here to order your copy