Lifting Our Eyes to the Horizon: A Kabbalistic Path to Personal and Collective Growth
I gave Grok the transcript of my latest YouTube video and asked it to turn it into an essay. Here's the result, after some light editing from me. Enjoy!
As the bonfires blaze and the air hums with celebration, we’re invited to pause and dive into the mystical heart of this day—Lag ba’Omer, the thirty-third day of the sacred countdown from Pesach to Shavuot.
Lag Ba’Omer marks the yahrzeit (day of passing) of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, the sage who gifted us the Zohar and the inner dimension of Torah—its secret soul. Without him, we’d only be skimming the surface of Torah’s wisdom, missing its hidden depths. On this day, we don’t just mourn his passing; we celebrate his light, which ignites our consciousness like the bonfires that dot the hills of Israel. It’s a prelude to Shavuot, a taste of Torah’s soul before we receive its full body at Sinai.
It's also the perfect moment to ask: What does it mean to expand our consciousness? How do we broaden our minds, widen our vision, and grow spiritually? To answer, we’ll journey through a four-stage model of growth rooted in Kabbalah, drawing from the Arizal and a fresh perspective from my teacher, Rabbi Ginsburgh. Along the way, I’ll share a personal story that changed my life—and might just spark something in yours.
The Four Stages of Growth: A Kabbalistic Roadmap
The counting of the Omer is a 49-day trek from the liberation of Pesach to the revelation of Shavuot, a journey from spiritual infancy to maturity. The Arizal—the 16th-century Kabbalist whose teachings reshaped Jewish mysticism—offers us a four-stage model to understand this process. It’s a cycle of growth that applies not just to the Omer but to every aspect of our lives—personal, spiritual, and collective.
But unlike a simple linear progression, the process unfolds in four stages:
Smallness A (Katnut Aleph)
Greatness A (Gadlut Aleph)
Smallness B (Katnut Bet)
Greatness B (Gadlut Bet)
At first glance, the idea of having to return to smallness after reaching greatness feels regressive. But this is precisely the power of his teaching: growth is not a straight line
Picture two mountains separated by a valley. You start at the base of the first (Smallness A), climb to its peak (Greatness A), only to realize it was the foothill of a much taller mountain. To reach that next summit, you must first descend into the valley that separates them, a valley of unknowing (Smallness B). Only then can you ascend the second, higher peak (Greatness B). Each stage is a shift in consciousness, a step toward a wider, deeper perspective.
Let’s break it down with a universal example: the journey from conception to childhood.
Smallness A: The fertilized egg, a tiny seed of potential. It’s the starting point, full of faith and possibility but limited in scope.
Greatness A: The fully developed fetus, ready for birth after nine months of growth. It’s a leap forward, a state of theoretical mastery.
Smallness B: The newborn, crying and helpless, entering the world as a toddler. Despite the triumph of birth, it’s a dip—a return to vulnerability.
Greatness B: The weaned child, chewing solid food, gaining independence. It’s a practical, lived mastery, built on experience.
Obviously, this cycle doesn’t end at childhood—it spirals through life. From bar mitzvah to marriage, from parenthood to grandparenthood, we climb, dip, and climb again.
Think of transitioning from grade school to high school: as a senior, you’re king of the hill (Greatness A), but as a freshman in the next school, you’re back to Smallness B, navigating a new world with the wisdom of your past triumphs. The Arizal’s genius lies in showing us that growth isn’t linear. After every peak comes a valley, not as a setback but as a bridge to a higher summit.
What makes Smallness B unique? It’s not a return to the cluelessness of Smallness A. You carry the residue of Greatness A—your theoretical knowledge, your hard-won insights. In the valley, you muster confidence, not just faith, to climb the second mountain. This dip is where growth gets real, where theory meets practice, where the rubber hits the road.
Applying the Model: From Theory to Practice
Let’s flesh this out with a relatable scenario: learning a new skill, like driving. In Smallness A, you’re a beginner, gripping the wheel with white knuckles, fueled by faith that you can master this. You don’t know what you don’t know, but you dive in. In Greatness A, you’ve studied the manual, aced the written test, and can recite the rules of the road. It’s theoretical greatness—you’re a master on paper. Then comes Smallness B: your first time behind the wheel on a busy street. The theory crumbles as cars honk and your instructor yells. You’re disoriented, realizing your book knowledge isn’t enough. But you’re not starting from scratch—you have the rules in your head, giving you confidence to push through. Finally, in Greatness B, you’re driving smoothly, navigating rush hour with ease. You’ve internalized the skill, not just studied it. This is lived wisdom, the school of life.
Spiritually, the same applies. In Smallness A, you’re drawn to God with a spark of faith, sensing there’s more to life than the material. In Greatness A, you study Torah, learn about the soul, and grasp spiritual concepts intellectually. Smallness B hits when life tests you—a loss, a doubt, a crisis. Your book learning feels inadequate, but it’s there, steadying you as you build confidence through real-world trials. Greatness B is when you live your faith, seeing God in the messiness of life, your soul shining through every challenge.
A New Dimension: The Four Stages and Time
Now, let’s take this model to a mind-bending new level, courtesy of a teaching from my rabbi, Rabbi Yitzchak Ginsburgh, shared at the Seudat Mashiach, the festive meal on the last day of Pesach.
He posed a question: How do the four stages align with the dimension of time? Typically, we think of time as past, present, and future—a neat trilogy. But Rabbi Ginsburgh pointed to a Jewish prayer that offers a four-part model: Hashem Melech, Hashem Malach, Hashem Yimloch L’olam Va’ed—“God is king, God was king, God will be king, forever and ever.” Sound familiar? From this phrase we get a four-stage perception of time: Present, past, future, eternity.
Let’s map this onto the Arizal’s stages.
Smallness A: The Present. When you’re in a state of narrow-mindedness, you’re locked in the now. Like a baby or an animal, you’re focused on surviving today, with little sense of history or destiny. Modernity often traps us here, with its obsession with the latest gadget, the newest trend. It’s the “live for the moment” mantra, romantic but childish. Even spiritual teachings like The Power of Now can overemphasize the present, risking a limited horizon. Smallness A is a great starting point, not a destination.
Greatness A: The Past. The first expansion of consciousness comes from looking backward. You realize you weren’t born yesterday. Your family, your nation, your tradition—they carry centuries of wisdom. Studying history, talking to your grandparents, or diving into Torah connects you to this inherited greatness. It’s like discovering a library you didn’t know you owned. Suddenly, your perspective widens, grounded in the lessons of those who came before.
Smallness B: The Future. Turning your gaze to the future is disorienting. The past is known; the future is a blank canvas. This is the valley, where even experts feel small. You might know Torah backward and forward, but envisioning tomorrow—building a family, a career, a better world—requires courage and creativity. It’s the difference between a manager, who maintains the status quo, and an entrepreneur, who dreams of what’s not yet here. Smallness B is humbling, but it’s where innovation begins.
Greatness B: Eternity. The second greatness transcends time. It’s about connecting to timeless values—truth, prophecy, Godliness—and manifesting them in your life. Imagine climbing a ladder: your legs push against the past, propelling you upward, while your arms pull the future toward you, guided by an eternal vision. This is the peak where you align your actions with something bigger than yourself, something that echoes beyond the clock.
From Learner to Teacher: A Demonstration of the Model
This model can be demonstrated in the transition from learner to teacher, a universal arc that mirrors the stages of time. Picture a beginner in yeshiva, encountering their first Chassidic idea. This is a Torah spark that lights up their world. But for now, they’re only in the moment, unaware of context. This is their Smallness A, where they are absorbed in the present, in a single, dazzling teaching.
With time they dive deeper, opening books, tracing the idea’s roots. They study the Rebbe’s other teachings, explore previous generations, and memorize texts, becoming an expert in the tradition’s archive. They repeat lessons to internalize them, grounded in history’s wisdom. They’ve reached Greatness A, becoming masters of the past.
Smallness B, being future-focused, arrives as they prepare to teach. Planning a class, they envision their future students, selecting one idea to explain clearly. It’s humbling—they’re advanced, yet must enter the beginner’s mindset, focusing narrowly to connect. This future-oriented stage is a dip, but their past mastery gives them confidence.
Greatness B comes in the form of the moment of teaching. Standing before the class, they’re fully present in the new, yet connected to something timeless—God, truth, the Torah’s soul. If they’re authentic, new insights emerge as they speak, a gift of divine inspiration. Time slips away; they’re in a flow state, channeling eternal wisdom. Every teacher knows this magic, where preparation meets devotion, and the room hums with light.
A Personal Vision: From Smallness to Greatness
Let me share a story that brought this model to life for me. Growing up secular, I was firmly in Smallness A—absorbed in the present, dismissive of tradition, a bit ruthless in my disconnection from my Jewish roots. Spirituality? Not my thing. But in my early twenties, I began to open up, first to spirituality, then to Judaism. I read books, soaked up ideas, and started to glimpse the past—Greatness A. Yet I knew Judaism wasn’t just theory; it was action. I needed to try our performing a practical mitzvah, a commandment.
One night, I decided to say the Shema before bed, a private act of connection. Before then, I’d never said those six words—Shema Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad—in order. I bought a siddur, memorized the phrase, and, with my hand over my eyes, spoke them aloud. What happened next was nothing short of mystical. As the words left my lips, I saw a vision: my feet on desert sand, alone. Slowly, I lifted my gaze, and there, stretching to the horizon, was a convoy of people—the Jewish people, from the Exodus to today. I was part of this chain, thousands of years long, yet I’d been distant, my eyes fixed on my own small world. In that moment, I rejoined the convoy, my mind expanding to embrace my heritage.
This was my leap from Smallness A to Greatness A, from the present to the past. But it was only the first half of the journey. The future—Smallness B—loomed, with its questions: What does it mean to live as a Jew today? What’s my role in this story? And the second greatness, eternity, beckoned: a vision of a redemptive future, where Judaism isn’t just preserved but transformed—a Judaism that encompasses both tradition and innovation, the sacred and the secular.
Judaism Today: From Past to Future
This four-stage model isn’t just personal—it’s collective. Consider the state of Judaism today, both in Israel and the diaspora. The Haskalah and secular Zionism, with their rejection of the “passive” past, rooted us in Smallness A. The past was seen as a relic, the diaspora a failure. Early Zionists like Herzl dreamed of a “normal” nation, but their vision was less about the future than negating the past. They lived in the moment, reacting to history rather than shaping destiny.
The first greatness came as Jews, including myself, rediscovered our heritage. The revival of Torah study, the return to tradition, the pride in our ancient wisdom—this is Greatness A, a reconnection to the past. But here’s where we stand at a crossroads. Too often, Judaism is framed as a debate about the past: secular Jews want to move on, traditionalists want to conserve. Both sides miss the future—Smallness B. Looking forward is scary. It’s the valley of unknowing, where we must ask: What is Judaism’s role in a global, modern world? Is it just survival, or something more?
This is where the second greatness calls us—to eternity. We need a vision of a messianic future, where Torah isn’t just preserved but renewed. Imagine a world where “the knowledge of God fills the earth like waters cover the sea” (Isaiah 11:9), where the secular becomes holy, where every being perceives Godliness. This isn’t about going back to the shtetl; it’s about forging a Torah of Mashiach, a wisdom that transforms the world. As the sages taught us, the Torah we know now is but a “fleeting vapor” compared to the Torah of the future.
This is the true gift of the inner dimension of the Torah. While the revealed Torah was given in the past, the hidden Torah is, so to speak, being broadcast to us from the future. All we need to do is pull it into our present, and thus allow ourselves to be pulled towards it.
This essay was translated through the kind help of my Patreon supporters:
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