Creative Field Study: 16th Century Safed, Palestine

The year is 5331and the month is Iyar according to the calendar used hear by the Jewish people of Safed. The Kabbalists repeat often the phrase of the month's acronym, ani adonai rofekha. It is the time between Pesach and Shevuot and the concentration of healing the souls is emphasized with intensity. The Jewish population of Safed is at its peak, never has the city seen so many. With a flourishing textile industry as well as its strategic geography, there is security for the Jews in both politics and economics. The Ottoman empire has made it possible for Jews to thrive without the threat of oppression. There are Jews from all over the world here, some newly arrived and others well established. The Sephardim are the majority followed by Ashkenazim, the Romanoites and then, of course, the Musta'aravim.
Upon first arriving here, I was told immediately of the great Arizal. His name, I later discovered was in fact Rabbi Yitzchak ben Shlomo Ashkenazi. A man who arrived in Safed just two years ago from the land of Egypt. I was surprised to hear this given the magnitude of his name. The people praise him and explain with sparkling eyes of all the teachings he's blessed upon them. And yet even still, they tell me off the Rabbinic leaders in Jerusalem who deny him his greatness.

It was not for several days that I was able to meet the Arizal. It was through another man of high ranking, Hayyim Vital, that I was able to arrange an audience. I was sent to Vital by community members after making my intentions known that I sought the Arizal. However, before my meeting him, Vital told me a great many things about this special Rabbi. He claimed to be his foremost disciple out of a small group of initiative disciples, who received all of his most secret and sacred teachings of the divine. He told me about his teaching techniques, how he preferred the outdoors as a class room and how many nights they would awake at midnight to engage in the Torah. The outdoors, he said, was was the prime setting to study Torah because it is wholly the Creation of God, while the synagogue was built by man. Waking at midnight, on the other hand, was a practice of diligence and commitment.
Hayyim Vital warned me of the Arizal's holiness.
“He is the transmigrated soul of Shim'on Bar Yochai, may his memory be blessed.”
I inquired into what this meant (given that as how I understood it, RaShBY was a perfected soul who had transcended the cycle of gilgul) and with a scoff he told me that, “Yitzchak Luria is devoid of imperfection. He himself is a reflection of that which is most high, and we, his disciples, contain within us the souls of Shim'on Bar Yochai's disciples.”
I wondered then if Vital thought Luria to be the messiah, which seemed to be the underlying assumption amongst many of the Safed Jews, particularly the Sephardim who were survivors of the Spanish Inquisition. The way Vital spoke of him, I could only guess he shared the same sentiments.
Vital also told me of his healing powers. “He will look through your q'lipot, into your soul, and there he will find your illness and from there he will find your cure.”
This intrigued me greatly. I asked Vital if he meant medicine or treatment. I also told him that I felt fine, and had no illness so to speak of. And yet, as I spoke these words, I knew I had missed the point. In turn, Vital did not answer me.

Rabbi Yitzchak Luria lived in a beautiful home. From his lucrative trade with commodities such as pepper, wine, cucumbers, spices and leather in Egypt, he was able to live comfortably and to spend much time in study, prayer and meditation. I was seated in a chair in his study and the Arizal entered from the back of the room. He was not an old man he looked no older than thirty-five. His beard was laced with just faint traces of grey and his eyes were a sparkling light brown. He stared at me intensely. For maybe seven minutes at just my forehead and then slowly down to meet my eyes. There was an luminous aura about him that exuded from what I believed to be his unfaltering presence and focus. He then smiled and placed his hand on my shoulder. The touch sent shivering waves throughout my body.
“You've come a long way to be here young student. I see little yetser ha'ra in you. There were only two letters that appears slanted or backwards, and they had to do with your faith. You are not solid in your faith with God and Torah and thus you follow the mitzvot without passion and commitment. I suggest you begin by reading the prayers and the Zohar in the translation of your mother tongue, this will reinstall your faith.”
The Arizal's words were soft, and his loving smile never faltered throughout his speech. I asked him many questions of how he came to this conclusion. He explained to me the workings of metoscopy, and how the letters, which only he could see, glowed on my forehead. The forehead is where the soul discloses all more clearly because of its correspondence to the sefirah Binah (which actually symbolizes the forehead) (Fine 156). The practice was very much within the realm of healing. After all, what he had done was in fact tell me what was imperfect within my soul, and then prescribe for me a cure; I must begin translating prayer liturgy into English, and become diligent to the study of them.

I found this to relate back to the Jewish concept of tikkun olam. What the Arizal appears to be doing in Safed is providing teachings through the lens of Kabbala and Torah to evoke tikkun olam and to bring the messiah. I wanted to know more about these teachings, but was not able to properly interview the Arizal until after the Sabbath.
The Sabbath, as a whole, became a blur to me. I was not allowed to write during this time, and thus cannot recall all of the many customs and rituals that the Safed Jews practiced during this sacred period of the week. Before the Sabbath arrive, I followed the men out into the fields where they prayed for many hours until the sun set. This was their practice of the Kabbalat Shabbat Service. I observed great humility and reverence among the field worshipers, and yet not a trace of sadness could be seen in their character. They called the practice the “field of holy apple trees” where they felt they were better adept to receive the Shekhina. It was also said to represent the ascent of the divine worlds (Fine 249). I then returned with a Tunis man of humble standing named Ya'akov Harari ben Yona, to his home, where he greeted his wife, mother, and young daughter by kissing their hands. The meal that was served was filling and delicious. There were dishes of many flavors with roasted chicken and fruits to finish. Along with the Sabbath meal, Ya'akov's wive had baked twelve loaves of bread the previous day. Ya'akov would often break into song throughout the meal and wine and blessings were passed all around. The next day, I joined Ya'akov to the synagogue where he prayed all day. The people of Safed were dressed in their best clothes and the feeling of festivity was in the air. At the front near the altar and the Torah, the Arizal stood with several of his disciples, Hayyim Vital among them. I could not follow in their language fast enough to keep with the prayer, but when the Torah was read by the Arizal, all became quiet and meditative. Before it was revealed, men went out to fetch their young children and I was told later that just by listening to the Torah, without even understanding its meaning, the soul was being revived. I could not help but remember the prescription that the Luria had given me just a few days before.

My second visit with Yitzchak Luria came two days later. I had prepared my main question for him ahead of time. He had allotted only a short audience with me because of his commitments to the lessons of his students and meditations. This time we met in his courtyard. I was seated on a stone bench beneath a old yet fragrant myrtle tree. The Arizal came to greet me with the same warmth and presence I had experienced the week before. He asked me about my experience of hearing the Torah and I reflected upon all I could. After we were served a cup a mint tea, I requested permission to ask my great question. With a slow, yet joyful nod of the head, the Arizal agreed.
“What are the foundations upon which tikkun olam can manifest?”
The Rabbi stroked his beard for a good fifteen minutes. The peacefulness of his presence reflected the tranquility of the beautiful courtyard and I was thus free from anxiety.
“There are eight primary teachings that I emphasize in which the seeds of tikkun olam can be planted,” he began, “The first is to have a deep concern for proper human relations. Let no one be humiliated, create no tensions between yourself and others, and so forth. For instance, if a man would like to walk in front of you, give him the honor. The importance of your ego does not match the importance of the relationship. (Fine 88).”
“Thus, you alone are held as morally responsible for your actions. It is only you who can act in respect towards others. If a man needs to be payed the day of his service, do not prolong his pay for your own convenience. Take his concerns to heart first (Fine 89).”
“Generosity and charitableness are of utmost importance if you are wishing to practice moral responsibility. In order to arouse such moral commitments, you must first generate a deep respect and trust for your fellow human beings, no matter how much they may fail you (Fine 89).”
“Respect comes when you first can practice self-effacement,” the Arizal turned to Hayyim Vital who was leaning against the archway entrance to the courtyard, “my disciple hear is working on this particularly.” He released a soft murmur of giggles and Vital stiffened. “Anger is also of great importance. I cannot think of many other things that can damage one's relationship with the most High, blessed be He, more than the embers of anger. These embers, if not tamed, grow into the terrible flames of other acts such as hatred and violence.”
Luria paused for a few minutes to enjoy his tea. His unabiding presence and concentration gave me no invitation of anxiety or over-analyzation. I simply sat and enjoyed the time passing with him. He then began again, “Melancholy is also an exceedingly unpleasant quality of personality, particularly in the case of an individual whose intention is to acquire esoteric knowledge and experience haRuah haQodesh. There is nothing that impedes mystical inspiration – even for someone who is otherwise worthy of it – as much as the quality of sadness (Fine 91).” He raised his head to me with a look of deep regret. There was compassion in his eyes, and I knew his thoughts traveled to bless those he knew with this affliction.
“You must be empathetic, and most importantly, you must seek love. Love within, love without and eventually, the divine light that permeates all creation with love.”
At this, the Arizal nodded, set down his clay cup and rose. With a lightness returning to his image, he mentioned his waiting students in the synagogue and he bade me farewell. I was led out by a servant to the world outside. I wondered if this great man could ever be frustrated. Did Yitzchak Luria ever struggle with the teaching he had just given me? There was indeed something dramatically charismatic about hiss character. I felt myself hanging on each word he said and he embraced me and all whom he engaged with-with an unmeasured level of attention. Did the Arizal dream? Did he too struggle with desires, hopes and aspirations like the weaker of us? It was not truly known if he ever spoke of his own struggles, mostly he aided others. This meeting with Rabbi Yitzchak Luria was on my last day in the city of Safed, and I returned the next morning with ideas to reflect upon for the rest of my days.