Breaking the Habit

“I am my Beloved’s, and my Beloved is mine, who grazes among the roses.” Opening There are young married men who know this scene by heart. It’s the same argument with his wife: the same words, the same tone, the same choking feeling at the end. With the kids it’s the same shout, the same reaction, and afterward the same feeling of shame. He knows it doesn’t help. He doesn’t want to do it again. And still, it happens again. In the outside world you hear about something called “manifestation.” Think good thoughts, intend good things, and “declare” the reality you want. Then, boom, the change will appear. But anyone who has tried it knows it doesn’t work. So what does work? The Power of Habit: A “Spirit of Folly” in Disguise Modern psychology has a name for this. It calls it “repetition compulsion.” A person repeats the same patterns of behavior again and again. He expects a different result, and it never comes. But Hasidic teaching said this hundreds of years earlier. The Tanya, the classic book of Hasidic thought, speaks of a “spirit of folly.” This is a dark force that falls on a person at the deciding moment. It clouds his mind, so that he acts out of habit and not out of choice. The Tanya also explains that the battle with the animal soul, our natural, physical side, is not won once and for all. It is steady, daily work. The animal soul isn’t “evil.” It’s natural. But when no one is steering it, it goes back to the paths it knows, like water running downhill. That’s why good intentions alone don’t break the cycle. The “manifesting” of good thinking stays in the head, while the body goes on with its old habit. Nothing changes if the person himself doesn’t change. “I Am My Beloved’s”: Who Goes First? The verse says: “I am my Beloved’s, and my Beloved is mine.” It is well known that the first letters of these Hebrew words spell “Elul,” the month before the Jewish New Year. Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, author of the Tanya, explained in his book Likkutei Torah that Elul is a time of special favor. In these days Hashem comes out toward a person, like the light of the King’s face. But notice the order. “I am my Beloved’s” comes first. The person steps forward first. “My Beloved is mine,” which is Hashem’s response, comes after. This is a basic principle in Hasidic teaching. It is called “the awakening from below.” The holy Zohar, the classic book of Jewish mysticism, teaches that there is no “awakening from above” without a movement from below that comes first. The awakening from above is the flow of blessing from Heaven. This isn’t a random rule. It’s a basic spiritual law. Help from Heaven is promised, but it depends on the person’s first step. As the Talmud says: “One who comes to purify himself is helped.” The help comes, but to the one who comes. To the one who moves. So real “manifestation” isn’t just saying words. It’s making a vessel that can hold the blessing. And the vessel is made by doing. Breaking the Cycle: The Real Work So what do we do? The Tanya’s Letter on Returning explains that returning to Hashem is not mainly about cancelling your will. It is about breaking the corrupted will. It means cutting your tie with those reactions you already know are not good. In practice it looks like this. You feel the “spirit of folly” rising. The shout is ready, and the criticism is waiting on your lips. That is the moment of choice. Not on the Day of Atonement. Not at the end of a Torah class. Here and now, in front of your child, in front of your wife, in front of yourself. Breaking that moment is no small thing. You hold on for one breath and don’t launch into the usual. That is a real awakening from below. It is the planting, and after it the harvest can come. As the Book of Psalms says: “Those who sow in tears will reap with joyful song.” Elul is a gift for exactly this. Hashem gives us extra strength to begin. He holds out His hand to us. But a hand has to meet a hand.