כ מנחם אב - אגרת הקודש פרק ו

The Rebbe begins by stating a foundational idea: there are two types of fear and love—two categories of yirah (awe) and ahavah (love) in serving Hashem.

He emphasizes that in our avodah, we are meant to serve Hashem with both fear and love. However, these are not monolithic; each has two distinct forms, which will be explained further.

The first type, the Rebbe explains, are those forms of love and fear that are born from the person's own understanding and knowledge—from his contemplation of Hashem's greatness.

He points out that when a person reflects deeply on matters that bring him to love and fear Hashem, this meditation itself gives birth to these emotions. Just as earlier in the chapter he discussed rachamim (mercy) that is generated through contemplation, so too here: ahavah and yirah can be created through a person's own intellectual effort and reflection.

The second type, the Rebbe continues, are those forms of love and fear that come afterwards, from above, as a gift.

These are not generated by the person's own efforts, but rather are bestowed upon him from Hashem. This is a higher level, something that cannot be achieved through human effort alone, but is granted as a matnas chinam—a free gift from Above.

The Rebbe brings a proof from elsewhere, quoting the verse: עבודת מתנה אתן את כהונתכם—"I will give your priesthood as a service of gift." He explains that this refers to the midah of love, as the kohen represents chesed (kindness) and ahavah (love).

He elaborates that just as the kohen receives his service as a gift, so too there is a level of ahavah that is given as a gift from Hashem. The same applies to yirah: there is a level that comes through one's own effort, and a higher level that is a gift from Above.

The Rebbe underscores that there is absolutely no comparison between the first type—those forms of love and fear that are the product of the created intellect—and the latter type, which come directly from the Creator, blessed is He.

He stresses that the levels which come from Above are on an entirely different plane, far surpassing anything that can be generated by human understanding or contemplation.

Therefore, the Rebbe says, these higher forms are called "truth"—אמת. For the seal of Hashem is אמת—true, absolute truth.

He explains that all the truth that exists within created beings is considered as nothing before Hashem. Only that which comes from Hashem Himself is truly called emes, for it is the ultimate, genuine truth, while the creations' truth is insignificant in comparison.

The Rebbe now asks: What is the path for a person to merit the truth of Hashem? How can a person attain this higher, divine level of emes in his service?

The answer, the Rebbe explains, is that it is through arousing great mercy before Hashem for the spark in one's soul. This is the midah of Yaakov, which is described as מבריח מן הקצה אל הקצה—stretching from one end to the other, from the highest heights to the lowest depths.

He elaborates that the midah of Yaakov—rachamim rabim, great mercy—enables a person to draw down the emes of Hashem into this lowly, dark world. As the verse says, "Even when I sit in darkness, Hashem is my light": through rachamim, the light of Hashem is drawn even into the deepest darkness.

The Rebbe further explains that while the midah of Avraham (chesed) and Yitzchak (gevurah) can draw down divine influence, only Yaakov's midah—rachamim—can bring the emes Hashem all the way down into this world. This is the meaning of כי גבר עלינו חסדו—that Hashem's kindness overpowers us, which happens through the arousal of great mercy.

He concludes that in order to bring down the emes Hashem into the world, a person must arouse rachamim. However, since a person is limited, even this arousal of mercy must be done with one's own emes, one's own truth. Yet, there remains a gap between the person's own emes and the true emes Hashem that comes from Above.

The Rebbe now addresses a subtle but crucial point about awakening great mercy—that is, stirring רַחֲמִים רַבִּים—before Hashem. He says that this arousal must also be done in truth, with בֶּאֱמֶת—genuinely and sincerely.

But even if a person manages to reach his own level of truth—his own אֱמֶת שֶׁלּוֹ—the question arises: how can a person's limited, created truth possibly awaken the supernal mercy that comes from the truth of Hashem? In other words, how can our finite efforts and sincerity draw down the infinite, absolute Emes Hashem—the truth of G‑d?

This is a fundamental issue: even when a person is truly sincere, there is a vast gap between human truth and the ultimate, divine truth. The Rebbe is highlighting that our own אֱמֶת is not on the same plane as אֱמֶת ה', and so, left to our own devices, it would seem impossible to bridge that gap and elicit Hashem's infinite mercy through our own limited sincerity.

The Rebbe now provides the solution to this dilemma: the attribute of tzedakah—מִדַּת הַצְּדָקָה. He explains that tzedakah is itself an expression of mercy—מִדַּת הָרַחֲמִים—specifically, mercy on someone who "has nothing of his own," as the text says: מַאן דְּלֵית לֵיהּ מִגַּרְמֵיהּ.

By giving tzedakah, a person is reviving the spirit of the downtrodden—לְהַחֲיוֹת רוּחַ שְׁפָלִים. This act is not just a physical kindness, but a spiritual one: it mirrors the way Hashem revives and uplifts those who are lowly and in need.

The Rebbe explains that this is the dynamic of "it'aruta d'letata, it'aruta d'le'eyla"—the arousal from below brings about an arousal from above. When a Jew awakens mercy below by giving tzedakah, Hashem responds by awakening supernal mercy—He "awakens the sleepers and rouses those who slumber." This refers to the hidden, supreme mercies and kindnesses—רַחֲמִים רַבִּים וְחֲסָדִים עֶלְיוֹנִים הַנֶּעְלָמִים—that are drawn out from concealment into revelation.

Through this process, there is a tremendous illumination—הַאָרָה רַבָּה—that shines the light of life, the truth of Hashem, into the world. In other words, by giving tzedakah and acting with mercy, a person becomes a conduit for Hashem's hidden kindness and truth to be revealed and to illuminate the world with divine life.

The Rebbe now explains the deeper meaning behind the term "sowing"—זְרִיעָה—that is used in connection with tzedakah. He says that when the Torah speaks of "sowing tzedakah", it means that through giving tzedakah, we are causing the supernal truth—אֱמֶת ה'—to sprout and grow.

This is especially true when the tzedakah and kindness are done as a chesed shel emes—a kindness of truth—with אֶרֶץ הַקֹּדֶשׁ, the Holy Land. The Rebbe connects this to the verse, "Emes mei'eretz titzmach"—"Truth will sprout from the earth." By sowing tzedakah in the Holy Land, and by gathering and collecting acts of kindness and mercy there, we awaken and draw down the hidden, supernal kindnesses—חֲסָדִים עֶלְיוֹנִים הַצְּפוּנִים וְנֶעְלָמִים—that are stored and concealed within it.

The Rebbe explains that just as when you plant a seed, you bring out what was hidden in the earth, so too, through tzedakah, you reveal and actualize the hidden kindnesses of Hashem. This is alluded to in the verse, "Asher tzafanta..."—"that You have hidden..."—referring to the kindnesses Hashem has stored away to establish and raise up the land and its people.

The Rebbe concludes this section by referencing the verse, "B'tzedakah tikonani"—"With tzedakah, you will be established." This means that it is specifically through the act of tzedakah that the foundation and establishment of holiness and truth in the world is achieved.

In summary, the Rebbe teaches that while our own efforts to arouse mercy and truth are limited, it is through the practical mitzvah of tzedakah—especially when directed toward the Holy Land—that we become vessels to draw down Hashem's infinite truth and kindness, establishing a lasting foundation for divine revelation in the world.