Light from the Void

“From Ayin to Ohr: The Hidden Light of the Tzadik”

Let us begin at the beginning—at the edge of the void. Creation, as our sages teach, emerges from ayin (nothingness): what appears as darkness becomes the womb of light. So too with the soul’s hardest choices. What seems, at first glance, to be shadow may, in truth, be a concealed radiance waiting to be drawn forth.

Sometimes a person may appear to be a rasha (a wicked person), God forbid—yet that very appearance can reveal the inner fiber of a tzadik (a righteous person). How so? There are moments when one soul accepts personal risk for the sake of many, not out of bravado, but from bittul (self-nullification) and deep humility. Only a heart refined by bittul can perceive the many facets of halacha (Torah law)—the subtle layers where safeguarding the sanctity of God’s Name may require entering spiritual fire like a firefighter enters flame: not to display courage, but to pull others out.

Contrast this with the one who preserves a single personal mitzvah (commandment) or avoids a single aveirah (transgression), yet stands aside while a hundred others falter. Such tidy righteousness, untouched by the needs of the community, mistakes self-preservation for service. The tzadik’s eye sees differently: that sometimes the greater sanctification is to shoulder danger so that others need not fall.

What if this self-sacrifice is itself the greater mitzvah—the scale-tipping deed? What if one risks personal standing to keep a generation from stumbling? In such a case, something wondrous happens. The choice that looked like darkness can become light from the void; what seemed like loss is transmuted into rescue. “My own small world may crack,” the soul whispers, “but a hundred worlds are spared.” And then the calculus shifts: the one deed missed, or the one risk borne, is no longer tallied as mere negativity—it becomes a point of pure light, extracted from nothingness itself.

This is the secret thread running through creation: one becoming many, and the many returning to one. The truly humble heart—the tzadik’s heart—knows how to weigh not only acts, but outcomes; not only rules, but the honor of Heaven; not only the letter, but the living people for whom the letter was given. Such a heart does not dismiss a single commandment—Heaven forbid—but it refuses to let a narrowly kept piety watch a multitude collapse. It enters the void with reverence, gathers scattered sparks, and brings them home.

And here we touch a deeper mystery. The primordial man—without naming him directly—we can say: the first story of humanity is the story of one soul whose decision echoes through countless lives. In every generation, the pattern reappears. A single choice, rightly made and humbly carried, can refract into a hundred salvations. That is how creation continues to be created—light coaxed from what looked like empty space.

So the teaching is this: from ayin (nothingness) comes ohr (light). The tzadik (righteous one) discerns where to stand, when to step forward, and how to turn a private test into a public redemption. What appears as downfall can become ascent; what looks like separation becomes oneness. In that turning, the purpose of creation glimmers: the many gathered into one, and the one poured out for the many—until both are luminous.

🔹STUDENT QUESTION:

“I just read your latest post. It reminds me of the excuses made by those who follow Rav Berland—people who insist on calling him a tzaddik while refusing to recognize the vile criminal he truly is.”

🔹MY RESPONSE:

Shalom — thank you for reading it and for sharing that concern. i hear you.

Scandals like the one you mentioned have caused deep harm. people have been hurt, faith has been shaken, and far too often pious language was used as a shield for what was indefensible. nothing in my piece was meant to excuse criminal behavior or to crown anyone a tzadik (a righteous person) by waving away wrongdoing. if anything, the teaching was trying to make a different point entirely: that our mitzvot (commandments) must stay alive, responsive, and guided by halacha (Torah law) and real daas Torah — not by charisma, not by blind loyalty, and never by personal agendas.

When i spoke about someone “appearing” as a rasha (a wicked person) while acting for the sake of others, i had in mind clear, responsible cases our sages discuss — for example, pikuach nefesh (saving life) setting aside Shabbat when lives are at stake (Yoma 85b), or how hachnasat orchim (welcoming guests) was modeled as paramount in Avraham pausing communion to tend to travelers (Shabbat 127a). there’s also the principle of kavod habriyot (human dignity) carrying real halachic weight in specific, limited ways (Berakhot 19b). these are not loopholes; they are part of the Torah’s own heart — the ways judgment is sweetened within the law, not outside it.

So the line i’m drawing is this: going “beyond the letter” (lifnim mishurat hadin) never means erasing the letter. it means allowing halacha to be applied with wisdom, context, and compassion — especially by qualified talmidei chachamim (sages) who know how to weigh costs and consequences. it is not a free pass for abuse, celebrity, or cults of personality. and it is certainly not “anything goes for a higher cause.” in fact, our tradition treats any claim of “sin for the sake of heaven” with extreme caution and does not treat it as a model to imitate (see Nazir 23b for how delicate and exceptional that discussion is).

If my language gave the impression that I was defending bad actors, i’m truly sorry — that’s not where my heart is. the piece was pointing to the Shechinah (Divine Presence) among us when mitzvot are lived with a soft heart and steady hands: the firefighter who runs on Shabbat with a fire extinguisher to save a life; the parent who leaves tefillah (prayer) to stop real harm; the Jew who acts fast because every minute matters. those moments may “look” like violations from the outside, but they’re actually the Torah breathing — life first, dignity first, within the Torah’s own framework.

We can and should hold two things at once: a firm refusal to excuse real wrongdoing, ever; and a commitment to let Torah stay warm and merciful in its application, as our sages teach.

May light rise from every shadow you face, and may peace walk beside you always.