Sefer HaHezyonot Reader

Our story today takes us to 16th-century Safed, a center of Jewish mysticism, and introduces us to Rabbi Abraham Berukhim, a man known for his profound connection to the Divine. This story comes to us from a letter written in 1607 by Shlomel Dresnitz of Moravia, part of a collection of tales about the great mystic Rabbi Isaac Luria, known as the Ari.

Rabbi Abraham was no ordinary man. He performed the Midnight Vigil – rising every night at midnight, walking the streets, and crying out about the exile of the Shekhinah (the Divine Presence), the destruction of the Temple, and the dangers facing Israel. His heart yearned to bring the Shekhinah out of exile.

The Ari was a master of esoteric knowledge. He could gaze upon a person's forehead and read their soul's history. He heard the angels, understood the language of birds, and even knew which souls were trapped within the stones of a wall. He also knew the future. Every Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year), he knew who among his disciples would live or die that year.

Usually, he kept this knowledge to himself. But one year, he saw a way to avert a particular decree. He summoned Rabbi Abraham Berukhim and said, "Know, Rabbi Abraham, that a heavenly voice has announced this will be your last year – unless you do what is necessary to change the decree."

Naturally, Rabbi Abraham was taken aback. "What must I do?" he asked.

The Ari responded, "Your only hope is to go to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem and pray there with all your heart. If you are deemed worthy, you will have a vision of the Shekhinah. That will mean the decree has been averted, and your name will be inscribed in the Book of Life."

Overjoyed, Rabbi Abraham prepared for his journey. He first secluded himself for three days and nights, fasting and wearing sackcloth and ashes. Then, instead of riding, he walked to Jerusalem, praying with every step for a vision of the Shekhinah.

By the time he reached Jerusalem, Rabbi Abraham felt as if his soul had separated from his body. And when he stood before the Wall, he had a vision.

From the Wall emerged an old woman dressed in black, consumed by mourning. Looking into her eyes, Rabbi Abraham felt a grief greater than he had ever known – the grief of a mother who has lost a child, like Hannah mourning her seven sons. As the story goes, this was the grief of the Shekhinah Herself, lamenting the suffering of Her children, scattered across the earth.

Rabbi Abraham fainted.

Then, he had another vision. This time, he saw the Shekhinah in a robe of light, more radiant than the setting sun. Her face was filled with joy. Waves of light emanated from Her, surrounding him as if he were cradled in the arms of the Sabbath Queen.

"Do not grieve so, My son Abraham," She said. "Know that My exile will come to an end, and My inheritance will not go to waste. Your children shall return to their country, and there is hope for your future." These words, echoing (Jeremiah 31:17), are the same words God uses to comfort Rachel, weeping for her children, as we find in (Jeremiah 31:14-16). There's even a resonance with Jeremiah's vision of Mother Zion in (Jeremiah 15:9), expanded upon in Pesikta Rabbati 26:7, suggesting Mother Zion as an early form of the Shekhinah.

At that moment, Rabbi Abraham’s soul returned to him. He awoke refreshed, filled with hope.

Upon his return to Safed, the Ari immediately saw the aura radiating from Rabbi Abraham's face. "You have been found worthy to see the Shekhinah," he declared, "and you will live for another twenty-two years."

And so he did.

The story reflects a belief, found in sources like Midrash Tehillim on (Psalms 11:3), Exodus Rabbah 2:2, and Rabbi Moshe Alshekh on (Lamentations 1:1-2), that the Shekhinah could still be found at the Western Wall, even after the Temple's destruction.

What does this story tell us? Perhaps it's about the power of prayer, the importance of empathy, or the enduring hope for redemption, even in the darkest of times. Perhaps it's a reminder that even when we feel most lost and alone, the Divine Presence is still with us, mourning our sorrows and offering a vision of a brighter future.

Vital, as recounted in Sefer ha-Hezyonot, dreamed of a very unusual Simhat Torah, the joyous holiday that celebrates the completion of the annual Torah reading cycle.

It's Simhat Torah in Safed, a center of Jewish mysticism in the Galilee. According to the dream, it's an ancient custom to bring the body of Moses himself to the synagogue. Why? Because Simhat Torah, the "Rejoicing of the Torah," is a celebration of the very Torah that was given through Moses. And, poignantly, on this day, we also read the portion from Deuteronomy that recounts Moses's death.

Picture the scene. It takes many men to carry the body of Moses into the synagogue. And this isn’t just any body; the Talmud (B. Berakhot 54b) tells us Moses was a giant, ten cubits tall! They place him on a long table, prepared specially. Then, something extraordinary happens. As soon as the body of Moses is stretched out, it transforms… into a Torah scroll.

Yes, the body becomes the scroll, unrolled like a long letter from the very beginning of Genesis to the very end of Deuteronomy. And in the dream, they begin to read, starting with creation and continuing until they reach the final words, displayed before all of Israel from (Deuteronomy 34:12). As we find in Shivhei Rabbi Hayim Vital, this dream occurred on the 20th of Tevet, 1609.

During this entire dream-like ceremony, the rabbi of Safed sits at the head of the table, closest to the beginning of Genesis. Hayim Vital sits at the foot, closest to the account of Moses's death. And it occurs to him, in the dream, that because of his position, he is closest to Moses himself.

After the entire Torah is read, the scroll transforms back into the body of Moses. They clothe him, place a girdle around him, and at that moment, Hayim Vital awakens. But even after waking, he feels the very presence of Moses's soul in the room.

What does it all mean? This dream, as Lawrence Kushner writes in Tree of Souls, reveals the incredibly close connection in the Jewish mind between the Torah and Moses. The Torah isn’t just a book; it’s inextricably linked to the man who brought it to the people. In Vital's dream, they are one and the same.

It’s worth noting that the death of Moses is part of the Sephardic liturgy for Simhat Torah, which may have planted the seed for this dream in Hayim Vital’s mind. It seems Vital, who had one of the richest religious imaginations in Jewish history, saw no separation between the mythical and the real.

Hayim Vital even hinted in his writings that his master, the Ari, had a messianic role and, furthermore, attributed such a role to himself, too. He even explicitly stated, "This indicates there was a cleaving and connection between my soul and that of Moses."

So, what are we to make of this? Perhaps this dream invites us to consider our own relationship with the Torah. Is it merely a text to be studied, or is it something more? Could it be a living, breathing entity, embodying the spirit and legacy of Moses himself? Maybe, just maybe, if we open ourselves to the possibility, we too can feel the presence of Moses in the room as we read these ancient words.