Sichot HaRan (Rabbi Nachman) Reader

This brings us to a little story, a fragment really, told by the great Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav. You probably know him from his famous Sippurei Ma’asiyot, his collection of thirteen interwoven tales. But he also told many other smaller stories, glimpses of ideas, like sketches in a notebook. "A Garment for the Moon" is one of those.

It begins with the moon complaining to the sun. You see, the sun gets to shine during the warmth of the day, especially in summer. But the moon? The moon only gets to shine during the cool of night. And during the winter, well, the moon was really feeling the chill.

So, the sun, seeing the moon's unhappiness, offers a solution: a garment! A beautiful, warm coat to keep the moon cozy. He summons all the great tailors and commissions them to create this lunar covering.

The simpler, less renowned tailors also wanted to help. But they weren't invited, so they stayed away. The great tailors, after much deliberation, hit a snag. A seemingly insurmountable problem. How could they sew a garment that would fit the moon when the moon itself is constantly changing? Sometimes it's a sliver, a crescent; other times it's a full, radiant orb. What measurements could they possibly use?

And here’s where the little tailors come back into the picture. Hearing of the great tailors' dilemma, they declare, "If the big tailors won't do it, we will!" But the big tailors just scoff. "If we can't do it," they sneer, "how could you?"

And that's where the story abruptly ends.

A frustrating cliffhanger. It’s one of those unfinished tales that Rabbi Nachman's scribe, Rabbi Nathan of Nemirov, dutifully recorded. But the fact that the big tailors get the last word suggests it was unfinished, especially since Rabbi Nachman typically sided with the "little" people, the underdogs.

So, what can we make of this little fragment? Well, it resonates with older midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) traditions, especially the story of "The Quarrel of the Sun and Moon," which is about their competition (as mentioned in Tree of Souls). There’s a similar dialogue in Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer, where the sun and moon argue about who’s bigger, leading God to diminish the moon to create peace.

In fact, there's a passage in Genesis Rabbah that adds another layer. Rabbi Levi, quoting Rabbi Jose ben Lai, suggests that “the great should count by the great, and the small by the small. Esau counts time by the sun, which is large, and Jacob by the moon, which is small.” Rabbi Nachman (another Rabbi Nachman!) chimes in, saying this means Esau (often seen as representing the material world) enjoys this world but has nothing in the World to Come, while Jacob (representing the spiritual) has a portion in both.

Could the moon's dependence on the sun echo the Talmudic myth (B. Hullin 60b) about the sun and moon’s rivalry? The one arising from the verse “God made the two great lights” (Genesis 1:16)? The moon essentially asks, "Is it possible for two kings to wear one crown?" And God's response is, "Go then and make yourself smaller." Ouch. The moon's "rebellion," if you can call it that, led to its decrease.

Perhaps, as some suggest, this tale is an allegory. Maybe Israel is the moon, God is the sun, and the garment is the Torah, protecting Israel during times of exile.

Ultimately, "A Garment for the Moon" remains a question mark. Did Rabbi Nachman have a specific ending in mind? We don't know. But it invites us to ponder themes of humility, ambition, divine justice, and the potential for even the smallest among us to accomplish great things. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What would you have the little tailors sew for the moon?

Maybe, just maybe, you're part of something much bigger: a cosmic wheel.

The idea of a "wheel of creation" isn't some new-age concept. It's a powerful image found in Jewish mystical thought, particularly in the teachings of Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav. He paints a picture of all creation as a constantly rotating wheel, forever turning and transforming.

What does that actually mean? Think of it this way: everything is in a cycle. Up becomes down, left becomes right, and, incredibly, man becomes angel, and angel, man. Head becomes foot, and foot head. It’s all part of the same underlying reality, constantly interchanging, raising the low, lowering the high, all spinning on this great wheel. This comes to us from Sihot ha-Ran 40.

It’s a mind-bending idea. We tend to think of things as fixed, as having a defined role. But Rabbi Nachman's vision suggests something far more fluid. He sees a universe where boundaries blur, where transformation is the only constant.

What could have inspired such a radical image? Well, the Torah itself hints at this cyclical nature. Remember the verse from (Isaiah 40:4): "Let every valley be raised and every mountain made low"? It's a powerful image of leveling, of things being brought into balance through constant change. And then there's (Ecclesiastes 3:1): "To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven." A time to rise, a time to fall. A time to be born, a time to die. The great wheel turns.

Rabbi Nachman takes these ideas and runs with them, creating a dynamic and almost dizzying vision of creation. It's a vision that challenges our assumptions about who we are and what our place is in the universe. Are we forever stuck in one role, one identity? Or are we capable of transformation, of becoming something completely different?

The wheel keeps turning. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the point. Maybe the beauty and the challenge of life lie in embracing that constant change, in accepting that everything is interconnected and in flux. What do you think? What does the wheel of creation mean for you?

Sichot HaRan (Rabbi Nachman) turns to The Holy Breath.

See, in Hebrew, the word ruah means both "breath" and "spirit." Our very breath, the thing that sustains us, is linked to something far greater, something divine.

King David, the shepherd-turned-king, the poet of the Psalms… he didn’t just write those words. He poured his very soul into them, infused them with the Ruah ha-Kodesh. According to Sihot ha-Ran 98 (a collection of Rabbi Nachman's teachings), David wrote with divine inspiration.

Here’s where it gets really interesting. Rabbi Nachman teaches that this Holy Breath isn't just a thing of the past. It's still present in the very words of the Psalms today. When we read or, even better, when we recite the Psalms, our breath interacts with that original Holy Breath. It's like striking a match to kindling, igniting a flame that has been dormant for centuries.

Think about the implications of that!

When you recite the Psalms, according to this teaching, it's as if King David himself is chanting them alongside you. Your breath, your spirit, merges with his, connecting you to a source of profound inspiration.

It's more than just reading; it's an act of participation, a joining of voices across time and space.

So, the next time you pick up the Psalms, remember the Holy Breath. Remember that these aren't just words. They are vessels, filled with the spirit of King David and the divine inspiration that guided him. Breathe deeply, recite them with intention, and see if you can feel that spark ignite within you. Maybe, just maybe, you'll find yourself chanting alongside a king.