as high as the vibes

Incense (aromatic biotics burnt for specific aromas) has played a part in Judaism since before the time of the Temple.

A specific kind of fragrant incense, ketoret, burned at the altar within the Temple twice daily as an offering. It “was created of 11 fragrant herbs, identified by Maimonides as, "Onycha, Storax, Frankincense, Musk, Cassia, Spikenard, Saffron, Costus, Cinnamon, Agarwood," with the addition of "salt of Sodom and Jordanian amber. Another two ingredients (vetch lye and "caper wine") were used in preparation of the tziporen (onycha) spice. There was also a special herb, referred to simply as maaleh ashan ("makes smoke rise"), that would produce a pillar of smoke that rose straight up rather than spread out. The identity of the herb was a secret that was closely guarded by members of the Avitnus family, who made the incense based on the tradition of their ancestor" (13). Read more here.

However, since the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash, the creation and burning of ketoret was rendered impossible, and thus official 'incense' in the mind of many Jews was forced out.

Burning specific herbs for specific reasons, including their fragrant scent, however, has continued in many Jewish communities, often coexisting and intermingling with 'official' practices. This incense (distinct from the ketoret incense of the Beis Hamikdash) takes on many different recipes and forms; including modern incense.

״ברוך אתה ה׳ אלוקינו מלך העולם, אשר יצר את האדם בחכמה וברא בו נקבים נקבים חלולים חלולים, גלו וידוע לפני כסא כבודך שאם יפתח אחד או יסתם אחד מהם אי אפשר להתקיים ולעמוד לפניך אפילו שעה אחת. ברוך אתה ה׳ רופא כל בשר ומפליא לעשות.״

“Blessed are You, our God, King of the world, Who formed man with wisdom and created in him openings and hollows; it is well known before Your holy throne that if one of them were to be opened or one of them were to be blocked, it would be impossible to exist and stand before You for even one hour. Blessed are You, God, Healer of all flesh and wondrous of deeds.”

So far we’ve only spoken about healers in general, but a variety of Jewish and non-Jewish folk medicine practitioners and healers flourished in the Pale for centuries: alchemists, pharmacists, shamans, and physicians all prescribed variations of local folk medicine. Foremost among the healers of many Eastern European Jewish communities were itinerant Kabbalists, or ba’alei shem, men who traveled widely, dispensing charms or incantations, amulets, and herbal remedies to combat the evil eye and other diseases for anyone in need of their expertise.

The ba’alei shem, “masters of the name (of God),” were a prominent feature of the Pale as both religious leaders and healers. The singular title ba’al shem signifies its bearer’s ability to manipulate holy names, including those of God and angels, along with the names of Satan and malevolent spirits, in order to conjure desired results. The ba’al shem, as a cultural universal, served largely the same role or function as the shaman or “medicine man“ in traditional societies the world over, mediating between the profane and the sacred, as an intercedar between the living and the dead. Ba’alei shem were syncretic healers: relying upon the Kabbalah (writing of the Jewish mystical traditions) for guidance, and dispensing remedies both magico-religious and herbal, including amulets, traditional plant knowledge, and pharmacopeia of the era to heal the individual and honor the Jewish mandate of tikkun olam, “repair of the world.“

It is generally accepted that they died because they didn’t conduct themselves with enough respect for each other.

But how could that possibly be? Weren’t they the students of Rabbi Akiva, who’s main idea and focus was ahavas Yisroel, loving one’s fellow Jew? And these guys were killed in a mass plague because they couldn’t get along with each other?

In a sicha from the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of blessed memory, he clears up this seeming contrariety.

Everyone experiences and interprets the world a little bit differently. Everyone has their own perception and version of the truth. A lot of the time, multiple perspectives are equally valid.

This idea regularly comes up with regards to Torah and mitzvos. Which conveniently brings us back to Rabbi Akiva’s students.

Each student interpreted his teachings in a slightly different, entirely legitimate way. Each student thought that his way was the most correct and — surprise! — this led to some major disagreements. Sound familiar?

But the Rebbe brings to light why things got so out of hand. It wasn’t a matter of ego, but rather, a matter of love.

If my friend does something wrong, or holds views that are different from my own, I care, of course, but it doesn’t pain me as much as if my sibling did the same thing.

And why? Because my friends are not related to me by blood. They have different parents and different upbringings and can do whatever they want. But because I love my siblings so, so much, because I believe we should have shared, familial values, it pains me when they do things differently.

And that’s how Rabbi Akiva’s students felt towards each other. They loved each others like family, because they acutely felt that all Jews are of one kin. And because each man had such strong ahavas Yisroel, he couldn’t stand the thought of another Jew doing something wrong, or even something less than right.

And so they fought and argued. They aimed to bring their teacher’s teachings to fruition, but managed to achieve the exact opposite.

Because, whenever any emotion, even a positive one like love, is entirely unbridled, it makes a mess. To say the very least.

Their loving each other like brothers was a good thing. Their wanting each other to do it right was also a good thing.

But even with our literal, blood-related siblings, when our love turns into fighting and disagreements, it’s no longer positive.

It’s important to care about, and to want the best for, both our brothers and our brethren. We should be as pained when our friend does wrong, as when our sibling does the same.

Blessed are you, Adonai our G-d, who has molded my soul from contradictions. From apparent opposites You have created me, and from within dichotomies I can see the plurality of Your creation.

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu boreit ha’olam, she’asani trans.

Blessed are You, Adonai our G-d, Creator of the world, who has made me trans.