Rabbi Adin Even-Yisrael (Steinsaltz), of blessed memory, was born on the 3rd of Menachem Av, 5697 (1937), to Avraham Moshe Steinsaltz, a descendant of the first Rebbe of Slonim, and to Rivka Leah, née Krakowitz, a descendant of Rebbe Yitzchak of Vorka. In his teenage years, he became religiously observant through the influence of Rabbi Shmuel Elazar Halperin, and studied under the Rabbis Nachum Shemaryahu Sheshonkin and Dov Ber Eliezrov. At the age of sixteen and a half he began studying mathematics and physics at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, becoming its youngest student at the time, while simultaneously learning at the Tomchei Temimim yeshivah in Lod under the illustrious mashpia Rabbi Shlomo Chaim Kesselman. He also studied at Yeshivat Torat Emet and at the Mir yeshivah. At the age of twenty-eight he embarked upon the initiative of his extensive commentary on the Babylonian Talmud.
In 5725 (1965), he married Chayah Sarah, daughter of Chaim Hillel Azimov. The couple was blessed with a daughter and two sons, Rabbi Menachem Yaakov Tzvi and Rabbi Avraham Moshe Chaim Hillel. In 5751 (1991), he changed his family name to "Even-Yisrael," at the Lubavitcher Rebbe's recommendation. Rabbi Even Yisrael Steinsaltz was a Chabad Chasid and was granted private audience—yechidut—by the Rebbe even in his later years. He was also deeply influenced by the Kotzk tradition and maintained a close relationship with the "Beit Yisrael" of Gur and with his brother the "Lev Simchah" of Gur at whose personal request the Rabbi composed his commentary on tractate Pe'ah of the Jerusalem Talmud. He authored more than four hundred works—primarily commentaries on the Talmud, the Bible, and Chasidic texts—and wrote hundreds of articles and responsa on a wide range of subjects. In 5777 (2017), he suffered a severe stroke and ceased to speak, yet continued his work through writing. On the 17th of Av, 5780 (2020), he departed this world and was buried in the Chabad plot on the Mount of Olives.
Dr. Yoel Spitz relates: On one of the days of Chol HaMoed Sukkot, I walked over to visit Rabbi Adin in his sukkah. When I entered, the Rabbi was deep in an intense conversation. In the midst of speaking, he poured me a brimming cup of cola that overflowed its edges and motioned for me to sit.
The conversation revolved around the custom of hanging portraits of rabbis in the sukkah and the question that absorbed Rabbi Adin was whether the painted likenesses of rabbis from previous centuries are authentic. He discoursed at length on the provenance of each portrait, generally dismissing the accepted identifications and attempting to trace where they had originally come from.
When he had finished speaking about the portraits, he flowed seamlessly into a discussion of Jewish symbols and their origins and so arrived at the symbol of the Magen David—the Star of David.
His contention was that the symbol's origins lay in the East, and that it came to the Jewish people through David Alroy, the Jewish warrior of the twelfth century who established a kind of Jewish state in Kurdistan. At the time, I was deeply immersed in the study of Kabbalah, and his explanation of the Magen David unsettled me. "But Rabbi," I interrupted the flow of his words, "I have seen an explanation that the secret of the Magen David lies in what is written of the angels ‘each had six wings’ (Isaiah 6:2). That is to say, this symbol is in truth a depiction of an angel with six wings. How can you suggest such an academically based historical, and dry explanation of its origins?"
I was young, and did not yet know what I had gotten myself into.
The truth is that for several weeks prior I had already noticed that Rabbi Adin did not look favorably upon my intensive engagement with books of Kabbalah, but this time he confronted me directly. With eyes somewhat stern, he began:
"Look, I understand that you are among those who prefer to wander about with angels and grab them by the feet rather than spending time with human beings. I don't know, incidentally, why you would want to do that; I'm not sure the angels are so much more pleasant. Perhaps the opposite."
Here he paused, shifted to an intellectual tone, and said several sentences I will never forget:
"In any case, to the matter itself. Someone like you, who seeks angels and abstractions, must remember one thing: in the end, the material world—the concrete, tangible world—is the richest of all the worlds. Let me offer you a parable. A mathematician can sit and speak about a triangle, a square, or a circle in its pure form. He will engage with the pure form of these shapes and make every kind of calculation that his mind can conceive. But a good scientist knows that in the material, concrete world, these shapes never manifest in their pure form.
Every material form is composed of thousands of different geometric configurations, structure within structure. So too, every living form contains within it biological, chemical, and physical structures that can each be analyzed separately; yet they will never stand in isolation. Therefore, when you come to investigate something, to think about something that is real, that belongs to the order of the material world….” Rabbi Adin gripped the table as if to demonstrate what matter is, and continued, “then you must try to grasp it from as many angles as possible, from as many aspects as possible, turning it this way and that: from the historical dimension, the Kabbalistic, the Talmudic, the scientific, and everything of the kind. And even after all of that, you must remember that you have not understood it to its end because all the worlds together find their ultimate embodiment in the material world, and because it is the lowest, it is also the most complex, the richest, the most beautiful.
The material world constitutes the pinnacle of creation, and all abstractions are merely attempts — crutches — to try to understand it.
So… perhaps the next time you happen to encounter angels, remember that they are only part of the matter. Alright?"
In this piercing remark, Rabbi Adin illuminates a fundamental point: the outlook that regards the material world as absolutely inferior overlooks, in effect, the very pinnacle of God’s creation. It resembles the Kabbalist who purchases a new chair and, in the depths of his contemplation of the world of Creation, which is symbolically described as “the World of the Chair,” in Kabbalah, completely forgets to pay the carpenter who made the chair.
Indeed, this is most powerfully illustrated in the human being within whom there is a Kabbalistic and abstract Divine image (tzelem Elokim) expounded about at great length in the sacred books. Yet, it is evident to all that the essential significance of every human lies in the living, concrete person who unites spirit and matter in a wondrous way. Moreover, it is specifically when one looks at each individual as a concrete being that the wonder deepens ever further. As the mishnah teaches: “A person stamps many coins with a single seal, and they all resemble one another. But the Holy Blessed One, stamps every person with the seal of Adam, and yet not one of them resembles the others.”
This is the lens through which the material world itself must be seen. Note also that the value of “the material world” (עוֹלַם הַחוֹמֶר) is equal to 9 times the word “person” (אָדָם)! Within it, a Divine spiritual vitality animates it — and it is in truth a "great Adam" composed of a multitude of "small people." Whether these are actual persons or entirely physical objects, the Divine life-force animates them as well, and within their depths they too bear the face of Adam.
From this perspective, the human being is the purpose and the imprint of all creation. This is particularly true of the first patriarch, Abraham, who is described as, “the greatest among the giants” and whose very name (אַבְרָהָם) has the same value as “matter” (חֹמֶר).
The unique distinction of the Jew is also expressed in the relationship between spirit and matter. In the world at large, spirit and matter can only unite in what may be called a "compound"—they continue to exist side by side, without true unification. But in when a Jew observes Torah and mitzvot, they are genuinely united. In the Torah, the 248 prescriptive commandments specifically regulate the material world. Again, 248, is the value of “matter” (חֹמֶר); they are the purpose and essence of Torah observance. The Jew completes the spiritual dimension by guarding himself from transgression and choosing life through the 365 prohibitive commandments.
Hebrew can be written in a form that implies the vowel signs and in a form that does not. The Bible is mostly written using the former and everyday Hebrew is mostly written using the latter. When the vowels are implied, the word for matter is written חמר, but when they are not, and this is how an everyday Hebrew speaker would write the word, it is spelled, חוֹמֶר. Written in this implied form, חוֹמֶר, “matter” is composed of the letters of the word for “spirit” (רוּחַ) together with the letter mem (מ). The name of the letter mem (מ) literally means (and implies) “water” (מַיִם). Water is used as the metaphor for the transformation from spirit to matter (think of rain, as it descends from airy clouds to physical water). Likewise, spirit descends from a high place to a low place, matter.
The sum of “spirit” (רוּחַ) and “matter” (חוֹמֶר) is 468, which is the product of 18, the value of “alive” (חַי) and God’s essential Name, Havayah (י-הוה), 26. These two words are superimposed in the verse (Psalms 18:47), “Havayah is alive, and my blessed rock” ( חַי י-הוה וּבָרוּךְ צוּרִי); God is the ultimate expression of spirit (“alive”), and the bedrock of the ultimate expression of matter (“my rock”). In this is hinted that Havayah is one with matter, just as much as He is one with spirit, and there is nothing besides Him.
This is not the place to discuss the question of the Magen David's origins. However, even according to those who maintain that it came from a non-Jewish source, the symbol itself may readily be seen as an illustration of this very principle: the choice made by the Jewish people to adopt this symbol as it appears in the concrete material world and its history is also an act governed by Divine Providence and its history invites us to perceive how the loftiest spiritual meanings are charged and ignited within that very choice.
