Thus, a new element is introduced into the gesture of Gevurah namely, heroism or action undertaken contrary to human logic and human practical judgment. This kind of action quite often leads to ultimate victory. There are situations in life with which clear-cut logical processes and utiltarian approaches fail to cope, while the sudden spontaneous leap into the absurd (to use a Kierkegaardian phrase) may save man when he finds himself in utter distress. This non-rational and impractical action is heroic, and is identical with Gevurah.....
The idea of catharsis through the dialectical movement manifests itself in all Halachic norms regulating human life. Nowhere, however, does this doctrine of dialectical catharsis assert itself more frequently than it does in the aesthetic-hedonic realm.
How does man purge himself in this realm? By engaging in the dialectical movement by withdrawing, at the moment when passion reaches its peak. The stronger the grip of the physiological drive is felt by man, the more intoxicating and bewildering the prospect of hedonic gratification, the greater the redemptive capacity of the dialectical catharsis - of the movement of recoil.
Thy belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies. It often happens that a man takes a wife when he is forty years of age. When, after going to great expense, he wishes to associate with her, she says
to him, 'I have seen a rose-red speck,' he immediately recoils. What made him retreat and keep away from her? Was there an iron fence, did a serpent bite him, did a scorpion sting him? A dish of meat is
placed before a man and he is told some forbidden fat has fallen into it. He withdraws his hand from the food. What stopped him from tasting it? Did a serpent bite him; did a scorpion sting him? Only the
words of the Torah which are as soft as a bed of lilies.
(Midrash on Shir Hashirim)
Now let us visualize the following concrete situation. The mourner, who has buried a beloved wife or mother, returns home from the graveyard where he has left part of himself, where he has witnessed the mockery of human existence. He is in a mood to question the validity of our entire axiological universe. The house is empty, dreary, every piece of furniture reminds the mourner of the beloved person he has buried. Every corner is full of memories. Yet the Halacha addresses itself to the lonely mourner, whispering to rum: "Rise from your mourning; cast the ashes from your head; change your clothes; light the festive candles; recite over a cup of wine the Kiddush extolling the Hashem for giving us festivals of gladness blessing of : 'Blessed art You. . . who has kept us in life and has preserved us and has enabled us to reach this season'; join the jubilating community and celebrate the holiday as jf nothing had transpired, as if the beloved person over whose death you grieve were with you." The Halacha, which at times can be very tender, understanding and accommodating, may, on other occasions, act like a disciplinarian demanding obedience. The Halacha suggests to man, broken in body and spirit, carrying the burden of an absurd existence, that he change his mood, that he cast off his grief and choose joy. Let us repeat the question: Is such a metamorphosis of the state of mind of an individual possible? Can one make the leap from utter bleak desolation and hopelessness into joyous trust? Can one replace the experience of monstrosity with the feeling of the highest meaningfulness? I have no right to judge. However, I know of people who attempted to perform this greatest of all miracles.
(Rav Soloveitchik - Catharsis)
