Meet the teachings of the Rabbah Saphir Noyman Eyal, the studying group, the sacred texts and the ways of studying Kabbalah in Mishkan Hakavana.

The last generation can be understood as both a last chance and the greatest opportunity. Shekhinah (Divinity), or the way the Higher defines itself through Shekhinah, is called Ani, or “I,” expressing the real presence of Ein Sof—an ark that can carry the Higher. In this sense, in Hebrew, to be the last is also to be the first: “I am the last, and I am the first.” The last generation is therefore, in a way, the last chance to feel by choice and to come very close to the first.

This is why this generation has been able to witness the extension of the Zohar to publics in a way that was never previously allowed or possible. The Shofar of Messiah is the extension of Kabbalah to everyone. When Kabbalistic wisdom is opened, it is not because the generation has reached high attainment, but because of the genuine need of the time. It is like spreading seeds everywhere, wherever they can capture their essence and grow something.

This makes the present time both desperate and the greatest opportunity. Like the ouroboros snake, it is the point at which the head and the tail are joined. The definition of the self, the “I,” can move from limitation toward limitless infinity. The body of the snake is the ark.

The meaning of our generation can therefore be understood as a calling. Looking at the way human beings treat one another and the earth is like standing only a few minutes before the deluge. The Zohar becomes a calling into the ark, but it does not call us merely to enter it. It calls us to make it, to build it. The particular opportunity of the last generation is therefore to become a partner in building something that previous generations did not have the opportunity to build.

Breaking the Bubble of Self: Focus in Kabbalah and Prayer

Sitting in meditation or in prayer raises a real question: what should one focus on? When a point in the heart has awakened, there is a sharp distinction between sitting quietly and observing oneself and true contemplation.

Self-observation, even while inserting qualities like forgiveness or acceptance of others, remains a cycle bound by the limits of one’s own consciousness. Nothing breaks out of it, not even thinking of all humanity, since it remains constrained by the will to receive for oneself. Even a genuine wish to do good can fall under wishing to do good for oneself. The Zohar says it clearly and plainly: those who study Torah and deal with the light can still be doing it for themselves.

Sitting quietly and looking at oneself can give real intelligence about how the ego works and where it causes suffering, but this remains work for oneself, mediating between lower and higher self while still inside the space of self. Breaking out begins with knowing that this is what one is doing. This is especially important in our generation, when stillness, joy in breathing, forgiveness, and release from hatred and resentment can all feel very good, while one is still in the same prison, only with a better view.

Even flying to the edge of that space leaves a person locked inside it. The work cannot begin until one becomes fed up with meditating on oneself. The first meditation, then, is to become fed up with meditating on oneself. This is an important state.

This opens the way to Rabbi Nachman’s Hitbodedut. Kabbalists have also used modes of meditation involving letters, words, and sound, particularly in the work associated with Abulafia. But in Rabbi Nachman’s Hitbodedut, the orientation is toward the recognition that there is no one else but Him. The aim is to make holes, even very small ones, in the bubble of self. It is no longer “none but me,” but “none but Him,” present in every minor detail.

This is the difference between meditation and contemplation. Contemplation is a different mold of perception. It means recognizing that one has nothing of oneself and that everything is from Him. This is why the recommendation is usually not simply to sit, but to walk in nature, or, if that is not possible, to stand in a corner of a room and open a dialogue—not with oneself, but with something outside oneself that one wishes will enter.

Meditation can mediate between different inner states and bring relief to the suffering self. Contemplation engages Bina, a different intelligence. It is a request to be included in Bina, and through this to be included in the root of our spirit. The root of our spirit is included in the Shekhinah—in a group of spirit, in a body of spirit that is never the self alone.

In Kabbalah, the concept of Bina is deeply connected to the womb. Bina is described as both a major receiver and a major restorer. It has the capacity to receive with the right intention and, through that reception, to transform and restore. This quality enables us, as human beings, to learn how to receive wisely and then become restorers ourselves—actively passing on what we’ve received in a refined and purposeful way.

The Hebrew word for “womb” (rechem) is linked not only to its physical meaning but also to the notion of mercy (rachamim). This linguistic connection reflects the spiritual process happening in the womb: the female draws in energy or wisdom in order to nurture and ultimately bestow. The womb symbolizes the inner work of preparing to give, cultivating the power and fuel necessary to support new life or new possibilities with compassion.

This dynamic of receiving and bestowing is central to the spiritual path described in Kabbalah. As Malchut or Adam—the human aspect reflecting divine image and stature—we strive to embody this attitude of rightful reception that enables true giving. By receiving with intention and humility, we become capable of bestowing meaningfully. In this way, the womb serves as a metaphor for spiritual development: a sacred space where transformation prepares us to share and uplift.

My Creator is concealed through nature, hiding within the ecology that surrounds us.

In reflecting on the nature of Creation, it is important to speak not of a distant or abstract creator but of ׳my Creator,' bringing a personal dimension to the conversation. This notion transforms the Creator into someone, not something. Ecology, in its essence, can be seen as a representation of God, with nature serving as a manifestation of the divine presence. Through nature, the Creator conceals itself, hiding within the very ecology and light that surrounds us. This concealment is intentional, as it forms the backdrop through which we interact with the world and seek to understand the divine.

The will to receive is the raw material of human nature.

The will to receive is a fundamental aspect of human nature, not inherently evil but a raw material that shapes our experiences. In Hebrew, this concept suggests an awakening or awareness of the self, emphasizing the importance of how we use this power.

Evil arises when the purpose of bad is misunderstood or misused, separating us further from the divine intention. While receiving is not inherently bad, when it becomes separated from the intention to bestow, it deepens the separation from the light and creates darkness. Evil, in this sense, is the decay or rotting of this deepened separation.

In repositioning ourselves in relation to the teachings of Baal Hasulam, it's essential to understand the significance of names within the study. The process of grasping any name begins by examining its first appearance, which in this case, is found within the Torah. The name emerges as the root of prophecy, revealed through a dream. This dream, in turn, establishes a 'house of God', which metaphorically opens the gate to heaven. The deeper meaning behind this is connected to the choice that addresses the prophecy of Baal Hasulam, symbolizing a journey of awakening, humbling oneself, and recognizing the necessary sacrifices required for true spiritual attainment.

Baal Hasulam's prophecy speaks of a critical process of waking up, becoming small, and identifying what is truly needed in the moment, with the willingness to pay the highest price for spiritual service. This price is the highest degree of attainment, not for personal gain, but for the ability to serve. The battle is not between physical strength or weakness but between penetrability and the ability to penetrate, an internal struggle of breaking open one's heart to spiritual truths. Baal Hasulam's journey coincides with Tishrei, the month of Yom Kippur, a time of reflection and self-assessment, where he asks how he can best be of service with his highest degree of understanding. This quest reflects the core of his teachings which is, how to use oneself as a vessel for divine revelation.