Divrei Yisro
Torah and Perfection
This week’s parsha focuses upon kabalas haTorah, the apex of our history. With our acceptance of Torah came an obligation to learn it, day and night. Certainly some meditations from our gedolim upon this mitzvoh and its powerful effects are appropriate at this time.
Three students of HaRav Chaim Volozhiner went bad. Distraught, he sought the advice of the Vilna Gaon, who asked him, “What exceptional qualities does each one possess? Answered Reb Chaim: “One comes from a distinguished family of rabbanim, one has unusually refined middos, and one loves to learn.” Stated the GR”A: “As far as the first two, I cannot tell you what will be. Yichus does not guarantee anything, and plenty of gentiles also possess good character. The third one, though, will come back.” And so it was. Why does Torah, and Torah alone, carry such might?
HaRav Elazar Menachem Mann Shach zt”l points out a common fallacy in understanding the purpose of learning Torah. We often get caught up in the tremendous reward that Hashem has promised us if we do His Will. True, that reward certainly is there; in fact, the greatest reward comes from learning Torah, as the Mishnah (Peah 1:1) declares: “Talmud Torah k’neged kulam – learning Torah is equal to all the mitzvos.” The Chofetz Chaim explained this statement literally: every word of Torah that one learns equals six hundred and thirteen mitzvos. Any cheder rebbe with a calculator can instantly inspire his class by having them say over a number of pesukim, counting up the words, multiplying by the class size, and again by 613, to show the boys how many tens of thousands of mitzvos they have generated in a few short minutes of classtime.
To stop at this point, however, can leave the false impression that mitzvos are simply means of earning reward, and aveiros are only means of earning punishment. This approach is one-dimensional, and certainly it was not the intent of this statement of the Chofetz Chaim. Consider the famous declaration in the name of the Vilna Gaon zt”l: If the reward for mitzvos was Gehinnom, and one would receive Gan Eden for doing aveiros, he would still continue to perform mitzvos, for our purpose in this world is to fulfill the Will of Hashem!
When we step back and gaze at what Hashem expects from us, however, it is easy to become overwhelmed. Not only do we face a long list of 613 mitzvos (including six that we must strive to fulfill constantly), but we are required to live our daily lives on this level, far beyond that of our neighbors, while contending with the same vicissitudes of life – from obeying traffic laws to paying the mortgage – as them. [As we know, ma’aseh avos siman l’banim; the events in Chumash are not mere stories, but serve as prototypes for the rest of Jewish history. One common theme among all of them, notes Rav Shach, is that our ancestors are held to a far higher standard than the rest of humanity. For example, because Avraham Avinu asked Hashem, “How will I know that I will inherit it [the land of Israel]?” his descendants were fated to centuries of exile and slavery in Egypt, the most corrupt country in the world at that time.]
How can Hashem demand such superhuman results from mere humans? Says Rav Shach: the answer is plainly written in Pirkei Avos (6:1): “Whoever learns Torah for its own sake merits many things . . . [among them that] it makes him fit to be righteous, devout, fair, and faithful. It moves him away from sin and draws him near to merit . . . He becomes modest, patient, and forgiving of insult to himself. [The Torah] makes him great and exalted above all living things.” We see that the direct result of properly learning Torah is to transform a person, to perfect his mind, his world-outlook, and of course his deeds, and thereby to enable him to accomplish what that very Torah demands of him.
In other words, learning Torah and living Torah go hand-in –hand. Perhaps in an isolated shtetl, was it possible to exist as a “Tehillim-yid,” an unlearned Jew whose sole contact with Torah was a few chapters of Tehillim between Minchah and Maariv, and the rabbiner’s drashah on Shabbos. Now, however, there are no more “good streets;” only by unleashing the power of learning Torah, can a Jew hope to fulfill it.
How does this process of Torah-transformation work? At the beginning of Parshas Vayeitzeh, Yaakov “dreamed, and behold, [he saw] a ladder set up on the earth, and its top reached the heaven.” This dream means that just as a person climbs a ladder, step by step, rung by rung, so also can a person ascend – not just in spirituality, but with every step, he changes his essence and becomes an utterly different person. The Torah is the vehicle for this person’s metamorphosis, and just as he changes, so does the Torah that he learns become an entirely different Torah for him. This is the meaning of a later Rashi, when the Torah says, “And He gave [the luchos] to Moshe as He finished (k’kalaso) speaking to him. (Shemos 31:18). Rashi there explains that Moshe at that point was like “a bride (kalah) who had entered the chuppah.” Explains Rav Shach: even though Hashem had finished teaching Torah to Moshe, that moment was like a new beginning, in much the same way that a bride under the chuppah is starting her career as an aishes chayil. Likewise, someone who learns Torah is not just left with merely more mitzvos on his slate in shamayim; he is transformed, and that very transformation enables him to engage upon a new career, that of learning Torah on an entirely different level of understanding than he had before.
How many steps are on this ladder of Torah? An infinite number, for not only does Torah never end, but every word of Torah that one learns can catapult him to a new level. He is constantly in a state of that bride under the chuppah, always being renewed.
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Perhaps this concept makes a connection between the seemingly disparate, yet juxtaposed episodes of the arrival of Yisro and that of matan Torah. When Moshe met Yisro, the Torah comments that “he bowed and he kissed him.” (Shemos 18:7) Asks the Mechiltah, “I do not know who bowed to whom and who kissed whom. Then the posuk says, ‘And a man (ish) inquired of his friend’s welfare.’ Who is called ish? Moshe, as it says, ‘And the ish Moshe was very humble’” and therefore bowed to his father-in-law and kissed him. (BaMidbar 12:3) Says Rav Shach: we see that Moshe is called an ish, but not everyone holds this title. If we call someone an ish, quite often it is a mistake. Rather, he holds the potential to become an ish.
Who is an ish? Someone who understands his purpose in the world and is striving to accomplish it. That purpose is called shleimus, says HaRav Avigdor Miller zt”l, at the beginning of Lev Avigdor. He cites the Mishnah (Avos 5:1) which says “With ten utterances the world was created. What does this come to teach us? Indeed, could it not have been created with one utterance? This was to exact punishment from the wicked who destroy the world that was created with ten utterances, and to bestow goodly reward upon the righteous who sustain the world that was created by ten utterances.” Says the Rambam: “The meaning [of this mishnah] is to portray the greatness of our universe, and that the one who destroys it has destroyed something great, but the one who sustains it has sustained something great.” Now, says Rav Miller, what is the one thing that every single person has in his power to destroy and sustain? Himself.
In other words, the purpose of the entire universe is for people to utilize it to perfect themselves. Therefore, the mishnah is telling us that one who strives for and accomplishes this goal to his best ability has sustained the universe, for its existence has been justified by his results, but one who destroys himself has also in effect nullified the purpose of the universe, for he has failed to utilize it for the proper result.
Now we can understand another mishnah: “[Unlike every other creation, which were created as many beings at one time,] People were created as individuals [i.e. Adam and Chava] . . . . Therefore, every single person is obligated to say, ‘Because of me, the world was created.’” (Sanhedrin 4:5) Rashi on the Gemara (37a) which contains this Mishnah explains that one should think, “I am equally as important as the entire universe.” On the surface, the equation seems unbalanced; how can one person define himself in this way? Says Rav Miller: every person lives in a reality which encompasses the entire world, but that reality exists for only one purpose: that he perfect himself. Therefore, should a person not achieve shleimus, perfection, not only is he held liable for his own misdeeds, but he also is responsible for his entire reality – from the millions of stars on down – that he has wasted.
Therefore, says Rav Miller, we are to understand our lives as a series of tests. However, these tests are not just to see where we are holding, but to uplift us and bring us closer to our state of perfection. Every moment (no matter how short) that we live, every item (no matter how small) that we sense, every relationship with another person (no matter how casual) that we experience, is a tailor-made opportunity for another step up the ladder to greatness. Even the anguishes that seem to come upon us all too often, are in reality invitations to perfection. For example, on the surface Dovid HaMelech lived a tragic life. Scorned by his family, chased like a hunted animal by both his father-in-law Shaul and his son Avshalom, he rarely knew a peaceful moment. Yet Dovid utilized these moments to perfect himself, as literally hundreds of posukim in Tehillim attest, to the point that every day, those posukim are recited millions of times during our tefillos, and Dovid himself has merited to become the fourth bearer of Hashem’s mighty Merkavah.
Even far-off events can become springboards for our perfection. The posuk (Tehillim 94:10) states, “He [Hashem] Who chastises nations – shall He not rebuke you? He teaches a person knowledge.” For example, when we hear about an earthquake at the other end of the world, it is an opportunity for us to appreciate that the ground which we walk upon is currently stable. If we do not take advantage of this moment, than as far as our reality is concerned, those people over there have suffered for nothing.
While everything that we sense – be it physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually – can become a keli, a catalyst for us to achieve shleimus, there is no greater keli than Torah itself. In Michtav M’Eliyahu (3:188), Rav Dessler brings a Yalkut Shimoni (Chaye Sarah 103) which cites Mishlei (3:16) and elaborates: “’Lengthy days are at its right’ – this is to attain olam habah; ‘at its left are wealth and honor’ – this is to attain olam hazeh, even to the point that it will come lihasme’il (to give wealth and honor) to a person.” Says Rashi (on Breishis Rabbah 59) “Lihasme’il also refers to someone who comes looking for wealth and honor from Hashem.” Asks Rav Dessler: “Could we ever have imagined such a situation? Here is the Torah, a book so holy that Hashem created the entire universe for it, He gave it to us with such awesome fanfare that our neshamos left our bodies – how could it be that a person should study it with the lowly intent of money and power? Yet we see that this is so, and as long as this person might in the end come to learn it for its own sake, he can indeed attain that wealth and power for which he lusts at this point.
Citing Tanya (Chapter 5), Rav Dessler notes that while performing every positive mitzvoh does such great benefit that these mitzvos are considered “clothing” for one’s soul, learning Torah possesses a unique benefit. When we learn, the Torah enters directly inside of us, into our minds, joining with our souls in such an intimate way that it is considered actual “food” for our souls, for just as the food that we eat becomes an intimate part of us, so does the Torah that we learn become an integral part of who we are. (By corollary, just as any treif food that a Jew might come to ingest become part of him, so also do any improper influences, such as inappropriate books, movies, or websites, also alter us in the most inseparable way. One gaze in the wrong direction may take years to overcome.) Is it any surprise, then, that the path to the perfection which Hashem requires of us lead straight to the bais midrash?
So why do we seem to always be at the bottom of Yaakov’s ladder, never reaching the first rung? Certainly, part of that comes from the yetzer hara, trying to discourage us from even trying by playing with our imaginations; really, we are progressing, but he leads us on to make our journey seem pointless and hopeless. Says Rav Shach: we ourselves cause another hindrance. Just as when someone trying to ascend a ladder with loose clothing may find his climb stopped when his trousers get caught on a nail, so also, if we have not made ourselves fit to receive more Torah, we may find our progress stymied at any point. Chazal have given us a checklist of areas for us to work upon, in order that we may overcome all obstacles. The Mishnah (Avos 6:6) lists forty-eight categories with which “Torah is acquired.” Asks Rav Shach: Why does the Mishnah use the language of “acquired,” if Torah has already been “given”? He answers: As we know, there are a set number of “kinyanim,” acts that acquire. For example, there are kinyan shtar, kinyan chatzer, etc. On the other hand, other acts, such as throwing an object in and out of one’s courtyard, are not kinyanim, and so one who performs them does not acquire anything. Likewise, merely “throwing” the Torah that one learns in and out of one’s mind does not accomplish the kinyan Torah that we crave; rather, one must have in mind all forty-eight kinyanim, noting one’s progress in every one.
Even those of the forty-eight which at first glance seem to have nothing directly to do with Torah, such as sharing a fellow’s yoke, are in fact essential to one’s success in Torah. Just as a prospective nursing student may look over the many prerequisites required for a degree and wonder, “Why must I take English Composition -- I’m going to be healing people, not writing essays!” so also must neophyte Torah learners realize that Chazal knew very well the obstacles to greatness in Torah, and so constructed the Forty-Eight Ways as a prerequisite curriculum.
Yaakov’s ladder reaches very high. In the introduction to “Sifra D’Tzniusa,” the Vilna Gaon notes that he could find 2,260 novel meanings in the posuk, “Ascend here in the south.” (BaMidbar 13:17) May we all be worthy to attain such understanding.
Thanks is Not Enough
We may come to Parshas Yisro only once a year, but in every Bircas HaMazon and in the Bircas Krias Shma of Shacharis and Maariv, we fill our mouths with song, blessings, and thanks for the great gift of Torah. However, says the Chofetz Chaim, our obligation only begins at that point – now that we have the Torah, we not only need to give thanks, we should learn it, too!
Someone who expresses thanks for Torah, yet doesn’t open a sefer, is like the poor man in the following moshol, which Harav Shalom Meir Wallach brings from the Chofetz Chaim:
A pauper was lying in hunger and despair atop a pile of garbage. Suddenly, he heard hoof beats and the sound of rolling wheels. Raising up his shaggy, unkempt head, he saw the fancy carriage of the mayor of the city. Immediately, he jumped up and threw himself in front of the enormous horses pulling the carriage. The coachman barely stopped in time to save the beggar from being trampled.
The carriage’s window opened. “Have you lost your mind?” the mayor shouted. “We nearly ran you over!”
“Better that I die!” bitterly cried the poor man. “I have no roof over my head, nothing but tattered rags to wear, and no food in my belly!”
The mayor felt badly for this poor fellow. “When I get to City Hall, I’ll tell my treasurer to watch out for you,” he promised. “Go to him and tell him who you are. He will then provide city funds for you to get a bath, a haircut, some fine clothes, and a meal. What’s more, you will then get a steady city job in his department, a comfortable room, and a monthly stipend.”
The poor man’s mouth opened in shock. He had hoped for a coin and a crust, and now he had hit the jackpot! He ran after the departing carriage, shouting “Thank you, Lord Mayor! Thank you!” until it disappeared over the horizon.
Upon arriving at City Hall, the mayor told his treasurer to look out for the pauper and provide him with all his needs. The next day, the mayor asked his treasurer, “Did that poor man come to you yesterday?” “No sir, no one came,” was the surprising answer.
At the end of the day, as the mayor’s carriage passed a certain garbage heap, a familiar figure on top of it shouted, “Thank you, Lord Mayor! Thank you for everything!”
And so it was. Every evening and every morning, as the mayor’s carriage passed that same filthy spot, the same outpourings of unfulfilled gratitude rang out over the dump.
That foolish fellow never
took advantage of the gift, but only praised the giver, who sadly shook his head
in disappointment, as his efforts to rehabilitate this man went to waste.
(These ma’asim come from Haggadah Shel Pesach: Ma’aseh Rav, by HaRav Wallach.)
Do not Steal
To us, the Ten Commandments are not merely meant to be engraved on a statue or hung on a wall; they are a living document, as these ma’asim demonstrate.
When HaRav Chaim Elazar Vicks zt”l, the author of Nefesh Chayah, became Rav of the city of Ternigror, one of the wealthy members of the community approached him. He had a legal dispute with a certain non-Jewish businessman. Would the Rav be willing to help him win the case?
After Rav Vicks learned that the man was actually the one at fault, and in fact the non-Jew was in the right, he refused to have anything to do with the case.
“But Rabbi,” the man persisted, “If we can twist our argument in a certain way (here, he twisted his thumb to emphasize the strained and convoluted point), everything comes out in our favor!”
Retorted Rav Vicks, “It is said about the Luchos HaBris that Moshe brought down from Har Sinai, ‘They were written on both sides.’ Why did Hashem make them in such a manner? They teach us that no matter which way you turn and twist them, they still declare, “Do not steal!’”
Do not Desire
In his commentary on the Chumash, Avraham Ibn Ezra asks on the last of the Ten Commandments (“Do not desire what is not yours”), “How can Hashem command a person not to desire? If a person’s heart lusts for something, how can he stop himself?” He answers, “Just as a simple villager would not dream of marrying a king’s daughter, for her becoming his wife is utterly out of the question, so also should we take this attitude towards the property of others – we have no relationship to them at all!”
HaRav Meir Chadash zt”l, the mashgiach of Yeshivas Chevron, said on this Ibn Ezra, “In the Yeshiva of Slobodka, where I learned, we answered the opposite way: The Alter of Slobodka emphasized the concept of gadlus ha’adam, the intrinsic greatness of a person. No one is just a villager; in reality, a person is the offspring of a King. If so, then how could a crown prince ever desire the ‘daughter of a villager,’ the empty pleasures of this world?”
The Bais HaLevi of Brisk also cites this Ibn Ezra, then comments, “Another approach to answering the Ibn Ezra’s question goes this way: Imagine that a person finds himself desiring something that is not his, and his yetzer hara is pushing him harder and harder to try to get it. He walks, runs – then stops, for his way is blocked by a river covered by a layer of ice too thin and too dangerous to walk upon. Immediately, his lust leaves him, for reality has set in, and he has no way of attaining his goal. So also, when a person desires something that is not his, if he has any fear of the transgression of “Do not desire,” he will feel as if he has come to an impasse, and he will be able to control and get rid of his desire.”
The Brisker Rav commented, “Even though the Bais HaLevi wrote this concept as an answer to the Ibn Ezra’s question, it was no mere theory to him. On the contrary, he physically felt it.”
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HaRav Chaim Brisker zt”l
once came to the cheder of Brisk to test the students’ progress.
He asked them, “Late one Shabbos night, the Ba’al Ha’Hafla’ah, who served as Rav of Frankfurt, once heard the sounds of intruders in his house. From the noises, he could recognize that they hoped to steal a silver candlestick that was on a table. He was a tzaddik and wished only to minimize the wrong that was being committed. Therefore, in order to save the thieves from the sin of moving mukzeh, he called out to them, ‘Don’t take the candlestick now! I hereby mafkir it, declare it ownerless, and you can take it motzoi Shabbos!’”
Rav Chaim then asked the students, “Why wasn’t it enough for the Ba’al Ha’Hafla’ah to merely tell the thieves to come back the next night and receive the candlestick as a gift? What was the need for him to be mafkir it as well?” The students had no answer.
Said Rav Chaim: “If he had only announced his intent to give them the candlestick as a gift, they would have spent the rest of Shabbos thinking about the silver and desiring it, and therefore transgressing, ‘Do not desire what is not yours.’ When he immediately declared it ownerless, that transgression was lifted!”