…and even without
By: Rabbi Dovid Samuels
“If you accept the Torah, then good. But if you don’t, your burial will be there.”
We are approaching Shavuos: the greatest moment in Jewish history – the day we received the Torah. The exodus from Egypt was for a specific purpose: for the Jewish people to serve Hashem on the mountain. It was this great moment upon which the fate of the entire world depended: would the Jews receive Hashem’s Torah, or will everything revert to void and nothingness? Jews know that Hashem communicates with us through the eternal story of the His people. Our festivals are opportunities to revisit and relive the events that made and continue to make us who we are: the Hashem’s chosen nation. So it is important for us to find meaning in the chagim that speaks to us, in our generation, and allows us to approach the Yom Tov with excitement and appreciate its relevance to us.
The Torah tells us, in relating the phenomenal event of Matan Torah, that the entire Jewish people stood at the bottom of the mountain. But Chazal teach us that the wording suggests that we were not merely standing at the foot of the mountain, but rather: underneath it! In one of the many miracles that Hashem performed for us on that great day, He suspended Mount Sinai over our heads! As Hashem was forging a deep and emotional relationship with us, the mountain was symbolic of the chuppah canopy over the bride and groom. Hashem was marrying us, so-to-speak. But Chazal tell us that there was a more threatening aspect to this miracle. Hashem said to us, as the mountain was suspended above us, “If you accept the Torah, then good. But if you don’t, your burial will be there.” As opposed to the more positive imagery of the chuppah, the message of the mountain becomes somewhat ominous and hostile. So how are we to resolve these two contradictory themes?
Tosfos are bothered why such a threat was even necessary. Afterall, the Jews had already proclaimed unanimously: Na’aseh v’nishma – we will do, and we will understand! We had already committed to receiving the Torah, so why was there need for any further coercion? The answer, Tosfos suggest, is that even though we had committed to receiving the Torah, upon seeing the great and awesome fires on the mountain, our devotion might falter. To prevent any retraction, Hashem gave us no choice – we had to go through with it…no matter what. It was life or death!
The Toldos Yaakov Yosef of Polna, one of the main students of the Baal Shem Tov, was bothered by this understanding. Surely the fires on the mountain would have the opposite effect: they would amaze us and inspire us to embrace the Torah with an even stronger devotion. That such awesome miracles accompanied the giving of the Torah should only serve to heighten the experience and solidify the commitment. Afterall, it was Hashem who brought the fire in the first place, so why would He bring the fire that would compromise our resolve, necessitating the miracle of uprooting the mountain! Hasehm doesn’t do miracles for nothing! So the Toldos Yaakov Yosef interprets Tosfos’ explanation in a different light, allowing us to garner a vital lesson for our own personal kabbolas haTorah.
He suggests that Hashem brought the fire on Mount Sinai to represent the flaming passion that Jews would, and should, have towards Torah avodas Hashem. The raging fire that stems from the heart of every Jew as he approaches the service of his Creator is a feature that was very much present when we stood at the mountain to sign up for our eternal relationship with Hashem. How could we not be inspired, burning up with enthusiasm, after witnessing the miracles that were the culmination of a long-awaited and spectacular exodus and a very intense and focused period of preparation? But fires fade. Passion cools. What would be with the Jewish people’s commitment to Torah when that raging inferno of inspiration and enthusiasm wanes, as it likely would over the next 3 millennia? Kabbolas haTorah was not meant for one generation; it was meant for every generation, forever, no matter what might be going on around us. Sure, when things are going well, we willingly submit ourselves to the yoke of Heaven. But when the backdrop changes, when events become difficult, when those flames start dying…what then? For these moments, says the Toldos Yaakov Yosef, we need some coercion. We need to be reminded that we need the Torah…it is our life. Without it, we will become buried. We might not feel the inspiration, but we need to know that we must carry on with out commitment.
Certainly, the passionate fires of the heart are to be treasured, and we are urged to fan those flames whenever possible. Rav Meir Shapiro, the famed Rosh Yeshiva of Chachmei Lublin and the founder of the Daf Yomi programme, was once invited to a town and was being escorted to the shul by the local rabbi. As they walked through the streets, Rabbi Shapiro noticed a sign on one of the storefronts: “Frozen ice cream: under the supervision of the rabbi.” Rabbi Shapiro was slightly taken aback by the sign. Ice cream was certainly a luxury, especially in those days. But it was the rabbi’s job to supervise the kashrus, the mikvahs, the shechita. Was it the rabbi’s holy duty to make sure there was kosher ice cream when he was needed for so many other things crucial for kosher Jewish life in the town? But he supposed that if everything was as it should be in the town, maybe there was room for some luxuries, so he kept his thoughts to himself and continued to the shul to daven Mincha, then Kabbolas Shabbos. As a Tchortkover Chossid, Rabbi Shapiro was used to warm and passionate tefillos, with singing and liveliness. Instead, he was witness to cold and uninspiring prayers. This bothered him, seeing such icy and unemotional observance. The local rabbi, after the service had ended, approached Rabbi Shapiro and asked him, “Nu, how was the davening?” To which Rav Meir responded: “Frozen ice cream…under the supervision of the rabbi!”
That story teaches us about the fire on Mount Sinai and how valuable our passion is up above in the heavens. But so is our steadfast commitment and dedication to Torah and avodah, even when the flames are almost extinguished. Events and experiences might dry us out, cool us down, to the point where we feel like we don’t want to keep on going. But we look up and we see the mountain above us, and we see its double meaning: Yes, it is threatening us that without Torah we will die. But we notice something within that message: that it is also a wedding canopy lovingly placed above us. Hashem is telling us: “I love you and I want what’s best for you. I know that it is hard, and I know that the fires have cooled, but we have a commitment to one another.” In fact, the Yismach Moshe teaches us that in these times, when the passion has subsided, our service of Hashem is cherished even more than when the flames were alight. It is easy to keep going when everything is smooth and simple, but it is precisely in the challenging situations that we prove our commitment to Hashem, and that is treasured up above even more. Angels serve Hashem surrounded by a constant heavenly fire. Humans, however, wax and wane. But remember, at Shavuos Hashem gave the Torah to humans…not angels!
This dynamic appreciation of our service of Hashem is what is known as “love and fear”. Certainly, service out of love is a lofty level, but love alone has a danger. When we are in love, we might make mistakes and justify them knowing that the love will overlook any errors. We might even mistreat our brothers because “they know I don’t really mean it”. It can be a slippery slope, sometimes ending in loving becoming loathing. When we understand and feel the great love that Hashem has for us, we might use that as an excuse to underperform, even to sometimes transgress. “Hashem understands” can very often be a justification for lapses in our commitment. For that, even the greatest love needs fear. I love you, and I’m terrified of letting you down. That, the Ohr Hachaim says, is why the Torah is spoken to some of us softly – “Thus should you say to Beis Yaakov” – and to others it is told harshly – “and tell Bnei Yisroel” – to emphasise the duality of our relationship with Hashem and His Torah: we love…and we fear. We have a fire within…but we are dedicated even without.
This is echoed by the blessing that the great and holy Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai gave his students before his death: “It should be Hashem’s will that the fear of Heaven should be upon you like the fear of flesh and blood.” His students were surprised. “Is that all?” they asked. To which their rebbe replied: “If only!” I am positive that the students of such a great man had a fire in their hearts burning to become closer and closer to Hashem. Nevertheless, their teacher hoped and prayed that they would also have a real and tangible fear of Heaven. If the flames would ever fade, the commitment should still endure. In KGB Russia, one of the punishments for teaching Torah was to stand stock still in front of a wall for a long period of time. If the victim moved, he would be shot. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein was put through this torture and survived. Rav Moshe had experienced what fear really was. From then on, he was known to stand perfectly still during his Amidah prayer. He reasoned to himself: If he could stand with such focus and concentration for lowly anti-Semites, all the more so he should show Hashem the same degree of respect when he stands before Him in prayer. Prayer, which is a service of the heart, was to be coupled with fear.
As we approach the holy day of Shavuos, when we re-affirm our commitment to our relationship with Hashem, and many of us find ourselves in a position where the flames of passion have been suppressed quite dramatically, whether it is because of what’s going on in the world around us or in our personal lives, we are urged to look up and notice Who is overhead. Hashem has placed a mountain above us, but has also spread His chuppah over us, and with the correct approach we will do what we can to fan the flames of devotion, while at the same time forging forward with commitment and dedication. No matter what, we are His people, and whether we have fire of love or the mountain of steadfastness, our service is treasured more than we can imagine.
