We are fortunate to live in times during which access to Torah and Torah environments are readily available in many shapes, places and forms. Thus, on one hand, one can easily be plugged into the world of Torah, firmly understanding that the purpose of one’s existence is to focus one’s success in Torah and mitzvot. On the other hand, we also live in times that provide no shortage of elements that can distract one from the purpose of life, where one might slowly begin to forget that one’s ultimate purpose in this world is to accomplish in Torah and mitzvot.
It’s therefore, perhaps, not for naught that the very beginning of the first chapter of Mesilat Yesharim—one of the most, if not the most, popular and fundamental mussar works—underscores and reminds us that our ultimate destination is the next world and we are here in this world to serve Hashem and do mitzvot—so that we can attain and be worthy of the world to come. Our parsha (ch. 17) discusses how a king must always have a sefer Torah with him (Sichot Mussar 92). “It shall be with him, and he shall read from it all the days of his life, so that he will learn to fear Hashem, his God, to observe all the words of this Torah and these decrees, to perform them.” A king is in a unique position where—maybe far more than the average person—he is heavily involved in physical matters pertaining to this world. He might easily and quickly lose sight of the ultimate purpose of life. Perhaps then, constantly carrying a sefer Torah with him and learning from it serves as a reminder of why we are here; it plugs him back into reality: remember, always, that we are here for spirituality—to grow in Torah and mitzvot.
This idea might further be emphasized in our parsha which discusses the process of the eglah arufa (ch. 21). When a corpse of an unwitnessed murder is found lying in the open, the elders of the town nearest to the corpse bring a calf to a harsh valley, and perform a certain ritual, ultimately decapitating the calf to atone for the murder. The Gemara (Sota 46a) asks why specifically a calf is used for this process (as opposed to a full-grown cow), and why it is brought to a harsh valley. The Gemara explains: “Hashem said, ‘Let something (a calf) that has not borne fruit (as a calf in its first year does not bear offspring—(Rashi)) come and be decapitated at a place that does not produce fruit (as such a valley is too rough for that—(Rashi)), and (thus) atone for (the murder of) one who was not given the chance to bear fruit (since he was murdered—(Rashi)).’”
The Gemara, however, asks what is meant by “fruit” in this context. First, the Gemara raises the possibility that “fruit” is a reference to bearing children—that he wasn’t given the opportunity to produce offspring. The Gemara then challenges that, arguing that if this were so, then this would in effect mean that for an elderly victim or a castrated victim who was incapable of producing children, they would not decapitate a calf, which isn’t the case! Rather, concludes the Gemara, the term “fruit” is a reference to mitzvot. By being murdered, he wasn’t given the chance to fulfill mitzvot—to produce “fruit.”
From this Gemara, it sounds like the Torah is lamenting, so-to-speak, the fact that the murdered person was denied the opportunity to perform mitzvot. Which, perhaps, makes it sound like the main issue that an act of murder entails is that it robs a person of the ability to do mitzvot, which further implies that doing mitzvot is the purpose of a person’s existence. If that’s the case, as Rav Chaim Mintz comments, it emerges that since the main reason for a person’s existence is to pursue and perform mitzvot, one who doesn’t is considered as if he is dead, since he is not fulfilling his intended purpose of existence (Etz Hachaim, Shoftim).
Interestingly, immediately preceding the topic of eglah arufa is the topic of preservation of fruit trees, and within the pesukim there it states, “ki ha’adam etz hasadeh, for man is a tree of a field.” Man being likened to a fruit tree, perhaps indicates the above idea—that much like the purpose of a fruit tree is to produce fruits, so too the purpose of man in this world is to produce spiritual fruits—the mitzvot.
Keeping our focus and pursuits on doing mitzvot is a lifelong endeavor, which continues even when one is already well advanced in years and good deeds, and has even attained a lofty spiritual level. Indeed, one may be the greatest tzaddik, but as long as one is alive and capable—this mission applies. Examining the above Gemara, the Gemara concluded that fruits is a reference to mitzvot. But, on this conclusion, can’t we ask a similar question that the Gemara asked when it raised its first possibility that fruits is a reference to children? If the reference of fruit is mitzvot, then what about someone who did many mitzvot already in his life? Surely such a person already bore so much fruit, i.e. mitzvot! So why doesn’t the Gemara ask that for a person who has already done mitzvot, eglah arufa shouldn’t apply—which doesn’t sound like the case here! Even the “sinners of Israel are filled with mitzvot like a pomegranate” (that is full of seeds) (Gemara Chagiga, 27a); If so, how applicable could the eglah arufah ritual even be if fruit means mitzvot? Hasn’t virtually everyone already produced fruit?
We can suggest that from the fact that the Gemara didn’t ask such a question shows that even if a person has already produced much fruit/mitzvot, it’s still on some level considered as if he hasn’t produced any fruit. For as long as a person is capable of producing spiritually—then he is treated in this regard as if he hasn’t accomplished enough to be considered enough.
Interestingly, this idea may come up in the beginning of our parsha, where the pasuk says, “You shall not construct for yourselves a ‘matzeiva,’ (monument) which Hashem, your God, hates” (16:22). What’s wrong with making a matzeiva for oneself? Rav Moshe Feinstein (based on Rashi on the pasuk) seems to understand that this restriction to making a matzeiva refers to making it for oneself while one is still living, and it could be coming to combat the idea of spiritual stagnation—of being like a stagnant “pillar”—even if one has already done so much good thus far. Making a “monument” for oneself while one is still alive can symbolize the concept of a person ending his “career” in spirituality after having accomplished much. Hence, this pasuk can teach us the idea that even if one has already done so many mitzvot and may be a huge tzaddik, one isn’t to “retire” from advancing in more mitzvot, but instead is to continue aspiring for more and more Torah and mitzvot. (See Drash Moshe, Shoftim).
The midrash in our parsha brings the pasuk in Mishlei (6:6), where Shlomo Hamelech said, “Go to the ant, you sluggard; see its ways and grow wise.” Among the number of lessons we are to learn from the ways of the ant, one of them that the midrash notes is the following: An ant only lives six months, and during those six months its entire food consumption is only a grain and a half of wheat. Yet, it gathers so much food, far more than needed. The midrash even records that once, people found in an ant’s hole 300 kor of grain! (A kor is a dry measure of volume equal to 4,320 eggs). Says the Midrash, when Shlomo Hamelech tells us to learn from the ant, he meant that—similar to the ant—we should apply the ant’s conduct in regards to preparing ourselves with mitzvot from this world for the world to come (Devarim Rabbah, 5:2). Perhaps we learn from this midrash that just like the ant already has more than enough food but nevertheless, seemingly endlessly stocks up on more and more, so too we should learn from it in regard to our spiritual endeavors: that even if one thinks he is filled with Torah and mitzvot and may feel he already stocked up on more than enough, nevertheless he is to still continue pursuing and accomplishing more and more.
Since, after all, life is about doing mitzvot.
Binyamin is a graduate of Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchok Elchanan, and of Wurzweiler School of Social Work.
