Cruising down the parkway, I noticed a car that was seemingly advertising the message: “One Life—Live It.” Needless to say, I was confused. Maybe it was meant to be inspiring and motivating, but I was instead left scrambling for the understanding of what life is and thus what to be living!
I saw a story where once at a certain gathering in Lithuania, a Torah scholar was speaking, and he discussed the importance of Torah study. He said, “Torah is like oxygen. Just as a person can’t live without air, one can’t live without Torah.” Rav Chaim Soloveitchik however, who was present at the time, disagreed and remarked, “Torah isn’t like oxygen; oxygen only helps life. It isn’t life itself. Torah however, is life.”
In our parsha Moshe says, “I am 120 years old today; I can no longer go out and come in.” What does this mean? Rashi—in one of his explanations—says that Moshe is referring to words of Torah, and that we learn from here that the transmission and wellsprings of wisdom had become closed off to him.
Why was Moshe, at this time of his life, blocked from the ability to achieve Torah wisdom? The Siftei Chachamim explains this was in order that Moshe not be pained by having his prominence be given over to Yehoshua; for now that he can no longer gain Torah wisdom, what’s the purpose of life?
The Siftei Chachamim seems to be saying that since Moshe would feel a disinterest in life as he can no longer gain Torah knowledge, this would overcome the potential pain he would’ve otherwise had upon seeing his prestige being given over to Yehoshua. Moshe being denied Torah knowledge led him to feel that life had no purpose, thus he did not feel pain at having his status transferred to Yehoshua.
Rav Henach Leibowitz asks, just because Moshe couldn’t gain Torah knowledge he should feel that life has no purpose? What about all the mitzvot he can do? Is that not enough to satisfy his desire for life? Says Rav Leibowitz, as great as performing mitzvot are, it nevertheless does not compare to the greatness of Torah study. For once Moshe became accustomed to learning Torah in a superior way, he was no longer able to feel satisfaction from life through the sole performance of mitzvot. Therefore, once Torah study was blocked off from him, he lost his sense of purpose (“Chiddushei Halev,” Vayeilech).
Torah is indeed life, and we perhaps see from here that being engaged in Torah study, specifically, is the ultimate definition of life and what it means to be “living.” We can learn from here that utilizing every available opportunity for Torah learning or to increase the quantity of our current learning is so meaningful, for it brings us “back to life.”
There was a story about a kollel student learning in Rav Aharon Kotler’s yeshiva. This student had a lucrative business opportunity which would bring him significant income. He approached Rav Aharon, and asked him, “Rebbe, is it true that if a businessman supports a Torah scholar in a contractual arrangement, then he shares the reward of the World to Come with his partner? Rav Aharon answered in the affirmative, explaining the concept of the Yissachar-Zevulun partnership. “If that is the case,” the student continued, “I’d like to enter into an arrangement with a kollel member. I have a great opportunity to make quite a bit of money and this way I’ll still be guaranteed the World to Come.” Rav Aharon was stunned: “How can you leave learning?” The student responded meekly, “But won’t I still enjoy the world to come?” “Of course!” exclaimed the rosh yeshiva, “but if you leave learning, how will you enjoy this world?”
In parshat Va’etchanan, Moshe designates cities of refuge, so that an unintentional killer “shall flee to one of these cities and live” (4:42). The Gemara (Makkot 10a) derives that if a student is exiled there, his rebbi is also exiled there with him since it says that the killer shall “live”—which teaches that we are to provide him with arrangements that will enable him to live.
It seems to be evident from this Gemara that a student can’t “live” without his rebbi, and therefore his rebbi goes with him to the city of refuge.
Rav Leibowitz observes that this Gemara implies that this would apply even to a student who is already great in learning and can learn on his own. The Gemara further implies that this applies even if there is already a [different] rebbi in the city of refuge from whom this student can learn, but his learning wouldn’t be as good as learning from his own personal rebbi. Hence, we see that even by such a student; since he can learn better with his personal rebbi, this is “life” for him, and the absence of his rebbi—and as a result the better learning—would be considered the lack of life, death (“Chiddushei Halev,” Va’etchanan).
We perhaps see from here that even if one is already learning, if he could be learning better, then he is not plugged into real “life,” so much so that it’s considered like death. We can learn from here that every drop of enhancement in the quality of our current Torah learning when we are actually engaged in learning, has an immeasurable value—it can spell the difference between “life” and “death.”
Rav Tzadok haKohen m’Lublin says, that when we say to Hashem—“May it be Your Will that you renew for us a ‘good’ and sweet year,” this refers to Torah learning, as the Gemara (Berachot, 5a) says “There is no ‘good’ other than Torah.” (“Pri Tzadik,” 5, p. 246).
During these days when we plead for life, we perhaps are also pleading to have a greater year in Torah study—the ultimate definition of life—both quantitatively and qualitatively.
Binyamin is a graduate of Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchok Elchonon and Wurzweiler School of Social Work.
