The conclusion of Sefer Kohelet serves as a summary of the entire book, and it does not consist of Shlomo's words about himself, but rather the words of the editor testifying about King Shlomo and his path. In these verses, two channels through which Shlomo arrived at truth are revealed: inquiry and deep study on the one hand, and observation of the ways of the world and life experience on the other. From this, we also learn how Torah is acquired, why one must consult a great Torah scholar, and the degree of caution required when publicizing ideas.
דִּבְרֵי חֲכָמִים כַּדָּרְבֹנוֹת וּכְמַשְׂמְרוֹת נְטוּעִים בַּעֲלֵי אֲסֻפּוֹת נִתְּנוּ מֵרֹעֶה אֶחָד׃ - The words of the wise are like goads, and like nails firmly planted are the sayings of the masters of assemblies, given from one Shepherd.
Our Sages expounded: When are words of Torah properly spoken? When they are heard in assemblies (asupot). That is, Torah is acquired only in a group (chavurah). When people unite and gather together - this is the way of Torah, and not when each person learns in isolation, as it is stated, "A sword is upon the solitary, and they shall become foolish," which refers to learning in solitude, separated from others.
And from where do we know that if one hears a word of Torah from the least among the Jewish people, it should be regarded as though he heard it from Moshe Rabbeinu, cherishing the words and receiving them with love and joy? Scripture states, "They were given from one Shepherd" - this refers to Moshe. What an ordinary person tells you right now, as well as what a seasoned disciple is destined to innovate - provided they are insights aligned with the path of truth - originates from Moshe. And not from Moshe alone, but as though directly from the Holy One, blessed be He, for "from one Shepherd" carries two meanings: one shepherd is Moshe Rabbeinu, who was the shepherd of Israel, and one shepherd is the Holy One, blessed be He, Who shepherds us and the entire world. As it is said, "From one Shepherd" - and "shepherd" refers only to the Holy One, blessed be He, as it is stated, "Give ear, O Shepherd of Israel," and "one" refers only to the Holy One, blessed be He, as it is stated, "Hashem is One."
The Midrash further expounds: What is meant by "masters of assemblies" (ba'alei asupot)? When are words of Torah firmly planted within a person? At the time when their masters are gathered (ne'esafim) from them. The Torah Temimah explains: When a person's teachers are gathered to the World of Truth. As long as one's teacher is present, he does not acquire the teachings completely, because he tells himself: Whenever I need to, my teacher is right here and I will ask him; whenever I encounter a difficulty, I will approach him. When someone feels he can always retrieve the information from someone else, it does not become properly internalized within him.
Consider a modern example: Ask an average person for his children's phone numbers - he does not know them. Yaakov is speed dial 4, Moshe is speed dial 6, David is speed dial 8. They are all saved as shortcuts on his phone, so why should he memorize them? In our childhood, people remembered numbers by heart, partly because they were shorter, but who remembers numbers today? When you have a way to retrieve information at any moment, you see no need to memorize it: "I have it right there, and whenever I want, I can access it." But if you do not have a phone and must remember by heart, you rely on your memory and review it continuously.
This is precisely what the Midrash means: As long as his teacher is alive, he consults him; once his teacher passes away, he toils day and night to retain his learning, and specifically in this manner does he truly acquire it. Just like someone who loses his phone and begins memorizing numbers because he now has no choice - so too, one whose teacher has passed away is forced to exert himself and labor to review, having no one to ask at a moment's notice.
The sefer Avnei Bareket cites from the Vilna Gaon's commentary on Mishlei that there are two dimensions to Torah study. The first is understanding the local matter: you learned a sugya, you learned a few lines, understanding what you learned, in the manner of Rashi who explains the subject locally and specifically. The second is breadth (heikef): comparing the topic with other places, and through this arriving at the proper conclusions. This is the topical method: one does not study tractates merely in sequence, but rather explores topics, which are often dispersed across several tractates. One who wishes to study the laws of Issur v'Heter finds that some topics of mixtures appear in Avodah Zarah, others in Pesachim, and similarly throughout Shas. One who studies the relevant passages wherever they appear gains a broad, comprehensive mastery of the topic itself. The classic model of breadth is the Rosh, who gathers halachot from all the sugyot, concentrates them, harmonizes parallel discussions, and when one sugya seems to contradict another, examines which conclusion emerges as definitive.
Regarding the first part it is said, "The words of the wise are like goads" - an allusion to dar bina, "one who houses understanding," to comprehend a matter on its own merits; this is binah. And regarding the second part it is said, "and like nails firmly fixed are the masters of assemblies... given from one Shepherd" - these are those who gather all the sugyot together and see the matter in its completeness and broad scope, not merely the isolated point. Both of them together represent perfection in the comprehension of Torah.
From here we understand why, when one seeks guidance on a particular matter, one consults an adam gadol, a great sage. For all those who seize upon a single quotation and turn it into the ultimate principle arrive at the greatest distortions. A major distortion is taking the words "in the image of God He made man" and building an organization named "B'Tselem" upon it, and thereby justifying every wrong: write the word with cantillation marks to project authenticity, and suddenly everything is permissible. On the other hand, someone from the opposite side of the barricade - whom out of respect one will not name - can take the statement of Chazal, "The best among the gentiles, crush his skull," and base an entire ideology upon it: this is how one must deal with gentiles, every operation means entering a village and causing harm. "I brought you a text, didn't you read it?" And when you ask him, what about "Beloved is man, for he was created in the image [of God]"? Do not trouble him with questions; he seized upon one point, and for him, that is the entire Torah.
A great sage, by contrast, has his eyes surveying the entire Shas, the entire Torah, and everything. When he tells you something, he says it while taking into account everything that is written, not because he grabbed one verse and made it the absolute rule. Notice: everyone who leans toward extremism on either side and does not walk the paved path handed down to us by our masters - you will find that they took one statement of Chazal or one verse, made it the primary foundation, and set everything else aside, which breeds distortions. Therefore, always remember: "masters of assemblies... given from one Shepherd." Wisdom is not merely being "one who houses understanding" to grasp an isolated point, but belonging to the "masters of assemblies" - understanding everything gathered from Chazal and viewing matters in perspective and in their wholeness, rather than through a narrow lens.
Rabbi Yose ben Yehudah of Kfar HaBavli says in Avot: "One who learns from the elders, to what is he compared? To one who eats ripe grapes and drinks aged wine." Many ask: Why double the parable? One of them should have been enough. Rather, the parable of grapes speaks of understanding each matter individually: grapes are distinct, each grape by itself, and likewise every topic, every sugya, and every issue is studied on its own, which is the foundational comprehension of the subject. But with the elders there is also the comprehensive scope, which is why he adds: "and drinks aged wine." Rashi explains: the Torah of elders is complete, like aged wine that settles the mind. "Complete" - that is the emphasis. Not a Torah that relies on a single source or a single citation, but a wholeness of vision encompassing all the topics of Shas, through which one reaches the halachic conclusion. In this lies the strength of the elders: they have encompassed the Torah across all its dimensions, and therefore they arrive at the correct conclusions.
Once, a man came with his wife to the rabbi, saying they had a disagreement: whenever the child misbehaves, the father hits him and does not spare his rod, while his wife strongly objects, saying that this is neither the way nor the proper manner, and that this is not how one educates a child. Yet he brought her quotations and verses. The rabbi told him: This is not the way, and if you adopt this approach you will quickly find your son out on the street. The path is through love, and if consequences are necessary, there are other methods: preventing him from playing with friends, withholding a game he enjoys, or withholding a treat. But a path of physical discipline is not the way in our generation.
The man began quoting: "He who spares his rod hates his son," and that one should strike him with a strap, and that the Vilna Gaon wrote to his wife regarding the upbringing of children, "Do not have mercy on them." He had quotes, he had verses. The rabbi said to him: I do not wish to enter into a debate with you; I will only tell you that with all those who took these approaches, reality showed that they lost their children very quickly, and by age twelve the boy was already wandering the streets with a smartphone larger than he is. And when he argued, "But Shlomo said so," the reply was: You forgot that there is another verse - "Train a child according to his way." And can you really compare our generation to that generation? In that era, a son could take slaps from his father because he had nowhere else to go - in Iraq, in Yemen, in Morocco, where would he go, to the Arabs? In European countries, sadly, many indeed left the fold, but in Eastern lands this was an accepted way, and, Baruch Hashem, fine and healthy people grew up. What suited back then does not suit today. The wars of the past are not the wars of today - do you fight today with a slingshot? Once it worked, so will you fight like that today as well? Certainly not, for the battlefield is entirely different. So too in child-rearing, many things have changed.
One who insists on employing those same methods is narrow-minded, someone whose perspective is reduced to a single verse in which he sees the be-all and end-all, and for him the Torah ends right there. Regarding this you are told: there are "masters of assemblies." Therefore, in every matter one must consult the sages, within whom the entire Torah is gathered, and whose answers stem from an all-encompassing view of the Torah in its entirety.
The Malbim explains: The verse here is a kind of summary of the book, coming to describe what the sage investigated. It is not Shlomo writing about himself, but rather the compiler of the book writing about Shlomo. The matters that Shlomo researched and brought to light through the breadth of his understanding - the immortality of the soul, reward and punishment, and the other topics he contemplated and observed - are what are called "the words of the wise"; all his inquiries are words of the wise.
On the other hand, there is an additional factor: observing the ways of the world and the passage of time. To appreciate wisdom, Chazal say that a person must honor even elderly Gentiles, and why? "How many experiences have passed over them!" And if this applies all the more so to elderly Torah scholars, Chazal are teaching that even among the nations of the world, life experience and having seen much over a lifetime imparts wisdom. Yet it is crucial to consider who is doing the observing: the wiser a person is, the more accurately he draws conclusions; but the less discerning he is, he sees events unfold in the world yet interprets them incorrectly, fails to derive sound conclusions, and falls into error.
Shlomo says: I, too, have seen much in the world; I have seen it all, "and I returned and saw" - and this is called baalei asupot, "masters of collections." From everything he observed, he gathered more wisdom, more knowledge, and deeper insight and perception into the human psyche, into the right path in life, into how people make mistakes, and how to learn not to follow suit. Some people feel they must learn everything through their own experience, but there is an idiom: "to practice shaving on another man's beard." You do not need to learn everything from your own trials; many before you have tried, so look at their results.
They tell a story of a man who walked past an asylum and heard shouting: "Thirty-four! Thirty-four!" It made him very curious. He stopped and listened, but they just kept shouting. Finally, he brought a ladder and climbed up to look over the wall, when suddenly he took a blow to the head: "Thirty-five! Thirty-five!" You do not need to experience firsthand what others have already suffered; what happened to them is warning enough, so do not repeat their mistakes. This is the meaning of baalei asupot: what Shlomo gathered from the courses of life and the many experiences he lived through, collected and woven into his discerning spirit from the varied paths of life scattered across the world.
Regarding the first category, the analytical investigation and contemplation he taught, it is said: "The words of the wise are like goads." A goad is what keeps an ox straight in the furrow so it does not veer to the right or the left, prodding it whenever it tries to turn aside. In the same way, these teachings validate and guide a person along the path of faith. When addressing the soul's existence after death, the purpose of human life, and giving an ultimate accounting before Hashem, all these steer a person straight toward the service of Hashem, so that he does not turn right or left and come to harm.
And regarding the second category, what he learned from his observations of life, it is said: "and like firmly planted nails are the collected sayings." Just like a nail driven into wood, tight and secure, which does not budge and joins separate pieces of wood together, so too the parables and examples drawn from life experiences connect a person to cleave to Hashem, to learn wisdom and mussar, and to act properly and uprightly; this vast life experience can direct them on the right path. And all of these "are given from one shepherd" - the closing passage of the book refers to Shlomo, the wisest of all men, whose every effort was to benefit his people, composing these works - Kohelet, Mishlei, and Shir HaShirim - to teach us ethical guidance and guide us along the upright path.
וְיֹתֵר מֵהֵמָּה בְּנִי הִזָּהֵר עֲשׂוֹת סְפָרִים הַרְבֵּה אֵין קֵץ וְלַהַג הַרְבֵּה יְגִעַת בָּשָׂר׃ - "And furthermore, my son, beware: of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh."
Most commentators explain that this is the summary of the book. As we often see in Chovot HaLevavot, the author states: Realize that I could have elaborated on this at great length, but "give to a wise man and he will become yet wiser." I have opened the gates of understanding for you, from which you can compare one matter to another, derive further examples, and comprehend additional topics that I have not spelled out. This is the meaning of "And furthermore, my son, beware" - beyond what I have written for you, take care to deduce things on your own, as the Pesikta Zutreta phrases it.
And why did he not elaborate? "Of making many books there is no end" - would you have me spell out everything, covering every example, every possibility, and addressing every situation? Situations, examples, and possibilities are infinite, and if I were to address every path in life, I would have to compose books without end. The principle, therefore, is to teach you the rule and the foundation, from which you can understand on your own all the conclusions that naturally follow. It is like teaching a child: two plus two is four; four plus four is eight. If you then ask him what four plus two is and he says, "We haven't learned that yet" - that is absurd, because he was taught the method. Once you understand what "plus" means, take marbles, put two and eight together, and see what the sum is. You have learned the fundamentals of arithmetic, and from here on, whatever problem arises, you have the means to solve it. In the same way, Shlomo says: I have taught you the fundamentals; beyond them, deduce one matter from another and learn how to act, for otherwise, "of making many books there is no end."
A further point is made: If one were to compose countless books and expound endlessly, it would be "a weariness of the flesh." A person once remarked: "I open a book in the middle; if I see dense print, I close it and put it back on the shelf." He had apparently grown accustomed to reading newspapers and missed having pictures. When someone once sought counsel about publishing a book, this essential point was explained to him: We are not in the generation of fifty years ago, when a newspaper could print an extensive review in tiny font, because readers were seasoned travelers through dense text. Today, unfortunately even in our own community, people get intimidated when they see dense text. He was told: "If you want people to read your book and study it, put a large heading over what you are about to discuss, write four or five lines, add another heading for the next point, write a few more lines, use commas, use large and clear print - that way people will read it. But if you make it dense, they will not read it."
There was an attorney who authored a work entitled "The Book of Proofs", which was sold back then - a compilation of proofs for the truth of the Torah. Opening it up, one was astonished: print that required a magnifying glass, like the stock listings in a newspaper, with everything densely crammed together. Yet the book was intended for the non-observant, for outreach - who would pick up such a thing? Who would open it? Who would study it? This is what Shlomo says: even if I were to make many books, "much chatter is weariness of the flesh" - when a person sees a flood of words, it wearies his flesh; he sets the book aside and asks, "Just summarize what is written here for me." Sit down and read, it is written in Hebrew and not in Yiddish - but he lacks the patience.
This reflects the shallowness of our generation, for in the past, such a reality did not exist. Today, everything requires a presentation: show someone where it enters and where it exits, draw him a picture. Once a slideshow was enough; today it must be three-dimensional with animation. This is not crucial to the core matter itself, but it reveals something about us - about our willingness to invest, read, and delve into something for more than a few minutes. In the secular world, the situation is incomparably worse, because they are constantly exposed to media, and there this is a subject studied in universities: how and in what manner to engage people. They teach there that if your message exceeds roughly seven seconds, you have lost the audience; no one remains to listen. Messages must be short and catchy, because beyond that, sustained concentration is required - and people are not up for that. There are strict rules for this: how to present a video, what must appear in the first four seconds. A commercial seems simple to us, but think of how many copywriters laboured and how much thought was invested so that one statement would open, another would close, and specific colours would appear. These are calculated techniques, not pulled out of thin air.
We have reached such shallowness that a person says, "If it takes more than a few seconds, I am swiping on." There are people who, the moment you begin explaining something, say: "Swipe, Rabbi, swipe to the next page, this is too heavy for me; do you have something lighter?" In our community, a person sits for an hour or an hour and a half and learns Daf Yomi; consider whether someone from the general public could sit through Daf Yomi. After twenty seconds his fuse burns out: he starts looking at his watch, pulls out his smartphone, glances outside hoping to spot an acquaintance who might rescue him. It is truly pitiful. A person is incapable of examining, contemplating, and investing mental effort. Already in the days of Shlomo, he observed: even if I were to compose many books, "much chatter is weariness of the flesh" - people would simply be unable to bear it. Therefore, I set down these matters in concise form, providing roots from which you can grasp all the branches.
The Pesikta Zutarta explains: Regarding words of the Torah, a person can claim, "I acted inadvertently" - the Torah is profound, and there were matters I did not fully comprehend. But regarding the words of the Sages, concerning which Scripture states, "Ask your father and he will tell you" and "You shall not deviate from the word that they tell you, right or left" - there it is already considered willful, for the words of the Sages are easier to understand, simpler, and more thoroughly explained. Consider how difficult it is to understand a verse in the Torah and how many commentaries were written on it, compared to the words of the Gemara, where on a straightforward level one readily understands what the Sage asked, what he answered, what the rabbinic decree is, what was forbidden, and on what grounds; whereas in the Torah, many things remain veiled. Therefore, "and furthermore, my son, beware of these" - if you transgress the words of the Soferim, a severe claim will be brought against you, since you had the ability to research, contemplate, and delve into them, and consequently more will be demanded of you if you fail to observe them.
The Pesikta Zutarta offers another explanation: "Lahag" (להג) is related to "la'ag" (לעג - mockery), as the letters hei and ayin are interchangeable. One who mocks the words of the Sages faces a harsh and terrible judgment of "weariness of the flesh" (yegi'at basar), as it is written in Yeshayahu (66:24), "Their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched." And this is what Chazal meant when they taught that whoever mocks the words of the Sages is punished with boiling excrement. Much mockery ultimately brings weariness and torment to the flesh of that very scorner.
In Eruvin 21b, Rava expounded: "Much chatter is weariness of the flesh" (lahag harbeh yegi'at basar) - whoever meditates (hogeh) upon them tastes the flavour of meat (basar). Meat is considered the choicest of foods, which is why it is offered upon the Altar, and why on Yom Tov one partakes of meat and wine. Concerning this, the verse suggests: whoever immerses himself extensively in Torah finds in it a flavour like that of meat, an exquisite and satisfying taste. Delve deeper, contemplate further, and you will discover yet more understanding, more flavour, and greater insight.
One sees that books come and go. A book may be written on a certain topic, even though another book on that very same topic was published just a decade earlier, yet the new work is far more engaging and appealing - not merely due to beautiful typography, but because its content is better tailored to the generation, formulated in language that continues to evolve and improve over the years, and addressing relevant contemporary matters and examples. Therefore, even though such a book existed years ago, the new work finds its rightful place, being widely purchased and studied. From this it emerges that there is indeed a necessity to "make many books", for every generation requires the books suited to its particular needs.
The Midrash states: Do not read "mehemah" (of these) but "mehuma" (tumult or turmoil), for whoever brings into his home more than the twenty-four Books of Scripture, such as the Book of Ben Sira and the Book of Ben Tagla, brings turmoil into his home. These are what Chazal termed the "external books": works that on the one hand contain some words of mussar and wisdom, but on the other hand contain a great deal of chaff, which is why they were left outside and not included by Chazal in the sacred canon of Scripture. One of these is the Book of Ben Sira, in which Chazal do find valuable teachings, such as "Every bird dwells with its kind, and man with his like," along with other passages that Chazal quote and cite as support. Nevertheless, they did not canonize it, because it contained statements that bordered on frivolity or folk parables, lacking the authentic flavour of holiness.
Concerning this he warns: Beyond these - beyond the twenty-four books of Scripture - beware, my son, of acquiring many books; take the twenty-four books and let that suffice. And he adds, "and much study is weariness of the flesh" - they were given to be read, but were not given for weariness of the flesh. Even Chazal read them, meaning they perused them, but to toil over them? In Shas, in the Poskim, and in sacred Torah works you should toil; in the twenty-four books of Scripture you should toil; but these were not given for weariness of the flesh, rather only to be perused.
The Me'am Lo'ez quotes a well-known adage, and it is fascinating to see it already in that earlier era: Not everything a person thinks should be said, not everything a person says should be put into writing, not everything a person writes should be printed, and not everything a person prints should be published. Great caution is therefore required, for from the moment you speak until the moment you make it public domain, there are many stations along the way. Stop in the middle and think: Are these words fitting? Are they worthy of going to the printing press? Do they need to be published? Will what you publish bring any benefit?
And this, unfortunately, is part of today's reality, where printing has become accessible and cheap. As we noted, everyone today has a printing press in their home: if you have a computer, word-processing software, and a printer, you have a printing press. And even if not, you have a keyboard, you send it to a print shop, and you have a book - just like that. In the past, one had to send it to a typesetter and several other professionals, but today, anyone who can type has a finished product immediately. Of course, when a typesetter works on the material it looks different and the vessel is far more refined, but broadly speaking there is no longer a barrier. The result is that anyone who has a thought or comes up with an idea immediately sends it to print and distributes it, without checking whether the ideas are sound and whether harm might come from them.
And why does one approach a Torah luminary to obtain an haskamah (approbation)? To ensure that whoever wrote the work wrote words of substance, for sometimes a person writes things and distorts the meaning of the Torah contrary to Halachah. There was someone who donated his books to synagogues free of charge - every synagogue would receive the series - and later people found several inappropriate things in them, and they were removed from most synagogues. Therefore, do not simply print whatever comes to mind; give it to a wise man, a Torah giant, to review it, and only then publish it. And likewise, you, the buyer, will know whether or not to purchase the book.
Sometimes a book looks very attractive, presenting halachot and the like, and one is unaware that the author possesses a distorted outlook, believing that in every matter one must seek ways to be lenient, whether with legitimate sources or without sources. When you understand the author's nature, you realize that such a book should not be brought into the home. Along the same lines were the books of Cassuto, which were once found in many homes: a fluid commentary on Tanach, very pleasant to read, like an easy-flowing literal translation. But when people began to realize that there was heresy here, and statements contrary to Chazal and to our accepted tradition, they removed these books from their homes.
The conclusion of Kohelet teaches two fundamentals that are ultimately one. "The words of the wise are like goads" - the power of focused understanding, which guides a person along the path of faith just as a goad keeps an ox straight in the furrow; "and like nails well-fastened are the masters of assemblies" - the power of comprehensive breadth, gathering all the topics and life experiences, connecting a person to his Creator just as a nail fastens pieces of wood. Both of these "are given from one Shepherd," which is why Torah is acquired in a group, why one accepts a Torah insight even from the least among Israel as if hearing it from the mouth of Moshe, and why we consult the Sages - who possess the Torah gathered in its entirety - rather than seizing upon a single verse and turning it into a cornerstone. From this also stems "and furthermore, my son, beware": Shlomo taught us roots rather than endless branches, because there is no end to books and the generation cannot bear excessive length. On our part, what is required is toil in the twenty-four books of Tanach, in Shas, and in the Poskim, caution against scorning the words of the wise, and immense care in whatever proceeds from our mouths and our pens into the public domain.