Introduction: The Book of Books - and the Least Popular Subject
The subject before us is the Tanach, and before turning to study the text itself, an introduction is in order. The Tanach is considered the number-one bestseller in the world, and over decades and centuries it has never lost that standing. It remains the all-time bestseller, and it has been translated into the greatest number of languages. There is hardly anyone in the world unfamiliar with the Tanach; nearly everyone has studied Tanach at some point. Yet when looking at the reality here in the Land of Israel, the situation is perplexing: we are the People of the Book, living in the land of the Tanach, supposedly speaking - and "supposedly" must be emphasized, as will soon be seen - the language of the Tanach, and yet specifically here, Tanach is considered the least popular subject. How can this be?
First Reason: One Who Does Not Live the Product Cannot Market It
The first answer, which hits the mark directly, is that many teach the Tanach in an uninspiring way - not because they are poor lecturers, but because they do not truly live the material. Would anyone appoint someone who loves meat and frequents steakhouses to lecture on veganism? He may know the subject matter, he may know how to convey it, he may be an outstanding speaker - but he simply does not have it. If one has not studied something through applying it and living by it, one lacks that vital spark. A company would never hire someone to market a product he does not believe in; when one lacks faith in the product, one cannot put any genuine spirit into marketing it. The salesperson might say, "It is a fine product, excellent," while omitting that he himself was disappointed by it several times and does not keep it in his own home - but the customer will sense it. The customer will sense that the salesperson does not live the product, that it is not in his blood.
This is not a sweeping generalization, and that must be emphasized: there are many who love Tanach, teach Tanach, and believe in Tanach. Yet many teach the Tanach without believing in it, and consequently, when conveying the texts, they essentially say: "This is what the prophet is said to have spoken," or "Tradition says there was a prophecy of this sort, though we do not know whether it came to pass or not." Statements of this kind fall flat in our generation, which is a deeply pragmatic one. In the past, people studied literature and the humanities, disciplines where the philosophical essence was paramount; today, the question is: "At the end of the day, what do I do with this? I want to study law, I want to study medicine, I want a profession that will advance me in life." Why is there a flood of lawyers? Because people are looking for something practical. When an instructor comes along and teaches Tanach while viewing it not as a book to be applied to life, but merely as a collection of tales compiled by various authors over generations - perhaps true, perhaps not, with his phrasing making it clear that the "perhaps not" carries far more weight than the "perhaps yes" - the student asks himself: "Practically speaking, what is the point, and why sit here?" A person finds no interest in that.
Second Reason: The Method of Conveying the Message
Another reason Tanach is considered the least favored subject is the method used to convey its message. What was the focus in school? "Memorize the Song of Devorah," "Memorize the Song of Chanah" - students were made to memorize texts by heart. The focus was on the wording of the author: why did he use this phrase here and another phrase there, and what was he seeking to express through his phrasing? That is a purely linguistic focus, and that is indeed how literature is studied - but it is not how Tanach is to be studied. Tanach must be studied through the inner spirit of the text and the spirit of the era: what was the prophet seeking to express, and what was the author of the book telling us? Did he come merely to tell stories?
The Holy Zohar states that if the purpose were simply to write a book of stories, there are far better stories than those in the Torah - far more compelling ones. Rather, the Torah comes to impart a message. The same is true of the entire Tanach: its purpose is to convey a message. When the prophet wrote and recounted an event, he did not do so merely to say, "Know that back then, such and such took place" - what difference would that make to anyone? After all, it is not history.
Proof That the Tanach Is Not a History Book
The proof is clear, simple, and decisive: dates are not mentioned in the Tanach. A history book without dates is no history book. How can history be written without specifying the exact year an event occurred, when it took place, and how many years elapsed? Furthermore, "there is no chronological order in the Torah" (ein mukdam u'me'uchar baTorah) - an entire chapter may appear earlier in the text even though chronologically it occurred later. That is not how history is written. The Tanach is a book meant to provide instruction on how a person ought to live. Consequently, it does not record events chronologically; at times it omits details that elsewhere would be deemed central, and focuses on matters that seem peripheral to us - something we will also need to understand: why and wherefore. But it is clear that this is not a chronicle of "this is how the history of the Jewish people unfolded," but rather a description of a way of life that the author believed in and sought to bequeath to future generations.
The Partially Binding Title Deed
It is well known that David Ben-Gurion, who was an avid lover of the Tanach, deeply knowledgeable in it, and always walked about carrying a Tanach, was asked at the United Nations: "What is your right to the Land of Israel? Where is your kushan, your title deed?" Ben-Gurion held up the Tanach and said: "This is our title deed to the Land of Israel" -
לְזַרְעֲךָ נָתַתִּי אֶת הָאָרֶץ הַזֹּאת - "To your descendants I have given this land"
Here, in this verse, we are promised that the Land is ours. The story is told of a very shrewd senator who was there - I cannot verify the story, but this is how it is told - who asked him: Is this deed binding? He replied: Absolutely. The senator said to him: It is also written there to observe Shabbat. And Ben-Gurion was struck silent. For if you treat the Tanakh as a deed that is only partially binding, why should I accept it, when you yourself say that in other respects it does not obligate you? Historically, he was right: we took from the Tanakh what was convenient for us, and what was inconvenient we preferred to set aside. And this itself caused others not to take our claims seriously either, for one cannot simply take what he wants and omit what he wants.
The Paradox of Language
There is an additional problem: the Tanakh is written in an archaic language. And notice the paradox. On the one hand, it is written in a language that many of us do not speak, and on the other hand, it is written in a language that we all understand - and that itself is one of the reasons we fail to understand the Tanakh. Seemingly, if the Tanakh is written in our language, that should be a reason for us to comprehend it. However, there is a small problem: the words we use are not always the words the Tanakh uses. There is a word we understand in a certain modern sense, but that is neither the language of the Tanakh nor its intended meaning. In slang you may be right, that is how people talk - but the Tanakh did not mean to say that.
Lashon HaKodesh - A Divine, Not Conventional, Language
Lashon HaKodesh (the Holy Tongue) is completely different from all other languages. All the languages we know in the world are conventional languages: several intelligent people sat down and decided that a certain object would be called by this name, and from then on it was called that. No one can provide a logical reason why a table is called a table, a chair is called a chair, and a window is called a window. There is no reason other than the fact that we all agreed that this would be its name. By contrast, the Tanakh is written in a language defined as a divine language. What does this mean? A language that did not evolve over the years, but descended as a complete, perfect entity from Above. And because it descended as a complete entity, every expression and every noun has an origin - whether in its grammatical derivation, its verb root, or the inherent nature of that object.
Let us take animals as an example. Why is a lion called an aryeh? Because it instills awe and fear (yir'ah) - the letters of aryeh spell yir'ah. A camel is called a gamal because it is the animal capable of abstaining (lehigamel, weaning) from water for the longest time. A donkey is called a chamor because it embodies the pinnacle of materiality (chomer); when people want to utter an unpleasant insult to someone, they call him a "donkey" - not because of the long ears, but because the donkey represents an entirely coarse and material beast, the lowest and most earthbound. A bird is called an of because that is its primary activity: it flies (af). A bee is called a devorah because it is constantly "speaking" (medaberet) - we have no other creature that communicates continuously while flying, and the bee hums in flight. A horse is called a sus because its entire gait and essence is rejoicing and exultant (sas); it is the only animal that gallops with such spirited joy, its entire movement regal. A donkey walks with its head down, while a horse - you see it constantly prancing with a joyous step.
Furthermore, why are creeping creatures called remashim? Rashi explains that the creeping creature treads (romes) upon the ground, its body practically dragging on the earth; therefore, cockroaches and other low creatures, from which homemakers flee the distance of a parsah, are called remashim. And why is an animal called a behemah? Because "bah mah" (what is in it?) - nothing can be added to it. A human being (adam) can elevate himself; adam is related to "edameh la'Elyon" (I will resemble the Most High), he can become like his Creator. But the animal - whatever is in it, nothing can be added to it, and it will remain exactly the same. Even if you train it, it will remain an animal.
Training versus Education: A Tale of Rabbi Yonasan Eybeschutz
The story is told of Rabbi Yonasan Eybeschutz that he had a debate with the maskilim of his generation. They claimed that it is possible to educate animals and alter their nature, but he told them: You can never educate them, perhaps only train them. And what is the difference between training (iluf) and education (chinuch)? Education is understanding; training is conditioning. Training means instilling certain habits in an animal without it understanding why it is doing so. We educate our children, we do not train them. Why? Because training a child means that when I am next to him he obeys - even an elephant will dance when you stand beside it - but when I am not beside him, he will not do it on his own. When I am beside him he speaks politely: that is not education, that is training. Educating him means that he internalizes that speaking disrespectfully is wrong, and consequently, even when I am not beside him, that standard will be upheld. An animal cannot be educated; an animal can only be trained.
They said to him: No, it is possible to educate animals. They decided to organize a grand symposium with many men of science to demonstrate to him how they had succeeded in educating animals. What did they do? They brought cats that they had trained over a long period to carry trays in their paws and walk on their hind legs; they tied bow ties around them, dressed them in vests, and marched them in carrying trays and cups. The story goes that earlier, while Rabbi Yonasan Eybeschutz was sitting and learning, a mouse was scurrying about disturbing him, running and jumping, running and jumping. He took his snuffbox, put the mouse inside, closed it, and placed it in his pocket, and the mouse ceased to disturb him. After a while, they came to summon him: Does the Rav remember that today is the presentation? He remembered and went. He saw the cats, and suddenly felt a vibration in his pocket - and this was two hundred and fifty years ago, not a cell phone - and remembered the mouse. He took the mouse out of his pocket and let it loose. You can imagine the pandemonium and confusion: cups shattered, a deafening crash, and all the cats took off chasing the mouse. He said to them: Here, you see how it is possible to train animals - but educate them, you never can. And this is the moral: when you only train someone, a small test comes along and he fails to withstand it. He does not act out of understanding, nor because he overcame his impulse, nor because he internalized that the matter is right and important - you simply conditioned him to perform a specific action, and the slightest deviation shatters the illusion entirely.
Further Insights into the Names of Animals
We see that Lashon HaKodesh (the Holy Tongue) is an intentionally designed language. A dog is called a kelev because it is kulo lev - all heart; the dog is the only animal that surrenders its entire being to its master. There are accounts of dogs that went so far as sacrificing their lives to save their master, running into fire and danger and even perishing in the flames to save him. This does not mean that the dog understands the obligations of mission and purpose; rather, when the Creator of the world made the dog, He fashioned it to be entirely "heart" toward its master. A cat is called a chatul because it is the only animal that covers its excrement - diapering itself (mechatel et atzmo), just as we put a diaper (chitul) on a child. And as for an elephant (pil), anyone who sees one is struck with wonder (pela): where else do you find an animal with a trunk a meter and a half long? We have grown used to it, but the Gemara teaches that one who sees an elephant in a dream has had wondrous wonders (pilei pela'ot) performed for him. The elephant is a truly wondrous creature.
A Precise Lexicon - No Mere Repetition
Because Lashon HaKodesh is not a language of arbitrary convention but a deliberately designed tongue, whenever a word appears in Tanach, one must strive to understand it: from what root does it stem, what does it convey, and what principle did the author of Tanach intend to express with this specific word? If one word is used in one place and a different word in another, it is a sign that the two words differ and do not mean the exact same thing, even if the text appears to repeat itself. "Lishbor velintoatz" (to break and to smash) are not identical. And when we speak of gilah, rinah, ditzah, simchah, chedvah, sason, tzahalah - in everyday speech we call all of them "joy", but each word actually expresses a distinct level of joy: there is an inner joy that bursts outward, a joy felt upon hearing good news, and other nuances. This is not mere repetition; every word captures a different facet of joy. Similarly, dach, mach, rash, ani, evyon, dal - each describes a different dimension of poverty: poverty of mind, poverty of money, or a destitute person who yearns for everything, as in the word evyon (from longing). When we possess a lexicon of this kind, we look at Tanach in a completely different way: we do not read superficially and assume "more or less, this is what it means," but rather comprehend the profound depth the prophet sought to express in the account he relates.
The Power of Delving Deeply: The Russian Judge and the Rav of Brisk
And how vastly different is the light revealed to one who delves deeply compared to what is seen by a superficial reader! A Russian judge once came to the Rav of Brisk and said to him: "Do you know that your Torah encourages bribery?" The Rav asked him: "Why do you say that?" He replied: "Under Russian law, both the bribe giver and the bribe taker are punished; both go to prison. Yet what is the rule according to Jewish halachah? Nowhere does it state, 'You shall not give a bribe'; rather, it says:
וְשֹׁחַד לֹא תִקָּח - And you shall take no bribe
The Torah warns only the recipient! The judge said: "See what you do - your Torah actually encourages bribery, because giving is permitted, and only taking is forbidden! Consequently, what does a person have to lose? He thinks, 'I will try to offer a bribe; if he refuses, so be it, and no one will punish me.'" On the surface, this seemed like a compelling argument: Russian law appeared more logical and just than the ordinance of the Torah.
Consider the response of the Rav of Brisk. He said to him: "Know that the exact opposite is true. Russian law encourages bribery, whereas the Torah prevents bribery. Consider how this works in practice: A man comes to court, hears the charges, realizes his situation is dire, and decides to approach the judge privately to leave him an envelope, keeping the matter strictly between them so no one finds out. The judge calculates: 'I am the one taking a risk here. I could lose my salary, my reputation, everything.' But he immediately continues his calculation: 'Yet why should anyone find out? Is there any chance this will ever leave this room? Under Russian law, if it is discovered that you gave a bribe, they will hang you; and if it is discovered that I took it, they will hang me. There is a conspiracy of silence between us: I will not tell, and you will not tell. Both of us have every interest in keeping it secret.' The judge then concludes: 'Very well, let us take the bribe; we have nothing to fear.'
"By contrast, according to the Torah, the judge's calculation is completely different. A person approaches him wishing to offer a bribe, and the judge thinks: 'Wait, there is nothing stopping you from going around and boasting that you paid a bribe and thereby swayed the verdict - which makes you dangerous to me, and I am the only one who will suffer the consequences! You will pay me, I will slant the judgment in your favor, and you will run to tell your friends: "Mr. Cohen takes bribes; have a court case? Give him some money and he will arrange everything." No one prevents you from talking, and no one will punish you for giving the bribe!' What is the result? The judge will refuse the bribe from the outset, saying: 'Why should I risk my neck for someone who tomorrow might go and tell the entire world?' There is no pact of silence here, for only I am punished, not him. It turns out that the Torah deliberately refrained from penalizing the bribe giver precisely so that the judge would fear taking it, knowing that the other party could expose him. Thus, something that on a superficial level seemed to favor Russian law reveals, upon deeper reflection, a brilliance accessible only through careful contemplation: it is the Torah that truly prevents bribery, while Russian law actually fosters it."
The Names of Man According to the Stages of Life
Here is another example showing that the Hebrew language is not arbitrary convention. Let us observe a person from the moment of birth, and even before. In his mother's womb, he is called an ubbar (fetus) - because he exists in a world beyond (me'ever). Afterward, he is called a yeled (child), because he was born (nolad). We call him a tinok (infant) because this is his primary occupation: he nurses (yonek). When he grows a bit older, he is called a na'ar (youth), and everyone knows what a na'ar is: a youth wants to shake off (lehitna'er) all responsibility - "don't tell me what to do, don't manage me, don't dictate to me." Later, he is called a bachur (young man), because he is in his prime years (mivchar shenotav), his choicest years, before the backaches and ailments begin. There is another reason: he is called a bachur because this is the age when he must choose (livchor) and decide how the rest of his life will look - and generally, what a person chooses in his youth stays with him, whereas making major changes at age forty is far more difficult. He is also called an elem (adolescent), from the root he'elem (concealment): his character traits, his natural dispositions, and his personality have not yet been revealed; he is still unformed. Next, he is called an ish (man), for he now possesses an established personality (ishiyut). As he ages, he is called a zaken (elder), and Chazal say: "Zeh kanah" (this one has acquired) - a zaken is one who has acquired acquisitions, who has gained something in this world. One may have acquired a Ferrari and another wisdom, a positive acquisition or a negative one, but he has acquired. Afterwards, he is called a sav (grandfather), because he turns back (sav al ikvav) and begins to regress. Do you know the difference between a child and an elderly person? A child crawls on four legs, and an old man walks on three; regression sets in until he must be wheeled in a carriage, just as a baby is wheeled in a stroller. We see, then, that in Lashon HaKodesh every word and expression is purposefully designed. This is precisely how we must approach Tanach and the texts we study, and through this, with God's help, our understanding will become far deeper.
The Words of Chazal - Not an Invention, but a Precise Reading
One of the things missing in conventional Tanach classes was the teachings of Chazal. Even when they were mentioned, they were usually treated as something secondary: "Yes, this is what Chazal saw fit to say; this is what Chazal expounded. They tried to add an extra dimension to the verses; it is not written here, but that is what Chazal say." An impression was created that the derashot of Chazal are a kind of invention: Chazal took Scripture and made up a story that is not found in it, treating it like Jewish folklore - the Chinese have folk legends, and we have Chazal, a sort of folklore, colorful embellishments, and descriptions detached from reality. Ask someone: "Is this written in the verses?" and he will reply: "No, the text says this, and Chazal came along and added to it." Anyone who learns this way certainly has no appreciation for what Chazal say, since in his view their words are not rooted in the text, but are merely an external addition to it.
However, if one studies Lashon HaKodesh in the manner we have discussed, he comes to see that every word Chazal expounded is not an invention, but is embedded within the verses themselves. Then he asks: "How did I not see this before?" Because he lacked the dictionary that teaches how to read the verses correctly. Once one possesses this dictionary, one can understand these teachings, even though at first glance they do not seem to appear on the surface level of the text.
In summary:
Tanach is the most widely read book in the world, yet specifically here it has become the least liked subject - for two reasons: because many teach it without believing in it and without living it, and because the focus was placed on rote memorization and linguistic analysis rather than on the spirit and message of the text. Tanach is not a history book - it does not provide dates, and there is no strict chronological order - but a book of instruction guiding how a person should live, and it cannot be accepted as a "partially binding title deed." Lashon HaKodesh is not an arbitrary, conventional language, but a divinely designed language in which every name expresses the essence of the entity, with no redundant phrasing and no interchangeable synonyms. One who equips himself with this dictionary and learns to look deeply - as we saw regarding the issue of bribery, where careful observation completely transforms the picture - also merits to see that the words of Chazal are not an external addition, but are concealed within the verses themselves. This is the approach with which we will set out to study the verses from here on.