A “Break” From Learning

As I return from my sabbatical, the nuanced, interconnected web of teaching and learning is on my heart. Over these past few months, I did some teaching and learning in a formal sense, but mostly I parented. A distinct practice of teaching and learning. Taking the opportunity to be directed by my toddler’s needs and whims, I spent most of my time in parks, playgrounds, and occasionally, the Zoo. I built dozens of Duplo towers, train tracks, and I scoured the streets for school buses (of which there were few this summer) and trash trucks (of which there were many). My daily experience was a “break” from the regular meetings that typically punctuate my day, but also often from the Torah that—on a good day—accompanies them.

My break from learning and teaching at SVARA, though, didn’t feel like a break from talmud torah—it felt like a different kind of fulfillment, one that is hard to put into words.

Each day in the bet midrash, we begin learning by affirming that study ranks high among the holiest of Jewish actions, declaring: בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה’ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּנוּ לַעֲסוֹק בְּדִבְרֵי תוֹרָה, “Blessed are You, God, Eternal Royal who has sanctified us through mitzvot and instructed to immerse ourselves in the words of Torah” (at least according to the Talmud’s formulation). 

As far as blessings go, this one is fairly enigmatic: typically, we only recite a blessing over commandments (including the formula אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּנוּ “…who has sanctified us through mitzvot and instructed us…”) that can be completed fairly immediately after being blessed: we bless the mitzvah of shaking lulav and we shake the lulav, we bless the mitzvah of lighting Chanukah candles and we light the candles. We don’t bless mitzvot that can’t be completed in this way. The medieval halakhist from Barcelona, R’ Shlomo ibn Adret (the “Rashba”), clarifying why we bless certain mitzvot and not others, explains that we don’t bless mitzvot that can’t be completed—like giving tzedakah—and we don’t bless mitzvot that require others as instruments of our practice—like bikur cholim (visiting those who are sick) and nichum aveilim (comforting mourners).

It’s striking, then, that we say this blessing, because talmud Torah most certainly necessitates engaging with others—whether on the page, across the table, or on the Zoom screen in front of us. 

That’s because the mitzvah of studying Torah isn’t just about learning; it is a mitzvah to dually learn and teach, and to teach one’s children specifically, sourced from the verse in Devarim 6:7, וְשִׁנַּנְתָּם לְבָנֶיךָ וְדִבַּרְתָּ בָּם׃, “Repeat them [these words] to your children,” referring to the Shema and its surrounding paragraphs. 

The Sefer HaChunich, a 13th century compendium that organizes all of the mitzvot in the order they appear within the Torah, explains that the commandment itself is “to study the wisdom of the Torah and to teach it.” But as he explores further how one fulfills the mitzvah, his questions are almost exclusively shaped by parent-child relationships, asking: “At what age does a parent begin to teach their child Torah?” and “To what extent is a parent obligated to teach their child Torah?”

Notably, among the Sefer HaChinuch’s lore is that it was authored by a father for his son upon reaching his bar mitzvah. In the text’s introduction, the author describes his motivation for publishing, which is “to arouse the heart of the youth — my son and his friends — each and every week about the tally of the commandments after they study the weekly Torah portion” in order to help them do mitzvot and focus their hearts on Torah, “before they put in their hearts calculations of joking and ‘what is it to you,’ and ‘what is the point’?”

The rabbis extend this image from one’s own child to children collectively, recognizing that “your children” necessarily includes “your students.” From this commandment comes the obligation to establish schoolhouses for children, and the recognition that “a city that does not have young children taught by teachers will be destroyed.”

I heard a teaching from a Chabad rabbi several years ago that only way to truly fulfill the mitzvah of talmud torah, a person must spend at least 30 minutes each day meditating on the Torah education of children, in order to do everything in their power to nurture children along their path to Torah. 

According to this, my own learning has no impact on whether I’ve done this mitzvah—I can only fulfill my daily obligation by considering what must be done to help children thrive in their own love of Torah. Maybe this is the spirit behind Rabbi Yochanan’s additional—or, perhaps, alternative—blessing for this mitzvah:

וְרַבִּי יוֹחָנָן מְסַיֵּים בַּהּ הָכִי ״הַעֲרֵב נָא ה׳ אֱלֹהֵינוּ אֶת דִּבְרֵי תוֹרָתְךָ בְּפִינוּ וּבְפִיפִיּוֹת עַמְּךָ בֵּית יִשְׂרָאֵל וְנִהְיֶה אֲנַחְנוּ וְצֶאֱצָאֵינוּ וְצֶאֱצָאֵי עַמְּךָ בֵּית יִשְׂרָאֵל כֻּלָּנוּ יוֹדְעֵי שְׁמֶךָ וְעוֹסְקֵי תוֹרָתֶךָ בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה׳ הַמְלַמֵּד תּוֹרָה לְעַמּוֹ יִשְׂרָאֵל״.

And Rabbi Yochanan concludes by adding the following: Lord our God, make the words of Your Torah sweet in our mouths and in the mouths of Your people, the house of Israel, so that we and our descendants and the descendants of Your people, the house of Israel, may be those who know Your name and engage in Your Torah. Blessed are You, God, Who teaches Torah to Your people Israel.

Unlike the standard formulation אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּנוּ “…who has sanctified us through mitzvot and instructed us…”) which is said as I release myself from the obligation to do a simple act like shaking a lulav, this version—or addition—turns my act of study into a plea, yearning that God’s Torah may be sweet not just for us, but for everyone who will come after us—our descendants, and their descendants, and their descendants beyond that. Our learning is not the fulfillment of this request, it is the way we pass on what we learn to the little ones we all collectively nurture.

I am grateful for the opportunities I had this summer to connect to this truth in our tradition and in my own life, and I dedicate my learning to the creation of a world in which the sweetness of God’s presence can be felt among all children. Ken yehi ratzon.