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Harav Hagaon Shmuel Wolman Shlita

Of Work and Rest

Parashas Vayechi

Harav Hagaon Shmuel Wolman shlita

Yaakov Avinu, before his petirah, gave a unique brachah to each shevet. These brachos were more than simply blessing them that they should be successful; Yaakov Avinu, with his ruach hakodesh, was able to discern the unique kochos of every single shevet, and his brachos reflected the techunos hanefesh of each shevet and their customized tafkid based on their individual middos and strengths.

Many of the shevatim were compared to different animals, presumably to highlight their strengths by way of analogy. I would like to delve into the brachah of Yissachar.

Yissachar, we know, represents the quintessential ben Torah. If we examine Yaakov Avinu’s description of the ben Torah, perhaps we can gain some insight into the heiligeh avodah of a ben Torah.

Our impression of Yissachar is typically of someone who has an unusual ability to understand Torah and to spend endless hours delving into Torah. Yet we don’t find that Yaakov Avinu compliments Yissachar’s scholastic prowess or intellectual aptitude. In fact, he chooses to compare Yissachar to a חֲמֹר גָּרֶם, a donkey. This seems very perplexing. Is the donkey analogy meant to be a compliment, underscoring his depth of character or his unparalleled comprehension? Actually, we find quite the opposite: Avraham Avinu addresses Yishmael with the famous words: שְׁבוּ לָכֶם פֹּה עִם הַחֲמוֹר, which are interpreted as עם הדומה לחמור, clearly indicating that the analogy of a donkey is a pejorative and derogatory term used to describe the non-Jews inability to relate to kedushah. Indeed, the Midrash Tanchuma, in Parashas Balak, refers to a donkey as the טפש שבבהמות. If so, why would Yaakov Avinu choose this metaphor to describe the essence of Yissachar, the ultimate ben Torah?

Accepting the Yoke

Rashi seems to address this issue, and explains that Yaakov Avinu meant to reference a different attribute of a donkey: its unmatched skeletal strength, which gives rise to its unparalleled capacity to carry a heavy load. This ability symbolizes the fundamental need of a ben Torah to be mekabel ol Torah, as indicated in the words: וַיֵּט שִׁכְמוֹ לִסְבֹּל.

The message is abundantly clear: What makes a person capable of being a ben Torah is not a certain level of intelligence, or even a minimum amount of daily hasmadah, but rather a certain commitment and dogged dedication that manifests itself in a kabbalas ol Torah, regardless of the difficulty. This pledge of allegiance to maintaining the ol Torah stems from a firm and a staunch declaration of: כִּי הֵם חַיֵּינוּ וְאֹרֶךְ יָמֵינוּ.

Yaakov is teaching us that the secret of a ben Torah, of a Yissachar, is not that he is deeply spiritual or especially bright, but rather that he is a donkey, workhorse for Torah, who’s not just willing to carry the load but flourishes under that load. His skeleton is built to carry a load and he feels most fulfilled while carrying the ol Torah.

This idea underscores an important difference between a lomed Torah and a mekabel ol Torah. In this vein, the Chofetz Chaim notes that the Mishnah does not say: כל הלומד תורה, but rather כל המקבל עול תורה. Clearly, it’s not sufficient to simply learn Torah; a person must be mekabel the ol Torah. This represents a whole new dimension in our relationship to Torah.

Constant Attachment

The Zohar adds another dimension to Yaakov Avinu’s choice of the word chamor. Why did he compare Yissachar to a donkey and not a horse? A horse is also capable of carrying a heavy load or pulling a massive carriage.

The Zohar explains that although a horse can also work hard and carry a heavy load — in fact, the horse is an even stronger animal — when it comes to Torah, we’re not just looking for strength in carrying the load, but rather a particular manner of relating to that load. There’s a fundamental difference in how a horse and a donkey relate to their respective loads, and that difference is evident in the way that they rest, in their downtime. The horse can schlep a huge load, but when it needs to rest it has to totally detach itself from its load. The donkey, on the other hand, remains under its load while it rests. His is a different type of kabbalas ol: It’s not an occupation or a day job from which one needs to detach, unwind, or “detox.”

The kabbalas ol of the ben Torah is one of כִּי הֵם חַיֵּינוּ וְאֹרֶךְ יָמֵינוּ — like the donkey, which might need to stop for a bit to alleviate its exhaustion, but never imagines removing its load. The horse, in contrast, views its load as simply an occupation, or a moral obligation. It has a certain dedication to the task of carrying the load, but is constantly waiting to shed itself of this commitment and detach itself so he can relax.

The donkey’s kabbalas ol becomes part of its essence, and every minute of its life is spent holding that load. Not only is it able to carry that load, it actually welcomes it, and thrives on the consistency of its role. The purpose of the donkey’s downtime is just to recharge, not to detach from its load.

And this is the unique kabalas ol expected of a ben Torah. He accepts Torah not as an occupation, but as part and parcel of his essence, as a load that he will carry 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

In describing Yissachar as a chamor, Yaakov is teaching us these two vital components in becoming a ben Torah: one, kabalas ol Torah — not just being willing to learn Torah and acquire a large amount of Torah knowledge, but a commitment and dedication to Torah, a willingness to accept the huge ol Torah symbolized by the donkey’s capacity to take on a massive load. And two, the consistency of that kabbalas ol. The ben Torah’s kabbalas ol has no bounds, no off days, no downtime; he constantly carries the load of ligen in lernen and maintains the tzurah of a ben Torah at all times, even when he needs to relax or to be involved in matters of Olam Hazeh. The donkey’s unique makeup is that he was built to carry a load: it’s not a daunting expectation of him, but rather how it functions best.

I’m reminded of something Rav Chaim Brim told us about his early years in the Mir. Rav Chaim was a Yerushalmi, chassidish bachur, and he couldn’t wrap his head around how Rav Nachum would not only learn in his shirtsleeves in the beis midrash, but actually say shiur publicly without his jacket. Rav Chaim Brim was so bothered by this that he worked up the courage to ask Rav Nachum about this practice.

Rav Nachum’s answer to him was that for some people, learning Torah is avodas Hashem, and they therefore approach it by donning a hat, a jacket, and a gartel, and by reciting a לשם ייחוד and a הנני מוכן ומזומן. “But for us,” said Rav Nachum, “learning is breathing. Do you need to put on your hat and jacket to breathe?”

Learning, to him, was כִּי הֵם חַיֵּינוּ וְאֹרֶךְ יָמֵינוּ, and the ol Torah was a constant, with no beginning or ending — it was life itself and needed to be viewed in that light.

The Ultimate Rest

It seems clear from the beginning of Yaakov Avinu’s brachah to Yissachar that a ben Torah’s most essential quality is the willingness to work hard, never rest from his load, and relentlessly carry the ol Torah. Yet the second half of the brachah – וַיַּרְא מְנֻחָה כִּי טוֹב וְאֶת הָאָרֶץ כִּי נָעֵמָה וַיֵּט שִׁכְמוֹ לִסְבֹּל — seems to be saying that Yissachar’s choice to accept the ol Torah stems from an appreciation of how wonderful menuchah is. Isn’t this a total contradiction to the beginning of the passuk? First, the Torah is compared to a never-ending load, and then it is embraced as the secret to menuchah?

Rashi seems to be bothered by this question, and he therefore explains the passuk differently, by understanding the term menuchah not as a reference to Yissachar’s Torah but rather to his ability to rest from his parnassah efforts in order to immerse himself in Torah. Yet the Midrash seems to understand the passuk literally, and says clearly that the word menuchah refers to Torah. If so, we need to understand — how does this description of Torah dovetail with the previous idea that a ben Torah must undertake the ol Torah relentlessly?

Furthermore, the Gemara (Brachos 64a) explicitly states that talmidei chachamim have no rest in either Olam Hazeh or Olam Haba: תלמידי חכמים אין להם מנוחה לא בעולם הזה ולא בעולם הבא, שנאמר ילכו מחיל אל חיל. Talmidei chachamim seem to be singled out as people who never have menuchah. How, then, can the passuk describe Torah as the ultimate provider of menuchah?

We need to understand the nature of the menuchah that the Torah is describing. If we think this menuchah is a reference to a luxurious vacation, where the main objective is to do nothing productive, then it’s truly difficult to understand why a person would embrace the ol Torah in order to attain that type of lifestyle. The Torah is teaching is that true menuchah does not refer to a vacation from which a person requires a second vacation in order to recover.

Rather, the Torah is conveying to us a deep insight into the nature of true menuchah. Menuchas haguf — the endless quest for convenience and relaxation — is never fully achieved, and the person who seeks it is constantly plagued by the illusion that there’s always more to be chased. True menuchah is the menuchas hanefesh that a meaningful life brings: the constant ol Torah gives us a focus and a value system that confers inner tranquility and clarity, and provides context for every aspect of life. A person who carries the ol Torah at every moment and in every situation achieves an inner menuchah that prevents him from being bogged down by trivialities. It affords a certain hecherkeit, where a person doesn’t sweat the small stuff but stays on the core purpose of life: true menuchas hanefesh.

Similarly, this is the meaning of the menuchah of Shabbos, in which we detach ourselves from the trivialities of Olam Hazeh and experience the מעין עולם הבא of כאילו כל מלאכתך עשויה, which allows for true menuchas hanefesh. That is the anchor of Torah and the secret of true menuchas hanefesh. It’s no wonder, then, that everyone agrees that the Torah was given on Shabbos — both Torah and Shabbos confer this menuchas hanefesh and are divinely intertwined.

Yet there is one menuchah that a talmid chacham can never experience, and that is the “rest” of remaining static. In his spiritual development, he is constantly growing and pushing himself to advance further and further and that is what Chazal mean when they say that talmidei chachamim never have menuchah; as Rashi explains, they are constantly going from beis midrash to beis midrash, מחיל אל חיל. This is the menuchas hanefesh that a Yissachar craves, and which he finds in the anchor of Torah. Yet he quickly realizes that despite the incredible calm and direction that Torah can provide, the constant ol Torah that never subsides will always propel him to continue growing מחיל אל חיל, and therefore never resting.

Yaakov Avinu taught us that each shevet — and, similarly, every individual — must try to focus on his specific tafkid, which is tailored to his unique kochos hanefesh. Each one of us, regardless of our day job, craves the menuchas hanefesh available at every level of kabbalas ol Torah.

May we all be zocheh to intensify our kabalas ol Torah and thereby merit this priceless menuchas hanefesh of: וַיַּרְא מְנֻחָה כִּי טוֹב… וַיֵּט שִׁכְמוֹ לִסְבֹּל.

Gut Shabbos.

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