Parshas Behar 5784
But little Har Sinai just stood there and sighed,
“I know I’m not tall, I know I’m not wide
The Torah can’t be given on me
For I’m a plain mountain,” he said simply.
If you’re a parent of young children and haven’t heard these lyrics in a while, just wait. As the count towards Shavuos continues to march on, kids prepare for the upcoming holiday in school and Uncle Moishy’s “Little Har Sinai” seems to be a cornerstone of that education. The upshot of the song is that, as Chazal teach, Har Sinai is chosen as the mountain upon which the Torah is given specifically because of its humble nature, Sinai being relatively modest in size compared to other mountains surrounding it.
Adults and children alike remember that Har Sinai was small. But we need to remember that it was also a mountain.
Strict adherence to halacha has a remarkable impact on elevating our day to day lives. Tying one’s shoes goes from a completely banal activity to something infused with sprituality when we become conscious of which shoe goes on first, what order we tie them in, and how it all relates to the attributes of chesed and din. Fold in the duties of the heart—those ideals and philosophies of which we must always be conscious—and the totality of life is an ennobled experience, suffused with religious heft.
When a religious farmer goes to work, he is not only tilling the soil and earning a livelihood. He is mindful of which crops may be planted near one another and which may be kept apart. Which animals may be harnessed beneath the same plow and which not. How he treats his animals and whether they are being subjected to any undue pain or mistreatment. The market value of the produce he is cultivating and the mandate against price gouging. The family members for whom he is responsible and working hard to provide for them, much how Hashem provides for us all. Farming is physical and laborious, yet is spiritual and lofty when undertaken within the framework of Torah living.
And that poses a serious problem. Not only the problem of following through on the demands to spiritually enrich and uplift, to maintain fidelity to halacha and Torah values even while buckling beneath the stresses and pressures that are the hallmarks of this world. But the problem of realizing that there’s yet something more. That holy work itself is marked by peaks and valleys. That even as every nook and cranny of one’s life becomes a place marked by kedusha, there is yet a mountain left to climb.
It is an interesting feature of Judaism that the most remarkable events and experiences occur on mountains. The location of the Bais Hamikdash. Akeidas Yitzchak, the greatest act of religious submission in history. And, of course, the giving of the Torah on Har Sinai. These serve as reminders that while we may live with a certain spiritual consciousness in all that we do, there moments in life that rise above the normal spiritual playing field, that demand more of us, that beckon us to climb the mountain.
In a certain sense, ruchniyus begets ruchniyus; when we engage with the holy, a pattern of behavior develops that motivates us to continue surging ahead. But it poses a challenge as well. When my work environment is a place of sanctity, when my home is a place of sanctity, when we see every interaction, phone call, and errand as ultimately serving Hashem, we can become so content with lower degrees of spirituality that we excuse ourselves from ascending upward. I can daven a sloppy mincha because I’ve gotten my does of kedusha elsewhere. I can skip out on my daily learning because I gave tzedakah or helped my child with her book report. These may well be holy endeavors, but they rest in the valley of Divine interaction, rather than at the peak.
Perhaps this is why Parshas Behar introduces the laws of Shemitah with the statement that these mitzvos were given at Har Sinai. Indeed, all mitzvos were given at Sinai, and yet special attention must be given to Shemitah in this regard.
Rav Yaakov Kaminetsky notes that in next week’s parsha, two items are identified as the root cause of the curses that would one day befall the Jewish People and force them from the land. The first is a lack of Torah study, or, more precisely, a lack of effort and toil exerted in that enterprise. The second is that in ousting the Jewish People from Eretz Yisrael, the land will have an opportunity to recoup the Shemittah years that went unobserved and can now lay fallow.
Rav Yaakov explains that there is no contradiction between the two issues presented. What is a farmer supposed to be busy with during the year that his fields lay fallow? Torah study. More than anything, it is to be treated as a year during which he can make up for lost time, spending his days in the Bais Medrash in a way that the demands of farming did not previously permit. A failure to observe Shemittah does not only mean that the land continues to be worked, but that the farmer himself does not pivot to intense Torah study during the time that halacha has now freed him from his labor.
Is that to say that the farmer had been wasting his time until now? Not at all. As previously cited, there is a long list of mitzvos that can only be fulfilled through working the land. But the landscape of holiness is marked by peaks and valleys. The farmer was performing his religious duties during six years of labor, but now it’s time to climb the mountain, to engage in serious Torah study, to have a direct interaction with Hashem and let His words seep deeply into his mind.
Of all the agricultural mitzvos—and they are many—it is Shemittah that is identified as being revealed, “Behar Sinai—upon Mount Sinai”, for the experience of Torah study is a more direct interaction with Hashem than many other mitzvos. It is an experience that resides at the top of the mountain.
Yes, Sinai was low and humble. But it was also a mountain. And as we become increasingly adept at seeing the holiness in our errands and in our earnings, in our companies and our conversations, we can lose sight of the importance of those experiences that reside at the top of the mountain.
As impressive as the view may be from down below, we must remind ourselves to not be content. It’s truly spectacular at the top.