FROM MOSHE TO ME

What do you do when you have a shayla? Do you head to your rabbi, or do you just Google it? Do you seek out a human expert, or do you ask ChatGPT? And when you want to learn Gemara, do you turn to “Rabbi ArtScroll,” or do you show up to an actual shiur?

Let me tell you a story about a Jew in Jerusalem who loved learning Torah—but let’s say his methods were a little… unconventional. Every day, he studied for hours, filling notebook after notebook with his thoughts and interpretations. When he passed away at a ripe old age, his family found stacks of handwritten manuscripts documenting his years of Torah study. But here’s the twist: in his last will and testament, he asked that these notebooks be buried with him.

His family was baffled—why bury such a treasure trove of Torah insights? He’d worked on them for years, so surely they should be published for the benefit of others. And so they brought the matter to Rabbi Shmuel Salant, the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem, to see if these writings were worth saving.

Rabbi Salant reviewed the notebooks, and what he found was… interesting. For example, he saw the man’s notes on Parshat Vayeitzei. He wrote about Jacob’s famous dream of a ladder reaching the heavens, with angels ascending and descending. “Why would angels need a ladder? Don’t angels have wings?” he asked. And his answer? “These angels were small, not yet fully grown, so they didn’t have wings yet.”

Another example: the Midrash says God folded all of Eretz Yisrael beneath Jacob’s head as he slept, symbolizing that the land would belong to his descendants. The man asked, “But wait, where was Isaac? As an olah temimah (a pure offering), Isaac couldn’t leave Eretz Yisrael—so how could the whole land be moved under Jacob?” His answer? “It was just a dream, so the question doesn’t apply.”

Well, after reading through these and other “insights,” Rabbi Salant ruled: “You should certainly honor your father’s will and bury the manuscripts with him.” Why? Because while this man clearly loved Torah, his approach was entirely self-taught, without the framework or rigor of any proper tradition as passed onto him by a teacher.

And that’s the point: Torah isn’t just a free-for-all. It’s a tradition passed down from teacher to student, with questions and answers crafted within the system of mesorah.

This brings us to an incredible chain of stories in the Gemara (Sanhedrin 11a), highlighting the importance of learning from a teacher—and not just relying on your own logic. The Gemara starts with a story about Rabban Gamliel, who once convened the required group of seven sages to decide whether or not it was proper to add another month to the year so it would be a leap year. When he arrived at the chosen location, he found eight people in the room instead of seven. Rabban Gamliel, slightly annoyed by the intrusion, said: “Whoever entered without permission, please leave.”

Immediately, Shmuel HaKatan – best remembered as the pious sage who authored the 19th blessing of the Amidah, the Birkat HaMinim  – stood up and said, “I’m the one who came uninvited.” But here’s the twist: it wasn’t him. Shmuel HaKatan lied to protect the actual offender. Recognizing his greatness, Rabban Gamliel told him, “Sit down, my son, sit. You are worthy of being here to calculate the year.”

The Gemara now gets into the swing of it and recalls a bunch of stories where great people took the fall for others, even though they had done nothing wrong. For example, the story of Rabbi Chiyya. One day, at a shiur, Rebbi Yehuda HaNasi smelled garlic—and he couldn’t stand garlic. He announced, “Whoever ate garlic, please leave.”

Rabbi Chiyya, though he hadn’t eaten garlic, stood up and walked out to protect the actual offender. The following day, Rebbi’s son asked Rabbi Chiyya, “Did you really upset my father by eating garlic?” Rabbi Chiyya replied, “Heaven forbid! I just didn’t want someone else to feel embarrassed.”

And the chain of stories continues: Where did Rabbi Chiyya learn this behavior from, asks the Gemara? He knew it from Rabbi Meir. A woman once came into Rabbi Meir’s beit midrash and declared, “Someone here married me via an intimate act.” To protect everyone from suspicion, Rabbi Meir immediately got a quill and some paper and wrote her a get (divorce document) himself, even though he wasn’t the one who had done it. Following his lead, all the students in the beit Midrash did the same, ensuring no one was singled out for shame.

Continues the Gemara, and where did Rabbi Meir learn this? From Shmuel HaKatan and his actions with Rabban Gamliel. And Shmuel HaKatan? He knew it from Shechaniah ben Yechiel. In Ezra’s time, Shechaniah took responsibility for the collective sin of intermarriage, saying, “We have transgressed,” even though he was personally innocent and had not married a gentile.

Where did Shechaniah learn this behavior from? He knew it from Yehoshua. When Achan sinned by taking spoils from Jericho, Yehoshua didn’t immediately expose him. Instead, he addressed the nation collectively, saying, “You [all of us] have brought trouble upon us.” He delayed singling out Achan, preserving his dignity for as long as possible.

And Yehoshua? He learned it from Moshe Rabbeinu. When the Jewish people worshiped the Golden Calf, God told Moshe, “Your people have acted corruptly.” Though Moshe was on Mount Sinai and entirely uninvolved, he didn’t deflect blame. Instead, he pleaded with God to forgive the people, even saying, “Erase me from Your book if You don’t forgive them.” Moshe showed ultimate responsibility for his people, even when he wasn’t at fault – throwing himself under the bus when he could quite easily have said it had nothing to do with him.

But here’s the question: Why does the Gemara go to such lengths to trace this chain of ethical behavior? Isn’t it obvious that embarrassing someone is wrong? And another question: why trace it all the way back to Moshe Rabbeinu—why not just say that this behavior originates in Moshe Rabbeinu without mentioning any of the other stories?

Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz explains something profound. Even the most straightforward ethical values, like not shaming someone, can’t just be left to intuition. They need to be taught, modeled, and passed down through mesorah. Without this chain, even “obvious” values can be misunderstood or lost. And if that’s true for ethics, how much more so is it proper for Torah learning and halacha!

In today’s world, people pride themselves on “figuring it out” alone—whether by Googling a shayla or winging moral decisions. But the Torah teaches us humility. We need teachers, we need tradition, and we need a well-established structure to guide us along in life.

As the Mishnah in Avot says: “Make for yourself a teacher.” Whoever you are, and however much you know, or think you know, if you want to be the best you can be, the only way to do it is to become the link in the chain that takes you all the way back to Moshe Rabbeinu—not by guesswork, but with proper understanding.

(Adapted from a piece on Parshat Vayetzei in Darash Mordechai, by Rav Mordechai Druk z”l)