About a thousand years ago, Rabbeinu Bachya ibn Paquda sat down to write a book. He had noticed something that puzzled him deeply. The mitzvos of the Torah, he observed, can be divided into two general categories: what we do with our bodies (“chovos ha’eivarim”), and what we do with our hearts (“chovos halevovos”). The visible and the invisible.
Plenty had already been written about the first category of mitzvos. There were halacha books that went through every physical mitzvah in detail. But an instruction manual about the mitzvos in the second category, such as bitachon, ahavas Hashem, yiras Shamayim, sincerity, and humility, had never been produced.
And, as he himself records, he couldn’t understand why. He entertained theory after theory – maybe these types of mitzvos aren’t obligatory, maybe they’re intuitively understood, maybe they’re just nice ideas, and more. But with a simple investigation, he dismissed every possibility.
He concluded, based on the written Torah, Chazal, and simple logic, that the duties of the heart are the foundation of everything, and deserved to have a book about them. So he decided to write the book himself. He took upon himself to organize the information, lay it out clearly, and give Klal Yisrael what it had been missing.
And then, as he writes, he backed off. He thought to himself: Who am I to write such a book? My mind isn’t sharp enough. My understanding is too limited. I’m not even fluent enough in the language I’d need to write it in. He scratched the idea off his list and went back to his shtender (or however it’s called in Arabic).
But something bothered his conscience. He started to wonder: “Is this really humility talking? Or is it something else?” In his words: “And I said to myself: If everyone who wished to engage in a matter of goodness, or to teach the straight and correct path, were to remain silent and wait until everything was perfectly in order for him, no person would have spoken a word after the Prophets . . . and if everyone who wished to acquire all the qualities of goodness but could not fully attain them were to abandon whatever portion of them he could attain, then all people would be empty of goodness and lacking in virtues, endlessly chasing a hope that never comes true …”
I first learned this piece probably about twenty years ago. What struck me then was not only the process he describes, but the fact that he decided to recount his inner battle within the sefer. Clearly, Rabbeinu Bachaye felt that this personal struggle deserved to be shared. It could be helpful. This story, as well, is part of the Torah that he wanted to teach.
And the point he makes is so obviously true, probably nowadays more than ever. When a temptation calls to us, we find every excuse in the book to follow it. We build arguments for it, shore up its logic, and make it sound perfectly reasonable. But when the truth calls to us, when something genuinely good asks us to show up, suddenly we have a thousand reasons why now isn’t the time. We poke holes. We find problems. We walk away. Every person, he writes, carries his own enemy between his ribs.
Rabbeinu Bachya forced himself to sit down and write. He understood that “not ready” is not a reason. It’s a trap. And the result was the Toras Chovos HaLevavos, one of the most important sefarim ever written, put together by a giant of a man who almost talked himself out of it.
Shavuos has come, and it might be time to wonder about our accomplishments in life. We know that a certain din is happening now. We’re being evaluated about our learning and our attachment to the Torah. Where’s my learning holding? Can I do more, or can I do what I’m doing better? A seder? A chavrusa? A few minutes a day thinking about what it means to be a Yid?
We should expect to have the same doubts Rabbeinu Bachya did: I’m not the right person for that learning program or that shiur. I don’t have the background. I can’t be consistent at it anyway. The Chovos HaLevavos would say back to us: I’m not going to argue with you. I assume you’re entirely correct about your self-assessment. Indeed, you are not ready. Now go do it anyway. Because if you wait until you’re ready, you’ll wait forever.
Forty-nine days out of the worst galus in history, we stood at Har Sinai as a nation of former slaves, and Hashem handed us the entire Torah. We agreed to jump right in, because we knew the opportunity wasn’t going to come again. We committed to the task and then figured out how to follow through. That’s the energy in the air on Shavuos, for all of us to grab. It’s not the day we were ready to receive. It’s the day we grabbed the opportunity.
This article was found in Nekuda Tova Issue 82 – Shavuos.
