There’s something captivating about meeting a person whose mystery and depth quietly beckon you to learn more. Even a brief exchange can draw you in deeper, awakening curiosity. Even the spark of a small but powerful quality can ignite the pursuit of a relationship, to more closely connect with the enigmatic majesty that resides within.
The most profound relationship a person has—the one shared with his/her Creator—is built on a similar concept. The Gemara in Shabbos 105a, famously tells us that the “Anochi” that begins the Aseres HaDibros is an abbreviation for “I, Myself, wrote and gave.”
״אָנֹכִי״, נוֹטָרִיקוֹן: אֲנָא נַפְשִׁי כְּתַבִית יְהַבִית
With the Aseres HaDibros, Hashem gave His soul/self over to us, k’viyachol.
The Beis Yaakov of Izhbitz, in Sefer HaZemanim, further illuminates a key aspect of Mattan Torah. Referencing his father, the Mei HaShiloach, he notes a significant message Hashem communicated by using the word “Anochi” as opposed to “Ani.” Translated to English, both words mean “I.” But in Hebrew, there is a subtle but important distinction: “Ani” indicates the entirety of one’s self. “Anochi” means a transmission of a significant portion of one’s self, but not all of it. The letter that distinguishes אנכי from אני is ‘כ’. This one letter is a prefix that means “resembling/similar.”
Why didn’t Hashem give us His whole self? Wouldn’t that have been a greater expression of His love for us than sharing only a portion of His essence?
For starters, humans are neither physically capable of receiving all of Hashem’s Infinite light/self, nor able to digest every aspect of Hashem’s Torah; Hashem simply did not create us with the capacity to capture the magnitude of such light.
Aside from this physical limitation imposed in His blueprint for creation, Hashem purposely fashioned a world cloaked in mystery. Those who thirst for Elokus in this world are able to spend their entire lives uncovering layers of Divine understanding while magnifying the spiritual delight of engaging with His Torah. Had Hashem given His entire self to us on Har Sinai, nothing would have remained a mystery for us. The drive to labor in the pursuit of understanding would be absent from the human experience; we wouldn’t appreciate the rewarding feeling of searching, finding, and wanting to search further. The Heavenly angels, by contrast, are programmed to comprehend and serve with perfection. Therefore, concludes the Gemara in Shabbos 88a, the Torah was not created for them. Since Hashem gave angels the ability to understand all of Torah, and they do not experience fluctuations, חידושים, and the “joy” of challenges, the Torah is not tailored to their nature. As the Zohar (Metzora 53b) says, “What is Torah? That which illuminates and reveals what is hidden.”
What becomes evident is that Torah was created for those who struggle, those who seek elevation, those who constantly want to extend their spiritual antennae. As the letter כ tells us, in every state we find ourselves, we merely resemble an even better, future version of ourselves that we aim to achieve, and then continue to work at advancing. Every new madreiga leads to the next one. But the drive to reach new madreigos only emerges when we empower our internal engines to keep reaching higher. The fuel for these engines has its origins in the rich reservoir of the “Anochi” uttered by Hashem at Har Sinai. If the entire essence of Hashem had been shared, what would capture our curiosity? If every intricacy of Torah had been allocated ink and parchment, how long would it be before that written record risked being regarded as stale and dull? Hashem gave us enough of a “teaser” at Har Sinai that if we choose to cultivate our innate interest and excitement to be close to Him, we could merit a desire to create meaningful lives characterized by the constant search for more G-dliness.
In our digital age of endless media content creation, the trend to overshare can lead to an erosion of the preciousness of the inner essence of a person and the sanctity of the soul. Pop culture glorifies media personalities who share the most personal information for “being real” and “authentic.” In reality, when everything is shared in public, very little remains sacred for private, meaningful relationships. Yiddishkeit values personal modesty and encourages uncovering only the hidden things that Hashem allows us to uncover. Otherwise, we risk replacing depth with delusion, affinity with attention, and sacredness with spectacle.
Commenting on the Haftarah of Parshas Ki Savo, the Degel Machaneh Ephraim (Reb Moshe Chaim Ephraim of Sudilkov zy”a), shares a mashal from his grandfather, the holy Baal Shem Tov. The parable describes a king who surrounded his castle with (what appeared to the naked eye to be) fortifying walls, wide moats, fierce guards and wild animals, to ensure inaccessibility. Some people never bothered to approach the castle. Others ventured far enough to see that these obstacles could be overcome, but turned around after losing interest in meeting the king or after discovering small treasures along the way. The king’s son, however, longing to return to his father and behold his radiant countenance, pushed through the barriers, expressing his heartfelt desire to reach the king. Upon seeing his son’s passionate resolve and unyielding messirus nefesh, the king removed the illusion of the obstacles and revealed beautiful gardens leading to his throne. As they reunited, the king explained that the barriers were merely perceptions that he planted in the minds of men, intended to weed out those who weren’t interested in having a real relationship with him. The barriers protected the real treasures that he wished to share with his son alone, reserved only for those who yearn to be with the king.
The Jewish people are the son of the King. The entire world is filled with the King’s glory—מְלֹא כׇל הָאָרֶץ כְּבוֹדוֹ; Hashem’s mastery, though seemingly veiled, permeates all of existence—וּמַלְכוּתוֹ בַּכֹּל מָשָׁלָה. But not every human wants to search for the King. The hiddenness and mystery of Hashem’s Presence are a calling to His beloveds to search harder for Him. It causes us to think about the purpose of our lives, the direction we want to steer our energies, the types of investments we want to make of our thoughts and focus, the relationships worthy of our attention and emotions, and the values we hold dear.
Hashem is constantly urging us, “Come find Me, my dear children.” By utilizing the guides He provides us – in forms of Torah, seforim, Tzadikim, rabbeim, teachers, role models, etc. – we enrich our lives by increasing our understanding of Hashem’s essence and deepening our relationship with Him. The mystery of the Torah is the source of its greatest light.
This article was found in Nekuda Tova Issue 44.
