"A woman of valor, who can find?" (Proverbs 31:10). It's a powerful opening to a beautiful poem. But what does it really mean? What does it point to?
Midrash Mishlei, our text for today, suggests one answer: this woman of valor, this eshet chayil, is none other than the Torah itself. "And further than pearls is her price" (Proverbs 31:10), the midrash continues. That is, the Torah was "in front of Me and inside (lefanim)," meaning with God from the very beginning, and Moshe, Moses, merited to bring it down to earth. "Her husband puts his confidence in her, and lacks no booty," meaning there is nothing lacking in the Torah itself. It’s a beautiful, if somewhat abstract, reading. But the midrash doesn’t stop there.
It then shifts gears, offering a story. And this story...well, it's a gut punch.
They said: There was a story about Rabbi Meir, a renowned sage, sitting and expounding in the study hall on Shabbat afternoon. Picture it: the air thick with the scent of beeswax candles and the murmur of voices debating sacred texts. But while Rabbi Meir is immersed in Torah, tragedy strikes. Two of his sons die.
Imagine the mother's unbearable grief. What does she do? She places both of them on the bed, covers them with a sheet, and waits.
At the end of Shabbat, Rabbi Meir comes home, weary but fulfilled from his teaching. "Where are my two sons?" he asks.
His wife, with incredible strength, replies, "They went to the study hall."
He tells her he didn't see them there. They give him the cup of Havdalah, the ritual that separates the holy day from the rest of the week. He asks again, "Where are my two sons?"
She says, "They went elsewhere, and they are coming now." She sets food before him, and he eats and blesses God. After he finishes, she finally speaks. "Rabbi, I have a question to ask you."
"Say your question," he replies.
"Rabbi, before today, a man came and deposited something with me, and now he is coming to take it. Should we return it to him or not?"
Rabbi Meir, without hesitation, says, "My daughter, one who has a deposit with him must return it to its owner."
She then takes him by the hand, leads him to the room, and pulls back the sheet.
When he sees his two sons, lifeless on the bed, he breaks down. "My sons, my sons, my teachers, my teachers," he cries. "My sons in the way of the world, my teachers in that they would enlighten my eyes with their Torah!"
And then, his wife speaks, her voice surely trembling but firm. "Rabbi, is this not what I told you? Do I not need to return the deposit to its Owner?"
Rabbi Meir, struck by the profound truth in her words, responds with the words of Job: "The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be blessed" (Job 1:21).
It’s a devastating scene, a raw display of faith in the face of unimaginable loss. Rabbi Chanina says that "With this thing, she consoled him and his mind became composed - that is why it states, 'A valiant woman, who can find.'" She is the source of his strength, his comfort in the face of despair. But why this story, now? What does it have to do with the Torah?
Rabbi Chama bar Chanina offers another layer, suggesting a possible reason for the tragedy. "On account of what did the sons of Rabbi Meir become liable and die at one time? Because they were accustomed to leaving the study hall to sit with food and drink." A chilling thought: that even minor deviations from the path of Torah could lead to such a terrible outcome.
Rabbi Yochanan adds, "Even with trifling matters - as when the Torah was given to Israel, he only warned them about the words of Torah, as it is stated (Deuteronomy 26:16), 'This day the Lord, your God, commands you to do.'" It’s a reminder of the weight and responsibility that comes with the gift of Torah.
So, what are we left with? A woman of valor, the Torah, and a story of unspeakable loss. Perhaps the Midrash is telling us that the Torah, like this woman, is a source of strength, resilience, and faith, even in the darkest of times. Perhaps it is a reminder that even in the face of tragedy, we can find solace and meaning in the teachings of our tradition. And perhaps, most importantly, it’s a challenge to live a life worthy of the gift we've been given, to treat the Torah with the reverence and respect it deserves.
The story of Rabbi Meir's sons is a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of holding fast to our faith. It's a difficult story, no doubt, but also a powerful one. It invites us to contemplate the true meaning of "a woman of valor," and to ask ourselves: how can we embody those qualities in our own lives?