Today, we're diving into a fascinating passage from Shir HaShirim Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Song of Songs, that explores just that. Specifically, we're looking at verse 14, which includes the phrase "Covered with sapphires."
Now, on the surface, this sounds beautiful. Sapphires are gorgeous! But the Rabbis, as they often do, see something deeper. The text uses the Hebrew word me’ulefet (מעולפת), which is translated as "covered." However, the Rabbis cleverly connect me’ulefet to a similar-sounding word meaning "saps" or "weakens" (also me’olefet!). This leads to the idea that the Torah itself can sap a person's strength, like the hardness of a sapphire.
Rabbi Yudan and Rabbi Pinḥas illustrate this with a story. Rabbi Yudan says that if you think sapphires are soft, consider this: A man brought a sapphire to Rome to sell. The potential buyer wanted to test its authenticity by breaking off a piece. They placed it on an anvil and struck it with a hammer. Guess what happened? The anvil cracked, the hammer split, but the sapphire? It remained perfectly intact! A truly strong stone. This illustrates that the Torah is similarly powerful and perhaps takes strength from those who study it deeply.
But what does it mean for Torah study to "weaken" someone? Rabbi Abba bar Mamal offers an intriguing perspective: he says that if a person weakens themselves through intense study of Torah and halakha (Jewish law), they can ultimately become like a magician, capable of finding clear solutions to seemingly impossible problems. The Rabbis add that someone who achieves this level through Torah study might even become a king! They point to Proverbs 16:10: "There is magic on the lips of a king."
This idea is further illustrated with a remarkable anecdote about Rabbi Elazar bar Rabbi Shimon. Donkey drivers came to his father to buy produce, and they found Elazar sitting near an oven, devouring bread as his mother took it out. The drivers, witnessing his insatiable appetite, grumbled, "Alas, there is an evil snake in this one's intestines; it appears that this one is bringing famine to the world!"
Elazar overheard them, and after they left to load up their donkeys, he used his great strength (likely before devoting himself to Torah study) to carry all their donkeys onto the roof! When the drivers returned and couldn't find their animals, they looked up and saw them perched high above. They went to Elazar's father, who, understanding his son, suggested they might have offended him. The drivers confessed their unkind words. The father rebuked them, saying, "Why did you relate to him begrudgingly and negatively? Was he eating from your [food]? Is his sustenance your responsibility? No, it is He who created him who creates his sustenance."
He instructed them to apologize, and Elazar, in turn, brought the donkeys down – two at a time! The Midrash emphasizes that this second act was more difficult than the first, highlighting Elazar’s immense strength. However, after dedicating himself to Torah study, Elazar became so weakened by the intense exertion that he couldn't even carry his own cloak. This, the Midrash concludes, is what it means to be "covered with sapphires" – the Torah had taken a toll on his physical strength, even as it elevated his spiritual and intellectual powers.
The story continues with a member of Rabban Gamliel's household. This person was incredibly strong, able to carry a box containing forty se’a (a measurement of volume, roughly thirty liters) of grain to the baker. Rabban Gamliel, seeing this raw strength, challenged him: "You have all this great strength, and you do not engage in Torah study?" Once he dedicated himself to studying Torah, his physical strength diminished. He could carry less and less, until, after finishing the Sifra (a significant achievement – a compendium of halakhic midrash on Leviticus), he couldn't even carry a single se’a! Some say he couldn't even lift the scarf from his head, needing others to help him. Again, “Covered with sapphires."
What are we to make of all this? It’s not that Torah study makes you physically weak in a literal sense. Instead, these stories suggest that dedicating oneself to deep, meaningful Torah study demands a profound investment of energy, focus, and even a kind of sacrifice. It requires us to pour our strength into something greater than ourselves. Perhaps, by "weakening" ourselves in this way, we actually become stronger in other, more meaningful ways – in wisdom, in understanding, and in connection to something truly eternal.