Like, staring up at a mountain of laundry or a career change and thinking, "Where do I even begin?" Well, you're not alone. Our sages grappled with this feeling too, especially when it came to the immensity of Torah study.
In Vayikra Rabbah, a collection of Midrashic interpretations on the Book of Leviticus, we find a beautiful and surprisingly relatable discussion on how to approach a seemingly insurmountable challenge. Rabbi Ḥanin of Tzippori starts us off with a powerful image: a mound of dirt, a telulit in Hebrew, and how differently a fool and a wise person approach it. The fool looks at it and throws up their hands: “Who can ever remove this?” But the clever one? They say, “I’ll remove two baskets today, two baskets tomorrow, until I remove it all.”
It's such a simple analogy, isn't it? But it speaks volumes about our mindset. The Midrash then connects this to Torah study. A fool looks at the vastness of Torah – Nezikin with its thirty chapters, the complex intricacies of Bava Kamma, Bava Metzia, and Bava Batra (which, by the way, are considered one integrated tractate, as we see in Bava Kamma 102a) – and gets paralyzed. Kelim, another massive tractate, looms large. They think, "Who can ever learn all of this?"
But the wise person? Ah, they take it one step at a time. "I'll study two halakhot (Jewish laws) today, two tomorrow, until I study all the Torah in its entirety." Rabbi Ami succinctly captures this with the verse from Proverbs 24:7: “Wisdom is lofty to a fool.” It's not about innate ability, but about approach.
Rabbi Yoḥanan adds another layer with the image of a loaf of bread suspended in a house. The fool wonders, "Who can take this down?" The wise one remembers that someone must have put it up there. They figure out a simple solution – two reeds attached together – and solve the problem. Similarly, even the greatest sage learned Torah from someone else. We can all access it, bit by bit.
Then Rabbi Levi chimes in with a particularly evocative image: a perforated basket. Imagine hiring workers to fill it. The fool gets discouraged, thinking, "What's the point? I fill it from here, and it flows out there!" But the wise worker focuses on the task at hand: "Do I not receive a salary for each and every barrel?" The reward is in the effort itself, regardless of the immediate outcome. This resonates deeply when we think about studying Torah and inevitably forgetting some of it. But, as the clever one knows, does the Holy One, blessed be He, not give reward for effort? Absolutely.
Rabbi Ze’ira offers a final, powerful thought: even the seemingly insignificant dots, the kotzim, in the Torah are actually heaps upon heaps – tilei tilim. They have the power to destroy the world or render it a mound, a tel, as Deuteronomy 13:17 says, "It shall be an eternal mound, it shall not be rebuilt.” Every detail matters.
These teachings, found in Vayikra Rabbah, are not just theoretical. They emphasize the profound value and impact of consistent, dedicated study, even when the task seems daunting. But what happens when someone tries to change Torah, even in a small way? Well, the Midrash doesn't shy away from that question either.
Rabbi Alexandri bar Ḥagai, quoting Rabbi Alexandri Kerova (so named either because he was a prayer leader who recited kerovot, liturgical poems, or because he led the congregation in coming close—karov—to God) states that if all the nations of the world assembled to whiten one wing of a raven, they couldn't. Likewise, they couldn't uproot one matter from the Torah.
The Midrash then recounts the story of King Solomon, who, in his wisdom (or perhaps overconfidence), sought to reinterpret a commandment. Deuteronomy 17:16-17 commands the king not to amass horses or wives, lest he be led astray. The Hebrew uses the phrase lo yarbeh – "he shall not amass." Solomon, however, thought he could amass these things and still avoid the pitfalls.
But the Midrash tells us that a prosecutor arose! Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi says it was the yod (the smallest letter in the Hebrew alphabet) of yarbeh that prosecuted him. Without the yod, the word would be rava, changing the meaning and effectively nullifying the commandment!
Rabbi Shimon even imagines the Book of Deuteronomy itself ascending to God, protesting that Solomon had invalidated it. The Holy One, blessed be He, reassures Deuteronomy: “Solomon and one hundred like him will be void, and a yod from you will never be void.”
This idea of the yod – this tiny, seemingly insignificant letter – holding immense power continues. Rav Huna, in the name of Rav Aḥa, says that the yod that God took from Sarai's name when He changed it to Sarah, was divided and given to both Abraham and Sarah.
Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korḥa adds that the yod, having been removed from Sarai's name, pleaded with God. God responded by promising to place it in the name of a male – thus, Joshua (Yehoshua).
The Midrash goes on to illustrate how even a single letter change can have catastrophic consequences for key theological concepts. Altering the dalet to a reish in the Shema (Deuteronomy 6:4), turning echad (one) into acher (other), destroys the affirmation of God's unity! Likewise, manipulating letters in verses about profaning God's name (Leviticus 22:32), denying God (Jeremiah 5:12), or betraying God (Hosea 5:7) all lead to equally disastrous outcomes.
The final teaching is a poignant reminder of God's eternal nature. Rabbi Abba bar Kahana says: Everything erodes (bala), but You do not erode. Ein biltekha – none outlasts You.
So, what do we take away from all of this? The immensity of Torah, like any grand endeavor, shouldn’t paralyze us. Break it down, approach it with consistent effort, and remember that even the smallest details hold immense value. And perhaps most importantly, recognize the enduring power and sanctity of the words we study. The Torah is not just a text; it’s a living, breathing entity that shapes our world and our understanding of the Divine. Now, what two halakhot will you study today?