Torah from the Inside
The Jewish people are not strangers to political upheaval. It’s been with us since the dawn of our nation, and only strengthened in Galus.
But sometimes, beneath the unrest, something magnificent is brewing—like the day they deposed Rabban Gamliel.
The Gemara in Brachos tells the whole story.
There were a number of disagreements between Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabban Gamliel, but it all came to a head over one question: Is Maariv reshus or chova? Voluntary or obligatory? It sounds technical, but the results were politically devastating. Rabban Gamliel was challenged by Rabbi Yehoshua, and in what could only be seen as a power play, Rabbi Yehoshua was forced to remain standing throughout the shiur.
The Sanhedrin were appalled by the event and voted to remove Rabban Gamliel from his position. But who could be appointed in his place? Surely not Rabbi Yehoshua—that would have been too much of an insult. They concluded it could only be Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria.
On his first day as the Rosh Yeshiva, a remarkable thing happened.
Under Rabban Gamliel, the doors of the beis medrash had been shut—most students weren’t allowed in. The moment he was removed, the doors burst open.
The Gemara describes the scene: every seat filled, extra benches brought in, rows added. A flood of people who had been on the outside suddenly found themselves on the inside.
It would seem that this is the climax of the story.
But then the Gemara reveals the punchline.
V’oso talmid… Who was the student who had asked the question that started the entire ordeal?
None other than Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai.
Somehow, with one question, Rashbi found a way for hundreds of people who had been standing outside the yeshiva to be brought inside.
In the introduction to Likutei Moharan, Rebbe Nachman spells it out: Rashbi made a revolution—that the people on the outside should be on the inside. Because Rashbi’s whole world is the world of the inside.
There’s a Maharal that should make every serious Jew nervous.
In the introduction to Tiferes Yisrael, the Maharal cites a Gemara in Niddah:
מפני מה אין מצוין תלמידי חכמים לצאת תלמידי חכמים מבניהם Why is it that talmidei chachamim—Torah scholars—so often have children who are not talmidei chachamim?
The Gemara walks through possibilities. None hold up. Until Ravina says: שאין מברכין בתורה תחילה—because they do not make birkas haTorah.
This is absurd on its face. Talmidei chachamim who aren’t saying birkas haTorah?
The Gemara doubles down. Rav Yehuda quotes Rav: this very question was asked of the chachamim and asked of the neviim, and no one could answer it—until הקדוש ברוך הוא בעצמו—until Hashem Himself answered it: על עזבם את תורתי. They abandoned My Torah. They didn’t listen to My voice. They didn’t walk in My ways.
All of this is captured in the phrase: שאין מברכין בתורה תחילה.
What does that even mean? These are talmidei chachamim. Surely they make brachos?
The Maharal answers: of course they say the words. כי אף אם היו מברכים בפה—even if they say the bracha with their mouths—this thing, the giving of the Torah, requires לברך ה' יתברך בכל לבו: to bless Hashem with one’s whole heart, to love Him completely.
And then he says it:
ואף אם הוא תלמיד חכם והוא צדיק גמור, רחוק הדבר הזה. Even if he is a great Torah scholar—even if he is a complete tzaddik—this thing, to bless Hashem with his whole heart for the gift of Torah, is far from him.
Why?
כי התלמיד חכם לבו דבוק אל התורה—because the heart of the talmid chacham is bound up in the Torah itself. The Torah is so beloved to him. ובשביל אהבתם לתורה דבר זה מסלק אהבת המקום—and his very love for the Torah pushes out the love of the One who gave it, in the very moment he sits down to learn.
The blessing אשר בחר בנו מכל העמים ונתן לנו את תורתו is not a blessing on Torah. It is a blessing to Hashem for giving us the Torah. It is about a relationship—between us and Him.
Of course we love the Torah. But where is the love of the Giver?
Is the love for the Daf Yomi—or is the love for the One who gave us the Daf Yomi?
You can be a great talmid chacham, says the Maharal, and if there is no love of the Giver—only love of the gift—there is no continuity. The Torah doesn’t pass through.
That is what it means to be on the outside: to learn Tosafos as if there is no God.
The Alter Rebbe asks the question in his early ma’amorim: what was Rabbi Shimon doing in the cave for thirteen years?
Everyone thinks he was writing the Zohar.
The Alter Rebbe says the Zohar would have taken three or four months. Of course he learned Zohar—but thirteen years in the cave was Mishnayos. It was finding the or haganuz inside מאימתי קוראים את שמע בערבין—“when does one read Shema in the evening?” It was finding Hashem in the smallest details of halacha.
That is what Rashbi did in that cave.
He learned a halacha and said: this is the will of Hashem. This Tosafos, this Rashba, this question—this is the Creator in this world.
The Alter Rebbe writes in Tanya that what we are doing when we learn is connecting our intellect to the intellect of the Creator—adjusting our minds to align with the infinite mind of Elokus.
That is not the same Tosafos.
That is finding Hashem in the page. And once you can find Him in the page, you can find Him in the page of life.
Every moment of every day—a world on the inside.
Everyone who feels they are on the outside of the beis medrash. Everyone who feels she’ein tocho k’baro—my outside and my inside don’t match. I don’t belong here.
Rashbi came to say: no. You belong inside. Let me show you what it looks like to open a Bava Kama and find Hashem there—to feel connected to Him through a million words and a million laws. To stand at the top of Har HaMoriah, you and the Master of the Universe in the Holy of Holies, and let the rest of the world fall away.
That is all Rashbi.
What is Lag Ba’Omer all about?
It’s about living in this crazy world without letting go of Hashem for even a second. It’s about being inside, even when we’re so far outside. It’s about knowing that we’re only a moment—or a question—away from bringing the whole world inside.