“Mikeitz sheva shanim…”

AN excited hubbub greeted Tzofia and David when they arrived home. The townspeople were busy packing their luggage, and Tzofia and David quickly joined the preparations for the journey to Yerushalayim. Only after several hours of work, when a pale moon hung in the sky, did the tumult of preparations subside as people sat down to eat.

“Abba, I would like an explanation about why the inyan of Hakhel exists only after the year of shemittah.” David turned to his father, still brimming with enthusiasm. “Why wasn’t this mitzvah ordained every year?”

“That’s a good question.” His father smiled, pleased. “To explain, I’d ask you to consider how the past year of shemittah was special.”

“We didn’t violate the sacred ground of Eretz Yisrael,” David responded at once. “We didn’t work the soil, and we were zocheh to sit in the beis medrash and learn Torah instead of farming.”

“That’s right,” Abba confirmed, carefully pouring the grape juice. “For an entire year, I sat with my brothers, Bnei Yisrael, in the batei medrash, and not one of us labored for wheat or worried about the harvest. Instead, we elevated ourselves in the maalos of Torah and yirah. That’s why this is the perfect time, after a year of abstaining from earthly concerns and focused on spiritual preparation, to hold the grand assembly of mitzvas Hakhel, while everyone is elevated and pure and mentally prepared to accept ol malchus Shamayim.”

“And remember the words of Shlomo Hamelech in Mishlei (25:17): ‘Let your feet be scarce in your fellow’s house,’” Tzofia added. “If we gathered every year, it would detract from the solemnity of the occasion.”

“But why is it necessary for everyone to go up and gather in Yerushalayim?” David persisted. “Isn’t it enough for every Jew to read the selected passages in the shul near their home?”

“The reason for the great gathering is for us to be able to hear the Torah, which is our mainstay, our glory, and our pride,” Abba responded with emotion. “Know, my son, that the entire ikar of Am Yisrael is the Torah, in which merit we earn eternal life and unsurpassed pleasure. It is worthy for us all to gather to hear the words of the Torah, and this will lead us to praise its worth and value and instill desire in our hearts for it. In this desire, we’ll learn to know Hashem and merit His favor, and Hashem will delight in His children.”

“I can’t wait till morning to set out,” David admitted. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get any sleep.”

“I share your excitement.” Abba put his hand in his son’s. “And the truth is that of all the aliyos l’regel, none are comparable to the aliyah of Hakhel. I promise you, you’ll never forget what you see tomorrow. Go, hurry off to get some sleep! It isn’t long until dawn.”

“Mah yafu pe’amaich…”

The skyline of the City of the Patriarchs was tinted pink, night giving way to the dominion of the day. The first light transformed dew drops into sparkling diamonds, trampled beneath hurrying feet.

Hundreds of families set out on the road, joining convoys winding toward Yerushalayim. The faces of the travelers were lifted with the happiness of the mitzvah, their feet pining to tread the ground of the holy city.

“David, do you see the masses walking with us?” Abba gestured at the crowds. “All of them, and many others, are flocking to appear at the house of Hashem.”

“I’ve never seen so many people in one place!” David marveled. “I can no longer see the pavement of the road, and I can only track the path by the mass of travelers.”

“Just wait, David, that’s only the beginning.” Tzofia laughed at her son’s awe. “The majority of Israel is already in the fairest of sites, the joy of all the earth, and us… we’re considered latecomers.”

“So let’s hurry,” David said, excited. “Let’s ascend to Har HaKodesh, to Yerushalayim!”

The festive convoys continued on their way, accompanied by songs of gratitude to Hashem, until the House of Hashem on Har Hamoriah came into sight, rising above the mountains.

“That’s it!” David cried, pointing his finger at the shining building in the distance. “That’s the Beis Hamikdash!”

The cry sent a wave of excitement through the convoy. Everyone burst into song and dance as they passed through the packed gates of the city. And Yerushalayim greeted her children with love, like a mother calling home her children from afar.

“Look, David, next to every gate await the most respected citizens and deputies and Kohanim and Leviim.” Tzofia pointed them out to her son. “They’re waiting for us, the olei regel, to bless our arrival.”

“Ah…” Abba sighed, before chuckling with delight. “It’s about just this sight that it’s written: ‘Your footsteps were so lovely when shod in pilgrim’s sandals, O daughter of nobles’ (Shir Hashirim 7:2). The chachamim interpret: ‘How fine are the feet of Klal Yisrael when they perform the aliyah l’regel.’”

“Still, stay close to me,” Tzofia pleaded, frightened by the massive crowds. “I don’t want you to disappear in this crush.”

“But I don’t want to miss a thing,” David pleaded, looking at the crowded entrance to the animal market. “Look, Ima, at how many people are buying cows and sheep for korbanos….”

“Tok’in b’chatzotzros.”

The first day of Succos flew by, and anticipation mingled with the redolent scents of korbanos and Ketores. Finally, the moment they had eagerly awaited had arrived. “Since I’d like a good view, let’s hurry up and set out for the Beis Hamikdash,” Abba decided.

And so, they began walking through the crowded alleys, winding their way with difficulty to the Beis Hamikdash.

“It looks as though the streets are a human river flowing toward the azarah, the yetzi’im [side chambers] and stav [portico],” Tzofia said, wishing she could pause to take in the wondrous sight.

“Tzofia, you’ll go to the ezras hanashim,” Abba said, picking up the baby, “while I continue with our sons to the azarah.”

“I’m worried about the crowds.” Tzofia caressed the infant’s cheek anxiously. “The crush could be dangerous.”

“I’ll raise Yaakov on my shoulders,” Abba reassured her. “He’ll be safe and be able to see everything.”

“Rabosai, onward, keep moving,” rang out the cries of the ushers directing the flow of traffic through the alleys. “Hurry to the Beis Hamikdash — the mitzvah of Hakhel will start in a few minutes!”

“Bye, Ima,” cried David, but his voice was drowned out by the sudden blaring of trumpets.

“What’s that?” He paled. “How did the trumpets sound so loudly that they can echo through the entire city?”

“Those are the Kohanim,” Abba cried in response. “Look! All the sons of Aharon are standing with golden trumpets in their hands!”

“I’ve never seen so many Kohanim blowing all at once! Even maimed Kohanim are blowing!” David marveled. “I wonder where the Kohanim obtained so many trumpets.”

“The people of Yerushalayim rented the Kohanim their trumpets for a golden dinar, and for this chesed they are promised a great reward,” an anxious-looking usher explained to them. “The trumpets are signaling that you must gather in the azaros, for the king is about to begin the kriah.”

A few minutes later, Abba, David, and baby Yaakov had found a place to stand from which they could watch the wondrous events unfolding.

“Look, son, the Kohanim with their trumpets and the Leviiim singers with their voices and instruments — and all this for what?” Abba asked, wiping tears of excitement from his eyes. “So that the people can see the voices like they did at Har Sinai, for music is good to tune the ear and stir the heart.”

“Abba, what would happen if the people didn’t come to Hakhel, or if the king didn’t want to read from the Torah?” David inquired anxiously.

“Whoever casts aside this commandment,” Abba sighed, “is fated for punishment, for this mitzvah is a pillar and a great honor in the faith of Israel.”

“And what if Hakhel falls out on Shabbos? Does the entire nation still assemble in Yerushalayim?”

“Chachamim have discussed your question, and have ruled that if Hakhel falls out on Shabbos, it’s postponed to Sunday.”

“But why?” David asked. “There’s no issur against reading the Torah on Shabbos.”

“Reading on Shabbos is permitted, but the issur is because of the tekiah. You just heard the sound of the trumpets that filled the streets of Yerushalayim, and trumpets can’t be blown on Shabbos,” Abba explained. “Another reason to postpone Hakhel until Sunday is because of the tachanunim (pleas) that the king must daven, for on Shabbos there is no pleading in davening. The third reason is because of the bimah that the king stands on, which can’t be built on Shabbos.”

“I see,” David nodded, before suddenly jumping in his place and pointing upward excitedly. “Look, Abba, look! There’s the wooden bimah on which the king will stand! Hashem’s servants are constructing it in the ezras hanashim!”

“Notice, David, the women stand in the ezras hanashim, and Yisrael in the ezras Yisrael, and the Kohanim in the ezras Kohanim. The bimah is constructed on the edge of the ezras hanashim near ezras Yisrael, and it’s set at an angle that allows everyone to see the king.” Abba pointed. “If you look closely, you’ll notice that the Kohanim aren’t building the bimah from scratch, but merely assembling it. That’s because it was built on Erev Yom Tov, and now they’re just putting it together.”

“Kisvu lachem.”

“Abba, does the mitzvah of Hakhel have to be performed in the Beis Hamikdash?” David asked.

“No, son, it isn’t obligatory for the mitzvah to be performed on Har Habayis. Some say that it can be done anywhere in Yerushalayim, but to glorify the mitzvah and for the honor of the sefer Torah, it’s done in the azarah so the sefer Torah doesn’t have to be carried outside.”

Before the eyes of the astonished crowd, the bimah was rapidly and skillfully put together.

“To whom does the sefer Torah belong?” David asked, looking curiously at the ornate sefer Torah being raised up by the dignitaries around the bimah.

“This sefer Torah belongs to the king,” Abba replied. “You surely know that the king owns two sifrei Torah. He keeps one on his person, and the second is stored away. The Torah from which he’ll read today is the one stored in the beis hagnazim.”

“Why does he need two? Isn’t one enough?”

“Every member of Klal Yisrael is commanded to write their own sefer Torah, and if he lacks the ability to do it himself, he’s required to buy one or hire someone to write him one. But beyond this mitzvah, which applies to every Jew, there’s another mitzvah unique to the king — to write an additional sefer Torah for himself. He isn’t permitted to use another’s sefer Torah, and anywhere he goes, his sefer Torah goes with him.”

“What if he inherits a sefer Torah from his father?” David asked. “Can he use the old one?”

Abba shook his head. “Even if his father left him a sefer Torah, he must write one for himself, thus the king ends up with two sifrei Torah, one because he’s commanded as an individual and one because he’s commanded as a king. And now, look, David, at the chazzan of the knesses! He’s taking the sefer Torah and giving it to the rosh haknesses, and the rosh haknesses is giving it to the sgan Kohein Gadol, and the sgan to the Kohein Gadol, and the Kohein Gadol passes it to the king.” Abba gestured from man to man. “What a special sight, all these honored people passing the Torah between themselves to magnify the king’s honor and glorify him in our eyes.”

“And here he is!” came a suppressed cry from the crowd. “Here comes the king!”

The king, adorned with a golden crown and dressed in regal robes, stood next to the ornate chair and laid down his sefer Torah. Silence reigned on Har Habayis.

The enormous crowd packed the azaros. Men, women, and children, renowned talmidei chachamim and geirim who had only recently found Hashem, countless Jews there to fulfill the mitzvah of Hakhel… all looked expectantly at the king.

“Immediately, the king will open his sefer Torah and read from the first pasuk of Devarim until Shema Yisrael, then continue to other parts of the sefer,” Abba said. “You have to pay close attention to every word and syllable.”

“Tikrah es haTorah hazos.”

“What will the geirim who don’t speak Lashon Hakodesh do?” David asked, inconspicuously pointing out a man who was clearly a ger tzedek.

“The geirim must prepare their hearts and open their ears and listen with joy and trembling to the words of the Torah, just as it was delivered on Har Sinai,” Abba explained.

“And gedolei hador?” David looked with awe at the train of talmidei chachamim. “Why do they need to listen to the reading of the Torah? They know the Torah by heart.”

“Even chachamim who know the entire Torah must listen with great attention,” Abba said. “And anyone who can’t hear because their hearing is impaired, or because they’re at the edge of the azaros and the sound doesn’t reach them, must still direct their hearts to the kriah and believe the king is a shaliach of Hashem conveying His word.”

David craned his neck to look out at the sea of people surrounding him. The air was dense with excitement as suddenly, the clear voice of the king rang out: “Baruch atah asher bachar banu mikol ha’amim v’nasan lanu es Toraso, Baruch atah… nosein haTorah.”

“Amen!” the crowd roared. The sound penetrated the hearts of all, leaving an indelible impression. Immediately afterward, the king began reading Sefer Devarim, called mishneh Torah, and the words of the Torah fell upon everyone’s ears.

For a long time, the people stood on their feet and parents raised their children on their shoulders as the king read and rolled the scroll, rolled the scroll and read, and added explanations and tochachah and special tefillos that widened the heart and awakened the people to love of Hashem.

At the end of the kriah, the king rolled up his Torah scroll and made the usual brachah of krias haTorah: “Baruch atah, asher nasan lanu toras emes v’chayei olam nata b’socheinu, Baruch atah… nosein haTorah… and then recited seven more brachos:

“Retzeh Hashem elokeinu b’amcha Yisrael… Baruch atah Hashem sh’oscha l’vadcha b’yir’ah naavod.”

“Modim anachnu lach… Baruch atah Hashem, hatov simchah v’lecha na’eh l’hodos.”

“Atah bechartanu mikol ha’amim… Baruch atah Hashem, mekadesh Yisrael v’hazmanim.”

“Baruch atah Hashem… hashochein b’Zion.”

“Baruch atah Hashem… habocher b’Yisrael.”

“Baruch atah Hashem… mekadesh haKohanim.”

“Hoshea es amecha Yisrael sh’amcha tzrichin l’hivasha. Baruch atah Hashem, Elokeinu v’Elokei Yisrael min ha’olam v’ad ha’olam Baruch atah Hashem, shomei’ah tefillah.”

The kriah was over. The king descended from the bimah, lovingly embracing his sefer Torah, and the eyes of the people followed him with admiration and respect.

“Have you asked yourself, David, why we assembled here together?” Abba’s voice broke and his eyes teared up with emotion. “Know and understand that all of this was intended so we could hear the words of the Torah, our pride and our glory, so we can learn to know Hashem yisbarach and earn His favor.”

On a Personal Note

“What’s your favorite chag?” my kids asked me. I listed them all, but I saved Simchas Torah for last.

“Because of the Moshe Emes?” they asked, and I responded seriously, “Because of the Toras Emes.”

Something happens in my heart when I stand and watch Jews dancing in honor of the Torah. I physically feel my Jewish battery being recharged. With every inch that the dancers’ feet rise above the ground, I feel myself returning to my roots.

As I learned about this wonderful chag, I found a gem in Abravanel that inspired me to write this article.

With the Churban, the mitzvah of Hakhel became obsolete. The mitzvah only applies when all Jews reside in Eretz Yisrael, and it depends on korban rei’ah, krias Hamelech, and aliyah l’regel. However, Abravanel states: “It is from this that we derive the current minhag, that on Shemini Atzeres or Simchas Torah, when we complete the Torah, the most respected member of the kehillah reads the parshah of Zos Habrachah without a translator to recall the act of the king in that time.”

A similar minhag was observed in the days of Rav Shmuel Salant, rabbi of Yerushalayim, who gathered all the students of the talmudei Torah in Yerushalayim at the Kosel on the first day of Chol Hamoed Succos and read them the portions that the king used to read during Hakhel.

As I learned about the exalted ceremony of Hakhel, I could almost recall a distant memory of those elevated moments when the king stood before Klal Yisrael and read from the Torah.

Anyone who passes within shuls and yeshivos on the day of Simchas Torah knows that some sliver of that simchah remains to this day. And all that remains for me is to daven that we’ll all merit to gather in Yerushalayim habenuyah, v’sham naaleh v’niraeh v’nishtachaveh lifnei Hashem.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 915)