Why Torah study — in addition to being a crucial mitzvah — is so absorbing , intellectually stimulating, and all-consuming

Teachers of English are always talking about dangling participles.

This column is about a dangling brachah.

I recently davened Shacharis for several days in a retirement residence here in Jerusalem. Many of the elderly men in this minyan had some form of disability, were confined to wheelchairs, and were unable to perform common daily tasks that we take for granted: bathing, getting dressed, walking, climbing stairs. Most of them had full-time aides and helpers who assisted them in maneuvering through the day. Some helpers — many of them Filipinos — stayed faithfully by their side during the entire davening.

While visiting the shul, I witnessed two intriguing phenomena. In one case, as soon as Shacharis ended, the Filipino young woman who was the helper of one of the more disabled residents respectfully removed his tallis from his shoulders, folded it carefully, and tucked it into his tallis bag, while he, unable to stand on his feet, wound up his tefillin and put them away.

Such scenes are apparently not unusual here, but the incongruous image of this young non-Jewish woman reverently and respectfully folding the tallis was very striking.

But even more remarkable was a scene the next morning.One of the daveners was partially paralyzed and unable to move his arms. His helper, a Filipino man, slowly and patiently wound the tefillin shel yad around this man’s arm, affixed the shel rosh carefully on his head, wound the other straps around the man’s limp fingers, placed the siddur on the table before him, opened it to the right place, turned the pages at the proper intervals, remained with him until the end of Aleinu, and then wheeled him out to his room.

The Filipino was well trained, and did everything with great reverence: a sensitive non-Jew respectfully helping a Jew perform a sacred mitzvah. It was fascinating and even touching to watch.

But as the scene unfolded before me, a halachic question flitted across my mind: May the Jewish man recite the normative tefillin brachah, which concludes with “Who has commanded us to place (lehaniach) tefillin”? In this instance, the Jew did not do the hanachah (placing); the non-Jew did that. Furthermore, the Torah explicitly says, “u’kshartem osam l’os — you shall bind them as a sign on your hand” (Devarim 11:18). This Jew was unable to do the u’kshartem/binding. True, he was wearing the tefillin, but someone else had bound them to his arm and head. May he nevertheless recite the mandatory tefillin brachah?

At this point , a person might well ask: What’s the big fuss? Let the poor guy make the brachah! Why deny him this satisfaction?

This question is understandable, but it reflects an unfamiliarity with the halachic process. Obviously, no sane person would want to deprive an invalid of doing a mitzvah. But the halachic process, while sympathetic to human needs, functions objectively and unemotionally. Although our sages and poskim/decisors were always conscious of suffering and disabilities, no legal system can be viable if decisions are made based on one’s personal feelings. Objectivity and not subjectivity is the goal.

The halachic sticking point in this case is that the brachah contains the Name of G-d, and brachos may not be recited unnecessarily or at one’s whim, for fear of uttering His Name in vain. We recall that the second of the Ten Commandments warns us against careless use of the Name. Thus the question about the brachah remains, even though in the end he was wearing the tefillin.

Whether this man recited the brachah is not crucial to our discussion here. This is not, after all, a halachah journal ( though it is presumably a halachically kosher journal…) and not the venue for a full exposition of the riveting discussions in classical halachic literature concerning such issues.

Rather, the purpose here is simply to offer a quick glimpse into the religious, intellectual, and emotional issues that intersect in our sacred tradition. Through this brief analysis, we gain some insight into why Torah study — in addition to being a crucial mitzvah — is so absorbing , intellectually stimulating, and all-consuming.

Three closing wishes:

1) We pray that the incapacitated gentleman, as well as his comrades-in-suffering, soon be restored to full vigor, obviating any questions about his brachos.

2) May G-d bless these caring and sensitive aides.

3) May the One Above give us the opportunity and capacity to delve ever more deeply into His Torah and mitzvos — and to be privileged to recite our brachos without restrictions of any kind.

*For the halachically curious: Most halachic decisors hold that this man is permitted to recite the brachah.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1058)