The only two pesukim in the entire Torah that begin with the letter samech are associated with the two gravest sins in national history

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Motzaei Shabbos, Ashkenazim begin to say Selichos. The pizmon that we say on the first night of Selichos is written in the form of an acrostic like Ashrei, with one exception. The line that begins with the letter nun is followed by one that starts with ayin, skipping over samech. As we will see, this is just one of many anomalies associated with this enigmatic letter.

The Gemara (Kiddushin 30a) says that there are 5,888 pesukim in the Torah. If the first letter of each pasuk was randomly divided among the 22 letters in the Hebrew alphabet, we would expect to find 268 pesukim that start with any given letter. We understand that they are not evenly divided and some letters will begin more pesukim and other letters fewer. Yet if we look for pesukim that start with samech, we find that there are only two.

Moreover, the two pesukim that begin with samech are hardly pareve and unremarkable. The first is found in parshas Ki Sisa, where Hashem informs Moshe Rabbeinu about the Cheit Ha’eigel (Shemos 32:8): “Saru maher min haderech asher tzivisim, asu lahem eigel maseichah — The Jewish People have quickly strayed from the path that I commanded them; they have made for themselves a molten calf.”

The second pasuk is in parshas Shelach, where Moshe implores Hashem to forgive Bnei Yisrael for the sin of the Meraglim (Bamidbar 14:19): “Selach na la’avon ha’am hazeh k’godel chasdecha — Forgive now the iniquity of this nation according to the greatness of Your kindness.” Thus, the only two pesukim in the entire Torah that begin with the letter samech are associated with the two gravest sins in national history.

Additionally, the first kinnah that we say on Tishah B’Av morning is written in the form of an acrostic, but instead of starting with alef as we would expect, it begins with samech, indicating that this letter is linked with mourning. Why does the letter samech have such negative connotations?

Rav Moshe Shapira explains that the significance of the letter samech is rooted in its circular shape. When a person draws a line, it can go in any direction. In this sense, a line represents unlimited possibility. In contrast, no matter how much a circle twists and curves, it eventually returns to the exact place where it started.

Hashem places us in this world to grow and become better people. The greatest tragedy is when someone wastes his infinite potential by choosing the path of the circle, going through the same daily routine but ending each night unchanged, precisely where he started in the morning. The circular samech that retraces the same path over and over symbolizes the sadness of a life that keeps repeating itself but ultimately goes nowhere, making it appropriate for the narratives of the Eigel and Meraglim and the beginning of Kinnos.

Rav Yisroel Reisman suggests that this insight can also help us understand the samech’s omission in Selichos. Since samech represents a lack of progress, it has no place in our preparations for the Yamim Noraim. Going through the motions without actually changing is the antithesis of our mission in Elul and Tishrei. We therefore begin Selichos by reminding ourselves that removing the stagnant samech from our lives is the key to receiving Hashem’s mercy and forgiveness.

Connecting this idea to this week’s parshah, the Baal HaTurim points out that the laws of bikkurim at the beginning of parshas Ki Savo contain every letter in the Hebrew alphabet except samech. What is this omission intended to teach us? If a farmer goes through the annual agricultural cycle of plowing, harvesting, and gathering, and then attributes his success to his hard work, he is leading the circular life of a samech.

On the other hand, if he brings Hashem into the picture by separating bikkurim from his harvest, he isn’t just repeating the same yearly cycle. His annual trip to the Beis Hamikdash to express his gratitude to Hashem becomes a fresh new start. By bringing bikkurim, the farmer climbs higher year after year and removes the samech from his life, so it is excluded from the pesukim that discuss this mitzvah.

Similarly, the 11 pesukim of brachah at the beginning of parshas Bechukosai contain every letter except samech. Rashi explains that these blessings are intended for those who grow through ameilus b’Torah, in which case the letter samech has no place in them.

Nevertheless, there is one brachah that is so potent that even the samech can’t weigh it down. The Rokeach points out that Bircas Kohanim contains 60 letters, which is the numerical value of samech. He explains that unlike the brachos in parshas Bechukosai that must be earned, Bircas Kohanim is completely unconditional. There are samech letters in Bircas Kohanim to hint that its power is independent of our spiritual progress — or lack thereof — and every person who receives the Kohein’s blessing can get tremendous bounty, even if he is living the life of a circle.

What is a practical way to help us live above and beyond the samech that tries to drag us into monotonous, growth-stunting routine? One concrete suggestion is to carve out pockets of time in our days. Routine is only as strong as its consistency. When we break its consistency, we transcend its pull.

There are people who work long hours in grueling corporate environments, but they carry a Mishnayos with them wherever they go. While waiting for a client or standing at the printer, they delve into a mishnah. They are fulfilling the mitzvah of limud HaTorah, but something else is happening as well. They are breaking the power of routine.

A great rav was once asked, “How long did it take you to become a gadol?”

Surprisingly, the rav responded, “Five minutes.”

How can one become a gadol in five minutes? The rav explained that in the course of a typical day, there are usually multiple five-minute intervals when life seems paused, as we wait in line at the supermarket, on hold on the phone, or for a chasunah to begin. Most people allow these periods to go to waste, engaging in idle chit-chat or checking their phones. If one resolves to use all these five-minute windows productively, they will add up to make him a gadol.

In our generation, the gadol who was most renowned for his precise time management was Rav Chaim Kanievsky, who had every moment of every day strictly planned out to allow him to fulfill his chovos (learning obligations) without wasting a second. Because of his encyclopedic knowledge, hundreds of people used to write to him every week asking him to pasken sh’eilos and provide sources for obscure customs and opinions.

Rav Chaim replied to every letter, but because his time was so valuable, his responses were the epitome of terseness. He often wrote only one or two words, such as mutar, tzarich iyun (it is unclear), or bu’ha (an acronym he coined that is short for brachah v’hatzlachah).

A chavrusa of mine once told me about a friend of his who has the record for receiving the shortest answer ever sent by Rav Chaim. Every day after he mailed off his question, he anxiously checked his mailbox to see if he had received a reply. When the response finally arrived, he eagerly opened the envelope, only to discover that it was completely empty inside.

Surprised by the apparent oversight, he thought about it for a few minutes, and he then realized the true gadlus of Rav Chaim. He had recently gotten engaged, and because he had an unusual Yiddish name, he decided to write to Rav Chaim to confirm how it should be spelled in the kesubah.

When Rav Chaim addressed the envelope to him, he had already answered the question by spelling out his name correctly. As someone who maximized his time to the utmost, Rav Chaim intuitively understood that there was no need to waste the extra few seconds involved in writing it again on a piece of paper and putting it inside the envelope, so he simply left it empty.

One of the notable changes to our davening at this time of year is the recital of Avinu Malkeinu twice daily during Aseres Yemei Teshuvah. Rav Shimshon Pincus once remarked that the line that scares him most is “Avinu Malkeinu, na al teshiveinu reikam milfanecha — Our Father, Our King, please do not turn us away from You empty-handed.”

The prospect of going through the months of Elul and Tishrei like a samech and walking away with nothing, the same person as when we began, should terrify us all. I once heard a cynic suggest that if we want to make kabbalos at this time of year but don’t know what to work on, we can just take out last year’s list and change the date at the top, and now we’ll have this year’s list of areas in which we need to improve.

Let’s make sure that this year will be different by resolving to uproot the samech from our lives once and for all.

Originally from Kansas City, Rabbi Ozer Alport graduated from Harvard, learned in Mir Yerushalayim and Beis Yosef Novardok, and is a popular speaker and writer who lives in Flatbush. This column was inspired by the recent petirah of his father, Boruch ben Chaim Zev z”l, and written l’zecher nishmaso.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1078)