The Power of the Torah

On Shavuot, lovers of Torah never fail to tell the old midrash of Rabbi Avram and his beautiful Torah. The rabbi lived by himself in a one-room, wood frame structure that held a table for studying, a bed for sleeping, and a stove for cooking.

“What else do I need?” he would ask his friends and students.

One night the rabbi looked up to see the door swing open. A menacing figure stood in the doorway—a robber armed with a knife that flashed in the candlelight as he waved it to and fro.

“Your money. Quick. Your money, old geezer, before my knife takes your few remaining years,” the robber threatened.

Amazing, the rabbi thought. I am unafraid. What evil can befall a man as he studies the words of Moses?

“I have no money, no gold, no coins. In fact, no possessions except the bare furniture of this room,” the rabbi replied.

“Liar. There must be something of value here.”

“Oh there is,” replied the Rabbi. “Far exceeding rubles.”

“Get it,” said the man with the sword.

“But it’s already there right in front of you. I didn’t mention it as a possession since it is not exclusively mine and it cannot be exclusively yours. The Torah is a part of the creator’s world like hills and rivers, like love and truth—owned by all and none.”

In front of Rabbi Avram, on a bare table, sat the object of his admiration—a Humash. And what a Humash it was. Bound in a garnet red velvet, its pages were edged in gold. It stole all the light from the dim room and caught it in red and gold fire on the gray table.

The robber scooped it up and turned to leave. But an unexpected shout from the rabbi stopped him at the door.

“Wait,” said the rabbi. “Beware. the Humash has power. The book under your arm has both uplifted and destroyed nations and individuals. This is power and it always will be, forever and ever.”

The robber laughed. “This is power and it always will be forever and ever, old man,” he said as he swung his sword within a hair of the old man’s head. Then he was gone with his loot to the village where he lived with a wife and small daughter.

For several weeks he tried to swap or sell his prize, but the typical buyers had no interest in books of any kind. And the Jews he contacted had qualms about a “hot” Humash. Even Labe, the butcher, who once bought and resold a case of stolen Tallithim, wouldn’t buy the Humash.

For years the Humash laid on the table in the robber’s home with a jumble of stolen goods that were never exchanged for rubles.

Eventually the bandit’s eight year old daughter, Elsie, noticed the big book in the corner. It was laid open to a picture of Jacob, with his daughter Dinah at his side, blessing his sons. She loved the parade of strange characters pictured in the book, and the camels, donkeys, and palm trees. They set her mind alight. To open it was to enter another world.

One day, around the time of her 10th birthday, Elsie began to tell her simple and good mother of the book in the corner. She told her the stories and the rules imposed on humanity by the Creator. The mother, a kind but ignorant woman who dutifully served her husband, slowly awoke to the nature of his rude and violent life. She too opened the book.

Often the thief saw his daughter engrossed in the red velvet book. “Good,” he said, “read and read some more.”

It must be said that the thief loved his daughter. Such things are possible. After all, Saul, the bloodthirsty soldier with rage in his heart towards David, loved his son Jonathan. Even the slave master Pharaoh, it is written, loved his son.

The outlaw said to his daughter,  “we are not put here to live in a hut and eat fish and dark bread. Power is our ladder to climb out of this pit. I use what I have—strength and rage. This is power,” he shouted as he waved his sword. “And it always shall be. But you are only a woman. So read the red book.”

Meanwhile, his fortune grew and it attracted many followers. His small band grew to an army of criminal rabble that controlled the countryside. Many rubles filled the treasure of the bandit chief. And he rode upon pure blooded steeds and wore silken clothing. But his life was barren because his good wife and daughter had fled, taking with them the book with the red velvet cover.

They left a note: “This is power and it always will be forever and ever.”