Version History

“Whenever we came across a lot—twenty possuk from Neviim in yeshiva, my teacher would tell us, ‘Don’t worry—I worry — I know that we’re in a non-prophet organization. In yeshiva we don’t learn Nach, so no one really has a clue what this is referring to. I’ll give you the background.’”

That was the terrible pun I had the misfortune of hearing one fateful day, emanating from the little respect.) neon-shining box someone had just pulled out of his pocket in my immediate vicinity (which I have now subjected you to as well. Welcome to the club).

What was even more unfortunate became clear to me as my mind, unwittingly, sailed in that direction: he might even be right. And that would be terrible. Is it possible that terrible-greasy-pun-man is, in fact, vindicated?

But I immediately caught myself. Are you really worried about prophet puns? How can you expend your precious brain space on this when it could be so much better utilized on other, more important endeavors, like… I don’t know, something else?

A solid argument. And with that, I promptly moved on with my life, unperturbed. As they say, ignorance is bliss.

That is, until I heard the following question from a dear colleague of mine in the midst of a recent, very important Friday-night-before-Kabbalas-Shabbos conversation (this actually happened):

“Who was Sancheirev?”

I was aghast. Did I hear correctly?

I hoped it was just a minor slip, something that could be quickly set straight with the gentlest of memory jogs. “You know, Melech Ashur?”

“Hmmm… He destroyed the Beis Hamikdash?”

My jaw hit the table.

I couldn’t believe it. I’m no Nach whiz, but Sancheirev?? Are we really this far gone? I wanted to respond, “Welcome, are you new here?” but I already knew the sad answer. He wasn’t. Not at all. He had been through the system, through the most stellar institutions from before he could even remember himself. And yet, he couldn’t place Sancheirev.

In my ears rang, to my great chagrin, that (now) infamous pun. Are we truly products of a non-prophet organization?

This is not, by any means, a condemnation. I haven’t come to join the chorus of esteemed writers who incessantly denounce everything that moves. That’s not my thing. (No shade to those who do — you keep complaining. Keep up the good work. If you don’t up the machaos, who will?) This is simply an observation of the reality around us.

And, as it turns out, hardly anyone knows anything past the Five Books of Moses and Megillas Esther. And Megillas Esther we know from leining on Purim (or from everyone else’s leining leading up to Purim), which means that we know it like Tzedukim (if they would have accepted the authority of Nach — a discussion for another time).

Or even leave the stories for a minute — try naming the 24 books in Tanach, see how far you get.

And if you think about it, this makes perfect sense. Why would anyone know Nach if they never opened one? That computes.

For the record, this is by no means a new phenomenon. The Gemara in Avodah Zarah (4a) tells a fascinating story:

R’ Avahu lived in Caesarea in the late 3rd and early 4th centuries CE, and maintained an unusually good relationship with the ruling Roman echelon and with the local early Christian community that was increasingly gaining power and influence over the Roman authorities. As Christians are wont to do, they enjoyed attempting to stump R’ Avahu on a possuk, hoping to prove that it referred to something or other that conveniently supported their theology. R’ Avahu, for his part, had no trouble shutting them down when necessary.

At some point, Rav Safra arrived in Caesarea from Bavel on a routine business trip. R’ Avahu spoke highly of him and told the relevant Christian gentlemen that Rav Safra was a great and wise man. Taking R’ Avahu at his word, and with an appreciation for a good Bible expert, the authorities placed Rav Safra on the “Scholars’ Tax-Exemption” list, where he remained for thirteen years. No small favor.

Then, one day, Rav Safra was back in Caesarea, and these fine gentlemen happened upon him and decided to throw at him the same kind of question they routinely hurled at R’ Avahu, and asked him to explain a possuk that seemed to contradict itself. But to their great disappointment, Rav Safra had nothing to say. Or perhaps, he simply had no interest in getting dragged into a theological debate with these ruffians. Regardless, Rav Safra remained silent.

Unfortunately for him, his interrogators interpreted silence as ignorance. The great man, it turned out, couldn’t even explain a simple verse from the prophets. And as one does when frustrated with another person, they grabbed a head-scarf, looped it around his neck, and began playing catch with him.

To Rav Safra’s luck, R’ Avahu showed up just in time and found them in the middle of this spectacle. He demanded to know what they were doing.

“You told us he was a great man, and he can’t even explain a simple verse!”

“I told you he was a great man,” R’ Avahu replied. “But who ever said anything about him being a Bible expert? He is an expert in Mishnah, in the world of the Tannaim.” (A world, (An expertise, it should be noted, for which these Christians had very little utility.)

This only confused them further. If being a rabbi didn’t automatically mean being a Bible expert, then why was R’ Avahu himself such a frequent and capable biblical debater? And why were the other local rabbis equally fluent?

To which R’ Avahu answered: “It’s very simple. The local rabbis are Bible experts because we live among you. Because we are forced into these conversations, we prepare. We study. We develop our Bible expertise. But Rav Safra comes from a frum community in Pumbedisa. He has no reason to become a Bible polemicist, because you aren’t there, nagging him.”

But if this was true in the days before the printing press, light bulbs, and ArtScrolls (shomu shamayim!), it does not need to be true today, when easy read explanations and translations are so readily accessible, often literally at arm’s length.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Isn’t that only for chassidim, the ones who utilize the time they spend folding their tallis and tefillin? It’s literally in Hayom Yom! The kind of guys who occasionally needed to daven Shacharis, Mincha, and Maariv consecutively — hold on… I mean, the kinds of people who davened ba’avodah and were misbonen in chassidus and things like that. Nach is for those types of guys.

Well then, in that case, I have some news for you.

That Hayom Yom comes from a letter of the Frierdiker Rebbe (אג”ק ח"ו ע' קנא), and that letter begins as follows:

ב״ה
ד׳ דחנוכה תש׳׳ב ברוקלין
אל הנהלת ישיבת תו״ת יצ״ו ה׳ עליהם יחיו!
שלום וברכה!

כואב מאד הדבר שהתלמידים הקשישים יחיו אין להם שום ידיעה במקרא ת ורובם אינם יודעים אפילו את החומש עם פרש״י ומה גם את הנביאים וכתובים שאין להם מושג בזה כלל, ולמופת נכון הדבר אשר מי שהוא מועד ההנהלה ישאל — דרך אגב — בדבורו עם אחד התלמידים לתרגם לו איזה פסוק בכתובים או איזה מאורע האמור בנביאים.

…בזיון הוא לבן תורה שאינו יודע את התנ״ך בפירוש המלות דבר דבר על אופנו — החסידים, אפילו הבינונים היו בקיאים בתנ״ך ומנהג מסודר הי׳ אצלם שאחר לימוד שיעור משניות אחר תפלת שחרית בשעת כפילת הטלית ותפילין היו אומרים שיעור תנ״ך באופן אשר במשך שלשה חדשים היו גומרים את התנ"ך.

(Yes, there were em-dashes before ChatGPT.)

If that was the case then, we can only imagine how widespread and deep this issue is today. Or, as mentioned, we need not imagine at all.

And if you’ve been feeling some withdrawal due to the lack of condemnation in this article, you’re in luck. The continuation of the letter should help you out:

והנה כל זה אדות התלמידים הקשישים יחיו, אף שגם אצלם הנה המגרעות האמורות אינם בגדר "אי ״אי אפשר לתקן״ רק בגדר ״קשה לתקן״ אבל התלמידים הבינונים הצעירים והקטנים הנה מוכרח הדבר להכניס זה בסדר הלימודים, לימוד תנ״ך…

לימוד תנ״ך, הנה בלבד עצם ידיעת תורה שבכתב וקדושתה הנתונה מסיני והמסורה ע״פ כל כותביה כמבואר בדרז״ל הנה המורים שילמדו עמהם צריכים להשפיע על רוח התלמידים שי׳ שידעו א את עשירות הרוחני׳ האלקי׳ שבספורי וכתובי התנ״ך, בכדי שבמשך הזמן ישאפו התלמידים להתעסק בחם בהם ולשאוב רוח טהרה וקדושה.

For some, this is prime material to march off to protest at hanhalah offices across the country (והזמ״ג). But as I mentioned earlier, that’s not my thing. Machaos are easy; changing things is harder.

But, truth be told, it isn't that hard when the fix is this simple. All it takes is a single decision, and it isn’t even a particularly great undertaking.

Nach is really a very enjoyable thing to learn. It isn’t hard, it isn’t complicated, and it isn’t boring.

So now, I encourage you: find a short window of time that works for you, and make yourself a chavrusa to learn Nach. Not a lot — twenty minutes, half an hour, or so. Any time of day works: morning, afternoon, night, after-midnight, etc.

Start with Yehoshua. There’s no reason to begin in the middle of the story. Work your way forward from there. And even if you think you remember it from cheder, you probably remember almost nothing. (Also, don't get stuck in the perokim in Yehoshua that are all maps. Skip them if necessary.)

Don’t learn it with every explanation on the page. Stick to the basics — Rashi and Metzudos Dovid. They complement each other very well for this purpose. If every so often you’re not satisfied with their explanations, take yourself on a tour of the other meforshim. (For the record, the Malbim was brilliant, even though we don’t really hold of him — the Rebbe once called something he wrote a “דרוש גאוני,” and then promptly contrasted it with chassidus — and he has a very cool and easy read explanation on Nach, but its long.)

Go ahead and do it. If you’re in a position of influence, encourage others to do the same. (You can even learn with a mesivta bochur, if that suits your fancy — shock!)

It’s something you’ll enjoy. It’s something you’ll appreciate. And every day, you’ll come out just a little bit less of an עם הארץ.

And that’s a good thing.