While still a young yeshiva student, I remember attending a shiur from an esteemed Torah scholar which dwelled on the Talmudic statement, “The Torah was only given to those who ate the manna.” Based on this adage, he reached the somewhat anachronistic conclusion that “the entire generation that left Mitzrayim was comprised of Kollel students,” explaining that only those who dedicate themselves entirely to Torah study, entirely abstaining from gainful employment, can become true students of the Torah. Someone forced (to his great misfortune) to work for his livelihood will be unable to fully participate in the realm of Torah study.
I am not the only one to have heard this message in his youth. The perception that Kollel students are identified as those sustained by heavenly manna, and the conclusion that the Torah is the exclusive purview of those who refrain from working, relying instead on community support, have gained considerable traction in the yeshiva world. In the following lines, I will seek to correct this mistaken notion and demonstrate that our Sages never meant to support full-time Torah study unequivocally. Other interpretations are equally plausible, and some even support a life of work and earning a livelihood.
I wish to relieve Bnei Torah who have chosen to enter the workforce of the burden of guilt that has likely accompanied them since leaving yeshiva due to statements such as the above
Dedicating one’s life to Torah study alone is a complex question involving both general and specific considerations. In this article, I do not wish to delve into this issue’s intricacies and certainly not dictate a path for the general public. Those grappling between a life of full-time Torah study (and reliance on the community) or one that balances Torah study with gainful employment should consider this question carefully and take counsel from their rabbinic mentors and advisors.
Instead, I wish to relieve Bnei Torah who have chosen to enter the workforce of the burden of guilt that has likely accompanied them since leaving yeshiva due to statements such as the above. Many of these Bnei Torah feel that once they enter the workforce, they no longer have a rightful share in Torah because “The Torah was only given to those who ate the manna,” and by extension, they no longer qualify. Since they are no longer among those who eat the manna, the Torah was not given to them. I will argue that this line of thinking is unwarranted.
Studying Amid Financial Woes
The Midrash mentioned above appears in several sources. In most of them, the text runs as follows:
[Let the people go out and pick] each day’s portion on its day: From here, Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai would say: The Torah was only given for analysis and study to those sustained by the man, who had neither need for work nor commerce. How so? He would sit and study, not knowing where his food, drink, and clothing would come from. Thus, the Torah was only given to those who ate the manna.
A profession provides a person with two basic human needs, one material and one emotional. On a material level, it provides for basic needs: food, clothing, accommodation, and so on. Furthermore, it provides us with a sense of peace and stability: job security. Being able to ensure our basic necessities instills confidence in navigating the world’s challenges. Without job security, even if a person has his material needs, he might still feel psychological distress due to a lack of confidence about the future.
“The Torah was only given to those who ate the manna” is primarily directed at the second necessity: the need for job security. Those who ate manna “had neither a need for work nor commerce.” Their material needs were entirely provided for; they lacked nothing. Yet, they lacked job security in the psychological sense: they could not ensure tomorrow’s sustenance and were unable to save up for a rainy day. Therefore, “he would sit and study, not knowing where his food, drink, and clothing would come from.” Indeed, this is how Rabbi Eliezer Ashkenazi explains this Midrash in his Ma’aseh Hashem:
But their statement, may their memory be blessed, in my opinion, meant to state that the Torah was given only to someone who possesses the virtue of contentment, who does not think about what he will eat tomorrow, but rather blesses Hashem for each day. One who thinks about what he will eat tomorrow will seek to become rich, and his mind will not be at ease (Ma’aseh Hashem, Chapter 2).
The Midrash does not suggest that there is merit in being dependent on others; we pray every day that we should not be dependent on others. It does not even mean to elevate the experience of receiving daily sustenance from Hashem. Instead, it praises the virtue of faith, being secure in Hashem’s care.
A person whose sense of security in life depends on the profession they hold will, indeed, find it difficult to make the necessary commitment to Torah study
A person whose sense of security in life depends on the profession they hold will, indeed, find it difficult to make the necessary commitment to Torah study. Even if he has financially stable today, his primary focus will be on securing tomorrow’s livelihood. The kind of dedication required for Torah achievement requires us to be like those who ate the manna: they had today’s sustenance and did not worry about tomorrow’s portion. Certainly, however, were the manna to cease, they would have made the necessary effort to secure their livelihoods, as they did upon entry into the Land.
Indeed, in several places, leading rabbis employed the idea of the Torah being given to those who ate the manna as support for the idea that a person cannot study Torah in poverty. Rabbi Yaakov Emden cites the Midrash as a justification for his claim that poverty is detrimental to Torah learning (Lechem Shamayim on Pirkei Avos 3:8). In his view, and contrary to the interpretation of many contemporary educators, our sages wished to communicate that the people’s economic wellbeing readied them to receive the Torah.
In a somewhat similar vein, Magen Avos (of the Rashbatz, Avos 2:2) interprets the Midrash to mean that the Torah was given to individuals who have the physical ability to eat: to humans, and not to angels (see Shabbos 88b). Our humanity, in its elevated form of those who ate the manna, primed us for Torah.
The two conditions for receiving Torah – trust in Hashem and material wellbeing – do not contradict each other but lead to a single conclusion: it is impossible to study Torah when financial worries are paramount in a person’s mind, whether concern for the present or the future. Alleviating them requires a steady income for today and trust in Hashem for tomorrow.
Manna vs. Work
Elsewhere, the statement whereby the Torah was only given to those who ate the manna is attributed to Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, taking on a somewhat different emphasis. Reflecting on the verse, “God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines,” the Mechilta de-Rashbi expounds:
The Holy One, blessed be He, said: If I lead them by a straightforward path, they will take hold of fields and vineyards and neglect Torah study. Instead, I will divert them to the desert for forty years, and they will eat the manna and drink water from the well, so the Torah will settle within their bones. Based on this, Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai declared: The Torah was only given to those who ate the manna; secondary to them are those who eat Terumah.
In this Midrash, the additional statement of “He would sit and study, not knowing where his food, drink, and clothing would come from” does not appear. By contrast with other appearances, it seems that in this case the emphasis is, indeed, on abstaining from work rather than the virtue of trust in Hashem.
Rather than plunging them into the deep waters of working the land, Hashem spared the people the burdens of earthly living so that the Torah would settle within them at ease
Yet, this Midrash also emphasizes that this quality was unique to the generation of the desert. This stands to reason because the entire purpose of entering the Land was to take hold of fields and vineyards, as the Midrash mentions. Rather than plunging them into the deep waters of working the land, Hashem spared the people the burdens of earthly living so that the Torah would settle within them at ease. Indeed, several early commentators explain that the generation of the desert was unique in that the burden of derech eretz was lifted from them (see Da’as Zekeinim, Shemos 19:1; Chizkuni and Seforno, Shemos 16:4).
Elsewhere, another Midrash makes the same point. The transition from a state of absolute dependence in Egypt to taking full responsibility in the Land of Israel, including the physical aspect of working the land and the spiritual aspect of upholding the Torah, was too much for the people. Hashem thus spared them the burden of earthly responsibility for a generation, allowing them to engage freely in Torah (Mechilta, cited by Rashi, Shemos 19:5).
This insight is true both on a general societal level and an individual level. We begin with a period of complete dependence on parents during the tender phase of early childhood. Later, we undergo a long period of maturation, during which we begin to form our own opinions and accept the yoke of Torah. But rather than being cast straight into the choppy waters and risk being swept away by the pressures of life, we spend some time amid the yeshiva’s protective “clouds of glory.” This sheltered environment allows the Torah to settle within us before we venture into the hectic, competitive marketplace of life.
As young people, we devote ourselves to learning; for the yeshiva years, Torah becomes our sole (or close to sole) occupation. Later in life, however, we experience the transition to family life and a need to earn a living. At this stage of life, it is possible (indeed, appropriate) to integrate Torah study with work. Of course, the form of study also looks different.
The Talmud explicitly notes this division: “The Sages taught: If one has to decide between studying Torah and getting married, which should he do first? He should study Torah and afterward get married. […] Rabbi Yocḥanan says: Can a person engage in Torah study with a millstone hanging from his neck?” If a person gets married first, as Rashi explains, the burden of caring for the household income will prevent him from full engagement in Torah study. Clearly, Torah study in one’s youth is entirely different from that of one’s adult years.
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In conclusion, we should remember that the Torah was given to all the people of Israel. While Torah scholars who dedicate their lives to Torah study deserve our honor and support, the so-called baal habayis (or balabos) who combines learning and working has always been the main staple of the Jewish People. Certainly, he has a great share in Torah. As Reish Lakish expounded on the verse, “You caused a grapevine to journey out of Egypt”: “This nation is likened to a vine. Its branches are the baalei batim, and its clusters are the Torah scholars” (Chullin 92a).
Indeed, the yeshiva system of our days and the many opportunities for Torah study empower many to become Torah scholars together with their occupation in derech eretz. In a sense, this is something of a return to tradition: our great Torah sages were able to balance their tremendous Torah scholarship with engagement in a trade. Of course, our generation is not theirs, and we are distant from their greatness. Yet, the virtue of combining both, as extolled by the Rambam (Talmud Torah 3:11), is certainly worthy of our aspiration.
