Who Says the Rabbis Got It Right?
Why Torah Interpretation Isn’t a DIY Project
To properly and deeply understand the Torah, we rely heavily on the commentaries of traditional Jewish scholars. But who says they’re necessarily correct? How can we be sure their explanations aren’t merely personal interpretations? Perhaps everyone can simply invent their own meaning based on their personal perspective?
Imagine a first-year medical student entering the surgical wing of a major hospital. Wearing a white coat, gloves, and a mask, he confidently walks into the operating room ready for open-heart surgery. “Are you the doctor?” the nurse asks. He answers confidently: “Actually, it’s my first time in an operating room, but I’ve read plenty of books on the subject and even saw a YouTube video of this exact surgery…I think. Wait, maybe it was something else?”
Would anyone in their right mind trust this student to perform surgery?
In every area of life, when we need professional assistance, we seek out experienced experts who deeply understand their field. We wouldn’t settle for someone who merely read about home renovation or auto repair—we want someone who’s done the actual work and gained real experience.
Everyone understands that true expertise requires far more than theoretical knowledge. A genuine expert weighs numerous considerations and subtle insights that only experience provides. A seasoned mechanic can diagnose a car problem by merely listening to the carburetor; an expert jeweler can instantly tell a real diamond from a fake. It’s these subtle nuances that make all the difference.
So why, when it comes to Judaism and interpreting the Torah, do we assume things are different? Why do we think anyone who’s read a few books or listened to a few lectures can interpret the Torah according to their personal opinion?
Rendering halachic decisions is not simple. To expertly determine God’s will in everyday life, one must know how to correctly interpret sources, accurately analyze each unique situation, and consider the specific circumstances of each individual case. Two people might approach a rabbi with the same question and receive entirely different answers since the conditions affecting each case are different. These subtleties are understood only by a rabbi proficient in Torah knowledge and halachic methodology. This is why it’s forbidden to issue personal rulings based solely on internet research. Important questions demand personal consultation with a qualified rabbi who can provide a tailored response.
Doctors serve as residents before they practice on their own; lawyers do clerkships. Rabbis similarly train under the guidance of qualified Torah scholars. This practice—the transmission of Torah knowledge and methodology from teacher to student since the days of Moshe—continues generation after generation. Students don’t just learn texts from their teachers. They also absorb their mentor’s methods of thinking, halachic reasoning, and meticulous attention to detail. Thus, rabbinic training encompasses not only intensive theoretical study but also crucial practical apprenticeship.
The Torah itself describes how Moshe established the first rabbinic institution in Israel, composed of the Sages and elders of his generation. These were the leaders entrusted with responsibility for interpreting Torah law and answering questions according to the guidelines transmitted at Mount Sinai. The wisdom of the Torah has been passed down faithfully from generation to generation, from teacher to student, thereby certifying each new generation of rabbis dedicated to a lifetime of Torah study.
The principles of Torah learning and halachic interpretation haven’t changed since Sinai, continuing unbroken through the Sanhedrin (the grand Jewish court), the Tannaim (Sages of the Mishnah), the Amoraim (Sages of the Talmud), Rishonim (medieval Torah authorities), Acharonim (later Torah authorities), and down to today’s rabbis. Judaism rests firmly on this absolute fidelity to the original, authentic Torah.
The Sages took a harsh stand against anyone who distorted Torah teachings, explicitly stating: “One who interprets the Torah incorrectly, even if he possesses Torah knowledge and good deeds, has no portion in the World to Come” (Pirkei Avot 3:11).
The Talmud further underscores the Torah’s powerful influence on those who study it: “If one merits, it becomes an elixir of life; if one does not merit, it becomes a deadly poison” (Yoma 72b). The Torah is profoundly potent. It can elevate a person to spiritual heights or, if misunderstood, lead them astray. Just as in engineering, a tiny miscalculation at the start can lead to massive deviation down the line; spiritual accuracy requires adherence to precise, original traditions. Indeed, throughout history, religious movements that adopted small changes eventually lost their original Jewish identity entirely.
The Torah provides eternal guidance from the Creator of the world. Distorting its original meaning is not like misinterpreting a poem or novel. It distorts life’s very essence. Credible rabbis, well-versed in Torah study and fully aware of the Torah’s importance, have never offered personal interpretations that diminish the Torah’s Divine authority and transform it into something else.
Giving personal interpretations requires no particular greatness. Providing authentic interpretations true to the Torah’s sources demands profound expertise and mastery of the Torah, Mishnah, Midrash, and halacha. For example, interpreting just a single Torah word accurately requires detailed knowledge of that word’s usage and meaning throughout Tanach, Mishnah, and Midrash. Traditional Torah commentators were, in a sense, professors of the Hebrew language and sacred texts.
True Torah commentary emerges from dedicated study and a commitment to received tradition. The best way to confirm whether your interpretations have merit is to deeply immerse yourself in the Torah and maintain close contact with Torah scholars who have inherited the tradition from previous generations. Only then can you truly verify if your ideas are firmly rooted in authentic sources. And who knows? Perhaps one day your insights might also find their place among the enduring works on the Jewish bookshelf.
Rabbi Akiva Eiger (1761—1837) is considered one of the sharpest and most brilliant commentators on the Talmud. His writings, filled with innovative Torah insights, reflect his extraordinary intellectual depth. Yet despite his genius, there are times when he raises extremely challenging questions about the interpretations of earlier commentators and then humbly concludes with the words, “May God enlighten my eyes to understand.” After presenting all his questions, Rabbi Akiva Eiger humbly admits that if previous commentators wrote something, they certainly knew what they were talking about, even if he himself struggled to grasp it. And if Rabbi Akiva Eiger couldn’t understand it, what can we possibly say about ourselves?
The Torah describes the arrival of the Jewish people at Mount Sinai with these words:
In the third month after the Children of Israel left the land of Egypt, on this day, they arrived in the wilderness of Sinai. They journeyed from Rephidim, arrived in the wilderness of Sinai, and encamped in the wilderness; and Israel encamped there opposite the mountain. (Shemot 19:1—2)
The word “in the wilderness” is repeated three times in these verses. Commentators explain that this repetition teaches an important lesson. Just as the wilderness is an empty place that belongs to no one and therefore accessible to everyone, the Jewish people likewise needed to empty themselves of pride and arrogance in order to receive the Torah, which belongs equally to all.
Israeli journalist Sivan Rahav-Meir wrote:
“When’s the last time you heard someone say, ‘I don’t know’? We’re surrounded by people who like to tell us about their success, achievements, brilliance, and impact. Sorry to put it so bluntly, but it’s just endless bragging…
“A reader named Adi Rimon pointed out something beautiful to me: three simple words that Rashi wrote in his commentary on the Torah portion about leprosy. Right in the middle of explaining this biblical skin condition called tzara’at, Rashi writes: ‘I don’t know what it means.’ Even the great Rashi admits he’s stumped.
“But here’s what gets me: why mention it at all? Rashi doesn’t comment on every single word in the Torah. He could have just skipped over this part and moved on.
“Apparently, Rashi wants us to know he’s confused. He’s basically saying: ‘There’s a puzzle here that needs to be solved.’ He wants to cultivate our curiosity, encourage us to think, and figure out the Torah’s questions together.
“‘I don’t know what it means,’ Rashi wrote over 900 years ago. But maybe someone who reads this commentary one day has an idea? What a breath of fresh air that would be in our conversations today: actually admitting that we don’t have all the answers.”
The Talmud tells a fascinating story about the giving of the Torah:
When God was about to give the Torah, various tall mountains—Mount Tavor, Mount Carmel, Mount Bashan—came forward, each pleading: “Master of the Universe! Let the Torah be given upon me!” A Heavenly voice then proclaimed:
Why do you look askance, O lofty mountains, at the mountain that Hashem has desired for His abode? (Tehillim 68:17).
In other words, “Why are you mountains arguing with Mount Sinai? Compared to Sinai, all of you have flaws. Mount Sinai is humble, while you are proud!” (Talmud, Megillah 29a).
During the mountains’ argument about who would receive the Torah, Mount Sinai remained silent, even though God had already promised Moshe earlier (Shemot 3:12) that the Torah would indeed be given there. This silence revealed Sinai’s humility. It was precisely on this humble mountain that God chose to give the Torah, emphasizing that humility is a fundamental requirement for learning and internalizing Torah wisdom.
As the Talmud states:
“Why are the words of Torah compared to water? Just as water leaves high places and flows to low places, so too Torah remains only with those who are humble.” (Taanit 7a).
The Talmud (Berachot 4a) states that a person should adopt the principle: “Teach your tongue to say, ‘I do not know.'” The humility inherent in a person’s willingness to acknowledge that he doesn’t know everything is the gateway to genuine and sincere learning.
Moshe Zaltzberg, CEO of an Israeli high-tech firm, writes: “An article appeared in the Harvard Business Review entitled ‘In Praise of the Incomplete Leader.’ The authors argue that while in the past, people expected a manager to exhibit perfection—to know everything, always and in every situation—today’s complex reality demands a very different kind of leader. Modern life requires expertise in numerous areas—economic, political, technological, and social—and there is no single manager capable of mastering them all.
“The ideal manager, then, is the imperfect manager. He is one who can differentiate clearly between areas where he has genuine expertise and those where he must rely on the judgment of others. The strength of such an ‘imperfect’ person lies in his ability to distinguish between what he knows and the areas where he must openly admit, ‘I don’t know.’ Such a person leverages and empowers the strengths of others while offsetting his own weaknesses.”
This principle applies equally to Torah study.
Rabbi Akiva Eiger (1761—1837) is considered one of the sharpest and most brilliant commentators on the Talmud. His writings, filled with innovative Torah insights, reflect his extraordinary intellectual depth. Yet despite his genius, there are times when he raises extremely challenging questions about the interpretations of earlier commentators and then humbly concludes with the words, “May God enlighten my eyes to understand.” After presenting all his questions, Rabbi Akiva Eiger humbly admits that if previous commentators wrote something, they certainly knew what they were talking about, even if he himself struggled to grasp it. And if Rabbi Akiva Eiger couldn’t understand it, what can we possibly say about ourselves?
Israeli journalist Sivan Rahav-Meir wrote:
“When’s the last time you heard someone say, ‘I don’t know’? We’re surrounded by people who like to tell us about their success, achievements, brilliance, and impact. Sorry to put it so bluntly, but it’s just endless bragging…
“A reader named Adi Rimon pointed out something beautiful to me: three simple words that Rashi wrote in his commentary on the Torah portion about leprosy. Right in the middle of explaining this biblical skin condition called tzara’at, Rashi writes: ‘I don’t know what it means.’ Even the great Rashi admits he’s stumped.
“But here’s what gets me: why mention it at all? Rashi doesn’t comment on every single word in the Torah. He could have just skipped over this part and moved on.
“Apparently, Rashi wants us to know he’s confused. He’s basically saying: ‘There’s a puzzle here that needs to be solved.’ He wants to cultivate our curiosity, encourage us to think, and figure out the Torah’s questions together.
“‘I don’t know what it means,’ Rashi wrote over 900 years ago. But maybe someone who reads this commentary one day has an idea? What a breath of fresh air that would be in our conversations today: actually admitting that we don’t have all the answers.”
The Talmud (Berachot 4a) states that a person should adopt the principle: “Teach your tongue to say, ‘I do not know.'” The humility inherent in a person’s willingness to acknowledge that he doesn’t know everything is the gateway to genuine and sincere learning.
Moshe Zaltzberg, CEO of an Israeli high-tech firm, writes: “An article appeared in the Harvard Business Review entitled ‘In Praise of the Incomplete Leader.’ The authors argue that while in the past, people expected a manager to exhibit perfection—to know everything, always and in every situation—today’s complex reality demands a very different kind of leader. Modern life requires expertise in numerous areas—economic, political, technological, and social—and there is no single manager capable of mastering them all.
“The ideal manager, then, is the imperfect manager. He is one who can differentiate clearly between areas where he has genuine expertise and those where he must rely on the judgment of others. The strength of such an ‘imperfect’ person lies in his ability to distinguish between what he knows and the areas where he must openly admit, ‘I don’t know.’ Such a person leverages and empowers the strengths of others while offsetting his own weaknesses.”
This principle applies equally to Torah study.
The Torah describes the arrival of the Jewish people at Mount Sinai with these words:
In the third month after the Children of Israel left the land of Egypt, on this day, they arrived in the wilderness of Sinai. They journeyed from Rephidim, arrived in the wilderness of Sinai, and encamped in the wilderness; and Israel encamped there opposite the mountain. (Shemot 19:1—2)
The word “in the wilderness” is repeated three times in these verses. Commentators explain that this repetition teaches an important lesson. Just as the wilderness is an empty place that belongs to no one and therefore accessible to everyone, the Jewish people likewise needed to empty themselves of pride and arrogance in order to receive the Torah, which belongs equally to all.
The Talmud tells a fascinating story about the giving of the Torah:
When God was about to give the Torah, various tall mountains—Mount Tavor, Mount Carmel, Mount Bashan—came forward, each pleading: “Master of the Universe! Let the Torah be given upon me!” A Heavenly voice then proclaimed:
Why do you look askance, O lofty mountains, at the mountain that Hashem has desired for His abode? (Tehillim 68:17).
In other words, “Why are you mountains arguing with Mount Sinai? Compared to Sinai, all of you have flaws. Mount Sinai is humble, while you are proud!” (Talmud, Megillah 29a).
During the mountains’ argument about who would receive the Torah, Mount Sinai remained silent, even though God had already promised Moshe earlier (Shemot 3:12) that the Torah would indeed be given there. This silence revealed Sinai’s humility. It was precisely on this humble mountain that God chose to give the Torah, emphasizing that humility is a fundamental requirement for learning and internalizing Torah wisdom.
As the Talmud states:
“Why are the words of Torah compared to water? Just as water leaves high places and flows to low places, so too Torah remains only with those who are humble.” (Taanit 7a).
Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau shares the following personal experience in his book Yachel Yisrael:
I remember an encounter I once had with a famous Jewish figure, who may have considered himself an atheist, though in truth he wasn’t. It took place at a gathering of artists in an upscale penthouse in a prestigious Tel Aviv neighborhood. I had been invited as a guest lecturer to speak about the fundamental principles of Judaism. Midway through my talk, this individual began attacking what I had said, loudly accusing me of discussing ideas that had become obsolete. He insisted it was time we stopped clinging stubbornly to our outdated Torah, that Judaism needed reforms and adjustments, and so forth. The room fell completely silent, everyone awaiting my response.
I calmly turned to him and asked, “What do you do professionally?”
He replied that he was currently involved in producing a film.
I asked further, “What kind of camera are you using?”
“A 16 mm,” he answered casually—standard equipment at the time.
“Interesting,” I said. “Tell me, why on earth are you using a 16 mm camera? Why not switch to an 8 mm? Personally, I think using an 8 mm camera would be far better than your current equipment.”
The man immediately retorted: “Rabbi, with all due respect—please stick to your own area of expertise and let the movie-making professionals handle our professional matters. You don’t have experience or understanding in filmmaking, so kindly refrain from getting involved.”
“Excellent,” I said. “There’s logic to what you’re saying. Now tell me something else: How many years of your life have you dedicated to studying Torah? How long have you immersed yourself professionally in Judaism, that you can confidently claim that Hillel and Shammai, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, Rabbi Akiva, Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi, and hundreds of Talmudic Sages didn’t know what was good for Jews, but you do?
“Over the centuries, countless Jewish scholars, far wiser and more talented than either of us, who deeply understood the ways of the world, guided thousands upon thousands of people. I’m referring to personalities such as Rashi, Maimonides, Rabbi Yosef Karo, the Vilna Gaon, Rabbi Yosef Chaim of Baghdad, the Chatam Sofer, and the Chazon Ish. They studied Torah day and night for decades, yet had no trouble with the Torah’s validity.
“How is it that they failed to notice what you immediately grasped? Throughout their lives, they firmly believed that everything written in the Torah is true and eternal. They asserted unequivocally that not even the smallest detail could be discarded. So how do you, who hasn’t studied Torah for even one entire year, dare to advise us or express an authoritative opinion? How have you learned about Judaism—from a handful of rewritten Bible classes? From biased newspaper articles written by a few ignorant journalists?”
His reaction stunned not only me but also everyone in the room. He quietly replied, “You know what, Rabbi? You’re right. Tell me, where can I begin? Which book?”
After a brief moment of consideration, I responded, “There’s a vowelized edition of Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah. Start with the first volume, the Book of Knowledge. There you’ll find the laws on the fundamentals of Torah, ethical conduct, and repentance. Begin reading. You may not understand everything right away, but there won’t be a single page without at least one sentence that speaks directly to you. When you finish, call me, and we’ll continue the conversation.”
