“יערף כמטר לקחי תזל כטל אמרתי כשעירם עלי דשא וכרביבים עלי עשב.”
רש“י: “יערף כמטר לקחי – זו היא העדות שתעידו שאני אומר בפניכם תורה נתתי לישראל שהיא חיים לעולם כמטר זה שהוא חיים לעולם, כאשר יערפו השמים טל ומטר.”
“תזל כטל – שהכל שמחים בו, לפי שהמטר יש שהן עצבים, כגון הולכי דרכים ומי שהיה בורו מלא יין.”
“כשעירם – לשון רוח סערה, כתרגומו כרוחי מטרא. מה הרוחות הללו מחזיקים את העשבים ומגדלין אותם, אף דברי תורה מחזיקין את לומדיהן ומגדלין אותם.”
“וכרביבים – טיפי מטר. ונראה לי על שם שיורה כחץ נקרא רביב, כמה דאת אמר רובה קשת.”
“דשא – אדברי”ץ [צמחיה] עטיפת הארץ מכוסה בירק.”
“עשב – קלח אחד קרוי עשב, וכל מין ומין לעצמו קרוי עשב.”
How does the Torah give us life? The pasuk lists four distinct ways, likening the Torah to rain, to dew, to winds, and to raindrops.
Let My Teaching Flow like the Rain
Rain is a source of life which recognizably descends from above, and enters our world. “לקחי” is a lesson taken from the Torah “above” and applied to our lives. That lesson is not always pleasant. Because it is rooted in a higher place, its implementation in our world requires effort and sacrifice. Imagine it’s 11:30 PM, and you just realized that you have not yet davened Maariv. You are tired and have already begun your nighttime routine. When you get dressed and head out to find a minyan, that doesn’t come naturally- rather you are pushing yourself to satisfy a demand from above.
Rashi alludes to an additional characteristic of rain. He writes that rain is life for the world, meaning that it is not directed towards the individual, but rather towards the world as a whole. An individual may not want rain right now, when he is travelling or maturing wine in his backyard. Likewise, the Torah gives life to the Klal. The individual will surely accept the Torah’s demands, because that is how the world, including himself, receives life. But he might still feel that those demands are not perfectly suited to him.
Let My Sayings Distill like the Dew
While sourced from above, Dew is manifested in this world; it forms on the grass. At times, the Torah sits in our world comfortably, as a mist rests in the air. There are Mitzvos that fit into our lives seamlessly and naturally. On a pleasant Chol Hamoed morning, you sit with your family in the Succah; you laugh and sing, and exchange divrei Torah. It’s effortless and enjoyable. While rain can be bothersome for the individual, Rashi writes that all rejoice in the dew.
Whereas the world can exist for some time without rain, Dew never ceases; without it the world cannot exist. (Taanis daf gimmel, Rashi ibid.) This aspect of Torah must be constant: in some way the Torah must be a natural and fitting part of our lives.
Like Winds on the Grass
Rain descends upon us from above. Dew manifests itself within our world. Wind pushes against us from the side. The Torah’s lifegiving properties do not end with the pleasant, subtle quality of Dew. At other times we find ourselves ‘at odds’ with the Torah. Not only do we find the Torah difficult, but there is a tension, a conflict. In a sense it’s the opposite of the manner in which Dew gives life. Rashi explains that winds strengthen the grass and make it grow by blowing against it. Similarly, when we “clash” with the Torah, we grow because we have no choice but to change. The discrepancy between what we understand or want and what the Torah establishes to be true, forces us to understand and approach life differently.
We experience this very often when we learn Torah. You have an understanding of a sugya, and then a new piece of information is introduced. At first, you may try to explain in it away or attach to it a novel interpretation, but eventually a strong question must be dealt with it. The wind flips up your umbrella and blows right into your face. That forces you to a different and often deeper understanding of the sugya. The conflict is what makes you grow. This also takes place outside of learning. For example, many have a hard time with kavanah during davening. It’s a struggle but you work on that because you need to daven; and you grow.
Like Raindrops on Blades of Grass
The pasuk returns to rain but here Rashi writes that it is rain “propelled like an arrow… as one shoots a bow.” The Torah is not only a part of a person’s world, but eventually a part of him. First, a person must experience the Torah as winds on the grass. Meaning that the Torah is not just experienced, but that he personally struggles with the Torah, and allows it to move him and change him. Then, this lofty wisdom is able to penetrate into his very being, like an arrow. The Torah descends from above and becomes a part of the person.
The word “עשב” Rashi explains to refer to the individual blade of grass. Initially, the lessons of the Torah are general and rigid. We accept the Torah as the traveler accepts the rain, understanding that it brings life to the world, even if the details are not always suited perfectly to his needs. In the end, the Torah gives each of us life uniquely, as each individual blade of grass receives life from its raindrop. When a person is willing and able to change, he discovers that the Mitzvos are directed towards him, as the archer’s bow is pointed towards a specific target.