These words, which I am commanding you today, must
remain on your heart.
—Deuteronomy 6:6
A simple villager once made his way to the big city. It
was a cold, wintry day, and he was bundled up for battle against the elements:
a sweater, a heavy coat, and a scarf that could double as a blanket. As he
strolled past the gleaming storefronts, he marveled at the abundance of things
he never knew existed and certainly never needed.
And then he saw it.
In the shop window, prominently displayed, was the most
beautiful white silk shirt he had ever laid eyes on. Crisp and elegant, it was
finer than anything he’d ever owned, or even imagined owning. His heart leapt.
He had to have it.
Without a second thought, he stepped inside and asked to
see the shirt. The salesman, eager to oblige, pulled out a shirt in his size.
Just then, another customer walked in, demanding attention. The salesman, the
kind of worker who juggles clients like a circus performer, excused himself
with a practiced smile.
The villager, however, was not a man who liked to wait. He
unbuttoned the shirt, removed the pins, shook off the bits of paper, and tried
to pull it on.
The first sleeve went on, just barely. The second sleeve,
well, that was an ordeal. Much twisting, wriggling, and a fair bit of muttered
frustration later, he managed to get both arms inside. But the buttons,
impossible! No matter how he yanked, tugged, or held his breath, the shirt
refused to cooperate.
When the salesman returned, the villager, red-faced and
out of breath, burst out, “You said this was my size!”
“Of course,” the salesman replied, unfazed. “But before
putting on the shirt, you might consider taking off your coat first.”
Removing the Barriers
We are all, in our own way, like that simple villager.
Over time, the pure, radiant soul within us becomes dimmed by the weight of
life—buried beneath layers of anger, jealousy, greed, and the small-mindedness
we pick up along the way, like dust gathering in an old attic. Then, when we
try to reach for something higher, something holy, we find it doesn’t quite
fit.
Mitzvot are royal clothes for the soul. Tailored, not off
the rack. The Creator measured them Himself—248 positive commands for the
body’s 248 limbs and organs, 365 negative ones for its nerves and sinews. Every
mitzvah, a perfect fit. In theory.
But if we try to wear them while still wrapped in layers
of distraction and negativity, they feel foreign and uncomfortable—like pulling
a silk shirt over a heavy winter coat.
That’s why the Torah commands that God’s words remain “on
your heart”—not layered over greed or impulsive desires. The words of Torah are
meant to rest directly upon the heart, where they can uplift and connect with
our truest selves.
