As we gather on Shavuot to celebrate the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, the moment that forever transformed the Jewish people into a nation of destiny and covenant, we often focus on the awe of revelation — the thunder, the fire, the awe of the transformative moment. But beyond the display lies a quieter, more enduring covenantal act that we perform every day: Birkat HaTorah, the blessings we recite before learning Torah. The way we bless the Torah every morning — what we say and how we frame the experience — reveals the transformative nature of Torah and its role in our lives.
The Rambam, in Hilchot Tefillah (7:10), records that before learning Torah each day — whether written or oral — one must recite three blessings.
The first acknowledges God who “sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us about the words of Torah,” ("Asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al divrei Torah").
The second is a request, “Please Hashem our God make sweet the words of your Torah” ("V’ha’arev na Hashem Elokeinu et divrei Toratecha...").
And the third maintains that God “chose us from among all the nations and gave us His Torah” ("Asher bachar banu mikol ha’amim v’natan lanu et Torato").
The Rambam’s approach is distinctive. While most other Rishonim count only two requisite blessings – viewing the first two as a single unit – the Rambam separates them into three independent blessings, each with its own purpose.
For the Rambam, the first blessing is historical and communal. It acknowledges the divine origin of Torah and our eternal relationship with it. The phrase "al divrei Torah," subtly implies receptiveness; we received something sacred, and that created an unbreakable bond between us and Hashem. This is the Torah as it was given at Sinai — our national inheritance.
But that inheritance alone is not enough. The second blessing, beginning "V’ha’arev na" — a plea for sweetness and engagement— introduces a critical shift. This standalone blessing reflects an internal, personal relationship with Torah. It’s the voice of the individual learner, not the nation.
Strikingly, it uses active language: "v’nih’yeh anachnu v’tze’etza’einu...oskei Toratecha lishmah" - “may we and our descendants...be those who engage with Your Torah for its own sake.” We are not merely inheritors of Torah — we are its builders, active partners. This blessing reflects a core Jewish truth: Torah has no continuity without chiddush — without renewal. Torah must be not only received but reimagined in each generation.
The third blessing then fuses these two dimensions. "Asher bachar banu mikol ha’amim" emphasizes our chosenness — echoing the first blessing — but continues with "v’natan lanu et Torato," compelling us toward active ownership. Torah is simultaneously a divine gift and a personal responsibility. Only once both elements unite — historical connection and personal engagement — can Torah become a living, eternal force in our lives.
This idea emerges from a Talmudic discussion (Berachot 11b) about when one is obligated to recite Birkat HaTorah. Rav Huna requires blessings only for the study of Mikra (written Torah), while Rabbi Elazar extends this to include Midrash. Rabbi Yochanan includes Mishnah on the list, as Rava goes furthest, saying that even the study of Talmud requires a blessing.
This debate reflects more than legal technicalities— it’s a vision of how we define Torah. Is Torah only the literal word of God? What about rabbinic interpretation? What about human conversation about sacred texts?
The Rambam rules like Rava: even human discourse — the dialectics of the Talmud — require a blessing. Why? Because the sugya, even when it seems to stray from the biblical text, remains sacred. The divine voice reverberates through human debate. As the Rav, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, often taught: the very act of wrestling with Torah is itself a form of divine communion.
This may explain why Shavuot is the only holiday that has no specific ritual mitzvah. There is no sukkah to build, no matzah to eat, no shofar to blow. Shavuot transcends ritual; it celebrates the beginning of a journey that requires constant renewal, sweetness, and personal investment.
As we stand again at Sinai this Shavuot, may we hear not only the thunder of revelation, but the quiet daily call to engage with Torah in the everyday activities of our life. Let us commit not only to study Torah, but to wrestle with it so that it can navigate our lives and shape our world. May we become the active partners that the Torah demands – sweetening the Torah for ourselves and for future generations.