By Chaim Mendelson

A recent article on Anash.org titled “Why Didn’t the Rebbe Spend Those Hours Helping More People?” highlighted the importance of Torah learning, drawing from the Rebbe’s extraordinary devotion to learning despite the many pressing needs that were kept waiting. However, I would like to raise an issue with the framing.

There is a trap that we often fall into, and when it comes to Torah study, the consequences can be devastating.

When a basic and essential component of Yiddishkeit is presented as a “Chassidishe” value, or as a practice that the Rebbe encouraged, it alters the way people perceive it. Instead of being viewed as a foundational obligation of every Yid, it becomes categorized as a Chassidishe hanhaga. In trying to strengthen the cause, we may actually be weakening it.

Imagine if we promoted Shabbos observance primarily because “the Rebbe wanted it,” or if we discouraged eating treif because “the Rebbe was against it.” Such language would sound strange because they’re not Chassidishe practices; they’re basics of Yiddishkeit. Presenting them otherwise diminishes their stature.

The same is true for Talmud Torah.

Torah learning is not important because the Rebbe encouraged it. Torah learning is important because Hashem commanded it. Chazal describe it as “k’neged kulam,” equal to all other mitzvos, Shulchan Aruch elaborates on a Yid’s obligation to learn Torah, and Chassidus describes Torah learning as one of the highest forms of avodas Hashem.

Certainly, the Rebbe encouraged learning. The Rebbe spoke about it endlessly. But when our primary argument becomes, “The Rebbe wanted us to learn,” we have already conceded too much. We have – albeit unintentionally – shifted Torah study from the center of Yiddishkeit to the category of Chassidishe hanhagos.

The more difficult and important question is this:

If we are frum Yidden, and if the Rebbe spoke so often and so passionately about limud haTorah, why does there nevertheless appear to be a weakness in the area of serious, consistent Torah learning among some segments of our community?

There is no single answer, but several factors likely contribute.

First, many people instinctively assume that when one value is emphasized, another must be deemphasized. Human beings often struggle to hold multiple priorities simultaneously. When shlichus is stressed, some subconsciously conclude that learning is less important. When avodah is stressed, some assume learning is secondary. Of course, none of these conclusions are true. The Rebbe never suggested that devotion to mivtzoim, shlichus, or avodah should come at the expense of proper limud haTorah. Yet psychologically, many people see priorities as competing rather than complementary.

Second, there is a distortion that has occasionally filtered down from lofty concepts that were never intended for popular consumption. Chassidim recognized the dangers of learning pursued for honor and ego. Unfortunately, ideas that were directed at lomdim battling subtle spiritual yeshus have trickled down in simplified form until they became a reduction of Torah learning itself.

(Among chassidim, this distortion was known as “baal peor,” where the ancestors’ devotions was corrupted down the line into gross practices. Likewise, a campaign against learning for ego can devolve into a diminished appreciation for learning altogether.)

Third, Lubavitch rightly recognizes many different measures of avodas Hashem. In some circles, a man’s learning and a woman’s tznius function as almost the sole barometers of religious commitment. Chassidus broadened that picture. Ahavas Yisroel, avodah, tefillah, hachnasas orchim, mesirus nefesh, shlichus, refining one’s middos, and influencing other Yidden, are all genuine measures of devotion to Hashem.

This is a tremendous truth and one of the great gifts of Chassidus. Yet every truth carries a danger when misunderstood.

The Baal Shem Tov taught the preciousness of simple Jews. He revealed the value of sincere faith, heartfelt davening, and simple service of Hashem. The Misnagdim feared that such teachings would diminish the importance of Torah scholarship. Their fears were ultimately misplaced because authentic Chassidus never devalued Torah learning. On the contrary, the greatest Chassidim were often the greatest talmidei chachomim.

Nevertheless, the concern itself was not entirely imaginary. Any movement that expands the definition of avodas Hashem runs the risk that some followers will conclude that Torah learning is no longer central. That is precisely why Chassidim must be especially vigilant in preserving the supremacy of Torah study.

The solution, however, is not to present learning as a Chassidishe campaign. The solution is to restore Torah to its rightful place according to Torah itself.

We should speak about what Chazal say about Talmud Torah, what the Rambam and Shulchan Aruch write about this mitzvah, and we should speak about the countless teachings of Chazal that place Torah study at the pinnacle of Jewish life.

And of course, we should quote the Rebbe: how the Rebbe reinforced and embodied this ideal. The Rebbe’s insistence on Torah study was not a novel innovation of Chabad; it was the natural expression of the eternal priorities of Torah.

If we truly want to strengthen Torah learning within our community, we must stop speaking about it as a Chassidishe value and start speaking about it as what it actually is: One of the greatest obligations, privileges, and forms of avodas Hashem that exist in all of Yiddishkeit.