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    PARSHA IN PRACTICE: SKILLS FOR BETTER LIVING KI SISA – APPRECIATING THE LUCHOS

    Isn’t it a little late for
    that?!
    After spending forty
    days atop Har Sinai,
    Hashem hands Moshe the Luchos, simply
    described as “written by God” (Shemos 31:18).
    No extended praise. No poetic flourish. Just a
    straightforward description of the most sacred
    objects ever given to humanity.
    And then everything unravels.
    Before Moshe even descends, Hashem tells
    him that the people have betrayed Him with
    the Golden Calf. Moshe pleads. He refuses
    to give up on them. Hashem relents. Moshe
    descends, Luchos in hand – only to witness the
    devastation himself. And in one of the most
    dramatic moments in the Torah, he shatters
    them before the nation.
    But then something strange happens.
    Right before Moshe breaks the Luchos, the
    Torah pauses the action to describe them again
    – this time in vivid detail. We are told about
    their divine craftsmanship, their miraculous
    engraving, and the fact that the letters could
    be read from both sides (32:16).
    Isn’t it a little late for that?!

    Why didn’t the Torah tell us all of this when
    the Luchos were first given? Why wait until
    the moment of their destruction?
    Rav Bernard Weinberger zt”l, in Shemen
    HaTov, offers a penetrating answer. The Torah
    is reflecting a deeply human pattern: we rarely
    recognize the full value of something while
    we still have it. When Moshe first received
    the Luchos, they seemed almost routine –
    and so the Torah describes them simply.
    But as Moshe prepares to shatter them, their
    grandeur suddenly comes into focus. Only at
    the brink of loss do we fully see what we had
    held in our hands.
    The Torah does this with the Luchos. Chazal
    do the same with Shabbos.
    Earlier in our parshah, Chazal (Beitzah 16a)
    teach about the neshamah yeseirah – the
    added spiritual capacity a Jew experiences
    on Shabbos, allowing for a more elevated
    enjoyment of food, rest, and holiness. But how
    do they know this extra soul exists?
    They derive it from the closing words
    of V’Shamru: “u’vayom hashevi’i shavas
    vayinafash” (Shemos 31:17). Chazal read
    “vayinafash” homiletically as “vay avdah
    nefesh” – “woe, the soul is lost.” When Shabbos

    ends, something departs. From
    the pain of its exit on Motzei
    Shabbos, they infer that an
    added dimension must have been
    present throughout Shabbos.
    This is a most perplexing source.
    Why establish the existence of
    the neshamah yeseirah from
    its eventual absence? Why not
    point to its arrival on Friday
    night rather than its departure on
    Saturday night?
    The Sefas Emes explains that this itself reflects
    human nature. We often become fully aware
    of a gift only at the moment we feel its loss.
    Absence often speaks louder than presence.
    And that is the quiet thread running through
    our parshah. The Torah highlights the divine
    beauty of the Luchos only when they are about
    to be shattered. Chazal highlight the glory of
    Shabbos only when it slips away.
    There are many practical applications of this
    insight. Parents overwhelmed by carpools and
    bedtime routines sometimes long for quiet
    – until the house is too quiet. Children take
    their parents’ support for granted – until they
    must shoulder financial burdens themselves.

    Health feels invisible – until it suddenly isn’t
    (lo aleinu).
    The Torah’s “late” description of the Luchos is
    not late at all. It is a wake-up call: Do not wait
    for the breaking point. Do not wait for Motzei
    Shabbos. Train yourself to notice the engraving
    while the Tablets are still whole. Pause during
    Shabbos and appreciate its sweetness. Tell a
    loved one something you appreciate today, not
    in hindsight. Thank Hashem for a body that
    simply works.
    Because the most miraculous gifts in our lives
    rarely announce themselves. They sit quietly
    in our hands – until they don’t.
    And by then, it is a little late for that.