The Language of Light

One morning this week in shul, a few friends were discussing a podcast that our Rebbe had recently appeared on. The question they were debating was simple: Was the objective even met? And more fundamentally—is a podcast an effective medium to transmit penimiyus, which is his forte?

The Lubavitcher Rebbe, who championed the dissemination of the wellsprings of the Baal Shem Tov to bring Moshiach, utilized the full gamut of modern technology. His farbrengens were broadcast on television, and public menorah lightings reached audiences across the globe. Clearly, technology is not the obstacle—it’s the vehicle.

But then the conversation shifted.

Perhaps the issue is not the medium, but the message. Is the subject matter simply too complex for a podcast audience? Many who pass through the shul—those not anchored as regulars—feel that much of what is taught is beyond their grasp.

And so, the real question emerges:

What is Torah?

Is Torah merely information, albeit of a higher order, or is it something else entirely?

Chazal tell us: “Ki ner mitzvah v’Torah ohr”—a mitzvah is a candle and Torah is light. If a shiur is simply the transfer of information from one mind to another, then understanding is essential. Without comprehension, nothing has been gained.

Indeed, halachically, regarding Torah Shebaal Peh, one should not recite Birchas HaTorah without understanding. Yet the Shelah HaKadosh and other masters maintain that even without comprehension, one may still bless the Torah.

At the root of this debate lies a deeper question:

What is being transmitted—information or light?

If it is information, then lack of understanding is failure.

But if it is light, then there are no such limitations.

One of the fundamental distinctions between the Torah of Galus and the Torah of Geulah—of which Chazal say “Torah chadashah mei’iti teitzei”—is the mode of perception. The Gemara teaches through “ta shema”—come and hear. The Zohar teaches through “ta chazi”—come and see.

Today, we hear Torah.

In the future, we will see it.

Perhaps this explains a striking phenomenon at Matan Torah: the Jewish people saw what is normally heard. Why was such a miracle necessary? Because the giving of the Torah was meant to reflect not only its origin—but its ultimate form.

Had we merited it, redemption would have followed immediately. There would have been one Torah received in the language of Geulah: sight, not sound.

The masters of Chassidus teach that the Torah of the Baal Shem Tov is a foretaste of the Torah of Moshiach. Just as one tastes the food of Shabbos before its arrival, so too we are given a taste of that future light.

And that Torah is not merely heard.

It is seen.

My great-uncle, Rabbi Sholom Ber Gordon, a’h, once shared a story from his childhood in Dokshitz. As a student, he was learning Bava Metzia, where the Gemara rules that in certain monetary disputes, the funds remain unresolved “until Eliyahu comes.”

The students assumed that Eliyahu HaNavi would resolve the matter through ruach hakodesh—simply revealing the truth.

Their rebbe disagreed.

He cited the verse: “Shlach orchah va’amitchah”—“Send Your light and Your truth.” The Midrashexplains: “Your light” refers to Eliyahu; “Your truth” refers to Moshiach.

Eliyahu will not tell the truth—he will reveal it.

Eliyahu will bring a light so penetrating that falsehood cannot survive in its presence. The litigants themselves will come forward and admit the truth.

That is the light of Geulah.

A light that does not inform—but transforms.

There are teachers who convey information.

And there are teachers who radiate light.

The difference between misunderstanding information and failing to absorb light is profound. Intellectual limitation blocks information. But light is obstructed not by intellect—but by kelipos, layers of spiritual opacity.

Yet even then, exposure to light softens those layers. Slowly, they recede. And eventually, the light enters.

Chazal teach: Torah can be an elixir of life or, G-d forbid, the opposite. The determining factor is “mi she’zachah bah”—one who merits it.

Zachah shares a root with zach—pure, refined, free of sediment.

One who approaches Torah with ego transmits information.

One who approaches it with humility transmits light.

Torah begins as hishtadlus—effort.

But ultimately, it’s a gift.

And one who knows it’s a gift does not claim ownership over it. He becomes a conduit.

We have been zocheh to a Rebbe who is such a conduit.

A Rebbe who sees himself as the lowest person in the room.

A Rebbe who says his mission is not complete until every Jew attains prophecy.

A Rebbe whose very presence evokes: “When Moshe raised his hands, Yisrael prevailed.”

And perhaps this is the deepest point of all:

Chazal teach that the original light of creation—the light of the first day—was so powerful that AdamHaRishon could see from one end of the world to the other. That light was hidden away for the tzaddikim l’atid lavo, in the time to come.

That hidden light is the light of Moshiach.

A light of pure clarity.

A light where nothing is obscured.

A light where truth is not learned—but seen.

And when that light is revealed, the entire world becomes a place of vision.

Such a Rebbe, who is a conduit for even a glimmer of that light, must use every available medium—even a podcast.

Because when the goal is not to inform, but to illuminate, the question is no longer whether the listener understands, but whether they were exposed to the light.

And that light, once encountered, is already a taste of seeing from one end of the world to the other. 

The author can be reached at [email protected].