Years ago, an electrical fire spontaneously erupted in our synagogue's attic (back when we still functioned in the 'little Shul on the prairie').
A passerby saw smoke coming out of our attic window, and pounded on the synagogue door to alert someone. No one was there. This kindhearted person then ran across the street - to the Baptist church - and told the pastor of the emergency.
He, knowing that my family lived next door to the synagogue, came banging on the door of my home. My wife, Malkie, opened the door and was greeted with the pastor's breathless news: "the synagogue's on fire!" Her immediate reaction was "we need to save the Torahs!".
Pastor Pendell repeated that story to me because he was so impressed my wife's value system, with her instinctive 'care for Scripture'.
Indeed, it's a nice story. But why - in fact - did she have that reaction? And it's not just about her. In the millennia of persecution, and burning synagogues, we hear story upon story about people risking their lives to save a Torah. Why? The Torah in a given synagogue is quite replaceable, So it's not about saving a priceless artifact.
Even more: Life is paramount. Yet people often risked their very lives.
Why? What is it about our attachment to Torahs?
This is Torah-attachment is an interesting phenomenon, which I'll try to briefly explore:
The Torah is our marriage contract with the Divine; it binds us to G-d. Every Torah is a new manifestation of the original, and carries the magnitude of our original Covenant at Sinai.
It's not just another copy of an old document. It is a fresh incarnation of the original 'marriage' at Sinai.
That being the case, how can we bear to see it burn? Who cares if I have another copy? If I value my relationship - my Covenant - with G-d, then I need to value this penultimate expression of our Covenant.
(In this week's Torah reading we are introduced to another 'Covenant,' the idea of the Bris, Abraham's 'Covenant' with G-d.)
What is a Covenant? It's a level of relationship which transcends reason. If I'm someone's good friend, then there's usually a reason - e.g. we share interests, kids are in the same school etc. When the reason dissipates, the friendship is likely to follow suit.
Our relationship with G-d is beyond that. It exists because it does, and nothing can make it unravel. The Torah is a tangible expression of this super-rational relationship. And we need to honor it in that way.
We at Chabad are fortunate to be in the position of beginning our own Torah, on October 28th. This isn't just filling the need for another Torah or a way of posthumously honoring a loved one (the Torah is open to collective sponsorship, but is being generously underwritten in memory of Marc Kissel).
Writing a Torah will be a community exercise, and it will be a communal reawakening of our super-rational relationship with the Torah's Author. It's a very special process, which will create a very special document.
And it will be ours. For life.
Shabbat Shalom