As we noted last time, the very first word of the Rambam’s Introduction to the Commentary on the Mishnah is דע — know. We took this to mean that the idea which follows is meant to transform how we understand the Mishnah itself. We are now ready to read that idea.
And when we do, we may find ourselves underwhelmed.
I ask for a little patience. Let us work our way through the Rambam’s opening lines, and I believe the significance of what he is saying will become clear — even if, on first reading, it seems almost obvious.
Here is what he writes:
דע כי כל מצוה שנתן ה׳ למשה רבינו — נתנה לו עם פרושה
Know that every mitzvah which God gave to Moshe, He gave with its explanation.
This does not, at first glance, seem like a particularly profound claim. But let us slow down and notice what the Rambam is telling us. According to him, two things were given to Moshe at Sinai: the mitzvah itself, and its peyrush — its explanation. The commandment, and the explanation of the commandment.
We will want to understand these two terms more precisely — what exactly was given, and why the Rambam insists on the distinction. But the Rambam himself seems sensitive to the need for clarification, because he immediately elaborates. Using Rav Shilat’s Hebrew translation of the Arabic original, the Rambam continues: God would say to Moshe the mikra.
This word deserves attention. A mikra is not merely a text that is written down and read. It is a text that is written down to be publicly recited. The word carries within it the act of proclamation — a verse designed not only for private study but for the ears of all who would hear it. We should not underestimate the importance of this idea, and we will have reason to return to it.
The Rambam then tells us that after giving Moshe the mikra, God would give him three further things: its peyrush, its inyan, and all that the mikra ha-mukhkam encompasses.
Let us take these one at a time.
The peyrush is the explanation — what the words of the verse mean. The grammar, the concepts, the plain sense of the language. If you have a legal text, the peyrush answers: what do these words say?
The inyan is harder to pin down. Rav Shilat, drawing on the Arabic source, describes it as an explanation that goes beyond the plain meaning of the language. My friend R’ Daniel Price translates the Arabic term as “elucidation” and, citing an article by Cohen, defines it as “clarifying matters not explicit in the text, but nonetheless intended.”
This is a subtle but important distinction. The peyrush explains what the words mean. The inyan clarifies what the words intend — the subject matter, the issues the text is addressing, the implications that flow from the stated principle even though they are not contained in the literal grammar.
Consider, by way of analogy, the Fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution:
No person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.
We can explain what these words mean — that is the peyrush. But what is due process? What procedures are required? Must a person receive notice before a hearing? What counts as impartial? What standards of evidence apply? Can a trial be dragged out for years? Is there a right of appeal?
These questions are not answered by the phrase itself. Yet, if one is aware of the context and discussion surrounding this phrase, they will understand that the phrase relates to these (and other similar) ideas. That is the inyan — the elucidation of what the principle encompasses.
Finally, the Rambam speaks of the mikra ha-mukhkam and all that it contains. I understand this as a “wisdom-filled mikra.” That is to say, that mikra — that verse which is written to be recited — is full of wisdom. Meaning, that it is precisely phrased, and within that precision are ideas and interpretations which are just waiting to be discovered.
So here is what emerges. According to the Rambam, what was given at Sinai was not simply a list of commandments. It was a carefully constructed text — a mikra, designed to be both studied and publicly recited — together with: its explanation (what the words mean), its elucidation (what the words intend), and everything that the precisely composed text encompasses.
The Rambam offers a concrete example, and it is worth examining. He turns to the mitzvah of Sukkos and quotes the verse:
בסכת תשבו שבעת ימים
Let us leave the verse untranslated for a moment and simply ask the obvious questions.
What is a sukkah? What does it mean to sit — or perhaps dwell — in one? Who is obligated? Men only, or women as well? What if a person is sick, or traveling? What materials may be used to build a sukkah? What is its minimum size? What activities must be done inside it?
None of these questions are answered by the verse itself. The information exists elsewhere — in the explanation that accompanied the directive.
The Rambam lists a number of these details: who is obligated, what materials are permitted, what activities are required, the minimum dimensions. These are not in the verse. They cannot be derived from the verse alone. The verse states the principle. The explanation makes it functional.
I find it helpful to think of an analogy from everyday life.
Imagine you walk into your child’s room and find a disaster. Clothes — dirty and clean — piled together. Half-eaten food. Books, games, and toys all jumbled into one magnificent heap. You issue your directive: Clean up your room. And you walk out.
An hour later you return, and to your amazement, the room looks spotless. Not a thing in sight. Until you notice that the bedsheet hangs all the way to the floor. Your son watches nervously as you lift the sheet and discover everything — all the clothes, all the food, all the toys — stuffed under the bed.
And so you explain what you meant. Dirty clothes go in the laundry. Clean clothes go on the shelf. Books go on the bookshelf. Food and garbage go in the garbage can.
The explanation tells your son what it means to have fulfilled the directive. Stuffing everything under the bed does not count. (Whether the clothes in the closet need to be folded — that, perhaps, is a machlokis between Beis Shammai and Beis Hillel.)
This, I believe, is the first fundamental idea in the Rambam’s introduction. When we speak of the 613 mitzvos — or perhaps more precisely, 613 Toros (תורות) — we are speaking of directives. General principles. Statements of what is to be accomplished, but not yet how to accomplish it.
You cannot do melacha on Shabbos. You must place totafos between your eyes. You must dwell in a sukkah for seven days.
Not one of these lines tells you how to do what you are being told to do, or even what exactly you are supposed to do.
Take our verse about Sukkos: you shall תשבו in the sukkah for seven days. Does תשבו mean sit — and not stand? Or does it mean “dwell” — i.e., to live in the Succah for seven days? And if it does mean “dwell”, then what does one have to actually do in order to be considered “dwelling” in a Succah?
The answer is not in the verse. It is in the explanation.
The verse is the principle — the what. The explanation provides the how.
And so let us return, with fresh eyes, to the Rambam’s opening lines.
Know that every mitzvah, every general directive, was given with its explanation for how to fulfill that principle.
G-d would give Moshe the mikra: the written formulation of the base legal idea, composed in an extremely exact literary and legal manner. Designed both for recitation and interpretation.
And then He would give its explanation — what the words mean — and its elucidation — the subject matter it addresses, the implications it carries, the matters intended though not stated.
And everything that this carefully constructed verse encompasses: who it applies to, who it does not, and under what conditions.
The Torah’s commandments, in other words, are like the phrase “due process of law.” The principle is stated with magnificent economy. But without the accompanying body of explanation, the principle alone cannot function. Look at halacha after halacha in the Torah, and you can see from how each is written that it requires an explanation if it is going to work — if it is going to be livable.
That is the Rambam’s first point. We are still far from the Mishnah — we have not gotten close to it yet. But we are not quite as far as we were when we started.