No one ever knows what the haftarah is, unless it’s their bar mitzvah.
Well, sometimes the rav talks about it. But most rabbis do not. They don’t even talk about the second half of the parashah itself. They’re saving that for some rainy day, if they ever run out of things to talk about on the first half of the parashah.
So most people have a pretty solid knowledge of what happens at the beginning of every parashah, and a fuzzy-at-best knowledge of the end. In fact, several years ago, I wrote an article about how I decided to learn all of Chumash on my own and stop blaming other people for my not knowing more Chumash, and I discovered that not only does every parashah actually have a second half, but that learning the end of a parashah often gives you context for what’s happening at the beginning of the next parashah. For example, the pasuk says, “Vayishlach Yaakov malachim,” and Rashi says they were actual malachim, and we’re like, “How does Rashi know?” I don’t know; maybe because the last pasuk of the previous parashah talks about how Yaakov encountered malachim?
So I think the main thing I learned is that you have to see everything in the Torah as one long story. Though if you do, you get to the end of the Torah, and you’re like, “What happened then? What’s the rest of the story, between the end of the Torah and the beginning of the Berel Wein books?” and you know that there’s a Nach, conceptually, but yeshiva didn’t really teach you that.
I think they think they did. All of my childhood knowledge of Nach came from half listening in the 20 minutes before limudei chol as the rebbi flew through the stories. No one had a sefer open. The rebbi’s job was just to get as far as he could, because he knew that once we hit fifth grade, Nach was over. Chumash and Mishnayos time became Gemara time, Mishnayos disappeared (What? There are Mishnas in your Gemara!) and Chumash got relegated to Nach time.
And we only learned Nach in the first place during the two months of the year that there were no yomim tovim to learn about.
I’ve definitely never seen anything past Melachim.
I think this is part of why no one seems to take the haftarah seriously.
“It’s Nach. Nach is for girls.”
But I mean there’s a haftarah every week, and we don’t know it. Everyone knows what parashah it is, but you can’t ask anyone, “What haftarah is it this week?” Whenever it’s not 100% clear, the shul has to announce it. No one knows it. Except the one person who speaks about it at simchas who thinks everyone knows it: “Now everyone knows, this week’s Haftarah talks about Hoshea…” and everyone sits there and thinks, “You lost me at ‘this week’s haftarah.’”
The only time that people really pay attention to the haftarah is when you have a Shabbos that’s named after the haftarah. Though we don’t really know what those are either. I know there’s a Shabbos Nachamu, but I cannot tell you offhand which sefer that haftarah is in.
Other than that, very few people follow along. It’s a moment to finish the parashah, go to the bathroom, figure out if we’re bentching Rosh Chodesh… Do you know how I know? Because I have never heard half the shul jump down a person’s throat for making a mistake in the haftarah.
Sephardim conclude the article here.
People don’t really take it seriously. There are no aliyos, no Mi Shebeirachs, and no one is making haftarah projects in kindergarten. And we can skip any random one if it’s Rosh Chodesh, or if the next day is Rosh Chodesh, and there is also no consensus across Klal Yisrael of how much of each haftarah to read.
The community of Frankfurt am Main concludes the article here. Others continue.
How did this happen? I don’t know the history. There’s no machlokes in the Torah, wherein “Some conclude the parashah here.”
I’m always others. I’m part of whatever community reads the longest version of every haftarah.
Not that it’s long. No one ever comes home late from shul and his wife asks why, and he says, “There was a really long haftarah this week. The Sephardim went home hours ago.” Even if there’s a double parashah, there’s no double haftarah.
And people have to practice for months to lein a parashah, but when it comes to a haftarah, basically anyone can lein it. They don’t even have to know when they come to shul that morning that they’re going to lein the haftarah.
“Do you want to lein the haftarah?” the gabbai asks, with one eyebrow raised.
“I might butcher it.”
Yeah, no one’s going to correct you. They’re just happy it’s not them leining it.
The gabbai just wants someone to agree to lein it so he can go sit back down for once. He says, “Do you also want to daven Mussaf while you’re at it?”
“I don’t have a good voice.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
People don’t take the haftarah seriously, but there has to be a reason we lein it. Right? I don’t know the reason, because I didn’t learn that in yeshiva either. But there has to be a reason.
Kiddush Club concludes the article here.
But the thing is, even the weeks that I think, “Okay, let me try to pay attention and think about what the pesukim mean,” after two minutes I say, “I need context for this. I don’t know what happened before.”
I mean, once in a while, I actually get why the haftarah is what it is. I’m like, “It’s a shirah, because there was a shirah in the parashah!” Or, “This one’s about other meraglim! I’m definitely hearing the word “meraglim” a lot.” Basically, everything I get is from that first volume of Nach.
But a lot of weeks it’s not as easy. Half the haftarahs just start with “Ko amar Hashem,” Or “Vayehi d’var Hashem eilai leimor.” Which makes sense, when you understand that the basic context of Neviim is that there are neviim talking about prophesies they had.
Anyway, that’s one reason I’ve started learning Nach. With an open sefer and everything.
I’ve also been learning Tehillim, but that was for other reasons. A couple of years back, at the beginning of COVID, when people were constantly splitting large chunks of Tehillim, I figured that if I would familiarize myself with the words, it might not take as long to get through it. And also I wouldn’t be competing with 29 other people to make sure I got either the Yom that has the Hallelukahs or the one that has Hallel or the one that has Kabbalas Shabbos. So for a while, I was just saying the entire Tehillim myself every thirty days, but that didn’t seem to be drilling it into my head like I’d hoped. And then I figured, “Hey, I have no problem saying pesukim of Chumash pretty quickly. Maybe it’s because I know what they mean!” So I started learning Tehillim, a couple of pesukim at a time. That started off well, but I’m reading the introductions to each kapitel—and by the way every copy of Sefer Tehillim is required by copyright laws to give you an entirely different introduction to the same kapitel—and they say things like, “This is what Dovid Hamelech wrote when he was acting insane in front of Avimelech!” and I think, “The one from Avraham’s time? When did that happen?” So now I’m making my way to Sefer Shmuel just so I can understand Tehillim.
I’m also trying to better understand unrelated Rashis—on Chumash, for example, where Rashi says, “This was like the arbeh in Yoel’s time!” and I’m like, “Who? Okay. I trust you.” I don’t know the context. Were the arbeh in Yoel’s time a good thing or a bad thing? I don’t even know what sefer that’s in.
And then the Gemara gives you even less context, mentioning a half of a pasuk out of the blue, because everyone in Bavel knew what pesukim they were talking about. And all we have to go by is the Torah Ohr, who says, “Oh, here you go. It’s in Yechezkel 22.”
Great. I have to learn 22 perakim now to get the context.
Another reason I’m learning Nach is that I want to appreciate Eretz Yisrael more. I haven’t been to Eretz Yisrael since I was a kid, mostly for financial reasons, but I do eventually want to go and take tours, and the last thing I want is for the tour guide to say, “This is where Yoav rallied his troops!” and I would nod and think, “I have no idea who that is. Is there a Sefer Yoav?” Yes, I’ve learned Chumash, but most of Chumash does not take place in Eretz Yisrael. And I doubt I’m ever going to go on a tour where I’m wandering around the Midbar: “Oh, that’s Rimon Paretz!”
Apparently, you can’t just skim through Nach. There’s too much to keep straight. Case in point, I have to backtrack every time the pasuk mentions Gideon, Giveon, Gilead, or Gilgal. At least one of those is a person, I think.
I’ve started Nach numerous times over the years—occasionally I get inspired, usually around V’zos Habracha—and then I kind of fall off, usually in Sefer Yehoshua when I hit the 10 perakim of just straight geography. But this time I’ve made it to Shoftim!
It seems I’m up to a shirah. Which has its own challenges.
Maybe my wife can help me.
Chabad Chassidim begin the article here. n
Mordechai Schmutter is a weekly humor columnist for Hamodia and is the author of seven books, published by Israel Book Shop. He also does freelance writing for hire. You can send questions, comments, or ideas to MSchmutter@gmail.com. Read more of Mordechai Schmutter’s articles at 5TJT.com.
