The Day the Sefer Torah Fell in Our Shul
From the COLlive inbox: "It happened in a split second, but I have replayed it over and over again in my mind, in slow motion: a Sefer Torah lying on the floor."
by COLlive Reporter · COLliveBy anonymous
It happened in a split second but I have replayed it over and over again in my mind, in slow motion. It is every shulgoer’s nightmare: a holy Sefer Torah lying on the floor in one’s presence.
Even though some time has passed, yet the shock has not worn off.
It was one recent early morning after Shachris in a Chabad Shul. I had agreed to assist another gentleman in pre-rolling a Sefer Torah in preparation for the laining of the first day of Pesach. We had just uncovered and unbound the Sefer when, in a fateful instant, we both turned to reach for a Siddur.
To this moment, I cannot say exactly what went wrong. Perhaps the Sefer Torah was not properly positioned. Perhaps it was slightly in motion. But we heard it before we saw it — the horrifying sound. And then the sight: a precious Torah scroll, inconceivably lying face-up on the floor, its wooden rollers parted just enough to expose some of the sacred ksav.
Even now, as I write these words, the image returns with painful clarity.
About half a dozen others were present. Like us, they heard it before they saw it. Haya lo sih’yeh — may no one ever have to witness such a scene.
We rushed to lift the Sefer gently, returning it to the bima, kissing it again and again, struggling to process what had just happened.
Upon consulting the local Rav, we were advised to observe a full-day fast. We did so. But as far as I am concerned, the fasting was the easy part. It is the larger message — the call embedded in the moment — that has weighed most heavily on me since.
Many Rabbonim and Poskim address such an occurrence. While their approaches may differ in tone and tikun, all agree on one point: such an event must awaken within us a deeper sense of reverence, love, and responsibility toward the Torah.
This is very much in line with the Rambam (Hilchos Ta’aniyos 1:1–3), who teaches that when a troubling event befalls a community, it is a mitzvah to reflect and cry out. To dismiss it as mere happenstance is to miss the message such a moment carries.
At the same time, the Rambam emphasizes the profound honor due to a Sefer Torah (Hilchos Sefer Torah, ch. 10). Taken together, these teachings frame such a moment not as something to fear, but as something to hear: a call to introspection and growth.
As a Lubavitcher Chassid, I was naturally drawn to the Rebbe’s guidance on this matter. And here, I found not only direction, but deep comfort, strength, and inspiration.
In his letters, the Rebbe acknowledges the custom to fast when a Sefer Torah falls- but adds that one for whom fasting is difficult may redeem it with tzedakah (Igros Kodesh, Vol. 12, p. 414; Vol. 23, p. 230). More significantly, he emphasizes that the primary response must be an increase in Torah study, mitzvah observance, kavod haTorah, and yiras Shamayim.
True to the Rambam’s principle, the Rebbe does not treat such an event as happenstance. But neither does he frame it as a “bad omen.” Rather, he shifts the focus away from the negative emotions such an experience might evoke — guilt, shame, or blame — and toward a primary emphasis on constructive growth: hosafah b’kedushah, an increase in holiness on every front.
I have thus taken upon myself new resolutions — both quantitative and qualitative — in learning and davening, and in how I relate to others: with greater patience, generosity, and sensitivity.
It goes without saying that I’ve resolved to adopt a new level of care and vigilance whenever I’m in the proximity of a Sefer Torah — let alone actually handling or carrying one.
But beyond personal change, I feel that part of the tikun (rectification) must also be communal, and that it is my responsibility to sound the call. The Rambam’s call to “cry out” is not limited to those who witnessed the event; it extends to the broader community as well.
And so I share this not as a sermon, but as a bakasha nafshis — a plea from the depths of the heart: that we all strive for greater appreciation, reverence, and love for the precious gift of the Torah entrusted to us.
Perhaps one small exercise can help.
Picture, for a moment, the image of the Rebbe holding his small white Sefer Torah. See the tenderness, humility, reverence, and deep affection in that embrace. Recall the extraordinary history of that Torah — connected to the famed Slavita brothers, who endured horrible persecution with unwavering faith and mesiras nefesh.
That same Torah — the same living chain stretching back to Moshe Rabbeinu — rests in every Sefer Torah we encounter. Torah achas hee.
That is the awe and devotion that should fill our hearts whenever the Aron Kodesh is opened.
What other nation dances with its sacred inheritance as we do — singing, embracing, and rejoicing with unbridled joy on Simchas Torah? It is something truly otherworldly.
And yet, precisely because of that closeness, we must never allow familiarity to dull our awareness.
From painful experience, I would humbly suggest that we reexamine our conduct in the presence of a Sefer Torah — not to be distracted, even for a moment, from the kedushah before us.
As the legendary gabbai of 770, Reb Pinchas HaKohen Katz a”h, would say: “Men zol visen vee men shtait un far vemen men shtait — we must know where we are standing and before Whom we are standing!”
Perhaps we can all strengthen ourselves to refrain from devarim beteilim, at least from the moment the Aron is opened until it is closed — especially when the Torah lies open and is being read.
Let us bear in mind that when we recite “Vayehi binsoa ha’aron…”, we are not only recalling the journeys in the desert. We are declaring something timeless: that when the Aron — Hashem’s Torah — leads the way, we are assured of His presence, His providence, and His protection.
Today, as much as ever, the Torah is our lifeline — our guide, our strength, and our shield. As we proclaim during hagbah: “Eitz chaim hi lamachazikim bah…”
May we be worthy of that calling — to learn it, absorb it, live it, honor it, and cherish it.
And may we soon merit the day when the entire world will recognize: “Ki miTzion teitzei Torah… From Tzion shall go forth the Torah, and the word of Hashem from Yerushalayim.”
May it happen speedily in our days. May it happen now.
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