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Dear Yeshiva Family,
Yaakov Avinu Delaying Getting Married In this week's Parsha, we encounter Yaakov running for his life from Esav while simultaneously following his father's directive to travel to the land of Charan and find a wife. Yet something unusual happens before he ever begins that journey. At the very end of last week's Parsha (28:9), Rashi explains that it is clear from the verses that Yaakov hid himself away in the yeshiva of Sheim and Eiver for fourteen full years. Only after that extended period of study did he finally set out on the mission his father had given him.
This creates an obvious difficulty. Yitzchak had given him a clear command: go to Charan and build a family. Instead of obeying immediately, Yaakov chose to disappear into the Bais Medrash of Sheim and Eiver for more than a decade. On the surface, it seems like he placed a massive delay on fulfilling his father's instruction.
And besides the question of kibbud av, (honoring his father's directive), another issue appears: the mitzvah to marry and have children. Why would Yaakov Avinu, who understood the weight and urgency of this mitzvah more than any of us, push it off for fourteen years? If his father explicitly told him to begin building Klal Yisrael's next generation, why did he feel justified in delaying that mission for so long?
Building Himself to Build Others There is a well-known explanation from Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetzky that sheds light on this entire episode. Until this point in his life, Yaakov had learned exclusively in the homes of Avraham and Yitzchak. Those environments were havens of holiness and purity, protected from outside influences. The atmosphere was elevated, sheltered, and completely centered around the love of Hashem and the study of Torah. Yaakov thrived there.
But now he was heading somewhere entirely different. He was about to enter the world of Lavan, a place defined by dishonesty, manipulation, spiritual confusion, and moral danger. Yaakov knew he would need an entirely different toolkit if he hoped to survive in that environment with his integrity intact.
Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetzky explains that this is why Yaakov made the deliberate decision to hide himself in the yeshiva of Sheim and Eiver for fourteen years. Sheim and Eiver had lived and taught Torah in earlier generations that were anything but sheltered. They had remained loyal to Hashem through eras of spiritual chaos, paganism, and corruption. Their Torah was a Torah of survival, the kind that could be learned and lived even in the darkest environments. Their Bais Medrash was not only a place of wisdom; it was a training ground for remaining spiritually strong when the world around you pulls in the opposite direction.
Yaakov realized that if he was going to withstand Lavan, he needed to acquire this version of Torah as well—the Torah of exile, of resilience, of holding one's inner world steady even when everything around is shaking. Those fourteen years were not a delay. They were preparation.
Seen this way, Yaakov was not ignoring his father's command at all. On the contrary, he was taking the first responsible steps toward fulfilling it properly. His mission was not just to marry; he was destined to become the father of the entire Jewish people. He needed to build not merely a household, but the foundation of the twelve tribes. And embedded in that responsibility was the need to implant in his children the capacity to learn Torah in every environment and to remain steadfast through centuries of exile. He understood that the spiritual DNA of his descendants—our ability to remain ourselves in every country, culture, and challenge—would begin with him.
Therefore, the fourteen years he spent in the yeshiva of Sheim and Eiver were not a detour from marriage and family building. They were the very first building blocks of it. This was not a postponement of his father's command—it was the groundwork necessary to carry it out faithfully and successfully.
Why Does Torah Override Getting Married With this approach in hand, we may be able to shed light on another, broader question. The Rambam (Ishus 15;1), quoting the Gemara in Kiddushin, teaches that if a person is immersed in Torah study to the point that he is completely absorbed in it, and he fears that getting married will force him to interrupt his learning in order to support a family, then he is permitted to delay the mitzvah of marriage and having children. The Rambam frames this within a larger halachic principle: when a person is actively engaged in a mitzvah, he is not required to pause that mitzvah in order to perform another one. Just as someone involved in visiting the sick or returning a lost object is not obligated to interrupt his efforts to give charity or even to pray at that moment, so too someone immersed in Torah may delay another mitzvah that would force him to step away from learning.
However, this seems to contradict an explicit Gemara in Moed Katan 9b. The Gemara states clearly that we do stop learning Torah in order to perform any mitzvah that cannot be done by someone else. And the Rambam himself (Talmud Torah 3:4) rules this way. If a mitzvah requires you specifically, you must pause your learning to fulfill it. Prayer at its proper time, for example, cannot be outsourced. And yet the mitzvah of marriage and having children is certainly something that only the individual himself can fulfill. So why is this mitzvah treated differently? Why does the Rambam allow one to postpone it due to Torah study?
Several major authorities address this tension.
Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman (Koveitz He'aros – Hosafos 1) offers one approach. He explains that when the halacha says we stop learning Torah only for a mitzvah that cannot be done by another, the purpose is to ensure the mitzvah gets done. If someone else can take care of it, you may remain in learning. In the case of marriage, Rabbi Elchanan writes, the person himself will fulfill the mitzvah — just not immediately. Since he intends to do it in the coming years, and the mitzvah will not be permanently lost, it is considered as if the mitzvah can be "covered," in a sense, by that future fulfillment. It is not being neglected; it is being delayed. That delay is halachically different from abandoning the mitzvah entirely, and therefore the principle that a mitzvah done by another exempts you from pausing Torah applies in a conceptual way even here.
However, this approach is not without difficulty. Aside from the basic mitzvah of having children, there is a second mitzvah described by the verse (Koheles 11:6), "In the evening do not let your hand rest," which obligates a person to have as many children as he reasonably can throughout his life. While Rabbi Elchanan's explanation works for the core mitzvah of having children — since that can indeed be fulfilled later — it does not address this additional obligation. The ongoing mitzvah to bring more children into the world cannot simply be delayed, because once years pass, those opportunities, presented by those years, are permanently lost. This raises a serious question on applying Rabbi Elchanan's approach fully to the case at hand.
A second answer is given by the Shulchan Aruch HaRav (Talmud Torah 3:1). He explains that we only require a person to stop Torah for a mitzvah if he will be able to return to his learning with the same intensity and level as before. But if fulfilling the mitzvah will permanently reduce his ability to learn — if the very act of stepping away will diminish the Torah he can acquire — then he is not obligated to interrupt his learning. In the case of starting a family, the responsibilities of marriage and children fundamentally change a person's schedule, energy, and availability. One cannot realistically expect to return to the same uninterrupted immersion in Torah he had before. Under those conditions, the mitzvah of learning itself remains primary, and he is not required to pause it[1].
But based on the explanation we developed earlier regarding Yaakov Avinu, perhaps a third and simpler answer emerges.
When a person is preparing to build a Jewish home, he naturally wants to begin with as much Torah inside himself as possible. Torah study does not merely teach information; it shapes character. It refines one's traits, making a person more patient, more giving, more grounded, and more attuned to sensitivity and kindness. Someone who has invested years in serious Torah learning becomes a better husband and a better father. He brings to his family a heart shaped by Torah, a mind disciplined by Torah, and middos elevated by Torah.
If so, delaying marriage for the sake of Torah is not simply a matter of choosing one mitzvah over another. The Torah learning itself enhances the very mitzvah being delayed. It improves its quality. A person who marries after a period of deep Torah development will build a stronger, healthier, more spiritual home. The mitzvah of marriage will be performed not only later, but better.
In that light, the Rambam's allowance may be understood in a new way. Of all mitzvos, this is one in which Torah study has a direct and transformative impact on how the mitzvah will ultimately be fulfilled. Torah learning is not in competition with building a family — it is the foundation of it. And therefore, under the right circumstances, delaying marriage for the sake of Torah is not considered a neglect of the mitzvah but a form of preparing and strengthening it.
The Idea of Pushing Off a Mitzvah to Perform it in a Better Way But this idea of postponing a mitzvah to perform it in a better way has to be understood in a sharper way. In the beginning of the Halachos of Tefillin (O.C. 25), the halacha states that a person who has both a tallis and tefillin should first put on his tallis and then his tefillin, which is our common practice. But what if someone has only his tefillin available and knows that the tallis will arrive in half an hour? The halacha is clear: he should not wait. He should put on his tefillin immediately. Even though waiting would allow him to fulfill the mitzvah in a more ideal manner, we do not delay the performance of a mitzvah when the opportunity is before us right now.
Yet from other areas of halacha we see the opposite. Take Kiddush Levana, for example. While technically one may recite the blessing as soon as the new moon is visible, the most fitting time to do so is on Motzaei Shabbos (Saturday night), when a person is uplifted and dressed respectfully. If someone sees the moon on Thursday night, the common practice is specifically not to recite the blessing at the first opportunity, but to wait until Motzaei Shabbos in order to perform the mitzvah in a more elevated way (see 426:2). Here we see that at times it is appropriate to delay a mitzvah in order to fulfill it under better circumstances.
How do we reconcile these two models?
Perhaps the answer is as follows. When a mitzvah is a one-time act — such as Kiddush Levana, which is performed once each month — then waiting a short amount of time in order to fulfill it in a more beautiful or uplifting manner does not cause any loss. The mitzvah will be performed either way. Since the act is a single moment in time, performing it two days later means you have done the very same mitzvah, only better.
But when a mitzvah is continuous, or when delaying it causes a permanent loss of time that can never be recovered, then waiting is not appropriate. This is the case with tefillin. Every minute that a person delays putting on his tefillin is a minute of the mitzvah that can never be reclaimed. True, he will put them on later while wearing his tallis, but the lost half hour is gone forever. Because the mitzvah is ongoing and accumulative, one must act at the first opportunity.
This distinction appears in other areas as well. When performing a bris, families often wait until the regular morning minyan, or until more relatives can arrive, rather than doing it the instant the day begins at dawn. Since the bris is a single mitzvah that will be performed once, doing it an hour later under more joyous and dignified conditions is considered preferable. There is no permanent loss.
With this framework, one might argue that the mitzvah of having children should be viewed similarly. Perhaps it would be better to delay the mitzvah slightly in order to fulfill it in a more stable and harmonious way. But here we must remember the second mitzvah connected to having children: the verse that says, "In the evening do not let your hand rest," which teaches that a person should have as many children as reasonably possible throughout his life. That mitzvah is ongoing. Every year a person delays is a year of potential children that may never come, a loss that cannot be retrieved later. In this sense, delaying the start of a family becomes much more similar to the case of tefillin — where every moment of delay forfeits an opportunity that will never return — than to Kiddush Levana, where the mitzvah remains intact.
This halachic framework makes the entire idea of beginning marriage with birth control far more complex. It is not simply a matter of performing a mitzvah "later but better." There are real halachic considerations about lost opportunity, ongoing obligations, and the permanent nature of the choice. All of this underscores the need for a thoughtful, individualized decision, made carefully and respectfully under the guidance of a family Rav.
The New Trend of Birth Control For Everyone Once we are on this topic, it may be appropriate to discuss a relatively new trend developing within the community: beginning marriage while already on birth control. A growing number of young couples feel that for the sake of their relationship, it is important to delay having children at the outset. But this assumption deserves thoughtful examination. There is a clear mitzvah upon every man to have children, and delaying this mitzvah is not a trivial matter. Of course, some argue that a couple with a strong and stable emotional foundation will raise their children with greater harmony and calm. At first glance, this seems reasonable.
But this idea must be understood with nuance. What has become the popular belief is often far from the actual reality. While there are certainly situations in which waiting may indeed be the healthier choice, for many couples the opposite is true. Often, the very bond that deepens and anchors a young marriage is the shared experience of bringing a child into the world. There is something profoundly binding, something almost indescribably unifying, in holding together a life that both parents created. It creates a sense of shared purpose, a shared future, and a shared identity that goes far beyond romantic connection. It roots the couple together in a way that abstract "relationship building" simply cannot replicate.
Young couples are rarely told this. Instead, they are frequently taught — by friends, by cultural messages, by well-meaning voices around them — that without a certain amount of "time to themselves," their marriage cannot flourish. And because this belief has become so ingrained, many feel almost frightened not to follow it. They become convinced that without postponing children, their relationship will be fragile or even endangered. As a result, there is often pressure — subtle or not-so-subtle — to insist on birth control from day one. And woe to the Rav who hesitates or asks challenging questions; in the minds of the couple, he is threatening the very foundation of their future happiness.
But the truth, which must be explained with warmth and care, is that this perception is frequently mistaken. Many times, the greatest blessing for a young couple is precisely the child they were initially afraid to have. Many times, the infant they imagined would strain their relationship becomes the very force that softens conflicts, draws out deeper reservoirs of love, and forms the beginnings of a family identity far stronger than anything they could create on their own.
There is, however, another layer that must be acknowledged honestly. Because the culture has shifted so strongly in this direction, it is very possible that the belief itself has become a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. If young couples are raised hearing repeatedly that "you must have time to yourselves first," and that "without it your marriage can fall apart," then they internalize that message deeply. For many, this becomes not just a preference but a psychological anchor. In such a climate, if they were told that they cannot receive an allowance for birth control, the sheer panic, anxiety, and fear that would follow could genuinely place strain on the relationship. The pressure they feel, the expectations they have absorbed, and the emotional dependence on this idea are real factors that must be considered. When something becomes ingrained in the communal mindset, it shapes people's emotional reality, and a Rav cannot ignore that reality. That, too, becomes part of the halachic and pastoral calculation — not because the belief is inherently true, but because people have been taught it is true, and therefore their experience is shaped accordingly.
Why You Need A Rav It is also important to understand what it truly means to speak with a Rav about these matters. This is not an attempt to "explain things to God" or ask for some kind of exemption from Heaven. Rather, seeking the guidance of a Rav is turning to someone who sees life through the lens of Torah, someone seasoned by experience, by years of listening, guiding, and understanding the complexities of real human situations. A Rav is not Hashem; he is a mentor, a counselor, a wise and caring presence whose responsibility is to help people navigate the decisions of life with clarity and balance. Especially for a young couple at the very beginning of their marriage, having such a person to talk to — someone outside their own emotions, fears, and assumptions — is invaluable. Being able to articulate their concerns, receive perspective, hear what they may not have considered, and benefit from the broader vision of someone who has guided many others before them is itself a tremendous gift. Turning to a Rav is not a burden; it is an opportunity. It is a way of building a life with support, with wisdom, and with a connection to Torah that enriches every stage of marriage and family.
Decisions about birth control are never simple, and they must be made thoughtfully, responsibly, and under the guidance of a competent Rav who knows the couple, their circumstances, their strengths, and their struggles. But it is important that young couples understand that the popular narrative is not the only narrative — and often not the truest one.
Yaakov Avinu taught us that preparing oneself spiritually can be the foundation for building a home, and can even provide the halachic framework to delay the mitzvah, however it is a very nuanced and personal question, is never simple and often involves irretrievable opportunities. At the same time, the emotional landscape of today's young couples — shaped by communal messages and expectations — cannot be overlooked, for it can turn ideas into lived realities and create pressures that influence both halacha and human relationships. And this is precisely why speaking with a Rav is so essential. A Rav helps weigh the halachic considerations, the personal circumstances, the psychological factors, and the spiritual needs with clarity and care. He is not there to impose or to frighten, but to guide, support, and mentor. The decision is never one-size-fits-all; it is a delicate weaving together of halacha, wisdom, emotional understanding, and the long-term vision of building a home that is strong, loving, and anchored in Torah. When all these elements are held together, a young couple can step forward with confidence, with clarity, purpose, and the desire to build a life shaped by both mitzvah and meaning.
Have an amazing Shabbos!
Rabbi Moshe Revah Rosh HaYeshiva Mrevah2@touro.edu
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[1] This actually is very clear in the Rambam who finishes his statement that one should interrupt his learning to perform a Mitzvah by saying he should interrupt "and then return to his studies". Why must the Rambam add that a person should return to his studies. It is very implicit like the Shulchan Aruch Harav, that the allowance to leave only exists if one can revert back to the learning in the same intensity as before.
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