HEART AND SCROLL

Heart and Scroll 

Zev Steinhardt is writing his own Sefer Torah, focused on the process with steady dedication. It’s a dream he’s had for years, and he’s determined to keep going, one letter at a time.

Rayle Rubenstein 

Can you share a bit about your background? 

I was born in Queens to non-shomer-Shabbos parents.  After my parents separated when I was nine, my mother became frum, along with my sister and me.  I grew up in Brooklyn and was very much the square-peg-in-a-round-hole kid in yeshiva. I met my wife Lisa when I was 18, and we got married when I was 21.  Baruch Hashem, we’re happily married 33 years later and have three kids, all adults now. I’ve always loved leining and have been doing so since my bar mitzvah, almost every week since 1988.  I’m also an amateur landscape photographer. I enjoy capturing the wonderful world that Hakadosh Baruch Hu has given us, especially national parks.

How did your journey of writing your own sefer Torah begin? 

I never had—still don’t have—an interest in becoming a working sofer. Over the last 37 years, as a baal kriah, I’ve seen my fair share of sifrei Torah and Megillos, which interested me in writing one myself. The main reason I wanted to do it, though, is that writing a sefer Torah is a mitzvah, even though I know there are other ways to fulfill it. I figured it would take me about a decade to write part-time. I kept pushing it off for various reasons, but by the time I approached age 50, I realized—if not now, when?

 Why did you decide to write it on your own instead of hiring someone else to write it?

Well, for starters, I can’t afford to hire someone to do it. But beyond that, I mean, to be honest, even if I could afford to hire someone, I probably wouldn’t because it’s something I’ve wanted to do myself. It feeds a little bit of my artistic side, and I enjoy doing it.

There must be some expense involved.

The major out-of-pocket expense is the klaf. The specific klaf I’m using is about $150 or so per yeriah. And there are roughly 61 or 62 yerios in a sefer Torah. It’s about $9,000 if you add it all. I’m not buying it all at once; I buy three or four pieces at a time, as I need them.

Early on in this process, something significant happened in your personal life. Would you be comfortable sharing that?

Absolutely. I’ve been very transparent about it. When I was in the process of writing my second Megillah – before I started writing the Torah – I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Baruch Hashem, I am still around and doing relatively well two years later with a disease that, unfortunately, often sees people passing away weeks or months after diagnosis.  

What was going through your mind when you decided to move forward with the project after your diagnosis?

I began writing the sefer Tabout six months after I was diagnosed. But at that point, there was no reason not to. I very much believe that whatever is going to happen will happen. If I’m meant to finish, I’ll finish; if not, I won’t. But if I don’t try, I definitely won’t. I have to do my part. If it’s not meant to be, then it’s not meant to be. There’s only so much I can control. One of the things I’ve learned through all of this is to focus on what I can control—and not to worry too much about what I can’t.

Did anything change about your approach?

There is a formal certification process for becoming a sofer. When I was diagnosed, I spoke with my Rebbe and asked if it was necessary for what I was going to do, since I had no plans to become a working sofer. If I needed to get an official certification, I told him I would spend the time and do it. But honestly, I preferred not to spend the extra time, because I wanted to get started as soon as possible. I explained my situation—that I was diagnosed with cancer and didn’t know how long I had, so I wanted to get started as soon as possible.

My Rebbe told me I didn’t need certification for what I was doing, so I never got it. I won’t check people’s mezuzahs. Technically, I know how, but I won’t do it because I’m not a working sofer. I feel that’s an important distinction to make, because when people hear that I’m writing a sefer Torah, they assume I’m a regular sofer. 

Writing a sefer Torah must feel like a meaningful act of connection after that diagnosis – like the ultimate mitzvah.

It’s funny you say the ultimate mitzvah. Technically, it is the ultimate mitzvah. If you put them in order, it’s number 613. It’s literally the last one in the Torah. 

How did you learn the practical skills of writing a sefer Torah?
A sofer taught me the practical craft—how to form the letters, handle the quill and ink, and work on parchment. We didn’t go deeply into halachah; I studied most of that on my own. He was very patient and experienced, and even though I’m not an active student anymore, we still stay in touch. In fact, just this morning I sent him a she’eilah about something I did last night.

I worked with a real quill and ink on scrap parchment. The sofer would demonstrate a letter or technique, and then I’d practice it hands-on.  

How long did it take you to learn ksav yad?

There are 22 letters, and five have alternate forms at the end of a word. It took me between three and six months to learn. I practiced during the week, and often, I would look in the parashah for words composed of the letters I knew and practice writing them.

Were any of the letters particularly hard to master?

Some letters were harder than others. I found the shin and ayin were a little difficult to gain consistency with; I sometimes still struggle with them. The alef was also a little challenging to master.

Which megillah did you write? 

Megillas Esther, twice. When practicing, we often use Esther for two reasons: A, it’s a megillah that doesn’t have the shem Hashem in it. So, if you make a mistake, you can erase anything that needs fixing. And B, because it has practical use—it’s used every year on Purim.

The first megillah took me about nine months, and the second one took about six months. Then I started writing the sefer Torah, and I can give you the exact day I started it—September 4, 2023. 

It’s pretty impressive that you remember the date.

Well, I remember for two reasons. A, it was Labor Day. B, I’m a data nerd and work as a database programmer. Someone taught me years ago, and I’ve found it true: “That which is measured can be managed.” And I also found the converse to be true: that which isn’t measured is very difficult to manage. So, I keep track of all sorts of things in my life with spreadsheets, documents, and things I track myself. As I write the Torah, I track my progress, noting the date, start and end point, and the number of lines, words, and letters. I have a spreadsheet that does the math, and based on that, I’ve projected all sorts of things, including the end date.

How far along are you in the process?

I’m in the middle of Perek Daled of Shemos. I finished Bereishis shortly before Pesach, and just this past Sunday, I had a seudas hodaah to commemorate that.

Do you share your progress with others? 

Yeah, I actually have an Instagram channel for landscape photography, which I’ve been doing for years. But I started another Instagram channel specifically for this. I post videos of my writing, but occasionally I’ll post a behind-the-scenes video. My Instagram handle is @ZevWritesTheTorah.

How do you fix mistakes? 

I have a small sander that I use. To explain why I use that, the ink gets absorbed immediately when you write on paper and is difficult to erase. But the ink rests on top with parchment – it doesn’t get absorbed immediately. So, you can take a razor blade—or, like I do, use a small mechanical sander—and scrape away the mistake and rewrite it.

Keter Torah Synagogue

What happens if you make a mistake when writing Hashem’s name?

It can be difficult. In fact, I asked my Rebbe this morning about that exact problem because I made a minor mistake when writing Hashem’s name. I think it should be okay, but I’m not 100 percent sure, so I contacted him to confirm.

The problem with making a mistake with Hashem’s name is it’s assur to erase it. Depending on the mistake, you may be able to fix it. For example, one rule is that you can’t have letters touching—each letter has to be fully surrounded by parchment. You can sometimes erase the connection if the letters are touching by just a bit, and that can apply even to shem Hashem. But once you get into the issue of possibly erasing the actual letters, it becomes much more difficult.

Is each scenario a different she’eilah?

Yes, it really depends on the type of mistake. The she’eilah I had yesterday was about going outside the margins. Normally, if you’re running out of space, you’re allowed to go outside the margins. But there’s a rule that shem Hashem has to be completely within the margins. The Mishnah Berurah and other authorities say that after the fact, it might still be okay, and there may be ways to correct it, for example, by extending the rows above and below so that shem Hashem appears within the margin. But I’m not sure that works in my case because of the surrounding letter – we’ll see what he says. Sometimes the mistake is unrecoverable. 

Does that mean the entire Torah must be redone? 

No, not at all. A sefer Torah isn’t written on one long piece of parchment. The Torah is made from individual sheets of klaf called yerios, each typically spanning three or four columns.

In the worst-case scenario—if a mistake is truly unrecoverable—you set aside the yeriah you were working on and start a new one. So, while it’s not ideal, the most you lose is a few columns, not the entire scroll.

How long would those four columns have taken you to write?

That depends on the individual. In my case, I can tell you precisely because I track it in a spreadsheet. My current rate is one column every 9.72 days.

 In the worst-case scenario, you lose over a week of work. Then what—does that yeriah become Shemos?

Yes, and you have to rewrite it. I once saw a beautifully written column in a sofer’s studio—much better than mine. As a baal koreh, I recognized the text and suddenly noticed something was off. The sofer had skipped a line—an easy mistake. That actually happened to me once while writing a megillah. I missed a line and didn’t catch it until three lines later. Since it was a megillah, I could erase and fix it. But in the case of a sefer Torah, he had already written several Shemos, so erasing wasn’t an option. The whole column had to be redone.

What kind of ink do you use?

I don’t know what it’s made of. If you go through Shulchan Aruch, they give a process for making the ink. I don’t do that—I buy it from a sofer supply store. I don’t know if the ink-making process has changed in the last 500 years. It may have.

Where does the quill come from?

There’s no rule that you must use a bird feather, but if you do, it has to come from a kosher bird. Most people use turkey feathers because they’re the strongest. I used a quill for the first megillah and most of the second one, but I was never very good at cutting them. They wear down and need to be recut or replaced. It’s hard to make quills consistently the same size, and being too large or too small affects the writing. Now I use a ceramic fountain pen. It doesn’t need sharpening, and the width is always consistent. But yes, a ceramic or even a regular fountain pen is fine.

What does your writing process look like?  

Before I start, I say L’shem Kedushas Sefer Torah V’chol HaSheimos L’shem Kedushas HaShem, meaning I’m writing for the sanctity of the sefer Torah and Hashem’s name.  I use a template beneath my writing line to guide me with spacing and spelling. This helps me keep the lines aligned, especially since some lines have more letters than others, and I need to make sure the space is evenly distributed.

When I start a new line, I check how “crowded” it is. Not all lines are equal—some have more letters or wider letters, depending on the words. I also pay special attention to the lamed, which extends above the line. If the line is crowded, I plan where to place the lamed so it doesn’t interfere with the line above and still fits within the margins.

When I complete a line, I read it over again before continuing. About halfway through Bereishis his, I mistakenly wrote the word “Eisav” without the vav. It was easy to fix, but since then, I always re-read the line and compare it to my template after finishing it.

If I make a mistake, I can’t erase it right away because I need to wait for the ink to dry. So, I use little plastic arrows—like the ones lawyers use to mark places to sign—as reminders. I stick one at the start of the line where I made the mistake and come back later to fix it.

What are some of the halachos involved? 

There’s a halacha that before writing any word, you should say it aloud. I also mention if it has a variant spelling, which happens often, to help me remember. For example, this morning, I had the word “yotzei,” which in this instance was spelled without the vav. Before writing it, I said, “yotzei, without the vav.” This practice helps me avoid spelling mistakes.
.  

There is a halachah that when one writes one of the Sheimos of Hashem, he has to sanctify it explicitly. So, before writing one of the Sheimos, I say “L’Shem Kedushas HaShem.”

I also follow a halacha that says I can’t write from memory, so I always copy from an existing text.  

How much time do you spend writing each day?

On an average weekday, I put in about an hour and a half after work. If I wake up early and can’t fall back asleep (which happens more often than you’d think), I put in another hour or so before davening. I have a daily goal of at least four lines a day. I usually meet that goal about 70% of the time. So far, I’ve completed 2,667 lines. When I started, each line took about 15 minutes; I’ve pared it down to about 12 minutes per line.

Who oversees your work?

The sofer I’m learning from. I send him regular updates, and he gives me feedback as needed.

Once it’s complete, does the whole sefer Torah get reviewed?

Yes. There’s a computer program that checks for mistakes. Each column is photographed and run through OCR software, which flags errors. I did that for both megillos I wrote. It gave me a 20-page report with mistakes—some more serious than others – and I made corrections based on that. It doesn’t fix the errors; it just points them out. The OCR is double-checked with additional software before sending the final report.

What’s your plan for the sefer Torah?

I want to keep it in my shul, Shaarei Shalom, on Avenue P and Madison, where I should be able to use it. And we only have one sefer Torah, so it would be nice to have another.

Have you allowed yourself to imagine the hachnasas sefer Torah?

Based on my projected end date, I’m still at least four or five years away, so I haven’t given it much thought. My wife, though, has thought about it a lot. She’s probably looking forward to it more than I am. And that’s fine, because honestly, I couldn’t do this without her. She can’t write it for me, but she’s been my greatest support and cheerleader.

This is really inspiring. It should be a zechus for you and your family. I hope to be there for the hachnasas Sefer Torah.

ZS: Thank you. I hope to be there too, b’ezras Hashem.

Please daven for the complete recovery of Zev Ari b-n Chana Bracha Sarah.