18 Therefore shall ye lay up these my words in your heart and in your soul, and bind them for a sign upon your hand, that they may be as frontlets between your eyes.
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What does the sacred writer mean when he calls people to "bind on the hand" and "fasten above the eyes" the words of the Torah? At first glance, this call can be understood only allegorically, as a call always to have the Torah before one's eyes and to be guided by it every minute, measuring every action against it. But taking into account the historical realities of the era in which the book was written, one can suppose that a literal understanding of the text in this case also has its meaning. Amulets in pagan antiquity were extremely widespread; they were often worn on the hands and on the forehead, using them as protective charms. And the author of the book, as is evident, calls for replacing these sacred amulets with something like small plates or medallions with a text from the Torah.
At first glance such a replacement seems a simple formality: after all, it will not automatically make the wearer of such signs a believer. The author does not accidentally remind us that the Torah must be present first of all in the human heart, defining all his inner life, his "soul." But besides inner life there is also outer life, which in those times was permeated with paganism not only at the state and public level, but also at the everyday level. Paganism formed that fabric of life which determined its everyday quality, and it was precisely this fabric that absolutely had to be cleansed of paganism. Of course, replacing some symbols with others was still far from enough. But doing without such a replacement was impossible as well.
Indeed, the everyday life of fallen man consists in many respects of half-conscious habits, of that automatism which often makes a person act before he has time to think about what he is doing, and even before he has time to understand that he should stop and think. And the habitual environment recreates such behavioral patterns, closing a circle from which it proves far from simple to break free. Then a very understandable and natural thought is born in the sacred writer in such a situation: what if, within this very habitual environment, where the eye is accustomed to seeing familiar pagan symbols, one placed instead something that would remind not of paganism but of the Torah, not of gods but of God?
Of course, such a replacement by itself still guarantees nothing. But at least it gives everyone living in the habitual circle one more chance to break out of it. And therefore a chance to set out on the path of righteousness, which in the end leads the one walking it into the Kingdom.