Flesh, worms and fashion

In Avot 2:8 Hillel lists five excesses in human appetite that lead to adverse consequences. The list opens with the following words:

מַרְבֶּה בָשָׂר מַרְבֶּה רִמָּה

The more the flesh, the more the worms.

The natural implication here is that gluttonous gourmandising is a bad thing. Eat too much and you become obese. In doing so, you are simply providing more nutrition for the worms who will consume your corpulent vastness when you die.

At one level this teaching seems obvious and needs no explanation. Neither of the two compendiums of largely Chasidic commentaries, the popular Hebrew collection in Mima’ayanei Netzach, and R’ Tal Moshe Zwecker’s English-language Ma’asei Avos, offers even a single word on it; nor do the Rambam,  the Sefat Emet, R’ Chaim Volozhiner (Ruach Chaim) or R’ Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avos). Those commentators who do discuss it usually content themselves with homilies about the dangers of obesity and self-indulgence or with speculation as to whether the dead feel pain when their earthly remains are consumed by worms.

Is there any more to this teaching? Apparently so, in the view of R’ Shlomo Toperoff (Lev Avot). After stating that we eat too much food and that dieting has been prescribed by many doctors, Rabbi Toperoff surprisingly adds:

“Some connect ‘more flesh’ with immodesty in dress”.

This comment is all the more surprising when one considers that Rabbi Toperoff was writing back in the 1980s, when fat-shaming was normal practice and women who were overweight were more likely to be embarrassed and therefore avoid wearing clothes that would expose or draw attention to their figure.

I have yet to discover who the “some” are, even with the assistance of the internet, and I wonder whether this explanation was just Rabbi Toperoff’s way of taking a dig at women who wear scanty clothing—an issue which is not raised explicitly anywhere else in Avot. It may be that this mishnah has been cited to that end in writings on the subject of tzni’ut, modesty in one’s manner, speech and attire. I do not however recall any citation of it in Bracha Poliakoff and R’ Anthony Manning’s Reclaiming Dignity, the largest and most compendious text on the subject in recent times.

Can Hillel’s words be taken to include immodest exposure of the flesh—or, more strictly, of the skin that covers it? Not according to R’ Asher Weiss (Rav Asher Weiss on Avos) and the many others who learn this mishnah as warning against the pursuit of worldly pleasures: exposure in this context is often if not mainly for the purpose of giving pleasure to others and, in doing so, in order to attract their attention. The same cannot be said for over-eating, the pursuit of wealth or the amassing of a large household of wives and servants of each gender—the other excesses Hillel lists in this mishnah.

Thoughts, anyone?

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"Peace": it all depends what you mean

The midrashic propensity of Aaron to make peace—and to pursue it even at the expense of literal truth—is well recorded in commentaries on Avot and has been frequently discussed in Avot Today. The commentaries attach themselves to Hillel’s teaching at Avot 1:12:

הֱוֵי מִתַּלְמִידָיו שֶׁל אַהֲרֹן, אוֹהֵב שָׁלוֹם וְרוֹדֵף שָׁלוֹם, אוֹהֵב אֶת הַבְּרִיּוֹת, וּמְקָרְבָן לַתּוֹרָה

Be among the disciples of Aaron—love peace, pursue peace, love creatures and draw them close to Torah.

But here’s a story that, while cited in support of this great man’s pursuit of peace, may not strike the right note to modern eyes. I found this passage in When a Jew seeks wisdom: The Sayings of the Fathers, by Seymour Rossel:

“If Aaron learned that a husband and his wife were about to divorce, he would hurry to the husband and say ‘I come because I hear that you and your wife are not getting along, and that you wish to divorce. But think of this: if you should divorce your present wife and marry another, you cannot be sure that your marriage would be better. For at the first quarrel that you have with your second wife, she will remind you that you are quarrelsome and no good, otherwise your first marriage would not have ended in divorce. Let me be a pledge that you and your present wife can be happy if you will both try”.

The source given for this is given as “Legends 3:329”, but the book gives no clue as to which legends these are, and I certainly don’t know. There is however a highly similar passage in one of the minor tractates of the Talmud Bavli, Kallah Rabbati 3, that reads (in translation) like this:

When [Aaron] heard of a husband and wife who had quarrelled, he would go to the husband and say to him, ‘[I have come] because I heard that you have quarrelled with your wife; if you should divorce her it is doubtful whether you will find another like her or not; and further, should you find another and quarrel with her, the first thing she will say to you will be, “You must have behaved in a like manner towards your first wife” ’. In consequence of this all Israel, men and women, loved him.

Unlike the other Aaron-the-peacemaker tales, where the great man shuttles between hostile parties and reconciles them, in these passages we see him take a very one-sided view of the husband’s marital relationship. We have no idea of how the wife views the husband. Perhaps the feeling that the marriage should end is mutual, but Aaron does not ask about this possibility. More to the point, the extent to which Aaron’s intervention establishes peace in a meaningful manner is unclear. It seems that he is not so much mending bridges and bringing peace; rather, he is urging one party to a suboptimal relationship to remain within that relationship because there is a possibility that his second marriage might be equally suboptimal or even more so.

Finally, if was ever the case in bygone times that a man would be happy with his wife because another person had made a pledge to that effect, as the first version of this story states, my personal assessment of human nature in contemporary society suggests that it is not the case now. So, I believe, we are entitled to ask whether, in these stories, Aaron is really pursuing peace—or is he kicking a personal problem down the road, or maybe asking the parties to an unhappy relationship to pretend that their problems don't exist?

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Repent through love -- or love to repent?

Teshuvah—repentance—is a core objective of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, and of Pirkei Avot itself, where the concept is mentioned on several occasions. We are told, for example, to repent one day before we die, in other words daily (Avot 2:15); we see the value of repentance as a means of warding off divine retribution (Avot 4:13) and of spending our time on Earth before we pass on to another world (Avot 4:22). We even discover that the avenue of repentance may be barred to us if we have led others astray (Avot 5:21).

Curiously, while the mishnayot promote the importance of teshuvah, they do not discuss what sort of repentance they have in mind.

Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish, one of the great Amoraim of the Babylonian Talmud (Yoma 86b), identifies two types of repentance: teshuvah me’yirah (repentance based on fear) and teshuvah me’ahavah (repentance based on love). The passage reads like this:

אָמַר רֵישׁ לָקִישׁ: גְּדוֹלָה תְּשׁוּבָה שֶׁזְּדוֹנוֹת נַעֲשׂוֹת לוֹ כִּשְׁגָגוֹת, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: ״שׁוּבָה יִשְׂרָאֵל עַד ה׳ אֱלֹקֶיךָ כִּי כָשַׁלְתָּ בַּעֲוֹנֶךָ״, הָא ״עָוֹן״ — מֵזִיד הוּא, וְקָא קָרֵי לֵיהּ מִכְשׁוֹל. אִינִי?! וְהָאָמַר רֵישׁ לָקִישׁ: גְּדוֹלָה תְּשׁוּבָה שֶׁזְּדוֹנוֹת נַעֲשׂוֹת לוֹ כִּזְכִיּוֹת, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: ״וּבְשׁוּב רָשָׁע מֵרִשְׁעָתוֹ וְעָשָׂה מִשְׁפָּט וּצְדָקָה עֲלֵיהֶם (חָיֹה) יִחְיֶה״! לָא קַשְׁיָא: כָּאן מֵאַהֲבָה, כָּאן מִיִּרְאָה.

Resh Lakish said: “Great is repentance since, on account of it, deliberate sins are accounted as inadvertent ones, as it is said: ‘Return, O Israel, to the Lord your God, for you have stumbled in your iniquity’”.  ‘Iniquity’ is deliberate, and yet the text calls it ‘stumbling’—but that is not so! For Resh Lakish said that repentance is so great that deliberate sins are accounted as though they were merits, as it is said: ‘And when the wicked person turns from his wickedness, and does that which is lawful and right, he shall live on account of it’. That is no contradiction: one verse refers to a case [of repentance] derived from love, the other to one due to fear.

The mishnayot in Pirkei Avot do not overtly distinguish between these two species of repentance. However, repentance the day before one dies sounds like a fear-response: if you don’t do it now, tomorrow may be too late and you will have to face the eternal and negative consequences of not having done so. Repentance in order to ward off retribution is likewise fear-related. But what of the other two teachings?

On the assumption that prefaces every public recitation of Avot, that every Jew has a share in the World to Come, repenting doesn’t appear to be a condition precedent for gaining admission to this promised world; rather, the teaching suggests that time spent in repentance and performing good deeds is time well spent in enhancing the quality of that keenly anticipated future state. Accordingly, both teshuvah through fear and teshuvah through fear would fit the bill.  The same would appear to apply to leading others astray being a bar to repentance.

Now for a word about repentance on Yom Kippur.

Any assessment of the prayers that comprise the main content of the day’s five services would likely point to Yom Kippur being a day for repentance through fear. In particular, repenting in order to avert the dread decree dominates the early part of the mussaf service—and the aggadic image of the books of life and death being open in front of God the great judge is vivid in the minds of many, if not most, of us. But does that mean there is no scope for teshuvah me’ahavah?

Many years ago I was privy to a conversation involving Dayan Gershon Lopian, who had stepped back from the role of Dayan of the Beit Din of London’s Federation of Synagogues in order to take responsibility for a relatively small orthodox but not especially religious community in North West London. Someone asked him about the ‘Al Chet’ section of the vidui, the lengthy confession that followed each of the day’s main prayers. What did he think of the fact that many of his congregants were cheerfully singing along to the ‘Al Chets’ with great gusto, even though they probably had little understanding of what it was that they were supposed to be confessing.

The Dayan responded that that the cheerful singing of these congregants was a perfect example of teshuvah me’ahavah: they were not repenting because they loved God, but because they loved the ritual and the routine of repentance—the tunes, the occasion, the intensity of the moment. And that, said the Dayan, was good enough for him.

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Free for all -- or pay per bottom?

For the past six weeks I have been struggling to get to grips with my latest challenge. Through no fault on my part I find that I am now President of Beit Knesset Hanassi, a largely Anglo synagogue in Jerusalem’s lovely Rechavia.  One of my first tasks is that of serving as liaison officer, as it were, between our shul and our local Chabad chasidim.

Why, you may wonder, is there any need for liaison? The answer is this: during the High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when attendance for prayer runs at higher-than-usual levels, Chabad set up a splendid white marquee in the parking lot adjacent to our premises. We set up a channel of communication, since careful neighbours make good neighbours and so that neighbourly issues could be speedily and amicably resolved. For example, would Chabad’s tent-dwellers need to use our already inadequate bathroom facilities, and would our late-comers be able to sneak beneath the canvas in order to catch the sounds of the shofar?

Well, I’m pleased to report that, after two days of neighbourly davening, we and they are still on cordial terms. Indeed, in theory is no reason why things should be different. We pray to the same God for much the same things. Yes, some of us do pray a little earlier in the day, some of us do so in rather louder voices and we are not entirely on the same page sartorially speaking, but essentially we have much in common and we subscribe to the same Torah.

Several people have however pointed out to me that there is a major difference—and it’s not a doctrinal one. Our shul charges everyone who prays with us on the Yamim Nara’im while Chabad, I have been given to understand, does not.  “How is it that they have free seats”, I have been asked several times, “but you don’t?”

I have thought about this question a great deal because it seems to me that Pirkei Avot points me to an answer.

There is actually no such thing as a free seat. When people chide me for charging people to pray in our shul, I should retort that when people say “free”, they mean “free for the person who sits in it” whereas in reality it is free to that person because its cost has been met by someone else. Whether the hire charge for the marquee and chairs is met by one or more charitable individuals, or by Chabad itself, someone paid. And even if all the hardware is lent, there is still a cost to the lender in terms of depreciation and a cost to the organisers in setting the marquee up in the first place: they pay for it with their effort, their energy and their emotional output.

Our synagogue covers most of its running costs through membership fees and through what is effectively a High Holy Day tax of 200 shekels per bottom per seat. Chabad covers its running costs by other means. Both we and they are conscious of the need to balance our books or, if we can’t, of the need to find a way of meeting any shortfall. We just do it differently.

In this context I am reminded of the teaching of Rabbi Akiva at Avot 3:20:

הַכֹּל נָתוּן בָּעֵרָבוֹן, וּמְצוּדָה פְרוּסָה עַל כָּל הַחַיִּים, הֶחָנוּת פְּתוּחָה, וְהַחֶנְוָנִי מַקִּיף, וְהַפִּנְקָס פָּתֽוּחַ, וְהַיָּד כּוֹתֶֽבֶת, וְכָל הָרוֹצֶה לִלְווֹת יָבֹא וְיִלְוֶה, וְהַגַּבָּאִין מַחֲזִירִין תָּדִיר בְּכָל יוֹם, וְנִפְרָעִין מִן הָאָדָם מִדַּעְתּוֹ וְשֶׁלֹּא מִדַּעְתּוֹ, וְיֵשׁ לָהֶם עַל מַה שֶּׁיִּסְמֽוֹכוּ, וְהַדִּין דִּין אֱמֶת, וְהַכֹּל מְתֻקָּן לִסְעוּדָה

Everything is given on security, and a net is spread over all living things. The store is open, the storekeeper extends credit, the account-book lies open, the hand writes, and all who wish to borrow may come and borrow. The bailiffs make their rounds every day and exact payment from man, with his knowledge and without his knowledge. Their case is well founded, the judgement is a judgement of truth, and ultimately, all is prepared for the feast.

Granted, Rabbi Akiva was not thinking of tents in Rechavia—but the principle is similar. Everything gets paid for in the end, and everyone pays for what they consume. We should never allow ourselves to imagine that life is just a free ride at others’ expense.

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Spot the deliberate mistake?

Today I came across a short piece, “New Year, New Song”, 0n Jewish Link (“Linking Northern and Central NJ, Bronx, Manhattan, Westchester and CT”) by Shira Sedek. There she writes:

We make mistakes, but as it says in Pirkei Avot, a Tzadik (righteous person) falls seven times and he gets back up. We may continue to make mistakes, but are we going to think we can’t change, we aren’t worthy of getting closer to Hashem, or being forgiven? No! We all need to get back up and recognize we are human and sin, ask Hashem for forgiveness, and try our best to change.

No-one would wish to argue with the basic message, but there’s a little problem.  However carefully you read Pirkei Avot, you won’t anything in it about the righteous falling seven times. This is the territory of Proverbs (Mishlei 24:16), which reads:

כִּי שֶׁבַע יִפּוֹל צַדִּיק וָקָם וּרְשָׁעִים יִכָּשְׁלוּ בְרָעָה

For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises up again, but the wicked stumble into evil.

This left me with a conundrum. Did the author not know the source of this famous quote? Or did she deliberately mis-state her source in order to illustrate the very point she seeks to make? Since the article describes her as a “passionate educator … who loves teaching Torah and inspiring her students”, I would not be at all surprised if the reference to Avot was planted deliberately in order to provoke debate.

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Now's the time to act -- forget the fig leaf!

One of my favourite reads for the month of Elul and the onset of the New Year and Yom Kippur is Rabbi Shalom Schwadron’s Kol Dodi Dofek. It has everything a good book on a tough subject (preparing oneself to repent and be judged by God) could ask for: small pages, large print, lots of short paragraphs and a text that is written in simple straightforward Hebrew.

In this book, under the heading ‘Don’t vacillate about repenting’, Rabbi Schwadron brings a short devar Torah in the name of Reb Elya Lopian, who said it in the name of the Chafetz Chaim who cites the mishnah from Avot 2:5 where Hillel teaches:

אַל תֹּאמַר לִכְשֶׁאֶפְנֶה אֶשְׁנֶה, שֶׁמָּא לֹא תִפָּנֶה

Don’t say: "When I have free time, I will study”, for perhaps you will never have any free time.

Says the Chafetz Chaim, Hillel is being kind to us when he inserts the word שֶׁמָּא (shema, “perhaps”) because the truth is that, when a person says “I’ll do it when I have the time”, he for sure isn’t going to get round to doing it. In this vein he invokes the support of Rambam (Mishneh Torah, hilchot Talmud Torah 3:7):

שֶׁמָּא תֹּאמַר עַד שֶׁאֲקַבֵּץ מָמוֹן אֶחֱזֹר וְאֶקְרָא. עַד שֶׁאֶקְנֶה מַה שֶּׁאֲנִי צָרִיךְ וְאֶפָּנֶה מֵעֲסָקַי וְאֶחֱזֹר וְאֶקְרָא. אִם תַּעֲלֶה מַחֲשָׁבָה זוֹ עַל לִבְּךָ אֵין אַתָּה זוֹכֶה לְכִתְרָהּ שֶׁל תּוֹרָה לְעוֹלָם. אֶלָּא עֲשֵׂה תּוֹרָתְךָ קֶבַע וּמְלַאכְתְּךָ עַרְאַי (משנה אבות ב ד) "וְלֹא תֹּאמַר לִכְשֶׁאֶפָּנֶה אֶשְׁנֶה שֶׁמָּא לֹא תִּפָּנֶה

Perhaps a person will say: "[I will interrupt my studies] until after I obtain funds, and then I will return and study, [I will interrupt my studies] until after I buy what I need and then, when I can divert my attention from my business, I will return and study." If you harbour such thoughts, you will never merit the crown of Torah. Rather, make your work secondary, and your Torah study a fixed matter. Do not say: "When I have free time, I will study," for perhaps you will never have free time.

The ”perhaps” in each case is not included because there is any uncertainty as to whether there will be time to study (or in our case, repent) or not. “Perhaps” is there as a fig leaf to cover the embarrassment of the person who knows he is not really to do the thing in question but who is ashamed to admit it—whether to others or to himself.

The moral of the story is that we should not make our good deeds and our fulfilment of important tasks contingent on some external factor. Nor should we delay them if we can do them now.  “If not now, when?” asks Hillel (Avot 1:14). Regarding teshuvah, repentance, Rabbi Eliezer gives him an answer: “Repent one day before the day of your death” (Avot 2:15).

So let’s not delay. Repent today! And let me not delay any further in wishing all the readers of Avot Today and its contributors a ketivah vechatimah tovah: Happy New Year! May our names be inscribed and sealed in the book of life, happiness and fulfilment for the year to come—now and not at some unspecified later time!

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Praying for the welfare of whose government?

At Avot 3:2 Rabbi Chanina Segan HaKohanim teaches:

הֱוֵי מִתְפַּלֵּל בִּשְׁלוֹמָהּ שֶׁל מַלְכוּת, שֶׁאִלְמָלֵא מוֹרָאָהּ, אִישׁ אֶת רֵעֵֽהוּ חַיִּים בְּלָעוֹ

Pray for the integrity of the government for, were it not for the fear of its authority, a man would swallow his neighbour alive.

Writing earlier this summer, Times of Israel blogger Yisroel Juskovitz (“Three Important Points for This Election Season”) has this to say:

Point Number One: Get out and vote. In Pirkei Avot (Ethics of our Fathers) we are taught “Pray for the welfare of your government, for without it, Man would be swallowed up alive.” Taking an active role in the country we live in, I believe is not just an American value, but a Jewish value as well. Voting is not just a right; it is a privilege. Our Democracy is sacred, and it should always be cherished that we live in a country where we can choose our leaders. This a privilege that many other countries do not have. We have two candidates who have very different visions for our country and their policies and performance can have long term consequences for our great nation. …

I don’t know where to start.

First, there is a somewhat anachronistic flavour to the author’s claim that “Taking an active role in the country we live in, I believe is not just an American value, but a Jewish value as well”.  Wasn’t it a Jewish value first?

Secondly, “Voting is not just a right; it is a privilege”. Is this so? It’s questionable whether being able to choose one’s leaders is a Jewish value. Our history suggests rather the opposite. The leaders we have done best with—and particularly Moses and David—were not the products of an electoral system, and I wonder how many of our prophets and rabbinical giants of bygone eras would have won a popularity poll.

Thirdly, even as an Englishman by origin, sitting here in Jerusalem many thousands of miles away, I have been unable to ignore the sheer force of the vituperation flung at Joe Biden, and now at Kamala Harris, by Donald Trump’s cohort of admirers and supporters—and nor have I been able to forget the passionate accusations and personal criticisms fired at Donald Trump while he occupied the White House. It may of course be that both sides are right and that neither Presidential candidate is a fit and proper person to govern the United States. Be that as it may, I find it hard to imagine how anyone who hurls vicious abuse at his or her own government can sincerely pray for its well-being, which is what this mishnah is actually about.

Finally, Avot teaches us to pray for the welfare of the government. But, given the options facing the electorates in so many democracies, where surging popularity is polarising the electorate and where the extremities of right and left are gaining, to the detriment of those with moderate views, I wonder whether it is the welfare of the ordinary folk who are being governed that we should be praying for, rather than that of the government.

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Is it normal to begrudge help for others?

An Avot Mishnah for Shabbat (Nitzavim-Vayelech)

This week’s perakim are Perek 5 and Perek 6. The following piece is on a mishnah from Perek 5.

At Avot 5:13 we find an anonymously-authored Mishnah that reflects on human attitudes towards property—both theirs and that of others. It reads:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בָּאָדָם: הָאוֹמֵר שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלָּךְ וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלִּי, עַם הָאָֽרֶץ. שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלִּי וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלָּךְ, זוֹ מִדָּה בֵינוֹנִית, וְיֵשׁ אוֹמְרִים זוֹ מִדַּת סְדוֹם. שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלָּךְ וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלָּךְ, חָסִיד. שֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלִּי וְשֶׁלִּי שֶׁלִּי, רָשָׁע

There are four types of people:

(i) The one who says "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is yours" — this is a middle of the road characteristic; others say that this is the character trait of Sodom.

(ii) The one who says "What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine" is an am ha’aretz [an uncultivated person].

(iii) The one who says "What is mine is yours, and what is yours is yours" is a chasid [a generous soul].

(iv) The one who says "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is mine" is wicked.

The first of these categories has generated much discussion. How can a person be both a middle-of-the-road person and someone who has the character of someone from Sodom?

Rabbenu Yonah clarifies that we are not talking here about someone who does not give charity or help others at all. Everyone agrees that such a person is evil. What we are discussing is the attitude of the giver. Some give begrudgingly, because they are afraid of the consequences in this life or the next if they do not do so. What the rabbis of the mishnah cannot agree on is whether this person’s attitude is perfectly normal or whether it is a character flaw.

Personally I like the account of Gila Ross (Living Beautifully) as to the ambiguity, or bifurcated nature if you prefer, of the “mine’s mine and yours is yours” attitude. She describes the first position of the Mishnah, that such a person as average, and contrasts it with the selfish attitude of the inhabitants of Sodom, then adds this:

“…the Mishnah calls it average for an individual, because an individual can be forgiven for their lack of sensitivity and lack of desire to give to others. However, it’s problematic when this attitude of ‘what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is yours’ becomes the prevailing viewpoint in a society. Then it becomes cruelty. As long as it’s only an individual, there will be other individuals who will step up to help those in need. If it becomes a societal thing, it becomes cruel because the poor will be neglected”.

A similar explanation can be found in R' Shlomo Toperoff's Lev Avot.

On the whole, Avot is concerned with the conduct of the individual—whether dealing with other individual or with society at large—and not with collective conduct and attitudes. But this interpretation places this mishnah among the exceptions.

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A Question of Timing

Here's a sequel to our previous post ("Committing Spiritual Suicide -- Or Killing Time?", Sunday 22 September) which offers a different perspective to humankind's temporal existence.

At Avot 2:18 Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel teaches something unusual:

הֱוֵי זָהִיר בִּקְרִיאַת שְׁמַע וּבִתְפִלָּה

Be careful with the reading of the Shema and with prayer.

In Jewish tradition there are 613 Torah mitzvot plus a very large number of commandments instituted by the rabbis. We are taught that we should treat our religious duties equally and be as conscientious in performing a small mitzvah as a large one (per Rebbi, Avot 2:1). This is because, while God knows which mitzvot carry more weight in His eyes, we don’t—and we can’t even guess what rewards they individually carry (ibid).  

Why then does Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel pick out just two commandments from the whole pack and urge us to take great care in performing them? Surely if a mitzvah is an instruction from God, that is sufficient reason for complying with it carefully—and that will apply to every mitzvah, regardless of its content.

This thought has occurred to our commentators too, and they have not failed to address it. Foremost among them is R’ Ovadyah MiBartenura, who explains that “careful” in this context means “careful to perform them at the right time”. Recitation of both the Shema and the standard daily prayers [the two are treated as a single unit since every morning and evening the one always closely follows the other] is subject to many rules and refinements in terms of the earliest and latest points in the day at which this may be done, more so than many other mitzvot. Once the latest point is passed, time for performing the mitzvah has expired. Since that time has passed and will not return, the mitzvah is lost and can never be fully replaced.

But not everything is lost. An out-of-time recitation of the Shema is still meritorious, just as is the recitation of any other paragraphs of the Torah. Yet the incentive to get one’s timing right is great: according to the Talmud (Berachot 10b), recitation of the Shema at the correct time is rated more highly than even the choice mitzvah of learning Torah. So, explains R’ Chaim Druckman (Avot leBanim), when Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel urges us to take care to recite Shema at the right time, it is on account of his concern that we should obtain maximum merit for doing so, instead of the regular reward for learning Torah. R’ Druckman adds, citing Midrash Shmuel, that the time for saying Shema and praying is both in the morning, when we may not have fully woken up, and again at night when we may be struggling to stay awake, so these are mitzvot that regularly demand an extra level of care.

Strangely, given the importance of timing in our lives today, Avot offers little positive guidance. Most of what it does say relates to not being in a hurry to do things. Thus in Avot 1:1 we are urged not to rush to deliver judgement and in Avot 4:23 Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar gives advice as to when not to placate an angry person, comfort a mourner, question someone making a vow or visit someone who is experiencing acute embarrassment.

There is however some generalised advice that can be made to address the importance of doing something on time, if we combine the force of two mishnayot from the second perek.

At Avot 2:5 Hillel teaches:

אַל תֹּאמַר לִכְשֶׁאֶפְנֶה אֶשְׁנֶה, שֶׁמָּא לֹא תִפָּנֶה

Do not say "When I am free, I will study”, for perhaps you will never be free.

While this principle explicitly references the fundamental and ongoing mitzvah of talmud Torah, of learning Torah in ever-deeper ways, it manifestly applies to almost all positive mitzvot and tackles the excuse that can float into one’s mind so easily when we have the chance to perform less enjoyable mitzvot such as visiting the sick, comforting mourners or making a kitchen kasher for the festival Pesach.

And at Avot 2:20 Rabbi Tarfon says:

הַיּוֹם קָצֵר, וְהַמְּלָאכָה מְרֻבָּה, וְהַפּוֹעֲלִים עֲצֵלִים, וְהַשָּׂכָר הַרְבֵּה, וּבַֽעַל הַבַּֽיִת דּוֹחֵק

The day is short, the work is abundant, the workers are lazy, the reward is great and the Master is insistent.

“Day” here is a metaphor for life itself. The “work” is made up of the aggregate of tasks that God has set for us, and the temptation to lapse into self-justified laziness is great. Who has not said, or at least thought, such things as “I’ve done enough of this already; it’s time someone else did it” or “mitzvah X takes so much out of me that I won’t have the energy to do mitzvot Y and Z, so I’d better not do it”?

So, combining the mishnayot of Hillel and Rabbi Tarfon, we can see that there is a sentiment that a person should not delay but should act in a timeous manner and should not put things off. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel has already shown how important this is with regard to the Shema and prayer, and we can argue that the principle that responsible timing operates for all mitzvot—a principle colourfully illustrated by R’ Chaim Volozhiner (Nefesh HaChaim) with regard to blowing the shofar on Chanukah: the blow might be perfect, with all the loftiest thoughts, but since the time is wrong there is no mitzvah.

So much for mitzvot—but how far does this apply to ordinary common-or-garden middot? This question has been troubling me for a little while and is actually the spark that kindled this post. Recently we entertained a young visitor for a few days. She was courteous and well-mannered in all respects, a genuinely welcome guest. She also offered to help clear the dishes off our dining table. The only problem was that this offer came when the table had already been so completely cleared that there was nothing left for her to do. Helping others is an excellent character trait but—as with mitzvot—timing may be critical. For those (such as the Sefer Charedim) who hold that the middot in Avot are actually mitzvot, what I have written above is arguably applicable. But most rabbis and commentators distinguish between mitzvot and middot. How might they bring the moral teachings to bear on our well-meaning visitor?

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Committing spiritual suicide -- or killing time?

Three mishnayot in the third perek of Avot contain a phrase that is difficult for us to comprehend: to be מִתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשׁוֹ, mitchayev benafsho. The first, at 3:5, is taught in the name of Rabbi Chanina ben Chachinai:

הַנֵּעוֹר בַּלַּֽיְלָה, וְהַמְהַלֵּךְ בַּדֶּֽרֶךְ יְחִידִי, וּמְפַנֶּה לִבּוֹ לְבַטָּלָה, הֲרֵי זֶה מִתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשׁוֹ

One who stays awake at night, travels alone on the road and/or turns his heart to idleness is mitchayev benafsho.

The second, at 3:9, is brought in the name of Rabbi Yaakov:

הַמְהַלֵּךְ בַּדֶּֽרֶךְ וְשׁוֹנֶה, וּמַפְסִיק מִמִּשְׁנָתוֹ וְאוֹמֵר: מַה נָּאֶה אִילָן זֶה, מַה נָּאֶה נִיר זֶה, מַעֲלֶה עָלָיו הַכָּתוּב כְּאִלּוּ מִתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשׁוֹ

One who walks along a road and studies, and interrupts his study to say, "How beautiful is this tree!", "How beautiful is this ploughed field!”—the Torah considers it as if he is mitchayev benafsho.

The third, at 3:10, we learn from Rabbi Dosta’i bar Yannai in the name of Rabbi Meir

כָּל הַשּׁוֹכֵֽחַ דָּבָר אֶחָד מִמִּשְׁנָתוֹ, מַעֲלֶה עָלָיו הַכָּתוּב כְּאִלּוּ מִתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשׁוֹ

Anyone who forgets even a single word of this learning, the Torah considers it as if he is mitchayev benafsho...

So what does is mitchayev benafsho mean? Literally it means “makes himself liable in [or ‘for’] his soul”. But this is not a phrase that is easily understood—if indeed we understand it at all.

If we consider this phrase in the context of the three mishnayot above, the first thing we see is that none of the triggers for mitchayev benafsho, the liability of one’s soul, is the breach of a Torah or rabbinical prohibition or of a failure to perform a positive precept. This could mean that the rabbis here are alluding to a special category of spiritual fault that leads to some sort of spiritual death or to the idea that a person who pursues chassidut, a higher level of piety, holiness and closeness to God than is demanded of humans in general, may incur a higher level of punishment for his failure to do so than might a person who does not seek to go the extra mile.

The second thing we notice is that, in each case, the person who puts his soul at risk is at odds with an active commitment to the life-giving force of Torah (on which see Avot 6:7). This person is off on his own and obviously up to some mischief at a time—night—which is created for learning Torah (Eruvin 65b). Or he stops right in the middle of his Torah studies to admire the physical world at the expense of the spiritual one. Again, instead of adding to his stock of Torah wisdom or at least keeping it safe, he lets it slip from his grasp. Now we can see that the spiritual fault we considered in the previous paragraph is that of demoting Torah in one’s scale of life values.

The third thing we spot is that only in the first mishnah is the term mitchayev benafsho used without any qualification. In the second and third instances we see the phrased prefaced by כְּאִלּוּ, “as if”, indicating that one’s soul, or life, is not actually at stake.

Having said that, we see is that the sages over the millennia have themselves failed to construct an edifice of consensus as to what the phrase means. Each different meaning of mitchayev benafsho produces a different level of meaning for this mishnah in which it is found. This need not be a problem. By grafting different shades of meaning into the phrase, our rabbis have made these mishnayot more nuanced and capable of bearing greater meaning—and thereby making a greater impact—than if the term had just one fixed meaning.

How then do the rabbis explain mitchayev benafsho? The commentary ascribed to Rashi passes over it the first and times it appears. But at Avot 3:9 it observes that the Satan has no permission to endanger a person for as long as that person is actively learning Torah. Stop for a minute to admire the scenery and that permission is presumably granted.  The Sefat Emet has a similar take: if one is mitchayev benafsho, it seemingly means that one loses the level of shemirah, of God guarding him, that was previously enjoyed. In each of these two cases, the person who is mitchayev is not necessarily harmed: all that has happened is that a level of immunity or protection has been stripped away.

According to the Bartenura, the act of learning Torah has prophylactic properties that protect a person against the mazikim (discussed at length in Avot Today here), regular bandits and the sort of bad happenings one experiences when alone. This explanation works for the facts of Avot 3:5, but it is unclear how far it explains the two later mishnayot. Rambam’s approach is broader, less fact-driven and more principled: mitchayev benafsho is effectively another way of saying “liable for punishment by the hand of God” (at 3:5) or “guilty of a mortal sin” (3:9 and 3:10).

Rabbis Nachman and Natan of Breslov take a practical view of mitchayev benafsho: it’s the natural consequence of not knowing, or forgetting, one’s Torah. If you don’t know your Torah, you won’t know what’s permitted and what’s permitted—and you will go through life picking up penalty points, so to speak. On this basis, no real definition or analysis of the phrase is required. Reb Chaim Volozhiner doesn’t feel any explanation is needed either, since he simply passes over it on all three occasions where it is mentioned.

Among modern rabbis and translators, mitchayev benafsho encompasses many shades of meaning. For example it is rendered as

“Endangers his soul” (Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks)

“Bears guilt for his soul” (Rabbi Dan Roth, Relevance; Gila Ross, Living Beautifully)

“Commits spiritual suicide” Dayan Gershon Lopian

“Sins against himself” Rabbi Joseph H. Hertz

“Sinned against his soul” Rabbi Yisroel Miller, The Wisdom of Avos, version 1

“Forfeited his life” Rabbi Yisroel Miller, The Wisdom of Avos, version 2

“Is worthy of death” ArtScroll Publications

“Is mortally guilty” Judah Goldin

“Is guilty against himself” R. Travers Herford, The Ethics of the Talmud

So, depending on your rabbinical preference, mitchayev benafsho can mean actual spiritual or physical death, liability for spiritual or physical death, a level of guilt that makes one deserving of such deaths, or a form of self-destruction. 

I shall leave this discussion by citing a partial commentary on Avot that doesn’t often get a mention here: Relevance: The Lost Art of Thinking, by Rabbi Dan Roth. Making reference to the first two mishnayot, he comments:

“…[O]ur Mishnah … restores a rare and almost forgotten ability—to use one’s time alone for serious reflection. You are up at night anyway. Do not squander the precious moments. Use them to get in touch with yourself. You are walking along the road. Do not kill the time. Use it wisely to give voice to your innermost thoughts. We should scout out such opportunities and, certainly, when they arise we should utilise them—for these opportunities have the potential of becoming the most worthwhile moments of our lives”.

So to be mitchayev benafsho is effectively to be held accountable for the time we waste and which we fail to make worthwhile.  It’s a lovely message, a highly positive one, even though I suspect that the authors of our mishnayot might struggle to see this message as something that leaps out from the words they chose.

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It's not easy to give -- or is it?

An Avot Mishnah for Shabbat (Parashat Ki Tavo)

This week’s perakim are Perek 3 and Perek 4. The following piece discusses a mishnah from Perek 3.

The importance of tzedakah (charity) within the life of every Jew is fundamental. Embedded in Tanach and in midrash, it needs no proof texts here. But how far should one go in performing acts of charity? At Avot 3:8 Rabbi Elazar Ish Bartota sets the scene by suggesting that there is no possession in our hands that we can ringfence or regard as sacrosanct, and exempt from the mitzvah of tzedakah, since whatever we have we hold as trustees of God:

תֶּן לוֹ מִשֶּׁלּוֹ, שֶׁאַתָּה וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלּוֹ. וְכֵן בְּדָוִד הוּא אוֹמֵר: כִּי מִמְּךָ הַכֹּל וּמִיָּדְךָ נָתַֽנּוּ לָךְ

Give Him what is His, for you, and whatever is yours, are His. As David says: "For everything comes from You, and from Your own hand we give to You" (I Divrei Hayomim 29:14).

Here Rabbi Elazar Ish Bartota is only telling us not to be too fond of our worldly goods. Elsewhere in Avot, at 5:13, we learn that a person who says “what’s mine is yours; what’s yours is yours” is a chasid—someone whose kindness exceeds the usual norm. The two mishnayot operate in different spheres: one speaks to a person’s relationship with God, the other to that person’s relationship with other people. It is possible to agree with Rabbi Elazar Ish Bartota that everything comes from God, yet focus one’s generosity on inanimate objectts such as the purchase of books or the procurement of a Sefer Torah, while contributing to neither public causes such as food kitchens for the poor, nor to the needs of individuals.

In life we can and do learn not just from what people say but from what they do. The Talmud supplies us with evidence that Rabbi Elazar Ish Bartota—who was not a wealthy man—was committed to helping his fellow humans. At Ta’anit 24a we learn how he was so generous with his assets that even the charity collectors would hide when they saw him coming.

As a contemporary slant on this ancient teaching, R’ Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avos) adds a practical note:

“We live in an age of generational decline and verbal inflation. Whereas the term “mesirus nefesh” used to mean literally sacrificing life itself for Hashem (e.g. choosing death rather than worship idols), today the term is commonly used to praise anyone who gives up much time and comfort for Torah and mitzvos. Praiseworthy as such sacrifices are, Rabbi Elazar is saying that is can be made easier if we develop the attitude that ‘sacrifice’ is not actually sacrificing anything at all.

Imagine someone who truly thinks of their own bank account as belonging totally to Hashem. The Divine Owner graciously allows him to take whatever he needs, but asks him to generously distribute a portion to other needy people as well. With that attitude, giving tzedakah is not a ‘sacrifice’ but a naturally pleasant activity.

Such attitudes are not easy to develop, but many people adopt the stratagem of putting a percentage of every paycheck into a separate tzedakah account. Once deposited, it is no longer seen as ‘mine’ and is much easier to give away wholeheartedly”.

The fact that so many people today run charity accounts is a positive endorsement of the wisdom of R’ Miller’s words—though a cynic might comment that these charity accounts are generally tax-efficient, which makes it even easier to give one’s money away wholeheartedly.

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Judgementalness and a call for fresh glasses

“Pirkei Avot: Judges vs. Lawyers” is the title of the second Times of Israel blogpost by Rabbi Elchanan Poupko to feature on Avot Today*. I flagged when it was first posted—all the way back on 22 July—and then lost sight of before I could write about it. Well, now I’ve found it again, so here goes [strange but true: at any given time I have somewhere between 60 and 100 ideas for Avot Today posts, mainly flagged with brightly coloured pieces of sticky paper, which get my attention anything between a day and a couple of years after I first spot them].

R' Poupko references the mishnah at Avot 1:8 in which Yehudah ben Tabbai says:

כְשֶׁיִּהְיוּ בַּעֲלֵי הַדִּין עוֹמְדִים לְפָנֶֽיךָ, יִהְיוּ בְעֵינֶֽיךָ כִּרְשָׁעִים, וּכְשֶׁנִּפְטָרִים מִלְּפָנֶֽיךָ יִהְיוּ בְעֵינֶֽיךָ כְּזַכָּאִין, כְּשֶׁקִּבְּלוּ עֲלֵיהֶם אֶת הַדִּין

When the litigants stand before you, consider them both as being guilty [literally, ‘wicked’]; and when they leave your courtroom, regard them as being righteous since they have accepted upon themselves the judgement.

On this R’ Poupko comments:

The Mishna … speak[s] about the need to see the parties as guilty until the judgment is over, at which point we must see them as righteous. Humans have an immense need to see people in black and white, good and evil, my side or my enemy’s side, and countless other binary names. The Mishna is teaching us that how we relate to people does not have to be set in stone, as much as it depends on the circumstances. You can be a fierce opponent of someone on the athletic playing field and their best friend once you get off that field. You can see someone in a certain way while you are a judge, but in a completely different way once you get off that judging seat. You can see a person a certain way once they have committed a crime and in a completely different way once they have gone through their process of atonement. We must all have that ability. Yesterday’s foe can be today’s friend. Last year’s enemy can be this year’s ally and friend. Always try and put on fresh glasses, and see people in a positive way.

I remember as a child starting one year with the teacher announcing they have not read any of the reports from previous years on any of the students and feeling this is an opportunity for me to improve and start a fresh bringing. The Mishna obliges the judges to suspect people who come in front of them for judgment, but to also make sure they drop that judgmentalness once the matter has been resolved.

This post raises a couple of questions, of which an obvious one relates to the relationship between this mishnah and Yehoshua ben Perachyah’s teaching at Avot 1:6 that one should judge other people favourably. There is no real contradiction between these two teachings. Yehudah ben Tabbai proposes a process that leads to a judge viewing both parties in a favourable light, even though he not only knows that only one of them is in the right but he is the decisor who determines which of the two it is. Regarding both as being guilty is not the conclusion reached by the judge but an artificial step in the judicial process, the starting point for establishing liability but not its destination. R’ Poupko’s classroom is not a courtroom; the new teacher is wise to start with a clean slate when assessing the children and to seek to rely on fresh evidence: the previous year’s reports are merely hearsay.

A further question relates to the way we view people with whom we compete. Is R’ Poupko justified in equating them with people we judge? It is improbable that this thought would have occurred to Yehudah ben Tabbai, who lived at a time when sports and competition between individuals was a characteristic of Greco-Roman rather than Jewish culture. To be honest, I’m not sure that the sports scenario comfortably fits the mishnah even now. However, if R’ Poupko’s message is that competitive spirit should not be taken personally and allowed to descend into judgmentalism, it is hard to object to it.

As usual, readers’ insights are hugely appreciated.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

* The first Times of Israel blogpost from R’ Poupko that we discussed, ‘Please don’t let me be misunderstood’, can be found on this blog here and on theAvot Today Facebook Group here.

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Four ways to tackle a mishnah

Gila Fine (The Madwoman in the Rabbi’s Attic, Maggid, published earlier this year) describes four ways in which we can respond to a Talmudic text. It seems to me that what she writes is equally valid with regard to any Mishnaic text that relates to middot (guidance on best behavioural practice) and therefore especially to Pirkei Avot.

When faced with a mishnah that appears inimical to our views or hostile to our values, the application of Gila Fine’s analytical framework gives us a choice of four options:

Rejection: the distance between the mishnah’s teaching and the reader is so great that it ceases to be a source of religious authority for the reader, who simply walks away.

Accommodation: the reader is so determined to relate to the mishnah that he or she will accept its values in their totality, sacrificing one’s own personal opinions and identity in the process.

Subjection: the reader is enabled to relate to the mishnah as a result of interpreting or misinterpreting it in a way that is compatible with personal values and contemporary thought. In this way, “the text loses its integrity so that the readers may maintain theirs”.

Negotiation: the reader retains his or her opinions but does not discard those expressed in the mishnah. We must accept ourselves for what we are—but must also accept our ancient teachings for what they are too. Having done so, we must engage in dialogue with the text and negotiate a living and meaningful relationship.

Prima facie, this fourfold categorisation of approaches to the teachings of the Tannaim and Amoraim should be extremely helpful. It ideally enables us to understand more fully the positions of commentators on Pirkei Avot. When we read any of the commentaries, and particularly those written in English since the end of the Second World War, we should soon be able recognise the writer’s attitude towards not just mishnayot but on social, political and religious matters too. The only problems, it seems to me, lie in the fact that so many commentators hedge their bets, as it were, either by offering explanations from more than one viewpoint or by appearing to take a position that does not clearly belong to a single category. Of the four, rejection and accommodation are easy to identify, but subjection and negotiation may appear to blend into each other and subjection may arguably be the fruit of negotiation.

Here's a practical exercise that you can apply to yourselves.

I have listed three teachings from Avot below and invite you to monitor your own reaction to them. Ask yourselves in all honesty how you treat them. Do you (i) reject them entirely, (ii) buy into them unquestioningly, (iii) recast the text in a way that you feel comfortable with or (iv) accept your discomfort with the text but try to accommodate yourself to it?

As alternative, you can check these teachings out in your favourite commentary and categorise the author’s comments. Do they reflect the same approach throughout or is the author’s technique eclectic?

Example 1: Most regular Avot readers have such strong opinions about the third part of Yose ben Yochanan Ish Yerushalayim’s teaching at Avot 1:5 (the notorious bit about not speaking too much with married women) that I’ve decided to pass it over in favour of the less heavily debated first and second parts of it:

יְהִי בֵיתְךָ פָּתֽוּחַ לִרְוָחָה, וְיִהְיוּ עֲנִיִּים בְּנֵי בֵיתְךָ

Let your home be wide open, and let the poor be members of your household. 

How do you respond? Reject? Submit? Accommodate? Negotiate?

Example 2: At Avot 3:17 Rabbi Akiva opens his mishnah with the following:

שְׂחוֹק וְקַלּוּת רֹאשׁ, מַרְגִּילִין אֶת הָאָדָם לְעֶרְוָה

Jesting and frivolity accustom a person to sexual promiscuity.

This is expressed as a statement of fact rather than as an injunction, which gives much scope for all four of the approaches Gila Fine outlines.

Example 3: At Avot 4:11 Rabbi Yonatan says:

כָּל הַמְקַיֵּם אֶת הַתּוֹרָה מֵעֹֽנִי, סוֹפוֹ לְקַיְּמָהּ מֵעֹֽשֶׁר, וְכָל הַמְבַטֵּל אֶת הַתּוֹרָה מֵעֹֽשֶׁר, סוֹפוֹ לְבַטְּלָהּ מֵעֹֽנִי

Whoever fulfils the Torah in poverty will ultimately fulfil it in wealth; and whoever neglects the Torah in wealth will ultimately neglect it in poverty.

Like Example 2, this is also a statement. But is it a statement of fact or a statement of probability? Does it require compliance? What is it doing here?

I accept that Gila Fine’s fourfold categorisation was not designed for the purpose of this exercise, but I do hope that it can help us achieve a greater and deeper understanding—not of the mishnayot of Avot but of our own responses to these ancient teachings.

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What does it mean to take care?

An Avot Mishnah for Shabbat (Parashat Ki Teitze)

This week’s pre-Shabbat post returns to Perek 2.

There is no piece of advice that is given—or ignored—more frequently than the injunction: “Take care!”   From our earliest days as children, we hear these words from our parents and elders. When we grow up, the refrain is taken up by our partners and peers, and when we grow old we receive them from our children. It doesn’t matter what we are doing: going out in the rain, playing in the park, climbing a ladder, lifting a suitcase or descending the stairs. We are always told: “Be careful! Take care!” The most annoying thing about this instruction is that it usually comes without the information we really need to know about what care needs to be taken and how we should take it.

Given the prevalence of this unwanted advice, it is almost a disappointment to read Avot 2:18, where Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel teaches three lessons. The first two of them are clearly connected, since both address prayer, and they are at first sight no more than the usual caution to take care:

הֱוֵי זָהִיר בִּקְרִיאַת שְׁמַע וּבִתְפִלָּה. וּכְשֶׁאַתָּה מִתְפַּלֵּל, אַל תַּֽעַשׂ תְּפִלָּתְךָ קְבַע, אֶלָּא רַחֲמִים וְתַחֲנוּנִים לִפְנֵי הַמָּקוֹם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: כִּי חַנּוּן וְרַחוּם הוּא, אֶֽרֶךְ אַפַּֽיִם וְרַב חֶֽסֶד, וְנִחָם עַל הָרָעָה

Be zahir (careful) in reciting the Shema and in tefillah (prayer). When you do pray, do not make your prayers routine, but [pleas for] mercy and supplication before the Almighty, as it says: “For He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, abundant in lovingkindness, and He has a gentle touch with the bad…”

Why does Rabbi Shimon take the trouble to tell us to be careful when we say Shema and when we pray? Is it not obvious that we should do so? And why should we take the trouble to study and internalise this message? If we are seriously committed to our religious practice, aren’t we doing it anyway? And, if we are not, this advice is hardly going to change us.

Rabbenu Yonah, the Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi explain that this mishnah addresses the need to say Shema at the right time. But since this is in any event a matter of halachah, Jewish law, we might wonder why it might be necessary to add a Mishnaic warning to take care. Perhaps sensing this, the Me’iri posits that the reason for taking care in reciting Shema and prayer is that it enhances one’s recognition of one’s Creator and one’s ability to become close to Him. The Chida (Ahavah beTa’anugim) sees it as being literally a wake-up call, since Shema and tefillah are the first two big events we have to deal with after we have dragged ourselves sluggishly out of bed. Another possibililty is that this mishnah is a corrective, since a person might be tempted to cut corners in saying Shema and tefillah in order to leave more time to learn Torah (R’ Chaim Pelagi, Einei Kol Chai; R’ Dovid Pardo, Shoshanim LeDavid).

The Shema and prayer aren’t by any means the only things our Sages tell us to take care over. For example, in the fourth perek Rabbi Yehudah tells us (Avot 4:16) to be zahir in our learning. There’s also another we find for being careful: in Avot 1:1 the Men of the Great Assembly warn us to be matunim badin (painstakingly careful in judgement). Again, I would have assumed that it was a no-brainer that judges should take care in deciding the cases before them, so why should there be any need for a warning?

I sometimes wonder if there isn’t some connection between these two mishnayot. Judges are told to be matunim, while people reciting Shema or praying are told to be zahir. Why aren’t judges told to be zehirim and why aren’t we supposed to be matunim?

With judges there is an extra element of taking care. This ideally involves hearing and discussing a case and then taking a break, sleeping on one’s reason for reaching a conclusion and then reassessing it afresh. That is the highest form of taking care since it not only demands a careful rethink but also allows a judge’s subconscious thoughts and perspectives to come to the forefront of his mind.  We want our judges to be matunim, to leave that space for mature reflection, rather than for them to be merely zehirim.

But when we recite Shema or pray, our care-taking is of a different order. Yes, we must be zehirim, we must say the words correctly, at the due time and with the necessary degree of thought and intention—but we may not be matunim and take a break in order to consider our performance of these commandments in greater depth.  We must complete the task of recitation or prayer in a single session,

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Truth, Science and Metaphor: where mishnah meets midrash

We live in an age in which truth has, for many people, ceased to be an absolute quality but the product of individual choice. You have your truth, I have mine. This choice between competing truths is often based on an earlier choice as to which of a number of competing narratives one accepts. The concept of the relative truth needs no further explanation here, but there is one truth-related issue that affects some of the mishnayot in Avot: the use of metaphor and parable in establishing the meaning of a teaching.

An obvious candidate for explanation via non-literal devices is Avot 5:23, where Yehudah ben Teyma says:

הֱוֵי עַז כַּנָּמֵר, וְקַל כַּנֶּֽשֶׁר, רָץ כַּצְּבִי, וְגִבּוֹר כָּאֲרִי, לַעֲשׂוֹת רְצוֹן אָבִֽיךָ שֶׁבַּשָּׁמָֽיִם

Be bold as a leopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer and mighty as a lion to do the will of your Father in Heaven.

The basic idea is that someone who wants to serve God should do so in the optimum manner, doing His will with speed, efficiency and good grace, even if it involves a good deal of effort. But, rabbis being what they are, many have mined aggadic material in order to bring out further meanings.

R’ Shlomo Toperoff does this in Lev Avot in a manner which, though traditional and well precedented by many commentators from earlier eras, may make uncomfortable reading for the modern reader who might mistake aggadic traditions for scientific truths. Here are a couple of examples:

“[A] characteristic of the eagle is that it flies with its young on its back, and this serves a dual purpose. The eagle teaches its young to fly at a tender age, but it also shows gentleness and concern for its young by protecting it from the arrows of missiles … The eagle carries its young above its wings so that no harm befall it…”

and

“The Rabbis add, ‘As the gazelle, when it sleeps, has one eye open and one eye closed, so when Israel fulfils the will of God He looks on them with two eyes, but when they do not fulfil the will of God He looks at them with one eye’…”.

As for eagles’ wings, we have a reference point in the Torah itself where, at Shemot 19:4 and Devarim 32:11 we read of being carried on eagles’ wings as being the epitome of safe, protected travel; we also understand the contrast between the eagle’s fierce and predatory attitude towards its prey and the care it expends on its young. But, unless there has been a dramatic change in nature or in the behaviour of birds, we can see that eagles do not actually carry their young on their backs as they fly through the air. If the egrets could even mount the parent bird’s back, they would fall off in the course of its flight. This would have been known to the Tannaim too, since eagles were far more common in earlier times when humans occupied less of the planet and the environment was more favourable to their lifestyle.

As for deer, the few mammals that sleep with an eye (or two) open include dolphins, whales, and fruit bats. Giraffes enter a state of semi-somnolence in which their eyes remain half open and their ears twitch. The deer family, however, do not. No matter, the midrash on Shir HaShirim (‘Song of Songs’) is not teaching us nature studies: it contains a different, more profound message. The notion of God’s oversight of our lives being proportionate to our attention to His will is important and it does not depend on the literal truth of the midrash.

We face a dilemma when dealing with metaphors that apparently contradict science. Do we teach them as they stand, as countless generations of our forebears have done, do we explain the moral they encapsulate but make excuses for their factual accuracy—or do we take them as literal truths?

I ask this question because I have had some troubling conversations on this topic. One was with a friend who became angry and disaffected with his Judaism when it was pressed upon him by a friendly and respected rabbi that the gestation period for snakes was seven years (Bechorot 8a; sadly, the object of this aggadah was not to teach anything about snakes but to illustrate the wisdom of our sages). The other was with a contemporary rabbi who insisted—and still insists—that birds can fly on a single wing, notwithstanding all practical and theoretical considerations to the contrary (see Tosafot to Shabbat 49a on the tale of Elisha ba’al kanofayim).

My feeling is that we should not throw the baby out with the bathwater and discard a colourful if sometimes literally inexact body of aggadic scholarship that has served us so well throughout our history. We should however be on our guard and make it plain, when teaching it, that what we are concerned about is the message, not the factual scenario through which the message is transmitted.

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