Two separate mishnayot in Avot (1:6, per Yehoshua ben Perachya, and 1:16, per Rabban Gamliel) urge us to take for ourselves a rav, a rabbi or teacher. Both these teachings have been extensively analysed, from the days of the earliest sages and up till today, and many different strands of advice have been teased out of them. This advice usually focuses on why a person needs a Torah teacher and/or spiritual adviser, what that person needs and how the relationship between them might function to best effect.
The implications
of this mishnah run wider than one might initially imagine. Just as the
instruction “get yourself a wife” clearly has more immediate meaning and
relevance to the person seeking a wife than it does to the prospective wife, so
too does “take for yourself a rav” speak more to the needs and interests
of the person who lacks one than to anyone who might be that rav.
Perhaps this is why commentaries on Avot so rarely examine this guidance from
the rav’s point of view.
The role of
the teacher, his aspirations and abilities, should not be overlooked. Rabbis
and teachers are not like a line of taxis at a railway station, offering highly
similar services at broadly similar prices. They have needs, feelings,
anxieties and personalised skill sets which, even if they are sometimes shared
with others, are not replicated uniformly through their ranks. It is good
sometimes to stop and think about our rabbis, and about what their education,
status and perceived duties mean to them.
With this
in mind, here are two contrasting passages that reflect huge differences in
perspective between two eminent rabbinical authors. The first, published in 1999,
reads like this:
…As a youngster, my aspiration had been to follow in my father’s
footsteps. His study was regularly frequented by people who sought his counsel.
… I soon realized that people were not seeking my services as a counselor or as
a teacher of Torah. Rather, I was expected to officiate at rituals:
bar-mitzvahs, weddings, funerals, unveilings, and whatever other ceremonial
events there might be. I was not satisfied with this superficial role, and in
order to be the counsellor I had aspired to be, I became a psychiatrist (Rabbi
Abraham J. Twerski, Visions of the Fathers, p 336.).
And here’s
the second, from 2002:
The deepest insight I received into what makes life worth living was …
when I began my career as a rabbi and had, for the first time, to officiate at
funerals. They were distressing moments, trying to comfort a family in the
midst of grief, and I never found them easy, but they were extraordinarily
instructive. In my address I had to paint a portrait of the deceased, whom I
might not have known personally, so I would talk first to the family and
friends to try to understand what he or she meant to them. Almost always they
spoke of similar things. The person who had died had been a supportive marriage
partner, a caring parent. He or she had been a loyal friend, ready to help when
help was needed. No-one ever mentioned what they earned or bought, what car
they drove, where they spent their holidays. The people most mourned were not
the most rich or successful. They were people who enhanced the lives of others.
They were kind. You could rely on them. They had a sense of responsibility.
They gave time as well as money to voluntary causes... As this pattern repeated
itself time and again, I realized that I was learning about more than the deceased.
I was being educated into what makes a life well lived (Rabbi Lord Jonathan
Sacks, The Dignity of Difference, p 80).
Neither of
these statements can be marked “right” or “wrong”. They both deal with the
experiences and responses of rabbis who were called upon to be the rav
in a sense where the skills and services demanded of them were not those they
were hoping to deliver. Rabbi Twerski’s response was to go back to the drawing
board, as it were, and re-craft himself as the effective counsellor he sought to
be, while that of Rabbi Sacks was to identify his inexperience and initial
struggle to satisfy congregational demand as the gateway to a unique learning
experience. Both rabbis clearly benefited from their respective responses and,
in doing so, were able to confer even greater on their respective publics.
In an age
of increasing specialisation, rabbis are no different to medical or legal
practitioners in that they cannot be expected to master entirely the discipline
of their calling. While the call in Avot to take for oneself a rav has not
changed, I believe that it has become a little less unusual for a rabbi to
suggest gently to a congregant in need of advice, assistance and support that
he or she should try instead another rav whose knowledge or expertise is
greater than their own. I’d be curious to know if members of this Facebook
group have any knowledge or experience of this.
