So what does it really mean to love peace?

We are all peace-lovers, one way or another. Even warmongers pay lip-service to peace, extolling its virtues even if what they have in mind is peace on their own terms. Is it necessary, then, for anyone to remind us to love peace? Presumably it is because, when R’ Yehudah HaNasi compiled Avot, the first of Hillel’s teachings to be included addresses exactly that topic:

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

[In translation] Be among the disciples of Aaron—love peace, pursue peace, love people and draw them close to the Torah.

The fact that we have often discussed this mishnah suggests that there is plenty to say about it. Here’s another perspective, one I came across recently in Avodat Yisrael of R’ Yisrael Shabbetai, the Maggid of Kozhnitz.

“Peace” in this mishnah is usually assumed to be peace between enemies or parties who are in dispute with one another. Not so, the Maggid suggests. Here “peace” is a higher objective—that which should exist between Israel and their Father in Heaven. With this sort of peace in mind, a true talmid of Aharon has licence to rebuke the Jewish people constantly in order to draw them towards God’s service.

The Maggid is not the only person to take the view that what Hillel means is peace between us and God. The same thought is expressed by R’ Chaim Palagi in his Einei Kol Chai, where he bases it on his reading of a midrash (Midrash Tanchuma, Pinchas 1) that emphasises the importance of peace in various contexts. The Maharal also alludes to this notion, in the midst of a far longer discussion in his Derech Chaim. But it is stated quite bluntly by the Maggid.

One’s first response to this proposition might be to reject it outright. Aharon’s midrashic persona is synonymous with the making of peace between quarrelsome individuals. In contrast, neither in the Torah nor in midrash do we find him rebuking the masses. Rather, the opposite seems to be the case. When the people clamour for a replacement for the missing Moshe, he does not chide them but actually facilitates the making of the Golden Calf, and when Korach and his fellow rebels challenge both his and Moshe’s leadership status he remains silent and lets Moshe do the rebuking. So what might the Kozhnitz Maggid mean?

I think we can safely assume that the Maggid was familiar with all the midrashim about Aharon’s shuttle-style peace-making and would also have known that their application to this mishnah has been widely and routinely followed. On this basis, I believe that the Maggid was not contradicting the accepted wisdom when boldly saying that what is meant here is peace between Israel and their Father in Heaven. Rather, he was adding to it.

When we try to make peace between our fellow humans, it is usually a matter of resolving a dispute or disagreement between family members, businessmen, scholars that generates unpleasantness or friction. Our objective is to remove any hard feelings, to soothe the friction so that we do not have to live with their consequences: raised voices, recriminations, retribution or revenge. We believe, with some justification, that we have succeeded once all the noise dies down and everyone goes about their lives again in what we adjudge to be a normal manner.

Perhaps the Maggid is pointing us to a higher perspective. Peace is not just a cessation of words and deeds. It is a state of mind in which, if we love God and see the divine in each other, we can develop a positive attitude in which we contribute something with added value to other people’s lives as a token of our love for God. If the peace we love is not just the aftermath of a squabble but a sense of balance, of equilibrium between us as a community and the God who made us in His image, we are getting closer to Aharon’s ideal.

Beyond understanding

Tisha b’Av (the 9^th day of Av) is almost upon us. This is the day on which we remember, among other things, the destruction of the First and Second Temple, the sack of Jerusalem and the expulsion of the Jewish people from the land God promised and then gave them. We mark the day with prayer, fasting, reading the Book of Lamentations and various other practices that are associated with mourning and solemnity; some of these extend even to midway through the following day.

One of the traditional features of Tisha b’Av observance is the recital of kinnot, verses of lamentation which describe the suffering of the Jewish people not just in the Temple era but throughout our subsequent history. Some kinnot are of ancient provenance; others are sadly recent and commemorate the Holocaust—an event still within the memory of the last few remaining survivors of its horrors.

 Until relatively recent times, kinnot were simply chanted one after the other by Jews in mourning mode, sitting on the floor of the synagogue, without a break and without any explanation. There is now however a popular and increasingly widespread trend towards the selection of only a sample of kinnot, each of which being introduced in turn by a rabbi or congregant who could say something about its structure, function and content. If one is to understand the kinnot this is generally necessary, since many are replete with embedded biblical references, complex rhyming schemes, acrostic coding and occasionally baffling if vivid imagery.

Hillel (Avot 2:5) teaches:

אַל תֹּאמַר דָּבָר שֶׁאִי אֶפְשַׁר לִשְׁמֽוֹעַ שֶׁסּוֹפוֹ לְהִשָּׁמַע

Translation: Don’t say anything that is impossible to understood when its objective is to be understood.

This teaching might well be aimed at the authors of some of the kinnot, where it is difficult to pick up the meaning on a first reading even if one’s Hebrew is good, because of their allusive references and poetical style. For us, sometimes grappling with them at a distance of many centuries since they were penned, the problem is even harder, but even contemporaries who were not scholars may have struggled to grasp their full meaning.

I have thought about this often. My conclusion is that the authors of the kinnot have not failed the Hillel test. There are two possible reasons for this. The first is that, while we now have a corpus of kinnot that are printed and widely distributed at little cost throughout the Jewish world, some of them would have been written with specific communities, or even individuals, in mind, and they would have been well understood by their intended audiences. The second is that some of them reflect the personal feelings of their author and may have been written as a sort of therapy, as a way of trying to make sense of events that are too big for many people to accommodate easily, or at all, within the emotional and intellectual frame of one’s own existence.  

So, if we cannot understand the kinnot the way we would like, it would be unfair to blame their authors.

When two giants meet: a modern midrash?

It is axiomatic that our Torah learning should always be fresh and exciting. Even when we are reviewing the same passages of biblical text, the same laws, the same parables and tales for what seems like the thousandth time, they should be as new and challenging to us as if we had never met them before. If they feel stale and boring, it is for us to make the effort to generate a tangible sense of excitement when we encounter them. This is why, at Avot 1:4, when Yose ben Yo’ezer Ish Tzeredah urges us to open our homes to Torah scholars, he says: “drink in their words with thirst”.

To illustrate this, R’ Chaim Druckman (Avot LeBanim) cites a story told of the celebrated American composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein visiting the iconic Spanish artist Pablo Picasso, whom he found painting the railing (ma’akah) at the studio where he worked. Calling in on Picasso for a second time on the following day, Bernstein was surprised to find him painting the same railing again. When Picasso was doing exactly the same thing when Bernstein called in on him a third time, the composer asked him what was the point of painting the same railing every day. Responding with great feeling, Picasso said: “So they say you are an artist—but don’t you understand anything about art! Can’t you see with your own eyes that I’m not painting the same railing at all!”

The point, explains R’ Druckman, is that, if Picasso could find some chiddush, something new, when painting and repainting the same ma’akah, how much more so do we need to learn Torah in a way that is fresh to us every day. I am curious to know the provenance of this strange story, since there appears to be no factual basis for it. Though the lives of both Bernstein and Picasso are both well documented, I have found no evidence that they ever met at all.  I even tried to trace the tale on the hypothesis that it was not Leonard Bernstein but another musical Bernstein, Elmer (composer of the movie themes for The Great Escape and The Magnificent Seven), who may have visited Picasso, but to no avail.

That Picasso was painting a railing can however be explained. In 1953 he painted a picture, La Balustrade, which is illustrated here. La Balustrade is the French word for ma’akah and in English this work is known as The Railing. If Picasso was painting and repainting the railing that forms the most prominent feature of that work, his repetition and quest for a fresh visual image would be perfectly explicable.

I suspect that this is a made-up tale, a sort of modern midrash that is designed both to provide a powerful illustration of an important point and to show that it is understood not only within the world of Jewish scholarship but in secular society too. If any reader can assist me in finding out where it originated, or how R’ Druckman got to hear of it, I should be most grateful.

There is a further issue to consider: is it right to tell a story involving real people in order to illustrate a point that one is validly making, if it never actually happened. On the one hand, there are those who oppose this practice on the basis that it is bringing sheker, falsehood, into the world. Against that, there are those who feel that the end justifies the means and that if that is the best way to teach a principle -- and particularly a Torah-based principle -- there should be no objection to it. In our own tradition we have midrashim that contain tales that are powerful and vivid aids to our understanding. Some may be true, some may not -- and some certainly cannot since they cannot be reconciled with other midrashim or even the Tanach. But these midrashim were composed by scholars of a bygone age who were far closer to the giving of the Torah than we are, and whose words have received the approbation of Torah scholars ever since. Does that mean that we have a precedent that permits us to do the same thing, or that we certainly should not?

Don't touch, don't even talk?

As an enthusiastic promoter of Pirkei Avot, I spend a lot of time, and even more thought, in trying to make its advice and guidance both relevant and useful in this current version of our ever-changing world. Only occasionally do I find myself on the back foot, having to defend a mishnah or baraita from critics who take the words of the Tannaim literally, seek to distort them or deem them to be simply inapplicable or irrelevant in the world we share today.

The mishnah that people find most provocative is not difficult to find. At Avot 1:5 Yose ben Yochanan Ish Yerushalayim says:

יְהִי בֵיתְךָ פָּתֽוּחַ לִרְוָחָה, וְיִהְיוּ עֲנִיִּים בְּנֵי בֵיתְךָ, וְאַל תַּרְבֶּה שִׂיחָה עִם הָאִשָּׁה, בְּאִשְׁתּוֹ אָמְרוּ, קַל וָחֹֽמֶר בְּאֵֽשֶׁת חֲבֵרוֹ. מִכַּאן אָמְרוּ חֲכָמִים: כָּל הַמַּרְבֶּה שִׂיחָה עִם הָאִשָּׁה, גּוֹרֵם רָעָה לְעַצְמוֹ, וּבוֹטֵל מִדִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה, וְסוֹפוֹ יוֹרֵשׁ גֵּיהִנֹּם

[Translation] Let your home be wide open, and let the poor be members of your household. But do not engage in excessive conversation with a woman. This is said even regarding one's own wife—how much more so regarding the wife of another. Hence, the sages say: one who engages excessively in conversation with a woman causes evil upon himself, neglects the study of Torah, and in the end will inherit Gehinnom.

It's easy to see why these words might trigger offence, and not just among women. Men and women in contemporary society speak together on an unlimited range of topics and in a vast array of circumstances without any thought of impropriety, so why should the Tanna assume that conversations—whether short, medium or long—should cause any sexual immorality? Are people’s morals so low? And have they so great an appetite and so little self-control?

 A recently published book, Reclaiming Dignity: A Guide to Tzniut for Men and Women, sets out to explain the halachic basis on which men and women should coexist in Jewish society today. In doing so it has not given itself the luxury of ducking any issues, which is why it has had to address this increasingly unpopular mishnah. This is how the authors open their discussion:

“The Rabbis warned about certain modes of social interaction that can lead us into dangerous situations. Idle banter between men and women in certain settings can easily become sexually suggestive, opening up possibilities for seduction and potentially destructive relationships.

It is clear that the Rabbis never prohibited men and women from speaking to each other in regular societal interactions that are free from sexual tension and innuendo. Nevertheless, the starting point of any conversation about interaction and mixing between men and women, or boys and girls, must be an awareness that la’petach chattat rovetz” (Bereshit 4:7). Even though we are capable of overcoming temptation in our daily lives, sin crouches at the doorways of social interactions, and the dangers of the slippery slope are real.

However, the Rabbis were also deeply cognizant of two other meta-principles that impact on this area: First, that the honest intentions of individuals can be a major factor, and second, that the specific safeguards that are needed and appropriate will depend to a significant extent on how normal it is in that society for men and women to mix, and consequently, the effect that such mixing will have on their social interactions…”

There then follows a lengthy but mature and well-balanced discussion of mixing and social interaction between the sexes in Jewish circles, in which halachah is neither hidden from view nor demonised. Rather, a number of rabbinical statements that prohibit, restrict or permit such interactions are placed within their context. This chapter also addresses the psychological elements that affect a person’s behaviour, such as habituation and, at the opposite extreme, hypersensitivity.

Ultimately, whatever the halachic norms, we depend in the real world on two things: self-control and good education. A person who can exercise self-control and who understands and appreciates the value of the norms of acceptable behaviour within his or her community will be better able to create and sustain friendships and relationships.

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Reclaiming Dignity: A Guide to Tzniut for Men and Women, a compilation of essays edited by Bracha Poliakoff and with a halachic analysis by Rabbi Anthony Manning, was published earlier this year by Mosaica Press, Inc.

 

When it's time to raid the fridge...

For many contemporary Jewish scholars, the Baraita at Avot 6:4 is challenging. It reads like this:

כַּךְ הִיא דַּרְכָּהּ שֶׁל תּוֹרָה: פַּת בְּמֶֽלַח תֹּאכֵל, וּמַֽיִם בִּמְשׂוּרָה תִּשְׁתֶּה, וְעַל הָאָֽרֶץ תִּישָׁן, וְחַיֵּי צַֽעַר תִּחְיֶה, וּבַתּוֹרָה אַתָּה עָמֵל, אִם אַתָּה עֽוֹשֶׂה כֵּן, אַשְׁרֶֽיךָ וְטוֹב לָךְ, אַשְׁרֶֽיךָ בָּעוֹלָם הַזֶּה, וְטוֹב לָךְ לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא

In translation: “This is the way of Torah: Bread with salt you shall eat; water in small measure you shall drink; and on the ground you shall sleep. Live a life of hardship and toil in Torah. If you do so, "You are fortunate and it is good for you" (Psalms 128:2): you are fortunate in this world, and it is good for you in the World to Come.

Happily, this baraita is authored by an anonymous Tanna, so there is no-one to whom one might complain that this is surely a disincentive to study Torah in an age in which, in the Jewish world, affluence is endemic, obesity poses greater health risks than malnutrition and material comforts are ubiquitous. However, for those who are of a naturally ascetic mind-frame, this all makes perfect sense. Food is a battleground between the spiritual and the material. By training oneself to consume the barest minimum, one physically promotes the value of the soul over that of the body. As for sleep, in midrash and in Jewish scholarly tradition there is a powerful case for fighting this enemy. One who is asleep is like one who is dead: it is impossible to learn Torah while held snugly in the arms of Morpheus. Hardship too is to be cherished, since every difficulty placed before a person’s quest to master Torah merely amplifies the reward to be gained by overcoming it.

Bearing this in mind, I was surprised to see a comment on this baraita in one of my recent favourite commentaries, the Tiferet Tzion of R’ Yitzchak Ze’ev Yadler.  He explains that, when the Baraita says “This is the way of Torah”, it means that one should be particular to follow this way at the point at which one is travelling the path to attain one’s Torah knowledge—but not when one has already merited to receive the crown of Torah, as it were. On gaining Torah scholarship, he explains, it becomes perfectly acceptable to sweeten one’s lifestyle and attend to one’s bodily needs for the good of one’s soul.

R’ Yadler brings a source for this proposition from a midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 34:3), which relates the deeds of Hillel HaZaken—a rabbi of impeccable credentials and, during his younger days, a man who faced both poverty and almost unendurable hardship in seeking to learn Torah. This midrash, which is actually pinned to a verse from Proverbs (Mishlei 11:17: “One who is kind to his own soul is a man of lovingkindness [to others]”), goes like this. After Hillel finished his teaching for the day, he said goodbye to his talmidim and walked off, but they walked along with him and asked him where he was going. He told them he was off to do a good turn to a guest in his house. When they remarked that he seemed to have a guest in his house every day he explained what he meant: the “guest” was his soul and the “house” was his body—here today and gone tomorrow, so definitely in need of some good sustenance. The midrash does not exactly say that Hillel went off for a slap-up meal, but R’ Yadler senses an implication that something sweet and tasty was on his menu.

I did enjoy this commentary, but still have some anxieties about it. One is that it does seem to be somewhat odds with the majority of interpretations of Avot 6:4. The other is that it would surely be a brave person who can indicate, by words or deeds, that he has somehow acquired enough learning to qualify for the crown of Torah and deserve his piece of cake.

 

When Peter Rabbit Met Pirkei Avot

Outside the Gra shul in Jerusalem’s Sha’are Chesed area one often finds piles of unwanted books. Some come at a price and a small tin, chained to a nearby post or railing, is there to stimulate the conscience of honest purchasers. Other books are simply abandoned. The books are almost entirely in Hebrew and on Jewish religious subjects: worn-old Talmudical tractates, classic commentaries and outdated sets of subsequently reprinted texts will be found there, together with unwanted copies of monographs by hopeful local authors. I check these book piles regularly and often pick up hitherto unfamiliar commentaries on Pirkei Avot. Some bear inscriptions or dedications; many have the appearance of being unread.

Last week I picked up two books that stood in stark contrast with one another. One, The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter, is one of the most-read books on the planet. First published in 1902, it has been translated into 36 languages and has sold more than 45 million copies.  The other is Etz Chadashah al Masechet Avot by Tzvi Yehuda Gottlieb. Published in 1985, this slim volume is dedicated to the memory of the author’s grandparents, one of whom (after whom he was named) was a Rav in Kolno, Poland, in the latter part of the 19^th century.

Despite its popularity, The Tale of Peter Rabbit does not sit comfortably with the messages of Pirkei Avot. Together with his siblings Flopsy, Mopsy and Cotton-tail, Peter goes out to play. His mother expressly warns him not to enter the garden of Mr McGregor. While the other rabbits comply with their mother’s request, Peter does not. He enters the forbidden garden, steals and eats various food items that Mr McGregor grows there. Having contracted indigestion through his over-indulgence in this forbidden food, he loses his shoes, his jacket and his dignity in the course of fleeing from Mr McGregor. The tale ends with his mother, far from scolding him for his disobedience and trespass, puts him to bed with some camomile tea to sooth his indigestion while his siblings tuck into a delicious supper.

Avot 5:13 teaches us that one who says “what’s mine is mine, what’s yours is mine” is wicked but Peter takes Mr McGregor’s produce as his own. There is no word of repentance, despite the emphasis Avot places on this virtue at 2:15, 4:13 and 4:22. Nor is there any tochachah, rebuke, of the sort that features in Avot 6:6. Peter has plainly not considered that everything he does is, as it were, a matter of record (2:1) for which he will have to answer (3:1, 4:29). I could go on. 

Sha’are Chesed is a largely charedi part of Jerusalem and I was surprised to find Peter Rabbit there at all. Apart from the fact that it is in English and reflects secular values, the handsome illustrations include depictions of females and some of the rabbits are plainly not dressed modestly—or at all. Still, I was disheartened to see that a commentary on Pirkei Avot and the path that Peter should have taken was discarded too—particularly since The Tale of Peter Rabbit showed far more signs of having been read than did the Etz Chadashah al Masechet Avot.

Seeking out the hidden talent

Writing in his Eternal Ethics From Sinai, R’ Yaakov Hillel speaks out on every issue that troubles him. Since he pulls no punches, this makes for reading that is always entertaining, generally stimulating and sometimes extremely discomforting. It also highlights points of conflict and inconsistency within our own thinking.

A case in point is Avot 1:13, where Hillel teaches נְגַד שְׁמָא אֲבַד שְׁמֵהּ. R’ Hillel, who renders this as “One who seeks a big name for himself will lose his own name”, makes no secret of his scorn for people who are only in the world of Torah for the fame, the glory and the self-seeking adulation that accompanies, in particular, the use of the electronic media as a means of promoting the word of God—be this the radio or the social media. In principle I do not think that this position can be faulted. The only problem, as usual, as with the practice. The use of the electronic media to promote Torah attracts attention, praise and celebrity whether the rabbis concerned seek it or not. Even before the era of the internet, rabbis who wrote sefarim, books of profound Torah wisdom, were adulated by readers whom they had never met, the Chafetz Chaim being an obvious example of a man whose scholarship and devotion to Torah brought him celebrity status which he had never desired and for which he had never sought.

But then R’ Hillel writes this:

“Until recently, our people were guided by the daat Torah of distinguished Torah luminaries. The elder Torah scholars of past generations recognized the caliber and potential of their younger peers. … Times have changed, and not for the better. Now, it is the billboards, magazines, leaflets, and direct mailings [note: R’ Hillel does not mention the internet, which is probably the most effective means of promulgating information on the planet] that brought their successors to the notice of the public, giving them the stamp of authority and reliability. For a fairly modest sum, these forums are readily available even to the most unreasonable and unreliable individuals. …

As a result, scholars who are fluent in Talmud and the writings of the halachic authorities are disregarded without a qualm, while a charismatic ignoramus [no name is mentioned] wheedles his way into broadcasting a daily mix of halachic rulings and personal opinion. What do these speakers know of halachah, and what are their opinions worth? Precious little. But the masses are not monitoring out-of-the-way batei midrash to see who is learning Torah through the night—they follow the newspapers and street placards. May G-d spare us, but this is how influence is established nowadays: advertising is everything”.

Strong words indeed. But there is plenty to say in mitigation of this position. Let us consider the following:

•          There is an unprecedented explosion of Torah scholarship both in Israel and the diaspora, as the number of people who dedicate their lives to Torah study increases. As this continues, the number of Torah scholars with impeccable credentials is bound to increase. This makes it increasingly difficult to achieve any sort of consensus as to who are the gedolim baTorah, the great Torah scholars, of our generation.
  
  
•          More and more people seek to learn Torah through means such as the social media, which were not available to previous generations. These new avenues for the promulgation of Jewish scholarship and values cannot be ignored.
• 
  
•          R’ Hillel rightly praises those who learn in out-of-the-way places and dedicate their lives to sincere and committed Torah study. But how are we to find them when they do so? We can hardly be blamed for ignoring them when we have no means of even discovering their existence, R’ Hillel praises those exceptional individuals whose modesty leads them to hide their learning and their piety from the light of day (he cited R’ Tzvi Michel Shapira as an example of a tzaddik who strove never to be caught performing a mitzvah)—but how are we to learn from tzaddikim and scholars who do this?
  
  
•          In any event, with so many people far removed from Torah observance, there is much to be said in favour of even the popular ignoramus. In absolute terms, a scholar who knows 100 things is far superior to one who knows only five. But in practical terms, we benefit from a man who knows five things and teaches all five of them than from one who knows 100 but shares only three.

So, while R’ Hillel is right to condemn those who seek self-glorification and to mourn our inability to home in on the genuinely best and most sincerely committed Torah scholars, I do not believe that it is possible to go back to the old days or to pretend that the social media do not exist. In any event, the problem is not new. The cases of Boethus, Tzadok and Shabbetai Tzvi demonstrate that rabbis of lesser quality or with their own misleading agendas were fully capable of causing havoc, and sometimes irrevocable damage, without any printed or electronic media to promote them. At least now the social media can be put to good use in correcting errors, unmasking charlatans and providing links to correct and authoritative Torah sources.

What do you think?

When knowing stuff is not enough

Pirkei Avot is full of references to the chacham, the person who is wise. We even have a couple of working definitions to help us identify someone who is one. At Avot 4:1 Ben Zoma teaches that the chacham is the person who learns from everyone, while at 5:9 an anonymous Mishnah gives us a check-list to help us distinguish a chacham from a boorish clod.  But is that enough? It is quite possible to learn from everyone but not learn anything of value, and whether a person is a chacham or a boorish clod turns out to be as much a matter of having good manners as anything else.

In his Avot leBanim R' Chaim Druckman, drawing on R’ Naftali Hertz Wiesel’s Gan Na’ul and the Malbim’s commentary on 2 Samuel, argues that there is a further requirement for a chacham: such a person must deploy wisdom for the purposes of good, not evil. On this basis, by keeping the company of such people—and ideally inviting them into one’s home (Avot 1:4)—their good deeds and careful speech can influence people, little by little, to develop the right attitude to life, and the behaviour to go with it, even if they never learned or even heard a word of Torah from them.

This leads to an interesting point to ponder. Can a person be a chacham in terms of possessing an abundance of common sense and emotional intelligence even if that person has no Torah learning? One can certainly learn from such people and can improve oneself by keeping their company. However, if we take it as axiomatic that it is only through the study and practice of the Torah that a Jew can properly acquire and cultivate the perfection of his or her character, it appears that more is required.

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As a footnote, not everyone is familiar with the term “emotional intelligence” and, among those people who know it, not everyone understands it in quite the same way. A good starting point is the handy definition offered on Wikipedia:

… the ability to recognize your emotions, understand what they're telling you, and realize how your emotions affect other people. There are five elements that define emotional Intelligence: Self-Awareness, Self-Regulation, Motivation, Empathy, and Social Skills.

Does this have anything to do with Torah Judaism? Arguably, yes. Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks discusses its place when contrasting the roles of priest and prophet. Citing Rav Soloveitchik, Rabbi Sacks writes:

The priest thinks in terms of universal rules that are eternally valid. The prophet is attuned to the particularities of a given situation and the relationships between those involved. The prophet has emotional intelligence. He or she … reads the mood of the moment and how it relates to longstanding relationships. The prophet hears the silent cry of the oppressed, and the incipient anger of Heaven. Without the law of the priest, Judaism would have no structure or continuity. But without the emotional intelligence of the prophet, it would become, as Rav Soloveitchik said, soulless, dry and insensitive [quote taken from “Emotional Intelligence” in Rabbi Sacks’ Covenant and Conversation series, here].

More recently, R' Dr Mordechai Schiffman ("What Makes Excellence -- Character or Intelligence?", here) has this to say:

Throughout the 20th century, the predominant view in psychology was that the most essential factor for success in school was intellectual abilities. Starting in the 1990s, this idea was challenged, with many arguing that other factors, such as emotional intelligence, personality traits, and motivation, play a predominant role in school achievement. This is a fairly contentious issue and the field is far from reaching a consensus on which is more important..., but it is safe to say that everyone agrees that all of these factors can contribute to success.

Is this sort of intelligence something that can be communicated to others so that they may learn from it? If the answer is “yes”, we may with justification describe someone who possesses it as a chacham.

Worth looking into...

If you are seriously committed to Pirkei Avot, here are four random items that may be of interest.

Avot in the social media 1: The larger the audience, the greater the responsibility. Though I try to keep up with the Dee Pirkei Avot Project, I’m sometimes a week or two behind. It’s a little while since the Project covered Avot 1:11, where Avtalyon teaches:

“Sages, be careful with your words, lest you incur the penalty of exile and be dispatched to a place of evil waters and the disciples who follow you drink and die, so the name of Heaven becomes profaned”.

The Project, based on an idea by Rebbetzin Chana Hughes, comments as follows:

“If you have more wisdom or knowledge, then by definition you have more responsibility; the power that you hold to influence others’ lives can be significant. Even if you have increased expertise in one area, people are likely to ask for your advice and ideas. The message [of Avtalyon] is particularly valuable today when social media enable more people than ever before to influence others. Although influencers may enjoy the rush of success and feeling of having an impact, it is also crucial to keep in mind the weight of responsibility that comes alongside it. The larger the audience, the more potential there is for misunderstanding and the clearer the communication needs to be”.

Avot Today will be revisiting the subject of the social media again soon, with a post on getting the right balance between learning Torah and spreading it—so watch this space!

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Avot in the social media 2. Spreading the word. So far, 2023 has been a good year for citations of Pirkei Avot on the electronic media. By the end of June last year, Google Alerts picked up 106 references to Pirkei Avot on blogs, websites and articles in the popular press and journals. This year, over the same period and using the same search terms, the number of citations had shot up to 169, an increase of nearly 60 per cent. The most frequently-quoted Mishnah is from R’ Tarfon (Avot 2:21): “It’s not for you to finish the work, but neither are you free to leave off doing it”, an aphorism that is as likely to be found in the mouths of a politician or business as being repeated by a Torah teacher. Next most-heavily cited is Hillel’s injunction to be like Aaron (Avot 1:12), loving peace and pursuing it. Hillel, with seven mishnayot in Avot, remains the Tanna whose teachings get the most citations (17), followed by R’ Tarfon (8) and Ben Zoma (5). Surprisingly, given its popularity last year, Yehoshua ben Perachyah’s advice to judge others favourably has hardly been cited at all in 2023. Does this reflect a change in social attitudes, or is there some other explanation?

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Be afraid—or at least respectful! At 4:15, R’ Elazar ben Shammua says:

יְהִי כְבוֹד תַּלְמִידְךָ חָבִיב עָלֶֽיךָ כְּשֶׁלָּךְ, וּכְבוֹד חֲבֵרְךָ כְּמוֹרָא רַבָּךְ, וּמוֹרָא רַבָּךְ כְּמוֹרָא שָׁמָֽיִם

 "Respect for your student should be as precious to you as your own; respect for your friend should be like your awe for your teacher—and you should be as much in awe of your teacher as you are in awe of Heaven”.

This Mishnah has been rendered into a song, Moireh Rabbach, by simcha singers and brothers Shea and Avrumi Berko, who add:

These inspiring words … portray the love and dedication that Rebbeim and Mechanchim have for their precious Talmidim day in day out, which leads to the awesome respect and admiration that parents and Talmidim alike, give in return to their beloved Rebbeim and Mechanchim.

You can access this song on this link (duration 4 minutes 22 seconds).

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Eternal wisdom. There’s a new ArtScroll title on Pirkei Avot, published this spring: R’ Yechiel Spero’sThe Eternal Wisdom of Pirkei Avot. According to the publisher’s website:

In The Eternal Wisdom of Pirkei Avos master teacher and storyteller Rabbi Yechiel Spero shares with us an insight, a story, and a takeaway for every mishnah in Pirkei Avos. By combining the brilliant understanding of the Tannaim with stories as contemporary as today, Rabbi Spero offers us a powerful way to bring the messages of Pirkei Avos into our daily challenges and experiences, enhancing our relationships and bringing new, joyful meaning to our lives.

I’ve not yet had a chance to see it for myself but I’m all in favour of bringing the messages of Avot into our daily challenges, whether through stories of our sages or by seeking out novel interpretations of the messages themselves.

Peace and Pinchas -- again

In my previous post, Picking the Right Fight, I discussed why Hillel (Avot 1:12) urged us to emulate Aharon—and not Moshe or Pinchas—when loving peace and seeking it. After citing episodes from the Torah that suggest that Moshe, for all his greatness, was not particularly successful at pursuing peace, I wrote:

If Hillel’s citation of Aharon in this mishnah invites us to draw comparison with Moshe, it can also be said to do so with regard to his grandson, Pinchas. It is with Pinchas that God establishes His covenant of peace (Bemidbar 25:12) after he restored order and halted a plague through his decisive action (Bemidbar 25:6-8). However, while the name of Pinchas is eternally bound in with peace, this is a form of peace-making that, we are taught, is not for us to emulate. So, taking their track records into account, it would hardly have been appropriate for Hillel to urge us to be talmidim of either Moshe or Pinchas if peace was our objective.

Today, in the Pittsburgh Jewish Chronicle, I read the following:

During the Three Weeks (17 Tamuz – 9 Av) we remember the destruction of both Holy Temples in Jerusalem. The First Temple was destroyed by the Babylonians and the Second Temple by the Romans. This is an appropriate time to recall and to follow the examples of Aaron and Pinchas. When we do so, we will avoid the errors that led to destruction, and can we learn the lessons that can bring true peace to our world [my italics].

I cannot believe that any of us today is entitled to follow the example of Pinchas. According to the Talmud Yerushalmi (Sanhedrin 9:7):

תני שלא ברצון חכמים ופינחס שלא ברצון חכמים אמר ר יודה בר פזי בקשו לנדותו אלולי שקפצה עליו רוח הקודש ואמרה וְהָיְתָה לּוֹ וּלְזַרְעוֹ אַֽחֲרָיו בְּרִית כְּהֻנַּת עוֹלָם וגו

It is taught: This was not met with the approval of the Sages. But could Pinchas have acted against the approval of the Sages? Rabbi Yudah bar Pazi said: “They sought to excommunicate him, if the Holy Spirit had not alighted upon him and said “And he and his seed after him will possess a covenant of eternal priesthood etc…’”

With respect to the author of the piece in the Pittsburgh Jewish Chronicle, I think that Pinchas’ killing of Cozbi and Zimri raises two separate issues here. The first is whether he acted correctly. The second is whether we should emulate him and/or follow his example.

Pinchas’ action goes plainly against the norms of conduct by which we are told to act. It is an extrajudicial execution that complies with none of the procedures stipulated by the Written and Oral Torah and by which we are bound. This same action is however not only sanctioned but rewarded at the highest possible level, by God Himself and lies above both human understanding and criticism. Pinchas therefore acted correctly.

Our generation today is not gifted with the sort of direct divine inspiration that guided the hand of not only Pinchas but other worthy personalities of his generation (for example Betzalel). While extrajudicial action is permitted in order to save a life and kill a rodef, an attacker, the circumstances in which we may do so are strictly limited, and if you or I were to act like Pinchas and claim that we were infused by the ruach hakodesh, I doubt if anyone would accept our plea. This, in short, is why I feel that, while we should study and seek to understand the actions of Pinchas, we should not seek to emulate them. 

Picking the right fight

The second most frequently cited teaching online over the first half of 2023 comes from Hillel, who says (Avot 1:12):

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

“Be among the disciples of Aharon—love peace, pursue peace, love people and draw them close to the Torah”.

Like every other Tanna, Hillel is careful with his choice of words, using only enough of them to convey his meaning. This can be frustrating at times. For example, when Hillel asks (at Avot 1:14) “If not now, when?”, Torah scholars have offered many quite different explanations. Careful selection of words however offers a chance for us to ask questions that offer the prospect of discovering a fuller, richer meaning.

Why, we can ask, does Hillel tell us both to be among the disciples of Aharon, a man whose people-friendly commitment to peace and Torah is legendary, and to pursue the same ends as he did? If he had only said, “Be among the disciples of Aharon”, it would be difficult to think of any other ways we could all learn from him, given the stellar peacemaking profile that midrash paints of him. And if Hillel had only said, “love peace, pursue peace, love people and draw them close to the Torah”, what in addition might the Aharon name-check add to our understanding of how we should comply?

One possibility is that Hillel, by mentioning the name of Aharon, is inviting us to make a discreet comparison between him and his elder brother Moshe. Both were at the helm of the nascent Jewish nation in the long march from slavery to the borders of the Promised Land; both were also masters of the newly-given Torah, Moshe being pre-eminent. Their aims and objectives were identical. However, their record in peace-making was not.

Moshe’s first attempt to resolve conflict was a unilateral intervention on behalf of the underdogs, causing the death of an Egyptian (Shemot 2:11-12). His second attempt, this time in a fight between two fellow Jews, resulted in one of them turning on him (Shemot 2:13-15) and his subsequent flight to Midian. Once there, he rescued the daughters of Yitro by driving away the shepherds who were preventing them watering their sheep (Shemot 2:16-19)—once again, the term “driving away” suggests the use of actual physical force or at least the threat of it. After the crossing of the Reed Sea and the Giving of the Torah, Moshe still struggles with situations in which there is a breach of the peace: these include the rebellion of Korach and his followers (Bemidbar 16:29), where he prays for them to suffer an unusual death, as well as the public outrage over the flagrant coupling of Cozbi and Zimri, where Moshe was not able to act decisively.  Aharon in contrast seems to have fared better. Though his response to the people’s demand for a physical replacement for the absent Moshe compromised the Torah and led to the sin of the Golden Calf, he was able to hold the nation together, and when Korach challenged both him and Moshe in the episode mentioned above, he held his peace and did not inflame the already volatile situation by saying anything.

If Hillel’s citation of Aharon in this mishnah invites us to draw comparison with Moshe, it can also be said to do so with regard to his grandson, Pinchas. It is with Pinchas that God establishes His covenant of peace (Bemidbar 25:12) after he restored order and halted a plague through his decisive action (Bemidbar 25:6-8). However, while the name of Pinchas is eternally bound in with peace, this is a form of peace-making that, we are taught, is not for us to emulate. So, taking their track records into account, it would hardly have been appropriate for Hillel to urge us to be talmidim of either Moshe or Pinchas if peace was our objective.

The Divrei Yoel of Satmar Rebbe R’ Yoel Teitelbaum offers a further perspective. Loving peace and pursuing it are not absolutes, he explains: they are means to a greater end because they must themselves be compatible with the Torah. Where a dispute is between righteous, God-fearing people, there is an imperative to make peace that is lacking where the disputants are not. No example is given but it is easy to think of one: a fight between thieves over the allocation of their spoil. Not only may one not love such nefarious people; one may even be required to hate them (the mitzvah of hating the wicked is complex and nuanced: for a useful and accessible source-based discussion of this topic see R’ Dovid Rosenfeld, “Should We Hate the Wicked?”, here).

According to the Divrei Yoel, Aharon had the ability to discern whom he should draw close and from whom he should keep his distance—and this is no easy matter. This is because the yetzer hara, human inclination, tempts us to misidentify disputants and their motives. In short, we should emulate Aharon and learn, from his experiences, to pick the right disputes to settle and the right battles to fight.

A hang-out for sages or a cause for jealousy?

We recently discussed the curious proposition of Yose ben Yo’ezer Ish Tzeredah (Avot 1:4) that we should wrestle in the dust of wise men’s feet. This time we take a look at the same rabbi’s teaching which precedes it: “Let your home be a meeting place for the wise”. 

This proposition is not at first sight a delphic utterance or enigma: its meaning is plain and does not demand any complex or profound explanation. Thus the Bartenura, endorsing the position of the Rambam, leans that one should make one’s home the natural go-to place for any chachamim to gather together. The benefit for the host is obvious: it is impossible for him or her not to absorb some words of wisdom from them. For Rabbenu Yonah the mishnah contains the subtle implication that, in order to make your home a natural habitat for the wise, you must first attend to your own reputation: if you are not well regarded, they will be unwilling to step inside.

The thing that caught my attention is the fact that so many later commentators, while not negating this standard explanation, are so determined to look beyond it, even to the point of straining the literal meaning of Yose ben Yo’ezer’s words. Rabbi S. R. Hirsch appears to consider the mishnah as referring to a modest meeting between just the host and his wise guest, whom he should welcome warmly and from whom he should gain the maximum benefit from the latter’s Torah knowledge. R’ Meir Lehmann’s take is that, in the (likely) event that one cannot make one’s home a bet midrash, one should make the local bet midrash one’s home. In his Ruach Chaim, R’ Chaim Volozhiner advises us to fill our homes with the sages’ books, so that we can ‘meet’ them head-on by reading and digesting their words. R’ Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) adds that welcoming a Torah scholar into one’s home brings not merely spiritual but also material blessing.

Why do so many later scholars look beyond the plain meaning of the Mishnah? While endorsing it as an ideal, might they also be thinking of the its possible real-world repercussions?

The issue is this. Most of the mishnayot in Avot offer guidance that is ideally directed at us all. Judging others favourably (1:6), greeting others with a smile (1:15), being pleasantly respectful to one’s seniors and one’s juniors (3:16), not gloating over the misfortunes of your foes (4:24) and not influencing the masses to sin (5:21) are typical examples of such advice: the more people follow it, the better it is for everyone. But can the same be said for letting one’s home be a meeting place for the wise?

The literal words of the mishnah carry the seeds of a problem because they appear to be most efficacious in a small community (such as Tzeredah) in which only one such home is opened up as a hang-out for sages. While hosting the wise and making one’s home a meeting place for them is not exactly a zero-sum proposition, the more people open their homes to such meetings, the fewer will be the number of available wise folk and people for the host to welcome in so that they can hear the words of the wise—and the more difficult it will be for any individual to establish his or her home as the place for such praiseworthy get-togethers.

What does this mean in practice? While competition among sages and talmidei chachamim is encouraged because it improves our overall level of Torah knowledge, the same cannot be said about competition between householders. Given the known quality of human nature, it is quite possible to imagine a situation in which a home owner, jealous that a neighbour’s home has attracted gatherings of sages, endeavours to attract better sages and bigger audiences by offering more lavish refreshments. This works to the advantage of those with bigger entertainment budgets rather than those with better personal reputations. One can also imagine the almost tangible buzz of kavod that a person may experience if it is his or her house that becomes the venue of choice for such meetings.

Might it be these concerns that drive more recent commentators to look for non-literal interpretations?

Avot in retrospect: a summary of last month's blogposts

If you were away or busy during June, you may have missed all or any of the posts listed below. Do please take the opportunity to enjoy them at your leisure now.

Thursday 29 June: Can It Ever  Be Uplifting to Lower One's Sights? Yose ben Yo'ezer Ish Tzeredah urges us to "wrestle in the dust" of wise visitors to our homes. Can we bring this advice up-to-date for you in your own home?

Tuesday 27 June 2023: When Your Working Lunch Brings Its Own Reward: At Avot 5:22, disciples of Abraham are described as "eating" in this world while inheriting the world to come. Does this mishnah really refer to eating food?

Sunday 25 June 2023: Good Things, Good People, Same Headache: Building on the previous post (below), we ask whether the "ban" on discussing matters beyond our capacity goes further than we may first have imagined.

Thursday 22 June 2023: Bad Things, Good People: A Debate to Avoid? Rabbi Yannai (Avot 4:19) warns us that the classic argument over why had things happen to good people should be avoided.

Tuesday 20 June 2023: Speaking Stones: One Story, Three Views: Love midrash or hate it, Avot can give it deeper meaning. Here's a popular children's tale that isn't for kids at all.

Sunday 18 June 2023: Rambam on Humility: Has This Message Timed Out? A remarkable commentary by Rambam on Avot 4:4 calls into question the applicability of ancient wisdom in modern times.

Thursday 15 June 2023: Love Work -- Seriously? Shemayah teaches us to love work. What on earth can he have had in mind? 

Monday 12 June 2023: The Problem of the Prodigiously-Praised Professor: Avot is full of cautions about cultivating humility and avoiding pride -- but pride feels so good and is dreadfully difficult to shrug off.

Friday 9 June 2023: What Shall We do with the Noxious Neighbour? Distancing oneself from a troublesome neighbour is easy -- in theory -- but compliance with the guidance of Nittai HaArbeli at Avot 1:7 is no easy matter today.

Tuesday 6 June 2023: The Case of the Pious Prankster: What does Avot have to say about a nice guy, friendly and religious, who has a penchant for playing little practical jokes?

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Avot Today blogposts for May 2023
Avot Today blogposts for April 2023
Avot Today blogposts for March 2023
Avot Today blogposts for February 2023
Avot Today blogposts for January 2023
Avot Today blogposts for December 2022