When hatred has nothing to do with hating

Pirkei Avot has plenty to say about love, respect and kindness to others. In contrast, through the entire tractate, the word sina, “hate”, is mentioned only once when Shamayah says (at 1:10):

אֱהוֹב אֶת הַמְּלָאכָה וּשְׂנָא אֶת הָרַבָּנוּת, וְאַל תִּתְוַדַּע לָרָשׁוּת

“Love work, hate mastery over others, and avoid intimacy with the government”.

What does the verb sina mean? English translations offer us several synonyms:

·         Abhor (R’ Eliyahu Touger);

·         Despise (ArtScroll Publications; R’ Yaakov Hillel; R’ Avie Gold and R’ Nahun Spirn).

·         Hate (Hirsch Pirkei Avos; Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth; R’ Lord Jonathan Sacks; R’ Chanoch Levi; R. Travers Herford).

·         Loathe (chabad.org; Me’am Lo’ez).

Commentators are unanimous in their conclusion that this sinah is to be directed at the holding of office as such, not at those people who hold it. There are other mishnayot that deal with them: in short, we should pray for the welfare of the government (3:2) but should remain cautious when it comes to dealing with those who hold the reins of power (2:3).

R’ Anthony Manning challenges the assumption that sinah means hatred or indeed any of the words listed above. In Reclaiming Dignity, pp 261-3, he argues forcefully that the word has been misconstrued. It does not indicate hate; rather, it means “rejection”.

R’ Manning bases his case on the mitzvah of lo tisna (Leviticus 91:17). Usually rendered “You must not hate your brother in your heart”, it really means that you must not reject him. In Tanach it is not sinah that means hate but sitmah. On this basis, we understand that God did not view Leah as being “hated” as much as rejected—Jacob’s second-best option (Genesis 29:31).

If sina in Shamayah’s mishnah means “reject”, we see that his teaching dovetails neatly with that of R’ Nechunya ben Hakanah at Avot 3:6. There he explains that there is a negative correlation between taking up civic and governmental responsibilities and learning Torah, the implication being that one should reject positions of authority if one wishes to enhance one’s Torah commitment.

Hitting the mark, missing the point

I’ve just heard about a new book, Ethics of Our Fighters: Judaism and the moral challenges of warfare, by Rabbi Shlomo Brody. Neville Teller, reviewing it for the Jerusalem Post, has this to say about it:

Ethics of Our Fighters has as its background the Jewish reaction to being confronted with the moral challenges of warfare.

In Ethics of Our Fighters, Rabbi Shlomo Brody has produced a deeply considered analysis, based upon a profound understanding of the principles underlying Judaism and Jewish thought, regarding the ethical dilemmas posed by the sometimes unavoidable need to engage in warfare. Never was the title of a book more apt or more descriptive of its contents. 

Its conclusions, however, are far from confined to people engaged in defending Israel or the Jewish people. Like so much of the civilized world’s view of morality, emanating as it does from the Torah and associated Jewish thinking, they are universally applicable.

He then adds the following:

The title … is an adaptation of “Ethics of the Fathers,” the English title of Pirkei Avot, the famous collection of ethical principles uttered by the leading rabbis whose legal and related opinions appear in the Talmud. Pirkei Avot’s six chapters of ethical and moral pronouncements are included in the daily prayer book. Replete with the wisest of wise counsel as they are, Brody points out that Pirkei Avot has nonetheless nothing at all to say about the ethics of warfare or the moral and ethical principles that should be followed in times of conflict.

The reason is not difficult to deduce. For centuries after the Roman era, the scattered Jewish people simply did not engage in military matters. The long lacuna came to an end just over 100 years ago, when Jews were caught up in World War I and fought on both sides, according to the countries in which they lived. Then, starting in the 1920s, in their ancient homeland of Israel, known then as British Mandate Palestine, Jewish fighters found themselves in armed conflict with local Arabs who were intent on preventing the League of Nations mandated establishment of a “national home for the Jewish people.”

I am reluctant to accept that “Pirkei Avot has … nothing at all to say about the ethics of warfare or the moral and ethical principles that should be followed in times of conflict”. That misses the point. Pirkei Avot was not compiled as a warriors’ manual. But this does not mean that nothing our sages taught in that tractate is relevant to wartime, even today. That’s why I recently posted six pieces on Avot Today that dealt with what Avot had to say about dealing with death and bereavement, jumping to conclusions regarding apparent non-combatants, keeping one’s temper at times of stress, prayer at times of war and while in combat, celebrating victory, and postwar reconstruction.

Leaving quibbles about the author’s opinions aside, I’m intrigued by this book and its approach to Jewish ethical issues—and when I’ve got hold of a copy and read it for myself, I shall share my thoughts on it with Avot Today readers. If anyone reading this post has already seen the book, I do hope that they will share their thoughts on it too.

If you must be angry, do it properly

To ram home the message that we should all be meek and gentle rather than tetchy and irritable, many people like to quote from the Gemara (Shabbat 30b) :

תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: לְעוֹלָם יְהֵא אָדָם עַנְוְותָן כְּהִלֵּל וְאַל יְהֵא קַפְּדָן כְּשַׁמַּאי

Our Rabbis taught: A man should always be an anvetan like Hillel, and not a kapdan like Shammai.

Anvetan is usually rendered “gentle”, “humble”, “forbearing” or “patient”, while kapdan is usually rendered “hot-tempered”, “angry”, “irritable” or “Impatient”.  From this it is assumed that Hillel was all sweetness and light while Shammai was a bit of a grumpus. As if to fortify this impression, the Gemara goes on to give three case histories involving applicants for conversion to Judaism. Each receives short shrift from Shammai but is then welcomed by Hillel.

Can these characterisations be accurate? After all, it is from Shammai that we learn (Avot 1:15) to greet everyone with a happy, smiling face. These don’t read like the words of a man with an antisocial bent.

According to Rav Kook (cited by R’ Chaim Druckman, Avot leBanim) this traditional understanding of the Gemara is wrong. So how should we learn it?

We should start from the premise that both Hillel and Shammai have important lessons to impart to us. Hillel demonstrates to us the correct way to be an anvetan, and there are many stories in which we see examples of this quality. Shammai, who like Hillel is an individual with outstanding personal qualities, shows us the correct way to be a kapdan. From our literature we learn of the circumstances in which, acting as a kapdan, he either defends the honour of the Torah or tests the resolve of an applicant for conversion. He certainly doesn’t blow his top for the sake of personal gratification or in consequence of any loss of self-control.

What then is the Gemara teaching? If you are to act the anvetan, follow the example of Hillel. If you are to act as a kapdan, follow the example of Shammai. And if you have a choice—as we all do in our relations with our fellow humans—to be either an anvetan or a kapdan, we should choose to be the former.

What sort of peace?

The importance of shalom (“peace”) within Jewish thought is paramount. Pleas for peace conclude the standard prayer format that practising Jews recite daily; God’s capacity to deliver peace is also affirmed at the end of the blessings that follow a meal and the priestly blessings that Kohanim confer on their congregations. It is hardly surprising, then, that peace occupies a prominent place in Pirkei Avot too.

In the first chapter of Avot, Hillel (1:12) urges us to emulate the followers of Aaron, to love peace and pursue it. His descendant Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel (1:18) goes as far as to say that, along with truth and justice, peace is one of the three things that enable the world to continue to function.

Later teachings in Avot elaborate on the theme of peace in various ways. Peace increases in direct proportion to the giving of charity (Hillel at 2:8). It is a bulwark against civil anarchy (R’ Chanina segan HaKohanim, 3:2). Setting others on to the path of peace is one of the 48 measures relating to acquisition of Torah (6:6). Other mishnayot imply the value of peace without explicitly mentioning it. But nowhere in Avot is the meaning of shalom explained.

Briefly we can point to three different species of peace: (i) peace between nations or communities, (ii) peace between individuals and (iii) inner peace that a person experiences within him- or herself.

Peace, in Avot, must surely mean something other than the absence of large-scale hostilities. Likewise, references to peace in Avot do not fit the notion of some sort of private spiritual inner peace or tranquility.  This is because the tractate is primarily concerned with human relationships and interpersonal conduct.

My feeling is that the shalom that the authors of Avot had in mind is a sort of freedom, a state in which people can live good lives in accordance with their duties, responsibilities and beliefs without suffering from the social friction that irritates, then angers people, leading to dispute. This is the sort of peace to which the Torah alludes (Bereshit 37:5) when it describes the relationship of Joseph with his brothers who hated him for being his father’s favourite. The brothers wanted him out of their lives and recognized that they would not have peace until they had got him out of their hair, so to speak.

The Torah does not tell us whether either Joseph or his father Jacob were ever aware of the brothers’ disquiet. From the fact that Joseph, having told them one dream that upset them, went on to tell them another of the same ilk, it rather seems that he was impervious to their feelings. This unhappy domestic situation would have been ripe for the intervention of an Aaron, the pursuer of peace. Aaron, serving in his midrashic role as an empathetic go-between, might well have been able to shine the light of each side upon the other and brokered a lasting peace. But Aaron was not yet born and the interstitial wisdom of Avot which was to bond the fabric of the written Torah, had yet to be consolidated and compiled.

In these days of hostility and open threat, may we experience peace in our own lives—both in a global sense and in our own quiet small lives as ordinary human beings.

Managing other people's anger

What does Pirkei Avot have to say about anger management? Anger is a normal human reaction and we are all humans so, while anger is not prohibited, we are praised for being slow to anger and swift to calm down again (Avot 5:14). It’s also a good idea not to engage as a teacher anyone who gets angry with students or pupils (Avot 2:6).  A further teaching, at Avot 4:23, has recently found its way into a Times of Israel blogpost on account of its topicality. There, among other things, R’ Shimon ben Elazar tells us:

אַל תְּרַצֶּה אֶת חֲבֵרֶֽךָ בְּשַֽׁעַת כַּעֲסוֹ

“Do not appease your friend at the height of his anger”.

In her article, “Liz’s Legacy”, Ariella Cohen comments on the recent debacle when the heads of three of the most prestigious universities in the United States—Harvard, MIT and Penn—testified at a Congressional hearing to the effect that a context-appropriate call for genocide against the Jews would be tolerated on their campuses. Penn head Liz Magill subsequently sought to apologise for her statement and later resigned. In the course of her blogpost Cohen comments:

After the Congressional hearing, I was more upset by Liz Magill’s attempted apology than by her original remarks. Some things cannot be apologized for. Especially not while the wound is raw. You cannot emotionally rip somebody (or group of people) apart and then tell them the next day that you didn’t actually mean it. Or rather you can, but it’s completely unacceptable. We know from Pirkei Avot 4:23 that Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar teaches: “Do not appease your friend in the time of his anger…” I don’t think Liz regularly reads through Pirkei Avot, so she is probably not familiar with this teaching. But it is an extremely smart and poignant one which she violated. Trying to calm someone (or in this case, Jews all over the world) immediately after severely affronting them on a national level is ill-advised.

Avot Today has already commented on the concept of context and is not revisiting the issue here. The question now before us is whether Cohen is right to apply this mishnah from Avot. While I am in agreement with the general content and thrust of her article, I would respectfully question whether she is taking R’ Shimon ben Elazar’s teaching further than it actually goes.

First, let us consider who is being appeased. The mishnah as it stands does not differentiate between appeasing a friend (i.e. anyone at all) you have angered and someone who has been angered by something from outside your relationship with your friend. The Me’am Lo’ez assumes that it refers to placating a person you have personally angered, while the Sforno’s commentary appears to imply the opposite and the Ru’ach HaChaim makes it refer to appeasing God. In all cases, however, the mishnah presupposes some sort of direct and immediate relationship between the would-be appeaser and the one who is angry. Having the angry person in sight, in the words of R’ Yitzchak Greenberg (Sage Advice), enables the would-be appeaser to gauge whether the latter has used up all his anger before seeking to calm him down; it is only then that he will likely be amenable to reason and/or to any soothing speech. This is clearly not the case when the cause of the anger is a public statement that goes viral and angers many millions of people, spread over five continents, who are almost entirely unknown to the speaker and unreachable in terms of human contact.

Secondly we should ask whether, in the case of a public statement of this nature, one should delay at all before issuing an apology or retraction. The feelings of 16 million Jews are only one factor to be considered. Failure to implement an immediate damage limitation exercise runs the risk that others will publicly approve the offensive words and cite them as a respectable authority for the extermination of the world’s Jewish population. Others again may feel emboldened to commit acts of violence against Jews and vandalism against their property. If there is even the smallest risk of such an outcome, no time should be lost in waiting for the world’s Jews to stop being angry.

The last word goes to Rambam. In his commentary on Avot he says simply that a person should not make statements except in a situation where they will have an effect. This is ultimately a judgement call that each individual must make for himself. In my view, Liz Magill was wrong to say what she did, but right to apologise sooner rather than later. What a shame it is that her words of apology did not sound more convincing.

"What's yours is yours", or Is Esau a Chasid after all?

A pleasingly symmetrical anonymous mishnah (Avot 5:13) reviews attitudes towards the distribution of personal wealth in the following manner:

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

There are four types of people: One who says: "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is yours" — this is an average sort of person; others say that this is the character of a Sodomite. One who says: "What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine" is an am ha’aretz [impossible to translate, but essentially someone who doesn’t know better and doesn’t really care]. One who says: "What is mine is yours, and what is yours is yours" is a chasid (literally , “pious person”). And one who says: "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is mine" is wicked.

At Genesis 33:9 Esau, who has been offered some generous gifts by Jacob, responds with the following words:

יֶשׁ לִי רָב אָחִי יְהִי לְךָ אֲשֶׁר לָךְ

“I have enough; my brother, let that which you have be yours”.

These words, spoken more a millennium before the compilation of the Mishnah, appear to resonate with our definition here of a chasid and this leads us to ask: does Esau, who receives a bad press from the Bible and an even worse press from most aggadic commentaries, actually qualify as a chasid under Avot 5:13?

In his words to his junior twin, Esau acknowledges that Jacob is entitled to his own property. We also know that two things that by right are originally Esau’s—his birthright and his blessing from their father Isaac—do indeed now belong to Jacob. Midrash corroborates this by teachings that Esau was here confirming Jacob’s formerly shaky entitlement to those two contentious items (Bereshit Rabbah 78:11; also Yalkut Shimoni).

This is where readers of Avot Today can help me.

I have not yet spotted any commentators on the Torah who have referred to this mishnah on Avot in their commentaries on Genesis 33:9. Nor have I yet laid my hands on any commentaries on Avot that make reference to Esau’s words in their discussions of Avot 5:13. I’m surprised, given the similarity of Esau’s words to those chosen by the author of our mishnah, that more has not been made of this point.

Have I missed anything obvious?

I should add that I’m not suggesting that Esau is an out-and-out five-star chasid. But maybe there is a hidden clue here that adds to the merits which led to his head being midrashically buried in the Cave of Machpelah. It also occurred to me that, in Chasidic writings, notably those of the Noam Elimelech, it seems to be understood that tzaddikim—the righteous—exist at various levels, ranging from near saints at the top of the scale, down to those who are barely over 50% righteous. Perhaps the same can be said of the chasid. 

"It depends on the context"

Who could have imagined a week ago that the words “it depends on the context” would take on such a chillingly horrific meaning? Who could have contemplated that the heads of three of the world’s most prestigious universities could testify that, in their institution, a call for genocide on Jews was not per se objectionable but would depend on the context in which it was called for. This post does not propose to repeat the debate that has taken place so far on the social media and beyond. Rather, it addresses just one aspect of context: its place within Jewish thought.

In one sense everything we do and say is given its meaning and its significance by context. In purely physical terms, the impact of the laws of physics depends on context. Thus an apple will fall faster from the tree on Earth than on the Moon. Legal rules too can depend on context in much the same manner: this is why the amount of tax a person pays depends on the laws that apply in the jurisdiction in which he or she is registered to pay tax. This sort of context explains why some actions are mandatory in one context but prohibited in another, and this is why the driver of a motor vehicle must sometimes keep to the left of the road, sometimes the right, according to the highway code that applies to the road in question.

Every form of human society is based on rules. In some exceptional cases, for example North Korea, these rules are enacted and enforced by an authority that is above and beyond challenge, an authority that has the absolute power to determine what is permitted or forbidden, what is right and what is wrong. But for most of us, we live in societies in which laws are framed within the context of an understanding, shared by the governors and the governed, as to what lies within or beyond the bounds of tolerance, what is acceptable and what is not. When this shared understanding is lost, we witness the beginning of a process of social disintegration.

Jewish tradition recognizes the importance of context. One of the best-known passages in the Jewish bible, at Ecclesiastes 3:1 to 3:8, observes that there is a time for everything and then lists several pairs of contrasting and context-dependent actions (eg. “A time to kill and a time to heal; a time to wreck and a time to build. A time to weep and a time to laugh…”).

But context is not everything because it does not exist in a cultural vacuum. The life of a Jew is governed by laws, which are binding and by a code of best behavioural practice, which is discretionary and therefore a reflection of context. Pirkei Avot contains an important part of the latter. The tractate does not need to spell out the basic rules for life in a civilized society. This is “Ten Commandment” territory and is covered by many of the rules articulated in the written Torah. Rather, Avot guides us and advises us how to live to best effect in a society that is governed by those rules.

Both laws and moral precepts are fundamental elements of a mature society. Where there exist exceptions them, those exceptions too are governed by a broadly shared acceptance as to when they should (or should not) be applied. The wriggle room that permits laws and social mores to be waived or varied in individual cases may be described as “context”, but the fact remains that the law and the basic social norms that the law reflects have primacy, a primacy that is demonstrated by the fact that they so often define the range of contexts in which they do not apply.

The ethical code of Pirkei Avot and other sources of good Jewish conduct are built largely on the concept of middot, a word that is hard to translate or define but which encapsulates both good manners, common sense, and self-improvement. Avot addresses a zone of human conduct in which context is king, because social interaction is unending and ever-changing—and middot must respond to these changes on an ongoing basis.

I think that, when we discuss context, we have to distinguish between the different types of context and—if we are to be precise—the different contexts in which the word “context” is used. When the context is of a physical or geographic kind, one that governs which laws apply in any given situation, its significance is unlikely to be controversial. But when we use the word in debate over social, moral or legal standards, we must bear in mind that moral relativism comes into play. That is where the most serious discussions are reduced to the simplistic and infantile format of “You say it’s right; I say it’s wrong. Since right and wrong are only subjective evaluations, there is no such thing as right or wrong”. When this happens, we are reduced to arguments based on expediency, rhetoric, emotion and the tyranny of whoever has the loudest voice.

Children's talk

At Avot 3:14 R’ Dosa ben Harkinas teaches:

שֵׁנָה שֶׁל שַׁחֲרִית, וְיַֽיִן שֶׁל צָהֳרָֽיִם, וְשִׂיחַת הַיְלָדִים, וִישִׁיבַת בָּתֵּי כְנֵסִיּוֹת שֶׁל עַמֵּי הָאָֽרֶץ, מוֹצִיאִין אֶת הָאָדָם מִן הָעוֹלָם

“Morning sleep, midday wine, children's talk and sitting in the meeting places of the ignoramus drive a person from the world”.

Some commentators take this teaching literally, as a list of four spiritually harmful activities that we should seek to avoid. Others view it as describing a sort of rake’s progress where a person who starts the day by sleeping late in the morning will end up in a sort of spiritual wasteland, unable to raise himself to higher levels. Others again—for example R’ Moshe Alshakar and the Kli Yakar—take ‘morning’ and ‘midday’ as metaphors for one’s youth and middle age. If by then a person’s life is not on an even keel, their predicament is likely to be permanent.

There has been much discussion of the third element of this mishnah, sichat hayeladim (“children’s talk”). This term is sometimes taken to mean conversation that never reaches above the level of the purely childish (as per Midrash Shmuel) or which, which superficially mature and intelligent, focuses only on the sort of childish topics that entertain the immature mind. Avot deRabbi Natan characterizes it as conversation with children. The Avodat Yisrael of R’ Yisrael of Kozhnitz posits yet another meaning—one that is not obvious from the text: talk about one’s children and the difficulty of meeting their needs. He adds that, when a person is preoccupied with the needs of one’s children, the level of concern is constant and does not allow that person any peace of mind.

I wonder whether, when the Avodat Yisrael writes of “needs”, he is contemplating not merely material requirements but also what one’s children (and grandchildren) require in terms of their intellectual, moral and spiritual development. If we don’t attend to these matters while we can, when we have the strength and the willingness to do so, we may find that, by the time we recognize what we should have done, we may have left it too late to do anything about it.

Balaam's ass and a boozy bovine

Our regular correspondent Claude Tusk has just asked us the following question:

We learned today in Daf Yomi (Bava Kamma 35a) of Rav Papa's intelligent ox. Unlike the mouth of Balaam's ass in Avot 5:8, this ox did not require a special act of creation. What does that say about the place of speech in the hierarchy of cognition?

By way of background, the mouth of Balaam’s ass is listed in Avot 5:8 as one of 10 (or possibly as many as 13) objects created on Friday evening just before the onset of Shabbat. The reference to Rav Papa’s ox runs like this, according to a slightly edited version of the Soncino translation:

The case considered here is one of an intelligent animal which, owing to an itching in the back, was anxious to burn a barn so that it might roll in the [hot] ashes [and thereby gain relief]. But how could we know [that the animal possessed such an intention]? [By seeing that] after the barn had been burnt, the animal actually rolled in the ashes. But could such a thing ever happen? — Yes, as in the case of the ox which had been in the house of R. Papa and which, having a severe toothache, went into the brewery, where it removed the lid [that covered the beer] and drank beer until it became relieved [of the pain].

So why, then, does the mishnah include the mouth of the ass but exclude the potential of members of the animal kingdom to develop their intellect?

Before I give my own answer, which I propose to do on Sunday, I’d like to hear from readers. What do you think?

Assets or liabilities?

A baraita in the sixth and final perek of Avot (6:8) reads as follows:

רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן יְהוּדָה מִשּׁוּם רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן יוֹחָאִי אוֹמֵר: הַנּוֹי, וְהַכֹּֽחַ, וְהָעֹֽשֶׁר  וְהַכָּבוֹד, וְהַחָכְמָה, וְהַזִּקְנָה, וְהַשֵּׂיבָה, וְהַבָּנִים, נָאֶה לַצַּדִּיקִים וְנָאֶה לָעוֹלָם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: עֲטֶֽרֶת תִּפְאֶֽרֶת שֵׂיבָה, בְּדֶֽרֶךְ צְדָקָה תִּמָּצֵא. וְאוֹמֵר: תִּפְאֶֽרֶת בַּחוּרִים כֹּחָם, וַהֲדַר זְקֵנִים שֵׂיבָה. וְאוֹמֵר: עֲטֶֽרֶת זְקֵנִים בְּנֵי בָנִים, וְתִפְאֶֽרֶת בָּנִים אֲבוֹתָם. וְאוֹמֵר: וְחָפְרָה הַלְּבָנָה וּבוֹשָׁה הַחַמָּה, כִּי מָלַךְ יְיָ צְבָאוֹת בְּהַר צִיּוֹן וּבִירוּשָׁלַֽיִם, וְנֶֽגֶד זְקֵנָיו כָּבוֹד. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן מְנַסְיָא אוֹמֵר: אֵֽלּוּ שֶֽׁבַע מִדּוֹת שֶׁמָּנוּ חֲכָמִים לַצַּדִּיקִים, כֻּלָּם נִתְקַיְּמוּ בְּרַבִּי וּבְבָנָיו

[Translation] R’ Shimon ben Yehudah used to say in the name of R’ Shimon bar Yochai: “Beauty, strength, wealth, honour, wisdom, sagacity, old age and children befit the righteous and befit the world. As it states (Mishlei 16:31): "Old age is a crown of beauty, to be found in the ways of righteousness”. And it says (ibid. 20:29): "The beauty of youths is their strength, and the glory of sages is their age”. And it says (ibid., 17:6): "The crown of sages are their grandchildren, and the beauty of children their fathers”. And it says (Isaiah 24:23): "And the moon shall be abashed and the sun shamed, for the Lord of hosts has reigned in Zion, and before his elders is glory”.

Rabbi Shimon the son of Menasya used to say: “These seven qualities enumerated by the sages for the righteous were all realized in Rebbi [i.e. R’ Yehudah HaNasi] and his sons”

In my book I commented that this could be seen as a list of liabilities as well as of assets. I wrote (with footnoted citations removed):

Looking carefully at this Baraita, one can read it as conveying quite the opposite meaning to that which is normally given to it. This is because none of the eight things listed is only a reward or a privilege: it can also provide a basis upon which the person who possesses it must recognize that he has to shoulder the responsibility that goes with them. This idea is not as strange as one might initially think. Thinking along similar lines, Rabbi Levitas Ish Yavneh teaches that one should be very, very humble because the hope of man is but the worm: our Baraita has been viewed as a sort of negative checklist of things that can lead a person to pride and arrogance. However, we can learn here that, while these powerful attributes can corrupt or destroy if they in the wrong hands, tzaddikim have the capacity and the self-discipline to handle them. Not only can they ride with the tide, as it were, coping with each of the items on the list without losing their sense of humility, but they can channel them constructively for the good of others. How does this work? Let us take each term in order:

• Beauty: a person’s physical beauty is a snare and a delusion, an external asset that deteriorates over time. An earlier Mishnah has already warned us of the danger of taking people at face value, and the Book of Proverbs emphasizes that beauty is a false commodity. Only those with a strong moral backbone can be sure to cope with the pressures and expectations placed upon them by the perception of others that they are beautiful.

• Strength: ko’ach, the word translated here as “strength,” carries with it a secondary meaning, of “potential,” the prospect of being able to bring an incipient idea or plan to fruition. This sort of strength, the power to effect change, carries with it a weighty responsibility to bear in mind the so-called law of unintended consequences and look carefully towards the outcome of any change one has the power to achieve. Alternatively, as Ben Zoma explains above, strength is defined in terms of the ability to exercise self-discipline and control oneself. Given the powerful pull of a person’s evil inclination, having the strength to overcome it would seem to be an essential and ever-present weapon in the tzaddik’s armoury of middot. The sad lot of the tzaddik is that his evil inclination is stronger than that of others, so he has need of greater strength to combat it.

• Wealth: Hillel the Elder has already taught, “the more the wealth, the more the worry.” Again, strength of character and moral rectitude are required if a person is to pass the test of affluence. While we can all be rich in one sense – since the one who is truly rich is the person who is content with his portion – this is something that applies to everyone, whether they are tzaddikim or otherwise.

• Honour: of the eight items listed in this Baraita, none is as potentially toxic as honour: it is the only one that has the potential to kill a man spiritually stone dead. An ordinary individual runs the risk of chasing honour when it is as yet unearned, and of letting it get to his head even if it has been fairly earned. A tzaddik will however be able to handle its toxicity and treat it in the way Avot prescribes, by giving it to others and by according it to the Torah.

• Wisdom: like honour, wisdom can be dangerous in the hands of someone who lacks the requisite moral framework within which to utilize it. Pharaoh invoked wisdom when deciding to deal with his “Jewish Problem”: this misdirected wisdom could have resulted in the extinction of the Children of Israel but instead caused Pharaoh’s personal humiliation and the destruction of his own fighting force. Balaam’s attempts at prophecy could not harm Israel but his wise counsel did, when he advised Balak on how to break the desert nation’s commitment to God. Few men of their generation were as wise as King David’s counsellor Achitophel or King Saul’s chief herdsman Doeg, yet their intellectual prowess was ill matched with their scheming politics. The harsh reality is that wisdom is only safe in the hands of someone who can be trusted – ideally a tzaddik – and that is a massive responsibility, as Moses discovered when he was the only person who possessed the necessary wisdom to resolve his people’s disputes.

• Early old age: 60 or thereabouts is the time when a person becomes conscious of the fact that, while he may feel no different on the inside, he is starting to look old. Without a firm moral basis that supports a tzaddik, the drive to “have a final fling” or to yield to what is euphemistically called a “midlife crisis” can be overwhelming.

• Venerable old age: the Talmud reports the words of Barzilai the Gileadite to the effect that, on reaching the ripe old age of 80, there was no longer much pleasure to be derived from life in the King’s court. The diminution of one’s senses of sight, taste and hearing can weigh heavily on someone whose pleasures depend on them, but a tzaddik will not complain to God about his sad and feeble state. Rather, he should be well equipped to take the disappointments and the tribulations of advanced old age as a time to recall with gratitude his earlier days and the opportunities he once had to serve others. Now is the time to reflect on the opportunities that he can give others to do acts of kindness for him.

• Children: one does not need a Torah source to support the proposition, evidenced by life itself, that bringing up children can take its toll on even a loving parent. The price one pays for parenting can be steep in terms of time, effort, frustration, sleep deprivation, temper control and general inconvenience. Nor is there any point at which one can predict that the responsibility for raising one’s children will end. For a true tzaddik none of this is a burden.   

I’m delighted to have discovered that I am not alone in raising a warning about these eight things. R’ Yitzchak Ze’ev Yadler had already made the same point in his Tiferet Tzion commentary on Avot. There R’ Yadler adds that everything on this list is only of use to a tzaddik if he treats them effectively as catalysts that enable him to improve his service of God and his fellow humans.

In pursuit of piety

A big thank-you to Claude Tusk for reminding us how highly Pirkei Avot was valued by the Amoraim. He writes:

From yesterday's Daf Yomi (Bava Kamma 30a):

אָמַר רַב יְהוּדָה: הַאי מַאן דְּבָעֵי לְמֶהֱוֵי חֲסִידָא – לְקַיֵּים מִילֵּי דִּנְזִיקִין. רָבָא אָמַר: מִילֵּי דְאָבוֹת. וְאָמְרִי לַהּ: מִילֵּי דִּבְרָכוֹת.

[Translation] Rav Yehudah said: “That person who wishes to be a chasid [literally “pious person”] must comply with the laws of damages”.  Rava said: “[That person must comply with] the content of Avot”; still others said: “That person must comply with the content of [the tractate of] Berachot [“Blessings”]”. 

So Avot is in the top three for encouraging piety!

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

This passage from Bava Kamma is often quoted by commentators in their introductions to the tractate, either simply to remind readers of the value of implementing Avot in practice rather than just sitting and learning it or, less often, in order to find a link between the laws on damages, Jewish ethical guidance and the many diverse rules relating to blessings.

Avot itself offers different advice on how to be a chasid: at Avot 6:1 Rabbi Meir lists “being equipped to be a chasid” as a consequence of learning Torah for its own sake – with the proviso that an am ha’aretz cannot become a chasid (Avot 2:2). Avot also provides a few benchmarks against which to establish if a person is a chasid or not: such a person makes his possessions available to others (Avot 5:13), is hard to anger but easy to placate (5:14), happy that both he and others should give to charity (5:16) and who both goes to a house of study and actually studies (5:17).

Here’s a point to ponder. When Rava says that someone who aspires to be a chasid should comply with Avot, does he mean literally the whole of Avot or only the bits that reference who is or is not a chasid? Thoughts, anyone?