Out of one's depth

Hillel warns us (at Avot 1:13) that anyone who exploits the crown of Torah shall fade away. Or, to put it another way, in the sage’s inimitably succinct Aramaic: דְאִשְׁתַּמֵּשׁ בְּתַגָּא חֳלָף. This teaching has the distinction of being the only one in the whole of the tractate to be quoted together with a name check, by another Tanna, when Rabbi Tzadok (at 4:7) warms to Hillel’s theme:

אַל תַּעֲשֶֽׂהָ עֲטָרָה לְהִתְגַּדֶּל בָּהּ, וְלֹא קַרְדּוּם לַחְתָּךְ בָּהּ, וְכַךְ הָיָה הִלֵּל אוֹמֵר: וּדְאִשְׁתַּמֵּשׁ בְּתַגָּא חֲלָף, הָא לָמַֽדְתָּ, כָּל הַנֶּהֱנֶה מִדִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה, נוֹטֵל חַיָּיו מִן הָעוֹלָם

Do not make the Torah a crown to magnify yourself with, or a spade with which to dig. That’s what Hillel used to say: “Anyone who makes personal use of the crown of Torah will fade away”. So we learn this, that anyone who benefits from the words of Torah removes his life from the world.

While the main commentators on Avot often add supplementary explanations of their own, they generally agree with what Hillel teaches: one should not exploit one’s Torah knowledge, or any position secured through having acquired it, for personal gain or financial advantage.  

Curiously, the two earliest extant references that we find for Hillel’s teaching treat it quite differently. The first of these is the Babylonian Talmud, compiled around the middle of the fifth century of the common era, we find the following passage:

Observe now the difference between the rigorous scholars of the Land of Israel and the saints of Babylon. We have learnt in another place: “Whoever makes use of a crown fades away [from the world]” and Resh Lakish commented: “This applies to anyone who accepts service from a person who can repeat halachot [i.e. Jewish laws] , and Ulla said: “A man may accept service from one who can repeat the four [orders of the Mishnah] but not from one who can [also] teach them”.

This is illustrated by the following story of Resh Lakish, who was once traveling along a road. When he came to a pool of water, a man came up and put him on his shoulders and began taking him across. He said to the man: “Can you read the Scriptures?” The man answered, “I can”. “Can you repeat the Mishnah?” [He replied] “I can repeat four orders of the Mishnah”. Resh Lakish then said: “You have hewn four rocks, and you carry Resh Lakish on your shoulder?” (Megillah 28b, based on the Soncino translation).

In other words, once Resh Lakish estimated that the person who was carrying him knew enough Torah to be able to read the Tanach and repeat, presumably by heart, the first four orders of the Mishnah, he felt that he was deriving personal advantage from the Torah, which was personified by the man on whose shoulders he sat. Accordingly he wanted to be let down. A parallel tale (Nedarim 62b) relates how R’ Tarfon escaped an undeserved thrashing by revealing his identity to his assailant. The great teacher spent the rest of his life wrapped in remorse for having derived advantage from his reputation as a Torah scholar.

It is hard to reconcile these applications of Hillel’s teaching with the modern consensus. Resh Lakish was taking advantage of neither the man’s Torah knowledge nor his own, and R’ Tarfon could well be said to have let slip his identity in order to prevent the perpetration of a great injustice by a fellow Jew and thereby spare the latter punishment for his wrongful assault.

The second early reference to Hillel’s teaching is found in the Avot deRabbi Natan, reckoned to have been compiled during the Gaonic period, probably between 700-900 CE.  There (at ADRN 12:13) Hillel is taken to refer to the improper use of God’s ineffable name for personal benefit. Among modern commentators the kabbalist R’ Yaakov Hillel remains faithful to this explanation.

Both of these early explanations are adopted by the Meiri in his Beit HaBechirah, together with the modern consensus view—but he then states explicitly that the warning against accepting the service of a Torah scholar is the primary meaning.

The Maharal (Derech Chaim) opens his commentary on this mishnah by citing the episode with Resh Lakish, but expands it: the problem, he explains, is that a degree of kedushah, holiness, attaches to anything that is subject to the shem Shamayim, the Name of Heaven. This applies both to the Torah itself and to things that are touched by Torah, such as a person who has learned it. In Megillah 28b we therefore find the corporeality of Resh Lakish benefiting from that which is eliyon, supernal and above the level of mere corporeality—and this is why he opts to be put down in the middle of the river. How many of us, I wonder, are so sensitive to this type of kedushah?

What does Hillel’s teaching mean to us today? It is now well accepted that a person can teach Torah for financial reward. There is a large literature on why this should be so, since we do not expect our teachers and our communal rabbis to starve. There is also a large literature on whether and, if so, to what extent, we should pay to support people who dedicate their entire lives and careers to learning Torah—and this too has become an established part of Jewish life. So we can conclude that neither teaching nor learning are now regarded as “crowns” that one exploits for personal advantage or pecuniary gain.  

This being so, and since we neither use God’s ineffable name nor ask Torah scholars to carry us on their backs, we must ask: do we need to recalibrate this part of the Mishnah and focus it on specific issues and examples drawn from contemporary life?

Suggestions, anyone?

Two sides to the clouds

“I've looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall:
I really don't know clouds at all” (from Joni Mitchell, Both Sides Now).

Clouds are fascinating things. Coming in so many different shapes and sizes, they occupy a curious position between heaven and earth, between the tangible and the intangible. They also occupy a significant place within the Torah, both written and oral.

This past Shabbat we read parashat Beshalach, part of the Torah narrative that is rich in miracles. The biggest of these is the kriat Yam Suf (the splitting of the Reed Sea), which the Torah describes at length and the significance of which has been embellished by generations of midrashim.

But in the desert the Children of Israel experienced other miracles too. Along with the splitting of the Reed Sea we read details the near-daily supply of mon (the manna from Heaven). We also get water from a rock which, some commentators explain, is a portable rock that travels round with the Israelites on their desert journeys. And, tucked away near the beginning of the miracle of the manna, we find mention of a third miracle: the ananei hakavod, the clouds of glory that provide shade by day and warmth by night. In the Gemara (Taanit 9a), R’ Yose ben Yehudah notes that these three miracles—the manna, the well and the clouds—are each associated with one of the three leading lights of the desert generation The manna is in the merit of Moses, the well in the merit of Miriam and the clouds in the merit of Aaron. When each one dies, the miracle associated with them ceases.

So far, so good—but where does Pirkei Avot fit into all of this?

In the fifth perek of Avot at 5:8, we learn of ten remarkable, if not actually miraculous, things that were created at twilight on Friday afternoon, just before Shabbat commences. These include the manna and also the well of Miriam from which we drank for 40 years.  But there’s something missing from the list: there’s no mention in our mishnah of the clouds of glory. Why isn’t Aaron’s miracle included along with the miracles attached to Moshe and Miriam?

R’ Moshe ben Yosef miTrani (the Mabit), in his Bet Elokim, notes that you can’t compare the clouds of glory with the manna and the well. We had to have the manna because, without it, we would have starved to death. Likewise, without the well, we would have died of dehydration. In other words, even if we had no Moses and no Miriam, God would still have had to give us food and water. The clouds, however, are of a different order because we could have got by without them. They were in effect a free gift, a demonstration of God’s chesed (kindness) and His love for His people. But this doesn’t answer our question as to why the clouds aren’t in our Mishnah. This is because some of the other things created at twilight were also optional extras and signs of God’s chesed—for example the keshet, the rainbow that serves as a sign and a reminder that we should behave ourselves.

Looking at our mishnah in Avot, we can ask how precise it is meant to be. It opens by saying that 10 things were created at that time, but then it goes on to list 14 since there is no consensus as to what those 10 were. On that basis it cites rabbinical opinions that add the mazikin (some form of destructive force), Moshe’s burial plot, Avraham’s ram and even tongs made without tongs.

But there is another explanation. In his Derech Chaim, the Maharal endorses the conclusion of the Rambam in the final chapter of his Shemonah Perakim that the list only includes things that were made at twilight but had no form of existence before then. Other things that appear to have been created after the Six Days of Creation were, Rambam explains, created in their incipient form during the world’s first week but only implemented in reality at a later time. This applies, says the Rambam by way of an example, to the kriat Yam Suf: when God separated the waters on Day Two, he incorporated into the water the potential for splitting when the need arose. A midrash in Bereshit Rabbah 5:5 dramatically depicts this as God negotiating with the sea to do just that if it didn’t want to be vaporized. R’ Yirmeyah ben Elazar widens this category to include other miracles that make no appearance until well after the Six Days of Creation.

So were clouds created before Friday afternoon with the potential to act as clouds of glory? The answer must be “yes”. In Gemara Sukkah 11b there’s an argument between R’ Akiva and R’ Eliezer as to why we sit in sukkot (temporary dwellings) on the festival of Sukkot.  R’ Akiva says it’s to commemorate the fact that we lived in such dwellings. No, says R’ Eliezer, it’s because we lived under the miraculous clouds, the ananei kavod. Resh Lakish, commenting, cites a verse from the second account in the Torah of the Creation, Bereshit 2:6, “ve’ed alah min ha’aratz” (“a mist rose from the ground”). On that verse the Targum Onkelos translates “ed”, mist, as “cloud”. This took place before the creation of Adam and must therefore have happened before twilight on Friday. That could explain why the clouds are not on the list of late creations in our mishnah from Avot.

Miracles: now you see them, now you don't

Those members of the Jewish people who follow the weekly Torah readings through each yearly cycle will know that we are right in the middle of the season for miracles. Over the past fortnight we’ve had all of the Ten Plagues and we are shortly to embark upon the splitting of the Reed Sea and the subsequent drowning of the pursuing Egyptian charioteers.  Later we encounter the provision of manna from heaven—and more besides.

These miracles share a common factor: they are all visible, perceptible to the naked eye.

At Avot 5:7 we meet a list of ten miracles which, our sages teach us, God provided for our forefathers in the Temple. The list looks like this:

לֹא הִפִּֽילָה אִשָּׁה מֵרֵֽיחַ בְּשַׂר הַקֹּֽדֶשׁ, וְלֹא הִסְרִֽיחַ בְּשַׂר הַקֹּֽדֶשׁ מֵעוֹלָם, וְלֹא נִרְאָה זְבוּב בְּבֵית הַמִּטְבָּחַֽיִם, וְלֹא אִירַע קֶֽרִי לְכֹהֵן גָּדוֹל בְּיוֹם הַכִּפּוּרִים, וְלֹא כִבּוּ הַגְּשָׁמִים אֵשׁ שֶׁל עֲצֵי הַמַּעֲרָכָה, וְלֹא נִצְּחָה הָרֽוּחַ אֶת עַמּוּד הֶעָשָׁן, וְלֹא נִמְצָא פִסּוּל בָּעֽוֹמֶר וּבִשְׁתֵּי הַלֶּֽחֶם וּבְלֶֽחֶם הַפָּנִים, עוֹמְדִים צְפוּפִים וּמִשְׁתַּחֲוִים רְוָחִים, וְלֹא הִזִּיק נָחָשׁ וְעַקְרָב בִּירוּשָׁלַֽיִם, וְלֹא אָמַר אָדָם לַחֲבֵרוֹ: צַר לִי הַמָּקוֹם שֶׁאָלִין בִּירוּשָׁלָֽיִם

No woman ever miscarried because of the smell of the holy meat. The holy meat never spoiled. Never was a fly seen in the slaughterhouse. Never did the High Priest have an accidental seminal discharge on Yom Kippur. The rains did not extinguish the wood-fire burning upon the altar. The wind did not prevail over the column of smoke [rising from the altar]. No disqualifying problem was ever discovered in the Omer offering, the Two Loaves or the Showbread. People stood crowded together but had ample space in which to prostrate themselves. Never did a snake or scorpion cause injury in Jerusalem. And no man ever said to his fellow "My lodging in Jerusalem is too cramped for me."

There’s a difficulty with some of these miracles in that they cannot be perceived in a meaningful manner. If you see a woman having a miscarriage, for example, this is likely to be an extremely unpleasant and probably unforgettable experience. However, if you see a woman not having a miscarriage, this fact is unlikely to impinge on your consciousness at all. The same goes with flies in the slaughterhouse: you will see them if they are there and may note their presence but, unless you are thinking about flies at the time, you may be quite unlikely to notice their absence. The same goes with several of the other miracles listed here: they may exist as quite remarkable statistical propositions, but not as something an onlooker can or need recognize through casual visual perception.

Maharam Shik comments on this. In effect, though we don’t see miracles manifesting themselves before our very eyes, that doesn’t mean that we can’t sensitise ourselves to the fact that something is happening beyond the merely natural, mundane operation of the world.  Even statistical propositions can take the shape of perceptions of hashgachah peratit—God’s personal supervision of a world that normally runs smoothly in accordance with the laws of nature. 

In short, according to Maharam Shik, all we have to do is to keep our eyes open. On any given occasion when we find ourselves in a fly-free slaughterhouse we may have no reason to spot anything unusual. But if it happens again and again, but doesn’t seem to happen in other slaughterhouses, the penny might eventually drop that something special is happening.

Being aware of hashgachah peratit takes many forms even today, even though there is no Temple service and most of us are far from holy. But you have to believe in its existence or you may not detect it. Here’s a trivial example: one occasionally hears a person, not necessarily Jewish, saying things like “I must have been doing the right thing when I decided to do X, because all the traffic lights on the way were green”. If things like this happen even once, it feels great but one is unlikely to read any great significance into it. But if they happen every time, one begins to wonder.

The standard daily Jewish prayer format of the Amidah incorporates within its text the idea that miracles come in different shapes and sizes, possessing markedly different effects. In the “thank you” section, in the blessing that opens with the words modim anachnu loch (“we thank you”), we express gratitude for “miracles that are with us every day” and for God’s “wonders and favours that are in every season—evening, morning and afternoon”. On this basis we say thank-you even for those miracles that are too small to notice, and for those that cannot be seen at all.

Not in my name

This morning a friend of mine forwarded me a WhatsApp that he thought might interest me. The text, which appears to have been forwarded many times, is said to be a speech by Israel Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu. I gave it my close attention.

The content of the speech certainly matched the Prime Minister’s views. It also struck an appropriately defiant note, being in places an almost Churchillian rallying cry along the lines of “it’s us against the world and against all the odds—and we will triumph”. There were however some puzzling aspects to this piece of rhetoric.

The preface to the speech suggested that it had been freshly delivered. It however mentioned Israel’s victory in the Six Day War of 1967 as having happened 35 years ago. That would suggest it was delivered in 2002 when the Prime Minister was actually Ariel Sharon. Elsewhere the reference to the State of Israel—which was founded in 1948—as being 60 years old would suggest that this piece was composed in 2008, when the same office was held by Ehud Olmert.  Also puzzling was the style. Whatever one thinks of Netanyahu’s politics or his leadership, there is general consensus that the one thing he is very good at doing is making speeches in the English language. This one just didn’t read like one of his and, in my opinion, almost certainly isn’t.

The sixth and final chapter of Avot, at 6:6, contains a list of some 48 features that either define a Torah scholar or enable him to become one. The last of these is this:

הָאוֹמֵר דָּבָר בְּשֵׁם אוֹמְרוֹ

One who says something in the name of the person who [first] says it.

Compliance with this rule not only marks a person out as someone who pursues and upholds the principles of the Torah. It even, as 6:6 continues, assists in bringing redemption to the world.

Now if indeed this speech was composed by Prime Minister Netanyahu, it would be incumbent on anyone forwarding it to credit him as its author. But does this also impose a correlative requirement of NOT crediting a person as the author of something that he or she did NOT compose?

I have checked out a number of commentaries on Avot but have yet to find any that discuss this issue within the context of 6:6. I do however recall that false attribution of authorship has sometimes been permitted where it has been felt necessary to do so in order to achieve a greater good—for example to persuade the Jewish population at large to accept an undoubtedly correct halachic ruling which, if they heard it in the name of the original author, would carry considerably less weight in their eyes and might lead to it being ignored or rejected. If my memory serves me well, I think that Marc B. Shapiro lists some instances where this happened and gives chapter and verse in his book, Changing the Immutable.

Thoughts, anyone?

"If not now, when...?": a mishnah expands

Last year the most frequently-cited teaching from Avot on the English-language social media was that of Hillel the Elder:

אִם אֵין אֲנִי לִי, מִי לִי, וּכְשֶׁאֲנִי לְעַצְמִי, מָה אֲנִי, וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁו, אֵימָתָי

“If I am not for myself, who is for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?” (Avot 1:14)

This teaching has always been well known in Jewish circles, and not only on account of its enigmatic nature and catchy words. Put to music, it has been joyously sung by chasidim and many composers and musicians, including such luminaries as Mordechai Ben David, Isaac Bitton, Benny Friedman and Shloime Gertner have given it their own personal treatment.

But this mishnah is known well beyond the concentric circles of Jewish culture.  It is known among non-Jews too, on account of the international success of a book, If Not Now, When (original Italian title Se Non Ora, Quando?) the prize-winning novel by Primo Levi. A studio album of the same name, released by Incubus in 2011 and loosely based on two of Hillel’s mishnayot from Avot, sold over 600,000 copies.

The mishnah has clearly spread in terms of public familiarity. It has also broadened the scope of its applicability.

The idea that Hillel is addressing himself as an individual is hard to deny. Of the 14 words in his three-part dictum, 5 of them are “I”, “me” or “myself”.  Both the Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi initially explain the mishnah in personal terms, almost as though Hillel is talking only about himself, but then allude to its wider application to humankind as a whole, a position endorsed by Rambam, Rabbenu Yonah and all subsequent commentators.

Can we take Hillel’s teaching further and apply it to corporate entities and even state actors?  I have been unable to find any commentary that answers this question but in principle it is hard to object to doing so. Individuals must balance their self-interest with the complementary or even conflicting interests of others; they must also act in good time—as many people who have made a late payment of tax have discovered. So too must local and national governments, businesses, schools, sports clubs and other collective bodies do likewise.

Writing in yesterday’s Jerusalem Post Eliot Penn does just that. His article,” Israel must take its security into its own hands”, opens as follows:

Hillel the Elder, the first-century sage, offered three insights for living as cited in the ancient book of rabbinic wisdom, Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers). The first two come as a pair: “If I am not for myself, who shall be for me? But if I am only for myself, what am I?”

Hillel’s first two maxims are often understood as directives to the individual to take personal responsibility for their life, balanced with concern for others. These astute ideas apply beyond individual living to fit the State of Israel quite well.

So far as I know, Eliot Penn is neither a scholar nor a sage, but I can think of no good reason why Hillel’s teaching should not apply to corporate entities as well as to individual ones. After all, the actions of collective and corporate bodies are all initiated by individuals. If Hillel’s teaching is addressed to each of them, surely it is fitting to address it to them as a whole.

If any reader knows of any commentary—traditional or otherwise—that has discussed this, can he or she please let me know?

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

Eliot Penn’s article can be read in full here: https://www.jpost.com/opinion/article-782438

Do you ever get that fuzzy psycho-spiritual feeling?

I don't.

I’ve been thinking a good deal recently about the following paragraph, which comes from Bracha Poliakoff and Rabbi Anthony Manning’s fascinating book on redefining tzniut, Reclaiming Dignity:

“The Gaon of Vilna stated that the main focus of a Jew’s life should be the perfection of the mitzvot bein adam l’chaveiro, the laws regulating interpersonal relationships. Although few would disagree with this sentiment in principle, in practice the interpersonal mitzvot normally receive a far less rigorous and structured halachic analysis and presentation to students. They are often pushed into the somewhat fuzzy psycho-spiritual category of ‘improving middot’, which, although (rightly) taken seriously by many, is still a convenient way of avoiding much of the tough intellectual or cognitive-behavioral work that is required in this area of our lives” (at p.255).

What exactly is meant by the words: “in practice the interpersonal mitzvot normally receive a far less rigorous and structured halachic analysis and presentation to students”? This looks like a criticism, the implication that the interpersonal mitzvot would somehow benefit from a rigorous and structured halachic analysis and presentation. But is this actually the case?

In their widest sense, some interpersonal mitzvot are quite suitable for a structured treatment. These include the laws that apply, for example, when we return our neighbour’s lost property, borrow his lawnmower or break his window when playing football. At the other end of the spectrum we find mitzvot that defy attempts to frame them within a structured halachic analysis. These include mitzvot such as loving others as one loves oneself (where the mitzvah is vague in itself), honouring one’s parents (where much depends upon the personalities of those concerned and on cultural considerations) and comforting the bereaved (where much depends upon minhag and on family tradition).

Pirkei Avot focuses principally on middot, not mitzvot, and on how one should behave rather than on what one is obliged to do or refrain from doing. Middot are the stuff of which human relationships are built: they deal with kindness, with empathy, with constantly making judgement calls as to how to respond to others in a wide range of situations.  A person can meticulously observe every interpersonal mitzvah and still fail to make a single friendship or relate to another human being. This is because it is middot, not mitzvot, that define who we are as social beings who share their world with other people.

I’m not sure what exactly is meant by “the somewhat fuzzy psycho-spiritual category of ‘improving middot’” but I find it hard to believe that improving the way one relates to other people within the context of Pirkei Avot can be described as a “convenient way of avoiding much of the tough intellectual or cognitive-behavioral work that is required in this area of our lives”. Even the simplest of middot require careful thought and hard work. How many of us can claim to greet others, as Shammai requires (Avot 1:15), with a happy, smiling face? How many of can genuinely say that we judge others (Yehoshua ben Perachyah, Avot 1:6) on the basis of their merit and give them the benefit of the doubt if it exists? And how many people who manage to do this would regard it as a soft option to learning halachah?

"A lamb for each father's house"

The title of this post is taken from Shemot (Exodus) 12:2, being the English translation of the words שה לבית אבות which form part of this coming Shabbat’s Torah reading. It is also, with a minor adjustment, the title of a book that has just come into my possession: ש”ה לבית אבות (S”H Lebet Avot).

The author of this book is Rabbi Shalom Hedaya (hence the initials ש”ה/S”H) and it is a fairly lengthy small-print work on Pirkei Avot. Published in Jerusalem in 1986, it is unusual for several reasons.

• First, the text of each Mishnah and Baraita is accompanied by hashe’elot (“the questions”) as well as a bi’ur (“explanation”).
• Secondly, this book does not appear on any of the lists of his writings that accompany his online biographies.
• Thirdly, it contains a portrait photograph of the author which shows him holding a cane in his right hand; the identical photograph appears elsewhere in reverse, with him holding the cane in his left hand (see illustrations below). Since R’ Hedaya was a mystic, I wonder whether this has any kabbalistic significance.

I found this book in a pile of discarded publications that one of the synagogues had left out in the open air, next to the Nachlaot shemot bin. Judging by its condition it has been read many times. IHad I not rescued it, last night’s rains would have ruined it.

Do any readers know of this work? I have never seen anyone make any reference to it. This may be because, like many late twentieth century commentaries on Avot, it only had a small print run and never reached a readership beyond the Rabbi’s friends and flock. It may also be because of its content. Rabbi Hedaya was not merely a scholar and a dayan: he was also a Kabbalist. If this commentary is rich in Kabbalah, it may inaccessible or at least hard-to-comprehend for those of us whose contact with Kabbalah has been brief or cursory.

I’m going to have a go at reading this commentary and will report on what I find. Meanwhile, if any reader can tell me more about the book and its illustrious author, I shall be very grateful.

Is this why your pet hates your friend?

Many cat- and dog-owners have wondered why it is that their domestic pet sometimes takes an apparently irrational dislike to of your friends or family members. You find yourself wondering what was the problem: was the human in question using the wrong deodorant, or did that person give your animal a surreptitious swipe when you weren’t looking? Or is there more to it?

One person who clearly has no doubt as to the cause is Rabbi Yisrael of Kozhnitz.

At Avot 4:5 R’ Yochanan ben Beroka teaches this:

כָּל הַמְחַלֵּל שֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם בַּסֵּֽתֶר, נִפְרָעִין מִמֶּֽנּוּ בְּגָלוּי, אֶחָד שׁוֹגֵג וְאֶחָד מֵזִיד בְּחִלּוּל הַשֵּׁם

Everyone who desecrates the Divine Name in secret is punished in public. When it comes to desecration of the Name, it’s the same thing whether one does it negligently or deliberately.

Why are wrongful acts a desecration of God’ name if they are done in secret? No-one else knows about them. Or do they? In his Ahavat Yisrael, R’ Yisrael suggests that a Heavenly Voice proclaims that a desecration of God’s name has been committed.

There’s an obvious problem with this suggestion. If this Heavenly proclamation does take place, how come we never hear it. R’ Yisrael has an answer. The Heavenly Voice is actually silent, which is why we don’t hear it. It’s a heart-to-heart communication which we intuit through our feelings. Since it’s not a verbalized statement it can be both perceived and comprehended not just by us humans—if we are sufficiently receptive and sensitive—but by animals too.

Is this why your dog becomes aggressive or frightened when certain visitors turn up, and why your cat warmly welcomes some friends but keeps a frosty distance from others? There is no hard proof to demonstrate that this is so, and anecdotal evidence of instances where this has apparently happened can generally be explained by other means. Though, while stories of sapient animals discerning the good from the bad are the stuff of which much good fiction has been made, Jewish tradition is broad enough to embrace them: thus we learn how the donkeys of R’ Chanina ben Dosa and R’ Pinchas ben Yair refuse to eat food that had not been tithed or which had been stolen by their new owners (Avot deRabbi Natan 8:8; Bereshit Rabbah 60:8).

Perhaps the real message of R’ Yisrael’s understanding has nothing to do with Heavenly Voices at all. The point he seeks to make is that we should be more sensitive to the activities of our fellow humans and not ignore any warning signs and misgivings we may have about their honesty and probity. If this is so, we face the challenge of synthesizing it with Avot 1:6, which demands of us that we should judge others on the basis of their merits and give them the benefit of the doubt.

Avot Today: how did we do in 2023?

Now that we have eased ourselves into 2024, it’s time to take a brief look at the year we’ve left behind.

Avot Today comes in two formats: a Facebook Group and the Avot Today blog. All the posts on Pirkei Avot that appear on the blog are posted on the Facebook Group too, so you can keep up with them whichever way you want. The differences between them are that

·     Readers’ responses, comments and discussions are found on the Facebook Group;

·         The blog is a useful research resource. Its content can be searched by subject (there’s a lengthy index of topics in the right-hand column of the page) and by word (the word search box is in the top left-hand corner of the title bar).

The Facebook Group now has 302 members, and we are adding them at the rate of maybe five or six a month. The blog doesn’t have members as such, but our counter shows us that its posts have been visited more than 41,000 times since we started posting in mid-2000.

There’s a lot of material on Avot Today now. In 2023 we posted a total of 139 separate items: that’s more than ten per month. There are now well over 500 Avot-related items, most of which directly address the relevance of Avot in contemporary society and culture.

Here are the most popular Facebook Group posts on Avot Today last year:

1.       Was Shakespeare Jewish and is there Proof in Pirkei Avot? We look at current suggestions that Pirkei Avot provides clues as to the Bard’s religious affiliation—and dismiss them (290 views).

2.       Pirkei Avot and the Museum of Cultural Curiosities. Picking up on a quote from Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks’ controversial The Dignity of Difference, we discuss contemporary reluctance to study Jewish ethics. Has Pirkei Avot gone out of fashion? (219 views).

3.       For Torah’s Sake. We are supposed to learn Torah lishmah, for its own sake. For those with the love of Torah and an aptitude for study, this is a pleasure rather than a challenge—but what, if any, is the entry-level standard by which one can measure Torah for Torah’s sake? (184 views).

4.       Beyond Understanding. Hilel teaches us not to say things that can’t be understood if the intention is that they should be. Where does that leave us with the recitation of Kinot on Tisha b’Av, some of which are nearly unintelligible?  (184 views).

5.       Rambam on Humility: Has this Message Timed Out? Everyone agrees with the position Avot takes on the importance of humility—but do modern notions of humility match the bizarre example Rambam gives? (178 visits).

6.       The Case of the Pious Prankster. What is the message of Avot for well-meaning and genuinely committed members of the Jewish community who enjoy playing the occasional practical joke on their friends? (163 views).

AND WHAT ABOUT 2024?

Of the 139 items posted to Avot Today last year, only four came from authors other than me. I’m sad about this because I believe that other voices and other opinions on Jewish moral and ethical issues should be heard in addition to my own. If you would like to write short pieces on Pirkei Avot for Avot Today, or if you are just waiting for a little encouragement or persuasion before you do so, please get in touch with me!

In similar vein, while readers’ comments are greatly appreciated, we would love to hear from a wider audience. We are very much dependent on a relatively small number of readers who take the time to share their thoughts and occasionally to correct or debunk my own. If you read something that makes you want to respond, don’t wait till that urge subsides. Act on it and let us know what’s on your mind.

Another way readers can help is by sharing more Avot Today posts. This helps to spread the word and to emphasise the importance of The Ethics of the Fathers in Jewish life and thought today.

Avot Today is not just for my amusement (even though I do enjoy running it). It’s for everyone who cares about how Jewish people behave in the real world today, a world in which Jewish values and ideals are increasingly under threat.  If you truly care about Jewish values, supporting Avot Today is one of many ways in which you can show it. Thanks!

Naughty to be haughty

Our previous post focused on the concept of achdut (unity, togetherness), asking why the word does not appear in Pirkei Avot. But it's not the only thing that is ostensibly missing.

Jewish tradition makes no secret of the fact that we should be humble, not haughty. גאוה (ga’avah, “haughtiness”, “arrogance”, “pride”, “conceit”) seemingly has virtually no place at all in the repertoire of acceptable Jewish behavioural characteristics.

Essentially, there is no excuse for puffing ourselves up with airs and graces. In recent years rabbis, notably R’ Chaim Friedlander (Siftei Chaim: Middot veAvodat Hashem) and R’ Shalom Noach Berezovky (Netivot Shalom) have repeatedly hammered home the dangers of cultivating this undesirable personal quality, which is as repugnant to God as it is to ourselves. As the Talmud teaches us:

R' Hisda said, and according to another version it was Mar Ukva: Every man in whom is haughtiness of spirit, the Holy One, blessed be He, declares, I and he cannot both dwell in the world; as it is said: Whoever privately slanders his neighbour, him will I destroy; he who has a haughty high look and a proud heart I will not tolerate:— read not “he” [I will not tolerate], but “with him” I cannot [dwell] (Sotah 5a).

So why does ga’avah go unmentioned in Pirkei Avot? If we dip beneath the surface of the words of Avot we find that the concept is not ignored.

In the first place, the Tannaim take a positive stance. Rather than discourage arrogance and pride, they encourage humility. Since it is not in practice possible for a person to be characterized both as humble and as arrogant, the endorsement of the one automatically entails the rejection of the other.

Secondly, commentators on Avot throughout the ages have used the language of Avot in order to condemn arrogance.  The Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi both take the opportunity to warn against ga’avah in the context of Avot 4:4 (where R’ Levitas Ish Yavneh urges people to be extremely humble), as do the Rambam, Rabbenu Yonah, the Meiri, the Abarbanel and R’ Chaim Volozhiner. There are other opportunities to preach against ga’avah elsewhere in Avot. For example the Maharam Shik uses Avot 5:1 as a peg upon which to hang his comments about God creating the world with 10 utterances rather than a single one: by not showing off, as it were, God is demonstrating His own form of modesty or humility, setting an example that we too should emulate by avoiding ga’avah when we contemplate our own achievements.

None of this explains why none of the teachings of the Tannaim and Amoraim found in Avot mention the g-word. Possibly Rebbi, when redacting the tractate, considered that the subject had already been sufficiently covered by the mishnayot and baraitot on humility. If anyone has a better explanation, I do hope that they come forward and share it.

Sticking together: can it be too much of a good thing?

Much has been made of the remarkable degree of achdut, unity or togetherness, that we the Jewish people have experienced over the past three months, both in Israel and in the diaspora, in the face of the terrible threats and problems we still face. It has been exciting to feel this degree of togetherness, love and respect for each other. It has also been a big surprise. Why is this so?

Whether through nature, nurture or both, we Jews have a track record for arguing with one another, for fighting between ourselves and for going our own way which stretches back for millennia. Even having no-one around to fall out with is no bar to our capability to pick a fight and to assert how different we are from one another. Witness the tale, which we have all heard countless times but nonetheless persist in telling, about the Jew who, stranded on a desert island, builds himself two synagogues: one to pray in and the other in which he wouldn’t be seen dead.

This fissiparous streak in the Jewish character has so long been seen as a flaw, rather than a virtue, that it is surprising that Pirkei Avot has relatively little to say about putting it right. The word achdut appears nowherel in the tractate and, where cooperating with others is advocated, Avot points to doing so on a personal basis rather than as a nation. Thus we are counselled to have a rabbi or teacher (1:6, 16), to acquire a friend (1:6) and to stick with one’s friends as a means of preserving one’s Torah knowledge (4:18). To the contrary effect we are warned to distance ourselves from bad neighbours and not to join up with the wicked (1:7).

Perhaps the cautious attitude of the oral tradition reflected in Avot reflects a certain ambivalence elsewhere in Jewish thought. Thus, in the Torah, the first time we encounter true achdut, with humans joined in a single cause, God clearly disapproves of it because He takes steps to dissolve it. This is the account of the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11:1-9), where the whole earth was “of one language and one common purpose”.  If God’s response was triggered by His disapproval of the illegitimacy of humankind’s aims at that point, we may wonder at the message conveyed by Midrash that Ahab was victorious in his battles despite the fact that he was leading a nation of idolators. Why? Because of their achdut in never speaking a bad word against each other (Devarim Rabbah 5:6).  

Between these two instances we have a pair of similar but contrasting midrashic explanations of achdut, both addressed to the use in the Torah of a singular verb form with a collective noun. The first, brought by Rashi to Exodus 14:10, describes the Egyptians who were marching after the fleeing Israelite slaves as being belev echad ke’ish echad (With one heart, like one person”).  The second, also brought by Rashi but this time at Exodus 19:2, cites the nascent nation of Israel, camped at Sinai, as being ke’ish echad belev echad, “like a single person with a single heart”.  Again, there are contrasting outcomes to the achdut: Egypt was punished with ignominious defeat while Israel was rewarded by the gift of God’s own Torah.

Should we then stick together and preserve achdut at all costs? Again there is no clear consensus. No, says Rambam. If a community strays from the path of proper religious observance and cannot be brought back into line, it is preferable to go off and live by oneself in a cave rather than to remain with it. Yes, says R’ Eliezer Papo, the Pele Yo’etz. Stick with your fellows, however wrong-headed they may be, for the value of achdut is greater than that of keeping the mitzvot: witness the contrasting punishments received for the events leading to the destruction of the First and Second Temples.

Prima facie, Avot would seem to favour the approach of the Pele Yo’etz. Hillel the Elder teaches (2:5) al tifrosh min hatzibur, “Do not separate from the community”. However, if the tractate has already urged us at 1:7 to distance ourselves from a single bad neighbour, how much more should we distance ourselves from a community made up entirely of the wicked.

Perhaps there is another way of looking at the inherent conflict between our traditions. It is often said that the word צִּבּוּר, tzibur, is made up of the Hebrew letters צּ-ב-ר, these being the first letters of the words tzaddikim, benonim, resho’im (“the righteous, the ordinary person and the wicked”). Where the community is made up of the righteous, the ordinary person and the wicked, that’s when you should remain with it. But when it consists of the wicked alone—the classic Torah example being the cities of Sodom and Gemorrah—it is no longer a tzibur and Hillel’s teaching no longer applies. One is therefore not only allowed to leave it but can be compelled to do so.

Does this analysis hold up, or is it flawed? Please do post your comments on the Avot Today Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/avottoday

Illustration by Frits Ahlefeldt

Using a mishnah as a springboard

Traditional commentaries on Avot, however greatly they differed from one another, were directed towards a common goal: explaining the meaning of the mishnayot and baraitot and, in consequence, giving us an insight into what their authors were trying to teach us. Nowadays that approach is probably the exception rather than the rule, as commentators increasingly focus on adding value to Avot’s teachings by relating them to contemporary social, cultural and political trends and developments.

Following the advent of chassidut we find a further way of treating Avot. Rather than looking for the initial meaning of a teaching or examining its scope of application, its content may also be treated as a springboard from which to reach or enrich a further and unrelated point, in much the same way as aggadic teachings may be founded on a verse from Tanach that has nothing at all to do with them.

Here are two examples from the Avodat Yisrael of the Kozhnitzer Maggid (1740-1814).

In Avot 4:1 Ben Azzai says:

אַל תְּהִי בָז לְכָל אָדָם וְאַל תְּהִי מַפְלִיג לְכָל דָּבָר, שֶׁאֵין לָךְ אָדָם שֶׁאֵין לוֹ שָׁעָה, וְאֵין לָךְ דָּבָר שֶׁאֵין לוֹ מָקוֹם

Do not scorn any person, and do not discount anything. For there is no person who has not his hour, and nothing that has not its place.

The Avodat Yisrael picks up on the word שָׁעָה, “hour”, and comments that there is no-one so low, so ignorant or so wicked that he does not have his moment before God, when he can pray before Him and even serve Him. Also, using the letters of the word שָׁעָה, he cites a verse from the story of Cain and Abel:

וְאֶל-קַיִן וְאֶל-מִנְחָתוֹ לֹא שָׁעָה

But to Cain and to his offering He [i.e. God] did not turn.

From this, the Avodat Yisrael infers that every person has the opportunity and the free will to repent because the Holy Spirit rests upon them.

In both these teachings, the Maggid reframes the mishnah by taking it from the context of interpersonal relationships and placing it in the context of man-and-God. It is improbable that Ben Azzai intended this. After all, why would anyone scorn or despise a fellow human being for having the chance to pray to God and repent?

On the one hand, a purist may object that this sort of use of Avot is a distortion of its original intent. Against that, it adds extra force to these teachings and makes them more memorable. I believe that, on balance, we have much to gain by using Avot in this way, so long as we never lose sight of the foundational meaning.

What do you think?