Making light of the eagle

We recently reviewed the first bit of Avot 5:23, where Yehudah ben Teyma teaches:

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

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

Let’s move on from the leopard to the eagle.

Eagles aren’t actually light. They are among the very heaviest birds that can still fly. This tells us that Yehudah ben Teyma is talking in terms that are metaphorical, not giving us a lecture in ornithology. But what is his message?

A curiously refreshing interpretation comes from the Kozhnitzer Maggid. In our lives we can reach great heights of spirituality: we can metaphorically soar higher than the angels, just as the eagle soars above other birds. We can even imagine that we have reached such a high level that we have gone past the point of no return. But no, what goes up must come down—and that applies just as much to us as to the eagle.

For us, coming down need not be a negative experience, the Maggid says. We need humility and true lowliness of spirit just as we need to hit the spiritual heights, since both are part of the truly righteous person. And each dose of humility helps prepare us in readiness for our next ascent.

Fixing one's Torah

At Avot 1:15 Shammai teaches:

עֲשֵׂה תוֹרָתְךָ קְבַע, אֱמוֹר מְעַט וַעֲשֵׂה הַרְבֵּה, וֶהֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּסֵֽבֶר פָּנִים יָפוֹת

Make your Torah fixed; say little and do much—and receive everyone with a pleasant countenance.

It’s easy to understand the bits about “say little and do much” and “receive everyone with a pleasant countenance”, even if we don’t always live up to those lofty ideals. But what does Shammai mean by “make your Torah fixed”?

Classical commentaries know that Shammai, as a Tanna and a man who was steeped in Torah learning himself, is concerned to buttress this learning against any outside threats and temptations as possible. Let us examine some of them.

The Bartenura tells us that Shammai intends us to make Torah learning the main fixture of our days and our nights. Only when we are too tired to carry on learning should we take a break and do some work. From what we know of the Bartenura, he spent some time as a banker and would appear to have enjoyed the benefit of independent means, so he may not have needed to trouble himself about working for a living. Even so, one wonders what sort of remunerative work a man might find only when he was worn out from Torah study.  Rambam and the Meiri also go for a ‘minimum work’ option: just keep learning Torah and wait to see if any work opportunities arise.

Fortunately the Bartenura offers an additional explanation of Shammai’s teaching that is within everyone’s grasp: “fixing” one’s Torah means being consistent when applying it. In other words, don’t be strict with yourself but lenient with others, or vice versa. Another sort of consistency is advocated by R’ Rafael Emanuel Chai Riki (Hon Ashir), who argues that what needs to be fixed is one’s own chiddushim, novel interpretations, so that they are properly thought-out and don’t contradict each other.

The commentary ascribed to Rashi also offers two explanations, but they contradict one another. First, one should not fix specific times each day for learning Torah but should fix the whole day for doing so. Secondly, one should fix specific times so that one can be sure to learn four or five chapters daily.

R’ Avraham Azulai (Ahavah beTa’anugim) adheres to the “fixed times in the day” principle, but with the proviso that, during those times, one is absolutely disturbance-proof, regardless of any reasons that might justify a breach of those times.

Modern commentators, living in a world where most sorts of work are not casual but demand commitment, regular hours and often lengthy training, tend to be more relaxed about the thing which is fixed, though not about the “fixing” requirement. How so?

R’ Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers) regards fixing as a process of absorbing the notion of Torah as the priority in one’s life to the point that, as he puts it:

A person may do a full day’s work, yet be absorbed in Torah, looking for opportunities when he can seize a few moments to study a mishnah or two.

This might strike the Torah scholar as a somewhat minimalistic approach, but it is well in line with the exigences of modern life.

R’ Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avot) ties “fixing” to the second part of the mishnah, about saying a little but doing a lot”: it’s better to fix for oneself as little as even two hours a day for learning than to say “I will learn as much as I can” since, human nature being what it is, identifying a manageable target and sticking to it is more likely to succeed than stating an open-ended objective, how laudable it may have sounded. Following the lead of R’ Shimshon Rephael Hirsch, Gila Ross (Living Beautifully) puts it differently, expressing herself in terms of the value of routine: for Torah and spiritual values to be firmly established in our personalities and become our life choices, they have to be a regular part of our routine. Still with routine, R’ Yitz Greenberg (Sage Advice) comments that “regular study add[s] up to a knowledgeable person whose life is guided by Torah”. He then quotes R’ Israel Salanter as coming out firmly in favour of a minimalist definition of a talmid chacham:

A Torah scholar … is not one who studies everything, but one who studies every day.

The Maharal’s approach (Derech Chaim) is to view “fixing” as a metaphor for truly internalising the Torah one learns so that one completely acquires it. Following the same line, one of the explanations offered by R’ Yaakov Hillel (Eternal Ethics from Sinai, vol.1) is that “we may have studied vast amounts of Torah, and yet we have not truly acquired it—it is not ours”. He then refers to the 48 ways of acquiring Torah listed in Avot 6:6. For him, that is what fixing one’s Torah means.

 So where does this leave us? We live in a world in which we are increasingly torn from our Torah studies by the demands of feeding and clothing our families, keeping a roof over our heads, paying our school bills and other regular overheads and generally worrying about a wide range of things that don’t look like learning in the traditional Jewish sense. But the rabbis have recognised that, if we can’t leave the real world to enter the world of Torah and stay there, we can at least bring the Torah into our daily world and live it to the best of our abilities.

Joy and fear: can you feel both at the same time?

In his commentary on Avot 5:19, Maharam Shik throws in a discussion point that is not directly related to that mishnah at all, but which he considers important. He writes:

“Fear and joy are two conflicting feelings and, in a place where either dominates, there is no room for the other”.

Since he has made the same point on earlier occasions, the previous one being on Avot 4:24 (the context being Shmuel HaKatan’s caution not to express joy at the downfall of one’s enemy), this is clearly something that troubles him.

While neither joy nor fear are mentioned in Avot 5:19, both feature on numerous occasions elsewhere in the tractate. For those who love lists of references, joy can be found at Avot 4:1, 4:24, 6:1 and 6:6, while fear appears in Avot 2:11, 3:3 and 3:7, 3:11, 3:21.

The fact that joy and fear do not appear together in any of these teachings might tempt us to conclude, as Maharam Shik has done, that they are mutually exclusive: if you feel the one, you cannot in his view be feeling the other. But is this reasoning borne out by our own experiences as human beings? I do not think so.

After a gap of several decades, I can still clearly recall my feelings when I exited Dublin’s Holles Street Maternity Hospital with my firstborn child in my arms. I was literally shaking with sheer joy that here before my very eyes was the baby my wife and I had fervently wished for, coupled with a deep fear that I had just exchanged my comfort area for an adventure in parenthood for which I had no experience or training and in which, I felt, I was way out of my depth. I’m sure that many readers of this post may have comparable mixed-feeling sensations of being torn between the powerful emotions of joy and fear.

As a final point, I add that our feelings are given to us for a purpose: to serve as a reality check. Joy, fear, anger, love, hate, despondency and indifference are part of the emotional armory of every human. We do not need to look to verses from Tanach or to scholarly disquisitions in order to ascertain whether two or more emotions can be felt together. All we need do is look within ourselves.

Rejoicing at Haman's downfall

For anyone with a Jewish soul, it is hard not to feel pleasure when the recitation of Megillat Esther reaches the point at which Haman is unmasked as the villain of the piece and gets his come-uppance. We have so many stories of Jew-hatred, pogroms, expulsions and massacres in our portfolio that it’s great to read each year of one bad man who did not get away or escape justice. But feeling pleasure is not the same as rejoicing. So we ask the question: are we allowed to rejoice at Haman’s downfall?

A mishnah in Avot (4:24) appears to suggest that such rejoicing is misplaced. There, Shmuel HaKatan ("Samuel the Small") teaches:

שְׁמוּאֵל הַקָּטָן אוֹמֵר: בִּנְפֹל אֹיִבְךָ אַל תִּשְׂמָח, וּבִכָּשְׁלוֹ אַל יָגֵל לִבֶּֽךָ, פֶּן יִרְאֶה יְיָ וְרַע בְּעֵינָיו, וְהֵשִׁיב מֵעָלָיו אַפּוֹ

"When your enemy falls, do not rejoice; when he stumbles, do not let your heart be gladdened in case God sees and it will be displeasing in His eyes, and He will turn His anger from [your enemy to you]"

It’s not clear why this teaching appears in Pirkei Avot at all since it consists of a couple of verses that have been cut-and-pasted from Mishlei (Proverbs) 24:17-18. Or, as one commentator, puts it, if this verse comes straight from King Solomon, why should we be concerned with how big or small this particular Shmuel happens to be?

Leaving that issue aside, let’s consider the case of Purim. It is no secret that a great deal of rejoicing does take place on that day. For some it is deeply spiritual in nature, while for others it is fuelled by alcohol and feasting—but it is all rejoicing, whatever its format.

Some form of celebration is clearly mandated by Megillat Esther itself. At Esther 8:16 we read that “The Jews had light and happiness and joy and honour".  But how exactly does this relate to the downfall of one’s foes? The context of this verse suggests that it refers not the downfall of Haman but to something else: the issue of a royal proclamation that the Jews were allowed to take up arms in order to defend themselves against those who, in accordance with an earlier and irrevocable proclamation (at 3:13), were ordered to exterminate them and plunder their property. It is clear, therefore, that the celebration of Purim does not contradict the substance of our Mishnah, so long as we are marking the turning point in the tide of Jewish fortunes; the proclamation was a sign that, since they had not deserted God, God had not deserted them.

As an aside, the Book of Tehillim (Psalm 27) offers an example of how a person who is acutely aware of God’s presence and of His intervention in events might choose to respond to the most welcome downfall of his enemies. The psalm in question uses the same Hebrew words as this Mishnah for downfall and stumbling: “When evil-doers came upon me to eat up my flesh – my adversaries and my foes – כשְָׁלוּ (koshelu) they stumbled and נפָלָו (nofolu) fell”. It is hardly likely that King Solomon, compiling the Book of Proverbs, would not have been familiar with the text of a psalm penned by his own father.

Psalm 27 can be seen as a paradigm for an ideal response to the fall of one’s foes. In it, King David acknowledges the facts on the ground – his enemies have been beaten and their malevolent intent foiled – and then does the following things:

• He affirms his continued trust in God;

• He requests further protection and sanctuary from evil;

• He proposes to offer joy-sacrifices to God and to sing His praises;

• He calls on God to lead him along the path of integrity, since his foes are ever-watchful;

• He calls on others to strengthen themselves by placing their hope in God.

There is no triumphalism here, no personal judgement of the wicked by King David, no wagging of fingers or naming of names and no suggestion that God has only eliminated his enemies because he has asked him to do so. This response is dignified, restrained and responsible. If we were all saints there would be a strong case for arguing that we should work hard on our own feelings in order to channel our own responses to triumph over our enemies in an equivalent manner. In the meantime, let’s pass the bottle and lift another glass …

And Esther told the King in Mordechai's name ...

God’s name may be hidden in the Megillat Esther, but the name of Esther does appear in Pirkei Avot, along with that of Mordechai. The only citation in Avot of the megillah comes at Avot 6:6, where the 48^th and final element of acquiring Torah is to quote the source from which you have learned something. The tail-end of this magnificent baraita reads as follows:

וְהָאוֹמֵר דָּבָר בְּשֵׁם אוֹמְרוֹ, הָא לָמַֽדְתָּ, כָּל הָאוֹמֵר דָּבָר בְּשֵׁם אוֹמְרוֹ, מֵבִיא גְאֻלָּה לָעוֹלָם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וַתֹּֽאמֶר אֶסְתֵּר לַמֶּֽלֶךְ בְּשֵׁם מָרְדְּכָי

…and saying something in the name of its speaker. Thus you learn: Everyone who says something in the name of the one who says it brings redemption to the world, as it states (Esther 2:22): "And Esther told the king in the name of Mordechai”.

What was it that Esther told the king? That Mordechai had overheard the plot of Bigtan and Teresh to overthrow him. This piece of useful service to the crown was duly recorded in the state annals and it was this that King Ahasuerus read during about of insomnia, leading ultimately to the downfall of Haman and to the Jews being saved from the massacre that was awaiting them.

The verse in Megillat Esther applies to sourcing information of a sensitive political nature, involving state security. Our Baraita takes it into another area entirely by applying it to learning Torah.

The idea of naming the person who originates an item of Torah learning is a particularization of the same principle that opens the tractate of Avot (1:1) by reciting the chain of tradition leading from the Sinaitic revelation to the era of the Men of the Great Assembly. Subsequent mishnayot provide further links in the chain by name-checking the rabbis through whom it passes. By doing this we can establish the authenticity of any teaching by making sure that it is derived from a trustworthy source.

This guidance is highly regarded, to the extent that, according to Rabbi Elazar Ezkari (Sefer Charedim 47.1), it is actually forbidden to fail to give the name of a person who first gave over a teaching.

Our baraita contains an apparent paradox: whoever cites the name of the originator of a piece of learning when he quotes it will bring redemption to the world—but the Baraita does not name the originator of this statement. More than that, the compiler of this perek of Avot does not even name the baraita’s author. For the record, The name of the Tanna Rabbi Yose is twice found in close proximity to this maxim where it appears in the Babylonian Talmud (Chullin 104b and Niddah 19b) but nowhere is it stated that he is its author. In Megillah 15b the same principle is taught in the name of later rabbis (the Amora Rabbi Elazar teaching it in the name of an earlier Amora, Rabbi Chanina).

The Maharsha (Megillah 15b) speculates that no question is raised regarding its authorship since it is only a baraita, not a mishnah, and that the Amora Rabbi Elazar, who cites this learning in the name of Rabbi Chanina, may have done so because he was unfamiliar with its existence as a baraita. Even so, regardless of its authorship and the reason, if any, for not citing it, the maxim retains its force: the correct citation of one’s sources can enhance both the transparency and the authority of one’s arguments, leading to their acceptance where they are correct and to their dismissal or refutation where they are not.

Every rule seems to have its exceptions and the Babylonian Talmud does record for us a number of examples where this principle is plainly disregarded in favour of false  attribution. This occurs where Amoraim discern a greater good which only false attribution can achieve—this greater good frequently being framed as a means of persuading the Jewish population at large to accept an undoubtedly correct halachic ruling which, if learned in the name of its true author, would carry considerably less weight. For those who want to know more. There is a review of the deployment of false attribution in the Talmud and elsewhere, the circumstances in which it may be tolerated and the responses of commentators ancient and modern in Marc B. Shapiro, Changing the Immutable: How Orthodox Judaism Rewrites Its History, in Chapter 8 (“Is the Truth Really That important?”).

Not all rabbis in the era of the Amoraim respected our name-your-source principle. A revealing passage in the Talmud (Bechorot 31b) deals with an answer that Rav Sheshet had given to a particular question:

Rav Idi was the attendant of Rav Sheshet. He heard [Rav Sheshet’s answer] from him and proceeded to mention it in the Bet Midrash, but did not cite it in his [i.e. Rav Sheshet’s] name. Rav Sheshet heard about this and was annoyed. He exclaimed: “He who has stung me--a scorpion should sting him!” [The Talmud then asks] “But what practical difference did this make to Rav Sheshet?”

The Talmud then explains that, where a person repeats what he has learned together with the name of the person from whom he learnt it, it is as though his teacher lives in two worlds: the World he occupies during his lifetime and, after he dies, when he “lives” in the World to Come since the lips of scholars murmur in their graves when their names are mentioned. On the subject of names, when Rav Sheshet invites the scorpion to sting Rav Idi, he does not mention his attendant’s name—possibly because Rav Sheshet’s father had the same name (Pesachim 49a), it being regarded as disrespectful for a son to utter his father’s name, whether during his life and thereafter.

It's what Hillel said -- but is it what he meant?

I don’t often have a chance to read The Kansas City Jewish Chronicle, but my attention was drawn to an item it ran last week under the headline “Local leaders invited to White House for discussions”.

The story goes like this. As part of the White House’s Building a Better America program, leaders from Kansas, Oklahoma and Missouri were invited to Washington, D.C., to discuss how government and local leaders can partner to strengthen communities. The leaders included Jay Lewis, president and CEO of Jewish Federation of Greater Kansas City, who said he was honoured to represent Kansas City and the Jewish community at the White House. Emphasising the importance of such meetings he commented:

“Pirkei Avot teaches us, ‘do not separate yourself from your community. Throughout the centuries, it has been so important for the Jewish community to have a close relationship with government leaders”.

Jay Lewis gets full marks for identifying Avot as the source of his quote (it’s Hillel, at Avot 2:5). But that’s not the end of the matter. Avot also teaches us not to become too familiar with the government (1:10) but rather to be wary of politicians’ self-interested motives (2:3).  Avot does not advocate having a close relationship with government leaders.

When Hillel teaches that one should not separate oneself from the community, it is pretty well universally understood that he is addressing individuals who might be about to go off on a limb and do their own thing: they should stay with the community, not seek to escape from it. He is not addressing communities at all.

Here is another mishnah for Jay Lewis—and this time it’s one that works in his favour:

כָל הָעוֹסְקִים עִם הַצִּבּוּר יִהְיוּ עוֹסְקִים עִמָּהֶם לְשֵׁם שָׁמָֽיִם, שֶׁזְּכוּת אֲבוֹתָם מְסַיַּעְתָּם, וְצִדְקָתָם עוֹמֶֽדֶת לָעַד, וְאַתֶּם, מַעֲלֶה אֲנִי עֲלֵיכֶם שָׂכָר הַרְבֵּה כְּאִלּוּ עֲשִׂיתֶם

Those who work for the community should do so for the sake of Heaven, since the merit of their ancestors will aid them, and their righteousness shall endure forever. “And you”, [says God,] “I shall credit you with great reward as if you have achieved it [yourself]” (Avot 2:2, per Rabban Gamliel ben Rebbi).

Working for, with and, when need be, against the community—if it is done for Heaven’s sake and not with any ulterior motive or personal agenda—is to be encouraged. It will bring its own reward.

Happy new year, you beast!

Right now we are pretty well half way through the year, being more or less equidistant from the previous Rosh Hashanah and the next one. Our thoughts are therefore likely to be quite distant from issues of teshuvah (repentance) and divine judgement—so what better time can there be to post a short note on the Jewish New Year as viewed through the refracting lens of Pirkei Avot?

As is well known, Rosh Hashanah marks the start of a holiday season that lasts some three weeks—but it’s only the new year for humans. Trees have their own New Year. And so do animals (Rosh Hashanah 1.1).

Strictly speaking, the new year for animals is the date that marks the end of each year’s tithing process. When calculating how many animals are to be tithed and given to the Kohanim, any animal born on or after the first day of the month of Elul is added to the total for the year that follows it.  

The Kozhnitzer Maggid makes an acute comment about this in his commentary to Avot 5:10, a mishnah that deals with failure to tithe one’s produce. The new year for humans falls on the first day of Tishrei, a month after the new year for animals. We are taught to prepare for Rosh Hashanah from 1 Elul by examining our deeds, repenting our misdeeds and generally seeking out God where He may be found.  As explained by R’ Shneur Zalman of Liadi, Elul is the month where God is analogized to the King who leaves his palace and goes out into the field, where he makes himself accessible to his subjects and seeks to meet them.

Says the Kozhnitzer Maggid, even if we have lived the rest of our year as animals, when we reach 1 Elul—the new year for animals—we should make the effort to raise our game, repent and spend the month in fear of God before we get to the human new year, which is also known as Yom HaDin, the Day of Judgment.

One need hardly add that the message of God coming out into the fields is particularly apt if during the year we have been no better than animals, for it is in the fields that they might be expected to be found.

The face of the leopard

There are plenty of creatures in Avot: lions, foxes, snakes, scorpions, eagles, deer and three different species of worm. There is also the leopard, who features in the first part of Yehudah ben Teyma’s teaching at Avot 5:23:

הֱוֵי עַז כַּנָּמֵר, וְקַל כַּנֶּֽשֶׁר, רָץ כַּצְּבִי, וְגִבּוֹר כָּאֲרִי, לַעֲשׂוֹת רְצוֹן אָבִֽיךָ שֶׁבַּשָּׁמָֽיִם. הוּא הָיָה אוֹמֵר: עַז פָּנִים לְגֵיהִנֹּם, וּבֽוֹשֶׁת פָּנִים לְגַן עֵֽדֶן. יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנֶֽיךָ, יְיָ אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ וֵאלֹהֵי אֲבוֹתֵֽינוּ, שֶׁיִּבָּנֶה בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ בִּמְהֵרָה בְיָמֵֽינוּ, וְתֵן חֶלְקֵֽנוּ בְּתוֹרָתֶֽךָ

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

The sentiment is fine: we should use our physical and mental resources for the service of God. But what is this business about being עַז (az), brazen? Unlike the other three attributes, which all have positive aspects to them, brazenness is usually regarded as a bad thing. Indeed, later in the same mishnah Yehudah ben Teyma observes that the brazen-faced go to Gehinnom, which is not a great place to be.

There is in reality no contradiction. People who are brazen are bad news—but people who can assume a mask of brazenness for a good purpose are demonstrating a noble quality that we should emulate.

What is it that we should stand brazenly against? There are many answers. Here are just a few.

The Sforno tells us to aim our עַז at sinners. If they ignore you the first or second time, don’t take no for an answer: just keep plugging away at them.

The Commentary attributed to Rashi reads the mishnah in the context of Torah learning: do not be timid about asking a question in order to understand something that has escaped you so far. It’s quite natural to hold back from asking a question in front of other students in case it reveals an even greater deficiency in one’s understanding, but that tendency has to be overcome. R’ Liepman Philip Prins, following the lead of the Alshich, extends this so as to apply to any mitzvah that might cause people to laugh or stare.

For the Kozhnitzer Maggid, the thing a person must brazenly face down is his or her own past, whenever it comes back to embarrass or haunt them. Someone who is on a path of teshuvah or repenting a particular wrong may have their past literally blow up in their face when having to taunts like “you came and ate happily in my house last year, so why won’t you do so now?” or “you can’t really object to doing X or Y because that’s how your parents brought you up—so why change now?” In response to such comments, it’s best to carry on brazenly doing one’s new thing and not to reply to jibes and taunts.   

What does all this have to do with the brazenness of the leopard? This splendidly handsome creature is the large cat with which humans throughout the ages have had the most contact. This is because it does not wait for its dinner to be delivered but actively searches for wherever the best food is most easily found—and that is where the flocks of sheep and herds of goats and cattle are.  Agile climbers and ruthless predators, they brazenly invade areas of human habitation when other large cats do not. And cats, unlike dogs, cannot be made to demonstrate real or apparent guilt or remorse for their actions.

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As an aside, some commentators prefer to render עַז as “bold” rather than “brazen”. Thus the Meiri regards this Mishnah as teaching that one should be bold in expending one’s strength in God’s service.

Also, “brazenness” has been regarded as a quality that is felt internally and which comes out in one’s conduct rather than one’s appearance since it is important to maintain a meek and bashful manner when dealing with others (Ruach Chaim). This explanation does not sit well with that of the Bartenura, who holds that it is specifically in the face that brazenness is shown.

Faith in whom?

Every so often I receive a short piece from Avot Today Facebook group member Jonathan Frey. Here’s the latest:

We may have had some tough breaks in life, but at the end of the day Hashem has recreated us every morning in order for us to appreciate that very fact and give thanks to Him for that fact alone—if for nothing else.

 

We all have our individual challenges, but Hashem doesn't make it so hard that we can't triumph. After all, the challenges come from Him himself and are designed to enable you to grow in spirituality if you make the correct choices.

The challenges are in fact opportunities, and this is the attitude you need to have.

• Change your attitude and you will go far with His help.
• Work with Him not against Him.
• Carry out His will rather than your own.
• Strive to perfect yourself as a person and to help make the world a better place in the process.

 Remember importantly: Ba Chabakuk veHemidan al achas, veTsadik beEmunaso Yichye. This means, the prophet said, that all mitzvot are based on one overriding principle, i,e. that a righteous person lives by his emunah, his faith. Have complete total and utter Faith in Hashem and demonstrate it through your thoughts, speech and deeds. In return He will raise you up to spiritual levels and fulfilment more than you could dream of!

 This piece very much resonates with the ethos of Pirkei Avot. “Carry out His will rather than your own” is advice that comes straight from Rabban Gamliel ben Rebbi at Avot 2:4 and the lion’s share of the content of the fifth and sixth perakim is aimed at perfecting ourselves as human beings.

Jonathan cites the prophet Habakkuk on the importance of living by one’s faith, this being essentially faith in God. One might have thought that faith in God was so basic that it was bound to feature somewhere in Avot, but it does not. Avot has very little to say about emunah, and what it does say is not specifically about faith in God at all. We should not have faith in ourselves, Hillel teaches (2:5), till the day we die. A baraita (6:6) adds that emunat chachamim—faith in our Sages—is one of the 48 ways one can acquire Torah. And that’s it.

 So why does Avot keep off faith in God? One obvious reason is that belief in God is a mitzvah de’oraita—a Torah commandment—while Avot addresses middot, personal behaviour and character, not mitzvot (In his famous list of the 613 Torah commandments, Rambam places emunat Hashem, in the sense of knowing God, at number one). In other words, faith in God lies outside the tractate’s aims and objectives.

 Another reason may be that the mishnayot of Avot are actually neutral as to whether an individual has faith in God or not. Why? Because it addresses the way we behave towards others and indeed ourselves: these are externals. What matters is the ma’aseh, our actions, not our knowledge, belief set or frame of mind (see Avot 1:17). If this is so, a non-believer can still act in accordance with God’s will because what God wants is set out in a detailed set of rules that govern Jewish domestic life, commerce and dispute resolution. God is a divine legislator and the law is the law.

 While in the realm of speculation, it is also worth looking at Habakkuk’s one-liner: that a tzaddik, a righteous man, lives by his faith (Habakkuk 2:4). We always assume this we mean man’s faith in God. But the same words can equally mean God’s faith in man. It is only because God, having given us free will, has faith that we will justify His creating us by serving Him in an appropriate manner.  This is not as implausible as it seems. The Bereshit narrative of the Flood illustrates how Noach is kept alive on account of God’s faith in him—and, barring modern scientific developments and euthanasia, we have no control over whether we live or not. That is entirely up to Him (Avot 4:29).

 The idea of emunat Hashem being God’s faith in man rather than the other way round is not mine alone. I found this passage in R’ Lord Jonathan Sacks’ Arguments for the Sake of Heaven (first published as Traditional Alternatives), near the beginning of chapter 5:

Faith in the messianic age is, Maimonides ruled, one of the essentials of Jewish belief. “The Torah has already promised”, Maimonides further explained, “that ultimately, at the end of their exile, the people of Israel will return to God and immediately they will be redeemed”. The sages interpreted the biblical phrase “the God of faith” to mean “the God who had faith in the world He was about to create” (my italics).

 R' Sacks’ text lacks source references. If any reader can pinpoint which sages he indicates, and where their interpretation can be found, will they please let me know.

What can we conclude from all of this? It is difficult to know. Pascal’s Wager seems to apply here: a person has everything to gain by believing in God. If God exists, well and good. If not, he or she has lost nothing and, at least in terms of how they behave towards others, will have made a positive contribution to society as good friends, neighbours and citizens.

 Thoughts, anyone?

Living beautifully

In my book on Avot I commented on how little literature on the Ethics of the Fathers has been written by women. This situation has now been remedied.  I’ve now come across an entire book on Pirkei Avot by Gila Ross. Published last year by Mosaica Press, it’s called Living Beautifully and it’s a “how-to” book, subtitled “How to bring meaning, joy and love into your life based on the timeless wisdom of Pirkei Avos”.

According to Mosaica’s webpage for the book:

…[A]cclaimed educator and coach Gila Ross uses her 20-years of experience in education and coaching to help transform relationships and lives. Through Living Beautifully, Mrs Ross strives to share her deep passion for Jewish wisdom and living a meaningful life.

Living Beautifully navigates the complex terrains of life, providing the tools and principles to appreciate what is truly valuable, see obstacles as challenges, and guide readers toward a balanced life full of meaning, joy, and fulfillment. Drawing from the time-tested wisdom of Pirkei Avos, Mrs Ross shows readers how to live beautifully despite the pressures and complexity of modern life.

Living Beautifully will inspire readers to infuse their lives with meaning and happiness, while demonstrating how even the smallest actions can have a significant impact on our souls and the world.

The large and comfortably readable print, accessibility and chatty, informal style suggest that the publishers are promoting this very much as a women-for-women book, penned by an author who has contributed much to the education and welfare of others, living a richly meaningful Jewish life while fulfilling the taxing challenges of marriage to a rabbi and raising eight children.

Not being a woman, I am ill-equipped to appreciate this book’s finer qualities. My impression is that many female readers will find it awesome and inspiring, offering them a way to raise their game and achieve greater things in their careers, their relationships and in their personal growth. Others may feel a little depressed, wondering how they continue to struggle with things that others can handle with such apparent ease and grace, emerging smiling and made wise from each lesson life teaches them—including the painful ones.

But what does this book offer me, as a man and a Pirkei Avot enthusiast? Strangely, having recently reviewed R’ Yisroel Miller’s The Wisdom of Avos, I was struck by their essential similarity: both authors draw greatly on their personal experience, concentrating on the contemporary relevance of Avot rather than detailed analysis of the text and historical relevance. Each uses Avot as a springboard for their thoughts and perspectives. Neither avoids citing commentators from bygone generations, but this is done to enhance a discussion rather than to define or limit it. What’s more, neither book is overtly “preachy”. We know the author’s personal religious feelings and commitments but do not feel that we are being pushed into accepting them or being damned if we don’t. Gila Ross employs more in the way of homespun wisdom than does R’ Miller, which accounts in part for the fact that her book is of greater length.

I shall be referring to Living Beautifully from time to time when developing points from Avot, so watch this space!

Paying double: charitable gifts and donation matching

Three times this week I have been invited to make a charitable contribution to an appeal based on ‘donation matching’, where any amount I give is promised to be matched penny for penny by a usually unnamed donor. Each of these charitable causes is one to which I would have given even if there were no matching donor, but I suspect that I have been gently manipulated by the existence of a matching scheme into giving more than I might otherwise have done.

I’ve often donated to such campaigns over the years and have occasionally wondered about them since, offhand, I don’t think they are subject to formal legal regulation. For example, how do I know whether the matched donations are ever made? And what if the sums donated are so great that the putative provider lacks funds to match them? Apart from this article (‘Donor Match-Making – Legal Considerations for Matching Gift Campaigns’) by Tracy L. Boak of law firm Perlman & Perlman back in 2021 I’ve not found much to go on. In contrast, there is a large and growing literature on how to set up and maximise the effect of such schemes.

Pirkei Avot, however, would appear to give the principle the green light. We learn at Avot 5:16 that donors to charity come in different shapes and sizes:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בְּנוֹתְנֵי צְדָקָה: הָרוֹצֶה שֶׁיִּתֵּן וְלֹא יִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים, עֵינוֹ רָעָה בְּשֶׁל אֲחֵרִים. יִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים וְהוּא לֹא יִתֵּן, עֵינוֹ רָעָה בְּשֶׁלּוֹ. יִתֵּן וְיִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים, חָסִיד. לֹא יִתֵּן וְלֹא יִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים, רָשָׁע

There are four types of charity donor. One who wants to give but does not want others to give is begrudging of others. One who wants others to give but does not want to give—begrudges oneself. One who wants to give and that others should give is a chasid [in this context a really good person who displays exemplary moral standards]. One who wants neither to give or for others to give is wicked.

Any matching donor, promising to match the donations of others with his or her own funds, is clearly defined here as a chasid, even though they achieve this covet praise quite literally at the expense of others. 

Women -- then and now

Students of Pirkei Avot today are often faced with the challenge of explaining—or explaining away—Yose ben Yohanan Ish Yerushalayim’s teaching at Avot 1:5. Is it a massive slap in the face for women, or is it merely misunderstood? The third part of this mishnah reads:

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

…and do not engage in excessive conversation with a woman. They said this regarding one's own wife—how much more so regarding the wife of one’s friend. The sages therefore said: one who excessively converses with a woman causes evil to himself, neglects Torah and ultimately inherits Gehinnom.

The earliest explanations of this guidance are clear: for men in the world of Torah learning, women are a problem. Avot deRabbi Natan (7:3) warns against coming home from the house of study with complaints that he has not been treated with respect or that he has had a dispute with his chavruta, his study partner: by doing so he merely debases himself and others. His wife, thinking less of him, will share their private conversation with others. This view of the mishnah is adopted by the commentary attributed to Rashi, who adds da’atan shel nashim kalah (“women’s understanding is small”) and spells out that conversing with the wife of one’s friend is problematic because of hachashad (“the suspicion”), without feeling the need to spell out its parameters.

The Bartenura rejects the theory that excessive conversation with one’s wife is only limited to times when she is niddah and not sexually available to him. Instead, he focuses on chit-chat between husband and wife, for which one is accountable when facing judgement. He then offers a wider version of the explanation of Avot deRabbi Natan, applying it not just the husband who returns from the study house but to wherever he may have come home from.

Rambam regards this teaching as revolving around talk of sex, since that is the content of most conversation between men and women. Rabbenu Yonah is more concerned here with thoughts of sex, though he too cites the Avot deRabbi Natan and Rashi. He adds that it is impossible to have Torah thoughts when conversing with a woman and that, if one’s yetzer hara is getting the better of him, chatting with a woman is a good way to establish a time and place for improper conduct.

Contemporary writers on Avot take quite a different approach. Indeed, R’ Dan Roth (Relevance: Pirkei Avos for the Twenty-First Century, 2007) passes over this mishnah completely.

For R’ Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers, 1999) the task of the husband is to avoid what he calls “excessive” talk. This is a broad category of speech that includes all talk that is unnecessary, unproductive or damaging, with nothing to justify it. This category includes complaints or criticisms of one’s wife where the subject of the complaint is in the past and cannot be rectified,

R’ Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avos, 2022) meets the mishnah head-on, going right back to the Avot deRabbi Natan, concluding that “the mishnah is warning against conversing excessively with one’s own wife because it may cause her to lose respect for him”. R’ Miller then uses it as a springboard for a wider message—one that is not based on the original words at all: “conversation between men and women is difficult because men and women use words and process information in very different ways”. Given the possibility of sexual attraction between man and woman, “every conversation between men and women is a minefield waiting to explode”.

R' Anthony Manning (Poliakoff and Manning, Reclaiming Dignity, 2023) quotes the teaching of Yose ben Yochanan but does not subject it to close textual analysis. Rather, he explains in general terms that: “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 become sexually suggestive, opening up possibilities for seductions and potentially destructive relationships”.  To be fair, this is not a pirush on Avot, so it would be unfair to expect anything further on this mishnah.

Another recent publication, this time by Gila Ross (Living Beautifully, 2023), is based on Avot but focuses more on the aspirational side of the tractate, more on what sort of life we should aim to live rather on what the words of the Tannaim mean. She writes: “Of course, any talk that is necessary, including anything that creates an emotional bond between a husband and a wife, is not only permitted but encouraged”. She continues: “More specifically, not conversing excessively with a woman is a reminder to us that life is precious and limited. We are souls, and we are here for a higher purpose…” , Citing R’ Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, she adds:”[A] husband who has respect for his wife won’t just give her idle chatter but will engage in meaningful talk”.

Not all modern pirushim stray from the blunt message of the classic commentators. R’ Yaakov Hillel (Eternal Ethics From Sinai, vol.1, 2021) does not mince his words. While his discussion of male-female relationships may be far from contemporary social norms, he maintains a hard line that the Tannaim would likely have recognized, cautioning against spiritual decline and the sin of wasting semen. His strict approach would however commend itself to many a wife whose husband, “in learning”, is struggling with a meagre income and a large family. He writes: “When a woman needs her husband’s encouragement or help, it is a mitzvah to provide it”. After mentioning the special needs of such wives he adds: “Everyone is different. It takes a great deal of wisdom to correctly gauge and meet another party’s needs, yet not err in the opposite direction. A husband’s obligations to his wife as outlined in the marriage contract are based on her feelings, which may not necessarily be identical to his”.

In sum, modern writings on Avot reflect in general a drift away from the strict, somewhat austere and sometimes patronizing position of the classical commentators—but they do affirm, both in positive and negative terms, the principles upon which this mishnah is founded.

 

 

The Three Pillars: a fresh perspective

Shimon HaTzaddik’s teaching at Avot 1:2 is so short and simple that it would be strange for so many explanations to exist for it—were it not that this mishnah stands proof that Avot is for all times and that each generation can extract some further level of meaning from it. The mishnah reads:

עַל שְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים הָעוֹלָם עוֹמֵד: עַל הַתּוֹרָה, וְעַל הָעֲבוֹדָה, וְעַל גְּמִילוּת חֲסָדִים

The world stands on three things: the Torah, the service [of God], and acts of kindness.

This post does not propose to review all the existing explanations or to discuss the surprising variety that Torah, service and acts of kindness are intended to mean or symbolize. All it seeks to do is to comment on a very recent one, a response to the unfolding of events in Israel and on her borders in the wake of the war that broke out on 7 October 2023. 

One of the most popular explanations of this mishnah is that of the Maharal (Derech Chaim), that the three things the world stands on represent the three relationships a person must cultivate in this world: a relationship to oneself (Torah), God (service) and other people (acts of kindness). The following concentrates on just one of those things. 

In “Answering the call to serve” (Torah-To-Go, January 2024/Shevat 5784), R’ Meir Goldwicht writes:

Our nation finds itself in a period of “miluim”. Miluim in modern Hebrew means reserve duty (especially in a military context). In lashon hakodesh, it has a different meaning. We use miluim (from the word malei, to fill) to refer to situations where one person fulfills the needs of another, and in doing so, the giver’s needs are fulfilled more than the recipient’s.

The mishnah of Shimon HaTzaddik is offered as an example. How does this work?

Torah: Anyone who progresses in Torah learning does so through the benefits received from Torah influencers, teachers and chavrutot (learning partners). This in turn enables such a person to benefit others in the same manner—and those who have benefited with benefit their benefactor in return.

Service: Following the destruction of the Second Temple and the cessation of Temple services, the Hebrew word avodah, “service”, has been firmly linked to the concept of “service of the heart”, in other words prayer. The Babylonian Talmud (Bava Kama 92a) teaches that, where one prays for one’s friend who has the same needs, the person praying will be answered first.

Acts of kindness: It is axiomatic that, by furnishing charity to others, we can actually become wealthy as a result (Taanit 9a). On this basis the desire to fulfill someone else’s needs will eventually benefit the giver.

This idea of reciprocity—helping others learn in order to learn from them, praying for others and benefiting from one’s prayers for them, and also reaping the material rewards of assisting others materially—is not inherent in the words of Shimon HaTzaddik who, living in Temple times, would surely have the (non-reciprocal) notion of Temple sacrifices foremost in his mind when delivering this teaching. Nor, so far as I am aware, is this notion found in the words of any earlier commentator on Avot. Nonetheless, it fits the bill here and shows how the words of Avot have yet to reach the stage at which we cannot derive new messages from them. What’s more, it makes all three pillars relevant to human-on-human interaction, which is very much the ethos of Avot.

Fun with funnels

Is there humour in Pirkei Avot? I think so. An anonymous mishnah (Avot 5:18) teaches us this:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בְּיוֹשְׁבִים לִפְנֵי חֲכָמִים: סְפוֹג, וּמַשְׁפֵּךְ, מְשַׁמֶּֽרֶת וְנָפָה. סְפוֹג, שֶׁהוּא סוֹפֵג אֶת הַכֹּל. וּמַשְׁפֵּךְ, שֶׁמַּכְנִיס בְּזוֹ וּמוֹצִיא בְזוֹ. מְשַׁמֶּֽרֶת, שֶׁמּוֹצִיאָה אֶת הַיַּֽיִן וְקוֹלֶֽטֶת אֶת הַשְּׁמָרִים. וְנָפָה, שֶׁמּוֹצִיאָה אֶת הַקֶּֽמַח וְקוֹלֶֽטֶת אֶת הַסּֽוֹלֶת

There are four types [of student] among those who sit before the sages: the sponge, the funnel, the strainer and the sieve. The sponge absorbs everything. The funnel takes in at one end and lets it out the other. The strainer lets the wine pass through but keeps the dregs. The sieve ejects the coarse flour but keeps the fine flour.

Anyone who has ever been involved in teaching will recognize these four characters since they are found in every sector of the educational system, both Jewish and non-Jewish.

Even though this mishnah is easily understood even by the casual reader, it goes without saying that commentators have written all manner of analyses of these scholastic qualities. But I am going to discuss one small point: the analogy of the funnel.

My starting point is the assumption that the funnel is like a student’s head: the teaching goes in through one ear and out through the other, leaving no trace of knowledge or understanding behind.

The most popular commentators take pains to explain what a funnel is. The commentary ascribed to Rashi translates it into Old French, while the Bartenura gives a 14-word account of its function. They, and Rabbenu Yonah, affirm that what goes in goes straight out.

But does the learning pass straight through or does it take a little while to do so? According to Rambam, what goes into the student’s head enters easily because he comprehends it, but then it fades, leaving not a trace behind. R’ Chaim Volozhiner (Ruach Chaim) and the Meiri (Bet HaBechirah) agree: following the Avot deRabbi Natan they consider that the student forgets what he has actually learned.  

Maharam Shik points out that the student must retain something before he loses it. If you look at a funnel, you will observe that it is wide at the top but very narrow at the bottom. This is a metaphor for a student who learns everything, but only forgets it little by little until it is all gone. But if this is correct, our Mishnah is arguably overlapping with an earlier one (Avot 5:15) in the same perek that cites the case of the student who is quick to learn and slow to forget—a praiseworthy attribute.

R' Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) also notes that the top of the funnel has a substantial capacity. The reason why the student retains nothing, however, is that each new piece of knowledge displaces something that was apparently stored in the student’s head.

On a less serious note, I observe that the modern kitchen has other items and appliances, many of which the rabbis of mishnahic times would not have known. So I shall ask: what sort of talmidim correspond any of to the following items:

• Electric toaster
• Food mixer
• Pressure cooker
• Refrigerator