Monday, 15 July 2024

Me, judgemental? No way!

The principle that we should judge others favourably is enshrined in one of the most cited mishnayot in Avot, where Yehoshua ben Perachyah teaches:

הֱוֵי דָן אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם לְכַף זְכוּת

Judge every man on the scale of merit (Avot 1:6).

This maxim gets bandied about so often that we can easily be blinded to it by that most troublesome of ailments, Mishnah Fatigue. This post urges us to refresh our view of it and to recalibrate our responses in two common situations that require our judgement.

First, a preliminary point. While much of the first chapter of Avot appears to be addressed specifically to judges, lawyers and the legal process, from the earliest commentators onwards this maxim has been taken to refer to the judgements we all make in our daily lives. Jewish judicial proceedings are mainly concerned with matters of evidence and proof, not with the moral standing of the litigants. However, we cannot avoid making moral judgements if we are to live our lives in accordance with the standards laid out in Avot. Thus when Nittai Ha’Arbeli (1:7) advises us to distance ourselves from a bad neighbour and to refrain from teaming up with a wicked person, it is assumed that we must take a plainly judgemental view as to who such people are if we are to act upon this guidance.

The two following scenarios indicate typical situations in which we may find ourselves, where we indulge in judgement without perhaps even realising that we are doing do. 

1.        Why isn’t s/he married, then?

Marriage—and nowadays many a permanent partnership that may not technically qualify as marriage—forms an important part of Jewish life. Throughout the ages it has been a popular activity within all sectors of Jewish society to help friends and acquaintances find an ideal match. Once upon a time this activity, though open to all, was largely the prerogative of the shadchan or shadchanit, the matchmaker. In recent times this activity, like so many others, is assisted by computer dating services.

At any given time, there are a good many Jews who are single. They may only just have reached a stage in their lives in which they are old and/or mature enough to marry. They may have yet to meet a person to whom they are confident to commit the rest of their lives. They may be widowed or divorced. They may be driven by career considerations that are so fulfilling that cannot look beyond them. Tragically, they may through no fault of their own be mamzerim.  And there are other reasons too.

When Yehoshua ben Perachyah teaches us to judge others favourably, this warning extends into the habits of thought that we can easily slip into when it comes to matchmaking. If a person has reached a relatively advanced stage in life without finding a partner, there is a temptation to think “why hasn’t s/he married? There must be something wrong with that person”, or “why is s/he so picky, rejecting so many eligible partners? What’s that person’s problem?”  This is a realm in which we should resist the tendency to form opinions when we don’t know what lies inside the hearts and minds of our fellow humans. 

2.        Would you give this man a donation?

The giving of tzedakah, charitable donations—like marriage—is an ancient and hallowed institution of Jewish life. Solicitations come in many forms: glossy brochures that vaunt the credentials of large institutional charities, mass online appeals and, at the bottom end of the market, individuals who go door-to-door or visit synagogues on weekday mornings. The credentials of major charitable institutions and foundations are easy to establish: accounts are prepared, audited and submitted for examination. But what of the individual who collects in person? How do we know who is a genuine charitable cause—and who is not?

Earlier this month the synagogue at which I was praying was visited one morning by a man who sought funds for major surgery for one of his children. At the end of the prayer service he made a speech in which he explained that this surgery could only be performed in the United States and at great expense; that the need to raise funds meant that he had to leave his job in order to do so; and that he could not support his family. The man’s speech was polished and had clearly been given on many occasions. It was supported by a well-presented flyer that reiterated his needs and gave details for the giving of donations, though it appeared to me that these details had been prepared separately and then scanned on to the document.  The man himself was smartly dressed and evidently well fed. He carried with him a portable credit card reader.

My first thought was that I should not trust this appeal; that the man was a professional and highly skilled beggar who was clearly successful at his job. But then I found myself wondering whether Yehoshua ben Perachyah’s teaching would let me reach that conclusion. After all, the need for surgery for the man’s daughter might be perfectly genuine and it might have been his desperation that led him to present his petition in a form that certainly troubled me (it did not seem to worry most of my fellows in the synagogue, who did not hesitate to donate). In the end, I too made a donation—a modest one, I admit—and made a mental note to myself that any reward for the performance of this mitzvah should go to Yehoshua ben Perachyah rather than to me.

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There are many other instances in which it is easy to slip into judgemental mode and to judge others harshly in one’s professional life and at home. School teachers, medical practitioners, sales assistants—no-one is totally immune. But if we do make critical or damning judgements of others, we should at least be aware that we are doing so and ask ourselves if we are justified in what we decide.

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