Justice, truth and peace

I was saddened to learn that Rabbi Yisroel (“Eli”) Brunner, of London’s Etz Chayim, passed away last week. A quiet, gentle and unassuming man, he was a direct descendant of Rabbi Yehuda Assad, author of Yehuda Ya’aleh and the leader of Hungarian Jewry after the death of the Chatam Sofer. 

Like his distinguished ancestor, Reb Eli was also a great lover of Pirkei Avot. Indeed his sefer, Chiddushei Mahari’a al Pirkei Avot, is a monument both to his affection for Rabbi Assad, whose life is extensively chronicled in the first part of this book, and for Avot itself: the second part of this work is largely based on Rabbi Assad’s own comments and reflections on the tractate.

Here is a little something to remember Reb Eli by: a short devar Torah from the Chiddushei Mahari’a.

At Avot 1:18 Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel teaches:

עַל שְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים הָעוֹלָם קַיָּם: עַל הַדִּין, וְעַל הָאֱמֶת, וְעַל הַשָּׁלוֹם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: אֱמֶת וּמִשְׁפַּט שָׁלוֹם שִׁפְטוּ בְּשַׁעֲרֵיכֶם

By three things is the world sustained: justice, truth and peace. As it says: "Truth, and a judgement of peace, you should administer at your gates.''

Why does Rabban Shimon say this? Has not Shimon HaTzaddik not already taught us (Avot 1:2) that the world depends on three quite different things:

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

The world stands on three things: Torah, divine service and acts of kindness.

Rabbenu Yonah, one of the most authoritative Rishonim, explains in his commentary on Avot that, when the world was created and we could atone for our sins through the bringing of sacrifices, it was on the three pillars of Torah, divine service and acts of kindness that it was founded. However, following the destruction of the Temple and in light of the impossibility of bringing sacrifices, a new order of things was needed if the world was to survive, that of justice, truth and peace.

This is the background to the explanation of a midrash that, Moses ascended to Heaven to watch God engaging in the ma’aseh Bereishit, the act of Creation, through the words of the Torah. When God to the words תַּדְשֵׁא הָאָרֶץ דֶּשֶׁא (tadshe ha’aretz deshe, “let the earth put forth grass”), Moses burst into tears.

Why should Moses have done such a thing? Rabbi Assad explains.  In an ideal world, we would live our lives in the spiritual environment of Torah, divine service and acts of kindness. But once the Temple is lost, the possibility of sacrifices vanishes and Torah is diminished, the world must survive on Plan B: we have to achieve justice, accept the truth and seek to be at peace. The clue to this is the word דֶּשֶׁא, this word being made up of the initial letters of din, shalom and emet (justice, peace and truth).

Reb Eli was a man who bridged the two mishnayot we have discussed above. He subscribed to the values of Torah, serving God and displaying kindness to one's fellow humans, and he lived by the code of justice, peace and truth.

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Real learning and a stroll in the park

Many readers are uninspired by the standard explanations of Rabbi Yaakov’s (or, according to other texts, Rabbi Shimon’s) blistering attack on the Torah student who allows himself to be distracted from his learning. The mishnah in question, Avot 3:9, goes like this:

הַמְהַלֵּךְ בַּדֶּֽרֶךְ וְשׁוֹנֶה, וּמַפְסִיק מִמִּשְׁנָתוֹ וְאוֹמֵר: מַה נָּאֶה אִילָן זֶה, מַה נָּאֶה נִיר זֶה, מַעֲלֶה עָלָיו הַכָּתוּב כְּאִלּוּ מִתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשׁוֹ

One who walks along the way and studies, and interrupts his studying to say, "How beautiful is this tree!", "How beautiful is this ploughed field!"---the Torah considers it as if he had forfeited his life.

Commentators have poured scorn on the unfortunate talmid who interrupts study of the eternal, spiritual Torah for the fleeting pleasure gained by admiring the physical, material dimension while simultaneously squandering precious and irreplaceable time that could have been devoted to getting closer to God through the sole route available to His chosen people, that of learning Torah.  To be fair, this might very well have been precisely what the author of the mishnah intended—particularly if he were Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, a Torah genius with an uncompromising attitude towards the objective of learning. But if this is so, the meaning is plain and needs no commentator to explain it.

Here’s an admittedly fanciful reinterpretation of the mishnah which, I believe, readers will not find elsewhere. It runs like this.

We start this mishnah by noting the insertion of two words that rarely attract attention. It’s not just any old tree and field that we learn of here, but this tree and this field. So which tree and field are we talking about?  I suggest that the tree is the Torah itself: the etz chaim for those who grasp it and shelter forever within its all-embracing shade. The field is where one ploughs, sows one’s seeds and then gathers one’s grain, to sustain oneself when learning Torah.

So much for the tree and the field. What is the way? Avot tells us, at 2:13. There Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai instructs his five top talmidim to go out, to leave the portals of the Beit Midrash, and see what is the derech yesharah, the right way for a person to travel in life. His choice lies between the tree and the field. Remember, the tree represents a life of total and exclusive immersion in Torah, as Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai advocates at Berachot 35b, while the field represents a life of Torah moderated by the need to reap God’s reward for keeping the mitzvot by harvesting one’s crops and addressing one’s physical needs, as advocated by Rabbi Yishmael.

“Walking along the way” in our mishnah is a challenge because it is a demand that Rabban Yochanan’s talmidim exercise their own judgement and educate themselves, free from the constraints of the Beit Midrash: let them look at a life of total Torah learning from the outside, as it were, and contrast it with a life of Torah im derech eretz—Torah combined with a livelihood.

The talmid in our mishnah takes this path. Along this path he sees the tree of Torah and the field of Torah im derech eretz. He praises them both, since both are worthy of praise. So why does he deserve to forfeit his life? Because he stops in the middle of his real-life learning exercise and says “Torah is beautiful, Torah im derech eretz is beautiful!” but he either does not or cannot choose one over the other and therefore chooses neither. He therefore has no path, no derech in life that he can follow.

Thoughts, anyone?

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Where is gratitude?

Pirkei Avot is widely regarded as the main source for middot,  the good and refined characteristics that mark the behaviour of an observant Jew. These middot include greeting others in a polite and cheerful manner, not interrupting others while they are talking, not making adverse snap judgements about other people and being prepared to respect and learn from other people, whoever they may be.

In an appendix to my book, Pirkei Avot: a Users' Manual, I listed 43 good middot that we are encouraged to pursue, and a further 29 bad middot that we are charged to avoid. But it was only this week that it occurred to me that one important middah seems to be missing: hakarat hatov, gratitude to others. Our sages of old were not reticent about the importance of gratitude--even if it be towards non-human and even inanimate objects, so why do we find  no overt reference to gratitude in Avot?

Some students of Avot have suggested that Ben Zoma's words at Avot 4:1 address this issue:

אֵיזֶהוּ עָשִׁיר, הַשָּׂמֵֽחַ בְּחֶלְקוֹ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: יְגִֽיעַ כַּפֶּֽיךָ כִּי תֹאכֵל, אַשְׁרֶֽיךָ וְטוֹב לָךְ, אַשְׁרֶֽיךָ בָּעוֹלָם הַזֶּה, וְטוֹב לָךְ לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא

Who is rich? Someone who is happy with his lot. As it states: "If you eat from the effort of your hands, you are fortunate --  and it is good is to you"; "you are fortunate" in this world, "and it is good for to you" in the World to Come.

With respect, this does not appear to correspond to gratitude, though a person may not unreasonably feel grateful when happy with his lot. Ultimately contentment and gratitude operate in different dimensions: being contented is a passive state of mind; it does not impel one to do anything. Gratitude, however, is at least a potentially active state of mind; it has the ability to motivate a person to express gratitude to the person or circumstances that lead to us experiencing it.

If anyone has a fresh insight as to where we might find an endorsement of gratitude by the Tannaim quoted in Pirkei Avot, can they please share it with us?

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Taking a risk

Just last week we posted a discussion (“Material wealth, human needs: when does a luxury become a necessity?”, here) on Rabban Gamliel ben Rebbi’s dictum (Avot 2:2) on getting the right balance between learning Torah and earning a living:

יָפֶה תַּלְמוּד תּוֹרָה עִם דֶּֽרֶךְ אֶֽרֶץ, שֶׁיְּגִיעַת שְׁנֵיהֶם מַשְׁכַּֽחַת עָוֹן, וְכָל תּוֹרָה שֶׁאֵין עִמָּהּ מְלָאכָה סוֹפָהּ בְּטֵלָה וְגוֹרֶֽרֶת עָוֹן

Torah study is good together with earning a living, for the exertion of them both makes sin forgotten. All Torah study that is not joined with work will cease in the end, and leads to sin.

The earlier post addressed the extent to which one’s material wants and needs should be allowed to compete with the imperative requirement of learning Torah. I’ve just found a different slant on this teaching, focusing on the risk a Torah student takes in seeking to establish the right balance. This comes from Rabbi Norman Lamm—a champion of Torah Umadda—effectively the pursuit of all forms of knowledge for the purpose of enriching one’s Torah understanding and bringing one’s understanding to bear in the contemporary world. Rabbi Lamm’s premise is that, however important Torah learning may be, every community depends for its survival on some people working for a living and occupying themselves with acts that do not constitute Torah learning. This is a truism in respect of any and every Jewish community—we all need doctors, lawyers, accountants and others whose professional skill set lies outside the covers of the Talmud and its commentators. But ultimately the decision as to how to balance learning with work is placed on the shoulders of the individual and, for each of us, getting the right balance is just a euphemism for taking a risk and getting away with it.

In Foundation of Faith he comments on this mishnah:

“Yes, of course there are risks in Torah Umadda. Any knowledge that can never be dangerous is also never worth striving for. It is like anything else in life. Love, for example, is a great ideal, yet love can be very dangerous. You could love the wrong person or you could love illicitly. Peace is marvellous, Sim Shalom, but peace with the devil is dangerous. Democracy is a great idea, but democracy taken to an extreme means we can all vote to worship the Baal. Any great idea can be exploited and abused. All knowledge that is worthwhile can be dangerous, and a Torah Umadda approach means exposing students to the cultural winds that are current in the contemporary world. Not all of them are good, and not all of them are compatible with a Torah viewpoint”.

An educated, intelligent and perceptive Jew, comfortable with his Jewish knowledge base and secure in his own identity, should be able to weigh up the non-Jewish ideas he encounters when acquiring and practising a profession. But there is a warning:

“…[I]nstead of looking at [an idea that originates from a non-Torah source] critically, the student will embrace I, especially because Torah Jews are a cognitive minority … even within the Jewish community, and it is very difficult to live as a lone wolf, as it were, intellectually. So there is a tendency to give in, and that’s the danger”.

At this point the reader may be wondering why, given the risk of adopting ideas antithetical to the Torah, Rabbi Lamm should be so keen for a Torah-observant Jew to do so. Here’s his answer:

“[I]t’s worth taking that risk because doing the opposite means that we have given up our commission of being a goy kadosh umamlekhet kohanim. We are in danger of no longer being “a holy nation and a Kingdom of Priests” but, instead, becoming a safe sect and a denomination of Priests, and that is not exactly what we were told to do at Har Sinai”.

I wonder if I am alone in finding Rabbi Lamm’s argument, for all its power and passion, quite unpersuasive. Is it true in any meaningful sense that “any knowledge that can never be dangerous is also never worth striving for”? How does one go about verifying this assertion? Why is no apparent distinction drawn between “knowledge” and “ideas”?  And why are we any less a “holy nation and a Kingdom of Priests” if we absorb our own Jewish ideas and share them other nations? Thoughts, anyone?

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What are names for?

The Talmud and commentators on Tanach have a great deal to say about the meaning of a person’s name, the significance of divine and human-generated name changes and whether a name reveals one’s character. But, for most of us, we choose names for more mundane reasons. Perhaps they honour or recall the memory of a friend, a family member or a spiritual leader. Or maybe we pick them because we like the sound of them. Whatever the motive, we use names so that we can identify one another. Failure to tell one person’s name from another—in this instance Kamtza and Bar Kamtza—is  famously described in the Talmud (Gittin 55b to 56c) as the incident that ultimately led to the destruction of the Second Temple.

There are two elements to a person’s name: what the name is, and what a person is actually called by others. Two Tannaim in Avot 4:1-3, Shimon ben Zoma and Shimon ben Azzai, are known only as Ben Zoma and Ben Azzai. Why?

The commentary on Avot that is ascribed to Rashi offers two reasons. First, that they both died young and were therefore referred to only by their fathers’ names. Secondly, they had not yet received semichah, rabbinic ordination and had thus to be referred to only by their fathers’ names.  The Bartenura agrees with these explanations. 

Neither of the explanations offered above would seem to compel the use of the father’s name alone. One might have thought that it was all the more important to preserve a person’s memory by citing his name in full if he had died young; further, if the son only taught what he had learned from his father, the mishnayot should be learned in the father’s full name (e.g. Zoma ben Ploni), not the son’s.  In any event, another Shimon who is known only by his father’s name, but who is not said to have died young, is Shimon ben Nanos, a distinguished contemporary of Rabbi Akiva. I do not think that it is anywhere suggested that he had not received semichah. We might also consider, regarding lack of semichah, that this factor would have disentitled a Torah scholar from being called ‘Rabbi’, but why jettison his forename?

Not all commentators accept that Ben Zoma and Ben Azzai died young. The Tashbetz and the Maharal both assert that they had long lives. Since the Talmud later describes each of them by their full name, they conclude that it was only the want of semichah at the time when they taught their mishnayot that resulted in the suspension of the use of their forenames. Ben Zoma is however mentioned as “Rabbi Shimon ben Zoma” in the mishnah and gemara at Chullin 83a and Ben Azzai is “Rabbi Shimon ben Azzai” in a mishnah (Yadayim 3:5) and in the gemara (Yevamot 49a-b).

There may be another, simpler explanation of why these two Tannaim are known only by their father’s names, an explanation that applies to Ben Nanos too. Shimon was the most popular name among Tannaim. The Jewish Encyclopaedia lists no fewer than 33 of them, including Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai (known simply in Avot as ‘Rabbi Shimon’) and the various Shimons who were descended from Hillel the Elder. Many of us have experienced Shimon-confusion at one time or another. If at least some of them are given another handle by which they may be called, the likelihood of confusion diminishes.  

It is important for us to know the names of our teachers, and this importance goes beyond the realm of good manners. The baraita at Avot 6:6 lists the citation of one’s learning in the name of the person who first said it as one of the 48 means of acquiring Torah and then adds:

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

This is what we have learned: One who says something in the name of its speaker brings redemption to the world, as it states: "And Esther told the king in the name of Mordechai."

This baraita cites Esther 2:22, a pivotal verse in the Megillah which opens a narrative that ultimately leads to the king’s Jewish subjects being spared the fate that Haman had in store for them. Esther cites her trusted source, and the rest of the story shows how God manipulates events without the need to reveal His presence.  Is this not an incentive to us to make at least an effort to quote our sources in full?

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When it's fatal to forget

Sometimes we find a teaching that is expressed in terms so menacing that we heave a sigh of relief on discovering that the situation is by no means as grave as we first thought. Avot 3:10 contains one such teaching, promulgated by Rabbi Dostai beRabbi Yannai in the name of Rabbi Meir:

כָּל הַשּׁוֹכֵֽחַ דָּבָר אֶחָד מִמִּשְׁנָתוֹ, מַעֲלֶה עָלָיו הַכָּתוּב כְּאִלּוּ מִתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשׁוֹ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: רַק הִשָּֽׁמֶר לְךָ וּשְׁמֹר נַפְשְׁךָ מְאֹד פֶּן תִּשְׁכַּח אֶת הַדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר רָאוּ עֵינֶֽיךָ. יָכוֹל אֲפִילוּ תָּקְפָה עָלָיו מִשְׁנָתוֹ, תַּלְמוּד לוֹמַר: וּפֶן יָסֽוּרוּ מִלְּבָבְךָ כֹּל יְמֵי חַיֶּֽיךָ, הָא אֵינוֹ מִתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשׁוֹ עַד שֶׁיֵּשֵׁב וִיסִירֵם מִלִּבּוֹ

When a person forgets even a single word of his learning, the Torah considers it as if he had forfeited his life. As it states: "Only be careful, and guard your soul with care, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen". One might think that this applies also to one who [forgets because] his studies proved too difficult for him; so the verse tells us "and lest they be removed from your heart, throughout the days of your life." Thus one does not forfeit his life unless he sits down and removes them from his heart.

I would guess that there is not a single reader of this piece who would not consider him- or herself well protected by the get-out clause which Rabbi Dostai infers from Devarim 4:9. Our studies may be too difficult to retain because we couldn’t understand them in the first place, or maybe we were distracted other things happening in our lives and it was too hard for us to concentrate on them. Or again, we may have planned to have another go at learning something that was beyond us, but it was too hard for us to make time to do so because of competing priorities. And so forth. Rabbi Meir would have been quite prepared for us to justify the time we spend in not mastering Torah, for it is he who teaches (at Avot 4:12):

אִם בָּטַֽלְתָּ מִן הַתּוֹרָה, יֶשׁ לָךְ בְּטֵלִים הַרְבֵּה כְּנֶגְדָּךְ

If you neglect the Torah, you will have many excuses to give yourself

Rabbi Dostai, speaking to his own generation, is clearly pressing budding Torah scholars to be as diligent as humanly possible in absorbing, recalling and understanding their learning. It can be learned as one of a pair of mishnayot that address the same issue, the other being Rabbi Yehudah’s teaching at Avot 4:16:

הֱוֵי זָהִיר בְּתַלְמוּד, שֶׁשִּׁגְגַת תַּלְמוּד עוֹלָה זָדוֹן

Be careful with your studies, for an error of learning is tantamount to a willful transgression.

Commentators like the Me’iri take a firm line with anyone who does not retain his learning. For him, “sitting down and removing” his learning means no more than spending time on “inessential temporal needs”—a category of activities that may have been quite small in his lifetime but which must surely be vast in an era in which the leisure and entertainment industries claim so much of our attention and money.

But how should we read and understand Rabbi Dostai’s mishnah today, when the vast majority of practising Jews enjoy their learning and are generally quite committed to it in one form or another—but would never claim to be aspiring Torah scholars of the sort that we encounter in the pages of the Talmud? Some take just a hard line as the Rishonim. Thus Rabbi Reuven P. Bulka (Chapters of the Sages) views one as putting one’s soul on the line even if one has remembered one’s learning but has not internalised it. Gila Ross (Living Beautifully) applies this mishnah to anyone whose learning is lost through laziness or indifference. Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers) relocates the teaching in the realm of chassidut: one’s life is forfeited not for forgetting one thing but for forgetting the one thing—God, who is One.

I rather like an explanation of this mishnah given by Rabbi Yosef Shaul Nathanson (author of the Sho’el uMeshiv), brought by Rabbi Asher Weiss in his commentary on Avot. Rabbi Natanson picks up on the word מִמִּשְׁנָתוֹ (mimishnato, “of his learning”) and asserts that what a Torah scholar is commanded not to forget is his own learning, i.e. his own original ideas and novellae: he should write them down so that they should not be lost or forgotten. After all, if a Torah scholar forgets a halachah or devar Torah that other scholars know, it may be lost to him but it will not be lost to Jewish scholarship as a whole. But if he forgets something that only he knows, that item of knowledge may be irreplaceable—and it is that which incurs the notional penalty of death.

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Material wealth, human needs: when does a luxury become a necessity?

Some mishnayot in Avot generate never-ending and ever-inconclusive arguments which, in the great and noble tradition of “how long is a piece of string?”, are by their very nature simply incapable of being resolved. A classic example is found in an extract taken from Avot 2:2 where Rabban Gamliel, son of Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi, teaches:

יָפֶה תַּלְמוּד תּוֹרָה עִם דֶּֽרֶךְ אֶֽרֶץ, שֶׁיְּגִיעַת שְׁנֵיהֶם מַשְׁכַּֽחַת עָוֹן, וְכָל תּוֹרָה שֶׁאֵין עִמָּהּ מְלָאכָה סוֹפָהּ בְּטֵלָה וְגוֹרֶֽרֶת עָוֹן

Torah study is good together with derech eretz [usually translated here as a job or occupation], for the exertion of them both makes sin forgotten. All Torah study that is not joined with work will cease in the end, and leads to sin.

While the length of a piece of string has just one variable, without which its length cannot be determined, Rabban Gamliel’s teaching consists of almost nothing but variables: what constitutes Torah study, what the ambiguous term derech eretz means in this context, the quantification of the relative portions of Torah and derech eretz that produce the result, not to mention the parameters of sin. Does “sin” for this purpose encompass the transgression of the Torah’s prohibitions alone or does it embrace also the failure to fulfil positive commandments, and is “sin” defined solely by legal parameters or does the concept also include a failure to live up to the standards set by the middot, the good ethical and behavioural qualities that are articulated in Pirkei Avot itself?

Rabbi Yaakov Hillel renders derech eretz as “earning a living”—a term that we understand well today but which can’t help being a variable because our material demands are not objectively determined but vary as between communities, families and individuals. This variation is recognised outside Avot, in the context of charity. Rambam (Mishneh Torah, hilchot Matanot le’Aniyim 7:3) explains:

לְפִי מַה שֶּׁחָסֵר הֶעָנִי אַתָּה מְצֻוֶּה לִתֵּן לוֹ. אִם אֵין לוֹ כְּסוּת מְכַסִּים אוֹתוֹ. אִם אֵין לוֹ כְּלֵי בַּיִת קוֹנִין לוֹ. אִם אֵין לוֹ אִשָּׁה מַשִּׂיאִין אוֹתוֹ. וְאִם הָיְתָה אִשָּׁה מַשִּׂיאִין אוֹתָהּ לְאִישׁ. אֲפִלּוּ הָיָה דַּרְכּוֹ שֶׁל זֶה הֶעָנִי לִרְכֹּב עַל הַסּוּס וְעֶבֶד רָץ לְפָנָיו וְהֶעֱנִי וְיָרַד מִנְּכָסָיו קוֹנִין לוֹ סוּס לִרְכֹּב עָלָיו וְעֶבֶד לָרוּץ לְפָנָיו שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר דֵּי מַחְסֹרוֹ אֲשֶׁר יֶחְסַר לוֹ. וּמְצֻוֶּה אַתָּה לְהַשְׁלִים חֶסְרוֹנוֹ וְאֵין אַתָּה מְצֻוֶּה לְעַשְּׁרוֹ

We are commanded to give a poor person according to what he lacks. If he lacks clothes, we should clothe him. If he lacks household utensils, we should purchase them for him. If he is unmarried, we should help him marry. And for an unmarried woman, we should find a husband for her. Even if the personal habit of this poor person was to ride on a horse and to have a servant run before him and then he became impoverished and lost his wealth, we should buy a horse for him to ride and a servant to run before him, providing him with enough to[fill the lack that he feels. You are commanded to fill his lack, but you are not obligated to enrich him.

Within Avot, our rabbis challenge us to find the right balance in our daily lives between learning Torah and earning a living. A baraita at Avot 6:4 advocates living a life of poverty and physical hardship, subsisting on a diet of bread and salt and sleeping on the ground while engaging solely with Torah. But, taken at face value, Rabban Gamliel’s strong recommendation that one blend Torah learning with a day job seems far more in accord with modern expectations and propensities.

What does Rabbi Yaakov Hillel himself say (Eternal Ethics of the Fathers, Avot 2:2)? His words are instructive. After giving the now routine warning about the dangers of rampant materialism and soaring expectations, he writes:

…We are here for Torah, not for money. We cannot ignore the need to pay the bills, but we must keep our priorities in good order.

As with every decision we make, we need to be aware of exaggerating in either direction. In our times, if a family’s life is very difficult and very deprived, the wife may find it unbearable and reach the brink of collapse.... The children may turn away from Torah altogether … Our generation is not up to handling too much suffering, and we cannot live differently from everyone around us …

This is a remarkable concession to reality, on the part of one of the strictest and most unyielding modern commentators on Avot. We find here both an indication that, while the values of Pirkei Avot have not changed, people have, and a recognition of the power exerted by peer pressure in the modern world.

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Canadian canaries in the coalmine

“Should Canadian Jews still be reciting the prayer for the government?” is a provocative opinion piece in the Toronto Sun by Jonathan L. Milevsky, a Toronto-based teacher and author.

In short, Dr Milevsky recently met Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis, chief Rabbi of the UK, and asked him whether Canadian Jews should still recite a prayer for the current Canadian government, given its inaction while synagogues are being vandalized, Jewish schools and institutions targeted and harassed, with Jews no longer feeling safe even in Jewish neighborhoods. As Rabbi Mirvis reminded him, at Avot 3:2 Rabbi Chanina segan HaKohanim teaches:

הֱוֵי מִתְפַּלֵּל בִּשְׁלוֹמָהּ שֶׁל מַלְכוּת, שֶׁאִלְמָלֵא מוֹרָאָהּ, אִישׁ אֶת רֵעֵֽהוּ חַיִּים בְּלָעוֹ

Pray for the integrity of the government for, if it were not for the fear of its authority, a man would swallow his neighbour alive.

Dr Milevsky goes on to question whether this applies to Canada today:

“Rabbi Mirvis did not mention the first source for the prayer, which is the prophet Jeremiah’s letter to the Babylonians, as recorded in Jeremiah chapter 29. In this letter, Jeremiah instructs the Jews to seek the welfare of Babylon, the city of their captors.

In Canada, like so many other democratic countries, Jews have had very little reason to reconsider this ancient practice. If Jews said a prayer for the Czar, as my late 19th century prayer book indicates, certainly they should do so for a democratic country such as Canada. Several generations of Canadian Jews speak so proudly of their heritage … [b]ut Jews are not being treated as they use to be. And the government is not what it used to be either.

…Rabbi Mirvis referred to the basis for both these sources, an almost Hobbesian social contract, in which we hand over our rights to the government in return for protection. But the argument to stop the prayer is that this government no longer meets the criteria for the prayer. The reasons are as follows:

The passage in Jeremiah, which serves as our first source, makes it clear that the benefit of seeking the city’s welfare is ultimately the safety of Jews – the words are, “for in its welfare, you will find your welfare.” However, the current policies of this Canadian government, including backing anti-Israel resolutions of the UN, have served to undermine the safety of Jews. More troubling is that Canadian forces stand by as those calling for worldwide intifada and dressing up as Yahya Sinwar are allowed to roam the streets.

The aforementioned mishnah, which is the second source, grounds the practice in the safety of society, and that may not apply in these circumstances. As the 16th century sage Obadia of Bertinoro states, it is fear of the government that promotes peace. But there is arguably no fear of this government. On the contrary, this government has stood by as Jews are themselves intimidated.

The Spanish 13th century sage, Rabbi Jonah of Gerondi, writes that the mishnah expresses the idea that Jews are concerned not only with themselves but with society as a whole. Seen in this way, there are two obstacles to continuing the prayer: it is not only that the government fails to do enough to protect Jews, but also that a society that does not protect Jews is likely to itself be subject to persecution. 

For over eighty years, the expression that has given voice to this fear is “the Jews are the canary in the coalmine” when it comes to the safety of minorities and religious freedom. As the eternal outsider, Jews represent how society can turn on its own. In this way, the ultimate purpose of the prayer is undermined as well.

Rabbi Mirvis categorically rejected my argument, arguing the prayer is for stability rather than a particular figure. Rabbi Mirvis’ view is reminiscent of the opinion of 18th-19th century rabbi Israel Lipschitz, who explained the mishnah in question does not mention a specific ruler but the government as a whole. Here we return to the notion of the social contract. As Canadian Jews, we wonder if this government is keeping its side of the bargain.

This point is put into sharp relief when we consider the fact that, by Canadian law, guards of houses of worship cannot be armed. It is likely because of this provision that synagogues in Canada have been shot at, defaced and vandalized.

Thus, it is fair to suggest that the social contract is fraying here in Canada. And as time goes on, and more Jews recognize the hatred this government has allowed to flourish, I wonder if it will soon be time to raise this question again?”

Until very recently Canada was a country that was widely regarded as a “safe space” in which Jews could practise their religion and live a Jewish lifestyle without threat or hindrance. It has come as a shock to most of us to see how rapidly the situation has changed. Even so, it seems to me that this opinion piece is unfounded.

In the first place, there are many discussions of this mishnah and they are far from unanimous in their explanation of its meaning and its practical implementation. I wonder why Dr Milevsky opted for Rabbenu Yonah’s brief comment, which appears to be directed solely at the need to pray for global peace and says nothing about domestic government and its deficiencies. Secondly, we can question the relevance of the passage in Jeremiah, which the mishnah does not regard as a source (as Rabbi Meir Shapiro and Rabbi Baruch HaLevi Epstein note). Additionally, Rabbi Chanina was himself living at a time of chaos, when the Romans stood by and watched while Jews were engaged in devastating internecine warfare and did nothing to protect the civilian population—but he still taught that one should pray for the welfare of the government.

The failure of the Canadian government to protect its Jewish citizens adequately cannot be ignored or condoned. But if we do not pray for God to guide it with wisdom and understanding, what are our alternatives? Praying for a government is not a sort of metaphysical reward for good performance. Surely, do we not pray because it is our interest that God listens to our prayers and answers them?

For comments and discussion of this post on Facebook, click here.

For earlier Avot Today posts on this mishnah and the problems of praying for failing or inadequate governments, see the following:

Syria After Assad: a question for Avot https://www.facebook.com/groups/avottoday/posts/1030442092176018/

Prayer for the Welfare of a Bad Government https://www.facebook.com/groups/avottoday/posts/298131372073764/

Prayer for the Welfare of Whose Government?

https://www.facebook.com/groups/avottoday/posts/980694073817487/

On the March with Pirkei Avot

https://www.facebook.com/groups/avottoday/posts/802574111629485/

In praise of the ego?

The fourth chapter of the tractate of Avot features two mishnayot that address the same subject: humility. At Avot 4:4 Rabbi Levitas of Yavneh teaches:

מְאֹד מְאֹד הֱוֵי שְׁפַל רֽוּחַ, שֶׁתִּקְוַת אֱנוֹשׁ רִמָּה

Be very, very humble, for the hope of man is the worm.

Later, at Avot 4:12, Rabbi Meir teaches:

הֱוֵי מְמַעֵט בְּעֵֽסֶק וַעֲסוֹק בַּתּוֹרָה, וֶהֱוֵי שְׁפַל רֽוּחַ בִּפְנֵי כָל אָדָם, וְאִם בָּטַֽלְתָּ מִן הַתּוֹרָה, יֶשׁ לָךְ בְּטֵלִים הַרְבֵּה כְּנֶגְדָּךְ, וְאִם עָמַֽלְתָּ בַּתּוֹרָה הַרְבֵּה, יֶשׁ שָׂכָר הַרְבֵּה לִתֶּן לָךְ

Engage minimally in business and occupy yourself with Torah. Be humble before every man. If you neglect the Torah, you will have many excuses for yourself; if you toil much in Torah, there is much reward to give to you.

Two obvious questions to ask here are (i) why do we need two mishnayot to teach the same point—that we should be humble—and (ii) why does Rabbi Levitas impress upon us the need to be very, very humble while Rabbi Meir is content to caution us only with regard to ‘entry level’ humility?

We could seek to strengthen the first question by suggesting that there is actually no difference between “humble” and “very, very humble”, humility being by definition the absence of ga’avah, pride or arrogance. If one possesses any degree of ga’avah, even a small amount, one is not humble. Rambam’s seminal discussion of the quality of humility (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot De’ot 2:3) does not however support this answer: by maintaining that one should go to the opposite extreme from pride and arrogance rather than adopt a midway path between pride and humility, he recognises the existence of a gradated form of humility.

However, even assuming that there is no difference between the types of humility posited by Rabbi Levitas and Rabbi Meir, we can still appreciate why both teachings are needed. By citing man’s aspiration as being no more loftier than the worms that will consume his body after his death, Rabbi Levitas is referring to man’s humility before God, who gives life and takes it away—and whose love extends to all His creatures, including the worms that will consume us all. Rabbi Meir however refers to a different focus: that of humankind towards one another. Though we may spend our lives comparing ourselves with others and consider ourselves more important than many of them, we should scale down our self-assessment and realise how little, in the great scheme of things, we are really worth.

Turning to the second question, I found a thought-provoking observation by Rabbi Norman Lamm in Foundation of Faith, a collection of Avot-related perspectives edited by his son-in-law Rabbi Mark Dratch. This observation builds neatly on our answer to the first question:

“[W]hereas R. Levitas argues that in effect man has no reason to assert an ego, R. Meir acknowledges the existence of the ego and its legitimacy. Man possesses self-worth despite death. For R. Levitas, humility is a metaphysical judgement based upon man’s physical condition: since he will physically disintegrate, he has no metaphysical self worthy of esteem. R. Levitas thus negates the ego. For R. Meir, however, humility is an ethical-social obligation. R, Meir affirms the ego, with limitations. Finally, while R. Levitas is absolute in his denial of the ego, R. Meir urges that it be limited only “bifnei kola dam, before every man”., that is, man should not manifest arrogance in his human relations. He should seek out the ways in which to convince himself of the worth of his fellow man, even the superiority of his neighbor over himself, but he need not deny his self-worth”.

Rabbi Lamm goes on to examine the practical significance of this distinction in greater detail. There is something anachronistic in his explanation, in that the use of terms such as ‘ego’ and ‘self-worth’ would have been unfamiliar to Rabbis Levitas and Meir. Having said that, if we accept Rabbi Lamm’s explanation here, we must also accept that the two Tannaim had an understanding of the human psyche that was deep enough to embrace the concepts that lie beneath these modern labels.

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The truth about eyes

Let’s start the new calendar year on a positive note. At Avot 2:13 Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai tells his top talmidim to take to the streets, as it were, and see for themselves which approach to life is the most preferable. This is how they respond:

רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶֽזֶר אוֹמֵר: עַֽיִן טוֹבָה. רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻֽׁעַ אוֹמֵר: חָבֵר טוֹב. רַבִּי יוֹסֵי אוֹמֵר: שָׁכֵן טוֹב. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר: הָרוֹאֶה אֶת הַנּוֹלָד. רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר: לֵב טוֹב. אָמַר לָהֶם: רוֹאֶה אֲנִי אֶת דִּבְרֵי אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן עֲרָךְ מִדִּבְרֵיכֶם, שֶׁבִּכְלַל דְּבָרָיו דִּבְרֵיכֶם

Rabbi Eliezer says: A good eye. Rabbi Yehoshua says: A good friend. Rabbi Yose says: A good neighbour. Rabbi Shimon says: To see what is born [out of one’s actions]. Rabbi Elazar says: A good heart. [Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai] said to them: I prefer the words of Elazar ben Arach to yours, for his words include all of yours.

Rabbi Eliezer’s choice of a “good eye” is generally understood to be a shorthand term for magnanimity towards others, being able to share their success or happiness, and not begrudging what they have. His answer, like those of his colleagues, is not incorrect, but it is passed over in favour of that of Rabbi Elazar, which embraces it but is of wider application.

At Avot 2:14 Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai gives a very different instruction, relating to the path in life that his talmidim should make an effort to avoid. This is how they answer:

רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶֽזֶר אוֹמֵר: עַֽיִן רָעָה. רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻֽׁעַ אוֹמֵר: חָבֵר רָע. רַבִּי יוֹסֵי אוֹמֵר: שָׁכֵן רָע. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר: הַלֹּוֶה וְאֵינוֹ מְשַׁלֵּם, אֶחָד הַלֹּוֶה מִן הָאָדָם כְּלֹוֶה מִן הַמָּקוֹם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: לֹוֶה רָשָׁע וְלֹא יְשַׁלֵּם, וְצַדִּיק חוֹנֵן וְנוֹתֵן. רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר: לֵב רָע. אָמַר לָהֶם: רוֹאֶה אֲנִי אֶת דִּבְרֵי אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן עֲרָךְ מִדִּבְרֵיכֶם, שֶׁבִּכְלַל דְּבָרָיו דִּבְרֵיכֶם

Rabbi Eliezer says: An evil eye. Rabbi Yehoshua says: An evil friend. Rabbi Yose says: An evil neighbour. Rabbi Shimon says: To borrow and not to repay… Rabbi Elazar says: An evil heart. [Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai] said to them: I prefer the word of Elazar ben Arach to yours, for his words include all of yours.

Rabbi Eliezer’s response complements his earlier answer by framing the same advice in negative terms: if the right path is one of magnanimity, the path to avoid is the route leading in the opposite direction, towards envy, jealousy, negativity, resentment and dissatisfaction with one’s lot. Once again, his answer is not wrong but is too specific. His path to avoid is narrow; that of Rabbi Elazar is wider.

 As always, if one looks more closely at the words of a mishnah there is more to be said about it. For example Rabbi Marcus Lehmann, invoking the law of the excluded middle, points out that there is a zone in which a person’s attitude may be neutral or at any rate motivated by feelings and emotions that are not governed by goodness or badness per se. This is true, but is it relevant?  Our mishnayot are only concerned with the road one should take and the road one should avoid, not the roads that lead in different directions.

Gila Ross (Living Beautifully) goes beyond the obvious meanings mentioned above. She writes:

“Rabbi Eliezer said an evil eye: someone who sees the negative whether in things or in other people. It’s fascinating that he says “eye” in the singular. He’s teaching us that a person becomes negative by shutting one eye, the eye that sees Godliness within another person. Everybody has both good and bad within him, so by shutting that eye and only seeing the human, flawed side, a person develops an “evil eye”. When we shut our eye and don’t look at the good within the other person, we are left with the negative. Then, a person can even give negative motives to what other people do”.

This metaphor fits neatly with other mishnayot in Avot, notably Yehoshua ben Perachya’s injunction at Avot 1:6 to judge other favourably and Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananyah’s condemnation of “an evil eye, an evil inclination and the hatred of others” (Avot 2:16) echoed in Rabbi Elazar HaKappar’s caution (Avot 4:28) regarding the self-destructive effect of jealousy, lust and the desire for kavod, honour.

But Avot does not say that we should look at others only with the “good eye”.  We are obliged to see what is truly there, since truth is one of the three values on which the continued existence of humanity depends (Avot 1:18). More than that, we are obliged to recognise and accept the truth, not deny it (Avot 5:9), and to set others onto the path of truth (Avot 6:6).

Today is the first day in the secular calendar for 2025. My sincere wish for this year is that we should all be blessed with the ability to recognise the truth when we see it—and to be able to accommodate ourselves to the truth rather than bend it to suit ourselves.

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