Friday, 28 February 2025

Too busy to learn? Where Pirkei Avot meets reality

This is my first post for nearly three weeks, and it’s not because I’ve given up on Avot Today. Rather, it is a consequence of my intense involvement in the running of my synagogue, of which I am currently the president and, it seems, a good deal more.

The precise circumstances in which I became president need not be repeated here. Suffice it to say that there was no one else was willing and able to do so. My decision to accept the post was based on the dictum of Hillel at Avot 2:6:

וּבְמָקוֹם שֶׁאֵין אֲנָשִׁים, הִשְׁתַּדֵּל לִהְיוֹת אִישׁ

 In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.

I very soon discovered that, before I could be of any service to the synagogue, I had a great deal to learn about its membership and its governance. In this I was greatly assisted by long-time members and Board members both past and present. I also received a large number of suggestions and pieces of incidental information from the membership at large—many of which appeared irrelevant at the time but have since found a place in the jigsaw that comprises the community which the synagogue serves. Here I was guided by the maxim of Ben Zoma at Avot 4:1:

אֵיזֶהוּ חָכָם, הַלּוֹמֵד מִכָּל אָדָם

Who is wise? One who learns from every person.

I soon found myself swamped by shul business and struggled to juggle my many commitments within the time available. It was apparent at that juncture that, since I could not function without food or sleep, and synagogal responsibilities were so many and so pressing, the easiest commitment to push aside was my Torah learning—but it seemed to me that, the less learning I did, the more shul administration there was for me to tackle. Nechunyah ben Hakanah at Avot 3:6 had already noted this possibility when he taught:

כָּל הַמְקַבֵּל עָלָיו עוֹל תּוֹרָה, מַעֲבִירִין מִמֶּֽנּוּ עוֹל מַלְכוּת וְעוֹל דֶּֽרֶךְ אֶֽרֶץ, וְכָל הַפּוֹרֵק מִמֶּֽנוּ עוֹל תּוֹרָה, נוֹתְנִין עָלָיו עוֹל מַלְכוּת וְעוֹל דֶּֽרֶךְ אֶֽרֶץ

One who accepts upon himself the yoke of Torah is exempted from the yoke of government duties and the yoke of worldly cares; but one who casts off the yoke of Torah is saddled with the yoke of government duties and the yoke of worldly cares.

I had initially hoped against hope that, if I learned a bit less now, I could step up my learning again when I had mastered my presidential duties. But this has not happened. Again, Hillel warns, at Avot 2:5:

וְאַל תֹּאמַר לִכְשֶׁאֶפְנֶה אֶשְׁנֶה, שֶׁמָּא לֹא תִפָּנֶה

 And do not say "When I free myself of my concerns, I will study,'' for perhaps you will never free yourself.

Potentially comforting is the assurance of Rabban Gamliel the son of Rebbi at Avot 2:2:

וְכָל הָעוֹסְקִים עִם הַצִּבּוּר יִהְיוּ עוֹסְקִים עִמָּהֶם לְשֵׁם שָׁמָֽיִם, שֶׁזְּכוּת אֲבוֹתָם מְסַיַּעְתָּם, וְצִדְקָתָם עוֹמֶֽדֶת לָעַד

Those who work for the community should do so for the sake of Heaven, for then the merit of their fathers shall aid them, and their righteousness shall endure forever. 

It’s difficult to know what to make of this, since I’m still swamped with duties and responsibilities and don’t feel that I’m receiving any aid.  Does this mean that I’m not acting for the sake of Heaven, or that those from whom I am descended have no merit to aid me—or that I am already receiving aid from Heaven on account of the merit of my forebears, but that I ungratefully do not appreciate how much more I would be struggling in its absence? I doubt that I shall never know.

But not all hope is lost. One of the 48 ways of acquiring Torah (Avot 6:6) is to be

נוֹשֵׂא בְעוֹל עִם חֲבֵרוֹ

One who bears the burden along with one's fellow.

The solution is clear. What I must continue to do is to find others to help me and to share the strain of carrying out tasks that are currently left to me alone. Where there are no obvious candidates for helping me to take the strain, I shall have to train them myself. Many commentators on the baraita at Avot 6:6 have expanded its application beyond sharing the burden of learning, to embrace financial and moral support and even an element of counselling since it is only when a person’s mind is free of anxiety and stress that he or she is free to learn Torah to the full extent. Why should not this principle apply also to freeing up another’s time?

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Monday, 10 February 2025

Brazen effrontery

At Avot 5:24 Yehudah ben Teyma teaches, somewhat mysteriously:

עַז פָּנִים לְגֵיהִנֹּם, וּבֽוֹשֶׁת פָּנִים לְגַן עֵֽדֶן. יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנֶֽיךָ, יְיָ אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ וֵאלֹהֵי אֲבוֹתֵֽינוּ, שֶׁיִּבָּנֶה בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ בִּמְהֵרָה בְיָמֵֽינוּ, וְתֵן חֶלְקֵֽנוּ בְּתוֹרָתֶֽךָ

The brazen-faced—to Gehinnom; the meek—to the Garden of Eden. May it be Your will, Lord our God and God of our fathers, that the Holy Temple be rebuilt speedily in our days; and grant us our portion in Your Torah.

In the previous mishnah the same Tanna urged us to be as brazen as a leopard in doing God’s will. Now he appears to be flagging the same attitude as possessing a negative quality.  Commentators have no trouble in reconciling the two teachings. If fulfilling God’s will is a desirable end, then there are times when one must adopt the posture of chutzpah, brazen insolence, in furthering that end. But brazen effrontery that is not aligned with God’s wishes is offensive and worthy of punishment. That is why the brazen can expect to end up enduring the torments of Gehinnom (whatever they may be), while the meek can expect to enjoy the tranquillity and bliss of life in the Garden of Eden.

A quite original reinterpretation of this pair of teachings comes from Rav Moshe Leib Sassover (I found this in Rabbi Tal Moshe Zwecker’s Ma’asei Avos). He starts with the premise, often found in chasidic writings, that there is more than one kind of righteous person, or tzaddik. For the purposes of his analysis here, we can divide tzaddikim into two classes: the reactive and the proactive. Both are righteous, but there’s a big difference between them. 

The reactive tzaddik does what he is told and gets on with his life as a sincere and committed servant of God. He spends his days and nights in prayer and praise, in contemplation of the Divine, and in studying Torah and imbibing its every shade and nuance of meaning. Not for him is the hustle and bustle of social interaction or the distraction of personal relationships: his thoughts soar towards the heavens and he troubles no-one. He is the very epitome of the meek man and it is he who will go to the Garden of Eden because there is nowhere else for him to go.

Contrast this with the proactive tzaddik. He too is a sincere and committed servant of God, but his orientation is towards his fellow man. He is pained by their failure to appreciate the beauty of Jewish practice and the noble ideals of the Torah. Not content with teaching by example, he goes after sinners and urges them to return to the fold, never losing hope and pursuing them even to the gates of Gehinnom in the hope of bringing them back.

This is a fascinating explanation of our mishnah, but it does invite an obvious question: where do we go, those of us who simply do our best to serve God on a daily basis and, being neither entirely reactive nor proactive, take our opportunities when we may?

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Friday, 7 February 2025

Means and ends

Only a short while ago we discussed two related mishnayot at opposite ends of the first chapter of Avot, but we are going to return to them again.

At Avot 1:2, Shimon HaTzaddik teaches us that the world depends on three 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.

However, 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.''

There are many commentaries on the significance of the difference between these two lists. Some link them, maintaining that justice, truth and peace correspond to Torah, divine service and acts of kindness. Others argue that the two mishnayot convey separate messages, delivered at different junctures in Jewish history. The explanations are all plausible and have their merits.

I’ve been thinking about this pair of teachings says to me. How should I reconcile them?

My conclusion is that Shimon HaTzaddik’s teaching and that of Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel complementary and serve different functions.

Torah, divine service and acts of kindness share a common feature. They are all means of achieving an end.  That end can be laudable or not, as the case may be. Thus a person can learn Torah in order to get closer to God and do His will, or so that people will give him respect when he basks in the prestige of being a Torah scholar (see Rabbi Tzadok at Avot 4:7). Divine service, both in the sense of Temple sacrifices and as prayer, can be for worthy or unworthy purposes, and even acts of kindness can be demonstrations of one’s selfishness, as we learn from the midrashic teaching that about the chasidah (stork) displaying kindness only to its own kind.

So how do we know if our Torah, divine service and acts of kindness are worth anything, or whether we are just walking the walk and going through the motions? It’s because truth, justice and peace are the yardsticks of one’s performance.

How does this work? If these three classes of action are the means of achievement, then justice, truth and peace are the objectives that these means are intended to achieve. Thus if one’s study of Torah, divine service and acts of kindness are not directed towards the acceptance of truth, the creation of a society based on justice and the establishment of peace and harmony between potential points of conflict, one’s efforts are in vain.

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Monday, 3 February 2025

Hot cross buns may come and go, but doughnuts are forever

One of the three teachings of the Men of the Great Assembly (Avot 1:1) is so short that it just can’t help attracting attention:

עֲשׂוּ סְיָג לַתּוֹרָה

Make a fence around the Torah.

One of the usual explanations runs along the lines of how important it is to buttress Torah observance by what we might call double-wrapping the mitzvot to keep them safe (Rambam, Bartenura, commentary ascribed to Rashi).  If this was necessary at the beginning of the Second Temple period, it might be even more imperative to build halachic fences in order to counter yeridat hadorot, generational decline, and to combat the effects of war and persecution (Rabbi Avraham Azulai, Ahavah beTa’anugim).

There are other explanations too. Rabbenu Yonah writes of how one who respects the rabbinical decrees is more beloved of God than one who merely keeps the Torah. For Rabbi Chaim Palagi (Einei Kol Chai), fences are there to protect the truly humble person who doesn’t trust himself to avoid the Torah’s prohibitions. The Anaf Yosef shows how, by distancing oneself from the risk of transgression, one is actually emulating the example of the Torah itself where it teaches (Vayikra 18:19) that a man should not even draw close to his menstruating wife.

I have always wondered who the Men of the Great Assembly were addressing. At the time they taught this mishnah, were they not the most appropriate people body to identify and issue Torah-friendly decrees that would safely hedge both positive and negative commandments that might need extra protection? And did they have a sense of who would be best equipped to issue tanakot and gezeirot (positive and negative decrees) once the Assembly no longer existed?

A quite different perspective on our mishnah can be found in Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum’s Divrei Yoel al Pirkei Avot, where he looks at fences around the Torah in terms of minhagim, customs, in contrast with laws. He notes the strength of custom within Jewish society and its ability to bind the community together across the generations. Jews, he notes, have a tendency to cling to their old customs while wider society tends to jettison them. 

The interesting thing about customs is that they develop whenever there is a need for them. You don’t need a Sanhedrin, a Beit Din or an influential rabbi to institute them: they just evolve. The lesson of Avot 1:1 is therefore a lesson that speaks to all of us, across the years and wherever Jewish life is found: let us support and develop our customs since it is they that provide the protective stratum of lifestyle that helps keep us attached to Torah even if we may feel we are being pulled away.

Is it true, though, that while Jewish customs and practies tend to persevere, those of wider society do not? Thinking through my own lifetime, I witnessed many changes in English society, and these generally involved the abandonment of formerly cherished customs. One such custom was for children to dress up a dummy and parade it through the streets (or place it strategically outside a tube station), asking passers-by for a “penny for the guy” with which to purchase fireworks for Guy Fawkes Night. Another was Trafalgar Day (21 October), when we celebrated victory over the combined French and Spanish fleets in the Battle of Trafalgar.  Even when food is concerned, what was once ubiquitous has now become quite rare: witness the practice of tossing and eating pancakes on Shrove Tuesday (Pancake Day) and the consumption of hot cross buns on Good Friday. While these activities may have originally had a religious basis, back in the 1950s they were a national pastime.  On contrast, while sufganiyot (doughnuts) and oznei Haman or hamantaschen (“Haman’s ears”) may have undergone changes in recipe, the customs continue.

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