TREASURE BEYOND PRICE AND NON-TRANSFERABLE ASSETS

 The lengthy baraita at Avot 6:9, or at least the first part of it, makes for entertaining reading. The baraita reads like this:

אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹסֵי בֶּן קִסְמָא: פַּֽעַם אֶחָת הָיִֽיתִי מְהַלֵּךְ בַּדֶּֽרֶךְ, וּפָגַע בִּי אָדָם אֶחָד, וְנָתַן לִי שָׁלוֹם, וְהֶחֱזַֽרְתִּי לוֹ שָׁלוֹם, אָמַר לִי: רַבִּי, מֵאֵיזֶה מָקוֹם אָֽתָּה, אָמַֽרְתִּי לוֹ: מֵעִיר גְּדוֹלָה שֶׁל חֲכָמִים וְשֶׁל סוֹפְרִים אָֽנִי. אָמַר לִי: רַבִּי, רְצוֹנְךָ שֶׁתָּדוּר עִמָּֽנוּ בִּמְקוֹמֵֽנוּ, וַאֲנִי אֶתֵּן לָךְ אֶֽלֶף אֲלָפִים דִּנְרֵי זָהָב וַאֲבָנִים טוֹבוֹת וּמַרְגָּלִיּוֹת. אָמַֽרְתִּי לוֹ: אִם אַתָּה נוֹתֵן לִי כָּל כֶּֽסֶף וְזָהָב וַאֲבָנִים טוֹבוֹת וּמַרְגָּלִיּוֹת שֶׁבָּעוֹלָם, אֵינִי דָר אֶלָּא בִּמְקוֹם תּוֹרָה, וְכֵן כָּתוּב בְּסֵֽפֶר תְּהִלִּים עַל יְדֵי דָוִד מֶֽלֶךְ יִשְׂרָאֵל: טוֹב לִי תוֹרַת פִּֽיךָ, מֵאַלְפֵי זָהָב וָכָֽסֶף. וְלֹא עוֹד, אֶלָּא שֶׁבְּשַֽׁעַת פְּטִירָתוֹ שֶׁל אָדָם, אֵין מְלַוִּין לוֹ לְאָדָם לֹא כֶֽסֶף וְלֹא זָהָב וְלֹא אֲבָנִים טוֹבוֹת וּמַרְגָּלִיּוֹת, אֶלָּא תּוֹרָה וּמַעֲשִׂים טוֹבִים בִּלְבָד, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: בְּהִתְהַלֶּכְךָ תַּנְחֶה אֹתָךְ, בְּשָׁכְבְּךָ תִּשְׁמוֹר עָלֶֽיךָ, וַהֲקִיצֽוֹתָ הִיא תְשִׂיחֶֽךָ. בְּהִתְהַלֶּכְךָ תַּנְחֶה אֹתָךְ, בָּעוֹלָם הַזֶּה. בְּשָׁכְבְּךָ תִּשְׁמוֹר עָלֶֽיךָ, בַּקָּֽבֶר. וַהֲקִיצֽוֹתָ הִיא תְשִׂיחֶֽךָ, לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא. וְאוֹמֵר: לִי הַכֶּֽסֶף וְלִי הַזָּהָב, נְאֻם יְיָ צְבָאוֹת

Rabbi Yose ben Kisma said: Once I was going on my way and I encountered a man. He greeted me and I returned his greetings. He said to me: "Rabbi, where are you from?" I said to him: "I’m from a great city of sages and scholars”. He said to me: "Rabbi, would you like to dwell with us in our place? I will give you a million dinars of gold, precious stones and pearls." I said to him: "If you were to give me all the silver, gold, precious stones and pearls in the world, I would not live anywhere but in a place of Torah”. Indeed, as it is written in the book of Psalms by David, King of Israel: “I prefer the Torah of Your mouth over thousands in gold and silver”. Not only that but, when a person passes from this world, not silver, nor gold, nor precious stones, nor pearls accompany him—only Torah and good deeds, as it is said: “When you go it will direct you, when you lie down it will watch over you, and when you awaken it shall be your speech. “When you go it will direct you”—in this world; “When you lie down it will watch over you”—in the grave; “and when you awaken it shall be your speech”—in the World to Come. It also says: “Mine is the silver and Mine is the gold, so says the Lord of Hosts".

This baraita is routinely put forward as a mashal, a parable to illustrate the value of Torah. It does indeed make the point that Torah—and the opportunity to learn it and share it with others—is qualitatively worth more than all the gold, silver and precious gems in the world.

Quite reasonably, commentators learn this mashal from the viewpoint of Rabbi Yose ben Kisma and his noble refusal to be bought, since it is he who is teaching it. But it’s worth looking at it from the perspective of the man whom he encountered too. This man presumably also recognized the value of Torah—and of those whose lives embody it—since we learn that he was prepared to pay an astronomical price to acquire the chance to learn it with a first-class rabbi. Indeed, his high valuation of Torah is even more impressive. Rabbi Yose ben Kisma knew the value of Torah at first-hand, since he was a scholar, steeped in its wisdom and its deeper meanings. The traveller who meets him on the way, lacking that intimate personal knowledge and understanding, is willing to break the bank to pay for it, even though he is taking it on trust.

Another interesting point raised in this baraita is the notion that, when a person leaves this world, his Torah learning and good deeds go with him בִּלְבָד (bilvad) –a word that means ‘only’ or ‘alone’. We normally assume that what this means is that we can’t take anything with us, as it were, on our way to Olam HaBa—and that we certainly can’t take our worldly wealth. However, we can bring with us the intangible benefits that we have accrued in our lifetimes through our Torah learning and our ideally good behaviour.

Rabbi Tzvi Hirsch Ferber however has another explanation, which is found not in Higionei Avot, his commentary on Pirkei Avot, but in Sichot Tzvi, his commentary on the siddur, in the first volume in a discussion of the words דבקנו במצותיך (“attach us to your commandments”). There he writes that, when our baraita speaks of our Torah learning and good deeds accompanying us “alone”, it teaches that our learning and our good deeds come with us only if it is they who are “alone”, that is to say, that they are not conjoined to ulterior motives for doing them.

This will be a disappointment for those of us who find it difficult to disentangle their Torah and good deeds from the myriad motives that trail in their wake: these include the wish to avoid disapproval for falling behind in one’s daily daf, the choice of a pleasurable good deed in order to skip attendance at a less than inspiring shiur, and the giving of a charitable donation to a collector in order to be expeditiously rid of him.  Ultimately, it may be fair to say that we set ourselves high, and in some instances uncomfortably high, standards but hope that God will judge us more leniently than we might feel obliged to judge ourselves.

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OUR CHOICE TO REJOICE

At the the heart of a short mishnah by a small rabbi lies a big question, one that should have been resolved centuries before Pirkei Avot was compiled: Is it permissible to rejoice over the downfall of our enemies?

The mishnah (Avot 4:24), taught by Shmuel HaKatan (“Samuel the Small”), reads thus:

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, don’t let your heart be gladdened—in case God sees and it will be displeasing in His eyes, and He will turn His wrath from him [to you]"

This teaching is centuries older than the era of the compiling of the Mishnah, since it is cut-and-pasted straight from the Book of Proverbs (Mishlei 24:17-18). One would have thought that everything that needed to be said about it would be found in the commentaries on the Tanach, but this is manifestly not so.

An ongoing issue presents itself for solution: when and how to rationalize the onset of a feeling of happiness, so as to know when to maximize it and when to keep it under control. We are hard-wired to be happy when things work out for us, regardless of whether our good fortune is at another’s expense, but our Sages—taking their lead from the author of the Book of Proverbs—challenge us to examine and evaluate its cause.

The easy way out is to remind ourselves that everything that happens to us, whether we perceive it as good or bad, is the product of God’s hashgachah peratit, His personal supervision of our lives on earth. When something happens to us that makes us happy, we should then give Him our grateful praise.

In general the situation is more nuanced when we were expecting something bad to happen to us through our own fault, and that bad outcome was to be delivered through the agency of an enemy. This expected outcome is however averted. We are happy, but our consciences may be telling us that this happiness is somehow undeserved. In this situation, our mishnah invites us to ask how deserving we really are.

Next, i if our happiness corresponds to the downfall of our foe, rather than merely to being saved, we should be careful: praise of God while suppressing our jubilation may be the only appropriate response, especially if that foe is down but not out and may therefore rise again. Ultimately, as our mishnah, indicates, we should pause to recollect the possibility that God, displeased at our unworthy rejoicing, may turn His wrath from our worsted enemies, restore their previous fortunes and direct His anger towards us instead.

Rabbi Tzvi Hirsch Ferber, in Sichot Tzvi—his commentary on Tefillah—cites the verse from Proverbs in the course of his explanation of the final two verses from one of the Tehillim that we recite in the Shabbat and Yom Tov pesukei dezimra:

תְּמוֹתֵת רָשָׁע רָעָה וְשֹׂנְאֵי צַדִּיק יֶאְשָׁמוּ

פֹּדֶה יְהוָה נֶפֶשׁ עֲבָדָיו וְלֹא יֶאְשְׁמוּ כָּל-הַחֹסִים בּוֹ

Evil shall kill the wicked; and they that hate the righteous shall be held guilty.

God redeems the soul of His servants; and none of them that take refuge in Him shall be desolate (Psalms 34:22-23).

The crucial point here is that evil kills the wicked, who are taken to be our enemies. Once they are dead, they are not in a position to have their fortunes restored at our expense as a consequence of our jubilation, so we can rejoice to our hearts’ content. And it is on the basis of this logic that the Children of Yisrael were entitled to celebrate the drowning of the Egyptians in the Reed Sea by singing Shira.

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LEARNING LISHMOR: WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

Rabbi Yishmael ben Yose (Avot 4:6) has something to say about why we learn:

הַלּוֹמֵד תּוֹרָה עַל מְנָת לְלַמֵּד, מַסְפִּיקִין בְּיָדוֹ לִלְמוֹד וּלְלַמֵּד, וְהַלּוֹמֵד עַל מְנָת לַעֲשׂוֹת, מַסְפִּיקִין בְּיָדוֹ לִלְמוֹד וּלְלַמֵּד לִשְׁמוֹר וְלַעֲשׂוֹת

One who learns Torah in order to teach is given the opportunity to learn and teach. One who learns in order to do is given the opportunity to learn, teach, guard and do.

This mishnah does not appear to pose too many interpretational problems, but there is one question that leaps off the page at us. What does לִשְׁמוֹר (lishmor) mean in the context of learning Torah? We can learn Torah and we can act it out by performing its commandments—but לִשְׁמוֹר literally means “guard” or “keep”, not something that has an obvious meaning in the context of learning Torah.

Early commentators must have had a clear understanding of what lishmor meant, at least to them, since Rambam, Rabbenu Yonah, the Me’iri, the Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi make no reference to that word, quite possibly because that they worked from copies of Avot in which it did not appear.

Lishmor does appear in the text of Avot that lay before Rabbi Shmuel di Uceda, since he mentions it in his classic compendium Midrash Shmuel. For him, לִשְׁמוֹר וְלַעֲשׂוֹת (lishmor vela’asot) are to be taken together: lishmor means “to keep the negative mitzvot” while la’asot means “to perform the positive precepts”. This explanation is neat, memorable. And founded on a well-known and long-established distinction between positive and negative mitzvot, which is likely why it was cited by so many subsequent commentators.

Not everyone found the Midrash Shmuel’s explanation palatable. Affirming that the word lishmor should be included in the text, not omitted, Rabbi Yaakov Emden attacks it in his Lechem Shamayim, in terms so immoderate that only a true talmid chacham would dare using them:

“To keep and to perform." Here too the commentators stumbled; their feet slipped from the firm rock of the mishnah's plain meaning, and they wandered on to a crooked path. It is astonishing beyond measure how such a strange notion could ever have occurred to them—that although one's intention was only to perform the commandments, and not to guard oneself from transgressions, this is what the Tanna took the trouble to discuss.

In truth, this seems to me sheer nonsense. With due respect, the one who proposed this interpretation wished to display ingenuity and novelty in every single word, so that none should appear superfluous, but in doing so he produced many distortions. For "anything added is as though taken away." Concerning such a case it was said: "Do not be overly clever." He erred greatly in thinking that this "keeping" (shemirah) alludes to the negative commandments. Nor is the expression "to keep oneself from transgressions" linguistically appropriate, for the essential word is missing.

Rather, this is a very common biblical expression, referring to guarding something in one's heart, as in: "His father kept the matter" (Genesis 37:11); "Keep heed"; "You shall keep to do"; "You shall keep and do"; "To keep and to do"; "You shall keep and do." These are numerous instances of "keeping" that refer to positive action, and there are many more like them. All of them signify remembering, so that one may fulfill and perform the commandments.

Moreover, refraining from transgression is itself included within "doing," for whoever sits idle and does not commit a sin is rewarded as though he had performed a commandment, as we learned at the end of tractate Makkot.

In any case, it is obvious that the "keeping" mentioned here in the Mishnah means exactly what it means in the biblical verses cited above: namely, preserving the commandment in one's thought and memory [במחשבה ובזכרון ], as it is written: "For it is pleasant if you keep them within you" (Proverbs 22:18). There can therefore be no doubt about this.

Heaven forbid, then, that the word "to keep" (lishmor) should be deleted, as appears in the version of the text that came into the hands of the Tosafot Yom Tov. The copyist of that manuscript wrote it defectively—although he derived it from there—and the scribe inadvertently omitted it. But in our case the error belongs to the copyist. Our version was certainly written with precision by an accurate scribe”.

Is Rabbi Emden right? I believe so, but with one caveat. We now have a wider range of concepts in play than existed in his time. He chooses to equate lishmor with “preserving the commandment in one's thought and memory” because there was no more appropriate term at his disposal, and Rabbi Yishmael could have used the regular words for thought and memory if that was what he specifically intended. But, around a century after Rabbi Emden’s birth, the concept of internalization began to gain traction and I believe that, had he been familiar with it, he would likely have employed it to explain lishmor in our mishnah: a person who learns in order to do is given the opportunity not just to learn and to teach but to internalize his learning—to make it part of his very being—and to perform it.

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OUT OF SIGHT

“Seeing is believing” is a mantra that has been repeated so often that many people, myself included, often forget to think about what it means. But recently I was jolted out of my intellectual somnolence on this point by a small and (in the great course of things) trivial occurrence.

One of my grandkids, aged 6, was watching a sports program that featured highlights of soccer games from the FIFA World Cup. The program showed some of the goals—not just once but a second time as action replays. This juvenile spectator, seeking to make sense of what he viewed, believed that each of what we know to be action replays was in reality an additional goal, though identical to the goal that preceded it.

At first I thought this was an amusing mistake based on an inadequate perception of what the child had seen. On further reflection I concluded that this inference—though fallacious—was not in itself illogical. After all, if we watch traffic lights go several times through their sequence of changes, we recognize that the second and subsequent changes are not “action replays” but separate, if identical, events. From this it seems that the value we derive from what we see with our eyes depends not only on what we see but what we know or infer when we see it.

This led me to ask: what does Pirkei Avot have to say about how we should see things? I was surprised by what I found.

My first port of call was the all-embracing baraita at Avot 6:6, which lists the 48 things that facilitate the acquisition of Torah. This baraita has something to say about what one hears, says, feels, understands and even thinks—but is silent concerning what one sees. Working my way back into the five chapters of mishnah, I gradually realized that sight, despite its significance in our daily lives, was a subject from which Avot appears to consciously distance itself.

While sight is a regular human faculty for which most of us are grateful, we are warned how dangerous it can be for us to use it. Thus at Avot 3:9 Rabbi Yaakov cautions that someone who breaks off from his learning to admire a beautiful tree or field is regarded as having forfeited his soul. Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar adds (Avot 4:23) that we should not seek to look at a person at the time of his degradation. Indeed, even when we do look at something, we should not accept the evidence of our eyes at face value: Rabbi Meir says as much in Avot 4:27 when he teaches:

אַל תִּסְתַּכֵּל בְּקַנְקַן, אֶלָּא בְּמַה שֶּׁיֶּשׁ בּוֹ, יֵשׁ קַנְקַן חָדָשׁ מָלֵא יָשָׁן, וְיָשָׁן שֶׁאֲפִילוּ חָדָשׁ אֵין בּוֹ

Don’t look at the vessel, but at what it contains. There are new vessels that are filled with old wine, and old vessels that don’t even contain new wine.

These negative teachings with regard to human sight stand in sharp contrast to Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi’s mishnah at Avot 2:1, when he references a higher form of vision:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים, וְאֵין אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה, דַּע מַה לְּמַֽעְלָה מִמָּךְ, עַֽיִן רוֹאָה וְאֹֽזֶן שׁוֹמַֽעַת, וְכָל מַעֲשֶֽׂיךָ בְּסֵֽפֶר נִכְתָּבִים

Contemplate three things, and you will not come to the grip of transgression. Know what is above you: a seeing eye, a listening ear, and all your deeds being inscribed in a book.

The message here is unambiguous. We cannot see this “seeing eye”. It is a quality possessed by God alone. This is the ability to perceive that lies above us and which lies normally well beyond our reach. It is metaphorically speaking, the eye of God and it is only this eye that truly comprehends what it views. When someone has this gift, having been touched by Ru’ach haKodesh (a spirit of holiness), we have a special word for that person. He is a ro’eh—literally a “seer”.

There is an allusion to the seer in Avot itself. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel, when asked at Avot 2:13 to identify the ideal path to which a person should cling, answers הָרוֹאֶה אֶת הַנּוֹלָד (haro’eh et hanolad, “one who sees the outcome of that which has yet to emerge”). In other words, he is one who sees, or foresees, that which is not yet visible—something that falls within the capabilities of the seer.

Is seeing then to be relegated to playing a relatively insignificant role in our lives as practising Jews and in our relationships with God and man? Yes, according to Rabbi Dr Jonathan Sacks who has repeatedly and consistently argued that Judaism is fundamentally a religion of sound over sight. While the Greeks and other ancient civilizations viewed seeing as a form of knowledge, Judaism takes the contrary view. God cannot be seen, only heard, which is why the Shema, a declaration of faith based on listening, not seeing, provides us with the supreme means of linking us to God and to our fellows.

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BEE IN THE BATHROOM

A few days ago we had an uninvited visitor. A bee found its way through our insect-proof netting and into our bathroom. If we were unhappy at this intrusion, the bee was apparently even more so, emitting a harsh and unremitting buzz as it furiously circled the confines of its prison in search of a way out.  It took a day or so before the bee had calmed down, settled on a handtowel in sullen silence, allowing me to trap it inside a drinking glass and ease it gently out of the window.

I do not know whether bees actually feel anger, though in human culture it is easy to label their frenetic buzz as a sign of anger. Indeed, “angry buzzing” is something of a literary cliché. What I do know is that this episode resonates with my understanding of Pirkei Avot.

While our sages, the foremost of whom is Rambam, are unanimous in condemning anger, and we learn that it is even a form of avodah zarah (Shabbat 105b), the Tannaic authors of the mishnayot in Avot accept both that anger exists and that we feel it. This is why Rabbi Eliezer does not demand us never to be angry but instead urges us (at 2:15) אַל תְּהִי נֽוֹחַ לִכְעוֹס (“Don’t be easy to anger”). Going well beyond that, the anonymous author of Avot 5:17 teaches:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בְּדֵעוֹת: נֽוֹחַ לִכְעוֹס וְנֽוֹחַ לֵרָצוֹת, יָצָא הֶפְסֵדוֹ בִּשְׂכָרוֹ. קָשֶׁה לִכְעוֹס וְקָשֶׁה לֵרָצוֹת, יָצָא שְׂכָרוֹ בְּהֶפְסֵדוֹ. קָשֶׁה לִכְעוֹס וְנֽוֹחַ לֵרָצוֹת, חָסִיד. נֽוֹחַ לִכְעוֹס וְקָשֶׁה לֵרָצוֹת, רָשָׁע

There are four types of temperaments. One who is easily angered and easily appeased—his loss cancels out his reward. One whom it is difficult to anger and difficult to appease—his reward cancels out his loss. One whom it is difficult to anger and is easily calmed down is a chasid. One who is easily angered and is difficult to calm down is wicked.

This clearly acknowledges that even a chasid will feel anger. But he is not alone. Earlier in the fifth perek, at Avot 5:2-3, we learn that God too gets angry—and that He is able to restrain His anger for generation after generation.

All of this points to a principle that emerges from Rambam’s Moreh Nevuchim: we can’t stop having feelings, ideas and emotions entirely. If we could, we would no longer be functionally human. However, what we can do is control them once we have them.

The bee coming into my bathroom and buzzing around in apparent rage and desperation is analogous to a powerful surge of anger that comes into one’s head. At this point we may not be amenable to rational thought. This is why Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar teaches (Avot 4:23)

אַל תְּרַצֶּה אֶת חֲבֵרֶֽךָ בְּשַֽׁעַת כַּעֲסוֹ

Do not appease your friend at the height of his anger.

But once we have controlled our anger and composed ourselves we can view things, including our own feelings and the circumstances that generated them, in a more reasonable manner.  Once the bee calms down, its problem can be addressed with a happy outcome for bee—and me.

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