Keeping honour at a distance

Avot 6:6 has a hit-list of criteria that have to be met by anyone who seeks to acquire knowledge of the Torah. There are theoretically 48 such criteria, of which one is to distance oneself from kavod.

Kavod, loosely translated as “honour”, is extensively discussed in Avot -- both in its positive and its negative aspects. But what is its connection to an individual's ability to acquire Torah.

If nothing else, the quest for kavod can be a major distraction. The urge to be honoured can be almost overwhelming, both in the case of those who actually deserve it and for those who believe they do. However, it's not all bad: even if one shouldn't seek it for oneself, it can be a wonderful thing to give to other people.

Apart from unanimously cautioning that honour and the quest for it is dangerous, what else do our Sages say about kavod and the need to keep away from it? Most commentators on Avot have little or nothing to say, since the meaning of this criterion is self-evident. Nevertheless, some later rabbis have added to it. Here are some perspectives.

• Someone who should by now have learned much Torah but hasn’t should not let his sense of lack of kavod distance him from going to the Bet Midrash (House of Study) to carry on learning (Rabbi Chanoch Zundel ben Yosef, Anaf Avot).
• It is best practice to keep kavod distant even when one has earned it and is receiving it from others but to be careful about not making a show of distancing oneself from it in order to flaunt one’s humility (Rabbi Yosef Yavetz).
• On the theme of literally keeping one's distance, one should take a detour rather than walk past people who are sitting down but would have to stand up respectfully if a much honoured person were to pass them (Rabbi Shmuel de Uçeda, Midrash Shmuel).

One aspect of kavod that the commentaries tend not to discuss is the actual process by which a Torah scholar seeks to obtain it.

It is taken as axiomatic that, if you chase after honour, it runs away from you but, if you run away from it – a policy in line with this teaching in Avot – it will seek you out. That however is the theory. In practice there is a blatant asymmetry: while everyone should flee from honour, honour does not run after everyone. In the real world we see for ourselves that honour runs after very few people indeed, and even then it rarely runs, or even breaks into a leisurely trot. Honour often plods after those who deserve it at a snail’s pace, reaching them many years after they have deserved it and sometimes long after they have already died.

But that's not all. Even when honour arrives, it may be the wrong sort of honour: it may be bestowed by someone whose opinion doesn’t count for much. Being honoured by someone you don’t have much respect for may feel almost as bad as not being honoured at all.

A Torah-true student will not fret about whether honour chases after him since that is not why he learns Torah. His glory-seeking colleague will however go through paroxysms of angst, asking himself questions such as: “how can I tell people I deserve honour without actually telling them?” “what means can I deploy to make sure that people notice me when I’m doing all the things I should be honoured for?” and “why am I still not being honoured when I am no worse than others who are?” All of this can be highly distracting for a person who is supposed to be focusing on accumulation of Torah understanding and not seeking honour -- and it will do little to foster the respect he has for others.

Not chasing after honour but keeping it at a respectable distance is not just a message for Torah students. In the secular world we have seen countless instances of people buying, or seeking to buy, medals, titles and positions of power and influence so that others will honour them. Even if they succeed in their acquisition, can they look themselves in the mirror and truly respect themselves.

Suffering and learning Torah: where coping is key

The sixth perek of Avot contains a celebrated baraita (Avot 6:6) that lists what are claimed to be the 48 "things" through which Torah is acquired. One of them is the acceptance of one's suffering.

In popular culture, human suffering is often glamorized.  People who struggle with their disabilities and go on to achieve great things are the stuff of inspiration and folklore, as well as bread and butter for the entertainment industry. Ludwig van Beethoven toiling to compose musical masterpieces despite his encroaching deafness, Helen Keller reaching out to the world despite losing both her sight and hearing as a child, musicians resuming professional careers despite the loss of fingers or even an arm—these are all heart-warming narratives of succeeding against the odds. 

In the world of Torah too, we are enthralled by tales of how people overcome illness, hardship and poverty in order to achieve wonderful things in the fields of Torah and good deeds. It is easy to promote the virtues of afflictions when one is not suffering. One relatively contemporary rabbi goes so far as to describe afflictions as a “chavruta with God.”  But do we really believe that suffering is a good thing?  This baraita appears to suggest that this so, listing it as a route to acquiring Torah learning, and it is not the only baraita in Avot that seems to send out this message.  However, it is appropriate to ask whether the message we are picking up is the message that our Sages are transmitting.

The position of the Babylonian Talmud is that, in essence, when a person suffers he should examine his conduct. If he has not found that he has done anything wrong, he should ask whether he has neglected his Torah study. If he has not, the afflictions are likely to be yissurim shel ahavah (literally “afflictions of love”), suffering that he should experience in this World so that he can enjoy a better World to Come. However, when offered the opportunity to suffer afflictions and receive a reward for so doing, three notable Sages—Rabbi Chiyya bar Abba, Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Elazar—give the identical response: “neither them [i.e. the sufferings] nor their reward” (Berachot 5b).  If these great rabbis regard such afflictions as unnecessary and unwelcome, where does this leave our baraita?

In truth, the force of this baraita is not directed to encouraging anyone to seek out suffering and afflictions but to urging them to accept them when they happen. Each individual has a different level of tolerance. Some people can learn Torah day and night despite the pain or crippling disabilities that hamper them, because they can blot these terrible things out of their minds and accept them as part of their condition of life: they waste neither time nor emotional energy in complaining about them. Others, made of less stern stuff, struggle to cope with even a runny nose, a mild headache or the absence of a comfortable cushion on their chair. Coping is the key and that is an important part of pressing on with one’s Torah-learning agenda.

Loving rebukes: what does this mean?

One of the 48 ways of acquiring Torah, listed in Avot 6:6, is "loving rebukes". Most commentaries have relatively little to say about the fascinating topic of tochachah, so I've put some thoughts of my own in writing, drawing on traditional Torah scholarship too. My thoughts (so far) run along the following lines:

For many people, being rebuked by others can be a painful experience. The fact that the person who administers the rebuke loves the person who receives it and cares greatly for their welfare makes no difference. This is perfectly natural. A child will frequently cry when told off by a parent, even in gentle tones, and a teenager may explode with anger: these reactions are innate and remain with us in later life, though we ideally learn to control them as we become more mature. 

Not all rebukes are received in the same way. A person learning drive may receive a stern admonition from the driving instructor along the lines of “What you just did was really careless. If you do that again, you could do yourself serious harm and even kill yourself”. The response to such a rebuke is usually one of gratitude which is genuinely felt and sincerely expressed. However, when we are seeking to perform a mitzvah and a stranger rebukes us for doing it incorrectly, our response is often quite different. A whole range of possible responses flashes through our minds. For example: (i) “this is what I’ve always done in the past and no-one has ever complained before”; (ii) “this is how my rabbi/teacher/chavruta said I should do it, so it’s not my fault”; (iii) “what makes you think you are right and I am wrong anyway?”  It is only when all the other options have been considered and rejected that we might concede that we were in need of rebuke  and then try to summon up some begrudging gratitude. 

If we are honest with ourselves, this contrast between our reactions to the rebuke of the driving instructor and that of the stranger pinpoints a failure in our own priorities. The avoidance of errors when we drive, however commendable, is a matter that concerns our physical integrity in this World. However, our ability to perform a mitzvah or escape from transgressing an averah may have repercussions for the eternal life of a Jewish soul in the World to Come. On this basis we should welcome the rebuke from the stranger with at least as much warmth as we welcome the guidance of our driving instructor. We should feel happy.  And if a person can truly say that he loves the Torah, it is reasonable to assume that this love will rub off on to someone who points him back on to any path of Torah learning from which he has wandered.

Everyone makes mistakes—even the greatest chacham, armed with a vast array of Torah learning—and this has been the lot of man since the Creation. However, someone who truly values the greatness of his Torah learning and will welcome being put right. Acting on a rebuke that one has received may also constitute the mitzvah of repentance.

A person should love to rebuke himself, and also love to administer rebukes to others  and not worry that this requirement is in conflict with an earlier item on the list, that one must be loved by others.  It is easy to make oneself unpopular by telling others that they are making mistakes; it is far simpler to smile winningly at them, retaining their friendship and thinking to oneself “I’m all right, even if they aren’t. Why should I risk incurring their wrath by telling them?” This is not the way to behave if you love another person, and this is why a good parent is prepared to risk a flood of tears from an infant rather than condone the eating of candies at bedtime and after the child’s teeth have been brushed for the night.

If you have any comments or reflections on the foregoing, do please share them!

Loud and clear! The importance of speaking properly

Of all the 48 items relating to acquisition of the Torah in Avot 6:6, articulate speech is that which by its nature lies closest the heart of the transmission of the Torah sheb’al peh, the Oral Torah, in that the word “oral” demands speech.  Even though the writing down of the Oral Law and the subsequent invention of the printing press appeared to relegate the spoken word to a position of relative unimportance, the astonishing speed at which communication technologies have developed from the late 20th century onwards has placed the spoken word front and centre in the promulgation of Torah to a wider audience. The list of roles for the spoken word is impressive: at one end of the scale are modest activities such as learning by telephone and the production of recorded shiurim. At the other end is an ever-growing volume of online interactive and set-piece lectures via Zoom and Skype, classes and discussion groups, video productions that can be streamed or downloaded and podcasts. The spoken word has dramatically re-established its position in Torah learning, and demand for it has skyrocketed during the Covid-19 pandemic since many people are unable to access traditional printed books and other printed texts.

There are many dimensions to articulate speech which combine to assist a serious student navigate the path towards becoming a Torah scholar, as we have already learned.  These include the following Ten Commandments: 

(i) think about what you are going to say before you open your mouth so that your words will be the right ones,  

(ii) choose the right words with which to express what you mean, 

(iii) know when to stop speaking, 

(iv) make yourself audible, 

(v) clearly articulate consonants and vowels so that the listener will be able to recognize the spoken word, 

(vi) take the trouble to pronounce words correctly so that they will not be misunderstood or mistaken for other words, 

(vii) speak at a speed at which a listener can comprehend what is being said, 

(viii) repeat yourself only when it is necessary to do so, (ix) refrain from speaking any word if you are unsure of its meaning, and 

(x) if necessary, prepare and rehearse the words you intend to speak, so as to say them with meaning and feeling, thus maximizing their impact.

Unless a person suffers from a physical or psychological defect that cannot be remedied with the aid of a suitably qualified speech therapist, there is no excuse for failing to observe these rules. Contrary to the opinion of some people I have encountered, it is neither frum nor a sign of one’s humility to mumble when talking to others or giving a shiur. It is an acute discourtesy. Another egregious form of discourtesy is speaking to another person or to an audience in a language that you know they do not understand, when you are perfectly capable of speaking to them in a language you share with them.

Anyone who studies Torah and takes the correct articulation of his words seriously is set to receive many benefits. For example: (i) saying words aloud makes them easier to recall than merely scanning them with one’s eyes;  (ii) words misspoken can be helpfully corrected by one’s teacher or chavruta; (iii) by repeating his words enough times, a person can quote them both accurately  and fluently;  (iv) one’s learning can be more effectively internalized and understood.

How much work, and what sort of work, is an aspiring Torah scholar supposed to reduce?

 

In Avot 6:6 we find a list of 48 means of "acquiring Torah".  One of these is miyut sechorah (reducing the amount of business one conducts); another arguably involves some disengagement from money-earning: this is miyut derech eretz (reducing one's work, on the assumption that derech eretz here means that and not one of its other meanings: worldly activities and sexual intercourse). 

Rabbi Yaakov Emden observes in his Lechem Shamayim that there is another word for income-generating work, melachah, and that there is no corresponding requirement to reduce that. 

It is not clear to me exactly what the difference is between derech eretz and melachah in this context. Does any reader have any idea? Has anyone written on this? Please get in touch if you know.

Text and tradition: their place in "acquisition of the Torah"

The huge baraita in the sixth chapter of Pirkei Avot (6:6) lists no fewer than 48 elements that, in aggregate, are said to represent kinyan HaTorah ("acquisition of the Torah"). The list is an impressive one and, if we are honest, most of us are doing pretty well if we even manage half of them in today's world. Still, they represent an ideal -- and a challenge for us too, even if it is quite daunting.

Some of the items on the list are a little puzzling, since they seem obvious. Two that stand out in particular are Mikra (the text of the Torah and indeed the prophets and writings that comprise the rest of the Tanach) and Mishnah (the tractates that comprise the Six Orders of Mishnah and their accompanying Talmud). Why single these items out for special mention in this list? After all, they together add up to the content of our Torah learning -- and it is not possible to learn Torah without learning Torah (there is a small exception in Eruvin 100b, that one can learn Torah from animals such as cats, ants and cockerels, but the amount that can be learned from them is strictly limited). 

Perhaps the intention of the author of the baraita, when including Mikra and Mishnah, is to stress that it is only the text of Mikra and only the tradition of Mishnah that lead to acquisition of Torah learning.  They are listed in our baraita only to exclude writings that are not part of the canon of Tanach (works of apocrypha and pseudepigrapha and those which fell out of favour such as Ben Sira/Ecclesiasticus) as well as extraneous writings such as ancient Jewish fiction.

Exclusion of anything that falls outside the scope of the Tanach and the Six Orders of the Mishnah and their derivatives still leaves one question open: how does one categorise midrashic literature? While this falls outside the narrow interpretation of Mikra and Mishnah, in general it provides explanations and discussions based upon them. The author of the baraita, being a Tanna, would have been familiar with Midrash and may even have authored midrashim himself so I would like to assume, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, that the term Mishnah embraces Midrash too.