Mishnah, motive and mind-games: can you make the right decisions?

At Avot 3:1 Akavya ben Mahalalel delivers one of the sternest, grimmest, most frightening teachings to be found in the whole of the tractate:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים, וְאֵין אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה. דַּע מֵאַֽיִן בָּֽאתָ, וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ, וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן. מֵאַֽיִן בָּֽאתָ: מִטִּפָּה סְרוּחָה. וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ: לִמְקוֹם עָפָר רִמָּה וְתוֹלֵעָה. וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן: לִפְנֵי מֶֽלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא

Reflect upon three things and you will not come to the hands of transgression. Know where you came from, where you are going, and before whom you will give an account of yourself. Where did you come from? A putrid drop. Where are you going? To a place of dust, worms and [other] worms. And before whom will you give an account of yourself? Before the supreme King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.

The plain meaning of these words is not hard to detect. In case we should feel tempted to give ourselves airs and graces, we should recall that we start our lives as random bits of biological effluent and end them as nutrients for invertebrate nematodes. Notwithstanding our humble beginnings and maggot-ridden end, we will still have to answer, after our deaths, for the things we did when we were still alive.

As with practically all of Pirkei Avot, this teaching—while it cannot be misunderstood—is built up as a springboard for quite different messages. Some see it as a deliberate frightener, a way to encourage sober thought about our existence in this world and our trial in the next. The worms are there to add to the reader’s discomfort. Their teeth are as sharp as needles and the reference to two different types of worm embraces both those who burrow in from outside and those who burrow out from within. But Jewish tradition and modern science have parted company: it is now generally accepted that the body feels neither pain nor pleasure once it is dead, and any vermeologist will tell you that worms do not have teeth.

A more sophisticated explanation, offered by R’ Elimelech of Lizhensk (Noam Elimelech) and R’ Avraham of Slonim, does not turn on worms but creatively addresses the duplication of the three questions. This duplication relates to two types of Jew. One is in awe of the majesty of God and the wondrous World He has created; the other remains in terror of the punishment God may inflict on him if he errs. Both have the potential to sin. If you ask Akavya ben Mahalalel’s three questions to each of these two individuals in turn, they will process them in entirely different ways. How so?

The first type of Jew, whose eyes are fixed on God’s awesome nature and his place within the great order of things, has no need to be told the answers since he already has his own: his soul comes from right under the Throne of Glory of God on high; his body comes from the same earth as Adam. He is heading for the World to Come, a place where all Jews are guaranteed a share and where their souls can bask in the eternal gleam of the Shechinah (God’s presence). There he will stand in judgement before God, who is all-wise and ever-merciful, the true judge who has always loved His creatures and His chosen people.

 The second, whose gaze is firmly fixed on the ground before him in abject terror of transgressing God’s will, has his answers provided for him by the words of this Mishnah.

For R’ Menachem Mendel of Vitebsk, this mishnah is designed to help us view ourselves as being on a journey, since all of life is a journey. Just as one traveller might ask another where he has come from and where he is going, so we too should ask ourselves the same questions when working our way through the journey of life.

Stretching even further from the plain meaning of our mishnah we find Gila Ross (Living Beautifully), having offered a conventional explanation, uses it as a basis for more general advice:

These questions can also be asked about an action that you are about to take. Know where you’re coming from and what your motive is; examine that motive. Sometimes it’s easy to say, “I’m doing this for the good”, but really there’s a niggling, deeper motive in there that’s not healthy. Second, where are you going? Where will this action take you? Is it going to take you where you want to go? Or is it going to take you away from your goals? Third, know that you will have to give an account. Don’t think that your action doesn’t have an effect on the people around you; it influences the people with whom you come into contact...

When we ask these three questions about the action that we are about to take, it develops within us a healthy attitude t help us make the right choices.

The treatment of the “giving account” part of the mishnah as addressing our need to look to the consequences of one’s actions in this world is a theme picked up back in the classic commentary of Irving M. Bunim in Ethics from Sinai where he writes:

Consequences may spread out from our action or failure to act; and like ripples spreading from a pebble dropped into a pond, the consequences may accelerate in speed and increase in speed and pressure as they move outward.

However, we already have a mishnah in the second perek (Avot 2:13) in which R’ Shimon ben Netanel urges us to see the consequences of our actions, so why the repetition of this message?

I believe that all the explanations of this mishnah have something to offer contemporary students of Avot, but that not every explanation will meet the needs of every Jew. We cannot pick and choose our own halachot, the laws that bind us, but we can choose the explanation of a middot-driven mishnah that is most compatible with our individual personalities and characteristics.

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Preparing false accounts: a personal perspective

I once found myself in the middle of a curious din Torah when I was working at the London Beth Din. This case arose from a dispute concerning the correct valuation of a business whose partners had decided to go their separate ways. The legal issues, which were simple, were not even contested. But the parties quarrelled over the figures. It transpired that the partnership kept no fewer than three sets of accounts.  One, in English and prepared by their accountant, was submitted annually to the tax authorities. The second, in Hebrew and based on the Jewish calendar, recorded not only their trading figures and expenses but also their charitable donations. A third set of accounts, in Yiddish and out of sight of both the tax authorities and their religious consciences, was the set of figures that ostensibly dealt with their personal input and output. The Beth Din was asked to rule as to which set(s) of accounts should govern their settlement.

Accounts and accounting play an important role in stimulating the Jewish conscience, particularly around the season of Rosh Hashanah, the Day of Judgment, and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Unsurprisingly therefore, the idea that, once our lives have ended, we must account to God for what we’ve done with them is not unique to Pirkei Avot. It does however feature in two significant mishnayot in that tractate. In Avot 3:1 Akavya ben Mahalalel warns us:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים, וְאֵין אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה. דַּע מֵאַֽיִן בָּֽאתָ, וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ, וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן. מֵאַֽיִן בָּֽאתָ: מִטִּפָּה סְרוּחָה. וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ: לִמְקוֹם עָפָר רִמָּה וְתוֹלֵעָה. וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן: לִפְנֵי מֶֽלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא

[Translation] Reflect upon three things and you will not come to the grip of transgression. Know from where you came, where you are going, and before whom you are destined to give a judgement and accounting. From where you came—from a putrid drop; where you are going—to a place of dust, maggots and worms; and before whom you are destined to give a judgement and accounting—before the supreme King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.

Then, in a thunderous teaching at Avot 4:29 which concludes that perek, Rabbi Elazar HaKAppar says:

הַיִּלּוֹדִים לָמוּת, וְהַמֵּתִים לִחֳיוֹת, וְהַחַיִּים לִדּוֹן, לֵידַע וּלְהוֹדִֽיעַ וּלְהִוָּדַע שֶׁהוּא אֵל, הוּא הַיּוֹצֵר, הוּא הַבּוֹרֵא, הוּא הַמֵּבִין, הוּא הַדַּיָּן, הוּא הָעֵד, הוּא בַּֽעַל דִּין, הוּא עָתִיד לָדוֹן. בָּרוּךְ הוּא, שֶׁאֵין לְפָנָיו לֹא עַוְלָה, וְלֹא שִׁכְחָה, וְלֹא מַשּׂוֹא פָנִים, וְלֹא מַקַּח שֹֽׁחַד, וְדַע שֶׁהַכֹּל לְפִי הַחֶשְׁבּוֹן. וְאַל יַבְטִיחֲךָ יִצְרָךְ שֶׁהַשְּׁאוֹל בֵּית מָנוֹס לָךְ, שֶׁעַל כָּרְחָךְ אַתָּה נוֹצָר, וְעַל כָּרְחָךְ אַתָּה נוֹלָד, וְעַל כָּרְחָךְ אַתָּה חַי, וְעַל כָּרְחָךְ אַתָּה מֵת, וְעַל כָּרְחָךְ אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן לִפְנֵי מֶֽלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים, הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא

[Translation] Those who are born will die, and the dead will live. The living will be judged, to learn, to teach and to comprehend that He is God, He is the creator, He is the maker, He is the one who understands, He is the judge, He is the witness, He is the plaintiff, and He will judge. Blessed is He, for before Him there is no wrong, no forgetting, no favouritism, and no taking of bribes; know, that everything is according to the reckoning. Let not your heart convince you that the grave is your escape; for against your will you are formed, against your will you are born, against your will you live, against your will you die—and against your will you are destined to give a reckoning and an account of yourself before the king, king of all kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.

These two mishnayot summarise the functional utility of keeping good accounts. The first offers the daunting prospect of God both auditing them and then ruling on their validity can provide a potent threat and impel a person towards avoidance of those thoughts, words and actions that go against not just God’s word but also common decency.  The second reminds us uncomfortably that, even more effectively than ChatGPT on steroids, God can instantly and effortlessly recall, contextualise and analyse every item of relevant data—including much that we are not aware of ourselves. If there are two ways of relating to God, through love and through fear, we know that no-one enjoys submitting accounts: these mishnayot deal with fear.

Though Avot does not state it explicitly, the message is conveyed that our accounts should be accurate and correct when we submit them: no deliberate omissions or falsifications, no disguising personal perks as legitimate expenses, and so on. We are obliged to accept the truth. But equally we are only human and cannot, for as long as we live, trust ourselves (Avot 2:5).

We are urged to accept that our accounts of our actions in our lifetimes will never be, and can never be, accurate and objective. Even if we were capable of viewing our every word and deed in a completely dispassionate manner, the question still remains as to whether what we view is what is actually there. Rabbi Chaim Friedlander’s Siftei Chaim, in the first volume of his Middot veAvdut Hashem, repeatedly hammers home the qualitative difference between the world we live in now, a world of “right and wrong”, and the primordial world into which Adam and Chava were created, the world of “true and false”. True and false are portrayed as absolutes, while “right and wrong” are relative terms. Putting it simply, what’s true for me must be true for you, but what’s right for me may be wrong for you.

The corollary of this distinction is that we live in a world of sheker, falsity. Only the world to come possesses the quality of absolute truth. For us, living here and now, whatever one sees, experiences or reasons out is tinged with falsehood. But when we reach the world to come, there we will be treated to truth in all its glory, and it is there that we will give our account of ourselves and be judged on it.

Irrespective of whether one accepts these distinctions as axiomatic or discards them as midrashic myth, the fact remains that we live in this world and have no means of perceiving anything that lies beyond the limits of our own lives. If Akavya ben Mahalalel and Rabbi Elazar HaKapar were aware of this, as they surely were, their teachings must be read in light of their expectation that, however well we prepare to justify ourselves before our Maker, we will always fall short of the account that He has already prepared for us. Our encounter with God at this point may well thus be less of a trial and more of a posthumous education for us. Perhaps the scenario is more like this. We tell God what we have done and why we have done it, where we have gone wrong and where we think we got it right. He then marks our card, as it were, and shows us how close we got, in the world of sheker, to the emet, the ultimate truth.

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