THE CURTIOUS CASE OF THE ELEPHANT’S CHILD

Like, I suspect, many readers of my vintage and even some younger ones, I was exposed at a tender age to the Just So Stories of Rudyard Kipling. They fascinated me: the urgent, repetitive rhythm of the prose, the apparently educational function of the fictional stories—they were magic to my ears. How the Camel Got its Hump, How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin, How the Leopard Got Its Spots, all of these were delightful tales that were liberally spiced with what I now know to be mussar—moral chastisement. From the moment I heard that wonderful line from The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo (“He was grey and he was woolly and his pride was inordinate”) I knew that something bad was going to befall the kangaroo, even though I had not a clue as to the meaning of “inordinate”.

But my real favourite, as a little boy who asked a lot of questions, was always The Elephant’s Child. This story opens as follows:

There was one Elephant- a new Elephant – an Elephant’s child- who was full of ‘satiable curtiosity, and that means he asked ever so many questions. And he filled all Africa with his ‘satiable curtiosities.

He asked his tall aunt, the Ostrich, why his tail feathers grew so, and his tall aunt spanked him with her hard, hard claw. He asked his tall uncle, the Giraffe, what made his skin spotty, and his tall uncle spanked him with his hard, hard hoof. He asked his broad aunt, the Hippopotamus why her eyes were red and his broad aunt spanked him with her broad, broad hoof. And he asked his hairy uncle, the Baboon, why melons tasted just so, and his hair uncle spanked him with his hairy, hairy paw. He asked questions about everything he saw, or heard, or smelt, or touched and all his uncles and his aunts spanked him. And still he was full of ‘satiable curtiosity!

One fine morning this Elephant’s Child asked a new question that he had never asked before: “What does a Crocodile have for dinner?” Everybody said, “Hush!” in a loud and dretful tone, and they spanked him for a long time.

Plot spoiler: the Kolokolo Bird directs him to the river where he unknowingly encounters the Crocodile, having never seen one before. The Crocodile nearly lures him to his death, seeking to pull him into the river by his nose. The Elephant’s Child, saved by the intervention of a local snake, is devastated to discover that his little nose, which is now very sore, has grown unrecognisably long. He has become the first elephant in possession of a trunk, which he soon puts to a variety of gratifying uses.

The Elephant’s Child is classic Pirkei Avot territory. Hillel, at Avot 2:6, teaches (among other things):

לֹא הַבַּיְּשָׁן לָמֵד, וְלֹא הַקַּפְּדָן מְלַמֵּד

Someone who is timid cannot learn, and someone who is short-tempered cannot teach.

Our sages practically unanimously explain that the reason why a timid person cannot learn is that he will be too scared to open his mouth and ask a question—either because his teacher will tell him off for asking a stupid one (Rashi) or because he is afraid to be put to shame in front of his classmates (per the Bartenura).

But plucking up the courage to ask a question that might get you into trouble with an irritable teacher is no guarantee of an answer. The Elephant’s Child gets none, despite his questioning, so he learns from the Kolokolo Bird where he must go: to the great, grey-green greasy banks of the Limpopo, where he will ultimately pose his question to the Crocodile itself.  By taking the Kolokolo Bird’s advice, he is living the maxim of Ben Zoma at Avot 4:1 (“Who is wise? The person who learns from everyone”).

The importance of asking questions is fortified later in Avot, at 5:9 (where asking questions that are relevant marks out the chacham, or wise person, from the golem) and 6:6 (where the process of question-and-answer is listed among the 48 ways to acquire Torah).

In the context of Torah learning, asking questions is more than a way of securing an answer. It is part of an ongoing process of strengthening a relationship between the teacher and the taught. A teacher who is sensitive to the needs, interests and intellectual resources of a pupil can fine-tune that process. How often do we hear in a shiur or chavruta words such as “the question you are really asking is …” or “you could have asked a better question …”?

First the internet browser and now artificial intelligence are means by which a curious talmid can access information. If he is diligent, he can track down and verify its sources and be much the wiser for using these powerful tools. But they do not add up to the relationship between rabbi and talmid that has been the basis of the passing of our laws and our traditions across the continents and through the millennia. For the Elephant’s Child, who only wanted to find a fact—what the Crocodile ate for dinner—an online search would have provided the answer swiftly and without danger to his life and limb. But without a deeper personal and often emotional involvement in the learning process, he would literally not have grown into the elephant we have today.

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Don't rush to answer!

One of the seven tests of someone who is wise, in contrast with the person who simply does not know how to behave, is that of how they answer a question (Avot 5:9). The wise approach is not to answer in haste, but to pause for thought before responding.

It is not difficult to think why this might be so. A hasty answer stands a better chance of being wrong, or at least incomplete. In addition, a person who spills out an answer without stopping to think might be creating the false impression that he or she has truly mastered the subject, while the speed is actually the product of a dearth of understanding rather than a superfluity of it. Explanations of this mishnah are generally along these lines, and many commentators regard the matter as so obvious that they offer no discussion of this proposition at all.

An exception is the Tiferet Tzion of Rabbi Yitzchak Ze’ev Yadler, which considers the swift and snappy answer from the perspective of the questioner: if you ask a question and the answer comes hurtling straight back at you without a moment’s thought, might you not feel embarrassed that the answer was obvious and/or that your question was stupid or insubstantial? The need to protect the feelings of students who have to ask questions is already noted earlier in Avot (at 2:6) by Hillel, who tells us that an irritable, impatient person cannot teach.

My many years teaching undergraduate, postgraduate and professionally qualified students taught me a lot about answering questions. Below are a few personal observations. Readers may wish to add their own.

Being asked a question to which one instantly knows the answer, especially if the questioner is a good student, is immensely pleasurable. The temptation to “grandstand” and give a magnificent impromptu answer can be hard to resist, as I found for myself, particularly in my earliest years as a law teacher, when I was less confident of my own skills and sometimes needed a boost. Being able to dash off a virtuoso answer off the top of my head provided this buzz, though some of these answers did require “qualification” or “further explanation” in order to give them cogency.

A swift response can be an over-response. When I have been asked variations of the same question by students over a period of years, I have sometimes had an answer that was “ready to roll” but which, becoming gradually wider and fuller in its substance, required thought from me if it was not also to answer points that the student in front of me was not actually asking.

An answer must fit the requirements of the questioner. In my own student days, my questions were sometimes answered by a format such as “I can tell you the right answer, but I can’t tell you precisely why”, usually followed by the suggestion that I go to the library and read up the reasons for myself. I used to find this really annoying. A student cannot quote an unreferenced and unsupported opinion of his professor in an examination and expect to get away with it. If the teacher concerned couldn’t tell me the reason, I didn’t care what his answer was and whether it was right or not.

The question that is asked may not be the question for which the questioner wants the answer. It is not uncommon for students of any subject to be quite inexpert in phrasing their questions. An attentive teacher, listening carefully to the question, may be able to discern this and check with the questioner before setting out to answer it.

Questions, answers and the call of the caterer

Asking and answering questions is so much a part of our lives that we can easily overlook the deeper significance of this practice. We routinely ask questions in order to supplement our knowledge (“how much does this muffin cost?”), enrich our understanding (“why does this medication make me feel nauseous?”) and to acknowledge our subservience or obligations towards others (“please may I be excused?”). We likewise use questions in order to criticise others (“are you seriously trying to tell me that you’ve tidied your room?”), to underline one’s own importance or rectitude (“do you imagine that I would be so stupid as to believe such a pathetic excuse?”), and even for purely rhetorical effect (“wouldn’t you pay a king’s ransom for an opportunity like that?”).  Sometimes we use questions as a way of framing advice (“are you planning to take your umbrella today?”) or information (“did you know that the price of eggs has just gone up?”); we also ask questions when we know, or are fairly certain of, the answer (“would you like me to move my car which is blocking your drive?”).  We even ask ourselves questions (“where on earth did I put my spectacles?”).

Pirkei Avot addresses the Q&A process in several places. In particular, when distinguishing between a wise person and a golem, a person who doesn’t know any better, we are taught that we should not answer in haste (5:9) and that we should ask questions that are relevant and answer them accurately (ibid).  If we don’t know the answer, we should admit that we don’t (ibid) and we should only answer a heretic if we know how to do so (2:19).  Asking and answering questions is one of the 48 techniques by which a person can acquire Torah learning (6:6). We should not answer questions in greater length than is required (1:17). When seeking to establish the truth, we should not ask leading questions that put words into the mouth of the person answering them (1:9). Answers that are meant to be understood should be intelligible on a single hearing (2:5). There are other teachings in Avot that can be applied to Q&A, and anyone reading this tractate will soon spot how many mishnayot employ the Q&A technique themselves.

This review of questions and their many functions takes me back to the 1990s, when I was responsible for the administration of the London Beth Din (LBD). Throughout that decade, and indeed thereafter, the LBD was heavily involved in the grant of licences to food manufacturers, restaurateurs and caterers whom it certified as having satisfied the demanding standards for kashrut that are required by Jewish law. This work was done routinely by the LBD’s Kashrut Department under the supervision of the Dayanim of the LBD. I saw very little of our licensees and had little contact with them except when, once a year, they visited the LBD for an interview upon which the renewal of their licences was contingent.

From time to time it was necessary for a licensee to contact one of the Dayanim in order to ask a question relating to kashrut. These questions typically concerned matters such as the kashrut of manufactured food products bearing unfamiliar foreign certifications, the incidence of insects in quantities of fruit and vegetables, the late arrival or non-arrival of a mashgiach to oversee food preparation and the rectification of problems arising from the inappropriate use of utensils. In this pre-smartphone era, it was not always easy to locate a Dayan during office hours, so I often found myself fielding calls from anxious caterers. I would then either try to find a Dayan within the building or to pinpoint a place where one might be found.

I soon discovered that, of the LBD-licensed caterers, some never contacted us at all. Either they had no problems or they knew all the answers, I assumed. There was however one small catering firm that seemed to call the Dayanim with questions far more frequently than any of the others. Indeed, I sometimes wondered if this caterer’s queries outnumbered those of all the other caterers put together. What’s more, many of the questions seemed fairly easy or bordered on the trivial; I had to work hard to suppress the inclination either to answer them myself or to chide the caterer for this apparent ignorance.

After a couple of years I actually met the caterer in question and I somewhat impertinently asked: “how come you keep bombarding my Dayanim with so many questions?”  The caterer’s answer impressed me greatly. This was its gist. If a caterer serves poor quality food, it will lose existing customers and not gain new ones. Its reputation will be damaged and it will suffer commercially. If however a caterer serves food that turns out not to be kosher, the situation is different. The caterer’s reputation will of course be damaged and it will lose goodwill and custom. More importantly, the reputation of the LBD would also be damaged. That in turn would adversely affect customer confidence in all the other caterers, restaurants and manufacturers that bore the LBD imprimatur. It was therefore better to play safe and, in any question where there existed even the smallest doubt, to ask even the most elementary questions and let the LBD satisfy itself of the position, rather than to gamble the reputation of the LBD and other licensees by guessing an answer that, though quite likely right, might also be wrong.

From this we see how the asking of questions can be an effective means of establishing and maintaining a three-way relationship of trust between the questioner, the respondent and the public.

Ask no questions?

A couple of damp and drizzly mornings ago I was returning from my daily morning prayers in Jerusalem’s Yeshurun Synagogue when I spotted a strikingly clear rainbow. In accordance with Jewish law I recited the blessing of זוכר הברית, ונאמן בבריתו, וקיים במאמרו (“…who remembers the covenant, is trustworthy in His covenant and keeps His word”). I was pleased to do so since rainy days, and therefore the opportunity to recite this formula, are not as frequent in Israel as in my native England. As I reached my apartment building a young man emerged. I excitedly told him of the rainbow and reminded him of the opportunity to say the blessing. Thanking me, he casually asked: “Where is it?”

Over the years I’ve seen many rainbows. Some have been faint and pale, others outstanding in their refracted glory. While they possessed differentiating qualities, they shared one common characteristic: they were all to be found in the same place: the sky. All my young friend had to do was to look up and, if he did not espy that rainbow instantly, swivel around a little till it came into his line of vision. If I had been told that there was a rainbow on display, it would not have occurred to me that it might be anywhere else, and I would certainly never have asked anyone else where it was.

This little episode troubled me. The question, for sure, was unnecessary. But was I being unduly harsh? My inquisitor might have been anxious to discover the precise location of the rainbow in order to save valuable seconds that might then be put to more productive use. Alternatively, his question might have been conditioned by the frustrating experience of trying to find a new moon amidst the dense foliage of Rechavia, an area graced with stately trees which by day provide magnificent shade. And do we not encourage our youngsters to ask questions? How else will they learn?

Pirkei Avot has something to say, of course. In general terms, silence is preferred to speech (Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel at Avot 1:17, Rabbi Akiva at Avot 3:17). From this one might infer that if one can resolve a question without speaking to anyone else, this would be good. The tractate goes further. At Avot 5:9 we learn that asking questions that are to the point and answering them correctly are signs of a person who is cultured and educated in the ways of the Torah, and at 6:6 we find asking and answering, devoid of any conditions or qualifications, in the list of 48 qualities a person needs for the acquisition of Torah.

Avot is only a starting point. In the Babylonian Talmud (Shabbat 31a) we find Hillel warmly welcoming a series of questions which, we learn, are deliberately calculated to anger him so that the person asking them can win a bet. I think that, in general terms, this is probably the best policy for me to adopt in future—though I shall continue to grit my teeth when two of my grand-daughters who refuse to wear watches will persist in asking me what the time is, even when we are sitting together in a room containing no fewer than three clocks.