TAKE YOUR PARTNER

The idea that two people can accomplish what one person cannot is deeply embedded in the human psyche. The very first story in the bible deals with the need for Adam to have an ezer kenegdo, a brilliant concept of another person who is both an ezer—a helper—and kenegdo—in opposition to him. This suggests not only that two can achieve more than one, but that each can act as a check to the other and thus give a chance for the two to negotiate better courses of action.

Unlike the Torah, Pirkei Avot does not open by emphasizing the need for a friend but it is mentioned explicitly in the first chapter where, at Avot 1:6, Yehoshua ben Perachyah teaches

עֲשֵׂה לְךָ רַב, וּקְנֵה לְךָ חָבֵר, וֶהֱוֵי דָן אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם לְכַף זְכוּת

Make for yourself a rav (i.e. a master or teacher), and acquire for yourself a friend, and judge every man on a scale of merit.

The Hebrew word for “friend” here is חָבֵר, a term that has strong connotations of a friend with whom one studies Torah, and which may well also be the sort of confidant with whom one shares ones worries and woes.

The longest baraita in the sixth and final chapter of Avot (6:6) lists 48 things that enhance a person’s ability to acquire Torah knowledge and one of these is דִקְדּוּק חֲבֵרִים  (dikduk chaverim), variously translated as “Closeness with colleagues”, “attaching oneself to colleagues”,  ”learning with one’s peers” and the like. The root of the Hebrew word dikduk essentially relates to smallness and precision. The related verb ledakdek means to delve deeply, scrutinize, or pay meticulous attention to fine details. Thus in our context dikduk chaverim is generally regarded as the sort of fine analysis in which a pair of Torah scholars might engage when pushing their understanding to its limits.  This is far from the wider concept of “acquire for yourself” postulated by Yehoshua ben Perachyah, but it shares with the Adam-and-Eve scenario the notion of a sort of counterpoint between different opinions that can lead to a better or more original outcome. In more modern terms we might compare it to the process of thesis, antithesis and synthesis of the Hegelian dialectic.

That dikduk chaverim means learning together with a partner in order to gain better understanding of the Torah is the consensus opinion of Avot commentators but, if you look far enough, you can almost always find an outlier. For this brief teaching, Rabbi Yitzchak Elchanan Waldshein of Shershov (cited in MiMa’ayanot Netzach) is that man. For him, dikduk chaverim does not mean delving deeply into the finer points of Torah law with a close and trusted learning partner. Rather, it means delving deeply into your prospective chaver in order to satisfy yourself that this is the right partner for you. In particular, one must test the prospective partner to make sure that he does not pursue a barak chitzoni—any distracting flash of inspiration drawn from outside the context of your learning—and that his main concern is for your spiritual and intellectual development.

This interpretation suggests that the ideal chavruta, learning partnership, will be a very serious matter indeed, and he may be describing a sort of gold standard for tackling Torah together with another person. But I wonder how many people in our generation have a sufficient degree of earnest commitment and sincere conviction to eliminate from their learning those sparks of spontaneity and inspiration drawn from a different world, the world for which the Torah was given.

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From a stranger to a good friend

When Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai asked his five top students to get out of the Beit Midrash in order to go and see what was the good path that one should choose for oneself, he received a range of answers. The relevant mishnah in Avot (2:13) reads like this:

אָמַר לָהֶם: צְאוּ וּרְאוּ אֵיזוֹ הִיא דֶּֽרֶךְ טוֹבָה שֶׁיִּדְבַּק בָּהּ הָאָדָם. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶֽזֶר אוֹמֵר: עַֽיִן טוֹבָה. רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻֽׁעַ אוֹמֵר: חָבֵר טוֹב. רַבִּי יוֹסֵי אוֹמֵר: שָׁכֵן טוֹב. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר: הָרוֹאֶה אֶת הַנּוֹלָד. רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר: לֵב טוֹב. אָמַר לָהֶם: רוֹאֶה אֲנִי אֶת דִּבְרֵי אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן עֲרָךְ מִדִּבְרֵיכֶם, שֶׁבִּכְלַל דְּבָרָיו דִּבְרֵיכֶם

[Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai] said to them: “Go and see which is the best trait for a person to acquire”. Said Rabbi Eliezer: “Magnanimity of spirit [literally A good eye”]. Said Rabbi Yehoshua: “A good friend”. Said Rabbi Yose: “A good neighbour”. Said Rabbi Shimon: “To see the consequences of one’s actions”. Said Rabbi Elazar: “A good attitude [literally A good heart”].  [Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai] said to them: “I prefer the words of Elazar the son of Arach to yours, for his words include all of yours”.

Rabbi Elazar ben Arach might appear to be the “winner” in this “contest”, but that would be to over-simplify a complex mishnah. Each of the five answers which Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai received is valid and correct. The essential difference between them is that Rabbi Elazar ben Arach’s answer is expressed in general terms, whereas each of his four colleagues points to a specific example or instance of a “good path” to pursue in fulfilling one’s aims in life.

Of the “losers”, Rabbi Yehoshua seems to have the least to offer. In the first place his words are so epigrammatic that we do not know what they mean. Is he referring to the virtues of having a good friend, or of being a good friend to someone else? Secondly, is not friendship arguably sufficiently covered within Avot and Jewish ethical literature in general to be taken as read?

In an attempt to make something of this teaching, commentators in our times have greatly enriched it. For example Rabbi Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avos) writes:

Picture one of your acquaintances whom you don’t dislike but are not particularly close to. His life seems to be going OK as far as you know. Now imagine that you read in his diary: “My bones shudder. My soul is utterly confounded… I am wearied with my sigh, every night I drench my bed in tears. My eye is dimmed because of anger, aged by my tormentors”. Besides your surprise at his poetic writing style, wouldn’t you feel a wave of compassion for this tormented soul whose sufferings you were totally aware of?

 This man’s words, Rabbi Miller reminds us, are part of the regular Tachanun we recite most days—and our sages of old told us to say them because, for every one of us in one way or another, they are a true expression of our feelings.  We should therefore look at this casual acquaintance and appreciate that he too, like every human, experiences feelings like this without our awareness of them. Rabbi Miller continues:

Look again at your neighbour, bring out your compassion, and say “I can’t take away his pain (especially since I don’t know what it is, but I can add a small measure of joy and comfort to his life by trying to be his friend”. After focusing on one acquaintance, move on to another, and little by little your circle of love begins to grow and you become transformed.

I’m very moved by these words. Has Rabbi Miller simply provided a fanciful and idealistic cadenza with which to grace a somewhat mundane teaching, or is there more to it?  Recalling how Rabbi Yehoshua befriended the poor young Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, as mentioned in the Pirkei deRabbi Eliezer, I should like to think that he would warmly welcome Rabbi Miller’s explanation.

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