The principle that we should judge others favourably is
enshrined in one of the most cited mishnayot in Avot, where Yehoshua ben
Perachyah teaches:
הֱוֵי דָן אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם לְכַף זְכוּת
Judge every man on the scale of
merit (Avot 1:6).
This maxim gets bandied about so often that we can easily be
blinded to it by that most troublesome of ailments, Mishnah Fatigue. This post
urges us to refresh our view of it and to recalibrate our responses in two
common situations that require our judgement.
First, a preliminary point. While much of the first chapter
of Avot appears to be addressed specifically to judges, lawyers and the legal
process, from the earliest commentators onwards this maxim has been taken to
refer to the judgements we all make in our daily lives. Jewish judicial
proceedings are mainly concerned with matters of evidence and proof, not with
the moral standing of the litigants. However, we cannot avoid making moral
judgements if we are to live our lives in accordance with the standards laid
out in Avot. Thus when Nittai Ha’Arbeli (1:7) advises us to distance ourselves
from a bad neighbour and to refrain from teaming up with a wicked person, it is
assumed that we must take a plainly judgemental view as to who such people are
if we are to act upon this guidance.
The two following scenarios indicate typical situations in
which we may find ourselves, where we indulge in judgement without perhaps even
realising that we are doing do.
1.
Why isn’t s/he
married, then?
Marriage—and nowadays many a permanent partnership that may
not technically qualify as marriage—forms an important part of Jewish life. Throughout
the ages it has been a popular activity within all sectors of Jewish society to
help friends and acquaintances find an ideal match. Once upon a time this
activity, though open to all, was largely the prerogative of the shadchan
or shadchanit, the matchmaker. In recent times this activity, like so
many others, is assisted by computer dating services.
At any given time, there are a good many Jews who are
single. They may only just have reached a stage in their lives in which they
are old and/or mature enough to marry. They may have yet to meet a person to
whom they are confident to commit the rest of their lives. They may be widowed
or divorced. They may be driven by career considerations that are so fulfilling
that cannot look beyond them. Tragically, they may through no fault of their own
be mamzerim. And there are other
reasons too.
When Yehoshua ben Perachyah teaches us to judge others
favourably, this warning extends into the habits of thought that we can easily
slip into when it comes to matchmaking. If a person has reached a relatively
advanced stage in life without finding a partner, there is a temptation to
think “why hasn’t s/he married? There must be something wrong with that person”,
or “why is s/he so picky, rejecting so many eligible partners? What’s that
person’s problem?” This is a realm in
which we should resist the tendency to form opinions when we don’t know what
lies inside the hearts and minds of our fellow humans.
2.
Would you give this
man a donation?
The giving of tzedakah, charitable donations—like
marriage—is an ancient and hallowed institution of Jewish life. Solicitations
come in many forms: glossy brochures that vaunt the credentials of large
institutional charities, mass online appeals and, at the bottom end of the
market, individuals who go door-to-door or visit synagogues on weekday
mornings. The credentials of major charitable institutions and foundations are
easy to establish: accounts are prepared, audited and submitted for
examination. But what of the individual who collects in person? How do we know
who is a genuine charitable cause—and who is not?
Earlier this month the synagogue at which I was praying was
visited one morning by a man who sought funds for major surgery for one of his
children. At the end of the prayer service he made a speech in which he
explained that this surgery could only be performed in the United States and at
great expense; that the need to raise funds meant that he had to leave his job
in order to do so; and that he could not support his family. The man’s speech
was polished and had clearly been given on many occasions. It was supported by
a well-presented flyer that reiterated his needs and gave details for the
giving of donations, though it appeared to me that these details had been
prepared separately and then scanned on to the document. The man himself was smartly dressed and
evidently well fed. He carried with him a portable credit card reader.
My first thought was that I should not trust this appeal;
that the man was a professional and highly skilled beggar who was clearly
successful at his job. But then I found myself wondering whether Yehoshua ben
Perachyah’s teaching would let me reach that conclusion. After all, the need
for surgery for the man’s daughter might be perfectly genuine and it might have
been his desperation that led him to present his petition in a form that
certainly troubled me (it did not seem to worry most of my fellows in the
synagogue, who did not hesitate to donate). In the end, I too made a donation—a
modest one, I admit—and made a mental note to myself that any reward for the
performance of this mitzvah should go to Yehoshua ben Perachyah rather than to
me.
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There are many other instances in which it is easy to slip
into judgemental mode and to judge others harshly in one’s professional life
and at home. School teachers, medical practitioners, sales assistants—no-one is
totally immune. But if we do make critical or damning judgements of others, we
should at least be aware that we are doing so and ask ourselves if we are
justified in what we decide.
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