Our children are always watching

In the opening mishnah of the second perek, Rebbi (Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi) teaches:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים, וְאֵין אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה, דַּע מַה לְּמַֽעְלָה מִמָּךְ, עַֽיִן רוֹאָה וְאֹֽזֶן שׁוֹמַֽעַת, וְכָל מַעֲשֶֽׂיךָ בְּסֵֽפֶר נִכְתָּבִים

Contemplate three things and you will not come to the grip of transgression: Know what is above you—a seeing eye, a listening ear, and all your deeds being inscribed in a book.

This teaching clearly caught the imagination of R’ Jonathan Muskat, Rabbi of the Young Israel of Oceanside and the author of this piece (“Our children are always watching”) which was recently posted to the Times of Israel. There he writes:

There is a mishna in Pirkei Avot that scared me as a young boy. The mishna states that, “ayin ro-ah, v-ozen sho-ma-at v’chol ma-asecha ba-sefer nichtavin.” There is an eye that sees, an ear that hears and all of our deeds are written in a book. God is watching everything we do. We constantly live under a microscope. This thought can be so frightening and paralyzing that we may tend to ignore it. But sometimes we are reminded that we are being watched, not by God, but by our children. Very often, we don’t even realize how the smallest things that we do as parents can be so impactful on our children.

My initial reaction was that this comment had nothing to do with Rebbi’s teaching at all. The mishnah was surely focusing on how we should cultivate God-consciousness as a means of reducing and ideally eliminating the possibility of doing something wrong. The reference to children watching us was cute but only tangentially relevant. My second thought was quite different.

Rebbi lived some eighteen centuries ago, at a time when people in general—and not just Jews—had a far greater sense of God-awareness than we do today. He lived in an era in which lives were far more closely linked to their immediate environments than ours are today, a time when people’s perceptions of cause and event, of reward and punishment, were sharper and more immediate than they are now. We can imagine how much easier it is to be aware of God in a society which the main events of one’s day are so much more closely related to one’s survival than they are today: growing and harvesting crops, animal husbandry, preserving one’s water supply and making one’s own clothes. Heaven hung directly above their heads and they were acutely aware of it.

In modern society we have surrounded ourselves with so many man-made distractions: the average American, I once read, has about five hours a day in which he or she is neither working nor engaged in domestic chores. Much of that time is taken up with the pursuit of leisure and/or pleasure, if the scale of the entertainment and recreation-based industries is anything to go by. In theory a practising Jew would spend most or all of that time learning Torah and contemplating divine matters, and this aim can be fulfilled by those who are fortunate enough to be supported in their full-time learning—but it would do no-one an injustice to suggest that most of us do not reach that level, at least on a daily basis.

But if we no longer succeed in keeping God in mind 24/7 as we go about our lives and remember that He is watching us, we still have the children. In the case of our own children, we know how impressionable they are and how quickly they mimic our actions and (sometimes embarrassingly) our speech. We are also aware of other people’s children too. An example that springs to mind is that of the adult who happily crosses the road against a red light when no-one watches him, but who will take care to cross on the green, or to use a pedestrian crossing, if small children might get the wrong idea and copy him with tragic results.

Children are not God. But R’ Akiva reminds us (Avot 3:18) that we are all created in His image, and that includes the children who carefully note what we say and do. Maybe this is why R’ Shimon ben Yehudah (Avot 6:8) lists children among those things that are befitting not only to the righteous but to the world at large.

For comments and discussion of this post on Facebook click here.

Miracles: now you see them, now you don't

Those members of the Jewish people who follow the weekly Torah readings through each yearly cycle will know that we are right in the middle of the season for miracles. Over the past fortnight we’ve had all of the Ten Plagues and we are shortly to embark upon the splitting of the Reed Sea and the subsequent drowning of the pursuing Egyptian charioteers.  Later we encounter the provision of manna from heaven—and more besides.

These miracles share a common factor: they are all visible, perceptible to the naked eye.

At Avot 5:7 we meet a list of ten miracles which, our sages teach us, God provided for our forefathers in the Temple. The list looks like this:

לֹא הִפִּֽילָה אִשָּׁה מֵרֵֽיחַ בְּשַׂר הַקֹּֽדֶשׁ, וְלֹא הִסְרִֽיחַ בְּשַׂר הַקֹּֽדֶשׁ מֵעוֹלָם, וְלֹא נִרְאָה זְבוּב בְּבֵית הַמִּטְבָּחַֽיִם, וְלֹא אִירַע קֶֽרִי לְכֹהֵן גָּדוֹל בְּיוֹם הַכִּפּוּרִים, וְלֹא כִבּוּ הַגְּשָׁמִים אֵשׁ שֶׁל עֲצֵי הַמַּעֲרָכָה, וְלֹא נִצְּחָה הָרֽוּחַ אֶת עַמּוּד הֶעָשָׁן, וְלֹא נִמְצָא פִסּוּל בָּעֽוֹמֶר וּבִשְׁתֵּי הַלֶּֽחֶם וּבְלֶֽחֶם הַפָּנִים, עוֹמְדִים צְפוּפִים וּמִשְׁתַּחֲוִים רְוָחִים, וְלֹא הִזִּיק נָחָשׁ וְעַקְרָב בִּירוּשָׁלַֽיִם, וְלֹא אָמַר אָדָם לַחֲבֵרוֹ: צַר לִי הַמָּקוֹם שֶׁאָלִין בִּירוּשָׁלָֽיִם

No woman ever miscarried because of the smell of the holy meat. The holy meat never spoiled. Never was a fly seen in the slaughterhouse. Never did the High Priest have an accidental seminal discharge on Yom Kippur. The rains did not extinguish the wood-fire burning upon the altar. The wind did not prevail over the column of smoke [rising from the altar]. No disqualifying problem was ever discovered in the Omer offering, the Two Loaves or the Showbread. People stood crowded together but had ample space in which to prostrate themselves. Never did a snake or scorpion cause injury in Jerusalem. And no man ever said to his fellow "My lodging in Jerusalem is too cramped for me."

There’s a difficulty with some of these miracles in that they cannot be perceived in a meaningful manner. If you see a woman having a miscarriage, for example, this is likely to be an extremely unpleasant and probably unforgettable experience. However, if you see a woman not having a miscarriage, this fact is unlikely to impinge on your consciousness at all. The same goes with flies in the slaughterhouse: you will see them if they are there and may note their presence but, unless you are thinking about flies at the time, you may be quite unlikely to notice their absence. The same goes with several of the other miracles listed here: they may exist as quite remarkable statistical propositions, but not as something an onlooker can or need recognize through casual visual perception.

Maharam Shik comments on this. In effect, though we don’t see miracles manifesting themselves before our very eyes, that doesn’t mean that we can’t sensitise ourselves to the fact that something is happening beyond the merely natural, mundane operation of the world.  Even statistical propositions can take the shape of perceptions of hashgachah peratit—God’s personal supervision of a world that normally runs smoothly in accordance with the laws of nature. 

In short, according to Maharam Shik, all we have to do is to keep our eyes open. On any given occasion when we find ourselves in a fly-free slaughterhouse we may have no reason to spot anything unusual. But if it happens again and again, but doesn’t seem to happen in other slaughterhouses, the penny might eventually drop that something special is happening.

Being aware of hashgachah peratit takes many forms even today, even though there is no Temple service and most of us are far from holy. But you have to believe in its existence or you may not detect it. Here’s a trivial example: one occasionally hears a person, not necessarily Jewish, saying things like “I must have been doing the right thing when I decided to do X, because all the traffic lights on the way were green”. If things like this happen even once, it feels great but one is unlikely to read any great significance into it. But if they happen every time, one begins to wonder.

The standard daily Jewish prayer format of the Amidah incorporates within its text the idea that miracles come in different shapes and sizes, possessing markedly different effects. In the “thank you” section, in the blessing that opens with the words modim anachnu loch (“we thank you”), we express gratitude for “miracles that are with us every day” and for God’s “wonders and favours that are in every season—evening, morning and afternoon”. On this basis we say thank-you even for those miracles that are too small to notice, and for those that cannot be seen at all.

For comments and discussion of this post on Facebook, click here.