When one word can make all the difference

Most students of Pirkei Avot, when pressed, will admit to having a favourite mishnah. There’s nothing wrong with that. Some teachings of the Tannaim speak directly to us. Others seem somewhat threatening, particularly those that touch upon our continued existence as human beings. An example is the fairly unpopular and apparently quite menacing, mishnah at Avot 3:10:

רַבִּי דוֹסְתָּאִי בְּרַבִּי יַנַּאי מִשּׁוּם רַבִּי מֵאִיר אוֹמֵר: כָּל הַשּׁוֹכֵֽחַ דָּבָר אֶחָד מִמִּשְׁנָתוֹ, מַעֲלֶה עָלָיו הַכָּתוּב כְּאִלּוּ מִתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשׁוֹ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: רַק הִשָּֽׁמֶר לְךָ וּשְׁמֹר נַפְשְׁךָ מְאֹד פֶּן תִּשְׁכַּח אֶת הַדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר רָאוּ עֵינֶֽיךָ. יָכוֹל אֲפִילוּ תָּקְפָה עָלָיו מִשְׁנָתוֹ, תַּלְמוּד לוֹמַר: וּפֶן יָסֽוּרוּ מִלְּבָבְךָ כֹּל יְמֵי חַיֶּֽיךָ, הָא אֵינוֹ מִתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשׁוֹ עַד שֶׁיֵּשֵׁב וִיסִירֵם מִלִּבּוֹ

Rabbi Dostai b’Rabbi  Yannai used to say in the name of Rabbi Meir: Anyone who forgets even a single word of this learning, the Torah considers it as if he had forfeited his life, as it states: "Just be careful, and closely guard your soul, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen" (Devarim 4:9). One might think that this applies even to one who [has forgotten because] his studies proved too difficult for him; but the verse goes on to tell us: "and lest they be removed from your heart, throughout the days of your life." Thus one does not forfeit his life unless he deliberately removes them from his heart.

We all forget things we’ve learned and none of us is in a position to deny the fact. Sometimes we are annoyed and frustrated at not being able to recall something we struggled hard to learn but now eludes us. On other occasions we forget because we were not paying sufficient attention to the subject of study. Perhaps it didn’t seem relevant at the time, or we planned to revisit it and learn it properly at a later stage—but never did.

Fortunately, the end of this mishnah softens the blow: it is only when we are learning Torah and deliberately seek to unlearn something that our lives are actually or metaphorically forfeit. We can also be at risk of forgetting our learning if we don’t understand its meaning or significance in the first place. Thus, while the Talmud (Sukkah 42a) tells us that, as soon as a child can speak, his father should teach him the Shema, a foundational declaration of God’s unity and His relationship to us, most children have little understanding of these concepts and simply chant the words parrot-fashion. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

Rabbi Shlomo Toperoff answers this question by unexpectedly turning this mishnah on its head. If forgetting even one thing can destroy life, he suggests, even accidentally remembering even one thing can preserve or revive it. He writes, in Lev Avot:

“During World War II, many Jewish children were rescued from the Holocaust and placed in Christian hostels and homes. After the war, Dayan Grunfeld visited the evacuation camps that housed many of these young people. He was puzzled to know which children were Jewish and was suddenly inspired to mingle amongst them and repeat several times the words Shema Yisrael. A number of the children who had suffered from spiritual amnesia heard this plaintive cry from the distant past and they seemed to become aroused through the latent feelings embedded deep down in the recesses of their hearts, and they spontaneously responded by presenting themselves to the Rabbi”.

Rabbi Toperoff then presses home his point:

“The Mishnah records that if a person forgets one word of his learning he may forfeit his spiritual life, but the reverse is equally true. The solitary word Shema may reactivate the spiritual links which lie dormant in the subconscious mind and may trigger off a chain of events which would recover the loss of memory. So powerful is the potential quality of the one word of learning that, whilst the loss of it can have disastrous results, the vocal image of one word of the spiritual vocabulary of Judaism can produce miraculous results”.

It seems incredible that Dayan Grunfeld could have done such a thing—but we have a fuller account of his rescue activities from his son Raphael, writing in the Jewish Press (12 September 2012):

“When my father inquired whether the religious needs of the Jewish children in the camp were in fact being attended to, the reply was that there was not a single Jewish child in the camp. My father was skeptical. He knew that Jewish children had survived the war by hiding in the houses of gentiles who had risked their lives to save them, and he dared to hope that at least a few Jewish children were among the thousand.

As my father walked through the camp he began to recite aloud “Shema Yisrael” and “Hamalach Hagoel.” All at once he was surrounded by hordes of little children. “Mama, Mama,” they cried. “Take us home to Mama.”

It was this experience that underlined for him the magnitude of the problem and so he went on to establish the Jewish War Orphans Commission, which led to an unrelenting campaign before the Human Rights Commission of the United Nations for the rescue of Jewish war orphans and their return to Jewry”.

May we all be protected by the merit of our learning—be it much or little—and of those things we never forget.

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Fun with funnels

Is there humour in Pirkei Avot? I think so. An anonymous mishnah (Avot 5:18) teaches us this:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בְּיוֹשְׁבִים לִפְנֵי חֲכָמִים: סְפוֹג, וּמַשְׁפֵּךְ, מְשַׁמֶּֽרֶת וְנָפָה. סְפוֹג, שֶׁהוּא סוֹפֵג אֶת הַכֹּל. וּמַשְׁפֵּךְ, שֶׁמַּכְנִיס בְּזוֹ וּמוֹצִיא בְזוֹ. מְשַׁמֶּֽרֶת, שֶׁמּוֹצִיאָה אֶת הַיַּֽיִן וְקוֹלֶֽטֶת אֶת הַשְּׁמָרִים. וְנָפָה, שֶׁמּוֹצִיאָה אֶת הַקֶּֽמַח וְקוֹלֶֽטֶת אֶת הַסּֽוֹלֶת

There are four types [of student] among those who sit before the sages: the sponge, the funnel, the strainer and the sieve. The sponge absorbs everything. The funnel takes in at one end and lets it out the other. The strainer lets the wine pass through but keeps the dregs. The sieve ejects the coarse flour but keeps the fine flour.

Anyone who has ever been involved in teaching will recognize these four characters since they are found in every sector of the educational system, both Jewish and non-Jewish.

Even though this mishnah is easily understood even by the casual reader, it goes without saying that commentators have written all manner of analyses of these scholastic qualities. But I am going to discuss one small point: the analogy of the funnel.

My starting point is the assumption that the funnel is like a student’s head: the teaching goes in through one ear and out through the other, leaving no trace of knowledge or understanding behind.

The most popular commentators take pains to explain what a funnel is. The commentary ascribed to Rashi translates it into Old French, while the Bartenura gives a 14-word account of its function. They, and Rabbenu Yonah, affirm that what goes in goes straight out.

But does the learning pass straight through or does it take a little while to do so? According to Rambam, what goes into the student’s head enters easily because he comprehends it, but then it fades, leaving not a trace behind. R’ Chaim Volozhiner (Ruach Chaim) and the Meiri (Bet HaBechirah) agree: following the Avot deRabbi Natan they consider that the student forgets what he has actually learned.  

Maharam Shik points out that the student must retain something before he loses it. If you look at a funnel, you will observe that it is wide at the top but very narrow at the bottom. This is a metaphor for a student who learns everything, but only forgets it little by little until it is all gone. But if this is correct, our Mishnah is arguably overlapping with an earlier one (Avot 5:15) in the same perek that cites the case of the student who is quick to learn and slow to forget—a praiseworthy attribute.

R' Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) also notes that the top of the funnel has a substantial capacity. The reason why the student retains nothing, however, is that each new piece of knowledge displaces something that was apparently stored in the student’s head.

On a less serious note, I observe that the modern kitchen has other items and appliances, many of which the rabbis of mishnahic times would not have known. So I shall ask: what sort of talmidim correspond any of to the following items:

• Electric toaster
• Food mixer
• Pressure cooker
• Refrigerator

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Learning from our teachers--and from experience

How do we know anything? The Malbim, in his introduction to Mishlei (Proverbs), lists various ways we can acquire knowledge. There is prophecy, a class of knowledge that is channelled directly to us from God. While this source is not currently open to us, we still have records of much prophecy that has been received by the prophets of the Jewish bible. Then there is wisdom, in the sense of understanding something because we have thought about it and placed it within our general scheme of things. Next comes tradition: we know something because it has been told to us by someone else. Finally there is empirical knowledge, which we can gain through our own research, experimentation and experience.

Of these four sources of knowledge affect, the one that makes the greatest impact is empirical knowledge which we gain from personal experience. This is because of its immediacy and its intensity. Catching one’s finger in the door, gazing lovingly at one’s newborn child, realizing that one has lost one’s way when alone in the dark—these are events which, once experienced, are unlikely ever to be forgotten.  At the other end of the scale lies knowledge gained solely from books and which is unlikely to be personally experienced. However great its importance, we may struggle to internalise it and fully appreciate it.

Pirkei Avot addresses not only the value of knowledge (particularly Torah knowledge) but also the danger of forgetting it. R’ Dostai bar Yannai teaches, in the name of R’ Meir (Avot 3:10) that anyone who forgets even one item of his learning is responsible for the fate of his soul; Avtalyon (Avot 1:11) and R’ Yehudah (Avot 4:16) both warn of the danger of getting one’s Torah wrong—a likely consequence of teaching a topic when you no longer remember it properly. Then there is R’ Nehorai (Avot 4:18), who cautions us to remain in the company of those who will reinforce our Torah knowledge rather than “going solo”.

We know that what we learn when young generally sticks in our memories better than what we learn later (Elisha ben Avuyah, Avot 4:25). But does the likelihood of forgetting one’s learning also depend on how it reaches us in the first place? Maharam Shik acknowledges that what we learn from our own investigations and experiences is recorded more vividly in our memories—but there is always the worry that, when we learn something for ourselves, we may fail to draw the right conclusions from our learning.

So how do we strike the right balance between what we learn from the Torah and what we learn from our own experiences?

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Curbing a "hearty" appetite

There's a somewhat enigmatic aggadic passage near the end of tractate Horayot (13b) which opens with the words:

Our Rabbis taught: Five things make one forget one's studies: (i) eating something from which a mouse or a cat has eaten, (ii) eating the heart of an animal, (iii) regularly eating olives olives, (iv) drinking water that was used for washing, and (v) washing one foot above the other...

Forgetting one's learning is a subject that also features in Pirkei Avot 3:10, where Rabbi Dosta'i beRabbi Yannai used to say in the name of Rabbi Meir:

Anyone who forgets even a single word of this learning, the Torah considers it as if he had forfeited his life. As it states "Only be watchful and take care for your soul, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen" (Devarim 4:9). One might think that this applies even to one whose studies were too difficult for him, so the verse continues "and lest [the things you have seen] be removed from your heart, all the days of your life." So a person is not liable for his soul until he deliberately removes them from his heart.

In volume 2 of his Chesed LaAlafim, Rabbi Eliezer Papo ties these two propositions together via the Arizal. In Sha'ar HaMitzvot, at the end of parashat Vayelech, the Arizal is quoted as issuing a serious warning against eating the heart of any animal, domestic or wild, or of any bird. The Kabbalistic reason is that part of the ru'ach behemit ("animal spirit") of the animal or bird might enter the person who eats it and cause him to forget his Torah. The Chesed LaAlafim also refers to the other causes of forgetfulness listed in Horayot.

Eating an animal's heart is not forbidden by halachah and the Shulchan Aruch/Rema explain how it can be prepared for consumption. However, the aggadic passage in Horayot affirms a wider principle: if something is deleterious to one's memory, or to the learning process as a whole, one should avoid its regular consumption.

In modern terms, this suggests that anyone who seriously and sincerely wishes to preserve his or her memory and/or learn Torah should not indulge in mind-altering substance abuse. Taking drugs or consuming alcohol may offer perceptions and sensations that are not available to the conscious mind, but they come at a price -- and that price might well involve memory loss and cognitive impairment. And if a person takes mind-altering substances in the knowledge that his ability to remember things may be damaged, it is as though he is deliberately and willingly accepting the possible consequences of his actions.

The aggadah in Horayot is expressed in terms that will probably seem quaint and unfounded to many modern readers, but the mishnah in Avot has a more direct message for us today.

The person who forgets any of his Torah learning: request for clarification

In Avot 3:10 we learn in the name of Rabbi Dostai ben Yannai (citing Rabbi Meir) that a person who deliberately sets out to forget any of his Torah learning is regarded as though he has forfeited his spiritual life.  

Way back in the 1990s I heard a modern commentary on this Mishnah to the effect that it applies where a person possesses -- as most of us now do -- a reasonable set of sefarim from which he can easily and conveniently look up the things he forgets but he chooses not to do so, whether through lethargy or indifference. 

Unfortunately I do not recollect who said this. Can any reader please point me to a source for this explanation?