From Gay to Garber: will Harvard be singing a new tune?

Few of us will have had time to forget the circumstances leading to the resignation of Claudine Gay as Harvard’s University President, or the immense shock and pain felt by the Jewish community over her official stance on statements concerning genocide of the Jews. Ms Gay has since been replaced by Alan Garber (“born … in a Jewish household”, per Wikipedia), who is seeking to reduce the level of tension and anxiety in what was, until recently, one of the world’s most revered and respected institutions.

The Harvard Gazette reported yesterday as follows:

University President Alan Garber urged the campus community to seek opportunities for unity in a time of divisiveness on Tuesday at the first Morning Prayers ceremony of the new academic year at Memorial Church’s Appleton Chapel.

Garber opened his address with words of advice from the Talmudic compendium Pirkei Avot, or “Ethics of the Fathers,” traditionally read on the Sabbath. “Find yourself a teacher,” he said. “Win yourself a friend, and be one who judges everyone by giving them the benefit of the doubt.”

Garber, who took the helm of the University at a time of unrest over the war in Gaza, echoed themes he touched on during Monday’s Convocation, urging members of the community to seek common ground, treat one another with empathy and respect, and learn from the rich diversity of views on campus.

He explained that finding a teacher means seeking out people “whose experiences, skills and perspectives are different from your own, and whose knowledge and wisdom often exceed yours,” and “winning yourself a friend” requires offering “companionship, empathy, concern, support, and trustworthiness.”

“We’re all too adept at recognizing the flaws of our antagonists and even of our friends,” Garber said. “It’s tempting to interpret the actions of others in the worst possible light. It is better for all of us to do the opposite.”

Garber shook his head at recent headlines saying the nation’s colleges and universities have no choice but to brace for continuing disruption and unrest. He called it a “dismal notion” at an institution like Harvard, which is “pushing the limits of understanding, pursuing genuine excellence in every domain, and making ourselves, our University, and the world better.” 

These impediments can be avoided. “This is not a time to brace ourselves,” he said. “This is a time to embrace once another. We can do so by always keeping that third precept in mind. Be one who judges everyone by giving them the benefit of the doubt. By reserving judgment, we make it possible for others to know that they are part of this community and that this community cares for them.”

Garber said the key was “to bring to day-to-day interactions the same commitment to inquiry and discovery that we bring to our intellectual pursuits. If and when tensions among us rise, I hope that we will approach each other not only as fellow human beings, but as potential teachers and friends”…

Professor Garber’s mention of Pirkei Avot—in this case the teaching of Yehoshua ben Perachyah at Avot 1:6—is the latest example of the citation of mishnayot in order to make a political point (see also the speeches of Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro here and here).  

In this instance one can see why this mishnah is chosen: it reminds its audience that Harvard is about teaching; it sends out a positive message of friendship and it arguably also encourages people not to judge each other as individuals and not collectively.  The message has a Jewish origin but is of universal application.

I wonder whether any other message from Avot was considered and then rejected. At Avot 4:1 Ben Zoma teaches: “Who is honoured/respected? The person who honours/respects others”. But perhaps asking the Harvard faculty and student body to honour or respect one another is demanding too much.  At Avot 3:18 Rabbi Akiva reminds us that we are all created in God’s image—but this would scarcely impress those who do not believe in God. And Hillel at Avot 1:12 urges us to love peace and pursue it. Maybe, given the chasm that separates different definitions of “peace” in Israel, in Gaza and on the Harvard campus itself, this would not be a consensus teaching after all.

I’d be curious to discover what readers think of Professor Garber’s statement and the appropriateness of his choice of Avot citation.

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Of rabbis and realities

Two separate mishnayot in Avot (1:6, per Yehoshua ben Perachya, and 1:16, per Rabban Gamliel) urge us to take for ourselves a rav, a rabbi or teacher. Both these teachings have been extensively analysed, from the days of the earliest sages and up till today, and many different strands of advice have been teased out of them. This advice usually focuses on why a person needs a Torah teacher and/or spiritual adviser, what that person needs and how the relationship between them might function to best effect.

The implications of this mishnah run wider than one might initially imagine. Just as the instruction “get yourself a wife” clearly has more immediate meaning and relevance to the person seeking a wife than it does to the prospective wife, so too does “take for yourself a rav” speak more to the needs and interests of the person who lacks one than to anyone who might be that rav. Perhaps this is why commentaries on Avot so rarely examine this guidance from the rav’s point of view.

The role of the teacher, his aspirations and abilities, should not be overlooked. Rabbis and teachers are not like a line of taxis at a railway station, offering highly similar services at broadly similar prices. They have needs, feelings, anxieties and personalised skill sets which, even if they are sometimes shared with others, are not replicated uniformly through their ranks. It is good sometimes to stop and think about our rabbis, and about what their education, status and perceived duties mean to them.

With this in mind, here are two contrasting passages that reflect huge differences in perspective between two eminent rabbinical authors. The first, published in 1999, reads like this:

…As a youngster, my aspiration had been to follow in my father’s footsteps. His study was regularly frequented by people who sought his counsel. … I soon realized that people were not seeking my services as a counselor or as a teacher of Torah. Rather, I was expected to officiate at rituals: bar-mitzvahs, weddings, funerals, unveilings, and whatever other ceremonial events there might be. I was not satisfied with this superficial role, and in order to be the counsellor I had aspired to be, I became a psychiatrist (Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski, Visions of the Fathers, p 336.).

And here’s the second, from 2002:

The deepest insight I received into what makes life worth living was … when I began my career as a rabbi and had, for the first time, to officiate at funerals. They were distressing moments, trying to comfort a family in the midst of grief, and I never found them easy, but they were extraordinarily instructive. In my address I had to paint a portrait of the deceased, whom I might not have known personally, so I would talk first to the family and friends to try to understand what he or she meant to them. Almost always they spoke of similar things. The person who had died had been a supportive marriage partner, a caring parent. He or she had been a loyal friend, ready to help when help was needed. No-one ever mentioned what they earned or bought, what car they drove, where they spent their holidays. The people most mourned were not the most rich or successful. They were people who enhanced the lives of others. They were kind. You could rely on them. They had a sense of responsibility. They gave time as well as money to voluntary causes... As this pattern repeated itself time and again, I realized that I was learning about more than the deceased. I was being educated into what makes a life well lived (Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, The Dignity of Difference, p 80).

Neither of these statements can be marked “right” or “wrong”. They both deal with the experiences and responses of rabbis who were called upon to be the rav in a sense where the skills and services demanded of them were not those they were hoping to deliver. Rabbi Twerski’s response was to go back to the drawing board, as it were, and re-craft himself as the effective counsellor he sought to be, while that of Rabbi Sacks was to identify his inexperience and initial struggle to satisfy congregational demand as the gateway to a unique learning experience. Both rabbis clearly benefited from their respective responses and, in doing so, were able to confer even greater on their respective publics.

In an age of increasing specialisation, rabbis are no different to medical or legal practitioners in that they cannot be expected to master entirely the discipline of their calling. While the call in Avot to take for oneself a rav has not changed, I believe that it has become a little less unusual for a rabbi to suggest gently to a congregant in need of advice, assistance and support that he or she should try instead another rav whose knowledge or expertise is greater than their own. I’d be curious to know if members of this Facebook group have any knowledge or experience of this.

Rabbis: what do we really need them for?

The need to get oneself a rabbi is mentioned twice in Pirkei Avot -- first by Yehoshua ben Perachya (at 1:6) and then again by Rabban Gamliel (at 1:16). The first of those rabbis adds the need to acquire for oneself a friend. In simple terms, this means only that everyone needs a spiritual guide or mentor when navigating their course through life, as well as a companion with whom they can discuss their feelings and experiences and against whom they can bounce their ideas, expose their fears and share their moments of success and happiness.

My synagogue -- a fairly close-knit community synagogue in Jerusalem -- is currently seeking an associate rabbi to support the current incumbent, a distinguished scholar whose weight of years make it hard for him to meet the many and wide-ranging demands of its membership. This set me thinking about the advice to get oneself a rabbi.

Pirkei Avot is a code of guidance that, in essence, is addressed to individuals. Every person is unique and possesses a bundle of skills, interests, aptitudes and concerns. When choosing a rabbi, it is probable that each of us starts from the position of looking at what we need and then seeking a rabbi who is most likely to address all or at least most of those needs. This cannot be so easily done collectively, since every community is comprised of individuals whose needs and interests are different.

In the case of our synagogue, a job description was drafted and the membership was invited to complete a questionnaire in which they could indicate their preferences. From what I have heard from fellow congregants, the successful candidate should ideally be old and wise yet young and imaginative, possessed of great interpersonal skills yet immersed in Torah learning, full of drive and energy yet endlessly patient and possessed of a full range of pastoral skills. He should also be well-known and well-established, yet willing to step away from his current post in order to join our small and aging, if undoubtedly enthusiastic, community. If such a person can be found, we shall be well blessed.

My personal feeling is that we will not have fulfilled the precept of getting a rabbi by merely making a communal appointment. The words of the two mishnayot are expressed in Hebrew in the singular: עֲשֵׂה לְךָ רַב (aseh lecha rav). The rabbi should be personal to each of us. Or, as a viable alternative, each of us should be able to establish a viable personal relationship with him.

This in turn leads me to speculate as to how far a person's relationship with his or her rabbi should go. An interesting point to ponder is to ask the question: "which of the following issues would you discuss with your rabbi?"

• Which city or area to live in;

• Whether to buy a particular house or apartment;

• Which school or college to attend or send a child to;

• Whether a person whom one contemplates marrying is a suitable match;

• Which charity or charities to support and how much to give them;

• How to control one’s temper;

• How to handle a bout of depression;

• What books to take on holiday;

• How to dress when attending social functions;

• Whether to forgive a person who has caused personal pain or financial loss.

Thoughts, anyone?

Dogged pursuit of a rabbi

Twice in the first chapter of Avot (1:6 and 1:16) we are told aseh lecha rav -- make, get or appoint for yourself a rabbi. Reading through the commentaries, it appears that there many explanations as to why Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi should have thought it necessary to include the same advice twice. Here's another explanation: one needs one sort of rav for one's youth but a different sort for one's old age.

In one's youth, when still learning Torah and/or how to handle life, the advice of one's elders is generally essential, if not always welcome. The rav (rabbi, teacher) can fill in the gaps in one's knowledge and help cultivate a better understanding of the world and its challenges. The typical profile of the rav is that of an older, wiser persona, someone who can supplement and balance the more intimate input of one's parents by providing greater objectivity.

In one's old age the position is quite different.  Most of the wisdom one needs in order to navigate life has been acquired and very probably put into effect, and the issues and uncertainties that accompany every step in one's path through youth and middle age have been replaced by the certainties of retirement and gentle decline. Such a person may have no obvious need for the guidance and instruction of a teacher. However, the mishnah teaches that the need for a rav is no less great. How so?

Training for the rabbinate?

If one can draw an analogy, the rav in one's later years is rather like a guide dog for a blind person. The guide dog may not have much input in its owner's intellectual and moral development, but it can stop its owner walking in front of passing traffic or stepping off the embankment and falling into the river. This sort of input is vital -- and the dog must be alert to the blind man's needs and to act without being prompted when action is required.  These are also the qualities of the rav in one's senior years: to be able to keep his talmid morally and halachically safe and sound -- and to be able to do so in a tactful manner without being asked.