The odd man out

The two mishnayot at Avot 2:13 and 2:14 are very nearly mirror images of one another. In the first, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai asks his five star talmidim to find the best path to take in life; in the second, he asks them to identify the worst. These mishnayot read like this:

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. אָמַר לָהֶם: צְאוּ וּרְאוּ אֵיזוֹ הִיא דֶּֽרֶךְ רָעָה שֶׁיִּתְרַחֵק מִמֶּֽנָּה הָאָדָם. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶֽזֶר אוֹמֵר: עַֽיִן רָעָה. רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻֽׁעַ אוֹמֵר: חָבֵר רָע. רַבִּי יוֹסֵי אוֹמֵר: שָׁכֵן רָע. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר: הַלֹּוֶה וְאֵינוֹ מְשַׁלֵּם, אֶחָד הַלֹּוֶה מִן הָאָדָם כְּלֹוֶה מִן הַמָּקוֹם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: לֹוֶה רָשָׁע וְלֹא יְשַׁלֵּם, וְצַדִּיק חוֹנֵן וְנוֹתֵן. רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר: לֵב רָע. אָמַר לָהֶם: רוֹאֶה אֲנִי אֶת דִּבְרֵי אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן עֲרָךְ מִדִּבְרֵיכֶם, שֶׁבִּכְלַל דְּבָרָיו דִּבְרֵיכֶם

Go out and see which is the best trait for a person to acquire. Rabbi Eliezer said: a good eye. Rabbi Yehoshua said: a good friend. Rabbi Yose said: a good neighbour. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel said: to see the consequences [of one’s actions]. Rabbi Elazar said: a good heart. [Rabban Yochanan] said to them: I prefer the words of Elazar ben Arach to yours, for his words include all of yours.

He said to them: Go out and see which is the worst trait, the one that a person should most distance himself from. Rabbi Eliezer said: an evil eye. Rabbi Yehoshua said: an evil friend. Rabbi Yose said:  an evil neighbour. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel said: to borrow and not to repay; for one who borrows from man is like one who borrows from the Almighty, as it is stated: “The wicked man borrows and does not repay; but the righteous one is benevolent and gives''. Rabbi Elazar said: an evil heart. [Rabban Yochanan] said to them: I prefer the words of Elazar ben Arach to yours, for his words include all of yours.

These teachings are not totally mirror images. Of the five talmidim, four give answers to the second question that are merely the opposite of their answers to the first. The odd man out is R’ Shimon ben Netanel, whose answers appear in bold. Why does he not simply answer that, since the best path is that of seeing the consequences of one’s actions, the path to avoid is that of not seeing those same consequences?

This question is not new. Though some commentators, including Rashi, don’t address it at all, others have clearly given it thought. The Bartenura, for example, reverses R’ Shimon’s second answer into his first: not seeing the consequences means borrowing without appreciating what will happen if one doesn’t pay back: no-one will offer accommodation or food and that person will starve. So why doesn’t R’ Shimon say so? Because sometimes a person who fails to see the consequences will still be able to avert the unforeseen disaster and be saved.

Rabbenu Yonah takes a different tack. Like some other scholars, he learns R’ Shimon’s first response, regarding the consequences of one’s actions, as referring to Avot 2:1 where Rebbi urges us to weigh the cost of a mitzvah against its benefit and the benefit of an averah (sin) against its cost.  There isn’t an obvious opposite for this teaching and, in any event, borrowing and not repaying is something that people automatically seek to avoid if they can.

Rambam goes to lengths to explain that seeing the consequences of one’s actions does not mean possessing prophetic powers to discover the hidden from that which has been revealed. Rather, a person should look to his own actions and seek to see what their consequences may be. Not paying back means that he will not receive further loans: to borrow when you cannot repay is an ethical shortcoming.

My personal thoughts on these mishnayot run like this:

Starting with the first of our two mishnayot, we see that R’ Shimon’s choice of a “good path”—the ability to perceive the future, to appreciate the consequences of what one sees—is strikingly at odds with the pithy proposals of his colleagues. While the other four talmidim of Rabban Yochanan are focused on qualities that are inherent in man within his social setting (ie a good eye, friend, neighbour and heart), R’ Shimon alone focuses on the nature of time. How does he do this? By nominating as his choice of “good path” the idea of a person taking his conscious knowledge of the present and projecting it forwards, into the future.

The proposals of the other four talmidim as to what in their view constitutes the “evil path” are entirely consistent with their view of the “good path” (i.e. a bad eye, bad friend, bad neighbour and bad heart). This should alert us to ask whether the same degree of consistency applies to Rabbi Shimon. In other words, when he talks of the person who borrows but does not repay, is he only speaking quite literally about money, as is usually assumed, or is he speaking about time?

In colloquial English, one sometimes hears of a person “living on borrowed time.” The normally accepted meaning of this phrase is that this person is still alive, even though he might reasonably have been expected to have died at some earlier stage in his life. The phrase is therefore aptly applied to a survivor of an aeroplane crash, to a patient who has pulled through following surgery that has a very low success rate or to a person whose life expectancy has exceeded that which is normally predicted for a “killer” disease.

For the believing Jew, “living on borrowed time” is not an exceptional experience but a normal state of affairs. Every morning we recite the blessing of Elokai Neshamah, which affirms the notion that God, having breathed life into each of us, gathers in our souls while we sleep at night and returns to us when we awaken. Since sleep is regarded as a sort of small-scale death, God can be viewed as lending us back our souls each day.

Having “borrowed” another day’s ration of life each morning, we must repay it. How is this done? By making good use of the time contained within that day, for example by helping others, improving ourselves, learning Torah or making a living. Time wasted is time misspent; it does not repay the loan, as it were, and raises the question: if you wasted the previous day you were given, why should God bother giving you another one?

As indicated, in contemporary secular culture time is regarded as an asset, just like money. We use monetary vocabulary when we talk of how a person “spends” time and how he “saves” it. Time that is wasted is proverbially “stolen” (hence “procrastination is the thief of time”).  Elsewhere in Avot too, the value of time is emphatically drawn to the reader’s attention. Time on Earth is brief, though the reward for using it well is great (Avot 2:20). Repentance (Avot 2:15) and and Torah learning (Avot 2:5) should never be delayed even if it appears that some future time slot may be more congenial. A person who has time but is unable to use it is regarded as being effectively dead (Avot 5:25). Even so apparently trivial a matter as being late to rise can kick-start a cycle of time-destruction that can have fatal consequences (Avot 3:14).

Can we say then that, when R’ Shimon ben Netanel is talking of the person who borrows but does not repay, he has in mind the person who “borrows” time on a daily basis but does not “repay”? Unlike borrowing money or, say, household items, time is something everyone alive both needs and has, and the need to put it to good use is a derech of general applicability—and the same loan is made to rabbis and road-sweepers, students and surgeons, mechanics and midwives, lawyers and labourers, on exactly the same terms.

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Rabbi Eliezer's good eye

At Avot 2:13, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai sets his five leading talmidim a test:

צְאוּ וּרְאוּ אֵיזוֹ הִיא דֶּֽרֶךְ טוֹבָה שֶׁיִּדְבַּק בָּהּ הָאָדָם. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶֽזֶר אוֹמֵר: עַֽיִן טוֹבָה

[Translation] “Go out and take a look: what is the good path that a person should stick to?” Rabbi Eliezer says: “A good eye”.

After the other four give their answers, Rabban Yochanan, at Avot 2:14, sets a further test:

צְאוּ וּרְאוּ אֵיזוֹ הִיא דֶּֽרֶךְ רָעָה שֶׁיִּתְרַחֵק מִמֶּֽנָּה הָאָדָם. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶֽזֶר אוֹמֵר: עַֽיִן רָעָה

[Translation] “Go out and take a look: what is the bad path that a person should distance himself from?” Rabbi Eliezer says: “An evil eye”.

Again, the other four talmidim offer their answers. As it turns out, while none of the answers is “wrong”, Rabbi Eliezer’s two answers are not those preferred by his teacher. But that is not what this post is going to discuss. Instead, we will consider what is meant by “good eye” and “evil eye” in this context.

Most English versions of Avot are content to translate “good eye” and “evil eye” literally. Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks is a notable exception here, qualifying the terms as “good eye [generosity of spirit]” and “evil eye [envy” respectively.

But there is literally more to this than meets the eye. The words עַֽיִן רָעָה (“evil eye”) resurface in the fifth perek, at Avot 5:16, in an anonymous mishnah that opens like this:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בְּנוֹתְנֵי צְדָקָה: הָרוֹצֶה שֶׁיִּתֵּן וְלֹא יִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים, עֵינוֹ רָעָה בְּשֶׁל אֲחֵרִים. יִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים וְהוּא לֹא יִתֵּן, עֵינוֹ רָעָה בְּשֶׁלּוֹ. יִתֵּן וְיִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים, חָסִיד. לֹא יִתֵּן וְלֹא יִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים, רָשָׁע.

[Translation] One who wants to give but does not want others to give—is begrudging of others. One who wants that others should give but does not want to give—begrudges himself.

This translation, which is more or less identical as between ArtScroll and Chabad.org, is more meaningful than literal translations along the lines of “his eye is evil towards others” and “his eye is evil as regards himself”. Again Rabbi Lord Sacks distinguishes himself by qualifying the word “begrudge” and fleshing it out as “begrudges this merit to others” and “begrudges this merit to himself”, the merit in question being that which a person earns through making charitable donations.

Let’s return to Rabbi Eliezer’s reference to good and evil eyes. He is using the same term, “evil eye”, as is found in the anonymous mishnah about the giving of charity. But does this meaning of “evil eye” in that later mishnah fit the context? Is the counsel that a person should not begrudge the merit that another person might enjoy through performing a good deed a piece of general advice that can steer a person through the vicissitudes of daily existence?  

The Maggid of Kozhnitz makes a connection between these two mishnayot. Apart from his major work, Ahavat Yisrael, he also wrote a short commentary on Avot, Avot Yisrael, which came to light in Lemburg (Levov/Lviv) in 1866, more than half a century after his death. There, at Avot 2:13, he pins Rabbi Eliezer’s use of the term “good eye” to a verse in Proverbs that reads: “One with a good eye will be blessed, for he has given of his bread to the poor” (Mishlei 22:9). Taken literally, this citation does not immediately appear to endorse the meaning of “good eye” in Avot 5:16 but the Maggid appears to widen its application, the giving of bread to the poor being a reflection on a person’s magnanimous frame of mind. Why is the person with the “good eye” blessed? Because, being happy with his lot and rejoicing in it, he displays happiness. This happiness is a sign that he is less concerned with gashmiut, wealth and property, than he is with his role as an instrument in the execution of God’s will when giving to others.  This is the path of contentment with what one has—and this, in Rabbi Eliezer’s view, is the right attitude a person should cultivate as he or she faces each day.

Demonstrating a consistent approach, the Maggid applies the notion that “good eye” is synonymous with magnanimity at Avot 2:15—a mishnah that does not even mention the term—where the same Rabbi Eliezer teaches that one’s friend’s kavod (“honour”) should be as dear to him as his own. If one is truly magnanimous, one will not begrudge the honour and prestige to which others are entitled, a view that extends magnanimity from the field of gashmiut to that of social relations.

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A "fitting" application of a prudent mishnah

Earlier this month, concerned about the consequences of merrymakers overdoing things in their Purim celebrations, I wrote:

At Avot 2:13 Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel describes the "good path" as that taken by the person who foresees the consequences of his or her actions.

This observation is not aimed solely at people who are more fun to deal with when they are sober. It is of general application, including those that have nothing to do with the niceties of religious practice.

A couple of days ago I visited one of our local general stores. Once upon a time it was quite shabby and poorly lit, but shortly before Covid it received a welcome and somewhat overdue internal overhaul. Old wooden shelving was replaced by smart new display units on which the goods on sale were piled floor-to-ceiling. Like many stores of its kind, this one had narrow aisles that particularly favoured customers who were slender and unencumbered by buggies.

When I got to the store, I spotted that it had taken delivery of a number of smart heavy duty flat-pack display units for some of its better-selling products. Staff members had taken a few of them inside the store and immediately began to assemble them. Once they had done so, the horrible truth emerged: they were of no use since there was nowhere to put any of them without blocking the aisles to the point of impassability. Since they were large and bulky, manoeuvring them down the aisles towards the exit was tricky, especially on account of their large size.

Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel would have been happy to offer his advice here, I’m sure. A moment’s thought would have revealed how prudent it would have been to work out first where the display units might go and then to measure them up to see if they would fit. Time and effort would have been spared and several tempers would have remained considerably cooler.  

Good eye, good heart

In my previous post (“Finding that elusive good path”, 5 December 2022), I discussed the mishnah (Avot 2:13) in which Rabban Yochanan asks his five leading talmidim to “go out and take a look at the good path to which a person should adhere”. Rabbi Eliezer suggests a “good eye”, Rabbi Yehoshua “being a good friend”, Rabbi Yose HaKohen “being a good neighbour”, Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel offers “ability to see what’s coming” and Rabbi Elazar ben Arach proposes “a good heart”. Rabbi Elazar ben Arach’s answer is preferred to the other four on the basis that it is broad enough to embrace them too.

To the modern English reader, if the terms “good eye” and “good heart” are taken literally they convey no relevant meaning in this context. I therefore explained “good eye” as “generosity” and “good heart” as “spirit of magnanimity”.  Eagle-eyed reader Claude Tusk swiftly spotted that, in an earlier post, I had explained that the term “good eye” referred to "magnanimity".  I had indeed done this because I was struggling to find blanket terms both for “good eye” and “good heart” in such a way as to enable the first of these terms to fall within the scope of the second.

I’ve just been looking at what I wrote in my book on these two concepts. First, there is the “good eye”, which I describe in terms of both generosity and magnanimity:

The “good eye”

Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus’ recommendation for the good path was that a man should have a “good eye.” This phrase probably means that he should view others in a generous and magnanimous way, sharing their happiness at their good fortune rather than being jealous of it and, when judging their actions, giving them the benefit of the doubt. The opposite of this expression, a “bad (or evil) eye,” is the term used by Rabbi Eliezer’s fellow talmid Rabbi Yehoshua to indicate ill-will towards others. That same term is also employed in a later Mishnah to describe both the attitude of someone who wants to give to a charity but does not want others, by giving too, to share the reward for their generosity, and to someone who wants others to give so generously that he need not give at all. It is possible that, in making this suggestion, Rabbi Eliezer was looking not out into the wide world but deeply into his own soul. From what we know of him – which is a considerable amount more than we know of most Tannaim – magnanimity and generosity were not among his defining characteristics. Identifying this, he may have proposed the path of the “good eye” out of recognition that this should be his own personal route to redemption [emphases added; footnotes omitted].

 I then turn to the “good heart”:

A “good heart”

If the words of Rabbi Elazar ben Arach are to be given their literal meaning, they must be interpreted widely enough to embrace the words of all four other talmidim. On this basis, the “good heart” may refer to the heart as a metaphor for the focal point of a person’s disposition, just as in English one might describe a person as being “good-hearted.” Rabbi Elazer’s suggestion would therefore be a counsel of perfection: in short, the best path is to do what is right at all times in a warm, friendly and accommodating manner, being slow to anger, quick to forgive, willing to share, foresighted and prudent in all his dealings, and as happy at the good fortune of others as he would be at his own [footnotes omitted].

Rabbi Reuven Melamed (Melitz Yosher) mentions a comment of the mashgiach of Ponevez, who treats “good friend” and “good neighbour” as meaning having a good friend or neighbour rather than being one. If one wishes to maintain one’s relationship with such a person, one will be influenced by that person into following their path. In contrast, the advice of Rabbis Eliezer and Elazar appears to be to follow a path of moral excellence that is not determined by others. This is not however the case, he adds, since it is only by learning from the example of others—presumably good friends and good neighbours—that one is able to latch on to the virtues of generosity and magnanimity which those rabbis prescribe.

There should be no doubt that magnanimity is a broader category of good-heartedness than is generosity. For example, where two protagonists are engaged in a game of chess, if the loser can feel genuine warmth towards the winner and share the latter’s happiness at winning, he is said to be magnanimous in defeat. To say that he is generous might rather suggest that he gave the game away.

As ever, readers’ comments and perspectives are welcome.

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Finding that elusive right path

At Avot 2:13, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai gives five of his illustrious talmidim a task: “go out and take a look at the good path to which a person should adhere”.

All five give good answers. In brief, Rabbi Eliezer suggests a “good eye” (i.e. generosity), Rabbi Yehoshua “being a good friend”, Rabbi Yose HaKohen “being a good neighbour”, Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel offers “ability to see what’s coming” and Rabbi Elazar ben Arach proposes “a good heart” (i.e. a spirit of magnanimity). Rabbi Elazar ben Arach’s answer is preferred to the other four on the basis that it is broad enough to embrace them too.

In his Melitz Yosher al Pirkei Avot, Rabbi Reuven Melamed observes that this selection of answers is surprising. Each of these five talmidim is a giant of Torah, a man of immense learning. Yet not one of them gives the answer that probably most contemporary rabbis would be likely to give: “learning Torah”.

This omission, Rabbi Melamed suggests, is highly significant. Even at the highest level of Torah scholarship one is not a complete person until a further level is added. That is the level at which a person strives to perfect his relationship both with fellow humans and with God. Each of Rabban Yochanan’s five disciples was offering a pathway to achieve this end: for four of them that path was more narrowly defined. The fifth suggested not so much a pathway as a general attitude.

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Life as a journey: Pirkei Avot, Waze and means

Within the annual cycle of weekly Torah readings, Masei is not among the most popular; nor is it one of the most enthusiastically studied. Masei is not associated with any festivals or pleasures. Indeed it is always read in the Three Weeks, a period of increasing solemnity that culminates with the great outpouring of grief that is Tisha be’Av. The few mitzvot associated with Masei have a solemn flavour too, since they include several laws that deal with the consequences of homicide, whether intentional or accidental. The haftarah, one of the three that warn Israel of impending disaster, is studded with words of vituperative criticism as Jeremiah lambasts his people for deserting God in favour of the vacuous pleasures of idolatry.

The parashah however opens with a lengthy travelogue, listing the 42 places at which the Children of Israel encamped, however briefly, during their four-decade sojourn in the wilderness. While some of these places are unknown to us, many commentators on the Torah have commented on the significance of the journey which encompassed them. In short, the Jews are a people on the move. As has often been observed, the Hebrew term for Jewish law is halachah, from the root הלך, “go”. This is because life is a journey and the law consists of a collection of pointers that direct us along the route we are to travel in our lives as we head for our ultimate destination—a deeper understanding and appreciation of the God we serve through compliance with those halachot.

The Jew on a journey is a theme which is reflected in Avot, where the Tannaim discuss the path in life that a person is supposed to follow. Halachah is the journey we must undertake, but in order to do so we must find the derech, the actual path along which we travel and which best suits our abilities and our needs. Like the popular navigation app Waze, Pirkei Avot can help us find the right combination of paths to take us to our intended destination.

Effectively, halachah provides the framework within which we live, but it does not dictate how we live. A person can avoid transgressing every one of the Torah’s 365 prohibitions by locking himself away and doing nothing, and can tick the box for each mitzvah he or she performs, but without actually gaining any benefit in terms of personal development and certainly without bestowing any benefit upon the society in which that person lives.

Two great mishnayot in Avot discuss the need to select the right derech, but in very different ways.

Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi (Rebbi, at Avot 2:1) opens the discussion with a question: what is the right derech that a person should choose? He then supplies his own answer: it’s the path that best enables a person to gain credit with others while maintaining one’s own self-respect. We learn three things here: first, there is no one-size-fits-all derech and it is for everyone to weigh up their conduct for themselves. Secondly, we are free to choose this derech for ourselves, subject only to such constraints and boundaries as halachah lays down. Thirdly, from the fact that circumstances in life keep changing, we can infer that the process of weighing the prospects of pleasing both oneself and others is one that requires constant recalibration. Rebbi is not offering a philosophy for life but a compass whose arrow is in constant motion.

Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai widens the discussion (at Avot 2:12-13) by throwing it open to five of his most highly-regarded talmidim. He asks not one question but two. First, what is the good derech, the path to which one should adhere? Secondly, what is the bad derech, the path from which one should distance oneself? From the answers given here and Rabban Yochanan’s response to them it is clear that this discussion is not about choosing the right derech and does not therefore overlap with Rebbi’s teaching. Rather, it is about the attitude a person should have, or avoid. when travelling his or her derech. Suggested answers relate to the qualities of generosity, friendship, neighbourliness, piety, foresight and fear of sin, but the most highly approved answer, that of Rabbi Elazar ben Arach, is lev tov (literally “a good heart”), this being a sort of magnanimity of spirit that a person should evince in the course of his or her journey through life.

So, synthesising the propositions stated above, in travelling the journey of life in accordance with halachah, a person must select for him- or herself the right derech, this being the path dictated by Rebbi’s formula. Having done so, when pursuing that derech one should display an attitude of magnanimity of spirit as mandated by Rabban Yochanan.

Pinchas and Moshe: Thinking, Fast and Slow

Imagine the scenario. Right there, in the middle of the Israelite camp, one of the most prominent members of the establishment is locked in a passionate, uncontrollable embrace with a foreign princess. Shocked, horrified but unable to avert their gaze, the Israelites look on. Around them in the camp a plague breaks out. Rooted to the spot, they cannot move. Suddenly a young man springs into action. He grabs a spear and, with one firm thrust, skewers the pair of lovers. They instantly die and the plague ceases. This is the story of Pinchas (Phineas). It is also a tale of Pirkei Avot.

Moshe (Moses) is at this time the undisputed leader of the desert tribe. Why does he not act? We know that Moshe does not shrink from committing necessary act of violence, as we see from his killing of the Egyptian who was beating an Israelite slave (Shemot 2:11-12), and there is no reason to believe that, with his unsurpassed Torah knowledge, he had less idea than Pinchas as to what to do.

While the narrative of the killing of the Egyptian is sparse, it reveals a great deal. At Avot 2:13 Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel teaches that the “good path” to which a person should keep is one where he looks towards the outcome of his actions. Before killing the Egyptian, Moshe is already calculating the consequence of his act, looking this way and that before striking the fatal blow. Moshe exhibits this same trait when, in his encounter with God on Mount Sinai (Shemot 3, 4), he is unwilling to accept his mission to redeem his people without first working through a sequence of “what-if”s.

Pinchas is a very different character. He acts spontaneously. No-one else steps forward to kill the lovers and stop the plague—so he does. As Hillel teaches (Avot 2:6), where there is no-one else to take the initiative, whoever can do so must rise to the occasion. This principle is also seen in the decision of Zipporah to circumcise her son Gershom, spilling blood in order to save her husband Moshe’s life (Shemot 4:24-26), as well as in the aggadic and midrashic first steps into the Sea of Reeds taken by Nachshon ben Aminadav (Sotah 37a, Bemidbar Rabbah 13:7).

We cannot say that Moshe’s approach is wrong while that of Pinchas is right. This is because we are not dealing with mitzvot—commandments that usually have clearly delimited parameters. What we are talking about here are middot, ways of behaving, and their application is far less clearly defined. The performance of mitzvot ideally requires thought, understanding and an intention to fulfil God’s will. Middot, in contrast, are generally performed most efficiently when a person can train himself to perform them without any specific intention or forethought.

Although it is not a commentary on Avot, Daniel Kahneman’s Thinking, Fast and Slow, sheds much light on how we practise our middot. Some, like judging other people according to their merits (Avot 1:6), can only be done by thinking slowly, inhibiting one’s instinct to make a superficial snap judgment (as in Avot 1:1), and weighing up the evidence. Moshe, as a seasoned judge, might thus well have paused to consider not only the religious and political consequences of killing the high-status lovers but also whether there might have been any extenuating circumstances. Pinchas, in contrast, may have intuited what needed to be done. As a student of Moshe and his grandfather Aharon, his awareness of Jewish values would have been ingrained from youth, as was his understanding of God’s wishes (Avot 4:25). This being so, the instinctive reaction of Pinchas to the crisis before him is quite understandable.