Showing posts with label Learning Torah for its own sake. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Learning Torah for its own sake. Show all posts

Monday 29 May 2023

For Torah's sake?

The first baraita in Perek 6 of Avot offers an unbeatable array of inducements for anyone who makes the effort to study Torah seriously. It opens:

רַבִּי מֵאִיר אוֹמֵר: כָּל הָעוֹסֵק בַּתּוֹרָה לִשְׁמָהּ זוֹכֶה לִדְבָרִים הַרְבֵּה, וְלֹא עוֹד, אֶלָּא שֶׁכָּל הָעוֹלָם כֻּלּוֹ כְּדַאי הוּא לוֹ.

Rabbi Meir would say: “Whoever studies Torah lishmah (=for Torah's sake alone) merits many things; not only that, but the entire world is worthwhile for him”.

The baraita continues by listing nearly 30 wonderful bonuses for the Torah scholar. Wealthy, powerful and successful, he will be loved by God and man. Kings and counsellors will share their secrets with him and seek his guidance. The only catch is that, to qualify for all of this, one must first learn Torah lishmah.

In picking up this theme of learning with a pure motive, the baraita echoes earlier mishnayot that warn against learning Torah for improper motives. Thus one who exploits Torah knowledge for his own glory will “fade away” (Avot 1:13) and will “remove his life from the world” (Avot 4:7).

So what does learning lishmah entail? Early commentators like the Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi had no doubt. To them it meant not learning Torah in order to gain kavod (“so that people will call me rabbi”) or to make a living from it. Rambam was adamant, both in his commentary on the Mishnah and in his Mishneh Torah, stating that no one should live off the charity of others in order to learn Torah. While it was possible to earn a stipend for learning Torah, the reason for studying it should still be purely lishmah.

When Jewish life was predominantly conducted in tightly-knit communities and ghettos, learning Torah in order to benefit from it must have been peculiarly tempting since communal rabbis and teachers could enjoy a “clean” living rather than toiling as manual labourers. In many parts of Europe entry into the professions was impossible or tightly restricted, so that teaching and learning Torah at a high level was for most males the fast track to gaining respect and the prospect of a good marriage.

It is generally accepted that, in our generation, there is more Torah learning than has ever been before. An unprecedented number of kolelim, yeshivot and formal Jewish learning at every level is heavily supplemented by informal learning through study groups and chavrutot. Talmudic study has received a huge boost through the massive and increasing popularity of daf yomi programmes. For those who choose to learn by themselves, there has been an explosion of new book titles and annotated reprints of classics, both in their original language and in translation, not to mention the constant spread of shiurim and divrei Torah across the social media. But how much of this learning is lishmah?

Social and economic changes in the wider world have made their impact felt on Jewish life at all levels, Torah study included. As the standard of living has risen, material expectations rise too. Many people now work longer and harder to pay for essentials like rent, food and schooling than did their forebears; women have increasingly shifted from home-makers to bread-winners, something that would have been regarded as quite unusual a century ago. And both time and effort available for Torah study inevitably contract since for many people it is the activity that can most easily be trimmed without its diminution being immediately felt.

It's good to know that it is still possible to learn lishmah, without distractions and competing priorities, for at least some of those who wish to do so—even though for many of us this is a remote and unusual ideal. It would also be good to receive some contemporary opinions as to what today constitutes learning lishmah.

How widely can lishmah be construed? I have in mind the case of a friend I used to learn with back in the 1990s. A ba’al teshuvah in his middle age, he and his family eagerly embraced Jewish law and lifestyles. He could however scarcely read Hebrew and certainly could not translate it. With a busy business to run and many family demands to bear, he found it next to impossible to acquire the learning skills which his children picked up almost instantly. His sole commitment was to attending a daf yomi shiur which, he freely confessed, he did not understand at all; yet he kept on going. I asked him why, given that he had so little idea what the shiurim were about, he persisted. His answer: “If I didn’t go to daf yomi every day, I’m sure I would be doing something worse”. Lishmah?

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Monday 14 February 2022

Torah learning: a tale of pigs and rings

One of the more memorable metaphors in Pirkei Avot can be found among the baraitot with which the tractate concludes. There, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi opens his teaching in Avot 6:2

Every day a Heavenly Voice emanates from Mount Horeb (i.e. Sinai), proclaiming and saying: "Woe to the creatures who insult the Torah!" For anyone who does not occupy himself in Torah is considered nazuf, as it is said (Proverbs 11:22): "A golden nose-ring in the snout of a pig, [is] a beautiful woman bereft of reason." ...

What is nazuf?

The baraita describes the person who is free to learn Torah, but doesn’t, as someone who is נָזוףּ (nazuf). What exactly does this word mean? No-one else in Avot is called nazuf and it is clearly not a term of endearment. The word is sometimes rendered “outcast”, which is quite good because of its connotations of being shunned or excommunicated. This seems right since the related word nezifah appears in the Talmud as a form of excommunication (see Moed Katan 16a-b, where a discussion focuses on the minimum period of nezifah in Israel and Babylonia. Another related word, nizufim, has been rendered “under divine displeasure”: see Yevamot 72a, Soncino edition).

Many alternatives to “outcast” have been offered. For example, ArtScroll favours “rebuked,” which sounds somewhat genteel: one might rebuke one’s pet dog for stealing a muffin from the tea-table. “Reprobate” (H. Danby, The Mishnah; R. Travers Herferd, The Ethics of the Talmud) has an antiquarian tone to it. “Censured” (Rabbis Avie Gold and Nahum Spirn, Alshich on Avos) suggests someone who has received a reprimand – but no more than that, though “under divine censure” (David N. Barocas’s translation of Me’am Lo’ez) has greater force to it, given the allusion to God's disfavour. “Reprehensible” (Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, Authorised Daily Prayer Book) is somewhat remote, indicating a fitness to be reprimanded or censured rather than a course of action that has actually been taken. All of this goes to show how the impact of a baraita can be increased or diminished by the translator's choice of words.

The pig with a ring at the end of its nose

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi cites a piece of vivid imagery from the Book of Proverbs to support the notion of the person who insults the Torah being nazuf: “Like a golden nose-ring in the snout of a pig, [so] is a beautiful woman who has turned from reason" (Mishlei 11:22). This looks superficially as though it is a double imagery, since the person who has turned his back on the Torah is likened to a beautiful woman who has gone astray, and she in turn is compared to a pig with a golden ring in its snout. This is not quite the case, though: the pig and the woman are different metaphors. The pig has no idea that the ring has any inherent value or that it is held in high value by others; this symbolic woman on the other hand is presumed to know that the Torah represents a particular set of values but nonetheless rejects them. In each case the Torah is rejected, but the circumstances are quite different.

If we look at commentaries on this verse, we can see that it has been taken to refer to someone who has turned away from Torah (Rashi), presumably in contrast to someone who has never been exposed to the Torah in the first place, as well as to someone who uses his intelligence in order to deceive others (Metzudat David), and even to someone who does learn Torah but, in failing to do so in an appropriate manner, brings shame on his teacher (Malbim, Mussar Chochmah).

As an aside, the most famous ring in the snout of any pig is probably that which appears in Edward Lear’s popular nonsense rhyme, ‘The Owl and the Pussycat', which contains the following lines:

        And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
        With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose,
        With a ring at the end of his nose.
        “Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
        Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will” …

Known today chiefly for his children’s verses, Lear was also an accomplished artist. Samples of his paintings are currently held in the Israel Museum, Jerusalem, and the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, England. 

Lear was born into a religious Christian family and visited what is now Israel in the 1850s, making a number of sketches while he was there. It may be wondered whether his idea for incorporating a pig with a ring at the end of its nose into his verse was inspired by his own presumed familiarity with the Book of Proverbs.