MITZVOT AND WEALTH MANAGEMENT

 One of the most trying mishnayot in Avot is the teaching by Rabbi Yonatan at Avot 4:11:

כָּל הַמְקַיֵּם אֶת הַתּוֹרָה מֵעֹֽנִי, סוֹפוֹ לְקַיְּמָהּ מֵעֹֽשֶׁר, וְכָל הַמְבַטֵּל אֶת הַתּוֹרָה מֵעֹֽשֶׁר, סוֹפוֹ לְבַטְּלָהּ מֵעֹֽנִי

Whoever fulfils the Torah in poverty will ultimately fulfil it in wealth; and whoever neglects the Torah in wealth will ultimately neglect it in poverty.

What can this mean? It surely cannot have been intended as a literal statement that the poor will become wealthy if they keep the Torah while the rich will become poor if they don’t. After all, from pretty much the day that mishnah was first taught until this very moment our literature has recorded instances of people committing themselves to the Torah with total dedication but dying as poor as shul mice. We also know of others who have basked in the sunshine of a life of unabashed and undiminished affluence, over which the study of Torah and compliance with its precepts have cast no shadow. Indeed, in the world today we can see with our own eyes that there are those who commit to Torah and remain poor while others ignore it and remain rich. So is this Tanna telling us a lie?

A cynical way to read this lesson might be as a judgmental one. If we see someone dedicating himself to Torah and remaining poor, we might infer that he wasn’t really committed to Torah at all, that his life was a sham, an outward display of piety; if things were otherwise, he would surely be rich!  Conversely, if we see a rich man who, despite his non-Torah lifestyle remains rich, we might castigate ourselves for judging him falsely; by retaining his wealth he is marked as someone who secretly pursues the Torah and hides his righteousness under a veil of affluence.  But it there is no reason to suspect that Rabbi Yonatan should have a message such as this in mind, and our traditional commentators do not take his words in this way.

Rabbi Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers) suggests that Rabbi Yonatan is making a plain factual statement rather than describing a normative one: a person who is poor but lives a Torah life will not be deflected from it if his material condition improves, while the rich man who ignores the Torah is likely to continue to ignore it when his assets dwindle. If this explanation is valid, it is something of an outlier since it is more a statement of probability than a proposition relating to how we should behave—which is what most of the tractate of Avot addresses. Another outlier is the assertion of Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) that we are being told here that both wealth and poverty pose challenges. If this is the message of the Tanna, we may ask why Rabbi Yonatan chose to express it in such an unclear manner.

It is easier to explain this mishnah as being based on metaphor. Thus, one might say, “wealth” is shorthand for one’s reward in the world to come. Naturally the poor man who adheres to the Torah can expect a massive dividend in Heaven, while the rich man who neglects it cannot. But this idea is so well chronicled in the Oral Law that we might wonder why Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi, while compiling Avot, should have felt it necessary to add yet another teaching in support of it right here, in the middle of the fourth perek of this tractate. Another metaphor reads “wealth” as the quality of living one’s life in a meaningful and Torah-true manner. Keep the Torah when your life is meaningless and it will improve; abandon the Torah when life is sweet and beautiful and your sweet living will soon be lost (Gila Ross, Living Beautifully). Similarly, for the Sefat Emet, “wealth” and “poverty” symbolise the quantity of satisfaction that one can extract from rejoicing in one’s portion, while for Rabbi Chaim Volozhiner (Ruach Chaim) they relate to the spiritual elevation that can be enjoyed by governing one’s yetzer hara, the evil inclination.

A highly original spin on this mishnah comes from Rabbi Mordechai Shapira, the Saba Kadisha of Neshchiz (brought in the Chasidic anthology MiMa’ayanot Netzach). He takes this teaching as an open invitation to pray to God to give wealth to Jew. Why not? After all, if the Jew is a poor servant of God, the mishnah promises him money—and if he is wealthy already, more money won’t change his status and drive him off the derech, but he will be bound to lose it if he doesn’t trouble to serve His maker.

On a purely practical level, both Rabbi Yitzchak Volozhiner (Milei de’Avot and Rabbi Ya’akov Emden (Lechem Shamayim) have noted that some mitzvot cost a lot of money while others cost little or nothing. Building on this, it can be suggested that a poor man who commits himself to Torah observance should focus only on those commandments that are within his price range and make do with them in the hope that he will in time be rewarded with the opportunity to perform more costly mitzvot; this fits in nicely with the idea that the reward for a mitzvah is a mitzvah (Ben Azzai at Avot 4:2). Likewise, a rich man should splash out on expensive mitzvot while he can, since if he doesn’t he will be left with only the mitzvot that a pauper can perform.

Adding all of this up, we can see a surprisingly wide range of interpretations of Rabbi Yonatan’s words. Is this a good thing, since it fosters analysis, discussion and deep consideration of important elements of Jewish life? Or should the Tanna have been reminded of the importance of not saying something that can’t be understood immediately if you intend that it should be understood in the end?

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Do you ever get that fuzzy psycho-spiritual feeling?

I don't.

I’ve been thinking a good deal recently about the following paragraph, which comes from Bracha Poliakoff and Rabbi Anthony Manning’s fascinating book on redefining tzniut, Reclaiming Dignity:

“The Gaon of Vilna stated that the main focus of a Jew’s life should be the perfection of the mitzvot bein adam l’chaveiro, the laws regulating interpersonal relationships. Although few would disagree with this sentiment in principle, in practice the interpersonal mitzvot normally receive a far less rigorous and structured halachic analysis and presentation to students. They are often pushed into the somewhat fuzzy psycho-spiritual category of ‘improving middot’, which, although (rightly) taken seriously by many, is still a convenient way of avoiding much of the tough intellectual or cognitive-behavioral work that is required in this area of our lives” (at p.255).

What exactly is meant by the words: “in practice the interpersonal mitzvot normally receive a far less rigorous and structured halachic analysis and presentation to students”? This looks like a criticism, the implication that the interpersonal mitzvot would somehow benefit from a rigorous and structured halachic analysis and presentation. But is this actually the case?

In their widest sense, some interpersonal mitzvot are quite suitable for a structured treatment. These include the laws that apply, for example, when we return our neighbour’s lost property, borrow his lawnmower or break his window when playing football. At the other end of the spectrum we find mitzvot that defy attempts to frame them within a structured halachic analysis. These include mitzvot such as loving others as one loves oneself (where the mitzvah is vague in itself), honouring one’s parents (where much depends upon the personalities of those concerned and on cultural considerations) and comforting the bereaved (where much depends upon minhag and on family tradition).

Pirkei Avot focuses principally on middot, not mitzvot, and on how one should behave rather than on what one is obliged to do or refrain from doing. Middot are the stuff of which human relationships are built: they deal with kindness, with empathy, with constantly making judgement calls as to how to respond to others in a wide range of situations.  A person can meticulously observe every interpersonal mitzvah and still fail to make a single friendship or relate to another human being. This is because it is middot, not mitzvot, that define who we are as social beings who share their world with other people.

I’m not sure what exactly is meant by “the somewhat fuzzy psycho-spiritual category of ‘improving middot’” but I find it hard to believe that improving the way one relates to other people within the context of Pirkei Avot can be described as a “convenient way of avoiding much of the tough intellectual or cognitive-behavioral work that is required in this area of our lives”. Even the simplest of middot require careful thought and hard work. How many of us can claim to greet others, as Shammai requires (Avot 1:15), with a happy, smiling face? How many of can genuinely say that we judge others (Yehoshua ben Perachyah, Avot 1:6) on the basis of their merit and give them the benefit of the doubt if it exists? And how many people who manage to do this would regard it as a soft option to learning halachah?

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Judging the Chofetz Chaim favourably

The name of Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan (the ‘Chofetz Chaim’) has cropped up frequently in Avot Today, since so much of his writing is directly or indirectly relevant to Pirkei Avot. Although he never wrote a formal commentary on the tractate, several compilations of Avot-relevant comments and explanations which appeared in his other works were published after his death* and it is obvious from his focus on correct behaviour and good middot that Avot played an important part in his life.

One of the most frequently-cited principles in Avot is the teaching of Yehoshua ben Perachya (Avot 1:6) that we should judge other people meritoriously. This is widely understood as meaning that, where it is possible to judge a person’s actions favourably or otherwise, we should give them the benefit of any doubt.

In his book Shemirot HaLashon, the Chofetz Chaim (at the beginning of Sha’ar HaTevunah, ch.4) cites and then discusses the significance of the principle that one should judge others in relation to the need to guard carefully against improper speech. Remarkably, for anyone familiar with Pirkei Avot, he makes no reference at all to the mishnah of Yehoshua ben Perachya. Rather, he bases the principle on a gemara (Shevuot 30a) which cites a Torah mitzvah: “In justice you shall judge your fellow” (Leviticus 19:15), commenting that this is one of the mitzvot for which a person is rewarded in this world but for which the ‘capital’ of his reward remains intact in the World to Come (Shabbat 127a).

In the following chapter, the Chofetz Chaim explains that the commandment to judge others justly is itself a subset of a wider mitzvah: “love your fellow like yourself” (Leviticus 19:18). But in this chapter too there is no mention of the mishnah in Avot.

At first glance it seems astonishing that the Chofetz Chaim should overlook this mishnah and fail to name-check the Tanna in whose name it is taught. Surely he must have known of it! How could he have relegated it from his masterly compendium of speech-related laws and best practices?

I believe that there is an answer to this question that both explains and vindicates the decision of the Chofetz Chaim to omit this mishnah. When writing in his eponymous sefer about the principles that govern permitted speech, he modestly mentions that his is not the first work to address the evils of lashon hara.  Much the same ground, he recognises, was covered by Rabbenu Yonah in his Sha’are Teshuvah. There is however a difference between these works. The account of the need to guard one’s speech in Sha’are Teshuvah was couched in terms of middot—good and proper standards of behaviour—while the objective of the Chofetz Chaim was to frame the same principles as mitzvot. Bearing in mind the comment of the Bartenura on Avot 1:1 that the entire tractate, unlike the rest of the Mishnah, consists of middot and mussar, it is easy to dismiss Avot as merely guidance, devoid of the force of law, the decision of the Chofetz Chaim to describe judging others favourably as a Torah mitzvah is perfectly reasonable.

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·         See eg Shmuel Charlap,  Chofetz Chaim al Masechet Avot, Jerusalem 1962; Rabbi David Zaretzky, Masechet Avot im Pirushei HaChofetz Chaim, Jerusalem 1974 (translated into English as The Hafetz Hayyim on Pirkey Avoth, Feldheim Publishers, Jerusalem 1975).

Pirkei Avot and Pirates of the Caribbean

There’s a running gag in Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003). It concerns the Pirates’ Code. Is this Code a set of binding rules or does it merely offer guidelines? Much excitement and swashbuckling action turns on the answer to this question, since a pirate who considers the Code to offer no more than suggestions for correct conduct is free to decide whether to comply with it or not.

Much the same considerations apply to Pirkei Avot. Do its moral precepts form a binding code of conduct, to be honoured and respected by all? Or is it simply a list of preferences that any individual can respect or discard at his discretion? Rabbi Elazar Ezkari in his Sefer Charedim, regards much of the content of Avot as binding law, but most other scholars take a more flexible view.

Conceived for children’s entertainment, this Pirates of the Caribbean movie can actually be a valuable didactic tool in explaining how law and morality affects any self-regulating minority. At the top of the tree, as it were, it depicts norms that are universally binding, both on the population at large and on pirates. The obvious example are the laws that make piracy illegal and require the punishment of pirates. Then, by analogy to norms that are relevant only to Jews, there are norms that are applicable only to pirates. Thus the Pirates’ Code is addressed only to pirates and may only be invoked by them. And, similarly to Pirkei Avot, the Pirates’ Code is observed strictly by some but viewed by others as mere guidance.

The analogy between the Pirates’ Code and Pirkei Avot cannot however be stretched too far. It is plain from the movie that, when a pirate treats the Code as mere guidance, he does so in order to further his self-interest. With Avot, however, it is understood that the breach of any of its provisions should only be done with the objective of performing some greater good. An obvious example is the advice to greet everyone with a happy, smiling face (Avot 1:15) since we sadly encounter many situations in life in which a more solemn demeanour is more appropriate.

Incidentally, in Gilbert & Sullivan’s comic opera The Pirates of Penzance, the position taken by the librettist is apparently that obligations entered into between pirates are regarded as being absolutely binding precisely because they are a matter of honour rather than legally enforceable commitments.

According to the effort ... a word about mitzvot and their rewards

Coming up to Rosh Hashanah, we are encouraged to think about the balance between the mitzvot we have performed over the past year and, in the event that there should be any, the averot that we should not have done -- but did. Ideally we should be in positive territory, with more mitzvot to our credit than averot, but we are not the best judges of our own performance. 

On the subject of mitzvot, here is a thought for those of us who sometimes struggle with them. It is based on Pirkei Avot 5:26, in which Ben He He says "According to the effort is the reward".

In general terms we have not the faintest idea of the nature and quality of rewards enjoyed in the World to Come for good deeds done in our lifetimes. We have however received some guidance from our tradition, and this enables us to make better decisions regarding performance of mitzvot and our commitment to Torah observance. One element of this guidance concerns how we should feel towards mitzvot that are hard or troublesome to perform.  How does this work? The problem below provides an illustration.

Two people perform an identical mitzvah — returning a wallet full of money to its rightful owner.  The first is happy to perform this mitzvah since he is wealthy and the wallet’s contents mean little to him. The second, unemployed and racked by poverty, could make great use of the cash and is sorely tempted to do so, but nonetheless returns the wallet. 

It seems only right that the poor man should receive a greater reward since his is the more meritorious act: he has had to overcome both his financial needs and his yetzer hara in order to perform it.   However the return of the wallet is objectively the same act, regardless of who has performed it — and if the rich man is to receive only a trifling reward for this act because he has not found it difficult, would he not be better served by leaving the wallet in the ground on the assumption that someone else was bound to find and return it, giving another person the chance to get a bigger reward for returning it reluctantly. He could then set off instead to perform some other mitzvah that he found more difficult.

A solution to this problem comes from the Maharal's suggestion that there are two rewards for each mitzvah. The first is on a standard tariff and is earned for ‘ticking the box’ by fulfilling a commandment, regardless of the manner in which it has been fulfilled.  The second relates solely to the effort and hardship incurred in the act of fulfilment.  On this basis, in the problem described above, the poor man and the rich would receive identical rewards for the basic act of returning the wallet, while the poor man would receive a greater, personalised reward related to the need to overcome his personal issues, issues that were not relevant to the performance of the same mitzvah by the rich man.