SQUEEZING THE IN-BETWEEN TIME

Much of Pirkei Avot deals, directly or by inference, with the need to establish a good lifestyle balance between four key ingredients of a meaningful Jewish life:  learning Torah, performing mitzvot and good deeds, earning one’s keep and attending to one’s basic needs. While each of these four elements is vital, their relationship to one another is not constant. It is obvious that there must be times when one or other is in the ascendant.

In terms of being the priority element by default, Torah does well enough. It has its own dedicated perek, the sixth—and we learn that there is a direct proportionality between Torah and life itself (Hillel at 2:8). However, Torah does not have everything its own way. Thus it is not Torah but good deeds that are the main thing (Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel at 1:17); Torah is most efficacious only when blended with an occupation and, when undiluted, causes sin (Rabban Gamliel at 2:2). But if one forsakes Torah learning, the burdens of government and a worldly occupation are thrown upon him (Rabbi Nechunyah ben Hakanah, 3:6). Food, drink and sleep are essential, but only in small quantities if a person wishes to maximize his pleasure in learning Torah (6:4. There are many more examples.

Of particular note is Rabbi Meir’s call to minimize one’s business activities in order to engage more substantially in learning Torah at 4:12:

הֱוֵי מְמַעֵט בְּעֵֽסֶק וַעֲסוֹק בַּתּוֹרָה, וֶהֱוֵי שְׁפַל רֽוּחַ בִּפְנֵי כָל אָדָם, וְאִם בָּטַֽלְתָּ מִן הַתּוֹרָה, יֶשׁ לָךְ בְּטֵלִים הַרְבֵּה כְּנֶגְדָּךְ, וְאִם עָמַֽלְתָּ בַּתּוֹרָה הַרְבֵּה, יֶשׁ שָׂכָר הַרְבֵּה לִתֶּן לָךְ

Minimize your business activity and engage in Torah. Be humble before every person. If you neglect the Torah, there will be many excuses for you; if you toil much in Torah, there is much reward to give to you.

The first and third segments of this mishnah point clearly to the relationship of Torah to other activities, and there are many commentators who explain this mishnah in a somewhat artificial manner by weaving humility into the balance of Torah learning versus the arguably lesser priorities.

As a personal observation, I’d like to comment on something that affects the balance of Torah study, good deeds, parnasah and personal wellbeing, and that is time.

It’s easy to imagine an ideal day in which, at any given time, a person is doing one of the four things. Here we have a sort of zero-sum game in which there is no moment in which one is not locked into one of the four. Do more of one and you do less of the others, but A + B + C + D always comes out to the same one, complete day. In practice I don’t think this is the case.

Our contemporary lifestyles should warn us to be sensitive to the many challenges we face if we do not wish to watch potentially productive time to fall through the cracks in our day.

One such challenge is posed by choice in a materialist society. Which shirt to wear; which items to select on a menu; which car to buy; which method to fund the purchase of a house or apartment; which school or group to send one’s children—these are just some of the choices that not only demand the consumption of time but, in at least some cases, invade the time spent in pursuit of one’s Torah learning or day job. Some choices are more important than others, but the time consumed by them is not necessarily proportional to their overall importance (picking the right wallpaper or fabric pattern, for example).

Even apart from choice, our good use of time is always subject to bitul, the cancellation of the moment because we do nothing with it. Standing at bus stops and railway platforms, wating for one’s turn at the barber or in the dentist’s reception room, watching advertisements while awaiting the beginning of a program one wishes to view: these are unproductive uses of time and, because of their frequency and inevitability, it is easy to acquiesce and write this time off as lost.

A challenge of a different kind is posed by our own reactions when faced with a decision-making process. Anyone who has worked in the financial sector or in business deadline, usually one that is inherently arbitrary and not imposed by the employees who seek to meet it, so often means skipping meals, working nights, missing regular shiurim and so on. But there is little or no reciprocity here. It is most unusual to hear of anyone who has consciously missed a deadline in order to attend a shiur, or who has taken time off work in order to finish learning a masechta. To the outside observer it might look as though work has gained ascendancy over Torah, though I am sure that we would all be quick to assert that this is not so.

So, to return to Rabbi Meir, we can say with him: “Minimize your business activity and engage in Torah”, while recognizing that there may be real and serious limits as to how this might be done and also accepting that, with the best will in the world, the time saved by minimizing business activity is unlikely to translate precisely into time gained for Torah learning.

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A Question of Timing

Here's a sequel to our previous post ("Committing Spiritual Suicide -- Or Killing Time?", Sunday 22 September) which offers a different perspective to humankind's temporal existence.

At Avot 2:18 Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel teaches something unusual:

הֱוֵי זָהִיר בִּקְרִיאַת שְׁמַע וּבִתְפִלָּה

Be careful with the reading of the Shema and with prayer.

In Jewish tradition there are 613 Torah mitzvot plus a very large number of commandments instituted by the rabbis. We are taught that we should treat our religious duties equally and be as conscientious in performing a small mitzvah as a large one (per Rebbi, Avot 2:1). This is because, while God knows which mitzvot carry more weight in His eyes, we don’t—and we can’t even guess what rewards they individually carry (ibid).  

Why then does Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel pick out just two commandments from the whole pack and urge us to take great care in performing them? Surely if a mitzvah is an instruction from God, that is sufficient reason for complying with it carefully—and that will apply to every mitzvah, regardless of its content.

This thought has occurred to our commentators too, and they have not failed to address it. Foremost among them is R’ Ovadyah MiBartenura, who explains that “careful” in this context means “careful to perform them at the right time”. Recitation of both the Shema and the standard daily prayers [the two are treated as a single unit since every morning and evening the one always closely follows the other] is subject to many rules and refinements in terms of the earliest and latest points in the day at which this may be done, more so than many other mitzvot. Once the latest point is passed, time for performing the mitzvah has expired. Since that time has passed and will not return, the mitzvah is lost and can never be fully replaced.

But not everything is lost. An out-of-time recitation of the Shema is still meritorious, just as is the recitation of any other paragraphs of the Torah. Yet the incentive to get one’s timing right is great: according to the Talmud (Berachot 10b), recitation of the Shema at the correct time is rated more highly than even the choice mitzvah of learning Torah. So, explains R’ Chaim Druckman (Avot leBanim), when Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel urges us to take care to recite Shema at the right time, it is on account of his concern that we should obtain maximum merit for doing so, instead of the regular reward for learning Torah. R’ Druckman adds, citing Midrash Shmuel, that the time for saying Shema and praying is both in the morning, when we may not have fully woken up, and again at night when we may be struggling to stay awake, so these are mitzvot that regularly demand an extra level of care.

Strangely, given the importance of timing in our lives today, Avot offers little positive guidance. Most of what it does say relates to not being in a hurry to do things. Thus in Avot 1:1 we are urged not to rush to deliver judgement and in Avot 4:23 Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar gives advice as to when not to placate an angry person, comfort a mourner, question someone making a vow or visit someone who is experiencing acute embarrassment.

There is however some generalised advice that can be made to address the importance of doing something on time, if we combine the force of two mishnayot from the second perek.

At Avot 2:5 Hillel teaches:

אַל תֹּאמַר לִכְשֶׁאֶפְנֶה אֶשְׁנֶה, שֶׁמָּא לֹא תִפָּנֶה

Do not say "When I am free, I will study”, for perhaps you will never be free.

While this principle explicitly references the fundamental and ongoing mitzvah of talmud Torah, of learning Torah in ever-deeper ways, it manifestly applies to almost all positive mitzvot and tackles the excuse that can float into one’s mind so easily when we have the chance to perform less enjoyable mitzvot such as visiting the sick, comforting mourners or making a kitchen kasher for the festival Pesach.

And at Avot 2:20 Rabbi Tarfon says:

הַיּוֹם קָצֵר, וְהַמְּלָאכָה מְרֻבָּה, וְהַפּוֹעֲלִים עֲצֵלִים, וְהַשָּׂכָר הַרְבֵּה, וּבַֽעַל הַבַּֽיִת דּוֹחֵק

The day is short, the work is abundant, the workers are lazy, the reward is great and the Master is insistent.

“Day” here is a metaphor for life itself. The “work” is made up of the aggregate of tasks that God has set for us, and the temptation to lapse into self-justified laziness is great. Who has not said, or at least thought, such things as “I’ve done enough of this already; it’s time someone else did it” or “mitzvah X takes so much out of me that I won’t have the energy to do mitzvot Y and Z, so I’d better not do it”?

So, combining the mishnayot of Hillel and Rabbi Tarfon, we can see that there is a sentiment that a person should not delay but should act in a timeous manner and should not put things off. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel has already shown how important this is with regard to the Shema and prayer, and we can argue that the principle that responsible timing operates for all mitzvot—a principle colourfully illustrated by R’ Chaim Volozhiner (Nefesh HaChaim) with regard to blowing the shofar on Chanukah: the blow might be perfect, with all the loftiest thoughts, but since the time is wrong there is no mitzvah.

So much for mitzvot—but how far does this apply to ordinary common-or-garden middot? This question has been troubling me for a little while and is actually the spark that kindled this post. Recently we entertained a young visitor for a few days. She was courteous and well-mannered in all respects, a genuinely welcome guest. She also offered to help clear the dishes off our dining table. The only problem was that this offer came when the table had already been so completely cleared that there was nothing left for her to do. Helping others is an excellent character trait but—as with mitzvot—timing may be critical. For those (such as the Sefer Charedim) who hold that the middot in Avot are actually mitzvot, what I have written above is arguably applicable. But most rabbis and commentators distinguish between mitzvot and middot. How might they bring the moral teachings to bear on our well-meaning visitor?

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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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