Senior readers may recall a song, penned in 1949, with the title “I Love You Because”. It became a minor hit in the 1960s and has since subsided into respectable obscurity. Its theme was that of the ranking of reasons for loving another person, culminating in an endorsement of unconditional love as the highest form (“I love you most of all because you’re you”).
There’s a fascinating anonymous mishnah in the fifth perek
that addresses this very them. It reads thus:
כָּל אַהֲבָה
שֶׁהִיא תְלוּיָה בְדָבָר, בָּטֵל דָּבָר בְּטֵלָה אַהֲבָה, וְשֶׁאֵינָהּ
תְּלוּיָה בְדָבָר, אֵינָהּ בְּטֵלָה לְעוֹלָם. אֵיזוֹ הִיא אַהֲבָה שֶׁהִיא
תְלוּיָה בְדָבָר, זוֹ אַהֲבַת אַמְנוֹן וְתָמָר, וְשֶׁאֵינָהּ תְּלוּיָה בְדָבָר,
זוֹ אַהֲבַת דָּוִד וִיהוֹנָתָן
Any love that is dependent on
something—when that thing ceases, the love also ceases. But a love that is not
dependent on anything never ceases. What is [an example of] a love that is
dependent on something? The love of Amnon and Tamar. And one that is not dependent on anything?
The love of David and Jonathan (Avot 5:19).
There is an obvious problem for any modern reader who is
familiar with the back stories of these relationships, both of which are found
in the Tanach in the Books of Samuel. The comparison appears inappropriate in
that, while David and Jonathan’s feelings towards one another were
reciprocated, there was no loving relationship between Amnon and Tamar. We
would describe Amnon’s feelings toward his half sister in terms of infatuation
and a lust to possess her sexually, while there is no record of Tamar having any
warm feelings towards Amnon at all.
Reverting to our mishnah, since no love was felt by Tamar
towards Amnon, the only thing that could be described as “love” in their
relationship was Amnon’s desire to possess her. But on what did that desire
depend? Presumably on her unavailability to him, and once that unavailability
had been forcibly removed, Tamar no longer appealed to him, The Alshich (Yarim
Moshe) puts it another way: it was not her unavailability that drew Amnon
to her but her innocence which, once lost, was irretrievable. Additionally,
Amnon may have assumed that, once he possessed Tamar, her eyes would be opened
and she would see him through fresh, admiring eyes. When this did not happen,
he may have felt inadequate and humiliated himself. We shall never know.
Bartenura suggests that Amnon’s attraction was based on
Tamar’s beauty, which indicates that the element on which the love was
contingent can be subjective. Unless Tamar’s appearance altered radically as a
result of the rape, we are given to understand that what changed was not her
beauty but Amnon’s subjective assessment of it. Rabbi Eliezer Liepman puts it
differently: what changed was Amnon’s self-induced delusion that his feeling
towards her was one of love.
Does it actually matter whether we know the trigger that
destroyed Amnon’s desire for Tamar, or whether it is what we might today call ‘love’
or not? Perhaps not. For Rabbi Shlomo P.
Toperoff (Lev Avot) we should focus on the message of the mishnah as a
whole and not on the inexcusable behaviour of Amnon. He writes:
“The reader of the mishnah is
struck by an obvious omission. The act of Amnon and Tamar is not characterised
as shameful, nor is the friendship of David and Jonathan hailed as
extraordinary. The mishnah neither castigates the one nor praises the other.
The failure of the one and the success of the other rests on our approach to
God and man. Do we love God? Do we love our fellow man? This is the burden of
our mishnah”.
He continues at length by citing Devarim 6:5 (“You should
love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with
all your might”) and implying that this is the yardstick against which we
humans should ideally measure our feelings towards one another. In this context
he cites the love we owe to the stranger, the violent and even the criminal. It
may be a tough challenge, but we should ask what is expected of us and what is
needed by others in any relationship we may have with them.
I doubt that this is precisely the message that the author
of our mishnah intended to convey, but it is a powerful one. The yardstick of
our love for God is an uncomfortable one to measure ourselves against, since it
is axiomatic that God is unchanging and represents the highest quality of truth
and justice while we humans are, well, human—and we all know in our heart of
hearts that there are times when it less easy for others to love us. Thoughts,
anyone?
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