In case you missed them, here's a list of items posted on Avot Today in March 2021:
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Thoughts on Pirkei Avot -- the Ethics of the Fathers -- and on their meaning and their relevance to contemporary living
In case you missed them, here's a list of items posted on Avot Today in March 2021:
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From the Jewish News of Northern California, 26 March 2021 ("We are imperfect — but commanded to do better" by Rabbi Niles Elliot Goldstein) comes the following quote:
As Pirkei Avot instructs, it is not up to us to complete the task of repairing our varied and innumerable broken places, but neither are we free to give up the lifelong, impassioned attempt.
What Rabbi Tarfon (Avot 2:21) actually says is somewhat less ambitious:
It is not incumbent upon you to finish the task, but neither are you free to absolve yourself from it.
These words are themselves a sequel to the previous mishnah in which Rabbi Tarfon says:
The day is short, the work is much, the workers are lazy, the reward is great, and the Master is pressing.
Is Rabbi Goldstein's interpretation legitimate? In the context of his article, it certainly seems so. He writes of man's inherent imperfection and the need to improve oneself through the better deployment of one's freedom to exercise one's choice. Making the right decisions and then acting on them is definitely a life-long task from which there is neither relief nor let-up.
Pirkei Avot is built on metaphor, simile, analogy -- which is why it's such fun to come across short, sweet articles like this one ("Radios and Judaism" by Karen Kaplan, on Chabad.org).
In Pirkei Avot Shimon HaTzaddik says that the world stands on three pillars: Torah, avodah (prayer) and gemilut chassadim (acts of kindness). Just as a radio is only a silent box until it’s turned on and receiving signals, so the world seems spiritually silent to us without these three pillars. The first pillar, our holy Torah, is the detailed instruction manual for building and operating our radio. When we study the Torah, we transform ourselves into human radios to receive G‑d’s wisdom. That wisdom is also expressed in the Torah. So the Torah is both the instruction manual and the broadcast!
Dialling in and turning up the volume correspond to gemilut chassadim and avodah. A nice, thought-provoking set of imagery -- though certainly not one that would have occurred to Shimon HaTzaddik!
Hillel teaches (Avot 2:5) that one should never make a statement that cannot at first be understood if one intends that it should be ultimately comprehended.
I came across a good example of the applicability of this axiom while listening to a conversation between a four and a half year-old boy and his mother. The subject of this discussion was the mother's brother (to protect his anonymity let's call him Archie):
Little boy: "Mummy, how old is uncle Archie?"
Mother: "Uncle Archie celebrated his 37th birthday only last week".
Little boy (somewhat puzzled): "Yes -- but how old is he now?"
Though the mother's response was perfectly correct, it didn't quite address the child's need: less information would have done the job better. The child in question had some comprehension of both numbers and the measurement of time but was sometimes confused by the way they were expressed. Thus sometimes he said he was "four and a half" but on occasion he would say he was "half past four".
Traditional commentators make much of these rabbis and the nature and the deeper meaning of these words of praise. One topic though tends to be overlooked. Why does the mishnah say of Rabban Yochanan that "he used to enumerate their praises" rather than the more frequently-found, if prosaic, formula "he used to say"? Surely it is obvious both from their content and their context that what he says about his star pupils is praise--and mishnaic style suggests that the Tannaim prefer not to state the obvious.
A possible explanation is that the mishnah is teaching that each of these five attributes is something that can be a criticism if found in a person of lesser quality. Thus:
"A sealed cistern" is a positive quality in a talmid who retains only his rabbi's teachings (See Sukkah 28a), but a person who retains everything, regardless of its quality or substance, is like the sponge that absorbs everything indiscriminately (Avot 5:18).
A rabbi "makes his mother happy" and this is a good thing when her happiness is contingent on the performance of good deeds, Torah study and the like--but not when it is the consequence of the mother selfishly or jealously refusing to let go of her child (cf Bereshit 2:24: "So a man shall leave his father and his mother and cleave to his wife, and they shall be one flesh").
"Pious" is great, but not when the chasid is a chasid shoteh (a "pious fool," the man who responds to the sight of a woman drowning by saying that, as a religious person, it is inappropriate for him to look at her, even though that is the only way to save her: Sotah 21b).
"Sin-fearing" is also great, but a person can be paralysed into inaction by his terror at committing any sin if he goes into business, takes on a role of communal responsibility or even commits himself to marriage.
To be an "ever-flowing spring," full of ideas and enthusiasm, can be a precious asset. However, such a person can also be extremely annoying. If you have ever sat in class or in a shiur with someone who is always interrupting others in order to get his answer in first or to second-guess the flow of a line of argument, a person who cannot control his effervescence and simply will not shut up, you will know how destructive this asset can be.
In other words, Rabban Yochanan is emphasising that, when he uses these terms, they are words of genuine praise.
Earlier today I had the pleasure and the privilege of meeting Rabbi Yaacov Haber, a fellow Pirkei Avot enthusiast. I discovered that he is the author of a work on Avot, the first part (covering perakim 1-3) has already been published and the second part of which is in the pipeline.
This book is Lev Avot: the commentary is in two parts. There is a concise commentary, itself titled Lev Avot, that provides an explanation based on classical sources. The second part, Banim al Avotam, frames the mishnayot within the context of the Tannaim who authored them. It's a lovely little book which, so far, I have found both enjoyable and informative. I was however saddened by the fact that, in the world of Pirkei Avot, there are so many books that, if one does not stumble across them by chance, one will never find. I have been reading works on Avot for decades and deeply regret the absence of accurate and timely information concerning the availability of new titles. This problem is not confined to Avot and is found elsewhere in Jewish literature, but it speaks badly of our ability to spread the word and share our thoughts and ideas with one another. In secular fields like law, medicine and business studies, new books are soon discovered, publicized, reviewed and circulated. When we are dealing with books that have an impact on a person's life in this world and the next, should we not be equally efficient in spreading the relevant data?***************************************
Part 1 of Lev Avot, by Rabbi Yaacov Haber, was published by TorahLab, Monsey, in 2007. ISBN 978-1-58330-967-4. It is available on Amazon here.
In case you missed them, here's a list of items posted on Avot Today in February 2021:
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The mishnah at Avot 5:19 begins with the words:
Any love
that depends on a specific thing, if that thing is lost, to too is that love;
and if it doesn’t depend on anything, it is never lost.
In “Hate: Curable and Incurable”, Covenant and Conversation: Deuteronomy, Renewal of the Sinai Covenant, 2019) Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks opens the possibilities contained in these few words by arguing persuasively that this proposition does not apply to love alone. It also applies to hate. In doing so, it explains an apparent anomaly in the Torah’s commands. This anomaly relates to how the Children of Israel should view the Egyptians, who had enslaved, oppressed and exploited them for centuries, even attempting genocide, and the Amalekites, who attacked them just once in the desert.
The Torah commands that we are not to hate the Egyptians (Deuteronomy 23:8). We are however obliged to maintain perpetual hostility against the Amalekites (Exodus 17:16), even though we suffered far more at the hands of the Egyptians. Why should this be?
An explanation is offered that, while both the Egyptians and the Amalekites hated the Children of Israel, the Egyptians had some reason for doing so: they saw this strong and increasingly populous alien tribe within their borders as a threat to their security (Exodus 1:19-20). This reason might have been irrational and unfounded, but it was genuinely held. Once this alien tribe had departed, the reason for the Egyptians’ hatred departed too and, with it, the hatred itself. The hatred of Amalek however had no cause. A hatred that has no cause is a hatred that has no end.
It is worth considering whether this argument can be applied not only to hatred but to another word that is regularly contrasted with love: fear. Prima facie, the answer is yes, or at least it should be. If there is a reason why a person is afraid of anything—be it a dog, the dark, an unwelcome event, or another person—it is possible to address the cause of that fear. But where a fear is not conditioned upon anything it all and is quite irrational, it may never be possible to eradicate it.
Why should we go back to synagogue? This is the question posed by Rabbi Yosie Levine in his opinion piece for yesterday's Jerusalem Post. This piece asks, quite reasonably, why people should wish to return to synagogue prayer even when it is safe to do so once the threat of the coronavirus has finally abated. The rabbi, who gives various answers, also invokes the authority of Avot when he writes:
The notion of community serves as the animating force behind the project of building the mishkan. In describing its construction, the Torah tells us that God said, “And they shall make for Me a sanctuary so that I may dwell within them” (Exodus 25:8). Rabbi Moshe Alshich (1508-1593) notes that, conspicuously, the verse does not read “and I shall dwell within it.” It’s not the edifice that brings holiness into this world. It’s the people. An institution absent its adherents is no institution at all. It’s by virtue of coming together as a community that we bring holiness into our lives. That’s why even the sage Hillel, who was tolerant of virtually everyone, had no tolerance for those who dissociated from the collective (Pirkei Avot 2:4) [in many siddur editions the citation is 2:5].
Another point on which we might reflect is that, where the collective is split between those who return to synagogual worship and those who prefer the outside option, people are damned if they do and damned if they don't since whichever side they follow will require them turning their backs on the other side.
One of the most difficult mishnayot to translate into English [1] is the one that opens the second perek of Avot (i.e. 2:1). There, Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi teaches:
רבי אומר, איזו היא דרך ישרה שיבור לו האדם--כל שהיא תפארת לעושיה, ותפארת לו מן האדם
I like to translate it like this:
Which is the right path that a person should choose for himself? Any one that enables him to experience self-respect and to earn the respect and admiration of other people.
This is not a literal translation, though. The Hebrew word תפארת (tiferet), which appears here twice, poses a stiff challenge for at least four reasons: (i) the word possesses many meanings; (ii) it is employed in relation both to God and to man, with obviously different connotations; (iii) in the context of this mishnah, it expresses a concept for which there is no obvious colloquial English equivalent and (iv) it is by no means clear what verbs—if any—are the right ones to use with it.
The range of translations preferred by various authors is
reflected by the chart below:
תפארת לעושיה (translated
above as “self-respect”) |
ותפארת לו מן האדם (translated
above as “the respect |
Whatever
will be of benefit to him |
and
earns him the respect of other people [2] |
Honorable to one who chooses it |
and
honorable in the eyes of others [3] |
Whatever
is a credit to himself |
and
earns him the esteem of fellow men [4] |
One
which reflects credit on him who does it |
and
which also reflects glory on him [in the eyes] of men [5] |
Whatever
is harmonious for the one who does it |
and
harmonious for mankind [6] |
One
which is honorable to thyself |
and
without offense to others [7] |
All
that is desirable for the one doing it |
and
desirable to him from mankind [8] |
That
which is distinguished, honorable
for him who adopts it |
and
brings him distinction, honor from people [9] |
Whatever
brings glory to himself [before
God] |
and
grants him glory before others [10] |
Any
that is an honor to him that does it |
and
gets him honor to him in the sight of men [11] |
That
which is an honor to him |
and
gets him honor from men [12] |
My preferred translation gives the meaning as
“self-respect” the first time it appears and as “respect and admiration” the
second, since it is not normally regarded as praiseworthy for a person to pat
himself on the back and applaud his own actions in the manner in which he might
greet the same actions when done by others.
Of the options listed above, Chabad.org's "harmonious" approach has been preferred in a Times of Israel blog by Ethan Yakhin entitled "My experience interviewing R. Shlomo Katz". This piece, unsurprisingly since Rabbi Katz is an authority on the work of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, is as much about the controversial composer as abour Rabbi Katz himself. In the course of it Ethan Yakhin writes:
In Pirkei Avot, we find wonderful advice. What is a straight path that man should choose? A path that brings harmony to the person and harmony between him and others (Pirkei Avot 2:1). In other words, “Be yourself.” Perhaps this is what Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach had in mind when he encouraged our individuality.
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[1] This is not only a problem for the
English. Translating into German, Rabbi Marcus Lehmann, The Lehmann-Prins
Pirkei Avoth, makes exactly the same observation.
[2] Rabbis Avie Gold and Nahum Spirn, Alshich on Avos.
[3] Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, Authorised
Daily Prayer Book.
[4] ArtScroll Publications.
[5] C. H. Moore, The Lehmann-Prins Pirkei
Avoth.
[6] Chabad.org.
[7] Jewishvirtuallibrary.org.
[8] David N. Barocas, Me’am Lo’ez.
[9] Irving M. Bunim, Ethics from Sinai.
[10] Torah.org.
[11] R. Travers Herford, The Ethics of the Talmud.
[12] Herbert Danby, The Mishnah.
I have only recently become aware of the Jewish Disabilities Awareness, Acceptance & Inclusion Month, thanks to this piece--a guest column posted in the Cleveland Jewish News and written by Jay Leberman. In the course of his piece, which argues for replacement of the word "inclusion" (which suggests the possibility of "exclusion") with the more suitable term "belonging", he writes:
Ben Azzai taught in the “Ethics of the Fathers,” “Do not disdain any person; do not underestimate the importance of anything – for there is no person who does not have his hour, and there is no thing without its place in the sun.” Although we dedicate the month of February to a greater awareness of people who are different than us – our sacred texts provide us with an imperative to recognize the uniqueness of every individual, regardless of mental ability and or physical limitations throughout the year. We are given the challenge as a community to ensure that those among us who are different are never neglected, never sidelined, never underrated, and never underappreciated as human beings capable of giving back to our community in their own individualized ways.
This blog has sometimes commented on the inappropriate use of mishnayot from Avot in the columns of both Jewish and non-Jewish publications. Here, however, it is good to be able to welcome a citation of Ben Azzai's teaching (at Avot 4:3) which seems entirely apt.
The sixth perek of Avot contains a celebrated baraita (Avot 6:6) that lists what are claimed to be the 48 "things" through which Torah is acquired. One of them is the acceptance of one's suffering.
In popular culture, human suffering is often glamorized. People who struggle with their disabilities and go on to achieve great things are the stuff of inspiration and folklore, as well as bread and butter for the entertainment industry. Ludwig van Beethoven toiling to compose musical masterpieces despite his encroaching deafness, Helen Keller reaching out to the world despite losing both her sight and hearing as a child, musicians resuming professional careers despite the loss of fingers or even an arm—these are all heart-warming narratives of succeeding against the odds.In the world of Torah too, we are enthralled by tales of how
people overcome illness, hardship and poverty in order to achieve wonderful
things in the fields of Torah and good deeds. It is easy to promote the virtues
of afflictions when one is not suffering. One relatively contemporary rabbi
goes so far as to describe afflictions as a “chavruta with God.” But do we really believe that suffering is a
good thing? This baraita appears to
suggest that this so, listing it as a route to acquiring Torah learning, and it
is not the only baraita in Avot that seems to send out this message. However, it is appropriate to ask whether the
message we are picking up is the message that our Sages are transmitting.
The position of the Babylonian Talmud is that, in essence,
when a person suffers he should examine his conduct. If he has not found that
he has done anything wrong, he should ask whether he has neglected his Torah
study. If he has not, the afflictions are likely to be yissurim shel ahavah
(literally “afflictions of love”), suffering that he should experience in this
World so that he can enjoy a better World to Come. However, when offered the
opportunity to suffer afflictions and receive a reward for so doing, three
notable Sages—Rabbi Chiyya bar Abba, Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Elazar—give the
identical response: “neither them [i.e. the sufferings] nor their reward” (Berachot 5b). If these great rabbis regard such afflictions
as unnecessary and unwelcome, where does this leave our baraita?
In truth, the force of this baraita is not directed to encouraging anyone to seek out suffering and afflictions but to urging them to accept them when they happen. Each individual has a different level of tolerance. Some people can learn Torah day and night despite the pain or crippling disabilities that hamper them, because they can blot these terrible things out of their minds and accept them as part of their condition of life: they waste neither time nor emotional energy in complaining about them. Others, made of less stern stuff, struggle to cope with even a runny nose, a mild headache or the absence of a comfortable cushion on their chair. Coping is the key and that is an important part of pressing on with one’s Torah-learning agenda.
Avot 5:8 teaches that 10 things were created on the eve of the first Shabbat, though it ultimately raises the total to 14 (listed below). So what?
From our viewpoint as inhabitants of the 21st century, it makes little practical difference to our daily lives whether the 14 things listed in this Mishnah were created just as the Six Days of Creation were drawing to their close, earlier in the week or even after the first Shabbat. In any event, our consumerist habits tend to direct our attention towards when things expire or pass their use-by date, not the precise moment in time in they were manufactured. The mishnah however teaches nothing in vain. So why do we need to know this detail? Rabbi Yehudah Assad, Chidushei Mahari’a al Pirkei Avot, explains that this apparently redundant piece of information teaches that all 14 of these creations reflect God’s chesed (kindness) towards His people. How is this so?
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The four additional things are (xi) damaging entities (mazikim); (xii) the burial place of Moses and (xiii) Abraham's ram -- and some say also (xiv) tongs that are made with tongs.
In case you missed them, here's a list of items posted on Avot Today in January 2021:
Sunday 24 January 2021: Lions' tails and foxes' heads: a fresh perspective: When Rabbi Matya ben Charash says it's better to be the tail of a lion than the head of a fox, is his message for the public at large or for the sages of his era?
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