Kohanim, clothes and the worth of a good name

Much of this week’s Torah reading of parashat Tetzaveh consists of highly detailed instructions for making, wearing and using the clothes worn by Kohanim when they perform their official duties. Of its 101 verses, a full 50 are dedicated to this theme.

Pirkei Avot makes just one mention of any item of apparel relating to the Kohanim: Rabbi Shimon teaches (Avot 4:17) that there are three crowns—the crowns of Torah, of the priesthood and of kingship—and that the crown of a good name rises above them all.

Many classical commentators do not connect this mishnah with priestly garb. Instead, they treat this teaching as an exercise in mishnah as metaphor. For example:

• The Bartenura regards the three crowns as epitomising virtues that are based on status alone: one should honour the wise, respect that sanctity of the holy and be in fear of the authorities. The crown of a good name is added when these qualities are backed up by good deeds. The commentary ascribed to Rashi agrees, adding that not all of these qualities is found in everyone, whereas the ability to perform good deeds is open to all. Citing Rabbi Moshe Alshakar, Rabbi Shmuel di Uçeda (Midrash Shmuel) offers a variation on this theme: the crown of a good name is a sort of validating factor. A person may be born a Kohen, master the Torah or inherit the kingship, but he cannot truly be said to bear the crown of any of them unless he has acquired a good name too, through his own actions.
  
  
• Rambam, Ritva and others enlarge upon the mishnah by alluding to inherited status, the point being that two of the three crowns were given to Israel as an inheritance. Thus Aaron was entitled by birth to the crown of priesthood and David the crown of kingship. In each case, as Maharam Shik notes, it was Aaron and David respectively who added lustre to their crowns. In contrast, the crown of Torah is open to all. Anyone can become entitled to it and deserve it through their efforts—and it is only through knowledge of Torah that the crown of a truly good name can be obtained.
  
  
• Other commentators take the word “crown” literally. In this mishnah the Hebrew word for “crown” is keter. This word is not found in parashat Tetzaveh or anywhere else in the Torah but it is recorded in the Book of Esther and gained popularity thereafter. Rabbenu Yonah and others treat keter as a synonym for zer—a word found in the Torah that is often translated as “crown” but which the three most popular modern translations—those of Rabbis Kaplan, Steinstalz and Sacks—all render as “rim”. According to this explanation (echoed by the Maharal and Alshich), the zer Shulchan (“rim of the table”) in the Mishkan is the crown of kingship, the zer mizbe’ach (“rim of the altar”) is the crown of priesthood and the zer hakaporet (“rim of the covering of the holy Ark”) indicates the crown of Torah because the Ark housed the two tablets of the Ten Commandments. This explanation, for all its attraction, does not however suggest a compelling basis for comparing these crowns with the crown of a good name.

While mainstream commentators on Avot steer away from linking the crown of the Kohen to any of the priestly apparel mentioned in parashat Tetzaveh, there are others who do. Rabbi Yosef Messas (Nachalat Avot vol 4b, derash 253) links the keter in our mishnah to the tzitz, the pure gold headplate worn by the Kohen Gadol as a means of atoning for the offering up of blood and sacrificial animal parts that were tameh, ritually impure. Having made this connection, Rabbi Messas’ discussion of the mishnah veers off into an investigation of the crown of the Torah, offering no explanation of what the tzitz—which is in any event placed on the forehead and not where a crown would sit—might have to do with the crown of a good name. The Notzer Chesed of Komarno also alludes to the keterbeing the tzitz, in a complex and esoteric kabbalistic explanation of the mishnah that is founded on the Idra Zuta.

So where do these differing approaches to the Kohen’s crown leave us? To summarise: (i) parashat Tetzaveh makes no explicit mention of a crown in its list of clothing and accessories worn by Kohanim; (ii) the parashah mentions two items of headgear only—the mitznefet (a cloth mitre, which is never, it seems, described as a crown) and the tzitz, a headplate that is worn on the forehead; (iii) the majority of commentators on Avot do not connect the word keter in this mishnah with the tzitz; (iv) those commentators who do make the connection do so only in passing and do not seek to relate the tzitz to the notion of there being a crown of a good name that is greater than the crowns of Torah, priesthood and kingship.

I would venture to suggest that the best way to approach Rabbi Shimon’s Mishnah is to start by asking what it is about. From his choice of words it does not appear that he was seeking to establish, as some commentators have suggested, that the crown of Torah was greater than those of priesthood and kingship, or to draw a distinction between inherited and acquired status. It also appears that his objective was to emphasise the value of a good name, regardless of a person’s status (as in the case of kings and Kohanim) or achievements (as in the case of Torah scholars). The selection of the word keter, which is not found in the Torah, suggests that the Tanna did not intend to import any reference to the Torah’s text, to the zer or to the tzitz of the Kohen Gadol. Rather, as both the Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi indicate, Rabbi Shimon was employing a metaphor.

If we take this view, our mishnah can be read together with the teaching of another Shimon—this time Shimon HaTzaddik (Avot 1:2)—that the world stands on three things: Torah, Temple service and acts of kindness. These correspond to the realm of the Torah scholar, the Kohen and the monarch (see Berachot 3b on the expectation that the king will provide sustenance for his subjects). Some Torah scholars, priests and kings have a reputation that is tarnished (eg the apostate scholar Elisha ben Avuyah; the early Kohen Gadol Eli; kings Achav, Menashe); others have a good name (eg Rabbi Akiva; Aaron; David). In the first case, it is the status that enhances the man. In the second, it is the man who adds lustre to the status.

A name made great...

At Avot 1:13, Hillel teaches that a name made great is a name destroyed (there are many nuanced translations of the original words, but this is their gist).

I have been reading today that Eric Lander, head of President Biden's Office of Science and Technology Policy, has stepped down from his important and high-profile position in the wake of the findings of a White House review that he had mistreated staff.

Although Lander was well-known in his field of expertise, genetics, he was unknown to many of us until June 2021, when he was sworn in on a 500-year-old edition of Pirkei Avot in preference to the more conventional choice of a bible. This decision attracted a great deal of publicity, and indeed much approval too. For, while the bible is a closed book to many people today, the choice of Avot -- a treatise on ethics and good behaviour -- sent out a message of commitment to its content.

While Avot calls for us to treat other people with respect and to control our anger, the findings of the White House review are reported to have found that Lander's conduct did not match up to those standards.

Now, sadly, the name of Eric Lander is all over the internet. He is not merely a high-placed official who has left his post on account of work-related issues. While the mainstream media do not pick up on Lander's commitment to Jewish ethics (or at least have not yet done so to my knowledge), the Jewish media have been quick to do so. Thus, for example,

• "Lander, who is Jewish, was sworn into office on a 1492 edition of Pirkei Avot ... and has spoken about Jewish values guiding his work" (Times of Israel)
• "White House science advisor who was sworn in on book of Jewish ethics steps down after review finds he mistreated staff" (Jewish Telegraphic Agency).

What should our response be? Avot tells us not to be hasty to judge others (1:1), to look on the conduct of others favourably where it is possible to do so (1:6) and to remember that we are not in the position of the person we judge (2:5). Had we been so, are we so sure that we would have done any better? This is not to condone any acts of wrongdoing, but rather to help us to focus on judging the acts and not the entirety of the person who commits them -- and also to strengthen our own commitment to compliance with the standards set by Avot whenever we are able to do so.

What the blazes! The fox, the scorpion and the snake

One of the three teachings of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus in Avot 2:15 runs as follows:

Warm yourself by the fire of the sages, but be beware in case you get burned by its embers; for their bite is the bite of a fox, their sting is the sting of a scorpion, their hiss is the hiss a snake, and all their words are like fiery coals.

This is a curious mishnah because of its change of metaphor. If the words of the chachamim ("sages") are like fiery coals, the fire metaphor could have been sustained through a three-fold reference to pain that fire can generate: being burned, scorched or scalded. Instead, Rabbi Eliezer opts for metaphors from the animal kingdom. Why might he have done this?

The three creatures chosen by Rabbi Eliezer – the fox, the scorpion and the snake – are not exclusive to this mishnah: they also populate the books of the Jewish Bible as well as the oral traditions recorded in the Mishnah, Talmud and Midrash. Apart from the fact that the addressees of this teaching 2,000 years ago would have been considerably more familiar with them than we are today, the fox, scorpion and snake are redolent with symbolic significance. It is possible therefore that Rabbi Eliezer’s decision to select them for this mishnah is based on metaphorical or symbolic considerations.

If this is so, what might those considerations be, bearing in mind that snakes and scorpions are sometimes bracketed together (see e.g. Avot 5:7; Rashi at Bereshit 37:24 citing Bereshit Rabbah) while the author of this mishnah clearly distinguishes between them in terms of their threat to the person who is not wary of the words of the sages?

One possible explanation is that the choice contrasts the respective symbolic responses of the fox, scorpion and snake. The fox represents a crafty and resourceful mind. While we are cautioned about foxes elsewhere in Avot (“Be a tail to lions rather than a head to foxes”: Avot 4:20), they are favourably portrayed in the Talmud (Rashi to Sanhedrin 39a). The bite of the fox here may thus be taken as an allusion to the mental agility of the Torah scholar who, when arguing with others, baits his trap, waits for his adversary to fall straight into it – and then bites.

In contrast with the cunning of the fox, whose position is carefully thought out with a view to getting the better of an opponent, the sting of the scorpion is a spontaneous reflex action, something that is so deeply ingrained in its nature that the urge to use it cannot be resisted. This sting is in the tail – you just don’t see it coming. In this mishnah we can imagine this to be the sharp response or penetrating repartee that we recognize in the unanswerable put-down or “one-liner” that leaves its recipient literally speechless, a verbal knock-out blow that may be out of the speaker’s mouth almost before he even realizes that he is saying it.

This leaves us with the snake. Bible readers will need no reminder that this is the creature which the Torah describes as “more cunning than any of the beasts of the field” (Bereshit 3:1), whose seductive arguments led to the Fall of Man. The punishment of the snake included the loss of its legs (Bereshit 3:14) but, notably, not to the loss of its cunning. In the context of this mishnah we can learn that one should not take liberties with the chachamim: with their carefully-chosen words they will get the better of you even if it first seems that, in pressing their case, they “don’t have a leg to stand on".

Incidentally, the “cunning” snake in Bereshit is termed in Hebrew a nachash, essentially a hissing snake, while this mishnah refers to a saraf, a snake which ‘burns’ with its venom. The nachash may however also be venomous, as is implicit from Avot 5:7, and a reference to a chacham as being a nachash might be taken disparagingly, as suggesting that what is assumed to be his Torah learning is in fact no more than his cunning. To call a chacham a saraf does not import the same implication.

Avot in Retrospect: a summary of last month's blogposts

In case you missed them, here's a list of items posted on Avot Today in January 2022:

Friday 28 January 2022: Sponges, funnels, strainers, sieves: Different students of the Torah (or indeed anything else) have different qualities -- which may be good or bad, depending on your view (Avot 5:18). 

Wednesday 26 January 2022: Slow and steady? Is it better to be quick to learn and quick to forget, or the other way round?The fifth perek of Avot discusses.

Sunday 23 January 2022: The Golem, speaking first and interrupting others: Avot 5:9 contrasts the golem with the chacham -- the person who is wise. One of the places they meet is in the field of dialogue. We discuss here a couple of key issues involving control of a conversation.

Friday 21 January 2022:  So long, Meat Loaf: the death of Bat out of Hell composer Michael Lee Aday marks the end of an era for rock music. Here we look at a line from one of his songs.

Thursday 20 January 2022: Something old, something new: a long-published book comes up for review: a 1993 work on modern Jewish ethics falls into our hands. We take a look at its treatment of Avot and the contextualisation of its commentary.

Tuesday 18 January 2022: When you are standing in my place... : What lesson does Hillel teach us about the Colleyville hostage incident?

Friday 14 January 2022: Fire that the rain won't extinguish: one of the 10 miracles that occurred in the Temple may convey a powerful message to us today.

Monday 10 January 2022: Buying a book: benefit of the doubt: Even a simple thing like buying a book from a second-hand shop can look like theft. Is the buyer entitled to be regarded as innocent when the circumstantial evidence is against him?

Thursday 6 January 2022: Conceding the truth: Why can it be more difficult to justify a mistake than to correct it?  Avot looks at truth.

Wednesday 5 January 2022: Whatever happened to the Ten Tests of Jacob?  The ten trials of Abraham are a popular feature of Avot, at 5:4 -- but why not mention his grandson too?

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Avot Today blogposts for December 2021 here
Avot Today blogposts for November 2021 here
Avot Today blogposts for October 2021 here
Avot Today blogposts for September 2021 here
Avot Today blogposts for August 2021 here
Avot Today blogposts for July 2021 here

Sponges, funnels, strainers and sieves

 According to a mishnah in the first chapter of Avot (5:18),

There are four types among those who sit before the sages: the sponge, the funnel, the strainer and the sieve. The sponge absorbs everything. The funnel takes in at one end and lets it out the other. The strainer lets the wine pass through but retains the sediment. The sieve lets the coarse flour pass through but retains the fine flour.

Most commentators take the view that the sponge, the funnel and the strainer are unfavourable metaphors and that we should all be sieves. There is however another way of understanding this mishnah: maybe all four metaphors are designed to sing the praises of four different types of student.

On the principle that we should never be dismissive of any item since there is nothing in the world that does not have its place (Avot 4:3) let us look for a place for them in the world of learning.

The sponge

Here is a person who literally mops up the contents of each class. This is a wonderful asset. Almost every reader of these words will have attended a lecture, a seminar or a tutorial where the discussion was scintillating, stimulating and well worth further thought – but the rapidity with which each idea followed another, and with which the cut-and-thrust of argument generated fresh sparks, made it impossible to take accurate notes of what precisely was said, who said what, and which responses were given in return for which propositions. Who would not pay handsomely for a clear and accurate record? But here we have the sponge! He may not understand all or indeed any of the finer points of what he has absorbed, but there he is, nonetheless – a priceless asset and a thoroughly useful learning partner at times like this.

The funnel

Now we have another valuable utensil in the family of students. One of the salient features of a funnel is that what goes in at the top is identical to what comes out at the bottom. In other words, output is a faithful reproduction of input. There is no variation, adulteration, change of quality or quantity. How many of us have toiled to get students to transmit with pinpoint accuracy that which is drummed into them? How many times do people need to be told that there is nothing to be gained from paraphrasing a statute or a Torah verse? Only the original version is valid and -- in the case of Torah learning -- that is the word of God. With our funnel, what goes in is what comes out: you can depend on that.

The strainer

Here we find another precious resource for serious study. The need to separate out the relevant from the irrelevant, the essential from the peripheral, is beyond doubt. The only question we need to decide now is how and where this straining process takes place. This mishnah postulates a student of Torah who sits before the chachamim and listens assiduously to their every word. However valuable those words may be as a whole, not every one of them will be relevant and applicable in the course of every discussion, so our strainer filters them before discussing them with his fellows. This means that he will take great care to retain the so-called “dregs” rather than cast them at his colleagues in the course of their subsequent analysis and revision of what they have learned.

The sieve

Like the strainer, the sieve separates that which is relevant and desirable from that which is not. The text of our mishnah is however problematic since it tells us that the sieve retains the fine particles of fine flour (solet) but lets the larger particles of coarse flour (kemach) fall through. This is surely impossible.

Maybe the fact that it is impossible for a sieve to retain the small but let the large pass through is the precise point that the mishnah is trying to make. Yes, this sort of sieve is impossible – but even so, at the end of the day and after all the discussions and arguments are over, we are left with a sieve full of fine flour. In other words, one of the four types of Torah student we learn of here is the person who achieves the impossible: he starts with the same materials as the rest of us – a bag of flour, a sieve – and ends up with a result that none of us could predict, replicate or explain.

On this reckoning the sieve is therefore a metaphor for the creative and imaginative Torah scholar who can think outside the box and produce results that are quite beyond the rest of us.

If this counterintuitive explanation of the mishnah can be upheld, it provides a positive and upbeat conclusion to a succession of mishnayot that depressingly represent most people in negative terms. It also provides a context in which this mishnah is taken to refer to different types of chachamim who have come to sit before chachamim greater than themselves in order to learn from them (Rabbi Shmuel de Uçeda again, this time citing Rabbi Moshe Almosnino, Pirkei Moshe): If the sponge, funnel, strainer and sieve were not all “positives,” this view would be quite insulting.

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The idea of taking this mishnah positively is not mine. Rabbi Shmuel de Uçeda, Midrash Shmuel, explains the apparently superfluous words in the Hebrew text as an invitation to explain the four utensils twice over, once as praise and once as criticism. This approach is followed by Rabbi Avraham Azulai in his lovely commentary, Ahavah BeTa’anugim

Slow and steady?

An anonymous mishnah in the fifth chapter of Avot (5:15) discusses the merits of different types of student. Two in particular merit closer attention. They are students who are "quick to learn, quick to forget" and ‘"slow to learn, slow to forget". According to the author of the mishnah, the advantages possessed by each of these personalities cancels out their disadvantages, so we might with good reason say that they were each as good (or bad) as one another. I would be reluctant to draw that conclusion.

Speaking from my lengthy personal experiences of teaching law both to university students and to practicing lawyers, I can say that the ‘quick to learn, quick to forget’ person generally comes over as a pretty smart individual who is a pleasure to teach: this is because the attention of a professor who is giving a class is immediately attracted by the student who latches swiftly on to the subject-matter of the class. This student’s ability to think on his feet and generate relevant questions without the need for deep and patient thought makes for classes that are lively and enjoyable both for the teacher and for other students. The fact that the content of the class is soon forgotten is something that only manifests itself later, after the class is over, and the professor discovers this unfortunate effect after the examinations are marked, when he sees this student’s poor grades and comes to understand the reason for them.

In contrast, the ‘slow to learn, slow to forget’ type of student israrely a pleasure to teach. This student sits there quietly, neither asking nor answering and often wearing a facial expression that ranges between the blank and the uncomprehending; if he or she speaks at all, it is usually to ask for something to be repeated; this can slow down the class and bore the elite corps of faster classmates. This student’s understanding of the class does not begin to happen until his lecture notes have been read and re-read together with any other relevant materials on the syllabus. Again, this is only apparent when examination papers are graded and the late-flowering intellectual development of this academic slowcoach is there for all to see.

Our Sages prefer ‘slow-and-slow’ to ‘quick-and-quick’. Rabbi Yitzchak Magriso (Me’am Lo’ez), Rabbenu Yonah and others go further and suggest that, if there are only enough funds to support one of the two, they should go to the one who is slow to learn but slow to forget. since, at the end of the learning process, however laborious and painful it may have been, that student always has something to show from the task of studying. The fact that the process has been long and arduous is itself a plus, since we learn that the reward that results from the performance of any mitzvah (Avot 5:26).

The scenario here of fast learners versus slow ones is a little reminiscent of the Aesop fable of the Tortoise and the Hare, which teaches the motto that "slow and steady wins the race". At least one Tanna was familiar with Aesop's fables though it is improbable that this particular tale would have influenced our mishnah, which takes the concept of slow-and-steady to a new level. In reality, tortoises rare if ever outrun the hare, but the slow, steady student has an excellent chance of outperforming a speedy rival.

The Golem, speaking first and interrupting others

The characterisics of the golem (an immature person) and the chacham (the wise person) are contrasted by the mishnah at Avot 5:9. This mishnah lists seven criteria that identify a person as being one or the other. In particular, a golem is someone who, in debate or discussion with others, speaks ahead of someone better entitled than himself to do so, and a golem is also a person who interrupts others once they have started to speak and are, so to speak, in full flow -- regardless of their seniority.

Who speaks first?

Among chachamim, one who has more knowledge because he has learned more than another takes precedence in speaking over one who is sharper and better at reasoning but knows less (per Tiferet Yisrael), while one who asserts that he is more knowledgeable takes precedence over one who does not (per Rabbi Shmuel de Uçeda, Midrash Shmuel, basing this conclusion on a slightly different text of Avot from that normally found today). This raises interesting problems because humility is a sign of a chacham (Avot 6:1, 6:6), so one would not expect a genuine chacham to advertise himself as such. However, another sign of a chacham is that he recognizes and speaks the truth, so he could hardly deny being a chacham if he is one.

Knowledge versus reasoning is not the only issue at stake when it comes precedence. Wisdom versus age is another. So who speaks first? Thus (i) one should accord precedence to a chacham who is younger and let him speak first even if he is one’s junior in years; while (ii) one should also accord precedence to an older person even if he is not so wise (Rabbi Avraham Azulai, Ahavah BeTa’anugim).

There is an obvious conundrum here: if you are wiser but younger than your colleague, he is older but not as wise as you. So, as a matter of logic, each should let the other speak first. This scenario potentially risks turning comically into a polite but unending dialogue along the lines of “After you!” “No, after you!” “No, no. Please! I insist, you go first.” However, it does give two people the opportunity to show and express respect for one another, which in itself is a desirable outcome (as in Avot 4:1).

Interrupting others

Experience of life tells us that, particularly in wider society, interrupting others is a regular part of daily life. Whether it is appreciated or not, it is far more tolerated than in previous generations when proverbs such as “children should be seen and not heard” were more widely respected.

It is difficult to ascertain the point at which interruption became so widely accepted: this practice may have developed in post-Second World War western culture, when ownership of telephones became more widespread and charges for calls were made on the basis of their duration. Money could thus be saved by cutting conversations short.

In any event, interruption of the speech of others appears to be here to stay, and it is particularly apparent in conversations conducted with the elderly and the hard-of-hearing. It is easy to assume that someone who speaks slowly and haltingly has finished speaking when they have only paused for breath, and a person with poor hearing may not even realize that he is speaking through someone else’s words.

Letting someone else speak first is a status-based quality, since it accords greater respect to those of us who enjoy some seniority. In contrast, letting someone finish speaking and not interrupting them is an egalitarian principle: an older or wiser person must show this respect to even a much younger and less knowledgeable speaker. Why? Because interruption can cause the younger person much distress (Rabbenu Yosef ben Shushan, cited in Mishnat Avot). and because it treats what he has to say as being of little worth (Ri Chiyyun, Milei deAvot, ibid).

Regardless of the age of the speaker, there are still further reasons in support of this Mishnah. Interruption of others is not only a sign of arrogance (per Rabbenu Yonah); it might also be quite unnecessary if it turns out that the words interjected by the interrupter are those that the speaker was in the process of saying (Rabbi Moshe Shik, Chidushei Aggadot Masechet Avot) and the mere fact of being stopped in full flow can knock a speaker off his stride and confuse him (Tiferet Yisrael).

Incidentally, we should not be thinking merely of a dialogue between two discussants: breaking into a conversation to which a person is not a party, for example where two people are having an argument and a bystander chooses to interject his own contribution, is just as much covered by the ground-rules for non-interruption (Rabbi Shimon ben Tzemach, Magen Avot).

So the moral of the mishnah, for us all to absorb, is that we should respect the entitlement of others to speak and, if they are older/wiser, let them have their say first even if we propose to disagree and set them right. Likewise, conversations are to be shared, not owned, and one of the best ways to share a dialogue is to resist the temptation to control or monopolise it by interrupting others.

So long, Meat Loaf

Yesterday saw the death, at the age of 74, of Michael Lee Aday, better known as Meat Loaf. A phenomenally successful musician and composer, his Bat Out of Hell trilogy of albums sold more than 65 million copies worldwide. He will be mourned by legions of appreciative fans, as well as by his family and friends.

I respected his talent and enjoyed his music, but didn't always see eye to eye with his lyrics. In particular, I was troubled by a line from his track "Everything Louder Than Everything Else":

"A wasted youth is better by far than a wise and productive old age"

I had already passed through my own youth by the time I heard this track but had yet to reach old age. Even so, the line troubled me.

The squandering of one's youth is not a policy that is endorsed by Pirkei Avot. Rather, it is advantageous to learn while one is young (per Elisha ben Avuyah, Avot 4:25), when it is easier to absorb new ideas and skills. Time that is lost is time that cannot be recovered

The notion of an old age being wise and productive is however quite consonant with the Ethics of the Fathers, where intellectual maturity begins at 40, and the ripe old age of 80 is cited as the age of gevurah, "strength" (Avot 5:25). We are encouraged not to be adversely judgemental of the way youngsters spend their youth, being advised to judge others favourably (Avot 1:6). However, if we have survived our teens and twenties, negotiated the perils of middle age and are now edging toward what Frank Sinatra calls the "final curtain", we should make an effort to say something positive about being old, to reassure the young that they should look forward to joining us when the time is ripe.

As an aside, old age doesn't usually get a good press in rock lyrics. One of the most famous lines in any rock number -- "I hope I die before I get old" -- was composed by British band The Who and features in their iconic number "My Generation". That song was launched in 1965. Could the band have known that, as old men themselves, they were still going to be singing that self-same song to audiences more than half a century later?

Something old, something new -- a long-published book comes up for review

Here's something of a novelty: a review of a book that was published nearly 30 years ago. Even more of a novelty is the fact that this review has something of a sectarian slant to it. While I have generally not singled out any religious preference for special attention, this post cannot fail to do so because this is a book on Pirkei Avot by two scholarly advocates of Reform Judaism in the United States.

As an orthodox Jew by persuasion and practice, I cannot pretend to be an expert on the Reform movement in the States. This review will not therefore discuss its principles and doctrines. My interest here is solely focused on what the book under review has to say about Avot and how it says it.

The book, Pirke Avot: A Modern Commentary on Jewish Ethics, was published in 1993 by the UAHC Press. The authors are Leonard Kravitz and Kerry M. Olitzky, both of whom held posts with the Hebrew Union College and worked as congregational rabbis. Finding this work in my local second-hand book shop, I was intrigued. What would it say about the Ethics of the Fathers?

I had expected to find some fairly revolutionary, not to say shocking, religious pronouncements in the commentary on the six chapters of Avot. The big shock, however, was that there weren't any. The authors took an eclectic approach to their choice of sources, limiting themselves to just five: the Avot deRabbi Natan, Maimonides, the commentary ascribed to Rashi, Rabbi Ovadyah MiBartenura and Rabbi Yom Tov Lipman Heller's Tosafot Yom Tov. For the benefit of readers who may not appreciate the significance of this selection, it is notable that all five belong firmly within the orthodox camp and none is modern. The author of the most recent of these works, Rabbi Yom Tov Lipman Heller, died in 1654.

Taken as a whole, the treatment of these venerable sources is most respectable. In the main, each mishnah or baraita is accompanied by a translation and a brief extract of one or more of the sources mentioned above that seeks to elucidate or contextualise it. There are a small number of exceptions, where the authors add or substitute their own comments for those of the sages, of which the most puzzling is that which follows Avot 4:26 (where Rabbi Yose ben Yehudah likens learning from the young and the old to, respectively, drinking wine that is raw or mature) and 4:27 (the account of new jars containing old wine and old jars that don't even contain new wine). The sole commentary on the two mishnayot reads:

"The use of wine growing and wine making as symbols suggests how much viticulture was part of the ancient Jewish and general world".

This comment reflects the general drift of this book in treating Avot as a useful reference point for the study of Jewish life and rabbinical thought in the mishnaic period.

There is a further issue to address here: where is the Reform content of this book?

Each of the six chapters of Pirkei Avot is followed by two further sections. The first add-on consists of short explanations, penned by the authors, of some of the concepts and issues touched upon in the preceding chapter. In these we also read a little about the Reform positions on, for instance, rabbinic legislation, reward and punishment, this world and the next, and cremation. These explanations are brief and matter-of-fact, and certainly not "preachy".

The second add-on, called "gleanings", consists of a collection of short passages that have direct or tangential reference to a mishnah or baraita in the chapter to which they are appended. All are written by influential figures within the Reform movement from the United States and beyond.

Taken individually and collectively, these "gleanings" are far more powerful than the teachings in Avot and the accompanying commentary are allowed to be. Most are stylistically elegant and eloquent, designed to stimulate the mind and stir the emotions. Strange to say, if one were to blank out the name of the authors of many of these passages, one might easily imagine that they had been spoken by a contemporary orthodox rabbi.

Nonetheless I was left feeling uncomfortable about this book. Admittedly it was neither a critique of orthodox/traditional Judaism nor a hard sell for Reform. It did however make me think of an exercise in "bait-and-switch". My attention had been caught by the fact that this was a modern commentary -- but I had assumed that it was a modern commentary on Avot. In essence, it was not. The subtitle does state that the book is a "modern commentary on Jewish ethics" -- which it is. But the choice of Maimonides and the rest, the selection of source materials that were not modern and did not engage with any discussion of Jewish ethics, rather suggested that their inclusion may have been intended to show that the rabbis of the mishnah spoke only to their peers and that the sages of yesteryear had nothing to offer the then modern world of 1993.

In other words, the reader will receive the impression that "old" Judaism is a closed book, and that Jewish ethical narrative has now relocated to the "gleanings".

I would be curious to discover whether any readers of this blog have read this book too. If there are, I hope that they will share their opinions with the rest of us.

When you are standing in my place...

I'm sure that most if not all readers of this blog will have heaved a mighty sigh of relief when the terror incident in the Colleyville Synagogue was brought to an end, Malik Faisal Akram neutralised and the hostages released. Some may have thanked God, while the gratitude of others may have been directed towards the local SWAT team; in an ideal Jewish scenario, some may have done both.

What can we, as mere spectators, learn from this? Let us look at Pirkei Avot, which sometimes asks hard questions. At Avot 2:5, Hillel teaches (among other things): "do not judge your fellow until you are standing in his place". What does that mean to us?

I know with absolute certainty that, had I been in Malik Faisal Akram's place, I would not have stormed a synagogue in Texas in order to obtain the release from jail of convicted terrorist and high profile antisemite Aafia Siddiqui. But then, why would I, as a practising Jew, wish to do such a thing? From the sheer absurdity of the proposition that I might have acted in the same way, we see that this is not what Hillel means.

The real question that I must ask myself is this. If I were to explore the secret recesses of my mind and delve deeply into my own heart, can I honestly say that there is no cause that would mean so much to me that I would be prepared to take hostages from people to whose fate I was indifferent, in order to secure an outcome in which I passionately believed to be just and which I thought I could bring about through my personal intervention?

I can honestly say that I would never wish to follow the path of terror and do what Malik Faisal Akram did. But that is not the issue. Hillel may be teaching us not only that we should be slow to judge others who fail to match our own standards, but that we should not rush to judge ourselves as being incapable of doing likewise.

Fire that the rain won't extinguish

As I watch the rain trickle down my window on this wet Jerusalem morning, I am reminded of the teaching in Pirkei Avot (5:7) that ten miracles enhanced our enjoyment of the Temple in times gone by. Number 5 in this list is this:

“The rains did not extinguish the wood-fire burning upon the altar’s woodpile.”

Miracle or no miracle? Water and fire are “opposites” in that they do not naturally share the same space. This is why the plague of hail, inflicted on Pharaoh and the Egyptians for refusing to release the Children of Israel from slavery, was miraculous (the Torah describes the hail as descending together with fire: Exodus 9:23-24).

But is this truly a miracle? Readers may have personal experiences of their own regarding bonfires and camp fires that have continued to burn notwithstanding the rain. They are not alone. The same phenomenon has been noted on a far larger scale too (see Jake Spring, “Rain will not extinguish Amazon fires for weeks, weather experts say,” Reuters, 27 August 2019, here).

Only if there is sustained and heavy rain will a well-established fire be at risk of being extinguished. The fire on the altar’s woodpile, being carefully prepared and dutifully tended, should therefore stand a good chance of surviving any given downpour. Be that as it may, the persistent survival of this fire in the two Temples for an aggregate of nearly a thousand years does rather suggest something more than chance or coincidence: this mishnah therefore attributes it to divine intervention.

There is surely a bigger message in this mishnah, and I would suggest that it is this.

The symbolism of fire and water in this miracle cannot be ignored. Some commentators have taken the Temple to be a metaphor for man, or even as an allegory of man’s relationship with God. Fire represents flaming desire, a passion in man’s heart: where those flames are kindled on the altar of man’s service to God, they cannot be extinguished.

A second explanation is founded on the symbolism of the word used here for wood, עץ (etz, “wood” or "tree"), together with that of גשמים (geshamim, “rains”). The etz here is an allusion to Torah, described as “a tree of life to those who grasp it,” (Proverbs 3:17) and the גשמים here allude to גשמיות (gashmi’ut, “materialism,” “non-spiritual matters”). Employing this symbolism, the dedicated student who lays himself out, as it were, on the altar of Torah will be ablaze with the fire of Torah, a fire that the waters of materialism and the pleasures of the physical world cannot extinguish.

This imagery is both powerful and attractive. However, even though it is accepted that learning Torah is something that requires divine assistance as well as human effort, some may be a little sad to think that, if a serious Torah student pursues his studies so enthusiastically that he cannot be derailed by the distractions of gashmi’ut, we should have to regard that as a miracle.

Virtual friends: where Avot meets Facebook

Though I have been an active user of the social media since 2002, it is only recently that I have gained any sort of meaningful experience of Facebook. The use of this platform is an obvious topic zone of application of the ancient principles of Pirkei Avot.

On my personal account I am currently receiving several requests a day to become a “friend” of people whom I have never met and of whom I have never heard. Many of these people have outlandish names, offer no meaningful information as to their identity and have no obvious point of connection with me. I’m an inherently friendly person and hate to say “no” to anyone, so how should I react?

Avot offers the following guidance:

• Do not judge any person only by their name or by the photograph that appears on their Facebook page (Avot 4:27);
  
  
• Recall that every person is created in God’s image (3:18) and that I should respect them if I expect them to demonstrate the same respect for me (4:1);
  
  
• Recall also that a person who is wise who can learn from everyone (4:1), so every fresh encounter with a stranger – even online – is an opportunity to improve myself;
  
  
• In the event that I should be required to form an opinion as to anyone's motives for wishing to be my friend, I should presume, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, that their motives are good (1:6);
  
  
• To be loved (or at any rate respected and liked) by others is one of the 48 things that lead to the acquisition of Torah (6:6);
  
  
• One should however distance oneself from someone who is wicked or who is a bad neighbour (1:7) and, while one should acquire for oneself a friend (1:6), one must recognise that the acquisition of a bad friend is a derech ra’ah (a “bad path”) that one should seek to avoid (2:14).

I am saddened to report that this guidance has not led to a meaningful expansion of my circle of friends. Many of those whom I have accepted as friends have plainly harboured motives of an unworthy nature. Apart from being offered the prospect of Nigerian gold in return for an unsecured loan, I have been pursued by people intent in extracting all sorts of personal information from me, and I have been targeted by people who clearly perceive me as being vulnerable to manipulation for their own purposes.

While I don’t like “unfriending” anyone, I have no compunction about doing so. However, I must admit that it hurts to do so, even though I have good grounds for suspecting that some of the people I’ve “unfriended” are not real people at all but carefully crafted personas that are designed to gain the confidence of the vulnerable.

Have reades of this weblog any thoughts to offer on this issue? If so, I’d love to hear from you.