Not in my name

This morning a friend of mine forwarded me a WhatsApp that he thought might interest me. The text, which appears to have been forwarded many times, is said to be a speech by Israel Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu. I gave it my close attention.

The content of the speech certainly matched the Prime Minister’s views. It also struck an appropriately defiant note, being in places an almost Churchillian rallying cry along the lines of “it’s us against the world and against all the odds—and we will triumph”. There were however some puzzling aspects to this piece of rhetoric.

The preface to the speech suggested that it had been freshly delivered. It however mentioned Israel’s victory in the Six Day War of 1967 as having happened 35 years ago. That would suggest it was delivered in 2002 when the Prime Minister was actually Ariel Sharon. Elsewhere the reference to the State of Israel—which was founded in 1948—as being 60 years old would suggest that this piece was composed in 2008, when the same office was held by Ehud Olmert.  Also puzzling was the style. Whatever one thinks of Netanyahu’s politics or his leadership, there is general consensus that the one thing he is very good at doing is making speeches in the English language. This one just didn’t read like one of his and, in my opinion, almost certainly isn’t.

The sixth and final chapter of Avot, at 6:6, contains a list of some 48 features that either define a Torah scholar or enable him to become one. The last of these is this:

הָאוֹמֵר דָּבָר בְּשֵׁם אוֹמְרוֹ

One who says something in the name of the person who [first] says it.

Compliance with this rule not only marks a person out as someone who pursues and upholds the principles of the Torah. It even, as 6:6 continues, assists in bringing redemption to the world.

Now if indeed this speech was composed by Prime Minister Netanyahu, it would be incumbent on anyone forwarding it to credit him as its author. But does this also impose a correlative requirement of NOT crediting a person as the author of something that he or she did NOT compose?

I have checked out a number of commentaries on Avot but have yet to find any that discuss this issue within the context of 6:6. I do however recall that false attribution of authorship has sometimes been permitted where it has been felt necessary to do so in order to achieve a greater good—for example to persuade the Jewish population at large to accept an undoubtedly correct halachic ruling which, if they heard it in the name of the original author, would carry considerably less weight in their eyes and might lead to it being ignored or rejected. If my memory serves me well, I think that Marc B. Shapiro lists some instances where this happened and gives chapter and verse in his book, Changing the Immutable.

Thoughts, anyone?

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"If not now, when...?": a mishnah expands

Last year the most frequently-cited teaching from Avot on the English-language social media was that of Hillel the Elder:

אִם אֵין אֲנִי לִי, מִי לִי, וּכְשֶׁאֲנִי לְעַצְמִי, מָה אֲנִי, וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁו, אֵימָתָי

“If I am not for myself, who is for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?” (Avot 1:14)

This teaching has always been well known in Jewish circles, and not only on account of its enigmatic nature and catchy words. Put to music, it has been joyously sung by chasidim and many composers and musicians, including such luminaries as Mordechai Ben David, Isaac Bitton, Benny Friedman and Shloime Gertner have given it their own personal treatment.

But this mishnah is known well beyond the concentric circles of Jewish culture.  It is known among non-Jews too, on account of the international success of a book, If Not Now, When (original Italian title Se Non Ora, Quando?) the prize-winning novel by Primo Levi. A studio album of the same name, released by Incubus in 2011 and loosely based on two of Hillel’s mishnayot from Avot, sold over 600,000 copies.

The mishnah has clearly spread in terms of public familiarity. It has also broadened the scope of its applicability.

The idea that Hillel is addressing himself as an individual is hard to deny. Of the 14 words in his three-part dictum, 5 of them are “I”, “me” or “myself”.  Both the Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi initially explain the mishnah in personal terms, almost as though Hillel is talking only about himself, but then allude to its wider application to humankind as a whole, a position endorsed by Rambam, Rabbenu Yonah and all subsequent commentators.

Can we take Hillel’s teaching further and apply it to corporate entities and even state actors?  I have been unable to find any commentary that answers this question but in principle it is hard to object to doing so. Individuals must balance their self-interest with the complementary or even conflicting interests of others; they must also act in good time—as many people who have made a late payment of tax have discovered. So too must local and national governments, businesses, schools, sports clubs and other collective bodies do likewise.

Writing in yesterday’s Jerusalem Post Eliot Penn does just that. His article,” Israel must take its security into its own hands”, opens as follows:

Hillel the Elder, the first-century sage, offered three insights for living as cited in the ancient book of rabbinic wisdom, Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers). The first two come as a pair: “If I am not for myself, who shall be for me? But if I am only for myself, what am I?”

Hillel’s first two maxims are often understood as directives to the individual to take personal responsibility for their life, balanced with concern for others. These astute ideas apply beyond individual living to fit the State of Israel quite well.

So far as I know, Eliot Penn is neither a scholar nor a sage, but I can think of no good reason why Hillel’s teaching should not apply to corporate entities as well as to individual ones. After all, the actions of collective and corporate bodies are all initiated by individuals. If Hillel’s teaching is addressed to each of them, surely it is fitting to address it to them as a whole.

If any reader knows of any commentary—traditional or otherwise—that has discussed this, can he or she please let me know?

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Eliot Penn’s article can be read in full here: https://www.jpost.com/opinion/article-782438

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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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"A lamb for each father's house"

The title of this post is taken from Shemot (Exodus) 12:2, being the English translation of the words שה לבית אבות which form part of this coming Shabbat’s Torah reading. It is also, with a minor adjustment, the title of a book that has just come into my possession: ש”ה לבית אבות (S”H Lebet Avot).

The author of this book is Rabbi Shalom Hedaya (hence the initials ש”ה/S”H) and it is a fairly lengthy small-print work on Pirkei Avot. Published in Jerusalem in 1986, it is unusual for several reasons.

• First, the text of each Mishnah and Baraita is accompanied by hashe’elot (“the questions”) as well as a bi’ur (“explanation”).
• Secondly, this book does not appear on any of the lists of his writings that accompany his online biographies.
• Thirdly, it contains a portrait photograph of the author which shows him holding a cane in his right hand; the identical photograph appears elsewhere in reverse, with him holding the cane in his left hand (see illustrations below). Since R’ Hedaya was a mystic, I wonder whether this has any kabbalistic significance.

I found this book in a pile of discarded publications that one of the synagogues had left out in the open air, next to the Nachlaot shemot bin. Judging by its condition it has been read many times. IHad I not rescued it, last night’s rains would have ruined it.

Do any readers know of this work? I have never seen anyone make any reference to it. This may be because, like many late twentieth century commentaries on Avot, it only had a small print run and never reached a readership beyond the Rabbi’s friends and flock. It may also be because of its content. Rabbi Hedaya was not merely a scholar and a dayan: he was also a Kabbalist. If this commentary is rich in Kabbalah, it may inaccessible or at least hard-to-comprehend for those of us whose contact with Kabbalah has been brief or cursory.

I’m going to have a go at reading this commentary and will report on what I find. Meanwhile, if any reader can tell me more about the book and its illustrious author, I shall be very grateful.

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Is this why your pet hates your friend?

Many cat- and dog-owners have wondered why it is that their domestic pet sometimes takes an apparently irrational dislike to of your friends or family members. You find yourself wondering what was the problem: was the human in question using the wrong deodorant, or did that person give your animal a surreptitious swipe when you weren’t looking? Or is there more to it?

One person who clearly has no doubt as to the cause is Rabbi Yisrael of Kozhnitz.

At Avot 4:5 R’ Yochanan ben Beroka teaches this:

כָּל הַמְחַלֵּל שֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם בַּסֵּֽתֶר, נִפְרָעִין מִמֶּֽנּוּ בְּגָלוּי, אֶחָד שׁוֹגֵג וְאֶחָד מֵזִיד בְּחִלּוּל הַשֵּׁם

Everyone who desecrates the Divine Name in secret is punished in public. When it comes to desecration of the Name, it’s the same thing whether one does it negligently or deliberately.

Why are wrongful acts a desecration of God’ name if they are done in secret? No-one else knows about them. Or do they? In his Ahavat Yisrael, R’ Yisrael suggests that a Heavenly Voice proclaims that a desecration of God’s name has been committed.

There’s an obvious problem with this suggestion. If this Heavenly proclamation does take place, how come we never hear it. R’ Yisrael has an answer. The Heavenly Voice is actually silent, which is why we don’t hear it. It’s a heart-to-heart communication which we intuit through our feelings. Since it’s not a verbalized statement it can be both perceived and comprehended not just by us humans—if we are sufficiently receptive and sensitive—but by animals too.

Is this why your dog becomes aggressive or frightened when certain visitors turn up, and why your cat warmly welcomes some friends but keeps a frosty distance from others? There is no hard proof to demonstrate that this is so, and anecdotal evidence of instances where this has apparently happened can generally be explained by other means. Though, while stories of sapient animals discerning the good from the bad are the stuff of which much good fiction has been made, Jewish tradition is broad enough to embrace them: thus we learn how the donkeys of R’ Chanina ben Dosa and R’ Pinchas ben Yair refuse to eat food that had not been tithed or which had been stolen by their new owners (Avot deRabbi Natan 8:8; Bereshit Rabbah 60:8).

Perhaps the real message of R’ Yisrael’s understanding has nothing to do with Heavenly Voices at all. The point he seeks to make is that we should be more sensitive to the activities of our fellow humans and not ignore any warning signs and misgivings we may have about their honesty and probity. If this is so, we face the challenge of synthesizing it with Avot 1:6, which demands of us that we should judge others on the basis of their merits and give them the benefit of the doubt.

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Avot Today: how did we do in 2023?

Now that we have eased ourselves into 2024, it’s time to take a brief look at the year we’ve left behind.

Avot Today comes in two formats: a Facebook Group and the Avot Today blog. All the posts on Pirkei Avot that appear on the blog are posted on the Facebook Group too, so you can keep up with them whichever way you want. The differences between them are that

·     Readers’ responses, comments and discussions are found on the Facebook Group;

·         The blog is a useful research resource. Its content can be searched by subject (there’s a lengthy index of topics in the right-hand column of the page) and by word (the word search box is in the top left-hand corner of the title bar).

The Facebook Group now has 302 members, and we are adding them at the rate of maybe five or six a month. The blog doesn’t have members as such, but our counter shows us that its posts have been visited more than 41,000 times since we started posting in mid-2000.

There’s a lot of material on Avot Today now. In 2023 we posted a total of 139 separate items: that’s more than ten per month. There are now well over 500 Avot-related items, most of which directly address the relevance of Avot in contemporary society and culture.

Here are the most popular Facebook Group posts on Avot Today last year:

1.       Was Shakespeare Jewish and is there Proof in Pirkei Avot? We look at current suggestions that Pirkei Avot provides clues as to the Bard’s religious affiliation—and dismiss them (290 views).

2.       Pirkei Avot and the Museum of Cultural Curiosities. Picking up on a quote from Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks’ controversial The Dignity of Difference, we discuss contemporary reluctance to study Jewish ethics. Has Pirkei Avot gone out of fashion? (219 views).

3.       For Torah’s Sake. We are supposed to learn Torah lishmah, for its own sake. For those with the love of Torah and an aptitude for study, this is a pleasure rather than a challenge—but what, if any, is the entry-level standard by which one can measure Torah for Torah’s sake? (184 views).

4.       Beyond Understanding. Hilel teaches us not to say things that can’t be understood if the intention is that they should be. Where does that leave us with the recitation of Kinot on Tisha b’Av, some of which are nearly unintelligible?  (184 views).

5.       Rambam on Humility: Has this Message Timed Out? Everyone agrees with the position Avot takes on the importance of humility—but do modern notions of humility match the bizarre example Rambam gives? (178 visits).

6.       The Case of the Pious Prankster. What is the message of Avot for well-meaning and genuinely committed members of the Jewish community who enjoy playing the occasional practical joke on their friends? (163 views).

AND WHAT ABOUT 2024?

Of the 139 items posted to Avot Today last year, only four came from authors other than me. I’m sad about this because I believe that other voices and other opinions on Jewish moral and ethical issues should be heard in addition to my own. If you would like to write short pieces on Pirkei Avot for Avot Today, or if you are just waiting for a little encouragement or persuasion before you do so, please get in touch with me!

In similar vein, while readers’ comments are greatly appreciated, we would love to hear from a wider audience. We are very much dependent on a relatively small number of readers who take the time to share their thoughts and occasionally to correct or debunk my own. If you read something that makes you want to respond, don’t wait till that urge subsides. Act on it and let us know what’s on your mind.

Another way readers can help is by sharing more Avot Today posts. This helps to spread the word and to emphasise the importance of The Ethics of the Fathers in Jewish life and thought today.

Avot Today is not just for my amusement (even though I do enjoy running it). It’s for everyone who cares about how Jewish people behave in the real world today, a world in which Jewish values and ideals are increasingly under threat.  If you truly care about Jewish values, supporting Avot Today is one of many ways in which you can show it. Thanks!

Naughty to be haughty

Our previous post focused on the concept of achdut (unity, togetherness), asking why the word does not appear in Pirkei Avot. But it's not the only thing that is ostensibly missing.

Jewish tradition makes no secret of the fact that we should be humble, not haughty. גאוה (ga’avah, “haughtiness”, “arrogance”, “pride”, “conceit”) seemingly has virtually no place at all in the repertoire of acceptable Jewish behavioural characteristics.

Essentially, there is no excuse for puffing ourselves up with airs and graces. In recent years rabbis, notably R’ Chaim Friedlander (Siftei Chaim: Middot veAvodat Hashem) and R’ Shalom Noach Berezovky (Netivot Shalom) have repeatedly hammered home the dangers of cultivating this undesirable personal quality, which is as repugnant to God as it is to ourselves. As the Talmud teaches us:

R' Hisda said, and according to another version it was Mar Ukva: Every man in whom is haughtiness of spirit, the Holy One, blessed be He, declares, I and he cannot both dwell in the world; as it is said: Whoever privately slanders his neighbour, him will I destroy; he who has a haughty high look and a proud heart I will not tolerate:— read not “he” [I will not tolerate], but “with him” I cannot [dwell] (Sotah 5a).

So why does ga’avah go unmentioned in Pirkei Avot? If we dip beneath the surface of the words of Avot we find that the concept is not ignored.

In the first place, the Tannaim take a positive stance. Rather than discourage arrogance and pride, they encourage humility. Since it is not in practice possible for a person to be characterized both as humble and as arrogant, the endorsement of the one automatically entails the rejection of the other.

Secondly, commentators on Avot throughout the ages have used the language of Avot in order to condemn arrogance.  The Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi both take the opportunity to warn against ga’avah in the context of Avot 4:4 (where R’ Levitas Ish Yavneh urges people to be extremely humble), as do the Rambam, Rabbenu Yonah, the Meiri, the Abarbanel and R’ Chaim Volozhiner. There are other opportunities to preach against ga’avah elsewhere in Avot. For example the Maharam Shik uses Avot 5:1 as a peg upon which to hang his comments about God creating the world with 10 utterances rather than a single one: by not showing off, as it were, God is demonstrating His own form of modesty or humility, setting an example that we too should emulate by avoiding ga’avah when we contemplate our own achievements.

None of this explains why none of the teachings of the Tannaim and Amoraim found in Avot mention the g-word. Possibly Rebbi, when redacting the tractate, considered that the subject had already been sufficiently covered by the mishnayot and baraitot on humility. If anyone has a better explanation, I do hope that they come forward and share it.

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Sticking together: can it be too much of a good thing?

Much has been made of the remarkable degree of achdut, unity or togetherness, that we the Jewish people have experienced over the past three months, both in Israel and in the diaspora, in the face of the terrible threats and problems we still face. It has been exciting to feel this degree of togetherness, love and respect for each other. It has also been a big surprise. Why is this so?

Whether through nature, nurture or both, we Jews have a track record for arguing with one another, for fighting between ourselves and for going our own way which stretches back for millennia. Even having no-one around to fall out with is no bar to our capability to pick a fight and to assert how different we are from one another. Witness the tale, which we have all heard countless times but nonetheless persist in telling, about the Jew who, stranded on a desert island, builds himself two synagogues: one to pray in and the other in which he wouldn’t be seen dead.

This fissiparous streak in the Jewish character has so long been seen as a flaw, rather than a virtue, that it is surprising that Pirkei Avot has relatively little to say about putting it right. The word achdut appears nowherel in the tractate and, where cooperating with others is advocated, Avot points to doing so on a personal basis rather than as a nation. Thus we are counselled to have a rabbi or teacher (1:6, 16), to acquire a friend (1:6) and to stick with one’s friends as a means of preserving one’s Torah knowledge (4:18). To the contrary effect we are warned to distance ourselves from bad neighbours and not to join up with the wicked (1:7).

Perhaps the cautious attitude of the oral tradition reflected in Avot reflects a certain ambivalence elsewhere in Jewish thought. Thus, in the Torah, the first time we encounter true achdut, with humans joined in a single cause, God clearly disapproves of it because He takes steps to dissolve it. This is the account of the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11:1-9), where the whole earth was “of one language and one common purpose”.  If God’s response was triggered by His disapproval of the illegitimacy of humankind’s aims at that point, we may wonder at the message conveyed by Midrash that Ahab was victorious in his battles despite the fact that he was leading a nation of idolators. Why? Because of their achdut in never speaking a bad word against each other (Devarim Rabbah 5:6).  

Between these two instances we have a pair of similar but contrasting midrashic explanations of achdut, both addressed to the use in the Torah of a singular verb form with a collective noun. The first, brought by Rashi to Exodus 14:10, describes the Egyptians who were marching after the fleeing Israelite slaves as being belev echad ke’ish echad (With one heart, like one person”).  The second, also brought by Rashi but this time at Exodus 19:2, cites the nascent nation of Israel, camped at Sinai, as being ke’ish echad belev echad, “like a single person with a single heart”.  Again, there are contrasting outcomes to the achdut: Egypt was punished with ignominious defeat while Israel was rewarded by the gift of God’s own Torah.

Should we then stick together and preserve achdut at all costs? Again there is no clear consensus. No, says Rambam. If a community strays from the path of proper religious observance and cannot be brought back into line, it is preferable to go off and live by oneself in a cave rather than to remain with it. Yes, says R’ Eliezer Papo, the Pele Yo’etz. Stick with your fellows, however wrong-headed they may be, for the value of achdut is greater than that of keeping the mitzvot: witness the contrasting punishments received for the events leading to the destruction of the First and Second Temples.

Prima facie, Avot would seem to favour the approach of the Pele Yo’etz. Hillel the Elder teaches (2:5) al tifrosh min hatzibur, “Do not separate from the community”. However, if the tractate has already urged us at 1:7 to distance ourselves from a single bad neighbour, how much more should we distance ourselves from a community made up entirely of the wicked.

Perhaps there is another way of looking at the inherent conflict between our traditions. It is often said that the word צִּבּוּר, tzibur, is made up of the Hebrew letters צּ-ב-ר, these being the first letters of the words tzaddikim, benonim, resho’im (“the righteous, the ordinary person and the wicked”). Where the community is made up of the righteous, the ordinary person and the wicked, that’s when you should remain with it. But when it consists of the wicked alone—the classic Torah example being the cities of Sodom and Gemorrah—it is no longer a tzibur and Hillel’s teaching no longer applies. One is therefore not only allowed to leave it but can be compelled to do so.

Illustration by Frits Ahlefeldt

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Using a mishnah as a springboard

Traditional commentaries on Avot, however greatly they differed from one another, were directed towards a common goal: explaining the meaning of the mishnayot and baraitot and, in consequence, giving us an insight into what their authors were trying to teach us. Nowadays that approach is probably the exception rather than the rule, as commentators increasingly focus on adding value to Avot’s teachings by relating them to contemporary social, cultural and political trends and developments.

Following the advent of chassidut we find a further way of treating Avot. Rather than looking for the initial meaning of a teaching or examining its scope of application, its content may also be treated as a springboard from which to reach or enrich a further and unrelated point, in much the same way as aggadic teachings may be founded on a verse from Tanach that has nothing at all to do with them.

Here are two examples from the Avodat Yisrael of the Kozhnitzer Maggid (1740-1814).

In Avot 4:1 Ben Azzai says:

אַל תְּהִי בָז לְכָל אָדָם וְאַל תְּהִי מַפְלִיג לְכָל דָּבָר, שֶׁאֵין לָךְ אָדָם שֶׁאֵין לוֹ שָׁעָה, וְאֵין לָךְ דָּבָר שֶׁאֵין לוֹ מָקוֹם

Do not scorn any person, and do not discount anything. For there is no person who has not his hour, and nothing that has not its place.

The Avodat Yisrael picks up on the word שָׁעָה, “hour”, and comments that there is no-one so low, so ignorant or so wicked that he does not have his moment before God, when he can pray before Him and even serve Him. Also, using the letters of the word שָׁעָה, he cites a verse from the story of Cain and Abel:

וְאֶל-קַיִן וְאֶל-מִנְחָתוֹ לֹא שָׁעָה

But to Cain and to his offering He [i.e. God] did not turn.

From this, the Avodat Yisrael infers that every person has the opportunity and the free will to repent because the Holy Spirit rests upon them.

In both these teachings, the Maggid reframes the mishnah by taking it from the context of interpersonal relationships and placing it in the context of man-and-God. It is improbable that Ben Azzai intended this. After all, why would anyone scorn or despise a fellow human being for having the chance to pray to God and repent?

On the one hand, a purist may object that this sort of use of Avot is a distortion of its original intent. Against that, it adds extra force to these teachings and makes them more memorable. I believe that, on balance, we have much to gain by using Avot in this way, so long as we never lose sight of the foundational meaning.

What do you think?

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When hatred has nothing to do with hating

Pirkei Avot has plenty to say about love, respect and kindness to others. In contrast, through the entire tractate, the word sina, “hate”, is mentioned only once when Shamayah says (at 1:10):

אֱהוֹב אֶת הַמְּלָאכָה וּשְׂנָא אֶת הָרַבָּנוּת, וְאַל תִּתְוַדַּע לָרָשׁוּת

“Love work, hate mastery over others, and avoid intimacy with the government”.

What does the verb sina mean? English translations offer us several synonyms:

·         Abhor (R’ Eliyahu Touger);

·         Despise (ArtScroll Publications; R’ Yaakov Hillel; R’ Avie Gold and R’ Nahun Spirn).

·         Hate (Hirsch Pirkei Avos; Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth; R’ Lord Jonathan Sacks; R’ Chanoch Levi; R. Travers Herford).

·         Loathe (chabad.org; Me’am Lo’ez).

Commentators are unanimous in their conclusion that this sinah is to be directed at the holding of office as such, not at those people who hold it. There are other mishnayot that deal with them: in short, we should pray for the welfare of the government (3:2) but should remain cautious when it comes to dealing with those who hold the reins of power (2:3).

R’ Anthony Manning challenges the assumption that sinah means hatred or indeed any of the words listed above. In Reclaiming Dignity, pp 261-3, he argues forcefully that the word has been misconstrued. It does not indicate hate; rather, it means “rejection”.

R’ Manning bases his case on the mitzvah of lo tisna (Leviticus 91:17). Usually rendered “You must not hate your brother in your heart”, it really means that you must not reject him. In Tanach it is not sinah that means hate but sitmah. On this basis, we understand that God did not view Leah as being “hated” as much as rejected—Jacob’s second-best option (Genesis 29:31).

If sina in Shamayah’s mishnah means “reject”, we see that his teaching dovetails neatly with that of R’ Nechunya ben Hakanah at Avot 3:6. There he explains that there is a negative correlation between taking up civic and governmental responsibilities and learning Torah, the implication being that one should reject positions of authority if one wishes to enhance one’s Torah commitment.

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Hitting the mark, missing the point

I’ve just heard about a new book, Ethics of Our Fighters: Judaism and the moral challenges of warfare, by Rabbi Shlomo Brody. Neville Teller, reviewing it for the Jerusalem Post, has this to say about it:

Ethics of Our Fighters has as its background the Jewish reaction to being confronted with the moral challenges of warfare.

In Ethics of Our Fighters, Rabbi Shlomo Brody has produced a deeply considered analysis, based upon a profound understanding of the principles underlying Judaism and Jewish thought, regarding the ethical dilemmas posed by the sometimes unavoidable need to engage in warfare. Never was the title of a book more apt or more descriptive of its contents. 

Its conclusions, however, are far from confined to people engaged in defending Israel or the Jewish people. Like so much of the civilized world’s view of morality, emanating as it does from the Torah and associated Jewish thinking, they are universally applicable.

He then adds the following:

The title … is an adaptation of “Ethics of the Fathers,” the English title of Pirkei Avot, the famous collection of ethical principles uttered by the leading rabbis whose legal and related opinions appear in the Talmud. Pirkei Avot’s six chapters of ethical and moral pronouncements are included in the daily prayer book. Replete with the wisest of wise counsel as they are, Brody points out that Pirkei Avot has nonetheless nothing at all to say about the ethics of warfare or the moral and ethical principles that should be followed in times of conflict.

The reason is not difficult to deduce. For centuries after the Roman era, the scattered Jewish people simply did not engage in military matters. The long lacuna came to an end just over 100 years ago, when Jews were caught up in World War I and fought on both sides, according to the countries in which they lived. Then, starting in the 1920s, in their ancient homeland of Israel, known then as British Mandate Palestine, Jewish fighters found themselves in armed conflict with local Arabs who were intent on preventing the League of Nations mandated establishment of a “national home for the Jewish people.”

I am reluctant to accept that “Pirkei Avot has … nothing at all to say about the ethics of warfare or the moral and ethical principles that should be followed in times of conflict”. That misses the point. Pirkei Avot was not compiled as a warriors’ manual. But this does not mean that nothing our sages taught in that tractate is relevant to wartime, even today. That’s why I recently posted six pieces on Avot Today that dealt with what Avot had to say about dealing with death and bereavement, jumping to conclusions regarding apparent non-combatants, keeping one’s temper at times of stress, prayer at times of war and while in combat, celebrating victory, and postwar reconstruction.

Leaving quibbles about the author’s opinions aside, I’m intrigued by this book and its approach to Jewish ethical issues—and when I’ve got hold of a copy and read it for myself, I shall share my thoughts on it with Avot Today readers. If anyone reading this post has already seen the book, I do hope that they will share their thoughts on it too.

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If you must be angry, do it properly

To ram home the message that we should all be meek and gentle rather than tetchy and irritable, many people like to quote from the Gemara (Shabbat 30b) :

תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: לְעוֹלָם יְהֵא אָדָם עַנְוְותָן כְּהִלֵּל וְאַל יְהֵא קַפְּדָן כְּשַׁמַּאי

Our Rabbis taught: A man should always be an anvetan like Hillel, and not a kapdan like Shammai.

Anvetan is usually rendered “gentle”, “humble”, “forbearing” or “patient”, while kapdan is usually rendered “hot-tempered”, “angry”, “irritable” or “Impatient”.  From this it is assumed that Hillel was all sweetness and light while Shammai was a bit of a grumpus. As if to fortify this impression, the Gemara goes on to give three case histories involving applicants for conversion to Judaism. Each receives short shrift from Shammai but is then welcomed by Hillel.

Can these characterisations be accurate? After all, it is from Shammai that we learn (Avot 1:15) to greet everyone with a happy, smiling face. These don’t read like the words of a man with an antisocial bent.

According to Rav Kook (cited by R’ Chaim Druckman, Avot leBanim) this traditional understanding of the Gemara is wrong. So how should we learn it?

We should start from the premise that both Hillel and Shammai have important lessons to impart to us. Hillel demonstrates to us the correct way to be an anvetan, and there are many stories in which we see examples of this quality. Shammai, who like Hillel is an individual with outstanding personal qualities, shows us the correct way to be a kapdan. From our literature we learn of the circumstances in which, acting as a kapdan, he either defends the honour of the Torah or tests the resolve of an applicant for conversion. He certainly doesn’t blow his top for the sake of personal gratification or in consequence of any loss of self-control.

What then is the Gemara teaching? If you are to act the anvetan, follow the example of Hillel. If you are to act as a kapdan, follow the example of Shammai. And if you have a choice—as we all do in our relations with our fellow humans—to be either an anvetan or a kapdan, we should choose to be the former.

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What sort of peace?

The importance of shalom (“peace”) within Jewish thought is paramount. Pleas for peace conclude the standard prayer format that practising Jews recite daily; God’s capacity to deliver peace is also affirmed at the end of the blessings that follow a meal and the priestly blessings that Kohanim confer on their congregations. It is hardly surprising, then, that peace occupies a prominent place in Pirkei Avot too.

In the first chapter of Avot, Hillel (1:12) urges us to emulate the followers of Aaron, to love peace and pursue it. His descendant Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel (1:18) goes as far as to say that, along with truth and justice, peace is one of the three things that enable the world to continue to function.

Later teachings in Avot elaborate on the theme of peace in various ways. Peace increases in direct proportion to the giving of charity (Hillel at 2:8). It is a bulwark against civil anarchy (R’ Chanina segan HaKohanim, 3:2). Setting others on to the path of peace is one of the 48 measures relating to acquisition of Torah (6:6). Other mishnayot imply the value of peace without explicitly mentioning it. But nowhere in Avot is the meaning of shalom explained.

Briefly we can point to three different species of peace: (i) peace between nations or communities, (ii) peace between individuals and (iii) inner peace that a person experiences within him- or herself.

Peace, in Avot, must surely mean something other than the absence of large-scale hostilities. Likewise, references to peace in Avot do not fit the notion of some sort of private spiritual inner peace or tranquility.  This is because the tractate is primarily concerned with human relationships and interpersonal conduct.

My feeling is that the shalom that the authors of Avot had in mind is a sort of freedom, a state in which people can live good lives in accordance with their duties, responsibilities and beliefs without suffering from the social friction that irritates, then angers people, leading to dispute. This is the sort of peace to which the Torah alludes (Bereshit 37:5) when it describes the relationship of Joseph with his brothers who hated him for being his father’s favourite. The brothers wanted him out of their lives and recognized that they would not have peace until they had got him out of their hair, so to speak.

The Torah does not tell us whether either Joseph or his father Jacob were ever aware of the brothers’ disquiet. From the fact that Joseph, having told them one dream that upset them, went on to tell them another of the same ilk, it rather seems that he was impervious to their feelings. This unhappy domestic situation would have been ripe for the intervention of an Aaron, the pursuer of peace. Aaron, serving in his midrashic role as an empathetic go-between, might well have been able to shine the light of each side upon the other and brokered a lasting peace. But Aaron was not yet born and the interstitial wisdom of Avot which was to bond the fabric of the written Torah, had yet to be consolidated and compiled.

In these days of hostility and open threat, may we experience peace in our own lives—both in a global sense and in our own quiet small lives as ordinary human beings.

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Managing other people's anger

What does Pirkei Avot have to say about anger management? Anger is a normal human reaction and we are all humans so, while anger is not prohibited, we are praised for being slow to anger and swift to calm down again (Avot 5:14). It’s also a good idea not to engage as a teacher anyone who gets angry with students or pupils (Avot 2:6).  A further teaching, at Avot 4:23, has recently found its way into a Times of Israel blogpost on account of its topicality. There, among other things, R’ Shimon ben Elazar tells us:

אַל תְּרַצֶּה אֶת חֲבֵרֶֽךָ בְּשַֽׁעַת כַּעֲסוֹ

“Do not appease your friend at the height of his anger”.

In her article, “Liz’s Legacy”, Ariella Cohen comments on the recent debacle when the heads of three of the most prestigious universities in the United States—Harvard, MIT and Penn—testified at a Congressional hearing to the effect that a context-appropriate call for genocide against the Jews would be tolerated on their campuses. Penn head Liz Magill subsequently sought to apologise for her statement and later resigned. In the course of her blogpost Cohen comments:

After the Congressional hearing, I was more upset by Liz Magill’s attempted apology than by her original remarks. Some things cannot be apologized for. Especially not while the wound is raw. You cannot emotionally rip somebody (or group of people) apart and then tell them the next day that you didn’t actually mean it. Or rather you can, but it’s completely unacceptable. We know from Pirkei Avot 4:23 that Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar teaches: “Do not appease your friend in the time of his anger…” I don’t think Liz regularly reads through Pirkei Avot, so she is probably not familiar with this teaching. But it is an extremely smart and poignant one which she violated. Trying to calm someone (or in this case, Jews all over the world) immediately after severely affronting them on a national level is ill-advised.

Avot Today has already commented on the concept of context and is not revisiting the issue here. The question now before us is whether Cohen is right to apply this mishnah from Avot. While I am in agreement with the general content and thrust of her article, I would respectfully question whether she is taking R’ Shimon ben Elazar’s teaching further than it actually goes.

First, let us consider who is being appeased. The mishnah as it stands does not differentiate between appeasing a friend (i.e. anyone at all) you have angered and someone who has been angered by something from outside your relationship with your friend. The Me’am Lo’ez assumes that it refers to placating a person you have personally angered, while the Sforno’s commentary appears to imply the opposite and the Ru’ach HaChaim makes it refer to appeasing God. In all cases, however, the mishnah presupposes some sort of direct and immediate relationship between the would-be appeaser and the one who is angry. Having the angry person in sight, in the words of R’ Yitzchak Greenberg (Sage Advice), enables the would-be appeaser to gauge whether the latter has used up all his anger before seeking to calm him down; it is only then that he will likely be amenable to reason and/or to any soothing speech. This is clearly not the case when the cause of the anger is a public statement that goes viral and angers many millions of people, spread over five continents, who are almost entirely unknown to the speaker and unreachable in terms of human contact.

Secondly we should ask whether, in the case of a public statement of this nature, one should delay at all before issuing an apology or retraction. The feelings of 16 million Jews are only one factor to be considered. Failure to implement an immediate damage limitation exercise runs the risk that others will publicly approve the offensive words and cite them as a respectable authority for the extermination of the world’s Jewish population. Others again may feel emboldened to commit acts of violence against Jews and vandalism against their property. If there is even the smallest risk of such an outcome, no time should be lost in waiting for the world’s Jews to stop being angry.

The last word goes to Rambam. In his commentary on Avot he says simply that a person should not make statements except in a situation where they will have an effect. This is ultimately a judgement call that each individual must make for himself. In my view, Liz Magill was wrong to say what she did, but right to apologise sooner rather than later. What a shame it is that her words of apology did not sound more convincing.

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"What's yours is yours", or Is Esau a Chasid after all?

A pleasingly symmetrical anonymous mishnah (Avot 5:13) reviews attitudes towards the distribution of personal wealth in the following manner:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בָּאָדָם: הָאוֹמֵר שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלִּי וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלָּךְ, זוֹ מִדָּה בֵינוֹנִית, וְיֵשׁ אוֹמְרִים זוֹ מִדַּת סְדוֹם. שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלָּךְ וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלִּי, עַם הָאָֽרֶץ. שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלָּךְ וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלָּךְ, חָסִיד. שֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלִּי וְשֶׁלִּי שֶׁלִּי, רָשָׁע

There are four types of people: One who says: "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is yours" — this is an average sort of person; others say that this is the character of a Sodomite. One who says: "What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine" is an am ha’aretz [impossible to translate, but essentially someone who doesn’t know better and doesn’t really care]. One who says: "What is mine is yours, and what is yours is yours" is a chasid (literally , “pious person”). And one who says: "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is mine" is wicked.

At Genesis 33:9 Esau, who has been offered some generous gifts by Jacob, responds with the following words:

יֶשׁ לִי רָב אָחִי יְהִי לְךָ אֲשֶׁר לָךְ

“I have enough; my brother, let that which you have be yours”.

These words, spoken more a millennium before the compilation of the Mishnah, appear to resonate with our definition here of a chasid and this leads us to ask: does Esau, who receives a bad press from the Bible and an even worse press from most aggadic commentaries, actually qualify as a chasid under Avot 5:13?

In his words to his junior twin, Esau acknowledges that Jacob is entitled to his own property. We also know that two things that by right are originally Esau’s—his birthright and his blessing from their father Isaac—do indeed now belong to Jacob. Midrash corroborates this by teachings that Esau was here confirming Jacob’s formerly shaky entitlement to those two contentious items (Bereshit Rabbah 78:11; also Yalkut Shimoni).

This is where readers of Avot Today can help me.

I have not yet spotted any commentators on the Torah who have referred to this mishnah on Avot in their commentaries on Genesis 33:9. Nor have I yet laid my hands on any commentaries on Avot that make reference to Esau’s words in their discussions of Avot 5:13. I’m surprised, given the similarity of Esau’s words to those chosen by the author of our mishnah, that more has not been made of this point.

Have I missed anything obvious?

I should add that I’m not suggesting that Esau is an out-and-out five-star chasid. But maybe there is a hidden clue here that adds to the merits which led to his head being midrashically buried in the Cave of Machpelah. It also occurred to me that, in Chasidic writings, notably those of the Noam Elimelech, it seems to be understood that tzaddikim—the righteous—exist at various levels, ranging from near saints at the top of the scale, down to those who are barely over 50% righteous. Perhaps the same can be said of the chasid. 

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