Happy new year, you beast!

Right now we are pretty well half way through the year, being more or less equidistant from the previous Rosh Hashanah and the next one. Our thoughts are therefore likely to be quite distant from issues of teshuvah (repentance) and divine judgement—so what better time can there be to post a short note on the Jewish New Year as viewed through the refracting lens of Pirkei Avot?

As is well known, Rosh Hashanah marks the start of a holiday season that lasts some three weeks—but it’s only the new year for humans. Trees have their own New Year. And so do animals (Rosh Hashanah 1.1).

Strictly speaking, the new year for animals is the date that marks the end of each year’s tithing process. When calculating how many animals are to be tithed and given to the Kohanim, any animal born on or after the first day of the month of Elul is added to the total for the year that follows it.  

The Kozhnitzer Maggid makes an acute comment about this in his commentary to Avot 5:10, a mishnah that deals with failure to tithe one’s produce. The new year for humans falls on the first day of Tishrei, a month after the new year for animals. We are taught to prepare for Rosh Hashanah from 1 Elul by examining our deeds, repenting our misdeeds and generally seeking out God where He may be found.  As explained by R’ Shneur Zalman of Liadi, Elul is the month where God is analogized to the King who leaves his palace and goes out into the field, where he makes himself accessible to his subjects and seeks to meet them.

Says the Kozhnitzer Maggid, even if we have lived the rest of our year as animals, when we reach 1 Elul—the new year for animals—we should make the effort to raise our game, repent and spend the month in fear of God before we get to the human new year, which is also known as Yom HaDin, the Day of Judgment.

One need hardly add that the message of God coming out into the fields is particularly apt if during the year we have been no better than animals, for it is in the fields that they might be expected to be found.

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The face of the leopard

There are plenty of creatures in Avot: lions, foxes, snakes, scorpions, eagles, deer and three different species of worm. There is also the leopard, who features in the first part of Yehudah ben Teyma’s teaching at Avot 5:23:

הֱוֵי עַז כַּנָּמֵר, וְקַל כַּנֶּֽשֶׁר, רָץ כַּצְּבִי, וְגִבּוֹר כָּאֲרִי, לַעֲשׂוֹת רְצוֹן אָבִֽיךָ שֶׁבַּשָּׁמָֽיִם. הוּא הָיָה אוֹמֵר: עַז פָּנִים לְגֵיהִנֹּם, וּבֽוֹשֶׁת פָּנִים לְגַן עֵֽדֶן. יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנֶֽיךָ, יְיָ אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ וֵאלֹהֵי אֲבוֹתֵֽינוּ, שֶׁיִּבָּנֶה בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ בִּמְהֵרָה בְיָמֵֽינוּ, וְתֵן חֶלְקֵֽנוּ בְּתוֹרָתֶֽךָ

Be as brazen as a leopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer and mighty as a lion to do the will of your Father in Heaven.

The sentiment is fine: we should use our physical and mental resources for the service of God. But what is this business about being עַז (az), brazen? Unlike the other three attributes, which all have positive aspects to them, brazenness is usually regarded as a bad thing. Indeed, later in the same mishnah Yehudah ben Teyma observes that the brazen-faced go to Gehinnom, which is not a great place to be.

There is in reality no contradiction. People who are brazen are bad news—but people who can assume a mask of brazenness for a good purpose are demonstrating a noble quality that we should emulate.

What is it that we should stand brazenly against? There are many answers. Here are just a few.

The Sforno tells us to aim our עַז at sinners. If they ignore you the first or second time, don’t take no for an answer: just keep plugging away at them.

The Commentary attributed to Rashi reads the mishnah in the context of Torah learning: do not be timid about asking a question in order to understand something that has escaped you so far. It’s quite natural to hold back from asking a question in front of other students in case it reveals an even greater deficiency in one’s understanding, but that tendency has to be overcome. R’ Liepman Philip Prins, following the lead of the Alshich, extends this so as to apply to any mitzvah that might cause people to laugh or stare.

For the Kozhnitzer Maggid, the thing a person must brazenly face down is his or her own past, whenever it comes back to embarrass or haunt them. Someone who is on a path of teshuvah or repenting a particular wrong may have their past literally blow up in their face when having to taunts like “you came and ate happily in my house last year, so why won’t you do so now?” or “you can’t really object to doing X or Y because that’s how your parents brought you up—so why change now?” In response to such comments, it’s best to carry on brazenly doing one’s new thing and not to reply to jibes and taunts.   

What does all this have to do with the brazenness of the leopard? This splendidly handsome creature is the large cat with which humans throughout the ages have had the most contact. This is because it does not wait for its dinner to be delivered but actively searches for wherever the best food is most easily found—and that is where the flocks of sheep and herds of goats and cattle are.  Agile climbers and ruthless predators, they brazenly invade areas of human habitation when other large cats do not. And cats, unlike dogs, cannot be made to demonstrate real or apparent guilt or remorse for their actions.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

As an aside, some commentators prefer to render עַז as “bold” rather than “brazen”. Thus the Meiri regards this Mishnah as teaching that one should be bold in expending one’s strength in God’s service.

Also, “brazenness” has been regarded as a quality that is felt internally and which comes out in one’s conduct rather than one’s appearance since it is important to maintain a meek and bashful manner when dealing with others (Ruach Chaim). This explanation does not sit well with that of the Bartenura, who holds that it is specifically in the face that brazenness is shown.

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Faith in whom?

Every so often I receive a short piece from Avot Today Facebook group member Jonathan Frey. Here’s the latest:

We may have had some tough breaks in life, but at the end of the day Hashem has recreated us every morning in order for us to appreciate that very fact and give thanks to Him for that fact alone—if for nothing else.

 

We all have our individual challenges, but Hashem doesn't make it so hard that we can't triumph. After all, the challenges come from Him himself and are designed to enable you to grow in spirituality if you make the correct choices.

The challenges are in fact opportunities, and this is the attitude you need to have.

• Change your attitude and you will go far with His help.
• Work with Him not against Him.
• Carry out His will rather than your own.
• Strive to perfect yourself as a person and to help make the world a better place in the process.

 Remember importantly: Ba Chabakuk veHemidan al achas, veTsadik beEmunaso Yichye. This means, the prophet said, that all mitzvot are based on one overriding principle, i,e. that a righteous person lives by his emunah, his faith. Have complete total and utter Faith in Hashem and demonstrate it through your thoughts, speech and deeds. In return He will raise you up to spiritual levels and fulfilment more than you could dream of!

 This piece very much resonates with the ethos of Pirkei Avot. “Carry out His will rather than your own” is advice that comes straight from Rabban Gamliel ben Rebbi at Avot 2:4 and the lion’s share of the content of the fifth and sixth perakim is aimed at perfecting ourselves as human beings.

Jonathan cites the prophet Habakkuk on the importance of living by one’s faith, this being essentially faith in God. One might have thought that faith in God was so basic that it was bound to feature somewhere in Avot, but it does not. Avot has very little to say about emunah, and what it does say is not specifically about faith in God at all. We should not have faith in ourselves, Hillel teaches (2:5), till the day we die. A baraita (6:6) adds that emunat chachamim—faith in our Sages—is one of the 48 ways one can acquire Torah. And that’s it.

 So why does Avot keep off faith in God? One obvious reason is that belief in God is a mitzvah de’oraita—a Torah commandment—while Avot addresses middot, personal behaviour and character, not mitzvot (In his famous list of the 613 Torah commandments, Rambam places emunat Hashem, in the sense of knowing God, at number one). In other words, faith in God lies outside the tractate’s aims and objectives.

 Another reason may be that the mishnayot of Avot are actually neutral as to whether an individual has faith in God or not. Why? Because it addresses the way we behave towards others and indeed ourselves: these are externals. What matters is the ma’aseh, our actions, not our knowledge, belief set or frame of mind (see Avot 1:17). If this is so, a non-believer can still act in accordance with God’s will because what God wants is set out in a detailed set of rules that govern Jewish domestic life, commerce and dispute resolution. God is a divine legislator and the law is the law.

 While in the realm of speculation, it is also worth looking at Habakkuk’s one-liner: that a tzaddik, a righteous man, lives by his faith (Habakkuk 2:4). We always assume this we mean man’s faith in God. But the same words can equally mean God’s faith in man. It is only because God, having given us free will, has faith that we will justify His creating us by serving Him in an appropriate manner.  This is not as implausible as it seems. The Bereshit narrative of the Flood illustrates how Noach is kept alive on account of God’s faith in him—and, barring modern scientific developments and euthanasia, we have no control over whether we live or not. That is entirely up to Him (Avot 4:29).

 The idea of emunat Hashem being God’s faith in man rather than the other way round is not mine alone. I found this passage in R’ Lord Jonathan Sacks’ Arguments for the Sake of Heaven (first published as Traditional Alternatives), near the beginning of chapter 5:

Faith in the messianic age is, Maimonides ruled, one of the essentials of Jewish belief. “The Torah has already promised”, Maimonides further explained, “that ultimately, at the end of their exile, the people of Israel will return to God and immediately they will be redeemed”. The sages interpreted the biblical phrase “the God of faith” to mean “the God who had faith in the world He was about to create” (my italics).

 R' Sacks’ text lacks source references. If any reader can pinpoint which sages he indicates, and where their interpretation can be found, will they please let me know.

What can we conclude from all of this? It is difficult to know. Pascal’s Wager seems to apply here: a person has everything to gain by believing in God. If God exists, well and good. If not, he or she has lost nothing and, at least in terms of how they behave towards others, will have made a positive contribution to society as good friends, neighbours and citizens.

 Thoughts, anyone?

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Living beautifully

In my book on Avot I commented on how little literature on the Ethics of the Fathers has been written by women. This situation has now been remedied.  I’ve now come across an entire book on Pirkei Avot by Gila Ross. Published last year by Mosaica Press, it’s called Living Beautifully and it’s a “how-to” book, subtitled “How to bring meaning, joy and love into your life based on the timeless wisdom of Pirkei Avos”.

According to Mosaica’s webpage for the book:

…[A]cclaimed educator and coach Gila Ross uses her 20-years of experience in education and coaching to help transform relationships and lives. Through Living Beautifully, Mrs Ross strives to share her deep passion for Jewish wisdom and living a meaningful life.

Living Beautifully navigates the complex terrains of life, providing the tools and principles to appreciate what is truly valuable, see obstacles as challenges, and guide readers toward a balanced life full of meaning, joy, and fulfillment. Drawing from the time-tested wisdom of Pirkei Avos, Mrs Ross shows readers how to live beautifully despite the pressures and complexity of modern life.

Living Beautifully will inspire readers to infuse their lives with meaning and happiness, while demonstrating how even the smallest actions can have a significant impact on our souls and the world.

The large and comfortably readable print, accessibility and chatty, informal style suggest that the publishers are promoting this very much as a women-for-women book, penned by an author who has contributed much to the education and welfare of others, living a richly meaningful Jewish life while fulfilling the taxing challenges of marriage to a rabbi and raising eight children.

Not being a woman, I am ill-equipped to appreciate this book’s finer qualities. My impression is that many female readers will find it awesome and inspiring, offering them a way to raise their game and achieve greater things in their careers, their relationships and in their personal growth. Others may feel a little depressed, wondering how they continue to struggle with things that others can handle with such apparent ease and grace, emerging smiling and made wise from each lesson life teaches them—including the painful ones.

But what does this book offer me, as a man and a Pirkei Avot enthusiast? Strangely, having recently reviewed R’ Yisroel Miller’s The Wisdom of Avos, I was struck by their essential similarity: both authors draw greatly on their personal experience, concentrating on the contemporary relevance of Avot rather than detailed analysis of the text and historical relevance. Each uses Avot as a springboard for their thoughts and perspectives. Neither avoids citing commentators from bygone generations, but this is done to enhance a discussion rather than to define or limit it. What’s more, neither book is overtly “preachy”. We know the author’s personal religious feelings and commitments but do not feel that we are being pushed into accepting them or being damned if we don’t. Gila Ross employs more in the way of homespun wisdom than does R’ Miller, which accounts in part for the fact that her book is of greater length.

I shall be referring to Living Beautifully from time to time when developing points from Avot, so watch this space!

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Paying double: charitable gifts and donation matching

Three times this week I have been invited to make a charitable contribution to an appeal based on ‘donation matching’, where any amount I give is promised to be matched penny for penny by a usually unnamed donor. Each of these charitable causes is one to which I would have given even if there were no matching donor, but I suspect that I have been gently manipulated by the existence of a matching scheme into giving more than I might otherwise have done.

I’ve often donated to such campaigns over the years and have occasionally wondered about them since, offhand, I don’t think they are subject to formal legal regulation. For example, how do I know whether the matched donations are ever made? And what if the sums donated are so great that the putative provider lacks funds to match them? Apart from this article (‘Donor Match-Making – Legal Considerations for Matching Gift Campaigns’) by Tracy L. Boak of law firm Perlman & Perlman back in 2021 I’ve not found much to go on. In contrast, there is a large and growing literature on how to set up and maximise the effect of such schemes.

Pirkei Avot, however, would appear to give the principle the green light. We learn at Avot 5:16 that donors to charity come in different shapes and sizes:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בְּנוֹתְנֵי צְדָקָה: הָרוֹצֶה שֶׁיִּתֵּן וְלֹא יִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים, עֵינוֹ רָעָה בְּשֶׁל אֲחֵרִים. יִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים וְהוּא לֹא יִתֵּן, עֵינוֹ רָעָה בְּשֶׁלּוֹ. יִתֵּן וְיִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים, חָסִיד. לֹא יִתֵּן וְלֹא יִתְּנוּ אֲחֵרִים, רָשָׁע

There are four types of charity donor. One who wants to give but does not want others to give is begrudging of others. One who wants others to give but does not want to give—begrudges oneself. One who wants to give and that others should give is a chasid [in this context a really good person who displays exemplary moral standards]. One who wants neither to give or for others to give is wicked.

Any matching donor, promising to match the donations of others with his or her own funds, is clearly defined here as a chasid, even though they achieve this covet praise quite literally at the expense of others. 

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Women -- then and now

Students of Pirkei Avot today are often faced with the challenge of explaining—or explaining away—Yose ben Yohanan Ish Yerushalayim’s teaching at Avot 1:5. Is it a massive slap in the face for women, or is it merely misunderstood? The third part of this mishnah reads:

וְאַל תַּרְבֶּה שִׂיחָה עִם הָאִשָּׁה, בְּאִשְׁתּוֹ אָמְרוּ, קַל וָחֹֽמֶר בְּאֵֽשֶׁת חֲבֵרוֹ… מִכַּאן אָמְרוּ חֲכָמִים: כָּל הַמַּרְבֶּה שִׂיחָה עִם הָאִשָּׁה, גּוֹרֵם רָעָה לְעַצְמוֹ, .וּבוֹטֵל מִדִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה, וְסוֹפוֹ יוֹרֵשׁ גֵּיהִנֹּם

…and do not engage in excessive conversation with a woman. They said this regarding one's own wife—how much more so regarding the wife of one’s friend. The sages therefore said: one who excessively converses with a woman causes evil to himself, neglects Torah and ultimately inherits Gehinnom.

The earliest explanations of this guidance are clear: for men in the world of Torah learning, women are a problem. Avot deRabbi Natan (7:3) warns against coming home from the house of study with complaints that he has not been treated with respect or that he has had a dispute with his chavruta, his study partner: by doing so he merely debases himself and others. His wife, thinking less of him, will share their private conversation with others. This view of the mishnah is adopted by the commentary attributed to Rashi, who adds da’atan shel nashim kalah (“women’s understanding is small”) and spells out that conversing with the wife of one’s friend is problematic because of hachashad (“the suspicion”), without feeling the need to spell out its parameters.

The Bartenura rejects the theory that excessive conversation with one’s wife is only limited to times when she is niddah and not sexually available to him. Instead, he focuses on chit-chat between husband and wife, for which one is accountable when facing judgement. He then offers a wider version of the explanation of Avot deRabbi Natan, applying it not just the husband who returns from the study house but to wherever he may have come home from.

Rambam regards this teaching as revolving around talk of sex, since that is the content of most conversation between men and women. Rabbenu Yonah is more concerned here with thoughts of sex, though he too cites the Avot deRabbi Natan and Rashi. He adds that it is impossible to have Torah thoughts when conversing with a woman and that, if one’s yetzer hara is getting the better of him, chatting with a woman is a good way to establish a time and place for improper conduct.

Contemporary writers on Avot take quite a different approach. Indeed, R’ Dan Roth (Relevance: Pirkei Avos for the Twenty-First Century, 2007) passes over this mishnah completely.

For R’ Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers, 1999) the task of the husband is to avoid what he calls “excessive” talk. This is a broad category of speech that includes all talk that is unnecessary, unproductive or damaging, with nothing to justify it. This category includes complaints or criticisms of one’s wife where the subject of the complaint is in the past and cannot be rectified,

R’ Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avos, 2022) meets the mishnah head-on, going right back to the Avot deRabbi Natan, concluding that “the mishnah is warning against conversing excessively with one’s own wife because it may cause her to lose respect for him”. R’ Miller then uses it as a springboard for a wider message—one that is not based on the original words at all: “conversation between men and women is difficult because men and women use words and process information in very different ways”. Given the possibility of sexual attraction between man and woman, “every conversation between men and women is a minefield waiting to explode”.

R' Anthony Manning (Poliakoff and Manning, Reclaiming Dignity, 2023) quotes the teaching of Yose ben Yochanan but does not subject it to close textual analysis. Rather, he explains in general terms that: “The Rabbis warned about certain modes of social interaction that can lead us into dangerous situations. Idle banter between men and women in certain settings can become sexually suggestive, opening up possibilities for seductions and potentially destructive relationships”.  To be fair, this is not a pirush on Avot, so it would be unfair to expect anything further on this mishnah.

Another recent publication, this time by Gila Ross (Living Beautifully, 2023), is based on Avot but focuses more on the aspirational side of the tractate, more on what sort of life we should aim to live rather on what the words of the Tannaim mean. She writes: “Of course, any talk that is necessary, including anything that creates an emotional bond between a husband and a wife, is not only permitted but encouraged”. She continues: “More specifically, not conversing excessively with a woman is a reminder to us that life is precious and limited. We are souls, and we are here for a higher purpose…” , Citing R’ Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, she adds:”[A] husband who has respect for his wife won’t just give her idle chatter but will engage in meaningful talk”.

Not all modern pirushim stray from the blunt message of the classic commentators. R’ Yaakov Hillel (Eternal Ethics From Sinai, vol.1, 2021) does not mince his words. While his discussion of male-female relationships may be far from contemporary social norms, he maintains a hard line that the Tannaim would likely have recognized, cautioning against spiritual decline and the sin of wasting semen. His strict approach would however commend itself to many a wife whose husband, “in learning”, is struggling with a meagre income and a large family. He writes: “When a woman needs her husband’s encouragement or help, it is a mitzvah to provide it”. After mentioning the special needs of such wives he adds: “Everyone is different. It takes a great deal of wisdom to correctly gauge and meet another party’s needs, yet not err in the opposite direction. A husband’s obligations to his wife as outlined in the marriage contract are based on her feelings, which may not necessarily be identical to his”.

In sum, modern writings on Avot reflect in general a drift away from the strict, somewhat austere and sometimes patronizing position of the classical commentators—but they do affirm, both in positive and negative terms, the principles upon which this mishnah is founded.

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The Three Pillars: a fresh perspective

Shimon HaTzaddik’s teaching at Avot 1:2 is so short and simple that it would be strange for so many explanations to exist for it—were it not that this mishnah stands proof that Avot is for all times and that each generation can extract some further level of meaning from it. The mishnah reads:

עַל שְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים הָעוֹלָם עוֹמֵד: עַל הַתּוֹרָה, וְעַל הָעֲבוֹדָה, וְעַל גְּמִילוּת חֲסָדִים

The world stands on three things: the Torah, the service [of God], and acts of kindness.

This post does not propose to review all the existing explanations or to discuss the surprising variety that Torah, service and acts of kindness are intended to mean or symbolize. All it seeks to do is to comment on a very recent one, a response to the unfolding of events in Israel and on her borders in the wake of the war that broke out on 7 October 2023. 

One of the most popular explanations of this mishnah is that of the Maharal (Derech Chaim), that the three things the world stands on represent the three relationships a person must cultivate in this world: a relationship to oneself (Torah), God (service) and other people (acts of kindness). The following concentrates on just one of those things. 

In “Answering the call to serve” (Torah-To-Go, January 2024/Shevat 5784), R’ Meir Goldwicht writes:

Our nation finds itself in a period of “miluim”. Miluim in modern Hebrew means reserve duty (especially in a military context). In lashon hakodesh, it has a different meaning. We use miluim (from the word malei, to fill) to refer to situations where one person fulfills the needs of another, and in doing so, the giver’s needs are fulfilled more than the recipient’s.

The mishnah of Shimon HaTzaddik is offered as an example. How does this work?

Torah: Anyone who progresses in Torah learning does so through the benefits received from Torah influencers, teachers and chavrutot (learning partners). This in turn enables such a person to benefit others in the same manner—and those who have benefited with benefit their benefactor in return.

Service: Following the destruction of the Second Temple and the cessation of Temple services, the Hebrew word avodah, “service”, has been firmly linked to the concept of “service of the heart”, in other words prayer. The Babylonian Talmud (Bava Kama 92a) teaches that, where one prays for one’s friend who has the same needs, the person praying will be answered first.

Acts of kindness: It is axiomatic that, by furnishing charity to others, we can actually become wealthy as a result (Taanit 9a). On this basis the desire to fulfill someone else’s needs will eventually benefit the giver.

This idea of reciprocity—helping others learn in order to learn from them, praying for others and benefiting from one’s prayers for them, and also reaping the material rewards of assisting others materially—is not inherent in the words of Shimon HaTzaddik who, living in Temple times, would surely have the (non-reciprocal) notion of Temple sacrifices foremost in his mind when delivering this teaching. Nor, so far as I am aware, is this notion found in the words of any earlier commentator on Avot. Nonetheless, it fits the bill here and shows how the words of Avot have yet to reach the stage at which we cannot derive new messages from them. What’s more, it makes all three pillars relevant to human-on-human interaction, which is very much the ethos of Avot.

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Fun with funnels

Is there humour in Pirkei Avot? I think so. An anonymous mishnah (Avot 5:18) teaches us this:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בְּיוֹשְׁבִים לִפְנֵי חֲכָמִים: סְפוֹג, וּמַשְׁפֵּךְ, מְשַׁמֶּֽרֶת וְנָפָה. סְפוֹג, שֶׁהוּא סוֹפֵג אֶת הַכֹּל. וּמַשְׁפֵּךְ, שֶׁמַּכְנִיס בְּזוֹ וּמוֹצִיא בְזוֹ. מְשַׁמֶּֽרֶת, שֶׁמּוֹצִיאָה אֶת הַיַּֽיִן וְקוֹלֶֽטֶת אֶת הַשְּׁמָרִים. וְנָפָה, שֶׁמּוֹצִיאָה אֶת הַקֶּֽמַח וְקוֹלֶֽטֶת אֶת הַסּֽוֹלֶת

There are four types [of student] 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 keeps the dregs. The sieve ejects the coarse flour but keeps the fine flour.

Anyone who has ever been involved in teaching will recognize these four characters since they are found in every sector of the educational system, both Jewish and non-Jewish.

Even though this mishnah is easily understood even by the casual reader, it goes without saying that commentators have written all manner of analyses of these scholastic qualities. But I am going to discuss one small point: the analogy of the funnel.

My starting point is the assumption that the funnel is like a student’s head: the teaching goes in through one ear and out through the other, leaving no trace of knowledge or understanding behind.

The most popular commentators take pains to explain what a funnel is. The commentary ascribed to Rashi translates it into Old French, while the Bartenura gives a 14-word account of its function. They, and Rabbenu Yonah, affirm that what goes in goes straight out.

But does the learning pass straight through or does it take a little while to do so? According to Rambam, what goes into the student’s head enters easily because he comprehends it, but then it fades, leaving not a trace behind. R’ Chaim Volozhiner (Ruach Chaim) and the Meiri (Bet HaBechirah) agree: following the Avot deRabbi Natan they consider that the student forgets what he has actually learned.  

Maharam Shik points out that the student must retain something before he loses it. If you look at a funnel, you will observe that it is wide at the top but very narrow at the bottom. This is a metaphor for a student who learns everything, but only forgets it little by little until it is all gone. But if this is correct, our Mishnah is arguably overlapping with an earlier one (Avot 5:15) in the same perek that cites the case of the student who is quick to learn and slow to forget—a praiseworthy attribute.

R' Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) also notes that the top of the funnel has a substantial capacity. The reason why the student retains nothing, however, is that each new piece of knowledge displaces something that was apparently stored in the student’s head.

On a less serious note, I observe that the modern kitchen has other items and appliances, many of which the rabbis of mishnahic times would not have known. So I shall ask: what sort of talmidim correspond any of to the following items:

• Electric toaster
• Food mixer
• Pressure cooker
• Refrigerator

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Is it so wrong to agree with God?

In this week’s Torah reading we see God’s anger with the Children of Israel. At Exodus 32:7-10 He vents his anger against these ungrateful people who at the first time of crisis turned to a molten calf and pronounced it to be their god. He tells Moses to step aside, telling him: “I will annihilate them and make you a great nation”. Moses prays for God to forgive them, adding: “If not, erase me now from your book that you have written” (Exodus 32:32).   Moses’ prayers succeed. God forgives the people and the trek from Egyptian slavery to freedom in Israel is back on the tracks.

But supposing Moses had not prayed for the people’s forgiveness? What if he said to God: “You are a just and all-knowing God and, though You are slow to anger, You have shown us that there are limits even for Your patience with us. Do destroy these people and set me up as a nation. I will do my best to make it great”?

Moses could justify this position by pointing to the limits God had set upon His own patience, referring to the two mishnayot (Avot 5:2 and 5:3) in which He demonstrates His unwillingness to wait forever for mere mortals to do His bidding. He could also point to the maxim (Avot 5:9) that conceding the truth is one of the seven signs of a chacham, a person who is wise: the people had deserted God, so they deserved punishment, while he, Moses, had not.

Yet precedent supports the position Moses took when he decided to stick with his people and take on God, in all His anger. A tradition teaches that Noah—a righteous man with impeccable credentials in an age of unmitigated evil—was faulted for agreeing to save himself and his immediate family, as God commanded, instead of praying for the salvation of the entire human race (Zohar 1:67b). The Torah also gives a precedent for arguing against God in a somewhat analogous situation, when Abraham (Genesis 18:23-32) pleads for the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah to be spared, despite their iniquities, if only a handful of good people live among them.

The last word goes to Pirkei Avot though. Moses, despite his upbringing and distance from mainstream Jewish culture, felt himself to be very much a man of his people. He loved them and identified deeply with them and with their cause. Hillel teaches (Avot 2:5)  אַל תִּפְרוֹשׁ מִן הַצִּבּוּר: do not separate yourself from the community. Moses’ stance of “if they go, I go” is very much in keeping with that teaching.

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The Miller's tale

No, this is not a bawdy yarn penned by Geoffrey Chaucer. It’s a tale of how a perceptive rabbi has engaged with Pirkei Avot and how that tractate is reflected in his thoughts and experiences.

I’m talking here of The Wisdom of Avos, a slim hardback volume published by Mosaica in 2022 and which I mentioned in a post a week or two back. The miller in question is R’ Yisroel Miller, who served for many years as a community rabbi in Pittsburgh, then subsequently in Calgary. He will be known to many readers as the author of In Search of the Jewish Woman (1988), What’s Wrong with Being Human? (1993) and What’s Wrong with Being Happy? (1994).  I read What’s Wrong with Being Human? When it first came out and was much impressed by the accessibility and clarity of R’ Miller’s writing, so much so that I re-read it during the Covid pandemic. His essay “In search of our leader Moshe” moves me still.

So what does R’ Miller do with Avot?

This book is not an attempt to furnish omnibus coverage of the entire tractate. Indeed, it originates from notes on a series of shiurim on Avot that R’ Miller did not intend to publish, but which he was persuaded to do by one of his former congregants. Since its focus is on mishnayot that provide fertile ground for thought and demand discussion, it concentrates on the first four perakim; this is where we find commentary based on R' Miller's shiurim. The book also gently touches upon perakim 5 and 6. The book’s provenance as notes on shiurim accounts for the absence of footnotes and detailed references, as well as the presence of many real-life examples and telling anecdotes.

The author sets out his stall at the beginning, explaining what he describes as his “revolutionary old approach”. This consists of essentially four steps:

1.        If a mishnah seems self-evident, ask why someone might disagree with it.
   
   
2.        If it offers no new insight, ask if it is saying something more than a simple translation reveals.
3.        Since Avot has no gemara, take a look at what the Avot deRabbi Natan and comments scattered through the two Talmuds say.
4.        When a mishnah features several points, ask if it teaches more than the sum of its individual parts.

No, there is nothing surprising here. But it’s also surprising how easy it is to skip these steps and jump to one’s own conclusions.

I’ve been dipping in and out of this little book with great enjoyment. From time to time I shall be discussing some of the points R’ Miller makes. I look forward to sharing them with you.

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Are you there in body only?

Every schoolkid knows that two plus two make four, while two plus zero make just two. This is why Avot 5:17 is so surprising. This anonymous mishnah goes as follows:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בְּהוֹלְכֵי בֵית הַמִּדְרָשׁ: הוֹלֵךְ וְאֵינוֹ עוֹשֶׂה, שְׂכַר הֲלִיכָה בְּיָדוֹ. עוֹשֶׂה וְאֵינוֹ הוֹלֵךְ, שְׂכַר מַעֲשֶׂה בְּיָדוֹ. הוֹלֵךְ וְעוֹשֶׂה, חָסִיד. לֹא הוֹלֵךְ וְלֹא עוֹשֶׂה, רָשָׁע

There are four types among those who attend the house of study: The person who goes, but does nothing, gets a reward for going. The person who does [study], but does not go to the house of study hall, gets a reward for doing so. The person who both goes and does is a chasid [pious]. One who neither goes nor does is wicked.

So, while the mishnah talks of four folk who attend the Bet Midrash, the house of study, only two of them actually get there. This doesn’t add up. Does this mean that something has gone wrong with our mishnah?

Many fine minds have pondered over this question over the centuries. R’ Ovadyah MiBartenura doesn’t worry over the arithmetic: in his commentary on Avot 5:16 he says our mishnah is simply talking about that practice of going or not going in general.  Irving M. Bunim (Ethics from Sinai) puts it slightly differently: the mishnah describes four contrasting attitudes struck by people regarding the question whether they should go to the Bet Midrash or not.

The Tiferet Yisrael (R’ Yisrael Lipschitz) sticks to the number four and takes it literally: all four types are there—but two of them are there in body only. Their minds are planted firmly elsewhere. Why do they bother going? In the words of R’ Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael):

“[T]hey intend to meet friends, engage in small talk, maintain their reputation, or even to gather impressions so that they can later mock those whom they saw there”.

Maharam Shik agrees that the two “missing” attendees are there in body only, though he expresses himself in another way. When it comes to learning Torah and turning up in a house of study, there are two attitudes that one can strike. A person can say “I’m doing this because I want to fulfil my duty to God”—or “I’m doing this so that other people can see me and think what a great person I am”.  If one’s only motives are ulterior, not for the sake of God, it is as though one is not really there.

I also found an explanation in R’ Abraham J. Twerski’s Visions of the Fathers that calls for thought because it appears to avoid the two-plus-zero makes four issue entirely:

“Some commentaries interpret the word holech [which literally means “going” or “walking”] to mean “progressing” and they point out that in contrast to angels who are static (omdim), a human being should grow and advance in character development…”

“The second category in this mishnah refers to someone who is oseh [literally “doing”], who seemingly does what he is supposed to do, yet he does not appear to be advancing spiritually and improving himself in any way”.

R’ Twerski then asks:

“Why are there observant people who seem to be deficient in middos (character traits)?”

No indication is given as to which commentators give holech and oseh these meanings and, to be honest, I can’t offhand recall who does. If any reader can jog my memory, I’d be grateful.

As for what R’ Twerski says, if you read “progressing” for “going”, the meaning of the mishnah is changed completely—and it certainly speaks to us today.  R’ Twerski writes that the four propositions in the mishnah provide the answer to his question, but it is not obvious to me how exactly they do so and I’m not sure that I have understood what R’ Twerski has said. Again, if any readers can help me clarify my thoughts, that would be great.

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Is what you wear, who you are?

This week’s Torah reading, Parashat Tetzaveh, is definitely one for real enthusiasts. There’s no exciting storyline, no confrontations, no miracles—just lots of detail, much of which is about priestly uniform and specifies what Kohanim, and especially the Kohen Gadol, must wear when going about their sacred duties. Countless generations of Torah scholars have discussed these sartorial details and explained their symbolic significance. We continue to learn from them today.

Though Pirkei Avot makes several references to other basic needs such as food, drink and sleep, it has almost nothing to say explicitly about clothes. There is just one reference to clothing and it comes almost incidentally as one of a large number of things that a person who studies Torah for its own sake deserves. In a baraita in the final perek Rabbi Meir teaches:

כָּל הָעוֹסֵק בַּתּוֹרָה לִשְׁמָהּ זוֹכֶה לִדְבָרִים הַרְבֵּה, וְלֹא עוֹד, אֶלָּא שֶׁכָּל הָעוֹלָם כֻּלּוֹ כְּדַאי הוּא לוֹ. נִקְרָא רֵֽעַ, אָהוּב, אוֹהֵב אֶת הַמָּקוֹם, אוֹהֵב אֶת הַבְּרִיּוֹת, מְשַׂמֵּֽחַ אֶת הַמָּקוֹם, מְשַׂמֵּֽחַ אֶת הַבְּרִיּוֹת, וּמַלְבַּשְׁתּוֹ עֲנָוָה וְיִרְאָה, וּמַכְשַׁרְתּוֹ לִהְיוֹת צַדִּיק, חָסִיד, יָשָׁר, וְנֶאֱמָן, וּמְרַחַקְתּוֹ מִן הַחֵטְא, וּמְקָרַבְתּוֹ לִידֵי זְכוּת, וְנֶהֱנִין מִמֶּֽנּוּ עֵצָה וְתוּשִׁיָּה, בִּינָה וּגְבוּרָה, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: לִי עֵצָה וְתוּשִׁיָּה, אֲנִי בִינָה, לִי גְבוּרָה, וְנוֹתֶֽנֶת לוֹ מַלְכוּת וּמֶמְשָׁלָה, וְחִקּוּר דִּין, וּמְגַלִּין לוֹ רָזֵי תוֹרָה, וְנַעֲשֶׂה כְּמַעְיָן הַמִּתְגַּבֵּר וּכְנָהָר שֶׁאֵינוֹ פוֹסֵק, וְהֹוֶה צָנֽוּעַ, וְאֶֽרֶךְ רֽוּחַ, וּמוֹחֵל עַל עֶלְבּוֹנוֹ, וּמְגַדַּלְתּוֹ וּמְרוֹמַמְתּוֹ עַל כָּל הַמַּעֲשִׂים

Whoever studies Torah for its own sake merits many things; what’s more, the whole world is fit for him. He is called: friend, beloved, lover of God, lover of people, one who rejoices in God and who rejoices in people. [The Torah] clothes him with humility and awe; it makes him fit to be righteous, pious, correct and faithful; it distances him from sin and brings him close to merit. From him, people enjoy counsel and wisdom, understanding and power, as it says: "Mine are counsel and wisdom, I am understanding, mine is power." [The Torah] grants him sovereignty, dominion and jurisprudence. Its secrets are revealed to him, and he becomes like an ever-increasing wellspring and an unceasing river. He becomes modest, patient and forgiving of insults. [The Torah] uplifts him and makes him greater than all creations (Avot 6:1).

Humility and awe are requirements for any Kohen, and especially the Kohen Gadol, if they seek to discharge their sacred functions in the Temple services. But why does Rabbi Meir talk of the Torah clothing a person in these qualities rather than just making him fit to receive them?

Unsurprisingly, traditional commentators generally focus on the importance of humility and awe, rather than on the issue of clothing, since these are the qualities to which not only Torah scholars but every sincere Jew seeks to acquire. But there are exceptions.

The Maharal (Derech Chaim) turns the baraita on its head. He teaches that, once a Torah scholar has mastered humility and awe, the Torah will clothe him in tiferet—a term often translated as “glory” but which has kabbalistic overtones to which the Maharal alludes. For Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) “clothing” is a means by which we express who we really are: if you are “clothed” in humility and awe, this means that you are effectively transmitting the message that you are that sort of person. In our own time, we quickly size up what sort of person stands before us when we take note of what they wear, so there is plainly merit in this explanation.

Rabbi Yosef Yavetz (the “Chasid Yavetz”) picks up on clothing too: one’s humility and awe should be with a person all the time, just like one’s clothes. In other words, one should be consistent in exemplifying these qualities, not being sometimes humble sometimes not.

 So what is the message for us today? Putting Rabbi Lau and the Chasid Yavetz together, we can conclude that (i) the humility and awe that we cultivate, assuming we manage to do so, should be regarded as the face we show to other people and that (ii) if we are indeed able to achieve humility and a sense of awe, we should do so on a consistent basis. If at all we let our standards slide, we should do so where no other human being can see us.

This applies to the Kohanim who serve in the Temple too. When they are wearing the clothing prescribed by God in Parashat Tetzaveh, they are sending out a message as to whom they serve and what sort of people they are. We should therefore treat them with respect and give a little thought to what serving God means to them—and to ourselves.

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Are we all really pagans?

Following on from my previous post on being watched, I recently read this passage, which stopped me in my tracks:

It is childish, and pagan, to anthropomorphize God as an “eye in the sky”, watching our every move. It is more mature to focus on our mental and spiritual awareness of the reality of God in our lives.

Admittedly I have taken this passage out of context, but its meaning is clear and it troubled me nonetheless. Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi (Avot 2:1) teaches:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים, וְאֵין אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה, דַּע מַה לְּמַֽעְלָה מִמָּךְ, עַֽיִן רוֹאָה וְאֹֽזֶן שׁוֹמַֽעַת, וְכָל מַעֲשֶֽׂיךָ בְּסֵֽפֶר נִכְתָּבִים

Contemplate three things, and you will not come to the hands of transgression: Know what is above you: a seeing eye, a listening ear, and all your deeds being inscribed in a book.

I am uncomfortable with the suggestion that this Mishnah is a childish anthropomorphism and I do not believe that R’ Yehudah HaNasi intended it as such, either. He is inviting us to conduct a thought experiment, at any moment when we might be tempted to do contravene Jewish law or the moral standards that accompany it: we can ask ourselves to imagine that we are being watched by the God who is also our judge.  If, at the point of sinning, we can “focus on our mental and spiritual awareness of the reality of God in our lives”, this would indeed demonstrate a greater maturity on our part. But, in general, which is the more direct route to stopping us when we are in “about to flout” mode?

….. ….. ….. ….. ….. …..

The quote above comes from Rabbi Anthony Manning’s halachic analysis in Reclaiming Dignity (Mosaica 2023) at p.237.

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Our children are always watching

In the opening mishnah of the second perek, Rebbi (Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi) teaches:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים, וְאֵין אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה, דַּע מַה לְּמַֽעְלָה מִמָּךְ, עַֽיִן רוֹאָה וְאֹֽזֶן שׁוֹמַֽעַת, וְכָל מַעֲשֶֽׂיךָ בְּסֵֽפֶר נִכְתָּבִים

Contemplate three things and you will not come to the grip of transgression: Know what is above you—a seeing eye, a listening ear, and all your deeds being inscribed in a book.

This teaching clearly caught the imagination of R’ Jonathan Muskat, Rabbi of the Young Israel of Oceanside and the author of this piece (“Our children are always watching”) which was recently posted to the Times of Israel. There he writes:

There is a mishna in Pirkei Avot that scared me as a young boy. The mishna states that, “ayin ro-ah, v-ozen sho-ma-at v’chol ma-asecha ba-sefer nichtavin.” There is an eye that sees, an ear that hears and all of our deeds are written in a book. God is watching everything we do. We constantly live under a microscope. This thought can be so frightening and paralyzing that we may tend to ignore it. But sometimes we are reminded that we are being watched, not by God, but by our children. Very often, we don’t even realize how the smallest things that we do as parents can be so impactful on our children.

My initial reaction was that this comment had nothing to do with Rebbi’s teaching at all. The mishnah was surely focusing on how we should cultivate God-consciousness as a means of reducing and ideally eliminating the possibility of doing something wrong. The reference to children watching us was cute but only tangentially relevant. My second thought was quite different.

Rebbi lived some eighteen centuries ago, at a time when people in general—and not just Jews—had a far greater sense of God-awareness than we do today. He lived in an era in which lives were far more closely linked to their immediate environments than ours are today, a time when people’s perceptions of cause and event, of reward and punishment, were sharper and more immediate than they are now. We can imagine how much easier it is to be aware of God in a society which the main events of one’s day are so much more closely related to one’s survival than they are today: growing and harvesting crops, animal husbandry, preserving one’s water supply and making one’s own clothes. Heaven hung directly above their heads and they were acutely aware of it.

In modern society we have surrounded ourselves with so many man-made distractions: the average American, I once read, has about five hours a day in which he or she is neither working nor engaged in domestic chores. Much of that time is taken up with the pursuit of leisure and/or pleasure, if the scale of the entertainment and recreation-based industries is anything to go by. In theory a practising Jew would spend most or all of that time learning Torah and contemplating divine matters, and this aim can be fulfilled by those who are fortunate enough to be supported in their full-time learning—but it would do no-one an injustice to suggest that most of us do not reach that level, at least on a daily basis.

But if we no longer succeed in keeping God in mind 24/7 as we go about our lives and remember that He is watching us, we still have the children. In the case of our own children, we know how impressionable they are and how quickly they mimic our actions and (sometimes embarrassingly) our speech. We are also aware of other people’s children too. An example that springs to mind is that of the adult who happily crosses the road against a red light when no-one watches him, but who will take care to cross on the green, or to use a pedestrian crossing, if small children might get the wrong idea and copy him with tragic results.

Children are not God. But R’ Akiva reminds us (Avot 3:18) that we are all created in His image, and that includes the children who carefully note what we say and do. Maybe this is why R’ Shimon ben Yehudah (Avot 6:8) lists children among those things that are befitting not only to the righteous but to the world at large.

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"What would the Queen say?"

At Avot 1:4 Yose ben Yoezer ish Tzeredah says:

יְהִי בֵיתְךָ בֵּית וַֽעַד לַחֲכָמִים, וֶהֱוֵי מִתְאַבֵּק בַּעֲפַר רַגְלֵיהֶם, וֶהֱוֵי שׁוֹתֶה בַצָּמָא אֶת דִּבְרֵיהֶם

Let your home be a meeting place for the Sages [i.e. Torah scholars]; wrestle in the dust of their feet, and drink their words in thirstily.

On the first part of this teaching I recently read this comment:

“Let your home be a meeting-place for the Sages” surely means “have Sages meet in your home”, but the wording seems also to be telling us to make our homes into suitable meeting-places, i.e. that our homes should be places in which the Sages would feel comfortable. Is the nature of the reading material or electronic entertainment scattered around the house appropriate? Are our furnishings too lavish or ostentatious? And is there anything we would want to hide before the Sages arrive?

This comment resonated with me. Even as a young child I was expected to keep my bedroom tidy. If I fell short of the expected standard—which happened quite often—I would be asked “What would the Queen say if she came to visit your room and found it looking like this?”  The words had their desired effect. Though the prospect of Her Majesty the Queen ever visiting this corner of a third-floor apartment in West London was remote, I would instantly set to work on tucking toys into cupboards in order to make suitable preparation for an unexpected royal visit.

But it’s not just monarchs and rabbinical sages whose visits we should anticipate.

In later life I have often felt embarrassed on behalf of people whose houses I have visited when performing the mitzvah of nichum avelim, comforting recently-bereaved mourners.  While mirrors have been dutifully covered in keeping with well-established Jewish tradition, one often cannot avoid seeing things which one would have preferred not to see. These include family holiday photos of people who would never allow themselves to be seen in such a state of relative undress in the streets of Golders Green, racy book-titles on the shelves and figurines of a somewhat indelicate nature.

I’m not a great advocate of hiding the past and, having become religiously observant as an adult, I have often thought about this issue. The past happened and cannot be denied—but exposing it to public inspection it is not just a matter of personal preference. There are other people’s feelings to be taken into account too. That is why the comment I quoted above ends by saying:

There is perhaps no answer suited to everyone, but surely everyone can make time to ask the questions.

I agree.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

The author of the comment is R’ Yisroel Miller whose book, The Wisdom of Avos, will be discussed in a forthcoming post.

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