Going up, going down

One of Hillel’s more oracular pronouncements can be found in Avot 1:13, where the second of four mysterious mini-maxims reads thus:

וּדְלָא מוֹסִיף יָסֵף

One who does not increase will diminish.

Or does it mean something quite different? The word יָסֵף, which we translate as “diminish”, is derived from the Hebrew root סוֹף, which also means “comes to an end”. Indeed, the Bartenura explains, some texts of Avot have a different word completely יאסף, “he will be gathered”, a euphemism for being reunited after death with one’s family or people. This gives us a rather different meaning:

One who does not increase will come to an end.

But who is the person who increases and diminishes or comes to an end? And what is thing that shrinks or dies if it does not grow?

Since Hillel was pre-eminently a teacher of Torah and Jewish values, our commentators’ natural starting place was Torah-related. But the early commentators, while supporting the idea that this mishnah is about learning, still view it differently from one another. For Rambam, one who does not increase Torah studies will die by God’s hand. According to the commentary ascribed to Rashi, it means that one must add hours of night-time to the hours of daylight from 9 Av onwards, when the day grows noticeably shorter. The Bartenura teaches that if you don’t keep on learning, you will come to forget what you have already learned. For R’ Avraham Azulai (Ahavah beTa’anugim), people who do not keep adding to what they have been learning from their rabbi will lose their learning but their shelemut, a sort of personal completeness and integrity which the talmid-rabbi relationship can cultivate.

Later commentators offer their own variations on the learning theme. Thus Midrash Shmuel and the Etz Yosef (R’ Chanoch Zundel ben Yosef) tie the mishnah both to learning mitzvot and to their physical performance. R’ Menachem Mendel Schneerson sees it as a warning that a person’s ego and pride should not prevent him from generating chiddushim, novel Torah explanations.

Other commentators depart radically from the theme of learning Torah. Thus in the Birchat Avot, the second of his works on Avot, R’ Yosef Chaim (the Ben Ish Chai) goes kabbalistic: what must be added is God’s ado-nai name to his shem havayah or a person will not be able to gather nitzotzot kedushah (sparks of holiness).

Some modern writers taken Hillel’s words as a general and all-embracing statement of real-world existence: like it or not, we live in a world that is founded upon perpetual change and we cannot remain static. As R’ Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avos) succinctly puts it:

“As many dieters discover, maintaining one’s ideal weight can be harder than trying to lose another pound”.

For R’ Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers) Hillel teaches about spiritual growth: out of all God’s creations, only humans have the capacity for spiritual growth, adding ominously:

“The identifying characteristic of man is upward progress. If he ceases to develop himself when he is at a primitive stage or whether he is highly sophisticated and learned, it is all the same”.

Another rabbi with an interest in psychology and human growth (R’ Reuven P. Bulka, Chapters of the Sages) writes:

“The human being is involved in a never-ending becoming process. The fulfilment of today is no excuse to relax: it is an inspiration to greater fulfilment tomorrow. The missed opportunity to improve can never be retrieved, for the time which passes is not open to recall. Standing still, not increasing knowledge, is thus a regression, for it kills the present potential. In human striving there is no neutral gear. It is either forward or reverse”.

Then there is R; Marc D. Angel (The Koren Pirkei Avot) who writes:

“Learning is a life-long process. If one loses intellectual curiosity, one sinks into dullness and triteness. If one is not constantly reviewing and replenishing knowledge, one comes to forget what one has already learned”.

These last three explanations are expressed in such wide terms that clearly do not limit Hillel’s teaching to the specifically Jewish context of learning Torah or halachah. I don’t know what Hillel would have made of them, but they speak with sincerity and clarity to the needs of those of us who are living in the twenty-first century and striving to do our best at a time when Torah must increasingly resist being sidelined by other commitments, opportunities and expectations.

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Teaching a Golem good manners

An anonymous Mishnah at Avot 5:9 tells us how to tell a chacham—a wise and almost by definition well-behaved person—from a golem, a somewhat uncouth and unmannered soul, someone who is not yet the finished product:

שִׁבְעָה דְבָרִים בְּגוֹלָם וְשִׁבְעָה בְּחָכָם, חָכָם: אֵינוֹ מְדַבֵּר לִפְנֵי מִי שֶׁגָּדוֹל מִמֶּֽנּוּ בְּחָכְמָה וּבְמִנְיָן, וְאֵינוֹ נִכְנָס לְתוֹךְ דִּבְרֵי חֲבֵרוֹ, וְאֵינוֹ נִבְהָל לְהָשִׁיב, שׁוֹאֵל כְּעִנְיָן וּמֵשִׁיב כַּהֲלָכָה, וְאוֹמֵר עַל רִאשׁוֹן רִאשׁוֹן וְעַל אַחֲרוֹן אַחֲרוֹן, וְעַל מַה שֶּׁלֹּא שָׁמַע אוֹמֵר לֹא שָׁמַֽעְתִּי, וּמוֹדֶה עַל הָאֱמֶת, וְחִלּוּפֵיהֶן בְּגוֹלָם

Seven things characterize a golem, and seven characterize a chacham. A chacham does not speak before one who is greater than him in wisdom or age. He does not interrupt his fellow's words. He does not answer precipitately. His questions are on the subject and his answers to the point. He responds to first things first and to latter things later. As to what he did not learn, he says "I did not learn that." He concedes the truth. The golem is the opposite.

What is this all about? The Maharam Shik explains that it is all about derech eretz, good behaviour, the way a person should handle him- or herself when dealing with others. Startlingly he tells us that this mishnah is placed here in Avot for the specific benefit of the chacham who spends his days in the Bet Midrash, the house of study, because that is a place where he will find no-one to teach him good manners.  From this comment one can infer Maharam Shik’s attitude towards the hurly-burly of the Bet Midrash, where it often seems to the interested outsider that there are more people speaking than listening and that interrupting one’s learning partner in the middle of a sentence is compulsory.

Avot provides another clue as to how one should behave towards others with whom one learns. At Avot 2:15 R’ Eliezer teaches that one should treat one’s chaver, one’s learning partner, with the same degree of respect that one expects to receive oneself. No-one enjoys being interrupted, by being asked off-the-point questions or by having to listen to one’s partner making apparently authoritative pronouncements on matters that les beyond his or her knowledge. Worst of all is the situation in which one’s learning partners positively know that they are wrong but they refuse to accept the truth and cling stubbornly to the fiction that they are somehow right really, or that they don’t deserve to be wrong. This being so, the principle of reciprocity calls for us not to conduct ourselves in any way that we would find annoying or offensive if others do the same to us.

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What to do the day before you die

R’ Eliezer ben Hyrcanus’s teaching at Avot 2:15 has become so familiar to Torah students that it might be fair to say that some of us have come close to not thinking about it at all any more.  In the middle of this mishnah he says:

שׁוּב יוֹם אֶחָד לִפְנֵי מִיתָתָךְ

Repent one day before your death.

Who now is unfamiliar with the explanation that, since we do not know which is the day before our death, R’ Eliezer is telling us that we should repent every day? This is the well-worn path taken by the Talmud (Shabbat 153a), Avot deRabbi Natan (15.4), Rambam, Rabbenu Yonah, the Me’iri, the Bartenura, the commentary attributed to Rashi, and others.

R’ Yitchak Magriso (Me’am Lo’ez) agrees, adding an explanation of Rabbenu Bachye (Chovot Halevavot) and the Midrash Shmuel that there is a further meaning to this mishnah: even if a person lives a life entirely devoted to sin, it is never too late for one’s repentance to be accepted—even if it’s at the last minute.

R’ Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avos), having concurred with its traditional understanding, takes a refreshingly different look at this teaching, one that is founded on a midrashic cadenza on a verse from Ecclesiastes. He writes:

Koheles [= Ecclesiastes] tells us: “At all times let your garments be white” in celebration. But Chazal [= our sages] say that the “white garments” mean shrouds, to always be prepared for the day of death, which is somewhat odd. A Midrash generally adds depth to the plain meaning of the pasuk, yet here it seems to teach the very opposite of the plain meaning!

Rav Isaac Sher explained that there is no contradiction. The pasuk says to celebrate each day, and the midrash shows us the way to feel how precious each day is—by saying to yourself: “I will live this day as if it were my last”.

If I had but one more day, I would make sure to tell my spouse and children how much I love them and what they mean to me. I would savor the sunlight, pour out my heart at my last davening, and feel my soul bond with one last hour of Torah learning….”

R’ Miller continues in this positive vein. Gila Ross (Living Beautifully) hits upon the same theme:

“How does a person know when he is going to die? He doesn’t. He’s telling us to treat each day as though it were our last….

Imagine if we all lived every single day as though it was our only opportunity in this world. We would be in a state of perpetual self-improvement, of living in the moment, of taking opportunities to do mitzvos. We would be the very best people we could be!”

These words may have strayed a little from the simple but austere message of R’ Eliezer, but they certainly address the contemporary Jew in a constructive and meaningful manner.

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In defence of King Saul

In the wake of the recent reading of the haftorah for Shabbat Zachor, where we retell the failure of Sha’ul HaMelech—King Saul—to exterminate the last of the Amalekites, it occurred to me that this unhappy episode raises issues for Pirkei Avot.

The principle that one should judge others favourably, if it is possible to do so, is enshrined in the third and final teaching of Yehoshua ben Perachyah at Avot 1:6:

עֲשֵׂה לְךָ רַב, וּקְנֵה לְךָ חָבֵר, וֶהֱוֵי דָן אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם לְכַף זְכוּת

Make for yourself a teacher, acquire for yourself a friend, and judge every person on a scale of merit.

This teaching applies to everyone, at all times, and it is incredibly difficult to get right. There are circumstances where it is practically impossible to judge a person favourably, for example when that person has committed a despicable and inexcusable crime for which there is unchallengeable evidence of guilt. But most of the time it is possible to find something positive to say about a person who has done wrong. This exercise is important for us. Why? Partly because it should help us to recognise that we too have good points and less-than-good points to our personalities and our behaviour: in judging ourselves by looking through the eyes of others, as it were, we can assess whether we too deserve to be judged favourably. Also, partly because when we judge others it is often without hearing another side to the argument that they have done wrong and should be condemned for doing so.

Let us look at this mishnah in the context of Saul, the first king of Israel, a man of courage and humility, a scholar and someone who was even capable of receiving prophecy. It seems quite inexplicable that he should have failed to carry out the prophet Samuel’s instruction to kill all the Amalekites together with their livestock, this being an order that came directly from the God to whom Saul prayed and in whom he fervently believed. How could he have done this, forfeiting his right to the crown in the process and triggering a downward spiral of depression and psychotic behaviour that ended only with his death and that of his beloved son Jonathan? Surely we would never have missed this unique opportunity to serve God and to rid the world of the scourge of Amalek!

But maybe we would see things differently if we looked the Saul’s eyes.

First, from the moment Moses became leader of the Jewish people until the time Samuel instructed Saul to kill all the Amalekites, I don’t think we find any examples of the leaders of Israel receiving messages from prophets, telling them what God wants them to do. Between Moses and Saul comes the era of the Judges—leaders of Israel who were also the links in the chain of Torah tradition (Avot 1:1) and who would be expected to make their leadership decisions on the basis of their own understanding, not on what others ordered them to do. Samuel’s instruction to Saul was therefore unprecedented, and this itself may have left the king uncertain as to what he had to do.

Secondly, the Oral Law teaches that we should seek to emulate God’s ways: just as He is gracious and merciful, so too should we be gracious and merciful (Shabbat 133b). Saul may have speculated that a kind and merciful God would surely not seriously contemplate the complete extermination of a nation He had created, or of innocent animals that could be brought to His altar as sacrifices in His honour?

Thirdly, the Zohar (2:154a) teaches that Saul himself was a prophet and, though prophecy was removed from him when he became king, he retained ruach hakodesh—a measure of divine inspiration.  It is possible that his decision to spare Agag and the animals was based on a moment of misplaced inspiration.

Admittedly, even if they are aggregated these hypotheses are not entirely convincing, but they do go some way to seeking an explanation for Saul’s disobedience to the word of God that does not cast him as a wholly wilful rebel against God’s word.

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Making light of the eagle

We recently reviewed the first bit of Avot 5:23, where Yehudah ben Teyma teaches:

הֱוֵי עַז כַּנָּמֵר, וְקַל כַּנֶּֽשֶׁר, רָץ כַּצְּבִי, וְגִבּוֹר כָּאֲרִי, לַעֲשׂוֹת רְצוֹן אָבִֽיךָ שֶׁבַּשָּׁמָֽיִם

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

Let’s move on from the leopard to the eagle.

Eagles aren’t actually light. They are among the very heaviest birds that can still fly. This tells us that Yehudah ben Teyma is talking in terms that are metaphorical, not giving us a lecture in ornithology. But what is his message?

A curiously refreshing interpretation comes from the Kozhnitzer Maggid. In our lives we can reach great heights of spirituality: we can metaphorically soar higher than the angels, just as the eagle soars above other birds. We can even imagine that we have reached such a high level that we have gone past the point of no return. But no, what goes up must come down—and that applies just as much to us as to the eagle.

For us, coming down need not be a negative experience, the Maggid says. We need humility and true lowliness of spirit just as we need to hit the spiritual heights, since both are part of the truly righteous person. And each dose of humility helps prepare us in readiness for our next ascent.

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Fixing one's Torah

At Avot 1:15 Shammai teaches:

עֲשֵׂה תוֹרָתְךָ קְבַע, אֱמוֹר מְעַט וַעֲשֵׂה הַרְבֵּה, וֶהֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּסֵֽבֶר פָּנִים יָפוֹת

Make your Torah fixed; say little and do much—and receive everyone with a pleasant countenance.

It’s easy to understand the bits about “say little and do much” and “receive everyone with a pleasant countenance”, even if we don’t always live up to those lofty ideals. But what does Shammai mean by “make your Torah fixed”?

Classical commentaries know that Shammai, as a Tanna and a man who was steeped in Torah learning himself, is concerned to buttress this learning against any outside threats and temptations as possible. Let us examine some of them.

The Bartenura tells us that Shammai intends us to make Torah learning the main fixture of our days and our nights. Only when we are too tired to carry on learning should we take a break and do some work. From what we know of the Bartenura, he spent some time as a banker and would appear to have enjoyed the benefit of independent means, so he may not have needed to trouble himself about working for a living. Even so, one wonders what sort of remunerative work a man might find only when he was worn out from Torah study.  Rambam and the Meiri also go for a ‘minimum work’ option: just keep learning Torah and wait to see if any work opportunities arise.

Fortunately the Bartenura offers an additional explanation of Shammai’s teaching that is within everyone’s grasp: “fixing” one’s Torah means being consistent when applying it. In other words, don’t be strict with yourself but lenient with others, or vice versa. Another sort of consistency is advocated by R’ Rafael Emanuel Chai Riki (Hon Ashir), who argues that what needs to be fixed is one’s own chiddushim, novel interpretations, so that they are properly thought-out and don’t contradict each other.

The commentary ascribed to Rashi also offers two explanations, but they contradict one another. First, one should not fix specific times each day for learning Torah but should fix the whole day for doing so. Secondly, one should fix specific times so that one can be sure to learn four or five chapters daily.

R’ Avraham Azulai (Ahavah beTa’anugim) adheres to the “fixed times in the day” principle, but with the proviso that, during those times, one is absolutely disturbance-proof, regardless of any reasons that might justify a breach of those times.

Modern commentators, living in a world where most sorts of work are not casual but demand commitment, regular hours and often lengthy training, tend to be more relaxed about the thing which is fixed, though not about the “fixing” requirement. How so?

R’ Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers) regards fixing as a process of absorbing the notion of Torah as the priority in one’s life to the point that, as he puts it:

A person may do a full day’s work, yet be absorbed in Torah, looking for opportunities when he can seize a few moments to study a mishnah or two.

This might strike the Torah scholar as a somewhat minimalistic approach, but it is well in line with the exigences of modern life.

R’ Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avot) ties “fixing” to the second part of the mishnah, about saying a little but doing a lot”: it’s better to fix for oneself as little as even two hours a day for learning than to say “I will learn as much as I can” since, human nature being what it is, identifying a manageable target and sticking to it is more likely to succeed than stating an open-ended objective, how laudable it may have sounded. Following the lead of R’ Shimshon Rephael Hirsch, Gila Ross (Living Beautifully) puts it differently, expressing herself in terms of the value of routine: for Torah and spiritual values to be firmly established in our personalities and become our life choices, they have to be a regular part of our routine. Still with routine, R’ Yitz Greenberg (Sage Advice) comments that “regular study add[s] up to a knowledgeable person whose life is guided by Torah”. He then quotes R’ Israel Salanter as coming out firmly in favour of a minimalist definition of a talmid chacham:

A Torah scholar … is not one who studies everything, but one who studies every day.

The Maharal’s approach (Derech Chaim) is to view “fixing” as a metaphor for truly internalising the Torah one learns so that one completely acquires it. Following the same line, one of the explanations offered by R’ Yaakov Hillel (Eternal Ethics from Sinai, vol.1) is that “we may have studied vast amounts of Torah, and yet we have not truly acquired it—it is not ours”. He then refers to the 48 ways of acquiring Torah listed in Avot 6:6. For him, that is what fixing one’s Torah means.

 So where does this leave us? We live in a world in which we are increasingly torn from our Torah studies by the demands of feeding and clothing our families, keeping a roof over our heads, paying our school bills and other regular overheads and generally worrying about a wide range of things that don’t look like learning in the traditional Jewish sense. But the rabbis have recognised that, if we can’t leave the real world to enter the world of Torah and stay there, we can at least bring the Torah into our daily world and live it to the best of our abilities.

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Joy and fear: can you feel both at the same time?

In his commentary on Avot 5:19, Maharam Shik throws in a discussion point that is not directly related to that mishnah at all, but which he considers important. He writes:

“Fear and joy are two conflicting feelings and, in a place where either dominates, there is no room for the other”.

Since he has made the same point on earlier occasions, the previous one being on Avot 4:24 (the context being Shmuel HaKatan’s caution not to express joy at the downfall of one’s enemy), this is clearly something that troubles him.

While neither joy nor fear are mentioned in Avot 5:19, both feature on numerous occasions elsewhere in the tractate. For those who love lists of references, joy can be found at Avot 4:1, 4:24, 6:1 and 6:6, while fear appears in Avot 2:11, 3:3 and 3:7, 3:11, 3:21.

The fact that joy and fear do not appear together in any of these teachings might tempt us to conclude, as Maharam Shik has done, that they are mutually exclusive: if you feel the one, you cannot in his view be feeling the other. But is this reasoning borne out by our own experiences as human beings? I do not think so.

After a gap of several decades, I can still clearly recall my feelings when I exited Dublin’s Holles Street Maternity Hospital with my firstborn child in my arms. I was literally shaking with sheer joy that here before my very eyes was the baby my wife and I had fervently wished for, coupled with a deep fear that I had just exchanged my comfort area for an adventure in parenthood for which I had no experience or training and in which, I felt, I was way out of my depth. I’m sure that many readers of this post may have comparable mixed-feeling sensations of being torn between the powerful emotions of joy and fear.

As a final point, I add that our feelings are given to us for a purpose: to serve as a reality check. Joy, fear, anger, love, hate, despondency and indifference are part of the emotional armory of every human. We do not need to look to verses from Tanach or to scholarly disquisitions in order to ascertain whether two or more emotions can be felt together. All we need do is look within ourselves.

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Rejoicing at Haman's downfall

For anyone with a Jewish soul, it is hard not to feel pleasure when the recitation of Megillat Esther reaches the point at which Haman is unmasked as the villain of the piece and gets his come-uppance. We have so many stories of Jew-hatred, pogroms, expulsions and massacres in our portfolio that it’s great to read each year of one bad man who did not get away or escape justice. But feeling pleasure is not the same as rejoicing. So we ask the question: are we allowed to rejoice at Haman’s downfall?

A mishnah in Avot (4:24) appears to suggest that such rejoicing is misplaced. There, Shmuel HaKatan ("Samuel the Small") teaches:

שְׁמוּאֵל הַקָּטָן אוֹמֵר: בִּנְפֹל אֹיִבְךָ אַל תִּשְׂמָח, וּבִכָּשְׁלוֹ אַל יָגֵל לִבֶּֽךָ, פֶּן יִרְאֶה יְיָ וְרַע בְּעֵינָיו, וְהֵשִׁיב מֵעָלָיו אַפּוֹ

"When your enemy falls, do not rejoice; when he stumbles, do not let your heart be gladdened in case God sees and it will be displeasing in His eyes, and He will turn His anger from [your enemy to you]"

It’s not clear why this teaching appears in Pirkei Avot at all since it consists of a couple of verses that have been cut-and-pasted from Mishlei (Proverbs) 24:17-18. Or, as one commentator, puts it, if this verse comes straight from King Solomon, why should we be concerned with how big or small this particular Shmuel happens to be?

Leaving that issue aside, let’s consider the case of Purim. It is no secret that a great deal of rejoicing does take place on that day. For some it is deeply spiritual in nature, while for others it is fuelled by alcohol and feasting—but it is all rejoicing, whatever its format.

Some form of celebration is clearly mandated by Megillat Esther itself. At Esther 8:16 we read that “The Jews had light and happiness and joy and honour".  But how exactly does this relate to the downfall of one’s foes? The context of this verse suggests that it refers not the downfall of Haman but to something else: the issue of a royal proclamation that the Jews were allowed to take up arms in order to defend themselves against those who, in accordance with an earlier and irrevocable proclamation (at 3:13), were ordered to exterminate them and plunder their property. It is clear, therefore, that the celebration of Purim does not contradict the substance of our Mishnah, so long as we are marking the turning point in the tide of Jewish fortunes; the proclamation was a sign that, since they had not deserted God, God had not deserted them.

As an aside, the Book of Tehillim (Psalm 27) offers an example of how a person who is acutely aware of God’s presence and of His intervention in events might choose to respond to the most welcome downfall of his enemies. The psalm in question uses the same Hebrew words as this Mishnah for downfall and stumbling: “When evil-doers came upon me to eat up my flesh – my adversaries and my foes – כשְָׁלוּ (koshelu) they stumbled and נפָלָו (nofolu) fell”. It is hardly likely that King Solomon, compiling the Book of Proverbs, would not have been familiar with the text of a psalm penned by his own father.

Psalm 27 can be seen as a paradigm for an ideal response to the fall of one’s foes. In it, King David acknowledges the facts on the ground – his enemies have been beaten and their malevolent intent foiled – and then does the following things:

• He affirms his continued trust in God;

• He requests further protection and sanctuary from evil;

• He proposes to offer joy-sacrifices to God and to sing His praises;

• He calls on God to lead him along the path of integrity, since his foes are ever-watchful;

• He calls on others to strengthen themselves by placing their hope in God.

There is no triumphalism here, no personal judgement of the wicked by King David, no wagging of fingers or naming of names and no suggestion that God has only eliminated his enemies because he has asked him to do so. This response is dignified, restrained and responsible. If we were all saints there would be a strong case for arguing that we should work hard on our own feelings in order to channel our own responses to triumph over our enemies in an equivalent manner. In the meantime, let’s pass the bottle and lift another glass …

And Esther told the King in Mordechai's name ...

God’s name may be hidden in the Megillat Esther, but the name of Esther does appear in Pirkei Avot, along with that of Mordechai. The only citation in Avot of the megillah comes at Avot 6:6, where the 48^th and final element of acquiring Torah is to quote the source from which you have learned something. The tail-end of this magnificent baraita reads as follows:

וְהָאוֹמֵר דָּבָר בְּשֵׁם אוֹמְרוֹ, הָא לָמַֽדְתָּ, כָּל הָאוֹמֵר דָּבָר בְּשֵׁם אוֹמְרוֹ, מֵבִיא גְאֻלָּה לָעוֹלָם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וַתֹּֽאמֶר אֶסְתֵּר לַמֶּֽלֶךְ בְּשֵׁם מָרְדְּכָי

…and saying something in the name of its speaker. Thus you learn: Everyone who says something in the name of the one who says it brings redemption to the world, as it states (Esther 2:22): "And Esther told the king in the name of Mordechai”.

What was it that Esther told the king? That Mordechai had overheard the plot of Bigtan and Teresh to overthrow him. This piece of useful service to the crown was duly recorded in the state annals and it was this that King Ahasuerus read during about of insomnia, leading ultimately to the downfall of Haman and to the Jews being saved from the massacre that was awaiting them.

The verse in Megillat Esther applies to sourcing information of a sensitive political nature, involving state security. Our Baraita takes it into another area entirely by applying it to learning Torah.

The idea of naming the person who originates an item of Torah learning is a particularization of the same principle that opens the tractate of Avot (1:1) by reciting the chain of tradition leading from the Sinaitic revelation to the era of the Men of the Great Assembly. Subsequent mishnayot provide further links in the chain by name-checking the rabbis through whom it passes. By doing this we can establish the authenticity of any teaching by making sure that it is derived from a trustworthy source.

This guidance is highly regarded, to the extent that, according to Rabbi Elazar Ezkari (Sefer Charedim 47.1), it is actually forbidden to fail to give the name of a person who first gave over a teaching.

Our baraita contains an apparent paradox: whoever cites the name of the originator of a piece of learning when he quotes it will bring redemption to the world—but the Baraita does not name the originator of this statement. More than that, the compiler of this perek of Avot does not even name the baraita’s author. For the record, The name of the Tanna Rabbi Yose is twice found in close proximity to this maxim where it appears in the Babylonian Talmud (Chullin 104b and Niddah 19b) but nowhere is it stated that he is its author. In Megillah 15b the same principle is taught in the name of later rabbis (the Amora Rabbi Elazar teaching it in the name of an earlier Amora, Rabbi Chanina).

The Maharsha (Megillah 15b) speculates that no question is raised regarding its authorship since it is only a baraita, not a mishnah, and that the Amora Rabbi Elazar, who cites this learning in the name of Rabbi Chanina, may have done so because he was unfamiliar with its existence as a baraita. Even so, regardless of its authorship and the reason, if any, for not citing it, the maxim retains its force: the correct citation of one’s sources can enhance both the transparency and the authority of one’s arguments, leading to their acceptance where they are correct and to their dismissal or refutation where they are not.

Every rule seems to have its exceptions and the Babylonian Talmud does record for us a number of examples where this principle is plainly disregarded in favour of false  attribution. This occurs where Amoraim discern a greater good which only false attribution can achieve—this greater good frequently being framed as a means of persuading the Jewish population at large to accept an undoubtedly correct halachic ruling which, if learned in the name of its true author, would carry considerably less weight. For those who want to know more. There is a review of the deployment of false attribution in the Talmud and elsewhere, the circumstances in which it may be tolerated and the responses of commentators ancient and modern in Marc B. Shapiro, Changing the Immutable: How Orthodox Judaism Rewrites Its History, in Chapter 8 (“Is the Truth Really That important?”).

Not all rabbis in the era of the Amoraim respected our name-your-source principle. A revealing passage in the Talmud (Bechorot 31b) deals with an answer that Rav Sheshet had given to a particular question:

Rav Idi was the attendant of Rav Sheshet. He heard [Rav Sheshet’s answer] from him and proceeded to mention it in the Bet Midrash, but did not cite it in his [i.e. Rav Sheshet’s] name. Rav Sheshet heard about this and was annoyed. He exclaimed: “He who has stung me--a scorpion should sting him!” [The Talmud then asks] “But what practical difference did this make to Rav Sheshet?”

The Talmud then explains that, where a person repeats what he has learned together with the name of the person from whom he learnt it, it is as though his teacher lives in two worlds: the World he occupies during his lifetime and, after he dies, when he “lives” in the World to Come since the lips of scholars murmur in their graves when their names are mentioned. On the subject of names, when Rav Sheshet invites the scorpion to sting Rav Idi, he does not mention his attendant’s name—possibly because Rav Sheshet’s father had the same name (Pesachim 49a), it being regarded as disrespectful for a son to utter his father’s name, whether during his life and thereafter.

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It's what Hillel said -- but is it what he meant?

I don’t often have a chance to read The Kansas City Jewish Chronicle, but my attention was drawn to an item it ran last week under the headline “Local leaders invited to White House for discussions”.

The story goes like this. As part of the White House’s Building a Better America program, leaders from Kansas, Oklahoma and Missouri were invited to Washington, D.C., to discuss how government and local leaders can partner to strengthen communities. The leaders included Jay Lewis, president and CEO of Jewish Federation of Greater Kansas City, who said he was honoured to represent Kansas City and the Jewish community at the White House. Emphasising the importance of such meetings he commented:

“Pirkei Avot teaches us, ‘do not separate yourself from your community. Throughout the centuries, it has been so important for the Jewish community to have a close relationship with government leaders”.

Jay Lewis gets full marks for identifying Avot as the source of his quote (it’s Hillel, at Avot 2:5). But that’s not the end of the matter. Avot also teaches us not to become too familiar with the government (1:10) but rather to be wary of politicians’ self-interested motives (2:3).  Avot does not advocate having a close relationship with government leaders.

When Hillel teaches that one should not separate oneself from the community, it is pretty well universally understood that he is addressing individuals who might be about to go off on a limb and do their own thing: they should stay with the community, not seek to escape from it. He is not addressing communities at all.

Here is another mishnah for Jay Lewis—and this time it’s one that works in his favour:

כָל הָעוֹסְקִים עִם הַצִּבּוּר יִהְיוּ עוֹסְקִים עִמָּהֶם לְשֵׁם שָׁמָֽיִם, שֶׁזְּכוּת אֲבוֹתָם מְסַיַּעְתָּם, וְצִדְקָתָם עוֹמֶֽדֶת לָעַד, וְאַתֶּם, מַעֲלֶה אֲנִי עֲלֵיכֶם שָׂכָר הַרְבֵּה כְּאִלּוּ עֲשִׂיתֶם

Those who work for the community should do so for the sake of Heaven, since the merit of their ancestors will aid them, and their righteousness shall endure forever. “And you”, [says God,] “I shall credit you with great reward as if you have achieved it [yourself]” (Avot 2:2, per Rabban Gamliel ben Rebbi).

Working for, with and, when need be, against the community—if it is done for Heaven’s sake and not with any ulterior motive or personal agenda—is to be encouraged. It will bring its own reward.

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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.

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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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