Friday, 19 April 2024

One of God's most powerful creations: PR!

The Torah opens with a catalogue of things God creates during the first six days of the world’s existence. Pirkei Avot extends this list (Avot 5:8) by adding a further ten things (actually 14) that were created during twilight at the point at which the sixth day shades into Shabbat.

One thing that never made the opening of Parashat Bereshit (Genesis) or Avot 5:8 is one of God’s most important creations: public relations, or ‘PR’ as it is known in the vernacular. How do we know this? Maharam Shik ties it to an earlier Mishnah (Avot 5:4), which reads like this:

עֲשָׂרָה נִסְיוֹנוֹת נִתְנַסָּה אַבְרָהָם אָבִֽינוּ, וְעָמַד בְּכֻלָּם, לְהוֹדִֽיעַ כַּמָּה חִבָּתוֹ שֶׁל אַבְרָהָם אָבִֽינוּ

With ten tests our father Abraham was tested and he withstood them all—in order to make known how great was our father Abraham's love.

What does this have to do with PR? The answer is simple when you think about it. Being omniscient and beyond time, God already knows the outcome of the ten tests. He is also well aware of Abraham’s great love for Him. But when the ten tests begin, Abraham—together with his wife Sara—are the only people on the planet who not only believe in His existence but demonstrate unconditional love for Him.

One of the best ways to spread the news is to publicise it. Not every commentator has the same list of tests for Abraham (there are at least 30 “possibles”), but a factor that is common to almost all of them is that they are public, in the sense that there are others at the scene who are either involved in them or serve as spectators. If you see something miraculous, there’s a good chance you’ll talk about it. This is therefore how God plans to spread the word about His existence. And that explains the words “in order to make known” in our mishnah.

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Tuesday, 16 April 2024

The odd man out

The two mishnayot at Avot 2:13 and 2:14 are very nearly mirror images of one another. In the first, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai asks his five star talmidim to find the best path to take in life; in the second, he asks them to identify the worst. These mishnayot read like this:

צְאוּ וּרְאוּ אֵיזוֹ הִיא דֶּֽרֶךְ טוֹבָה שֶׁיִּדְבַּק בָּהּ הָאָדָם. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶֽזֶר אוֹמֵר: עַֽיִן טוֹבָה. רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻֽׁעַ אוֹמֵר: חָבֵר טוֹב. רַבִּי יוֹסֵי אוֹמֵר: שָׁכֵן טוֹב. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר: הָרוֹאֶה אֶת הַנּוֹלָד. רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר: לֵב טוֹב. אָמַר לָהֶם: רוֹאֶה אֲנִי אֶת דִּבְרֵי אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן עֲרָךְ מִדִּבְרֵיכֶם, שֶׁבִּכְלַל דְּבָרָיו דִּבְרֵיכֶם. אָמַר לָהֶם: צְאוּ וּרְאוּ אֵיזוֹ הִיא דֶּֽרֶךְ רָעָה שֶׁיִּתְרַחֵק מִמֶּֽנָּה הָאָדָם. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶֽזֶר אוֹמֵר: עַֽיִן רָעָה. רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻֽׁעַ אוֹמֵר: חָבֵר רָע. רַבִּי יוֹסֵי אוֹמֵר: שָׁכֵן רָע. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר: הַלֹּוֶה וְאֵינוֹ מְשַׁלֵּם, אֶחָד הַלֹּוֶה מִן הָאָדָם כְּלֹוֶה מִן הַמָּקוֹם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: לֹוֶה רָשָׁע וְלֹא יְשַׁלֵּם, וְצַדִּיק חוֹנֵן וְנוֹתֵן. רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר: לֵב רָע. אָמַר לָהֶם: רוֹאֶה אֲנִי אֶת דִּבְרֵי אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן עֲרָךְ מִדִּבְרֵיכֶם, שֶׁבִּכְלַל דְּבָרָיו דִּבְרֵיכֶם

Go out and see which is the best trait for a person to acquire. Rabbi Eliezer said: a good eye. Rabbi Yehoshua said: a good friend. Rabbi Yose said: a good neighbour. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel said: to see the consequences [of one’s actions]. Rabbi Elazar said: a good heart. [Rabban Yochanan] said to them: I prefer the words of Elazar ben Arach to yours, for his words include all of yours.

He said to them: Go out and see which is the worst trait, the one that a person should most distance himself from. Rabbi Eliezer said: an evil eye. Rabbi Yehoshua said: an evil friend. Rabbi Yose said:  an evil neighbour. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel said: to borrow and not to repay; for one who borrows from man is like one who borrows from the Almighty, as it is stated: “The wicked man borrows and does not repay; but the righteous one is benevolent and gives''. Rabbi Elazar said: an evil heart. [Rabban Yochanan] said to them: I prefer the words of Elazar ben Arach to yours, for his words include all of yours.

These teachings are not totally mirror images. Of the five talmidim, four give answers to the second question that are merely the opposite of their answers to the first. The odd man out is R’ Shimon ben Netanel, whose answers appear in bold. Why does he not simply answer that, since the best path is that of seeing the consequences of one’s actions, the path to avoid is that of not seeing those same consequences?

This question is not new. Though some commentators, including Rashi, don’t address it at all, others have clearly given it thought. The Bartenura, for example, reverses R’ Shimon’s second answer into his first: not seeing the consequences means borrowing without appreciating what will happen if one doesn’t pay back: no-one will offer accommodation or food and that person will starve. So why doesn’t R’ Shimon say so? Because sometimes a person who fails to see the consequences will still be able to avert the unforeseen disaster and be saved.

Rabbenu Yonah takes a different tack. Like some other scholars, he learns R’ Shimon’s first response, regarding the consequences of one’s actions, as referring to Avot 2:1 where Rebbi urges us to weigh the cost of a mitzvah against its benefit and the benefit of an averah (sin) against its cost.  There isn’t an obvious opposite for this teaching and, in any event, borrowing and not repaying is something that people automatically seek to avoid if they can.

Rambam goes to lengths to explain that seeing the consequences of one’s actions does not mean possessing prophetic powers to discover the hidden from that which has been revealed. Rather, a person should look to his own actions and seek to see what their consequences may be. Not paying back means that he will not receive further loans: to borrow when you cannot repay is an ethical shortcoming.

My personal thoughts on these mishnayot run like this:

Starting with the first of our two mishnayot, we see that R’ Shimon’s choice of a “good path”—the ability to perceive the future, to appreciate the consequences of what one sees—is strikingly at odds with the pithy proposals of his colleagues. While the other four talmidim of Rabban Yochanan are focused on qualities that are inherent in man within his social setting (ie a good eye, friend, neighbour and heart), R’ Shimon alone focuses on the nature of time. How does he do this? By nominating as his choice of “good path” the idea of a person taking his conscious knowledge of the present and projecting it forwards, into the future.

The proposals of the other four talmidim as to what in their view constitutes the “evil path” are entirely consistent with their view of the “good path” (i.e. a bad eye, bad friend, bad neighbour and bad heart). This should alert us to ask whether the same degree of consistency applies to Rabbi Shimon. In other words, when he talks of the person who borrows but does not repay, is he only speaking quite literally about money, as is usually assumed, or is he speaking about time?

In colloquial English, one sometimes hears of a person “living on borrowed time.” The normally accepted meaning of this phrase is that this person is still alive, even though he might reasonably have been expected to have died at some earlier stage in his life. The phrase is therefore aptly applied to a survivor of an aeroplane crash, to a patient who has pulled through following surgery that has a very low success rate or to a person whose life expectancy has exceeded that which is normally predicted for a “killer” disease.

For the believing Jew, “living on borrowed time” is not an exceptional experience but a normal state of affairs. Every morning we recite the blessing of Elokai Neshamah, which affirms the notion that God, having breathed life into each of us, gathers in our souls while we sleep at night and returns to us when we awaken. Since sleep is regarded as a sort of small-scale death, God can be viewed as lending us back our souls each day.

Having “borrowed” another day’s ration of life each morning, we must repay it. How is this done? By making good use of the time contained within that day, for example by helping others, improving ourselves, learning Torah or making a living. Time wasted is time misspent; it does not repay the loan, as it were, and raises the question: if you wasted the previous day you were given, why should God bother giving you another one?

As indicated, in contemporary secular culture time is regarded as an asset, just like money. We use monetary vocabulary when we talk of how a person “spends” time and how he “saves” it. Time that is wasted is proverbially “stolen” (hence “procrastination is the thief of time”).  Elsewhere in Avot too, the value of time is emphatically drawn to the reader’s attention. Time on Earth is brief, though the reward for using it well is great (Avot 2:20). Repentance (Avot 2:15) and and Torah learning (Avot 2:5) should never be delayed even if it appears that some future time slot may be more congenial. A person who has time but is unable to use it is regarded as being effectively dead (Avot 5:25). Even so apparently trivial a matter as being late to rise can kick-start a cycle of time-destruction that can have fatal consequences (Avot 3:14).

Can we say then that, when R’ Shimon ben Netanel is talking of the person who borrows but does not repay, he has in mind the person who “borrows” time on a daily basis but does not “repay”? Unlike borrowing money or, say, household items, time is something everyone alive both needs and has, and the need to put it to good use is a derech of general applicability—and the same loan is made to rabbis and road-sweepers, students and surgeons, mechanics and midwives, lawyers and labourers, on exactly the same terms.

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Sunday, 14 April 2024

"God helps those who help themselves!"

“God helps those who helps themselves” is a popular English proverb that encourages people to take the initiative in achieving things rather than to wait for everything they desire to fall effortlessly into their hands.

Where does this proverb originate? The information-packed Wikipedia entry on the proverb provides numerous examples of it being found in various forms in ancient Greek and Chinese cultures as well as in Christian, Islamic and Jewish traditions (for example the oft-cited axiom בדרך שאדם רוצה לילך – מוליכים אותו (“On the path that a person wants to go, they take him”, Makkot 10b).

What is the value of this saying? It can be seen both as a positive incentive to take the initiative in meeting one’s needs in the confidence that one will receive divine assistance. But it has also been taken as poor public policy in that it discourages people from helping the poor and needy; after all, God’s help is surely greater than theirs.

What light does Pirkei Avot cast on this long-lived notion? Not a lot, since Avot portrays God mainly as a judge and post-mortem paymaster. The tractate certainly does not address our question directly, since its principal function is to guide us in our interpersonal relations and self-improvement, Even so, there are some small, admittedly tenuous, clues:

Hillel (Avot 1:14) famously asks: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?”  This question can be understood in many different ways. One is that it is a rhetorical question. Hillel is actually saying that one has to make an effort and act for oneself if one wants help—and God is the universal provider of help for those who call upon Him.

Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel (Avot 2:14) suggests that a person who borrows—whether from man or from God—and does not repay is wicked. However, where a person does pay back what he owes, God who is righteous will not only gracious but will freely give.

Rabbi Tarfon (Avot 2:20) teaches that “the day is short, the task is massive, the workers are lazy, the reward is great and the Master of the House [i.e. God] is pressing”. From this one can infer that, the harder and faster a person attends to his or her duties, the greater reward, or possibly assistance, will be made available by God.

An anonymous mishnah (5:21) tells us that anyone who invests the masses with merit will be divinely assisted either in not sinning or in not causing others to sin.

Can any reader go further than this?

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Thursday, 11 April 2024

Get ahead, get a skull

The modern trend in commentaries in Avot is go look beyond the details and go for the big picture. Particularly where the Mishnah is a difficult one, it is tempting to identity a large moral precept or practical message and not waste the busy reader’s time with minutiae.  In a world where Jewish ethical teaching has to fight it out with slogans, soundbites and punchy one-liners, this approach is quite explicable. But it can still be immensely rewarding to dig deep and see what we can mine from a close analysis of details that are both easy and attractive to miss.

Here's an example. At Avot 2:7 Hillel teaches:

אַף הוּא רָאָה גֻּלְגֹּֽלֶת אַחַת שֶׁצָּֽפָה עַל פְּנֵי הַמָּֽיִם, אָמַר לָהּ: עַל דְּאַטֵּפְתְּ אַטְּפוּךְ, וְסוֹף מְטַיְפָֽיִךְ יְטוּפוּן

[Hillel] also saw a skull floating upon the water. He said to it: Because you drowned others, you were drowned; and those who drowned you will themselves be drowned.

This mishnah raises so many issues that it is unsurprising that many commentators prefer to explain it simply as an example of the principle of middah keneged middah: as you do to others, so shall things be done to you. But a close examination of the text shows that this approach is fraught with difficulties. In particular:

1. As a preliminary point, the postulate that every murder victim must have been a murderer himself and that his murderer will be murdered in turn is untrue and is not borne out by fact (R’ Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, Chapters of the Fathers: the Hirsch Pirkei Avos).

2. Unlike Hillel’s other mishnayot in Avot, this mishnah does not appear to have been said in its entirety by Hillel. How do we know? First, there is use of the third person singular (“He also saw …” and “he said to it …”), suggesting that the mishnah is an episode in which Hillel’s sighting of a skull and his actual words were seen and told over by someone else. Secondly, while the words spoken by Hillel are in Aramaic, the text that contextualizes those words is in Hebrew.

3. This mishnah is misplaced and seems to be in the wrong chapter of Avot. In the first perek, Hillel is quoted on the subject of negative outcomes and punishments for those who seek to gain advantage at the expense of others or who wrongfully exploit their knowledge. But here in the second perek, this Mishnah—with its apparent focus on retribution and death—is uncomfortably sandwiched between its bedfellows. The mishnah that precedes it focuses mainly on the personal qualities needed for learning and teaching Torah, while that which follows it contrasts the benefits conferred by the Torah and its spiritual values with the worries inherent in the material world.

4. One of Hillel’s maxims (Avot 2:4) is that you should not say anything that can’t be understood if you intend it to be understood—but the plain meaning of this Mishnah is not apparent.

5. Hillel also teaches that you should not judge others until you are in their place (also Avot 2:4). But here Hillel’s comments on the skull are entirely judgemental.

6. Even if Hillel was prepared to waste his words on speaking to a skull, the rule against lo’eg larash (mocking the dead) would make it highly improbable that he would be addressing words of Torah to it.

7. Almost every other time that water is mentioned in Avot other than when recounting miracles, it is a metaphorical reference to the Torah. But here the plain words do not appear to suggest any connection with the Torah.

8. Since the principle of middah keneged middah is so well known, and so frequently taught elsewhere, that it seems strange that Hillel should have sought so oblique a means of teaching it.

9. Hillel was a superb scholar, a celebrated teacher and an authoritative rabbi. He was not however a prophet. How could he have known the chain of events leading to the drowning of the owner of the skull, or be certain of the continuity of that chain into the future? Rashi and others have suggested that what Hillel saw was not a skull but a severed head, which Hillel recognized as formerly belonging to a murderer who was killed by robbers. This explanation addresses the past, but not the future.

10. Hillel, like all Tannaim, used words sparingly. Why then would he deem it appropriate to deliver a soliloquy to a deceased person’s insentient skull?

11. The basic meaning of the Aramaic word טוף (‘touf’), translated as “drown”, usually means “float.”

12. Skulls do not float on water. This is something that can be easily verified by experiment and would almost certainly have been within Hillel’s own general knowledge since bones were used for a variety of purposes in both Jewish and non-Jewish households during and after the Second Temple period.  For the record, the male skull (3.88 gm per cubic centilitre) is nearly four times denser than water (1 gm per cc) and the female skull has nearly three times its density (2.9 gm per cc).

Having shown that this Mishnah raises many problems, let us attempt to address them.

1. Since Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi ('Rebbi') located this mishnah in the second chapter of Avot, in the context of the neighbouring mishnayot that  address the teaching and learning of Torah, we may infer that this mishnah too is on the same topic.

2. While there is no explicit mention of Torah and learning in this mishnah, the well-known use of the concept of water as a metaphor for Torah provides the key to our understanding that this mishnah too relates to Torah study.

3. The word which is usually translated or understood as “drown” literally means “float.” The skull in this mishnah is therefore neither drowned nor drowning—but floating on the surface of the Torah.

4. The symbolism of the skull can be explained by one of its most obvious characteristics: it is a bone which is empty and therefore devoid of a brain – the organ of thought and, significantly here, the only organ through which Torah can be learned (per R’ Ya’akov Emden).

5. Putting this all together, we have the scenario of a person who lacks brainpower that enables him to plumb the depths of Torah wisdom; he is therefore condemned to float forever on the surface, gaining only a superficial surface view of the Torah and its teachings.

6. The action to which Hillel refers in this scenario is that the would-be scholar who lacks the intellectual power to understand the profundities of Torah has “caused others to float” by taking their teachings only at face value. This means in turn that those who absorb his shallow teachings will not be able to gravitate towards the Torah’s deeper meanings when they too teach future talmidim; this process will be destined to continue unabated into the future.

This reading of our mishnah as being entirely divorced from the drowning of villains may seem somewhat startling. It does however have several advantages. To name but a few, it eliminates the need to address the fact that there is no basis in reality for the propositions that those who are murdered must themselves be murderers and that those who murdered them will be murdered too. It also relieves us of the need to cast Hillel in the sort of judgemental role which he urges others to avoid. In the context of a metaphor employed as a teaching aid for the talmidim sitting at his feet, Hillel’s words would also have passed the instant comprehensibility test. Further, it eliminates any lo’eg larash problems caused by Hillel speaking words of Torah to someone who is dead.

What might have inspired Hillel to employ a metaphor of this nature? Again, we may never know. However, Hillel was not the only Tanna of Avot to use this teaching technique. We find that his teacher Avtalyon did so too, comparing the learning of poorly- or erroneously-taught Torah to the act of drinking polluted (literally “evil”) water: to imbibe such water would be fatal, causing desecration of the name of God (Avot 1:11. R’ Ya’akov Emden also makes this connection, at Avot 2:7). It may be no coincidence that Hillel was proud of the fact that he had learned his Torah from Avtalyon and Shemayah, whom Hillel described as “the two greatest men of the time” (Pesachim 66a).

We still have to offer a reason why this mishnah should have come to Rebbi in its unusual form with Hillel’s own words, in Aramaic, being introduced and contextualized by someone else speaking in Hebrew. While we may never know, it is tempting to hypothesize that Hillel was giving a shiur to his talmidim in Aramaic. In this shiur he sought to explain the importance of deep-rooted and firmly-based Torah learning and that he employed the analogy of the skull (i.e. the brainless head) bobbing around on the top of the water (i.e. Torah), warning of the consequences of remaining with learning that is literally superficial. Maybe he asked his talmidim to visualize this metaphor. Over the generations that separated Hillel from his distant descendant Rebbi, the metaphor so powerfully taught by Hillel became a Hebrew language narrative in which Hillel featured – and Rebbi, having understood this teaching in its original sense, placed it in the second chapter of Avot among Hillel’s observations on Torah, rather than in the first chapter along with another of his more retributionary statements. In the ensuing years, the underlying meaning of this teaching was either forgotten or replaced by explanations based on the principle of middah keneged middah.

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Tuesday, 9 April 2024

Rosh Chodesh Nissan: the New Year for buying books?

With Pesach just around the corner, we are all preoccupied with our preparations for the immersive experience of celebrating our being rescued from slavery and brought out of Egypt. But the end of Pesach brings with it an event which, though less dramatic, has a greater potential for changing our lives forever—the start of the traditional summer season for learning Pirkei Avot, combining constructive introspection with much needed self-improvement.

Many people enhance their enjoyment of Pesach by purchasing a brand-new Haggadah each year, offering fresh insights into the age-old story of our redemption. But this pleasure is a fleeting one. Once Pesach is over and its novel pleasures have been fully exploited, the new Haggadah—like the unsuccessful candidates for the heart of Achashverosh—is consigned to the harem of a dusty shelf where it joins its predecessors and awaits the recall that so infrequently comes.

Pirkei Avot is different. Most people do not buy a fresh commentary each year. Nor, in many cases, do they make much use of such commentaries as they may have, preferring to rely on the version printed in their regular siddurim which they may recite, with varying degrees of interest and attention, at the end of the afternoon prayer service on Shabbat.

Some recent titles

For those who do propose to buy a new Pirkei Avot commentary this year, here are a few recent options you may wish to consider:

Alshich on Avos: Timeless Wisdom on Pirkei Avos, translated by Rabbis Avie Gold and Nahum Spirn and distributed by Feldheim. This is a reprint of the original 2014 version, which has been unavailable for a while. The Alshich did not actually write a commentary on Avot, but a compilation of his thoughts on the tractate was assembled under the title Yarim Moshe by R’ Yirmeyahu Schlanker back in 1764. Anyone who has tried learning Yarim Moshe will know that it is tough work. In particular, where it follows the once popular style of commencing a commentary with a list of questions that the author proceeds to answer, in the Yarim Moshe the number of answers often differs from that of the questions and it is often unclear which of the answers relates to which question.  This lucid and helpful translation does not translate Yarim Moshe in its entirety but selects mishnayot of particular interest and focuses on them. 

Etermal Ethics from Sinai by Rabbi Yaakov Hillel, published by Ahavat Shalom, is not for the faint-hearted. Volume 1, covering the first perek in considerable depth, came out in 2021 and it has now been joined by a companion volume on perek 2. This is nearly 700 pages of cask-strength mussar, focusing on human foibles and frailties before offering some plain advice, drawn straight from impeccable sources, on how to correct them and amend one’s ways. R’ Hillel’s motives are pure—to raise our game and perfect our precious souls—but these desirable outcomes can only be achieved if the reader is prepared to put in the requisite effort.

Living Beautifully, by Gila Ross, published by Mosaica. I recently noted this book on Avot Today and I’m more than halfway through it. Unlike the lofty peaks addressed by R’ Hillel, Mrs Ross’s territory is closer to the foothills of Torah middot, gently nudging the busy and probably female reader to take at least the first few steps towards living a life that is not only objectively better but which feels good at the same time.  Incidentally, while both this book and R’ Yisroel Miller’s The Wisdom of  Avos are published by the same publisher, their English translations of the mishnayot are a bit different: that of Mrs Ross is a little gentler.

A couple more books on Avot have emerged over the past year or two, which I have yet to lay my hands on. They are:

The Eternal Wisdom of Pirkei Avos, by R’ Yechiel Spero and published in 2023 by ArtScroll. According to the publisher’s blurb: “…In The Eternal Wisdom of Pirkei Avos master teacher and storyteller Rabbi Yechiel Spero shares with us an insight, a story, and a takeaway for every mishnah in Pirkei Avos. By combining the brilliant understanding of the Tannaim with stories as contemporary as today, Rabbi Spero offers us a powerful way to bring the messages of Pirkei Avos into our daily challenges and experiences, enhancing our relationships and bringing new, joyful meaning to our lives”.

Foundation of Faith: A Tapestry of Insights and Illuminations on Pirkei Avot Based on the Thought and Writings of Rabbi Norman Lamm, by R’ Mark Dratch, published by OU Press. According to the blurb this work is “an outstanding compilation of selections from Rabbi Lamm’s oeuvre, all related to the ethical, philosophical, and theological themes of Pirkei Avot. Inspiring and profound, the commentary is a scintillating demonstration of Rabbi Lamm’s invaluable message for contemporary Jewry. … It is in Torah that God is most immediately immanent and accessible, and the study of Torah is therefore not only a religious commandment per se, but the most exquisite and the most characteristically Jewish form of religious experience and communion. For the same reason, Torah is not only legislation, Halachah, but …teaching, a term that includes the full spectrum of spiritual edification: theological and ethical, mystical, and rhapsodic”.

A few oldies

If these new titles don’t appeal to you, it’s worth digging around in the second-hand bookshops to see what you can find there. Here are some old Pirkei Avot books that I have recently found in second-hand shops:

Ohel Binyamin, by R’ Binyamin Beinush Rabiner, published by Moreshet in Tel Aviv in 1946—two years before the founding of the State of Israel. The pages are brittle and discoloured with age, so I shall be reading this volume with extra care. Can readers help me with information about this author? All I know is that he was also the author of Ner Binyamin and that he was rabbi of Schimberg in Courland, Latvia.

Mei Marom, by R’ Yaakov Moshe Charlap, published posthumously in Jerusalem in 1975 by Midrash Gavo’ah LeTalmud Bet Zevul. R’ Yaakov’s shul is only a few minutes’ walk from my apartment and I understand that he was quite a controversial figure—a man of uncompromising orthodoxy but a close friend of R’ Avraham Yitzchak Kook and a staunch believer that the foundation of the State of Israel was the beginning of the Redemption. This book, which is said to be chelek sheni (“part two”) covers the first three perakim of Avot in great depth, the final three in much less.  But where is part one, I wonder, and what does it cover?

When a Jew Seeks Wisdom: The Sayings of the Fathers, by Seymour Rossel, published by Behrman House in 1975. This book may not be to everyone’s taste since the majority of members of the Avot Today Facebook group who are known to me are not members of North America’s Reform community.  In reliance on Ben Zoma’s teaching at Avot 4:1 (“Who is wise? The person who learns from everyone”) I shall be taking a good look at this title to see if it has anything to offer me. If it does, I shall share it.

Coming soon

And now something for the future…

Ruchi Koval, author of Soul Construction, is crowdfunding the publication by Mosaica Press of Soul Purpose—a daily reader based on Pirkei Avot. She writes:

“Each day has a small, bite-sized piece of wisdom, followed by a daily goal. To my mind, it is a very accessible and practical (and sometimes personal) way to understand this ancient and beautiful wisdom.”.

To support this project, which it is hoped will be out by the end of 2024, click here for details

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Sunday, 7 April 2024

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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Friday, 5 April 2024

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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Wednesday, 3 April 2024

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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Monday, 1 April 2024

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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Friday, 29 March 2024

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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Thursday, 28 March 2024

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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Tuesday, 26 March 2024

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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Sunday, 24 March 2024

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 …

Saturday, 23 March 2024

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 48th 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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Thursday, 21 March 2024

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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