Shalom from Sinai: a Shavuot miscellany

Chag same'ach

As we approach Shavuot and the season of the Giving of the Torah, let’s remind ourselves that we are celebrating not just the Ten Commandments (with a further 603 Torah commandments to follow) but also the transmission to Moses of the Oral Torah. As we learn at the beginning of Avot 1:1:

מֹשֶׁה קִבֵּל תּוֹרָה מִסִּינַי

Moshe received the Torah from Sinai…

This can only mean the Oral Torah—the teachings of which Pirkei Avot is an important part—because we already know from the Written Torah that Moses received it on Mount Sinai and the mishnayot of the Oral Torah are not meant to repeat what we already know from our written tradition.

On behalf of Avot Today, its contributors and its commentators, I wish you all chag same’ach, a happy and meaningful festival in which we can all reflect in depth and at leisure on the intricate web of laws and ethical principles that shape our daily lives and mould our very existence.

 Avot Today: an update

Since our previous update, interest in our Facebook Group and Blog has continued to grow.

The Avot Today Facebook Group now has nearly 340 members. We keep looking for more serious contributors who can write for us on a regular basis. If you think you might be such a person, please message me (Jeremy). The Avot Today blog has received over 75,000 site visits from readers since it started in May 2020. 

The blog holds all the Avot posts that feature on the Facebook Group. It has the advantage that its text can be word-searched and the topics it covers can also be hunted down by keywords.

Do please share this information with anyone and everyone you know who loves or appreciates Pirkei Avot. The more the readers, the more the comments—and the more we can all learn from each other.

 

Avot for Spanish-speaking women

I don’t know how many readers of Avot Today have Spanish as their mother tongue but, if they do, here is something for them:  titled “The wonderful role of being a Jewish woman”: Spreading Judaism for Spanish-speaking women, it’s a 43 minute presentation by Rabbanit Esther Matot. Rabbanit Matot, who was born and raised in Argentina, has been dedicated for more than a decade to promoting greater knowledge of Judaism, especially among women. You can check it out here.

Psyched for Avot

Rabbi Mordechai Schiffman’s regular Psyched for Avot posts are going from strength to strength. If you have yet to sample Rabbi Schiffman’s special blend of erudition and psychology, here’s a link to over 160 shiurim on Pirkei Avot which he gave over the years at Kingsway Jewish Center. You can also take the time to read the 56 essays, covering the first three perakim of Avot, which he has made available on his website here.

Reclaimed!

Many Avot Today readers are also members of the Judaism Reclaimed Facebook Group, here. A much bigger group than Avot Today, with nearly 7,500 members, it describes itself as being “dedicated to discussions relating to Philosophy and Theology in the Torah”.  Its many posts and discussions occasionally stray into the territory of Pirkei Avot. The most recent of these is a discussion of the proper response to the death of an enemy, posted in the wake of the death last month of Iran’s President Raisi in a helicopter accident.  Judaism Reclaimed has now established a parallel weblog on which it is in the process of reposting all its Facebook posts. At present it has around 70 pieces, all of which can be searched by text and by keyword. You can check it out here.

Rav Asher Weiss on Avot

It’s not officially available till 1 July, but yesterday I found a copy of Rav Asher Weiss on Avos on the shelves of the iconic Pomeranz bookstore in Jerusalem. It’s a two-volume set, published by Mosaica, and you can read all about it here. 

I’ve bought a copy and look forward to perusing it. Given Rav Weiss’s eminence as a contemporary Torah scholar, I’m sure it will contain many fascinating insights into Pirkei Avot and I hope to share some of them on Avot Today.

Who learned Torah from Joshua?

The festival of Shavuot, which Jews around the world celebrate this week, commemorates Matan Torah, the Giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai that is so dramatically described in the Bible. Moses was the Torah’s first recipient, but now it is ours. How did the Torah begin its journey from the safe hands of Moses to our own?

The first mishnah in Avot opens by outlining the chain of tradition that runs from Matan Torah to the point at which the Torah passes into the hands of the Anshei Knesset Gedolah (“the Men of the Great Assembly”). This was a body of scholars  who lived around the beginning of the Second Temple period and who commenced an ongoing process of teaching and explaining the Oral Torah which continues to this day. Avot 1:1 begins like this:

מֹשֶׁה קִבֵּל תּוֹרָה מִסִּינַי וּמְסָרָהּ לִיהוֹשֻֽׁעַ, וִיהוֹשֻֽׁעַ לִזְקֵנִים, וּזְקֵנִים לִנְבִיאִים, וּנְבִיאִים מְסָרֽוּהָ לְאַנְשֵׁי כְנֶֽסֶת הַגְּדוֹלָה

Moses received the Torah from Sinai and gave it over to Joshua. Joshua [gave it over] to the Elders, the Elders to the Prophets, and the Prophets gave it over to the Men of the Great Assembly.

This post considers just one question: who were the “Elders”?

The answer should be obvious. Following Joshua’s death, the Tanach records the era of the Shofetim (“Judges”), in which Israel was ruled by a succession of ad-hoc military leaders. Towards the end of this period the people clamoured for the appointment of a king. This was done through the agency of Shmuel—the first of a lengthy sequence of Prophets who initially guided and advised Israel’s kings and continued to offer their encouragement and inspiration until the early days of the Second Temple, when prophecy ceased. We should therefore be safe to assume that the “Elders” (in Hebrew, zakenim) were the Judges: they received Torah from Joshua and passed it on to the Prophets (not to the kings, whom the mishnah does not record as being not part of the chain of tradition).

The Bartenura’s commentary on Avot 1:1 states that the “Elders” were those people who lived after the time of Joshua. This should alert us to a problem. This should be obvious—but is it? If this is so obvious, why does the Bartenura need to give it?

As it turns out, there is no clear consensus as to how Joshua handed Torah down to future generations.

The commentary ascribed to Rashi agrees that Joshua passed the Torah to the Judges, starting with Otniel ben Kenaz, but raises the possibility of an alternative. Joshua, he explains, did not want to pass the Torah on to the Seventy Elders who were granted prophecy in Moses’ lifetime (Bemidbar 11:24-34), but no reason is offered for his reluctance to do so. R’ Yehoshua Falk (Binyan Yehoshua on Avot deRabbi Natan) follows this Rashi and the Sefat Emet (Imrei Kodsho al Masechet Avot) appears to prefer Rashi’s “Seventy Elders” option.

As usual with Avot, there are further views to consider. Abarbanel (Nachalat Avot) is clearly troubled by two things. One is the fact that the mishnah uses the plural word “Judges”, while Otniel ben Kenaz is only one judge. The other is the fact that the Seventy Elders did not live till the time of the Prophets and could not therefore have passed the tradition to them. He therefore crafts a more complex scheme of transmission: Joshua shared his Torah with the members of his Bet Din (i.e. a plurality of Judges) and also to Otniel ben Kenaz, from whom it was passed from judge to judge until there era of the Prophets.

The significance of the plurality—“zakenim”—is not lost on R’ Sha’ul Chai Moskovitz (Lev Same’ach) who observes that, when all Israel was no longer encamped together in the desert, it became necessary to spread the learning so that the various tribes could take it with them to their respective territories. This explanation assumes that zakenim are literally the old and wise (zakenim = zeh kaneh chochmah, according to the Chasid Ya’avetz), rather than judges in either the judicial sense or as political and military leaders.

Is this all a historical quibble, or does this part of the mishnah have a message for us even today? R’ Chaim Yosef David Azulai (the ‘Chida’) presumably thinks so because he looks at this link in the chain of tradition through in terms of middot—the human qualities we are encouraged to cultivate. In his Kikar L’Eden he teaches that the word “zakenim” alludes not to the status of the recipients but to their humility, the gematria of the Hebrew letters that spell “zakenim” is identical to that of the phrase “God of the humble”. Elsewhere, in his Ahavah beTa’anugim, the Chida offers another explanation: in short, “zakenim” are people who, having grown older and wiser, are now controlled less by the demands of the flesh than by the spirit.

My unauthoritative opinion on the subject? Noting that the Torah is handed down by Joshua to the Elders and the Prophets before it comes down to the Men of the Great Assembly, I feel that this teaches us something important. Joshua was a Torah scholar who spent his time midrashically in the Bet Midrash of his Moses his teacher. From this Torah scholar the Torah passes through the hands of the zakenim who, as portrayed by Tanach, are effectively men and women of action and military commanders.  Torah then passes through the Prophets—people who, in addition to being a link in the chain, have also their own direct channel of communication with God. And the Prophets pass their received Torah to the Men of the Great Assembly, a body of lawyers, sages and legislators. This shows that it is for every one of us, regardless of our very different functions, professional callings and capabilities, to take our share of the responsibility of transmitting Torah from one generation to the next.

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The cost of Torah and the price of honour

An Avot baraita for Shabbat: Perek 6 (parashat Bemidbar)

Continuing our series of erev Shabbat posts on the perek of the week, we finally reach Perek 6, “Kinyan HaTorah” (“Acquisition of the Torah”), which we learn ahead of the festival of Shavuot which marks the giving of the Torah at Sinai.

Not all the teachings in Avot consist of rabbis telling people what to do. One of them, a baraita in the final perek (Avot 6:9), opens with a short story:

אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹסֵי בֶּן קִסְמָא: פַּֽעַם אֶחָת הָיִֽיתִי מְהַלֵּךְ בַּדֶּֽרֶךְ, וּפָגַע בִּי אָדָם אֶחָד, וְנָתַן לִי שָׁלוֹם, וְהֶחֱזַֽרְתִּי לוֹ שָׁלוֹם, אָמַר לִי: רַבִּי, מֵאֵיזֶה מָקוֹם אָֽתָּה, אָמַֽרְתִּי לוֹ: מֵעִיר גְּדוֹלָה שֶׁל חֲכָמִים וְשֶׁל סוֹפְרִים אָֽנִי. אָמַר לִי: רַבִּי, רְצוֹנְךָ שֶׁתָּדוּר עִמָּֽנוּ בִּמְקוֹמֵֽנוּ, וַאֲנִי אֶתֵּן לָךְ אֶֽלֶף אֲלָפִים דִּנְרֵי זָהָב וַאֲבָנִים טוֹבוֹת וּמַרְגָּלִיּוֹת. אָמַֽרְתִּי לוֹ: אִם אַתָּה נוֹתֵן לִי כָּל כֶּֽסֶף וְזָהָב וַאֲבָנִים טוֹבוֹת וּמַרְגָּלִיּוֹת שֶׁבָּעוֹלָם, אֵינִי דָר אֶלָּא בִּמְקוֹם תּוֹרָה

Rabbi Yose ben Kisma said: Once I was going on my way and I encountered a man. He greeted me and I returned his greeting. He said to me: "Rabbi, where are you from?" I said to him: "I’m from a great city of sages and scholars". He said to me: "Rabbi, would you like to live with us in our place? I will give you a million gold dinars of gold, precious stones and pearls”. I said I to him: "If you were to give me all the silver, gold, precious stones and pearls in the world, I wouldn’t live anywhere but in a place of Torah”.

Is any further comment needed, or indeed desirable? Here, in narrative form, we read a simple story of a great and highly principled rabbi who refuses all inducements and blandishments for the sake of being able to learn Torah in the company of other like-minded scholars.

Those who discuss this stranger tend to do so in a pejorative sense. Thus R’ Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers) describes him as “lacking the basic underpinnings of spirituality” with his “superficial manners and his overvaluation of money”. The Chafetz Chaim says the man was not asking Rabbi Yose to teach Torah but only that people would honour him (Shmuel Charlap, Chafetz Chaim al Avot).  The Maharal of Prague, seeking to identify him by name, pointed to two candidates who could have scarcely been more different from one another: Elijah the Prophet and the Satan.

But perhaps there is more to this story than meets the eye. For one thing, though we know very little about Rabbi Yose ben Kisma, we do know that he lived and taught in the Roman city of Caesarea—an affluent place but hardly a notable makom Torah after the Bar Kochka revolt of 132-136 CE.

Further, everyone reads this baraita from the standpoint of Rabbi Yose ben Kisma. But why do we not read it too from the perspective of the unknown man whom he meets? Here we find a man who is so desperate to secure a rabbi who will illuminate his town with Torah and enrich it with his knowledge that he is prepared to pay any price for it. Perhaps he is even greater in his dedication to Torah than is Rabbi Yose. After all, the rabbi articulates his concern for himself, while the man he meets is seeking a rabbi for an entire community.

If you enjoyed this post or found it useful, please feel welcome to share it with others. Thank you.

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Don't do it just because you can!

Taking a simplistic view of Jewish life, we can divide our day between (i) things we absolutely must do, (ii) things we are told to do as a sort of optional extra, (iii) things we are allowed to decide for ourselves whether we do them or not, (iv) things we are told not to do but there may be no problem if we do them, and (v) things we are prohibited from doing. When we study the Torah, much of what we learn involves looking at particular actions and trying to decide which category they belong to.

Much if not most of Pirkei Avot addresses the third category: activities where we have an option or a discretion as to whether we do them or not. The tractate helps to sensitise us and make us more aware of the consequences of our actions.

As we have mentioned before, Rabban Gamliel ben Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi (Avot 2:3) teaches:

הֱווּ זְהִירִין בָּרָשׁוּת, שֶׁאֵין מְקָרְבִין לוֹ לְאָדָם אֶלָּא לְצֹֽרֶךְ עַצְמָן, נִרְאִין כְּאוֹהֲבִין בְּשַֽׁעַת הַנָּאָתָן, וְאֵין עוֹמְדִין לוֹ לְאָדָם בְּשַֽׁעַת דָּחֳקוֹ

 Be careful with the government, for they befriend a person only for their own needs. They appear to be friends when it is beneficial to them, but they do not stand by a person at the time of his distress.

While the normal meaning of this mishnah is plain, there is another way of reading it that mines it for some fairly heavy mussar (moral chastisement). We do so by translating the Hebrew word רָשׁוּת (“rashut”, meaning “the government”) as “permission”.  If we take this route, we then have to reinterpret the rest of the mishnah. Who is it now that befriends a person for its own sake but deserts him at a time of need? The only plausible answer is a person’s yetzer hara, the urge to perform acts that may be downright evil, certainly illegal or, as in our case, merely undesirable.

Is there any source for this? Yes. The Torah (Vayikra 19:2) requires us to be kedoshim, holy people, because God himself is holy. On this verse, Rashi cites a midrash which explains that being holy entails being perushim, people who separate themselves from sexual immorality and other sins. Ramban picks up on this: perushim in his view means more than separating oneself from that which is forbidden. How so?

According to Ramban we must distance ourselves from not only that which is forbidden but also with that which we are permitted to do, if by doing a permitted act we commit a chillul Hashem (a desecration of God’s name) and damage our own reputation at the same time. Examples are not hard to come by. The drinking of alcoholic beverages is permitted under Jewish law, but a Jew who knocks back half a bottle of whisky and carouses through the streets at 3.00am, singing bawdy songs at the top of his voice, can expect that neither his reputation nor that of God will benefit from this exercise. Rather, the opposite: people will view him as a drunken nuisance and a poor ambassador for the religion to which he aspires.  This sort of conduct is called being a naval birshut haTorah (a despicable person with the rashut of the Torah).

R' Chaim Druckman (Avot leBanim) cites this explanation of rashut in his discussion of Rabban Gamliel’s mishnah above, and he is not alone in offering it since it can be found three centuries after Ramban in R’ Shmuel de Uzeda’s Midrash Shmuel. However, it does seem to strain the meaning of the rest of the mishnah and, despite its powerful message, the injunction not to be a naval birshut haTorah does not seem on the face of it to be the message that Rabban Gamliel had in mind.

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Keep the donkey, not the jewel!

There’s an anonymous Mishnah at Avot 5:13 that says a lot about our attitude towards property.

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בָּאָדָם: הָאוֹמֵר שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלִּי וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלָּךְ, זוֹ מִדָּה בֵינוֹנִית, וְיֵשׁ אוֹמְרִים זוֹ מִדַּת סְדוֹם.

שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלָּךְ וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלִּי, עַם הָאָֽרֶץ.

שֶׁלִּי שֶׁלָּךְ וְשֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלָּךְ, חָסִיד.

שֶׁלָּךְ שֶׁלִּי וְשֶׁלִּי שֶׁלִּי, רָשָׁע

There are four types of people: One who says: "What is mine is mine and what is yours is yours" — this is a neutral quality; others say that this is characteristic of Sodom.

One who says: "What is mine is yours and what is yours is mine" is a boor. 

One who says, "What is mine is yours and what is yours is yours" is a chasid (i.e. a really good and kind sort person).

And one who says: "What is mine is mine and what is yours is mine" is wicked.

Merely okay, or something better?

A midrash (Devarim Rabbah on Ekev, 3:3; Yalkut Shimoni on Mishlei, 947) tells a story of Shimon ben Shetach that is usually a little embellished in the telling. The Wikipedia version, slightly edited, reads like this:

Shimon ben Shetach … lived in humble circumstances, supporting himself and his family by conducting a small business in linen goods. Once his pupils presented him with a donkey which they had purchased from a gentile merchant. Using the legal formula prescribed by the Talmud, they said "When we pay you, this donkey and everything on it is ours." After receiving the gift, Shimon removed the saddle and discovered a costly jewel. The students joyously told their master that he might now cease toiling since the proceeds from the jewel would make him wealthy—the legal formula of the sale meant that the jewel was now his property. Shimon, however, replied that even though the letter of the law said they were right, it was clear that the seller had no intention of selling the jewel along with the animal. Shimon returned the gem to the merchant, who exclaimed, "Praised be the God of Shimon ben Shetach!"

[Incidentally, in the two versions of the midrash cited above, the contract is made not by the talmidim but Shimon ben Shetach himself, and there is no mention of the use of any Talmud-prescribed formula. Moreover, the term ‘gentile merchant’ is not used.  The seller is described simply as an Ishmaelite, i.e. an Arab. Another version of this tale is found in Talmud Yerushalmi, Bava Metzia, halachah 5, daf 8a. There the students of Shimon ben Shetach buy the donkey for him so that he will no longer have to earn his living by selling flax. In all three versions cited here, the jewel is not found under the saddle but is tied to the donkey’s neck].

What does this story have to do with our mishnah? Quite a bit, since we have to ask whose jewel is the rabbi giving the merchant—his own or the merchant’s? If the former, he is giving away what he owns and is therefore a chasid. If the latter, he is returning it to its rightful master and only qualifies for being an average sort of person at best.

The addition of the story that the talmidim bought the donkey with the stipulation that its owner passes title to “the donkey and everything on it” provides a reason for letting us say that, since the jewel would then be gifted to Shimon ben Shetach and therefore belonged to him, by gifting it to the merchant he was being a chasid. However, there is a simpler way to achieve the same objective. Where a person who parts with an object that belongs to him loses hope of recovering it, this abandonment of hope (yi’ush) effectively renders that item ownerless—and thus capable of being acquired by the next person who comes to possess it.  On this basis the rabbi, on acquiring the jewel through yi’ush and then returning it to the merchant, would qualify under our mishnah as a chasid.

Is it wrong to be average?

What is so bad about just being regarded as an average, neutral sort of person, neither favouring oneself over others nor promoting their interests at one’s own expense? One answer is that, even if you are neither a tzaddik nor a rasha, and indeed treat others as you would yourself, this neutrality does not foster the positive value of love between fellow human beings (“Love your neighbour as yourself”: Leviticus 19:18) that lies at the very core of the Torah.

Another reason to prefer to be a chasid is that neutrality is actually a form of fatalism: a person can believe in God but still say: “Everything that happens in this world is the way God wants it. He created the mazal for each of us; our fate is in the stars. If God wanted anyone else to have my money/house/car He would have given it to them in the first place.” This attitude, which reflects a view of a static world in which it is impermissible for any individual to affect the material wellbeing of another, is unacceptable in terms of Jewish thought. One might have thought that the litmus test of a person’s human quality is not what he thinks but what he does and that a bad attitude, in and of itself, is not as important as how a person acts. The mishnah therefore comes to tell us otherwise: in this case anyone who has this attitude to life is not merely misguided: he is evil, a rasha.

Yi’ush: abandoning hope

The Malbim (Rabbi Meir Leibush ben Yechiel Michel Wisser, in Artzot HaShalom) posits another scenario that brings this Mishnah into the context of yi’ush. Take the case of Reuven and Shimon who are travelling together, each with their own goods.  A thief comes along and steals the property of them both. Shimon abandons hope of ever recovering his property; Reuven however perseveres and later recovers both his and Shimon’s goods. As a matter of halachah, Reuven doesn’t just get his own stuff back. He is now also the rightful owner of the goods that used to belong to the despairing Shimon. If he returns the stolen items to Shimon, this is an example of “what’s mine is mine, what’s yours is yours” in a positive sense. But, explains the Malbim, if Shimon seizes his former property back by force on the basis of “what’s mine is mine, what’s yours is yours”, even though he has said exactly the same thing as Reuven, he has demonstrated the middah of Sodom.

 An obvious question here is why voluntarily giving the recovered property back to its original owner is only a middle-of-the-road middah and not regarded as an act of chesed. The answer suggested by R’ David Sperber (Michtam leDavid al Masechet Avot) is that Reuven only returned the goods to Shimon after the latter contemplated litigation and had approached a Bet Din with a view to instituting legal proceedings.

 There’s a further twist to the question of yi’ush.  Let us say that the Ishmaelite donkey vendor had totally lost hope of recovering his precious jewel. Overjoyed at receiving it back against all odds, he utters the words "Praised be the God of Shimon ben Shetach!" and we all rejoice in the kiddush Hashem: the jewel that by law belonged to the rabbi is returned to its original owner, and both are happy.  Now, if at any later stage in his life the donkey seller loses another jewel, particularly if he does so in an area in which there is a Jewish population, he will recall that his previously lost jewel was returned by a righteous Jew and he will likely continue to nurture the hope that another worshipper of the same God will come across it and return it to him. There will be no yi’ush and, if any Jew does return it, he will only fall within the category of “what’s mine is mine, what’s yours is yours”.  He will not be a chasid but an ordinary, unexceptional citizen.

 What about the students?

 There still remains the problem of the talmidim of Shimon ben Shetach. I am surprised that, if they knew our mishnah at Avot 5:13, they should have been so keen for their teacher to retain the jewel, sell it and live off its proceeds. He was after all a man whose attitude towards material wealth and well-being must surely have been familiar to them.

 Midrash does not name these students and it is likely that, given the difficult conditions under which Torah was studied during his lifetime, he may not have had many. We do however know that two talmidim he shared with Yehudah ben Tabbai went on to became the Nasi and Av Bet Din in their place: they were popular and outstanding personalities, Shemayah and Avtalyon, and there is nothing to connect them with this midrash.

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When Aaron didn't intervene

An Avot mishnah for Shabbat: Perek 5 (parashat Bechukotai)

Continuing our series of erev Shabbat posts on the perek of the week, we now turn to Perek 5.

We all know how long an argument can last—particularly when both sides are determined to have the last word.  Our rabbis of old knew a lot about arguing too, since their quest for truth and their unquenchable desire to discover the fullest and deepest meanings of the Torah often involved lengthy verbal conflict.  A mishnah in Avot (5:20) deals with this very topic:

כָּל מַחֲלֽוֹקֶת שֶׁהִיא לְשֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם, סוֹפָהּ לְהִתְקַיֵּם, וְשֶׁאֵינָהּ לְשֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם, אֵין סוֹפָהּ לְהִתְקַיֵּם. אֵיזוֹ הִיא מַחֲלֽוֹקֶת שֶׁהִיא לְשֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם, זוֹ מַחֲלֽוֹקֶת הִלֵּל וְשַׁמַּאי. וְשֶׁאֵינָהּ לְשֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם, זוֹ מַחֲלֽוֹקֶת קֹֽרַח וְכָל עֲדָתוֹ

Any dispute that is for the sake of Heaven will ultimately endure; one that is not for the sake of Heaven will not ultimately endure. Which dispute is for the sake of Heaven? The dispute between Hillel and Shammai. Which dispute is not for the sake of Heaven? The dispute of Korach and all his company.

Taken literally, this mishnah can be read in one of two ways. First, we can learn from the examples it gives. Hillel and Shammai disputed points of Jewish law in order to serve God better by doing exactly want He wants: their arguments are closely studied even today, two thousand years later, by students of the Talmud all over the world. Korach’s dispute with Moses and Aaron, in contrast, was a power struggle disguised as a Torah dispute: it had no merit then and is now only viewed as a historical curiosity.

A second, more cynical meaning is that a dispute in which the disputants cling to the belief that they are arguing God’s cause is one that will last forever because they will never agree to resolve it. As Rabbi Israel Salanter is quoted as saying:

“In any controversy, people may come to some mutual understanding and solve the matter. However, when the participants mistakenly convince themselves that they are fighting God’s battle, then instead of coming to a common understanding through give and take they will insist that they are absolutely right, that they are upholding God’s view. In such a case they will never yield. As a result, the controversy will endure and continue on and on” (from Rabbi Irving Greenberg, Sage Advice).

The upshot of this teaching is that, however important it is to work out what a Torah verse means, or how a particular law applies, there is a higher value: the value of peace, which is achieved when any disagreement is resolved. Respect for this higher value may mean seeking a compromise that finds some merit in both sides of an argument, for example by agreeing that each of two opposing views applies to a different set of facts.

The need to respect the higher value of peace may be even greater than that. The Torah itself hints at this (Shemot 32). When confronted with demands from the Children of Israel that he make them a god to replace Moses and lead them on their journey to the Promised Land, Aaron could have chosen to argue with them that this demand was illegal, unfounded and in any event unnecessary. But realising the gravity of the situation Aaron—the very epitome of peace—did not even seek to reason with them and talk them out of it. He knew that any argument with the masses would not be a dispute for the sake of Heaven: he was facing a cry for leadership from people raised in a land of idolatry and who were expressing an irresistible  urge to return to their former habits and practice.

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So who is the real thief -- and why?

At Avot 2:8 Hillel reels off a list of things that either hurt or help us. It starts like this:

מַרְבֶּה בָשָׂר מַרְבֶּה רִמָּה, מַרְבֶּה נְכָסִים מַרְבֶּה דְאָגָה, מַרְבֶּה נָשִׁים מַרְבֶּה כְשָׁפִים, מַרְבֶּה שְׁפָחוֹת מַרְבֶּה זִמָּה, מַרְבֶּה עֲבָדִים מַרְבֶּה גָזֵל. מַרְבֶּה תוֹרָה מַרְבֶּה חַיִּים, מַרְבֶּה יְשִׁיבָה מַרְבֶּה חָכְמָה, מַרְבֶּה עֵצָה מַרְבֶּה תְבוּנָה, מַרְבֶּה צְדָקָה מַרְבֶּה שָׁלוֹם

The more the flesh, the more the worms; the more the possessions, the more the worry; the more the wives, the more the witchcraft; the more the maidservants, the more the sexual immorality; the more the manservants, the more the thievery; the more the Torah, the more the life; the more the study, the more the wisdom; the more the counsel, the more the understanding; the more the charity, the more the peace…

I only want to discuss one of these items: the more the manservants, the more the thievery. For the sake of framing it within its context, I have reproduced the relevant words with bold type.

The other items listed in this mishnah provide a context that suggests that we are talking about a man’s personal situation. In particular it addresses a man who is obese, rich, possessed of a plurality of wives and domestic servants. Slaves and servants were the norm in Biblical times; the Tanach and the Oral Torah make frequent references to them and lay down rules regarding them: the same word, עֶבֶד(eved), is used for both. The association of servants with theft must have been so obvious that Rambam, the Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi make no comment on this part of the mishnah at all, while Rabbenu Yonah characterises theft as the eved’s response to being beaten by his master.

Most of us don’t have manservants any more, or indeed any servants, so Hillel’s teaching really needs a spin if it is to speak to us directly.

R’ Yisroel Miller (The Wisdom of Avos) discreetly omits any comment on the entire Mishnah, possibly on account of the references to witchcraft and sexual immorality, R’ Yitz Greenberg (Sage Advice) does tackle the worms and the sexual immorality—but has nothing to say specifically about menservants. R’ Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) suggests that there is little difference between maidservants and manservants, other than that the former are more inclined towards sexual immorality while the latter tend more towards offences of dishonesty.

Commentators with a background in psychology fly their own flags. R’ Reuven P. Bulka (Chapters of the Sages) discusses menservants as status symbols belonging to empire builders who wish to impress others, who are probably not your average Pirkei Avot reader, but he does allude to the boredom and emptiness felt by unnecessary household staff who may be driven to theft by the sheer vacuity of their existence. The same idea, of apparent status symbols masking a sordid reality, is echoed by Irving M. Bunim (Ethics from Sinai) who addresses all the negative excesses in global terms. R. Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers) writes generally about the problems generated by excesses of every kind, also offering his personal view—which many of us may share on the basis of our own experience—that it can be far more gratifying to do things for oneself than have others doing them for you,

Most recently Gila Ross (Living Beautifully) neatly cites an early source so as to frame this mishnah within a modern context with which many of us are familiar—that of regular rather than domestic employment:

“An excess of staff or servants can lead to more thievery—and not just because they may steal from [the person who has many of them]. According to Rabbi Yosef ibn Nachmias, if someone employs staff above what he can afford, he may bring himself to questionable business practices to maintain a lifestyle that’s above and beyond what he can really handle”.

 This scenario is unlikely to have been at the forefront of Hillel’s mind 2,000 years ago, but his words provide a convenient peg on which to hang a useful piece of practical advice.

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Tracing one's steps back to Avot

At the beginning of May I posted “Taking steps, or taking a path”. This piece reviewed Rabbi Avigdor Miller’s ‘Ten Steps to Greatness’, pointed out how they reflected earlier teachings in Pirkei Avot and invited readers to submit their own suggestions for acquiring greatness—which sadly none of them did.

Here’s another ten-point list to consider. This time the author is the late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks and it was published in The Times newspaper on 5 January 2008 under the title ‘Resolutions’. For a Jewish readership the same piece was hosted on his own website under a different title: “Count your blessings and begin to change your life”. R’ Miller’s list was aimed at making people great, while that of R’ Sacks had the less ambitious aim of changing people only to the extent of making them happier with their portion in life. As with R’ Miller, so too with R’ Sacks, the question arises: is there any connection between the listed items and Pirkei Avot?

R’ Sacks’ list runs like this [but with Avot allusions added in bold text]:

1. Give thanks. Once a day take quiet time to feel gratitude for what you have, not impatience for what you don’t have [gratitude for what one has is covered by Avot 4:1 and 6:6]. This alone will bring you halfway to happiness. We already have most of the ingredients of a happy life. It’s just that we tend to take these for granted and focus on unmet wants, unfulfilled desires. Giving thanks is better than shopping – and cheaper too [on the potentially detrimental metaphorical effect of shopping see Rabbi Akiva at Avot 3:20].

2. Praise. Catch someone doing something right and say so. Most people, most of the time, are unappreciated. Being recognised, thanked and congratulated by someone else is one of the most empowering things that can happen to us [Recognising the good in other people and giving them credit for it feature in Avot 6:6]. So don’t wait for someone to do it for you: do it for someone else. You will make their day, and that will help to make yours.

3. Spend time with your family. Make sure that there is at least one time a week when you sit down to have a meal together with no distractions – no television, no phone, no email, just being together and celebrating one another’s company. Happy marriages and healthy families need dedicated time [this course of action is arguably the easiest way to achieve the objectives of ‘being loved’ and ‘loving other people’ as articulated in Avot 6:1 and 6:6].

4. Discover meaning. Take time out, once in a while, to ask: “Why am I here? What do I hope to achieve? How best can I use my gifts? What would I wish to be said about me when I am no longer here?” [Introspection of this nature resonates with Hillel’s teaching at 1:14]. Finding meaning is essential to a fulfilled life – and how can you find it if you never look? If you don’t know where you want to be, you will never get there, however fast you run.

5. Live your values. Most of us believe in high ideals, but we act on them only sporadically. The best thing to do is to establish habits that get us to enact those ideals daily. This is called ritual, and it is what religions remember but ethicists often forget [Living one’s values requires a person to exercise constant judgement in making sure that his deeds are not merely good but that they are consistent with what he is as a person, hence Avot 1:1: be deliberate in (self)-judgement].

6. Forgive. This is the emotional equivalent of losing excess weight. Life is too short to bear a grudge or seek revenge. Forgiving someone is good for them but even better for you. The bad has happened. It won’t be made better by your dwelling on it. Let it go. Move on [Forgiveness as such doesn’t get a mention in Avot, but giving others the benefit of the doubt is often a prelude to the act of forgiveness. Avot 1:6].

7. Keep learning. I learnt this from Florence in Newcastle, whom I last met the day she celebrated her 105th birthday. She was still full of energy and fun. “What’s the secret?” I asked her. “Never be afraid to learn something new,” she said. Then I realised that if you are willing to learn, you can be 105 and still young. If you are not, you can be 25 and already old [by citing what he learned from Florence, R’ Sacks provides a great example of Ben Zoma’s teaching at Avot 4:1: “Who is wise? The person who learns from everyone”].

8. Learn to listen. Often in conversation we spend half our time thinking of what we want to say next instead of paying attention to what the other person is saying [attentive listening comes in Avot 6:6]. Listening is one of the greatest gifts we can give to someone else. It means that we are open to them, that we take them seriously and that we accept graciously their gift of words.

9. Create moments of silence in the soul. Liberate yourself, if only five minutes daily, from the tyranny of technology, the mobile phone, the laptop and all the other electronic intruders, and just inhale the heady air of existence, the joy of being [as Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel says at Avot 1:17: “I have found nothing better for oneself than silence”].

10. Transform suffering. When bad things happen, use them to sensitise you to the pain of others. The greatest people I know – people who survived tragedy and became stronger as a result – did not ask “Who did this to me?” Instead, they asked “What does this allow me to do that I could not have done before?” They refused to become victims of circumstance. They became, instead, agents of hope [kabbalat yisurim—a positive acceptance of suffering—is mentioned at Avot 6:6].

Thoughts, anyone?

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Snap judgements

An Avot mishnah for Shabbat: Perek 4 (parashat Behar)

Continuing our series of erev Shabbat posts on the perek of the week, we now turn to Perek 4.

Judging by appearances—it’s something we all do. But should we? Rabbi Meir forces us to consider if we should, at Avot 4:27:

אַל תִּסְתַּכֵּל בְּקַנְקַן, אֶלָּא בְּמַה שֶּׁיֶּשׁ בּוֹ, יֵשׁ קַנְקַן חָדָשׁ מָלֵא יָשָׁן, וְיָשָׁן שֶׁאֲפִילוּ חָדָשׁ אֵין בּוֹ

Don’t look at the vessel, but at what’s inside it. There are new vessels that are filled with old wine, and old vessels that don’t contain even new wine.

Rabbi Meir is not merely talking about wine. He is referring to every occasion on which we let ourselves be guided by superficial impressions. But is he being realistic?

We live in a world where appearances are important. If a person wears a police uniform or a soldier, we immediately determine that person’s role and, often, their rank or status. We assume that charedi garb or hippie get-up are measures of their wearer’s religious or cultural preferences. Daniel Kahneman (Thinking, Fast and Slow) argues that reliance on these snap assessments is the only way to navigate life in a world such as ours which is laden with messages and constantly changing situations.

But Rabbi Meir enjoys support too. The popular rock number by Bo Diddley, “You can’t judge a book by the cover”, has been performed or recorded on countless occasions by artistes as distinguished as The Rolling Stones since its release in 1962. Another song, “The cover is not the book”, is known to a new generation of children following the release of the “Mary Poppins” movie in 2018. Going back to earlier times, Rambam summarises (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot De’ot 5:9) the way a Torah scholar should appear in public, raising the implication that anyone who confirms to these norms will be judged as one.

Taking things at face value is an impressively powerful marketing tool. Toothpastes, for example, never seem to deliver the same set of sparkling white teeth as the model who appears on the promotional material. But that is only a fraction of the reality with which we live. Who has not purchased a large packet of breakfast cereal or a bloated bag of so-called artisan chips/crisps, only to find that much of it is empty? Or, in the world of pascal gastronomy, bought a manufactured product bearing a label that proclaims kasher lePesach in large print and the words le’ochlei kitniyot in print so small you need a microscope to read it. We do judge the container, but the product can so easily let us down.

There is another aspect to judging by appearance, a rather more sinister one. At many junctures in the long, hard history of Jewish life in the Diaspora, we have been required to wear distinctive and sometimes deliberately degrading clothes or badges so that non-Jews can instantly and without inquiry ascertain our religious status. Can we learn anything from this? Perhaps we can say that, just as we can’t judge wine by looking at the vessel (or, in modern parlance, by reading the label on the bottle), we should not impose external appearances on others where the effect is to humiliate them or to deny their individuality.

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In praise of a good dispute

In principle, we try to avoid conflicts and disputes with our fellow humans wherever possible. They cause friction, ill-feeling and anger, from which neither the victor nor the vanquished is immune. Pirkei Avot allows for disputes—but only in a very narrow context. At Avot 5:20 we learn:

כָּל מַחֲלֽוֹקֶת שֶׁהִיא לְשֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם, סוֹפָהּ לְהִתְקַיֵּם, וְשֶׁאֵינָהּ לְשֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם, אֵין סוֹפָהּ לְהִתְקַיֵּם. אֵיזוֹ הִיא מַחֲלֽוֹקֶת שֶׁהִיא לְשֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם, זוֹ מַחֲלֽוֹקֶת הִלֵּל וְשַׁמַּאי. וְשֶׁאֵינָהּ לְשֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם, זוֹ מַחֲלֽוֹקֶת קֹֽרַח וְכָל עֲדָתוֹ

Any dispute that is for the sake of Heaven will have a lasting value; one that is not for the sake of Heaven will not have a lasting value. Which is a dispute that is for the sake of Heaven? The dispute(s) between Hillel and Shammai. Which is a dispute that is not for the sake of Heaven? The dispute of Korach and all his company.

Maharam Shik comments that there are times when it is hard to avoid entering a dispute. He cites a situation in which someone pronounces a piece of treif meat to be kasher. One cannot just walk away, contenting oneself with the thought that perhaps the meat really is kasher, cherishing the notion that peace has such a high value that it would be wrong to break it. Rather, one should challenge the other person. If indeed the meat is treif, there is a useful lesson to be learned from the dispute and its outcome will have been positive.

There is however a danger, warns Maharam Shik. This lies in the temptation to pick an argument—even one based on Torah issues—in order to show off how clever or knowledgeable one is. Quoting from Zechariah 8:19, וְהָאֱמֶת וְהַשָּׁלוֹם אֱהָבוּ, “And love truth and peace”, he notes that “truth” comes before “peace”. When the value of truth is greater than that of peace, one should make an effort to pursue it.

There is another reason to favour truth over peace. A dispute will be destined to have a lasting value, לְהִתְקַיֵּם, if it is for the sake of truth. This is because truth is a quality of the Torah itself. According to Avot 1:2, Torah is one of the three pillars upon which the world stands, while peace, along with truth is listed at Avot 1:18 are two of the three things that keep the world going and give it its קיום (kiyum, its sustaining quality).

The disputes between Hillel and Shammai were exclusively addressed to questions of the Torah and its true meaning, and these are disputes which we study, and from which we learn, even today.

Though not all our own disputes may appear to relate to the Torah, we can at least make the effort to see whether there is any real point, any lasting benefit, to be achieved by engaging in arguments. Do we do so in order to enrich our understanding of the world we live in and our place within it, or are we doing it in order to flex our intellectual muscles or wield power? The choice is ours.

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Raisi is dead: glee or gratitude?

The death of Iranian President Ebrahim Raisi in yesterday’s helicopter crash has generated a large quantity of celebratory material online. Memes, tweets, blogposts and the like are being happily shared among his enemies and opponents. This is not surprising since he was an implacable foe of the State of Israel, a Holocaust denier and no lover of the Jewish people.

But is it right to rejoice?. At Avot 4:24 Shmuel HaKatan says,

“Don’t be happy at the downfall of your enemy and don’t let your heart rejoice when he stumbles, in case God sees you [literally “him”] and it’s bad in His eyes, and He turns His anger away from him [i.e. your enemy].”

These words are a direct quote from Proverbs (Mishlei 24:17-18) and they make us stop in our tracks and ask ourselves if our gleeful celebrations are in order or not.

To feel joy is both normal and natural. When King David wrote, “I will exalt you, God, since you have raised me up and did not let my enemies rejoice over me” (Psalms 30:2) he must have understood what such joy felt like since he was able to project that feeling on to the feelings which he expected his enemies to have.

Purim is not a precedent for rejoicing over our enemies’ downfall, since it does not focus on the death of Haman. Rather, we are supposed to direct our joy to the issue of a royal decree that the Jewish inhabitants of Ahasuerus’ empire were empowered to take up arms and defend themselves against the wider population.

So what should we do? Here’s a clue. If we cannot channel our joy from the downfall of our enemies to some other source of happiness, it is still open to us to translate it into gratitude. Rather than celebrate the death of President Raisi, we can offer our thanks to God that He has removed one of the many threats that face the Jewish nation and its homeland. Sadly, many such threats remain—but each represents the potential for future thanks to our one and true Protector.

In the Book of Psalms (Tehillim 27) we find an example of how a person who is acutely aware of God’s presence and of His intervention in events responds to the downfall of his enemies. The psalm in question uses the same Hebrew words as this mishnah for ‘downfall’ and ‘stumbling, and 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: there is 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.

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No flour, no Torah

R’ Elazar ben Azariah is known to most Jews who have attended a few Pesach sedarim as the rabbi whose beard turned white overnight to make him look older, and therefore wiser, than his youthful age suggested. Probably less well known is the pleasingly symmetrical Mishnah he teaches at Avot 3:17:

אִם אֵין תּוֹרָה אֵין דֶּֽרֶךְ אֶֽרֶץ, אִם אֵין דֶּֽרֶךְ אֶֽרֶץ אֵין תּוֹרָה, אִם אֵין חָכְמָה אֵין יִרְאָה, אִם אֵין יִרְאָה אֵין חָכְמָה, אִם אֵין דַּֽעַת אֵין בִּינָה, אִם אֵין בִּינָה אֵין דַּֽעַת, אִם אֵין קֶֽמַח אֵין תּוֹרָה, אִם אֵין תּוֹרָה אֵין קֶֽמַח

If there is no Torah, there is no derech eretz; if there is no derech eretz, there is no Torah. If there is no wisdom, there is no fear [of God]; if there is no fear [of God], there is no wisdom. If there is no knowledge, there is no understanding; if there is no understanding, there is no knowledge. If there is no flour, there is no Torah; if there is no Torah, there is no flour.

This note leaves the term derech eretz untranslated. While in this context it quite likely means “good behaviour”, it does have other meanings and, in any event, we are not focusing on it here. Instead, we examine the fourth part of the Mishnah: if there is no flour, there is no Torah—and vice versa. Why does R’ Elazar say this? What is this all about?

The obvious meaning is that “flour” is a metonymy: it is simply shorthand for “food” or “money”, this being the means of acquiring food. A Torah scholar who lacks food will not learn but starve (Bartenura, commentary ascribed to Rashi). But why should the absence of Torah entail an absence of food? After all, most of the world consists of people who do not learn Torah but for whom food is at least theoretically available.

R’ Baruch HaLevi Epstein (Baruch She’emar) scorns the “going hungry” explanation as teaching nothing we do not already know. Instead, he hypothesises that “Torah” is the basic material that one must learn, while “flour” is the refined product derived by analysing and developing it. If there is no Torah, there is nothing to refine and develop—and if there is to be no further development in our understanding, there is no great meaning in a Torah that is only taken at face value.

Other answers have been offered. One is that food only exists in the merit of Torah study: if Torah study is reduced, its influence diminishes too, and it is in the merit of this influence that our food is provided (Alshich); accordingly we should provide the poor Torah scholar with food, or we will find that, since he has not the wherewithal to learn Torah, ultimately even the wealthy will be without food (R’ Yechezkel Landau, the Noda BeYehudah). If people do not study Torah, they may as well be dead (Bartenura). And if people do not trouble themselves to learn Torah—an activity that distinguishes man from beast—they are no better than animals and do not deserve flour, or indeed any other food (see discussions in R’ Yisrael Meir Lau, Yachel Yisrael and R’ Yisroel Miller, The Wisdom of Avos).

One of the shortest and neatest explanations is that of the Kli Yakar, R’ Shlomo Ephraim Luntschitz (Al 13 Middot, 3, Miketz), followed by Gila Ross (Living Beautifully): “flour” and “Torah” are, respectively, “body” and “soul”. The human condition requires each to be responsible for the wellbeing of the other. Is this what R’ Elazar ben Azariah means? I don’t know, but it does seem to me that, if the first three pairs of concepts in this mishnah can also be explained in comparably simple terms, this explanation will fit in well.

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

As an aside, I don’t usually go for cute explanations of mishnayot that are based on mnemonics such as roshei tevot (acronyms). That doesn’t mean I disapprove of them; rather, much as I enjoy them, I often don’t feel that they convey a message with any particular relevance to the modern student of Avot.

Here’s one that tickled my interest, though. The Ketav Sofer points out that there are three periods when a Torah scholar must eat: on Shabbat and on the Festivals he is obliged not only to eat but to do so with simchah (happiness) and oneg (enjoyment), and on days that are neither Shabbat nor Yomim Tovim he is obliged to eat in order to survive and carry on learning Torah. The Hebrew word for flour, קמח (kemach), alludes to this. The ק is for Shabbat kodesh, the מ is for mo’ed (festival) and the ח is for chol—the regular days of the year.

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Playing out our role as humans

An Avot mishnah for Shabbat: Perek 3 (parashat Emor)

Continuing our series of erev Shabbat posts on the perek of the week, we now turn to Perek 3.

Rabbi Akiva is universally acknowledged in the Jewish world as one of our greatest and most influential scholars. He is also the most prominent contributor to this week’s Perek, providing four of its 23 mishnayot. We are fortunate that so much of his learning has been preserved for us in the Mishnah and Talmud—but unfortunate in that we no longer have a full understanding and appreciation of his teachings.

An example of this is the three-part mishnah of Avot 3:19:

הַכֹּל צָפוּי, וְהָרְשׁוּת נְתוּנָה, וּבְטוֹב הָעוֹלָם נִדּוֹן, וְהַכֹּל לְפִי רוֹב הַמַּעֲשֶׂה

Everything is foreseen, but freedom of choice is granted. The world is judged in goodness, and everything is in accordance with the majority of the action.

The first part of this teaching is a conundrum, but at least we can see that it is so: the notion that we have absolute freedom to do what we want cannot be conveniently reconciled with God’s knowing in advance that this is exactly what we are going to do; Rambam tells us—as if we could not see for ourselves—that the way this works is beyond human comprehension. The second part can be comprehended as a proposition, but we have no indication as to what it means in cosmic terms or in our daily lives. The third part demands some sort of explanation because its meaning lies beyond us. Knowing Rabbi Akiva as we do, we appreciate that deep meaning lies locked away within his words—but we have lost the key.

The first thing we must understand is that Rabbi Akiva was not an ordinary thinker and it is difficult for us to put ourselves into his mind-frame or into his historical context as a Jewish scholar and revolutionary at a time of Roman oppression. The second thing we have to understand is that, when he says something we cannot immediately understand, it is our task to work at it and try to give it some meaning. If you or I were to declare “The world is like an apricot”, no-one would take us seriously and we would be accounted fools or comedians. However, if a sage like Rabbi Akiva were to say the same thing, our respect for him would demand that we seek a meaning in his words even if it is not immediately apparent.

 This week’s mishnah has generated volumes of learned commentary, much of which Rabbi Akiva might have found quite surprising. Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi chose to include this teaching in Avot even though Rabbi Akiva said many things that are apparently more relevant (for example that “love your neighbour like yourself” is the great general principle of the Torah). From this we may infer that this mishnah says something about our role as humans. Even so, many explanations seemingly turn on global considerations and do not appear to address the individual at all. Be that as it may, each generation looks carefully at Rabbi Akiva’s words and we too engage in this task. If we cannot pull his meaning out of it, we can at least attempt to breathe meaning into it.

So this Shabbat let us ask ourselves: “What does this mishnah say with regard to our role as individuals in a social context? How can it improve us or aid us in the various roles we are required to fulfil?”

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Ethics of Our Fighters: a review

Ethics of Our Fighters, by Rabbi Shlomo M. Brody, was published by Koren at the very end of 2023.  Apart from being a rabbi, the author is a teacher, scholar and researcher who holds a doctorate in law and a journalist. His writings  on contemporary moral dilemmas have been cited by the Israeli Supreme Court—a body that is no stranger to moral dilemmas, having over the years created more than one of their own.

Avot Today noted this book when it first appeared (see our initial observations at avot-today.com/2023/12/hitting-mark-missing-point.html). I have now had a chance to read it carefully and here are my thoughts.

Despite the resonance between the title with the English name by which Avot is best known—Ethics of the Fathers—and despite the reference to Avot in the book’s publicity, this is emphatically not a book about Avot and there are very few points of even possible contact between them. One is Avot 3:18, where Rabbi Akiva reminds us that all humans are dear to God, being created in His likeness—a mishnah based on a Torah verse that, taken literally, would hold fighting forces to moral standards that most would regard as quite unreasonably too high.

Rabbi Brody’s book provides a detailed and well researched discussion of the Jewish response to the legitimacy of various issues. These include national security, human rights, conduct in regular battle, pre-emptive action, dealing with non-combatants, collective punishment, responses to terrorism, reprisals and deterrents. The most fascinating feature of many of these debates is the nature of the debaters themselves: orthodox and non-orthodox rabbis and religious scholars, secular Jews, Zionists, nationalists, military leaders, politicians and philosophers. Given the extreme importance of the subject matter and the extent to which influential opinions are liable to lead to action, these are debates in which no party and no argument can be safely ignored, and where no opinion can be discarded on the basis of the status of the person who expresses it.

This is not a casual read for the curious, since it demands one’s full attention. However, it will repay the effort involved in studying it seriously and in following the various analyses and discussions as they travel through time and space. For me, the best bit of this book is one of the shortest: it’s chapter 8 (‘The Jewish Multivalue Framework for Military Ethics’). This is because it highlights for military ethics, in like manner to Pirkei Avot, the impossibility of finding a single answer or of establishing a hierarchy of norms to situations that inevitably depend on their own unique facts. It is helpful to bear this in mind when reading, for example, chapter 23 (‘Once the War Starts: Shifting Moral Responsibilities in Urban Warfare’), where it is moral responsibilities that come into conflict.

We readers are not all the same and no publisher can cater equally for every taste. However, my personal preference for a work of this nature is that it should present references to source material and other useful or relevant notes at the bottom of each page, rather than in an appendix of nearly 70 pages where these items are listed chapter by chapter.  I do not believe that the sort of people who are likely to read this book in any sort of depth will be deterred by the appearance of footnotes, and they will be greatly assisted if they do not have to keep turning to the back of the book for the information they seek.

With that one small proviso, I very much enjoyed reading Rabbi Brody’s work and believe that it is not only a useful contribution to discussion on the ethics of war but, in effect, an agenda that will be enormously helpful to those seeking to understand the topic, to teach it or to take it to the next level.

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