Going it alone, together

“Going it Alone, Together” is a Jewish Press blogpost from May of this year by Raphael Poch, Senior PR and Marketing Manager at Aish and a freelance journalist. Though I earmarked it for discussion when it was first posted, I've have only just rediscovered it. This post takes a look at Avot 3:7, one of the less frequently discussed mishnayot in the tractate. Avot 3:7 is a teaching by Rabbi Chalafta ben Dosa that reads like this:

עֲשָׂרָה שֶׁיּוֹשְׁבִין וְעוֹסְקִין בַּתּוֹרָה, שְׁכִינָה שְׁרוּיָה בֵינֵיהֶם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: אֱלֹהִים נִצָּב בַּעֲדַת אֵל. וּמִנַּֽיִן אֲפִילוּ חֲמִשָּׁה, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וַאֲגֻדָּתוֹ עַל אֶֽרֶץ יְסָדָהּ. וּמִנַּֽיִן אֲפִילוּ שְׁלֹשָׁה, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: בְּקֶֽרֶב אֱלֹהִים יִשְׁפֹּט. וּמִנַּֽיִן אֲפִילוּ שְׁנַֽיִם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: אָז נִדְבְּרוּ יִרְאֵי יְיָ אִישׁ אֶל רֵעֵֽהוּ, וַיַּקְשֵׁב יְיָ וַיִּשְׁמָע. וּמִנַּֽיִן אֲפִילוּ אֶחָד, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: בְּכָל הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר אַזְכִּיר אֶת שְׁמִי, אָבֹא אֵלֶֽיךָ וּבֵרַכְתִּֽיךָ

When ten people sit together and occupy themselves with Torah, the Divine Presence rests amongst them, as it says: "The Almighty stands in the congregation of God" (Tehillim 82:1). And from where do we know that this is also the case with five? From the verse, "He established his band on earth" (Amos 9:6). And three? From the verse, "He renders judgement in the midst of the tribunal" (Tehillim 82:1). And two? From the verse, "Then those who feared God conversed with one another, and God listened and heard" (Malachi 3:16). And from where do we know that such is the case even with a single individual? From the verse, "In every place where I have My name mentioned, I shall come to you and bless you" (Shemot 20:21).

In its simplest understanding, this mishnah offers us comforting assurance that, so long as we are focused on the study of Torah, God’s Presence is with us—even if we can’t feel it at the time. This suggests that, by learning Torah, we are bringing a little bit of Godliness down into our simple human lives. From a mussar point of view there is the additional implication that we should learn Torah in a respectful manner, in the knowledge that He is, as it were, standing by us and looking over our shoulder while we study.

In his Jewish Press blogpost Raphael Poch gives us a fresh and highly topical application of this ancient text, though it does not claim to be a literal reading of it:

“The Mishna describes how Rabbi Chalafta ben Dosa expounded several passages from Tanach to teach us how God is with us when we study the Torah or even simply call out his name. The Mishna gives biblical support/exegesis from pasukim to prove Rabbi Chalafta’s points and state that God will be with us if we call out His name in groups of 10, 5, 3, 2, and yes, even if only one person who is standing alone and doing so. The pasuk brought to support God’s being with even an individual who calls upon His name comes from … Sefer Shemot, and reads: “In any place where I cause my name to be mentioned, I will come to you and bless you.” (Shemot 20:21)….

The context of the pasuk is about the command to build an altar, upon which sacrifices will be offered and comes directly after the Ten Commandments were given. Sacrifices are not always easy to give, but if the effort is made, and God’s name is called upon, He promises to not only answer but to bless the person who made the effort, even if they have to do it on their own. What is more telling, is that the entire pasuk is said in the singular language, using words such as Ta’aseh instead of Ta’asu, lending more strength to this concept of God standing with us when we go it alone, as long as we put in the effort.

Everyone in Israel is putting in the effort. We may not agree on the exact methodology, but we all want the same things, for the war to end in victory with the remaining hostages being returned home safely and the dismantling of Hamas and terror infrastructure in Gaza so that the people living in the region can live in peace.

Of course, there is another understanding of why the passage in Shemot was given in the singular because the Jewish people at the time were unified after receiving the Ten Commandments at Sinai. Throughout history, whenever oppressors have attacked the Jewish people, it has resulted in Jews regaining a sense of purpose, coming closer to one another, and a greater unity than was present before. The same held true after the October 7th attacks. The refrain has been repeated over and over again that ‘united we will win’. The more we fight and bicker amongst ourselves, the more we allow our enemies to break us down and have power over us. The lesson from Shemot and Pirkei Avot …was clear. We can go it alone, even if we are only one voice of reason in a world that has gone crazy. If we follow the ethics set down for us by God, declare what is correct and moral and thereby call upon God’s name, even if it is hard and we have to sacrifice things along the way, we can win. We can do that in a group with a multitude of voices, but if we do that in unison, and call out as one voice, then He will come down to us and bless us. What is greater in this world than to be blessed by God?”

While this application of Avot 3:7 is unlikely to have been within the contemplation of Rabbi Chalafta ben Dosa, its sentiments are pertinent to the situation in which we currently find ourselves in Israel and beyond—and I personally doubt that the great Tanna would have objected to them.

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Tisha be'Av 5784

This evening we mark Tisha be’Av, the date on which we remember the destruction of the First and Second Temples and mourn their loss. It is a day for feeling the pain and anguish of our ancestors and for recognising in ourselves the shortcomings in our own commitment to God and Jewish life that have ensured our failure to bring about the Temple’s restoration. It is a day of repentance, grief and contrition. We fast, we pray, we deprive ourselves of the comforts and pleasures that attend our daily life.

Pirkei Avot has no obvious point of contact with Tisha be’Av. On a day when Eicha, the Book of Lamentations, is twice recited in most synagogue services, we find reference to only one verse from that Book in Avot—and that is taken out of context. At Eicha 3:28 we read:

יֵשֵׁב בָּדָד וְיִדֹּם כִּי נָטַל עָלָיו

The Lamentations translation is:

“Let him sit in solitude and be submissive, for He [i.e. God] has laid it upon him”.

In other words, a person who has been beset by misfortune should sit as one who has been forsaken while he awaits an improvement in his condition. In contrast, the Avot ‘translation’ is taken as proof for the proposition that if even a solitary individual sits and learns, without sharing his words of Torah with anyone else, he will still be rewarded for it:

"He sits alone in meditative stillness; indeed, he receives [a reward] for it". 

On Tisha be’Av we do indeed sit by ourselves for much of the day, and most Torah learning (including Avot) is prohibited.  

It is ironical that we may not learn Avot on Tisha be’Av if we follow the extensive narrative in the Babylonian Talmud that seeks to attribute a chain of causation to the destruction of the Second Temple. In short we can deduce that, if our forefathers had taken the tractate of Avot to heart and applied it in their daily lives, the Second Temple would never have been destroyed. This narrative (Gittin 55b – 56a) opens with the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, where a guest mistakenly invited to a party was publicly humiliated (cf Avot 3:15, per Rabbi Elazar HaModa’i, on not shaming another person in public). The rabbis who were present made no apparent effort to make peace between the warring parties (Avot 1:12, per Hillel); nor did they take the initiative and intervene to calm the situation (cf Avot 2:6, also per Hillel). Had they done so, we may infer, disaster could have been averted. 

I hope and pray that this year’s Tisha be’Av solemnities will be the last, that I shall see the Temple rebuilt in my lifetime and that we, and the rest of the world, will experience the real peace that will prevail when that happens. In the meantime, I wish those readers who are marking the day in the traditional way an easy fast—and a meaningful one.

Don't despair!

With Tisha be’Av, our national day of mourning, fast approaching, it can be difficult for committed Jews to focus on the happier and more positive things in life. So here’s a post that is designed to break the unrelieved sadness that many of us are experiencing.

In the first chapter of Avot we learn three things from Nittai Ha’Arbeli:

הַרְחֵק מִשָּׁכֵן רָע, וְאַל תִּתְחַבֵּר לָרָשָׁע, וְאַל תִּתְיָאֵשׁ מִן הַפּוּרְעָנוּת

(i) Distance yourself from a bad neighbour, (ii) do not join up with a wicked person, and (iii) do not give up the expectation of retribution.

The first two teachings are easy to discuss together because they appear to be related: they share a common theme of avoiding bad company. The third, however, is generally taken to stand alone.

The need to discuss the third teaching on its own is not just a consequence of it appearing to address different subject matter. After all, it is possible to tie it in with its predecessors. It demands separate treatment because of its ambiguity. Who is being told not to abandon the belief in retribution—the bad person or his victim? And are we automatically talking here of retribution? The same word פּוּרְעָנוּת (puranut) can also mean ‘repayment’ or ‘reward’.

This being so, here’s a more upbeat message on Nittai’s teaching. The source is Rabbi Norman Lamm’s Foundations of Faith, a 2021 publication on the late Yeshiva University President’s thoughts on Avot, edited by his son-in-law Rabbi Mark Dratch. He writes that not despairing of punishment can be interpreted in two different ways:

“One is, that when things are going well, when good fortune smiles upon you and you bask in affluence and good health, do not imagine that it will always remain thus. Do not distract yourself from the underlying misery and sadness and insecurity of life Do not ‘give up’ on the possibility that adversity may strike, cruelly and suddenly. But there is another way to interpret the same Mishnah: never despair because of adversity! When misfortune strikes, when life seems to crowd you in, when you are caught in narrow straits, when the sun has set and life seems to have darkened—nevertheless, do not give up, do not yield to despair, do not imagine that help will never come!”

[After citing, the Tzava’at HaRivash on Tehillim 16:8 R’ Lamm continues]

That is why we break a glass at a wedding, the time of supreme joy, in memory of the destruction of the Temple. And that is why on Tisha B’Av, the day of national calamity, we do not say the tachanun prayer, because this very day is called mo’ed, a holiday! We introduce a note of sadness during the wedding, and a note of joy during Tisha B’Av. Yet—we do weep on Tisha B’Av and we do dance at weddings! …To be sad does not mean to interpret all of existence as an unmitigated evil, and to be happy does not mean to ignore the tragic dimension of life…”

R' Lamm is not saying “cheer up, things could always be worse”. What he is saying is that the world is not comprised entirely of those things that seem to be worse and that we should acknowledge that this is so. Ideally, our Sages teach, we should be thankful for the bad as well as for the good since we have no means of discerning the objective value of anything that happens in the world God has created. For most people this is hard, if not impossible to do, but we can still do something. We can remember that good exists, whether we experience it or not, and we can be grateful for what we do have.

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Stiffening one's resolve

 An Avot mishnah for Shabbat (Parashat Devarim)

Continuing our series of erev Shabbat posts on the perek of the week, we go back once again to Perek 3.

At Avot 3:17 Rabbi Akiva, having cautioned about the slippery slope leading from jest and frivolity down to sexual impropriety, promotes the efficacy of four “fences” in protecting higher values. He says:

מַסֹּֽרֶת סְיָג לַתּוֹרָה, מַעְשְׂרוֹת סְיָג לָעֹֽשֶׁר, נְדָרִים סְיָג לַפְּרִישׁוּת, סְיָג לַחָכְמָה שְׁתִיקָה

Tradition is a fence to Torah, tithing is a fence to wealth, vows are a fence for abstinence; a fence for wisdom is silence.

To the practising Jew of today’s world, the importance and practical utility of Torah, wealth and wisdom need neither explanation or justification. But what do we make of vows and abstinence? These are not part of our daily vocabulary. We no longer make the sort of vows that feature in the Torah, and abstinence is an unfashionable concept in any open society where self-indulgence, and indeed overindulgence, have become the norm. But if a teaching from Avot does not offer us an immediately relevant meaning, we do not jettison it or consign it to the museum of religious curiosities. We must look more closely at it and understand it more fully.

All of us make resolutions from time to time. These are not formal vows or oaths made in God’s name, and they usually relate to things that are either unregulated by the Torah or which are so prevalent that it is hard to avoid them. Typical examples might be resolving to limit one’s intake of alcohol at meals or parties, not to eat a second piece of cake at the shul’s kiddush, to get to bed by midnight or to try to avoid speaking about one’s friends behind their backs. If we mean these resolutions and take them seriously, we feel annoyed with ourselves if we break them—but it doesn’t cost us anything if we do and we do not incur any liability for which we would be obliged to offer a Temple sacrifice, a major deterrent to breaking one’s vows.

R' Yisroel Miller cites an idea expressed by R’ Yehoshua Heller in his Divrei Yehoshua that offers a simple way to apply our mishnah in the context of our own lives. He writes:

“Rather than vowing to keep to your resolution, vow that each time you break it you will give a certain amount of money to tzedakah (enough to hurt, but not enough to bankrupt you). A modified version of this is not to make an actual vow but merely a commitment to give the money each time you break your resolution. This sensitizes us and heightens our awareness of our actions, reinforcing our resolve”.

This creates a sort of win-win situation. If we keep our resolutions, we have money in our pockets and the satisfaction of demonstrating that we are strong because our self-discipline is in working order (see Avot 4:1). But if we fail, we are credited with the mitzvah of tzedakah and one or more charitable causes will be fortunate to benefit from it.

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

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A mishnah for victory, a mishnah for defeat

Big thank-yous to the ever-vigilant Claude Tusk, hotly pursued by Avi Metcalfe, for drawing our attention to Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro’s latest citation of Pirkei Avot. Yesterday, following his failure to secure the slot of Kamala Harris’s running-mate for the US Presidency, he is reported as saying:

“Since I first ran for State Representative 20 years ago, I’ve been called to serve because I want to leave our community, our Commonwealth, and our country better off for our children—and because my faith teaches me that no one is required to complete the task, but neither are we free to refrain from it”.

This a reference to Rabbi Tarfon’s famous quote, “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it” (Avot 2:21). Ben Sales, writing for the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, explains that this apothegm is

“…generally taken as a reassurance to those facing monumental or seemingly unreachable goals. It has become a mainstay of Jewish activist circles across the political spectrum”.

Indeed, as Avot Today has previously noted, it seems to be quoted more frequently by politicians and public figures than by rabbis.

A week,observed one-time British Prime Minister Harold Wilson, is a long time in politics. Readers with long memories may recall, however, that Josh Shapiro cited the same mishnah from Avot nearly two years ago, on the occasion of his gubernatorial victory over Doug Mastriano (see Avot Today, here).

Avot Today is of course delighted at Governor Shapiro’s enthusiasm for this fascinating tractate—and we look forward to more of the same—but somehow we doubt that we shall hear him quoting two other great teachers from Avot. One is Shemaya (“Don’t make yourself known to the government”: Avot 1:10). The other is Rabban Gamliel ben Rebbi (“Beware of rulers, for they befriend a person only for their benefit; they act friendly when it befits them, but they do not stand by someone in their time of need”: Avot 2:3).

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"Please don't let me be misunderstood"

“Oh, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good.
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood”.

Readers of this post with an interest in music may recognise these words as the chorus of a much-recorded 1964 song, ‘Please don’t let me be misunderstood’. As humans who communicate with one another through actions and words, there are two prime means of failing to understand others. One is through our actions; the other is by our speech.

Avot encourages us to judge others favourably (Avot 1:6), but this is not a foolproof way of avoiding misunderstanding. In effect, it demands of us that we impose a favourable construction on what we see or hear—but it only comes into play once we regard what we see or hear as wrongful, unethical or illegal conduct. It is also hard to do in many situations, for example where a physician prescribes the wrong dosage of a medication on the basis of an inadequate understanding of the condition he is treating.

The ideal resolution of misunderstandings is for everyone to speak and write with perfect clarity and to act in a manner that is entirely unambiguous. This isn’t going to happen, particularly at a time when time is precious, soundbites are king and patience is short. We also live in an era in which we are apt to neglect the art of attentive listening and accurate reading.

Be that as it may, we can all do better if we try.  And try we should, because the stake are high and the cost of failure in the joined-up age of the social media can be devastating. This is the point made by Rabbi Elchanan Poupko in a recent Times of Israel blogpost (“Pirkei Avot: Words Tested by Time”, here) There he quotes the warning given by Avtalyon that opens Avot 1:11: “Sages, be careful with your words”. Avtalyon continues by dramatically depicting a scenario in which words erroneously spoken by a person with influence are picked up by followers who take them to heart, with potentially fatal consequences.

R; Poupko develops this theme and takes it further:

“… Even when saying the right thing, someone in a position of authority must be extra careful about what will be done with those words. True, you can always clarify and answer questions about what it is that you meant when you are at the place where you are making your statements, but you may not always be there. You will not always be able to clarify your words. If this was something we needed to elaborate on decades and centuries ago, the advances of the internet and social media make it clearer than ever. Statements that are made as part of a conversation and developing a thought can be screenshotted and immortalized into iron-clad statements.

What is said to one group with a certain sensitivity and understanding can then be lifted and posted to another group that will not share the same understanding. What is said privately to one person who needs to hear one thing can be easily made public to others, and the most intimate of exchanges are just a screenshot away from potentially being presented to billions of people who will use it against a person who innocently wrote it for an audience of one. This is why sages, rabbis, and people in public positions must be extra careful about what they say. Even if something is right, true, and appropriate for one audience, the speaker must consider the possibility that they will one day not be there to explain the words that were spoken and now might be misunderstood and misused”.  

It’s hard even for the most literate among us to escape having our words misconstrued, since their comprehension depends on how others read or hear them. But we can still make the effort. Avtalyon’s advice is none the less correct on account of the challenge we face in following it

Many of us will have little difficulty in recalling politicians, teachers, entertainers, sports personalities and family members whose words have been either inaccurately quoted or accurately quoted out of context, to devastating effect. Each time this happens, there is a personal misfortune or even tragedy at the end of it. Before we too play our part in this cycle of misunderstanding we should ask ourselves: is this what God wants of us? And are we being the sort of person we really want to be?

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Now I know the answer

Regular readers of Avot Today will recall that I have written many times on the teaching of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus at Avot 2:15:

שׁוּב יוֹם אֶחָד לִפְנֵי מִיתָתָךְ

Repent one day before your death.

For the benefit of newcomers to this Group, or to Pirkei Avot itself, the point is that, since we don’t know the date of our death, we should make a point of repenting on a daily basis since tomorrow we might die.

I write these words in my apartment in Jerusalem where, like so many other residents of Israel, I am keeping an ear out for the sound of the sirens that will herald an expected, indeed promised, attack from Iran. If I am fortunate, I will run for the relative safety of the bomb shelter that services our building, and will later emerge alive. If I am not so fortunate—and we fear that there will be many fatalities when the rockets fall—then this will be my final post.

Today is not the easiest of days for repentance.  In the Hebrew calendar it is Rosh Chodesh Av—the first day of the new month and a day on which we allow ourselves a modicum of rejoicing, reciting the happy psalms of praise that make up Hallel in place of the usual pleas for forgiveness we know as Tachanun. But repentance is still perfectly possible even on days when Tachanun is not recited, and every day offers a chance to be at peace, or to make peace, with not just God but with those around us.

I have sometimes asked other people what they would do if they knew they would die the next day, and their answers were not always uplifting (see “A sad reflection on human nature”, here). But at least today I know how I would choose to spend my last day: I’m spending it the same way as I spend every other weekday. A bit of prayer, a bit of Torah learning, a bit of socialising with family and friends, a bit of writing—and a very great deal of being grateful for the fact these things are available to me.

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

For some positive suggestions on this topic, see “What to do the day before you die”, here.

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If Plan A fails, there's always an alternative

The concept of a back-up plan is commonplace in modern culture—but did our ancient Sages understand it too? There is some evidence that they did. In Parashat Vayishlach (Bereishit 32:9, per Rashi) we learn how Jacob devised a threefold plan to counter the imminent threat of conflict with his alienated twin Esau: if gifts didn’t buy Esau’s favour and prayer didn’t secure Jacob’s safety, Plan C was to prepare for battle.

A recent post (“Mishnah, motive and mind-games: can you make the right decision?”, here) discusses the teaching of Akavyia ben Mahalalel at Avot 3:1:

עֲקַבְיָא בֶּן מַהֲלַלְאֵל אוֹמֵר: הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים, וְאֵין אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה. דַּע מֵאַֽיִן בָּֽאתָ, וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ, וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן. מֵאַֽיִן בָּֽאתָ: מִטִּפָּה סְרוּחָה. וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ: לִמְקוֹם עָפָר רִמָּה וְתוֹלֵעָה. וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן: לִפְנֵי מֶֽלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הו

Reflect upon three things and you will not come to the hands of transgression. Know where you came from, where you are going, and before whom you will give an account of yourself. Where did you come from? A putrid drop. Where are you going? To a place of dust, worms and [other] worms. And before whom will you give an account of yourself? Before the supreme King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.

This is the second Mishnah in Avot to open with the words: “Reflect upon three things and you will not come to the hands of transgression”. We find them in the opening Mishnah to the second perek where Rebbi teaches:

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

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

Many commentators have asked why Rebbi, who redacted the tractate, felt it necessary to include both his prescription for sin avoidance and that of his distinguished precursor, and there are many answers. I’ve just come across a fresh one, thanks to Rabbi Asher Weiss’s recently published two-volume set, Rav Asher Weiss on Avos. There he writes:

“It would seem that the method of Akavya ben Mahalalel does not apply at all times; it is only to be employed when a person’s yetzer hara seeks to overcome him. It is not recommended that a person constantly consider where he came from and where he is heading. Doing so will likely lead him to sadness. It is, moreover, only effective for a short period, while thinking about it constantly is likely to make it less effective. He should instead use this method only when his yetzer hara is about to overcome him and he cannot otherwise prevail against it.

By contrast, Rebbi’s advice offers a pathway upon which a person should treat constantly. He should remember that there is a ‘watchful eye, an attentive ear, and all your deeds are recorded in a book’—Hashem looks into his heart and soul at every moment…”

In other words, we are instructed to try Rebbi’s approach first. That’s Plan A and it’s for everyone. Plan B, Akavya ben Mahalalel’s prescription, is only applicable where the yetzer hara is particularly stubborn.

Pirkei Avot being full of mussar, it is unsurprising that it offers not only a Plan C but a Plan D, though they are not expressed in precisely the same terms. Plan C is to learn Torah for its own sake, which distances a person from sin (Avot 6:1, per Rabbi Meir). Then if that doesn’t work, Plan D is to carry on learning Torah but get stuck into one’s day job too. This should have the effect of making oneself so heavily engaged in one’s studies and discharging one’s work and family obligations that all thought of sinning is forgotten (Avot 2:2, per Rebbi’s son Rabban Gamliel).

Well, readers, which do YOU find the most efficacious—and why?

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Who's afraid of the big bad sin...?

 An Avot mishnah for Shabbat (perek 2: parashiyot Mattot-Masei)

This week’s pre-Shabbat post takes us back to Perek 2.

Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai had five special talmidim, each of which he praised by reference to a special quality. Of one of the five, he had this to say (Avot 2:11):

רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן נְתַנְאֵל יְרֵא חֵטְא

Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel fears sin.

This seems strange. Shouldn’t fear of sin come with the territory for any self-respecting rabbi? And here we are talking about a generation of rabbis which, in terms of its piety, knowledge and commitment to serving God, we regard as being well above and beyond our own. What’s more, while we habitually praise people for their Torah learning, their commitment to religious observance, their high level of personal integrity and so on, to say of anyone nowadays that he or she “fears sin” sounds archaic and also inapposite, for how can we know what anyone else truly thinks or fears?

We can’t even be sure what sort of fear of sin Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel is being praised for? Does he fear to commit sins himself, or the consequences of others committing them? Does his fear apply to all sins, or specifically to those against God, against fellow human beings or against oneself? And what message does this description have for us?

If all we can learn here is that Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel distanced himself from sin by being strict upon himself and denying himself even that which was permitted, as the Bartenura and Rabbenu Yonah learn, has he done any more than build himself a fence around the Torah (see Avot 1:1)? And if he is only being zahir, careful, as Rambam understands, Avot teaches that too (see 4:1). What added value can we find here, what extra nuance?

R' Reuven P. Bulka (Chapters of the Sages) offers us this perspective on our Tanna:

“He thinks through very carefully and meticulously before speaking about them”.

This chimes in with the notion that the word חֵטְא (chet), which we translate here as “sin”, really means “miss the mark”, in the way that an archer’s arrow or a sling-shot might miss its target (see Judges 20:16). Our message from this Mishnah is that Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel’s great quality is that he is a perfectionist; he literally quakes at the thought of missing his target, at getting something even a little bit wrong. Can we learn from this and incorporate it into our own lives? That’s another matter.

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Our three best friends

At Avot 4:13 we learn that there’s more to being good than getting rewarded, and more to being bad than being punished. According to Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov our good and bad deeds effectively speak for us. Our actions, personalised in this way, can thus supply clues as to our motivation: they can expose our grace and generosity when we do good things—and the malice and madness with which we do the opposite. He explains:

הָעוֹשֶׂה מִצְוָה אַחַת, קֽוֹנֶה לּוֹ פְּרַקְלִיט אֶחָד, וְהָעוֹבֵר עֲבֵרָה אַחַת, קֽוֹנֶה לּוֹ קַטֵּגוֹר אֶחָד, תְּשׁוּבָה וּמַעֲשִׂים טוֹבִים כִּתְרִיס בִּפְנֵי הַפּוּרְעָנוּת

Someone who fulfils one mitzvah acquires for himself one advocate; but someone who commits one transgression gains himself one accuser. Repentance and good deeds are like a shield against retribution.

In other words it’s not enough to say simply that “actions speak louder than words”. In Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov’s view the actions speak both for themselves and for the person who commits them.  One’s actions are a matter of record. According to Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi (Avot 2:1) they are, so to speak, filmed, taped and recorded in writing. But the reasons for doing what we do are quite another matter. And that’s what our mishnah is about.

Gila Ross (Living Beautifully) describes the workings of this Mishnah in the following way:

A person gets a court summons. He has three friends to whom he reaches out for help.

His first friend says, “I’m sorry, I can’t help you”.

The second friend says, “You know what? I’ll come with you all the way to the courthouse, but from there you are on your own”.

His third friend says, “I will come, and I will be a character witness for you”.

Each of us has these three friends in our lives: Our first friend is the possessions that we have. They accompany us through life but, the moment life is over, they’ve gone. We can’t take any of our possessions with us. Then we have our family and our loved ones who are great friends throughout life. When a person passes on. They will accompany him until burial. Beyond that, they can’t really be with the person. There’s only one friend who stays with us all the way through to our accounting in the Next World. These are our actions and our good deeds; they are our character witnesses.

This idea of being accompanied into the Next World by nothing but one’s good deeds and Torah learning has a good Avot pedigree, being spelled out in a baraita at 6:9. But, however attractive this prospect appears, we are supposed—as Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov reminds us here—to remember the downside. It’s not just our friends who stick with us to the end and testify to our character. Our ‘enemies’ do so too—and there’s enough room in the metaphorical celestial courtroom for every one of them.

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When Beruria went missing

Beruria is one of the most colourful characters in the Talmud. An outstanding Torah scholar in her own right, she was the daughter of Rabbi Chanina ben Teradyon and the wife of Rabbi Meir, two towering figures in the age of the Tannaim. One of the best-known stories of Beruria is found in the Babylonian Talmud, at Berachot 10a:

There were once some outlaws in the neighbourhood of Rabbi Meir who caused him a great deal of trouble. Rabbi Meir accordingly prayed that they should die. His wife Beruria said to him: How can you establish [that such a prayer should be permitted]? Is it because it is written “Let hatta'im cease” [Tehillim 104:35]? But is it written hot'im [sinners]? It is written hatta'im [sins]! Now, look at the end of the verse: “and let the wicked men be no more”. Since the sins will cease, there will be no more sinners! Rather pray for them that they should repent, and then there will be no more wicked people. He did pray for them, and they repented.

What does this have to do with Pirkei Avot?

At Avot 4:24 Shmuel HaKatan teaches that we should not rejoice at the fall of our enemies.  In his Lev Avot, R’ Shlomo Toperoff quotes Chief Rabbi Dr Hertz as teaching that we are not even commanded to hate our enemies: our task as Jews is not to curse but to bless, to receive insults but not to deliver them. R’ Toperoff then brings the tale of Beruria to illustrate the correct Jewish response to evil behaviour in others.

But he doesn’t. Beruria is edited out of the text. Lev Avot reads like this (at p.258):

“Commenting on Ps.104:35, ‘Let the sins be consumed out of the earth, and let the wicked be no more’, the Rabbis point out that the text does not refer to ‘sinners’ but to ‘sins’. Thus with the eradication of sins, there will be no wicked on earth. For this reason R. Meir says, ‘One should not pray for the death of the wicked but that they should turn their hearts to God and repent of their wickedness’ [Ber.10a]”.

I’ve not (yet) found any early version of this tale that omits reference to Beruria and I’m quite mystified as to how it happened here. The passage in the Talmud to which R’ Toperoff refers is so well known that he is unlikely to have erred through ignorance, and he was not known to have a negative attitude towards women.

The advice and assistance of readers (both women and men) on this matter would be greatly appreciated.

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Avoid offence, make a fence

An Avot mishnah for Shabbat (perek 1: parashat Pinchas)

It’s back to the beginning again as we return to Perek 1 for another round of pre-Shabbat posts.

The first Mishnah in the first chapter of Avot begins by establishing how the chain of Torah tradition passed all the way down from the Giving of the Law at Sinai to its being received by the Men of the Great Assembly in the fifth century BCE. This was a tough time. Prophecy was fading away and the Jewish people had come to understand that, from now on, they were to navigate through life with the guidance of only their own understanding of the Torah. This being so, it was apparent that the Torah needed to be protected if it was to protect those to whom it was given. Our Mishnah therefore concludes with the third of three instructions from the Men of the Great Assembly:

עֲשׂוּ סְיָג לַתּוֹרָה

Make a fence around the Torah.

What sort of protection does the Torah need? Essentially, there are two main threats to its integrity. One comes from its deliberate or inadvertent misinterpretation; the other, which our mishnah addresses here, is the concern that its adherents will transgress Torah laws though their failure to perform or obey them properly. A classic example relates to observance of the rule that one must not do creative work on Shabbat, the seventh day of the week. This holy day is “fenced in” by adding to it a little bit of both the day before and the day after, to give a little leeway for those good souls who seek to work right to the very last minute and may, in doing so, slip up. This is presumably why, in its Avot page online, Chabad.org actually translates סְיָג (seyag, “fence”) as “safety fence”.

Here's an additional and perhaps surprising explanation: fence in your words so that they do not become a burden on the people who have to listen to you. This is especially the case when speaking words of Torah: one’s words should be carefully suited to match the subject matter, the occasion and the audience to whom they are addressed. This is not a modern attempt to make the Mishnah more meaningful to contemporary readers. It comes from the Me’iri (1249-1315) in his Bet HaBechirah. The Me’iri also cites a tale from the Mishlei HaArav concerning a certain wise man who was excessively long-winded. When asked why he spoke at such length he replied: “So that simple folk will understand”, to which he received the retort: “By the time the simple folk understand, the intelligent folk will be bored out of their minds”.

In reality, while a teacher of Torah (or indeed of anything else) can with relatively little effort adapt his words to a single talmid and will hurt no one else even if he repeats himself 400 times (see the story of Rav Perida, Eruvin 54b), the task becomes exponentially harder with each additional addressee. When dealing with a class full of students, each with their specific aptitudes and requirements, it is hard to establish a fence round one’s words that protects those who are quick on the uptake without imposing an insurmountable barrier for those who are less fortunate. I recall a piece of advice I received from a junior colleague early in my own teaching career: “The trick is to say everything three times without repeating yourself even once”.

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In pursuit of inner peace

When I saw the title of Rebbetzin Shira Smiles’ article in Torah Tidbits 1571 (Parashat Chukkat)—“Cheerful Countenance”—I immediately assumed that she was writing about the teaching of Shammai, who urges us at Avot 1:15 to greet everyone with a cheerful countenance.  I was however quite wrong. The subject of her essay was a teaching by Shammai’s colleague and contemporary, Hillel.

At Avot 1:12 Hillel exhorts us to be talmidim, disciples of the peace-loving Aaron, in our actions as well as our attitude:

הֱוֵי מִתַּלְמִידָיו שֶׁל אַהֲרֹן, אוֹהֵב שָׁלוֹם וְרוֹדֵף שָׁלוֹם, אוֹהֵב אֶת הַבְּרִיּוֹת, וּמְקָרְבָן לַתּוֹרָה

Be among the disciples of Aaron—love peace and pursue peace, love people and draw them close to the Torah.

Unlike many people who write on Aaron’s peace-making proclivities, Rebbetzin Smiles does not recite the well-known stories of his shuttle diplomacy between hostile parties in order to encourage them to make peace. She does however allude to it in the course of her bringing an unusual explanation of Hillel’s teaching by Rabbi Tzvi Meyer Zilberberg. She writes:

“One does [not] have to seek out arguments to make peace. Rather, one should love peace and aspire to develop it within himself. One should do his best to avoid conflict with others and look for the goodness in people around him. To be happy for others and not to be jealous of others’ successes. When we develop feelings of love and peace within ourselves it will radiate peace and goodness to others as well”.

The sentiments expressed here cannot be faulted. Avoidance of conflict with others is inherent within at least two mishnayot of Avot that press us to cultivate humility (4:4, 4:12) and another that emphasises the value of self-control (4:1). Likewise, we learn that it is good to share the happiness of others (the Torah specifically points to Aaron as demonstrating this quality) and not to be jealous of them (4:28).  Developing feelings of love and peace within ourselves is also an important part of our personal growth: this is founded on rejoicing at our lot (4:1, 6:6). Nonetheless I have some reservations about this paragraph and whether it represents Hillel’s intentions.

The classical commentators (including Avot deRabbi Natan, Rambam, Bartenura, Me’iri, Rashi, R’ Chaim Volozhiner) send the student straight to Aaron’s role as an intermediary between disputants. Indeed, Rabbenu Yonah adds that it is not enough to love peace in one’s heart: there has to be action too.

Some modern writers do however connect Hillel’s teaching to the quest for inner peace. Thus R’ Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers) contrasts the pursuit of inner peace through fulfilling one’s mission in life with the illusory and transitory inner peace that can be achieved through drug abuse and the quest for money. For R’ Reuven P.Bulka (Chapters of the Sages) the pursuit of physical real-world peace is only a preliminary to a greater ideal: Hillel’s mishnah is depicting a progression from peace merely as a societal norm to a fundamentally more meaningful peace based on “a love of humankind and a concern for its development” in order to give life direction and purpose.  I’m sure that Hillel would have little objection to this fine sentiment, but wonder whether he would have recognised his teaching within R’ Bulka’s words.

Ultimately, nothing can alter the fact that, on a simple reading of Hillel’s teaching, his words do not appear to focus on our inner growth, particularly since they finish with an encouragement to draw other people to the Torah. If Hillel had been addressing the need to acquire inner tranquillity and then radiate it out so that it can be felt by others, he could surely have found a clearer way to express himself. Among modern commentators R’ Yaakov Hillel (Eternal Ethics from Sinai) writes of the importance of attracting others to the Torah through demonstrating humility and contentment with one’s lot—but he does so in the context of a description of Hillel’s qualities rather than as an explanation of his teaching in this mishnah.  

I also have trouble with the statement: “When we develop feelings of love and peace within ourselves it will radiate peace and goodness to others as well”. As an ideal, it is wonderful. However, I respectfully doubt that it is an efficacious means of pursuing peace in empirical terms. However much love and peace I feel within myself and radiate to the best of my ability, it has never once created peace between my quarrelling grandchildren and is certainly less effective than distracting them with a promise of an ice cream. And, outside of family life, I can say much the same about my experiences of dispute resolution in a more adult context.

Ultimately, I believe that Hillel was focusing on real-life disputes that demanded a peaceful solution for the sake of the peace of mind of the disputants, not on the inner growth of the peace-seeker—but I’m prepared to be persuaded that I’m wrong.

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Mishnah, motive and mind-games: can you make the right decisions?

At Avot 3:1 Akavya ben Mahalalel delivers one of the sternest, grimmest, most frightening teachings to be found in the whole of the tractate:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים, וְאֵין אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה. דַּע מֵאַֽיִן בָּֽאתָ, וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ, וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן. מֵאַֽיִן בָּֽאתָ: מִטִּפָּה סְרוּחָה. וּלְאָן אַתָּה הוֹלֵךְ: לִמְקוֹם עָפָר רִמָּה וְתוֹלֵעָה. וְלִפְנֵי מִי אַתָּה עָתִיד לִתֵּן דִּין וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן: לִפְנֵי מֶֽלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא

Reflect upon three things and you will not come to the hands of transgression. Know where you came from, where you are going, and before whom you will give an account of yourself. Where did you come from? A putrid drop. Where are you going? To a place of dust, worms and [other] worms. And before whom will you give an account of yourself? Before the supreme King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.

The plain meaning of these words is not hard to detect. In case we should feel tempted to give ourselves airs and graces, we should recall that we start our lives as random bits of biological effluent and end them as nutrients for invertebrate nematodes. Notwithstanding our humble beginnings and maggot-ridden end, we will still have to answer, after our deaths, for the things we did when we were still alive.

As with practically all of Pirkei Avot, this teaching—while it cannot be misunderstood—is built up as a springboard for quite different messages. Some see it as a deliberate frightener, a way to encourage sober thought about our existence in this world and our trial in the next. The worms are there to add to the reader’s discomfort. Their teeth are as sharp as needles and the reference to two different types of worm embraces both those who burrow in from outside and those who burrow out from within. But Jewish tradition and modern science have parted company: it is now generally accepted that the body feels neither pain nor pleasure once it is dead, and any vermeologist will tell you that worms do not have teeth.

A more sophisticated explanation, offered by R’ Elimelech of Lizhensk (Noam Elimelech) and R’ Avraham of Slonim, does not turn on worms but creatively addresses the duplication of the three questions. This duplication relates to two types of Jew. One is in awe of the majesty of God and the wondrous World He has created; the other remains in terror of the punishment God may inflict on him if he errs. Both have the potential to sin. If you ask Akavya ben Mahalalel’s three questions to each of these two individuals in turn, they will process them in entirely different ways. How so?

The first type of Jew, whose eyes are fixed on God’s awesome nature and his place within the great order of things, has no need to be told the answers since he already has his own: his soul comes from right under the Throne of Glory of God on high; his body comes from the same earth as Adam. He is heading for the World to Come, a place where all Jews are guaranteed a share and where their souls can bask in the eternal gleam of the Shechinah (God’s presence). There he will stand in judgement before God, who is all-wise and ever-merciful, the true judge who has always loved His creatures and His chosen people.

 The second, whose gaze is firmly fixed on the ground before him in abject terror of transgressing God’s will, has his answers provided for him by the words of this Mishnah.

For R’ Menachem Mendel of Vitebsk, this mishnah is designed to help us view ourselves as being on a journey, since all of life is a journey. Just as one traveller might ask another where he has come from and where he is going, so we too should ask ourselves the same questions when working our way through the journey of life.

Stretching even further from the plain meaning of our mishnah we find Gila Ross (Living Beautifully), having offered a conventional explanation, uses it as a basis for more general advice:

These questions can also be asked about an action that you are about to take. Know where you’re coming from and what your motive is; examine that motive. Sometimes it’s easy to say, “I’m doing this for the good”, but really there’s a niggling, deeper motive in there that’s not healthy. Second, where are you going? Where will this action take you? Is it going to take you where you want to go? Or is it going to take you away from your goals? Third, know that you will have to give an account. Don’t think that your action doesn’t have an effect on the people around you; it influences the people with whom you come into contact...

When we ask these three questions about the action that we are about to take, it develops within us a healthy attitude t help us make the right choices.

The treatment of the “giving account” part of the mishnah as addressing our need to look to the consequences of one’s actions in this world is a theme picked up back in the classic commentary of Irving M. Bunim in Ethics from Sinai where he writes:

Consequences may spread out from our action or failure to act; and like ripples spreading from a pebble dropped into a pond, the consequences may accelerate in speed and increase in speed and pressure as they move outward.

However, we already have a mishnah in the second perek (Avot 2:13) in which R’ Shimon ben Netanel urges us to see the consequences of our actions, so why the repetition of this message?

I believe that all the explanations of this mishnah have something to offer contemporary students of Avot, but that not every explanation will meet the needs of every Jew. We cannot pick and choose our own halachot, the laws that bind us, but we can choose the explanation of a middot-driven mishnah that is most compatible with our individual personalities and characteristics.

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Make yourself a Rav?

Not one but two mishnayot in Avot teach the same maxim in the same words. At Avot 1:6 Yehoshua ben Perachyah says עֲשֵׂה לְךָ רַב (aseh lecha rav, literally “Make for yourself a rav” (meaning “a master” or “a teacher”: see note on translation, below), and these words are repeated by Rabban Gamliel at Avot 1:16.

The traditional understanding of these words is that an individual should have a go-to person as a useful source of all or any of the following: advice, objective and balanced criticism, understanding, empathy and inspiration. This understanding was subject to occasional qualifications. For example, even a rabbi needs to make for himself a rav, and the need to do so remains even if the only person available to fulfil this role is his junior or is less knowledgeable. Some explain that rav is a singular noun: with just one teacher a person will not be confused by conflicting messages; for others, one rav is the minimum requirement: the more, the better. There is even an opinion that one can make for oneself a rav by buying appropriate books.

The words aseh lecha rav do not have a reflexive character to them. They instruct one to make someone or something into a rav for oneself, not to make oneself into a rav. Nonetheless, some commentators have seen these words as in invitation or an injunction to do exactly that.

The idea of turning oneself into a rav is popular in some Chasidic circles. R’ Yehudah Leib of Ger explains that one should treat oneself as one’s own rabbi, keeping a watchful eye on what one does so that one doesn’t wander from the derech yesharah (the “right path”). R’ Yisrael the Maggid of Kozhnitz adds that you should do this whenever your yetzer hara seeks to deny you a chance to perform a mitzvah by telling you that you are not worthy of it.

Our Chasidic brethren were not the first to come up with this suggestion. In Midrash Shmuel, the 16^th century scholar Rabbi Shmuel de Uçeda made it too—but with a different slant. For him, making oneself a rabbi comes with the corollary that one should get out and about, travelling from town to town and spreading words of Torah. Even if you don’t find anyone to teach, don’t worry—you can still make yourself a friend to others.

Could it ever have been intended that each of us should make ourselves into a rav? Most people are qualified neither by their learning nor by their temperament to be a rabbi in the sense in which we use the word today. However, it is easier to acquire an active conscience and an acute sense of the difference between right and wrong than it is to master the Talmud and its commentaries—and making oneself a rav in the latter sense can be equated with being able to subject oneself to self-discipline, the classical definition of a gibor, a strong person, according to Ben Zoma at Avot 4:1.

Overall, it’s surprising how many different explanations we find for the apparently clear and unambiguous words aseh lecha rav. But this is a reflection of the ingenuity of the Jewish people in turning the words of their teachers again and again, each time finding something new. Long may we and our sages continue to do so.

Translation note

Is rav better translated as ‘teacher’ or ‘master’, or should it be left untranslated and therefore leaving the mishnayot open to wider interpretation? Here’s what some of the English translators say:

Teacher: R’ Asher Weiss, ArtScroll translations, R’ Lord Jonathan Sacks, Irving M. Bunim, Chanoch Levi, R’ Yaakov Hillel, R’ Moshe Toperoff, Philip Birnbaum, Herbert Danby and the majority of translations.

Master: David N. Barocas (tr. Me’Am Lo’ez), R. Travers Herford (cf ‘maitre’ in David Haddad’s French translation)

Rav: R’ Tal Moshe Zwecker, R’ Yisroel Miller (Gila Ross opts for ‘Rabbi’).

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