Righteous and righteouser? Two types of servant explained

The third mishnah in Avot features the controversial teaching of Antigonus ish Socho that, when serving God, a person should be like a servant who works for his master with no expectation of receiving a reward. There are many commentaries on this mishnah, but I came across one from the Noam Elimelech (on parashat Terumah) that was quite new to me. In short:

An analytical device often employed by Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk involves the explanation of contrasting clauses in a teaching by postulating the existence of two or more classes of tzaddik who function at different levels of righteousness. He uses this device to explain the difference between the servants in this mishnah.  

The first type of tzaddik is meticulous in his performance of mitzvot and in the avoidance of averot: he serves his master through punctilious observance of every last detail. Yet, for all that, he still lacks the highest degree of devekut, of cleaving closely to God, and of desire for Him. He must await his expected pay-off in the World to Come. 

The second type of tzaddik is equally dedicated to serving God, but he experiences such a high level of happiness and excitement at being able to serve Him, and such a lofty level of devekut, that he feels that he has already received in this World the reward that was coming to him in the World to Come and therefore expects no further reward. It is to this second class of tzaddik that a chasid should aspire to belong.

A good message, but a challenging one for anyone to live up to, I think.

Not considering oneself wicked: a response to Paul?

At Avot 2:18 Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel says: "Do not be wicked in your own eyes". Unsurprisingly there are many explanations of what he means. A superficially surprising and almost irrelevant comment on this part of the Mishnah comes from Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, writing in the later part of the 19th century: 

The Mishnah does not mention guilt or intercession, so why does Rabbi Hirsch? 

Do not allow yourself to be taken in by the erroneous idea advanced by alien philosophies that man on his own must of necessity be crushed by the weight of his guilt, and that it is solely through the gracious intercession of another that he can gain control over evil and be delivered from the burden of sin.

On closer reflection his comment is both pertinent and relevant: its subject is Jewish conversions to Christianity. In the nineteenth century, the defection of Jews from orthodox religious practice took more than one form. For some, the less stringent demands of the Reform movement enabled them to combine a more relaxed and assimilated lifestyle with a sentiment of identification with their Jewish roots and some of their most cherished customs and traditions.  For others, advancement in society required not merely assimilation with the majority Christian culture but admission to it. Many accordingly opted for baptism and a complete change of allegiance.

Christianity is alluded to through Rabbi Hirsch's references to man being crushed by the weight of his own sin (i.e. to man being born in a state of sin and incapable of achieving his own salvation) and to the gracious intercession of another (i.e. to grace in the form of salvation through Jesus). But what connection is there between Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel and the threat that Jews might turn to Christianity over 1,800 years before Rabbi Hirsch’s day?

One of the earliest Christian apostles and a major source of the doctrine of original sin —the idea that man is born in a state of sin and requires salvation through the grace of Jesus—was Paul of Tarsus.  Paul, Jewish by birth and named Sha’ul, learned Torah with the first Rabban Gamliel.  

Sha’ul/Paul and Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel were exact contemporaries.  Would they have known one another? Very likely, if the Shimon ben Netanel who married Rabban Gamliel’s daughter was the same person as the Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel who authored the dictum under discussion here. If Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel had witnessed at first hand the splintering of the Jewish community under Roman rule and the growing popularity of the teachings of Sha’ul/Paul and those who thought like him, it would not be implausible that this Mishnah meant exactly what Rabbi Hirsch said it did—and its controversial content might explain why Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel was so carefully allusive and non-explicit in his choice of words.

Kavod versus mussar: contrasting cases

 The baraita in the final perek of Avot lists, among the 48 ways of acquiring Torah, the requirement of distancing oneself from kavod ("honour").  It is well known that, if you run after honour, it runs away from you whereas, if you run away from honour, it will pursue you. 

Mussar -- moral chastisement -- works in a different mode. People who most need it tend to run away from it, although they often run with all due haste if they think they have spotted an opportunity to administer it to others.

Ten tests for Abraham -- but why not Jacob too?

Mishnah 5:4 of Avot cites the ten tests of Abraham, which he passes and which demonstrate the great love between him and God.

Abraham is the only one of the three Patriarchs to feature in Avot; there is no mention of Isaac or Jacob, notwithstanding their importance and notwithstanding the many lessons we learn from studying their lives. God speaks to all three and there is no reason to doubt either His love for them or their love for Him. We know relatively little of Isaac’s life, but Jacob is by far the best-chronicled Patriarch: the narrative of his life and death occupies more than half the Book of Genesis, rather more than twice as much space as is given to the Torah’s account of Abraham. From this narrative it is clear that Jacob faced at least ten tests of his own [listed below], yet these are not mentioned as such in Avot or in the commentaries on it. Why should this be?

In the absence of guidance from our Sages, we can only offer rationalizations for the fact that Avot does not teach us anything about Jacob’s tests. Possible explanations are that 

(i) what applies to Abraham applies equally to Jacob, so there is no need to repeat the lesson; 

(ii) the reason why Jacob passed his ten tests was because, in some way, his task was made easier by the knowledge that his grandfather had been tested ten times and had come away successful; 

(iii) Jacob did not pass his tests with the same high level of trust in God as Abraham possessed and his tests therefore provided a less powerful lesson; 

(iv) while, from our perspective, Jacob passed all his tests, God in some way expected more from him.

Looking at the Patriarchs at a distance of three millennia or so, it is easier for us to recognize the high level of faith, love and confidence in God that Abraham possessed, but to identify with Jacob—a more frail and troubled personality, whose anxieties and life experiences more closely resemble our own. Reading the Torah, one never expects Abraham to fall short of the mark. Jacob however stumbles through from crisis to crisis, much as so many of us do in our own lives.  If we accept the notion that every one of us will have our own “ten tests” to cope with, Jacob epitomizes the fate we share with him. We have to cope with trials and tribulations, whether forced upon us or of our own making—and none of us can expect to be praised and held up as examples from whom later generations can learn. However, as Avot reminds us, the rewards we receive for passing our tests are commensurate with our struggle to pass them, as was the case with Jacob himself.

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 The tests, in chronological order, look like this: 

(i) having to masquerade as Esau in order to obtain the latter’s blessing; 

(ii) having to flee from his home to escape the threat of being murdered by Esau; 

(iii) having to work a full seven years for the hand of his promised bride Rachel; 

(iv) waking up the morning after his marriage to discover that his wife was not Rachel but her sister Leah; 

(v) having his wages constantly changed by Laban; 

(vi) having to face Esau and his militia after leaving Laban, 

(vii) Rachel’s death in the course of Jacob's travels; 

(viii) the abduction and rape of his daughter Dinah; 

(ix) the loss, presumed dead, of his favourite son Joseph; 

(x) having to part with his youngest son Benjamin in exchange for food. 

One can add further tests that are based on the Torah text, without the need to draw on midrashic teachings: for example, Jacob’s fight with the angelic stranger and his being told to leave Israel in the knowledge that he would not see his Promised Land again.

Loving rebukes: what does this mean?

One of the 48 ways of acquiring Torah, listed in Avot 6:6, is "loving rebukes". Most commentaries have relatively little to say about the fascinating topic of tochachah, so I've put some thoughts of my own in writing, drawing on traditional Torah scholarship too. My thoughts (so far) run along the following lines:

For many people, being rebuked by others can be a painful experience. The fact that the person who administers the rebuke loves the person who receives it and cares greatly for their welfare makes no difference. This is perfectly natural. A child will frequently cry when told off by a parent, even in gentle tones, and a teenager may explode with anger: these reactions are innate and remain with us in later life, though we ideally learn to control them as we become more mature. 

Not all rebukes are received in the same way. A person learning drive may receive a stern admonition from the driving instructor along the lines of “What you just did was really careless. If you do that again, you could do yourself serious harm and even kill yourself”. The response to such a rebuke is usually one of gratitude which is genuinely felt and sincerely expressed. However, when we are seeking to perform a mitzvah and a stranger rebukes us for doing it incorrectly, our response is often quite different. A whole range of possible responses flashes through our minds. For example: (i) “this is what I’ve always done in the past and no-one has ever complained before”; (ii) “this is how my rabbi/teacher/chavruta said I should do it, so it’s not my fault”; (iii) “what makes you think you are right and I am wrong anyway?”  It is only when all the other options have been considered and rejected that we might concede that we were in need of rebuke  and then try to summon up some begrudging gratitude. 

If we are honest with ourselves, this contrast between our reactions to the rebuke of the driving instructor and that of the stranger pinpoints a failure in our own priorities. The avoidance of errors when we drive, however commendable, is a matter that concerns our physical integrity in this World. However, our ability to perform a mitzvah or escape from transgressing an averah may have repercussions for the eternal life of a Jewish soul in the World to Come. On this basis we should welcome the rebuke from the stranger with at least as much warmth as we welcome the guidance of our driving instructor. We should feel happy.  And if a person can truly say that he loves the Torah, it is reasonable to assume that this love will rub off on to someone who points him back on to any path of Torah learning from which he has wandered.

Everyone makes mistakes—even the greatest chacham, armed with a vast array of Torah learning—and this has been the lot of man since the Creation. However, someone who truly values the greatness of his Torah learning and will welcome being put right. Acting on a rebuke that one has received may also constitute the mitzvah of repentance.

A person should love to rebuke himself, and also love to administer rebukes to others  and not worry that this requirement is in conflict with an earlier item on the list, that one must be loved by others.  It is easy to make oneself unpopular by telling others that they are making mistakes; it is far simpler to smile winningly at them, retaining their friendship and thinking to oneself “I’m all right, even if they aren’t. Why should I risk incurring their wrath by telling them?” This is not the way to behave if you love another person, and this is why a good parent is prepared to risk a flood of tears from an infant rather than condone the eating of candies at bedtime and after the child’s teeth have been brushed for the night.

If you have any comments or reflections on the foregoing, do please share them!

Rabbi Sacks

 It was with shock and with great sadness that I learned of the death of Lord Sacks. Jonathan Sacks was an outstanding commentator on the ethical dimension of the Torah and a philosopher whose theoretical analyses never lacked a practical outcome. He was truly a Pirkei Avot man, as this video clip of his daughter Gila indicates. He was however a good deal more than that, as the flood of testimonials and tributes has shown.

For four years during the 1990s I worked with Rabbi Sacks, during the transition of the Chief Rabbinate in the UK from Lord Jakobovits. He was a wonderful work colleague: cheerful, positive, polite, caring, accessible and humble. While many have praised his oratory and presentational skills, I recall that he was also an attentive and sympathetic listener -- a skill which, unlike speaking, cannot be easily recorded for posterity by modern technology.

May his family and friends be comforted in their memories of a truly great figure.

All creatures great and small: good examples for the Torah scholar

Yehudah ben Teyma (Avot 5:23) teaches that, in order to do God's will, a person should be as brazen as a leopard, as light as an eagle, as swift as a deer and as strong as a lion.  Much literature has been generated by this mishnah, some of it relating to the creatures themselves, some relating to their real or hypothetical qualities and some relating to their symbolism.

I have just spotted a delightful comment on this mishnah from Rabbi Eliezer Papo (a.k.a. the Pele Yo'etz), who was born in Sarajevo and served as rabbi in the Bulgarian town of Silistra during the Napoleonic era. He did not write a full-blown commentary on Pirkei Avot, but his thoughts on the tractate have been compiled on a chapter-by-chapter basis and inserted within the body of the second volume of his Torah commentary Eleph HaMagen.

Much of the Eleph HaMagen is either kabbalistic or somewhat off-the-wall in comparison with the sort of Torah writing that occupies the mainstream of contemporary Torah literature. This comment on Avot 5:23 is however refreshingly accessible. It runs like this:

Many times the Torah is compared to great wealth, for example Proverbs 2:4 ("If you seek [the Torah] like silver, and search for it like hidden treasure..."). However, any comparison of the Torah with gold, silver or other material wealth faces four problems. The Pele Yo'etz lists them together with their solutions::

1. There are things that a person wouldn't even do for money because they'd be too embarrassed (e.g. being offered a large sum to go around naked in public). The leopard however is brazen and feels no shame or embarrassment. This is essential when learning Torah, if there are questions to  be asked that some may consider downright stupid;

2. A person may not want more money than others have, for the commendable reason that he is perfectly content with what he has. The eagle however aspires to soar above competing birds. This continuing aspiration to rise is a great motivating factor;

3. Running after money creates a poor impression. People usually prefer to seek it more discreetly, at a leisurely pace. The deer runs but, wherever it does so, it never forgets to run back to its home. The talmid's thoughts may run in many directions, but should always run back to the makom, the place, which is their source: the Torah;

4. When a person has material wealth, it is easy to become afraid of losing it and thus be preoccupied with ways and means of keeping it safe. Lions, being strong, are not afraid, particular when it comes to performing mitzvot.

This may not have been quite what the author of the mishnah had in mind, but it scores high in terms of relevance.

Trial and error

Here's the text of a piece I wrote on the trials of Abraham which was hosted on Rabbi Shmuel Phillips's Judaism Reclaimed Facebook group (declaration of interest: Rabbi Phillips is my son). Since it's relevant to this week's Torah reading, I thought I'd post it here too:

Trial and Error 

Parashat Vayera includes two of the most vividly memorable events in Avraham’s life: his argument with God over the fate of the inhabitants of Sodom and the narrative of the Akedah, God’s instruction that Avraham bind his son Yitzchak and sacrifice him as a burnt offering. The Akedah is the only test of Avraham’s that the Torah mentions explicitly. The statement that Abraham was set 10 tests and passed them all is Mishnaic (Avot 5:4). We can ask three questions here: (i) why did God test Avraham; (ii) why does the Torah account for one test when the Mishnah mentions ten and (iii) is Avraham’s negotiation with God over the fate of Sodom not also a test?  

Why should God need to test Avraham at all? The normal function of any test is to obtain a result or outcome that would otherwise be unknown. Its circumstances and methodology should reflect the objective to be achieved: for example the person being tested should be known to have the capacity to pass it and should not know that he is being tested. However, an omniscient God who exists beyond time and who has already selected Abraham for his destined role does not need to test him in order to ascertain information and is in any event already in possession of it. The fact that Abraham was prepared to sacrifice his son was not something Abraham needed to be told either, since the Torah records his unswerving obedience to God’s commands. 

The inference we can draw is therefore that the function of the Akedah was to show us, being Avraham’s physical or metaphorical descendants through Yitzchak, something of the quality, the steadfastness under stress and the deep love for God which the Patriarchs possessed. This demonstration of Abraham’s mettle would also act as a lesson for all subsequent generations as to how we should serve God, with love, fear and complete trust. Rambam appears to take this approach (Moreh Nevuchim 3:24). Significantly, the Hebrew word nisayon (“test”) is related to nes (“banner”), a word that conveys the need to wave a flag, as it were, to make a prominent display of Abraham’s exceptional qualities. 

Why does the Mishnah mention 10 tests when the Torah identifies only one as being such? The answer here lies in the different functions served by the Torah and by the mishnayot of Avot. Avot 5:4 is a short mishnah because, though it mentions Avraham’s successful negotiation of 10 tests, it does not list them. Nor is there any rabbinical consensus as to what they are. If one reads the Torah narrative of Avraham’s life and the midrashic literature that is based upon it (on which many rabbis rely when compiling their lists of 10), it is easy to put together a list approaching 30 events that could fairly be construed as such.  

It is plain that, by not listing the tests, the author of this mishnah was teaching something other than what those tests were. The important part of the mishnah is the statement that Avraham passed them. By concealing their identity the mishnah alludes to the fact that their identity was concealed from Avraham too—and that is where his greatness lies. Where a person knows he or she is being tested, that is no real test.  

Of all the many commentators on the mishnah, Rambam is unique: he is the only one to choose 10 tests from the Torah alone, rather than opting for a blend of Torah and often more exciting tests drawn from midrashic sources. However, neither he nor any other major commentator includes as a test Avraham’s argument with God over the ethical consideration of destroying the righteous together with the wicked in the sinful cities of Sodom and Gemorrah. There is not even any discussion of why it should be omitted. Why should this be so? 

Another mishnah in Avot may provide a hint that leads to a possible answer.  In Avot 5:6 the mishnah repeats a verse from the Torah in which God, with justifiable anger, states that our ancestors tested Him ten times during their sojourn in the desert. This statement admits of the possibility not just of God testing man but of man testing God. When God tests us, it is to teach us a lesson about ourselves, but when we test Him we must be careful to do so leshem shamayim, for the right reasons. Here it is not God testing Avraham but Avraham who is testing God: if He is really the Judge of all the Earth, will He not do justice? God who is on trial, is being tested by the one mortal who has recognised Him in all His glory. God passes the test. 

Avot in Retrospect: a summary of last month's blogposts

In case you missed them, here's a list of items posted on Avot Today in October 2020:

Wednesday 28 October 2020: Light as an eagle? Surely not. Avot 5:23 urges us to be "light as an eagle" in doing God's will. But why should the mishnah pick on one of the heaviest birds for this simile?

Sunday 25 October 2020: Where are the Gaonim? Scholarship on Pirkei Avot rarely makes any reference to the period of the Gaonim and, in turn, the Gaonim do not appear to have had much to say about Avot. Is this actually so?

Wednesday 21 October 2020: Angry -- but with whom?  Avot 5:14 depicts four different types of human temperament and has harsh things to say about people who are quick to anger. The mishnah does not however specify against whom the anger is directed. There are three possibilities.

Friday 16 October 2020: Loud and Clear! The importance of speaking properly. A baraita in the 6th chapter of Avot lists "articulate speech" among the 48 ways of acquiring Torah learning. This post explains why it is so important.

Tuesday 13 October 2020: Mazikim and refusal to take responsibility for what happens in one's life. Avot 5:8 lists mazikim among the 10 things created just before Shabbat at the end of the Six Days of Creation. Do mazikim exist or are they a brilliant metaphor with a lesson to teach us?

Sunday 11 October 2020: Getting to grips with tongs made with tongs.  What is the significance of listing "tongs made with tongs" in Avot 5:8? Maybe the answer relates to the technology of innovation.

Friday 9 October 2020: Praying for the health of an ailing opponent. US President Donald Trump's coronavirus attack raises the question whether his opponents should rejoice over his illness or pray for his recovery. Does Avot 4:24 apply?

Wednesday 7 October 2020: Avot and leadership: practical applications for ancient advice. Links to a recent article that looks at contemporary business ethics in the light of the need to cultivate a "good heart" in Avot 2:13.

Monday 5 October  2020: How much work, and what sort of work, is an aspiring Torah scholar supposed to reduce?  What is the difference, in the context of Avot 6:6, between reducing one's derech eretz and reducing one's melachah?

Sunday 4 October 2020: Mitzvot and good deeds: don't forget your underwear. Avot 2:1 urges people to chase God's commandments equally, whether they appear to be big or small. The Ma'amar Hakavod of the Pele Yo'etz offers a helpful metaphor to support this.

Thursday 1 October 2020: Lulav and lockdown: a positive perspective. Celebrating Sukkot at home is a great opportunity to be happy with one's lot (Avot 4:1) and not cast envious eyes at someone else's bigger, better lulav.

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Avot Today blogposts for September 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for August 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for July 2020 here

Avot Today blogposts for June 2020 here
Avot Today blogposts for May 2020 here

Light as an eagle? Surely not

Avot 5:23 reads as follows: 

Yehudah ben Tema says: “Be as bold as a leopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer and strong as a lion to do the will of your Father in Heaven”.

What's the relevance of the eagle? 

Seven species of eagle are found in Israel today and it is probable that not only the Tannaim but also anyone who kept the sheep, goats or poultry on which they feed would have been highly familiar with them.  However, the simile here is puzzling. “Be light as an eagle” has an almost poetical quality to it, but something is wrong. Eagles are amongst the very heaviest birds that fly; by avian standards they are anything but light. One may as well say “Be light as a hippopotamus”. What, then, is our Tanna trying to tell us?

Fortunately there is a plausible explanation, though not one that is obvious to modern thinkers because it requires getting into the mindset of Sages and philosophers in the era of the Tannaim, some two millennia back. 

Imagine a world that is composed of four elements: earth, air (or wind), fire and water.  Not just the planet Earth but everything in it is comprised of anything between one and four of these elements which, combined in different proportions, have different characteristics. Thus, for example, a tomato has a higher ratio of water to earth while a potato is quite the opposite. A chilli pepper has a higher ratio of fire to air, while a meringue has a higher ratio of air to fire, and so on.  Man is also composed of these four elements. All humans differ in their composition and that explains their character: some are fiery, others sanguine; some live on a lofty spiritual plain while others appear to have no aspirations that rise above the fulfilment of their basic bodily functions.

Taking these four elements further, it is accepted that all the problems faced by mankind are caused by an imbalance between them. Fire leads to anger and arrogance; air leads to vacuity and idle chatter; water leads to wealth, jealousy, pleasures of the flesh and to indulgence in the material world; earth, the heaviest element of all, leads to depression, indolence and hopelessness. The very largest and heaviest birds—for example the ostrich, the emu and the cassowary—do not fly. They are literally earthbound. Of birds that fly, the eagle with its heavy body has to make a far greater effort than do smaller birds to overcome the pull of its own “earthiness” in order to generate flight.

Returning to our metaphor, we are told to be “light as the eagle”. Just as the eagle has to make so great an effort to overcome its “earthiness”, so too should we make a great effort, when doing God’s will, of overcoming our own “earthiness” and the feelings of depression, indolence and hopelessness that accompany it.

Finally, while it is possible that this four-element theory, despite its apparently non-Jewish origin, would have been known to a Torah scholar, it is also possible that it actually originates from a Jewish source. An anonymous author on the Daat Emet website writes:

… Josephus (who lived in the first century CE and was commander of the Galilean forces during the Great Revolt — History of the wars of the Jews and the Romans, book 5, chapter 5:4) explains why the covering which divided the sanctuary from the Holy of Holies in the Temple was made of four threads of color: blue, purple, scarlet, and white. He claimed that the four colors represented the four elements in order to show a model of the world. Blue, the color of the skies, represents air, scarlet represents fire, purple is produced from a mollusk and represents the water from which it came, and white linen comes from the earth and represents it.

Where are the Geonim?

 Flicking through the pages of Rav Sa'adya Gaon's Sefer Emunot veDe'ot the other day, I started to pay attention to the sources he cites in this fascinating philosophical work. I noticed that he drew extensively on Tehillim (Psalms), the Prophets and the Book of Job. However, there were very few references to earlier rabbinical teachings. Some Talmudical tractates were cited, but I spotted no citations from Pirkei Avot. Considering that Rav Sa'adya's work deals with ethical matters and topics such as reward and punishment which are central to Avot, this surprised me greatly.

It then occurred to me that, in all the decades in which I have been pursuing my interest in Avot, I can hardly recall reading anything by or making reference to the scholarship of the Gaonic period (589 to 1038 CE). It would be surprising if no Jewish scholars had anything to say on this most popular and accessible of mishnaic topics for some four and a half centuries. 

If any reader can point me to anything I may have missed, I should be grateful. Likewise, if there is an explanation for this apparent dearth of commentaries, please tell me.

Angry -- but with whom?

Mishnah 5:14 of Pirkei Avot talks of people being classified into four types of temperament:

(i)  The person who is easily angered but easily placated—his reward is offset by his loss. 

(ii) The person whom it is hard to anger but hard to placate—his loss is offset by his reward.

(iii)  The person whom it is hard to anger but easy to placate is a chassid, a pious person.

(iv)  The person whom it is easy to anger but hard to placate is wicked.

The Mishnah is usually assumed to be referring to a person who gets angry with other people. The plain text does not demand that this be so. Sometimes a person gets angry with God, and sometimes with himself. Does this Mishnah apply equally to these scenarios? 

In principle there is no reason why it should not. If anger is a corrosive and damaging emotion, it will adversely affect the well-being of the person who feels it regardless of the cause of that anger.  However, there is a difference. However much anyone rages against God, there is absolutely no way that this anger, or the person who feels it, can do to hurt or harm Him. When angry with oneself, any damage done is counterproductive since the object and the subject of the rage are one and the time. It is only when anger is directed against fellow humans that it can lead to the sort of destructive and vengeful action that can undermine the social basis of human civilization.

Loud and clear! The importance of speaking properly

Of all the 48 items relating to acquisition of the Torah in Avot 6:6, articulate speech is that which by its nature lies closest the heart of the transmission of the Torah sheb’al peh, the Oral Torah, in that the word “oral” demands speech.  Even though the writing down of the Oral Law and the subsequent invention of the printing press appeared to relegate the spoken word to a position of relative unimportance, the astonishing speed at which communication technologies have developed from the late 20th century onwards has placed the spoken word front and centre in the promulgation of Torah to a wider audience. The list of roles for the spoken word is impressive: at one end of the scale are modest activities such as learning by telephone and the production of recorded shiurim. At the other end is an ever-growing volume of online interactive and set-piece lectures via Zoom and Skype, classes and discussion groups, video productions that can be streamed or downloaded and podcasts. The spoken word has dramatically re-established its position in Torah learning, and demand for it has skyrocketed during the Covid-19 pandemic since many people are unable to access traditional printed books and other printed texts.

There are many dimensions to articulate speech which combine to assist a serious student navigate the path towards becoming a Torah scholar, as we have already learned.  These include the following Ten Commandments: 

(i) think about what you are going to say before you open your mouth so that your words will be the right ones,  

(ii) choose the right words with which to express what you mean, 

(iii) know when to stop speaking, 

(iv) make yourself audible, 

(v) clearly articulate consonants and vowels so that the listener will be able to recognize the spoken word, 

(vi) take the trouble to pronounce words correctly so that they will not be misunderstood or mistaken for other words, 

(vii) speak at a speed at which a listener can comprehend what is being said, 

(viii) repeat yourself only when it is necessary to do so, (ix) refrain from speaking any word if you are unsure of its meaning, and 

(x) if necessary, prepare and rehearse the words you intend to speak, so as to say them with meaning and feeling, thus maximizing their impact.

Unless a person suffers from a physical or psychological defect that cannot be remedied with the aid of a suitably qualified speech therapist, there is no excuse for failing to observe these rules. Contrary to the opinion of some people I have encountered, it is neither frum nor a sign of one’s humility to mumble when talking to others or giving a shiur. It is an acute discourtesy. Another egregious form of discourtesy is speaking to another person or to an audience in a language that you know they do not understand, when you are perfectly capable of speaking to them in a language you share with them.

Anyone who studies Torah and takes the correct articulation of his words seriously is set to receive many benefits. For example: (i) saying words aloud makes them easier to recall than merely scanning them with one’s eyes;  (ii) words misspoken can be helpfully corrected by one’s teacher or chavruta; (iii) by repeating his words enough times, a person can quote them both accurately  and fluently;  (iv) one’s learning can be more effectively internalized and understood.

Mazikim pt 2: Refusal to admit responsibility for what happens in one's life

In the fifth perek of Avot (at 5:8) we learn of 10 things that were created at dusk on the eve of Shabbat and of a further four things that some people would add to this list. One of those things is "mazikim", evil and destructive demons. Some people believe that mazikim exist; others that they do not. 

Should the existence or non-existence of mazikim concern us? I think not. If they exist, it is axiomatic that God created them and that, since only man has free will, whatever mazikim do is mandated by God.  Furthermore, since God is the only authentic source of power that a Jew must acknowledge, it is absolutely wrong to treat mazikim as if they held any power in their own right, and therefore wrong to seek to propitiate them. If however they do not exist, then it is we who have created them in our minds. If we have done so, it is our own minds that we must turn in order to address their functional (or dysfunctional) utility within the World we inhabit and which God created.

 I believe the real question we face is not that of whether mazikim exist.  The real question is what we can learn from the undeniable fact that the author of this mishnah teaches us that there are those who say that they were created on the eve of the World’s first Sabbath.

 An argument can be made out that the inclusion of mazikim on this list is because it has a positive aspect, in common with the other 13. The argument runs as follows.  The idea behind the mazikim of our mishnah is that something adverse happens to an individual. That person has, at that moment, a choice. One option is to link that adverse consequence to his own conduct. This can be done in many ways and on different levels. For example he can accept that he was negligent (e.g. the car rolled down the hill because he didn’t check if the brake was on) or inadvertent (e.g. he switched the kettle on, forgetting that he already emptied it). On another level he can view the adverse consequence as a sort of retribution (e.g. why did he drop the bottle of Scotch in the street? Because he should have spent the money instead on a charity donation he was asked to give) or caution (e.g. he walked into an old lady while checking his phone and knocked her over, this being a warning to be more careful next time he goes out).

 What does all of this have to do with mazikim? In short, the idea that underwrites the usefulness of the mazik is that a person’s misfortune is unrelated to his own behavior: it is always the fault of others.  Let us return back to the examples above.  Why did the car roll down the hill? Because a mazik released the handbrake. Why did the kettle boil dry? Just his luck that a mazik must have distracted him.  If however a person is prepared to take responsibility for his actions, he recognizes that he is the mazik. Why did that bottle of Scotch fall from my hands? Maybe it was a lesson—annoying and expensive but at least it was painless—that I should think again about putting my own selfish interests ahead of the needs of others. Why did I knock that poor little old lady over? Because I was so preoccupied with my own affairs that I forgot I was sharing the sidewalk with my fellow humans. So, to summarize, "mazikim" is a sort of shorthand term for the potential of mankind to accept or reject responsibility for its own damaging actions.

 The significance of mazikim in this mishnah is that this concept was created just before Shabbat of the World’s first week.  The Torah is not a history book, but it does tell us in some detail about one event: the Fall of Man.  Our thoughts concerning the story of Adam and Eve tend to dwell on the sadly lost opportunity to do the one thing God asked: not to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. This mishnah however addresses another part of the story: the abrogation of responsibility on the part of both Adam and Eve. Adam’s position regarding their wrongful acts. Adam states that it was not his fault: it was Eve who gave him the fruit. Eve states that it was not her fault: the serpent told her to eat it. Here, with Shabbat coming in for the first time in Jewish history, we see the potential for accepting or denying responsibility for a person’s own damaging actions being actualized.

Getting a grip on tongs made with tongs

One of the most memorable bits of Avot is the statement (Avot 5:8) that one of the things that was created at close of play on the Sixth Day of Creation was "tongs made with tongs". This has generated discussion over the centuries as to whether you can make metal tongs if you don't already have tongs. Here's a thought on this subject.

The thing that grabs people about this mishnah is the problem that metal tongs are made by heating strips of metal to the point at which they become malleable so that they can be shaped into its component parts—but, without a pair of tongs to hold the red-hot metal, tongs cannot be made. Traditional rabbinical commentators tend to be divided between (i) those who explain what tongs are but say nothing of their significance;  (ii) those who say that, if tongs can only be made if you already have tongs, the first tongs must have been made by God,  (iii) those who say that tongs can actually be made by pouring molten metal into moulds, and (iv) those for whom the real issue is the actual time when the tongs were created.

So we remain stuck with a question: what is our takeaway message from this mishnaic reference to tongs? In the 21st century most of us do not have much connection with metallurgy on a daily basis, or indeed at all. It is possible that not one in a thousand contemporary Torah students will have seen a blacksmith using tongs to hold a metal bar that would otherwise burn a man’s hand (they might have seen sugar tongs, but these genteel items did not exist in Tannaic times). So why should we even care?

If we look beyond the tongs, we see a bigger, wider message: that we should always recognize God’s contribution to our own inventiveness for it is He who created in us the potential to innovate. To put it another way, whatever we invent today is a consequence of God’s original creation of mankind’s ability to do so.  We might consider ourselves to be creators on a par with God, but all we have done is to graft our own effort on to the inventive potential that God Himself instilled in us, late on the first Sabbath eve, knowing that we would need to actualize it as soon as Shabbat ended, when Adam and Eve, expelled from the Garden of Eden, had to make their own way in the World.

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This sensible and practical explanation of the tongs issue can be found in Rabbi Menachem Mordechai Frankel-Teomim's Be'er Ha'Avot. This work appears to have been privately published and must have been purchased by someone since it ran to at least three editions (the third being published in Jerusalem in 1978). The bigger question is whether anyone has ever read it, since I have never before seen it discussed or referred to in any subsequent commentaries on Avot and a Google search does not reveal its existence.