Pirkei Avos - Ethical and moral statements of the Talmudical Sages.

Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 10

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 13:09:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 10

Work Makes Equal

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Shemaya and Avtalyon received the transmission from them [the previous generation of scholars, listed in Mishna 8]. Shemaya said: Love work, despise high position, and do not become too close to the authorities."

This mishna offers us advice regarding the proper work ethic. First of all, we are to love work. We should not view work as a necessary evil, something we must suffer through in order to make ends meet. Work should ideally give ours lives meaning and ourselves individuality. It affords us a sense of productivity -- that we are making a difference in the world -- and therefore it gives us our sense of existence.

As my teacher R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu) explained, we tend to measure and value ourselves according to our G-d-given gifts -- our looks, height, intelligence, athletic abilities, wit, etc. But in truth, these are not ours. They are G-d's: gifts He handed us through no effort of our own. We are what we make of those gifts, how we develop our G-d-given talents and the extent to which we use them to better ourselves and mankind. G-d ends and we begin not with our gifts and bodies but with our achievements.

Further, it should not be our bottom line which gives us the feeling we have produced. We are to love work, not money. Money is a very poor gauge of productivity. The Talmud tells us that when it comes to business, one may very well meet with success without making any kind of concerted (or competent) effort (as opposed to Torah knowledge, which can be acquired through serious study alone) (Megillah 6b).

Rather, our focus should be on productivity. The term used by our mishna for work -- "melacha" -- is the same the Torah uses to describe the types of labor forbidden on the Sabbath (Exodus 20:10). The connotation is thus work which produces and brings about a positive change in the world (such as planting, cooking, building, weaving). We should measure ourselves not according to our bottom line or how many people we manage, but according to our output: how productive are we as human beings.

On a practical level as well, work gives man a sense of contentedness. Human beings are most satisfied when they are productive. The Sages state that even one who does not need to work should keep himself occupied, for idling leads to madness and to lewdness (Mishna Kesuvos 5:5). (We always hear stories of the fellow who wins x million dollars in the lottery, puts it in the bank, and continues being the window washer he always was. He was the lucky one. Most people are ruined for life being handed all the money they could ever dream of (though most of us would be happy to take the challenge... ;-) )

The Talmud tells us further that G-d makes each person's job enjoyable to him -- or at least provides him with the set of talents to make one type of work rewarding (Brachos 43b). We can all contribute to mankind in one way or the other. Each of us must simply find his or her calling.

As always, what seems just the good practical advice of the Sages is in truth very much a religious issue. One who finds his job fulfilling will return from work energized. He will then be able to spend a part of his remaining time engaged in religious pursuits such as study and prayer. One, however, who is burnt out by the end of his day will have little energy and enthusiasm for extracurricular activities. Productivity and excitement with in life are not only psychologically beneficial; they are important for our religious well-being as well.

Lastly, work fosters an egalitarian attitude. We are all doing our part and making a difference to mankind. If we are each producing up to our capacity, we are all truly equal. And no one is above this very simple definition of equality. The Talmud writes: "One should flay carcasses in the marketplace and earn a living. He should not say 'I am a priest, I am a great man and such work is beneath me'" (Pesachim 113a). We measure ourselves not by our place on the totem pole or how well-connected we are with the powers that be, but by how much we are accomplishing. Of course, one who can be fully productive (and solvent) studying Torah alone is truly fortunate, as the Talmud writes: "Fortunate is he whose labor is in Torah" (Sanhedrin 99b). However, our primary concern must be if we are productive human beings, not if we are in the "right" circles, doing the "right" kind of work (my son, the doctor, the rabbi or whatever the preference may be), and certainly not if we're getting the "right" type of recognition. King Solomon said it best: "Whatever you do, do it with strength" (Ecclesiastes 9:10).

Our mishna continues by telling us types of "labor" we should not seek -- ones involving high position and involvement with the authorities. Of course, a manager who organizes and orchestrates others' talents, creating teamwork and harmony within an organization is certainly "producing" himself, in very significant fashion. Likewise the public official who serves the many is in a way producing far more than an individual ever could. However, our career goals should not involve recognition or being on top. Fame and public attention are hardly things we should wish for. Honor-seeking is practically antithetical to the Jewish virtues of modesty and humility. Further, public servants are almost invariably subject to public scrutiny and resentment, and must face the near impossible task of pleasing all the people all the time. Some of Israel's greatest leaders, such as Moses and King Saul, practically ran from the job only to have it forced upon them by G-d. Even until contemporary times, many of Israel's greatest rabbis were humble and unassuming men who drew little attention to themselves. In spite of this -- or perhaps because of this -- they were recognized as people of exceptional worth and almost de facto became leaders and spokesmen of their generation.

At the same time, however, we will learn below, "In a place where there are no men, endeavor to be a man" (2:6). We do not seek public position, but we must know our own strengths. And if I sincerely realize I am most capable, I must rise to the challenge.

The Catch 22 we are presented with is that the people who are really fit to be leaders are those who do not want the position. Another way of saying this is that if someone actually wants to be President going so far as to run for office, he is probably the last person we would want for the job. (I have fond memories of a coworker at a past job (a research center) who demoted himself from a management position (which he was performing quite well) so he could get back to the "real work.") The true stuff of leadership consists of a person of strong inner character, one who would much rather not lead but who reluctantly recognizes that he is most capable of serving his country and humanity. Throughout the course of history, Israel has hardly been immune to self-seeking leaders. Yet we have been blessed with many true leaders, both spiritual and temporal. And through this we have continued -- and may we continue -- to persevere.

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Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 9

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 18:06:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 9

Jewish Crime Prevention

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Shimon ben (son of) Shatach said: Examine witnesses thoroughly and be careful with your words lest through them they learn to lie."

This mishna, as the previous, is addressed to judges, instructing them how to properly interrogate the litigants. As we discussed last week, judges must maintain a healthy suspicion of the litigants and take nothing for granted. Although "innocent until proven guilty" is one of the cornerstones of Jewish judicial law, one of the realities of justice is that each party views events from his own personal perspective. Judges, who represent absolute truth and G-d's justice, must be above this. The litigants are speaking relative, subjective truth -- their side of the story. The judges must rise above the personal and vindictive, and make themselves vehicles for G-d's absolute and impartial justice.

The second point of our mishna -- "be careful with your words lest through them they learn to lie" -- is understood by the commentators to continue the same idea. Judges, while interrogating the litigants and witnesses, must take care not to be overly pointed or aggressive. The witnesses may catch on to the judges' direction, and may begin to answer according to what they anticipate the judges are seeking. Rather, allow the litigants to speak for themselves. We quoted the Talmudic dictum last week: "Words of truth are recognizable" (Sotah 9b). If one side is fabricating or embellishing, chances are he will slip up, and something will not fit. The truth or lack thereof of each position should speak for itself.

As we pointed out last week, the advice the Sages offer judges is really not so limited in scope -- for we too are constantly passing judgment on our fellows. We are constantly forming our opinions of others based upon their words and deeds, and for better or worse based upon how others speak about them. There is, however, an even more important manner in which the behavior of judges influences Israel at large, as we will explain below.

Court systems have always formed a very basic element of Jewish society. We find in Scriptures Moses spending his entire day "judging" Israel in the desert until his father-in-law Yisro (Jethro) recommended that he organize a major court system, to which Moses complied (Exodus 18:13-27). (A son-in- law listening to his father-in-law? That too deserved Scriptural mention! ;-)

Further, according to Jewish law, every city in Israel is required to have a major high court of 23 judges, large enough to preside over capital cases. The mishna in Sanhedrin (1:6) rules that this obligation extended all the way down to the smallest village of 120 adult males. (It's actually kind of humorous in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 17b), which explains that in addition to the 23 judges themselves, 3 sets of 23 students would sit before the judges. (they would join the court in case it was divided). Thus, between the judges, students, stenographers (and of course people to have a case between them), almost an entire town of 120 would be involved in the judicial process.)

The implication of this is that Judaism is very pro-justice. Courts must be ubiquitous. Whenever any kind of trouble arises, a major court would be available down the block to deal with it and straighten things out. One might have had to head in for the big city for shopping, a show, or a good restaurant, but high courts were always local.

This, however, is difficult in light of other statements of our Sages. There is a mishna which states that if a court actually performs an execution in so much as once in seven years, it is considered a murderous court (Makkos 1:10). (The mishna brings an additional opinion that once in 70 years is too often, while a third rabbi declared that if he would have served, the court would have never executed.) Thus, we need courts all over the place, but they do not seem to do very much.

Further, Jewish law has some gaping loopholes. The death penalty exists in Torah law and is imposed for a large variety of offenses, but it is actually quite difficult for a criminal to actually receive it. One who commits a capital offense can only be put to death if he is seen by two witnesses, they warn him before the act, and he acknowledges the warning (saying, "I know I'll get killed for this and with this in mind do I sin"). Now who in the world would say *that*? Any sinner could easily vindicate himself by just keeping quiet!

In addition, we find punishments within Jewish law exceedingly lenient. One who steals forcibly merely has to return what he stole. (What does he have to lose?) A burglar -- one who steals covertly -- must pay double: still a pretty good gamble. For assault one pays only for the damages -- no zillion dollar lawsuits, suing for emotional damage, etc. Incarceration almost does not exist in Torah law. If so, how does the Torah expect crime to be deterred?

My teacher, R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu) explained that Judaism recognizes that harsh sentences are very poor deterrents of crime. Many people are pro-capital punishment in the hope it will make their fellow citizens behave, but in truth stiff sentences and tough policing do not make citizens into better people. They only increase the fear of getting caught (which might do some good in the near term, but is honestly hardly the point).

Judaism believes in a different approach to crime prevention altogether: the presence of judges. Virtually every city in Israel was required to have a major court. The presence of so many judges was not to judge the populace. It was hoped that matters would rarely go so far as to having neighbors face off in court. Rather, they existed to set the tone in society. Judges created a sense of respect for the law. They were bearers and upholders of our tradition, and they would teach proper behavior not through judgment and arbitration, but by living and embodying those very values they espoused. As always, the most effective manner of teaching others is by doing for yourself. Judges, through their actions, would create a sense of the beauty of G-d's ways, and by association a sense that crime is inherently evil and quite literally does not pay. And far more than stiff penalties, such role-modeling would create some hope that the rest of Israel would follow.

In truth, Jewish law does have practical provisions for dealing with delinquents, troublemakers and those who might be harmful to themselves or society. And the punishments outlined in the Torah are more a statement of God's ultimate values than a practical means of preserving law and order. Yet, Judaism recognizes above all that judges are far more than merely arbiters of justice. They stand for something greater. They set a tone within society so that crimes not be committed in the first place. (It's interesting to note that this perception -- that judges must uphold a higher standard -- has perhaps trickled down to our times in the form of judges' austere judicial robes.)

The Midrash (Devarim Rabbah 3:5) records the following incident with Shimon ben Shatach himself, the author of our mishna. He once instructed his students to buy him a camel from an Arab. When his students returned, they gleefully informed him that they found a precious stone in the animal's collar. Shimon flatly refused to take advantage of the situation and insisted that his students return the gem immediately. (A legal loophole might have applied in the situation, according to the letter of the law.) When the Arab received it in return he exclaimed, "Blessed be the G-d of Shimon ben Shatach." Shimon saw himself not only as teacher and arbiter of Jewish law, but as one who must exemplify it through his own conduct. And the Gentile likewise saw the event not only as an individual act of greatness, but as a reflection of a great and noble religion. And so he blessed not only Shimon but the G-d of Shimon as well.

May we too recognize the beauty of the religion we stand for. And through our deeds may we become vehicles to increase the glorification of the Divine Name, so that the world over reverberates with the cry: "Blessed be the G-d of Shimon ben Shatach."

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Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 8

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 17:55:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 8

Shaping Minds

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Yehuda ben (son of) Tabbai and Shimon ben Shatach received the ransmission from them [the previous generation of scholars, listed in Mishna 6]. Yehuda ben Tabbai said: Do not act as an adviser among the judges. When the litigants are standing before you they should be in your eyes as guilty. When they are dismissed from before you they should be in your eyes as innocent, provided they have accepted the decision."

This mishna focuses on the Jewish judicial system, and its advice is addressed to judges. As always, however, we will find the words of the Sages far more meaningful and relevant than their limited scope might imply.

Yehuda's first statement is actually difficult to translate. One should not make himself an "orchai hadayanim," which literally means "a setter up of the judges." The meaning, according to the majority of the commentators, is that one should not advise a single litigant how to present and plead his case. This will either "set up" the minds of the judges -- to be partial towards that litigant, or set up the judgment as a whole in his favor. (The commentators appear to be divided as to whether this advice is restricted to the judges themselves or to any person partial towards a single litigant.)

The message is that the judges should examine the bare facts of the case alone. Neither side should require coaching; each should simply present his or her version of the story as accurately and objectively as possible. The truth (or lack thereof) of either position should speak for itself. There is no room for carefully arranged and acted-out prosecutions or defenses. Posturing, dramatizing, or employing any of the many tactics we have become so accustomed to today to "set up" the minds of the jurors or arouse their sympathy is wholly out of place. The courts must be vehicles of G-d's objective and unwavering justice.

For that matter, lawyers were virtually inexistent in the traditional Jewish court system. Even the word "lawyer" did not exist in classical Hebrew -- as evidenced by the fairly awkward terminology of our mishna. In fact the modern Hebrew term for lawyer is the equally awkward two-word phrase "orech din" ("arranger of judgment") -- stemming from our mishna's language. And even more emphatically, the pocketbooks of the litigants should not determine (for all practical purposes) the eventual verdict.

The second statement of our mishna is that judges should view the litigants as guilty when they stand trial. They should be wary of the litigants' every word. Nothing should be glossed over or taken at face value. As the Talmud puts it, "Words of truth are recognizable" (Sotah 9b). When someone is making up or embellishing a story, chances are something will not fit (either that or the testimony will be too smooth and well-rehearsed), and the acute observer will catch on to it fairly quickly. In truth, "Innocent until proven guilty" is one of the most fundamental tenets of Jewish law (Talmud Bava Kama 46b -- as well as many places). Yet, judges must maintain a healthy suspicion towards the litigants. All evidence must be properly scrutinized, and nothing should be taken for granted, whether about the case at hand or about the defendants themselves.

In addition, as the commentators observe, both parties must be viewed as equally guilty. Neither party should be given any sort of preferential consideration due to his background, reputation or social status. "Profiling" too is a modern phenomenon, wholly absent from Jewish tradition. All are equal in the eyes of G-d's law.

There is a fascinating insight regarding the role of judges as envisioned by the Torah. As we will see, the concept of the impartiality of the judges, as discussed in our mishna, is far more profound than simply a means of rendering proper decisions.

Deuteronomy 19:16-21 discusses the subject of false witnesses. If two men testify in court, say that Jim is a murderer, and they are afterwards shown to be testifying falsely (other witnesses testify that the first witnesses were elsewhere when the crime was allegedly committed), they receive the punishment they attempted to inflict upon Jim. I.e., they are killed themselves. Verse 19 states that the witnesses receive what they attempted ("zamam") to do to Jim. The implication, according to the Rabbis, is that if the witnesses not only attempted but were also successful (i.e., they were not disproved until after Jim was put to death), they are not punished (Mishna Makkos 1:6). How could actually causing the courts to kill Jim be less severe than unsuccessfully attempting it?

The Ramban (Nachmonides, of 13th Century Spain) explains as follows: If the false witnesses were successful in putting Jim to death, it must be that in fact Jim deserved death for one reason or the other. G-d would have never allowed him to be put to death had he not truly deserved it. Thus, although the witnesses themselves were liars, they did not truly kill an innocent man. They merely put to death someone who deserved it anyway. If, however, they were unsuccessful, G-d must have thwarted their plans because Jim was really innocent. And so, the witnesses were in fact guilty of attempted murder.

My teacher R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu) raised an enormous difficulty with this answer: By that reasoning, why should an actual murderer ever be put to death? Why not use the same alibi: "The person I murdered obviously must have deserved it. Otherwise, G-d would have never allowed me to kill him! I'm just a messenger of G-d!"

In addition, there are other ways in which Jewish law deals more harshly with false witnesses than with people who actually commit crimes -- for example in that to be convicted of committing a crime one must first be warned by the witnesses before doing the act, while false witnesses are punished though they never received such a warning before they testified falsely. And this too requires analysis. How can one who kills with his own hands be dealt with less severely than one who does so only indirectly, merely causing the courts to carry out the misdeed?

There is an important insight here, one which casts light on the entire concept of the Jewish justice system. Jewish courts are not only a convenient mechanism for preserving law and order. They are G-d's vehicle for justice on this earth. They represent truth -- the truth of G-d and His Torah -- and its manifestation in society. When one tricks a court, he is not only framing an innocent man. He is distorting G-d's representation of truth in this world. He is perverting man's perception of truth, corrupting the most basic reality of the universe.

If someone commits murder or adultery, he knows he's a sinner; everyone around him knows he's a sinner (or at least so it was once upon a time). And if you know you're a sinner, you might just one day repent. If, however, a person fools the courts into believing an innocent man is a murderer, he is masquerading falsehood as truth. He is corrupting the very fabric of the universe. The world and in particular the courts -- G-d's very vehicle of truth and justice among men -- have been turned into bodies of falsehood -- and G-d's very Presence has been diminished among man.

As a result of this, the guilt of false witnesses depends upon the outcome. They are not punished for the sentence they attempted to have carried out. That was not even their direct doing. Their guilt is for the corruption of truth. If they are not successful in carrying out their plans, they have attempted to distort reality and are judged accordingly. If, however, they are successful, then the defendant must have really deserved death -- for G-d would not allow such travesty of justice with no valid basis -- and the perpetrators were not in reality corrupting the truth.

Tragically, this is a concept which applies outside of the courts equally well. There are many other vehicles in this world which shape our minds and fashion reality in their own image. Newspapers, radio, and especially television form our opinions for us. They present truth according to their own biases, and the believing public finds itself molded into whatever reality the liberal media has fashioned for it.

How does the world view the State of Israel? When the public is fed headlines such as "Israel retaliates...," "Israel strikes targets...," and "Israel assassinates..." (or at best "violence erupts" when there was actually a very clear "erupter"... ;-) , reality is twisted in the eyes of a gullible public. How much media coverage is focused on PA corruption, on the vilely anti-Semitic statements which spew forth from PA ministers and Muslim clerics alike, on the terrorist attacks which were not successful (thanks to G-d in Heaven), and on the spontaneous dancing in the Arab street when an attack is? Meanwhile, a patient and law-abiding democracy, deserving the world's praise, support and encouragement in its battle against true criminals against humanity has become the aggressive, human-rights-ignoring police state, continually slammed by the UN, the EU and all sorts of other organizations hardly searching for truth to begin with.

Needless to say, this class is hardly intended to be a forum for Dovid Rosenfeld's political commentary. (I could go on, but I'm probably preaching to the choir.) Nevertheless, those who author and disseminate the "news" are playing with fire -- with truth itself -- and with the most precious and essential commodity of all existence.

Lastly, we ourselves possess that same power over reality -- in our mouths and our manner of speech. The way we talk about others -- especially behind their backs -- creates images -- and realities -- which are hard to counter. If we create a negative image about our fellow, we may damage him and his reputation in ways from which he may never recover. Judaism is exceedingly forceful in its condemnation of gossip and slander. Far from saying "names will never hurt me," Judaism recognizes what an awesome role words play in creating the reality around us. Let us take care that we, our courts, and our very mouths become vehicles of truth, honesty and beauty in this world.

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Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 7

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 14:28:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 7

Jewish Ghettos

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Nittai of Arbel said, distance yourself from a bad neighbor, do not befriend a wicked person, and do not despair of punishment."

The theme of this mishna is to beware close association with wicked people, those who may exert a negative influence on ourselves or our families.

R. Samson Raphael Hirsch notes a discrepancy in the language of mishna. Regarding bad neighbors we are told to distance ourselves, while regarding the wicked we are told only not to befriend them. The reason for this difference is that it is possible to choose one's neighbors -- by selecting a neighborhood in which to live. Regarding the wicked, however, it is impossible to entirely avoid contact with them -- in business (particularly) or on the street. Thus, we may have to interact with them on some level, but we must take care not to closely befriend them.

Our mishna concludes that we not lose faith that G-d ultimately punishes. This continues the same theme. Do not be fooled that the wicked have all the money. Do not be tempted to run after them or imitate their ways. Divine retribution will certainly come -- and the associates of the wicked may well be caught in the very same web (or at least be forced to testify). G-d may very well be "blessing" the wicked in this world because He has given up, so to speak, on prodding them to repent, or because He is paying off their few good deeds in this world. Regardless, we must never be lulled into a sense that there is something lasting or meaningful to be gained from association with the wicked. Their time will come -- whether in this world or the next -- and we'd be much better off not being around when it does.

Throughout our history, Jews have always placed a great deal of emphasis on community -- that we stick together and distance themselves to whatever degree possible from negative influences. Throughout the Exile, Jews have generally formed their own neighborhoods, schools, and where possible judicial systems. The term "ghetto" is perhaps too strong a pejorative -- and Pales and ghettos were usually imposed from without -- but throughout much of our history we have certainly made ourselves a nation apart. Likewise, our host nations have almost invariably seen us as a foreign entity living in their midst. Whether they viewed us as an antisocial and disloyal fifth column or as a hard-working and contributive minority, we have rarely been seen as truly a part of the nation as a whole. (I can't remember which great European rabbi visited the U.S. in the early 20th Century and was quite surprised to find that American Jews had a genuine patriotism for their country -- a phenomenon he considered almost without parallel in the Old World.)

Nor was this an Exile phenomenon. Within Ancient Israel, the members of the Tribe of Levi, who were devoted exclusively to Temple and G-dly service, lived in their own utopian cities, apart from the remaining tribes of Israel (see Numbers 35:1-8). The understanding was that religious societies can best be formed by isolating ourselves from society at large, by keeping ourselves from those influences which may compromise the standards we wish to maintain. We know what a profound influence our friends and neighbors exert on us. If everyone on the block owns a Mercedes, I would be hiding my old jalopy of a Cadillac in the garage. If all the neighbors' children are going to Harvard, I would be saying Princeton under my breath. (Sorry if I'm insulting any alumni... :-) Neighbors set the tone in a community in terms of wealth, status and moral conduct. And the pressure to fit in is almost palpable. "What would the neighbors say?" rings far louder in our ears than "What is actually best for us?"

This, however, raises a difficulty. Isn't Israel's ultimate purpose to be a "light unto the nations" (Isaiah 42:6)? Shouldn't we be going out teaching mankind that G-d exists and the world has a purpose? Shouldn't we be standing at every street corner, passing out brochures and leaflets, spreading the holy gospel? Instead, we are busy isolating ourselves from the world at large -- sometimes even from fellow Jews who are not as "enlightened" as we? Aren't we denying ourselves from the very elements of mankind which most need Judaism's enlightening effects?

On the simplest level, the answer is that we do not see ourselves today as prepared to take on the world. Today we are an exiled and downtrodden minority. We have more than enough trouble preserving ourselves and our own children from the effects of exile and assimilation. When the Messiah arrives, he will bring the world to its fruition. He will teach the world about truth and the reality of G-d. (It might be a tad too late by then, but one way or the other the world will reach its long-awaited culmination.) In the meanwhile, however, we are busy enough trying to hold on ourselves. We have far too much on our minds -- not to mention far too much infighting within our own ranks -- to worry about this grand and far- sighted dream of being a light unto the nations. A bit disappointing, but probably a realistic appraisal of the situation.

There is another angle to this, however. In a way, we are not so far from our ultimate goal as we might think. We really best fulfill our mission to the world in isolation. How does one best impact upon others? By debating, going out attempting to convince others of the truth of our ways? Try telling people how they should live, what their values should be. Tell them their past 35 years have been based on fallacy and that only our G-d is the true one. I've had better luck talking to brick walls. People are stubborn. We might win a few of the unusually intellectually honest through intense persuasion, but we'd probably turn off a whole lot more.

Judaism has *never* believed in proselytizing -- certainly not as an official policy (though there have been some curious exceptions over the years). Nobody likes being lectured to. If we run after others with proofs and elaborate discourses on religion, we will appear much like cults and fringe groups, distributing entertaining reading material at red lights and bus terminals. Very little good would be accomplished. We would achieve little more than cheapening Judaism in the eyes of the masses.

Judaism believes in an entirely different approach: by example. We create our own utopian societies. We show mankind by our lives and behavior what human beings are capable of, not by living in isolated monasteries, but by building healthy and thriving -- but separate -- societies. We set the tone for mankind, establishing the moral standards to which they must one day aspire. And this requires isolation -- that we develop true and uncompromising societies of both morality and integrity. And even within exile, when we are very much a part of society at large, we maintain our own sub-community -- of synagogue, study hall, the Jewish family -- creating our own sanctuaries within. Yes, when the Messiah arrives he will impose the belief of G-d on the recalcitrant, and he'll do it by sword if necessary (it's very unlikely to be necessary by then). But until then our most effective weapon is our own behavior -- in demonstrating to mankind what human beings, as creatures fashioned in the image of G-d, are capable of becoming.

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Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 6(b)

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 13:28:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 6(b)

G-d's Justice System

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Yehoshua ben (son of) Perachia and Nittai of Arbel received the transmission from them [the rabbis of Mishna 4]. Yehoshua ben Perachia said, make for yourself a rabbi, acquire for yourself a friend, and judge every person favorably."

Last week we discussed the first two statements of the mishna, the importance of acquiring both a rabbi and a friend. As we explained, personal relationships with both role models and equals are crucial for proper intellectual and spiritual growth -- for taking the Torah's messages, bringing them to life, and applying them to real-life situations.

This week we'll discuss the final statement of the mishna -- judging others favorably. As an opening observation, this perhaps relates to the mishna's first two statements. Only one who can overlook his friend's (and even his teacher's) faults while learning from his positive traits will be able to develop positive and growing relationships. There is no such thing as a person you will look up to in every way. Only with generous doses of patience and forbearance can any meaningful relationship get off the ground.

The Talmud derives the principle of judging others favorably from a verse in Leviticus (19:15): "In righteousness shall you judge your fellow" (Shavuos 30a). In its literal sense, the verse is addressing judges. The Sages derive from this the importance of being fair and impartial to both litigants, not giving better treatment to either one during the court proceedings.

The Talmud, however, additionally sees this verse as a general directive to us all, that we "judge" our fellows favorably. For better or worse, we are constantly judging our peers based on their words and behavior, and often our verdicts are as harsh and condemning as those of the strictest judges. We are thus told to give others the benefit of the doubt, sometimes to bend over to see the good in our fellow where it is anything but readily evident. Perhaps he went into the MacDonald's to use the phone or bathroom. He acted that way because he had a rough day at work, or he is just not as sensitive about a certain issue as I.

Maimonides, in his commentary to the mishna, provides more precise guidelines for this obligation. There are three categories of people. An average person, who is neither particularly pious nor sinful (or at least is not known to you to be sinful in the matter under question), must be given the benefit of the doubt only in situations in which there is reasonable room for doubt. If an act could go either way, judge him favorably. If, however, an act leaves little room for doubt -- and the person is not exactly known for his saintliness -- one need not find some favorable interpretation to his act. The Torah does not ask for naivete, that we ignore what is in front of our noses. (Blabbing out what you saw to all who will listen, however, is known as lashon hara, evil speech, and is an entirely separate -- and rather severe -- transgression.) However, it is meritorious to look for some favorable or extenuating factor even in such a case.

The second type of person is one known to be righteous. Maimonides writes that we must view him or her favorably even if the circumstances do not warrant it, even in the case where his behavior appears sinful. We should bend over to view such a person favorably. Even if he clearly did sin, the Talmud writes that one should assume he reconsidered and repented his deed by the morrow (Berachos 19a). (Needless to say, if his "sinful" behavior involves financial loss to others we do not just cheerily dismiss his behavior as somehow acceptable but notify the appropriate authorities and let *them* decide. Our mishna's focus is on the courtrooms of the mind alone.)

The final category of person is one known to be wicked. In this context, we define wicked as one who publicly and unashamedly flaunts his religion, and does not do so out of an ignorance of the true depth and beauty of Judaism. (As contemporary rabbis observe, it is actually difficult to find a person who fits the build today. Apart from the almost universal ignorance of Judaism as a whole today (whether or not someone has heard there are Orthodox Jews with long beards and coats in New York somewhere), a person today could have easily been raised to an Orthodox family and in an observant neighborhood -- and somehow never truly grew into what Judaism is all about. And there may not have been anyone there to properly guide and inspire him during some of the crucial early stages of his life. You cannot really pick up meaning and spirituality from your environment. It does not just seep in. We must each discover it for ourselves -- no matter who our parents and our teachers were or are.) Regarding such a person, there is no obligation whatsoever to judge him favorably. He is not "your fellow" as referred to in the verse. In fact, we must often bend over the other way in condemning his actions. We must always be wary that he is trying to create a respectable image so as to avert suspicion from his behavior -- and to entice others to his wicked ways.

The Talmud teaches us further: "Anyone who judges others favorably will be judged favorably in Heaven" (Shabbos 127b). This follows the general principle that G-d rewards and punishes us "measure for measure" (Mishna Sotah 1:7). If we are patient and understanding with others, G-d will act in the same manner towards us. If not, G-d will get his cues, so to speak, from our own behavior. Sadly, G-d's method of judgment is only too just.

However, this presents a difficulty. When we judge others favorably, aren't we giving the benefit of the doubt because we *don't* know all the facts? We saw him walk into a MacDonald's and we don't know what happened next. Perhaps he went in for a soda. He was not in synagogue on Yom Kippur. Perhaps he wasn't feeling well. He made an inconsiderate remark. Perhaps he doesn't know how sensitive that issue is to me, perhaps his boss just yelled at him, etc. But G-d *does* know all the facts; there is no room for doubt. He knows the circumstances, the background, and all that preceded and followed. How can G-d judge us favorably when it involves overlooking what to Him are clear and cold facts?

The answer is that giving the benefit of the doubt is not only a matter of overlooking or interpreting details. It stems from an attitude. When we judge others, we are setting our own personal justice system. If I am constantly finding fault and criticizing others, I send a message to G-d. Shortcomings should be noticed and highlighted; there's no room for mercy and tolerance. And G-d allows us to fashion the very justice system with which He views us. If we see only the bad in others, we bring upon ourselves the very judgment which we, in our minds, visit upon others daily.

If, however, we view others favorably, we send an entirely different message to G-d. I know Joe is basically a good guy. He means well. Therefore, it is not likely to me that he actually did something wrong. And if he did, it is probably because he didn't really know better or he finds such behavior more challenging than I do.

When we view others in such a manner, it sends a different message to G-d. I know Your creations are good human beings. They stumble and fall at times, but I have not lost faith in them as a result. They mean well, and I'm sure they'll pick themselves up again and try harder. And this is the attitude we should only wish G-d would have towards us. He (more than anyone else in creation) knows that human beings are basically good creatures. We have good souls and active, restless consciences. If we recognize the innate goodness in others, chances are we will see it in ourselves equally well. And G-d will as well judge us mercifully. He knows we are His faithful servants regardless of our many slips and falls. We'll bounce back -- G-d knows we can do it -- and He knows as well that we can recognize this ourselves. And if He has that trust in us, we might just live up to His expectations.

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Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 6(a)

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 13:24:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 6(a)

Rabbis Versus Friends

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

This mishna brings us to the next generation of scholars and the advice they offered to their and future generations. We are still in one of the earliest generations of the Mishna.

Yehoshua first advises us that we "make" for ourselves a rabbi. We discussed recently (Mishna 4) the role of the Torah scholar within Judaism. As we saw, a rabbi is hardly a religious functionary, conducting services at a synagogue, wedding or funeral, nor is he simply one who is asked to decide matters of Jewish law. A true rabbi is firstly one who serves as a role model for his community, who does not only teach G-d's Torah, but who lives and exemplifies those same values as well.

Second, the true Torah scholar is one who is imbued with the entire gamut of Torah knowledge -- and thus, he is the only one truly able to take that wisdom and apply it to real life situations. Life is far more complicated than ritual and religious ceremony. We are constantly faced with challenges -- struggling with our own natures and in our relationships with others. Many of the decisions we must make during our days and in the course of our lives are in reality religious by nature. Take for example our professional lives. How does the lawyer defend a client he knows to be guilty as sin? How does the psychologist deal with a patient who may be a danger to his family or to society? Say a patient (or close friend) confesses to having committed a serious crime or having a drug addiction? Is one obligated to turn him in, or does true friendship imply confidentiality? When may the doctor provide experimental or alternative treatment to his patient? Say an acquaintance calls during off hours for medical treatment or advice. Does the Torah obligate one with the appropriate know-how to help? How much of my employer's time (or paper) may I waste assuming it's understood (I hope none of you are reading this on work time...) -- or because everyone else does it? How do I deal with employees (possibly myself) who are in the habit of talking behind the boss' back? How much of my earnings must I give to charity -- and to which types of charities? How do I balance my career with family obligations, with Torah study, and with community involvement? And how should I *act*? How friendly and outgoing should I be to others? How much effort should I put in to mending a strained relationship, and when is it time to walk away? What is the proper manner of disciplining my children? How do I draw the line between parenting and butting in? How much respect should I demand of my children? Should I interfere with their every bad practice and association, or should I let them learn life experiences on their own? And how should I get along with my own parents -- possibly whose religious values differ greatly from my own? And am I obligated in their healthcare?

The questions are endless and ongoing -- and they are really what religion is all about. Far beyond what color yarmulke a person wears, these are the issues which truly define if we are Torah-observant and G-d-fearing Jews. And for such issues Israel needs rabbis. Virtually none of the questions above can be answered with a single verse or law in the Talmud. Our Sages had much to say about all such issues. There are priorities and considerations which must be carefully weighed and balanced. And the answers may very well not be the same for any two people.

As a simple example, the Sages had much to say about the importance of Torah study, of child rearing, of community service, and of earning a livelihood. Which are given greater priority? How much time should I spend on each? It really depends who I am, what the Torah's priorities are, and how the Torah's eternal truths apply to me and my situation in particular. And only one who knows the entire Torah can decipher which of its many truths apply in any given situation. It's easy enough for me to tell my wife, "Sorry, can't help with the dishes; the Rabbis said Torah study is important." (I've tried that one before, and it don't work too well...) But helping others -- certainly one's own wife -- is also an obligation. Which comes first? What is the proper balance?

Thus again, Israel need rabbis. The balancing act of life -- how to balance the different values and priorities of the Torah and of life -- is the real trick to life and personal fulfillment. And only the scholar who knows both the Torah's wisdom and me personally will be able to assist me. He will see my own unique qualities and attributes -- often better than I see them myself -- and determine how the Torah's eternal values apply to me personally. And if he knows me -- if I've "made" for myself a rabbi -- then I have some hope of striking that proper balance.

Our mishna additionally tells us to "acquire for yourself a friend." This connects closely to Yehoshua's first statement of making for myself a rabbi. We are dealing firstly with a friend in the spiritual sense -- one who assists me in my religious and personal growth. True friends are those who grow together, who share their feelings, and who grow as individuals. They are open and sincere with one another, and are practically the only ones who can (perhaps) give advice and criticism freely and openly. King Solomon wrote: "Faithful are the chastisements of a friend, while burdensome are the kisses of an enemy" (Proverbs 27:6). A friend is one from whom I grow, and who will point out to me my faults (often indiscernible to myself) and instruct me in how to realize my potential.

It's interesting to note that the mishna uses a stronger word for friend than it did for rabbi. We were instructed to "make" ("asai") for ourselves a rabbi and to "buy" ("k'nai") ourselves a friend. The implication is that more effort must be expended in acquiring a friend. Why is this?

I believe there are two issues here. First, in spite of everything we've said about the importance of rabbis, they only go so far. We have all heard or read flowery and inspiring words (or e-mails) from rabbis and felt the gut reaction, whether expressed or not, something like: "You know, that's really easy to say on an abstract level. It would be nice if life were so easy. If I were 30 years older and a well-respected rabbi I could also get away with proudly espousing such high and uncompromising standards. But the reality is just not that way."

One's rabbi is usually somewhat older and more established than he. Everything he says is wonderful and inspiring -- he makes it all sound so easy. But he doesn't *really* know what it's like to come from where I come from, and how difficult it would be to break away from parents, friends, culture, habits and everything else I would have to leave behind.

And this is where friends come in. A friend is an equal; he speaks your language. He may even share your background and history. He knows where you're coming from because he's been there himself. And he might just help you figure out how *you* can apply truth to your life, and how it can all become meaningful and relevant to you.

There is a second, unrelated concept behind the idea of acquiring a friend. We don't just "make" friends for ourselves; we must invest in them and "acquire" them. Friendships are two-way affairs. A relationship with a rabbi or teacher, as valuable as it may be, is basically passive. Although questioning and objecting are very much a part of the student's role (as we'll learn later, "The bashful student will not learn" (2:6 www.torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos/chapter2-6.html)), for the most part the student is enjoined to assume a humble, submissive role, as Mishna 4 earlier: "Cleave to the dust of their feet."

Developing friendships, however, requires a much greater investment of time and effort. We "purchase" friendships by our willingness to share our feelings, stay up late discussing our problems, and be available to help him or her get through his or her difficult times. The investment may be great, and we may not "learn" as much as we do from our teachers. But relationships are yet another necessary ingredient towards developing ourselves as human beings and fulfilling our missions on this earth.

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Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 5(b)

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 13:12:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 5(b)

Marriage and the Dark Side of the Force

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Yossi ben (son of) Yochanan of Jerusalem said: Let your house be open wide, let the poor be members of your household, and do not chatter excessively with women. This was said regarding one's own wife, certainly with another's wife. Based on this the Sages have said, one who chatters excessively with women causes evil to himself, wastes time from Torah study, and will eventually inherit Gehenna."

For the past two classes we have been discussing the sanctity of the home. As the Sages instruct, religious practices and values must not be relegated to the synagogue or some other setting outside the home. Our homes must be permeated with sanctity, and both Torah scholars and the downtrodden should be welcome within.

We are now ready to discuss the second issue of our mishna, talking excessively with women. It is appropriate to approach this from the context of this and the previous mishna. The sanctity of the home to a great extent rests on the husband-wife relationship within. If their relationship is founded upon closeness and a sharing of values, the home will flourish. If it is based upon frivolity and lust -- or if the husband finds he has better "chatter" (what we today call "chemistry") with women outside the home -- the basic building blocks of the home will be lacking, and the home will only with difficulty survive.

Our mishna uses the term "sicha" for speech, which means light or trivial talk, kibitzing or banter. Regarding another man's wife the danger is evident. Empty, frivolous conversation may lead to a much more serious breakdown of behavior. We will learn later: "Jesting and lightheadedness accustom a person to immorality" (3:17). Interaction with women may be a regular part of our daily activities, but we must always take care that a certain sense of formality is maintained. This of course does not mean to imply coldness or aloofness. As always in Judaism, the correct balance must be sought. However, this is one area in which the Sages, in their wisdom and insight, warn us to take extra care. Dangers lurk -- sometimes only slightly beneath the thinnest veneer of propriety -- and caution must be constantly maintained.

Even with one's own wife the proper balance must be maintained. The husband-wife relationship must be predicated on an emotional closeness and a sharing of values, not on frivolity or physical lust. The underlying bond must be very clear to both husband and wife. We are not bound because we enjoy each other's company, because it provides us with a beneficial financial arrangement, or because we desire the physical pleasure. In fact, our marriage must not be predicated on any reason of a duration less than eternal, and likewise a truly meaningful marriage will weather all sorts of financial and medical challenges. If I am in a relationship because it is good for *me*, then when the cause of that goodness departs (or if I have more enjoyable "chatter" with the gals at the office) the marriage will be in serious trouble.

Rather, husband and wife must view themselves as bound by eternal covenant. Each partner must care for the other for the other's sake, and they must be united in the sacred mission of building a Jewish home and becoming a unified whole. Such lofty ideals must never be trivialized and laughed off. Humor and lightheadedness are often in place in the husband-wife relationship; so is physical pleasure. In fact, any activity which brings husband and wife closer strengthens the Divine bond between them. But such things must never replace the true ideals and purpose of marriage. One serious and intense conversation between husband and wife -- about their goals, feelings and aspirations -- is worth a thousand empty and trivial conversations. Our marriages must primarily be spiritual and eternal. And likewise our speech and conversation must never wholly lose sight of the fact that between us rests the Divine Presence.

There is a general concept within Judaism that the greater a potential for good something has, the stronger the temptation to misuse it. Love and marriage are prime examples of this. Marriage gives man and woman the ability to build the ultimate relationship -- symbolic of man's relationship with G-d, as well as to create life. Each partner loves and provides for the other for the other's sake, yet realizes and appreciates that the other does for him or her for the very same reason. And as each partner does for the other, he or she grows closer to the other as well -- for we love those to whom we give. Eventually, a couple merges -- into a complete and united whole.

However, anything which has such potential for good can as well be corrupted into a means of perpetrating the most terrible of evils. And this is the manner in which the world works, for the "dark side of the force" (we can call it Satan, but the idea is quite the same) will not allow such potential for goodness to go unchecked and unchallenged. Just as the most heinous of crimes are committed in the name of religion, the worst acts of selfishness can be perpetrated under the guise of "marriage". Rather than marriage being used for selflessness, giving and bonding, it can be used for selfishness and abusiveness. Men and women are different by nature (if any of you haven't noticed). If they merge, their natures will complement one another and they will become a united whole. If, however, one marries solely for his or her own sake -- to take from the other, to dominate or abuse, or to give himself an illusory sense of importance by putting the other down, he is involved in the most selfish and crushing relationship possible. The very closeness and intimacy of marriage gives each spouse the ability to crush and hurt the other in a manner not possible in any other sort of relationship. And sadly, we all know how ugly, painful and devastating unhealthy relationships can be, and how slowly the scars heal.

The sex drive is another example of this concept. Marital relations, at their highest level, are a form of giving and sharing, and are potentially an act of creation. (There is also a kabbalistic concept that sex is a physical manifestation of our ultimate spiritual relationship with God -- one reason why the Prophets so often berate Israel for going "a whoring" after idolatry. (Thought heard from R. Motty Berger, www.aish.com.)) However, precisely because it can be used for such good, there is no other drive which man is so tempted to misuse and to vulgarize, and to pervert from an act of holiness into one of selfishness, hedonism and animalism.

For all of the above reasons, Judaism has always placed paramount importance on the separation of the sexes, in such areas as synagogue service, schooling and general social interaction. This does not stem from a sense of inequality between men and women, and certainly not from any kind of notion that sex and marriage are in any way "sinful". To the contrary, God says, "It is not proper for Adam to live alone" (i.e., unmarried) (Genesis 2:18), and the Torah sets this as a precedent for all future generations: "Therefore, a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife" (2:24).

Rather, knowing the unique quality of the husband-wife relationship, the Rabbis took every precaution that such potential for good and beauty not be compromised. The more we spread ourselves out -- the more we enjoy interaction and good chemistry with other members of the opposite sex -- the less special and unique our relationship will be with our spouses. Thus, our mishna exhorts us: Do not become overly light and frivolous, not with your own wife and certainly not with another man's. We are quite literally dealing with fire: with human passions and with the most delicate and precious of human emotions. And only with the most caring and sensitive nurturing can man and woman, in spite of -- or perhaps because of -- their differences, merge into a sacred and sanctified whole.

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Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 5(a)

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 12:58:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 5(a)

Charity Begins at Home

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

Last week our discussion in part focused on the sanctity of the home. The previous mishna stated that Torah scholars should be welcome in one's home. As we explained, the home must be a place suited for scholars and scholarship. Religion must not be relegated to the synagogue or other place external to ourselves. It must permeate our homes and our very lives. Our homes are not our castles in which we -- rather than G-d -- reign and set the standards. The mezuzah on our door-post testifies that within is a dwelling place of G-d. And our behavior within must be worthy of receiving that Divine Presence.

This mishna, authored by the colleague of last mishna's author, continues the same theme. Our homes are not only places in which honorable and respected Torah scholars are welcome. The poor and downtrodden must be welcome as well. And as we will see, this often requires an even greater degree of selflessness.

We sometimes feel our homes are our sanctuaries -- to which we retreat and close ourselves off from the word's problems. I personally know the feeling when a disheveled and unsavory-looking beggar comes to our door (unfortunately, an ongoing occurrence in my neighborhood in Israel). The knee jerk reaction can be summed up as: "Here are a few dollars (or shekels); now get out of my life!" (as my teacher R. Moshe Eisemann once put it).)

We really don't want to be bothered by other people's problems. We are willing to part with a few dollars for their sakes -- we do feel genuine sympathy for our fellow human beings -- but we're hardly willing to make their problems our problems. It disturbs our equanimity and peace of mind to see such suffering face to face. (Those of us who are aware of the facts in our homeland can only begin to appreciate the great heroism and sacrifice of the Israeli security and emergency medical personnel.) However, for most of us, charitable causes come no further than our doorways -- if even there. Within is my own life -- my personal "space" which I am simply not willing to compromise.

This mishna obligates us infinitely further. We must not be charitable with our wallets alone; we must open our homes. (Many of the commentators understand the advice of the mishna to be that one invite the indigent into his home as hired workers -- providing them the most dignified form of charity available.)

Further, when our doors are open to those in need, our charity assumes an entirely different dimension. When I, the well-to-do philanthropist, donate generously to a Jewish institution, I *expand* myself. A wing of a Jewish school is named after me (or maybe after my father if I'm really "selfless"). I wax greater. I am the well-known and well-admired benefactor of Jewish causes, the guest-of-honor at the annual banquet.

However, when I allow others into my home, I become *smaller*. I have constricted myself, giving of my own space -- and of myself -- for others. Such a small and contracted dwelling has taken so little for itself that it may well contain room for the Divine Presence.

When G-d instructed Israel to collect material for the construction of the Temple, He commands them to "take for Me a gift-offering" (Exodus 25:2). Why *take* for Me? Why not *give* to Me? The answer is that to build a home for the Divine Presence, we must "take" of ourselves. Charity of the highest form is not an act of expansion -- generously bequeathing *our* money on the Temple. It is a "taking" of ourselves, making room for the Divine.

(A number of years ago I was driving in an unfamiliar neighborhood. In the distance, I could see a building with large words figuring prominently along the top of its length. I knew immediately I was approaching a Jewish neighborhood. Sure enough, before long "The Alfred and Gladys Mermelstein Educational Center" (or whatever) towered before me. One can always recognize a Jewish institution in that buildings, wings, hallways, rooms, furnishings, light switches are all named after some generous benefactor. We could just imagine the Temple today: the Irving and Sadie Finklestein Ark of the Covenant, Ernest and Phyllis Peckman Menorah, Arthur and Sonya Perlowitz Laver etc. (These names are purely fictional of course. I hope I wasn't real unlucky just now... ;-).)

So too, in constructing the Temple, Israel was not attempting to take over the holy sanctuary, to make it theirs. They were diminishing themselves, parting with their wealth and greatness just a little bit -- and in the process making room for the Divine Presence. (Based in part on a lecture heard from R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu).)

(By the way, people who do donate generously to Jewish causes *are* deserving of honor. It is a worthy and well-accepted Jewish practice to accord honor where it is due -- allowing such philanthropists to serve as a model for others to emulate. However, one cannot deny that such is not charity at its highest level.)

Likewise, one of the principal collections for the Temple was the silver half-piece, the "machatsis hashekel" (Exodus 30:11-16). This was brought as a completely anonymous gift. The rich, the poor, all gave the same identical piece of silver. We neither draw attention to ourselves nor take credit for ourselves when giving charity. The plain, unembellished half- piece represented that we all stand equally before G-d, that no one, whether rich or poor, has greater claim to the Temple and to Israel's heritage, and that Israel's true strength lies in our standing together as anonymous -- but united -- members of the Children of Israel. Charity at its highest level is an act of contraction -- of making ourselves smaller and in so doing becoming one with G-d. And therefore, it is man's greatest act of expansion.

We now arrive at the final topic of our mishna, the husband-wife relationship. As we will see, this forms the most crucial element of the home. Only a home and marriage whose foundations are based firmly upon sanctity and meaning, rather than frivolity, will be able to open itself up to guests and strangers. This, however, is a discussion in itself and will be dealt with G-d willing next week.

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Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 4

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 17:50:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 4

The Purpose of Rabbis

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Yossi ben (son of) Yo'ezer of Ts'raidah and Yossi ben Yochanan of Jerusalem received the transmission from them. Yossi ben Yo'ezer used to say: Let your house be a meeting place for the sages, cleave to the dust of their feet, and drink thirstily their words."

This mishna introduces us to the next generation of Torah scholars. Antignos, the author of last week's mishna, lived in the generation immediately after the Men of the Great Assembly. His generation was transitional. With this week's scholars begins a new era in Jewish religious history, known as the era of the Zugos, or Pairs, which lasted for most of the remainder of Second Temple period. A high court of 71 scholars known as the Sanhedrin provided the religious and often political leadership of the Jewish people. It was led by a pair of scholars, firstly a Nasi (prince, nobleman), and secondly an Av Beis Din, or court head.

Most of the remainder of this chapter of Pirkei Avos will introduce us to successive generations of leaders of the Sanhedrin. The era of the Zugos may be considered the beginning of the period of the Mishna since the scholars of this age are occasionally quoted in the Mishna (see Chagiga 2:2 and Sotah 9:9). Yossi ben Yo'ezer and Yossi ben Yochanan lived at approximately the time of the Hasmonean revolt against the Greeks and the Chanukah miracle.

The basic message of our mishna is that it is not sufficient to study from Torah scholars, but one must ensure that scholars congregate in his home. The implication is two-fold. First, as the commentator Rabbeinu Yonah (of 12th Century Spain) explains, we must make our homes a place worthy of scholars and scholarship, a home in which people who value wisdom will feel comfortable -- regardless of the intellectual capacity of the homeowner himself.

This often requires that we overcome a major psychological barrier. People are often prepared to attend services or lectures in a synagogue or place of study, but such activities are usually relegated to some sacred location well outside of the home. Our homes, however, are our own sacred (but not *too* sacred) abodes. We reign supreme -- and we are the sole arbiters of the standards of modesty and behavior to be maintained.

The first message of our mishna is thus that we must not serve G-d on the outside alone, while maintaining our own "space" within our homes. G-d must permeate every aspect of our lives. There cannot be any dark closets in our houses or corners in our hearts which do not allow G-d to enter. The Talmud writes that on the Day of Judgment the beams of one's own house testify as to a person's true nature (Ta'anis 11a). We are judged not according to how we interacted with our coworkers or with strangers on the street, but by our behavior towards our own family members and in the privacy of our own homes. The mezuzah on our door-post testifies that within is a house of G-d. And inside must be a house in which scholar and layman alike feel comfortable and welcome -- and sense the aura of the Divine Presence. (Based in part on a lecture heard from R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu).)

The second message of our mishna is that we should not interact with scholars in religious or intellectual contexts alone. We should invite them into our homes. We should see them close up, in personal interaction, and our homes should be molded by such contact. This is because we should not only study Torah; we must see it in action. And this is truly the way we find out what Judaism is all about.

The Talmud writes, "Greater is the service of scholars more than the study from them" (Brachos 7b). What is a Torah scholar really like? How have the Torah's lessons fashioned him as a human being? How does he interact with others, with his wife and family members? What are his values? What kinds of subjects does he talk about? How does he spend his time? The Talmud writes that the light speech of the scholars of the Talmud is equivalent to words of Torah (Eiruvin 54b). True Torah scholars personify the Torah and its lessons, and provide the role models modern man so desperately needs but does not have. A Torah scholar is not one who spouts abstract wisdom. He is one who lives it. And he is the sort we should welcome into our homes and observe in close and intimate quarters.

(It is a point of personal pride on my behalf to have studied under and built personal relationships with R. Yaakov Weinberg of blessed memory and many other Torah scholars in Ner Israel Rabbinical College (Baltimore, MD) and in other institutions of higher learning. Seeing firsthand what Torah study does to a human being was for myself personally a source of growth and inspiration far beyond anything I have every gained from any Jewish text.)

(It is also worth noting that although the Torah fully permeated each of these individuals, they were all very different personalities. Far from the Torah forcing one type of behavior and demeanor onto these great men, it allowed each of them to fully develop his own personal strengths and qualities. There are many paths to greatness; the Torah guides us along them all.)

(Finally -- as I write now and then -- the Internet simply does not cut it in terms of offering this type of growth. It is a wonderful tool for disseminating Torah teachings to the far corners of the globe (I've heard back from readers from just about everywhere I can imagine -- just waiting to hear from Antarctica...), but a student should never feel that reading weekly e-mails is the true road to personal growth. Judaism requires scholars, community structure, and constant personal interaction. "Virtual Judaism" (sorry for the buzzword) is a recent innovation -- and a very poor approximation of the real thing.)

There is a final aspect to the importance of personal interaction with Torah scholars, which I'll attempt to cover briefly. We discussed not long ago (1:1 www.torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos/chapter1-1b.html) that for the truly important things in life -- character development, interpersonal relationships, what kind of people we should be -- there are no hard and fast rules. Ritual is fairly well-defined. Personality development, however, is not the same for any two individuals. We need to know who we are and what our individual qualities are to truly discern the Torah's personal message for us. Now how do we tune in to that message?

This is the true importance of the Torah scholar. It is relatively easy to decide a strictly religious question such as whether or not a chicken is kosher. That requires knowledge of a fairly well-defined set of laws. A rabbi is "useful" for that but not indispensable. Many law books have been written on such topics and a learned layman could usually manage to find the answer himself (or he could just throw out the chicken; no major affair). But what about interpersonal relationships? How do I deal with my mother-in-law? What kind of career should I choose? How much time should I set aside for study, for community work? What character traits should I focus on and develop? How do I realize my potential?

The only way to answer such questions is to know the entire Torah and recognize its personalized message for me. There is simply no single verse or law we can point to. One must know everything the Torah has to say about values and priorities, and decide how they relate to him personally. And only a true Torah scholar can do this. And if he knows you personally, he may help you discover the Torah's personal message for you.

Thus, we are told to cleave to Torah scholars. We must not only study Torah from them. We must get to know them -- and get them to know us. It has been thousands of years since Israel has been blessed with prophets. There is no one (sane) who will come to us today and tell us the word of G-d. But we are blessed with scholars, not in abundance, but they dwell among us today: "For it [the Torah] shall not be forgotten from the mouths of its [Israel's] descendants" (Deuteronomy 31:21). And the Talmud writes that a scholar is greater than a prophet (Bava Basra 12a). Prophets are told the word of G-d, but scholars discern it on their own. And they are our surest means -- and mankind's last great hope -- of discovering G-d's eternal message to mankind.

Courtesy of Torah.org

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Pirkei Avos - Chapter 1, Mishna 3

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 17:12:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 3

Living the Impossible

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Antignos of Socho received [the transmission] from Shimon the Righteous. He used to say: Do not be as servants who serve the Master to receive reward. Rather, be as servants who serve the Master not to receive reward. And let the fear of heaven be upon you."

Antignos of Socho lived in the first generation after the Men of the Great Assembly (of Mishnas 1-2). He served as a bridge between the Great Assembly and the era of the Zugos or "Pairs", to which we will be introduced G-d willing next week. Antignos also lived during an age in which Ancient Greece dominated practically the entire civilized world -- both politically and culturally. Hellenism was the dominant culture of the times, and as we will see below, was making significant inroads into Jewish thought as well. (The Greek influence on Israel -- in perhaps less pernicious manner -- is evidenced even in the Greek name of our mishna's author.)

At its simplest level, our mishna's message is that one should serve G-d for no ulterior motives -- neither honor, social acceptance, nor even to receive reward in the World to Come. Rather, one should serve G-d simply because it is G-d's will -- for G-d's sake rather than one's own. There are, however, a number of difficulties with this simple message, and as always, we will see that the words of the Sages are far more profound than we might first suppose.

First of all, our mishna does not tell us what we *should* have in mind when we serve God. It only tells us how *not* to serve G-d. Isn't there a positive message Antignos could tell us, a positive motive we should embrace? And supposing there is, why did our mishna neglect telling it to us?

Second, we are left with an almost impossible situation. We know in truth that God does reward us for our good deeds. In fact, G-d's purpose in creation was to create beings upon whom He could bestow goodness (as we discussed last week). So what does it mean that we should ignore this? Is our obligation to trick ourselves, to live some kind of illusion, pretending something we know to be true is really not? Is Judaism at its ideal level somehow based on denying reality?

Finally, the Midrash (Avos d'Rav Nassan, 5:2) tells us that Antignos had two students who misunderstood his teaching and as a result broke off from traditional Judaism, founding their own religious sects. The students were Tsaddok and Bysos. They understood Antignos' dictum that we should serve G-d not for reward to mean that there *is* no reward for the fulfillment of the commandments. The obvious next step is: "Why bother?" They therefore established breakaway sects, known as Tsaddukim (Sadducees) and Bysusim (Boethusians), which rejected Judaism's Oral tradition altogether, accepting only the much-more-vague and much-less- demanding Written Torah instead.

The question on this is what was in fact their difficulty with their teacher's statement? What was so difficult or misleading about "Don't serve for reward" which became misconstrued to mean "There won't be any reward?" Were they just willfully twisting their teacher's words in order to take it easy on themselves? Or was there some kind of intellectual basis for their misunderstanding?

To understand our mishna, there is an important principle we must establish. When Israel was given the 613 commandments at Sinai, the intention was not: "Do these actions and get reward." It was rather: "Develop a relationship with your Creator; here's how." The mitzvos (commandments) are not just haphazard actions which we are rewarded for performing. They are statements of G-d's values. We do not simply (and blindly) perform them. We grow into them. We develop an appreciation for G-d's values and grow to become people who appreciate those same values. By doing so we become more G-dlike individuals, more capable of enjoying the resulting closeness we will have with our G-d in the World to Come.

Thus, the mitzvos are not actions and restrictions alone. They are calls to greatness, goads to inspire us to higher levels of awareness. As a simple example, the Torah commands us, "Thou shalt not kill" (Exodus 20:13 -- the sixth of the Ten Commandments). The intention was never simply that we refrain from the *act* of murder. That is only the mitzvah at its basest level. Rather we were instructed in something much higher, more accurately expressed as, "Appreciate the value of a human life." Human beings are precious and in the image of G-d. We must respect the value of our fellow human being: his life, his health, his self-respect, and his feelings. The Talmud accordingly writes that one should allow himself to be killed rather than *embarrass* his fellow -- just as one must die rather than kill him (Sotah 10b). Making someone else wish he were dead is -- according to G-d's value system -- tantamount to killing him. And we, who are not simply enslaving ourselves to our G-d but are forging a relationship with Him, must obey His commandments with that awareness.

A relationship is in truth a very complex animal. Let's take the example of a marriage. Both husband and wife should love each other and care for the other not for his or her own sake but for that of the other. I do not do for my wife only in order that I'll get back from her. I do because I truly care about her, and am interested in her happiness and well-being. (I realize we're talking on the fairy-tale level, but let us not lose sight of what a relationship and marriage ideally ought to be. Many of us actually got married once upon a time with that in mind... ;-)

At the same time, let us say, that I, the ideal selfless husband, care for my wife for her sake alone, but she doesn't care a fig for me. In fact, she is in it only for herself -- in getting what she can out of my sizable paycheck (fortunately couldn't be the case in my marriage...). Or even worse: she ignores me altogether, paying no attention to my love and devotion. In being so selfless, am I building a relationship? Or am I just sacrificing myself, wasting my very essence on an uncaring human being?

Giving to another without getting in return is not a relationship. It is meaningless self-sacrifice. It does not build you and bring you closer to the other in the way only a relationship can. Thus, if we were to serve G-d and actually *not* receive reward, we would not be building a relationship with Him at all no matter how selfless we would be. We would be in some sort of miserable, hopeless master-slave relationship. It would have no meaning, and no matter how many mitzvos we would perform, we would never truly be getting closer to G-d.

Thus, for a relationship to be meaningful, both sides must be doing for and responding to the other. I must know that G-d responds to my service and rewards in kind. Yet, at the same time, to be a selfless and giving relationship, I must not be serving Him for that reason.

And there of course is the rub -- and the dilemma of our mishna. I must know that G-d rewards, but I must not serve Him on account of this. Thus, Antignos gave us no positive reason for serving G-d. I have a relationship with Him. I am not serving Him for *my* agenda at all, but simply because it is what the G-d I love wants. We must live that impossible paradigm of knowing that G-d rewards yet ignoring it all the same. And this is no small feat. Relationships are probably the most difficult -- and meaningful -- form of social interaction we have on this earth. Our relationship with G-d is not -- and should not be -- any less demanding.

(Part of the above based on a lecture heard from my teacher R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu).)

For this reason, perhaps, Antignos' students were not able to come to grips with their teacher's message. If Judaism does reward, then we can serve G-d out of a selfish relationship. This is easy enough; it is how we conduct most of our relationships in life. If, however, we are told not to serve G-d for reward, it means we must serve Him for His sake. And we cannot truly do that -- being wholly selfless -- if we receive *any* kind of reward in return. Thus, taking their teacher's reasoning to its logical conclusion, there must *be* no reward -- unless we are being told to delude ourselves.

The students were unable to overcome this logical and emotional dilemma. And so, being unwilling to sacrifice themselves in true selflessness, they sought greener pastures -- in some of the many other alluring and selfish "relationships" the world has to offer. The poetic but not- terribly-encumbering Scripture would allay their guilt pangs. But these students were out for their own good and their own pleasures -- and tragically paved the route to be taken by so many other wayward Jews over the centuries -- who would fail to recognize the true wonder and meaning of Judaism.

Courtesy of Torah.org

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Pirkei Avos - Mishna 2

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 14:08:00 +0000

Ethics of the Fathers

Chapter 1, Mishna 2

Patterns of the Universe

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Shimon the Righteous was of the last survivors of the Men of the Great Assembly. He used to say, the world is based upon three things: on Torah, on service [of G-d], and on acts of kindness."

Shimon the Righteous served as High Priest in the early Second Temple period. As our mishna attests, he lived at the end of the period of the Great Assembly. Placing him in historical context, the Talmud records that he led the Jewish delegation to greet Alexander the Great upon his conquest of the Holy Land (Yoma 69a). As we will see in coming weeks, with his passing yet another transition occurs in Jewish religious history -- from the period of the Great Assembly to the period of the "pairs".

This mishna discusses what is perhaps the most fundamental question of Judaism -- and really of life: What is the purpose of the world? What is the world "based upon" -- meaning, what underlying objectives did the L-rd have in creating it? Did G-d create the world to operate of its own momentum, handing over its reins and fate to mankind? Or does G-d have His own agenda in creation, and the world exists -- and continues to exist -- only insofar as it furthers G-d's Divine plan? And just what is that Divine plan? Why exactly did G-d create mankind, and what are we to do about it?

Needless to say, such questions are not the sort we can answer in a single essay or in any limited amount of space. G-d's Master Plan is not something which can be explained in logical and straightforward analysis, nor can it probably be fully understood by human beings altogether. Yet Shimon the Righteous, in one short sentence, hints to some truly profound ideas, ones which will begin to lead us in the proper direction. We will attempt to gain some insight into his words in the coming paragraphs.

(Many of the ideas below are based on R. Moshe Chaim Luzzato's _The Way of G-d_. I'm going to attempt to quickly summarize a number of different concepts in Jewish thought below. In the interest of brevity (not one of my specialties ;-) we're going to have to keep it fairly superficial for now. In future classes, G-d willing, we will dwell on some of these themes at greater length.)

Jewish thinkers sum up G-d's creation of the world as follows: It was the ultimate act of goodness. G-d is perfect and infinite. He has no need for a universe; He has nothing to gain from creating mankind. Thus, we can only view creation as an act of altruism -- for the sake of man.

Further, if G-d is truly perfect, His acts must be viewed as acts of perfect goodness. G-d created man in order to have creatures upon whom He could bestow goodness. Creation was therefore the ultimate selfless act: G-d, who needs nothing, created a world in order to give man everything.

So let's ask an obvious question: If G-d wanted to grant good to man, why didn't He just place us directly in that place of heavenly reward, the World to Come? Give us good! Why did He place us in a world containing so much evil and temptation -- only promising us reward if we forgo all the "good stuff" and instead study His Torah and observe His commandments? Why the roundabout good? Why is G-d seemingly doing things the hard way?

The answer to this is a concept we can all appreciate deep down, yet which all the same must be grown into. It is what the Zohar and kabbalists refer to as "the bread of shame" ("nahama d'kisufa"). If G-d were to "reward" us for doing nothing it would not be reward; it would be humiliation. Receiving a handout is an embarrassing, mortifying experience. Getting something we did not earn does not make us feel good about ourselves. It makes us feel crushed, ashamed to show our faces in public. Try looking in the face of someone who did you an enormous favor. You'd much rather never have to see him again. If G-d were to give us what we did not earn, we would hardly feel "close" to Him. We would never be able to have any kind of meaningful relationship with G-d in the World to Come -- which is really what the World to Come is all about.

Thus, rather than handing us free "reward", G-d affords each of us the opportunity to earn it and become deserving of it. And this world is the place in which we do it. We are given commandments -- what to do and what not to do in order to forge a relationship with our L-rd. At the same time, the world is full of temptations, attempting to draw us away from our Divine calling. We must contend with our own lethargy, human passions and weaknesses, and all sorts of negative manners in which we might misuse our spiritual drives.

The entire physical world is thus in a state of equilibrium. Man is poised between the choices of good and evil -- constantly, throughout his lifetime. If he chooses good, he sanctifies himself and truly earns the ultimate reward which awaits him. If he chooses evil, he harms his own spirituality and distances himself from G-d and the ultimate purpose of creation. But G-d had to allow for the possibility of sin and evil in this world -- in spite of all its concomitant destruction. Without it, the choice of good would not be truly meaningful -- and would not be deserving of reward.

We have thus far explained the concept in our mishna of "service". G-d created man in order that man serve Him. Service ("avodah") is often used to refer more specifically to Temple service or to prayer, but more generally it means service of G-d in all its forms.

We next arrive at a related concept. G-d did not just create x billion individuals, commanding each of them to serve G-d in a vacuum. He did not create 5 (6?) billion mazes, promising each little human a piece of cheese for getting to the end. G-d created an entire world, in which individuals are interconnected -- into families, communities, nations, and societies -- who somehow must get along with one another.

This too is a part of man's cosmic mission. Spirituality does not lie in man's relationship with G-d alone. It resides in his behavior towards his fellow man as well. By caring for one another, by building meaningful relationships and harmonious societies, we serve G-d through our interactions within the world. Further, we create an entire world of peace and harmony, making it a reflection of the G-d of Truth and Peace who created it. Thus, by serving G-d, we not only improve ourselves but perfect the entire universe -- left unfinished by G-d for man to complete.

Thus, by fostering interpersonal relationships, man becomes deserving of reward on an entirely different plane -- not only for his personal accomplishments, but for fulfilling his cosmic mission to the universe and to G-d. And through this man upholds the second pillar of the world: "acts of kindness."

One more concept will complete this discussion. What is the ultimate reward G-d grants man in the World to Come? It is the ultimate good possible. What is the ultimate good? G-d Himself. The World to Come will allow us the infinite pleasure our souls truly crave (whether or not we recognize it smothered under so many corporeal layers down here): closeness to G-d. Observing the mitzvos (commandments) does not earn us "reward" which we "cash in" after 120 years. It sanctifies our souls, making us more G-dlike and able to enjoy a relationship with the Divine. The mitzvos condition us for closeness to G-d in the World to Come.

This concept is best appreciated through Torah study. It is the commandment which allows us more than any other to sense our closeness to G-d. We understand G-d's wisdom and values, and we begin building that relationship with Him right here and now. Ultimately, this is the purpose of all the commandments. But Torah study allows us that feeling in this world as well.

Thus, the true purpose of the world: that we serve G-d and earn reward, that we perfect G-d's creation as a whole through acts of kindness, and that we, via Torah study, develop ourselves into people who will one day enjoy the ultimate pleasure of closeness to G-d in the World to Come.

It's amazing and frightening that we go through so much of our days and lives giving little heed to such matters. But in truth, in a few short paragraphs we may begin to discern the pattern of G-d's universe. There is much more we will discover, G-d willing, over our years of study, but the basic pattern emerges almost from the start. And as the years go by, we will evermore continue to recognize that Judaism at its core is a religion of logic, of meaning, and of understanding of both G-d and mankind.

Courtesy of Torah.org

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Pirkei Avos - Mishna 1(c)

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 13:50:00 +0000

Chapter 1, Mishna 1(c)

The Age of Wisdom

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Moses received the Torah from Sinai and transmitted it Joshua. Joshua transmitted it to the Elders, the Elders to the Prophets, and the Prophets transmitted it to the Men of the Great Assembly. They [the Men of the Great Assembly] said three things: Be deliberate in judgment, raise many students, and make a protective fence for the Torah."

For the past two weeks, we have been discussing the introductory lines of our mishna. As we saw, they offer the historical backdrop not only to the Mishna as a whole, but to Pirkei Avos in particular -- as a means of stating that even the practical advice of our Sages is sacred and a part of our eternal tradition emanating from Sinai.

We now at last arrive at the actual advice of our mishna, the words of the Men of the Great Assembly. (The Great Assembly was Israel's primary legislative and judiciary body during the Second Temple era.) As we will see, their advice too was built upon our mishna's introduction. They recognized that a transition was occurring during their very lifetimes: from the Age of Prophecy to the Age of Wisdom.

If we examine a little more closely the era of the Prophets mentioned in our mishna, we will note that it spans an enormously long and varied period of history. A lot happened during their sole jurisdiction. The period began with the generation immediately after Joshua, with the passing of the Elders who, together with Joshua, led the nation in the conquest and division of the Land of Israel. The period continued with the era of the Judges, the Prophet Samuel, King Saul, the Davidic dynasty, the building of Solomon's Temple, the secession of the northern tribes into the Kingdom of Israel, the exile (and disappearance) of the Ten Tribes, the destruction of Solomon's Temple, the Babylonian Exile, the ascendancy of the Persian Empire, and finally the return to Zion of Ezra, Nehemiah, and the few who came to build the Second Temple. Oh, and by the way, the Purim story occurred somewhere in there as well.

Clearly, much political, military and social history elapsed during this extended period. From any sort of historical standpoint, it is difficult to imagine lumping this entire period into a single era. Yet our Sages -- from the perspective of Pirkei Avos -- do just that.

The reason for this is because our Sages were viewing Jewish history through an entirely different lens. Regardless of empire, war, expulsion, upheaval, and revolution unfolding around them, Israel's link to G-d and Sinai was secure. We had prophets. Israel's greatest men and women received instruction and exhortation directly from G-d's heavenly emissaries. Our socioeconomic situation rose and fell, and often seemed to hang by a thread. But we had no doubt as to who we were and what our sacred national mission was. G-d was there to tell us and to remind us -- in fact, not to let us forget it. He was still in direct communication with Israel, and so we were bound to a Torah and tradition whose import and significance surpassed all other military, political and societal considerations.

The Men of the Great Assembly recognized that in their own lifetimes that era was coming to an end. The few remaining prophets were dying out in the beginning of their days -- not to be replaced. In many other ways as well, G-d's hand was no longer revealed to Israel as it had once been. The Second Temple did not house the Divine Presence in the same manner as the first (see Talmud Yoma 21b). At the same time, however, Torah study was flourishing and reaching new heights -- as foreseen by the Prophet Zachariah (4:1-6, see Talmud Sanhedrin 24a).

Thus, the Sages recognized that a new age was dawning: the Age of Wisdom. We would no longer have prophet to enlighten us as to G-d's lofty plans and designs for us. We would have to seek Him out ourselves. And our single tool for Heavenly inspiration would be the Torah -- and the application of our own frail but creative human minds to its infinite wisdom. Our own ability to discern truth and understand the wisdom handed to us from past generations would now be our most precious asset. And it would sustain us through endless succession of exile and persecution, and for generations on end.

And so, the Men of the Great Assembly advised their generation -- and future generations -- what their focus must now be: studying the Torah carefully and deliberately, giving it over to our own students, and safeguarding its laws. The advice of our mishna revolves around these ideas.

Yet there is an even deeper message here. My teacher, R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu), explained as follows: If we connect to G-d through knowledge rather than prophecy there is an inherent danger. We are now the instigators. Our own brains and efforts become our new sources of inspiration. It is easy to feel that we are the centers of our own religion, that we have sought and found G-d -- and we did it on our own terms. If any given law makes sense to me, if I see it as correct and inspiring, I will observe it. If not, it is out of the realm of my concept of religion. I have found G-d -- and I have created Him in my own image.

This, in spite of the awesome beauty of Torah study, presents an enormous danger. And so, the Sages found need to warn us: Our knowledge is valid only insofar as it allows us to connect to our G-d. We may study and contemplate the Torah's timeless laws, but we are not its arbiters, nor do we form the centers of our own religion. We are only the bearers of the Torah -- understanding it to the best of our abilities and passing along intact that which preceded us.

Thus, the mishna's first statement: "Be deliberate in judgment." Do not be quick to pass judgment -- not on others nor on any other perspective on life or wisdom. Do not suppose religion is valid only to the extent you understand. It is not our job to pass judgment on the wisdom handed to us, or to be so sure of our understanding as to reject out of hand all who disagree. We must be exceedingly careful in judgment -- and certainly in rejection -- of any part or aspect of the wisdom of Torah.

Next, our Sages tell us to raise many students. Our own knowledge is often limited and myopic. We view wisdom from our own perspective alone. By raising many students, we ensure that the Torah will not be limited to any single approach or perspective. Torah knowledge must be disseminated to as wide an audience as possible. (Some even use the Internet for such purposes... :-)

R. Zweig noted further that the Hebrew word used here for "raise" is "ha'amidu" -- which literally means "cause to stand." Do not just teach students what *you* have to say, creating carbon copies of yourself (to use a rather dated expression). Cause them to stand on their own feet -- to question, to think for themselves, and to establish their own unique relationship with the Torah. These are the hallmarks of Jewish education. We will then have a strong, national connection to the Torah and a rich gene pool of wisdom to draw from. And no one scholar, no matter how great, will be able to claim he has the one true approach to the Torah. The more people we have connecting to Torah and the more approaches to wisdom, the wider the reach and relevance of the Torah to the nation as a whole -- and the more lasting and meaningful a connection we will have to Sinai.

Lastly, our Sages exhort us to create fences for Torah observance, to safeguard Torah law through Rabbinic injunction. (A simple example is "muktza", forbidding us to handle e.g. a pencil on the Sabbath lest one forget and come to write.) Here again we see the same critical message. We may today connect to G-d through our own intellect, but we must never let that intellect become the determinant of how and when we will serve G- d.

We have all heard the following type of argument, in many forms and in many contexts: "The Torah only forbade lighting a fire on the Sabbath when it involved rubbing two sticks together and required a great exertion. Nowadays it's just a matter of flipping a switch and in no way compromises our Sabbath 'rest', and so there's no reason to forbid it." Or more simply: "I don't feel commandment x is meaningful to me. I get nothing out of it. There's no reason to alter my lifestyle just to accommodate some dated old ritual."

The Sages thus warn us, in no uncertain terms: Our tradition is untouchable. We use our wisdom to study and interpret our tradition, but never to replace it. If anything, we must use our wisdom and creativity to further safeguard the Torah's laws. We are not the owners of G-d's word nor the centers of our own faith. The intellect may be ours, but we subordinate it to G-d's infinite Torah. And so our own human wisdom, rather than being a tool for revision and corruption, becomes yet another sacred link in Israel's timeless tradition.

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Courtesy of Torah.org

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Pirkei Avos - Mishna 1(b)

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 19:34:00 +0000

Chapter 1, Mishna 1(b)

The First Commandment: Know Thyself

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

Last week we discussed the first few lines of our mishna, which outline the history of the Torah's transmission from Moses until the period of the Mishna. The introduction appears to authenticate the Mishna, as if to say that although it was not put to writing until nearly 1500 years after the Revelation at Sinai, it is as authentic as the Torah of Moses itself.

To this we posed the question of the commentator R. Ovadiah of Bartenura: Why was such an introduction placed at the start of Pirkei Avos and not at the start of the entire work of the Mishna?

R. Ovadiah answered that Jews had little doubt as to the authenticity of most of the Mishna. Virtually the entire Mishna describes technical details of observance -- how does one refrain from labor on the Sabbath, slaughter an animal, tithe his crops (or salary), etc. And no one imagined such laws were just invented by domineering or power-hungry rabbis. They were clearly part of our oral tradition passed down from Sinai -- elucidating the mitzvos (commandments) of Scripture itself. Such a large and intricate body of law hardly evolved out of thin air, nor did it gain universal acceptance spontaneously. When our forefathers transmitted them, asserting that they were handed down to us from Sinai, there was little reason to doubt them. The Sages would have had little to gain inventing such an intricate set of laws just for the heck of it; from where else would it have come?

Pirkei Avos, however, is perhaps different. It is the only section of the Mishna wholly dedicated to ethics and character development. It provides advice: how to interact with others, what qualities to develop within ourselves, and really how to live meaningful and fulfilling lives -- all of which in honesty could be all but missed observing the technical mitzvos of Judaism alone. Such "laws" one might think are nothing more than good advice -- hardly different from the many hundreds of self-help books which have been authored since (some perhaps more up-to-date and relevant to our generation). What makes the wise words and sayings of the Sages any more authentic -- any more "sacred" -- than those of Ben Franklin or Dale Carnegie?

To this, our mishna begins: "Moses received the Torah from Sinai..." The messages, aphorisms and advice of our Sages, collected in Pirkei Avos, are the word of G-d. This is not the good advice of wise old men who lived 2000 years ago. It is as much a part of our eternal Torah as the most technical and intricate of laws. They are all a part of G-d's infinite Torah; Pirkei Avos stems from a tradition every bit as ancient.

There is a deeper issue here, however. When giving advice, the Rabbis often speak in generalities. Just looking at a few of the upcoming mishnas, we are told: "serve G-d not for the sake of reward" (1:3), "cleave to the Rabbis" (1:4, paraphrased), "acquire for yourself a friend" (1:6), "love work" (1:10). The Sages don't really tell us very much by way of detail of how we should act or go about following their advice. We are given general directives and attitudes alone; the details almost seem left up to us.

Even beyond this, how much does the Written Torah really tell us about how to behave -- not which animals we may consume but truly what kind of people we should be? Well, we have a handful of nice "Bible stories" -- how our forefathers interacted with their neighbors or reacted in times of crisis. Some of these incidents are inspiring; others are more critical. Beyond that, the Torah offers us only the most general of directives: "...be holy for I am holy" (Leviticus 19:2); "Love your neighbor" (ibid., v. 18); "...seek peace and pursue it" (Psalms 34:15). These verses are perhaps "nice", but the Torah really does not tell us very much about character development and interpersonal relationships. Isn't that at least as important an aspect of religion -- if not more so -- than the technical commandments? Is Judaism in fact more a religion of form than spirit, of law and ritual than one which cultivates a "kingdom of priests" (Exodus 19:6), and "light unto the nations" (Isaiah 42:6)?

And this too returns us to the issue we began with. The "advice" of the Sages seems more informal and less authentic simply because it is not very precise. The Torah *seems* to tell us: "Observe all sorts of rigorous and detailed laws and rituals, but beyond that be nice guys, and we'll leave that up to you." Did the Torah really just for the most part ignore the areas of character development and personal growth? Did the Torah really say so little about this that it has been relegated to the "self-help" good advice of the Sages?

We now come to one of the true fundamentals of Judaism. (Over the years, you will find I call a lot of very different things "one of the great fundamentals of Judaism." Well, perhaps they all are...) How to behave is really not something the Torah can dictate or spell out for us. No two people are alike. We all possess different personalities, inclinations, weaknesses, drives, and ambitions. And the Torah will apply differently to each one of us; it carries a different message for each and every Jew.

The Torah -- in particular the Scriptures -- is a book of absolute truths. It makes statements which are correct in an absolute sense. Sabbath observance is true and relevant to every Jew; so is eating matzah on Passover and refraining from eating on Yom Kippur (leaving aside life-threatening situations -- which the Torah itself excludes).

Character development, however, departs the realm of the absolute and enters the realm of the relative. How does each of us realize his or her potential, becoming the person he or she truly could be? How precisely do we "cleave" to G-d (Deuteronomy 10:20) and become G-dlike individuals? Such the Torah could never spell out for us. We are all different. No two people are alike and how each of us is best fulfilled depends on our own inner natures. One person may have a temper. The Torah's message to him might be to use his energy and excitable nature for worthy causes. Another may be a natural follower and people pleaser, and the Torah's advice to him is to not be ashamed to stand up for his convictions when necessary. One person is introspective and will grow most from personal thought and reflection. Another is light and chatty and best serves G-d by bringing warmth and good cheer to others.

When it comes to character development, there is quite simply no one way -- and there are really very few ironclad absolutes the Torah can spell out for us. In fact, there is no way a single work of any length could write out how all possible types of individuals should act in all possible types of situations (and of course, we would have to figure out which "type" we are before we begin). Judaism was not intended to create a one-size-fits-all religion. G-d has no interest in having us all conform to a single standard -- that we all look, act and behave in exactly the same manner. If He did, He would not have made each of us different. Rather, G-d gave us the guidelines and the priorities, the value system of the Torah. These are the absolutes with which we must begin. But beyond that, the Torah leaves it to us. Only we can truly fathom our inner natures and G-d's particular message for us.

Thus, when it comes to the really tough issues of life -- who should I be, how should I act, how should I develop myself -- the Torah is frustratingly silent. It can give no more than general directives. It tells us what the Torah's priorities are -- what generally speaking are good qualities and proper behavior patterns. But it really cannot choose for us. We might like to fall back on some holy writings to lead us by the hand -- never allowing us the discomfort of having to think for ourselves, but life is just not that simple. How to act in any given situation depends upon who we are and what we feel our mission in life to be. And to direct us in that the Torah and the Sages can give little more than sound advice -- helping us set our priorities in life and providing us with the clues for true self-discovery. We must ask the advice of rabbis and mentors, and we must study carefully what the Sages say about values and character traits -- and we will no doubt discover facts about ourselves we could have easily and blissfully lived a lifetime never recognizing. Yet Judaism does not and cannot spell out our lives and goals for us. Only we can fulfill that most basic and fundamental commandment of all: Know thyself.

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Courtesy of Torah.org

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Pirkei Avos - Mishna 1(a)

noreply@blogger.com (Aryeh) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 21:43:00 +0000

Chapter 1, Mishna 1(a)

Who Gave the Rabbis the Right..., Part I

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

This is the first mishna of Pirkei Avos, the great ethical work of the Sages of the Mishna. We will first provide a bit of background to Pirkei Avos and the Mishna in general, and we'll then begin examining the text at hand.

The Mishna is an early rabbinic composition outlining all of Jewish law. It was edited and brought into its current form in the late 2nd Century C.E. It is a compilation of the teachings of the greatest scholars of the four centuries preceding that time -- from early in the period of the Second Temple till about 120 years after its destruction. It was authored in the Land of Israel; shortly after its completion Jewish settlement in the Land experienced a slow but steady decline as a result of instability and persecution. (The center of Jewish life would then shift to Babylonia -- where hundreds of years later the Talmud would be composed.)

The Mishna is divided into six main volumes, each divided into smaller sections (or tractates). These sections deal with virtually all areas of Jewish law, such as holidays, Temple service, civil law, marriage and divorce, and agricultural laws. Pirkei Avos is the only section of the Mishna devoted entirely to ethics.

Pirkei Avos begins by charting the transmission of the Torah, in outline form, from Moses to the "Men of the Great Assembly" (more on them below) and the beginning of the period of the Mishna. Our mishna concludes with the advice of the Men of the Great Assembly. Most of the first chapter of Pirkei Avos introduces us to the great scholars of the early generations of the Mishna, as well as the primary messages they conveyed to their and to future generations.

The historical outline our mishna provides is hopelessly scant and was clearly not intended to provide us with very much by way of historical reference. Rather, it was meant to authenticate the Mishna, demonstrating that its teachings span from an unbroken tradition originating at Sinai itself.

Let us first briefly identify the eras mentioned. Joshua was the successor to Moses. He and the Elders of his time led the nation into the Land of Israel and oversaw the conquest and division of the Land among the Twelve Tribes of Israel.

With the passing of the Elders began the period of the Prophets, the spiritual leaders of the nation until the time of the Mishna, approximately 1000 years later. G-d's hand was no longer openly revealed to every member of Israel as it had been during the Exodus and the miraculous conquest of the Land. Nevertheless, G-d still communicated openly with the great men and women of Israel through prophecy and Divine inspiration. The spiritual and often political leaders of Israel were individuals whose authority rested directly upon the word of G-d.

Finally, as the last prophets died out at the beginning of the Second Temple era, the period of the Great Assembly began. This was a religious and primarily judicial body which consisted of 120 of Israel's greatest scholars. It was headed by a Nasi, literally prince, who was assisted by an Av Beis Din, or court head. Throughout this chapter, we will be introduced to the leadership pairs of many generations of this council.

In two weeks, G-d willing, we will discuss the significance of the transition from prophet to high court -- as well as the significance of the periods described here altogether. As we will see, the Men of the Great Assembly recognized the significance of this transition and in our mishna advised the nation accordingly. This week, however, we address a more basic issue: What is this introduction doing at the start of Pirkei Avos -- rather than at the start of the entire Mishna?

This question is raised by R. Ovadiah of Bartenura, of 15th-16th Century Italy and Israel, in his commentary to the Mishna. Our mishna's opening statement appears to be a historical introduction to the Mishna in general. (Note: When I write "Mishna" with a capital M, the intention is the entire six-volume work, of which Pirkei Avos is a small part. The term "mishna" in lowercase refers to a particular paragraph of the Mishna, such as the weekly mishna we study.)

The purpose of this introduction is presumably to verify the Mishna's authenticity. Although it was authored nearly 1500 years after the Revelation at Sinai -- and much of its content was preserved only orally until that time -- it followed a clear and uninterrupted transmission. It is as authentic as the Torah of Moses itself.

There is, however, one obvious difficulty with this. The Mishna is a six-volume work; Pirkei Avos appears towards the end of the fourth volume. Why is this introduction at the start of Pirkei Avos rather than at the start of the entire Mishna?

R. Ovadiah explains that the Rabbis felt it more necessary to place this preface here than at the start of the Mishna. Virtually all the other sections of the Mishna discuss Jewish law and custom. They are fairly logical and precise -- how does one observe the Sabbath, slaughter an animal, compose a marriage contract, bring a sin offering. For the most part, the Mishna discusses the how-to's of Judaism. What are the many details and fine points of Jewish law, when do and do they not apply, and upon whom are they binding. Jews never really had very much doubt as to the origins of such laws. These were practices and traditions every Jewish child observed in his or her parents' home. An entire nation, often spanning oceans and continents, was observing virtually the same law -- and had been doing so for the many centuries of their well-documented history. There was very little doubt to the believing Jew as to the origins of such laws; they were hardly self-imposed.

Further, Judaism bespoke an understanding of G-d and human nature which could hardly have been humanly inspired. Israel was practicing a just, merciful and rational religion far superior to any of the often savage practices the pagans of their time had managed to concoct. Their beliefs and practices were just and moral practically beyond the comprehension of primitive man. The world's other great religions-to-be would merely mimic and adopt Judaism's fundamental precepts; human beings on their own would never devise anything even remotely approximating. (The only possible exception is the religions of the Far East -- although there are those who suggest they stem from the descendants of Abraham's concubine -- whom Abraham sent to the East (Genesis 25:6).) Thus, Jews had no doubt as to the Divine origin of their Torah. From where else could such wisdom and beauty have originated?

This, however, was the case with Jewish law proper. Laws are definite and unwavering. They possess an exactitude which clearly must have originated somewhere. But what of the moral directives of the Sages? When the Sages tell us to greet everyone favorably (later, 1:15 (www.torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos/chapter1-15c.html)) is that really a *law*? Perhaps it is sound advice, but let's say you just got up on the wrong side of the bed one morning. You don't *feel* like giving a cheerful "good morning" to the attendant at the local 7-11 who hands you your morning coffee or newspaper. Are you really *obligated* to do so anyway? Does such a law stem from Sinai?

To this our Sages answer: "Moses received the Torah from Sinai..." The laws we are about to state originated from Sinai -- just the same as "There are 39 forbidden labors on the Sabbath" (Mishna Shabbos 7:2). The Sages here speak with the same authority they do throughout the entire Mishna. Their statements here may seem just plain old good advice -- the same we may find in any other Dale Carnegie-type self-help book. But let us not for a moment think that the Sages of the Mishna are no longer bearers of a sacred tradition in this capacity. As we will see over the years as we study their words in depth, they are not just offering aphorisms or wise, pithy advice. They are speaking nothing less than the word of G-d.

There is a deeper aspect to this introduction. The "good advice" of the Sages is hardly as precise as most of what the Mishna concerns itself with. Pirkei Avos deals with inexact and sometimes relative statements of morality and proper behavior -- and this too makes it appear less authentic then the real meat and potatoes of Judaism. We will discuss this issue G-d willing next week.

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Courtesy of Torah.org

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