Applying the Tension of Scarcity and Abundance Within the Passover Seder to Our Daily Lives

Last week, I was studying some Pirkei Avot, a Jewish ethical text, with a synagogue down in Buenos Aires. I had it on in the background while I was doing cleaning in preparation for Passover. One of the passages that we were discussing was in Pirkei Avot 5:10, which was a depiction of four types of people that exist, particularly in the context of "give and take" and how one views property. You can look at the Hebrew here, but I'll give you the English:

There are four types of character in human beings. One that says "mine is mine" and "yours is yours." This is a commonplace person, although some say that it is characteristic of Sodom. The second is "mine is yours" and "yours is mine." This is [the mindset of] an unlearned person. The third is "mine is yours, and yours is yours." This third person is scrupulously pious. The fourth is "yours is mine, and mine is mine." This person is considered to be wicked. 

A bit on my take on this passage from Pirke Avot. I agree that the second person, who in modern-day terms would be the Communist, is ignorant. As Rashi brings up in his commentary, such a person lacks moral sophistication and cannot appreciate the sanctity of private property. The text Sefer HaMussar goes as far as saying that this is a moral deficiency because it can lead to coveting other's wealth and obsessing over other people's belongings, a phenomenon I pointed out last year. The fourth person is self-centered and is only concerned with what can be taken. I do not take issue with the Rabbi's take on the second and fourth individuals. 

It is the depiction of the first and third individuals that are more problematic. The first is either considered "run-of-the-mill," or בינונית. The first individual is taking a more "live and let live" approach. Tying this mentality to Sodom requires the logical fallacy of the slippery slope. Sodom was a particularly bad place. According to the Book of Ezekiel (16:48-49), Sodom's fall was due to its arrogance. Why were they arrogant? Because they had riches and food, and did not help the poor or the needy. Post-biblical Jewish texts go into detail on how cruel Sodom really was in this regard. In the Talmud (Sanhedrin 109b), it says that Sodom had such a disdain for the poor that the government of Sodom would punish those that aided the poor and the needy. This is not an indictment of free-market economics or property rights; it is an indictment of cruelty towards others (especially the poor and needy) to the point of legislating said cruelty. 

As for the third individual, the one who thinks "what is mine is yours, and yours is yours" can only go so far under Jewish law. After all, Jewish law teaches that one cannot give charitable donations beyond twenty percent of one's assets (Ketubot 67b). A vow of poverty is not a Jewish value. There is a Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 31:14) that teaches that if you had poverty on one side and all other problems on the other side, poverty outweighs them all. It is a literary device to be sure, but the point still is that poverty is awful. 

Looking through the commentary on this passage in Pirke Avot, I believe the main lesson is that we generally should be more inclined to giving. Granted, the text is referring to money and material wealth, but it could just as easily apply to knowledge, time, and effort. During this study session, the seminarian leading the discussion connects this passage to the Four Sons that are in the Passover Seder: the wise son, the wicked son, the simple son, and the son who cannot even ask a question. These are not meant to be literal children, but rather personifications of personality types. We see a similar categorization in the aforementioned Pirke Avot passage. As the seminarian brought up, some of us act like one of the four characterizations, but there are also plenty of people who personify different characterizations in different points in life. 

There are points when we are more selfish, either because all we want to do is take or we find ourselves in a dire enough situation where we need to receive instead of give. There are other moments where all we want to do is give to others. And there are times where we do not feel like giving to others or feel like being left alone. I find this tension about giving and taking greatly encapsulated elsewhere in Pirkei Avot, specifically from Rabbi Hillel at Pirke Avot 1:14 (Hebrew is here):

If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?

I like this passage for a couple of reasons. One, it differentiates between self-interest/self-care and pure, unadulterated selfishness. Two, it reminds us that we need to be self-reliant and self-sufficient, but at the same time, there is a calling to be there for others. I also bring up Pirke Avot 1:14 because segues into a parallel tension in the Passover Seder. 

We sanctify the beginning of the Seder with a glass of wine (קדש) and wash our hands (ורחץ). Afterwards, we start with the uglier side of the experience of slavery. We then eat the green vegetables dipped in saltwater (כרפס). The most common explanation for כרפס is that it symbolizes the tears that the slaves shed while in slavery. It does teach about hard times, but as I brought up, it also can teach about growth throw adversity. We have the difficult time of slavery. With the slavery is the implicit poverty. This brings us to the next step in the Seder (יחץ), which is breaking the middle matzah. I discussed the ritual of יחץ a few years ago. Matzah, the unleavened bread eaten on Passover, is referred to as "poor man's bread" (Talmud, Pesachim 115b). In premodern times, breaking food and stashing it for later was a common practice to make sure people had enough food to eat. We break the middle matzah to try to put us in their shoes and understand at least a wee bit as to what slavery and poverty are like (Rashi). After stashing the matzah, we do something counterintuitive in the Seder. We say the following:

כל דכפין ייתי ויכל. כל דצריך, ייתי ויפסח

To translate the Aramaic above, we say "all who are hungry, let them come and eat. All who are needy, let them come and celebrate Passover with us." In a matter of seconds, we see a major paradigm shift. Yes, we stashed food, which symbolizes a scarcity mentality in which one thinks there will never be enough. In spite of the lack in the Seder narrative, the Seder allows us to invite others to join us in the festivities, which brings us to a mindset of abundance. 

What are we to learn from this transition? We are supposed to take care of ourselves. Self-preservation and self-care are important. If we are not healthy enough, emotionally sound enough, or financially stable enough, we either end up being someone else's burden or are unable to help out others. There lies at least one paradox here: taking care of ourselves helps ensure we can be there for others. This paradox hearkens back to Rabbi Hillel's "If I'm not for myself, who will be?" 

But we are meant to do more than merely survive, which is why Rabbi Hillel's dictum in Pirke Avot continues with "If I am only for myself, what am I?" This is why we invite guests into our home after stashing food. We are not meant to only think about ourselves. If there is someone nearby or within our sphere of influence, that is hungry or has spiritual needs, we are to help to the best of our capability. At the time the Seder was created, abject poverty was the default. It teaches that when we have little, we are meant to share what we have. All the more if we are in a state of material abundance, which is much more commonplace in the 21st century than it has been in any other point in history. 

This brings me to another point. Passover celebrates the transition from slavery to freedom, from a low point to a high point. What we see in today's piece here is another transition: from a scarcity mindset to an abundance mindset. I would argue that a scarcity mindset is a form of slavery. The most literal definition of slavery is one human being owning another. It is certainly a morally egregious act, one that sadly still occurs to this very day. However, it is not the only type of slavery. 

A scarcity mindset is one of the most prevalent forms of slavery that one can experience in the mind. Scarcity mindset and fear come hand in hand. You think you will not have enough money or time that you cannot do things. Yes, there is a limit of goods and services in this world. This is why the study of economics exists. Plus, there is a moment we need to be aware of these limits so we can make sound and cogent tradeoffs when making life choices. We are not meant to ignore reality or view the world through rose-colored glasses. At the same time, when you are on the scarcity mindset, the tunnel vision of fear limits you from going ahead in life and taking risks. You think of life as a limited pie. It impedes you from viewing things in the long-term or makes sure you lose sight of priorities. When you think you do not have enough or that you are not enough, it creates anxiety, which can over time create physical and mental health problems.

If our minds are stuck on a scarcity mindset, we limit our potential as human beings. Scarcity mindset means ignoring what we have, whereas an abundance mindset means gratitude. If there is a certain lack in our lives, an abundance mindset gives us the ability to see and pursue a solution to a certain lack in life. If we are to take the Seder seriously, we need to think less in terms of scarcity and more in terms of abundance. How do we do that? There are a few ways that one can do that:

• We focus on what we do have instead of what we do not have. As Rabbi Ben Zoma brings up in Pirke Avot (4:1), "Who is rich? The one who is satisfied with their lot." 
• Surround ourselves with those who have an abundance mindset. 
• Incorporate gratitude in your day-to-day. Gratitude is an essential component of the abundance mindset. This would explain why Judaism teaches that we should say 100 blessings a day. It would also explain the Hebrew term for gratitude (הכרת הטוה), which literally means "recognizing the good." We do not ignore the suffering, injustice, or problems in the world. It means we remember that there is plenty of good in this world. 
• When things do not go our way, we focus on the lesson from that experience and ask ourselves how we learn for the next time. 
• Use cognitive-based therapy (CBT) to reframe scarcity-based thoughts. 
• Invest in yourself, whether that is professional development or getting a professional fitness trainer, so you can earn more and do more in life. 
• Don't focus on strictly material wealth. There are other forms of abundance, whether that comes in the form of health, friends, family, a romantic relationship, spirituality, personal development, or sense of purpose. 

An abundance mindset comes with multiple advantages. You can find happiness or contentment, even in difficult times. You are more resilient and more able to solve problems as they arise. It allows for you to better take advantage of new opportunities and seize the day. It creates confidence that you can pursue endeavors in life. You end up with greater physical and emotional energy. Life is more exciting. You feel more empowered and engaged in life. In summation, an abundance mindset is an essential component to having a free and healthy mind. By going from scarcity to abundance, we are able to feel and undergo the Passover experience.

Pirke Avot 2:3 and 3:2: Government as a Necessary Evil

Thomas Paine was one to say that "even in its best state, government is but a necessary evil; in its worst state, an intolerable one." I think his words still ring true today, but I also find that his words were also true over 2,000 years ago. The Rabbis during the Talmudic era recognized that government was vital for society to live:

היו מתפלל בשלומה של מלכות

Pray for the welfare of the government. -Pirke Avot 3:2

The verse goes on to say that we should pray for the welfare of the government because if people did not fear government, a person would be swallowed whole. The Rabbis realize that government prevents total anarchy and wanton crime (Artscroll). I'm libertarian and I agree: government plays a role in keeping society in check. As Sir John Acton pointed out, "power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." Government does have a purpose, even if I think that role should be limited. What's more is I think the Rabbis did in the vain of Sir John Acton's quote.

In Pirke Avot 2:3, we are warned to "beware of rulers since they befriend someone only for their benefit." The Rabbis had enough wisdom to realize that taking public office didn't make one immune from morally problematic behavior. If anything, this passage reminds us that politicians "act friendly when it benefits them, but [that they] do not stand by someone in his time of need." If anything, the Rabbis point out that government officials forget all the kindness that individuals perform on their behalf (Meiri). We see this at the beginning of the Exodus story when the new Pharaoh did not even know Joseph (Exodus 1:8)! Jews can recall that prior to the Spanish Inquisition, Jews helped build up Spanish society. The rulers forgot those contributions, and expelled the Jews from Spain. Many governments have oppressed Jews throughout history, not to mention the number of times that government have oppressed and slighted non-Jews. We are to be wary of government because it has its own agenda (Tiferes Yisrael), but at the same time, we are to pray for the government's welfare. This paradox reminds us where to place our ultimate trust. Government can only do so much good. While there are many people who go into government for noble purposes, the power amassed by government has the great potential to corrupt even otherwise good individuals. Government has a role, let's not forget that. But let's also not forget that we should not put our ultimate trust in government, but rather put our ultimate trust in G-d.

Pirke Avot 3:12: Actions Are More Powerful Than Words....And Wisdom

Talk is cheap......well, not quite. I find that talk is cheap when it isn't backed up by anything. Anyone can run their mouth. You know the type: the one who keeps talking for the sake of talking and appearing intelligent, even though the substance is non-existent. Referring to these types of people, former British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli once said that "It is better to remain silent and have people say, 'I wonder what he's thinking,' than to speak up and have people say, 'I wonder why he spoke." Take that idea up a step: you come across a seemingly wise person who actually has some interesting things to say. However, those things don't manifest into anything practical or concrete. Words as a mere abstraction, with no practical meaning, can be a scary thought. As much I love intellectualism or profound conversation, wisdom seems like a waste when there aren't practical implications. Someone who doesn't translate that wisdom or intelligence into action is not as bright as they would seem at first glance, as a passage from Pirke Avot (Ethics of the Fathers) points out:

כל שמעשיו מרבין מחכמתו, חכמתו מתקימת. וכל שחכמתו מרבה ממעשיו, אין חכמתו מתקימת.

Anyone whose good deeds exceed his wisdom, his wisdom will endure; but anyone whose wisdom exceeds his good deeds, his wisdom will not endure. -Pirke Avot 3:12

Jewish tradition teaches that Torah study is as important as all the other mitzvahs (Mishnah Peah 1:1). It makes sense why Torah study ranks so highly. You have to know the do's and don'ts, what makes for right and wrong before you can actually do it. Wisdom has to precede action since it is not endowed, i.e., it has to be learned. However, wisdom doesn't end in an academic setting. Good deeds are applied wisdom. Rashi interprets the word as מתקימת "of everlasting value," i.e., the result of one's good deeds and charity are of everlasting value. When one's performance of mitzvahs is greater than his wisdom, his desire for more wisdom will increase, which will challenge the individual to increase wisdom (R. Yonah). The inverse is also true: an individual with greater wisdom than action will sit on his laurels of knowing more wisdom, won't acquire more wisdom, and the wisdom will fade. If the wisdom were true in the first place, the supposed wise individual would not have let such erosion take place in the first place.

That is why the truly wise individual is aware that actions need to supersede wisdom. The mitzvah of tefillin teaches us this lesson quite well. When we put on tefillin, the arm tefillin are put on first, and then the head tefillin. When taking off the tefillin, the head tefillin come off first. Never is there a moment in which the head tefillin is on while the arm tefillin is off. That halacha is to teach us an important lesson: Wisdom, which is represented by the head tefillin, is only useful when there is action, which is represented by the arm tefillin (Artscroll). Wisdom is only true wisdom when the wisdom is translated into action. One who studies Torah and does not fulfill it is like one who plants crops, but does not harvest them (Rashi). Yes, let's study Torah because it is the Jewish way of understanding G-d. But let's treat Torah like a Tree of Life (עץ חיים) and actually live Torah to actualize G-dliness. Much like a tree, let our actions and wisdom continue the symbiotic interplay that will ultimately branch out the joys of Torah.

Mo'ed Katan 9b: Choosing Words Wisely and Getting Past Negativity Bias

I haven't written on Talmudic passages in a while. Not only is it nice that I have picked up my Daf Yomi study again, but also that I have found something worthy of writing about. In yesterday's Daf Yomi portion, we come across an interesting passage in Mo'ed Katan 9b (translation based on Koren Talmud Bavli):

Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai's son approached Rabbi Yonatan ben Asmai and Rabbi Yehuda because Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai told his son to "go to them and they shall bless you." The rabbis said to the son: "May it be G-d's will that you should sow and not reap, that you should bring in and not take out, that you should take out and not bring in, that your house should be destroyed and your lodging place should be inhabited, that your table should become confused, and that you should not see a new year." Upon returning, the son told his father that not only did the rabbis not bless him, but they caused him great pain with his words. The son relayed the story to his father. 

Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai then goes on to explain why each supposed insult was an actual blessing. After reading this, I had to wonder why this whole ordeal needed to occur in the first place. It's analogous to someone who has to explain a joke they just told you. After said explanation, the joke loses its effect. The same happens here. The rabbis already caused insult with their words, regardless of intention. The fact that Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai had to explain the intricacies of the blessing says a lot about how we choose our words.

Apparently, these rabbis did not heed the advice given in Pirke Avot (1:11): Avtalyon says: "Wise scholars, measure your words carefully, lest you incur the debt of exile and be exiled to a place of foul waters, causing your disciples to drink and die, thereby desecrating the name of Heaven." This might seem like only an admonishment for Torah scholars when dealing with their disciples. Given the extent of Jewish speech ethics, it's not that difficult to argue that regardless of status or context of the relationship, one should be wise in terms of word selection because words have the power to create or destroy. Reading the end of the passage in Mo'ed Katan 9b, we see this point reaffirmed with another parable:

Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta took leave of Rav. His father said to him: "Go to him so that he should bless you." The blessing Rav gave was "May it be G-d's will that you should not shame others and that you should not feel ashamed." Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta came to his father, and upon relaying the encounter with Rav, he said that "mere words he said to me," i.e., he did not say anything of significance. 

In this case, Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta did not realize he was being blessed, which is why his father had to cite Joel 2:26-27 to remind him just what a blessing he received. What are we to learn from these two cases about seemingly obscure blessings?

With Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai's son, he was incapable of seeing the blessing as a blessing because the blessing was poorly constructed. With Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta, he dismissed what he was told as a blessing. I would argue that he was so ungrateful for what he had because it was clearer that the second parable was indeed a blessing. The problem was that Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta couldn't see it as such. This often happens when you become accustomed to having something in your life and take it for granted, instead of being grateful for it. What both of these individuals suffer from is what psychologists call the negativity bias, which is to say that we have a greater propensity to see what is bad in the world than what is good in the world. 

Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta needed to realize how being blessed to not feel ashamed or to shame others is an important trait in Judaism, especially when we are to treat other human beings decently because they are created in G-d's Image. The first case, the one with Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai's son, makes it seem like the son was in the right, but even in this case, he bears some of the blame. Why? Because he fell for the negativity bias. He also forgot what it says in Pirke Avot (1:6), the part about which you are supposed to judge people based on their merit. The men who blessed the son were reputable rabbis. Rather than automatically take it as an insult, he should have tried to interpret the blessing in a more positive light, which was the lesson his father was trying to teach his son. 

It's not easy getting over negativity bias. L-rd only knows that I succumb to it more than I care for. However, if we are to get past it and live a more fulfilling life, we need to learn how not to view things so negatively. It all starts with making a commitment of looking to view one's situation in a more positive light, which can be tricky at times. Are you willing to make that commitment to a more positive outlook? 

Pirke Avot 6:3: Judaism and How to "Keep it Simple, Stupid!"

K.I.S.S. "Keep it simple, stupid!" For someone who is a public policy wonk such as myself, trust me when I say I have an appreciation for the nuanced and the complex. However, sometimes the best explanation is the simplest, and sometimes, the simplest approach is the one that helps make your life most sane. That thought ran through my mind when I was recently studying Pirke Avot. In Pirke Avot 6:3, there is a discussion about respecting someone who has taught you even a single chapter, word, verse, letter of the Hebrew alphabet, or a single law. It then proceeds to say that "there is no reverence but Torah" (ואין כבוד אלא תורה). One of the proof texts they used was most intriguing:

ותמימים ינחלו טוב.

And the whole-hearted shall inherit good. -Proverbs 28:10

What my chevruta study partner and dear friend pointed out was that the word תמים can also mean "simple person." This would render the verse to say "[and] the simple ones shall inherit good." Going off this interpretation of the word תמימים, there is an equivocation with good and simplicity. In spite of all the nuances in Jewish law, is there something to be said for a simpler Judaism? And my answer to that is a resounding "Yes!" 

At least from my personal experience observing the more observant community, there is a trend in which one worships the halachic system instead of worshiping G-d. The halachic system was always meant to be the means to connecting with G-d, not the end unto itself. I analogize it to the Taoist concept of the Dao (道), or "the way." In Hebrew, the word הלכה (halacha) comes from the root word ללכת (to go). Regardless of how Jewish practice has evolved and continues to evolve, it should keep in mind this concept. R. Nathan Cardozo recently wrote a verbose, but stunningly spot-on critique of Orthodoxy in this vein, in which he says:

Today most of these [Orthodox] communities view themselves as observant, not model communities. An observant community is one that is primarily concerned with religious observance. As such, it views halacha and a proper Orthodox environment to execute its demands as a priority...It lacks the language and spirit necessary to be a model community conveying the great message of Judaism to all other Jews, and even Gentiles.

In being focused on the nuances, it's all too easy to forget the great message of Judaism. I'm not saying that we should necessarily ignore nuances because the world is a nuanced place. We should come to an understanding of the world around us with that in mind. However, we should still remember the simpler points of Judaism that form its profundity. What might those points be?

First is that G-d exists as Infinite Oneness. What does G-d expect from us? Although it is mighty difficult to summarize a religion as complex as Judaism into a sound byte or a single sentence or concept, the Rabbis nevertheless tried. For R. Hillel (Talmud Bavli, Shabbat 31a), it was "What is hateful unto you, do not do unto others. This is the entirety of Torah. Now go and study." For R. Akiva (Jerusalem Talmud, Nedarim 30b), it was "Love your neighbor as yourself (Leviticus 19:18). The rest is commentary." The Prophet Micah asked this question. His response? "You shall act justly, love chesed, and walk humbly in all His ways (6:8)." Treating others the way you would want to be treated is a significant part of the great message of Judaism.

It should even play into how we view ritual practice. Ritual practice is not meant to be done for its own sake, but rather to invoke something and transform ourselves. In the Introduction of the Mussar text Orchot Tzaddikim (Path of the Righteous), it states that "if you do not have good traits, you do not have Torah and mitzvahs because all of Torah hinges upon the perfection of one's traits" (וכשאין בידך מדות טובות אין בידך תורה ומצוות כי כל התורה תלויה בתקון המדות). That is why ritualistic practice (בין אדם למקום) requires a bracha (a blessing, i.e., a statement of intent) before undertaking a mitzvah, and a mitzvah involving interpersonal relations (בין אדם לחברו) does not. Take tefillin as an example. When one wraps the tefillin on around the finger, the following is uttered:

 וארשתיך לי לעולם. וארשתיך לי בצדק ובמשפט ובחסד וברחמים. וארשתיך ליבאמונה וידעת את הי.

"And I will betroth you unto me forever. I will betroth you unto Me in righteousness, justice, loving-kindness, and compassion. And I will betroth you unto Me in faithfulness, and you shall know G-d." 

-Hosea 2:21-22

Since we are created in G-d's Image and are supposed to act imitatio Dei, we are meant to act in justice and kindness. How we perceive our actions and how we treat others should stem from that idea. If you're donning tefillin and that's not what is running through your mind, you're doing it wrong. If you're obsessing over minutiae such as not eating kitniyot on Passover instead of remembering the spiritual significance of chametz or why celebrating freedom on Passover is important, you're doing it wrong. If you berate and embarrass someone for not covering the challah on Shabbat, even though the purpose of covering the challah is to teach us the importance of not embarrassing the wine (and as an a fortiori inference, not embarrassing other human beings), you're doing it wrong. If you're praying not because it changes you into a better person or makes you more aware of G-d, but because you treat the rote recitation as a magic formula [or even less so], you're not doing it right. If you're not fasting on Yom Kippur because it spiritually awakens you to do teshuvah and to help out others, but because "it's what we've always done" or doing so for the sake of fasting, you're not doing it right. Rituals are a way to moment in time in which we establish a moment of G-dliness. If one's actions are contrary to these simple and basic meta-halachic principles, you're not doing it right.

Regardless of the mitzvah, we should ask ourselves what the greater spiritual meaning behind the mitzvah is instead of acting by rote. We should be able to discern the underlying principle behind what we do. Whatever complexities there might be behind the Jewish law, we should remember why we do what we do and ask ourselves if we are transforming ourselves in the process. In summation, when performing mitzvahs, we should keep it simple.

Pirke Avot 5:26: I'd Rather Be a Mensch Than a Tzaddik

For most religions, it would seem to make sense that the most righteous individual (in Judaism, that individual is called a tzaddik; צדיק) who does the most good deeds that are "pleasing to G-d" would acquire the best reward. There might be something said for complete obedience or compliance to a given set of religious rules, but not so much in Judaism. Judaism says that life is more nuanced than that, and is thus reflected in how G-d perceives us. We actually see this in the Talmud (Berachot 34b), where it says that a צדיק cannot stand in front of a ba'al teshuvah (בעל תשובה), who is an individual who was not observant but becomes observant. How can it be that a penitent receives more merit than a righteous individual? Because that individual has truly experienced repentance. What does repentance have to do with one's merit before G-d? This is where Pirke Avot 5:26 comes in:

לפום צערא אגרה.

The reward is in proportion to the exertion.

Although the word לפום literally means "according to the suffering," it has been commonly interpreted as "the reward is in proportion to the effort and difficulty exerted" (Rashi, Rav). Some other interpretations extend it to those not intellectually endowed (Midrash Shmuel) or are not as young as they used to be (R. Yonah), but the point is that the predominant meaning of the passage is that G-d understands our circumstances, and thusly takes them into account when judging our deeds.

For someone who is a צדיק, they have to exert little to no effort to perform a mitzvah. For them, it practically is natural. They hardly, if at all, have the desire to perform a transgression. For such individuals, performing such behavior is automated, natural. That is not how the vast majority of those who want to do good in this world operate. For so many of us, there is the internal struggle to want to do right and do what feels good. While they are not inherently mutually exclusive, we see this dichotomy play out time and time again. Struggle is part of the typical human experience. A lot of us question if G-d exists or why G-d would allow for something bad to happen. We doubt, we question, we transgress. It's part of the human experience. Personally speaking, I'd rather have that struggle. Yes, it can be [more than] annoying at times, but it's what makes life worth living. To be able to do what G-d wants in spite of that struggle is what puts the biggest metaphorical smile on His face, and for that reason, I would rather be a mensch than a tzaddik. 

Dayenu: Is It Really Ever Enough?

I was visiting Chicago this past Shabbat, and I was in shul listening to R. Leonard Matanky give a d'var Torah during Shabbat Chol HaMoed Passover services. After his prefatory comments, he began his remarks on the Passover song דינו ("It would have been enough for us"; Dayenu). Dayenu, which is a popular song in the Passover haggadah, is a fifteen-stanza tune that expresses the thanks for the gifts that G-d gave the Jewish people during the Exodus, ranging from freeing the Jewish people from slavery to giving the gifts of Torah and Shabbat.

Taking his insight from Dr. Israel Eldad's haggadah, R. Matanky brought up an interesting question: was it really enough? One of the stanzas said that it was enough for G-d to take the Jews out of slavery. But what good would that be without the Torah or a raison d'être? What is the point of being thankful for G-d bringing the Jews to Mount Sinai if G-d had not presented the Torah? Traditionally, we keep saying Dayenu either because we have done nothing to deserve G-d's mercy or because we should be thankful for every little thing that G-d does. The point that both Dr. Eldad and R. Matanky were trying to make was that Dayenu was not meant to be literally. It was meant to be a springboard to help us think about what is enough.

This springboard is where I would like to make my comments on the matter. In Pirke Avot (4:1), Ben Zoma asks what makes for a rich person. His response?

השמח בחלקו, or "the person who is satisfied with his own lot." Ben Zoma's response brings us to a paradox in Jewish thought. If we are happy with what we have, doesn't that translate into passivity? If we're supposed to be happy with what we have, why bother striving for more?

A lot of the commentary surrounding this Pirke Avot verse has to do with material wealth (Commentary, Pirke Avot 4:1, Rashi, Magen Avot, Tiferet Yisrael). As R. Matanky brought up, people have way too high of standards when it comes to material wealth. We are always looking to own the latest technology and acquire mass amounts of wealth because they think it will fill in the void. Spiritual fulfillment is conflated with acquiring material wealth, and the crossing of wires leaves many highly unsatisfied.

When it comes to spirituality, however, many people set the bar too low. For many, it is regrettably set so low that they are lulled into a sense of complacency of doing enough. Judaism is not a religion of passivity. Judaism is not a religion in which we say Dayenu because we did something and we were meant to stop. We are meant to continue developing ourselves as better humans, help our fellow man, and foster a stronger relationship with G-d. As R. Zelig Pliskin points out in his book Happiness (p. 68), "In spiritual matters, look up and raise your sights. But when it comes to material and physical matters, look down."

In addition to raising the bar in spiritual matters, we can resolve another paradox of human nature. As humans, we are partly physical creatures and partly spiritual creatures. G-d didn't create us to be angels, but He didn't create us as animals without impulse control. We have free will. In Jewish thought, we are created in His Image. In this respect, we are "good enough." On the other hand, we were meant for more; we were meant to strive and constantly improve in our spiritual lives. As the Sages once said, although we were not meant to complete the task, it does not excuse us from desisting (Pirke Avot 2:21). Let Dayenu be a reminder that while we are to recognize where we have progressed spiritually, we are more importantly supposed to remind ourselves that we can always strive for further spiritual development.

Pirkei Avot 3:13: Jewish Ethics > Jewish Rituals

Judaism has a reputation for being a religion of nuance and complexity. Looking at Jewish texts such as the Talmud or Shulchan Aruch, you can see nitpicking and attention to the smallest detail. That can help explain the adage of "two Jews, three opinions." With a religion that can be as complicated as Judaism, one would think that succinctly summarizing the essence of Judaism would be difficult. Some of the rabbis of yore have tried. Hillel summarized Judaism on one foot by saying "Do not do others as you would have done unto yourself. The rest is commentary (Talmud, Shabbat 31a)." Rabbi Akiva (Sanhedrin 38a) used the positive dictum of "love your neighbor as your love yourself (Leviticus 19:18)" as the guiding principle of Judaism. In a similar vein, this mishnah reaffirms this underlying message:

כל שרוח הבריות נוחה הימנו רוח המקום נוחה הימנו. 

וכל שאין רוח הבריות נוחה הימנו אין רוח המקום נוחה הימנו.

If the spirit of one's fellow is pleased with him, the spirit of the Omnipresent is pleased with him; but if the spirit of one's fellows is not pleased with him, the spirit of the Omnipresent is not pleased with him. -Pirke Avot 3:13

What R. Chanina ben Dosa was illustrating here is the importance of making an impact on the light of another. The ethical, interpersonal mitzvot are a directive from G-d to take care of His children. This would extend to all of His children, not just His Jewish ones, hence the usage of the word בריות. I also found it interesting to see what was not listed, and that is the more ritualistic aspects of Judaism, such as Shabbat or keeping kosher.

This is not to say that ritual does not have a role in Judaism. Rituals are a way in which Jews connect to G-d. Rituals are actions that define the particularistic aspect of Judaism. Rituals are supposed to invoke something in us and help us connect to G-d. However, as I've argued before, rituals are the means to a more spiritual life; rituals are not performed for their own sake. If rituals are meant for us to get closer to G-d, then much like parents who is most proud when their children get along with another, the best form of knowing that we're doing a good job is G-d being pleased about how His children treat their fellow human beings.

But if mitzvahs between G-d and men (בין אדם למקום), as well as mitzvahs between man and man (בין אדם לחברו), are both directives from G-d, why would the latter be the one that causes G-d to be pleased with us?

While both are directives of G-d, when an interpersonal mitzvah is violated, it's a double violation. With interpersonal mitzvahs, it's a proverbial smack in G-d's face [because a directive has been violated] and it harms another individual, and that individual is created in G-d's image. Interpersonal mitzvahs are the way that one can be both good in the eyes of G-d and man (Proverbs 3:4). Look at how atonement on Yom Kippur works (Chavot Yair). To atone for one's sins that are בין אדם למקום, one has to recite Kol Nidre. For sins that are בין אדם לחברו, however, G-d will only forgive those sins if the individual seeks forgiveness from the one that has been wronged. The way that we make teshuvah for our sins in Jewish practice should tell us plenty about which one is more important in G-d's eyes.

If we want to connect to G-d, one of the best ways to do so would be to do that which makes Him happy, and that is because a sound metric of a relationship's success, whether that relationship is with family, friends, or G-d, can be measured by the extent to which one is pleased with the other in the relationship. From what we have here, how we treat fellow beings is more important than ritual, and if G-d is pleased when we act ethically, that should give us pause as to how we should view our Judaism.    

Pirke Avot 2:16: The Evil Eye and Keeping an Eye on Our Own Jealousy

Rabbi Yehoshua (Pirke Avot 2:16) said that three things removed an individual from this world: an evil eye, an evil inclination, and baseless hatred of others. The latter two are relatively self-explanatory, but what is an evil eye (עין הרע)? Evidently, it's not some gigantic eyeball with supernatural powers that causes the world's problems. Although given the superstition surrounding the evil eye, that is a pretty good metaphorical representation. The notion of an evil eye is one of the most universal superstitions out there, and the Jewish people were not exempt from this superstitious belief. The evil eye was the supposed power that a malevolent stare can bewitch or harm another. To try to ward of the evil eye, certain Jews took on the practice of amulets, whether that was in the form of blue beads, the red string, or the chamsa (חמסה). Aside from my issue of using objects as amulets, the superstition misses the point of עין הרע.

The commentators have various opinions of what עין הרע is. R. Yonah opines that עין הרע refers to jealousy. One who is constantly envious is spiritually destitute because one can hardly appreciate what he has. As Ben Yoma points out (Pirke Avot 4:1), "Who is happy? He who is satisfied with his own lot." Not only is there a lack of appreciation for one's lot, but there is also a propensity to undermine another's wealth and prestige in hopes that they can be nefariously acquired. The insatiable desire to go after another's wealth damages both oneself and those around the individual. It is so powerful that it ended up being the last of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:14). Avot de Rabbi Natan viewed this jealousy in more spiritual terms. One with the עין הרע will not want his friends to be successful in Torah study. Maimonides viewed the עין הרע from the standpoint of stinginess. If one is stingy, one is constantly obsessed with material wealth. With this worry, one can never really enjoy life since they are in constant fear of being in poverty. Additionally, Hillel said in Pirke Avot 2:8 that "the more flesh, the more worms," i.e., overindulgence in materialism is detrimental to spirituality.

Although there are some variations of opinion, the general consensus is that עין הרע is an issue of jealousy. The underlying point of עין הרע is that עין הרע is an internal phenomenon, not an external one. It's easier to blame some external force for our shortcomings because it means that we don't have to confront them. The Sages were wise enough to realize that having an עין הרע was a detriment, which is why having a good eye (עין טובה) was praiseworthy (Pirke Avot 2:13). How do we go about developing this good eye?

One response is gratitude. There is a huge correlation, and dare I say causation, between gratitude and happiness. If you do not have a sense of gratitude for what you have, your eye wanders towards what others have. R. Yonah (commentary to Pirke Avot 2:13) said that a good eye was someone with a charitable and benevolent attitude towards others. Benevolence is more than a feeling; it needs to be acted upon in order to matter. Whether it is צדקה ("charity") or גמילות חסדים (acts of loving-kindness), it is a matter of externalizing the sentiment in order for it to come to full fruition, much like with happiness. If I am to be so bold as to add my own commentary, I would opine that a change in perspective would help. What I refer to is the idea that we are not in competition with one another; it's not zero-sum. Certainly when it comes to spirituality, G-d does not derive any pleasure from oneupmanship. There is no point in oneupmanship because we are all created in His Image, and G-d expects us all to act ethically. G-d does not want us to knock others down. G-d wants us to wish other people the best in life, and to be able to help others in whatever capacity possible. Being able to help and give to others, not to mention realizing the good in our lives, is the best antidote to eradicating the evil eye from our midst.

Pirkei Avot 2:4: Submission?! Is That Even a Jewish Value?

The word Islam (اسلام) comes from the same root as the Arabic verb "to submit" (يسلَم). In Christianity, one of the tenets is to submit oneself to Jesus. Based on a passage of Pirke Avot I just studied with my dear friend and chevruta, Judaism claims to have something similar in way of submission. Here's an English translation of Pirke Avot 2:4:

He [Rabban Gamliel] said, "Treat His will as if it were your own will, so that He will treat your will as if it were His will. Nullify your will in the face of His will so that He will nullify the will of others in the face of your will."

I do not have a part with the first problem of this statement. Much like one would not scrimp on a huge investment such as a house, one does not settle for less on one's own spiritual life (Ruach Chaim). One is to treat their relationship with G-d that is as intimate as the ideal marriage. It's like any covenantal relationship: a marriage is about harmony in the home (שלום בבית) and understanding the other partner to the point where one compromises where needed. Like any other relationship, it is a two-way street.

Once I came across the second portion that talked about nullifying one's will, that is when I found it to be very problematic. The verb בטל is used in the passage as "to nullify," in the sense of "to cease" or "to abolish." According to the Kozhnitzer Rebbe, there are times that we should pray to G-d to take away our free will. Unfortunately, there are many Orthodox Jews that feel this level of unquestioning obeisance.

I know it's easier to succumb to groupthink or conform to an establishment than it is to have an authentically independent mind, but how can a Jew think that submission is a Jewish value? The name of the Jewish people is ישראל (Israel), which literally means "[He who] struggle[s] with G-d." Asking a Jew to nullify the very thing that provides the namesake of what it means to be Jewish is asinine. Essentially, if you're not struggling with or questioning your Judaism, you're not doing it right. This is especially true when we consider that the last time G-d explicitly said anything in prophecy was well over a millennium ago. Even with that in mind, all of this assumes that the tradition has been transmitted absolutely perfectly, the rabbis have correctly understood G-d's will 100% throughout history, and also assumes that the halachic system doesn't have any glitches. I cannot make any of these assumptions without having some reservations, hesitations, or doubts on my end. As a result of the skepticism and struggling with G-d, Judaism becomes a modus operandi that allows me to ask the bigger questions of life and analyze my beliefs and practices on a regular basis and on a more profound level.

If G-d wanted to make us as angels, trust me, He could have and He would have. But G-d endowed us with free will. He endowed us with the ability to question. Think about the Passover seder: the child who cannot even ask a question is lower on the totem pole than the evil child (*gasp*). Abraham questioned G-d before He destroyed Sodom and Gommorah. Moses questioned G-d by reminding G-d about His promise to the Jewish people (Exodus 32), after which G-d subsequently "changed his mind." These are but some of the examples in which Judaism illustrates its famous reputation for permitting one to ask a good question and not live in spiritual passivity and complacency.

Pirke Avot is a text of ethical ideals, but the problem with setting such high standards is that being human means making mistakes and being unmistakably imperfect. As laudable as it might seem to eliminate all our flaws to the point of nullification, it is just not possible. It is a verse such as this one that engenders the all-or-nothing mentality that permeates throughout much of Orthodox Judaism. I am all for Jews studying Torah and performing mitzvahs as much as humanly possible, but let's do so with an appreciation and understanding of the human condition.

Pirkei Avot 1:4 and 1:5: There's No Place Like Home

Home is where the heart is. Charity begins at home. Even the chickens come home to roost. For many people, the home is more than just an abode or a dwelling place to protect oneself for the elements. It is supposed to be a place where something more transformative and meaningful takes place. As I was studying Pirkei Avot with a dear friend yesterday, I ended up asking what the purpose of a home is, particularly in a Jewish context. What makes for the hallmark of a Jewish home?

A Jewish home entails more than putting up a mezuzah on doorposts or making sure there is enough kosher food in the home. In Pirkei Avot, there are two opinions as to what is the [primary] intention of a Jewish home. Yosei ben Yoezer of Tzeredah opines that the home is meant to be a meeting place for the sages (Pirkei Avot 1:4). Although חכם literally means "intelligent person," the rabbis of yore interpret it to mean "Torah scholar," which is to say that the home is a gathering place for Torah scholars to meet and discuss Torah. Not only that, as the host, you are supposed to wait on them. The reason for this is based on an analogy provided by Rav. Much like being in a perfumery, by merely being in the presence of a Torah scholar, one absorbs more Torah knowledge through the process of osmosis.

Conversely, Yosei ben Yochanan of Jerusalem is of the opinion that the home is meant to be לרוחה (ibid 1:5). The reason why I don't provide a direct translation of לרוחה is because the word can have two different interpretations, depending on the vocalization. On the one hand, Rav and R' Yonah interpret לרוחה to mean "open wide," much like the tent of Avraham was open. Tiferet Yisrael interprets לרוחה as "for relief," i.e., have the place ready for food, shelter, etc. The difference between the two interpretations is that of passive and active.

Regardless, which Talmudic rabbi is correct?  I ask this question because Judaism presents a bit of a dichotomy between Torah study and good deeds. When push comes to shove, is the home meant to be an exclusive place for Torah scholars, or is it meant to be a place where anyone requiring help can wander in and/or receive aid? This question would be better answered by determining whether Torah study leads to good deeds, or vice versa.

On the one hand, Torah study is important enough to be in the recitation of Shema. It is so important that some consider it more important than any of the other mitzvahs (Babylonian Talmud, Kedushin 39b; Mishnah Peah 1:1; Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Talmud Torah, 3:3). I can see that making sense. After all, you have to know what you're doing before you actually do it, and Torah study is the way to acquire said knowledge. On the other hand, Torah scholars will not just go anywhere because they do not frequent the homes of those with "low spiritual standards" (R' Yonah). It takes time and effort to make it a spiritually appealing place for a Torah scholar to spend his time there. Looking back at the hospitality homily in Genesis 18, the Talmudic rabbis (Shabbat 127a) concluded that hospitality (הכנסת אורחים) is so great that it is even greater than receiving the Divine Presence. As another insight, why does one put on the tefilin (תפילין) for the arm before the tefilin for the head? It is to act as a reminder that action precedes thought. It doesn't take years of profound Torah study to know that הכנסת אורחים is an important mitzvah.

So rather than say that your house needs to have one function, why not realize that a home can serve multiple functions? After all, a house has multiple rooms in which the abode can be multi-purpose. Since the Pirkei Avot teaches ideals in a Jewish, ethical context, there would be no reason to say that one is more important than the other: both are necessary for a vibrant Jewish home. Looking back at Pirkei Avot 1:2, the world stands on three principles: תורה (Tosafot Yom Tov interprets this to be active study of Torah, as opposed to passively accepting Torah as a concept), עבודה (literally meaning "service," interpreted as prayer), and גמילות החסדים (acts of loving-kindness). The concept of the home is embodied within these three principles. The communal home, i.e., the synagogue, is a place for prayer. An individual's home takes care of the other two principles. By being a place for both Torah study and acts of loving-kindness (e.g., הכנסת אורחים), the Jewish home actualizes its full potential.

Parsha Naso: The Mitzvah of Smiling

Having G-d command us to do things like don't steal, give tzedakah, or love your neighbor are standard mitzvahs that make a good amount of sense to us. But smiling? Who ever talks about a need to "put on a smiling face?" And what does this have to do with this week's Torah portion? A look at the Priestly Blessing (Numbers 6:24-26) can give us some insight:

יברכך יהוה וישמרך

יאר יהוה פניו אליך ויחנך

ישא יהוה פניו אליך וישם לך שלום

"May G-d bless you and watch over you. May He raise His countenance to shine over you and favor you. May He raise His countenance over you and grant you peace."

The latter two thirds of this blessing deal with His countenance and how "G-d makes His face shine upon you." Since imitatio Dei is such an important part of being a good Jew, what practical application does this concept have for us? Let's take a look at Pirke Avot:

Rabbi Shammai (Pirke Avot 1:15) tells us to greet every individual with a smile. Especially since Shammai was portrayed as stern, temperamental, and short of patience, why would he, of all rabbis, have given such an imperative? 

For one, first impressions matter. If you have a scowl on your face when you meet someone, there is a good chance that it will be your last interaction. It's not simply a matter of the initial contact. It helps in keeping a relationship going, as is implied by Proverbs 15:1 when it says "a gentle reply turns away wrath, but a galling word excites anger." We are not only supposed to avoid arousing anger in others (Rabbeinu Yonah), but making sure that we ourselves do not get angry because anger is considered an evil trait (Bertinoro). 

What happens if we don't feel like smiling? Although it would be great if we could be happy all the time, the fact is that we don't always do things in life because we want to do them. Sometimes, we are obligated to do so. Forcing ourselves to smile acts as an externality. Some might criticize this as acting phony. However, in Judaism, external actions are supposed to transform us internally (e.g., giving tzedakah is supposed to make us more voluntarily generous over time). Even when you are feeling glum, "faking it" helps keep your spirits up more so than wallowing in self-pity. 

Whether you are having a good day or not, keeping a smile on your face affects the mood of those around you. Think about it conceptually: are you happier when you are around happy people or sad people? Happiness is contagious, and using that externality makes a difference. Both the Torah and Rabbi Shammai provide us with a necessary tool for successful human interactions. Let's use it to live happier and more fulfilling lives!

שבת שלום! 

Psalm 16:8: Always Having G-d Before Us

I was on the bus today, and my mind could not help but to be fixated on a certain Biblical verse: Psalms 16:8. I was specifically focused on the first half, which says שויתי יהוה לנגדי תמיד, or "I have set G-d before me always." This verse actually shows up on a meditative plaque known as the shiviti (שויתי). I was surprised at how four words in Hebrew could cause so much meditative thought and angst. What sort of message(s) is the שויתי supposed to convey? After contemplating for a while, I came up with a few ideas. 


If we are to look at the verse in context of the entirety of Psalm 16, the overall theme is that of total commitment, which is established within the first four verses. The first verse is peculiar because the speaker is requesting that אל (El) protect the speaker. While אל means G-d in Hebrew, it can also be referring to the Canaanite deity El. This can allude that the speaker in this psalm is actually a convert to Judaism. Regardless of whether the speaker is a convert or King David himself, it is evident that the speaker has rejected the idols and has declared his allegiance to G-d (יהוה) by the fourth verse. 


The theme of commitment resonates through the rest of the psalm and is present in the eighth verse. Asking the question of "What does G-d want" is made clear with the word לנגדי (before me), meaning that what G-d wants supersedes what I want. The notion is echoed in Pirke Avot 2:4. Rabbi Gamliel said "that you are to do the will of G-d as if it were your own so that He will do your will as if it were His will." Per Rabbeinu Yonah's commentary on Pirke Avot 2:4, one should do the will of G-d with the same energy and zeal of his own desires, which is another way of saying "set G-d before you." Rashi's commentary on the Pirke Avot verse suggests that one is to go as far as to sustain a personal loss in order to perform a mitzvah (i.e., His will). 


The Ba'al Shem Tov pointed something of interest out regarding the first word, שויתי. The word שויתי comes from the root שוה, which means "equal" or "even." What has been made equal? Everything in life. Whether we are having a good day or a terrible day, we are to serve G-d with the same alacrity, whose totality is confirmed with the psalm's usage of the word תמיד (always). 


A couple of alternatives arise by using juxtaposition, a sine qua non of Jewish interpretation. The seventh verse mentions kidneys. In the Bible, the kidneys figuratively act as a symbol of emotiveness. In this instance, the kidneys represent the biblical seat of conscience, which is another way of saying "judgement." The verse can be interpreted as a reminder of His omnipresence. By being omnipresent, it reminds us that we should always be "on our best behavior." Looking at the second half of the eight verse, G-d is "at my right hand, and I shall not be moved." Not being moved (בל אמוט) shows that G-d in turn hold us constant. It is a sign of encouragement because G-d is here to hold us steady, even when we're going through turbulent times. 


Postscript: My biggest kvetch here has to be the all-or-nothing mentality. The speaker has what the Chasidim call דבקות, which is cleaving to G-d, 24-7. That is why it is important to take the context of the speaker in mind. The speaker of this Psalm (most likely King David) is an exceptional human being. The human condition makes us imperfect, doubtful, and at times fragile. Especially when the going gets tough, it becomes very difficult to "give it your all." Much like with any goal setting, you have to know where you are right now and the destination (i.e., the goal). Not only that, you have to be aware of the obstacles in the way. There are times in which they can be overcome and times where they cannot. The ideal in Judaism is to be able to have דבקות. However, most of us cannot realistically obtain such a rapport with G-d. Does this mean we give up before even beginning? Absolutely not! Setting G-d before us always does not mean acting 100% perfectly 100% of the time. Such perfection is not human. What we are meant to do is love G-d with our heart, soul, and might (Deuteronomy 6:5). It would be fantastic to achieve perfection, but G-d didn't create us to pull it off, and G-d knows it. That's what makes G-d's mercy so wonderful. He understands and He forgives. So what does "setting G-d before us always" mean? Just be humble enough to realize you're only human and give it your best shot. G-d wouldn't want any less and couldn't expect any more than that.

Parsha Korach: When and When Not to Question & Defy

I always found Korach's punishment of being engulfed by the ground (Numbers 16:30) for questioning the current leadership to be perplexing.  Abraham questioned G-d and His justice right before He was about to wipe out Sodom (Genesis 18:25).  Moses also questions G-d when He was about to wipe out Israel for the Golden Calf incident (Exodus 32:13-14).  In the Passover Hagaddah, out of the four sons, the son who is unable to ask a question is on the bottom of the totem pole, even lower than the evil child!  And I don't need to expound upon how much diversity there is within the world of Jewish thought.

If Judaism gives us precedent to question the legal system, and more glaringly, G-d, what did Korach do wrong?

The Pirke Avot (5:17) gives us great insight into the answer.  When Hillel and Shammai were debating each other, it was done for the "sake of Heaven," or what is commonly referred to as l'shma.  Korach, on the other hand, was making a power play.  He was saying that the Jewish people were intrinsically holy (Numbers 16:3), so then why bother with all of these "silly commandments?"  The modern-day equivalent of this sentiment would be called "spiritual but not religious."  But the commandments are not antiquated rituals.  The legal system is about improving ourselves, our interpersonal relations, as well as how G-d fits into all of that. 

It wasn't enough for Korach to attempt to turn the system upside-down.  He wanted to make a power grab in the name of religion, which is what makes the move all the more repulsive.  Whether it's suicide bombers or those who initiated the Crusades, pretending that your interpretation is the "literal, inerrant" will of G-d while committing atrocities and unethical behavior in the name of religion and in His name is heinous.  This, of course, is not meant to be read as a blanket disapproval on questioning and defying.  The punishment that Korach received is to remind us that we should not question or defy in the specific context of when it's a political power play, about self-interest, or a way to satisfy the ego.  These sort of actions cannot be done so with an ulterior motive supporting it.  Our questioning or defiance can become permissible, and even obligatory, when we do so in the search for truth and in the name of Heaven.

This blog entry is a post-Shabbos reflection based on my D'var Torah given at a lay service on Saturday, June 25, 2011.   

Pirke Avot 1:8- Rabbi Yehudah Loses His Sense of Judgment

After gaining a Jewish sense of judgmentalism and when one should give another a benefit of a doubt when judging others, you come across a verse like the one below (Pirke Avot 1:8) and begin to wonder what R. Yehudah ben Tabai was thinking:
יהודה בן טבאי ושמעון בן שטח קיבלו מהם. יהודה בן טבאי אומר, אל תעש עצמך כעורכי הדיינים. וכשיהיו בעלי הדין עומדין לפניך, יהיו בעיניך כרשעים; וכשנפטרים מלפניך, יהיו בעיניך כזכאים, שקיבלו עליהן את הדין.

Yehudah ben Tabai says: [When serving as a judge] do not act as a lawyer. And when the litigants stand before you consider them [both] as guilty, but when they are dismissed from you consider them [both] as innocent, provided they have accepted the verdict."

I'm not disputing the first half, the part where it says that both are equally guilty.  In order to be a good judge, one has to be objective.  Biases, bribes, preconceived notions, personal experiences, and assumptions can all get in the way.  To judge both sides on even ground is optimal. 

It's the other part that bothers me.  "When they are dismissed from you, consider them both as innocent."  Really?  I mean, really??  This first and foremost makes no logical sense.  The purpose of having a hearing is to prove one's guilt.  If they're both innocent, why take the time, money, and effort in such litigation?  It'd be a superfluous act.  I can understand where R. Yehudah is coming from in the sense that Judaism judges action, not intent.  Rabbeinu Yonah comments and assumes that he [the guilty party] has repented.  However, it does not [nor cannot] take modern neurology and criminal statistics into consideration.  There is no current treatment for the child molester.  Criminals have a propensity to be repeat offenders.  Some people are just beyond saving.

Judaism does believe in repentance, forgiveness, and a second chance to return to G-dliness.  However, whether it is a civil or criminal matter, someone has to be guilty.  There's just no way around it.  I'm hoping that R. Yehudah was trying to make sure we don't become jaded or have our experiences bias us in future judgments.  However, looking at Rashi's commentary [on the verse] that states that you should presume that both the litigants were not intentionally lying, this seems like a "bleeding heart" verse based in naïveté.

Pirke Avot 1:6, 7- When Should We Give People the Benefit of a Doubt?

In Christian Scriptures, Matthew (7:1) says "Judge not that ye not be judged."  To put it in more secular parlance, "Who are you to judge?  You've made mistakes in the past.  Back off!"  Although the reasoning for the sentiment is different, I would contend that the verse from Matthew has influenced the American concepts of tolerance and understanding to the point where we think we have no place to judge others. 

We find ourselves in yet another situation in which Judaism is counter-cultural.  In Jewish thought, it is not so much if we can judge others, but how we should go about judging others.  Although we don't realize it, many still subconsciously make judgments about others.  And since it plays such a key role in our interactions with other people, it should occur and matter.  This brings me to the most well-known verse in Judaism that tells us how to go about judging others:

והוי דן את כל האדם לכף זכות.

"Judge the whole of a man to the side of merit." -Pirke Avot 1:6

 
Are we to give every man the benefit of a doubt?  Rashi's commentary on the verse would suggest so when he said that you should "give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and assume that a person's actions are meritorious.  For doing so, you will be judged favorably."  I am going to take a few issues with this commentary.  One, I am more prone to think that Rashi was reading this third portion of the mishnah within in the context of the two first thirds (i.e., it applies solely to one's רב and חבר).  Second, זכות is a tricky word to translate, since it can mean "merit, favor, acquittal, credit."  Context better helps with what זכות means.  Since the direct object is "the whole of a man (כל האדם)," as opposed to "humankind" (המין האנ), I am linguistically much more inclined to believe that the verse is telling us to judge based on the entirety of a human being and his merits.  Fourth, and what I find to be most important, is what Rabbi Nitai, has to say in the next verse:
 

"Keep far from an evil neighbor, do not associate with a wicked man, and do not abandon the belief in retribution." -Pirke Avot 1:7              

 
If Rabbi Nitai really was trying to teach us that we should give everybody the benefit of a doubt, he wouldn't tell us in the next verse to keep away from evil people with a ten-foot pole!  We have established that we should not associate with evil people in any way, shape, or form, and that we should not give everyone the benefit of a doubt. 
 
What about righteous people?  What do we think when they ostensibly have done something wrong?  Maimonides says that if there is the slightest bit of doubt, you doubt him favorably.  As long as that reasonable doubt exists, you are not permitted to judge him unfavorably.  As the Talmud (Shabbat 97a) says, "He who suspects the upright should be whipped." 
 
A majority of individuals are neither overtly pious nor overtly evil like the tzaddik or the rasha.  What do we do about the person who would really be considered neither?  As R. David Rosenfeld points out from Maimonides' commentaries, "If 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," which is another way of saying "don't pull of acrobatics of implausibility to justify his actions."  I have found that in life, clear-cut scenarios are not as voluminous as one would like to think.  Many situations have multiple reasonable doubts.  How do we perceive such an individual at that point?
 
To briefly re-cap, we are now dealing with a majority of individuals in a majority of situations.  The individual is neither defined as particularly righteous nor particularly wicked.  The situation is really ambiguous and unclear.  In dealing with this scenario, we should give the individual the benefit of a doubt.  Although it's a more theocentric message, I like how R. Rosenfeld shows why this is important:
 

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.

 
The Jewish view on judgmentalism and giving people the benefit of a doubt is neither credulous nor overtly criticizing.  We judge blatant evil by distancing ourselves from it, whereas we give a near absolute benefit of a doubt to the righteous person, unless the evidence convicting him is so damning that cognitive dissonance is blinding you from making an objective judgment.  As for the gray area that we are most likely to encounter with people in the middle ground, when you find reasonable doubt, err on the side of goodness.  Rather than cultivating paranoia, cynicism, and animosity by focusing on shortcomings, we can focus on mercy, loving-kindness, and optimism.  When making judgments, give the benefit of a doubt as often as you can.  As the Talmud teaches, "Anyone who judges others favorably will be judged favorably in Heaven (Shabbos 127b)."  It's good for society and good for the soul.

Pirke Avot 1:3- Do We Ultimately Serve G-d Out of Love or Fear?

This question is one of those intriguing dichotomies that Jews have attempted to resolve for centuries. Those to the Left of me emphasize G-d's love, whereas those to the Right of me emphasize having fear of G-d. What makes this issue so complex is that the love of G-d (Deuteronomy 6:5) and the fear of G-d (Deuteronomy 6:13) are both commandments straight from the Torah. This seems all the more irresolvable since these are considered two of the six constant commandments.

How are we simultaneously to feel love and fear for the same G-d? If we view "fear" as a debilitating force that makes us crumble by the mere thought of Him, then yes, this will remain a dichotomy. But, as one of my rabbis pointed out, the word  יראת, the word that is commonly translated as "fear," is better translated as "awe" or "reverence." If we view this "fear" not as a force that overwhelms us so badly that we cannot get out of bed in the morning, but rather as an awareness that makes us aware of His greatness, it becomes much easier to emotionally love and have reverence for G-d than it would be to love and fear at the same time.

There is, however, one issue that remains to be resolved, and that is the Jewish concept of reward and punishment. Whether we think this occurrence will take place in this life, the next, or we get reincarnated to make up for past lives, we cannot ignore this fundamental Jewish belief.

In Pirke Avot 1:3, Antignos of Socho told us to "be not like servants who serve the master on the condition of receiving reward. Rather, be as servants who serve the master without the condition of receiving reward; and let the fear of heaven be upon you."

Antignos turns the "fear versus love" debate and turns it into a dichotomy. We cannot simply lose the "fear of G-d" not simply because it's a commandment, but if we lose reverence for G-d, we de facto lose awareness of Him, which renders Judaism moot.

As the Maharal points out in his commentary on this verse (Derech Chaim), the highest form of service is that which is motivated by the love of G-d. What both Antignos and the Maharal are pointing out is the high standard in Deuteronomy 6:5, which is we love G-d with all our hearts, might, and soul, i.e., we love Him 24-7.

Although this ideal might sound lovely and utopian, it neglects human nature. Humans have weak moments and are bound to err at multiple points in life. There are very, very few people that are able to maintain that G-d-directed energy, or what the Chasidim would call דבקות, all the time.

Upon having this discussion with a dear Orthodox friend of mine, he pointed out that this is the point where the notion of obligation plays its important role in Judaism. When we're too tired to go to the homeless shelter to volunteer or when we are having a bad day and don't feel like giving tzedakah, that is where reverence of G-d and obligation serve their function. If you based your relationship with G-d solely on love, you will most assuredly get sick of it all and drop it like a thousand-pound anvil in your hands when a bad day comes your way. This is why it's nice to have the reverence of G-d to accompany your love. When you are not "feelin' the love," obligation stemming from reverence of G-d becomes your safety net.  It will catch you and make sure you do the right thing, even if you don't feel like it that particular day.

In summation, love of G-d is our ideal and the ultimate goal for which we should aim. However, we are fallible creatures and thus need that reverence of G-d when external, or sometimes internal, circumstances cause our love to not be up to par. This view is both realist and idealist, which is why I love Jewish wisdom.  As we can see, Judaism can incorporate the reality of the human condition within its ethos while still keeping its ideals very much intact.

Pirke Avot 1:1- Dealing with "Building a Fence Around Torah" in the 21st Century

In many world religions, the monastic lifestyle so prevalent in the paradigm of aestheticism is perceived as optimal for acquiring a spiritual life. Judaism, on the other hand, finds itself somewhere between aestheticism and hedonism. Judaism believes in taking the mundanity of physical life and elevating it to holiness, thereby infusing the spiritual with the physical.


Since Judaism is in the middle of the two aforementioned extremes, one can correctly infer that Judaism has a degree of abstinence involved. G-d gave the Jewish people commandments to follow, and a majority of those commandments are negative. If a Jew is wanting to follow the "will of G-d," that Jew cannot treat their actions with a laissez-faire, "anything goes" mentality. There would have to be a degree of self-restraint.

To help further assure that the commandments, the Rabbis, in their wisdom, "built a fence around Torah (Pirke Avot 1:1)." These rabbinic enactments, called gezeirot, were considered to be of greater piety than simply follow the commandment itself because it shows that the individual wants to take the utmost care to avoid even the slightest potential danger of violating a mitzvah (Rabbeinu Yonah's commentary on ibid). I can certainly understand the benefits of such a maxim. It helps distinguish between what one wants and what one truly needs. The fences can help avoid the violations of commandments, which can help foster a closer relationship with G-d. The discipline in being able to self-restrain, and thus abstain, give people a better grasp exercising free will.

In short, these rabbinic fences can help make one a well-balanced individual who is a productive member of society. As the adage goes, "there's always too much of a good thing." In the Talmud (Baba Kama 79B), it states that a restriction should not be imposed on a given community unless the majority is able to abide by it. Considering that about ninety percent of the Jewish community is considered non-observant (i.e., not Orthodox), I cannot help but discern that "a fence around the Torah" has backfired somewhere along the way.

The Orthodox are obsessed with the concept of "stringency for stringency's sake." [I would also like to add that when I comment on the Orthodox community, I always feel I need to invoke the principle of "the further to the Right you go, the more it is true] I have met some Orthodox Jews that get some sort of masochistic pleasure of enjoying strictures. For such an individual, strictures "bring them closer to G-d," and anybody who does not share their euphoric state are deemed to be lax and lack any sense of G-dliness in their life.

I find this mentality to be troubling. What should have remained a fence has become a fence, a moat, a slew of Rottweilers, security towers armed with automatic weapons at various points, lasers, land mines, and a glass dome surrounding the area to make sure that no one can enter.

As Abraham Joshua Heschel points out in his book "Between G-d and Man" (p. 161):

"In their zeal to carry out the ancient injunction, "make a hedge about the Torah," many rabbis failed to heed the warning, 'Do not consider the hedge more important than the vineyard (Genesis Rabbah 19:3).' Excessive regard for the hedge may spell ruin for the vineyard [the Torah]. The vineyard is being trodden down. It is all but laid waste. Is this the time to insist upon the sanctity of the hedges?"

What good are the hedges if most Jews are not appreciating the vineyard? These stringencies (hedges) have become so numerous and nuanced that many Jews are unaware that there is a vineyard, let alone appreciate the beauty of Torah.

As Rabbi Barry Gelman illustrates, there is a value to lenient rulings. "Lenient" does not translate to indifference, disdain, or laxness. If the current state of the Jewish people and Jewishness denotes anything, it is that the stringencies have caused such sentiment.

It is not too late to change the trend of non-observance. If there is any hope of bringing more Jews to observing Judaism, as opposed to the disheartening status quo, nothing short of a re-examination and re-vamping of Jewish law will be required. This is a daunting task since a large majority of Jewish practice has become "d'rabbanan." But on the positive side, we can change anything "d'rabbanan" without a Sanhedrin if the reasons for the fence have become moot. It will be difficult to achieve, in light of Orthodoxy's trend towards reactionary tendencies, but my hope is that such realization will come, and enough even-keeled people within Modern and Centrist Orthodoxy will do something about it before the Haredim take a monopolistic grasp at claiming itself to being the sole, valid way to practice Judaism, thereby eroding the diversity and adaptability in Judaism as we know it.