GOING BEYOND THE LETTER OF THE LAW – BABA METZIA 30A

“Going beyond the letter of the law” is a familiar phrase, one which comes up in our current study of Baba Metzia. On a whim I googled the phrase and was surprised to find that roughly 2/3 of the hits on Google and other search sites were to Jewish sources. It made me wonder if the Jewish and general usage of the phrase matched, so I did a small comparison study.

Here are some examples of its usage in the general culture:

* Northrup Gruman posts its standards for dealing with Kickbacks, gratuities and such. They state that employees must go beyond the letter of the law to “avoid even the appearance of improper conduct in all of our business dealings.”
* Toyota in Kentucky describes its environmental commitment to the surrounding communities as going beyond the letter of the law to do more than required as part of their corporate citizenship.
* When HP was confronted by the fact that their printers were being sold by outside distributors to Iran, possibly in violation of US law, they vowed to go beyond the letter of the law to stop all such shipments.

Other examples use the phrase to indicate a desire to embrace the spirit of the law rather than focusing on its details. By contrast a column extolling the conservative-leaning Federalist Society considered the phrase a negative quality: “some judges go beyond the letter of the law, usurping the Congressional power to legislate and the Executive power to administer.”

Based on this brief survey I would suggest that in common usage the phrase refers to public efforts to be a good citizen and to act to distance one’s self from the appearance of misconduct. It addresses something greater than the details of the law. While a positive quality in most of these cases, none of them presented this to be a basic or universal value.

In Jewish tradition “going beyond the letter of the law”, lifnim mesurat hadin, is basic. Among the key passages which illustrate this phrase in Talmud is B. Baba Metzia 30a. A tale is told of the scholar, Rabbi Yishmael son of Rabbi Yosi. While walking down a road he encountered a laborer carrying a bundle of wood. The laborer stopped to rest and then asked Rabbi Yishmael for help lifting the bundle. Rabbi Yishmael, according to halakhah was exempt from doing this work which was below his status as a scholar (that’s a discussion for another time), but offered to buy the wood so the laborer did not need to carry it any farther. The deal was completed. The Talmud commends Rabbi Yishmael who could have simply declined to help, but went beyond letter of the law to purchase the goods and relieve the worker of his burden.

The gemara proves its point by examining Exodus 18:20 in which Jethro lays out a moral map for Moses to teach the people: Moses should “teach them the laws and the teachings, and make known to them the way they are to go and the practices they are to do.” The last phrase, “to do”, is interpreted as to act lifnim mesurat hadin. The implication is that going beyond the letter of the law is an integral part of living a moral life.

The gemara underscores that idea when it cites the teaching of Rabbi Yohanan. He states that "Jerusalem was destroyed because they judged there only according to the dictates of law, and did not go beyond the letter of the law.” This is a stunning charge. It means that those who limit their understanding to the letter of the law undermine both law and society. A strict reading of the letter of the law becomes instead a transgression of both law and the moral order.

The classic Torah commentators linked the concept of lifnim meshurat hadin to a few key verses. They teach that this notion is crucial to the very existence of our world.

Ramban, 13th century Spain, as part of his discussion of the verse (Leviticus 19:2) “You shall be holy because I the Lord your God am holy,” says:

This is the way of Torah…for after the warnings about the details of the laws regarding business relationships … God stated the general rule (Deuteronomy 6:18) “to do that which is right and good," that he should do that which is right and equitable and go beyond the letter of the law for the sake of pleasing his fellow.

Ramban connects this concept to the very idea of holiness. It offers us a way to emulate the Holy Blessing One.

Similarly, Rabbi Baruch Epstein in his commentary, Torah Temimah, discusses this concept in relation to Exodus 34:6, the enumeration of God’s thirteen attributes. He cites a passage from B. Rosh HaShannah that asks how God’s attributes can include both truth and mercy then explains:

Hesed, lovingkindness, means going beyond the letter of the law, while Emet, truth, is the attribute of judgment. Once the Holy One saw that it was impossible to rule entirely with pure judgment, Emet, God judged with Hesed, lovingkindness.

He cites Bereshit Rabbah 12 as proof that without the inclusion of Hesed, which he identifies with going beyond the letter of the law, the world could not exist.

According to Jewish understandings, then, to go beyond the letter of the law is both praiseworthy and necessary. More than good citizenship, it is linked to God’s nature and to the very fabric with which the Holy One created the universe.

It is not unusual for common phrases or terms to appear both in Jewish and general English usage, nor is it unusual that the meanings would differ. It helps to take a little extra time to go beyond our normal routine and explore the deeper meanings.

© 2010 Rabbi Louis Rieser

Wild and Wonderful Water / Sotah 34a

I am struck by three accounts in our tradition that concern water.

We find the first, concerning the crossing of the Reed Sea, in sefer Shemot (Exodus):

Moses stretched out his hand over the sea; and the Lord caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind all that night, and made the sea dry land, and the waters were divided. And the Israelites went into the midst of the sea on dry ground; and the waters were a wall to them on their right hand, and on their left… Moses stretched forth his hand over the sea, and the sea returned (הים וישב – vayashov ha-yam) to its strength when the morning appeared; and the Egyptians fled against it; and the Lord overthrew the Egyptians in the midst of the sea. And the waters returned (המים וישב – vayashuv ha-mayim), and covered the chariots, and the horsemen, even all the host of Pharaoh that went in after them into the sea; there remained not so much as one of them. (Exodus 14: 21-22, 27-28)

The second concerning the crossing of the Jordan River 40 years later. It is described in the Book of Joshua, and elaborated upon in the Bavli (tractate Sotah). Joshua suggests that the Jordan River crossing 40 years later was a replay of the Reed Sea crossing; the Sages envisioned it with enhanced special effects.

When the feet of the priests were dipped in the water [of the Jordan River], the water flowed backward; as it is said: And when they that bore the ark were come unto the Jordan … that the waters which came down from above stood and rose up in one heap (Joshua 3:5f). What was the height of the water? Twelve mil by twelve mil in accordance with the dimensions of the camp of Israel. Such is the statement of R. Yehudah; and R. Eleazar b. Shimon said to him, According to your explanation, which is swifter, man or water? Surely water is swifter; therefore the water must have returned and drowned them! It rather teaches that the waters were heaped up like stacks to a height of more than three hundred mil, until all the kings of the East and West saw them; as it is said: And it came to pass, when all the kings of the Amorites, which were beyond Jordan westward, and all the kings of the Canaanites, which were by the sea, heard how that the Lord had dried up the waters of Jordan from before the children of Israel until they were passed over, that their heart melted, neither was there spirit in them any more, because of the children of Israel (Joshua 5:1). And also Rahab the harlot said to Joshua's messengers, For we have heard how the Lord dried up the water of the Red Sea etc. (Joshua 2:10); and it continues, And as soon as we heard it, our hearts did melt neither did there remain any more etc. (Joshua 5:11). (Sotah 34a)

The third account is not a water crossing, but involves water flowing backward (as the Talmud does in Sotah) comes from another Talmudic passage concerning Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus’ efforts to convince his colleagues that his view of the kashrut of the oven of Aknai was correct. Having exhausted all logical arguments, R. Eliezer worked three miracles (the second involves a stream of water), but his colleagues reject wonder-working as a valid halakhic argument:

[R. Eliezer] said to them [his colleagues in the Academy]: “If the halakhah agrees with me, let the stream of water prove it!” Whereupon the stream of water flowed backwards. “No proof can be brought from a stream of water,” they rejoined. (Baba Metzia 59b)

In each case, water defies its nature to accommodate the Israelites, or a rabbi in need of a powerful argument. In each case, water contravenes the laws of physics to serve the purposes of people who are pursuing God’s will. The natural world yields to their needs of the moment to enable them to do the extraordinary in response to God’s will.

In a sense, all three water accounts relate to key pillars of our relationship with God. The Crossing of the Reed Sea bespeaks redemption, which is the goal and promise of our covenant with God. Moreover, it was the redemption from Egypt that paved the way for Israel – as a nation – to enter into a covenant with God. The Crossing of the Jordan River bespeaks our relationship to the Land of Israel, which has from the beginning been integral to our understanding of the covenant and our relationship with God, as well as the importance of living together as a community. R. Eliezer’s pursuit in the House of Study was one of elucidating and applying Torah, and in fact generating Oral Torah, in response to our covenant with God. So too does each of us respond individually and personally to God and our place in the covenant, and when we do, we too generate torah.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

NEW LAND, RENEWED COVENANT: Sotah 32 A-B

I the Lord am your God. You shall not copy the practices of the land of Egypt where you dwelt, or of the land of Canaan to which I am taking you; nor shall you follow their laws. My rules alone shall you observe, and faithfully follow My laws: I the Lord am your God. (Leviticus 18:2-4)

Consider the challenge posed by this passage. The Israelites are told to enter the land but not to copy either the practices of the people among whom they have lived for centuries nor those of the people who will surround them in the new land. Do not take from the old place or the new place, they are told. It seems impossible. How can you not be influenced by the world and culture in which you live?

The Torah proposes that when the people of Israel enter the land of Israel they start from scratch, free from those outside influences. This is no easy task. If you erase everything to create a clean slate, what do you have to work with? The entry to the land, however, transforms everything. The people, fresh from Mt. Sinai, bring with them a new ethic and the land becomes transformed to meet them.

The moment when the people enter the land, then, is idyllic. The meeting of the renewed people with the renewed land. If I could translate that moment into a visual scene, I might end up with the one described by mishnah Sotah 7:5 (32 a-b, in purple below). It must have been a soul-shaking moment for every individual present.

When Israel crossed the Jordan and arrived before Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal in Samaria, near Shechem, beside the oak of Moreh, …. six tribes went up to the top of Mount Gerizim, and six tribes ascended to the top of Mount Ebal. The Kohanim and Levites and the ark of the covenant stood at the bottom, between the mountains.

According to Wikipedia, these two mountains are among the tallest in the land of Israel. Mt. Gerezim is on the south side of the valley, Mt. Ebal on the north, and Nablus sits in between. The people, after crossing through the divided waters of the Jordan River (Joshua 4), spread out through the valley – half to one side, half to the other. The sacred ark, with its caretakers, remains in the middle.

The Kohanim, who have conducted the holy service of the people since the Tabernacle was built, and who will continue in that role, serve as masters-of-ceremony. The Kohanim surround the ark, then the Levi’im circle them, and all Israel surround them, since it says, “And all Israel and their elders and officers and judges stood on this side of the ark and on that...” (Joshua 8:33).
It is a dramatic moment. How could you help but stay focused on the central point – the ark which led you through the desert, which divided the waters of the river for you, which will now usher you into the land?

This moment contrasts with Moses’ vision on Mt. Nebo before his death (Deuteronomy 34:1-4). God showed him the whole land, its width and breadth. Moses saw land and palm trees, desert and plain. The people, actually in the land, see only the Ark of the Covenant. Moses saw the promise of sacred geography; the people, by contrast, were presented with sacred life. The focus was not where they would live, but how.

They turned to face Mount Gerizim and began with the blessing: “Blessed is the man who does not make a graven or molten image.” And these and those answer, “Amen.”
They turned to face Mount Ebal and began with the curse: “Cursed is the man who makes a graven or molten image” (Deuteronomy 27:15). And these and those answer, “Amen.” [This procedure continued] until they completed the blessings and the curses.

I imagine their voices echoing through the valley – each side boasted several 100,000 voices. If I were the director I would have everyone chanting. The tune would be simple, just enough to maintain an on-going momentum as the list of blessings and curses bounced back and forth across the valley.

First one side speaks, and their words call forth a thundering, “Amen.” Then it repeats from the opposite side. The rhythm of the alternating voices, punctuated by the resounding, communal, “Amen,” would be heard by the ears and felt through the soles of the feet until it penetrated into the heart and soul of every person there – from the woodchopper and water carrier to the tribal chiefs and high priests. On that day the holy words were truly before your eyes and in your heart.

If you were present that day, you would remember it. It is reminiscent of Mt. Sinai when the Holy One of Creation presented the people with the Torah. But this generation who were now entering the land had not been privileged to experience that holy moment. This time the words were the words of God, but the voices were those of men and women and children. They actively gave voice to the covenant by which they would live.

It is an appropriate change. While they wandered in the desert they had been under Divine protection. They had eaten manna. Their clothes had not worn thin, their shoes held up, they lacked for nothing. God cared for them well. But once they cross the Jordan they bear human responsibility for human actions. The covenant now exists in their homes and businesses, in the fields, and along the roadways. The moment of entry into the land marks the transference of the covenant from Divine realms to human commerce.

As dramatic as this moment might be, it is only a moment. In due time this generation will pass away and the next generation will not have experienced this mini-Sinai. It is an eternal problem -- one generation’s experience is mere history to the next. Nonetheless their very existence on the land depended on keeping the covenant alive for generations to come. One final ceremony marked that day.

Afterward they brought stones and built an altar and plastered it with plaster and they wrote on it all the words of the Torah in seventy languages.

The twelve stones, one carried across the Jordan by each tribe (Joshua 4:2-3), represented the entire people. Every person could show his son and daughter that they were part of that whole. Their physical attachment to the covenant was visible and permanent. The words of the covenant were in all the known 70 languages of the world – universal translation assured that every person could understand what was expected of them.

I don’t know what happened to those stones. I wish they still stood to call us back to our roots. I would have liked someone to say to me, “Here is where your great-grandparents heard the words that have guided our family, and here is the stone our tribe contributed to make this foundation secure.” I wish I could offer such physical proof to my children, to my congregants, and to you. That evidence is gone. But we still have the story, and that will have to be enough.

© Rabbi Louis Rieser