Living Liminality / Jerusalem Talmud Berakhot 2b

Many years ago, the daughter of dear friends became a bat mitzvah. Her family held a reception in their home that evening. Standing on the front porch, her father said, “Would you lead Havdalah?” I told him I would be honored and delighted. “Do you think it’s time? Wait, I’ll go check my computer,” he said and turned to walk into the house. Chuckling, I grabbed his arm, pointed to the sky, and counted stars, “One, two, three. It’s time.”

The Rabbis in Eretz Yisrael ask what constitutes “night time” for the purposes of saying the Shema. They choose an astronomical sign provided by God and visible everywhere (except on an overcast night). The luminaries in the firmament are their clock. Would that we could live a life so intimately tuned to the physical universe in which we abide, but which we largely ignore thanks to feats of human engineering.

When the stars appear, night has descended.

But how many stars must appear for it to be considered night? R. Pinchas in the name of R. Abba bar Pappa says that when one star is visible it is definitely still day; when two stars are visible, it is uncertain whether it is day or night; when three stars are visible, it is night.

It would seem then that the short period when two stars are visible is liminal time. It is bein ha-shemashot (twilight), neither day nor night. For a tradition that categorizes everything (permitted/forbidden, ritually clean/ritually unclean, holy/mundane, kasher/traife), time that stands outside the day/night dichotomy causes discomfort and anxiety. What is it? How do we consider it? What is permitted? What is forbidden?

There are two times a week when we are concerned with whether it is day or night with respect to the prohibition of melachah [work forbidden on shabbat]: when shabbat arrives and when it departs. When must we cease work, and when may we recommence work?

The Yerushalmi (Jerusalem Talmud) offers two formulations, one that accepts liminal time, and one that attempts to obviate it. The first formulation is that of the same R. Pinchas mentioned above.

On the eve of shabbat, if someone saw one star and performed melachah [work that is forbidden on shabbat], he is exempt [from bringing a sin offering]. [If he saw] two [stars], he brings a conditional guilt offering. [If he saw] three [stars] he brings a sin offering. At the conclusion of shabbat, if someone saw one star and did melachah [work that is forbidden on shabbat] he he brings a sin offering. [If he saw] two [stars] he brings a conditional guilt offering. [If he saw] three [stars] he is exempt.

R. Pinchas’ interpretation is consistent with what he says above. The cases of one star and three stars are clear: on erev shabbat one star means it is still day, so no violation has occurred; three stars means it is shabbat, and therefore a violation has occurred. On the other end, motza’ei shabbat (the conclusion of shabbat), one star is still shabbat so a violation has occurred, but three stars is no longer shabbat so no violation has occurred. In between, for that short period of time that we cannot define, a conditional guilt offering is brought, acknowledging that perhaps a violation has occurred, but we don’t really know.

The second formulation is that of R. Yosi the son of R. Bun. R. Yose feels compelled to pin down the two-star moment and place it in either the day or night category on both ends (erev shabbat and motza’ei shabbat).

R. Yose the son of R. Bun explained:

If you say that when there are two stars, it is a questionable [situation] [here are the two possibilities to analyze]:

If he saw two stars on the eve of shabbat and they warned him, but he did melachah [work that is forbidden on shabbat], and if he saw two stars at the conclusion of shabbat, and they warned him but he did melachah [work that is forbidden on shabbat], whatever your desire [to say about the period when two stars are visible, he has transgressed the prohibition of melachah [at either the beginning or conclusion of shabbat].

If the first [two stars] [mean that it is still] day, then the latter [two stars at the end of shabbat] [also mean that it is] day, and he will be liable [for what he does] during the latter [stars]. If the latter [stars] [mean that is] night, then also the former [two stars on erev shabbat] also [mean that it is] night. And he will be liable [for what he does] during the former [stars].

R. Yose gives us two options:

Option #1 is where we claim that two visible stars is still daytime. One who does melachah during this period, both during the arrival and at the conclusion of shabbat, is violating the prohibition at both ends. But how can this be? If two stars before shabbat is day, he is not in violation. R. Yose adds the condition that he was warned that his work might be considered a violation. If it is not a violation before shabbat, then it certainly is at the end of shabbat. In this case, the liminal period of bein hashemashot (twilight) is defined as day.

Alternatively, Option #2 is where the first star is considered day, and the second and third star are considered night. Consistency demands that we apply the same standard at the beginning and conclusion of shabbat. If he is not guilty at the first star before shabbat (because it is day), he must certainly be guilty at the first star at the conclusion of shabbat (because it is day – it is still shabbat). In this case, the liminal period of bein hashemashot is defined as night.

We can applaud R. Yose for his consistency and logic. The first scenario strains logic, but R. Yose repairs that by adding the dimension of the warning. I think his reasoning is not a case of “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds” (those immortal words of Ralph Waldo Emerson), but rather a case of discomfort. R. Yose cannot live with the uncertain, undefined, uncategorized two-star moment. The liminal state of bein hashemashot makes him anxious.

British cultural anthropologist Victor Turner (1920-1983) studied liminality in rituals. (Turner published “Betwixt and Between: The Liminal Period in Rites of Passage” in his 1967 book The Forest of Symbols.) Liminality is an in-between state characterized by being outside established structures (including hierarchies). It is, at its core, a state of uncertainty, defying clear definition. It is unstable. This is why it is a source of discomfort and anxiety to many in authority.

Yet Jewish life and tradition are filled with liminal moments, even extended liminal periods of time. The ten days of repentance between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are a liminal time when we, like Jonah in the belly of the big fish, are suspended between life and death. The Israelites’ 40 years in the wilderness – neither slaves in Egypt nor free people in Eretz Yisrael – was a liminal time. In a sense, our entire lives can be seen as lived in the liminal time between Creation and ultimate redemption, the Messianic Age.

What is it that R. Pinchas can live with, and indeed honor, but which makes R. Yose so uncomfortable? It is uncertainty. Yet life is filled with uncertainty. Perhaps it is more honest to say, as author Ursula LeGuin observed, “The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.” If uncertainty brings discomfort, it is also, according to Nobel Laureate in Chemistry Ilya Prigogine, “at the very heart of human creativity.” It is uncertainty – and our willingness to invite it into our lives – that opens our minds and hearts to new ideas, new experiences, and new ways to conceive the world and our place in it. Living with liminal, uncertain time, is an excellent training ground.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

THE HOLINESS OF THE SHEMA – YERUSHALMI BERACHOT 1:1

(Note: With this posting we begin a new tractate in our on-going study. We are turning to the opening tractate Berachot (Prayers) of the Yerushalmi, also known as the Talmud of the Land of Israel.)

The Talmud opens with a question of time: “From what hour may one recite the Shema in the evening, that is, when does nightfall occur so we can fulfill the obligation to say the Shema “when we lie down.” In our contemporary world a question of time focuses us on the clock, but I believe that leads us in the wrong direction as we consider the Sage’s answers. The responses found in the Mishnah and the two Talmuds (from Babylonia and from the Land of Israel), uncover new dimensions to this question of time. They mark this time in distinctively different ways from what we might expect.

The Mishnah defines nightfall as that moment when the Kohanim, in the time of the Temple, would enter to eat their terumah. Some definition is needed. If a Kohen, a priest who served at the altar in the Holy Temple, encountered some form of impurity, they needed to immerse in a mikveh, a ritual bath, and wait until nightfall before they could re-enter the Temple and eat from the terumah, the portion of the offerings reserved for the priests. The priests, apparently, would parade back to the Temple after purifying themselves in the mikveh, providing a visible, public moment which could define nightfall. When these kohanim could once again eat their due, it was considered nightfall.

Fine, but neither the author of the Mishnah, nor anyone who he knew had ever seen this moment. The Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD, fully 130 years before the Mishnah’s composition by Rabbi Judah HaNasi. While the answer may have been useful in Temple times, by the time of the Mishnah the reference must have had other resonances. One possibility is that it serves to remind us of the tragedy that accompanied the loss of the Temple and which gave birth to this new way of observance. I suspect, however, that there is a more elegant lesson to be learned.

The Talmud of the Land of Israel (Yerushalmi) responds to the mishnah, offering its own definition of nightfall. Rabbi Hiyya teaches that it is simply when people ordinarily enter to eat their bread on Shabbat eve. This sounds like a reasonably direct restatement of the Mishnah, just translated into a more common experience. Dinner time marks evening; evening is the time for the Shema; once people begin dinner, you may begin the Shema. Except that is not quite what Rabbi Hiyya says.

Note that neither the Mishnah nor Rabbi Hiyya answer by referencing ordinary time. Why not simply say that one may recite the Shema when people ordinarily eat dinner? That would offer the most widely recognized time – everyone eats dinner. They opt instead for a less common experience – the Mishnah relates it to the Temple while Rabbi Hiyya relates it to Shabbat. One is holy space while the other is holy time. The issue may not be the particular hour at all, rather the crucial element may be that one enters into a time or place of holiness when reciting the Shema.

In our contemporary world we often focus on the words of the Shema, proclaiming them to be the watchword of our faith. The Mishnah and the Talmud seem to have a different focus. The opening teachings on how to recite the Shema in the first two chapters of the Mishnah emphasize the performance of the prayer – the times, the posture, the orientation of our bodies. If not the words, what is the significance of the Shema?

The opening passage of the Babylonian Talmud (Berachot 2A) addresses the mishnah’s question in a manner that bears little resemblance to the other answers we have considered. Rather than offering a definition of when nightfall occurs, they ask why the mishnah begins by talking about the evening Shema rather than the morning recitation. It seems like a no-win question; if they had begun with the morning the question would have been about the evening. But there is a point to this seemingly pointless question.

The gemara first considers whether the verse in the Shema, “and you shall recite them … when you lie down and when you rise up”, explains the order. Could it simply be a matter of word order? But that explanation is rejected in favor of a different proof text drawn from Genesis 1:5: “And it was evening and it was morning, Day One.” (Genesis 1:5) The Babylonian Talmud suggests that we begin discussing the evening Shema first because that places us in God’s time frame. Reciting the Shema in its proper order and time, this suggests, aligns us with the holiness of Creation.

These three responses to the Mishnah’s question agree that there is an intimate connection between the recitation of the Shema and holiness. They offer distinctly different understandings of that holy moment. For the Mishnah we imaginatively enter the holy precincts of the Temple, the place of meeting and atonement between God and Israel. For the Yerushalmi, we mimic Shabbat, the moment that unites Creation and Redemption. For the Bavli we place ourselves onto the Divine clock; if God sustains the cosmos at every moment, our recitation of the Shema morning and evening allows us to become God’s partners as we sanctify each day.

What might change if we approached the recitation of the Shema in this way? This understanding suggests that the recitation of the Shema is not an intellectual experience, but one that involves our entire being. In pronouncing the Shema, we commit ourselves – body, soul and strength – as partners in the holy work of Creation. It is not an act to be taken lightly.

Of Payment and Intimacy / Baba Metzia 86b

We have been studying a long sugya toward the end of Baba Metzia for what feels like half of forever. It’s complex and confounding, and we are not yet prepared to share any major thoughts, but for the moment, I’m intrigued by a short passage in which the Rabbis discuss on daf 86b the manner in which God responds to Abraham’s righteousness. It follows on the heels of a comparison between Abraham’s generosity in feeding the strangers (ministering angels) who appear out of the desert, and Solomon’s generosity in feeding the nation. Abraham wins not on an absolute scale, but on a per capita comparison. In response to the magnitude of Abraham’s generosity, God repays Abraham’s descendants when they, like the ministering angels, journey through the Sinai desert.

Rav Yehudah said in Rav’s name: Everything that Abraham did personally for the ministering angels, the Holy One blessed be God did personally for his children. Whatever Abraham did through an agent, the Holy One blessed be God did for his children through an agent: And Abraham ran to the herd (Genesis 18:7) [corresponds to] And there went forth a wind from the Lord (Numbers 11:13); and he took butter and milk (Genesis 18:8) [corresponds to] Behold, I will rain bread from heaven for you (Exodus 16:4); and he stood by them under the tree (Genesis 18:8) [corresponds to] Behold, I will stand before you there upon the rock, etc. (Exodus 17:6); and Abraham went with them to bring them on the way (Genesis 18:16) [corresponds to] and the Lord went before them by day (Exodus 13:21); let a little water, I pray you, be fetched (Genesis 18:4) [corresponds to] and you shall smite the rock, and there shall come water out of it, that the people may drink (Exodus 17:6).

But this disagrees with R. Chama bar Chanina. For R. Chama bar Chanina said, and the School of Ishmael also taught: As a reward for three things [done by Abraham] they [his descendants] obtained three things. As a reward for, [and he took] butter and milk, they received the manna; as a reward for, And he stood by them, they received the pillar of cloud; as a reward for, Let a little water, I pray you, be fetched, they were granted Miriam's well.

Perhaps a chart will help you picture the two views more easily. Rav Yehudah argues that each and every kindness Abraham does for the angels – God’s messengers – is repaid in kind by God to Abraham’s descendants, the Israelites. Not only that, but just as Abraham is kind to the angels during their trek through the desert, so God’s kindness to the Israelites is during their long trek through the Wilderness. Human kindness is repaid by God in a like manner.


R. Chama bar Chanina does not share the view that God repays kindness in such a precise (mechanical?) way, but rather that God seeks to the “major category” provisions the Israelites need to sustain and guide them through the Wilderness.


Several questions spring to mind: Does God actually repay people in the manner suggested here? Or, are the Sages conveying their view of the interaction – the flow of energy, love, and commitment – between heaven and earth?

Time and again, Torah and Gemara affirm: humans act, and God responds. What we do here has resonance in heaven and throughout the universe.

The Rabbis’ sense of the closeness between God and Israel is felt throughout Talmud, and expressed in a surprising way in this passage, where Israel’s failure to engage diligently in Torah study weakens God:

R. Elazar opened a discourse with the following proverb: “Through laziness the rafters (hamekareh) are weakened (yimach), and through idleness of the hands the house leaks” (Ecclesiastes 10:18). On account of Israel’s laziness, in not occupying themselves with Torah, the Holy One blessed be God is weakened (mach). The word “weak” (mach) means impoverished, as it is said, “But if the person is too poor (mach) for the estimated donation…” (Leviticus 27:8). And the word “rafters” (mekareh) refers to the Holy One blessed be God, as it is said, “The One who sets (hamekareh) his upper chambers in the heavenly waters” (Psalm 104:3). (Megillah 11a)

Does Israel’s lack of diligence actually weaken God? Or does it figuratively weaken God? Those who imagine God a Being will likely choose the latter option, finding the first option problematic. But for those whose conception of God is not as a Being, to the extent that our commitment to Torah study, and everything that arises from it (our concern and commitment to others in keeping with God’s covenant) bespeaks God’s influence in the world, God’s weakening is very real: we are the eyes, ears, arms, and legs of God in the world.

For me, the passage underscores the Jewish sense of our intimacy with God, expressed beautifully in a Yiddish poem by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. The translation below was rendered by Rabbi Morton Leifman, and I commend to you the translation and musical adaption by Rabbis Mordecai Creditor and David Paskin found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TB1Z5bOeOZE. The poem is meant to be a dialogue or conversation between God and Humanity. God speaks first.

I and You

Transmissions flow from your heart to my heart, My pain is intertwined, intermixed with yours. Am I not you? – Are you not me?

My nerves are bound together with yours.
Your dreams have met with mine.
Are we not one in the bodies of millions?

Often I see myself in everyone’s face, Hear in people’s weeping my own speech – a distant, quiet voice. Right under millions of masks my face lies hidden.

I live in me and in you.
From your lips flows a word from me to me.
From your eyes drips a tear – whose source is in me.

When a need springs in you – it’s in me. When you crave a human presence – tear at my door. You live in yourself. You live in me.

How many of us yearn for that sense of intimacy, merging, connection with God? The Rabbis sought it, and their interpretations and midrashim reverberate with that desire. They found it through study, prayer, and observance of their obligations to God. In our day, the door has opened to include pursuit of social justice, meditation, and more. However God is conceived, and however connection is achieved, it is about completing the circle and experiencing the oneness of all.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

HOW BAD CAN BADMOUTHING OTHERS BE? – BABA METZIA 58b

Badmouthing others is big news these days. On one end you have the tell-all celebrity gossip columns. They may not end careers, but they certainly lower our estimation of the people involved. On the other end of the scale we hear more and more of the fatal consequences of bullying, in person and via the internet. What many consider just normal neighborhood gossip has its deadly side.

The sages understood the power of words. We state in the morning prayers, “Blessed is the One who spoke and the world was.” God created the world through words. They also understood that words are dangerous.

The majority of Baba Metzia, chapter 3, is concerned with behavior known by the Hebrew term ona’ah, generally translated as fraud or overreaching. There are a variety of ways in which merchants can deceive buyers or buyers can take advantage of sellers. The sages establish boundaries that protect both buyer and seller against such abuses.

Suddenly, about 2/3 of the way through the chapter, the mishnah extends this concept of ona’ah beyond the realm of business and applies it to interpersonal relationships. “Just as a claim of ona’ah applies to buying and selling, so does it apply to spoken words.” (B. Baba Metzia 58b). The examples offered by the mishnah describe the logic that carries this precept forward. One should not ask a merchant for details on merchandise you have no intention of buying because it misleads him. But then… One should not confront a repentant sinner with his past deeds nor a convert with his family’s pagan past. All of these are considered forms of verbal abuse.

In the gemara (B. Baba Metzia 58b) Rabbi Yohanan asserts both that verbal ona’ah is far more common than business fraud and that it is considerably more serious. We soon learn that

“All who go down into Gehenna [the equivalent of Hell] return except for three, who go down but do not come back up, and these are they: (1) he who has sexual relations with a married woman, (2) a person who embarrasses his fellow in public, and (3) he who assigns a mean nickname to his fellow.”

Did you know that the consequences of verbal abuse were so long-lasting?

The stakes get raised even higher. The gemara quickly assimilates calling someone by a mean name (the third category) into the idea of embarrassing one in public (the second category). These are two ways of saying the same thing. Only two are subject to this harsh judgment – the adulterer and the one who abuses another through verbal ona’ah.

Then the sages remove the adulterer from the list. How can they do that? After all, adultery is included in the 10 Commandments. Sexual immorality is included on the short list of three commandments that a Jew must die for rather than transgress them (the other two are idolatry and murder). But Rabbah bar bar Hana in the name of R. Yohanan sees it differently. He suggests that “it would be better for someone to have sexual relations with a woman who may or may not be married but not embarrass his fellow in public.” His reason – the adulterer can repent, but the one who commits verbal ona’ah, abuse, cannot.

And then there was one. Only one offender goes down to Gehenna and does not return – the one who commits verbal ona’ah, verbal abuse.

As if that were not bad enough, the gemara goes on to illustrate the long-lasting and devastating effects of verbal ona’ah. This discussion serves as the introduction to the famous story known as the Oven of Achnai (59b). Here a dispute within the academy over whether a new style of oven (created by Achnai) should be considered kosher. Rabbi Eliezer approved of the oven while the sages did not. Rabbi Eliezer forcefully insisted on his point of view leading the sages to excommunicate him. The story is long and the details important, and for our purposes it is sufficient to note that the tale ends tragically. The verbal ona’ah exchanged that day leads to chaos in the academy, destruction in the countryside, and the death of Rabban Gamaliel who was the brother of Rabbi Eliezer’s wife, Imma Shalom (mother of peace).

How bad is it to badmouth others? The sages insist that it leads to death and destruction in the world and consigns the perpetrator to Gehenna. In the end it is better to follow your mother’s advice – if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

"May it be Your will..." / More from Berakhot 16 and 17

A few weeks ago I wrote that our studies in Baba Metzia led us on an excursion into masechet Berakhot, specifically searching out prayers beginning, “May it be Your will…”

Today, for your pleasure and enjoyment, several of the Sages’ prayers recorded on dapim 16 and 17. Often, we think that Jewish prayer is restricted to the “authoritative” prayers published in authorized siddurim (prayer books). In fact, originally all Jewish prayer was the spontaneous creation of each individual engaged in prayer to God. Our Sages ordained the themes and order of the prayers, but not the precise wording. At a later point in time, it became clear that it was onerous to compose prayers each and every day to cover the lengthy order of prayer themes, so the Rabbis commissioned the writing of prayers, resulting in many of those we use today.

Among those recorded on dapim 16 and 17 is the prayer of Rav that was used as the foundation of Birkat HaChodesh (the prayer to announce the coming of the new moon) and prayer of Mar b. Ravina that is recorded in most siddurim following the Amidah as an example of personal prayer. In fact, the Talmud tells us that all the prayers on these pages were the personal prayers of the Sages following the recitation of the Shema. These days, we think of them as being more appropriately appended to the Amidah because there is a tradition that merely reciting the words of the Amidah, without adding something from one’s own heart, is insufficient. God wants to hear what’s on our minds. Given that prayer is not about making ourselves subservient to God and acting the role of obedient automaton, but rather about forging a meaningful relationship with God, this makes perfect sense.

Here are some lovely examples from the Talmud. Perhaps you might like to “take them out for a spin.” See if they work for you. Perhaps they will inspire your own expression in prayer.

R. Eleazar, on concluding his prayer, used to say the following: May it be Your will, O Lord our God, to cause to dwell in our lot love and brotherhood and peace and friendship, and may You make our borders rich in disciples and prosper our latter end with good prospect and hope, and set our portion in Paradise, and confirm us with a good companion and a good impulse in Your world, and may we rise early and obtain the yearning of our heart to fear Your name, and may You be pleased to grant the satisfaction of our desires. (16b)

Here’s another beauty:

R. Safra on concluding his prayer added the following: May it be Your will, O Lord our God, to establish peace among the celestial family, and among the earthly family, and among the disciples who occupy themselves with Your Torah whether for its own sake or for other motives; and may it please You that all who do so for other motives may come to study it for its own sake! (16b, 17a)

There is a disagreement concerning whether the following prayer was said by R. Hamnuna or R. Alexandri. What I love about it is that it acknowledges that our failures, while sometimes due to outside forces, cannot be entirely blamed on others. We must take responsibility, too. The prayer names the failure of human will before external influences, reminding us that we should look within before casting around elsewhere for blame:

Sovereign of the universe, it is known full well to You that our will is to perform Your will, and what prevents us? The yeast in the dough [i.e., the evil inclination] and the subjection to the foreign powers. May it be Your will to deliver us from their hand, so that we may return to perform the statues of Your will with a perfect heart. (17a)

Rav Sheshet, when he fasted, would say this prayer, in which he draws a fascinating parallel between the blood and fat offered on the altar in the Jerusalem Temple, and the blood and fat he would lose through his fast. Rav Sheshet offers up his blood and fat for atonement. Given Judaism’s stance against asceticism, we might wonder that this prayer was included, yet you might want to consider it next Tisha B’Av and Yom Kippur.

Sovereign of the universe, You know full well that in the time when the Temple was standing, if a man sinned, he used to bring a sacrifice, and though all that was offered of it was its fat and blood, atonement was made for him by it. Now I have kept a fast and my fat and blood have diminished. May it be Your will to account my fat and blood which have been diminished as if I had offered them before You on the altar, and please favor me. (17a)

If you have a favorite prayer you have composed and would like to share it here, by all means, please do.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS AND BAILMENTS – BABA METZIA, CHAPTER 3

Dostoyevsky would be my preferred author to turn chapter 3 of Baba Metzia into a novel. It opens with a request for a simple favor, “Would you watch over my goods for a while,” and ends as a psychological drama as the presumed guard contemplates theft. This is the trajectory traced by this chapter which serves as an extended exploration of the verses from Exodus 22:6-8:
If a man shall deliver to his neighbor money or utensils to keep, and it is stolen from the man’s house; if the thief is found, let him pay double. If the thief is not found, then the master of the house shall be brought to the judges, to see whether he has put his hand to his neighbor’s goods. For every kind of trespass, whether it be for ox, for ass, for sheep, for garment, or for any kind of lost thing, which another challenges to be his, the cause of both parties shall come before the judges; and whom the judges shall condemn, he shall pay double to his neighbor.

I find it hard to blog on the individual issues within this chapter. The arguments tend to be complex and not easily summarized. The chapter as a whole, however, serves as a cautionary tale worthy of our notice.

The opening mishnah (B. Baba Metzia 33b), poses what sounds like a simple situation: “If someone deposits an animal or vessels with his friend and it gets stolen or lost.” The questions that follow are predictable: how does one substantiate that the goods were stolen, what compensation is due, what happens if a thief is located after a settlement has been reached. In certain ways the Talmudic concerns differ from our own because there is the possibility of goods having been dedicated to the Temple. It is a complication without parallel in the modern world. Much of the discussion that follows is recognizable in our contemporary setting.

The problem at the root of this discussion is that the one who is watching over the goods is the legitimate caretaker, but not the owner. On one hand, he bears responsibilities that are similar to an owner, but there are limits on his behavior. On the other hand, the goods in his possession may be a temptation. The Mishnah explores a variety of permutations on the theme, which leads to the title of this blog. What begins as a bailment (a legal arrangement that arises when a person gives property to someone else for safekeeping), may lead one to consider committing a misdemeanor or tempt one to consider even worse crimes.

At the outset the focus notes the tension between ownership and possession. “If one rents a cow from his fellow and then lends it to another, and then the cow dies or natural causes.” (B. Baba Metzia 35b) On whose watch did the cow die? Is there compensation for the owner who has lost a cow, for the renter who no longer has the means to complete his work, or for the borrower? More, the cow, which can be sold for meat, still has some value. Who is to benefit from that value?

Fittingly the Mishnah discusses the differences that exist when dealing with different goods. If one is entrusted with an animal, there is a responsibility for the maintenance of the animal. When storing produce, which can rot or be eaten by vermin, different considerations come into play. And if one entrusts money for safekeeping with another, there are appropriate ways to protect those funds.

By the middle of the chapter, the focus begins to shift. What if the guardian was guarding a barrel of wine, but moved it about and it broke? If he was authorized to move it about, perhaps it is okay. But then the sages wonder if he was moving it for its own benefit, to somehow improve his situation, or if the move was for his convenience or benefit. Perhaps he was using it as a stepladder to reach some high object. One must distinguish between several possible ways to understand the guardian’s actions. The last half of the chapter tries to sort between these possible understandings of a guardian’s action:
• the latitude the guardian was given by the owner,
• the reasonable authority he held as the one on the scene,
• the possibility of negligence in caring for the property poorly,
• the opportunity to borrow some of the goods now with the intention of returning them before the owner reclaims the goods,
• the temptation to misappropriate the goods (say, to have an occasional sip from the stored wine),
• or the enticement to steal the object for his own benefit.

The final mishnah considers the intention that may precede action. “Someone who intends to misappropriate a deposit…” (B. Baba Metzia 43b) Beit Shammai (44a) considers that the thought is sufficient to establish the crime, while Beit Hillel argues that he is not liable until he actually stretches out his hand to do the deed.

Throughout our study of this chapter I found parallels between the gemara and the daily news. Revelations of malfeasance, from Madoff to unscrupulous mortgage lenders to unexamined foreclosures, reflected the ancient discussions of the sages. In the simple act of asking a friend to watch over some goods, we have explored a wide range of possible deeds and misdeeds. It recognizes that entrusting goods to another is not a simple act at all. It opens up questions of competence and integrity. It acknowledges the temptation that we feel when we have control over another’s property.

The last word of the chapter is teiku, meaning that the question remains unanswered until Elijah the Prophet comes to resolve all outstanding questions in advance of the Messiah’s arrival. While it responds to a specific and limited issue within the gemara, I feel that the choice to leave this as the last word points to a bigger matter. When we are entrusted with another person’s goods we face choices on how we will act in this instance. Will we be a trustworthy guardian of the bailment in our hands, or will we succumb to the temptation to commit crimes and misdemeanors.

Musings and Meanderings from Baba Metzia to Berakhot / Baba Metzia 42 and Berakhot 16-17

We’ve taken a side trip on our excursion through Baba Metzia. It came about because of a passage in Baba Metzia 42a:

Our Rabbis taught: Someone who goes to measure [produce] in his granary says: “May it be Your will, Lord our God, that You will send blessing upon the work of our hands.” After he has begun to measure, he says, “Blessed is [God] Who sends blessing upon this pile [of produce].” If he measured and afterward said a blessing, this is a prayer said in vain, because blessing is not found, neither in something that is weighed, nor in something that is measured, nor in something that is counted, but [only] in something that is hidden from the eye, as it is said, The Lord will command the blessing upon you in your storehouses (Deuteronomy 28:8).

The passage seems to be an attempt to balance prudence and providence, but it evoked many questions, among them:

• Why is it proper to recite a blessing prior to or in the midst of measuring, before one knows the extent of the harvest, but after measuring it’s a tefilat shav (a prayer said in vain)? An experienced farmer can look at a pile of produce and estimate its volume fair precision; measuring merely confirms what he or she has already discerned, so there is little surprise in the measurement. But even if the final tally is a delightful surprise, the quantity has not changed from the time measuring began until the final total is jotted on a clipboard or entered into a laptop. It seems that the experience of not knowing (or not having confirmation of the final tally) versus the experience of learning the measured quantity is what matters: until the grain is measured, the farmer presumably cannot be sure what he or she has. Hence the final quantity is still “in God’s hands” until the measuring is completed. (I don’t find this religiously satisfying, but I can imagine that others would.)
• Why are the two blessings offered in the text couched in different tenses (the first in the future tense – “that you will send” – and the second in the present tense – “who sends”). Why does one begin “May it be Your will…” while the other begins “Blessed is [God] Who…”

The second question sent us in search of other prayers following the “May it be Your will…” structure and we ended up on Berakhot 16-17, which are replete with the personal prayers of many Sages. We jumped into the pool on 16b with a mishnah that cites three cases in which the students of Rabban Gamliel and his son, Shimon, question their masters’ decisions to contravene a halakhic ruling.

[Rabban Gamliel] washed the first night after his wife died. His students said to him: You, our master, have taught us that a mourner is prohibited from washing. [Rabban Gamliel] said to them: I am not like other people; I am a delicate individual.

When [Rabban Gamliel’s] slave Tavi died, he accepted condolences for him. His students said to him: You, our master, have taught us that one may not accept condolences for a slave. He said to them: My slave Tavi is not like other slaves; he was worthy.

If a groom wishes to recite the Shema on the first night [following his wedding] he may recite it. Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel says: Not everyone who wishes to take the name may take it.

The three examples appear to be in ever-widening circles of relationship. The first (washing) concerns one’s relationship with one’s body. The second (Tavi) concerns one’s relationship with another human being. The third (reciting Shema) concerns one’s relationship with God. In each case, the halakhah establishes standard procedure, but Rabban Gamliel and Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel find that the global ruling is not appropriate in all cases, particularly in their own circumstances. Rabban Gamliel has a fragile constitution; his ill health requires that he wash. His washing reminds us that Jewish practice cannot be “one size fits all” because we not all the same (“A person stamps many coins with one die and they are all alike, one with the other, but the Holy One blessed be God, Sovereign of sovereigns, has stamped all humanity with the die of the first man and yet not one of them is like another.” Sanhedrin 4:5) Similarly, Rabban Gamliel developed a close tie to Tavi such that Tavi was family to him and conventional societal roles were trumped by the tenderness and intensity of their friendship. Rabban Gamliel opens a window of fresh air to flexibility in one’s relationship with tradition. Perhaps in reality it’s a reflection of time before rigidity set in.

Our third example, however, seems to suggest a different direction: Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel rejects the Sages’ permission to a groom to choose whether or not to recite Shema on his wedding night; he appears to view it as hubris to believe you have the kavanah for Shema on such an occasion. The Gemara on 17b discusses Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel’s viewpoint. The question is raised: if Shimon is worried about the appearance of haughtiness, does this imply the Rabbis are not? They introduce another mishnah, Pesachim 4:5, in which we are told that the Rabbis taught that where people normally work on Tisha B’Av (the date in the calendar on which Jews commemorate and mourn the destruction of the First and Second Temples), one may work; where it is not the custom to work, one need not work. However, Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel says a person should always act like a Torah scholar (and hence abstain from work). Does this not make one appear haughty? Is this not in contradiction to our mishnah above on Berakhot 16b? The Gemara concludes that no contradiction exists because in the first case (Berakhot) the brideroom holds himself out as different from others. In the second case (Pesachim) we can assume that there are many others who are not working, so abstaining from work on Tisha B’Av does have the appearance of haughtiness.

We began in Baba Metzia with a question about prayers that begin “May it be Your will…” and that led us to Berakhot 16-17 which is replete with examples. The mishnah that inspires these prayers, or calls them into the Talmud, sets a tone of flexibility and personal practice. The prayers themselves are deeply personal, individual prayers. These aspects of our tradition – flexibility in practice and personal prayer not connected to fixed liturgy – is set in the beginning, but not nearly as emphasized today as they deserve to be.

Berakhot 16 and 17 record some beautiful prayers, a few of which have been incorporated into our liturgy, and others that are worthy of attention. I’ll share several with you next time. You might like to use them.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman