"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

GUARDIANSHIP: PRACTICAL AND SPIRITUAL – BABA METZIA 38A

When studying long legal sections of gemara I sometimes feel the spiritual core of the teaching is missing. This is not to dismiss or denigrate the legal portions. The extended discussions about returning lost objects or caring for goods left in your care have revealed important aspects of these seemingly mundane transactions.

Our current study in Baba Metzia concerns the issue of guardianship, the responsibility of a guardian to care for perishable goods entrusted to him. A midrash on Parshat Netzavim seems to parallel our current passage. I wonder if the midrashic author might have had our passage in mind as he created his parable. I fell that it adds a spiritual dimension to the legal passages we are studying. See what you think.

Our mishna asks how a guardian, one who is appointed to oversee someone else’s goods, may deal with depreciation, specifically a product that might deteriorate quickly.

“When one deposits fruit (or other perishables) with his fellow, even if they are rotting, the guardian may not sell them. Rabban Shimon ben Gamiliel says: He should sell them before a court because he is considered as one who is returning a lost object to its owner. (Baba Metzia 38a)

The two opinions are not hard to understand. Rav Kahana offers a straight forward explanation in the gemara: “owners prefer their own goods more than nine measures of someone elses.” Presumably the owners understand that their product is subject to depreciation, fruit may rot or vermin may eat at it, and would have given instructions if they wanted the guardian to do more than watch over it. The task is simply to protect the product. Rabban Shimon ben Gamiliel, by contrast, believes the guardian is obliged to proactively protect the value of the goods under his supervision. If the guardian needs to sell the goods in order to preserve their value, the court serves to protect the interests of both the owner and the guardian.

At the end of Moses’ closing speech to the people he entrusts the Torah into their care. He reminds the people that if they listen to God’s voice, as heard in the Torah, then

the Lord your God will make you abundantly prosperous in every work of your hand, in the fruit of your body, and in the fruit of your cattle, and in the fruit of your land, for good; for the Lord will again rejoice over you for good, as he rejoiced over your fathers. (Deuteronomy 30:9)

The text goes on to reassure the people that “this commandment which I command you this day, is not hidden from you, nor is it far off.” (Deuteronomy 30:11)

The Midrash wonders about this commandment which is entrusted to the people. It is, to highlight the parallel with our mishnah, the product (Torah) that is deposited with the guardian (the people) and for which they are responsible to return it in good condition. The midrash underscores the fragile nature of Torah by saying: were it not for the Torah the world would have already reverted to chaos.

Here is the full passage (Deuteronomy Rabba 5:5)

FOR THIS COMMANDMENT: What commandment is this? The sages say, it is hard [to talk about because the stakes are so high].
To what may this be compared: A king had a precious stone which he entrusted to his friend. He said, Please take care and guard it properly. If you lose it you do not have the ability to repay me, nor do I have another like it. You will have sinned against me and against yourself. Act to our mutual benefit and guard it well.
Similarly Moses said to Israel, If you guard the Torah you will act for the benefit of yourselves and for me.

The midrash parallels the mishna. God has deposited the Torah, a precious and fragile product, with the people. If the Torah is not cared for the world will depreciate and return to tohu va-vohu, chaos, and will be worthless. It is the responsibility of the guardian (the Jews) to assure the quality and value of the goods and to return them to the Owner in good condition.

Is there anything to be learned from the parallel of these two passages? On the simplest level, it reminds me that there is a spiritual lining to these legal discussions. The straightforward transaction of one person entrusting another with their goods involves trust, honesty, reliability and good judgment. The legal discussion relies on the middot, the ethical qualities of the owner and the guardian. Torah teaches that these middot are spiritual qualities, developed through a life of Torah.

This parallel reinforces the idea of the covenant between Israel and God as a legal agreement, one based on mutual obligations. God gave us the Torah knowing the stakes were high. The fate of the cosmos hangs in the balance. If we are unreliable guardians, chaos will reign. If we are faithful guardians, we will all prosper. The Torah is not merely a spiritual idea or a personal practice, but a precious trust that is entwined with the whole of Creation.

This seems an appropriate topic as we approach Rosh HaShannah, the birthday of the universe. Over these Days of Awe we will renew our vows with God, return through teshuva, repentance, to fulfill our part of the bargain. My we be steadfast guardians for our good and the good of all.

L’shanna Tova Tikateyvun – May all of our readers be blessed with a good year.

© 2010, Rabbi Louis A. Rieser

The Ins and Outs of "Must" and "May" / Baba Metzia 37-38

The Talmud’s concern about lost articles, and our responsibility to care for lost articles we acquire until the rightful owner can be found, as well as its discussion of the rights and duties of a bailee caring for someone else’s property, cross paths on daf 37b – 38b thanks to the view of Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel.

We begin with the mishnah on 37b:
One who deposits fruit with his friend [for safe keeping], even if [the fruit] is beginning to rot, he may not touch it. Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel says: he sells it [the fruit] by the authority of a court because he is like someone who is returning a lost item to its owners.

The anonymous opinion says that I may not do anything with produce left in my care, even if it is rotting and will soon become utterly worthless. It’s not mine to use, eat, sell, or touch. I am just the bailee. Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel, however, views the situation in light of what Talmud says about lost articles: the value of the fruit is about to take a drastic nosedive. Therefore, I should obtain permission from a court to sell the fruit before it loses all value and thereby salvage something for the owner. When the owner returns, I can hand him the money from the sale of his fruit. Presumably, he will pleased that his fruit did not come to a total loss. Or will he?

Two defenses of the anonymous opinion are raised immediately in the gemara The first addresses the assumption just articulated. Rav Kahana tells us, “a person prefers a kav [a kav is a volume measure equivalent to 1.4 liters] of his own to nine kabim of someone else’s.” Hyperbole aside, the point is that most people would prefer the fruit they had grown and harvested, intact, to anyone’s else. I can understand this with regard to clothing, jewelry, cooking utensils, or hand-made items, but fruit? Really? Fruit is entirely fungible. And rotting fruit? The second defense of the stam (anonymous) opinion is ascribed to Rav Nachman bar Yitzhak, who tells us that the owner of the fruit might have designated it as terumah or ma’aser, without the bailee being aware. Terumah and ma’aser are tithes on produce grown in the Land of Israel. They were given to the priests, and until separated from the rest of the crop, the owner could not eat the rest of the produce he had harvested. Once designated for the priests, terumah and ma’aser became hekdesh (consecrated); this means that were the bailee to eat or sell them, he would be committing an act of me’ilah (misappropriation of Temple property). Rav Nachman tells us that the bailee may not sell the fruit because then he would be committing me’ilah.

The gemara explores the situation by raising, and analyzing, several objections. On daf 38, the gemara introduces a baraita that tell us:

One who deposits fruit with his friend and it rots, or wine and it turns sour, or oil and it becomes rancid, or honey and it crystallizes, [the bailee] may not touch it; these are the words of Rabbi Meir. But the Sages say: he makes a remedy for them [the spoiling objects] and sells them on the authority of a court. And when he sells them, he must sell them to others, and may not sell them to himself…

We then find this assertion:

Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel says: he sells them [the fruit] [by the authority of] a court because he is like one who returns a lost article to its owners. It was said: Rabbi Abba the son of R. Yaakov said in the name of Rabbi Yochanan: the halakhah follows Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel. And Rava in the name of Rav Nachman said: the halakhah follows the Sages.

What is the difference between Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel’s opinion in the mishnah (on 37b) and again in the baraita above, and the Sages’ opinion as expressed in the baraita quoted on 38b? There are appears to be two differences:

1. Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel considers selling the fruit an obligation, while the Sages give the bailee permission to sell the rotting fruit, but do not require him to do so.
2. When Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel justifies this obligation by treating the rotting fruit as a soon-to-be lost object (monetarily); thus the bailee must salvage some value for the owner. The Sages treat the fruit is merely an item entrusted to the bailee, and hence do not make the bailee responsible for its monetary condition when natural deterioration takes place.

What is at stake here? On the one hand, there are many occasions in this scenario for something to go wrong and resentments to arise. Perhaps the owner will resent the bailee selling his fruit (could it be that Rav Kahana is correct?). Perhaps the bailee will resent the additional burden of running to court for authorization to sell, and then the time and hassle of hauling the fruit to market. After all, all he agreed to do was store the fruit in his basement. Perhaps if the bailee sells the fruit in an effort to limit the financial loss suffered by the owner, the owner may feel that the bailee undersold the fruit and he has been cheated of the profit due him. Rabbi Shimon b. Gamliel’s model opens the door to all these and more.

If Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel’s opinion is accepted as halakhah, the model is lost property, and the bailee must sell the fruit, with all the possible consequences delineated above. If, however, the Sages opinion is accepted as halakhah, the model is that of serving as a bailee, and no further effort is required, though one may choose to exercise sound and kind judgment and seek to limit the financial loss of the owner of the fruit.

In our conversation, Rabbi Rieser offered an interesting and inverse, analogy: The by-laws of his congregation say that a board member who misses three meetings must be removed from the Board and the president fills the vacancy. This sounds draconian, but it is ironically the more lenient and safer approach than the alternative: the president may remove the Board member. First, the president is free to fill the vacancy with the very person who was removed for missing three meetings. Second, if the by-laws were to say that one who misses three meetings may be removed from the Board, this would open the president to suspicion of capriciousness or favoritism. By saying must be removed, the president can hold a confidential conversation with the Board member who has missed three meetings and inquire if there is a problem precluding attendance, and whether this person is still committed to serving on the Board, and then make an appropriate decision without sitting under a cloud of suspicion.

Where the synagogue by-laws create flexibility by stating “must,” the Sages achieve flexibility and avoid the possible problems implicit in selling the rotting fruit by saying “may.”

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

WHO IS YOUR TEACHER – BABA METZIA 33A

Forty years ago I sat in the lobby of the King David Hotel in Jerusalem talking with a man we had met while walking on the street. Ezra was from Philadelphia, had made aliyah, and now lived and taught in the Holy City. We had encountered him a few times and he had acquired a special aura for us because he seemed to appear when least expected. That day the conversation turned to terrorist bombings and questions of responsibility. Ezra pointed toward the entry and commented, “See the doorman. If a bomb were secreted in those bags by the door and exploded, he would get all the blame for not being more attentive. But we are sitting here; we see the bags; we are observing everyone as they come and go. Why would we escape blame? We see as much as he does.”

I had never considered that I bore responsibility in that way. If it were my job, of course. But Ezra was correct; responsibility is not limited to those tasks or times for which we are payed. We are responsible for all that we see and encounter. That day Ezra became my teacher.

Who are your teachers? How did they earn that title? I do not grant that title easily. Not everyone who stands at the head of a classroom achieves that status. They are instructors or facilitators, but a teacher is something more. While we may find our teachers in the classroom, we are as likely to find them on the street, among our friends, or in random encounters.

Henry Adams wrote that a teacher “affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” His insight helps us understand why we are privileged to find only a few teachers in our lifetime. Teachers do more than inform us, they change us. The change may not be obvious. It may not actually occur when we are at that key moment of teaching, but may lie dormant for years. Nonetheless some piece of wisdom passes between us and moves us in powerful ways.

The Mishnah (B. Baba Metzia 33a) gets to a discussion of who qualifies as a teacher through a seemingly odd discussion. “If you should happen to have the opportunity to retrieve an object lost by your father at the same time that you could reclaim one lost by your teacher, whose property should you recover first.” The question strikes at a basic principle. After all, Torah clearly and repeatedly instructs us to honor both father and mother; a command that sits at the center of the Ten Commandments. The Torah does not speak of teachers or rabbis, and certainly does not present them in contrast to parents. So how does the Mishnah come to weigh the relative honor due to parents and teachers?

The mishnah's response contrasts the role played by father and teacher: his father (and mother!) brought him into this world, but his teacher, who taught him wisdom, brings him into the world to come. Our biological birth, they imply, is not the only birth we experience. We enter into worlds within worlds and may, therefore, be birthed multiple times in our life. Our biological genealogy describes only one aspect of our lives. In my book, The Hillel Narratives, I detail Hillel's spiritual genealogy, which includes Moses and Ezra and leads to Akiva and Judah HaNasi. While we know his spiritual genealogy in detail, we know little of his biological background. His teachers and spiritual descendants take precedence over his biological kin.

But what qualifies a person as a teacher? The Gemara offers this range of possibilities:
“His teacher means the one who taught him wisdom, but not the teacher who taught him Bible or Mishnah; these are the words of Rabbi Meir. Rabbi Yehudah says, it means the one from whom he has learned most of his wisdom. Rabbi Yose says, Even if he enlightened his eyes about only one Mishnah, this is his teacher.”

The differences between these three sages offers some interesting reflection on what it means to be a teacher.

Rabbi Meir focuses on the quality of the learning, regardless of the amount. Why are Bible and Mishnah teachers excluded? I suspect because they were recitation type disciplines. You chanted the Bible or repeated the Mishnah to memorize the chapters and verses, but these are not analytical tasks. They do not prepare you for the unpredictable experience of daily life. Wisdom, by contrast, lays a strong foundation on which one can build an holy and honorable life which withstand the unexpected.

Rabbi Judah and Rabbi Yose do not focus on the quality of the material taught, perhaps they have no disagreement with Rabbi Meir. They disagree on whether one can have more than one teacher at a time. Rabbi Yose argues that every person who teaches you even one Mishnah becomes your teacher. You may have one or dozens of teachers. Each may have brought you one step closer to the World to Come, without any one of them having brought you the entire distance. In my own experience I count among my teachers at least one who taught me the meaning of a single letter.

Rabbi Yehudah reserves the title teacher for that one individual who has taught you the majority of your wisdom. This is the position endorsed by the halakhah; that one teacher is known by the title of “Rav Muvhak.” But there is no assurance that you will have only one such rav in your lifetime. The teacher of your youth may be surpassed as you grow older by one who teaches you even greater insights and wisdom. At any given time you will, however, have only one rav, teacher.

Pirke Avot twice counsels one to make (Hebrew, aseh) a teacher for yourself (M. Avot 1:5 and 16). It is an odd choice of words. We are assigned teachers in classrooms, we hire teachers as tutors. We encounter wise people in a variety of settings. But how do we make a teacher for ourself? I believe that the sages of our passage offer possible answers to that puzzle. Rabbi Meir looks to the quality of the teaching, those life skills that give us wisdom and allow us to navigate a confusing world. Rabbi Yose urges us to acknowledge every person who has touched our soul and taught us in a way that impacted our life. And Rabbi Judah bids us to recognize that person who is our guiding light.

Consider those who have affected your life. Who are the people who have been your teachers? In what way have they taught you the intricacies of life? Have you let them know that their teaching, formal or not, has made a difference in your life and that you consider them a teacher? The Sages taught that our teachers deserve high honor. And your teachers deserve your thanks.

© Rabbi Louis Rieser 2010

A hard heart vs. an open hand / Baba Metzia 31b (and Ketubot 67b)

Human dignity is a tricky thing. Respecting and preserving the human dignity of another soul requires us to assess someone else’s sensibilities and sensitivities. We can start with some universal truths (people like to be independent, self-sufficient, and enjoy the respect of others) but precisely what that independence, self-sufficiency, and respect “look like” and “feel like” can range widely from individual to individual. Talmud, in its far-reaching meanderings, often comes back to the sine qua non of human dignity that undergirds all of Jewish thinking and value-making. How far do our obligations extend? Where are the limits drawn?

Baba Metzia jumps into this moving river. I share with you a long passage, Deuteronomy 14:4-11, from which Talmud quotes only verse 8 (bolded below). It is curious that this passage begins with the idea vision of world devoid of poverty, and ends in the reality that poverty will never be entirely expunged from our world. While we hold aloft a vision of the ideal, we must nonetheless live and labor in the world of the real.

In Deuteronomy 15:4-11 we read about the shemittah (sabbatical year). Every seventh year, the land lies unplanted and fallow to renew itself. Debts are forgiven to permit those who have fallen into debt-driven poverty to start anew. Torah expresses the concern that in the waning years of the sabbatical cycle, people might refrain from providing loans to needy people because all loans are canceled in the sabbatical year, and provides this stern warning and exhortation:

There shall be no needy among you – since the Lord your God will bless you in the land that the Lord your God is giving you as a hereditary portion – if only you heed the Lord your God and take care to keep all this Instruction that I enjoin upon you this day. For the Lord your God will bless you as He has promised you: you will extend loans to many nations, but require none yourself; you will dominate many nations, but they will not dominate you. If, however, there is a needy person among you, one of your kinsmen in any of your settlements in the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not harden your heart and shut your hand against your needy kinsman. Rather, you must open your hand and you shall surely lend him sufficient for whatever he needs. Beware lest you harbor the base thought, “The seventh year, the year of remission, is approaching,” so that you are mean to your needy kinsman and give him nothing. He will cry out to the Lord against you, and you will incur guilt. Give to him readily and have no regrets when you do so, for in return, the Lord your God will bless you in all your efforts and in all your undertakings. For there will never cease to be needy ones in your land, which is why I command you: open your hand to the poor and needy kinsman in your land. (Deuteronomy 15:4-11)

Talmud understands verse 8 as the case of a needy person who is loath to accept a handout. Need engendered by poverty can be alleviated by a loan. But what about a more complex case? What if a person is in need, but the need arises because he refuses to expend his own resources on his own care? (The image of Lyzer the Miser in I. B. Singer’s short story, “Lyzer the Miser and Shrewd Todie” comes to mind here. It’s a marvelous story: treat yourself and read it.) Here, the Gemara offers two viewpoints: (1) We are obligated to provide a loan to insure that the individuals basic needs are met; (2) R. Shimon says we have no such obligation; Torah speaks of precisely the case we would expect: someone without financial means to see to his basic needs.

Rather, you must open your hand and lend him sufficient for whatever he needs (Deuteronomy 15:8). I know this only of one [a poor man] who has nothing and does not wish to maintain himself [at your expense; i.e. he does not want to accept charity]. [Concerning this situation] Scripture says, you shall surely lend him sufficient for whatever he needs. Whence do I know it [that I should provide him a loan] if he possesses his own [financial resources] but does not want to maintain himself [at his own cost]? Torah teaches, you shall surely lend him. But according to R. Shimon, who maintained: If he has his own [financial resources] but refuses to maintain himself [with his own resources], we are under no obligation to him, so do we need ta’avitenu [a doubling of the verb]? Torah spoke in the language of human beings. (Baba Metzia 31b)

A far more extensive version of this discussion is found elsewhere in the Talmud, in Ketubot 67b, where the question of how to deal with someone who exhibits “need” but not “poverty” is addressed head-on. The passage is long (though well worth studying!) so I will provide part, and summarize part.

Our Rabbis taught: Sufficient for whatever he needs (Deuteronomy 15:8) [implies] you are commanded to maintain him, but you are not commanded to make him rich; for whatever he needs [includes] even a horse to ride upon and a slave to run before him. It was related about Hillel the Elder that he bought for a certain poor man who was of a good family a horse to ride upon and a slave to run before him. On one occasion he could not find a slave to run before him, so he himself ran before him for three miles.

Goodness! Are they serious? Do the words “for whatever he needs” means that each person defines his own needs and the community must meet them? What if I say I need a swimming pool, or minimally a hot tub in my backyard? Hillel was so sensitive to human dignity that he recognized that one whose fortunes had been severely diminished experienced a diminution of dignity as well, and he felt obligated to compensate, even to the extent of playing the part of a slave. Hyperbole, to be sure, but let us now lose sight of his point: poverty and affluence are, to some extent, relative; what is fixed is the notion of human dignity.

Ketubot 67b continues with a series of examples of Sages who acted on the model of Hillel until we meet Raba, who questions whether we are obligated to provide “fat chicken and aged wine” at the expense of community tzedakah funds. What seems an extravagance is justified by quoting Psalm 145:15, The eyes of all wait for you, and you give them their food in its (his) time, suggesting that God intends for everyone’s needs to be met on a case by case, individual basis. Then we arrive at a discussion of our same verse Deuteronomy 15:8, echoing Baba Metzia 31b:

Our Rabbis taught: You shall surely lend him (Deuteronomy 15:8) refers to a man who has no means and is unwilling to receive his maintenance [from the poor funds] to whom [the allowance] must be given as a loan and then presented to him as a gift. You shall surely lend him refers to a man who has the means and does not wish to maintain himself [at his own expense] to whom [the allowance] is given as a gift and repayment is claimed from his [estate] after his death, according to R. Yehudah. The Sages, however, said: If he has the means and does not wish to maintain himself [at his own expense] no one need feel any concern about him. To what, however, is the text You shall surely lend him to be applied? The Torah speaks in the language of people.

What follows are several anecdotes about Mar ‘Ukba who sought to deliver tzedakah unobtrusively, not always with great success. And then this:

Mar 'Ukba had a poor man in his neighborhood to whom he regularly sent four hundred zuz on the Eve of every Day of Atonement. On one occasion he sent them through his son who came back and said to him, “He does not need [your help].” “What have you seen?” [his father] asked. “I saw that they were spraying old wine before him.” “Is he so delicate?” [the father] said, and, doubling the amount, he sent it back to him.

Perhaps this is the resolution of the dilemma. Surely, the extreme response of Hillel – enslaving himself to meet the needs of an affluent person who fell on hard times – is more than we would expect of anyone, and surely not what the community is obliged to provide. The conversation between Mar ‘Ukba and his son, however, provides another avenue of consideration: those who seem to need more are perhaps more needy in a way we have not considered. Rather than judging, perhaps we can consider them with compassion and mercy, and thereby find the right balance. In all such cases, delicate and difficult decisions must be rendered, but if we approach people from the side of compassion, not only will our decisions be better, but we will feel better about them. And isn’t that what our passage in Deuteronomy was telling us: do not harden your heart and shut your hand against your needy kinsman.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman