Archive for July, 2009

[R. Yochanan ben Zakkai sneaks out of the besieged Jerusalem to meet with Vespasian.]
When he arrived there, he said: “Peace be upon you king. Peace be upon you king.” He said to him: “You are doubly liable for the death penalty. Firstly, I am not the king and you call me the king. Secondly, if I am the king, why did you not come to me earlier? He said to him: “That you said you are not the king, you will become the king….That you said if I am the king, why did you not come to me earlier, the briyoni (the zealots) did not let me.” He said to him: “If there was a barrel of honey with a snake wrapped around it, would we not break the barrel to get rid of the snake.” He (R. Yochanan) was quiet. R, Yosef, and some say R. Akiva, applied the following verse to him: “that turn wise men backward, and make their knowledge foolish” (Yeshayahu 44:25). He should have said to him: “We take tongs, remove the snake, kill it and leave the barrel.” (Gittin 56a-56b)

Vespasian accuses R. Yochanan of two crimes, including R. Yochanan calling him the emperor when he was just a general. Rashi explains that Vespasian thinks R. Yochanan ridicules him. Maharsha understands that the affront is to the current emperor, not to Vespasian. No one but the true monarch deserves such a title.

He also faults R. Yochanan for not coming earlier. When R. Yochahan responds that he simply could not, Vespasian employs a parable about a snake and a barrel of honey. Apparently, he thinks R. Yochanan could have helped breach the wall, enabling the Romans to finish off the biryonim. The answer to this parable seems eminently obvious. Surely, we would prefer to remove the snake without losing any of the honey. We can well understand R. Yosef, or R. Akiva’s complaint that R. Yochanan did not respond in this manner. Why didn’t he?

The verse from Yishayahu indicates an external force making the wise temporarily foolish. Indeed, Maharsha explains that the sins of that generation caused R. Yochanan’s ignorance. Ben Yehoyada provides an alternative approach. R. Yochanan knew this answer quite well but he thought that winning this argument might prove counterproductive. Emperors and major war generals do not always take well to losing a debate and R. Yochanan’s main purpose was to preserve the Jewish people, not to win arguments. This strategy may have enabled R. Yochanan to secure the sages of Yavneh and the dynasty of the patriarchate from Roman clutches.

The example above discusses strategically deciding to not say every argument we have. In fact, a broader list of social situations exists where we might choose the path of discretion. We may be arguing with someone elderly, we may see that our opponent is becoming too angry, or we may simply have more productive things to be doing. Those who place too much importance on the need to win every argument will ignore all other factors while firing away with the totality of their intellectual arsenal. R. Yochanan reminds us that we need not say every debating point that comes to our mind.

In a subsequent section of the same Talmudic page, Abba Chanan and R. Yishmael marvel at the restraint and silence of Hashem who hears the blasphemies of wicked Titus and remains silent. A human king can not deal with a wicked enemy crowing about some success and will feel the need to achieve vengeance immediately. God has the wisdom and restraint to understand that sometimes, one must wait patiently for the right moment.

In a sense, then, R. Yochanan emulates God. The desire to respond immediately to the evil or incorrect words of others is quite reasonable, even admirable. However, wisdom dictates knowing that everything has its time and place.

The Torah (Devarim 18:10-12) prohibits a number of magical practices including divination, necromancy, soothsaying, and contacting the dead. Rambam (Hilchot Avoda Zara 11:16) says that all these practices reflect falsehoods used by pagan religions to win adherents. Ramban (commentary on Devarim) disagrees contending that these magical practices attempt to access authentic forces in God’s universe. However, the Torah prohibits them because Jews are meant to turn directly to God rather than these intermediary forces.

I would like to respond to a number of arguments offered against Rambam’s position. Critics of Rambam point out that the sorcerers of Egypt seem able to produce magical results with snakes and blood. The efficacy of this proof depends upon the translation of one biblical word. The Torah says that the magicians did so “bi’lahatehem” (Shemot 7:11). What does this unusual word mean? Rashi interprets it to mean “with their incantations.” Ibn Ezra connects this word to the “lahat ha’cherev,” the flaming sword of Bereishit 3:24. He explains that the Egyptian wizards perform their tricks with the flash of light involved in slight of hand maneuvers. They do not truly change nature; they simply misdirect the attention of their audience.

Ibn Ezra (Vayikra 19:31) mentions another potential proof against the rationalist viewpoint. If these things represent simple foolishness, would the Torah bother prohibiting them? His answer is worth quoting. “I say the opposite of their words. Scripture does not prohibit truth, only falsehood.” According to Ibn Ezra, the need to curtail silly and phony practices serves as sufficient grounds for Torah prohibitions.

A third argument appears in the responsa of R. David Ibn Zimra (Teshuva 1694). He notes that the Torah proscribes harsh punishments, including the death penalty and lashes, for some of these magical practices. Would the Torah react so harshly towards simple foolishness? People do many stupid things in life but we do not usually view them as deserving of death as a result. Rambam would answer that not all foolish acts are equal. Some reflect and create the sense of other forces in the universe and detract from pure monotheism. Such actions derive much harsher treatment than mere silliness.

When Ramban affirms the existence of these forces, this does not mean that he affirms the authenticity of every tarot card reader or crystal ball gazer. Unfortunately, unscrupulous people will always try to make a buck off those desperately looking for privileged information or magical security. These trends exist in the Orthodox Jewish orbit as well. Rather than look for magical guarantees, let us focus our material and spiritual resources to the things that truly matter: Torah study compassion, kindness, mitzvot, and prayer.

This shiur, on Eicha, chapter 5, was recorded at The Women’s Beit Midrash of Efrat.
 
Source Sheet

Source Sheet

It is interesting to note that Medieval classics like the Rokeach, Shiblei HaLeket, Kolbo and Abudarham are works that are referenced more than they are learned. Only when one wants to explore a topic are these books revealed in greater detail. I was asked to give a class on the Siddur to which I reluctantly agreed. My hesitation came from feeling that this once a week class would require much thought and preparation for a topic I regarded as less than exciting. Boy, was I wrong!

Every week I’ve been exposed to these early Medieval Halachic authorities who instead of writing codes, wrote what amounts to brief essays on Kaddish, Pesukei D’zimra, and Baruch. The Talmud has pithy aphorisms in random places that give insight into the meaning of many of these prayers, but these writers extend what have become popular quotations with questions that rarely occur to those who routinely and somewhat mindlessly utter their prayers each day. I count myself among them. Prayer is a time for declaration, not analysis, but analysis of prayer is an appropriate enterprise for learning–I, like many, never got around to doing it.

Last night I lifted a couple of paragraphs from Rav David Abudarham’s classic 14th Century work on liturgy. He wrote this book with the following purpose in mind:

“the customs connected with prayer have become varied from one country to another, and most of the people do not understand the words of the prayers, nor do they know the correct ritual procedures and the reasons for them.”

He poses the following question: Why is it that most Brachot begin by addressing God in the second person and end by referring to Him in the third person. We begin with Baruch Ata (Blessed are You) and we end by saying Borei Peri Hagafen (the one who created the fruit of the vine). Why doesn’t it say, “that You created the vine.

He explains that this is reflective of how we experience God which is primarily through His actions. Because we believe all things come from Him and no other entity, because we believe this, we demonstrate this by addressing God as an intimate. We cannot, however, presume to know God’s essence, so that when we attribute what He has made, we switch to the third person. For aspects of God are both present and hidden. This is also reflected in human beings. Our actions are revealed, but the essence of our heart remains hidden within us. Whereas our deeds are connected to God only through mitzvot, our hearts, our thoughts have the potential to be continuously connected to the Holy One.

He also clears up the issue of what it means to say Baruch Atah. We are not blessing God–How would that make sense anyway? We are acknowledging that God is the source of all blessing. Baruch Atah means “You are the source of blessing”, and then the rest of the Bracha makes sense…”King of the universe, who created the fruit of the vine.”

Sometimes one has to be pushed to learn something that he should have known a long time ago.