Author Archive

R. Yohanan said in the name of R. Yossi: “From where do we know that God prays? As it says ‘I will bring them to my holy mountain, and I will cause them to rejoice in beit tefilati’ (Yeshayahu 56:7). It does not say “house of your prayer” but rather “house of my prayer.” From here we see that God prays.”

What does He pray? R. Zutra bar Tuvia said in the name of Rav: “May it be my will that my mercy conquer my anger, my mercy be revealed in my attributes, I treat my children with the attribute of compassion, and I go for them beyond the bounds of strict justice.” (Berachot 7a)

Logic plus knowledge of rabbinic literature enables us to determine when to understand aggadot in a non - literal fashion and this gemara certainly qualifies as a candidate for such a reading. The rabbis did not believe in another force controlling the universe that God might turn to in prayer. Indeed, the wording of God’s prayer refers only to his own will and not to the decisions of some other deity. If so, why does this gemara portray God in prayer?

One of the Gaonim (cited by Rashba in the Ein Yaakov) explains that God is modeling prayer for humanity. Another gemara says that God wraps himself in a talit like a chazzan and teaches Moshe how to recite the thirteen attributes of mercy in times of trouble (Rosh Hashana 17b). According to the Gaon, God teaches a similar lesson of how to pray in our gemara. Rashba thinks that this interpretation does not fit the simple reading of the gemara.

Rashba offers an alternative reading. He points out that God created a world in which human freedom impacts on how He will govern the world. Our freely chosen acts of good and evil influence the workings of Divine providence. This gemara gives expression to the idea that God, to some degree, depends upon our actions. In that sense, God prays for what He wants to occur so that He can run the world as He truly wants to.

I believe the strongest reading of this gemara appears in Maharal’s Be’er Hagola. This is a crucial work for anyone interested in aggadic interpretation. In this work, Maharal defends the sages from seven different critiques including the question of difficult aggadot. In the fourth section that addresses problematic aggadot regarding God, Maharal explains our gemara.

He argues that the word “tefila” comes from the root “p-l-l” which means to think as when Yaakov says to Yosef “re’oh fanecha lo falalti” (“I did not think that I would see your face again”). Judges are called “pelilim” because they think through their decisions. Human prayer reflects the innermost thoughts and desires of each person. In the same way, God’s prayer is a window into the essence of the Divine will. What does God truly want? He wants the scenario to be such that he can release his compassionate attributes to the benefit of his children. In that sense, the image of God praying powerfully conveys the reality of the divine will.

For Maharal, the notion of divine will separates our understanding of God from some philosophic conceptions that think of God as a being of necessity to the extent where divine will plays no role. Our God wants to shower humanity with his benevolence.

Does Judaism believe in a stable, natural order or is nature a misleading illusion because, in truth, God directs every moment? Medievals and moderns debate this point and the argument can have serious implications. Does human effort and initiative working within the natural order truly solve problems? Who protects the state of Israel - kollel students or those serving in the army? Is becoming a doctor a wonderful way to help people or just another profession? Assumptions regarding the natural order can impact on our response to all of these questions.

Some passages of Ramban have led many to think that he denied the natural order altogether. In his commentary on the Torah (Shemot 13:16), Ramban writes that “A person has no portion in the Torah of Moshe Rabbenu until he believes that all our happenings are miracles; they have no nature or customary order of the world.” This passage strongly implies a denial of nature and Ramban is often cited in such a fashion.

In an excellent article (“Miracles and The Natural Order in Nahmanides,” Rabbi Moses Nahmanides: Explorations in His Religious and Literary Virtuosity ed. Isadore Twersky, Cambridge, 1983), David Begrer proves the error of this standard understanding of Ramban. In several passages, Ramban limits intensive providence to the truly righteous. The rest of humanity is left to the accidents of nature.

A verse in Bereishit (18:19) says that God “knew Avraham.” Ramban suggests that “knowledge” here refers to providence. Ramban explains that whereas most people are left to accidents, the pious receive God’s careful attention to know them and guard them as individuals. As we say every Shabbat morning, “Behold, God’s eye is on those that fear him” (Tehillim 33:19).

Ramban’s famous discussion of the role of human medicine (see his commentary on Vayikra 26:11) says that in an ideal universe, sickness would inspire repentance and there would be no need for doctors. However, people chose to consult doctors and “God left them to the accidents of nature.”

Someone might argue that individuals are subject to nature but that the Jewish collective knows only constant providence. Dr. Berger refutes that reading based on Ramban’s commentary to Iyyov (36:7). There, Ramban asserts that most people belong to the group subject to the natural order. He utilizes this point to explain why the Torah treats warfare as a human endeavor that requires strategy and planning. The wars of the Jewish people certainly consist of the actions of the Jewish collective and yet, Ramban writes of working within the natural order because the people’s religious stature does not merit acute providence.

How do we reconcile all of the above with the passage from his commentary on Shemot? Dr. Berger provides an explanation. “All things that happen to us in the context of reward and punishments are miracles (p. 127).” Ramban is not denying the natural order but rather arguing that that order plays no role in the working out of divine justice. God dispenses reward and punishment in a purely miraculous fashion. At the same time, the natural order exists and most individuals find themselves unworthy of the kind of providence that lifts them beyond its limitations.

I argued in the first paragraph that this question can have serious repercussions. If so, Dr. Berger has performed an important service in clarifying Ramban’s true position.

The Rabbis taught: Shimon haPekoli arranged the eighteen blessings [of the amida] before Rabban Gamliel at Yavne. R. Gamliel said to them: “Is there anyone who knows how to compose a blessing about the heretics [the nineteenth blessing, added to the amida at a later date]?” Shmuel haKatan got up and composed it. The next year, he forgot it and tried to remember it for two or three hours and they did not remove him [from leading the community as the Chazan]. (Berachot 28b)

R. Gamliel’s search for the right person to compose a blessing asking for the destruction of certain heretics or enemies indicates a sense of difficulty with this new prayer. Apparently, Shmuel haKatan was a person with the character and ability to resolve the difficulty. What was bothering R. Gamliel and how did Shmuel haKatan alleviate the problem?

R. Yaakov Reisher (Iyyun Yaakov in the Ein Yaakov) suggests that the wording for the amida’s blessings must reflect very precise intent and not everyone has the requisite knowledge and sensitivity to language to compose these blessings. This explains the need for the right person but does not explain why this blessing in particular caused a difficulty. Was it simply because rabbinic literary talent was harder to come by later in history or was there something complicated about this specific blessing?

Three different aharonim offer the same answer albeit with different nuances. I was not able to look up one of the three because the impressive library near my house does not have the relevant volume of haMedrash vehaMa’aseh of R. Yehezkel Lifschutz. However, I can cite the presentations of R. Kook and R. Soloveitchik. Both point out that our essential requests from God in prayer are full of compassion and love. On behalf of the community, we ask for wisdom, health, sustenance, and the ingathering of the exiles. Composing such blessings poses less of a challenge.

The blessing added to the amida, on the other hand, asks God to destroy our enemies. Praying for another’s destruction raises new issues. R. Kook contends that such a blessing must come from a pure heart motivated by the desire to better the world. If instead, this blessing comes from a place of natural enmity towards enemies, it runs the risk of getting out of hand. Shmuel haKatan was the perfect choice because, as we know from Avot 4:19, the verse “When your enemy falls, do not rejoice” was his most common message. Only he could compose this blessing out of noble motivations and not with the desire for personal vindication over his enemies. [R. Kook’s approach appears both in his Ein Ayah on Berachot and in his commentary on the siddur, Olat Ra’aya]

R. Soloveitchik echoes this idea in his eulogy for R. Hayyim Heller (entitled “Pleitat Sofrehem” in Divrei Hagut ve’Ha’arakha). He adds some historical perspective. Even when the Sadducees gained significant influence among the priesthood during the second temple period, the sages did not institute a blessing calling for destruction. They counted on wicked or problematic ideologies to self –destruct and continued to focus their energies on positive goals. After the destruction of the second temple, some enemies of authentic Judaism threatened the entire edifice of Judaism. Suddenly, compassion itself demanded the desire for the enemies’ devastation. Composing this blessing proved a challenge that only Shmuel haKatan could meet.

Why did Shmuel haKatan struggle the following year? R. Kook says that it was not because of a difficulty in remembering the words but rather because he struggled to maintain the same purity of heart in facing enemies that he had achieved when he first wrote the words of this blessing.

Standing for ideals sometimes demands that we forcefully fight against other groups and even seek their destruction. Yet these moments call for far greater caution and carry far thornier dangers than situations where we emphasize compassion and love.

[For those curious why Shmuel’s extended pause did not constitute a hefsek (interruption) of the amida, see Pri Hadash Orah Chayyim 65:1 and Pnei Yehishua on Berachot]

How significant are gematriyot, halachic and aggadic derivations based on the numerical value of Hebrew words? Logically, we would not grant them much weight. After all, we could play with numerical values to support all kinds of strange conclusions. On the other hand, the Talmud utilizes gematriyot to establish Jewish law. One source derives the number of prohibited categories of work on the Sabbath from a gematriya (Shabbat 97b). Another source employs gematriya to prove that the assumed duration for an unspecified period of nezirut is thirty days (Nazir 5a). If they impact on halacha, gematriyot seem to truly matter.

Some of our greatest rishonim downplayed the significance of gematriyot. Rambam argued that we know the standard duration of nezirut from a received tradition and the numerical derivation is merely an asmachta, a mnemonic device to enable easy recall of the law (Hilchot Nezirut 3:2, commentary on the Mishnah Nazir 1:3). Rabbenu Asher (cited in the Shitah Mekubezet Nazir 5a) agrees with Rambam, pointing out that gematriya does not appear on the list of the thirteen hermeneutical principles for deriving halacha from biblical verses. Apparently, it is not an appropriate method for doing so.

This idea influences the reading of the last mishna in the third chapter of Avot. That mishna contrasts calculations regarding nidda and bird offerings that are real halacha with tekufot and gematriyot that are appetizers or desserts accompanying the main course of wisdom. Meiri suggests that “gematriyot” here refers to general mathematics. According to his reading, the mishna teaches that other wisdoms have value but they are secondary to the main course of Torah. R. Shimon ben Zema Duran (Magen Avot) says that the term “gematriyot” in this mishna means specifically the numerical usage of Hebrew words. He explains this mishna in accordance with Rambam’s view of gematriyot. They are only memory aids and not authentic sources of Jewish law; therefore, they are not the main course of Torah. For R. Duran, the mishna contrasts gematriyot which are less important with calculations about a women’s menstrual cycle which are part of essential halacha.

Ramban penned a polemical work entitled Sefer haGeulah (it appears in the first volume of C. Chavel’s Kitvei haRamban) that defends the Jewish conception of redemption and the end of days. In the first section, he states that we have no right to initiate our own gematriyot to derive principles. Certain gematriyot were handed down at Sinai to help Jews remember laws they has learned orally. Ramban compares them to the hermeneutical principle called gezera shava whose usage also depends upon received tradition. While Ramban does trace some gematriyot back to Sinai, he denies the significance of any later creative efforts using such calculations.
Rabbis who use gematriyot to enliven their sermons and speeches can continue to do so. Yet, they and their community should understand the difference between playing with numbers and authentic Torah.

And why did the Torah say that circumcision is on the eighth day? So that the parents not be unhappy [as they are forbidden to each other for seven days after birth] while everyone else is happy. It was taught: R. Meir said: “Why did the Torah say that the nidda status remains for seven days? Because the husband becomes accustomed to his wife and turns less interested. The Torah said ‘Let her be forbidden to him for seven days so that she will be as precious to her husband as a bride entering the wedding canopy.’” (Nidda 31b)

Should Jews offer rationales for God’s commandments? Some recommend against it, fearful of the possibility that such attempts may lead people to drop halachic observance, either because they will find the reasons unconvincing or because they will think that a particular reason does not apply to their individual situation. Others contend that finding such reasons enables more meaningful mizva performance and teaches us about the Torah’s meta-values. In agreement with this second position, R. Shimshon Raphael Hirsch cites many examples where Chazal themselves speculated about the reasons for commandments (see his commentary on Devarim 24:7).

In a well known Talmudic passage, R. Yehuda and R. Shimon debate whether or not we are darshinan ta’ama de’kra (Sanhedrin 21a). R. Hirsch contends that these rabbis only argue about the attempt to derive halachot from their understanding of the reasons for the commandments. All agree that we can make suggestions in a purely theoretical manner. Indeed, R. Hirsch dedicated significant literary efforts to this enterprise.

When the gemara asks why we circumcise on day eight, it is not obvious that it had an alternative day in mind. Rashi explains that the gemara wondered why we do not circumcise on day seven. [For another understanding of the question, see Torah Temima Vayikra 12:3] What makes day seven more logical than day eight? R. Yaakov Ettlinger (Aruch laNer) explains Rashi based on a midrash which says that every baby boy must experience a Shabbat before he can enter the covenant of circumcision. This midrash highlights the centrality of Shabbat for our covenant. R. Ettlinger points out that circumcision on day seven suffices to ensure the baby experiences at least some of Shabbat. Therefore, Rashi assumes that day seven was the first logical choice.

Note that R. Ettlinger’s reading leads us to conclude that several reasons play a role in the choice of day for a brit mila. Perhaps waiting for a Shabbat moved the mizva to day seven and the gemara in Nidda’s additional reason moved it further to day eight. Thus, these two rabbinic sources suggest the possibility of multiple factors influencing the details selected for mizvot.

What ideas were Chazal promoting in these suggested reasons? Both reasons mentioned in Nidda 31b reveal an endorsement of the physical intimate aspect of marriage. While the rabbis were poles removed from the modern apostles of sexual liberation, they were perhaps equally distant from a view that rejects all sexuality as corrupt and evil. Thus, this gemara offers a suggested rationale for the halachic period of separation for married couples and simultaneously makes an important value judgment about the Jewish concept of a sanctified union.

In a well known Talmudic story, the sages follow the rabbinic majority and ignore miracles initiated by R. Eliezer to support his halachic position. Even when a heavenly voice sides with R. Eliezer, R. Yehoshua declares that “the Torah is not in heaven” and the majority position prevails (Bava Mezia 59b). The commentators ponder whether the sages truly upheld a ruling they knew to be false. Tosafot suggest that the heavenly voice only spoke to honor R. Eliezer. In other words, the supporting signs and wonders do not necessarily indicate that R. Eliezer was right and the sages did not stick with an obviously erroneous ruling. Others contend that the Jewish legal system is based on rabbinic reasoning and interpretation, not on prophetic voices, and that the integrity of the system demands adhering to the results of the right procedure even when one knows that it led to the incorrect answer.

Rabbenu Nissim (RaN) takes this second position. He apparently felt quite strongly about this idea as he discusses it in three different derashot (3, 7 and 11). He adds a sharp question on his own position that requires a brief introduction based on a different medieval Jewish theological text.

Theologians debate whether God’s actions, both the creation of the world and the giving of commandments, reflect divine will or divine wisdom. Wise actions successfully bring about certain goals whereas acts of will need no further justification. Obviously, the whole enterprise of finding reasons for the commandments (ta’amei hamizvot) only gets off the ground if we take the divine wisdom position. For that reason, Rambam prefaces his lengthy discussion of the reasons for the commandments with a forceful endorsement of the divine wisdom position, citing philosophic and religious reasons for his opinion. Verses such as: “How great are your works O God. You made them all in wisdom” (Tehillim 104:24) support his position. Rambam also addresses verses that conceivably support the opposition including “every thing He wants, God does” (Tehillim 135:6). He cogently argues that those verses say nothing about the reasons for divine actions. Rather, they state that nothing can stop God from fulfilling what He sets out to do (Moreh Nevukhim 3:25).

Our two theological questions intersect in a passage of Rabbenu Nissim. If we say that the commandments simply reflect God’s will and God commanded us to follow the interpretations of our sages, then everything works well. No spiritual or physical harm can come from this. If on the other hand, each mizva promotes particular goals, the getting the details wrong could interfere with the promotion of those goals. From that perspective, how could the sages knowingly adhere to a ruling which does not fulfill what God intended when He commanded that mizva? Should we then reject Rambam’s view regarding mizvot reflecting divine wisdom? Yet R. Nissim insists that Rambam is correct (derasha 11).

R. Nissim offers two solutions. He concedes that a given rabbinic ruling might actually lead away from the goals God desires. Nonetheless, it is worthwhile to live with those few instances in order to have a system of authority with good people making the decisions rather than a halachic free for all of anarchy. According to this answer an individual ruling may do more harm than good but from the perspective of the entire legal system, the good far outweighs the harm. Alternatively, RaN suggests that the very act of listening to the sages generates positive impact on human character. If so, even the individual wrong ruling itself generates something positive and cannot be termed harmful.

Either way, important ideas emerge. Ran does not assume that rabbinic decisions are infallible or that no harm can come from incorrect decision. At the same time, he maintains a strong sense of faith in the sages, an understanding of the need for rabbinic authority, and a confidence in the quality of the system. His position can help situate us between two problematic poles – those who reject any notion of rabbinic authority and those who can not imagine rabbis in error.

Reish Lakish sold himself to the Ludae [Rashi Shabbat 10a says that they were cannibals. Marcus Jastrow says that they were people hiring men for gladiatorial contests]. He took with him a sack and a stone. He said (to himself): “I know that on a person’s last day (before they kill him), they grant him whatever he wishes so that his blood will be atoned for.” On his last day, they said: What would you like.” He said: “I want to tie you up and sit you down and give each one of you a sack and a half (i.e. hit them with the sack).” He tied them up and sat them down. He hit each one of them and their spirit departed. They gnashed their teeth. He said: “Are you smiling at me.” I still have another half to give you.” He killed them all. (Gittin 47a)

Students of aggada struggle with aggadot that appear bizarre or seem to fly in the face of Jewish ideals and the story above fits that description. Why does Reish Lakish risk his life by selling himself to such a band? Does he know that his plan will work? Does he have the right to kill them all? Is it likely that the cannibals or ruffians will allow themselves to be tied up to fulfill his last request? What purpose does the Talmud have in the telling of this story?

Tosafot take this story at face value. Basing themselves on the Talmudic story that Reish Lakish led a band of thieves before adopting a life of Torah (Bava Mezia 84a), Tosafot suggest that this episode occurred in Reish Lakish’s earlier period. A Talmudic scholar would not enter such a situation but a bandit might. We still wonder about the point of the tale.

Maharal focuses on the psychology of granting a last request. Why do executioners grant their victims this privilege? One could view it as a brief humanitarian impulse. Rashi (whose interpretation is reflected in our translation above) says that they want to achieve atonement and assuage their guilt. Maharal sees it as much more cunning. They want the victim to relax so that they can murder him easily. Yet this story presumably instructs us beyond a study of the motivation for last requests.

Many rabbinic luminaries write abut the dangers in overly literal interpretation of aggadot. Rambam (introduction to Perek haHelek) criticizes both those that scorn our sages’ aggadic words and those that think they should be taken literally. The two groups share a literal reading and they each degrade rabbinic honor. Rambam endorses a small group of people who know how to understand aggadot allegorically. Presumably, Rambam would insist on a non literal interpretation of our story.

R. Moshe Sofer (Chatam Sofer) offers such a reading in his commentary on Gittin. As background, he cites a gemara in Berachot (5a).

A man should always incite the good impulse to fight against the evil impulse… If he subdues it, well and good; if not, let him study the Torah… If not, let him recite keriat shema…If not, let him remind himself of the day of death.

R. Sofer argues that mentioning of the day of death does not guarantee success. After all, Epicureans view human mortality as a reason to “eat and drink for tomorrow we may die.” Actually, it is only the earlier attempts utilizing Torah and shema that ready a person enabling the fear of death to have the desired impact.

Many people let their material desires overwhelm them and consume their flesh. The cannibals represent that aspect of humanity. Reish Lakish’s arsenal includes a blow and half. The full blow is Torah and keriat shema. The less potent half is remembering the day of death. His first blow knocks out the cannibals because the truly righteous can conquer temptation without resorting to dramatic mention of human finitude.

I can not say with confidence that the gemara clearly refers to this moral but I can endorse the message with great enthusiasm. Preachers always face the temptation to use death or fire and brimstone to motivate the masses. We should avoid this approach because it fails to awaken mankind’s nobler impulses. Moreover, it loses effectiveness when not accompanied by a modicum of idealism forged by study of Torah and recital of shema.

Why does an omniscient God who already knows the results test mankind? A comprehensive approach to this question demands looking at the six times the term “nissayon” appears in Chumash. Biblical tests include the akeda (Bereishit 22:1), the manna (Shemot 16:4, Devarim 8:16), the revelation at Sinai (Shemot 20:16), the forty years in the desert (Devarim 8:2), and false prophets (Devarim 13:4). Space limitations prevent a sweeping study analyzing each example and we will rely on our rishonim, who themselves surveyed all the evidence, for insight.

Rambam (Moreh Nevuchim 3:24) explains that tests are meant to educate others. If other nations see that the Jewish people resist a false prophet’s call to worship idols even when he produces a sign, then they learn something about our dedication to monotheism. The example of the manna teaches us that God provides for those who serve him. The akeda imparts two lessons. It reveals that love and reverence for God can motivate a religious person to fulfill excruciatingly difficult obligations. It also indicates the assurance that prophets have regarding the authenticity of their message. Had Avraham harbored any doubts about the truth of the prophecy, he surely would not have embarked on such a mission.

Ramban (Bereishit 22:1) offers an alternative explanation. For Ramban, the person undergoing the test benefits because the challenge actualizes goodness that was only raw potential before the test. Trials and tribulations often encourage personality growth and make the person who successfully navigates those difficulties worthy of greater reward. This differs from Rambam who sees the beneficiaries of divine tests as other people, either those watching at the time of the test or those reading about it later in history.

I have taught this debate on a number of occasions but recently realized a new angle on this argument. Perhaps it would be a mistake to say that we must follow either Rambam or Ramban’s understanding of divine tests. Rabbenu Nissim (Derashot haRan derasha 6) sees the two views as complimentary. A divine test can benefit either the community or the person undergoing the test. No need exists to force every test into a single model.

Perhaps Rambam himself would agree. As mentioned above, God describes dependence on manna during forty years in the desert as a test. The Torah says that this test will “do you good at your end” (Devarim 8:16). In the same chapter of Moreh Nevuchim, Rambam explains the benefits the Jewish people received from their extended journey. The scarcity of resources in the desert would help Am Yisrael appreciate the bounty found in the land of Israel. Furthermore, a people hardened by forty years of wandering would prove more courageous on the battlefields awaiting them upon encountering the Canaanite nations. Here, Rambam himself stresses the character growth that tests can bring.

We can broaden this point to all of our attempts to understand divine providence. Such attempts are complicated and quite difficult. We may be tempted to simplify by finding one model and applying it across the board. Rabbenu Nissim informs us that divine providence is too complex to be reduced to a single model. Divine tests sometimes fit one model and at other times, another.

It was taught in the house of R. Anan: “What does it mean ‘the joints of your thighs’ (Shir haShirim 7:2)? Why are words of Torah compared to a thigh? To teach you that just as a thigh is in private, so too the words of Torah are in private.” This is what R. Elazar said: “What does it mean ‘He has told you man what is good and what God demands of you, but to do justly, to love compassion, and to walk humbly with God’ (Micha 6:8)….’to walk humbly with God’ refers to expenses for a funeral or wedding. Is it not a fortiori? For things normally done in public the Torah says ‘walk humbly,’ all the more so for things normally done in private.” (Sukka 49b)

I am probably not the only person who has an instinctive negative reaction to the term “zeniut.” The term has become overly dominant in the education of girls and women and is often narrowly interpreted as referring primarily to questions of sleeve lengths and the like. However, we should not allow poor use of an important concept to ruin that concept. The prophet holds this trait up as one of the three essential commands of God. A look at commentators on the verse in Micha and on the gemara above helps us delineate a crucial religious value of wide ranging implications.

Several biblical commentators assume that the phrase in Micha refers to humility in a person’s relationship with God. Ibn Ezra says that a person should act humbly toward God rather than in a stiff-necked and stubborn fashion. Malbim contrasts humility with unwarranted speculation about God. In either case, the phrase has little to do with attire. Rather, it calls for a modest appreciation of human limitations compared to the glory of God, creator of the universe and giver of the Torah.

R. David Kimhi translates “hazne’a” as privacy more than humility. According to his understanding, the prophet speaks of religious inwardness, including love and reverence for God as well as the affirmation of divine singularity and unity. These demands address the private thoughts and emotions of a person and no outsider other than God knows a person’s inner thought. Micha tells us to insure that our inner world conforms to religious ideals.

Commentaries on the gemara in Sukka add other elements. One interpretation emphasizes not overspending on funerals and weddings. We need to provide adequate respect for the deceased as well as a truly joyous wedding for bride and groom, but we can still exhibit restraint in expenditure. Though Jewish customs and edicts have ended overspending on funerals, the same cannot be said of weddings. When we juxtapose all the important Jewish financial causes desperate for more funding with the lavishness of some of today’s weddings, we should certainly endorse this idea.

R. Ahai Gaon (Sheiltot 3) interprets this gemara to mean that the person who gave a donation towards the funeral or wedding should not feel the need to publicize that he did so. Doing so indicates that this benefactor cares more about fame and receiving credit than about helping the needy. Zeniut includes the ability to engage in charitable acts or other valuable endeavors without others finding out about it.

As mentioned, zeniut appears disproportionally in the teaching of women. All the values we have outlined above apply equally to each gender. Yet perhaps there remains a sense in which women have especially excelled at the last form of zeniut. A classic cartoon shows two women passing a “Men at Work” sign and saying “Only men have the need to announce when they are working.” Indeed, my wife and I both do our share of dishes but only I feel the need to announce my domestic achievements.

All of us, men and women, have much to learn from the ideals of walking humbly before God

Many students wonder about the apparent impracticality of halacha’s criminal justice system. We can only punish transgressors who receive an explicit warning and verbally affirm their understanding of that warning with two valid witnesses reporting on the crime. Such criteria make it almost impossible to ever administer punishment. If we think that punishments deter criminals and help maintain the social order, then the halachic system seems deficient.

Ran offers an important approach in the very beginning of his eleventh derasha. He argues that judges were never meant to maintain social order but rather to bring down the Divine overflow that stems from considerations of pure justice. According to Ran, corporeal punishment can only be justified by an assurance that the criminal understood the implication of his actions. When the Torah says “You shall judge the people with a just judgment” (Devarim 16:18), it not only tells the judges to act with integrity but also expresses the essence of the Jewish judiciary. Principles of justice motivate them rather than pragmatic considerations.

This does not mean that Torah is indifferent to the needs of social order. Ran argues that the king has the power to punish when necessary even if the legal requirements for punishment are lacking. One gemara (Sanhedrin 4a) actually talks about beit din’s ability to punish in order to bolster a society weak in religious character but Ran views this gemara as a response to the absence of monarchy. In the absence of a king, the courts had to don both mantles, trying both to bring down the divine overflow and to keep society running smoothly. Alternatively, Ran suggests that beit din had jurisdiction of extra legal punishments pertaining to mizvot but that the king was in charge of punishments relevant to other societal issues.

A sharp division of responsibility enables the court system to stand for justice without the admixture of pragmatic considerations. However, it also creates the danger of the king misusing his freedom to punish. Ran seems to imagine the king using this power sparingly but it remains unclear how the rest of the polity could enforce this limitation. Ran does mention the need for the king to constantly have with him a sefer Torah as a reminder not to abuse this power.

Ran’s approach opens up new insight into an important biblical story. Many commentators wonder why Shmuel haNavi reacts negatively to the people’s request for a king. The Torah either commands monarchy or, at the very least, sets it up as an option. Why is the prophet so upset? The people say “Give us a king to judge us like all the nations” (I Shmuel 8:5). While many think that “like all the nations” is the problematic phrase, Ran argues that “to judge us” is the problem. The people want only the king’s justice because they care solely about a well running society and not about principles of abstract justice. To this, the prophet objects.

Two verses before the popular request for a king, the book of Shmuel reports that Shmuel’s children were corrupt judges who took bribes. I would like to explain (and here I differ from Ran’s understanding of this episode) that the effectiveness of a message emphasizing the importance of ideals beyond pragmatic considerations depends upon leaders who truly represent models of integrity and decency. Once leaders turn corrupt, the people will naturally restrict their focus to practical goals. Sadly for Shmuel, the behavior of his own sons brought about the very request that so incensed him.

[For further discussion of Ran’s theory, see the excellent article by Warren Zev Harvey entitled “Liberal Democratic Themes in Nissim of Gerona” that appeared in Studies in Medieval Jewish History and Literature Volume 3.]