Aggada

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.

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]

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.

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.

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

The Rabbis taught: “God cries over three things daily: about the one who could study Torah but does not, about the one who cannot study Torah but does, and about the leader who is arrogant towards the community.” (Hagiga 5b)

Rabbenu Hananel interprets God’s tears to mean that these are things worthy of crying about. He thus avoids the anthropomorphic implications of a more literal reading. No tears stream down a divine cheek. Rather, God serves as the ultimate judge of what is worth crying over.

The first and third causes of divine tears are clearly negative but what about the second? Surely, someone with limited time and resources who heroically manages to study should be applauded. Indeed, R. Menahem Meiri evaluates this middle case positively. He says that someone who finds time to study Torah despite significant difficulties will receive great reward. Apparently, God’s tears for this person are tears of joy.

The Alter from Slabodka, R. Nosson Zvi Finkel, also thinks that the middle case refers to a positive performance although the tears still reflect sadness. According to the Alter, this gemara indicates the extent of God’s compassion. Hashem is saddened by the struggles and pains of someone working with difficulties even when that person succeeds. The success engenders joy but the pains cause sadness (Ohr haZafun 2:112).

Both of the above readings suffer from a difficulty. They insert a positive scenario in between two negative performances. The context enveloping this middle case makes us think that it too somehow refers to doing the wrong thing. Indeed, this point motivates Maharsha to offer a novel reading. He explains the middle case as someone who gets distracted from Torah study by other pursuits. In his reading, the word “ve’osek” refers not to involvement in Torah study but to involvement in other endeavors. This person truly could learn but finds himself without time due to the distractions of competing pursuits. According to Maharsha’s interpretation, God cries over two different people who do not learn. One sits around doing nothing and the other allows less worthy pursuits to dominate his schedule until no time remains for learning.

Maharsha’s interpretation does render the middle case parallel to the other two but it deviates from the simplest reading of the gemara’s words which indicate that this person is engaged in Torah. R. Yaakov Reisher (Iyyun Yaakov, found in the Ein Yaakov) finds a different fault described in this case that adheres more to the straightforward meaning. R. Reisher posits that involvement in Torah includes both learning and teaching. The middle case refers to someone not truly knowledgeable enough to teach or lacking pedagogic capability who insists on teaching anyway. The ensuing educational disaster inspires divine tears.

An important point emerges. We rightly emphasize the democratic and egalitarian aspects of Torah study in Judaism. Learning is not restricted to a priestly class but is important for all Jews. However, this democratic tendency does not apply to the question of which should give the shiur. Educational flourishing depends upon the most erudite and the best educators standing in the front of the room and spreading Torah. Everyone studies Torah but not everyone engages in public teaching.

Rabbi and R, Hiyya were going on the way. When they arrived at a town, they asked if there were any scholars in the town so that they could go and greet them. They were told of a young scholar who is blind. R. Hiyya said to Rabbi: “You should sit here and not degrade the patriarchate. I will go and greet him.” Rabbi overruled him and went with him. When they were leaving this blind fellow, he said to them: “You greeted one who can be seen but does not see. You should merit greeting the One who sees but can not be seen.” Rabbi said to R, Hiyya: “If I had listened to you, this blessing would have been held back from me.” (Hagiga 5b)

A loyal disciple, R. Hiyya wants to protect the honor due to his teacher, the patriarch. He believes that people should come to see Rabbi rather than the other way around. Rabbi apparently disagrees. What lies at the root of Rabbi’s position? R. Aryeh Gunzburg (Turei Even) places this story in the context of a discussion in Kiddushin (32b) that questions whether or not a patriarch can relinquish his honor. R. Gunzburg proves from this story that he can.

The permissibility of relinquishing honor depends upon the nature of that honor. If a person receives honor for his personal accomplishments, then he can chose to forego such honor. Conversely, if the honor really belongs to the office which that public official represents, then the honor is not his to give away. Following R. Gunzburg’s reading, the honor due a patriarch must be for the person more than for the position.

R. Yehuda Leib from Gur disagrees with that reading in his Sefat Emet. He contends that the standard Talmudic scenarios of relinquishing honor question the right of others to act towards the esteemed person in a way that diverges from the normal honor. For example, can children sit in a parents’ chair with permission. In our story, no other individual had to confront the question of how to treat the patriarch. If the patriarch decides to visit a particular house, that is his business.

R. Menahem Meiri offers a very different reading, arguing that dignitaries are also obligated to honor scholars. A patriarch who visits a scholar does not relinquish his own honor. Quite the contrary! Such action raises his honor. Meiri cites a verse from I Shmuel (2:30) where the prophet quotes God as saying: “those that honor me, I will honor.” This verse in context powerfully captures Meiri’s point. That prophet addresses the high priest Eli whose corrupt sons demand large chunks of meat (far beyond the normal allotment for the priests) from everyone who brings a sacrifice. These children of privilege identify their position with entitlement, gifts, and honor. The prophet reminds them that authentic honor comes from dedication to God.

Rabbi’s approach diametrically opposes that of the sons of Eli. He understands that visiting the home of a blind scholar can only enhance the prestige of the patriarchy. Rather than demanding recognition and honor, our leadership must understand that true honor comes to those who stand for the highest ideals, even at the expense of their own superficial honor.

Reish Lakish began his discourse on Sotah as follows: “A man receives a wife according to his deeds as it says ‘for the rod of the wicked will not rest upon the fate of the righteous’ (Tehillim 125:3).”

Is this truly so? Did not R. Yehuda teach in the name of Rav: “Forty days before a child’s creation, a heavenly voice proclaims that the daughter of so and so will be for this fellow..”? This is not a difficulty. One source refers to a first union (zug rishon) and the other source to a second union (zug sheni). (Sotah 2a)

This gemara cites contradictory sources. Does the quality and suitability of a person’s spouse depend upon religious merit or upon a preordained fate? The resolution apparently differentiates between a first marriage and a second marriage. Rashi explains that the first marriage reflects the choice of the heavenly voice while the second marriage depends upon a person’s deeds.

Rashi agrees with most commentators in interpreting first and second “zug” as first and second marriage. This generates a question in a case where one spouse has been married before but the other has not. Both Tosafot Shanz and Tosafot haRosh (cited in the Shitah Mekubezet) argue that only a widow marrying widower counts as zug sheni. If either husband or wife had never been previously married, the relevant category is zug rishon.

Two other explanations of the gemara’s resolution can help us find a deeper message in this aggada. Meiri explains that belief in justly distributed reward and punishment represents one of Judaism’s foundational principles. However, some people’s actions do not directly lead to either reward or punishment and those people are left to chance or fate. God finds the deserving a match that they merit. For those not deserving a particular match, chance reigns. “Zug rishon” refers not to a first marriage but to a marriage arranged in a person’s youth before that person truly deserves reward and punishment. At that stage of life, the heavenly voice determines the union. “Zug sheni” takes place at a more advanced age when desert can determine the quality of the match.

According to Meiri, only the righteous can count on individual providence as a guarantee of a good marriage choice. Others have no such assurance. Presumably, the pint can be extended to other significant life choices as well.

R. Yissakhar Eilenberg, in his Be’er Sheva, mentions another understanding cited from “hahkmei haemet,” a euphemism for kabalistic sources. Forty days before conception, the heavenly voice identifies a person’s ideal soul mate. However, the person may not merit marriage with this ideal spouse. It all depends upon that person’s righteousness. From this perspective, “zug rishon” refers to the ideal marriage partner while “zug sheni” describes what may happen in real life. R. Elienberg’s interpretation also leads to the conclusion that the popular concept of “bashert” provides no guarantee for good marriage choices.

The most profound reading of this gemara I have seen leaves aside the conclusion and focuses in on the heavenly voice. R. Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg (LiFrakim page 532) explains this declaration as a powerful metaphor. The voice does not teach about preordained fate but about a deeper understanding of marriage. A true marriage is not a temporary creation or a business deal worked out to each spouse’s mutual benefit. Rather, marriage represents a heavenly institution that reflects the most profound truth and goodness of the created order. In a good marriage, the husband and wife feel that they were meant for each other. The heavenly voice does not determine our choice of spouse; it establishes the nature of the kind of marriage to strive for. May we all merit such a union.

They said about Hillel the elder that when he rejoiced at the Simhat Beit haShoeva (the celebration at the temple associated with the water libation on Sukkot) he would say: “If I am here, everyone is here and if I am not here, then who is here.” He would say: “To the place that I love, there my feet take me. If you come to my house, then I will come to your house. If you do not come to my house, then I will not come to your house as it says: ‘every place where my name is mentioned, I will come to you and bless you’ (Shemot 20:21).” (Sukka 53a)

Any reader of this gemara confronts two obvious questions. Hillel’s first statement seems to be an arrogant assertion that the entire celebration depends upon his presence. This flies in the face of the standard Talmudic portrayal of Hillel as someone with outstanding humility. Did Hillel truly say that this festive endeavor depends upon him? Secondly, do the various statements of Hillel connect in any real way or are they three distinct ideas?

Rashi explains that Hillel was speaking on behalf of God. God says that the awesomeness of the temple depends upon a divine choice to dwell there. The people should not think of the temple as some inherently magically holy place but realize that its sanctity depends upon God’s decision. Sin causes God to remove his presence, rendering the temple just another building.

Tosafot disagree with Rashi citing the Yerushalmi that questions Hillel’s statement asking whether God truly needs the praise of Hillel. Clearly, this question assumes that Hillel is not citing God. The Yerushalmi answers that Hillel’s use of “I” refers to the Jewish people as a whole and God truly does desire their praise. However, Tosafot does note that Hillel’s third quote, the one about coming to my house, certainly reflects God as the speaker.

R. Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin (Neziv) explains in his Meromei Sadeh that Hillel speaks of the deeper “I” or the “I” of noble worth. If a person reaches religious heights and dances at this celebration as an expression of love of God, then something exalted takes place. If this “I” is lacking and the person simply likes having a good time with partying and dancing, then authentic worth is not present.

R. Yaakov Ettlinger offers an insightful reading in his Arukh la’Ner. He points out that the temple is both the house of God and the house of Israel. In other words, it is a place where we come to worship God and a place where we come to receive divine blessing. Both aspects are legitimate goals but focusing on the second without the first converts religious life into a pragmatic calculation in which we try to con God into giving to us from His largesse. This explains how God could say “When you come to see my face, who asked this from you, those that trample my courtyard” (Yeshayahu 1:12). Did not God himself command the Jewish people to come? According to R. Ettlinger, God wants them to come with the more idealistic goal in mind as well and not purely as a means for receiving blessings.

When Hillel says “I,” he refers to God as the speaker. However, recognizing that the significance of the temple depends upon God’s presence does not remove the danger of unduly pragmatic motivations for coming to the temple. Thus, Hillel’s second statement focuses on the possibility of legs taking a person where he wants to go, apparently for selfish reasons. The third quote comes to counter this danger. “If you come to my house,” means that you view this building as a place to serve God and not just a place for receiving gifts. A person who comes for idealistic reasons can receive the blessing as well.

The point can be broadened to many other areas of life. Marriage, parenting, friendship, and many other relationships have a tremendous amount to offer. Yet they only grant blessings to those entering into them with motivations beyond the search for personal gain. A spouse primarily motivated by what he or she can receive from the other will not truly reap the benefits of a wonderful marriage. A relationship with God is no different. Such a relationship can be the most precious thing we have but only when we enter looking for more than personal advantage.

R. Elazar said: “It is permissible to stab the am ha’arez on Yom Kippur which falls out on Shabbat.”

R. Shmuel bar Nahmani said in the name of R. Yohanan: “It is permissible to rip the am ha’arez like a fish.” R. Shmuel bar Yizhak added: “on his back.” (Pesahim 49b)

Both other Talmudic sources and common sense make it abundantly clear that we cannot interpret this gemara literally. Judaism does not countenance murdering the ignorant or the sinners. Let us assume some kind of non – literal interpretation and ask what this gemara wants to convey? Rabbenu Nissim explains that the gemara employs hyperbole to convey a negative attitude towards ammei ha’arez. This still leaves open the question whether this negative hyperbole is directed at every “am ha’arez” or only specific types.

Maharsha also endorses a figurative reading. He claims that the gemara truly refers to the ability to embarrass the am ha’arez. Since one gemara compares the blood draining from the embarrassed face with the blood lost by a murder victim (Bava Mezia 58b), there may be some basis for this reading.

Another strategy accepts a more literal reading but restricts the gemara to a very limited scenario. R. Yizhak Alfasi argues that R. Elazar refers to a case in which that am ha’erez was pursuing someone else with intent to murder or rape. Using violent means to stop such a person would obviously be legitimate. There are two difficulties with this interpretation. The gemara makes no mention of these details and it seems contrived to insert them. Moreover, if the gemara truly refers to a pursuer, then his status as an am ha’arez is quite irrelevant. The same law would apply to a major scholar who pursued a victim.

R. Yehuda Leib from Gur attempts to answer this second objection in his Sefat Emet. In some such situations, we must balance our desire to save victims with the need to ascertain that the pursuer truly endangers them. Perhaps the pursuer engages in a misguided attempt at humor but does not truly constitute a threat. According to Sefat Emet, we would normally have to take a moment to clarify that the pursuer presents a danger before shooting him. Due to his immoral lifestyle, the “am ha’arez” forfeits the right to this extra moment of clarification and we can more quickly assume that he is armed and dangerous. We can still wonder which kind of “am ha’arez we are speaking about.

Many of the commentaries (see Rosh 3:10) assume that this gemara speaks of a particularly corrupt am ha’arez who endangers society. Maharal (Be’er haGolah 7) contends that this am ha’arez is totally divorced from Torah values. In short, our rabbinic luminaries considered it obvious that Jewish tradition does not countenance random violence towards the ignorant and they interpreted this gemara accordingly.

Why does R. Shmuel add the instruction to tear “on the back”? Rashi and Meiri assume that that choice of location makes the blow fatal. R. Kook offers an innovative alternative reading (Midot haRa’a’yah Ahava 9) that has broader implications. R. Kook argues that we Jews have an ambivalent attitude towards the sinner. On the one hand, we despise the evil he does. On the other hand, we love and value the fact that the sinner, like all humans, was created in the image of God. For Rav Kook, the image of God is manifest in the human personality represented by the face. We tear the am ha’arez in the back because we thereby convey that we abhor what he has done with his life even as we avoid negativity towards his face which reflects the grand potential of a being created in the image of God.