Aggada

R. Yehuda said in the name of Shmuel: “Even if a Jew is the hired hand of a resident gentile (and the Jew does not live in the courtyard) he can contribute towards the eruv and this suffices.” R. Nachman said: “How great is this teaching.” R. Yehuda said in the name of Shmuel: “Someone who drinks a revi’it of wine cannot give halachic rulings.” R. Nachman said: This is not a great teaching since my mind thinks clearly only after drinking a revi’it of wine.” Rav said to him: “Why did the master speak this way? Did not R. Acha bar Chanina say: “’He that keeps company with prostitutes loses his wealth’ (Mishlei 29:3). Whoever says this teaching is pleasant and that one is not loses the wealth of Torah.” He said to him: “I retract my statement.” (Eruvin 64a)

R. Acha’s play on words gets lost in translation. He breaks up the Hebrew word “zonot” into the two words, “zo na’eh.” Thus, a verse about the destructiveness of prostitution suddenly refers to ranking rabbinic statements. How opposed to ranking are we?

Maharsha extends the scope of the opposition, contending that it applies to both negative and positive evaluations of rabbinic teachings. He argues that praising one statement often implies criticism of another. Therefore, we study without comparatively evaluating the worth of different rabbinic ideas. His position coheres with the play on words that objects to saying “zo na’eh.”

Yet taking this to an extreme appears difficult. Can students of Torah not express their love for certain works, particular passages, or specific ideas? Taking that option away removes an important vehicle for conveying attachment to Torah. Furthermore, can a scholar never articulate disagreement with some vehemence? Certainly, most arguments should simply focus on the issues involved but the occasional negative exclamation seems reasonable.

R. Shmuel Strashun notes that Chazal themselves engaged in such evaluations. For example, Rami bar Chama (Shavuot 45b) praises a particular teaching and no one objects to his formulation. Rashash concludes that, contra Maharsha, the problem exists only with regard to negative evaluations. This theory indicates a preference for positive discourse and opens up the possibility of talking about those parts of Torah we feel most strongly about.

Talmudic evidence motivates a further qualification. When Ulla says (Ta’anit 3b) that one of R. Chisda’s explanations is like “smoke to the eyes and vinegar to the teeth,” no one indicates displeasure with Ulla’s remark. Apparently, even negative evaluations have their place. Rashash suggests that a scholar can talk this way but only in the context of a rabbinic argument. Perhaps we can explain his point as follow. Critical language can be a natural part of argumentation; outside that context, it reflects a lack of respect or an excessive desire to criticize.

R. Yoshiyahu Pinto comes to an opposing conclusion. He argues that R. Nachman does not retract his opposing position, he only regrets his language. Scholars have every right to contest each other’s positions but they must do so respectfully. R. Pinto calls for a discourse of argument that focuses exclusively on the issues.

Varying positions indicate the delicate balance of these issues. On the one hand, we need to show respect to the totality of Torah. On the other hand, expressing our love for particular parts of Torah, and perhaps even our difficulty with other aspects, should also have a place.

[I have enjoyed writing both aggada blogs and medieval Jewish philosophy blogs this past year and I thank WebYeshiva for the forum and readers for stimulating comments. Next week, I will shift to the new academic year’s topics and focus on Avot and Ramban’s commentary on the Torah.]

Rav said: “Whoever says shalom to another before praying is like someone who builds a private altar as it says: ‘Cease you from man whose breath is in his nostrils, for what is he to be accounted’ (Yeshayahu 2: 22). Do not read it as bameh (for what) but as bamah (a private altar).” Shmuel said: “For what do you grant significance to this fellow and not to God.” R. Sheshet asked a question: “In between the chapters of shema, a person can ask out of respect and respond (apparently, one can inquire of another’s welfare before praying the amida)?” R. Abba explained: “The prohibition only applies when one goes early to another’s door.”

The paragraph above includes both halachic and aggadic elements; our analysis relates to both. Meiri argues that greeting another person before communicating with God conveys that you grant divinity to the other fellow. Even if we do not accept his strong formulation, we can understand that the problem stems from giving another person precedence before God. Shmuel’s statement confirms this analysis.

If this explains the problem, beginning the day with any prayer to God, even if not the amida, may remove the prohibition because that sequence still gives God precedence. On the other hand, the Talmud’s example of someone in the middle of shema suggest that the prohibition remains in place after one has already progressed in the prayer service but has still not arrived at the amida. Meiri posits that, after a prayer but before the amida, the prohibition continues on a much less severe level (see also Magen Avraham Orach Chaim 89:7).

Let us move to the aggadic plane. Shmuel reads the verse at face value as implying humanity’s lesser status. Using a play on words, Rav introduces the comparison to a private altar. Why add this comparison? In Ein Aya, R. Kook offers an important explanation. R. Kook points out that the pursuit of peace comes from one of two sources - a shared vision of divinity with a concomitant recognition of godly ideals or a social contract made up by individuals who recognize that shared ventures enable the participants to more successfully achieve their desires. When tried by the test of time, only the former model proves enduring. Since individuals only join the second kind of group to realize their own desires, a conflict of interest will inevitably cause the dissolution of the group. Former partners turn into bitter enemies.

Take note that R. Kook interprets the giving of shalom in our gemara as not just a polite good morning but as representing the value of peace. Praying before giving shalom emphasizes that the ideal quest for peace is rooted in religious ideals and not just in the recognition that “man is a political animal.” The message of the gemara moves from the need to give precedence to God to a framework for achieving universal harmony.

R. Kook does not address another possibility. In drawing a contrast between a unity based on religious ideals and a unity based on shared pursuit of comfort, he does not discuss a peace emerging out of secular ethical ideals. Applying other statements of R. Kook to this context leads to a complex and nuanced position. On the one hand, he criticizes an ethic divorced from a notion of God. On the other hand, he views any quest for morality and justice as truly rooted in divinity, even if its practitioners are not aware of this. Thus, R. Kook may view a humanitarian search for harmony as falling on the correct side of this divide.

R. Chisda said: “Anyone who disagrees with his rebbe is like someone who disagrees with the divine presence as it says: ‘when they strove against the Lord’ (Bamidbar 26:9).” (Sanhedrin 109a)

Korach’s rebellious band directed its attack of Moshe and Aharon; yet the biblical verse depicts them as striving against God. R. Chisda derives that starting up with your teacher equals quarreling with God. Looking at R. Chisda’s statement in isolation, we might conclude that Judaism demands absolute submission to teachers. Perhaps the student’s role is only to take notes and memorize or even to ask questions but never to challenge.

Throughout the last fifteen hundred years of commentary, rabbinic authorities rejected such an interpretation. Many of them point out that this understanding flies in the face of our tradition. R. Yehuda haNassi argues with his father and teacher R. Shimon ben Gamliel. Rava contests the positions of his master Rabba. The same pattern continues throughout the period of the rishonim (see Terumat haDeshen pesakim 238 and Be’er Sheva on Sanhedrin for examples).

If so, what does R. Chisda teach? Rambam explains (Hilchot Talmud Torah 5:2) that a student should not set up a yeshiva without his teacher’s permission. Apparently, respect calls for receiving the teacher’s approval before a student embarks on a public teaching career. It does not call for stifling arguments against that teacher’s halachic positions. The quest for halakhic truth demands the airing of all reasonable claims and positions.

What place does respecting a rebbe have within this quest? A fascinating responsum of R. Moshe Feinstein (Iggrot Moshe Yoreh Deah 3:88) helps elucidate this issue. A scholar asked R.Moshe if he could move to Bnei Brak even though he would occasionally rule against the positions of the Chazon Ish. R. Moshe could not see any cause for concern. He writes that it never occurred to the Chazon Ish that future scholars would feel barred from arguing with him. Furthermore, any scholar who carefully investigate the words of an earlier authority shows respect for that authority, even when the later scholar ultimately rejects the position.

R. Moshe mentions two expression of respect. One should not speak of the earlier scholar in a derogatory fashion. A writer can disagree with an earlier position with a tone of dismissive arrogance or with genuine reverence. The great figures of our tradition certainly merit the latter treatment.

The second expression of respect emerges from Rava’s advice to his students regarding how to proceed after his death (Bava Batra 130b). Rava instructs them not to blindly follow his rulings if they have decent arguments for an alternative position. At the same time, he tells them not to tear up his rulings. Perhaps he would have successfully answered their objections had he been alive. Perhaps the students themselves will eventually realize the cogency of their teacher’s position.

The words of towering figures deserve our utmost esteem. This means avoiding any easy rejections of their ideas and thinking seriously about how to justify their positions. Yet it does not mean an inability to disagree. When disagreements come from a place of knowledge and respect, they are fully appropriate and even mandatory.

R. Yehuda taught: “In the future, the Holy One, blessed be He, will bring the yetzer hara and slaughter it before the righteous and the wicked. To the righteous, it appears as a tall mountain. To the wicked, it appears as a hairsbreadth. Each group cries. The righteous cry and say: ‘How were we able to conquer this tall mountain?’ The wicked cry and say: ‘How were we unable to conquer this hairsbreadth?’ And God also wonders with them as it says: ‘Thus says the Lord of hosts: If it be wondrous in the eyes of the remnant of this people in those days, it is also wondrous in my eyes.’” (Sukka 52a)

R. Yehuda’s teaching reverses normal assumptions. We imagine that the wicked exaggerate the power of the evil inclination whereas the righteous restore it to its proper dimension, yet R. Yehuda offers us the opposite perspective. Why do the righteous look back upon something imposing while the wicked see a force they should have easily overcome?

Do the righteous truly encounter a more fearsome inclination or is it just a matter of perspective? Some commentators explain our gemara based on a maxim found on the same Talmudic page: “Whoever is greater than his colleague has a more powerful yetzer.” Taking that maxim literally leads to the conclusion that the righteous really do face stronger temptation. Of course, we need to analyze why this should be so.

Sefat Emet raises an interesting explanation for why the righteous struggle with more potent forces. Worthy individuals succeed in overcoming small temptations and ultimately face larger ones. On the other hand, those that give in immediately to minor challenges never struggle with a harder battle. They concede the fight long before confronting the most trying aspects. A high school student who cheats on every trivial math quiz will not have to think much before cheating on an exam crucial for getting into college.

Conversely, the distinction may all depend upon perspective. R. Avraham Grodzinski, mashgiach at the Slobodka yeshiva, mentions, in the context of explaining this gemara, the inflationary ability of the imagination (Torat Avraham, p. 308). Indeed, we often imagine forbidden pleasures as experiences of paradise when the truth remains far more prosaic. Perhaps this explains the discrepancy. The wicked experience these pleasures and discover the sobering truth that imagination portrays them as greater than reality. The righteous resist these pleasures while still imagining that doing so means giving up magnificent delights.

However, we cannot take this point too far and claim that wise and discerning individuals should effortlessly understand that forbidden pleasures are not worth it. Real challenges exist and they are not always easily overcome. The part of this gemara that describes the two groups crying helps provide the proper balance.

We can understand why the wicked cry but why should the righteous shed tears when reflecting upon their great accomplishments? Rashi explains that they cry when remembering the difficult struggles with the yetzer hara. Maharsha disagrees, claiming that the righteous cry tears of joy. R. Yaakov Ettlinger, Arukh laNer, offers an alternative that relates to our previous discussion. He explains that the righteous cry in an attempt to secure some mercy for the wicked. Their depiction of the difficulties of the inclination serves an argument for some clemency for those who failed the test.

We now have the desired balance. On the one hand, we understand how forbidden fruit looks more alluring that it truly is. At the same time, we do not naively tell people that internalizing that message leads quickly and easily to righteousness. This world includes truly difficult challenges. May we meet them successfully.

Animal suffering is sanctioned when it serves a legitimate human need

Last week we examined the various Torah verses mandating humane treatment of animals; we saw that beyond the underlying prohibition of cruel treatment towards any animal, there is an additional obligation to act positively to relieve the suffering of animals that work with us and serve us – for example, to give our animals rest on Shabbat, to relieve the load of an overloaded pack animal, and so on.

There is still a bit of a paradox. We are not allowed to cause suffering gratuitously to any animal, but if there is a valid human need then even if the animal will suffer the treatment is not considered cruelty. For this reason, there is no question that it is permissible and proper to use animals in medical experiments that are expected to lead to treatments that will alleviate human suffering. But this very usefulness is also what cements our obligation to show concern for the animals.

So the prohibition on animal suffering would never forbid using animals for an important human need, even if the use involved animal suffering; but it would forbid causing suffering not necessary for that need. Nachmanides writes, “[God's] mercy on creatures with an animal soul does not extend to prevent us from using them for our needs.” (Ramban Torah commentary Devarim 22:6)

This standard seems to be stricter than the standard for bal taschchit, which forbids gratuitous harm to or destruction of anything valuable or useful to humans. Regarding bal tashchit only gratuitous harm is forbidden, but tzaar baalei chaim, the prohibition on animal suffering, would seem to forbid also disproportionate suffering. In one place in the Talmud the sage Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair states that hamstringing an animal would constitute forbidden suffering, but only killing it would constitute gratuitous harm. My interpretation is that hamstringing the animal does bring some benefit, but not enough to justify the suffering induced. (Babylonian Talmud Chullin 7b; see explanation in Piskei Trumat Hadeshen 105)

An additional reason mentioned by the rabbis for human treatment of animals is that it cultivates humane conduct towards people, while inhumane treatment of animals carries the danger of inculcating insensitivity towards other people. (Some recent research confirms a connection between people who torture animals as youngsters and those who are violent as adults, though there is no way to tell if there is a causal relationship.)

The Sefer Hachinuch (596) writes: “Among the motivations for this commandment is to accustom ourselves to delicate souls, choosing the straight path and adhering to it, and seeking mercy and kindness. And once we obtain this habit, then even towards animals, which were created to serve us, we will show concern.”

And Nachmanides writes: “The reason for refraining [from taking the eggs in the presence of the mother] is to teach us the quality of mercy, and not to act cruelty. For cruelty [towards animals afterwards] spreads in the soul of man [and expresses itself towards people as well]“. (Ramban Torah commentary Devarim 22:6)

Each consideration is an independent aspect of the law. For example, the noted Medieval authority Rabbi Yisrael Isserlin ruled that plucking geese while they are alive, when there is a need for the feathers, is permissible; the geese do suffer, but there is an evident benefit. However, he then writes that people customarily refrain, because plucking the birds in this way leads to bad traits. (Piskei Trumat Hadeshen 105) Rabbi Moshe Isserlish writes approvingly of this custom. (Rema Shulchan Arukh Even Haezer 5:14)

[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 affliction of Rabbi came due to a story and left due to a story. They came due to a story. What was it? There was a calf being led to slaughter. It went and nestled its head in Rabbi’s chest and cried. Rabbi said: “Go! For this you were created.” They said: “Since he does not have mercy, let afflictions come upon him.” They left due to a story. One day, Rabbi’s maid was sweeping the house and she was sweeping away young weasels. He said to her; “Leave them be. It is written: ‘His mercies are over all His works’ (Tehilim 145:9). They said: “Since he has mercy, we will have mercy upon him.” (Bava Mezia 85a)

Rabbi corrects a character flaw when he acts compassionately towards the young weasels and his suffering ends. He comes to appreciate that emulating God’s attributes includes benevolence to the animal kingdom as well. Just as God shows mercy to all, so should we.

At the same time, we may be somewhat surprised by the idea that Rabbi acted sinfully in the first story. Judaism does not countenance causing needless pain to animals but neither is it a vegetarian religion. The Torah grants mankind the right to make use of the animal kingdom and some traditional sources base this right on the idea that mankind represents the pinnacle and purpose of the created order. From this perspective, “For this you were created” seems accurate.

This difficulty motivated R. Yaakov Emden to suggest that this animal was the reincarnated soul of a human being. Rabbi was right about the animal kingdom but he should have prayed for this person’s soul to achieve the goal it came back to this world for without having to undergo slaughter. This approach has several difficulties. No hint in the text suggests this reading. Some authorities insist that Judaism rejects the idea of reincarnation. Not all those who accept the idea think that humanity can be reincarnated as animals. Finally, the approach runs the risk of denying any direct compassion for animals by transferring that compassion to humans in reincarnated form.

Maharsha offers an alternative. He posits that young calves are usually designated for plowing and other work in the field. People tend to slaughter them only when the animals reach a more advanced age. Therefore, Rabbi’s reaction exhibited some cruelty. Maharsha also assumes that weasels are rather lowly creatures. Rabbi’s compassion for the lowly weasel compensates for his earlier indifference to the more noble calf.

Perhaps we need not introduce Maharsha’s assumptions to explain our tale. The Torah may combine humanity’s right to make use of the animal kingdom with some sense of unease about the endeavor. This does not mean that we stop eating animals or that we equate mankind with animals. It does mean that we not lead animals to slaughter with a jocular air that we are doing the animals a favor in helping them fulfill their destiny. Rabbi came to understand this nuanced message, and he decided to protect the small weasels.

When R. Yochanan ben Zakkai was sick, his students came to visit him. When he saw them, he started to cry. His students said to him: “Lamp of Israel, right - hand pillar, mighty hammer, why are you crying?” He said to them: “If I was brought before a king of flesh and blood, who is here today and in the grave tomorrow, if he becomes angry with me, his anger is not eternal, if he imprisons me, it is not eternal imprisonment, if he kills me, it is not a permanent death, and I could appease him with words or bribe him with money, even so I would cry. Now that I am brought before the king of kings, the holy One, blessed be He, who lives for all eternity, if he becomes angry with me, it is an eternal anger, if he imprisons me, it is eternal imprisonment, if he kills me, it is a permanent death, and I cannot appease him with words or bribe him with money, and not only that but I have two roads before me: one to Gan Eden and one to Gehinom, and I do not know on which one they will take me, should I not cry?…
At the time of his passing, he said to them: “Remove the vessels because of ritual impurity and prepare a chair for Chizkiyahu, king of Yehuda, who is coming.” (Brachot 28b)

We normally think of R. Yochanan ben Zakkai as one of the great figures of Jewish history. Why did he view himself as a potential candidate for perdition? Perhaps this reflects his humility; the truly righteous are not fully convinced of their righteousness. Alternatively, perhaps a particular episode from earlier in his life still bothered him. Our gemara’s concluding line presents further questions. Instructing students to remove vessels from the room before he dies may be sound practical advice but does it bear any deeper implications? Furthermore, why does Chizkiyahu appear to accompany R. Yochanan?

Two great rabbinic thinkers suggest that the key to unlocking this story lies in another Talmudic tale in Gittin 56b. R. Yochanan ben Zakkai, convinced that the besieged Jews in Jerusalem have no chance against the mighty forces of Rome, sneaks out of the city to converse with Vespasian and salvage what he can. Impressed with R. Yochanan’s wisdom, Vespasian grants him a request. R. Yochanan asks for Yavne and its sages, the line of Rabban Gamliel, and a cure for R. Tzadok. Other sages criticized him for not requesting that the Roman forces depart, leaving the city and the temple standing. R. Yochanan thought that asking for too much runs the risk of losing everything.

R. Soloveitchik delivered several lectures at Mizrachi conventions during the 1960’s that were then published in Hebrew as Chamesh Drashot and in English under the title The Rav Speaks. At the very end of the first drasha, R. Soloveitchik explains that R. Yochanan faced an impossible choice. Should he ask for Jerusalem and the temple but risk losing everything or should he ask for the sages of Yavne, enabling Jewish survival but relinquishing the temple. R. Yochanan had to make the decision immediately without consultation with his colleagues. Nor could he find the answer in any book of Jewish law; he had to rely on intuition.

According to R Soloveitchik only zealots think that easy answers exist to such questions. Those aware of the complexity of questions of national significance which demand balancing competing ideals understand our lack of confidence in making such decisions. In fact, even years after the event, we remain unsure what the right decision was. For the remainder of his life, R. Yochanan ben Zakkai lived with the nagging question that perhaps he should have asked to save the city. This explains his nervousness before death.

R. Kook (Ein Aya) thinks that the gemara in Gittin explains the concluding line in Brachot as well. Authentic Jewish leadership must care for both the spiritual and physical well being of the Jewish people. At particular times of spiritual malaise, a leader may justifiably put all his energy into encouraging spiritual growth but this should not stem from a conceptual diminishing of the physical’s importance.

Both R. Yochanan and Chizkiyahu understood this. The former relinquished an attempt to save Jewish political sovereignty in order to ensure that the sages and Torah leadership would continue. In a parallel fashion, Chizkiyahu dedicated his reign to a purely spiritual renewal. They each saw the needs of their generation and responded appropriately. Yet neither rejected the material part of life. Concern for the status of the vessels highlights this point. Earthenware vessels cannot be purified and their becoming impure may cause financial loss or inconvenience to the owners. Chizkiyahu and R. Yochanan remained concerned with material welfare; yet they knew that their time called for a more spiritual focus.

R. Parnach said: “Anyone who is a talmid chacham, whose son is a talmid chacham, and whose grandson is a talmid chacham, Torah will not depart from his descendants forever as it says: ‘And as for Me, this is My covenant with them, says the Lord; My spirit that is upon you, and My words which I have put in your mouth, shall not depart out of your mouth, nor out of the mouth of your seed, nor out of the mouth of your seed’s seed, says the Lord, from now and for ever’ (Yeshayahu 59:21). “What does “says the Lord” mean? The Holy One, blessed be He, says: “I am the guarantor for you regarding this.” What does “from now and for ever” mean? R. Yirmiya said: “From here on, Torah returns to its lodgings.” (Bava Metzia 85a)

Taken at face value, this gemara suggests that a family which produces three consecutive generations of scholars receives a guarantee of ongoing connection to Torah. For several reasons, the commentators could not accept this. It flies in the face of several other rabbinic sources. R. Yossi said: “Prepare yourself to study Torah because it is not an inheritance for you” (Avot 2:12). Another gemara (Nedarim 81a) notes that many talmidei chachamim do not have scholarly children. R. Yosef explains that this happens precisely so that people not think of Torah erudition as an inherited quality.

Moreover, human experience belies the literal interpretation of Bava Metzia. Unfortunately, Jewish history include many examples of sons from illustrious rabbinic families that were not great scholars, including some who left observant Judaism altogether. R. Chaim of Volozhin cites his brother R. Zalman who, at the age of six, asked that, based on our gemara, there should be no ignorant Jews since we all descend from Avraham , Yitzchak, and Yaakov (Ruach Chaim, Avot 2:12).

To address this last problem, some commentators explain that the guarantee relates to the family as a whole but not to any individual member. Thus, R. Yaakov Reisher (Iyun Yaakov) contends that while Torah may temporarily depart from such a family; God assures us that it will ultimately return.

Yet the problem runs deeper than contradictory rabbinic sources and historical counterexamples. In theory, we could resolve the contradiction by arguing that both Avot and Nedarim do not refer to a family with three consecutive generations of scholars. More than the content of the other sources, it is their underlying spirit that forces a reevaluation of the gemara in Bava Metzia. Both Avot and Nedarim indicate that Torah is not an inheritance. Like all the truly important things in life, Torah scholarship can only be acquired with arduous effort and consistent exertion; it is not something inherited from a parent or acquired at the local store. Indeed, the gemara (Brachot 5a) lists Torah as one of three precious divine gifts that only can only be acquired through suffering.

How should we interpret the gemara in Bava Metzia? Many commentaries assume that Bava Metzia does not deny the need for sincere effort on the part of the scion of a learned family. Maharsha highlights the image of the guarantor. A guarantor only becomes involved in a case after the borrower borrows money. A loan does not begin with the actions of the guarantor. In the same way, divine involvement depends on a person’s prior study efforts.

Ruach Chaim and Etz Yosef derive the identical message from the imagery of “returning to its lodgings.” The Torah is an illustrious guest with a regular house of accommodation. However, if the homeowner shows an unfriendly face, the guest will look for other lodgings. Torah may look towards the descendant of three generations of scholars but that descendant can freely choose to not let Torah in.

Having learned ancestors may be an advantage or a disadvantage. In either case, it does not replace the need for independent effort and serious initiative.

Rava said: “This matter was told me by the child who caused the deterioration of his mother’s ways” (Bava Batra 9a)

Why did they call him “the child who caused the deterioration of his mother’s ways?” R. Ahadvoy bar Ami asked R. Sheshet: “How do we know that a metzora during the days of his counting (the seven day purification process after he no longer has a blemish) is metamei adam? He said to him: “Since he is metamei garments, he is metamei a person. [In the ensuing section, R. Ahadvoy refutes R. Sheshet’s repeated attempts to derive metamei adam from metamei begadim]. He (R. Ahadvoy) directed a joke towards R. Sheshet. R. Sheshet became depressed. R. Ahadvoy became mute and had difficulties with his learning. His mother came and cried before him (asking for mercy and forgiveness). She cried and cried but he paid no attention to her. She said to him: “See these breasts that you nursed from.” He (R. Sheshet) prayed for mercy and he (R. Ahadvoy) was cured. (Bava Batra 9b)

Whose mother came asking for mercy? Rashi explains that it was R. Sheshet’s mother. Though R. Ahadvoy was suffering, not her son, she did not want another person to experience anguish due to an incident involving her son. Rava referred to R. Sheshet as “the child caused the deterioration of his mother’s ways” because his initial indifference to his mother’s pleading led her to expose her breasts.
Rabben Nissim disagrees arguing that Rava would never refer to R. Sheshet as “a child.” After all, Rava was a generation after R. Sheshet and R. Sheshet was a figure of great stature. He asserts that “the child” must refer to R. Ahadvoy. R. Ahadvoy’s mother was distraught about her son’s condition and she came to R. Sheshet to beg for forgiveness. Her son caused her unusual behavior because his actions towards R. Sheshet precipitated the whole affair.

According to this version, R. Ahadvoy’s mother had been the wet nurse of R. Sheshet. She asked for mercy on the basis of her having sustained him in childhood. Why was R. Sheshet resistant to the mother’s pleading? Chatam Sofer explains that R. Shshet thought protecting the honor of Torah was more important. The correctness of this position depends upon how we balance the ideals of honoring the Torah with mercy or with honoring parents (if the gemara refers to R. Sheshet’s mother).

Hatam Sofer adds a profound reading of the mother’s dramatic behavior. It seems odd that she would expose herself and mention her breasts in order to influence R. Sheshet towards mercy. R. Sofer contends that such action carries symbolic import. Chazal apply the image of a nursing mother to teachers providing spiritual nourishment to their students. This mother wanted R. Sheshet to think about his relationship with R. Ahadvoy, his student, as a mother relates to her child.

A mother not only feeds her children; she constantly desires to improve their welfare. Even when she occasionally rebukes or punishes them, her love and mercy always remain dominant. The mother suggested that a teacher must function in a parallel fashion. R. Sheshet was justifiably angry but he originally lacked the parental mercy so important in these kinds of relationships. The mother’s radical behavior moved R. Sheshet to this realization.