Fraud without Money — BT Chullin 94a — #44

It was taught [in a baraita]: R. Meir used to say: One should not urge a friend to dine with him when he knows that his friend will not do so. One should not offer another many gifts when he knows that his friend will not accept them. One should not open [for a guest] casks of wine which one has arranged to sell to a shopkeeper, unless he informs [the guest] of it. And he should not invite [a guest] to anoint himself with oil if the jar is empty. If, however, the purpose is to show the guest great respect, it is permitted. But surely this cannot be right. For Ulla once came to Rav Yehudah’s house and [Rav Yehudah] opened up casks for him that were later to be sold by the shopkeeper! He must have informed him of this fact. Or if you wish, I can say that the case of Ulla is different, for he was so dear to Rav Yehudah that he would have opened for him even those [casks] that were not [to be sold by the shopkeeper].

INTRODUCTION

The context for this account is a mishnah that teaches honesty and transparency: “One may send a Gentile a thigh [of an animal] which still contains the sciatic nerve because its place is known.” Lying behind the mishnah is the concern that the Gentile might give or sell the thigh to a Jew, for whom the gid ha-naseh (the sciatic nerve) is forbidden (Genesis 32:33 connects the prohibition  to the account of Jacob wrestling with the angel). The mishnah tells us we don’t need not be concerned because the sciatic nerve is easily visible—there will be no fraud in the exchange. However, the Gemara will say, if the thigh is cut into pieces, it may not be given to the Gentile because that would constitute genivat da’at (fraud, lit. “theft of the mind”) and, according to Shmuel on this same page of Talmud, “It is forbidden to deceive anyone, whether Jew or non-Jew.” I don’t know much about cuts of meat—since I don’t eat meat—but it appears that once the thigh is cut into pieces it is no longer easy to see whether the gid ha-naseh is present or not. 

Genivat da’at is not simply lying, though it is certainly a form of falsehood. It is fraud and deception in the realm of image and reputation. This is the subject of R. Meir’s teaching. Specifically, he summons examples of things people do for the sake of appearance in order to influence others’ opinion of them, to create a false impression, and to solicit the goodwill of others. Is this honest? Is this permissible? R. Meir tells us it is genivat da’at.

COMMENTARY

R. Meir offers several examples of deceptions that come under the rubric of genivat da’at. His examples involve emotions, manipulation of relationships, and reputation—not money. The first example is that you should not urge someone to come to dinner if you know before you extend the invitation that they will not come. Second, if you send someone numerous gifts that will be returned, is the generosity genuine, or is it an attempt to promote one’s self image at no real cost? R. Meir’s third example concerns opening a cask of wine. A cask holds a lot of wine—far more than people would consume at one meal. Often, one would arrange ahead of time to sell the leftover wine to a shopkeeper; otherwise it was likely to turn sour in short order. To open a cask of wine for a guest without having made an arrangement with a shopkeeper would connote great honor to the guest due to one’s willingness to devote the entire cask to the one meal. Appearing to do so—when in reality one has made an arrangement to sell the leftover wine—is a deception. Hence, if the host is honest with the guest about arrangements made with a shopkeeper, there is no deception. Fourth, inviting a guest to anoint himself with oil is much like the duplicitous dinner invitation: the host knows the guest will decline, so the invitation is not genuine. 

Each of the cases cited by R. Meir involves soliciting the goodwill of someone on the basis of deception. But is every situation open and shut?

The Gemara responds to R. Meir’s examples by saying that if the intention of the host is to honor the guest, then these ruses are permissible, even if seemingly fraudulent. An objection is raised: This is precisely what Rav Yehudah did when Ulla was a guest in his home. Rav Yehudah opened a cask of wine for him—wasn’t that a deception? The Gemara replies with two plausible explanations: (1) Rav Yehudah must have informed Ulla of the arrangement he had made with a shopkeeper to purchase the leftover wine; hence it was not genivat da’at; or (2) possibly Rav Yehudah opened the cask of wine solely for Ulla because they were such close friends. In either case, Rav Yehudah did not commit genivat da’at. The Gemara’s effort to justify Rav Yehudah reminds us that we often do not know the full story and should reserve judgment until we do.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Have you ever known someone to send a wedding invitation to people they know will not come? (Is this in reality an invitation to send a gift?) Is this genivat da’at? Or perhaps the invitation is a legitimate way to honor the invitees, make them feel valued, and not make them feel excluded? Several commentaries hold that extending an invitation to a party or a meal, even knowing the invitee cannot attend, is permitted if the purpose is to be polite. Can we always discern genuine motive—even our own?
2. Politicians create photo-ops to boost their imagine and market themselves—kissing babies used to be a popular image. What do people who are not politicians—people like us—do in the hopes of being seen doing something that creates an impression or image of themselves? Consider for a moment what you have done in the past month for the sake of appearance. Is  this genivat da’at? Is padding one’s resume genivat da’at?
3. Talmud records that Shmuel once crossed a river on a ferry. He instructed his attendant to pay the ferryman, but then became angry with his attendant. Why? Abaye suggests that the attendant gave the ferryman a tereifah hen, representing it as kosher-slaughtered; Raba suggests he gave the ferryman diluted wine, representing it as unmixed. Do you think Shmuel was angry because his attendant committed genivat da’at, or because it reflected on Shmuel, or both? Has anyone ever committed genivat da’at that reflected on you?