…Visited on the Children — BT Sanhedrin 27b (part 2) — #40

But are not children [sentenced to death] because of the sins of their parents? It is written, [For I Adonai your God am an impassioned God,] visiting the sins of the parents on the children (Exodus 20:5). There [in Exodus 20:5, Torah refers to offspring who] follow the ways of their parents, as it was taught [in a baraita]: …also because of the iniquities of their parents that are with them they shall rot away (Leviticus 26:39). [This refers to] when they follow the [sinful] behavior of their parents. You say that [it refers to] when they follow the [sinful] behavior of their parents, but perhaps it refers to when they do not follow [their parents’ sinful behavior]? When [Torah] says, Each person shall be put to death for his own sins, [the children] who abandoned [their parents’ sinful behavior] is meant. What, then, does also because of the iniquities of their parents that are with them they shall rot away refer? That is when they follow their parent’s [sinful] behavior. But is it not so [that a child may be punished for the sins of the parent]? Is it not written, they shall stumble over one another [as before the sword] (Leviticus 26:37), [meaning] they shall stumble over one another’s sins? This teaches that all [Jews] are responsible for one another. [No!] There [Torah refers to a situation in which] it was in their power to protest, but they did not.

INTRODUCTION

The Rabbis take a brief detour from a discussion about close relatives who are exempted from testifying, or serving as judges, at the trial of someone accused of a capital offense. (Please see the introduction to TMT-39, Part 1 of this passage or download pdf.) 

COMMENTARY

In Part 1, the Gemara brought a verse that asserts, Parents shall not be put to death because of [their] children, nor children be put to death for parents: a person shall be put to death only for his own crime (Deuteronomy 24:16). The verse seems clear enough, yet above (Part 2) the Gemara asks: Really? Are you so sure about that? After all, Exodus 20:5 explicitly says that God visits the sins of parents on children. And, indeed, Exodus 34:7 and Deuteronomy 5:9 make the very same claim.

A rebuttal to the contention that God punishes children for the sins of their parents is brought by a baraita (an early rabbinic teaching) that says, in essence: You’re misunderstanding Exodus 20:5. It does not make a blanket claim that God punishes children for their parents’ sins. Rather, it refers only to children who commit the same sins as their parents; hence the children are being punished for the sins they, themselves, commit. 

How does the baraita make this argument? According to the baraita, we learn this from Leviticus 26:39, a verse that is challenging to translate into English. Everett Fox renders it: “Those that remain among you will rot away in their iniquity, in the lands of their enemies, yes, because of the iniquities of their fathers, with them they shall rot away.” The baraita reads the Hebrew word itam (“with them”) to refer to the parents’ sins, not to the parents. Hence, it interprets the verse to affirm that children are punished (“rotting away”) not because their parents sinned, but when the children choose to sin as their parents did. The baraita concludes we can understand the verse, Each person shall be put to death for his own sins, as speaking about children who do not commit the sins of their parents and consequently are not punished. This, in turn, means that  Leviticus 26:39 applies only in the limited case of children who commit the sins of their parents.

The Gemara responds to the baraita by posing the question it initially asked: Really? Are you sure that children are not punished for the sins of their parents? After all, we also have Leviticus 26:37, which speaks of family relationships in the context of sin, resulting in “stumbling as before the sword” (sure sounds like punishment). Surely this proves that divine punishment is inflicted on family members. 

An anonymous voice responds that this teaches us that all Jews are responsible for one another. On the surface, this sounds like a good message and stopping place for this conversation, but the Rabbis insightfully realize that this message is deeply problematic. To suggest that all Jews—not just family members—are responsible for one another in the context of divine punishment for sins one didn’t personally commit broadens the inherent problem of theodicy immeasurably. If all Jews are responsible for preventing other Jews from wrongdoing, then anyone can be punished for the sins of anyone else! 

The Rabbis cannot leave the conversation here, and they don’t. They end with a corrective: The only time that one is punished for the sins of another is when they had the opportunity to protest wrongdoing, but did not do so. This means that if you see someone committing a sin, you don’t necessarily have to stop them (and often cannot), but you should protest if you can. Isn’t this common decency?

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. The Gemara seems to feel compelled to argue against the notion that children are punished for the sins of their parents. Certainly verses can be quoted to support and reject the idea. Why might the Rabbis feel this is a pressing question?
2. The principle that, “All Jews are responsible for one another” becomes dangerously twisted by the suggestion that “responsibility” means sharing guilt and divine punishment regardless of one’s personal behavior. How do you understand the principle?
3. If your understand of God doesn’t include the notion of divine punishment, what lessons can you learn from this passage?

The Sins of the Parents… — BT Sanhedrin 27b (part 1) — #39

MISHNAH: These relatives are disqualified: a brother, father’s brother, mother’s brother, sister’s husband, paternal or maternal aunt’s husband, stepfather, father-in-law, and brother-in-law—all these as well as their sons and sons-in-law. And his stepson alone [but not the stepson’s son or son-in-law]. R. Yose said: This is the Mishnah of R. Akiba, but an earlier Mishnah [said]: His uncle, his uncle’s son, and all who are eligible to inherit from him.

GEMARA: Whence this? The Sages taught [in a baraita]: Parents shall not be put to death because of [their] children… (Deuteronomy 24:16). What does [this verse of] Torah teach? If it teaches that parents shall not be put to death because of the sins of their children, nor children because of their parents, isn’t it already said, a person shall be put to death only for his own crime (Deuteronomy 24:16)? Rather, “parents shall not be put to death because of [their] children” concerns the testimony of the children, and “children shall not be put to death because of [their] parents” concerns the testimony of the parents.

INTRODUCTION

If someone is accused of a capital crime (execution is the punishment if the defendant is found guilt), may close relatives testify against him? In a seemingly unrelated question, does God punish children for the sins of their parents and take revenge on parents for the crimes of their children? This second question is intertwined with a discussion in tractate Sanhedrin concerning who may give testimony in a capital case. The passage I would like to share with you is too long and complex for one edition of TMT, so I have broken it into several parts. The two points I want to make in this introduction will lay a foundation not only for the section of the passage above, but also for what is to come.

(1) THE CONTEXT CREATED BY MISHNAH: It goes without saying that in any court case—and especially in a capital case when someone’s life is on the line—we want honest witnesses and judges who can muster the maximum amount of objectivity. Are there people who, without considering their individual character, should de facto be excluded as witnesses and judges? Our mishnah stipulates the automatic disqualification of close relatives from testifying against, or serving as judges in, capital cases. At the same time, it alludes to “R. Akiba’s Mishnah,” suggesting that R. Akiba wrote his own Mishnah, separate from that of R. Yehudah ha-Nasi. In fact, many scholars believe that R. Meir wrote his own Mishnah, as well, but neither survived as extent texts; most likely they  became incorporated into the surviving Mishnah of R. Yehudah ha-Nasi that undergirds Talmud. According to R. Akiba, one’s brother, uncle, brother-in-law, stepfather, and father-in-law, as well as their sons and sons-in-law are all disqualified; also one’s stepson (but not the stepson’s son or son-in-law) is disqualified.

(2) BEHIND-THE-SCENES CONVERSATION ABOUT “VICARIOUS INTERGENERATIONAL PUNISHMENT”: In addition to the context of the mishnah that generates this Gemara, it is important to understand the biblical verses that will enter the Gemara’s conversation because they have a storied and problematic history of their own. Both versions of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:5 and Deuteronomy 5:9) tell us that God is an impassioned God, “visiting the guilt of the parents upon the children, upon the third and upon the fourth generations  of those who reject Me…” Exodus 34:7 concurs. The claim that God engages in intergenerational punishment is deeply troubling, and not only to us. Deuteronomy 24:16 avers the opposite: “Parents shall not be put to death for children, nor children be put to death for parents: a person shall be put to death only for his own crime.” (Please note this entire verse. It will figure prominently in the next edition of TMT.) Ezekiel 18:20 explicitly says, “The person who sins, alone, shall die. A child shall not share the burden of a parent’s guilt, nor shall a parent share the burden of a child’s guilt.” Clearly, those with a hand in writing Deuteronomy and Ezekiel were uncomfortable with the notion of  intergenerational punishment! So was Onkelos. In his Aramaic translation of Exodus 20:5, he expands the verse (I’ve bolded his additions) to address its inherent ethical problem: “…avenging the sins of the parents upon the rebellious children, upon the third generation and upon the fourth generation of those who reject Me, when the children follow their parents in sinning.” The notion of a God who punishes children for the sins of their parents seems abhorrent to us in the 21st Century, but this is not a modern moral innovation: it struck many who lived 2,500 years ago the very same way. 

COMMENTARY

The Gemara asks: How does the mishnah know that all these relatives are excluded? A baraita (mishnaic-era rabbinic teaching not included in the Mishnah) supplies an answer, quoting Deuteronomy 24:16, which is taken to refer to testimony presented at trial: 

(a) Parents shall not be put to death for children, nor children be put to death for parents: (b) a person shall be put to death only for his own crime. 

This verse appears to be redundant: (a) and (b) seem to teach the same thing, but for the Sages, that cannot be. The baraita explains that (b) precludes parents and children from being tried for each other’s crimes; (a) concerns giving evidence at trial: parents cannot be convicted on the testimony of their children, nor children convicted on the testimony of their parents.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. If children should not be punished for the sins of their parents in a human court of law (Deuteronomy 24:18), is it hypocritical for God to do so (Exodus 20:5)? Is there another way to interpret Exodus 20:5?
2. Torah includes numerous contradictory ideas, large and small. One approach is to attempt to harmonize the contradictions. Another approach is to acknowledge Torah as a multi-vocal text. which approach do you prefer, and why?
3. Who (if anyone) do you think should be automatically disqualified from serving as witnesses in a capital case, and why?

“Did You Know This Would Happen?” — BT Nedarim 22b — #38

Rava praised Rav Sechorah to Rav Nachman as a great man. [Rav Nachman] said to [Rava], “When he comes to you, bring him to me.” [Rav Sechorah] had made a vow he wanted to annul. He came before Rav Nachman [to be released from his vow]. [Rav Nachman] said to him, “Did you make the vow knowing this [i.e., a particular fact]?” [Rav Sechorah] said, “Yes,” “Knowing this?” “Yes,” several times. Rav Nachman became angry. He said to [Rav Sechorah], “Go away!” Rav Sechorah left and made an opening for himself: “Rabbi said: What is the virtuous path that a person should follow? That which honors oneself and brings honor from others. (Pirkei Avot 2:1) And now that Rav Nachman has become angry, knowing this, I would not have made the vow.”—And he [found the basis for an “opening”] to annul it for himself.

INTRODUCTION

In TMT #37, we considered a passage from the tractate about vows concerning several cases in which people were absolved of their vows because conditions changed and they came to regret having made them. Generally speaking, this is shaky ground for absolving someone of a vow since anyone requesting annulment certainly regrets having made the vow, and only hindsight (never foresight) is 20/20. No wonder the Rabbis adjure us never to avoid making vows! But reality  being what it is, people are quick to utter rash statements, often formulated as vows, without due consideration. The Rabbis are therefore caught between a rock and a hard place: It serves no social or religious purpose to hold people to foolish and counterproductive vows. Yet on the other hand, releasing them automatically renders all vows meaningless and has implications for other obligatory or promissory statements a person might make. 

Keeping our word and trusting others to keep theirs are important for everything from casual social relationships to far more complex relationships, and vows are serious utterances that should be treated as such. Therefore, the Rabbis search for a petach (“openings”), meaning grounds upon which to annul the vow. They often ask, “Did you know…?” to determine if grounds can be found to annul a vow on the basis of an after-the-fact event that would have been a game-changer.

COMMENTARY

Our passage contains an anecdote about Rav Sechorah, who seeks the help of Rav Nachman to annul a vow he has made. In preparation, Rava tells recommends him to Rav Nachman, saying that Rav Sechorah is a great man. This seems a strange and unnecessary detail to add. 

There are two grounds upon which Rav Nachman can make an petach (“opening”) for Rav Sechorah: (1) Ta’ut (“mistake”)—If Rav Sechorah never intended to make the vow and uttered it by mistake, or if he made the vow without intending to do so; (2) Charatah (“regret, unsettled mind”)—If Rav Sechorah made his vow impetuously, or in a state of anger. If Rav Nachman can ascertain that at least one of these conditions applies, he can convene a bet din (court of three) and retroactively annul Rav Sechorah’s vow. Rav Nachman attempts to find an “opening” on which to annul Rav Sechorah’s vow. He cites a fact or event that occurred as a result of the vow that, had Rav Sechorah known or foreseen, he would not have made the vow. Rav Nachman asks, “When you made the vow, did you know this?” Rav Sechorah does not say, “No,” as we would expect (and as Rav Nachman hopes). He says, “Yes.” Rav Nachman asks several more questions, each designed to elicit grounds for annulment, and each question, Rav Sechorah honestly responds that he knew or had considered what Rav Nachman proposes. Rav Nachman grows annoyed. In fact, he becomes angry and sends Rav Sechorah away. If Rav Sechorah is as great as Rava claims, how could he have made a vow so foolishly and now expect Rav Nachman to find an opening to annul it?

Rav Nachman’s inability to find an “opening” ironically provides Rav Sechorah with the opening he needs. Talmud explains by recounts Rav Sechorah’s reasoning to himself: R. Yehudah ha-Nasi taught us in Pirkei Avot 2:1 that the virtuous path in life is one in which a person does what is honorable and earns the honor of others. Causing Rav Nachman to become angry with me concerning the vow I made was certainly not an outcome I foresaw or desired, and had I known that this would result, I would not have made the vow. Rav Sechorah has found an opening for himself: He did not realize that the attempt to annul his vow would provoke Rav Nachman’s anger; had he known, he would not have made the vow, which he now deeply regrets. He has found the “opening” upon which Rav Nachman now annuls his vow for him.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. The Bible does not permit the annulment of vows (with the exception of the authority of a husband or father to annul a woman’s vow on the day it is made; see Numbers 30:4-16). Consider the consequences in the case of Jephthah (Judges 11:30-40), the general who leads Israel in war against the Ammonites, vowing that if he returns victorious he will sacrifice the first thing he sees upon returning home; his daughter, coming out to greet him, is the first thing he sees. In formulating a way to retroactively annul vows, have the Rabbis undermined or repaired the Bible? 
2. Throughout Jewish thought and literature, the theme of the power of words arises again and again. Torah begins on this note: God created the universe through speech. A neder (vow) can only be made concerning an object that one declares forbidden to him/herself. Can you imagine a rash vow that would create havoc in a person’s life and in the life his/her family and friends?
3. Why do you think the Talmud makes mention of Rava’s praise of Rav Sechorah to Rav Nachman? Would this have influenced Rav Nachman’s expectations of Rav Sechorah and hence his reaction to what Rav Sechorah tells him? How does our view of Rav Sechorah as a “great man” work to legitimize the opening he finds for Rav Nachman to annul his vow?

Making & Breaking Vows — Nedarim 21b–22a — #37

A certain person came before R. Assi, who said to him, “Have you already regretted [your vow]? He said to him, “Haven’t I?! [meaning: I certainly have!]” So [R. Assi] released him [from his vow]. 

A certain person came before R. Elazar, who said to him, “Do you [still] want your vow [to be in force]?” He said to him, “Had they not angered me, I would never have wanted [to make the vow] at all.” [R. Elazar] said to him, “It is as you desired.” 

A certain woman imposed a vow on her daughter. [The mother] came before R. Yochanan. He said to her, “Had you known that your neighbors would say about your daughter, (22a) ‘Had her mother not seen in her matters that warranted abandoning her, she would not have made the vow for no reason,’ would you have imposed the vow on her?” [The mother] said to him, “No.” He released her [from her vow].

INTRODUCTION

Do you know people who make promises but do not keep their word? For inconsequential issues, we can turn a blind eye, but for important matters, we are inclined to “put it in writing.” Long ago, agreements were  often contracted orally by taking an oath. Vows had legal validity and consequences. Torah uses two terms: If a person makes a neder (vow) to Adonai or takes an shevuah (oath) imposing an obligation on himself, he shall not break his pledge; he must carry out  all that has crossed his lips (Numbers 30:3; see also Deuteronomy 23:22–24). The distinction between a neder and a shevuah is that a neder prohibits an object to the one who makes the vow (although Torah permits it), while a shevuah obligates or constrains the behavior of the person who makes the oath. Our passage concerns vows. For example, if I vow not to eat unhealthful food for a month, then junk food is now forbidden to me. To be enforced, a neder requires both intention and a verbal declaration (just thinking it is not sufficient). The Rabbis took people’s pledges seriously. Life and death are in the power of the tongue (Proverbs 18:21).

What happens when someone is too quick to make a vow, failing to recognize its consequences, or if the consequences are unforeseeable? Torah does not provide a mechanism to absolve people from their vows. The most tragic example is the general Jephthah (Judges 11:30–40) who leads Israel in war against the Ammonites after foolishly vowing that if he is victorious in battle he will sacrifice the first thing he sees upon returning home; upon his return, his only child, a daughter, comes out to greet him. It is a horrifying scene.

The Rabbis attempt to balance the ideal with the real. They understood that making rash vows is part of human nature and therefore they strongly discouraged people from making any vows whatsoever, and further  built into halakhah mechanisms to annul rash and inappropriate vows. Generally, either a rabbi or a bet din of three knowledgeable lay people can have a vow annulled (called hatarah) if there exist grounds for a petach (“opening”), which means that the person regretted the vow because they were not aware of the affect it would have on them. Our passage provides three examples of finding a petach to release a person from their vow.

COMMENTARY

Our passage has three brief stories. In the first vignette, R. Assi finds a petach (“opening”) to annul a man’s vow because he regrets having made it. In the second vignette, R. Elazar releases a man from his vow because he made it rashly in a moment of anger; the anger “coerces” him into making the vow. In the third vignette, a woman unknowingly and unthinkingly digs herself into a hole by vowing that her daughter will derive no benefit from her (the mother). We can only imagine what transpired between mother and daughter to inspire the mother to make such a rash vow. The result, however, is not surprising. The neighbors begin talking, as people are wont to do: “Wow! Did you hear about So-and-So’s vow regarding her daughter? Her daughter must have done something spectacularly awful for So-and-So to have made that vow!” The mother is horrified that many people in her community now presume that her daughter has done something so terrible that it is appropriate for her mother to essentially abandon her. She goes to R. Yochanan in the hopes that he will retroactively annul it. He asks the mother whether she realized that such damaging gossip would ensue from making the vow. She replies that she did not. This the petach (“opening”) he needs to annul her vow. 

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. In a moment of anger, have you ever declared that you would do, or refrain from doing, something (e.g., never speak with someone again, never enter someone’s home again)? Did you later regret your declaration?
2. What might be the emotional and spiritual consequences of holding someone to a rash vow they made?
3. G. K. Chesterton (1874–1936) argued in a famous essay, “A Defense of Rash Vows” (abridgment here) that modern people fear vows because they pose consequences we would prefer to avoid, but require of us self-discipline and responsibility. Do you agree? If the Rabbis disapproved of making vows because people so often make them rashly and later regret them, do you think they should have found a mechanism for retroactively annulling all vows automatically? Why do you think they did not?

If a prosperous modern man… were to solemnly pledge himself before all his clerks and friends to count the leaves on every third tree in Holland Walk, to hop up to the City on one leg every Thursday…to collect 300 dandelions in fields belonging to anyone of the name of Brown… to sing the names of all his aunts in order of age on the top of an omnibus, or make any such unusual undertaking, we should immediately conclude that the man was mad, or, as it is sometimes expressed, was ‘an artist in life.’ (G. K. Chesterton)

Uh oh! Got that One Wrong! — BT Horayot 6b — #36

If a High Priest] ruled [erroneously] unintentionally and acted [in accordance with his errant ruling] unintentionally, he brings a bull [as a chatat (sin offering)].  

This is obvious! Abaye said: What are we dealing with here?  

Consider a hypothetical case in which [a High Priest] ruled and afterward forgot the reason for his ruling, and at that time he erred and said, “I hereby act on the basis of my [previous] ruling.” You might have said that since had he known [his reason for the original ruling] he would have retracted, he is considered as one who acted intentionally and is not liable [to bring a chatat].  

Learn from this [why the mishnah tells us he is liable to bring a chatat].

INTRODUCTION

The tractate Horayot discusses errors in rulings made by the High Priest or the Sanhedrin that. Horayot concerns leniencies that cause people to violate negative (“thou shalt not…”) commandments serious enough to carry the punishment of karet (being cut off from the Jewish people) if committed purposefully. Given the priest’s or judge’s authority and influence, we can easily see why the first mishnah in Pirkei Avot reminds sages to, Be deliberate in judgment. But, as Rambam (Moses Maimonides) pointed out, “it is impossible for those with the nature of flesh and blood not to err”—or put another way: nobody’s perfect, not even a High Priest or members of the Sanhedrin.

Although the most egregious violations of negative commandments carry the penalty of karet (excision from the community), there is a remedy if the sin were committed inadvertently: the person must bring a chatat (sin) offering to make expiation.

Before explaining the passage above, we need to understand the mishnah to which our passage is responding. Let’s try to understand it first.

If a High Priest ruled [erroneously] unintentionally and acted [in accordance with the errant ruling] unintentionally, he brings a bull [as a chatat/sin offering]. If [he ruled] unintentionally but acted intentionally, or if [he ruled] intentionally and acted unintentionally, he is exempt [from bringing a chatat] because the law of the High Priest's ruling [that he makes] for himself is like a court’s ruling [that it makes] for the community. (M Horayot 2:1)

The mishnah recognizes three cases: (1) A High Priest rules erroneously without realizing that he is wrong, and subsequently acts on his own ruling. (2) A High Priest rules erroneously without realizing he is wrong, subsequently realizes his mistake, but acts in accord with the erroneous ruling nonetheless. (3) A High Priest intentionally rules incorrectly and then acts on his own ruling but without intention to act on it at the time he did. In the first case, the High Priest can remedy the situation by bringing a chatat (sin offering), which Torah stipulates is brought for inadvertent sin (Leviticus 4:27). In the second and third cases, however, the remedy of the chatat is not available to him because of the intentional character of either his decision or his acting on the decision, and because the law follows the procedure for the case of erroneous rulings brought by the Sanhedrin.

COMMENTARY

If your head is spinning, please hang on a little longer. The mishnah tells us that only in the case in which the High Priest’s erroneous ruling was unintentional and his acting on it was also unintentional, he brings a bull as a chatat to remedy the situation. Gemara says: Obviously! We know this from Leviticus 4:3 and 27, so why does the mishnah bother telling us what is obvious? Abaye explains that the mishnah articulates what seems to be an obvious case because it wants us to be aware of particular variation of the case that we might misconstrue: A High Priest makes an erroneously ruling, and subsequently forgets his own reasoning. When it comes time to act on the ruling, he relies on it although he has forgotten the reasoning. We might think, Abaye says, that had he recalled his original reasoning, he would have had the opportunity to revisit his thinking and possibly correct his error. But he didn’t; he went ahead and acted on the ruling without knowing the reasoning behind it. We might think, Abaye says, that this means his sin is intentional, but it is not, and that is why the mishnah states the “obvious”—to insure that we don’t misconstrue this case.

Even with the best of intentions, people make mistakes. Any human system needs to make reasonable allowances for human error. But when are errors forgivable (the function of the chatat offering is to clear the one who brings it of guilt, but it only applies for inadvertent violations) and when are they so egregious that we ought not excuse them?

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Do you agree with Abaye’s analysis of this borderline case? We might say: The High Priest did not realize he had made an errant decision. Or, we might say: Had he forced himself to recall his reasoning before acting, he might well have caught his own error and corrected it; and if he could not recall his reasoning, he would have needed to reasoned the decision anew and would likely have made a correct ruling. 
2. We would hope that people in positions of authority and power would be encouraged to rethink their decisions, and also to acknowledge their errors and correct them. Do you think Abaye’s case does either or both?
3. Could Abaye’s reason for allowing the High Priest in the hypothetical case to bring a chatat be that he is giving him the benefit of the doubt? 

Another Take on Manna — BT Yoma 76a — #35

שאלו תלמידיו את רבי שמעון בן יוחי מפני מה לא ירד להם לישראל מן פעם אחת בשנה? אמר להם אמשול לכם משל. למה הדבר דומה? למלך בשר ודם שיש לו בן אחד פסק לו מזונותיו פעם אחת בשנה ולא היה מקביל פני אביו אלא פעם אחת בשנה. עמד ופסק מזונותיו בכל יום והיה מקביל פני אביו כל יום. אף ישראל: מי שיש לו ארבעה וחמשה בנים היה דואג ואומר: שמא לא ירד מן למחר ונמצאו כולן מתים ברעב. נמצאו כולן מכוונים את לבם לאביהן שבשמים. דבר אחר: שהיו אוכלין אותו כשהוא חם. דבר אחר: מפני משאוי הדרך וכבר היה

R. Simon b. Yochai was asked by his disciples, “Why didn’t the manna come down to Israel once each year?” He replied: “I shall explain by a parable. This may be compared to a king of flesh and blood who had one son, whom he provided with food once a year, and so [his son] would visit his father [only] once a year. Thereupon he provided his food every day, and he visited his father daily. So, too, Israel. One who had four or five children would worry and say: ‘Perhaps no manna will fall tomorrow, and everyone will die of hunger.’ Therefore, everyone directed their hearts to God in Heaven.” Another interpretation: They ate it while it was still warm. Another interpretation: Because of the weight of carrying it along the way.

INTRODUCTION

I am including the Talmudic text in addition to a translation this week because it is written in relatively simple Hebrew. For those who enjoy the Hebrew, have fun!  

One week after leaving Egypt, the Israelites find themselves at the shore of the Reed Sea. We recount their harrowing crossing and the miraculous redemption they experienced on the seventh day of Passover.  Six weeks out of Egypt, the people complain of hunger—they experience severe food insecurity. God responds by raining down manna from heaven each night; the people find it covering the ground when they awaken in the morning. Since they are prohibited from gathering manna on Shabbat, God provides a double portion on Friday morning (the two loaves of challah on the shabbat dinner table Friday night recall the double portion of manna). Israel’s complaints and grumbling are generally viewed negatively by both the Torah and the Rabbis—evidence that the people lack faith in God to protect them, even after the miracles of the Ten Plagues, the Exodus, and the Parting of the Reed Sea. Occasionally, however, the Rabbis evince a refreshingly compassionate view.

COMMENTARY

R. Shimon b. Yochai’s students wonder why God provides manna daily, rather than once a year. At this time of year, we are tempted to compare manna with matzah, since year-old matzah tastes pretty much the same as new matzah: it starts out tasting stale. If it makes little difference, why does God go to the trouble to provide it daily? Talmud supplies three possible answers. 

The first answer, from R. Shimon b. Yochai, comes in the form of a mashal (parable or allegory). Parables abound in rabbinic literature. To decode them, we need to know that the earthly king is always a stand-in for God, and the son or servant is always a stand-in for Israel. The king (God) owes his son (Israel) support—note there is no question about that—and sends a yearly allowance. The result is that the son visits only once a year. Rethinking the plan, the king gives his son money every day and discovers that as a result, the son visits each day, if only to collect his allowance. Note there is no criticism of the son for visiting but once a year when the money is provided on a yearly basis. However, the frequent payments provide an opportunity for father and son to visit with one another frequently, reconnect, and maintain a close relationship. This is what God wants with Israel: close and frequent contact.

We are given two other possible responses to R. Shimon’s students’ query. Perhaps God provides manna daily so that it will be fresh and warm when the Israelites eat it each day. God wants to provide them not only nourishment, but pleasure in eating. Or perhaps God provides manna daily because otherwise the Israelites would have to haul many months worth  of manna as they traveled. This would be a weighty burden to shlep through the Wilderness. God wants to lighten their load.

All three responses posit a loving God who is not resentful of the Israelites’ “grumbling.” In this snippet of Talmud, the Rabbis view the Israelites’ fear of starvation as first and foremost an expression of concern about their children’s health and welfare. God does not respond with resentment (“Okay, here, have some manna and quit kvetching!”) but rather with thoughts of how the manna could be delivered to strengthen the bond between God and Israel, provide them with enjoyment (not just nourishment), without compounding the burden of journeying through the wilderness.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. There are often two ways to view, and even or interpret, what people say: The not-so-generous way is to accuse the Israelites of lacking faith in God. In our passage, the Rabbis demonstrate the generous way. When have you had a choice to interpret an event or conversation generously or not-so-generously? Which did you choose?
2. How important is it to you to feed your family and guests tasty and enjoyable food? Why?
3. God no longer rains down manna to feed hungry people. At the Passover seder, we say, “Let all who are hungry, come and eat.” Food insecurity is a terrible scourge found not only in far corners of the world, but far closer to home. Please learn more at the website of MAZON: A Jewish Response to Hunger and consider making a donation—you can provide much-needed manna to hungry people.

Leaning In — BT Pesachim 108a — #34

[Mishnah:] Even the poorest Jew may not eat except while reclining. [Gemara:] It was said: Matzah [must be eaten] reclining. Bitter herbs need not [be eaten] reclining. [Concerning drinking the four cups of] wine:  It was stated in Rav Nachman’s name that reclining is required, and it was stated in Rav Nachman’s name that reclining is not required. There is no disagreement here. One [statement] refers to the first two cups, and the other statement refers to the last two cups. Some explain it this way, but some explain it the opposite way. Some explain it this way: The first two cups require reclining because it is now that freedom begins. The last two cups do not require reclining because what happened, happened. And some explain it the opposite way: On the contrary! The last two cups require reclining [because] at that time there is freedom. The first two cups do not requiring reclining because at that time one is [still] reciting, “We were slaves [of Pharaoh in Egypt].”

INTRODUCTION

When the traditions of the Passover seder began to take shape after the Destruction of the Second Temple (70 C.E.), the Rabbis turned first to Torah for clues as to how Jews should celebrate the festival even though they could no longer sacrifice a paschal lamb. Torah speaks of a meal featuring unleavened bread, bitter herbs, at which the story of the Exodus is recounted. Naturally, these figure prominently in the seder. The Rabbis also turned to the Greco-Roman culture in which they lived and borrowed the model of the symposium to serve as a framework for the Passover seder. The symposium was an elegant banquet at which guests recline on  couches, enjoy many courses and delicacies (with lots of vegetables and lots of dipping), sip numerous glasses of wine, and engage in extended intellectual conversations. In the course of time, the traditions of the Rabbis were folded into the framework of the symposium, and more and more customs were added. The four cups of wine recall God’s fourfold promise of redemption: “I will bring you forth…I will deliver you…I will redeem you…I will take you” (Exodus 6:5,6) How appropriate to recall God’s promises of redemption that have been fulfilled, as we eat a leisurely meal and recline on cushions.

COMMENTARY

The Mishnah instructs everyone—even the poor—to recline at the Passover meal. But when? The Gemara tells us to recline while eating matzah, presumably because our people ate the unleavened bread after they had been freed from Egypt. For maror (bitter herbs), however, we need not recline, presumably because the purpose of maror is to recall the bitterness of slavery prior to freedom. Gemara then recalls a ruling in Rav Nachman’s name in two different ways: we should recline while drinking wine, and we should not recline while drinking wine. Which is correct? The Gemara finds a way to affirm both rulings: The first version of Rav Nachman’s ruling is applied to the two cups of wine we drink before the main meal, and the other version of the ruling to the two cups of wine drunk after the main meal. But even here, there is disagreement concerning whether reclining applies to the first, or last, two cups of wine. Rationales are given for each.

The argument for reclining for the first two cups only is based on the present situation of the people at the seder: The celebrants are free people and demonstrate their freedom with the very first cup of wine by reclining. Having fulfilled the obligation to lean for the first two cups, they no longer need to do so for the second two cups. The seder, from this perspective, is about standing in freedom and looking back to remember that we were slaves intil God redeemed us.

The explanation for not reclining for the first two cups but reclining for the latter two cups presumes that we are not merely retelling the story of our redemption from slavery—we are actually re-enacting our ancestors’ redemption in such a way that we experience redemption, as well. We say, “Once we were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt…” with the intent of crawling inside the experience of slavery in our minds as best we can. To lean while drinking the required cups of wine at the same time that we are trying to imagine ourselves enslaved is counterproductive. By the time the main meal is served, however, we have told the entire story, sung Dayenu and half of Hallel, and are prepared to eat and think like royalty. Following dinner, we recline in order to more fully experience our freedom.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. What is at stake in the two views of whether we recline for the first two or last two cups of wine? Which view is more meaningful to you? Why?
2. Many people bring pillows to the seder table to fulfill the tradition of leaning while drinking wine. Others find the pillows and leaning uncomfortable, raising an interesting question: If the tradition does not evoke the comforts of freedom for you, should you continue to do it? Is the tradition absolute, or a culturally determined expression of freedom? Rabbi Eliezer ben Joel ha-Levi of Bonn (12th century) said that only the sick recline while eating. In Avi ha-Ezri he wrote that reclining was no long obligatory because doing so is what sick people do and hence delivers the wrong message.
3. Another tradition was added to the four cups of wine: Not only are we free on seder night, but we are royalty. Hence someone should serve us by pouring our wine. Here’s a curiosity from Jewish history: Noting that in his day men often ordered their wives to serve them wine at the  seder, ironically making women play the part of a slave on seder night, the 19th century Polish halakhist, Rabbi Y. M. Epstein, author of Arukh haShulchan, instructed people to pour their own wine: “It is haughty and arrogant to order one’s wife to serve him wine. After all, he is no more obligated to drink wine than she. Therefore, we ask that everyone pour for him or herself.” How is it done at your seder? How would you like to do it? Could people pour for one another in some manner that allows everyone to both serve and be served?

Is Giving Birth a Sin? — BT Niddah 31b — #33

R. Shimon b. Yochai was asked by his disciples: Why did the Torah ordain that after giving birth a woman should bring a chatat (sin offering)? He replied: When she kneels in childbearing she swears impetuously that she will never again have intercourse with her husband. The Torah, therefore, ordained that she should bring a sacrifice. R. Yosef said: Does she not [in swearing she will never have intercourse with her husband again] act presumptuously, in which case the absolution of [the oath] depends on her regretting it? Furthermore, she should have brought a sacrifice prescribed for an oath.

INTRODUCTION

Torah imposes a peculiar requirement upon a woman who gives birth. Following an initial period of ritual impurity (seven days for a son, fourteen days for a daughter) she remains impure for an addition period of time (33 days for a son, 66 days for a daughter). After this, Leviticus 12:6-7 specifies that the woman must bring two sacrifices to the Temple: a lamb as an olah (burnt offering) and a pigeon or turtledove as a chatat (sin offering). Why does she bring a chata? What sin has she committed? Certainly giving birth is not a sin. The students of R. Shimon bar  Yochai asked him these very questions.

COMMENTARY

R. Shimon bar Yochai tells his students that in the midst of hard labor women swear an oath that they will never again have sex with their husbands. Presumably the pain is so intense that they abhor the idea of ever having sex again lest they become pregnant and have to endure again the ordeal they are experiencing. Certainly, an oath of the sort R. Shimon has in mind would be problematic, both from the standpoint of the man’s religious obligation to procreate, and from the perspective of the couple’s marital relationship. 

Really? All women swear such an oath? After all, Torah requires all women to bring a chatat after giving birth, so the reason must apply to all women. Curiously, the Gemara does not address R. Shimon’s broad, sweeping generalization about women. Rather, it shoots two gaping holes in the logic behind R. Shimon’s contention for even a single woman. The first challenge is brought by R. Yosef, who points out that if a person behaves impetuously and swears a rash oath that needs to be annulled or retracted, the proper procedure is for a priest (or in his day, a rabbi) to discern that the individual sincerely regrets having sworn the oath and wishes to retract it. But Torah makes no such allowance: all women bring the chatat and none are questioned by the priests. The second challenge is offered by the anonymous voice of the Gemara. Had the woman’s sacrifice been intended to atone for an inappropriate oath that she wished to retract, the proper offering would have been a lamb or a goat—not a bird as Torah prescribes. Hence Torah could not have had in mind atonement for the sin of making an impetuous oath, as R. Shimon claims.

R. Shimon bar Yochai’s strange claim about the behavior of women in childbirth has been repeated ad nauseam, and can be found today in range of Torah commentaries that even includes the Conservative Etz Hayim (which presents it as Talmudic speculation; see p. 651). The JPS commentary penned by Jacob Milgrom (Leviticus, p. 74) tells us that “sin offering” is an acceptable translation if understood properly, because the ancients “seldom distinguished between ‘sin’ and ‘impurity.’” The Torah commentaries of the Reform Movement, however, do not repeat R. Shimon’s canard. The Torah: A Modern Commentary (p. 826) explains: “Obviously, having a baby is not a sin; it is in fact the fulfillment of a divine Command (Gen. 1:18). The reference here is to ritual purgation and nothing else.” The Torah: A Women’s Commentary (pp. 642) explains: “…blood from the sacrifice serves as a ritual detergent…The passage of time, the offering of sacrifices, and perhaps a ritual bath…all contribute to her renewed ability to touch and eat sacred food and enter holy space.”

Did R. Shimon bar Yochai ever attend a childbirth? Undoubtedly not. Men did not do so until very recently, and certainly not during the Talmud period. Those who have felt compelled to repeat his  absurd claim might have consulted masechet Keritot 26a, where his opinion is mentioned and dismissed. There, Talmud affirms that the woman’s offering is “for the purpose of permitting her to partake of consecrated food, and is not expiatory.” In other words, the sacrifice is not a sin-offering at all; it is the last ritual of purification that restores the woman to a state of ritual purity. 

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Why might R. Shimon b. Yochai have imagined that women in hard labor swear an oath never again to have intercourse with their husbands? Could his contention reflect anxiety felt by men who are separated from their wives at a time when their wives experience pain? Could they have imagined that, in their pain, women might have wanted to forswear sex lest they ever have to go through labor again?
2. Why do you suppose that R. Shimon bar Yochai’s explanation, logically dismantled on Niddah 31a and summarily rejected on Keritot 26a has nonetheless been repeated as a valid explanation for more than 15 centuries?
3. The history of this passage reflects a phenomenon we have seen often and continue to see in the public sphere: A negative generalization about a group of people is made and repeated again and again despite all logic and readily available facts to the contrary because it has emotional resonance. Where do you see this phenomenon happening today? Can you propose a way to counter it? Could we understand our passage as Talmud’s model for responding calmly and logically to an irrational and emotional claim?

A Borrower and a Lender Be! — BT Ketubot 72a — #32

Rav Kahana said: A man who imposes a vow on his wife that she should neither borrow nor lend a sieve, strainer, millstones, or oven must divorce her and pay her ketubah because he has caused her to have a bad name among her neighbors. A baraita taught the same thing: A man who imposes a vow on his wife that she should neither borrow nor lend a sieve, strainer, millstones, or oven must divorce her and pay her ketubah because he has caused her to have a bad name among her neighbors. Similarly, if [the wife] vowed to neither borrow nor lend a sieve, strainer, millstones, or oven, or not to weave beautiful garments for his children, she may be divorced without her ketubah because she has caused him to have a bad name among the neighbors.

INTRODUCTION

Long before a ketubah became the object of decorative art, it was a legal lien on a man’s property that he gave his wife when he married her. The Rabbis innovated the ketubah, which replaced the biblical mohar (bride price), as a protection for the woman in case the marriage ended, lest she be left with nothing. It stipulated how much money and property she would retain in case of death or divorce. In a sense, it functioned (in part) as a prenuptial agreement.  Today, in some Jewish communities, it is still a lien (albeit beautifully illuminated) and in more liberal communities the text has been modified to reflect the financial and social realities of life in the 21st century.

Prior to this passage, the Rabbis have been discussing mean-spirited vows that a husband might make; if they subject his wife to various forms of privation he must divorce her and pay her ketubah. These include forbidding her to visit her parents, attend a house of mourning, or visit a house of feasting. Many commentators try to invert the plain meaning of the text to say that these mishnayot concern foolish and inappropriate vows a wife makes that her husband fails to forbid. The text makes little sense understood this way and its very language must be contorted to squeeze this meaning out of it.

COMMENTARY

Rav Kahana paints a scenario for us of a husband who forbids his wife (through the device of a vow) from engaging in the ordinary day-to-day social interactions that make for good neighbors: borrowing and lending kitchen utensils. (We might be inclined to add the proverbial cup or sugar or two eggs to Rav Kahana’s examples.) In the world of the Talmud, women regularly borrowed  kitchen utensils from one another, and doing so fostered and cemented good relationships between neighbors in the community. Refusing to lend someone a cake pan or electric mixer (to translate into our parlance) could generate resentment and seriously damage relationships with neighbors and quite possibly threaten friendships. Imagine you asked a friend to borrow a loaf pan and your friend said no. What would you think? How would you feel? The husband’s vow destabilizes his wife’s position vis-a-vis her neighbors and friends: “he gives her a bad reputation” resulting in her social isolation. If the wife does not mourn or celebrate with others, lend and borrow simple kitchen utensils, she is cut off from her community. The husband divorces her and must pay her ketubah because she has done nothing wrong that would suggest she should forfeit it. But why does Talmud say he must divorce her? Perhaps, in the eyes of the Rabbis, a vow such as this is a sign that their relationship is seriously unhealthy. The husband’s behavior—socially isolating his wife and ruining her reputation with her neighbors and friends—raises a red flag: What else is he doing to her?

Conversely, if the wife vows to neither lend nor borrow in the way of a good friend and neighbor—and Gemara adds if she refuses to make nice clothing for his (i.e., her own) children—this, too, is a dangerous sign. Her actions socially isolate not only herself, but also her children and husband and thus he may divorce her without paying her ketubah if he chooses. 

“Neighbors bring food with death and flowers with sickness and little things in between. Boo was our neighbor. He gave us two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair of good-luck pennies, and our lives. But neighbors give in return. We never put back into the tree what we took out of it: we had given him nothing, and it made me sad.” Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. The Rabbis placed a premium on good neighborly relations, a sine qua non for building community. Do you agree? We live in a society in which many people barely know their neighbors. What has been your experience?
2. In Hamlet (Act 1, Scene 3) Polonius famously counsels his sons, Laertes: “Neither a borrower nor a lender be, For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.” Shakespeare had in mind the risk of lending money to people who might not repay their obligation. How would you feel if you lent money or a tool to a friend who did not pay you back? In what situations does borrowing strengthen a relationship, and when does it threaten to rupture a relationship?
3. The picture that emerges from the mishnah and Rav Kahana’s description is that of a controlling husband who seeks to socially isolate his wife from her family, friends, and community. There is a wealth of literature on people with borderline personality disorder and narcissistic personality disorder who engage in behaviors much like those ascribed to the hypothetical husband of this Talmudic passage. Often physical and emotional abuse are occurring behind closed doors.  The National Domestic Violence Hotline (thehotline.org) says: “Possessive and controlling behaviors don’t always appear overnight, but rather emerge and intensify as the relationship grows.” Do you know anyone in this situation? How might you speak with them and advice them?

Can Torah Study Alone Ward Away Suffering? — BT Avodah Zarah 17b — #31

This accords with the opinion of Rav Huna who said: “One who engages only in Torah study is like one who has no God, for it is said, Now for long seasons Israel was without the true God [and without a teaching priest and without Torah] (2 Chronicles 15:3).” What is meant by “without a true God”? [It means] that whoever engages only in Torah study is like one who has no God. And did [R. Chanina] not engage in gemilut chasadim? R. Eliezer b. Yaakov says: “A person should not give his money to the [communal] charity fund unless a Torah scholar like R. Chanina b. Teradyon is appointed to oversee it. [R. Chanina] was certainly trusted [to oversee the charity] but never actually did. But it was taught: [R. Chanina] said to [R. Yose b. Kisma]: “I switched Purim funds and distributed them to the poor.” R. Chanina did [acts of kindness] but not as he should have.

INTRODUCTION

Given that this passage begins, “This accords with the opinion of Rav Huna…” clearly we are in the middle of a longer piece. The context is a story set during the infamous Hadrianic persecutions in the early second century C.E. The Romans outlawed Torah study, observance of many mitzvot, and rabbinic ordination, threatening the survival of Judaism and the Jewish people. Tradition holds that R. Chanina b. Teradyon, together with nine other rabbis, was brutally martyred during this period; the stories of their martyrdom are recounted in many synagogues on Yom Kippur. In the daf following [18a], we find the famous account of R. Chanina’s trial: R. Chanina is wrapped in a  scroll of Torah and burned to death, giving rise to his famous vision of the Hebrew letters miraculously escaping from the parchment and ascending to heaven. 

The larger discussion, of which this passage is a part, begins with a baraita that informs us that R. Chanina and R. Elazar b. Perata were arrested by the Romans and charged with a variety of crimes. R. Chanina tells his colleague, “You are fortunate because you were arrested on five counts, but will be saved. Woe is me who has been arrested on one count, but will not be saved—for you engaged in Torah study as well as gemilut chasadim (deeds of kindness), whereas I engaged only in Torah study.” Was R. Chanina—an eminent scholar— not saved from the fangs of the ruthless Roman establishment because Torah study, however diligent and exemplary, is insufficient to merit heaven’s intervention without gemilut chasadim (deeds of loving kindness)? What we find here is the Rabbis’ desperate attempt to find a reason for R. Chanina’s suffering.

"There is only one question which really matters: why do bad things happen to good people? All other theological conversation is intellectually diverting . . .” (Rabbi Harold Kushner, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, p. 6)

COMMENTARY

Rav Huna brings a verse from Tana”kh that recounts Jewish “history” from Adam through founding of the Davidic dynasty, the Babylonian Exile, and Cyrus’ authorization for the people to return and rebuild the Temple. Rav Huna quotes only the beginning of the verse, but given that the verse ends “without Torah,” we can see that his point is that Torah study is insufficient to secure heaven’s protect from a fate like R. Chanina’s if it is not a accompanied by gemilut chasadim, deeds of loving kindness. But is it true that R. Chanina has no deeds of kindness to his merit? Could that be? R. Eliezer b. Yaakov’s statement that a charity fund should be administered by a Torah scholar of R. Chanina’s eminence is brought to refute the suggestion that R. Chanina had no deeds of chesed to his credit, but an anonymous voice points out that R. Chanina never actually managed the fund—he merely qualified to do so on the basis of his scholarship. An early teaching is then quoted that claims that R. Chanina did, indeed, oversee a charity fund, but he did not insure that the funds were properly disbursed. The suggestion is that his laxity on his part, made him deserving of the punishment he received at the hands of the Romans. The Rabbis did not naively believe that enough kind acts protects a person from the slings and arrows of life. Rather, they are making a profound comment about the inadequacy of studying Torah in the absence of living Torah through acts of gemilut chasadim.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. The problem of theodicy (God’s justice) arises in every generation and in every religious tradition. Why do you think this is? The Rabbis are turning somersaults to find a way to justify R. Chanina’s grisly end. On the following daf [18a] they will record that R. Chanina was executed together with his wife, and that their daughter was consigned to a brothel. Clearly, the story of the mismanaged charity funds is not a capital offense, and certainly doesn’t explain why his wife and daughter suffered as they did, so the Rabbis offer another explanation: R. Chanina uttered God’s ineffable Name. Moreover, his wife failed to restrain him and his daughter was guilty of egregious vanity. Do these explanations resolve the problem of theodicy for you, or do they perhaps compound the problem? Or does this issue not trouble you (i.e., you don’t expect the good to always prosper and the wicked to always suffer) because your understanding of God obviates the concern?
2. Even if you do not subscribe to the belief that God protects those who do good, is there a way in which doing good itself affords a person a measure of protection from the evils of the  world, or does it have no influence ultimately on the course of one’s life?
3. What happens when you decouple Torah study from moral behavior? Consider Pirkei Avot 4:5 (below). How do you understand R. Yishmael? Rashi says that one who studies only in order to teach does so for the sake of status and therefore will be unable to either learn or teach. What do you think Rashi is saying about the quality of learning and teaching when one’s purpose is self-aggrandizement?

R. Yishmael taught: One who studies in order to teach will be enabled to study and to teach. One who studies in order to practice will be enable to study, to teach, to observe, and to practice. (Pirkei Avot 4:5)

Get Me Out of Here! — BT Kiddushin 31b — #30

Rav Assi had an elderly mother. [Once] she said to him: “I want jewelry.” He made [jewelry for her]. [Once] she said: “I want a husband.” [Rav Assi replied:] “I will look for you.” “I want one as handsome as you.” [Rav Assi] left her and went to Eretz Yisrael. He came before R. Yochanan and said to him: “Is it [halakhically] permissible to leave the Land of Israel for the Diaspora?” R. Yochanan said to him: “It is forbidden.” “[If it is] to meet my mother?”He said to him: “I don’t know.” After a short time, [Rav Assi] returned [to R. Yochanan]. “Assi, you want to leave. May God return you in peace [to Babylonia].” [Rav Assi] came before R. Eleazar and said to him: “Heaven forbid, but perhaps [R. Yochanan] was angry with me.” [R. Eleazar] said to him: “What did he say to you?” [Rav Assi] said to him: “May God return you in peace [to Babylonia].” [R. Eleazar] said to him: “If he had been angry, he would not have blessed you.” Meanwhile, [Rav Assi] heard that [his mother’s] casket was approaching. He said: “If I had known, I would not have left.”

INTRODUCTION

The story of Rav Assi and his troubled relationship with his mother comes amidst a long discussion of how far one should go to fulfill the obligation of honoring one’s parents. The Rabbis were no strangers to the complexities of parent-child relationships, nor the challenges of caring for elderly and infirm parents. Rav Assi’s story deserves close scrutiny because from all  appearances, he is dealing with a mentally disturbed parent, or perhaps one suffering dementia. Her demands are bizarre and unreasonable, yet he attempts to fulfill them until there is a suggestion that she wants to marry her own son. That is when Rav Assi says, “No more!” and leaves Babylonia to escape the situation. 

Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long on the land that Adonai your God is giving you. (Exodus 20:12)

Curiously, the question Rav Assi poses to R. Yochanan is not, “Was it permissible for me to leave my mother in Babylonia?” but rather, “Now that I am in Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel), may I leave here to return to Babylonia to attend my mother?” Yet the story, which tells us that ultimately Rav Assi’s mother died while he was in Eretz Yisrael, addresses precisely that first pressing question, which is still with us today.

COMMENTARY

What happens when a child is unable to care for an aging parent whose behavior is problematic? May the child abandon the parent if the behavior is intolerable? May the child enlist others to care for the parent in his/her stead? R. Yochanan tells Rav Assi his is obligated, having come to Eretz Yisrael, to remain there, but after he learns the backstory of Rav Assi’s escape to Eretz Yisrael, he neither chastises him for leaving his mother nor requires him to return to her.  The story ends with Rav Assi’s ambiguous reflection on the news that his mother has died: Is he saying he would not have left Babylonia, or that he would not have left Eretz Yisrael to meet her coffin and accompany it to Eretz Yisrael? Did he regret leaving her, or did he believe he was not obligated to meet her coffin and bring it the rest of the way to the Land of Israel?

The story affirms that there is no simple law that covers the difficult situation of an elderly parent’s disturbing behavior; careful, sensitive, individual judgments are required in each case.  Halakhic commentators proffer two views on the basis of the situation this story lays out: Moses Maimonides, the Rambam (1135–1204) says that the child should take care of the parent as best as possible, but if the situation becomes intolerable, the child may enlist others to undertake the necessary care and leave. Avraham b. David, the Ra’avad of Posquieres (c. 1125–1198) vehemently disagreed, imagining that leaving was tantamount to abandonment; it appears that he could not imagine how the child would find someone to properly care for the parents. This was, needless to say, long before nursing homes.

Today, many adults are working and raising children and at the same time have a parent who suffers mental illness, dementia, Alzheimer’s, or another condition that requires constant care. Do they always have the time, skill, energy, and resources to care for the parent themselves? Are  the best interests of the parent served by the direct care of the child or would skilled care in an institution designed and staffed for such care be preferable? At the same time, many nursing homes provide substandard care (or, sadly, worse), raising the concern that consigning an elderly parent to such a place constitutes a type of abandonment.

No matter what the relationship was between the parent and child—whatever it was—this is going to be extremely challenging because it is not logical. There’s no way to deal with it rationally or directly. You don’t reason it out. What I’ve said to so many people is: we always must lead with our love.” (Dr. Stephen Hoag, author of A Son’s Handbook: Bringing Up Mom with Alzheimer’s/Dementia)

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Have you faced Rav Assi’s situation? A Yiddish proverb  holds that just as God gives burdens, so too God also gives shoulders, suggesting that we are capable of more than we realize.  Has your experience borne this out? Amy Tan wrote, “If you can’t change your fate, change your attitude.” How might this advice apply to Rav Assi’s situation, or yours?
2. Do you know your limits? The problem faced by Rav Assi and so many others defies simple rules, in part because everyone’s ability to cope and provide care is different.  It’s important to know one’s limits. Do you know yours?
3. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote: "What we owe the old is reverence, but all they ask for is consideration, attention, not to be discarded and forgotten. What they deserve is preference, yet we do not even grant them equality. One father finds it possible to sustain a dozen children, yet a dozen children find it impossible to sustain one father. Perhaps this is the most distressing aspect of the situation. The care for the old is regarded as an act of charity rather than as a supreme privilege." (Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, Insecurity of Freedom, p. 70). How do his thoughts inform this conversation?