How Dangerous are Oaths? — BT Gittin 35a — #53

It once happened during a period of famine that a certain man deposited a golden dinar with a widow and she placed it in a flour jug. [Subsequently] she baked it into a loaf of bread and gave [the bread] to a poor man. Several days later, the owner of the dinar returned and said to her, “Give me my dinar.” She said to him, “May one of that woman’s [i.e., my] children be poisoned if I have derived any benefit from your dinar.” They reported that it was no more than a few days before one of her children died. When the Sages heard of this matter, they said, “If such [happens to] one who has sworn truthfully, how much more so to one who swears falsely!” [But] why was she punished? Because she gained the place of the dinar. How, then, [could they claim she was] “one who has sworn truthfully”? [She is] like one who has sworn truthfully.

INTRODUCTION

Backing up to get the bigger picture: A ketubah protects a woman from penury in the case her marriage ends by death or divorce. It is a lien on her husband’s estate. What happens if another claimant to the estate asserts that her husband paid her part or all of the ketubah prior his death or divorce?

The mishnah preceding and inspiring the Gemara discussion that recounts the incident above tells us that originally the widow would swear in the court that her deceased husband had not prepaid the ketubah prior to his death. Some years later, the courts stopped permitting women to swear an oath, and as a result many widows could not collect their due—an injustice that undermined the very purpose of having a ketubah. Therefore, Rabban Gamliel the Elder decreed that widows could make a vow (not quite the same as swearing an oath) in order to collect the value of their ketubot. The incident recounted in our passage (the source of which is unclear: some say was related by Rav Kahana and others say was recounted by Rav Yehudah in the name of Rav) concerns a woman who makes a statement that the Rabbis understand to be an oath with disastrous consequences, even though her oath was completely truthful as far as she knew. The purpose of the story is to illustrate the danger of making oaths, thereby justifying the mishnah’s assertion that the Rabbis stopped allowing women to make oaths in court.

This story is an excellent example of a recurrent problem in religious (as well as philosophic and ethical) traditions: Every religious claim has tentacles, implications that often become entangled with logic, morality, and other religious beliefs.

COMMENTARY

A widow accepts responsibility to take care of the man’s dinar (a gold coin) and hides it in a place that no one is likely to find it: her flour bin. Inadvertently, when she scoops up some flour to make bread, the dinar finds its way into the dough and is baked into the bread, which she gives away to a poor person. When the man comes to collect the dinar he deposited with her, she cannot find it and therefore truthfully swears an oath that she did not steal it. Her oath is, “May one of my children die if I benefited from your dinar.” Several days later, one of her children dies. The Sages who hear this story are convinced that the woman did not steal the dinar, and swore the oath thinking that the dinar was lost, and fully believing that she did not benefit from it in any way. Yet they presume the death resulted from the hand of heaven, the consequence of her oath. Accordingly, they respond that if the consequences of one who truthfully swore an oath are so dire, imagine what happens to one who knowingly swore a falsified oath. 

The Gemara objects: This makes no sense! If the widow misplaced the dinar and, to the best of  her knowledge, did not benefit from it, why would God punish her so harshly? In response to this legitimate challenge, the Gemara ties itself in knots to maintain the connection between the child’s death and the woman’s oath: the claim is made that she did, in fact, benefit, even if unknowingly, by retaining the volume of flour equal to the volume that the dinar displaced. If that is the case, the Gemara contends, then the claim that she made the vow truthfully is incorrect, yet as far as she could ascertain, it was truthful. The Gemara responds that the Rabbis only meant that she is like one who swears an oath truthfully in that she believed that she had not benefited from the dinar.

This story raises a host of thorny questions and exposes numerous moral and theological problems, which I will touch on below.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. For the Rabbis, the story illustrates the danger of swearing oaths. Do you think the story is effective? Why or why not?
2. Did the widow truly gain the small amount of flour displaced by the dinar, given that she didn’t sell the bread but gave it away to a poor person?
3. How do you respond to the Rabbis’ tacit claim that God would punish a person who
   
   is fundamentally honest and decent, but who loses track of a coin she is asked to guard, by ending the life of her child? What kind of God does that? Why do you think the Rabbis are willing to assert that the widow’s child’s death was the result of her actions? What is your reaction to the cartoon at the right?
   
   

Which One First? — BT Kiddushin 32a — #52

Elazar b. Matya says, “If my father says, ‘Give me a drink of water,’ but I have a mitzvah to do [at the same time], I lay aside the honor of my father to do the mitzvah [first], because I and my father are [both] obligated to perform the mitzvah.” Issi b. Yehudah says, “If it is possible for others to fulfill the mitzvah, it should be done by others and [the son] should attend to the honor of his father.” Rav Matnah said, “The halakhah follows Issi b. Yehudah.”

INTRODUCTION

Honoring one’s parents is #5 of the “Top Ten” mitzvot. There are two versions of the Ten Commandments in the Torah; both Exodus 20:12 and Deuteronomy 5:16 command us to honor our parents. But there is a third iteration of this mitzvah in Leviticus 19:3 where we are told to revere our parents. In tractate Kiddushin, the Rabbis discuss at length what the difference between “honoring” and “revering” is, what precisely is entailed in each, and who is financially liable for the cost of caring for one’s parents as the mitzvah requires. In addition, they offer anecdotes to illustrate their points. 

Some of the situations the Rabbis envision are sticky. For example, R. Eliezer was asked how far one should go in honoring one’s parents. He responds with this scenario, “To the point that if [the father] takes a wallet [full of money] and throws it into the sea in [the son’s] presence, the son may not embarrass him.” It is not clear who the owner of the wallet is, but nonetheless, R. Eliezer  claims that kibbud av (“honoring one’s father”) requires that the son not attempt to stop the father at the risk of embarrassing him. How many of us could adhere to R. Eliezer’s standard?

Our passage recounts a disagreement between Elazar b. Matya and Issi b. Yehudah concerning how one sets priorities in a situation of overlapping obligations. We should note that on the previous daf (31a) a young man poses a similar question to R. Eliezer: If both parents request water simultaneously, whom do I serve first? R. Eliezer instructs him to serve his father first because, “both you and your mother are obligated to honor your father.” The young man goes to R. Yehoshua, asks the same question, and receives the same response. He then asks: “What if my parents are divorced?” R. Yehoshua can discern from the young man’s countenance that his father is no longer living and responds to his disingenuous question facetiously, “Pour water into a pitcher for them and coo to them as to roosters!” Talmud does not make a clear determination that the father takes priority over the mother. A later law code, the Shulchan Arukh (Yoreh Deah 240:14), determines that the child may choose which parent to serve first. It will soon become clear why I am recounting this discussion.

COMMENTARY

The Rabbis have determined (daf 31b) that honor your father and mother “means that the child must provide the parent with food and drink, clothe and cover him, and lead a parent in and out.” But what should you do if, at the very moment that your parent requests a drink of water, you have another pressing mitzvah to perform? It is clear from the context that the type of mitzvah we are talking about is one that is time-bound: fulfilling it later is not an option. (Otherwise, there would be no conflict of obligations.) Do you ask your parent to wait until you have completed the mitzvah? Do you delay, and possibly set aside completely, the other mitzvah in favor of getting  water for your parent?

Elazar b. Matya tells us that he relegates kibbud av (“honoring his father”) to another (presumably time-bound) mitzvah because his father is also obligated to the other mitzvah. This echoes R. Eliezer’s thinking in the situation mentioned above concerning the young man who asks which parent he should serve first: R. Eliezer responds that he should first serve the father because both he and his mother are obligated to serve the father. In Elazar b. Matya’s case however, Issi b. Yehudah offers another way to approach the conundrum, telling us that if someone else is available to perform the mitzvah, that is a preferable solution since both mitzvot are thereby fulfilled. Rav Matnah affirms this as halakhah.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Can you think of other solutions to the conflict of obligations? For example, if you were to ask someone else to get your parent a glass of water so you could attend to the other mitzvah, would that be a dereliction of duty to your parent? (Today, assisted living and nursing homes often fulfill the obligations of kibbud av v’em, serving as the agents of the child.)
2. Immediately after the discussion of Elazar b. Matya’s scenario, we find, “Rav Yitzhak b. Shila said in Rav Matnah’s name, who said in Rav Chisda’s name: If a father renounces the honor due him, his honor is renounced.” If a parent has the right to forego honor due him or her, is it appropriate for the parent to do so when the child is caught between two conflicting obligations? If, for example, the conflicting mitzvah were burying the dead, we would probably say that the parent ought to choose to forego the honor due them. But if the parent refuses to forego their honor, what would you recommend?
3. There is a halakhic principle that should rescue us from the dilemma described in our passage: עוסק במצוה פטור מן המצוה “One who is engaged in performing a mitzvah is exempt from performing another mitzvah” (BT Berakhot 11a). Talmud even goes so far as to say that שלוחי מצוה (“messengers of a mitzvah,” i.e., someone actively preparing to perform a mitzvah) is exempt from another simultaneous obligation (BT Sukkah 25a). It is surprising that this principle is not invoked here, but even if it were, would it give us guidance concerning which mitzvah takes precedence?

Go Shopping! — BT Shabbat 119a — #51

There was a very wealthy gentile in the neighborhood of Joseph Who Honors Shabbat. Astrologers said to him, “Joseph Who Honors Shabbat will come to possess all [your] property.” He went and sold all his property and purchased a precious jewel. He placed it in his turban. As he was crossing a river [on a ferry], a gust of wind blew [his turban] into the water. A fish swallowed the jewel. [Fishermen] caught [the fish] and brought it [to market] late on Friday. They said, “Who will buy it now?” They said to them, “Go, bring it to Joseph Who Honors Shabbat. He always buys.” They brought it to him and he bought it. He cut it open and found the jewel inside. He sold it for thirteen trunks of gold dinarim. An old man met him and said, “One who expends money for Shabbat, Shabbat repays.”

INTRODUCTION

The Sages struggled with the idea of divine determination and astrological predestination. The former accords to God control over the course of our lives, while the latter solves the  inconsistencies lying behind the question: Why would a just God permit the righteous to suffer and the evil to prosper?

The Sages often espouse the belief that, as we say today, “what goes around, comes around.” This philosophy is termed middah k’neged middah (“measure for measure”): goodness and generosity are repaid in kind, but so are cruelty and greed. This claim of retributive justice buttresses the rabbinic belief in God’s justice, which may be delayed—sometimes even postponed until olam ha-ba (the world-to-come)—but ultimately God is just. In their enthusiasm to commend observance of mitzvot to us, the Sages promise that practice will be rewarded with wealth. The story told above is an illustration. Joseph honored shabbat and, as a result, became wealthy through a complex series of unlikely events. Immediately following the story above, the Gemara asserts that in addition to those who honor shabbat, those in Eretz Yisrael who tithe, and those in Babylonia who honor Torah, are rewarded by heaven with wealth.

COMMENTARY

Our protagonist is known as Yosef Mokir Shabbat (Joseph Who Honors Shabbat). He lives in the neighborhood of a wealthy man who is accustomed to visiting astrologers (Gemara calls them “Chaldeans”) to forecast the future and advise him. While Talmud gives a nod to astrology (T Kiddushin 5:17, BT Avodah Zarah 5a), we also find Talmud averring that Jews may not rely on astrology (BT Shabbat 156a, Pesachim 113b). Most famously, BT Shabbat 156a states ain mazal l’Yisrael—the stars and constellations do not, nor should not be understood to, influence the destiny of the Jewish people. In the story of Yosef Mokir Shabbat, mention of the gentile neighbor’s reliance on astrologers and the message they deliver serves two purposes: (1) It confirms that he is an idolater; and (2) that he is consumed by the desire for wealth. 

When the astrologers tell Joseph’s neighbor that some day all his wealth will pass into Joseph’s hands, he goes to great lengths to prevent this from happening. He sells all his property and purchases a priceless gem with the proceeds, thereby concentrating all his wealth into one, small item. He tucks the gem into his turban so that he can wear it at all times on his person. Or so he  thinks. A strong wind blows his turban into the water, the gem falls out, and a fish swallows it. The fisherman catches the fish and brings it to market late on Friday afternoon, a time when it will be difficult to sell because almost everyone has already made their purchases for shabbat. The fisherman worries that he will be unable to sell the fish, but he needn’t worry, people tell him, because Joseph Who Honors Shabbat can always be counted on to spend lavishly on his shabbat preparations. Indeed, Joseph purchases the fish and takes it home. When he cuts it open, he discovers the gem, whose value, we are told, is equivalent to thirteen trunks of gold coins—an extraordinary (and hyperbolic) sum, by any measure. The neighbor’s wealth is now Joseph’s.

An anonymous old man enters the tale to articulate the moral of the story: Those who expend their resources to celebrate shabbat will be repaid handsomely.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. The ostensible purpose of the story, it seems, is to illustrate how expending one’s resources to observe shabbat is repaid by heaven. But we may well wonder: Did Joseph become wealthy because it was predestined by the stars (as the astrologers predicted), or because he punctiliously honored shabbat? Does mention of the astrologers enhance the story, or confuse the message? Can you envision an interpretation of the story’s moral (“One who expends money for Shabbat, Shabbat repays”) that does not become ensnarled in a conversation about predestination, either divine or astrological?
2. If Joseph knew the fisherman or that the jewel had belonged to his neighbor, should he have returned the gem? (See TMT #46-Return Receipt Requested?)
3. What are your thoughts concerning Rava’s claim, as reported in Mo’ed Katan 28a that the length of one’s life, the birth and survival of one’s children, and one’s financial success in life do not depend upon merit, but rather upon mazal (influence of, or destiny as ordained in, the stars; “mazal” means constellation). Rava compares two righteous sages: R. Chisda lived to be 92, but Rabbah died at 40. R. Chisda’s family enjoyed wealth and celebrated sixty marriages in the time Rabbah’s family  struggled to subsist and suffered sixty bereavements. Could “mazal” be a way of ameliorating the problematic assumption of divine providence in such matters?

The story of Yosef Mokir Shabbat is beautifully retold and embellished by Marilyn Hirsch and richly illustrated by Devis Grebu in Joseph Who Loved Shabbat (Puffin Press, 1988). Sadly, it is out of print. Happily, used copies are available from web vendors.

Risking it All — BT Avodah Zarah 18a — #50

The Rabbis taught [in a baraita]: When R. Yose b. Kisma became ill, R. Chanina b. Teradyon visited him. [R. Yose] said to [R. Chanina], “Chanina, my brother! Don’t you know that Heaven set this nation [Rome] to rule over us? For they destroyed [God’s] House (the Temple), burned [God’s] Sanctuary (the Holy of Holies), killed [God’s] pious ones, and caused [God’s] best ones to perish—and still [Rome] exists. Yet I have heard that you sit and engage in Torah study and convene gatherings in public, and a scroll [of Torah] rests in your lap.” [R. Chanina] said to [R. Yose], “Heaven will have mercy.” [R. Yose] said to him, “I am speaking reason to you, and you tell me that Heaven will have mercy?! I will be amazed if they don’t burn you and the Torah scroll in fire!” [R. Chanina] said to him, “Rabbi, where am I vis-à-vis the world-to-come?” [R. Yose] said to him, “Is there a particular deed you have done?” [R. Chanina] said to him, “I once exchanged Purim funds for charity funds and distributed [the Purim funds] to the poor.” [R. Yose] said, “If so, may my portion be from your portion, and may my lot be from your lot.”

INTRODUCTION

As we move from Tisha B’Av toward Rosh Hashanah, the destruction of the First and Second Temples and theological interpretations of their meaning, the High Holy Day themes of sin, repentance, and forgiveness, and theological beliefs about God’s justice in this world and reward in the world-to-come all come to be braided together. 

Eleh Ezkerah (“These we remember”), the traditional martyrology of Yom Kippur and Tisha B’Av recounts the legendary deaths of ten Sages at the hands of the Roman emperor Hadrian. Our  passage precedes the account of R. Chanina’s martyrdom, setting the stage for the gruesome story. The bridge (immediately following our passage) is an account of R. Yose b. Kisma’s death. Talmud recounts that because R. Yose opposed the Jewish rebellion against Rome, Roman dignitaries attended his burial. Upon returning from his funeral, they encountered R. Chanina b. Teradyon teaching Torah in public. Immediately, they executed R. Chanina in precisely the manner predicted by R. Yose: Talmud records that he was wrapped in a scroll of Torah and set on fire.

COMMENTARY

R. Yose expresses alarm at the risky behavior of R. Chanina from two distinct perspectives. First, from the theological viewpoint that God, as Sovereign of the universe, has set the Romans to rule over Israel and therefore Israel must accept this onerous imposition, with all the suffering it entails, as God’s will. This is part and parcel of a traditional theology that interprets the Destruction of the Temple as God’s just punishment for Israel’s sins. (While this is a predominant view, it is not a theology universally subscribed to by all the Rabbis.) Rome’s continued existence—and even more, her continuing power—reflect God’s will. R. Chanina replies that he can trust God, who has set Rome over Israel, to be merciful and protect him from ultimate harm, since studying and teaching Torah is also God’s will. 

Upon hearing this response, R. Yose applies his second perspective: It is not reasonable to take such risks. By gathering disciples together and teaching them in public with a Torah scroll in his  lap, R. Chanina is publicly snubbing Roman rule. R. Yose says, in essence: I would sooner bet on the Romans to respond to your taunt by wrapping you in a Torah scroll and burning you alive, than I would bet on God to intervene and save you from the vile, violent, and vindictive Romans.

R. Chanina shifts the conversation from the current situation and his possible execution by the Romans, to his ultimate disposition: will he be consigned a portion in olam ha-ba (the world-to-come)? R. Yose asks R. Chanina: Have you done something to earn olam ha-ba? This seems a peculiar question. Do not the risks to his life to further Torah learning, which bespeak his limitless commitment to God and Torah, suffice? Yet R. Chanina mentions instead, a small incident. Once, while distributing communal charity funds that he oversaw, R. Chanina inadvertently used his personal Purim tzedakah money. We are to understand that he did not correct the mistake by removing the equivalent amount from the public fund to replenish his personal Purim fund. Hence, R. Chanina made an additional contribution to the communal tzedakah fund. R. Yose’s response confirms that this deed is sufficient not only to insure his ultimate reward in the world-to-come, but in principle the magnitude of heaven’s reward ought to be (at least metaphorically) sufficient to cover R. Yose, as well.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. R. Yose contrasts R. Chanina’s trust in God to intervene and save him with common sense. Is R. Chanina making a public statement fully aware of the risk he is taking, or he tempting fate? Does R. Chanina’s desire to move the conversation to a discussion of olam ha-ba suggest he is not expecting God to intervene to save him?
2. The deed that R. Chanina cites, and which R. Yose confirms has earned him a reward in olam ha-ba seems rather ordinary, as good deeds go. Why do you think that the rabbis who told this story choose to juxtapose his risking his life to subvert the Romans with an ordinary act of tzedakah? What does this say about the Rabbis’ understanding of olam ha-ba?
3. The graphic and painful description of the martyrdom of R. Chanina and nine other sages in Eleh Ezkarah, based on the legendary accounts in the Talmud, is read in some, but not all, synagogues on Yom Kippur. Do you find it meaningful? The Shalom Center has offered an alternative Martyrology highlighting a minyan of Jews who were killed in the last 50+ years affirming the Jewish values of justice, truth, and peace. You can view it here. Would this martyrology be meaningful to you on Yom Kippur?

Burn, Baby, Burn! — BT Shabbat 21a — #49

Rabbah said, “Concerning the wicks that the Sages said we may not kindle with on Shabbat: because the flame flickers on them. Concerning the oils that the Sages said we may not kindle with: because they are not drawn up the wick.” Abaye asked Rabbah, “Concerning the oils with which the Sages said we may not kindle on shabbat: What is the law concerning whether one may pour a small amount of [permissible] oil into them and kindle? Do we decree it [impermissible] lest one kindle with only [unacceptable oils], or not?” [Rabbah] said, “We do not kindle.” [Abaye asked,] “Why?” [Rabbah replied,] “Because we may not kindle [with impermissible oils].” [Abaye] responded: “[But, if] one wrapped a substance with which we may kindle over a substance with which we may not kindle, we may not kindle with [the combination]. Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel said, ‘In my father’s household, we would wrap wicking over a nut and kindle.’ This demonstrates that they would kindle [with the sort of combination of materials that Rabbah says is prohibited].” [Rabbah] said to [Abaye], “Don’t refute me from Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel; support me from the first tanna’s ruling.”  [Abaye said,] “There is no difficulty. Practice is superior [proof].”

INTRODUCTION

These days, we buy factory-made candles to light for shabbat, perhaps even purchasing them over the internet without leaving the house and with little effort. Long ago, people used oil lamps and went to some effort to prepare them for use. Mishnah Shabbat 2:1 (20b) lists materials considered unsuitable for wicking and to fuel shabbat lights. Some materials produce superior wicking that draws up the fuel nicely, and some fuels produce a more robust and dependable flame than others. Mishnah does not declare these to be the criteria behind Mishnah’s lists, but in  our passage (from the Gemara) Rabbah presumes these criteria. (This is probably because if the flame flickers, it can easily go out and one would be tempted to relight the lamp, thereby kindling a flame on shabbat, an act that is biblically forbidden.)

COMMENTARY

How often have you looked at a recipe that called for a certain kind of flour or oil or fruit and wondered: Can I substitute another kind of flour or oil or fruit for at least part of the amount stipulated in the recipe? This is the question Abaye raises: Mishnah says don’t use X, but does that mean I may not use any X at all (for example, by combining X with a permissible substance), or does it mean that I may not use solely X to make my wick or to fuel my shabbat lamp? Rabbah responds: We may not use any of the materials the Mishnah declares impermissible. (Can you hear the echo of a parent who says, “Which part of ‘No’ don’t you understand?”) Abaye wants to know what, precisely, is the prohibition about. Rabbah responds, somewhat obliquely, “Because we may not kindle”—meaning, in a mixture of materials we might end up effectively kindling or fueling the flame with precisely the materials the Mishnah disallows if our combination is weighted heavily in favor of the disallowed material and only a token amount of appropriate material is involved. This, in turn, could lead to the very situation Rabbah presumes is the concern of the Mishnah: a weak, flickering flame that could easily goes out.

Abaye presses the question by citing a specific example whereby a wick is constructed by wrapping a permissible substance around a nut. He points out that no less than Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel claimed that this was how wicks for shabbat lamps were produced in his household.  Would Rabbah claim that the household of the Nasi, the president of the Sanhedrin, was violating halakhah when they prepared their shabbat lamps and wicks?! Rabbah responds that Abaye, who contends that one may combine impermissible materials with permissible materials, chooses to refute him with an anecdote, but could have chosen instead to support him by citing the opinion of the tanna kamma, the first mishnaic opinion. But the tanna kamma simply listed materials that were not to be used; the tanna kamma did not address the question of mixtures. It is Rabbah who reads the Mishnah as forbidding mixtures. Abaye responds by saying that the actual practice of a sage provides better proof than Rabbah’s inference from reading the Mishnah. It is worth pointing out that Abaye’s anecdote concerning the practices of the household of the Nasi is one of leniency; it enlarges the possibilities for practice.

The conversation in the Gemara does not end here, but continues in another direction. I end it here with the dangling question of how we evaluate what seems to be a contradiction between an inference made from a tannaitic ruling and anecdotal evidence of the practice of a sage.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. The traditional presumption is that the Mishnah prohibits the use of inferior materials lest the flame flicker out and, in relighting it, one violates Torah’s prohibition against kindling a flame on shabbat (Exodus 35:3 — shabbat candles are lit prior to shabbat). Can you suggest another reason the Mishnah prefers materials that produce a strong and robust flame?
2. Rabbah seems to be saying that mixing materials—those not allowed with those allowed—is a slippery slope. If combinations are permitted, people will be inclined to use whatever is at hand, including inadequate substances, rather than make the effort to find high quality materials. How do you think the slippery slope argument relates to religious observance and practice? How does it relate to the principle of hiddur mitzvah (beautification of a mitzvah is a mitzvah in itself).
3. In the Gemara, Rabbah contends that Rabban Shimon b. Gamliel’s family’s practice of making a wick by winding wicking around a nut is not a violation of his reading of the Mishnah: the nut served only as a buoy to keep the wick afloat in the oil; it was not part of the wick. We could argue that if he is correct, this celebrates the pluralism of design in Jewish ritual objects; and if he is wrong, the passage celebrates pluralism of Jewish ritual practices. When is pluralism constructive? Are there limits? If so, when and why?

“Food, Glorious Food!” — BT Baba Batra 8a — #48

Rabbi [Yehudah ha-Nasi] opened his storehouse during times of famine, saying, “Students of Scripture, Mishnah, Gemara, halakhah, or aggadah may enter, but unlearned people may not.” R. Yonatan b. Amram pushed his way in. He said, “Master, feed me.” [Rabbi] said to him, “My son, do you read [i.e., study Torah]?” [R. Yonatan] said to him, “No.” “Have you studied [other sacred texts]?” He said to him, “No.” “If so, why should I feed you?” [R. Yonatan] said to [Rabbi], “Feed me as a dog or raven.” [Rabbi] fed him. After he left, Rabbi sat in distress. “Who is he? I gave my bread to an unlearned person.” R. Shimon bar Rabbi said to [his father], “Perhaps he was Yonatan b. Amram, your disciple, who does not wish to benefit from the honor [of being a student of] Torah?” They investigated and found [that it was R. Yonatan b. Amram]. Rabbi said, “Let everyone enter.”

INTRODUCTION

Feeding the hungry is a fundamental Jewish obligation. Torah establishes the institutions of pe’ah (leaving the corners of the field for the poor to harvest) and shemittah (the sabbatical year, which cancels the debts of the poor) as societal supports for the poor. The prophets berate the people for failing to adequately feed those in need. Isaiah famously and passionately says, Is this fast [of Yom Kippur] the fast I desire, a day for people to starve their bodies?…[Rather] it is to share your bread with the hungry, and to take the wretched poor into your home…If you offer your compassion to the hungry and satisfy the famished creature, then shall your light shine in darkness and your gloom shall be like noonday (58:5,7,10).

At the same time, Pirkei Avot 4:7 teaches in the name of R. Tzaddok, Do not make the Torah into a crown with which to aggrandize yourself or a spade with which to dig. In other words, don’t use Torah to pump up your ego or as a tool to enrich yourself. 

Both teachings, although unspoken, are integral to the story of Rabbi Yehudah ha-Nasi, who fulfills the mitzvah of feeding the poor, but apparently is not inclined to provide food for everyone who is hungry. He feeds only those who study Torah deeming them worthy of his largess, but the unlearned he considers unworthy.

COMMENTARY

R. Yonatan b. Amram, a disciple of R. Yehudah ha-Nasi, enters Rabbi’s storehouse because he is suffering from hunger. As Rabbi, determined to feed only students of Torah, queries him concerning his credentials, we quickly realize that Rabbi doesn’t recognize him. Apparently R. Yonatan has donned a disguise. R. Yonatan says he does not study and never has. Rabbi thereupon asks, “Then why should I feed you?” R. Yonatan responds, “Feed me as you would a dog or a raven”—whereupon Rabbi gives him food. This exchange leaves Rabbi distressed because he believes he has violated his own standards and provided bread to an ignoramus. His son, R. Shimon, alleviates his distress by suggesting that the “ignoramus” may actually be R. Yonatan and therefore Rabbi fed a Torah scholar. Why would R. Yonatan disguise himself and lie to his teacher? In order to avoid violating R. Tzaddok’s dictum that one should not make Torah a spade with which to dig (profit from Torah learning)? Rabbi thereupon revamps his policy and permits everyone who is hungry to come and obtain the food they need.

Talmud does not explain or analyze Rabbi’s change in policy. What made him change? Perhaps   the exchange with R. Yonatan made him realize that he feeds dogs and ravens readily, yet withholds food from human beings. Or perhaps Rabbi felt that R. Yonatan was so committed to R. Tzaddok’s teaching, thereby refusing to acquire food on the basis of his Torah learning, that he had been forced to lie to his own teacher in order to eat; and perhaps others might do the same, or even go hungry. Or perhaps, Rabbi came to realize that his policy distinguishing between the learned and the unschooled was inherently immoral. Rabbi has constructed a tiered system of people’s right to food based on Torah scholarship—this is not something Torah would countenance.

R. Yonatan’s surprising behavior (coming in disguise) and shocking request (treat me as you would animals) provokes Rabbi to reconsider what he is doing, and affords him the room to change without public embarrassment.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Had R. Yonatan confronted Rabbi directly and impugned his policy, what do you think Rabbi’s response might have been?
2. In the early 1980s, then-President Ronald Reagan sought to reduce the amount of money in the Federal budget allocated to welfare programs. His tactic was to refine rhetoric, changing the meaning of “safety net” and distinguishing between the “needy” and the “truly needy,” suggesting that some poor and needy people are not “truly needy” and therefore should not receive welfare or food stamps. Do you see a similarity with Rabbi’s initial system for distributing food?
3. In numerous passages in the Talmud, the Rabbis express contempt for amei ha-aretz, Jews who do not study Torah. Examples of their animosity: One shouldn’t marry the daughter of an am ha-aretz, socialize with them, trust them, or accept their testimony in court. There are even terrible hyperbolic statements that suggest the acceptability of violence against them. Clearly, for the Rabbis, being Jewish requires deep intellectual engagement with sacred texts, and those who do not share the same value system are considered ideological enemies. In this context, the story about R. Yehudah ha-Nasi and R. Yonatan speaks to how we treat the “other,” and particular those whom we consider ideological opponents. Can you find modern parallels?

Wine in, Secrets Out — BT Sanhedrin 38a — #47

Yehudah and Chizkiyah, the sons of R. Chiyya, were sitting and eating with Rabbi but did not say anything. [Rabbi] said to [his servants], “Overpower them with strong wine so they will say something.” When they became intoxicated, they began to speak, “The son of David [i.e., the messiah] will not come until the two ruling houses of Israel end, and they are: the Exilarch [in Babylonia] and the Patriarchate in the Land of Israel, as it is said, He shall be for a sanctuary, a stone that men strike against: a rock men stumble over for the two Houses of Israel… (Isaiah 8:14).” Thereupon Rabbi said to them, “My children, [would] you cast thorns in my eyes?!” R. Chiyya said to him, “Master, let this not be bad in your eyes. The letters of ‘wine’ (יין) [sum to] seventy and [so too] the letters of ‘secret’ (סוד). When wine goes in, secrets come out.”

INTRODUCTION

Talmud tells the story of an awkward situation at a dinner party. The general discussion preceding this story is inspired by Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5, which gives instructions on admonishing witnesses in capital cases in order to dissuade them from giving false testimony. The mishnah includes a homily on the value of every human life, since witnesses may hold the life of a human being in their hands. Reference is made to Abel, who is murdered by his brother, Cain. In the Torah, God says to Cain,“The bloods of your brother cry out to Me!” (Genesis 4:10). Why is “bloods” plural? The mishnah cleverly interprets that murder deprives the world not only of the person killed, but of all their descendants, as well. In the Gemara's discussion that follows this  mishnah, R. Yehudah, the son of R. Chiyya, says that after receiving Abel’s blood, the earth never opened up again. His brother, Chizkiyah, challenges  his claim, citing Korach and his minions. R. Yehudah responds with two comments about the atoning quality of exile (because Cain is exiled for murdering his brother). A supplementary view is offered by R. Yochanan, who cites verses demonstrating that King Jehoiachin, who sat “on the throne of David,” was childless until he went into exile, where he fathered Shealtiel, whose son Zerubbabel was the governor of the Jewish community that returned from Babylonian exile sometime between 538 and 520 B.C.E. Hence, exile atoned for his sins.

Thus, leading up to Talmud’s story of the strange dinner party conversation, Talmud has recounted several opinions expressed by R. Chiyya’s sons, mention has been made of the throne of David, and the effects of exile have been discussed. These all come together when wine does what it normally does: reduces inhibitions and loosens the tongue.

COMMENTARY

R. Chiyya and his sons are dinner guests at the home of R. Yehudah ha-Nasi, the patriarch of the Jewish community in the Land of Israel. The Temple has been destroyed and much of the Jewish community is in Exile. The country has been decimated by wars with Rome and its population is largely impoverished. R. Yehudah ha-Nasi is the Nasi (“prince,” or president) of the Sanhedrin, a position reserved for members of his “household” (i.e., bloodline), who are presumed to be direct descendants of Hillel. In Babylonia, the Resh Galuta, who is presumed to be a descendant of King Jehoiachin, and therefore also of King David, is the leader of the Jewish community. The Nasi and the Resh Galuta are the political leaders of their communities, representing them to the Roman and Babylonian governments respectively.

Rabbi seems disappointed that R.  Chiyya’s sons say nothing. In a move best entitled, “Be careful what you ask for,” R. Yehudah ha-Nasi orders his servants to give R. Chiyya’s sons strong wine to  loosen their tongues. Unsurprisingly, the ploy is effective, but what they say is devastating. They say that messiah will not come until the two ruling houses of Israel—R. Yehudah ha-Nasi’s own family in the Land of Israel, and the Resh Galuta in Babylonia—cease to exist. What is more, they quote a verse from Isaiah that, in context, says that God will be a sanctuary for those who are loyal to God, but a stumbling block to those who, among the “two houses of Israel” (referring to the Northern and Southern kingdoms of Isaiah’s day) are not. When R. Chiyya’s sons quote Isaiah 8:14, they mean to communicate that the “two houses of Israel”—the Patriarchate and the Resh Galuta—are a stumbling block to the coming of the messiah. Predictably, R. Yehudah is aghast that they would think such a thing, let alone say so at his table.

R. Chiyya seeks to smooth over the awkward situation by pointing out that the numerical values of the words “wine” and “secret” are identical, suggesting that “when wine goes in, secrets come out.” However, R. Chiyya’s excursion into Gematria is not the same as a disavowal of what his sons have said. Rather, it is a distraction.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. There are several ways to understand what R. Chiyya’s sons are saying: They might mean that when the messiah comes, the two ruling families will no longer be necessary. Or, they might mean that the messiah will not come until the two ruling families are no longer in power. In either case, it seems a wry comment on human political enterprises. Which do you think is intended and why?
2. Have you ever inadvertently (perhaps when intoxicated) said something you later regretted? Were you able to smooth over the situation and make peace?
3. Some people have sent tweets or posted pictures on the internet that have been misinterpreted and cost them their reputations and jobs. What precautions can you take to insure that inappropriate pictures and material about you do not end up on the internet?

Return Receipt Requested?—JT Baba Metzia 2:5 (7a)—#46

Shimon b. Shetach was employed in flax [to support himself]. His students said to him, “Rabbi, lessen your workload. We will buy you a donkey and you will not have to work as much.” They went and bought him a donkey from a Saracen [Arab]. A pearl was hanging on it. They came to him and said, “From now on you will not have to work.” He said to them, “Why?” They told him, “We bought you a donkey from a Saracen and hanging on it was a pearl.” He said to them, “Did its owner know about [the pearl]?” They said to him, “No.” He said to them, “Go and return it.”

INTRODUCTION

Our story comes from the Jerusalem Talmud (also known as the Talmud of Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Israel), which was completed some time around the year 400 C.E., two centuries earlier than its Babylonian cousin. The Yerushalmi, as it is known, is considerably shorter than the Bavli (the Babylonian Talmud) and has a very different flavor. It contains more narratives and far fewer lengthy, technical discussions and arguments. It follows the same Mishnah, though there are some small variations in the text and the order of material. As we would expect, the Yerushalmi reflects the culture of Eretz Yisrael during the period 200 C.E. (when the Mishnah was completed) through 400 C.E., while the Bavli reflects the culture of Babylonia.

Torah establishes the obligation of hashavat aveidah (returning lost articles) in Deuteronomy 22:1-4. The Babylonian Talmud discusses, at great length, when we are obligated to locate the owner—primarily, if there are identifying marks on the object, such as a wallet with ID—and when we are not, such as scattered dollar bills in the park with no clue as to the owner. Since the scattered bills have no distinguishing mark (siman) to identify them, the owner is presumed to have given up hope (ye’ush) of recovering them. The money therefore becomes ownerless (hefker). However, if we find twenty $10 bills rolled up and secured with a red rubber band, that is an item that is considered to have a simon because the owner can accurately describe it so that the finder recognizes it from the description. There is no ye’ush in this case; the owner certainly hopes to recover the lost money. We are to understand that the pearl hanging around the donkey’s neck has no distinctive characteristics, and hence R. Shimon b. Shetach is technically not obligated to return it.

COMMENTARY

Shimon b. Shetach’s students want to ease his work burden so he can devote more of his time to Torah study. Toward that end, they buy him the latest work-saving appliance: a donkey. The seller sold them the donkey with a valuable pearl hanging around the animal’s neck that he didn’t notice. The gem was not intended to be part of the sale. When the students present the donkey to Shimon b. Shetach, they are clearly very pleased with themselves. They tell him that his days of hard work are over. He asks why, and they explain that not only is R. Shimon now the proud owner of a late model donkey, but the pearl around its neck is worth a great deal of money. R. Shimon could cash in the pearl and virtually retire on the proceeds. R. Shimon asks them curtly, “Does the seller know about this pearl?” meaning: Did he intend to include it in the deal? They say no. R. Shimon thereupon instructs them to return the pearl to the seller because it is not rightfully his.

But is this the case? The owner placed the pearl around the animal’s neck and sold it that way. Strictly speaking, he sold the animal “as is” — and that would include the pearl. 

But R. Shimon b. Shetach is not satisfied with fulfilling merely the letter of the law. He insists upon lifnim mi-shurat ha-din, going beyond the letter of law. I would imagine he thought to himself: “Did the owner of the donkey intend to include the pearl in the bargain? Certainly not. My students could claim it was sloppy of him and his tough luck, but morally, that would be callous. After all, who hasn’t felt less than 100% and made careless mistakes, or overlooked something when distracted? The owner surely intended to sell only the donkey, and that is all I have a right to.”

Another interesting aspect of this story is revealed by comparing it with another version found in midrash Bereishit Rabbah 3:3. In this version, R. Shimon himself purchases the donkey from an Arab, unaware of the gem hanging around the animal’s neck. His students discover it and quote Proverbs 10:22 to him: It is the blessing of God that enriches: You hit the jackpot! He rejects their assumption that it is God’s will that he possess the gem, explaining that he bought only the donkey, but not the gem. When he returns it, the grateful seller exclaims, “Blessed is the God of Shimon b. Shetach.” The midrash comments: “Thus from the faithfulness of a human being we learn the faithfulness of God, who is faithful to pay Israel the reward for the mitzvot that they do” — suggesting that R. Shimon will be rewarded for doing the right thing, if not in this life, then in the world-to-come.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Have you ever found a valuable object? What did you do to find the owner?
2. Would you have acted as R Shimon did? Would your decision differ if the pearl were worth $500 or $5,000? Would your decision differ depending upon who the seller was? Whether the seller was rich or poor? Whether the seller was a friend or stranger?
3. Do you think that R. Shimon b. Shetach’s decision was, at least in part, in response to his realization that his students knew at the time they purchased the donkey that they were taking possession of a pearl they had not agreed to purchase?

Compassion or Honesty? — BT Chullin 94b (part 2) — #45

Mar Zutra, the son of Rav Nachman, was traveling from Sikara to Bei Machuza, and Rava and Rav Safra were coming to Sikara. They met each other on the road. Mar Zutra thought that they were coming to greet him [in order to show him honor]. [Mar Zutra] said to them, “Why was it necessary for the rabbis to trouble themselves and come so far?” Rav Safra said to him, “We did not know that the master was coming, but had we known we would have troubled ourselves even more.” Rava said to Rav Safra [later in private], “Why did you tell him and dishearten him?” Rav Safra said to Rava, “But we would be misleading him!” Rava replied, “It is he who misleads himself. We are not required to correct him.”

INTRODUCTION

In the previous edition of TMT (“Fraud Without Money,” #44), R. Meir provided examples of acts that would constitute genivat da’at (“theft of the mind”)— fraud or deception that is committed with words rather than money.  R. Meir’s examples entail the sorts of things people might easily do to give others the impression that they are revered and respected more than they truly are. We might well think: What’s wrong with that? How can it be bad to make someone feel good about themselves? What is the harm in appearing to accord them more honor than you actually feel and would accord them if your actions honestly reflected your feelings?  The Rabbis are not at all insensitive to this point, but believe that honest relationships are more important even than making another person feel valued and important. 

Torah forbids stealing, and while some commentators derive the prohibition against genivat da’at from “You shall not steal,” in reality it is rabbinic in origin. Tosefta (Baba Kamma 7:8) tells us it is, “the first among all” the forms of theft, probably meaning the most common type.

Before diving into our narrative, it helps to learn a bit about the protagonist of our story. In another tractate of the Talmud, Makkot 24a, we are told that Rav Safra was entirely honest, exemplifying Psalm 15:2 dover emet bi’levavo (“speaking truth in his heart”). On this basis, a later gaonic volume (She’iltot of Rav Acha #36), tells this story: Once Rav Safra was engaged in reciting Shema when a wealthy customer entered the room and offered a certain sum to purchase something from Rav Safra. Rav Safra continued praying the Shema. Since he did not respond to the man’s offer, the man thought Rav Safra was rejecting this offer and raised it. It may be that this happened several times; the account is not entirely clear on this point. When Rav Safra completed the Shema, he told the man that in the moment the man made his initial offer, Rav Safra decided in his mind to accept his terms. Therefore, he could not now accept the subsequent higher offers because doing so would be deceitful rather than truthful. (A similar story is told of Dama ben Netina in the Jerusalem Talmud.)

COMMENTARY

This week’s passage tells the story of two sages (Rav Safra and Rava) who meet a third sage (Mar Zutra) along the road. Mar Zutra incorrectly presumes that other two came out especially to meet him in order to show him great honor. As a result of Mar Zutra’s erroneous assumption, Rav Safra and Rava have the opportunity to allow Mar Zutra  to give them credit for something that is not true. All Rav Safra and Rava need to do is say nothing—which seems to be precisely what Rava intends to do. Rav Safra, however, tells the truth.

Rava, we are told, had planned to remain silent in the face of Mar Zutra’s erroneous assumption. Rava does not want to hurt Mar Zutra’s feelings. He reasons that he has not intentionally caused the misunderstanding, and correcting it would cause Mar Zutra emotional pain. For Rava, as for Rav Safra, this is a moral decision, not merely an opportunity to benefit from the misunderstanding by appearing to have (unintentionally) accorded Mar Zutra honor, which could be reciprocated—if the potential benefit even occurred to Rava. Rav Safra reasons that while it will be (at least potentially) painful to Mar Zutra to learn the truth, misleading him would be worse.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. A midrash in Bereishit Rabbah 8:5 tells us that in order to create humanity, God found it necessary to cast truth aside: “R. Shimon said: “When God sought to create humanity, the angels were divided, some favoring their creation and others opposing it, as it says, Compassion (chesed) and truth (emet) came together, while righteousness (tzedek) and peace (shalom) kissed” (Psalms 85:11). Compassion favored their creation, saying that people would be completely compassionate. But Truth opposed their creation because people would be an inveterate liars. Righteousness favored their creation because people would perform righteous deeds, but Peace opposed their creation because people would argue. What did God do? God cast Truth away, as it says (You) cast the truth to the ground (Daniel 8:12). At this, the angels declared, “You have shamed Your Own seal, which is Truth. Please raise it up,” as it says, Truth will arise from the earth” (Psalms 85:12). Having cast Truth aside, God created humanity. What do you think the Rabbis had in mind concerning human honesty and dishonesty in telling this midrash?
2. Our story ends with Rava’s statement that had Rav Safra not told the entire truth, Mar Zutra could think what he chose, and he would have deceived himself—suggesting that they would not be guilty of deception. Do you agree? Why or why not? What would you have done? Why?
3. Sforno (Vayikra 25:17) says that genivat da’at derives not from the prohibition against theft, but rather from the prohibition against ona’at devarim (causing distress or oppression through words). What are the implications of categorizing deception as theft or as oppression? Does one category seems more appropriate to you? Why?

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?

Life-Saving 101 — BT Sanhedrin 73a (part 3) — #43

The text of the baraita [referred to above in the Gemara — please see the previous edition of TMT #42]: Whence do we know that if one sees his brethren drowning in a river, or a wild beast mauling him, or bandits coming upon him, that he is obligated to save him? Scripture teaches: Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor (Leviticus 19:16).

But is it derived from this source? [Rather] it is derived from this baraita: Whence do we know that a lost body [must be returned to its owner]? Scripture teaches, and you shall return it to him (Deuteronomy 22:2).

If [we learn the obligation to save someone’s life] from there (i.e., Deuteronomy 22:2), I would have said that this applies to the [rescuer] himself. But concerning hiring someone to rescue [the endangered person], I would say: No [this is not required]. Thus this [Leviticus 19:16] informs us [of the obligation to hire someone to conduct the rescue].

INTRODUCTION

The summer after I turned 15, I took a “Senior Life Saving Course” at a girls’ camp, along with a dozen counselors. The instructors solemnly impressed upon us the obligation to use the skills we were learning if ever the occasion resulted. Knowing how to save someone imposed the obligation to do so. At the time, I probably weighed 100 pounds dripping wet, and the head lifeguard more than 250 pounds. I knew I would have to swim him in for my final test—and I knew I couldn’t because my arm wouldn’t stretch even halfway across his chest. When test day arrived, he looked at me and said, “It’s pointless for you to try to swim me in. You can take your test with Mike”—the hot, 20-something assistant lifeguard. I dutifully complied, the dozen counselors shooting me jealous looks.

In this installment of Talmud’s conversation about one’s obligation to save other people from imminent threats to their life, Gemara shines the spotlight on a comment raised earlier. The Rabbis had said that Leviticus 19:16 (Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor) teaches the din rodef, the law that obligates one to preemptively kill someone who is in pursuit of another person with intent to kill them. The Gemara questioned the use of the verse, saying that we need Leviticus 19:16 to teach the obligation to save the life of someone in other situations of danger, and provided three examples that are repeated in our passage: drowning, wild beast, and bandits. If the Leviticus 19:16 teaches us the obligation to save people whose lives are endangered by situations such as these, then it would not be available to teach the din rodef. For the rabbis, each verse teaches one thing. But given that the Rabbis resolved the din rodef by using a kal va’chomer argument (please see TMT #42 where this is explained), we might well wonder why the Rabbis return to seek justification for saving people in life-threatening situations. What else do they have in mind?

COMMENTARY

The Rabbis quote a baraita (early rabbinic teaching that is not included in the Mishnah) that teaches the obligation to save someone’s whose life is endangered on the basis Leviticus 19:16. But then they bring an additional baraita that derives this obligation from Deuteronomy 22:2, which in context concerns the obligation to return lost property that you have found: If you see your brethren’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your brethren.  If your brethren does not live near you or you do not know who he is, you shall bring it home and it shall remain with you until your brethren claims it; and you shall return it to him (Deuteronomy 22:1-2). The baraita quotes only the last phrase of verse 2, which repeats what we were told in the previous verse. Why do we need it? How does this verse apply to saving a life? The Rabbis read it as saying that when you save someone from imminent danger, you “return” their life to them.

The Rabbis have now laid the ground for the lesson they want to draw from all this: If we were to derive the obligation to save a life from the redundancy in Deuteronomy 22:2 alone, it would apply to my physical obligation to save life. But we still have Leviticus 19:16 available (thanks to the kal va’chomer that covered the din rodef), and this—the Rabbis tell us—teaches us that if we are physically unable to save someone, we are still obligated to do what we can, for example, by hiring someone to do what we physically cannot. We not only must take a risk when we are capable of saving someone, but also expend our resources.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1.  Deuteronomy 22:2 continues with a warning “you must not remain indifferent.” The Hebrew says, more literally, “you must not hide yourself.” In what ways do we hide ourselves so can avoid the needs and suffering of others? 
2. What are the dangers of indifference. Extending the notion of indifference from the individual to society, the British parliamentarian, Edmund Burke, famously said: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Tim Holden, former U.S. Representative (Pennsylvania) has said: “The Holocaust illustrates the consequences of prejudice, racism and stereotyping on a society. It forces us to examine the responsibilities of citizenship and confront the powerful ramifications of indifference and inaction.” What are the moral implications of this claim for us vis-a-vis the many places around the globe where people are endangered?
3. The Life Saving class instructed us that if we were unable to rescue someone, we were obligated to enlist the help of others. Does this sound like Talmud’s rules? Further, we learned in class that now that we knew how to rescue someone, it was our obligation to do so when needed. What talents or knowledge do you have that your feel obligates you? 

Preemptive Killing — BT Sanhedrin 73a (part 2) — #42

The Rabbis taught [in a baraita]: Whence do we know that if someone pursues another to kill him [the one pursued] should be saved at the cost of the [pursuer’s] life? Scripture teaches: Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor (Leviticus 19:16). 

 But does [the verse] teach this? We need this [Leviticus 19:16] for what was taught [in a baraita]: Whence do we know that if one sees his fellow drowning in a river, or a wild beast mauling him, or bandits coming upon him, that he is obligated to save him? Scripture teaches: Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor. Indeed, this is so.

But whence is it given that one should be saved at the cost of [the pursuer’s] life? From a kal va’chomer from [the case of] a betrothed woman: If Torah says that if the [pursuer] comes only to harm her [but not to kill her], she should be saved at the cost of [the pursuer’s] life, then if one pursues another in order to kill him, how much more so!

INTRODUCTION

Last week, we examined Mishnah Sanhedrin 8:7, which stipulates that one may preemptively kill a person who is in pursuit of another with the intent to kill or rape. This is called the din rodef (the law of the pursuer). It is the backbone for the halakhic right of self-defense, but it goes  further: On daf 72a, in a discussion concerning a thief who breaks into someone’s house, the Rabbis expound on the principle, “The Torah says that if he comes to kill you, you should kill him first.” But does the right to defend oneself extend to defending others? The Talmud says yes, it is not only permissible, but obligatory. Yet the idea that it is appropriate to kill someone who is pursuing another to kill him, but has not yet committed a crime, is not at all obvious, and many people find it disturbing. Gemara reasonably asks: How does Mishnah know this is permissible?

COMMENTARY

The Gemara opens with a baraita (oral teaching from the period of the Mishnah) that asks for a Scriptural source for the mishnah’s claim that if we see someone in pursuit of another with the intent to kill, we are obligated (if we can) to kill the pursuer before he can commit murder. Offering Leviticus 19:16 as a proof text; the baraita reads it, Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor, as saying that if you fail to intervene to prevent a murder, you are guilty of standing idly while another bleeds. The obligation to prevent an innocent person from “bleeding” is so great that one must even preemptively kill the attacker.

The Gemara questions the baraita’s interpretation of Leviticus 19:16 because it knows another baraita that uses the very same verse to teach a different legal obligation. Generally, the Rabbis understand each verse to teach one and only one law. In this case, Leviticus 19:16 has already been “claimed” to teach us to save the lives of people who are in mortal danger. This second baraita provides three examples of life-threatening situations: drowning in a river, being mauled by a wild beast, and being attacked by highway robbers. Such cases compel us to “not stand idly by” while another person faces mortal danger; we must do what we can to save the endangered person’s life. The Gemara affirms this second baraita’s application of the verse to life-threatening situations as correct.

Where does that leave us? Without a proof text for the Mishnah’s contention that one is obligated to kill the pursuer before the pursuer commits murder. The Gemara finds a clever work-around using an hermeneutical (interpretive) technique called a kal va’chomer, which is a logical a fortiori argument, also known as an argument from minor to major (or vice versa), or more colloquially as an “all the more so” argument. A common example of a kal va’chomer: If a certain behavior is prohibited on a festival, then it is certainly prohibited on shabbat, because shabbat is on a higher level of holiness than a festival. An example from everyday life: If Robin becomes annoyed with Pat because Pat arrives 15 minutes late for a lunch appointment after calling, it will certainly be the case that Robin will be annoyed if Pat arrives a half hour late without calling. The Rabbis apply the principle of kal va’chomer to the mishnah’s claim about preemptive killing by referencing Mishnah’s law concerning a man who pursues a betrothed woman to rape her. (We discussed this Mishnah in the previous edition of TMT #41.) If Mishnah (which the Gemara terms “Torah” because it is Oral Torah) would have us kill the would-be rapist, whose act would harm the woman but not kill her, then certainly Torah would have us kill the would-be murderer before he kills his victim.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. The Rabbis are struggling to find biblical grounding for the din rodef, yet in the end, they use the same mishnah that expounded the din rodef. How does this strike you?
2. Is it possible to compare rape and murder and say which is “worse?” What happens when we try to compare one person’s suffering with another’s? Tosafot, a medieval commentary written by Rashi’s sons-in-law and grandsons, raises an objection to the kal va’chomer  reasoning here on surprising grounds: rape is biblically punishable by stoning (considered the most severe execution) while murder is punishable by beheading (a less severe form of execution from the perspective of the Torah). Hence the argument “all the more so” applied to murder from rape is not legitimate. But then Tosafot say that the relative severity of the crimes as deduced from the relative severity of the punishments is not what matters. Rather, both rape and murder cause grievous, irreparable harm to their victims.
3. Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was murdered by an extremist who claimed to be acting in fulfillment of the law of din rodef (see here). Does that make you think the law is reasonable or too dangerous?