Pirkei Avos

This mishna offers us advice regarding the proper work ethic. First of all, we are to love work. We should not view work as a necessary evil, something we must suffer through in order to make ends meet. Work should ideally give ours lives meaning and ourselves individuality. It affords us a sense of productivity -- that we are making a difference in the world -- and therefore it gives us our sense of existence.

As my teacher R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu) explained, we tend to measure and value ourselves according to our G-d-given gifts -- our looks, height, intelligence, athletic abilities, wit, etc. But in truth, these are not ours. They are G-d's: gifts He handed us through no effort of our own. We are what we make of those gifts, how we develop our G-d-given talents and the extent to which we use them to better ourselves and mankind. G-d ends and we begin not with our gifts and bodies but with our achievements.

Further, it should not be our bottom line which gives us the feeling we have produced. We are to love work, not money. Money is a very poor gauge of productivity. The Talmud tells us that when it comes to business, one may very well meet with success without making any kind of concerted (or competent) effort (as opposed to Torah knowledge, which can be acquired through serious study alone) (Megillah 6b).

Rather, our focus should be on productivity. The term used by our mishna for work -- "melacha" -- is the same the Torah uses to describe the types of labor forbidden on the Sabbath (Exodus 20:10). The connotation is thus work which produces and brings about a positive change in the world (such as planting, cooking, building, weaving). We should measure ourselves not according to our bottom line or how many people we manage, but according to our output: how productive are we as human beings.

On a practical level as well, work gives man a sense of contentedness. Human beings are most satisfied when they are productive. The Sages state that even one who does not need to work should keep himself occupied, for idling leads to madness and to lewdness (Mishna Kesuvos 5:5). (We always hear stories of the fellow who wins x million dollars in the lottery, puts it in the bank, and continues being the window washer he always was. He was the lucky one. Most people are ruined for life being handed all the money they could ever dream of (though most of us would be happy to take the challenge... ;-) )

The Talmud tells us further that G-d makes each person's job enjoyable to him -- or at least provides him with the set of talents to make one type of work rewarding (Brachos 43b). We can all contribute to mankind in one way or the other. Each of us must simply find his or her calling.

As always, what seems just the good practical advice of the Sages is in truth very much a religious issue. One who finds his job fulfilling will return from work energized. He will then be able to spend a part of his remaining time engaged in religious pursuits such as study and prayer. One, however, who is burnt out by the end of his day will have little energy and enthusiasm for extracurricular activities. Productivity and excitement with in life are not only psychologically beneficial; they are important for our religious well-being as well.

Lastly, work fosters an egalitarian attitude. We are all doing our part and making a difference to mankind. If we are each producing up to our capacity, we are all truly equal. And no one is above this very simple definition of equality. The Talmud writes: "One should flay carcasses in the marketplace and earn a living. He should not say 'I am a priest, I am a great man and such work is beneath me'" (Pesachim 113a). We measure ourselves not by our place on the totem pole or how well-connected we are with the powers that be, but by how much we are accomplishing. Of course, one who can be fully productive (and solvent) studying Torah alone is truly fortunate, as the Talmud writes: "Fortunate is he whose labor is in Torah" (Sanhedrin 99b). However, our primary concern must be if we are productive human beings, not if we are in the "right" circles, doing the "right" kind of work (my son, the doctor, the rabbi or whatever the preference may be), and certainly not if we're getting the "right" type of recognition. King Solomon said it best: "Whatever you do, do it with strength" (Ecclesiastes 9:10).

Our mishna continues by telling us types of "labor" we should not seek -- ones involving high position and involvement with the authorities. Of course, a manager who organizes and orchestrates others' talents, creating teamwork and harmony within an organization is certainly "producing" himself, in very significant fashion. Likewise the public official who serves the many is in a way producing far more than an individual ever could. However, our career goals should not involve recognition or being on top. Fame and public attention are hardly things we should wish for. Honor-seeking is practically antithetical to the Jewish virtues of modesty and humility. Further, public servants are almost invariably subject to public scrutiny and resentment, and must face the near impossible task of pleasing all the people all the time. Some of Israel's greatest leaders, such as Moses and King Saul, practically ran from the job only to have it forced upon them by G-d. Even until contemporary times, many of Israel's greatest rabbis were humble and unassuming men who drew little attention to themselves. In spite of this -- or perhaps because of this -- they were recognized as people of exceptional worth and almost de facto became leaders and spokesmen of their generation.

At the same time, however, we will learn below, "In a place where there are no men, endeavor to be a man" (2:6). We do not seek public position, but we must know our own strengths. And if I sincerely realize I am most capable, I must rise to the challenge.

The Catch 22 we are presented with is that the people who are really fit to be leaders are those who do not want the position. Another way of saying this is that if someone actually wants to be President going so far as to run for office, he is probably the last person we would want for the job. (I have fond memories of a coworker at a past job (a research center) who demoted himself from a management position (which he was performing quite well) so he could get back to the "real work.") The true stuff of leadership consists of a person of strong inner character, one who would much rather not lead but who reluctantly recognizes that he is most capable of serving his country and humanity. Throughout the course of history, Israel has hardly been immune to self-seeking leaders. Yet we have been blessed with many true leaders, both spiritual and temporal. And through this we have continued -- and may we continue -- to persevere.

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.

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This mishna, as the previous, is addressed to judges, instructing them how to properly interrogate the litigants. As we discussed last week, judges must maintain a healthy suspicion of the litigants and take nothing for granted. Although "innocent until proven guilty" is one of the cornerstones of Jewish judicial law, one of the realities of justice is that each party views events from his own personal perspective. Judges, who represent absolute truth and G-d's justice, must be above this. The litigants are speaking relative, subjective truth -- their side of the story. The judges must rise above the personal and vindictive, and make themselves vehicles for G-d's absolute and impartial justice.

The second point of our mishna -- "be careful with your words lest through them they learn to lie" -- is understood by the commentators to continue the same idea. Judges, while interrogating the litigants and witnesses, must take care not to be overly pointed or aggressive. The witnesses may catch on to the judges' direction, and may begin to answer according to what they anticipate the judges are seeking. Rather, allow the litigants to speak for themselves. We quoted the Talmudic dictum last week: "Words of truth are recognizable" (Sotah 9b). If one side is fabricating or embellishing, chances are he will slip up, and something will not fit. The truth or lack thereof of each position should speak for itself.

As we pointed out last week, the advice the Sages offer judges is really not so limited in scope -- for we too are constantly passing judgment on our fellows. We are constantly forming our opinions of others based upon their words and deeds, and for better or worse based upon how others speak about them. There is, however, an even more important manner in which the behavior of judges influences Israel at large, as we will explain below.

Court systems have always formed a very basic element of Jewish society. We find in Scriptures Moses spending his entire day "judging" Israel in the desert until his father-in-law Yisro (Jethro) recommended that he organize a major court system, to which Moses complied (Exodus 18:13-27). (A son-in- law listening to his father-in-law? That too deserved Scriptural mention! ;-)

Further, according to Jewish law, every city in Israel is required to have a major high court of 23 judges, large enough to preside over capital cases. The mishna in Sanhedrin (1:6) rules that this obligation extended all the way down to the smallest village of 120 adult males. (It's actually kind of humorous in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 17b), which explains that in addition to the 23 judges themselves, 3 sets of 23 students would sit before the judges. (they would join the court in case it was divided). Thus, between the judges, students, stenographers (and of course people to have a case between them), almost an entire town of 120 would be involved in the judicial process.)

The implication of this is that Judaism is very pro-justice. Courts must be ubiquitous. Whenever any kind of trouble arises, a major court would be available down the block to deal with it and straighten things out. One might have had to head in for the big city for shopping, a show, or a good restaurant, but high courts were always local.

This, however, is difficult in light of other statements of our Sages. There is a mishna which states that if a court actually performs an execution in so much as once in seven years, it is considered a murderous court (Makkos 1:10). (The mishna brings an additional opinion that once in 70 years is too often, while a third rabbi declared that if he would have served, the court would have never executed.) Thus, we need courts all over the place, but they do not seem to do very much.

Further, Jewish law has some gaping loopholes. The death penalty exists in Torah law and is imposed for a large variety of offenses, but it is actually quite difficult for a criminal to actually receive it. One who commits a capital offense can only be put to death if he is seen by two witnesses, they warn him before the act, and he acknowledges the warning (saying, "I know I'll get killed for this and with this in mind do I sin"). Now who in the world would say *that*? Any sinner could easily vindicate himself by just keeping quiet!

In addition, we find punishments within Jewish law exceedingly lenient. One who steals forcibly merely has to return what he stole. (What does he have to lose?) A burglar -- one who steals covertly -- must pay double: still a pretty good gamble. For assault one pays only for the damages -- no zillion dollar lawsuits, suing for emotional damage, etc. Incarceration almost does not exist in Torah law. If so, how does the Torah expect crime to be deterred?

My teacher, R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu) explained that Judaism recognizes that harsh sentences are very poor deterrents of crime. Many people are pro-capital punishment in the hope it will make their fellow citizens behave, but in truth stiff sentences and tough policing do not make citizens into better people. They only increase the fear of getting caught (which might do some good in the near term, but is honestly hardly the point).

Judaism believes in a different approach to crime prevention altogether: the presence of judges. Virtually every city in Israel was required to have a major court. The presence of so many judges was not to judge the populace. It was hoped that matters would rarely go so far as to having neighbors face off in court. Rather, they existed to set the tone in society. Judges created a sense of respect for the law. They were bearers and upholders of our tradition, and they would teach proper behavior not through judgment and arbitration, but by living and embodying those very values they espoused. As always, the most effective manner of teaching others is by doing for yourself. Judges, through their actions, would create a sense of the beauty of G-d's ways, and by association a sense that crime is inherently evil and quite literally does not pay. And far more than stiff penalties, such role-modeling would create some hope that the rest of Israel would follow.

In truth, Jewish law does have practical provisions for dealing with delinquents, troublemakers and those who might be harmful to themselves or society. And the punishments outlined in the Torah are more a statement of God's ultimate values than a practical means of preserving law and order. Yet, Judaism recognizes above all that judges are far more than merely arbiters of justice. They stand for something greater. They set a tone within society so that crimes not be committed in the first place. (It's interesting to note that this perception -- that judges must uphold a higher standard -- has perhaps trickled down to our times in the form of judges' austere judicial robes.)

The Midrash (Devarim Rabbah 3:5) records the following incident with Shimon ben Shatach himself, the author of our mishna. He once instructed his students to buy him a camel from an Arab. When his students returned, they gleefully informed him that they found a precious stone in the animal's collar. Shimon flatly refused to take advantage of the situation and insisted that his students return the gem immediately. (A legal loophole might have applied in the situation, according to the letter of the law.) When the Arab received it in return he exclaimed, "Blessed be the G-d of Shimon ben Shatach." Shimon saw himself not only as teacher and arbiter of Jewish law, but as one who must exemplify it through his own conduct. And the Gentile likewise saw the event not only as an individual act of greatness, but as a reflection of a great and noble religion. And so he blessed not only Shimon but the G-d of Shimon as well.

May we too recognize the beauty of the religion we stand for. And through our deeds may we become vehicles to increase the glorification of the Divine Name, so that the world over reverberates with the cry: "Blessed be the G-d of Shimon ben Shatach."

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.

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This mishna focuses on the Jewish judicial system, and its advice is addressed to judges. As always, however, we will find the words of the Sages far more meaningful and relevant than their limited scope might imply.

Yehuda's first statement is actually difficult to translate. One should not make himself an "orchai hadayanim," which literally means "a setter up of the judges." The meaning, according to the majority of the commentators, is that one should not advise a single litigant how to present and plead his case. This will either "set up" the minds of the judges -- to be partial towards that litigant, or set up the judgment as a whole in his favor. (The commentators appear to be divided as to whether this advice is restricted to the judges themselves or to any person partial towards a single litigant.)

The message is that the judges should examine the bare facts of the case alone. Neither side should require coaching; each should simply present his or her version of the story as accurately and objectively as possible. The truth (or lack thereof) of either position should speak for itself. There is no room for carefully arranged and acted-out prosecutions or defenses. Posturing, dramatizing, or employing any of the many tactics we have become so accustomed to today to "set up" the minds of the jurors or arouse their sympathy is wholly out of place. The courts must be vehicles of G-d's objective and unwavering justice.

For that matter, lawyers were virtually inexistent in the traditional Jewish court system. Even the word "lawyer" did not exist in classical Hebrew -- as evidenced by the fairly awkward terminology of our mishna. In fact the modern Hebrew term for lawyer is the equally awkward two-word phrase "orech din" ("arranger of judgment") -- stemming from our mishna's language. And even more emphatically, the pocketbooks of the litigants should not determine (for all practical purposes) the eventual verdict.

The second statement of our mishna is that judges should view the litigants as guilty when they stand trial. They should be wary of the litigants' every word. Nothing should be glossed over or taken at face value. As the Talmud puts it, "Words of truth are recognizable" (Sotah 9b). When someone is making up or embellishing a story, chances are something will not fit (either that or the testimony will be too smooth and well-rehearsed), and the acute observer will catch on to it fairly quickly. In truth, "Innocent until proven guilty" is one of the most fundamental tenets of Jewish law (Talmud Bava Kama 46b -- as well as many places). Yet, judges must maintain a healthy suspicion towards the litigants. All evidence must be properly scrutinized, and nothing should be taken for granted, whether about the case at hand or about the defendants themselves.

In addition, as the commentators observe, both parties must be viewed as equally guilty. Neither party should be given any sort of preferential consideration due to his background, reputation or social status. "Profiling" too is a modern phenomenon, wholly absent from Jewish tradition. All are equal in the eyes of G-d's law.

There is a fascinating insight regarding the role of judges as envisioned by the Torah. As we will see, the concept of the impartiality of the judges, as discussed in our mishna, is far more profound than simply a means of rendering proper decisions.

Deuteronomy 19:16-21 discusses the subject of false witnesses. If two men testify in court, say that Jim is a murderer, and they are afterwards shown to be testifying falsely (other witnesses testify that the first witnesses were elsewhere when the crime was allegedly committed), they receive the punishment they attempted to inflict upon Jim. I.e., they are killed themselves. Verse 19 states that the witnesses receive what they attempted ("zamam") to do to Jim. The implication, according to the Rabbis, is that if the witnesses not only attempted but were also successful (i.e., they were not disproved until after Jim was put to death), they are not punished (Mishna Makkos 1:6). How could actually causing the courts to kill Jim be less severe than unsuccessfully attempting it?

The Ramban (Nachmonides, of 13th Century Spain) explains as follows: If the false witnesses were successful in putting Jim to death, it must be that in fact Jim deserved death for one reason or the other. G-d would have never allowed him to be put to death had he not truly deserved it. Thus, although the witnesses themselves were liars, they did not truly kill an innocent man. They merely put to death someone who deserved it anyway. If, however, they were unsuccessful, G-d must have thwarted their plans because Jim was really innocent. And so, the witnesses were in fact guilty of attempted murder.

My teacher R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu) raised an enormous difficulty with this answer: By that reasoning, why should an actual murderer ever be put to death? Why not use the same alibi: "The person I murdered obviously must have deserved it. Otherwise, G-d would have never allowed me to kill him! I'm just a messenger of G-d!"

In addition, there are other ways in which Jewish law deals more harshly with false witnesses than with people who actually commit crimes -- for example in that to be convicted of committing a crime one must first be warned by the witnesses before doing the act, while false witnesses are punished though they never received such a warning before they testified falsely. And this too requires analysis. How can one who kills with his own hands be dealt with less severely than one who does so only indirectly, merely causing the courts to carry out the misdeed?

There is an important insight here, one which casts light on the entire concept of the Jewish justice system. Jewish courts are not only a convenient mechanism for preserving law and order. They are G-d's vehicle for justice on this earth. They represent truth -- the truth of G-d and His Torah -- and its manifestation in society. When one tricks a court, he is not only framing an innocent man. He is distorting G-d's representation of truth in this world. He is perverting man's perception of truth, corrupting the most basic reality of the universe.

If someone commits murder or adultery, he knows he's a sinner; everyone around him knows he's a sinner (or at least so it was once upon a time). And if you know you're a sinner, you might just one day repent. If, however, a person fools the courts into believing an innocent man is a murderer, he is masquerading falsehood as truth. He is corrupting the very fabric of the universe. The world and in particular the courts -- G-d's very vehicle of truth and justice among men -- have been turned into bodies of falsehood -- and G-d's very Presence has been diminished among man.

As a result of this, the guilt of false witnesses depends upon the outcome. They are not punished for the sentence they attempted to have carried out. That was not even their direct doing. Their guilt is for the corruption of truth. If they are not successful in carrying out their plans, they have attempted to distort reality and are judged accordingly. If, however, they are successful, then the defendant must have really deserved death -- for G-d would not allow such travesty of justice with no valid basis -- and the perpetrators were not in reality corrupting the truth.

Tragically, this is a concept which applies outside of the courts equally well. There are many other vehicles in this world which shape our minds and fashion reality in their own image. Newspapers, radio, and especially television form our opinions for us. They present truth according to their own biases, and the believing public finds itself molded into whatever reality the liberal media has fashioned for it.

How does the world view the State of Israel? When the public is fed headlines such as "Israel retaliates...," "Israel strikes targets...," and "Israel assassinates..." (or at best "violence erupts" when there was actually a very clear "erupter"... ;-) , reality is twisted in the eyes of a gullible public. How much media coverage is focused on PA corruption, on the vilely anti-Semitic statements which spew forth from PA ministers and Muslim clerics alike, on the terrorist attacks which were not successful (thanks to G-d in Heaven), and on the spontaneous dancing in the Arab street when an attack is? Meanwhile, a patient and law-abiding democracy, deserving the world's praise, support and encouragement in its battle against true criminals against humanity has become the aggressive, human-rights-ignoring police state, continually slammed by the UN, the EU and all sorts of other organizations hardly searching for truth to begin with.

Needless to say, this class is hardly intended to be a forum for Dovid Rosenfeld's political commentary. (I could go on, but I'm probably preaching to the choir.) Nevertheless, those who author and disseminate the "news" are playing with fire -- with truth itself -- and with the most precious and essential commodity of all existence.

Lastly, we ourselves possess that same power over reality -- in our mouths and our manner of speech. The way we talk about others -- especially behind their backs -- creates images -- and realities -- which are hard to counter. If we create a negative image about our fellow, we may damage him and his reputation in ways from which he may never recover. Judaism is exceedingly forceful in its condemnation of gossip and slander. Far from saying "names will never hurt me," Judaism recognizes what an awesome role words play in creating the reality around us. Let us take care that we, our courts, and our very mouths become vehicles of truth, honesty and beauty in this world.

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.

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Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.

"Nittai of Arbel said, distance yourself from a bad neighbor, do not befriend a wicked person, and do not despair of punishment."

The theme of this mishna is to beware close association with wicked people, those who may exert a negative influence on ourselves or our families.

R. Samson Raphael Hirsch notes a discrepancy in the language of mishna. Regarding bad neighbors we are told to distance ourselves, while regarding the wicked we are told only not to befriend them. The reason for this difference is that it is possible to choose one's neighbors -- by selecting a neighborhood in which to live. Regarding the wicked, however, it is impossible to entirely avoid contact with them -- in business (particularly) or on the street. Thus, we may have to interact with them on some level, but we must take care not to closely befriend them.

Our mishna concludes that we not lose faith that G-d ultimately punishes. This continues the same theme. Do not be fooled that the wicked have all the money. Do not be tempted to run after them or imitate their ways. Divine retribution will certainly come -- and the associates of the wicked may well be caught in the very same web (or at least be forced to testify). G-d may very well be "blessing" the wicked in this world because He has given up, so to speak, on prodding them to repent, or because He is paying off their few good deeds in this world. Regardless, we must never be lulled into a sense that there is something lasting or meaningful to be gained from association with the wicked. Their time will come -- whether in this world or the next -- and we'd be much better off not being around when it does.

Throughout our history, Jews have always placed a great deal of emphasis on community -- that we stick together and distance themselves to whatever degree possible from negative influences. Throughout the Exile, Jews have generally formed their own neighborhoods, schools, and where possible judicial systems. The term "ghetto" is perhaps too strong a pejorative -- and Pales and ghettos were usually imposed from without -- but throughout much of our history we have certainly made ourselves a nation apart. Likewise, our host nations have almost invariably seen us as a foreign entity living in their midst. Whether they viewed us as an antisocial and disloyal fifth column or as a hard-working and contributive minority, we have rarely been seen as truly a part of the nation as a whole. (I can't remember which great European rabbi visited the U.S. in the early 20th Century and was quite surprised to find that American Jews had a genuine patriotism for their country -- a phenomenon he considered almost without parallel in the Old World.)

Nor was this an Exile phenomenon. Within Ancient Israel, the members of the Tribe of Levi, who were devoted exclusively to Temple and G-dly service, lived in their own utopian cities, apart from the remaining tribes of Israel (see Numbers 35:1-8). The understanding was that religious societies can best be formed by isolating ourselves from society at large, by keeping ourselves from those influences which may compromise the standards we wish to maintain. We know what a profound influence our friends and neighbors exert on us. If everyone on the block owns a Mercedes, I would be hiding my old jalopy of a Cadillac in the garage. If all the neighbors' children are going to Harvard, I would be saying Princeton under my breath. (Sorry if I'm insulting any alumni... :-) Neighbors set the tone in a community in terms of wealth, status and moral conduct. And the pressure to fit in is almost palpable. "What would the neighbors say?" rings far louder in our ears than "What is actually best for us?"

This, however, raises a difficulty. Isn't Israel's ultimate purpose to be a "light unto the nations" (Isaiah 42:6)? Shouldn't we be going out teaching mankind that G-d exists and the world has a purpose? Shouldn't we be standing at every street corner, passing out brochures and leaflets, spreading the holy gospel? Instead, we are busy isolating ourselves from the world at large -- sometimes even from fellow Jews who are not as "enlightened" as we? Aren't we denying ourselves from the very elements of mankind which most need Judaism's enlightening effects?

On the simplest level, the answer is that we do not see ourselves today as prepared to take on the world. Today we are an exiled and downtrodden minority. We have more than enough trouble preserving ourselves and our own children from the effects of exile and assimilation. When the Messiah arrives, he will bring the world to its fruition. He will teach the world about truth and the reality of G-d. (It might be a tad too late by then, but one way or the other the world will reach its long-awaited culmination.) In the meanwhile, however, we are busy enough trying to hold on ourselves. We have far too much on our minds -- not to mention far too much infighting within our own ranks -- to worry about this grand and far- sighted dream of being a light unto the nations. A bit disappointing, but probably a realistic appraisal of the situation.

There is another angle to this, however. In a way, we are not so far from our ultimate goal as we might think. We really best fulfill our mission to the world in isolation. How does one best impact upon others? By debating, going out attempting to convince others of the truth of our ways? Try telling people how they should live, what their values should be. Tell them their past 35 years have been based on fallacy and that only our G-d is the true one. I've had better luck talking to brick walls. People are stubborn. We might win a few of the unusually intellectually honest through intense persuasion, but we'd probably turn off a whole lot more.

Judaism has *never* believed in proselytizing -- certainly not as an official policy (though there have been some curious exceptions over the years). Nobody likes being lectured to. If we run after others with proofs and elaborate discourses on religion, we will appear much like cults and fringe groups, distributing entertaining reading material at red lights and bus terminals. Very little good would be accomplished. We would achieve little more than cheapening Judaism in the eyes of the masses.

Judaism believes in an entirely different approach: by example. We create our own utopian societies. We show mankind by our lives and behavior what human beings are capable of, not by living in isolated monasteries, but by building healthy and thriving -- but separate -- societies. We set the tone for mankind, establishing the moral standards to which they must one day aspire. And this requires isolation -- that we develop true and uncompromising societies of both morality and integrity. And even within exile, when we are very much a part of society at large, we maintain our own sub-community -- of synagogue, study hall, the Jewish family -- creating our own sanctuaries within. Yes, when the Messiah arrives he will impose the belief of G-d on the recalcitrant, and he'll do it by sword if necessary (it's very unlikely to be necessary by then). But until then our most effective weapon is our own behavior -- in demonstrating to mankind what human beings, as creatures fashioned in the image of G-d, are capable of becoming.

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.

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"Yehoshua ben (son of) Perachia and Nittai of Arbel received the transmission from them [the rabbis of Mishna 4]. Yehoshua ben Perachia said, make for yourself a rabbi, acquire for yourself a friend, and judge every person favorably."

Last week we discussed the first two statements of the mishna, the importance of acquiring both a rabbi and a friend. As we explained, personal relationships with both role models and equals are crucial for proper intellectual and spiritual growth -- for taking the Torah's messages, bringing them to life, and applying them to real-life situations.

This week we'll discuss the final statement of the mishna -- judging others favorably. As an opening observation, this perhaps relates to the mishna's first two statements. Only one who can overlook his friend's (and even his teacher's) faults while learning from his positive traits will be able to develop positive and growing relationships. There is no such thing as a person you will look up to in every way. Only with generous doses of patience and forbearance can any meaningful relationship get off the ground.

The Talmud derives the principle of judging others favorably from a verse in Leviticus (19:15): "In righteousness shall you judge your fellow" (Shavuos 30a). In its literal sense, the verse is addressing judges. The Sages derive from this the importance of being fair and impartial to both litigants, not giving better treatment to either one during the court proceedings.

The Talmud, however, additionally sees this verse as a general directive to us all, that we "judge" our fellows favorably. For better or worse, we are constantly judging our peers based on their words and behavior, and often our verdicts are as harsh and condemning as those of the strictest judges. We are thus told to give others the benefit of the doubt, sometimes to bend over to see the good in our fellow where it is anything but readily evident. Perhaps he went into the MacDonald's to use the phone or bathroom. He acted that way because he had a rough day at work, or he is just not as sensitive about a certain issue as I.

Maimonides, in his commentary to the mishna, provides more precise guidelines for this obligation. There are three categories of people. An average person, who is neither particularly pious nor sinful (or at least is not known to you to be sinful in the matter under question), must be given the benefit of the doubt only in situations in which there is reasonable room for doubt. If an act could go either way, judge him favorably. If, however, an act leaves little room for doubt -- and the person is not exactly known for his saintliness -- one need not find some favorable interpretation to his act. The Torah does not ask for naivete, that we ignore what is in front of our noses. (Blabbing out what you saw to all who will listen, however, is known as lashon hara, evil speech, and is an entirely separate -- and rather severe -- transgression.) However, it is meritorious to look for some favorable or extenuating factor even in such a case.

The second type of person is one known to be righteous. Maimonides writes that we must view him or her favorably even if the circumstances do not warrant it, even in the case where his behavior appears sinful. We should bend over to view such a person favorably. Even if he clearly did sin, the Talmud writes that one should assume he reconsidered and repented his deed by the morrow (Berachos 19a). (Needless to say, if his "sinful" behavior involves financial loss to others we do not just cheerily dismiss his behavior as somehow acceptable but notify the appropriate authorities and let *them* decide. Our mishna's focus is on the courtrooms of the mind alone.)

The final category of person is one known to be wicked. In this context, we define wicked as one who publicly and unashamedly flaunts his religion, and does not do so out of an ignorance of the true depth and beauty of Judaism. (As contemporary rabbis observe, it is actually difficult to find a person who fits the build today. Apart from the almost universal ignorance of Judaism as a whole today (whether or not someone has heard there are Orthodox Jews with long beards and coats in New York somewhere), a person today could have easily been raised to an Orthodox family and in an observant neighborhood -- and somehow never truly grew into what Judaism is all about. And there may not have been anyone there to properly guide and inspire him during some of the crucial early stages of his life. You cannot really pick up meaning and spirituality from your environment. It does not just seep in. We must each discover it for ourselves -- no matter who our parents and our teachers were or are.) Regarding such a person, there is no obligation whatsoever to judge him favorably. He is not "your fellow" as referred to in the verse. In fact, we must often bend over the other way in condemning his actions. We must always be wary that he is trying to create a respectable image so as to avert suspicion from his behavior -- and to entice others to his wicked ways.

The Talmud teaches us further: "Anyone who judges others favorably will be judged favorably in Heaven" (Shabbos 127b). This follows the general principle that G-d rewards and punishes us "measure for measure" (Mishna Sotah 1:7). If we are patient and understanding with others, G-d will act in the same manner towards us. If not, G-d will get his cues, so to speak, from our own behavior. Sadly, G-d's method of judgment is only too just.

However, this presents a difficulty. When we judge others favorably, aren't we giving the benefit of the doubt because we *don't* know all the facts? We saw him walk into a MacDonald's and we don't know what happened next. Perhaps he went in for a soda. He was not in synagogue on Yom Kippur. Perhaps he wasn't feeling well. He made an inconsiderate remark. Perhaps he doesn't know how sensitive that issue is to me, perhaps his boss just yelled at him, etc. But G-d *does* know all the facts; there is no room for doubt. He knows the circumstances, the background, and all that preceded and followed. How can G-d judge us favorably when it involves overlooking what to Him are clear and cold facts?

The answer is that giving the benefit of the doubt is not only a matter of overlooking or interpreting details. It stems from an attitude. When we judge others, we are setting our own personal justice system. If I am constantly finding fault and criticizing others, I send a message to G-d. Shortcomings should be noticed and highlighted; there's no room for mercy and tolerance. And G-d allows us to fashion the very justice system with which He views us. If we see only the bad in others, we bring upon ourselves the very judgment which we, in our minds, visit upon others daily.

If, however, we view others favorably, we send an entirely different message to G-d. I know Joe is basically a good guy. He means well. Therefore, it is not likely to me that he actually did something wrong. And if he did, it is probably because he didn't really know better or he finds such behavior more challenging than I do.

When we view others in such a manner, it sends a different message to G-d. I know Your creations are good human beings. They stumble and fall at times, but I have not lost faith in them as a result. They mean well, and I'm sure they'll pick themselves up again and try harder. And this is the attitude we should only wish G-d would have towards us. He (more than anyone else in creation) knows that human beings are basically good creatures. We have good souls and active, restless consciences. If we recognize the innate goodness in others, chances are we will see it in ourselves equally well. And G-d will as well judge us mercifully. He knows we are His faithful servants regardless of our many slips and falls. We'll bounce back -- G-d knows we can do it -- and He knows as well that we can recognize this ourselves. And if He has that trust in us, we might just live up to His expectations.

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.

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"Yehoshua ben (son of) Perachia and Nittai of Arbel received the transmission from them [the rabbis of Mishna 4]. Yehoshua ben Perachia said, make for yourself a rabbi, acquire for yourself a friend, and judge every person favorably."

This mishna brings us to the next generation of scholars and the advice they offered to their and future generations. We are still in one of the earliest generations of the Mishna.

Yehoshua first advises us that we "make" for ourselves a rabbi. We discussed recently (Mishna 4) the role of the Torah scholar within Judaism. As we saw, a rabbi is hardly a religious functionary, conducting services at a synagogue, wedding or funeral, nor is he simply one who is asked to decide matters of Jewish law. A true rabbi is firstly one who serves as a role model for his community, who does not only teach G-d's Torah, but who lives and exemplifies those same values as well.

Second, the true Torah scholar is one who is imbued with the entire gamut of Torah knowledge -- and thus, he is the only one truly able to take that wisdom and apply it to real life situations. Life is far more complicated than ritual and religious ceremony. We are constantly faced with challenges -- struggling with our own natures and in our relationships with others. Many of the decisions we must make during our days and in the course of our lives are in reality religious by nature. Take for example our professional lives. How does the lawyer defend a client he knows to be guilty as sin? How does the psychologist deal with a patient who may be a danger to his family or to society? Say a patient (or close friend) confesses to having committed a serious crime or having a drug addiction? Is one obligated to turn him in, or does true friendship imply confidentiality? When may the doctor provide experimental or alternative treatment to his patient? Say an acquaintance calls during off hours for medical treatment or advice. Does the Torah obligate one with the appropriate know-how to help? How much of my employer's time (or paper) may I waste assuming it's understood (I hope none of you are reading this on work time...) -- or because everyone else does it? How do I deal with employees (possibly myself) who are in the habit of talking behind the boss' back? How much of my earnings must I give to charity -- and to which types of charities? How do I balance my career with family obligations, with Torah study, and with community involvement? And how should I *act*? How friendly and outgoing should I be to others? How much effort should I put in to mending a strained relationship, and when is it time to walk away? What is the proper manner of disciplining my children? How do I draw the line between parenting and butting in? How much respect should I demand of my children? Should I interfere with their every bad practice and association, or should I let them learn life experiences on their own? And how should I get along with my own parents -- possibly whose religious values differ greatly from my own? And am I obligated in their healthcare?

The questions are endless and ongoing -- and they are really what religion is all about. Far beyond what color yarmulke a person wears, these are the issues which truly define if we are Torah-observant and G-d-fearing Jews. And for such issues Israel needs rabbis. Virtually none of the questions above can be answered with a single verse or law in the Talmud. Our Sages had much to say about all such issues. There are priorities and considerations which must be carefully weighed and balanced. And the answers may very well not be the same for any two people.

As a simple example, the Sages had much to say about the importance of Torah study, of child rearing, of community service, and of earning a livelihood. Which are given greater priority? How much time should I spend on each? It really depends who I am, what the Torah's priorities are, and how the Torah's eternal truths apply to me and my situation in particular. And only one who knows the entire Torah can decipher which of its many truths apply in any given situation. It's easy enough for me to tell my wife, "Sorry, can't help with the dishes; the Rabbis said Torah study is important." (I've tried that one before, and it don't work too well...) But helping others -- certainly one's own wife -- is also an obligation. Which comes first? What is the proper balance?

Thus again, Israel need rabbis. The balancing act of life -- how to balance the different values and priorities of the Torah and of life -- is the real trick to life and personal fulfillment. And only the scholar who knows both the Torah's wisdom and me personally will be able to assist me. He will see my own unique qualities and attributes -- often better than I see them myself -- and determine how the Torah's eternal values apply to me personally. And if he knows me -- if I've "made" for myself a rabbi -- then I have some hope of striking that proper balance.

Our mishna additionally tells us to "acquire for yourself a friend." This connects closely to Yehoshua's first statement of making for myself a rabbi. We are dealing firstly with a friend in the spiritual sense -- one who assists me in my religious and personal growth. True friends are those who grow together, who share their feelings, and who grow as individuals. They are open and sincere with one another, and are practically the only ones who can (perhaps) give advice and criticism freely and openly. King Solomon wrote: "Faithful are the chastisements of a friend, while burdensome are the kisses of an enemy" (Proverbs 27:6). A friend is one from whom I grow, and who will point out to me my faults (often indiscernible to myself) and instruct me in how to realize my potential.

It's interesting to note that the mishna uses a stronger word for friend than it did for rabbi. We were instructed to "make" ("asai") for ourselves a rabbi and to "buy" ("k'nai") ourselves a friend. The implication is that more effort must be expended in acquiring a friend. Why is this?

I believe there are two issues here. First, in spite of everything we've said about the importance of rabbis, they only go so far. We have all heard or read flowery and inspiring words (or e-mails) from rabbis and felt the gut reaction, whether expressed or not, something like: "You know, that's really easy to say on an abstract level. It would be nice if life were so easy. If I were 30 years older and a well-respected rabbi I could also get away with proudly espousing such high and uncompromising standards. But the reality is just not that way."

One's rabbi is usually somewhat older and more established than he. Everything he says is wonderful and inspiring -- he makes it all sound so easy. But he doesn't *really* know what it's like to come from where I come from, and how difficult it would be to break away from parents, friends, culture, habits and everything else I would have to leave behind.

And this is where friends come in. A friend is an equal; he speaks your language. He may even share your background and history. He knows where you're coming from because he's been there himself. And he might just help you figure out how *you* can apply truth to your life, and how it can all become meaningful and relevant to you.

There is a second, unrelated concept behind the idea of acquiring a friend. We don't just "make" friends for ourselves; we must invest in them and "acquire" them. Friendships are two-way affairs. A relationship with a rabbi or teacher, as valuable as it may be, is basically passive. Although questioning and objecting are very much a part of the student's role (as we'll learn later, "The bashful student will not learn" (2:6 www.torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos/chapter2-6.html)), for the most part the student is enjoined to assume a humble, submissive role, as Mishna 4 earlier: "Cleave to the dust of their feet."

Developing friendships, however, requires a much greater investment of time and effort. We "purchase" friendships by our willingness to share our feelings, stay up late discussing our problems, and be available to help him or her get through his or her difficult times. The investment may be great, and we may not "learn" as much as we do from our teachers. But relationships are yet another necessary ingredient towards developing ourselves as human beings and fulfilling our missions on this earth.

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.

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"Yossi ben (son of) Yochanan of Jerusalem said: Let your house be open wide, let the poor be members of your household, and do not chatter excessively with women. This was said regarding one's own wife, certainly with another's wife. Based on this the Sages have said, one who chatters excessively with women causes evil to himself, wastes time from Torah study, and will eventually inherit Gehenna."

For the past two classes we have been discussing the sanctity of the home. As the Sages instruct, religious practices and values must not be relegated to the synagogue or some other setting outside the home. Our homes must be permeated with sanctity, and both Torah scholars and the downtrodden should be welcome within.

We are now ready to discuss the second issue of our mishna, talking excessively with women. It is appropriate to approach this from the context of this and the previous mishna. The sanctity of the home to a great extent rests on the husband-wife relationship within. If their relationship is founded upon closeness and a sharing of values, the home will flourish. If it is based upon frivolity and lust -- or if the husband finds he has better "chatter" (what we today call "chemistry") with women outside the home -- the basic building blocks of the home will be lacking, and the home will only with difficulty survive.

Our mishna uses the term "sicha" for speech, which means light or trivial talk, kibitzing or banter. Regarding another man's wife the danger is evident. Empty, frivolous conversation may lead to a much more serious breakdown of behavior. We will learn later: "Jesting and lightheadedness accustom a person to immorality" (3:17). Interaction with women may be a regular part of our daily activities, but we must always take care that a certain sense of formality is maintained. This of course does not mean to imply coldness or aloofness. As always in Judaism, the correct balance must be sought. However, this is one area in which the Sages, in their wisdom and insight, warn us to take extra care. Dangers lurk -- sometimes only slightly beneath the thinnest veneer of propriety -- and caution must be constantly maintained.

Even with one's own wife the proper balance must be maintained. The husband-wife relationship must be predicated on an emotional closeness and a sharing of values, not on frivolity or physical lust. The underlying bond must be very clear to both husband and wife. We are not bound because we enjoy each other's company, because it provides us with a beneficial financial arrangement, or because we desire the physical pleasure. In fact, our marriage must not be predicated on any reason of a duration less than eternal, and likewise a truly meaningful marriage will weather all sorts of financial and medical challenges. If I am in a relationship because it is good for *me*, then when the cause of that goodness departs (or if I have more enjoyable "chatter" with the gals at the office) the marriage will be in serious trouble.

Rather, husband and wife must view themselves as bound by eternal covenant. Each partner must care for the other for the other's sake, and they must be united in the sacred mission of building a Jewish home and becoming a unified whole. Such lofty ideals must never be trivialized and laughed off. Humor and lightheadedness are often in place in the husband-wife relationship; so is physical pleasure. In fact, any activity which brings husband and wife closer strengthens the Divine bond between them. But such things must never replace the true ideals and purpose of marriage. One serious and intense conversation between husband and wife -- about their goals, feelings and aspirations -- is worth a thousand empty and trivial conversations. Our marriages must primarily be spiritual and eternal. And likewise our speech and conversation must never wholly lose sight of the fact that between us rests the Divine Presence.

There is a general concept within Judaism that the greater a potential for good something has, the stronger the temptation to misuse it. Love and marriage are prime examples of this. Marriage gives man and woman the ability to build the ultimate relationship -- symbolic of man's relationship with G-d, as well as to create life. Each partner loves and provides for the other for the other's sake, yet realizes and appreciates that the other does for him or her for the very same reason. And as each partner does for the other, he or she grows closer to the other as well -- for we love those to whom we give. Eventually, a couple merges -- into a complete and united whole.

However, anything which has such potential for good can as well be corrupted into a means of perpetrating the most terrible of evils. And this is the manner in which the world works, for the "dark side of the force" (we can call it Satan, but the idea is quite the same) will not allow such potential for goodness to go unchecked and unchallenged. Just as the most heinous of crimes are committed in the name of religion, the worst acts of selfishness can be perpetrated under the guise of "marriage". Rather than marriage being used for selflessness, giving and bonding, it can be used for selfishness and abusiveness. Men and women are different by nature (if any of you haven't noticed). If they merge, their natures will complement one another and they will become a united whole. If, however, one marries solely for his or her own sake -- to take from the other, to dominate or abuse, or to give himself an illusory sense of importance by putting the other down, he is involved in the most selfish and crushing relationship possible. The very closeness and intimacy of marriage gives each spouse the ability to crush and hurt the other in a manner not possible in any other sort of relationship. And sadly, we all know how ugly, painful and devastating unhealthy relationships can be, and how slowly the scars heal.

The sex drive is another example of this concept. Marital relations, at their highest level, are a form of giving and sharing, and are potentially an act of creation. (There is also a kabbalistic concept that sex is a physical manifestation of our ultimate spiritual relationship with God -- one reason why the Prophets so often berate Israel for going "a whoring" after idolatry. (Thought heard from R. Motty Berger, www.aish.com.)) However, precisely because it can be used for such good, there is no other drive which man is so tempted to misuse and to vulgarize, and to pervert from an act of holiness into one of selfishness, hedonism and animalism.

For all of the above reasons, Judaism has always placed paramount importance on the separation of the sexes, in such areas as synagogue service, schooling and general social interaction. This does not stem from a sense of inequality between men and women, and certainly not from any kind of notion that sex and marriage are in any way "sinful". To the contrary, God says, "It is not proper for Adam to live alone" (i.e., unmarried) (Genesis 2:18), and the Torah sets this as a precedent for all future generations: "Therefore, a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife" (2:24).

Rather, knowing the unique quality of the husband-wife relationship, the Rabbis took every precaution that such potential for good and beauty not be compromised. The more we spread ourselves out -- the more we enjoy interaction and good chemistry with other members of the opposite sex -- the less special and unique our relationship will be with our spouses. Thus, our mishna exhorts us: Do not become overly light and frivolous, not with your own wife and certainly not with another man's. We are quite literally dealing with fire: with human passions and with the most delicate and precious of human emotions. And only with the most caring and sensitive nurturing can man and woman, in spite of -- or perhaps because of -- their differences, merge into a sacred and sanctified whole.

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.

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Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld and Torah.org.