Rambam: On Becoming Acquainted with Truth (Lessons 3-4)

This is a continuation of Rambam: On Becoming Acquainted with Truth (Lessons 1-2).

Lesson #3: Encountering Truth In Order

The Rambam continues recounting his history with R' Yosef: 

Thereupon I began to let you see certain flashes and to give you certain indications. Then I saw that you demanded of me additional knowledge and asked me to make clear to you certain things pertaining to divine matters, to inform you of the intentions of the Mutakallimun in this respect, and to let you know whether their methods were demonstrative and, if not, to what art they belonged. As I also saw, you had already acquired some smattering of this subject from people other than myself; you were perplexed, as stupefaction had come over you; your noble soul demanded of you to "find out acceptable words” (Koheles 12:10). Yet I did not cease dissuading you from this and enjoining upon you to approach matters in an orderly manner. My purpose in this was that the truth should present itself to your mind in its proper order, and that you should not hit upon it by mere chance.

Contrary to what the American Educational System would have you believe, truth is dynamic - not static. Truth doesn't consist of a set of fixed entities (i.e. statements, concepts, formulas) that can be collected in any haphazard manner, like gold coins or Pokémon. Man's ability to perceive reality is inherently limited. He doesn't simply "grasp" the truth as it actually is; rather, he "glimpses" it through the veils of his intellectual and psychological imperfections. For this reason, the same truth will be apprehended in a completely different manner, depending on when he encounters it. "How good is a statement in its proper time!" (Mishlei 15:23).

Truth may be likened to a piece of music: if one hears the notes or musical phrases out of order, the musical composition will become distorted, even to the point where it becomes something else entirely. Le'havdil, encountering the truth out of order, "by mere chance," is comparable to hearing a joke for the first time after you were told the punchline or watching a movie after the ending has been spoiled: you end up with all of the right parts, but the climax doesn't "register" as intended. 

I realize that I'm speaking entirely in vague descriptions and metaphors here, but that's only because I can't quite explain why this is the nature of truth. I just know it from experience. 

This is especially true with regards to the specific category of truths that the Rambam is discussing here, namely, the sodos ha'Torah ("secrets" of Torah - i.e. the deepest areas of metaphysics). Encountering other truths out of order might not cause much harm, but venturing prematurely into the study of the sodos ha'Torah can lead to irreparable damage. Later in the Moreh (1:33) the Rambam writes:

You must know that it is very dangerous to begin with this branch of philosophy – namely, [the deepest areas of] metaphysics – or to explain at the outset the sense of the allegories occurring in prophecies, and interpret the metaphors which are employed in historical accounts and which abound in the writings of the Prophets ... He who begins with metaphysics, will not only become confused in matters of belief, but will fall into absolute heresy. I compare such a person to an infant fed with wheaten bread, meat and wine: it will undoubtedly die, not because such food is naturally unfit for the human body, but because of the weakness of the child, who is unable to digest the food, and cannot derive benefit from it.

In the next chapter he warns:

Instruction should not begin with abstruse and difficult subjects. In one of the metaphors contained in the Torah, wisdom is compared to water, and among other interpretations given by our Sages of this simile, occurs the following: He who can swim may bring up pearls from the depth of the sea, he who is unable to swim will be drowned, therefore only such persons as have had proper instruction should expose themselves to the risk.

And again:

He who approaches metaphysical problems without proper preparation is like a person who journeys towards a certain place and, on the road, falls into a deep pit, out of which he cannot rise, and he must perish there; if he had not gone forth, but had remained at home, it would have been better for him.

To summarize: truth should be approached in its proper order in any area of knowledge, but in the realm of the sodos ha'Torah, the failure to do so can be disastrous. 

(This isn't to say that there is zero benefit to encountering a sode "by chance," out of order. At the very least, one will still gain the minimal benefit of becoming aware that such a sode exists. To borrow another video game reference: certain video games will grant players access to high level bosses at a very early stage in the game, knowing full well that these bosses are unbeatable when encountered at that point; this sets up an expectation in the mind of the player which guides and motivates him in his quest. The same is true with sodos: there is value in knowing, that an concept about a certain topic exists, even if one cannot understand the concept at the present time. In future, one will know where to look when the time is right; alternatively, that concept might suddenly "light up" one day, when the mind is ready to see it. The same goes for "cryptic" parts of Tanach are widely known to contain sodos, but which people know are inaccessible , such as the opening chapter of Sefer Yechezkel, or the sixth chapter of Sefer Yeshayahu. For this reason, I like the fact that the Rambam framed his warning in terms of "taking a big risk." Trying to understand a sode without going through the proper channels isn't inherently destructive, and it might even yield some benefit; nevertheless, it is a risk - one with high stakes.) 

Lesson #4: Truth is Not Egalitarian

The Rambam concludes by stating the circumstances which led him to compose the Moreh:

Whenever during your association with me a [Biblical] verse or some text of the Sages was mentioned in which there was a pointer to some strange notion, I did not refrain from explaining it to you. Then when God decreed our separation and you betook yourself elsewhere, these meetings aroused in me a resolution that had slackened. Your absence moved me to compose this Treatise, which I have composed for you and for those like you, however few they are. I have set it down in dispersed chapters. All of them that are written down will reach you where you are, one after the other. Be in good health.

Not everyone will be zocheh (meritorious) to reach the highest levels of knowledge. Some might consider this point to be obvious, but I think it's still worth mentioning. Although the Torah maintains that all human beings are created b'tzelem Elokim, with the capacity to seek abstract knowledge, not everyone is equal in this respect. Korach famously preached that "the entire assembly - all of them - are holy, and Hashem is among them" (Bamidbar 16:3). It is evident from Hashem's response that He disagreed with Korach's view. Everyone is on a different level, and the levels vary as much as the distance from east to west.

The Rambam writes about metaphysics: "This science, as you know, is not like the science of medicine or the science of geometry, and not everyone has the disposition required for it in the various respects we have mentioned" (Moreh 1:34). In the Mishneh Torah he quotes Chazal's statement about the four Sages who entered pardes (i.e. the study of the deepest areas of metaphysics), noting that "even though they were the greatest [scholars] of Israel and very wise, not all of them had the capacity to know and to grasp all of these principles clearly." 

It is human nature for a person to believe that he is the exception to the rule. There will inevitably be those who read the Rambam's statement: "I have composed for you and for those like you, however few they are" and will automatically assume that they are in this elite category. A person who is that haughty or that oblivious to his own level of chochmah is certainly not ready for the Moreh. Chazal teach (Berachos 7a) that on account of the fact that "Moshe hid his face, for he was afraid to gaze toward God" (Shemos 3:6), he was zocheh to reach the highest level of knowledge possible. That is the type the anavah (humility) that one must have: to know one's own limits, and to practice the guidelines set forth by Chazal (Bereishis Rabbah 8:2):

Into that which is beyond you, do not seek; into that which is more powerful than you, do not inquire; about that which too wondrous for you, do not desire to know; about that which is hidden from you, do not ask. Analyze that which is permitted to you, and do not engage yourself in the hidden things.

Mishlei 16:15: Understanding the King’s Favor

משלי טז:טו

בְּאוֹר פְּנֵי מֶלֶךְ חַיִּים וּרְצוֹנוֹ כְּעָב מַלְקוֹשׁ:

Mishlei 16:15
In the light of a king’s countenance is life, and his favor is like a rain cloud.

Major Questions/Problems

1. Is this pasuk limited to actual kings, or is "king" just an example of a broader category?
2. What does it mean to be "in the light of a king's countenance"? 
3. What "life" does one gain through this?
4. What type of "favor" is it talking about?
5. How is the king's favor "like a rain cloud"? 
6. What is this pasuk teaching us beyond the obvious point that it is beneficial to get on the king's good side?

Instead of writing a single four-sentence summary of the main idea, I'm going to write an eight-sentence summary of the main idea according to both the derech ha'nigleh and the derech ha'nistar. Scroll past this picture when you're good and ready!

Eight Sentence Summary of the Main idea

Derech ha'Nigleh: It is natural to seek the approval and favor of a king (or any person in a position of influence, such as a boss or supervisor), but one must guard against two errors. The first error is to undervalue the benefit of the king’s favor, failing to recognize just how much he can improve your life simply based on the fact that he likes you. The second error is to overvalue the benefit of the king’s favor by regarding his approval is an actual good when it is really only a potential good – much like a rain cloud, which might yield benefit, but is not guaranteed.

Derech ha'Nistar: Likewise, it is natural to seek Hashem’s favor, but one must guard against these same two errors. The first error is to undervalue the benefit of Hashem’s favor (i.e. hashgachah pratis); Hashem is Omnipotent, and has the ability to completely transform a person’s life from bad to good, as can be seen throughout Tanach. The second error is to overvalue the benefit of God’s favor by treating His blessings of material success as an actual good rather than a potential good. In truth, the material blessings granted by Hashem to those whom He favors are but a means of facilitating their involvement in the true good (i.e. involvement in Torah and wisdom, by which we merit life in the World to Come). In other words, Hashem’s blessings only provide us with the potential for attaining the true good, but it is up us to actualize that potential through by our own free will.

Rambam: On Becoming Acquainted with Truth (Lessons 1-2)

Introduction

Artwork: The Thinker, by Stephen Younts

"I wanted to know more about the Rambam's view of Torah, so I started reading the Guide for the Perplexed." 

I've heard this sentiment expressed on a number of occasions from a wide range of individuals: frum laymen, baalei teshuvah, yeshiva bochrim, secular intellectuals, and even semichah students. They are aware that the Moreh ha'Nevuchim is considered to be the Rambam's "philosophy book" and, figuring that this is the best way to familiarize themselves with (quote unquote) "Maimonidean philosophy," they jump right in.

Thankfully, my rabbeim in yeshiva always cautioned us against "dabbling in the Moreh." In addition to hearing this explicitly from my rabbeim on a number of occasions, I was also privy to certain experiences which drove this point home.

One time, in my first year of yeshiva, a bunch of us were arguing about how to interpret a certain passage in the third section of the Moreh. Just then, my rebbi walked in. He looked at the open copies of the Moreh on the table, then looked at us and said, "There isn't a single person in this room who understands what the Rambam is saying here." He then proceeded to show us the full extent of our ignorance and our overestimation of our collective intellectual prowess. This made a big impression on me an early stage in my learning. 

Another time, a magid shiur had to physically destroy a tape recording of one of his own shiurim after realizing that he had made a huge mistake in his interpretation of the Moreh - a realization which was induced by consulting the Rosh Yeshiva. Seeing that one of my rabbeim was prone to such errors definitely made me wary about venturing into the Moreh on my own. 

My favorite cautionary admonitory anecdote is something I heard from a friend. When he was in yeshiva high school, he expressed to his rebbi his desire to learn the Guide for the Perplexed. His rebbi responded, "You're not even on the level to be perplexed." Nuff said.

I've noticed one thing in common among the people I've met who decide to start reading the Moreh on their own: they all seem to either skip or disregard the Rambam's introduction, in which he specifies the type of student for whom he wrote his treatise. If these readers paid attention to the Rambam's own warnings in his introduction, they would either abandon their project at the outset, or at least go about learning the Moreh under the guidance of their rabbeim. 

This issue was brought to mind this weekend after speaking with yet another person who decided to start read the Moreh on his own. When I asked him whether he thought he met the prerequisites stated in the introduction, he didn't seem to know what I was talking about. 

On the basis of that conversation, I decided that perhaps it was time to reread the Rambam's introduction myself. Initially, I planned to compile all of the excerpts which should deter a person from a willy-nilly perusal of the Moreh. However, when my chavrusa and I began rereading the introduction, we discovered that it offered something beyond that. We noticed that the Rambam's introduction to the Moreh serves as a primer on how to become acquainted with truth, à la "Say to wisdom, 'You are my sister,' and call understanding a friend" (Mishlei 7:4). That might sound kind of weird, and might not make sense right now. Hopefully, you'll see what I mean as we go along. 

I've decided to conduct a "walk-through" of the Rambam's introduction to the Moreh which will span several blog posts. My goal here is not to attempt to write a full commentary on the Rambam's introduction, but rather, to extract useful ideas (or "lessons") about the nature of truth and how to approach it - with the secondary goal of highlighting why the Moreh should not be read by those who aren't ready. I'm not even going to include the entire introduction - only those parts which contribute toward this end.

Without further ado ...

Lesson #1: Desire for Truth ≠ Readiness for Truth

Rambam prefaces his formal introduction with a dedicatory epistle to the student for whom the Moreh was composed. He begins with a brief history of their relationship: 

My honored pupil R' Yosef, may the Rock guard you, son of R' Yehuda, may his repose be in Paradise. When you came to me, having conceived the intention of journeying from the country farthest away in order to read texts under my guidance, I had a high opinion of you because of your strong desire for inquiry and because of what I had observed in your poems of your powerful longing for philosophical matters. This was the case since your letters and compositions in rhymed prose came to me from Alexandria, before your grasp was put to the test. I said however: perhaps his longing is stronger than his grasp.

The Rambam here acknowledges that even though R' Yosef exhibited a "strong desire for inquiry" and a "powerful longing for philosophical matters," he knew that it is possible for a student to have a strong desire for a certain area of knowledge, but to not be on the level to acquire that knowledge. The Rambam expands on this point later on (Moreh 1:34) when he enumerates the five obstacles which prevent the masses from learning metaphysics:

Man has in his nature a desire to seek the ends; and he often finds preliminaries tedious and refuses to engage in them. Know, however, that if an end could be achieved without the preliminaries that precede it, the latter would not be preliminaries, but pure distractions and futilities. 

Now if you awaken a man - even though he were the dullest of all people – as one awakens a sleeping individual, and if you were to ask him whether he desired at that moment to have knowledge of the heavenly spheres (namely, what is their number and what their configuration, and what is contained in them), and what angels are, and how the world as a whole was created, and what its end is in view of the arrangement of its various parts with one another, and what the soul is, and how it is created in time in the body, and whether the human soul can be separated from the body, and if it can, in what manner and through what instrument and with what distinction in view, and if you put the same question to him with regard to other subjects of research of this kind, he would undoubtedly answer you in the affirmative. He would have a natural desire to know these things as they are in truth; but he would wish this desire to be allayed, and the knowledge of all this to be achieved by means of one or two words that you would say to him. 

If, however, you would lay upon him the obligation to abandon his occupation for a week’s time until he should understand all this, he would not do it, but would be satisfied with deceptive imaginings through which his soul would be set at ease. He would also dislike being told that there is a thing whose knowledge requires many premises and a long time for investigation … 

Speaking as both a teacher and a student, I know how easy it is to feel that wanting to know something automatically qualifies one to learn it. We feel that the desire to know means that we deserve to know. Sadly, this is not the case. While it is the rebbi's job to keep the student on track with what is developmentally appropriate, the student should, over time, cultivate the self-knowledge and humility to say, "I'm not ready for this yet." 

Lesson #2: Training in Logic is a Necessary Prerequisite

The Rambam continues with his account of how R' Yosef excelled in his preparatory studies: 

When thereupon you read under my guidance texts dealing with the science of astronomy and prior to that texts dealing with mathematics, which is necessary as an introduction to astronomy, my joy in you increased because of the excellence of your mind and the quickness of your grasp. I saw that your longing for mathematics was great, and hence I let you train yourself in that science, knowing where you would end. When thereupon you read under my guidance texts dealing with the art of logic, my hopes fastened upon you, and I saw that you are one worthy to have the sodos (secrets) of the prophetic books revealed to you so that you would consider in them that which perfect men ought to consider.

Rambam writes in several places about how the study of mathematics and natural sciences - particularly astronomy - are necessary prerequisites for the study of metaphysics. Nevertheless, it was R' Yosef's study of logic which clinched the deal, and finally prompted the Rambam to transmit sodos to R' Yosef. 

We could digress here into a lengthy discussion about why the study of logic is a necessary prerequisite to metaphysics, and we can speculate on why the Rambam made his decision to teach R' Yosef on that basis, but I want to focus on a much simpler point: how many of us bother to master logic before venturing into metaphysics? How many of us can say that our thinking consistently follows the rules and principles of logic? And if we aren't sufficiently fluent in the science of logic, how can we even begin to study the deepest sodos of Torah and the universe?

To Be Continued ... 

I hope you can see what I'm trying to do here. The picture will become even clearer when we get to Lesson #3: Encountering Truth by Accident, and Lesson #4: Truth as Lightning.

That's all for now, but there's plenty more that will have to wait until next time. 

Mishlei Methodology: Meiri - Nigleh and Nistar

This post was originally published on 6/24/13. Several minor changes have been made.

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The Perils of Metaphor

Over the several years I've taught Sefer Mishlei, I've noticed a trend among new students: they almost always gravitate towards a metaphorical approach, and I must continually steer them back to the plain pshat.

The main difficulty with the metaphorical approach is that it is unbridled. Once a person breaks free from the confines of the pshat (straightforward meaning) and ventures into the speculative world of metaphor, it becomes possible to interpret the pasuk in an almost infinite number of ways, without restraint. Even worse, metaphorical thinking makes it easy to project one's preconceived ideas onto the pasuk, or to twist the meaning of the pasuk to fit into one's own emotional and intellectual biases.

This is how beginners tend to see a typical pasuk in Mishlei.

One of the major contributing factors to the popularity of the metaphorical approach is the fact the many meforshim (commentators) utilize the metaphorical approach, including Rashi, the Vilna Gaon, the Malbim), and others. The trouble is that they interpret pesukim metaphorically without explaining how they arrived at their interpretations. Consider, for example, the pasuk, "The house of a tzadik (righteous person) is very sturdy, but when a rasha (wicked person) arrives, it becomes sullied" (Mishlei 15:6). Rashi explains:

The house of a tzadik: this refers to the Beis ha'Mikdash (Holy Temple), which was built by David; it was a sturdy fortress of strength of Israel. but when a rasha arrives it becomes sullied: upon the arrival of the idol, which was brought by Menashe, [the Beis ha'Mikdash] became sullied.

Rashi's interpretation is certainly valid, but how is the student of Rashi's commentary supposed to understand how he derived this idea from the pasuk? The pasuk doesn't say anything about the Beis ha'Mikdash, or David ha'Melech, or Menashe, or idols - and yet, Rashi tells us that this is what the pasuk means! And even if we accept Rashi's interpretation on the basis of authority, that doesn't help us to acquire his methodology. Consequently, the Mishlei-neophyte who looks to Rashi as his guide will be tempted to give own similar "interpretations" of the pesukim, thinking he is doing the same thing as Rashi, when in truth, he is just free-associating. I have seen this happen on numerous occasions, especially with students who aren't trained in analytical thinking.

Thankfully, my Mishlei rebbi gave me a rule of thumb which has served as my methodological anchor throughout my thirteen years of Mishlei learning: always take the pasuk as literally as possible unless you are forced to interpret it otherwise. And even when you are forced to deviate from the literal reading, be extremely conservative and refrain as much as possible from positing anything which isn't stated explicitly in the pasuk.

Still, as much as I gained from the literal approach to Mishlei, I was bothered by the many commentators who learn Mishlei as a book of metaphors. I wondered how these commentators determine which of the many possible directions to take in decoding Shlomo ha'Melech's cryptic statements. Do they just have a highly developed Mishleic intuition, or were their interpretations guided by a method which I, myself, could acquire and use?

"Like golden apples in settings of silver - so is a statement properly formulated" (Mishlei 25:11)

Meiri's Approach

To this day I have found only one commentator who uses a metaphorical approach to Mishlei which I can actually understand and utilize: the Meiri. Before I present my understanding of his approach, it would help to review the basic subject matter of Mishlei as a whole. Sefer Mishlei was written as a companion to Torah, and was intended to facilitate the same objectives as the Torah itself, namely, tikun ha'nefesh (perfection of the intellect) and tikun ha'guf (perfection of the physical and psychological well-being of individuals, and of society as a whole).

Exactly how Mishlei goes about accomplishing this task is a matter of dispute among the commentators. For example, Rashi and Ralbag maintain that the book contains a mixture of pesukim aimed at the two objectives; some pesukim teach ideas about tikun ha'guf, whereas others teach ideas about tikun ha'nefesh. Rabbeinu Yonah and the Metzudos, on the other hand, seem to maintain that the majority of Mishlei is about perfection of the physical, and only a few pesukim here and there deal with intellectual perfection.

This is where the Meiri's approach shines. He maintains that almost every pasuk in Mishlei can be learned on two levels. He refers to these levels as the derech ha'nigleh ("revealed path") and the derech ha'nistar ("concealed path"). 

The derech ha'nigleh is what we would refer to as the "plain pshat" - an interpretation which reflects the meaning intended by the author in the most straightforward reading of his words. According to the Meiri, the derech ha'nigleh contains ideas about how to achieve success in the physical world. The Meiri even helps us by classifying all of the pesukim based on the types of derech ha'nigleh lessons they teach: ethics, politics, mitzvos, everyday advice, etc.

The derech ha'nistar, on the other hand, is to learn each pasuk as an allegory about how to achieve intellectual perfection. Unlike the derech ha'nigleh ideas, which are accessible to the average student of Mishlei, the derech ha'nistar ideas can only be understood by yechidim ("elite individuals"). Meiri writes in his introduction:

[Shlomo ha'Melech] cautions us about his proverbs in the opening statements of his book that although the nigleh ideas are beneficial, one must not mistakenly think that they are like other proverbs, namely, that they do not contain any nistar ideas. Rather, these mashalim teach us nistar ideas which include all types of perfection - both perfection of decision-making and perfection of analytical thinking, such that this book encompasses all virtuous conduct and will be beneficial to all people.

One of the advantages of learning the Meiri's commentary is that he almost always provides both interpretations of the pesukim in Mishlei. The difficulty, however, is that his style of commentary on the derech ha'nistar is, itself, exceedingly nistar. Instead of explaining the idea in his typically clear and straightforward manner, the Meiri merely alludes to the idea with concise, enigmatic sentence fragments. Not only that, but he often expresses the idea by borrowing language of other allegories from other sources, including (but not limited to) Shlomo ha'Melech's other writings, the other books of Tanach, and from the midrashim of Chazal. To the extent that one lacks fluency in these other allegories, one will have a difficult time understanding the Meiri's derech nistar interpretations.

An authentic picture of the Meiri discovering the derech ha'nistar.
(Artwork: Quest for Ancient Secrets, by Mike Bierek) 

My Approach to the Meiri's Approach

For many years I focused exclusively on the derech ha'nigleh portion of the Meiri's commentary and completely ignored the derech ha'nistar. At a certain point, I got into the habit of glancing at his derech nistar interpretation as an afterthought to my learning of the derech ha'nigleh. In recent years, I began devoting more attention to his derech ha'nistar ideas, and only am I beginning to grasp the core of his method.

In a nutshell, the Meiri's method of interpreting Mishlei metaphorically may be summed up in two steps: (1) figure out the pshat of the pasuk in the derech na'nigleh, (2) take the exact idea from the derech ha'nigleh but apply it to the subject matter of the derech ha'nistar - that is to say: abstract the idea from its application to the subject matter of tikun ha'guf and apply it instead to the subject matter of tikun ha'nefesh. 

Let's see how this plays out in a well-known pasuk from Eishes Chayil: "She seeks out wool and flax, and her hands work with desire" (ibid. 31:13). The derech ha'nigleh approach to Eishes Chayil is to learn it as talking about an actual woman managing her household. According to the Meiri's derech ha'nigleh interpretation, the idea may be summed up as follows:

In every craft, there are "glorious" stages of the craft which allow the practitioner to exhibit his or her expertise in an impressive and rewarding manner, and there are "lowly" stages of the craft, which are necessary but tedious and unexciting. In the craft of making clothing, the glorious part is the designing and fashioning of the clothing itself, whereas making the trip out to the market to buy the raw materials is a necessary but unglamorous chore. The Eishes Chayil is an ishah chachamah (wise woman); she understands that in order to make a quality product, she must strive for excellence at every stage of the process. Consequently, she will approach her task with the same alacrity and desire at every step - even when seeking out the raw materials.

Thus far the derech ha'nigleh. As you can see, the Meiri's idea emerges from the pshat of the words and brings out a beautiful lesson in how to achieve success in the physical world.

Compare that to the Meiri's derech ha'nistar interpretation. Here's my summary:

The most exciting and enjoyable part of learning is the abstract, conceptual, creative analysis which culminates in new insight into the subject at hand. However, one must be careful not to rush to this stage of learning without first taking care to collect. assess, and organize all of the relevant facts - no matter how tedious and unglamorous this process might be. Conceptual theorizing might be fun, but if it isn't rooted in accurate data, then it is worthless. Consequently, a genuine truth-seeker will approach the fact-gathering stage with the same eagerness, exhilaration, and conscientiousness as he or she does in the theorizing stage.

See what I mean? The Meiri's derech ha'nistar reflects exactly the same idea as the derech ha'nigleh, with only one difference: the former is applied to the subject of achieving success in the physical world, while the latter deals with achieving success in the world of chochmah.

The greatness of the Meiri's method is that it steers clear of the aforementioned dangers of the metaphorical approach. His approach allows the student of Mishlei to remain firmly grounded in an objective, conservative analysis of the pshat, but promises the reward of a valuable metaphorical idea about tikun ha'nefesh.

Parashas Masei: The Release of Unintentional Murderers

Artwork: Moat, by Noah Bradley
(This is the image of an ir miklat in my mind, even though I realize that it's totally unrealistic.)

Parashas Masei: The Release of Unintentional Murderers

One of the final topics in Sefer Bamidbar is the mitzvah of establishing Arei Miklat (cities of refuge): 

When you cross the Jordan to the land of Canaan, you shall designate cities for yourselves, cities of refuge shall they be for you, and a murderer shall flee there - one who takes a life unintentionally (Bamibdar 35:10-11) 

An ir miklat serves a dual purpose. Prior to the murder trial, it serves as a sanctuary location for the unintentional murderer, offering him protection from the goel ha'dam (the "blood avenger" who is a relative of the murder victim): "The cities shall be for you a refuge from the avenger, so that the murderer will not die until he stands before the assembly for judgment" (ibid. 35:12). After the trial, if the murderer is found liable for the penalty of galus (exile), the ir miklat become his home/prison-cell until the death of the Kohen Gadol: 

The assembly shall rescue the murderer from the hand of the goel ha'dam, and the assembly shall return him to his city of refuge where he had fled; he shall dwell there until the death of the Kohen Gadol ... and after the death of the Kohen Gadol, the murderer shall return to the land of his possession (ibid. 35:25,28)

This last halacha about the release of the unintentional murderer upon the death of the Kohen Gadol presents two major difficulties:

1. Why is the death of the Kohen Gadol as the trigger of the unintentional murderer's release? What does the Kohen Gadol have to do with the crime of unintentional murder?
   
   
2. The length of the unintentional murderer's sentence in the ir miklat seems arbitrary! Practically speaking, the murderer might be in the ir miklat for any amount of time, from one day to 100 years! Most prison systems and punishments are designed with an eye toward uniformity: everyone who commits a given crime gets the same punishment. Here, the penalty of exile is subject to chance, and can result in a wide variety of outcomes. Why did the Torah structure the halacha with this element of randomness?

The Bechor Shor [1] offers the following answer to both questions:

We do not know how long the victim would have lived, had he not been killed by this [unintentional murderer]. We [therefore] estimate this based on the Kohen Gadol, who is chashuv (distinguished). We assume that, in general, he would not outlive the Kohen Gadol, who serves before Hashem. The murderer will remain in exile for the remaining year's of the Kohen Gadol's life. This is the reason why the Torah designates the span of his penalty based on the Kohen Gadol. And even if he was young and the Kohen Gadol was old, or vice versa, the Torah doesn't differentiate; however it falls out, it falls out.

According to the Bechor Shor, the time period that the unintentional murderer spends in galus should ideally be determined by the number of years he "stole" from the person he killed. For example, if the victim was 50 years old and would have lived to the age of 80, then the murderer should receive an exile sentence of 30 years, since that is the number of years that were deprived from his victim.

The problem is that a human court has no way of making this calculation, since it is impossible for us to know how long a person would have lived. To compensate for this lack of knowledge on our part, the halacha makes an "estimation" based on the lifespan of the most distinguished member of society: the Kohen Gadol. As someone whose life is dedicated to serving God, the Kohen Gadol represents the paradigmatic human being, and thus, he is a fitting representative of the potentially full human life that was squandered through the negligent actions of the unintentional murderer. Although this solution does not correspond with absolute justice, it does make us aware of that ideal. Whenever the murderer thinks about the indeterminate duration of his prison term, this will bring to mind the indeterminate length of the life he cut short. 

The Rambam [2] takes a different approach. He begins with the general purpose of the galus penalty: 

The commandment that a person who killed another unintentionally must go into exile is imposed with a view to calming the anger of the goel ha'dam, so that he should not see the man who brought about this misfortune. 

Unlike the Bechor Shor, who learns that the penalty of galus is intended to convey an idea (i.e. the dictates of absolute justice and our inability to perfectly implement it), the Rambam maintains that this galus is intended to achieve a practical outcome: "calming the anger of the goel ha'dam" by removing from society the person who caused his suffering. It's not clear whether this intended for the sake of the unintentional murderer (i.e. so that the goel ha'dam won't kill him), or whether it is for the sake of the victim's family members (i.e. so that they don't have the be aggrieved upon seeing the murderer walking around town), or whether it is for both parties.

The Rambam explains the halacha about the death of the Kohen Gadol as a further development of the theory he proposed: 

[The unintentional murderer's] return [from exile] is made contingent upon the death of the Kohen Gadol - the most honored of men, and the one most beloved in Israel. By his death the relative of the slain person becomes reconciled, for it is a natural phenomenon that we find consolation in our misfortune when the same misfortune or a greater one has befallen another person. No death causes more grief among us than that of the Kohen Gadol.

The Kohen Gadol's death may be likened (lehavdil) to the death of a beloved leader (e.g. FDR, JFK, Martin Luther King Jr.) or a widely admired public figure (e.g. Michael Jackson, Princess Dianna, John Lennon). When such individuals die, the whole country falls into a state of collective mourning. The Rambam argues that in this emotional state, the goel ha'dam is in the best position to finally let go and move on - especially if the death of the Kohen Gadol happens many years after the murder. 

Chazal [3] provide a much more cryptic answer to our questions. They explain that the death of the Kohen Gadol effectuates kaparah (atonement) for the unintentional murderer. Unfortunately for us, Chazal do not elaborate here on what they mean. 

Both the Bechor Shor and the Rambam preface their comments by saying that their intent is to explain the reason for these halachos based on the pshat (straightforward meaning) of the pesukim. Several questions still remain. What is the basis of the machlokes between the Rambam and the Bechor Shor? What did Chazal mean by their interpretation? Is there a relationship between Chazal's relationship and those given by the aforementioned Rishonim? 

And that, my friends, is where we will conclude for now. If you have answers, please share!

[1] Rabbeinu Yosef ben Yitzchak, Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 35:25

[2] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon, Guide for the Perplexed 3:40
[3] Talmud Bavli, Maseches Makkos 11b

Freud: On Torah mi'Sinai

Sigmund Freud was not a religious Jew. To the contrary - he was avowedly anti-religious. He wrote several books on the subject: most notably, The Future of an Illusion (1927), Civilization and its Discontents (1930), and Moses and Monotheism (1939). Freud's opinion on religion can be summed up by these quotations:

"Religion is an illusion and it derives its strength from the fact that it falls in with our instinctual desires."

"Religion is comparable to a childhood neurosis." 

"Religion is an attempt to get control over the sensory world, in which we are placed, by means of the wish-world, which we have developed inside us as a result of biological and psychological necessities."

That said, it might come as a shock that Freud does a fine job giving over the proof of Torah mi'Sinai. 

That's right. By "the proof of Torah from Sinai" I am referring to the rational argument for the Torah's divine origin. If you're not familiar with the proof, I highly recommend reading this, or this, or this (in that order of priority). 

Here is an excerpt from Freud's Introductory Lectures on Psychoanlaysis (1916). Freud discusses an obstacle faced by psychoanalysis, in contrast to other medical practices: 

In medical training you are accustomed to see things. You see an anatomical preparation, the precipitate of a chemical reaction, the shortening of a muscle as a result of the stimulation of its nerves. Later on, patients are demonstrated before your senses-the symptoms of their illness, the products of the pathological process and even in many cases the agent of the disease in isolation. In the surgical departments you are witnesses of the active measures taken to bring help to patients, and you may yourselves attempt to put them into effect. Even in psychiatry the demonstration of patients with their altered facial expressions, their mode of speech and their behaviour, affords you plenty of observations which leave a deep impression on you. Thus a medical teacher plays in the main the part of a leader and interpreter who accompanies you through a museum, while you gain a direct contact with the objects exhibited and feel yourselves convinced of the existence of the new facts through your own perception. 

In psycho-analysis, alas, everything is different. Nothing takes place in a psycho-analytic treatment but an interchange of words between the patient and the analyst. The patient talks, tells of his past experiences and present impressions, complains, confesses to his wishes and his emotional impulses. The doctor listens, tries to direct the patient's processes of thought, exhorts, forces his attention in certain directions, gives him explanations and observes the reactions of understanding or rejection which he in this way provokes in him. The uninstructed relatives of our patients, who are only impressed by visible and tangible things-preferably by actions of the sort that are to be witnessed at the cinema-never fail to express their doubts whether 'anything can be done about the illness by mere talking'. That, of course, is both a short-sighted and an inconsistent line of thought. These are the same people who are so certain that patients are 'simply imagining' their symptoms. Words were originally magic and to this day words have retained much of their ancient magical power. By words one person can make another blissfully happy or drive him to despair, by words the teacher conveys his knowledge to his pupils, by words the orator carries his audience with him and determines their judgements and decisions. Words provoke affects and are in general the means of mutual influence among men. Thus we shall not depreciate the use of words in psychotherapy and we shall be pleased if we can listen to the words that pass between the analyst and his patient." 

But we cannot do that either. The talk of which psychoanalytic treatment consists brooks no listener; it cannot be demonstrated. A neurasthenic or hysterical patient can of course, like any other, be introduced to students in a psychiatric lecture. He will give an account of his complaints and symptoms, but of nothing else. The information required by analysis will be given by him only on condition of his having a special emotional attachment to the doctor; he would become silent as soon as he observed a single witness to whom he felt indifferent. For this information concerns what is most intimate in his mental life, everything that, as a socially independent person, he must conceal from other people, and, beyond that, everything that, as a homogeneous personality, he will not admit to himself. 

Thus you cannot be present as an audience at a psychoanalytic treatment. You can only be told about it; and, in the strictest sense of the word, it is only by hearsay that you will get to know psycho-analysis. As a result of receiving your instruction at second hand, as it were, you find yourselves under quite unusual conditions for forming a judgement. That will obviously depend for the most part on how much credence you can give to your informant.s

Freud compares this dilemma to that of the historian, who must establish the existence of facts "through hearsay," without firsthand knowledge that they occurred. It is here that Freud presents a rational argument for assessing historical claims - an argument which, if applied to the Revelation at Sinai, would affirm its validity. However, at the very last moment, Freud states a caveat. 

Let us assume for a moment that you were attending a lecture not on psychiatry but on history, and that the lecturer was telling you of the life and military deeds of Alexander the Great. What grounds would you have for believing in the truth of what he reported? At a first glance the position would seem to be even more unfavourable than in the case of psycho-analysis, for the Professor of History no more took part in Alexander's campaigns than you did. The psycho-analyst does at least report things in which he himself played a part. 

But in due course we come to the things that confirm what the historian has told you. He could refer you to the reports given by ancient writers, who were either themselves contemporary with the events under question or, at any rate, were comparatively close to them-he could refer you, that is to say, to the works of Diodorus, Plutarch, Arrian, and so on. He could put reproductions before you of coins and statues of the king which have survived and he could hand round to you a photograph of the Pompeian mosaic of the battle of Issus. 

Strictly speaking, however, all these documents only prove that earlier generations already believed in Alexander's existence and in the reality of his deeds, and your criticism might start afresh at that point. You would then discover that not all that has been reported about Alexander deserves credence or can be confirmed in its details; but nevertheless I cannot think that you would leave the lecture-room in doubts of the reality of Alexander the Great. 

Your decision would be determined essentially by two considerations: first, that the lecturer had no conceivable motive for assuring you of the reality of something he himself did not think real, and secondly, that all the available history books describe the events in approximately similar terms. If you went on to examine the older sources, you would take the same factors into account the possible motives of the informants and the conformity of the witnesses to one another. 

The outcome of your examination would undoubtedly be reassuring in the case of Alexander, but would probably be different where figures such as Moses or Nimrod were concerned. 

Freud hits all of the fundamental steps of the argument, but balks at the suggestion that his argument could be applied to "Moshe and Nimrod." Freud doesn't even provide any basis for his assertion. He just asserts it.

The question is: Why doesn't Freud apply his reasoning to "Moshe and Nimrod"? There are two paths we can take in approaching this question:

1. We can assume that Freud did not have any intellectual reason for differentiating between Moshe Rabbeinu and Alexander the Great, but rather, his exclusion was prompted by psychological causes within Freud's own psyche.
   
   
2. We can assume that Freud did have an intellectual (if mistaken) basis for making this distinction. 

If the former, then we can sit here speculating as to why Freud was resistant to accepting the historicity of Moshe and Nimrod. If the latter, then our duty is to understand the basis of Freud's differentiation "where figures such as Moses or Nimrod were concerned."

What do you think? 

(Hint: I think this is related to the question of why, for over two thousand years of our history, none of the breakaway movements from Judaism have doubted or denied the historicity of the Revelation at Sinai, until the rise of the Reform Movement in the 19th century. What changed? I think the answers to these two questions are related.)

Mishlei 10:2-3 - Tzedakah Saves from Death

I am pleased to present the first of what I hope will be many Mishlei posts. I'm going to try using the same style that I do in my Mishlei classes: we'll begin with the pasuk, followed by the major questions, and concluding with a four-sentence summary of the "main idea" (with a very liberal definition of "sentence"). In some cases I'll include a real-world example. I might occasionally add some methodology points as well. 

משלי י:ב-ג

לֹא יוֹעִילוּ אוֹצְרוֹת רֶשַׁע, וּצְדָקָה תַּצִּיל מִמָּוֶת; לֹא יַרְעִיב ה' נֶפֶשׁ צַדִּיק, וְהַוַּת רְשָׁעִים יֶהְדֹּף:

Mishlei 10:2-3

Treasuries of wickedness will not yield benefit [the wicked], but tzedakah will save [the righteous] from death. Hashem will not starve the soul of the righteous, but the destructiveness of the wicked will batter them. 

Major Questions/Problems: 

1. What are "treasuries of wickedness"?
2. Why won't "treasuries of wickedness" yield any benefit? Aren't treasuries beneficial? 
3. Should the word "tzedakah," in this context, be translated as "righteousness" or "charity"? Or can it be both?
4. How can tzedakah save a person from death? Nobody escapes death! 
5. What does it mean that "Hashem will not starve the soul of the righteous"? (And how do we account for the tzadikim who do starve?)
6. What is meant by starvation of "the nefesh (soul)"? 
7. What "destructiveness of the wicked" is this referring to? The wicked are destructive in many ways.
8. What does it mean that this destructiveness "will batter them"? 

At this point, it would be beneficial to stop and think about these pesukim on your own before you read my four-sentence summary of the main idea. I've strategically placed artwork here as a "buffer zone" so you don't accidentally see any part of the main idea before you're ready.

Artwork: Greed, by Izzy

Four Sentence Summary of the Main Idea

The mitzvah of tzedakah requires the giver to objectively assess all the needs of the recipient, as the Torah states, “Rather, you shall open your hand to him; you shall lend him his requirement, whatever is lacking to him” (Devarim 15:8). The tzadik, who is in the habit of giving tzedakah in the proper manner, will become adept at assessing human needs; consequently, he will be in tune with his own needs, which will help him to become wiser in his own spending habits, thereby saving him from a number of misfortunes (e.g. death by starvation), and his relationship to money will remain anchored in practicality and necessity. The exact opposite will occur in the case of the rasha: not only will he avoid doing tzedakah with himself and with others, but his insatiable fantasy-attachment to money will compel him accumulate excessive amounts of money, far beyond his objective needs. His money-addiction, his unhealthy spending habits, and his obliviousness to his own needs will lead him to seek profit through illicit means; eventually, the consequences of his criminal behavior will catch up to him and will either destroy him, or reduce him to a state of poverty in which he must rely on the tzedakah of others. 

The Mentality of a Jewish Soldier

In light of recent events, I decided to repost something I wrote as a dvar Torah last summer - with some minor changes and additions. 

The Rambam's Mishneh Torah concludes with the section entitled, "The Laws of Kings and Wars." Chapters 5-8 detail the laws pertaining to the wars waged by Malchei Yisrael (Jewish kings) on behalf of Malchus Yisrael (Jewish monarchy). Although many of these laws do not apply to the battles fought by the Israeli Defense Force in service of the modern State of Israel, they still provide insight into the Torah's view of warfare, and the philosophical and ethical standards to which it holds Jewish soldiers. 

Once the soldiers are in formation and are about to enter into battle, they are addressed by two individuals: the Meshuach Milchamah – a Kohen appointed specifically for this purpose – and another high ranking officer. The Meshuach Milchamah proclaims: 

“Hear, O Israel, you are coming near to the battle against your enemies; let your heart not be faint; do not be afraid, do not panic, and do not be broken before them. For Hashem, your God, is the One Who goes with you, to fight for you with your enemies, to save you!" (Devarim 20:3-4). 

In a milchemes reshus (a war which is not mandated by a Torah commandment), the Meshuach Milchamah enumerates three categories of individuals who are exempt from fighting: 

"Who is the man who has built a new house and has not inaugurated it? Let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the war and another man will inaugurate it. And who is the man who has planted a vineyard and has not redeemed it? Let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the war and another man will redeem it. And who is the man who has betrothed a woman and has not married her? Let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the war and another man will marry her" (ibid. 20:5-7).

Finally, an officer announces a fourth category of individuals who are urged not to enter into battle: “Who is the man who is fearful and fainthearted? Let him go and return to his house, and let him not melt the heart of his fellows like his heart!” (ibid. 20:8).

In providing the Torah she’baal Peh (Oral Torah) explanation of this last category, the Rambam paints a vivid portrait of the mentality of a Jewish soldier as envisioned by the Torah:

“Who is the man who is fearful and fainthearted?” is to be understood simply, as referring to a person whose heart lacks the capacity to withstand the throes of war. 

Once a man enters the throes of war, he should rely on the Hope of Israel and their Savior in times of distress. He should realize that he is fighting for Yichud ha'Shem (the Oneness of God's Name), and he should place his soul in his hand and neither fear nor tremble. He shouldn't think about his wife or his children. Instead, he should erase their memory from his heart, and empty his mind of thoughts except for war. 

Anyone who begins to think and be anxious [about personal matters] in the midst of battle to the point where he frightens himself violates a lo taaseh (Torah prohibition), as it is stated: “let your heart not be faint; do not be afraid, do not panic, and do not be broken before them” (ibid. 20:3). 

Furthermore, he is responsible for the blood of the entire Jewish nation. If he is not valiant, and if he does not wage war with all of his heart and with all of his soul, it is considered as if he shed the blood of everyone, as it is stated: “Let him go and return to his house, and let him not melt the heart of his fellows like his heart” (ibid. 20:8). This is explicit in the prophetic tradition: "Cursed be the one who carious out the mission of Hashem deceitfully. Cursed be the one who withholds his sword from bloodshed" (Yirmiyahu 48:10). 

And anyone who wages war with his entire heart, without fear, with the sole intention of sanctifying God’s Name, can be assured that he will not be hurt, and will not be overtaken by harm. He will build a proper household in Israel and merit for himself and for his children forever. He will also merit eternal life in Olam ha'Ba (the World to Come), as it is stated: "for Hashem shall certainly make for my lord an enduring house, for my lord fights the wars of Hashem; and no blame has been found in you in your days … and my lord’s soul will be bound up in the bond of life, with Hashem, your God" (Shmuel I 25:28-29).

In light of this description, we can identify four qualities that the Jewish soldier must possess: 

(1) Self-knowledge: We live in a culture which regards rash, unthinking, “macho” bravery as the hallmark of a hero. The Torah disagrees. A Jewish soldier must be able to look at himself and honestly assess whether he’ll be able to withstand the terrors of war. If he is able to do so, he must accept his responsibility, but if not, he must step back, no matter how much societal pressure he faces. By coming to terms with his fear and removing himself from battle, he will be sparing the lives of his brethren. It takes true courage to face oneself, and this is the type of courage that the Torah demands from the soldiers of Israel. 

(2) Self-control: The Torah expects a Jewish soldier be in complete control of his mind and his emotions during battle. He must clear all thoughts unrelated to the war from his mind – even thoughts of his wife and children – and he must be in total command of his emotions. He must be embody true gevurah (might), as Chazal teach: “Eizehu gibor? ha’kovesh es yitzro” “Who is mighty? He who conquers his emotions” (Avos 4:1). 

(3) Ahavas Hashem (Love of God): The American soldier fights for freedom and democracy, and the Japanese soldier fights for the honor and glory of his nation, but the Jewish soldier fights for Yichud ha’Shem (the Oneness of God’s Name) and Kiddush ha’Shem (the Sanctification of God’s Name). It is no accident that the Meshuach Milchamah begins his speech with the words, “Hear, O Israel” and that the Rambam rules that a soldier must wage war “with all of his heart and with all of his soul.” When the Jewish soldier fights, he is engaged not only in a physical war, but a philosophical war – a war with the ultimate goal of establishing Malchus Hashem (the Kingdom of God), which will ultimately bring knowledge of God to all mankind. 

(4) Bitachon (Trust in God): Last but not least, the soldier of Israel must trust in Hashem to protect him and to bring him to victory. He must recognize that it is Hashem Who is the cause of his success. Of course, whether or not he is protected depends on his adherence to Torah, and he mustn't rely on a miracle or believe himself to be immune to harm. Nevertheless, Chazal teach (Sotah 42a), based on the Meshuach Milchamah’s use of the phrase “Shema Yisrael,” that even if a soldier only has the merit of the mitzvah of krias Shema, he is worthy of Hashem’s salvation.

This last point is underscored by the Meshuach Milchamah's statement: "For Hashem, your God, is the One Who goes with you, to fight for you with your enemies, to save you!" (Devarim 20:4). This pasuk was also chosen as the conclusion to the contemporary prayer composed for the IDF. The Ramban explains that this statement serves a dual purpose:

It warns [the soldiers] not to be fainthearted and not to be afraid of their enemies, and it [also warns them] not to trust in their own might, thinking in their heart, "We are mighty soldiers who are for war!" but rather, they should turn their hearts to Hashem and trust in His salvation and think about the fact that "not in the strength of the horse does He desire, and not in the legs of man does He favor. Hashem favors those who fear Him, those who hope for His kindness" (Tehilim 147:10)

The Jewish soldier must avoid two extremes: being overtaken by fear of his enemy, and becoming overconfident in his own abilities. Both erroneous viewpoints stem from a common foundation: belief in the supremacy of human power. In truth, we humans are very limited. There are a myriad factors outside of our control, and what little control we have we owe to hashgachas Hashem (God's providence over mankind). The Meshuach Milchamah's statement is designed to remind us that the true power belongs to Him, Alone.

The final chapters of The Laws of Kings and Wars discuss the final chapters of human history: Yemos ha'Moshiach (the Messianic Era), in which all wars will cease, and mankind will enjoy peace and tranquility, due to the abundant overflow of yedias Hashem (knowledge of God). May the present war be speedily brought to an end, and may the Redeemer of Israel save us from the darkness of ignorance and exile, and usher in the era of knowledge and light for all human beings. 

Parashas Mattos: Bli Neder

Artwork: Carnage Altar, by James Paick

Parashas Mattos: Bli Neder

Pasrashas Mattos opens with the laws of nedarim (vows) and shavuos (oaths). It begins with a single pasuk which is the source of the institution of nedarim: "If a man takes a vow to Hashem, or swears an oath to establish a prohibition upon himself, he shall not desecrate his word; according to whatever comes from his mouth shall he do" (Bamidbar 30:3). The parashah continues with a far more extensive discussion about the laws of revoking nedarim. 

The sequence and treatment of this topic in the pesukim reflects the Torah's wary stance when it comes to nedarim. The Torah's position is summed up by the Rambam at the conclusion of Hilchos Nedarim. He begins by identifying the proper use of nedarim:

13:23 - If a person makes nedarim in order to fine-tune his character traits and correct his behavior – this is beautiful and praiseworthy. How so? If a person was a glutton and [took a neder] forbidding himself to eat meat for a year or two; or if a person who was addicted to wine [took a neder] forbidding himself to drink wine for an extended period of time, or [forbidding] himself to ever become intoxicated; likewise, if a person who chased after bribes and was overexcited about wealth [took a neder] forbidding himself to accept gifts or to benefit from people in a certain region; similarly, if a person who was haughty on account of his own beauty took a neder nazir (a nazirite vow); and the same for all similar cases – all of these are paths of avodah la’Shem (divine service). Regarding these nedarim and those like them, the Sages said: “nedarim are a safeguard for restraint” (Avos 3:13).

While nedarim can be useful if used for the purposes described above, the Torah recognizes the danger they pose. For this reason, the Torah regards nedarim as an extreme measure - a tool to be used only when absolutely necessary. The Rambam continues:

13:24 - Even though these [vows] constitute avodas Hashem, a person should not be excessive in taking prohibitory vows, and he should not get into the habit of making them. Instead, he should he should abstain from those things from which one should abstain without taking a vow. 

Rambam concludes these cautionary remarks about nedarim by citing a strongly worded Gemara:

13:25 - The Sages said: "Anyone who makes a vow is considered as though he built a bamah (a private altar)" (Nedarim 22a). And if he transgressed and made a neder, it is a mitzvah to ask a chacham (wise man) to absolve it, so that he will not be faced with a stumbling block.

Building a bamah a serious offense. The question is: How is making a neder comparable to building a bamah? Moreover, the statement cited by the Rambam concludes by saying: "and one who fulfills his neder is considered as though he offered a korban (sacrifice) on [his bamah]." This is even more difficult to understand: even if making a neder is regarded as "bad," isn't failing to fulfill it worse? If so, how can the Gemara imply that making a neder and fulfilling it is worse than making a neder and not fulfilling it? 

The Ran addresses both of these questions in his commentary on our Gemara. Here is his explanation:

It seems to me that we compare [one who makes a neder] to one who builds a bamah because the one who makes a neder thinks he is doing a mitzvah. [His reasoning is that] since the Torah prohibited certain things, he is also [is following the path of Torah by] prohibiting [additional] things for himself. For this reason [we tell him] that he is making an error. To the contrary - he is comparable to one who builds a bamah, for even though the Torah commanded us to bring korbanos inside [the Beis ha'Mikdash], it prohibited us from adding to this by building a bamah and bringing korbanos outside [of the Beis ha'Mikdash]. Here, too, even though the Torah prohibited what it prohibited, [nevertheless,] when this person adds to what the Torah prohibited, he is committing an offense. Similarly, [the Sages] said in Talmud Yerushalmi: "Isn't it enough what the Torah prohibited you, that you must go and prohibit additional things for yourself?" This is the same reason why it uses the expression of "[bringing] a korban [on a bamah]": since his korban is not favorable [in God's eyes], it is tantamount to him building a bamah and sacrificing a korban outside [of the Beis ha'Mikdash]. 

The Ran learns that this Gemara is only talking about someone who makes a neder which is not designed "in order to fine-tune his character traits and correct his behavior" or "as a safeguard for restraint." This individual believes that there is an inherent value in obeying the Torah's prohibitions - that restricting oneself is valuable in and of itself, not as a means of perfecting oneself. Consequently, to his mind, the more prohibitions there are to follow, the more opportunities for avodas Hashem. And since the Torah offers a mechanism by which he can create extra prohibitions, he will be able to increase his reward even more,. All he has to do is make and follow more nedarim. 

According to the Ran, the Gemara's comparison to building a bamah is intended to highlight the mistake made by such an individual. Just as korbanos, per se, do not constitute avodas Hashem - or else He would have permitted them to be offered outside of the Beis ha'Mikdash - so too, keeping prohibitions, per se, is not avodas Hashem. And just as the only korbanos which find favor in God's eyes are those which are brought within the framework and parameters the Torah system, so too, the only nedarim which find favor in God's eyes are those which facilitate the Torah's objectives.

Now we can understand why fulfilling such a neder is like offering a korban on a bamah. If a person builds a bamah, he has definitely acted improperly, but at least he hasn't violated the major Torah prohibition of offering korbanos outside of the Beis ha'Mikdash - an act which is not only punishable by kareis (spiritual excision), but also diminishes the sanctity of the Beis ha'Mikdash as the exclusive location for avodas ha'korbanos (the sacrificial service). Likewise, a person who makes an unnecessary neder is certainly acting improperly, but if he fails to fulfill it, then even though he violates a Torah prohibition, at least he hasn't actually augmented his avodas Hashem by creating and keeping his own prohibitions. In contrast, someone who makes unnecessary nedarim and religiously adheres to them in the same way he adheres to the laws of the Torah - such a person has diminished the sanctity of Hashem's perfect Torah by diluting the avodah-system commanded therein with his own, personal expressions of religiosity. From a halachic standpoint, a person who keeps his unnecessary nedarim is better off, but from a philosophical standpoint, he has caused more harm to his soul that a person who violated his nedarim.

There is a widespread practice of saying "bli neder" when making statements of commitment. Some people do this as a precaution against unintentionally obligating themselves nedarim, while others just do it out of habit. This is not the place to conduct an analysis of this practice. However, I have a suggestion to make. Whenever you say or hear the phrase "bli neder," think of it as an opportunity to review this idea about nedarim. Regardless of the intent of the speaker, the words "bli neder" express the Torah's philosophy of vow-making, namely, that we should strive to keep Torah without feeling the need to invent our own stringencies. "The Torah of Hashem is perfect" (Tehilim 19:8). 

Ego as Thermometer

Here's another old post from 2007 which happens to be relevant to the season we're in.

"It is sooooo HOT in here!" "It is FREEZING in here!"

Whenever I hear people say things like this, I want to ask: What do you mean by "it"?

When a person says, "It's hot" or "It's cold," what the person really means is "I am hot" or "I am cold." Such a person is really making a statement about the temperature relative to himself or herself, but couching that statement in objective terms. What is actually a subjective feeling is being spoken about as though it were an objective quality of the room, in the same way one might say, "This room is dark" or "This room is empty." In truth, it is more precise to say, "I feel hot" or "I feel cold." 

"So what?" you might ask, "People speak imprecisely all of the time. Everyone knows what they really mean."

Be that as it may, I have seen many people get into arguments over the temperature in a room. One guy will complain, "It's freezing in here, let's turn on the heat!" and the other guy will respond, "What do you mean? It's stuffy in here! You're crazy!" Each one of these individuals is making the same error: treating a personal feeling as an objective reality.

As long as each disputant treats his position as an objective statement, there is no room for resolution. If I say, "The earth is flat" and you say "The earth is round," only one of us can be correct. We can examine the properties of the common object of discussion and come to an agreement. But when one person say, "It's cold" and the other person says, "It's warm," they won't get anywhere because they are talking about different "it"s. If both of them would recognize that they are really just making statements about themselves, they would go about settling their quarrel differently. 

I react similarly when I hear students say, "That teacher is boring!" What the student really means is, "I am bored by that teacher" or even "Many students are bored by that teacher." "Boring" is not an objective quality. It is a statement about one's subjective experience. To treat "boring" as an inherent property of something or someone is to make oneself the measure of all things.

In a nutshell, the mistake being made in both of these cases is confusing matters of taste with matters of truth. The sharp division between these two realms should be recognized, always. The more one indulges in this bad habit of mind - even in trivial matters - the more one runs the risk of making this type of error where it counts.

The root of the aforementioned mistake is our egocentricity. So just remember: next time you comment on the temperature, don't use your ego thermometer.