Abandonment by Hashem as a Catalyst for Teshuvah

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Abandonment by Hashem as a Catalyst for Teshuvah

The Torah states: “When you are in distress and all these things have befallen you, at the end of days, you will return to Hashem, your God, and hearken to His voice” (Devarim 4:30). Last summer I wrote a 1-page article entitled The Necessity of Metaphysical Trauma for National Teshuvah. I offered a theory which explained why this type of radical national teshuvah-transformation can only come about after a radical national catastrophe. However, I did not explain why or how such a tragedy would actually prompt us to engage in teshuvah instead of continuing to cling to our waywardness.

I used to think that a calamity of this scale would cause us to return to Hashem because it would force us to finally acknowledge His role in the tzarah (catastrophe), as the Rambam writes about in Hilchos Taaniyos 1:1-3:

This principle is one of the darchei teshuvah (ways of repentance), that at the onset of a tzarah, when the [people] cry out about it and sound the trumpets, everyone will know that it was because of their evil conduct that they were harmed … But if they do not cry out and do not sound the trumpets, but instead say, “This is a natural event which befell us” and “this tzarah is a chance occurrence” – behold, this is a derech achzarius (way of cruelty, or indifference) and will cause them to cling to their evil conduct, and [this] tzarah and others will increase.

I have a new theory, inspired by my recent rereading of The Lincoln Highway (2021), by Amor Towles. One of my many favorite scenes (no spoilers!) is when Ulysses explains to Billy what happens to a person when they are in truly dire straits:

If I learned anything in the war, it’s that the point of utter abandonment – that moment at which you realize no one will be coming to your aid, not even your Maker – is the very moment in which you may discover the strength required to carry on. The Good Lord does not call you to your feet with hymns from the cherubim and Gabriel blowing his horn. He calls you to your feet by making you feel alone and forgotten. For only when you have seen that you are truly forsaken will you embrace the fact that what happens next rests in your hands, and your hands alone. (p.330)

My new theory is as follows: it is not our recognition of Hashem’s role in the tzarah which will be the catalyst for our teshuvah. Rather, it is the feeling of utter abandonment by Hashem which will cause us to recognize our role in the tzarah. So long as we stubbornly refuse to acknowledge our own agency, whether by blaming the nations and circumstances around us or by childishly waiting for Hashem to intervene without any change on our part, we will not engage in teshuvah. Only when we accept that our fate is in our own hands will we save ourselves by doing teshuvah and returning to Hashem.

Here's another way of stating this insight. Chazal teach: “Everything is in the hands of heaven except for fear of heaven” (Berachos 33b). Rambam explains that “fear of heaven” in this context is a reference to free will (Shemoneh Perakim Ch8). I used to think that the teshuvah in Devarim 4:30 would be brought about by a recognition of the truth in the first half of Chazal’s statement: that everything – that is, all the calamities that befall the Jewish people – is in the hands of heaven. I am now suggesting that the teshuvah will be prompted by a realization of the truth in the second half of Chazal’s statement: that we, and we alone, are to blame for our suffering. Hashem will not do teshuvah for us.

Like most insights into teshuvah, this one was already been stated explicitly by the Rambam (Hilchos Teshuvah 5:2)

Yirmiyahu says: "The evils and the good do not come from the mouth of the Most High" (Eichah 3:38) - in other words, the Creator does not decree upon man to be good or evil. Since this is the case, the sinner is the one who harmed himself. Therefore, it is proper to bewail and lament the harm he caused to his own soul. This is what is written afterwards: "About what may a living man complain? A man about his own sins" (ibid. 3:39). [Yirmiyahu] then goes back and says: since we have control over our actions, and our own minds caused us to do all evils, it is proper for us to do teshuvah and to abandon our wickedness, for the agency is in our hands now. This is what is written afterwards: "Let us examine our ways and investigate and return to Hashem" (ibid. 3:40).

The Good Lord calls us to our feet by making us feel alone and forgotten so that we return to Him.

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On Seeing the Hearts of Human Beings

Today’s Torah content is dedicated to the joyous occasion of the marriage of Jon Deutsch and Avigayil Lev. Jon has "graduated" from student, to coworker, to chavrusa and friend. Avigayil, another former student and fellow Slytherin, remains a daily presence in my virtual beis midrash. I am happy for them and I'm excited to see where their life leads them.

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Artwork: Dack Fayden, by Terese Nielsen

On Seeing the Hearts of Human Beings

Seeing the Heart of David

With few exceptions, Tanach tends to eschew descriptions of the physical appearances of its characters. Two of those exceptions can be found in Sefer Shmuel. The first is Shaul: “And [Kish] had a son, whose name was Shaul, young and handsome [1], and there was not among the children of Israel a more handsome person than he: from his shoulders and upward he was taller than any of the people” (I Shmuel 9:2)

The second notable exception is David, about whom it is said: “Now he was ruddy (admoni) with beautiful eyes (yafeh einayim) and a goodly appearance (tov ro’ee)” (ibid. 16:12).

In context it is easy to see why these physical descriptions are relevant to the narrative. Shmuel ha’Navi is sent by Hashem to anoint a new king to replace Shaul. He is told that the new king will be one of the sons of Yishai. He makes the journey to Yishai’s house, and the sons are summoned:

And it was upon their arrival that Shmuel saw Eliav and said: “Surely Hashem’s anointed is before Him.” But Hashem said unto Samuel: “Do not look at his appearance or at his tall stature, for I have rejected him; for it is not as man sees – for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart” (ibid. 16:6-7)

Shmuel then cycles through the rest of Yishai’s sons, before finally settling on David:

Yishai then called Avinadav and brought him before Shmuel, but he said, “Hashem has not chosen this one either.” Then Yishai brought Shammah, but [Shmuel] said, “Hashem has not chosen this one either.” Yishai presented his seven sons before Shmuel, but Shmuel said to Yishai, “Hashem has not chosen these.” Shmuel said, “Are these all the boys?” and he said, “The youngest one is still left; he is tending the sheep now.” So Shmuel said to Yishai: “Send and bring him, for we will not sit [to dine] until he arrives here.” He sent and brought him. He was ruddy with beautiful eyes and a goodly appearance. Hashem then said, “Arise and anoint him, for this is he!” (ibid. 16:8-12)

The question is: What was Shmuel’s mistake? The fact that Hashem had to correct him, saying, “Do not look at his appearance or at his tall stature … for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart” implies that Shmuel erroneously focused on David’s outward appearance. How are we to understand Shmuel’s error? Are we to think that such a great prophet as Shmuel got caught up in appearance-based superficialities? And if Shmuel was merely concerned about how the new king would be perceived in the eyes of his people, did he really think that such considerations outweighed the quality of the king’s heart?

The Malbim [2] provides a conceptually and textually sound answer:

“he was ruddy”: Here is shown to us the truth of what was written earlier: “for it is not as man sees – for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart.” For David was ruddy, [indicating] that “redness” was dominant in him [3], and he was [therefore] genetically disposed to [commit acts of] bloodshed. At the same time, good qualities were also indicated in him, for he “had beautiful eyes and a goodly appearance,” which indicated that he was analytically sharp-minded and had a healthy constitution …

If Shmuel had only relied on his human perception, he would have concluded that [David] was not worthy [of being king,] but Hashem “sees hearts” and knew that out of his good free-will decisions he would do only justice and righteousness, and that he would use the nature of “redness” implanted within him to wage the wars of Hashem and to annihilate the doers of iniquity from [every] city. This is what is desirable in the eyes of Hashem, that even though a person has a natural inclination towards evil, he should rule over it with righteousness and good free-will decisions. This is [the intent of] that which was written: “Arise and anoint him, for this is he” – [namely, this is the one] who is desirable before Me.

According to the Malbim, Shmuel’s mistake did not stem from a misguided overvaluation of appearances. Rather, he was legitimately concerned that David’s natural disposition towards violence, as indicated by his ruddy appearance, would render him unfit to be king over Israel. Indeed, this was a legitimate concern. This is precisely why Hashem needed to step in and provide assurance from the perspective of Divine omniscience, saying: “It is true that such a disposition could render a man unfit to be king, but this man will harness his aggressive nature and channel it towards the good.” “He was ruddy with beautiful eyes and a goodly appearance.” His potentially destructive nature will be actualized, but for the good.

Seeing the Hearts of Our Fellow Human Beings

One of the central ethical mitzvos of the Torah is ve’halachta bi’drachav (“you shall walk in His ways”). The Rambam [4] defines this mitzvah as follows:

We are commanded to make ourselves resemble Him (exalted is He) in accordance with our ability, as it is stated: "you shall walk in His ways" (Devarim 28:9). This commandment has been repeated in the statement: "to walk in all of His ways" (ibid. 11:24). The [Oral Torah's] explanation of this matter is as follows:

"Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'merciful,' so shall you be merciful. Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'gracious,' so shall you be gracious. Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'righteous,' so shall you be righteous. Just as Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu is called 'kind,' so shall you be kind" (Sifre).

And this commandment has been repeated in different words: "you shall follow after Hashem, your God" (ibid. 13:5), and its explanation is also that we should make our good actions and lofty character traits resemble those which are ascribed to Him (may He be exalted) by way of allegory. May He be exceedingly exalted over everything.

The core of this mitzvah is that we should model our own actions and characteristics after the allegorical descriptions of Hashem’s actions and characteristics. If so, then Hashem’s statement to Shmuel, “for it is not as man sees – for man looks at the outward appearance, but Hashem sees the heart” is not to be understood merely as a particular correction of a particular man’s mistake, but as a universal ethical imperative. Accordingly, we must ask ourselves: What can we do to emulate the Divine attribute of looking past outward appearances of our fellow human beings, and instead, to “see their hearts”?

I recently finished reading Dr. Tara Brach’s book Radical Compassion. In Chapter 9, “Seeing the Goodness,” Tara writes about techniques for remembering to see the basic goodness in all human beings. Rather than attempt to summarize the main ideas of the chapter, which are built upon the previous chapters, I’d like to relate a story the author heard read at a Christmas Eve church service. When combined with the Malbim’s commentary, I believe this provides us with an approach to answering our question:

One Christmas Day, a woman, her husband, and their year-old son had driven a long way before they found an open diner by the side of the road.

It was quiet and almost empty, and they were waiting gratefully for their food when the little boy began waving from his high chair and calling, "Hi there!" to someone behind them. To the mother's dismay, it turned out to be a wreck of a man, unkempt and unwashed, obviously a homeless drunk. Now he was waving back at her boy and calling, "Hi there, baby, hi there, big boy ... I see ya, buster."

The woman and her husband exchanged looks, and the few other people in the diner were shooting disapproving glances their way. And the old guy went on, even after their food came. "Do you know patty-cake? Attaboy ... Do you know peeka boo? Hey, look, he knows peekaboo." The mother tried turning the high chair around, but her son shrieked and twisted to face his new buddy.

Finally, giving up on their meal, her husband got up to pay the bill, and the mother took the baby in her arms, praying that she could quickly get past the old drunk, who was seated by the door. But as they approached, her son reached out with both arms – his pick-me-up signal – and propelled himself into the man's open arms.

But now the mother could see tears in the man's eyes as her son laid his head on his shoulder. He gently held and rocked the boy, and then he looked straight into her eyes. "You take care of this baby," he said firmly. And as he slowly handed him back, "God bless you, ma'am. You've given me my Christmas gift."

She must have mumbled something in return, but as she rushed to the car, tears streaming down her face, she could only think, "My God, my God, forgive me."

This woman underwent a shift in her perspective akin to what Shmuel ha’Navi experienced. At first she could only see this man’s outward appearance. He was homeless. He was drunk. He was dirty. He was what Tara calls “an Unreal Other” – a person who happens to belong to the same species as ourselves, but is somehow “less real” than ourselves and those with whom we identify. And this man’s homelessness, drunkenness, and dirtiness served as evidence to expand his Unreal Otherness by generating a complete past, present, and future of him in her mind. On that basis, whether consciously or unconsciously, this man was written off as being intrinsically worth less than she, her husband, and her baby, and was destined to remain as such.

It was only when she saw the man’s reaction to her baby – to her baby’s natural and unbiased reaction to another human being – that she was able to “see the heart” of this man. And when he looked into her eyes and expressed gratitude, he became a Real Person, just like her.

Now, one might object to this line of reasoning, saying that seeing an Unreal Other as a Real Person has nothing to do with emulating Hashem’s “seeing the heart” mentioned in Sefer Shmuel. After all, according to the Malbim, Hashem’s proclamation of David’s worthiness to be king was predicated on the knowledge that he would make good free will decisions, choosing to channel his natural tendencies to his service of God. Such knowledge can only come from Divine omniscience, which – by definition – is impossible for finite human beings to emulate, and wouldn’t even fall under the purview of ve’halachta bi’drachav.

I disagree. When the Rambam introduces the mitzvah by saying, “We are commanded to make ourselves resemble Him … in accordance with our ability,” and “we should make our good actions and lofty character traits resemble those which are ascribed to Him … by way of allegory” he is acknowledging the fact that the Divine attributes are intrinsically different from our human emulations of them. Indeed, the entire first section of the Moreh ha’Nevuchim substantiates this reading. Moreover, as my Rosh ha’Yeshiva pointed out, the Sifre cited by the Rambam bears out this point. Chazal don’t say: “Just as Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu is merciful, so shall you be merciful” but rather, “Just as Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu is called merciful, so shall you be merciful.” In other words, Hashem’s mercy is of a fundamentally different nature than human mercy, and there is absolutely no way we can emulate it. Rather, we must study Hashem’s modes of action as presented in Tanach and translate them into human ethical standards.

Such is the approach I am suggesting here. Unlike Hashem, we lack the ability to see into the hearts of our fellow human beings to know what choices they will make. But like Hashem, we can take active steps to look past their outward appearances, to refrain from making definitive judgments and predictions of future behavior on the basis of what our eyes see – as if we were as omniscient as God – and instead, to see them as a fellow tzelem Elokim (“created in with a divine form”), with the same humanity as ourselves.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that we ought to be naïve or unrealistically optimistic in our dealings with other people. If, for example, an actual mugger approaches us on the street, we should take whatever precautions are necessary. But at the same time, we can still see that person as a fellow human being.

Seeing Our Own Hearts

Most importantly, this perspective must be applied to our own hearts. When we look in the mirror, we must see past the misplaced feelings of certainty we have about our “destiny” based on our dispositions and the lot we were dealt in life. There is no such thing as destiny. "See, I have placed before you today the life and the good, and the death and the bad … Choose life, that you and your offspring may live" (Devarim 30:15,19). We cannot choose our genetics or our circumstances, but we can choose what to do with them. By seeing our own heart through Divine eyes, we unlock our ability to “choose life.”

[1] The pasuk uses the phrase “tov” (“goodly”), but the Targum translates this as “shapir” (“beautiful” or “handsome”), and the end of the pasuk supports this translation.

[2] Rav Meir Leibush ben Yechiel Michel (Malbim), Commentary on Sefer I Shmuel 6:12

[3] I don’t fully understand what he means, but my guess is that it reflects some sort of theory of humourism. I don’t think it matters much, as long as we take it as his factual premise and then see how he applies it.

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Sefer ha’Mitzvos: Mitzvas Aseh #8

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If you've gained from what you've learned here, please consider contributing to my Patreon at www.patreon.com/rabbischneeweiss. Alternatively, if you would like to make a direct contribution to the "Rabbi Schneeweiss Torah Content Fund," my Venmo is @Matt-Schneeweiss, and my Zelle and PayPal are mattschneeweiss at gmail.com. Even a small contribution goes a long way to covering the costs of my podcasts, and will provide me with the financial freedom to produce even more Torah content for you. 

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Be sure to check out my YouTube channel and my podcasts: "The Mishlei Podcast", "The Stoic Jew" Podcast, "Rambam Bekius" Podcast, "Machshavah Lab" Podcast, "The Tefilah Podcast"  For the full guide to all of my Torah content, click here. 

Meditations on Rosh ha'Shanah 5781: The Meaning of "Shanah Tovah"

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Meditations on Rosh ha'Shanah 5781: The Meaning of "Shanah Tovah"

When I think back to the headspace I was in last Erev Rosh ha'Shanah, I am shocked by the level of unfounded certainty I had about how the year would play out. Obviously, I didn't think I'd be able to predict the particulars of the upcoming year, but I was so secure in my ability to predict its general parameters that I wasn't even aware of my own baseless assumptions. 

For example, I wondered, "How many new Shalhevet students will we be able to recruit in the upcoming year?" Never once did it occur to me that the school would close permanently. I wondered, "How successful will I be in preparing my AP English students for the exam in the spring?" Never once did I imagine that all of my students would be taking their drastically modified exam from home, after two months of stressful and disruptive preparation over Zoom. I wondered, "How will my personal and professional development this year improve my practices as a high school teacher next year?" Never in a million years would I have guessed that I would no longer be a high school teacher in 2020-2021.

The pandemic's telescoping effect on my ability to see into the future has been humbling, to say the least. The fact that we can't even see a week or two into the future has made me realize the folly of trying to predict what will happen later in the year. It has become increasingly real to me what ought to have been real all along: the fact that the future is unknowable.

Because of this fundamental shift in perspective, I find myself in a much better position to appreciate the reality of the Yom ha'Din (Judgment Day) we are about to experience. In the Zichronos part of the Mussaf of Rosh ha'Shanah we say: "and over countries [judgment] is pronounced, which of them is destined for the sword and which for peace, which for famine and which for abundance, and on it, creatures are recalled, to be remembered for life or for death." In past years statements like these seemed like hyperbolic abstractions, but this year they are more real than ever. The same is true of the mentality Chazal urged us to have, that our individual and collective fate is "hanging in the balance," awaiting the verdict of the Dayan ha'Emes (True Judge).

Speaking of Judgment Day, I find myself recalling the maxim that a certain single mother used to say to her son throughout his upbringing: "There is no fate but what we make." On its surface, this aphorism underscores the primacy of bechirah (free will) and its role in determining what happens in our lives. When I thought about this statement this morning, my reaction was, "That's not entirely true! Yes, our choices play a role in shaping our fate, but so much of our fate is determined by factors beyond our control! Our lives are a product of our own decisions and external factors!"

But then my thinking shifted back to the words of Shlomo ha'Melech, the Rambam, the Stoic thinkers, and others whose writings I've been pondering lately, and I was reminded that we live a dual life. One is life as a human being who lives in the world of ideas; the other is life as a physical creature living in a physical world. Regarding this physical life it would not be true to say, "There is no fate but what we make," but regarding our metaphysical existence as a tzelem Elokim (truth-seeking intellect), the statement is 100% true (regardless of whether this is what Ms. Connor had in mind when she said it).

Chazal teach: "Everything is in the hands of heaven except for the fear of heaven" (Berachos 33b). The Rambam (Responsa #436) explains that the phrase "fear of heaven" in this context refers to all of our free will decisions, insofar as all decisions culminate in either mitzvah or aveirah (transgression). Thus, while all of our other circumstances may be "in the hands of heaven," our "fear of Hashem" - that is, our life as a decision-making tzelem Elokim - is entirely in our own hands. No matter what unforeseen circumstances we find ourselves in, we always have the ability to choose between mitzvah and aveirah, wisdom and folly, good and evil, truth and falsehood.

And that, I believe, sheds a new light on the uncertainty of the upcoming year. The circumstances which will determine the trajectory of our physical lives this coming year are unknowable and unpredictable, but the factors which will determine our true lives are fully within our control. I find that thought to be both tremendously reassuring and terribly frightening. It means that no matter what happens to us this year, our fate as human beings is still in our own hands. "There is no fate but what we make."

The Rambam, in his commentary on Rosh ha'Shanah Perek 1 Mishnah 2, explains that the judgment of Rosh ha'Shanah and Yom ha'Kippurim determines things like health, sickness, life, death, and the other circumstances of our physical lives. In light of the foregoing observations, I believe we can reframe what we mean when we daven for, yearn for, and wish each other a "shanah tovah." We can't be asking for a year characterized by the true good - a year of choosing the good - since that good is dependent entirely on each of our own choices. Rather, I believe we are asking Hashem to bless us with external circumstances which are conducive to choosing the good, for it is far easier to make good choices when we enjoy health, security, livelihood, and the other physical blessings. What we do with these blessings is up to us, but we are entirely dependent on Hashem for furnishing the circumstances which facilitate our good choices.

And so, with that meaning in mind, I would like to wish all of us - you, me, the Jewish people, and all of mankind - a "shanah tovah."

Parashas Mattos/Masei: Who is to Blame?

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Artwork: Memorial to Folly, by Sung Choi

Parashas Mattos/Masei: Who is to Blame?

This week we conclude our reading of Sefer Bamidbar. I taught Sefer Bamidbar for seven years, and there is one sentiment I encountered among my high school students every time: anger at Bnei Yisrael. Whenever we’d learn an episode of Bamidbar in which Bnei Yisrael sinned and were punished, my students would grow frustrated and exclaim: “How could Bnei Yisrael be so stupid?!” “They’re so childish and immature!” “Why do we have to suffer for their sins?” 

As tempting as it is to place the blame entirely on Bnei Yisrael for their sins, that is not the approach that Moshe Rabbeinu takes in our parashah, nor is it the approach that Yirmiyahu takes in our haftarah. 

Parashas Mattos begins with Hashem commanding Bnei Yisrael to wage war with the Midianites. The Jewish men lead the battle, killing the Midianite kings and male soldiers, and taking the women, children, livestock, and wealth as spoils. 

Moshe becomes enraged. [1] However, his anger is not directed at the soldiers who engaged in the looting, but at the commanding officers who were appointed over them. Rashi, [2] citing Sifre, [3] explains why: 

and Moshe became enraged at the appointed of the soldiers – [namely,] those who were appointed over the soldiers; [the pasuk says this] in order to teach you that every deterioration of the generation is contingent on the gedolim (leaders), since they have the ability to protest. 

The Rambam codifies this principle in two places in the Mishneh Torah. The first is in Hilchos Deos,[4] in his exposition of the mitzvah of hocheach tochiach (“you shall surely rebuke a member of your people”): 

One who sees his friend who sinning or following a path that is not good is commanded to return him to the good, and to inform him that he is sinning against himself with his bad decisions, as it is stated: "You shall surely rebuke [the member of] your people" (Vayikra 19:17) … and one who has the ability to rebuke but refrains from rebuking is included in the sin of those [sinners], so long as he had the ability to rebuke them. 

The second instance is in Hilchos Teshuvah, [5] in his list of sins which impede teshuvah: 

There are four sins which are so severe that if a person does one of them, Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu will not provide him with the ability to do teshuvah, due to the magnitude of the sin. They are:  

1. one who causes the masses to sin; included in this is one who prevents the masses from doing a mitzvah  

2. one who turns his friend from a good path to a bad path, such as a meisis (one who leads a person to worship avodah zarah) or a mediach (one who leads a city to worship avodah zarah)  

3. one who sees his son with a bad crowd and doesn’t protest: since his son is under his dominion, then he is like a person who causes him to sin; included in this is anyone who has the ability to protest against others – whether a multitude or a few individuals – and doesn’t protest, but leaves them with their stumbling block  

4. one who says, “I will sin and then I will do teshuvah”; included in this is one who says, “I will sin and Yom ha’Kippurim will atone.” 

This does not mean that such sins are entirely the fault of the leaders, and that the sinners themselves are free from blame. The foundational principle of Torah is that that every human being has free will, and is the cause of his or her own actions. At the same time, the Torah recognizes that leaders hold a great sway over the parameters of their followers’ free will. Thus, if a leader fails to use his position of influence to save or prevent his followers from sinning, then he is considered to be partially at fault, and shares in the culpability of the sinners. 

For example, every Nazi in Hitler’s Germany had free will, and could have chosen not to align himself with the forces of evil. Yet, it is clear that a Nazi soldier raised by a Nazi family, educated in a Nazi school, and surrounded by Nazi ideas, Nazi patriotism, and Nazi ascendancy – such an individual has far more impediments to exercising his free will for the good than his American counterpart among the Allies. There are many paths of choosing the good which are clear and unobstructed for the American, but blocked or obscured in darkness for the Nazi. However, if Hitler and the upper echelon of Nazi leaders radically changed their view of their “enemies” – just as Japan and its citizens changed their view of Americans after World War II – then it would be far easier for the individual Nazi to exercise his free will and choose good over evil. Freedom of choice is universal, but it is not equal in mankind, nor does it exist in a vacuum. It is a tenuous thing, subject to external disturbances – like a flickering candle on a blustery night, in need of protective hands to shield it and prevent it from being extinguished. 

Yirmiyahu follows Moshe’s approach in his rebuke of Bnei Yisrael, but is even more explicit in ascribing blame to the leaders of the nation. He begins with a general message to the nation: 

Hear the word of Hashem, O House of Jacob, and all families of the House of Israel: Thus said Hashem: "What wrong did your fathers find in Me that they distanced themselves from Me, and they went after nothingness and they became nothingness? And they did not say, ‘Where is Hashem Who brought us up from the Land of Egypt, Who led us in the Wilderness, in a land of desert and pit, in a land of waste and the shadow of death, in a land through which no man passed and no person settled there?’ I brought you to a fruitful land to eat its fruit and its goodness; but you came and you contaminated My land, and My inheritance you made into an abomination.” (Yirmiyahu 2:4-7) 

But then he turns his rebuke to the leaders, specifying how each group of leaders is culpable: 

“The Kohanim didn’t say, ‘Where is Hashem?’ and those who grasp the Torah (tofsei ha’Torah) didn’t know Me, and the shepherds rebelled against Me, and the [false] prophets prophesied by the Baal, and went after that which has no benefit. Therefore, I will continue to quarrel with you,” the word of Hashem, "and with your grandchildren I will quarrel." (ibid 2:8-9) 

The Radak [6] explains how each of these groups was at fault for the sins of the nation: 

the kohanim [didn’t say,] “Where is Hashem?” – we have explained this [as follows:] the Kohanim who are before Hashem (i.e. in the Beis ha’Mikdash) all day, bringing sacrifices before Him, should have said to the nation that worships Baal, “Where is Hashem, such that you worship someone other than Him?” 

those who grasp the Torah – these are the wise men who learn Torah; they “did not know Me” in that they didn’t learn Torah for its own sake, to fulfill what is written in it, but learned only with their mouths and a divided heart; this is what it means by “they did not know Me,” because good thought with good actions is [real] “knowledge [of God]” – not [mere] learning.

the shepherds – these are the kings who shepherd the nation, just like shepherds shepherd sheep.

and the prophets – these are the false prophets. 

If these religious and political leaders had stepped up to the plate, they could have halted the downward spiral of Bnei Yisrael, thereby preventing the destruction of the Beis ha’Mikdash (Holy Temple) and the galus (exile), or at least diminishing the severity of the catastrophe and suffering.[7] The people of the nation, themselves, are – as the navi said – like a flock of sheep. Each sheep has its own agency, but that agency is contingent on the decisions of the shepherd. If the shepherd leads his sheep to lush meadows, they will freely roam and graze; if he leads them within proximity of the wolves, they will have little choice but to flee for survival. 

I believe that this perspective on the sins of our ancestors has a bearing on the way we view the faults in our fellow Jews today. The Jewish world is split into so many different factions, religiously, politically, culturally, racially, socio-economically. Each faction has its own problems, errors, and transgressions. Some of these flaws are recognized by all; others fester, unnoticed. 

It would be easy to blame each of these groups of Jews for their own problems, but it would also be wrong. The bulk of the blame lies with the leaders – those in the remote past, the recent past, and the present. It is the leaders who have the power to protest and to put a stop to the problems which plague their people. It is the leaders who can articulate a vision of the good and formulate a plan to bring it about in action. The blame lies with them. 

But here’s the catch: by “leaders” I’m not just referring to those at the top of their respective spheres of influence; I’m talking about “anyone who has the ability to protest against others – whether a multitude or a few individuals – and doesn’t protest, but leaves them with their stumbling block.” By this definition, “leaders” include kings and fathers, roshei yeshiva and school-teachers, statesmen and neighbors, elders and older brothers, those who are respected for their wealth or for their wisdom. And yes, “leaders” include ourselves. 

Today is Rosh Chodesh Av. Nine days from now we will observe Tishah b’Av, one of the public fast days. These days have a common mission, as the Rambam articulates in Hilchos Taaniyos: [8] 

There are days on which all of Israel fasts because of the catastrophes that occurred on them, in order to awaken the hearts [of the people] and to open the paths of teshuvah. This will be a remembrance of our corrupt actions and the corrupt actions of our fathers that were like our actions today, which ultimately reached the point that [these corrupt actions] caused these catastrophes for them and for us. Through the remembrance of these things we will return to do good, as it stated, “they will confess their sins and the sins of their fathers” (Vayikra 26:40). 

Our national teshuvah has to start somewhere, but it is hard to begin if we don’t know where or with whom to place the blame. It is, after all, human nature to assign blame whenever something goes wrong. 

According to the implications of what we’ve written about today, the blame lies with ourselves, to the extent that each of us is a leader with a sphere of influence, however large or small that sphere may be. 

Perhaps, by recognizing the interconnectivity of Klal Yisrael, and by appreciating the weight of the power we have to shape the paths of the people within our daled amos (four cubits), we will, as a nation, begin anew the long process of returning to the good. 

[1] It’s unclear from the pesukim why Moshe got angry; see Ramban on Bamidbar 31:6 for an explanation. 

[2] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 31:14 

[3] Sifre 42 

[4] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer ha’Mada, Hilchos Deos 6:7 

[5] ibid. Hilchos Teshuvah 4:1 

[6] Rabbeinu David Kimchi (Radak), Commentary on Sefer Yirmiyahu 2:8 

[7] Truthfully, according to my understanding, by the time Yirmiyahu’s prophetic career began, Bnei Yisrael had reached the point of no return. If they responded positively to his message and did teshuvah, the Beis ha’Mikdash would still be destroyed, and the exile still would have happened, but it wouldn’t have been as severe. 

[8] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Zmanim, Hilchos Taaniyos 5:1

Mishlei 21:1 - Mishleic Fatalism

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Mishlei 21:1 - Mishleic Fatalism

משלי כא:א

פַּלְגֵי מַיִם לֶב מֶלֶךְ בְּיַד יְיָ עַל כָּל אֲשֶׁר יַחְפֹּץ יַטֶּנּוּ:

Mishlei 21:1

The heart of a king is like streams of water in the hand of Hashem: wherever He desires, He will incline it.

The major questions on this pasuk are: 

(1) What is the nimshal (meaning of the metaphor)? And what about free will? This pasuk seems to suggest that Hashem controls the heart of a king. Although it is certainly possible for Hashem to take away a king’s free will – as He did in the case of Paroh – we know that this is the exception, not the rule. What, then, does our pasuk mean by this metaphor? In what sense is the heart of a king like streams of water, and how does Hashem incline it wherever He desires? 

(2) What does this have to do with practical decision-making? This pasuk doesn’t conform to the typical Mishlei structure of: “The wise man does such-and-such and gets such-and-such benefits, but the foolish man does such-and-such and gets such-and-such consequences.” It’s not clear what practical decision-making lesson we’re supposed to derive from this pasuk. 

[Time to think! Hint: remember what we wrote about acts of Hashem in Mishlei.] 

Here's my four-sentence summary of the main idea: 

On its surface this pasuk might seem to imply that a king is nothing but a puppet controlled by Hashem, without any free will, free agency, or free choice of his own. Although Hashem certainly can take away a king’s free will – as He did in the case of Paroh – it is not reasonable to assume that this is the meaning of our pasuk, which is talking about all kings. Rather, our pasuk comes to teach us that although it may seem like a king is the freest person in his kingdom and is able to do whatever he wishes, the reality is that his free will is severely compromised by his very position of leadership; the king’s heart and mind are at the mercy of a myriad of forces beyond his control, and, like streams of water, they will have no choice but to flow wherever they are directed. The purpose of this pasuk is to remind the king, his subjects, and his enemies that despite what our fantasies and fears might lead us to believe, the more powerful a person is, the less freedom he has; those who seek this type of power, those who have achieved it, those who seek to curry favor with those who have achieved it, and those who fear the ones who hold this power – all of them must remember the extent to which the freedom of those in power is limited, and should act accordingly on the basis of that recognition. 

I was raised in a Republican family and community. Throughout my years in yeshiva, all of my friends became Libertarians. It wasn't until I learned this pasuk that I became what I call “a Mishleic fatalist” in my view of politics and history. 

My dictionary defines “fatalist” as “anyone who submits to the belief that they are powerless to change their destiny.” Fatalism is profoundly anti-democratic. Democracy is founded on the conviction that people can alter their political destiny. While I do believe that this is possible, and that it has happened every so often over the course of human history, I do not think that this is the norm. I agree with Shlomo ha’Melech in our pasuk that kings – a Mishleic designation which includes all political leaders – have only a minimal freedom of choice, and the more powerful they are, the more enslaved they are to external social-political forces and internal psychological forces beyond their immediate control. 

Look no further than the current president of the United States: Donald Trump. Never have I seen a political leader with less free will. It is abundantly clear that Donald has no self-control in his personal conduct. His reactions and responses can be predicted and mapped with a Pavlovian degree of precision. B.F. Skinner would hail him as a paragon of operant conditioning. Temperance, equanimity, patience, deliberation, forbearance, introspection, humility – these self-regulating qualities and behaviors are simply not in Trump’s repertoire. He is a man whose internal world is a raging psychodynamic tempest over which he is powerless to exert any control. He is not the master of his fate. He is not the captain of his soul.

This is manifest in Trump's personal and political interactions with other people. Whenever he encounters another person, the interaction between them is preprogrammed by his personality. Threaten his power or authority? He’ll insult you and reassert his dominance. Praise him? He’ll laud you and advocate on your behalf. Criticize him? He’ll mock you and aim to delegitimize you. Betray him? He’ll cut you off and throw you under the bus. Present him with feminine sex-appeal? You know what he’ll do ... It’s all there, hardwired into his psyche, and he is absolutely helpless to resist. 

And yet, Trump’s supporters and his detractors continue to view him as a free leader of the free world. Republicans and Conservatives hail him as America’s wise savior, hoping he will single-handedly “make America great again.” Democrats and Liberals fear him as the architect of the Apocalypse who is set on willfully, consciously, and systematically spreading his wickedness and corruption with the aim of destroying our country. Both sides view Trump as an independent force of will. 

I disagree. I see Trump as a slave to his own personality, and by extension, to all of the social-political forces and circumstances which surround him. Those who praise or condemn Trump as “unpredictable” only do so because they lack sufficient knowledge of psychology, or because they underestimate how consistent he is with his own psychological script. 

This, I believe, is what Shlomo ha’Melech would mean if he applied our pasuk to our president: “The heart of Trump is like streams of water in the hands of Hashem: wherever He desires, He will incline it.” The decisions made by Trump are entirely in the “hands of Hashem” (i.e. determined by factors beyond his control). Like streams of water, which follow the pull of gravity down the path of least resistance, Trump’s views, feelings, behavior, and decisions all flow merrily down the stream on whatever path is carved by the interaction between his psyche and his circumstances. 

The same is true for the majority of political leaders throughout history – the good, the bad, and the grotesquely abhorrent. Occasionally there will arise a few leaders who exercise their free will for good or for evil, like many of the Founding Fathers, or Hitler, or King David, or King Menashe. But for the most part, the political leaders who move mountains and shape history are, themselves, nothing but the byproducts of a sea of influences to which they are subordinate. 

When I say that I am a Mishleic fatalist in my view of politics, I do not mean that I believe in absolute fate or irrevocable destiny. People can change the course of history through the exercise of their free will. History can be written by those who choose good and those who choose evil. I just don’t think that this happens very often. Most of history is written by mediocrity: the masses who follow their personalities, and the leaders who are beholden to the will of the people. 

For this reason, I have a dim view of the extent to which any individual can actually influence social-political trends and policies – especially (and ironically) in a democratic society, in which the masses have more of a direct say. To those free-willed agents of progress who devote their lives to changing the will of the people, or to playing the politics game with the "kings," I applaud you, and wish you the best of luck in turning the tide (or the streams of water) in favor of the good and the just. 

But to those of us who recognize the difficulty of this uphill battle and prefer to expend our energy on those who are already within our daled amos (four cubits) of influence, I say: let the streams of politics take their course, and whatever happens, happens. The heart of a king is like streams of water in the hand of Hashem: wherever He desires, He will incline it.

Parashas Chukas: No - it was NOT "Meant to Be"

Ordinarily I only write a new dvar Torah for the weekly parashah on Fridays. Today's blog post happens to be an exception to that rule. I've wanted to write about this topic for a while, and I just happened to find a Ralbag on Parashas Chukas which serves as a perfect platform for the discussion. Tomorrow's blog post will also be on Chukas.

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Artwork: Murder, by Allen Williams

Parashas Chukas: No - it was NOT "Meant to Be"

One of the greatest human tragedies is the death of one human being at the hands of another. Whether intentional (e.g. a murder, an act of terrorism, or a wartime casualty) or unintentional (e.g. vehicular manslaughter, an instance of gross negligence, or a freak accident), the sense of loss is compounded by the outrage over the involvement of human agency.

Although I haven't taken a formal survey, it seems to me that there are many Jews respond to such tragedies by saying "it was meant to be." People will say this about the full gamut of homicide, from suicide bombings, to car accidents, to complications arising from medical procedures. The "it was meant to be" sentiment will be expressed in a variety of ways. Some people exclaim "gam zu l'tovah," which they erroneously translate as "this, too, is for the best," or they invoke the even more common false notion that "everything is hashgachah pratis." Others give some variant of the allegedly more comforting explanation of "God wanted this person to be with Him" or the more neutral "it was his time to go." Others chalk it up to other common falsehoods, such as "this person must have fulfilled his tafkid (life's purpose) and that's why he died" or "her soul needed a tikkun (correction), and now it's free to move on." 

Although there is a lot that can be said here, I would like to limit the scope of our analysis from the outset. We will NOT be discussing this issue from the standpoint of God's justice or reward and punishment. We will NOT be dealing with the concept of God's Omniscience or Omnipotence. We will NOT address the question of what is or is not hashgachah pratis. We will NOT be discussing reincarnation or any of the doctrines that are based thereupon.We will certainly NOT discuss how to comfort someone who has experienced such a loss, or how to deal with such hardships in one's own life. 

The objective of this post is to make one point: just because one person dies prematurely at the hands of another doesn't mean that "it was meant to be." Or, to put it in positive terms: Judaism does hold that a person's life can be taken before his or her time. And what is true of death, which is the ultimate loss, certainly applies to other forms of harm and suffering that are brought about by human action.

My impetus for writing about this topic was the Ralbag's comparison of the Parah Adumah (Red Heifer) at the beginning of Parashas Chukas with the Eglah Arufah (Axed Calf) at the end of Parashas Shoftim. There are several structural similarities between these two mitzvah-institutions, most notably:

• Both involve cows: the Parah Adumah an adult female, and the Eglah Arufah a young calf.
• Both are associated with human death: the Parah Adumah is the means by which we purify people from tumas meis (halachic impurity brought about by a human corpse), and the Eglah Arufah is brought to atone for an unsolved murder of a human being.
• Both are associated with a prohibition of work: the Parah Adumah must not have work done with it, and the land on which the Eglah Arufah is killed may not be worked.

The Ralbag [1] explains that the difference in the age requirement of the Parah Adumah and the Eglah Arufah is intended to clarify Judaism's stance on premature death. He writes:

The [Eglah Arufah] is a young calf and the [Parah Adumah] is an adult cow in order to teach us that the killer caused this person to die prematurely - that is, the person whose corpse was found in the field, whose assailant is unknown - because many people have erred, thinking that this (i.e. premature death) is impossible. This [error] leads to great harm in the Torah's beliefs, and in philosophy, and in matters [2] of ethics and practical decision-making, and denies the reality of the possible - but this is not the place for this inquiry.

In other words, when we carry out the procedure of Eglah Arufah in response to an unsolved murder, the young calf whose life we cut short is supposed to remind us that this victim's life was cut short by the murderer. This reinforces the Torah's view that this person's death was not "meant to be," but occurred prematurely. 

According to the Ralbag, the belief that a person's death was "meant to be" leads to "great harm" in four areas. First and foremost, such a belief undermines the beliefs of Torah - specifically, the yesode (fundamental principle) of bechirah chofshis (free will), as the Ralbag specifies elsewhere. [3] Secondly, this belief is not consistent with philosophical truth (though there are philosophers that arose after the Ralbag who would disagree). Third, it causes harm in the realm of ethics and practical decision-making. Fourth, it is predicated upon a denial of the category of "the possible" (by presupposing that everything that can happen is either "necessary" or "impossible"). 

The clearest and most comprehensive treatment of Judaism's view of bechirah in Rishonic literature (that I know of) is the Rambam's presentation in the eighth chapter of the Shemoneh Perakim. As it so happens, he addresses each of the four points mentioned by the Ralbag. He even mentions our case, about murder. Instead of summarizing each of these points on my own, I'm going to let the Rambam speak for himself, with my own paragraph breaks for clarity:

It is important for you to know that our Torah is in agreement with Greek philosophy, which have been substantiated by true proofs, that man's actions are in his control; no one compels him to do anything, and nothing other than himself ever inclines him toward a character virtue or flaw - other than a predisposition, which, as we explained, would [merely] make him find it easier or harder to do a specific thing [but doesn't necessitate any action on his part].

If man were compelled in his actions, then all of the Torah's commands and prohibitions would be utterly pointless, since man would not have freedom in his actions. 

Likewise, all study, education, and craft-related training would also be in vain, since - according to this theory - man would have something external to himself compelling him to do a certain action, or to know a certain subject, or to have a certain trait.

Reward and punishment - whether society's or God's - would be absolutely unjust. For if one person ("Shimon") killed another ("Reuven") because he was forced or compelled to kill, and his victim was forced or compelled to be killed, then why should [the killer] Shimon be punished? And how could it ever be said that God, Who is just and fair, punished someone for doing something he was compelled to do and could not help but do, even if he didn't want to? 

Besides, any precautions we would take - like building houses, acquiring food, fleeing when frightened, and the like - would be pointless, since it would be "meant to be" by [Divine] decree. 

All of this is nonsense and absolutely invalid; it runs counter to rationality and common sense, tears down the wall of Torah, and deems Hashem to be unjust - God forbid! 

But the truth, beyond any doubt, is that all of man's actions are in his own hands. If he wants to do something, he can; and if he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to. There is no compulsion or force upon him. Therefore, the mitzvos are binding. 

[Hashem] said, "Behold - I have placed before you today the life and the good, and the death and the bad ... [therefore, choose life]" (Devarim 30:15-19), thus placing the choice in our hands. And there is necessarily punishment for transgression and reward for obedience, [as it is stated:] "[You will receive blessing] if you obey [the mitzvos of Hashem, your God], and [you will be cursed] if you disobey]" (ibid. 11:26-28). And there is an obligation to learn and to teach, [as it is stated:] "Teach them to your children" (ibid. 11:19), and "learn them, observe them, and do them" (ibid. 5:1). [There is an obligation] as well to do everything else that is involved in the learning and fulfillment of mitzvos.

One is also obligated to take all of the precautions [against harm or damage] enumerated in the Book of Truth, which says, "Make a maakeh (guardrail) for your roof ... lest someone fall" (Devarim 22:8); "[Let him go back to his house,] for he may die in battle" (ibid. 20:5-7); "[If you take your neighbor's garment as collateral, bring it back to him by sundown, for that is his only covering ...] What would he then sleep with?" (Shemos 22:26); "Do not take lower or upper millstones as a pledge" (Devarim 24:6). And there are many other statements in the Torah and the Books of the Prophets on this subject of taking precautions. 

As for the Sages' statement that "ha'kol bi'ydei shamayim chutz mi'yiras shamayim" - "Everything is in the hands of heaven except for fear of heaven" (Berachos 33b) - this, too, is correct, and follows what we have said.

Many people erroneously believe that a person is compelled to do certain things that are actually open to choice, for example, marrying a particular woman or acquiring a certain amount of money by stealing - but that is incorrect. For it is a mitzvah to marry a woman permissible to you by means of a kesubah (wedding contract) and kiddushin in order to have children, and God does not compel in the observance of mitzvos. In addition, if there were some wrongdoing in marrying her [i.e., if someone were to marry a woman who were prohibited to him], it would be a transgression, and God does not decree that a person transgress. The same would be true if one stole money from a person or robbed or defrauded him, then denied it and took an oath about the money [declaring it to be his own]. If one claimed that God decreed that the money be taken from the other person's hands and placed in his, it would be saying that God decreed a transgression, but that is not so. 

Rather, all of a person's actions are in his own hands, and through them obedience and disobedience will undoubtedly be demonstrated. For as we explained in the second chapter, Torah-based commands and prohibitions only apply to the deeds one is free to act upon or not. As such, the "fear of heaven" which is not in the hands of heaven, but is rather given to man, as we have explained, lies in this part of the soul.

And the statement that "everything [is in the hands of heaven]" is not intended literally; what they were referring to were natural phenomena which man has no control over, like being tall or short, whether it will rain or be dry, whether the air will be foul or pure, and everything else that occurs in the [natural] world, rather than through man's actions.

But the point the Sages made, that obedience or disobedience [i.e. the fear of heaven] are not by the decree of God or by His will, but rather by man's will, were deduced from the words of Jeremiah, who said, "Neither bad nor good comes from the mouth of the Most High" (Eichah 3:38) where "bad" refers to bad deeds and "good" refers to good deeds. That means to say that God does not decree whether a person will do bad deeds or good deeds.  

That being so, it is only right that man mourns for and regrets all his sins and transgressions, since he has done wrong of his own volition, as [Yirmiyahu] said, "What should a living man mourn for, a mortal man? For his sins" (ibid. 3:39). He then goes on to say that the cure for this illness therefore lies in our own hands. For just as we disobeyed by choice, so too, we can turn aside from our bad deeds. Hence he concluded with, "Let us search and examine our ways, and return to Hashem. Let us life up our hearts with our hands to God, in heaven" (ibid. 3:40-41).

There you have it. Let's summarize by applying the Rambam's analysis to the case of a premature death at the hands of another person. If someone was killed, whether intentionally or unintentionally, we do not say that "it was meant to be," for this would undermine the fundamental principle of free will on which the entire Torah is premised. To say that this person's death was "meant to be" would mean that the killer was somehow forced or compelled in his actions. If that were the case, how could he be held culpable by God or by human courts? Furthermore, from the standpoint of the victim, we cannot say that an untimely death was "meant to be" without reducing all of our preparatory and precautionary measures to absurdity. It would be senseless for the Torah to tell us to build a fence around our roof to prevent people from falling, or to send back the fearful person from battle, or to seek medical attention for illness and injury.

Rather, as Chazal said, "everything is in the hands of heaven except for the fear of heaven" and, as the Rambam explained, "the fear of heaven" includes any and every action that directly or indirectly involves a mitzvah or a transgression. This certainly applies to a case in which one person caused the death of another.

Some might object to all of this, saying, "What's the big fuss? Let people think that it was meant to be! After all, they don't realize the philosophical implications of what they are saying. They just want to take solace in a belief that will comfort them."

To my mind, this is what differentiates Judaism from other systems of belief. Other belief systems are the products of the human psyche, with all of its wishes, fantasies, and insecurities. Even non-religious people tend to adapt or reject beliefs on this subjective basis. Judaism is different. We strive to base our beliefs on objective knowledge, truth, and reality, to the best of our understanding. We do not accept or reject something as true based on how pleasing or displeasing it is, or how much we want it to be true. To the contrary, we aim to determine our beliefs by using our God-given intellect to understand the universe - based on our own analysis, in light of our knowledge of Torah - and to accept the truth even if it clashes with our desires and preferences.

Again, I would like to emphasize the questions that this article intentionally did not aim to answer. We haven't addressed questions of God's justice, reward and punishment, Omniscience, Omnipotence, hashgachah pratis, the fate of the soul, or how to provide comfort to the bereaved. Each of these topics is "longer than the earth and broader than the sea" (Iyov 11:9), and should be investigated with deliberation and clarity.

But certain investigations cannot begin until the mistaken assumptions which hinder them are cut down, and - like the life of the Eglah Arufah which is cut short by the free choice of the ax-wielder - so too, it is our duty as purveyors of Torah knowledge must cut down the erroneous beliefs which preclude philosophical growth and maturity. 

[1] Rabbeinu Levi ben Gershom (Ralbag / Gersonides), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 19

[2] The phrase used by the Ralbag here is inyanim ha'mediniyim; since, in Gersonidean terminology, this includes interpersonal ethics and personal decision-making, I decided to translate it as "ethics and practical decision-making."

[3] see, for instance, Rabbeinu Levi ben Gershom (Ralbag / Gersonides), Commentary on Sefer Melachim I, Toeles #24 

Tishah b'Av 5777: Hashem's Tzedakah and Our Shame

Disclaimer: This post is an attempt to explain one of the kinos (lamentations/dirges/elegies) we say on the morning of Tishah b'Av. I do not claim to have any special knowledge or expertise in kinnos. The only experience I have is the analysis I wrote of another kinah two years ago (Tishah b'Av 5775: Woe Unto Us!). In particular, I feel apprehensive that I am reading too much into the kinah. With something like Mishlei or Avos I have a sense of what a "Mishlei idea" or an "Avos idea" looks like, but I don't feel I'm quite there yet with kinos. That being said, take this post with more grains of salt than you do my other posts. 

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Artwork: Light of Day, by Drew Tucker

Tishah b'Av 5777: Hashem's Tzedakah and Our Shame

Kinah #19

This year, in preparation for Tishah b'Av, I chose to focus on Kinah #19. Below is a translation of the entire thing. As you read through, ask yourself two questions: "What is the main theme or idea of this kinah?" and "How is this designed to facilitate aveilus (mourning) in a manner which leads to national teshuvah?"

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah (righteousness), because of the wondrous signs You have displayed from then until now; and ours is the boshes ha'panim (shamefacedness), because of the trials with which You sought to refine us, [but as a result of our failure] You despised us. 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because You have taken [our] nation from amidst another nation, with miracles; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because of the hypocrisy to be found within us as we emulated [Egypt's abominable] deeds. 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because God went out to redeem us as a people unto Himself; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because they [our forefathers] rebelled on the shore of the Sea of Reeds, the nation sinning against its God. 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, when we recall the proclamation, "You are witnesses, and I am God!"; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because we blasphemed Hashem in [the Wilderness of] Sin [when we demanded of Aharon,] "Arise and create a god for us!" 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because You feed us [the mahn] that tasted like dough fried in honey; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because on the day [we made the Golden Calf], we brought it an offering of fine flour with oil and honey. 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because You provided us with the mahn, the well, and the pillar of clouds; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because our forefathers grumbled in their tents about [the mahn and called it] the destructive bread. 

Yours, my Lord, is the righteousness, because in the Wilderness we lacked nothing; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because we defied You at Lavan, Chatzeros, and Di-Zahav as related [by Moshe]. 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because of [how You waged war for us with] Sichon and God and all the kings of Canaan; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because of Achan who appropriated for himself from the forbidden loot [of Jericho] and found no excuse [for his crime]. 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because of all that You accomplished through the fourteen savior [-Judges]; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because of Michah's idol through which we transgressed. 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because You erected [Tabernacles] at Shiloh, Nov, Giv'on, and the Eternal Temple [in Jerusalem]; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because the evil in our midst caused each one's destruction, and in their loss we have been humiliated. 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because although the destructions of the two Temples were caused by our corruption, we ourselves were spared; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because we should have returned in teshuvah to You wholeheartedly, so that You would return to us with compassion. 

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because of the [almost] nine centuries throughout which You withheld Your anger [over our sins] and didn't broadcast it; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because [Daniel] the man of delights pleaded with You [to end the Babylonian Exile after a mere seventy years, even though we were not worthy,] saying, "Incline Your ear, O my God, and hear!" (Daniel 9:18).

The theme of this kinah is contained in the refrain: "Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah ... and ours is the boshes ha'panim." This phrase comes from a pasuk in Sefer Daniel. The pasuk appears in the context of Daniel's prayer to Hashem on behalf of the Jews in the Babylonian exile, after the destruction of the first Beis ha'Mikdash (Holy Temple). The full pesukim couplet reads:

"Yours, my Lord, is the righteousness, and ours is the shamefacedness, as of this very day - to the men of Judah and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem and to all of Israel, those near and those far, in all of the lands to which You have driven them, because of their betrayal with which they have betrayed You. Hashem, to us is the shamefacedness - to our kings, to our officers, and to our forefathers - for we have sinned against You" (Daniel 9:7-8). 

In order to understand the kinah and the impact it was intended to have, we need to make sense of this refrain. [1] Once we figure out the main idea, this will unlock the meaning of the rest of the kinah.

The Questions

There are five major questions here:

(1) What is tzedakah (righteousness)? This term is often thought of in the context of charity, but as we'll see, this isn't really the primary meaning - at least, not as "charity" is commonly understood. 

(2) What does it mean that tzedakah "belongs to Hashem"? Daniel could have simply said something like: "Hashem is the tzadik" (Shemos 9:27), as Paroh said when he acknowledged Hashem's righteousness.  Alternatively, he could have said: "Hashem is a tzadik in all of His ways" (Tehilim 145:17), as David ha'Melech did when he wanted to praise Hashem's righteousness. Why did Daniel choose to speak about tzedakah as though it is something that belongs to Hashem, like a possession? Doesn't righteousness also belong to us - or at least, to the tzadikim (righteous people) among us?  

To those who are inclined to dismiss this question because they don't think the pasuk ought to be this way, see footnote [2].

(3) What is boshes ha'panim (shamefacedness)? In our blog post What is Bushah? we examined several uses of the term "bushah" - some with a positive connotation, and others with a negative one. In this kinah, it is clear that "boshes ha'panim" is a response to the recognition of something bad that Bnei Yisrael did. All of the statements that the paytan (author of the kinah) associated with boshes ha'panim are things that we ought to be ashamed of. But what, exactly, is the nature of this boshes ha'panim?

(4) What does it mean that boshes panim "belongs to us"? Similar to Question #2, why didn't Daniel simply say, "We are ashamed"? Why did he express this by saying that the shamefacedness belongs to us?

(5) What was Daniel's intention in contrasting Hashem's tzedakah with our boshes ha'panim? And, by extension, what was the paytan's intention in structuring his kinah on the basis of this juxtaposition?

We will now answer these questions one at a time, in order.

Answer to Question #1: Definition of Tzedakah

The clearest definition of tzedakah I have seen is stated by the Rambam [3] in the penultimate chapter of the Guide for the Perplexed. He writes:

The word “tzedakah” is derived from tzedek, which means “righteousness” (or “justice” [4]). The meaning of “tzedakah” is to grant to everyone who has a right to something that which he has a right to, and to give to every existing thing that which is proper for its existence.

In short, tzedakah refers to the provision of needs - whether needs determined by a legal system, or by the laws of nature and the design of the organism. This concept is exemplified by the requirements of the Torah-level mitzvah of tzedakah, namely, to provide the poor person with "dey machsoro asher yechsar lo - whatever he is lacking" (Devarim 15:8). We are obligated to make sure that the poor person is given food, water, shelter, clothing, a spouse - and, to an extent, we must also address his or her psychological needs.

Technically speaking, according to the Rambam's first definition, it would be an act of tzedakah to give a hired man his wages, or to pay off a debt; according to his second definition, it would be an act of tzedakah to water a plant, to feed an animal, or to help a human being who is suffering. [5]

This is why I object to translating "tzedakah" as "charity." According to the Rambam, tzedakah is much broader than that, and encompasses all needs of all creations.

Answer to Question #2: Hashem's Tzedakah (in Contrast to Ours)

The Rambam's definition of tzedakah strengthens our Question #2: What does it mean that tzedakah "belongs" to Hashem? Don't we also have tzedakah?

The answer is that Hashem's tzedakah is fundamentally different from human tzedakah. The Rambam alludes to this in the aforementioned chapter of the Guide when he explains how the term "tzadik" is used in reference to Hashem:

We have already explained in discussing the impropriety of [ascribing] attributes to God, for every attribute with which Hashem is described in the books of the Prophets is [really] an attribute of His actions. Thus ... He is called tzadik ("righteous") on account of His mercy with the weak, in providing for every living being according to its faculties.

In that last phrase the Rambam is alluding to a profound example of Hashem's tzedakah. The Radak elaborates on this example in his commentary to Ashrei on the pesukim: "The eyes of all look to You with hope and You give them their food in its proper time. You open Your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing. Hashem is tzadik in all of His ways and kind in all of His deeds" (Tehilim 145:15-17). Radak [6] explains:

You have created all of the physical creatures below, and You have created their food - for there are those that eat vegetation, those that eat seeds, and those that eat other living creatures - and the eyes of all of them depend on You and hope towards You, "and You provide them with food in their time" (ibid.) via the chain of causality ... 

"Hashem is righteous," for He gives each one its food with righteousness and uprightness; even though one living being will prey upon and eat another living being - like a cat and a mouse, and a lion, and a bear, and a leopard, and the other wild animals who eat other wild animals, and the birds [of prey] who eat other birds - everything is with righteousness from Him, because He also provides food for the wild animals and birds who are preyed upon during their lifetime, but when their time comes to die, their death is "programmed" to happen in a manner that is beneficial for others.

We are inclined to think of Hashem's tzedakah in His interaction with human beings, but David ha'Melech points to the phenomenon of ecosystems as a prime example of Hashem's tzedakah. Each and every creature is provided with exactly what it needs to survive and thrive in a manner that sustains the whole. Even though the individual organisms will perish, the ecosystem as a whole perseveres, and each and every creature is taken care of. Hashem even equips each creature with its own methods of preserving its species. Hashem "opens His hand" via His systems of nature and provides "every living thing" with "dey machsoro asher yechsar lo - whatever it is lacking." 

It is in this sense that Hashem's tzedakah differs qualitatively from our tzedakah. Hashem created ALL creatures AND created the resources which sustain them AND created the laws of nature which govern the manner of their provision AND created the faculties that these animals use to obtain their food. In other words, the entire phenomenon of tzedakah vis a vis all living creatures "belongs" to Hashem, insofar as He is the Creator. 

In contrast, we human beings do NOT create the recipients of our tzedakah and do NOT create the resources they need and do NOT create the laws which govern the manner of their provision or the faculties by which they obtain their needs. Our only role is merely to act as the shluchim (agents) of His will who move the material resources from one place to another, in order to supply other humans with what they need from the resources that have been given to us by Hashem, in accordance with His laws. 

True tzedakah belongs to Hashem, and human tzedakah is but a pale shadow. This is what Daniel means when he says, "To You, my Lord, is the tzedakah." 

Answers to Question #3: Definition of Boshes ha'Panim

Generally speaking, "shame" refers to a painful feeling of humiliation that comes from the recognition that one has acted improperly. 

There are two types of shame: (1) the shame that one feels immediately upon doing something wrong or foolish, and (2) the shame that emerges at a later time, as an outcome of the teshuvah process, after recognizing the full extent of the mistake and the harm that it caused. For the sake of simplicity, let us refer to the first type as "reactive shame" and the second type as "reflective shame."

Reactive shame stems purely from the conscience. As such, it might have a valid basis, or it might be totally baseless. Reflective shame originates in the conscience, but is ultimately a result of self-knowledge. 

The conscience-saddled kid who gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar experiences a reactive shame. In the moment of shame, he's not necessarily thinking about the causes or consequences of his decision. The only thing that goes through his mind is: "Oh no! I got caught! SHAME!!! BAD!!! I'M BADDDD!!!" 

In contrast, the 25-year-old who thinks back to how he behaved when he was an immature 15-year-old is filled with a reflective shame. He thinks to himself, "My goodness, I can't believe I acted so foolishly, and said the types of things I said, and thought the types of things I thought! I was SOOO immature back then! I had no idea what was flying! Thank God I grew out of that phase and am a different person now!" 

According to my understanding, the type of shame that is part of the teshuvah process is the reflective type of shame. This is the type of shame that comes from the post-teshuvah recognition that "I am another person, and I am not the same person who did those actions." [7] This is the same which stems from knowledge - not mere guilt.

This "reflective shame" is the type of shame that Daniel was referring to, and that the paytan wrote about in each stanza of our kinah. It is a shame spurred by the recognition of how terribly our forefathers behaved despite the righteousness shown to them by Hashem, and how we have followed in their footsteps. (We will elaborate on this point in detail in our answer to Question #5.)

I suspect that the phrase "ours is the shamefacedness" is used as opposed to "ours is the shame" (without the "-facedness") because we aren't talking about specific instances of shameful actions. Rather, we are talking about our recognition of a trend of shamefulness which carried on for millennia - since Yetzias Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt) and on until the present day. Thus, not only do we experience sporadic bouts of shame from our actions and the actions of our forefathers, but this experience of shame has become a part of our very character. We have become shamefaced people because of our innumerable shameful actions. 

Answer to Question #4: Shamefacedness Belongs to Us

In our answer to Questions #1 and 2 we saw the definition of tzedakah and understood how there is a type of tzedakah that uniquely "belongs" to Hashem. Now that we have seen the definition of boshes ha'panim, how are we to understand the statement that "boshes ha'panim belongs to us"? In what sense is boshes ha'panim uniquely ours?

The answer can be found in Rashi's commentary [8] on our pasuk in Daniel:

ours is the shamefacedness - it is proper for us to be ashamed by what befell us, since we caused it to happen to ourselves.

There is only one phenomenon in this world which "belongs" entirely to us: our own free will. Chazal teach: "ha'kol bi'ydei shamayim chutz mi'yiras shamayim - everything is in the hands of heaven (i.e. in Hashem's control) except for fear of heaven (i.e. our free will)" (Berachos 33b). According to Rashi, our boshes ha'panim belongs entirely to us because we are the sole cause of our sins for which we have been punished.

The Rambam expands upon this point in his discussion of free will in Hilchos Teshuvah. After introducing the concept of free will and refuting the notion that a person's actions are predetermined, the Rambam [9] writes:

There is nothing which compels [man] or decrees upon him [to do a specific action], nor is there anything which pulls him to one of the two paths; rather he – by himself and with his mind – inclines himself to whichever path he desires. This is what Yirmiyahu said: “From the mouth of the Most High do not come forth the bad and the good” (Eichah 3:38), meaning to say, the Creator does not decree upon man, neither to be good nor to be bad.

Consequently, this sinner is the one who harms himself, and therefore it is appropriate for him to cry and bemoan that which he has done to himself, and the bad [consequences] he has brought upon his soul. This is what was written afterwards: “What should a living man bemoan? A man for his sins” (ibid. 3:39). [Yirmiyahu] then returns and says: since the choice is in our hands, and we committed all of this wickedness with our own minds, it is appropriate for us to return in teshuvah and to abandon our wickedness, for the choice is in our hands now; this is what was written afterwards: “Let us search and analyze our ways, and we will return unto Hashem” (ibid. 3:40).

We "own" our boshes ha'panim in the sense that we are the sole cause of our sins. We are completely responsible for what we have done and what we have suffered as a result. 

Answer to Question #5: Hashem's Tzedakah vs. Our Shame

Now we are almost in a position to understand the theme of this kinah. But there is one more point that is necessary to clarify with regards to tzedakah.

In our explanation of tzedakah we noted that Hashem's tzedakah expresses itself in the ecosystems of nature, which provide for all of the needs of the plants, animals, and other organisms therein. But Daniel's tefilah and our kinah are not about other organisms, but human beings - and Bnei Yisrael in particular! How does Hashem's tzedakah express itself in His relationship to Bnei Yisrael? 

The answer is that everything that Hashem has done for (and to) Bnei Yisrael has been for the sake of our development as a nation of truth-seeking human beings. Just as Hashem provides for the physical needs of His physical creations, so too, He provides for the metaphysical needs of His creations which have a metaphysical element (i.e. the tzelem Elokimi / soul / intellect). The Ralbag expresses this example of tzedakah beautifully in the introductory paragraph of his commentary on Torah:

Blessed and exalted be the Rock, Who, with His Understanding, His Wisdom, and His Knowledge, gives existence to all existing things – the existence of which manifests a chochmah (wisdom) and chaninah (beneficence) that none but He can completely apprehend. Praised be the Creator, Who, out of His desire to benefit these existences and to bring them from deficient existence to complete existence, directed His hashgachah (providence) upon these lowly existences, developing them stage by stage until He reached the existence of man. In addition to directing His hashgachah on man’s existence in the wondrous design of his anatomy, his abilities, and the faculties by which his [physical] existence is preserved, He did not refrain from directing His hashgachah on man by guiding him on the path to true perfection – man’s ultimate state of existence, for the sake of which this lowly material existence was endowed with tzurah (design) to the extent that it is. He did this by giving us the divine Torah, which is a nimus (regimen) that brings those who practice it properly to the true success.

With the other physical organisms on earth Hashem DID stop at providing them with "the wondrous design of their anatomy, their abilities, and the faculties by which their physical existence is preserved," since their existence is purely physical. But in the case of mankind, Hashem did NOT stop with providing us with the tools to preserve our physical existence, but He also gave us a tool (i.e. the Torah) to ensure that we develop the metaphysical aspect of our existence as well. 

All of the instances of hashgachah throughout Bnei Yisrael's history - from the Avos, through Yetzias Mitzrayim, to the giving of the Torah at Sinai, to the sojourn in the Midbar (Wilderness), to the conquest of Eretz Yisrael and beyond - all of these events were for the sake of our spiritual development. 

This, I believe, is the framework in which we are intended to read Kinah #19. Each stanza identifies an instance of Hashem's tzedakah (i.e. the steps He took to facilitate our development as a nation of truth-seekers). In each case, not only did Bnei Yisrael neglect to avail themselves of this divine assistance, but they went in the opposite direction, by their own free will. This pattern of national regression, despite Hashem's tzedakah-driven efforts to assist us, is truly shameful. And because we only have ourselves to blame, the boshes ha'panim is ours. 

Rather than walk through the entire kinah, I've selected a few examples which showcase this approach:

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because You have taken [our] nation from amidst another nation, with miracles; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because of the hypocrisy to be found within us as we emulated [Egypt's abominable] deeds.

Prior to Yetzias Mitzrayim Bnei Yisrael had all but assimilated into Egyptian society; our once distinct cultural-ideological identity was hanging by a few threads. But because He promised Avraham that He would redeem his offspring, Hashem intervened in our national fate, differentiated between Israel and Egypt, gave us mitzvos (Pesach and milah), took us out with a strong hand and an outstretched arm, and redeemed us as His people. "Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah." And how did we respond? By repeatedly longing to return to Egypt, complaining about the Exodus, and emulating the behaviors of the abominable nation from whom we were extracted. "ours is the boshes ha'panim."

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, when we recall the proclamation, "You are witnesses, and I am God!"; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because we blasphemed Hashem in [the Wilderness of] Sin [when we demanded of Aharon,] "Arise and create a god for us!" 

When we stood at Sinai, the entire nation witnessed Hashem speaking to Moshe. At that moment we became witnesses to the reality of "I am Hashem, your God ... you shall not have other gods before Me" (Shemos 20:2-3). No other nation ever has or ever will hear the voice of God speaking to an entire nation as Bnei Yisrael did on that day. He did this for us to establish the foundation of Toras Moshe, the reality of nevuah (prophecy), and to instill a national experience of yiras Hashem (fear of God) - all for the sake of our national development as "a kingdom of priests and a holy nation" (ibid. 19:6). "Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah." And how did we respond? Less than 40 days later, we turned our backs on the truth we had witnessed, made our own gods, and demanded to be taken back to Egypt. "ours is the boshes ha'panim."

Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah, because You provided us with the mahn, the well, and the pillar of clouds; and ours is the boshes ha'panim, because our forefathers grumbled in their tents about [the mahn and called it] the destructive bread. 

Had we been left to fend for ourselves during our sojourn in the Midbar - "an unsown land" (Yirmiyahu 2:2)  - we would have died in a matter of days. But Hashem, in His abundant mercy, sustained us, nourished us, and protected us in a miraculous manner. Not only did He care for our physical needs, but by giving us mitzvos and lessons which pertained to our daily "bread," He attempted to refine us spiritually as well. "Yours, my Lord, is the tzedakah." And how did we respond? Like a spoiled child: by taking His kindness for granted, complaining about the journey and the miraculous food, and lacking trust that He would protect us. "ours is the boshes ha'panim."

The other stanzas can be learned in a similar manner. In this kinah we lament the fact that our forefathers neglected all of the developmental tools and experiences that Hashem provided and ran in the opposite direction, away from "the true success" towards oblivion. And if we are honest with ourselves, we will recognize these same flaws in ourselves, and that these flaws are what continues to hold us back from the teshuvah that is required for the ultimate redemption.

Another Approach ... Next Time

When I was learning through this kinah with my chavrusa we stumbled upon what we believe is a deeper way of learning the idea of the refrain - specifically, the meaning of "ours is the boshes ha'panim." However, due to the length of this post - and the fact that it is currently 11pm on the night of Tishah b'Av - I think it would best if we left this alternative interpretation for another blog post.

[1] On a methodological note: ordinarily I would seek to understand this pasuk in its context, and then use that insight to guide my understanding of how the paytan used it in his kinah. In this case, I tried that, but didn't get very far. So instead, I just focused on the words of the pasuk and ignored the context. 
[2] Some might object to Questions #2 and 4, saying, "I don't think these are really questions. The phrases 'to you' and 'to us' is just an idiom. It's not expressing a notion that righteousness belongs to Hashem or that shamefacedness belongs to us. It's just saying that Hashem is righteous and we are ashamed!" I worried about this possibility as well. But then I found a midrash in Shemos Rabbah (Ki Sisa 41) which interprets our pasuk in Daniel in terms of ownership, comparing to the pasuk, "To Hashem belongs the earth and its fullness" (Tehilim 24:6), which it then expounds, saying, "The earth is His, the fruits are His, etc." To my mind, Chazal's juxtaposition of these two pesukim is a sufficient basis for reading our pasuk in Daniel as "tzedakah belongs to You" and "shamefacedness belongs to us" rather than "Hashem is righteous" and "we are shamefaced."
[3] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim 3:53
[4] It is difficult to know what the Rambam means by this word, since he wrote the Moreh ha'Nevuchim in Arabic and is trying to define a Hebrew term with an Arabic term.
[5] The Rambam actually gives a different reason why helping others is tzedakah, but that is beyond the scope of this blog post.
[6] Rabbeinu David Kimchi (Radak), Commentary on Sefer Tehilim 145:15,17
[7] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah; Sefer ha'Mada, Hilchos Teshuvah 2:4
[8] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary on Sefer Daniel 9:7. I feel I should add that this answer was suggested by my chavrusa before we saw the Rashi. 
[9] ibid. 5:2