Mishlei 22:22-23 - Stealing from the Poor

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I didn't take this particular picture, but it wouldn't be difficult to do so with all of the opportunities.

Mishlei 22:22-23 - Stealing from the Poor

משלי כב:כב-כג

אַל תִּגְזָל דָּל כִּי דַל הוּא וְאַל תְּדַכֵּא עָנִי בַשָּׁעַר: כִּי ה' יָרִיב רִיבָם וְקָבַע אֶת קֹבְעֵיהֶם נָפֶשׁ:

Mishlei 22:22-23

Do not rob a destitute person because he is destitute, and do not oppress a poor person in the public square, for Hashem will take up their grievance and He will steal the soul of those who steal from them.

The major questions on these pesukim are:

(1) How do we read the "because" in the first clause? There are two ways to read this phrase: "Don't rob a poor person. Why not? Because he is poor." Alternatively: "Are you considering robbing a poor person because he is poor? Don't." In other words, is the "because" introducing an explanation, or is it part of the definition of the case?

(2) Why not? According to our first reading we must translate this into two questions: "How is 'because he is poor' a reason for not stealing from the poor?" and "How does the explanation 'because he is poor' relate to the subsequent explanation 'for Hashem will take up etc.'?" According to our second reading we can ask: "Why would a person think he can/should steal from the poor, and how does 'for Hashem will take up etc.' address this person's mistaken line of reasoning?" 

(3) How will Hashem "take up their grievance" and "steal their souls"? As I've written about before, acts of Hashem in Mishlei are either references to principles of hashgachah pratis (individual divine providence) or to descriptions of hashgachah klalis (natural consequences). In this case, which is it, and how does it work? 

[Time to think! You'll get way more out of this blog post if you work on the pasuk yourself before reading what I have to say. Read on when ready.]

Ordinarily this would be where I present to you my four-sentence summary of the main idea. In this case, I pretty much got my idea straight out of Rabbeinu Yonah, [1] so I'm going to start by presenting a translation of most of his commentary on our pesukim:

Do not rob a destitute person because he is poor - [this means, do not rob a destitute person] on account of his poverty, because you aren't afraid that he'll save the stolen item from your hand.  

and do not oppress a poor person in the shaar - "shaar" is a place where the public gathers ... The explanation of the matter is as follows: even though you have the ability to oppress him in the public square, in plain sight, and he won't [attempt] to save [the stolen item] from your hand, do not oppress him.  

for Hashem will take up their grievance - since they lack the ability to save themselves from their exploiters and oppressors, Hashem will take up their grievance, as it is stated: "He saves the poor person from the one who is stronger than him" (Tehilim 35:10).  

and He will steal the soul of those who steal from them - He will take the soul from the taker who robbed the money, for He will decree the penalty of misah bi'ydei shamayim (death at the hands of heaven) for stealing from a poor person, in contrast to stealing money from other people, because one who steals from the poor - it is as if he stole his life. 

Secondly, because this man [who steals from the poor] has breached [his] fear [of Hashem]: "the scoundrel says in his heart 'there is no god'" (ibid. 14:1; 53:2), and since there are no people to help the poor person, [the thief] has no fear of God before his eyes, imagining in his soul that there is no law and no Judge. Chazal similarly say about the ganav (thief) that he is punished more than the galzan (robber) because he fears people but doesn't fear God. 

My understanding of our pesukim focuses more on Rabbeinu Yonah's second point than his first. Here is my four-sentence summary of the main idea:

There are several reasons why one might be tempted to target a poor person for theft or oppression, even though one wouldn’t target other victims: (1) it is unlikely that the perpetrator will get caught, since people tend not to care or take notice of criminal acts against the poor; (2) it is unlikely that the poor person will retaliate, due to the limitations of his circumstances; (3) it is much easier to bypass the guilt of the crime, due to the relative lack of identification with the victim and the feeling that “he’s not a real person, like I am.” 

However, once a person starts rationalizing acts of theft against the poor, he will be increasingly prone to rationalizing all theft against any victim – beginning with those who share the aforementioned criteria in any measure, and ultimately neglecting these criteria altogether. 

The more one gives in to such rationalizations, the more ambitious and less cautious he will be in his crimes, and eventually, he will target the wrong person – a person who will retaliate, and who will bring him down. 

It is possible that the pasuk uses the broad term “dal” to extend this principle to acts of injustice against any disadvantaged second-class citizen within a given system, such as employers against employees, teachers against students, those who are high up on the social hierarchy against those who are low, adults against non-adults, etc. 

According to this interpretation, there is no need to explain the acts of Hashem in our pesukim as a reference to any sort of miraculous divine intervention on behalf of the poor. Rather, our pesukim are to be understood as Mishleic middah kneged middah (measure for measure), similar to the teaching of Hillel in Avos 2:6: “He also saw a skull floating upon the water and said to it: Because you drowned others, you were drowned; and those who drowned you, will themselves be drowned.”

My decision to write about this pasuk today was occasioned by a real-life crime I witnessed a few days ago. I am currently in Hawaii. Whenever we're here for Shabbos we usually stay in our condo until an hour or two before Shabbos ends, and then we trek down the many flights of stairs to the street level and take a long walk until Shabbos is over. This past Shabbos we finished our walk with some time to spare and decided to sit on a public bench on the Waikiki strip and people-watch until Shabbos was over. This was a very crowded area crawling with tourists, mind you, and most definitely fit Rabbeinu Yonah's description of "shaar" in our pesukim.

Background info: Honolulu has a major homelessness problem. The streets in the city are covered with tents, and even in the more touristy areas of Waikiki - like the place where we are currently situated - there are tons of homeless people walking around, digging through the trash, and lying down on the street. I say "lying down" because sometimes they're asleep and sometimes they're drunk or stoned. (You can tell it's the latter when the police have to come and evict them from these public locations.)

Anyway, we were sitting on this bench near the public walkway and noticed a homeless person lying down (i.e. sleeping/drunk/stoned) on the grass around 30 feet away. We almost missed him because  the green sleeping bag he was covered with blended in with the grass. Right next to his head he had a plastic shopping bag filled with his belongings. Usually the poor people in Honolulu use bags filled with their belongings as a pillow, which is a more effective strategy for protecting valuables, but this guy just had it next to his head.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw what appeared to be a local Hawaiian guy, walking at a fast pace along the public path from West to East, in the direction of all the other pedestrians. He didn't look poor or anything. He had on a pair of board shorts and his bare arms and chest were covered with fancy tattoos. He wasn't carrying any belongings with him (as he would if he were poor). His hair wasn't matted, and his face wasn't dirty. Judging by appearances, he was just a regular local Hawaiian surfer-dude.

Suddenly, surfer-dude veered off the path, walked right up to the poor person, and snatched the bag from behind his head! Without breaking his pace, he rejoined the pedestrian flow, and quickly vanished into the crowd.

Here's a crude map I drew to help you visualize the events.

It took us a few seconds to process what we had seen. I looked at my brother and said, "Did we just witness a theft?" If the poor person had been awake and aware of what was going on, I would have just assumed it was a drug deal - but he clearly wasn't in on this deal. Around ten seconds after the theft, the poor person - either hearing or sensing the disturbance - woke up and started looking around for his bag.

Shortly after witnessing this theft, I had a glimmer of Mishleic intuition, but I didn't remember these pesukim until the next morning. Let's apply our pesukim to this case.

Like I said, surfer-dude appeared to be local, and appeared not to be homeless. If we, as annual visitors to Honolulu, are familiar with certain dynamics of the homeless population, then he, as a local, would be even more so, and it's pretty clear that his act was premeditated. Who knows whether this was his first such theft or his tenth? Either way, his theft was likely motivated and rationalized by the aforementioned criteria: (1) it is unlikely that he'd get caught, since nobody - neither the police, the locals, nor the tourists - would going to stop him from stealing a plastic bag from a homeless guy; (2) it's unlikely that the victim would retaliate, since, in this case, he was sleeping, and wouldn't be aware of the theft until long after the thief fled the scene; (3) and it is easy to bypass the guilt of the crime, since "he's just a bum."

Will the thief feel that "he got away with it"? Yes, especially because he committed this crime in plain view of the public. Will this strengthen his feeling that "there is no law and no Judge"? Yes, regardless of what his conscious morals and ethics are. Will his greed and ambition for "free loot" grow? Yes, regardless of whether this guy's bag was filled with valuables or not. Will all of these feelings embolden him to commit similar acts of theft in the future? Yes, because why should he stop? Will he become less vigilant and more daring with each subsequent act of theft? Yes - it's just human nature. Will he become increasingly willing to rationalize acts of theft beyond the limited parameters of the crime we witnessed? Yes, as Chazal (Shabbos 105b) so aptly said:

For thus is the craft of the yetzer ha'ra (evil inclination): today it tells you, "do this," and tomorrow it tells you, "do that," until [eventually] it tells you "worship avodah zarah (idolatry)." 

It is not too difficult to imagine this guy in the not-so-distant future attempting to steal another bag from a homeless person, or the belongings stored under a beach towel by a beach-going tourist, or an item from a local shop while the owner momentarily looks away. And on that unlucky day, surfer-dude is caught red-handed, and the homeless person stabs him with a knife, or the tourist calls the local police, or the shop-owner's clandestine shop-guard out front grabs him, puts him into a headlock, and then gets him thrown in jail.

This is Mishleic midah kneged midah in action. We live in a world of lawful cause-and-effect, and our own psyche operates by lawful cause-and-effect. Attempt to ignore, neglect, or bypass these divinely authored laws, and it'll only be a matter of time before the consequences catch up to you.

I Hate Sukkah (in a Good Way)

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My Dinner with Andre (1981)

I Hate Sukkah (in a Good Way)

Exordium

I hate the mitzvah of sukkah.

"Whoa there, buddy!" one might object. "Hate is a strong word!"

Yes - and it is a strong feeling I have towards the mitzvah of sukkah ... but only at very specific times, under a narrow set of conditions.

I love the mitzvah of sukkah at the onset of Yom Tov, when we first make kiddush and say the berachah of leishev ba'sukkah. I love the mitzvah of sukkah the first night, when I sleep beneath the s'chach under the stars. I love Yom Tov afternoons when the air is cool and the sun is warm and I curl up with a nice book in my sukkah and read the afternoon away. In fact, I love the mitzvah of sukkah for most of the holiday. 

But when do I hate it? Usually on the 4th or 5th night, at around 10pm, when I'm ready to go to sleep, and the forecast says 15% chance of rain between 11pm and 2am, and it's warm inside and it's cold outside, and I haven't gotten a restful sleep for days, and it's windy but not windy enough, and I want to catch a cold so I'm patur (exempt) but I'm not actually sick yet, and I haven't taken my usual Yom Tov nap because then I'd have to sleep outside, and the vast majority of the people I interact with over the holiday don't sleep in their sukkot because they don't know it's obligatory or they think they have a heter (halachic license to get out of the obligation) or they actually have a heter, but regardless of the reason I must suffer my sukkah-angst in isolation from most of my fellow Jews, and everyone is talking about how nice the weather has been and all I can wish for is torrential rain and meteorological misery so that I can spend the rest of the holiday safe and sound in my own bed indoors, and I am filled with religious guilt for having such a hostile attitude towards one of the 613 mitzvos, and then I am filled with philosophical guilt over my religious guilt, and then I am filled with existential grief over the fact that I am a pathetic psyche-laden intellect in a physical body in a physical universe obligated in a physical mitzvah designed to help me transcend my attachment to the physical and all I can do is complain about my discomfort. 

That is when I hate the mitzvah of sukkah.

But I call this hatred a "good" hatred because it is by design, and it was designed for my benefit - as is the case with all mitzvos. 

Sukkah as a "Skillful Frustration"

I have written on previous occasions about Bruce Lee's concept of "skillful frustrations." Bruce Lee taught that "People have to grow by skillful frustrations – otherwise, they have no incentive to develop their own means and ways of coping with the world." In these articles I have explained how the entire system of mitzvos can be thought of as a regimen of "skillful frustrations" which facilitates each person's development as a tzelem Elokim (truth-seeking intellect).

The mitzvah of sukkah is a perfect example of this. Let us review the basic halachos, as codified by the Rambam in Hilchos Shofar, Sukkah, v'Lulav:

6:5 – What is the mitzvah of sukkah? That a person should eat, drink, and dwell in a sukkah for all seven days, both by day and by night, just like he dwells in his home during the other days of the year. For all seven days a person should make his home temporary and his sukkah permanent, as it is stated: “In sukkos shall you dwell for seven days” (Vayikra 23:42) How? His attractive utensils and attractive bedding [should be brought] to the sukkah. His drinking utensils - i.e., his cups and crystal pitchers - [should be brought] to the sukkah. However, utensils used for food - i.e., pans and plates - [may be left] outside the sukkah. A candelabra [should be brought] to the sukkah. However, if the sukkah is small, it should be left outside the sukkah.

6:6 – We eat and drink and sleep in the sukkah all seven days, both by day and by night. And it is prohibited to eat a meal outside of the sukkah for all seven days, unless he ate a “temporary eating” of a k’beitzah or less or a little more. And we do not sleep outside of the sukkah, even a nap. It is permissible to drink water and eat fruits outside of the sukkah, but someone who is strict with himself and doesn’t even drink water outside of the sukkah is praiseworthy.

6:7 – Eating on the first night of Sukkos is obligatory, and even if one only ate a kazayis of bread, he has fulfilled his obligation. From then and on it is optional: if one wants to eat a meal, he must eat it in the sukkah, but if he only wants to eat fruits or nuts for the entire seven days, he may heat outside of the sukkah - just like the law of eating matzah on Pesach.

6:9 – Throughout the seven days [of the festival], a person should read in the sukkah. However, when he attempts to comprehend what he reads in depth and appreciate its details, he should do so outside the sukkah, so that his mind will be settled. When a person prays, he may pray inside the sukkah or outside the sukkah, as he desires.

As you can see, the mitzvah of sukkah takes all of the activities of our daily existence - eating, drinking, sleeping, learning, praying - and skillfully frustrates them by either forcing us to do them in the sukkah, or by forcing us to analyze whether we need to do them in the sukkah. Halacha makes it impossible to fall back on our habits.

This reminds me of a scene from the movie My Dinner with Andre (1981), in which Andre tells Wally about a friend of his named ROC who would implement his own "skillful frustrations," just to change things up. This topic leads them to a broader discussion which parallels our analysis of the mitzvah of sukkah. I will underline the most pertinent passages for emphasis:

ANDRE: But ROC used to practice certain exercises, like, uh, for instance, if he were right-handed, all today he would do everything with his left hand. All day, eating, writing, everything ... opening doors ... in order to break the habits of living. Because the great danger, he felt, for him, was to fall into a trance, out of habit. He had a whole series of very simple exercises that he had invented just to keep seeing, feeling, remembering. Because you have to learn now. It didn't used to be necessary, but today you have to learn something, like, uh ... are you really hungry or are you just stuffing your face because that's what you do, out of habit? I mean, you can afford to do it, so you do it, whether you're hungry or not. 

ANDRE: You know, if you go to the Buddhist Meditation Center, they make you taste each bite of your food ... so it takes two hours, it's horrible, to eat your lunch. But you're conscious of the taste of your food. If you're just eating out of habit, then you don't taste the food, and you're not conscious of the reality of what's happening to you. You enter the dream world again. 

WALLY: Now, do you think maybe we live in this dream world because we do so many things every day that affect us in ways that somehow we're just not aware of? I mean, you know, I was thinking, um, last Christmas, Debbie and I were given an electric blanket. I can tell you that it is just such a marvelous advance over our old way of life, and it is just great. But, uh, it is quite different from not having an electric blanket and I sometimes sort of wonder, well, what is it doing to me? I mean, I sort of feel, uh, I'm not sleeping quite in the same way. 

ANDRE: No, you wouldn't be. 

WALLY: I mean, uh, and my dreams are sort of different and ... and I feel a little bit different when I get up in the morning. 

ANDRE: I wouldn't put an electric blanket on for anything. First, I'd be worried I might get electrocuted. No, I don't trust technology. But I mean, the main thing, Wally, is that, I think that that kind of comfort just separates you from reality in a very direct way. 

WALLY: You mean ... 

ANDRE: I mean, if you don't have that electric blanket, and your apartment is cold, and you need to put on another blanket, or go into the closet and pile up coats on top of the blankets you have, well, then you know it's cold. And that sets up a link of things. You have compassion for the per ... well, is the person next to you cold? Are there other people in the world who are cold? What a cold night. I like the cold, my God, I never realized. I don't want a blanket, it's fun being cold, I can snuggle up against you even more because it's cold. All sorts of things occur to you. Turn on that electric blanket, and it's like taking a tranquilizer or it's like being lobotomized by watching television. I think you enter the dream world again. 

ANDRE: I mean, what does it do to us, Wally, living in an environment where something as massive as the seasons, or winter, or cold don't in any way affect us? I mean, we're animals, after all. I mean, what does that mean? I think that means that instead of living under the sun and the moon and the sky and the stars, we're living in a fantasy world of our own making. 

WALLY: Yeah, but I mean ... I would never give up my electric blanket, Andre, I mean, because, uh, New York is cold in the winter, I mean, our apartment is cold. It's a difficult environment, I mean, our lives are tough enough as it is, I'm not looking for ways to get rid of the few things that provide relief and comfort, I mean, on the contrary, I'm looking for more comfort because, uh, the world is very abrasive, I mean, uh ... I'm trying to protect myself because, really, there are these abrasive beatings to be avoided everywhere you look. 

ANDRE: Yeah, but, Wally, don't ... don't you see that comfort can be dangerous? I mean, you like to be comfortable, and I like to be comfortable, too, but comfort can lull you into a dangerous tranquility. I mean, my mother knew a woman, Lady Hatfield, who was one of the richest women in the world, and she died of starvation because all she would eat was chicken. I mean, she just liked chicken, Wally, and that was all she would eat, and actually, her body was starving, but she didn't know it cause she was quite happy eating her chicken, and so, she finally died. 

ANDRE: See, I honestly believe that we're all like Lady Hatfield now, we're having a lovely, comfortable time with our electric blankets and our chicken, and meanwhile we're starving because we're so cut off from contact with reality that we're not getting any real sustenance ... cause we don't see the world. We don't see ourselves. We don't see how our actions affect other people.

Herein lies one of the key features of the Torah regimen. Andre and Wally recognize the dangers of our comforts, our habits, and our tendency to isolate ourselves from reality - and yet, Wally admits: "I would never give up my electric blanket." But that is exactly what the Torah forces us to do - not permanently (like ascetic monks), not arbitrarily (like ROC's personal routine-changes), but skillfully, in a manner calculated to lead us towards specific fundamental insights about ourselves and reality.

But what I like about the comparison between My Dinner with Andre and the mitzvah of sukkah is how it highlights the fact that even if a person didn't know anything about the purpose of this mitzvah or the themes of the holiday, the very act of observing this mitzvah would nevertheless lead to insights which trigger personal growth. 

A Personal Sukkah-inspired Insight

I'd like to share one of the insights I had a few years ago. Before I do that, I'll present the background ideas which made this insight possible.

In the Moreh ha'Nevuchim 3:43 the Rambam explains that Pesach and Sukkos share a common moral theme:

As for the moral lesson, it is that man should always remember the days of bad amid the days of good, so that his gratitude to God should become great and so that he should achieve humility and submissiveness. Accordingly, matzah and maror must be eaten on Pesach to remind us of what happened to us. Similarly, we leave [our] houses and dwell in huts, as is done by those who toil in deserts and wastelands, in order to remember that this was our situation in times before: "that I made the Children of Israel dwell in huts, etc." and that we were moved from this [situation] to dwell in richly ornamented houses in the best and most fertile places on earth, due to Hashem's kindnesses and His promise to our fathers, inasmuch as they were perfected people in their philosophical outlook and in their moral character; I am referring to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. For this, too, is one of the pivots of the Torah, I mean the belief that every benefit that will be or has been granted is due to the zechus Avos (merit of the Forefathers), since "they kept the way of Hashem to do righteousness and justice" (Bereishis 18:19).

Sukkos is first referred to in the Written Torah as "the Festival of the Gathering at the close of the year, when you gather in your work from the field" (Shemos 23:16). In an agricultural society, this is the time of year when we would be most prone to feelings of haughtiness and entitlement, as if we were the sole causes of our own success. In this state of abundance, indulgence, and self-congratulation, we would be prone to forgetting our humble origins as impoverished slaves in a tyrannical and abusive regime. We would forget that we owe all of our thanks to Hashem - and His promise to the Avos - for taking us out of that wretched situation and ultimately enabling us to reach the state of prosperity that we now enjoy.

Not only are we enjoined to remember our impoverished past, but we are commanded to take responsibility for the impoverished members of our own community - during Pesach, Sukkos, and every Yom Tov meal, as part of the mitzvah of simchah (rejoicing). The Rambam writes in Hilchos Shevivas Yom Tov:

And when he eats and drinks [at his holiday meal] he is obligated to feed the convert, the orphan, and the widow along with the other downtrodden poor. But someone who closes the gates of his courtyard and eats and drinks – he, his children, and his wife – and doesn’t provide food and drink for the impoverished and embittered: this is not the simchah of mitzvah, but the simchah of his belly. These are the people about whom it is said: “their sacrifices will be to like the bread of mourners, of which all who partake are defiled, because their bread is for themselves” (Hoshea 9:4). Simchah like this will be a disgrace for them, as it is said: “and I will scatter filth upon your faces, the filth of your festive offerings” (Malachi 2:3).

In other words, if a person attempts to rejoice on the holiday without caring for the poor, his mitzvah of simchah is transformed into a self-indulgent travesty. 

Okay. Now we are in a position to appreciate the insight I had on Sukkos several years ago.

It was the 4th or 5th night of Sukkos at around 10pm. The forecast was uncertain: there was a chance it would rain between 11pm and 2am, but the probability wasn't high enough to wait it out. I was sleep-deprived, moody, and resentful of the mitzvah. I waited until I was too tired to resist, and then I started getting ready for bed. As I dragged my mattresses and blankets out into the cold night, I hoped that it would rain so I could finally get a good night's sleep indoors. Lo and behold, at around 12pm, I awoke to the pitter-patter of raindrops. I rejoiced! Finally, I could go in.

And then it hit me: I can go indoors ... but there are countless human beings out there who can't. I thought about the millions of people who are homeless, who sleep out in the cold every night, and cannot go indoors because they have no place to go. 

The idea from the Rambam about "remembering the days of bad amid the days of good" and the halacha about caring for the poor as part of our rejoicing on Yom Tov suddenly clicked. My childish gratitude for being allowed to go inside shifted into a true gratitude for all of the good in my life: that I have a home, a family, a bed, clothing, electricity, water, financial security - and more importantly, that I have the system of Torah, with all of the moral and intellectual perfection it has helped me to attain, which made this moment of insight possible. 

Was this a “new idea”? Of course not. I knew that homeless people exist, and that they have nowhere to go. But it was only via the observance of this mitzvah that I encountered this insight in such a visceral way, during a time of the year (i.e. an opulent holiday filled with food and drink) that I wouldn’t have otherwise given any thought to anyone but myself? Not only that, but because this moment of insight was so powerful, it altered the way I view and interact with poor and homeless people in general, for the better. 

Concluding Thoughts

As Andre told Wally, the electric blankets and the chicken act like tranquilizers, creating a cocoon of comfort which muffles the harsh realities of the outside world. But thanks to the mitzvah system, we are compelled - often against our will - to temporarily and strategically deprive us of these comforts. Whether it's giving up the "electric blankets" of our houses on Sukkos or giving up the "chicken" of our chametz on Pesach or kashrus or niddah or Shabbos or tefilah or shaatnez or any of the other 613 mitzvos - there is no shortage of "skillful frustrations" to spur our personal development. 

And it is this thought which makes my periodical animosity towards the mitzvah of sukkah bearable - and indeed, a discomfort for which I am deeply grateful. 

Have a chag sameach, filled with skillful frustrations!