Reactions to Frum Garb on a Flier

This post started off as a "musings"/reaction post. Once I started writing it, I realized that I have never written a blog post about Tzfanya's criticism of religious garb. I might come back and write a full post on that nevuah in the future. For now, I'll just reference it in the context of my reaction, and leave the readers to draw their own conclusions. 

Reactions to Frum Garb on a Flier

This past weekend I came across a flier that someone had left on a table in my yeshiva. I will not mention the name of the organization associated with the flier because I don't want anyone to mistakenly view this blog post as a criticism of that organization.

According to the flier, objective of the organization in question is "helping teens and young adults overcome life’s everyday challenges one step at a time" and "to provide all of our members with the necessary tools and skills to empower them to live a healthy and productive lifestyle and become the leaders of tomorrow." 

Sounds good, right? I certainly think so. And from what I've heard, the organization does good work, and provides a variety of much needed services for those who have nowhere else to turn. 

But what bothered me was the picture on the flier: 

This picture shows a Jewish teenager from behind, divided vertically down the center. The right half of him is wearing a blue t-shirt, a backwards baseball cap, and a golden necklace. In the background is a dingy pool hall. The left half of him is wearing a black jacket, a white shirt, and a black velvet yarmulke. In the background is a throng of similarly dressed yeshivish bochrim, all shteiging away in a beis medrash. 

I found this image to be upsetting on multiple levels. My reaction can be summed up in three parts:

Reaction #1: How does this make the target audience feel?

I thought to myself: If I were a Jewish teen who happened to dress like the boy in the right half of the photo, what message would I feel is being communicated to me by the people who made this flier? Probably something along the lines of:

"Hey there, young man. Do you look like THIS? ::: points to image on the right side ::: Ah, you do? Well, WE think you're broken, troubled, and in dire need of help and salvation. It's clear from what you're wearing; there's no denying it. But have no fear! Come to US and WE'LL fix you right up! We'll have you looking like THIS ::: points to image on the left side ::: in no time!"

How would that message make me feel? Certainly not respected, or recognized for who I am. I'd feel like I was being pigeon-holed based on my appearances. I'd feel like I was being patronized by those who purport to have my best interests in mind. And if I were on the fence about attending the program, seeing this flier certainly wouldn't help push me in the right direction.

Reaction #2: Do they really expect this approach to work?

I really wonder what the people who designed the flier were thinking. Do they really believe that a kid who dresses like this will see the flier and say, "Gee whiz! This is just the thing I was looking for! Finally I've been given a chance to shed this t-shirt and chain, escape the pool hall, and become shtark!"

If that's really what they were thinking, then perhaps they ought to rethink whether they should remain in the "youth organization" business. There are people out there who have great intentions and genuinely care about youth, but are so out of touch with the kids they work with that they set themselves up for failure without even realizing it.

Reaction #3: What would Tzfanya say?

But there is a more insidious message implicit in this flier: that a person's superficial trappings are indicative of one's religiosity. Yes, I realize that this critique cuts to a more fundamental problem in contemporary frum society - one which is not specific to the organization being advertised by the flier. But I was just dumbstruck by how blatantly this fallacy embodied in the flier.

I was reminded of a pasuk in Sefer Tzfanya, which doesn't get nearly as much press as it should (probably because Sefer Tzfanya doesn't get as much press as it should). The Navi says:

Be silent before Hashem-Elokim, for the day of Hashem is near! For Hashem has prepared a slaughter; He has invited His guests. And it will happen on the day of Hashem's slaughter that I will deal with the officials and the king's sons and all who wear foreign garments. And I will deal with all those who leap over the threshold on that day, [and with] those who fill the houses of their masters with injustice and deceit (Tzfanya 1:7-9).

The Radak cites a number of different interpretations of the phrase "kol ha'lovshim malbush nochri" ("all those who wear foreign garments"), but his last explanation is the one that I thought about when I saw this flier. He writes:

There are those who explain that this refers to people who outwardly act like prushim (those who "set themselves apart") and chasidim (men of piety) and wear foreign clothing which differs from the rest of the people, so that [the rest of the nation] will recognize them by their clothing as prushim - but [in truth,] their way is evil.

The Alshich takes this approach and elaborates on the motives of these wearers of foreign garments:

There are hypocrites who act pious in the eyes of the people, but are actually wicked; they wear the garments of the pious - such as large, decorated talleisos, and the like - to indicate that they are pious [servants of] the Most High, but they are secretly wicked.

As I stared at this flier, I could picture Tzfanya shaking his head. I suspect that if he were alive today, he would be dismayed by the degree to which so many factions within the Orthodox Jewish world focus more on how people dress than how they live.

I'm not saying that the people who made this flier genuinely believe that a person's religiosity is to be measured by their choice of clothing, but the flier definitely promotes that idea. Sadly, this flier is just a drop in the ocean of other influences which maintain and strengthen a Jewish culture in which externals are more important than internals, while Torah and mitzvos sit neglected in the corner.

There is much more to say on the topics raised here. My goal in this post was to share the image in the flier, along with my initial thoughts, for whatever insight they have to offer.

Bruce Lee: On the Three Stages of Art (and No-Mindedness)

This morning I realized that since I didn't post anything in 2011, the blog missed out on my whole "Bruce Lee phase." Thankfully, I had written several Facebook notes and posts on the topic, which I would now like to transfer to the blog. Here is the first in the series - in a slightly different form than it appeared on Facebook.

Bruce Lee: On the Three Stages of Art (and No-Mindedness)

Here is of my favorite Bruce Lee quotes of all time:

Before I studied the art, a punch to me was just a punch, a kick was just a kick.
After I'd studied the art, a punch was no longer a punch, a kick no longer a kick.
Now that I understand the art, a punch is just a punch, a kick is just a kick. 

At first glance this might sound like Eastern/Zen mumbo jumbo. Thankfully, by the time I encountered this quote, I had read enough of Bruce Lee's writings to know that he is a thinker, and my emunas chachamim propelled me forward in my reading and eventually led to a more lucid passage which unlocked the meaning of this more cryptic one.

In an unpublished article written in 1964 - which was posthumously published in Artist of Life (1999) - Bruce Lee identifies the "three stages in the cultivation of gung ku" (a.k.a. "Kung Fu"). In truth, these are the three stages of cultivating any art, skill, and craft. As you read about these three stages, think about the arts which you have cultivated. I think you'll find that he is correct. Personally, I've seen myself go through cycles of these stages in Gemara (specifically, my training in the Brisker Derech), Mishlei, teaching, writing, and Magic: the Gathering - but I highly recommend finding your own examples: 

There are three stages in the cultivation of gung fu: namely, the primitive stage, the stage of art, and the stage of artlessness.

The primitive stage is the stage of original ignorance in which a person knows nothing of the art of combat. In a fight he simply blocks and strikes instinctively without concern as for what is right and wrong. Of course, he might not be so-called scientific, but he is, nevertheless, being himself.

The second stage, the stage of art, begins when a person starts his training. He is taught the different ways of blocking and striking, the various ways of kicking, of standing, of moving, of breathing, of thinking. Unquestionably he is gaining a scientific knowledge of combat, but unfortunately his original self and sense of freedom are lost, and his action no longer flows by itself. His mind tends to freeze at different movements for calculation and analysis. Even worse, he might be "intellectually bound" and maintaining himself outside the actual reality.

The third stage, the stage of artlessness, occurs when, after years of serious and hard practice, he realizes that, after all, gung fu is nothing special and instead of trying to impose his mind on the art, he adjusts himself to the opponent like water pressing on an earthen wall, it flows through the slightest crack. There is nothing to "try" to do but be purposeless and formless like water. Nothingness prevails; he no longer is confined. 

Here is the same idea expressed in a more descriptive language: 

To state it in terms of gung fu, the genuine beginner knows nothing of the way of blocking and striking, and much less about his concern for himself. When an opponent tries to strike him, he “instinctively” parries it. This is all he can do. But as soon as his training starts, he is taught how to defend and attack, where to keep the mind, and many other technical tricks – which makes his mind “stop” at various junctures. For this reason whenever he tries to strike the opponent he feels unusually hampered (he has lost altogether the original sense of innocence and freedom). But as months and years go by, as his training acquires fuller maturity, his bodily attitude and his way of managing the technique toward no-mindedness comes to resemble the state of mind he had at the very beginning of his training when he knew nothing, when he was altogether ignorant of the art. The beginning and the end thus turn into next-door neighbors. In the musical scale, one may start with the lowest pitch and gradually ascend to the highest. When the highest is reached, one finds it is located next to the lowest.

In a similar way, when the highest stage is reached ... a gung fu man turns into a kind of simpleton ... Intellectual calculations are lost and a state of no-mindedness prevails. When the ultimate perfection is attained, the body and limbs perform by themselves what is assigned to them with no interference from the mind. The technical skill is so automatic it is completely divorced from conscious efforts. 

Now you'll be able to appreciate the pithiness and clarity of the initially a cryptic statement: 

Before I studied the art (the primitive stage), a punch to me was just a punch, a kick was just a kick.
After I'd studied the art (the stage of art), a punch was no longer a punch, a kick no longer a kick.
Now that I understand the art (the stage of artlessness), a punch is just a punch, a kick is just a kick. 

But one must exercise caution and patience if he wishes to advance. As my Mishlei rebbi constantly reminded us, one must never attempt to skip steps. The beginner will only enter the second stage once he begins to realize the limitations of his "primitive way" and naturally seeks out training as a means of enhancing his abilities and sharpening his skills. If he is forced into the rigorous training without seeing it as a way of expanding his capacities - that is, if he still believes in his heart that the primitive way can lead him to victory - then he will view the training as an obstacle to his success, and will resist it and abhor it. 

Likewise, the transition from the second to the third stage cannot be forced, but must come about naturally and gradually. One cannot simply quit in the middle of training and say, "I want to be free, so I'm going to stop thinking about how to implement my techniques, and instead, just 'be' myself." Rather, he must continue to diligently apply himself to his training of technique until one day, it dawns on him that he is no longer "thinking about" his method, but is simply thinking and simply doing. Only then will he experience what Bruce Lee describes: 

I'm moving and not moving at all. I'm like the moon underneath the waves that ever go on rolling and rocking. It is not, "I am doing this," but rather, an inner realization that "this is happening through me," or "it is doing this for me." The consciousness of self is the greatest hindrance to the proper execution of all physical action. 

This is what Bruce Lee refers to as "wu-hsin" (the state of "no-mindedness")*. The great mistake is to believe that one can attain this state without the use of mind, intellect, and reason. Those who labor under this error have effectively surrendered themselves to the clutches of their primitive emotions and imagination, and will inevitably end up in the realm of mysticism, deluding themselves into believing they have achieved some form of "enlightenment."

To the contrary: the only way one can attain wu-hsin is by rigorously training and applying one's mind to the art, thinking through each aspect of each move and governing every step with the faculty of reason. It is only after one has attained technical mastery through the powers intellect that the intellect can let go. Once the techniques become second nature, the intellect is no longer needed for their execution. The mind can then be free to respond to the reality at hand, as Bruce Lee writes: 

Absence of thought as doctrine means not to be carried away by thought in the process of thought, not to be defiled by external objects, to be in thought yet devoid of thought. 

To the extent that one has mastered the stage of art and is practicing his craft at the stage of artlessness, one can practice his craft in the freedom from thinking about results: 

Approach Jeet Kune Do with the idea of mastering the will. Forget about winning and losing; forget about pride and pain. Let your opponent graze your skin and you smash into his flesh; let him smash into your flesh and you fracture his bones; let him fracture your bones and you take his life! Do not be concerned with your escaping safely – lay your life before him!

The great mistake is to anticipate the outcome of the engagement; you ought not to be thinking of whether it ends in victory or in defeat. Let nature take its course, and your tools will strike at the right moment. 

If a beginner attempts to "let nature take its course," he will probably lose. How could it be said of him that "[his] tools will strike at the right moment" when he has no tools? And even if he does have a few tools, how will they "strike at the right moment" if these tools haven't been trained? Likewise, the Second Stage practitioner cannot "let nature take his course." His set of tools is still incomplete and his use of them is unskilled. His greatest chances of victory lie in the conscious, methodical, thinking-driven application of the techniques he has learned.

Only after rigorous (and restrictive) training can one be both free and successful in one's art. 

* I suspect that if I had encountered these ideas even one year ago, I would have immediately dismissed them, saying, "No mind?! That's BAD! Intellect GOOD, no-intellect BAD!" I would have hastily judged these ideas based on the superficial meaning of the terminology. Thank God, I have become a slower and more open-minded thinker.

Rambam: On the Twofold Objective of Torah

I had originally planned to write a Shavuos post on some idea having to do with Matan Torah when I realized that I hadn't yet posted the Rambam's chapter on the twofold objective of Torah (Moreh ha'Neuchim 3:27). As usual, this is my own translation, hobbled together from Friedlander (bad), Pines (better), and Qafih (best) with a few of my own adjustments. The paragraph breaks are my own. Enjoy!

Artwork: Fork, by Mike Olbinski

Rambam: On the Twofold Objective of Torah

The general objective of the Torah is twofold: the well-being of the soul, and the well-being of the body. 

The well-being of the soul is promoted by correct ideas communicated to the people according to their capacity. Some of these ideas are therefore imparted in a plain form, and others allegorically, because certain ideas are, in their explicit form, too overwhelming for the capacity of the common people. 

The well-being of the body is established by a proper management of the relations in which we live with one another. We can attain this in two ways: first by removing all violence from our midst - that is to say, that every person not do whatever he pleases, desires, and is able to do, but every one of us does that which contributes towards the common welfare; secondly, by teaching every one of us such good morals as must produce a good social state.

Of these two objectives, the one - the well-being of the soul, or the communication of correct ideas - comes undoubtedly first in rank, but the other - the well-being of the body, the government of the state, and the establishment of the best possible relations among men - is prior in nature and time. The latter objective is required first; it is also treated [in the Torah] most carefully and most emphatically, because the well-being of the soul can only be obtained after that of the body has been secured. For it has already been found that man has a double perfection: the first perfection is that of the body, and the second perfection is that of the soul. 

The first (i.e. well-being of the body) consists in the most healthy condition of his material relations, and this is only possible when man has all his wants supplied, as they arise; if he has his food, and other things needful for his body, e.g., shelter, bath, and the like. But one man alone cannot procure all this; it is impossible for a single man to obtain this comfort; it is only possible in society, since man, as is well known, is by nature social. 

The second perfection (i.e. well-being of the soul) of man consists in his becoming an actually intelligent being; i.e., he knows about the things in existence all that a person perfectly developed is capable of knowing. This second perfection certainly does not include any action or good conduct, but only knowledge, which is arrived at by philosophical investigation, or established by research.

It is clear that the second and superior kind of perfection can only be attained when the first perfection has been acquired, for a person that is suffering from great hunger, thirst, heat, or cold, cannot grasp an idea even if communicated by others, much less can he arrive at it by his own reasoning. But when a person is in possession of the first perfection, then he may possibly acquire the second perfection, which is undoubtedly of a superior kind, and is alone the source of eternal life.

The true Torah, which, as we said, is one, and beside which there is no other Torah - namely, the Torah of our teacher Moses - has for its purpose to give us the twofold perfection. It aims first at the establishment of good mutual relations among men by removing injustice and instilling the noblest virtues. In this way the people in every land are enabled to stay and continue in one condition, and every one can acquire his first perfection. Secondly, it seeks to train us in hashkafos (i.e. our views of reality), and to impart correct and true ideas when the intellect is sufficiently developed.

The Torah already spoke explicitly about these two perfections and made known to us that the purpose of the entire Torah is the attainment of these two perfections. Hashem (exalted is He) said, “Hashem commanded us to perform all these decrees, to fear Hashem, our God, for our good, all the days, to give us life, as this very day” (Devarim 6:24). Here the final perfection (i.e. well-being of the soul) is mentioned first, based on its importance, for we have already explained that it is the ultimate purpose; this is the meaning of His statement, “for our good, all the days.” You know the statement of the Sages in their explanation of His statement [ibid. 22:8]: “so that it will be good for you” – in a world that is entirely good (i.e. the World to Come), “and it will prolong your days” – in a world that is entirely long. This is the same as His statement here: the intent of “for our good, all the days” is this very idea, namely, the attainment of the world that is entirely good and long – which refers to eternal existence. And the words, “to give us life, as this very day” refers to our first and physical existence, which lasts for a certain duration and which can only be well-ordered through social cooperation, as we have explained.

Megilas Rus: A Different Kind of Stinginess

Here's my second post on Megilas Rus. When I set out to write this post I was fairly certain of the veracity of the theory I planned on writing about. But as I set up the problem, I realized that this needed more work. Thankfully, I was able to incorporate my uncertainty into the post and fully express the idea while leaving the question open. Let me know if you find a good answer!

Artwork: Pious Evangel // Wayward Disciple
(My image of Elimelech when he was living in Eretz Yisrael before the famine,
and after the famine, when he fled to Moav.)

Megilas Rus: A Different Kind of Stinginess

Megilas Rus begins with the flight of Elimelech and his family, and the tragedy that followed:

And it happened in the days when the judges judged, that there was a famine in the land, and a man went from Beis-Lechem in Yehuda to sojourn in the fields of Moav - he, his wife, and his two sons. The name of the man was Elimelech, the name of his wife Naomi, and the name of his two sons Machlon and Chilyon, Ephrathites of Beis-Lechem in Yehuda. They came to the field of Moav and there they remained. Elimelech, Naomi's husband, died; and she was left with her two sons. They married Moabite women; the name of the one was Orpah, and the name of the second was Rus, and they lived there for about ten years. The two of them, Machlon and Chilyon, also died; and the woman was left of her two children and of her husband.

In this post we will focus on two basic questions: (1) Why did Elimelech leave Eretz Yisrael? (2) Why did he die?

Rashi answers both questions in one shot:

a man went - [Elimelech] was a very wealthy man, and was a leader of his generation. [However,] he left Eretz Yisrael for Chutza la'Aretz because of his stinginess (tzarus ha'ayin); he was stingy when the poor people came to pressure him [to give money,] and this is why he was punished.

A cursory reading of Rashi might lead one to conclude that Elimelech was guilty of your "run-of-the-mill stinginess," just like any other person who is unwilling to give money to the poor. The Malbim helps us to appreciate the complexity of Elimelech's cheit by painting a more complete picture of the circumstances:

During the days of famine, the multitude of the poor would converge on the wealthy and compel them to provide bread and grain - and if not, they would take it by force, since there was no king to instill fear in them. This is what caused "[the] man to depart from Beis Lechem Yehuda to sojourn in the fields of Moav." Since he was a wealthy man, he was afraid that the poor people would seize upon him and loot everything that he had.

The Malbim almost does too good of a job explaining Elimelech's rationale for leaving. He makes it seem like Elimelech had a legitimate cause for concern, and that he wasn't necessarily wrong in leaving. But if we read further, we realize that this wasn't the case:

But even though this was a time of misfortune and despair, only [this] one man left [the country]; the other wealthy people did not join him in leaving Eretz Yisrael to outside of the land. Even the members of Elimelech's household didn't leave by their own volition, for they didn't want to abandon their beloved land; only his wife and his two sons, who were subordinate to him, were compelled to follow after him. 

If Elimelech's decision to leave Eretz Yisrael stemmed from a real concern, why was he the only one who left? Wouldn't the other rich people have taken similar precautions to protect their wealth? Furthermore, wouldn't the other members of Elimelech's family be on board with this decision if it were really in their best interests? Rather, it would seem that Elimelech's rationale for leaving was merely a pretext for stinginess.

Lastly, we turn to the midrash in Rus Rabbah, which adds one more layer of complexity to our analysis of Elimelech's cheit:

Why was Elimelech punished? Because he struck despair into the hearts of Israel. He was like a prominent man who dwelt in a certain country, and the people of that country depended upon him and said that if the years of drought came, he could supply the whole country with food for ten years. When the drought came, however, his maidservant went out and stood in the market place with her basket in her hand. And the people of the country said, "This is the man upon whom we depended that if a drought should come he would sustain us for ten years, and yet, here his maidservant stands in the marketplace with her basket in her hand!" So with Elimelech: he was one of the prominent members of his place and one of the leaders of his generation, but when the famine came he said, "Now all Israel will come knocking at my door, each one with his basket." He therefore arose and fled from them. This is the meaning of the verse, "And a certain man of Beis Lechem went."

According to the midrash, it would seem that Elimelech's stinginess differed from the norm. A regular stingy person never gives to charity. In contrast, Elimelech had built up such a reputation for generosity that the people of his generation felt they would be able to depend on him to sustain them if the need ever arose. It was only when the famine struck that Elimelech's stinginess kicked in, even to the point where his maidservant would be begging on the street.

So what was the nature of Elimelech's stinginess? Why was he willing to use his money for tzedakah before the famine, but not after?

Honestly, I can't say for sure. My chavrusas and I discussed a number of possibilities, but they were too speculative and/or problematic for us to be satisfied with our conclusions. However, I would like to present an idea about stinginess that we came up with in thinking about the question. Whether or not this idea has anything to do with Elimelech is an open question. 

In the final chapter of the Moreh ha'Nevuchim the Rambam writes about the four kinds of perfection that man can acquire:

The first kind, the lowest, which most people spend most of their days trying to acquire, is perfection of material possessions: the possession of money, garments, furniture, servants, land, and the like; the possession of the title of a great king also belongs to this class. There is no real connection between this possession and its possessor at all; it is a totally circumstantial relationship, and most of the pleasure derived from it is totally imaginary. By that I am referring to when a person says, “This is my house! This is my servant! This is my money! And these are my hosts and armies!” For when he examines himself he will find that all these things are external, and their qualities are entirely independent of the possessor. When, therefore, that relation ceases, he who has been a great king may one morning find that there is no difference between him and the lowest person, and yet no change has taken place in the things which were ascribed to him. The philosophers have shown that he whose sole aim in all his exertions and endeavors is the possession of this kind of perfection, only seeks perfectly imaginary and transient things; and even if these remain his property all his lifetime, they do not give him any perfection.

The wealthy individual can easily fall into the trap of regarding his wealth as a quality of himself, rather than a feature of his circumstances. People say "I am rich" when they really mean "I have wealth." In truth, the connection between themselves and their wealth is purely imaginary.

We need not elaborate on how destructive this mentality can be. Not only does it inflate the wealthy person's ego and sense of entitlement, but it renders him even more vulnerable to the fallacy of "kochi v'otzem yadi," and all of its consequences.

At the same time, this distorted view of wealth can serve as a beneficial lo lishmah (ulterior motive) for mtizvos and maasim tovim (good deeds). There are many philanthropists out there who get an ego-boost from giving tzedakah, and whose charity is fueled by the feeling that they - not Hashem - are the sustainers of the poor. When they give, they think to themselves, whether consciously or unconsciously, "Look at how I am benefiting the poor!" "See how dependent they are on me!" Sure, these aren't the most noble motives, but like any lo lishmah, they're good insofar as they get the mitzvah done.

Now, imagine a wealthy person who is operating under this type of lo lishmah. So long as the poor people continue to look favorably upon him and enable him to feel good about his generosity, then his lo lishmah will remain intact, and he will continue to give.

But when famine strikes and the people become desperate, things change. When our hypothetical philanthropist hears the mob threatening to break down his door, and when he sees the hunger and need in their eyes, then the truth stated by the Rambam becomes undeniably apparent: "there is no real connection between this possession and its possessor at all." He realizes: "These people don't need me; they need my money ... and if push comes to shove, they'll be willing to cast me aside in order to take what they need by force."

This realization totally shatters the lo lishmah. No longer can the philanthropist derive ego-gratification from thinking about how he is needed by so many people. Once he realizes that he is nothing but an obstacle between the mob outside of his door and the money in his vaults, his motivation for giving tzedakah completely dissolves.

This, I believe, is a plausible explanation for how a person might be exceedingly charitable when times are good, but become tightfisted when the tides turn.

Did Elimelech, himself, succumb to this trap? Is this why he was so willing to give of his money under normal circumstances, but panicked and became overly protective of his money the famine struck? Is this the type of cheit that would be worthy of death, as the midrashim seem to imply? I cannot say. A lot of this depends on how high of a level one assumes that Elimelech was on, and how the hashgachah relates to people in his position.

But even if we haven't explained the cheit of Elimelech, at least we have come away with an insight into this peculiar type of foul-weather stinginess. 

Bruce Lee: On Lefum Tzaara Agra

Originally published in July 2013.

This picture of Bruce Lee learning Pirkei Avos may or may not be Photoshopped.

Bruce Lee: On Lefum Tzaara Agra

Pirkei Avos concludes with an oft-quoted teaching of Ben Hei Hei: לפום צערא אגרא (lefum tazaara agra). Although some like to translate this as "according to the effort is the reward," a Hebrew speaker will readily note that this is a poor rendition. צערא (tzaara) is the Aramaic translation of the Hebrew word צער (tzaar) which means "pain" or "suffering." A more accurate translation of Bein Hei Hei's statement would be: "according to the pain is the reward" or "according to the suffering is the reward."

I've heard this statement thrown around quite often, usually as a way of saying, "All that matters is how hard you try!" or "No pain, no gain!" (which, funnily enough, the Wikipedia article traces back to our mishnah). While there may be some truth in these common sayings, I don't think this is what Ben Hei Hei was getting at.

My rabbeim taught me that whenever I learn anything, I should always try to arrive at my own understanding first, and only afterwards consult the meforshim (commentaries). In that spirit, I wanted to share my own pre-meforshim understanding of lefum tzaara agra. My idea was inspired by a quotation from my Jeet Kune Do rebbi: Bruce Lee.

Bruce Lee taught: 

People have to grow by skillful frustrations – otherwise, they have no incentive to develop their own means and ways of coping with the world. 

We all have habits. The Rambam would call these "deos" or "character dispositions." Collectively, we refer to these habits as "our personality." By and large, these habits dictate our decision-making. When we find ourselves in unfamiliar situations, our habits influence the direction our minds go in deciding how to act. 

In order to perfect ourselves in any area of life, we must be willing to alter these habits. In order to change our habits, we must act contrary to them. Forcing ourselves to go against our habits may be painful and frustrating, but it is absolutely necessary for the sake of our development. The Rambam writes about this at length in the first and second chapters of Hilchos Deos.

The most painful habits to break are the ones which are rooted in what we value most. The more attached we are, the more painful it is to act against our habits. For example: dieting can be torturous for those who are accustomed to eating whatever they want, whenever they want; controlling one's temper can be extremely difficult for someone who is accustomed to unrestrained "venting"; keeping halacha can feel especially oppressive for those who were brought up living a non-halachic life. 

This is where Torah and mitzvos enter the picture. There is no area of our lives about which the Torah has nothing to say, whether in the derech ha'am or the derech ha'yachid. In every area of our lives, the Torah guides us away from our default habits and develops us in accordance with its objectives. 

So far, we have set forth three premises: (1) we are dominated by our habits; (2) acting contrary to our habits is painful; (3) the Torah compels us to act contrary to our habits for the sake of our development. Put it all together and we arrive at the following truth: Every major breakthrough in our Torah development will necessarily be accompanied by pain and frustration.

Think about it: how would it be possible to have a real breakthrough which doesn't run contrary to our habits, emotions, and personality? If someone claims to have had a breakthrough in Torah which is so in line with his or her present way of living and thinking that it doesn't cause any conflict, then I would seriously question the authenticity of this "breakthrough." 

The Rav writes about this phenomenon in "Footnote 4" of Halakhic Man:

Religion is not, at the outset, a refuge of grace and mercy for the despondent and desperate, an enchanted stream for crushed spirits, but a raging clamorous torrent of man’s consciousness with all its crises, pangs, and torments.Yes, it is true that during the third Sabbath meal at dusk, as the day of rest declines and man’s soul yearns for its Creator and is afraid to depart from that realm of holiness whose name is Sabbath, into the dark and frightening, secular workaday week, we sing the psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters” (Ps. 23), etc., etc., and we believe with our entire hearts in the ultimate destination of the religious man, not the path leading to that destination. For the path that eventually will lead to the “green pastures” and to the “still waters” is not the royal road, but a narrow, twisting footway that threads its course along the steep mountain slope, as the terrible abyss yawns at the traveler’s feet.

Let us reexamine this idea in light of the aforementioned statement of Bruce Lee, which I will reiterate here: "People have to grow by skillful frustrations – otherwise, they have no incentive to develop their own means and ways of coping with the world." To borrow his terminology: the Torah spreads a 613-part layer of "skillful frustrations" over our lives, but instead of leaving us directionless to "develop our own means and ways of coping with the world" the "skillful frustrations" of Torah guide us towards human perfection in accordance with the wisdom of the Creator. 

This, I believe, is the meaning of lefum tzaara agra. Any* time we experience pain as a result of our progress in Torah, we can rest assured that the Torah regimen is doing its job: breaking our attachment to our detrimental habits and our default, emotional, fantasy-based view of reality and instilling within us beneficial habits while guiding us to a truer view of reality. 

According to this reading of our mishnah in Avos, lefum tzaara agra is not a prescriptive statement, but a descriptive statement. Ben Hei Hei isn't telling us, "You'd better power through the pain, because the more pain you endure, the more reward you'll get!" Rather, he's providing us with a useful perspective for monitoring our own development, saying, "If you are experiencing pain and frustration in your relationship with Torah, this isn't necessarily a bad thing! To the contrary, it is indicative of progress: the more pain you are experiencing, the more progress you are (potentially) making." This perspective can provide a much-needed jolt of motivation during those "spiritual crises, pangs, and torments" of which the Rav spoke.

This is how I imagine Bruce Lee would say, "Nice pshat!"

Well, that was my pre-meforshim interpretation of lefum tzaara agra. Do any meforshim learn this way? ... Not exactly. I have yet to see any meforshim on Avos itself who take even a remotely similar approach. The only leads I have found are the Meiri and the Rambam. The Meiri interprets agra (reward) here not as "reward" (as conventionally understood). Instead, he writes that agra refers to "the outcome [of our involvement in Torah], namely, the apprehension of the truth." Check out the rest of his commentary there. It's possible he's taking a similar approach, but I'm doubtful.

I am more optimistic about the Rambam. The Rambam brings down lefum tzaara agra in the sixth chapter of the Shemoneh Perakim in the context of chasid vs. kovesh es yitzro. Frankly, I don't have enough energy tonight to summarize his views and explain why I think my idea is on the same train of thought as his. Perhaps I'll do that in another post.

For now, let me know what you think of this idea. Specifically, let me know whether you think it is a good pshat, or whether it might be more of a drash, or whether it doesn't amount to either.

* Of course, this assumes that we are keeping Torah in the correct manner. It is certainly possible for a person to experience pain, conflict, and frustration based on a misunderstanding of Torah; this tzaara would not yield agra.

Megilas Rus: Judging the Judges

My chavrusa and I have been delving into Megilas Rus for the first time this year. So far we haven't yet uncovered any fundamental themes or approaches to the sefer - just individual ideas here and there. I'm going to try to write up a few of them before and after Shavuos. Note: I've been sick since Shabbos and have been feeling quite out of it today. Still, I tried finishing this post in time to meet my daily blogging schedule. Pardon me if it's not up to my usual standards. 

Artwork: Council's Judgment, by Kev Walker

Megilas Rus: Judging the Judges

Rus opens with the following pasuk: 

"And it happened in the days when the judges judged that there was a famine in the land, and a man went from Beis-Lechem in Yehuda to sojourn in the fields of Moav  - he, his wife, and his two sons" (Rus 1:1).

According to the plain pshat, this pasuk is establishing the historical context in which the events of the Megilah took place. Rashi fills us in on the details: "And it happened in the days when the judges judged - before the monarchy of King Shaul, during which the generations were governed by the judges; and this was in the days of Ibtzan." 

Chazal are bothered by the seemingly redundant phrase "And it was in the days when the judges judged" (bi'ymei shefot ha'shofetim). The pasuk could have simply said, "And it was in the days of the judges." Why the extra word?

Moreover, we know that whenever a calamity befalls the Jewish community, it is the result of a communal cheit (sin). [1] This was especially true during the period of the Shoftim, when there was a more direct correlation between the hashgachah and righteousness/sinfulness of the people. [2] In light of this we may ask: What was the cheit of this generation? Furthermore, why did this cheit warrant the severe punishment of famine?

The Gemara (Bava Basra 15b) answers both questions in one shot:

R' Yochanan said: What meant by the words, "And it was in the days of shefot ha'shofetim"? - It was a generation which judged its judges. If the judge said to a man, "Take the splinter from between your teeth," he would retort, "Take the beam from between your eyes!" If the judge said, "Your silver is dross," he would retort, "Your liquor is mixed with water!"

By interpreting phrase "shefot ha'shofetim" not as "when the judges judged" but "during the judging of the judges," this midrash identifies the cheit of the generation which caused the famine. But this still needs clarification. What, exactly, was the cheit of "judging the judges"? 

From the examples provided by the Gemara it would seem that the cheit beloged to the judges themselves. Indeed, this is how Rashi interprets our Gemara:

[a generation] which judges its judges - for the judges, themselves, were corrupt; this [corruption] gave the defendant an opening to rebuke his rebuker, for if the judge said to him, "Take the splinter from between your eyes" - remove and separate yourself from the small sin that you have done - he could say back, "Take the beam from between your eyes!" - separate yourself from the major sin that you have done. [3]

The Baalei Tosafos disagree with this interpretation:

a generation which judges its judges - The Ri was astounded by this, for it said in [the first chapter] of Temurah (15b): "All of the 'grape-clusters' (i.e. righteous leaders) who arose for Israel from the time of Moshe until the death of Yosef ben Yoezer were free from the blemish [of sin]." 

The Ri is bothered by Gemara's implication that the judges were corrupt, since Chazal say that the judges were righteous during this time. The Chasam Sofer also rejects Rashi's interpretation, and offers an interpretation of his own:

Heaven forbid that the judge [in the days of Rush] sinned! For we find that Osniel ben Kenaz, Boaz, Eli ha'Kohen, and Shmuel ha'Navi were among them; and even Yiftach and Gideon were "grape-clusters." Heaven forbid that Hashem's spirit would be driven by transgressors! 

Rather, [the meaning of the Gemara is that the judges] didn't watch over Israel in the proper manner, as Chazal said about the Elders who did not rebuke the nobles, and the righteous Eli, who didn't rebuke his sons. This is the meaning of "from between your eyes" - namely, the eyes of the congregation, who were supposed to be watched over.

Personally, I don't know enough about the period of the Shoftim to assess how righteous or corrupt the judges were at that time; I'll leave that argument up to Rashi and Tosafos.

What inclines me to the side of Tosafos is the Gemara's characterization of this problem as a cheit of the generation - not as a cheit of the judges themselves. If the judges were corrupt, the Gemara should have interpreted "shefot ha'shofetim" as "[a generation] in which the judges were judged [by God]" rather than "[a generation] which judged its judges," or something to that effect. Chazal's attribution of the cheit to the people of the generation leads me to believe that the judges were blemish free, as is indicated by the Gemara cited by Tosafos. 

What, then, do we make of the Gemara's examples of the typical dialogue that would take place between the judge and the defendant?

Perhaps we can interpret this dialogue as an expression of the corrupt mindset that plagued the people of that generation. There is a well-known idiom which comes to mind here: "the pot calling the kettle black." The formal name for this is the tu quoque (or "appeal to hypocrisy") fallacy, which Wikipedia defines as "an attempt [to discredit the validity of the opponent's logical argument by asserting the opponent's failure to act consistently in accordance with its conclusion(s)." According to this fallacy, Reuven has no right to point out a flaw in Shimon if Reuven partakes of a similar flaw. While there might be a psychological truth at play here (i.e. people tend not to listen to someone if they view that person as a hypocrite), this way of thinking has little relevance in matters of law, mussar, or practical advice.

For example, if Reuven the Judge convicts Shimon the Defendant of selling dross labeled as "pure silver," Shimon can accuse Reuven all day long for diluting his liquor with water, but that accusation will not change Shimon's liability in a court of law. True, Shimon might be less willing to accept a ruling from a judge whom he feels is also guilty of a crime, but that has no bearing on the reality of what Shimon did, nor does it exempt him from the legal consequences of his actions. This is true even if Reuven were guilty of a crime - and certainly if Reuven is guilt-free, as Tosafos and the Chasam Sofer would say about the Shoftim in our case.

Likewise, if Reuven - a nutritionist who happens to be obese - advises Shimon to cut back on his excessive consumption of sugar and trans fats because they're bad for his health, and Shimon responds, "Oh, look at the pot calling the kettle black!" who is really acting foolishly here? True, Shimon might feel uncomfortable trusting Reuven's health advice if Reuven doesn't live a healthy lifestyle, but that discomfort doesn't in and and of itself undermine the scientific validity of Reuven's advice. Reuven's expert pronouncement stands on its own merit, regardless of Reuven's personal decisions.

It seems that this was the cheit of the generation at the time of Rus: they viewed halacha as the subjective imposition of human will, rather than an objective system of divine law. We maintain that the Torah's laws are objectively true and real - just as real as the laws of nature. It is evident from the examples mentioned in the Gemara that this generation did not regard the Torah's laws as objective reality, nor did they regard the judges as the knowers and adjudicators of that law. Instead, they relegated the judges' verdicts to the realm of human opinion, such that they could be dismissed on the basis of hypocrisy - whether real or imagined.

Perhaps this sheds light on Rav Avigdor Kohen Tzedek's explanation of the famine:

and there was a famine in the land - Ha'Kadosh Baruch Hu said to them: "You stood  [in opposition] against your judges, [so] I will set for you a judge against whom you will not be able to stand. Which [judge] is this? - The plague of famine, which is called "judge," as it is stated: "How much more when I send My four terrible judges: sword, famine, ferocious beast, and pestilence" (Yechezkel 14:21).

This was a midah kneged midah punishment: Bnei Yisrael brushed off the judgments of their judges as subjective impositions of human will; in response, Hashem sent forth an objective "judge," whose sentence could not be brushed off so easily. It is easy to dismiss a human judge's verdict as mere opinion, but it is much more difficult to do the same with the verdict of the True Judge.

Rav Avigdor adds that the gematria of "ויהי בימי שפוט" ("and it was in the days of judging") is equivalent to the gematria of "ילדים שפטו" ("children judged"). If we take this gematria in tandem with Rav Avigdor's earlier citation of our Gemara in Bava Basra, we can clerly see how the people at the time of the Shoftim were behaving like children. The response of, "Oh yeah? Remove the beam from between your eyes!" smacks of the infantile reaction of "Oh yeah? You're not the boss of me!" This is a fine way for a child to retort to the bully on the playground, but if a patient responded this way to his doctor's prescription or a contractor used this statement to deflect an architect's counsel, then disaster is sure to follow. The same is true for those who childishly ignore halachic rulings out of a similarly misguided sentiment of, "Who does that rabbi think he is telling me what to do?"

Unfortunately, this same distortion prevails among Jews today. There are many modern Jews who are willing to disregard the rulings of rabbeim as nothing but biased predilections of men, rather than as objective dictates of the Creator. Even worse is the fact that the members of the rabbinate are guilty of this charge, in certain sectors. Unfortunately, there are rabbis who abuse their positions of authority and allow their personal feelings to influence their adjudication of halacha.

As we prepare for the celebration of the Giving of our Torah, it behooves us to assess our own relationship with the law. To what extent do we regard halacha as a regimen for human success, and to what extent do we relate to it as the imposition of an psychological authority figure's whims upon our own will?

The Torah was given to us by God, but how we receive it is up to us.

[1] See Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides) Mishneh Torah: Sefer Zmanim, Hilchos Taaniyos 1:1-1
[2] See Sefer Shoftim, Chapter 2
[3] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary to Talmud Bavli: Bava Basra 15b
[4] Tosafos, Commentary to Talmud Bavli: Bava Basra 15b
[5] Rav Moshe Schreiber (Chasam Sofer), Commentary to Talmud Bavli: Bava Basra 15b
[6] Rabbeinu Avigdor ben Eliyahu ha'Kohen, Commentary to Megilas Rus 1:1

My Personal Stance on Kiruv

Originally published in July 2013.

Artwork: Welcome to the Fold, by David Palumbo
(Hint: if your kiruv is perceived like this, then you're doing it wrong.)

My Personal Stance on Kiruv

My dad moved in nextdoor to a lively, comical, rambunctious 89-year-old man named Alan. Alan has lived in the neighborhood for over 40 years, but the two of them only met recently, and they really hit it off. My dad suggested that we all learn Mishlei together this past Shabbos afternoon, and we thought it was a great idea.

On our way over to Alan's apartment, we ran into someone from our shul. Let's call him "Max." The conversation went something like this:

Max: "So, where are you guys heading off to at this hour?"

Me: "We're going to go learn with this 89-year-old guy that my dad recently met."

Max: "Jewish?"

Me: "Yes."

Max: "Religious?"

Me: "No."

Max: :::eyes light up::: "Ah, so you you're going to do kiruv (outreach)! Bringing him on over to our side!" 

Me: :::brief pause::: "No ... we're just going to learn Torah." 

This isn't the first time I've heard a comment like this. In my second year of teaching, I mentioned to a colleague that I enjoy teaching irreligious kids more than I enjoy teaching religious kids. Had he asked me why, I would have answered that the irreligious kids tend to be more open-minded, which (in my experience) enhances the quality of the learning and makes it more enjoyable. But this person didn't ask me any question. Instead, he exclaimed, "Ah, so you're into kiruv! How nice!"

I wanted to respond to him by telling him my personal stance on the matter: I learn and I teach, but I don't do kiruv. But I held my tongue.

Kiruv is for some people, but not for others.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against kiruv per se. There are so many different motivations and approaches to doing kiruv that it would be virtually meaningless to be "pro-kiruv" or "anti-kiruv." I also don't have anything against the people who do kiruv, per se. There are many Jews who are engaged in beneficial kiruv-work who do a lot of good. My family, and many of my friends, would not be involved in Judaism were it not for people who have dedicated their lives to doing kiruv. At the same time, there are many Jews who do harm through kiruv, and would be better off minding their own business.

What irks me is the default assumption that any Torah-learning done with non-religious Jews must be a kiruv-driven agenda. Isn't learning with a fellow Jew - nay, a fellow human being - a valuable endeavor in and of itself? Is kiruv really the only thing that would justify doing this? Can't I just learn Torah with a non-religious person without missionizing?

Of course, if I responded in this manner, the other party would agree. But the immediacy of their reaction was telling, nonetheless. And the comment about "bringing them over to my side" was even more telling.

But I'd go further and argue that even within the framework of kiruv, it isn't always wise to go into learning with the goal of being mekarev someone (i.e. getting them to become religious). One of the things that made me so successful when I taught irreligious kids was the fact that I wasn't trying to "bring them over to my side." They could sense this, and it had a tremendously beneficial impact on our relationship.

This became especially clear to me during my first month of teaching when, in an email exchange with an irreligious student, he asked me point blank why I even bothered following up with his "apikorsus" (heretical) questions. Here is how I answered him:

I try, as hard as I can, to be entirely selfish. The reason why I am interested in discussing philosophy with you is not because I'm trying to "convert" you, to "save your soul," or to make you change your actions in any way. What you do with your life is up to you. The reasons why I want to have philosophical discussions with you are (a) because I enjoy it, (b) because you ask really good questions, and (c) because you challenge my ideas and force me to question my own beliefs and opinion. Like I said, my motives are purely selfish. So if I ever say, "I don't care about your soul," don't take any offense!

His response:

U R THE MANNNNN lol. i dnt think any rabbi would do that. especially say "I dnt care about ur soul." lol

I meant what I said in the email at the time, and the student knew it. From that moment on, the doors to his mind opened up, and our learning skyrocketed. And my learning continued with that student throughout his high school years and beyond.

The same thing happened with many other students. It's only natural for irreligious people to be somewhat suspicious when a religious person expresses an interest in learning with them or teaching them. Once they perceive that the religious person isn't out to "win them over," their tzelem Elokim becomes free to do what it was designed to do: to seek truth, and to enjoy it. And if the tzelem Elokim is nurtured in this manner, it will find its way, as the Rambam writes at the end of Hilchos Teshuvah 6:5:

Furthermore, He implanted within them the capacity to learn and to understand, for this tendency is within every human being, namely, that as long as he is drawn by the ways of chochmah and tzedek, he [continues to] desire them and pursue them. This is what the Sages meant by, “One who comes to be purified will be assisted” – meaning to say, he will find himself assisted in the matter.

I guess this really boils down to a deep conviction of mine which is strengthened with every year of teaching experience: I believe in the resilience of the tzelem Elokim. I have seen so many students whose tzelem Elokim has been dormant, suppressed, frustrated, asleep, beaten down, and otherwise impeded - and yet, once it gets a taste of real learning, it springs back to life. A parched tzelem Elokim will know when its thirst for knowledge is being quenched, and its natural response will be to crave more. When this happens, overt missionary efforts will usually bring more harm than good.

Bottom line: let the tzelem Elokim do its thing. Agenda-less learning (a.k.a. Torah lishmah) is inherently good, inherently enjoyable, and will often accomplish more kiruv than you'd expect.

I'm not one to do kiruv, but if I must, I prefer 100% organic kiruv (a.k.a. agenda-less learning)
over that artificially flavored stuff.

Parashas Bechukosai: Why are Women Worth Less than Men?

Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Preface: I struggled with the title of this blog post. I wanted it to be attention-grabbing in the same way as the pesukim themselves are attention-grabbing, but I also wanted a title which will be read in one way by a reactive person (who will likely dismiss it), and in another way by someone who is more open-minded and is willing to investigate before drawing conclusions - since that is one of the major points of this blog post. 

Artwork: Ardent Plea, by Chippy

Parashas Bechukosai: Why are Women Worth Less than Men?

The Facts

The final chapter of Sefer Vayikra begins with the laws of arachim - a type of vow which allows a person to donate the monetary equivalent of the value of one's field, one's house, one's animal, or the value of a human being to the building fund of the Beis ha'Mikdash. 

In the case of a pledged field, house, or animal, the Kohen evaluates the worth of the item on an individual basis. However, when it comes to pledging the value of a human being, the Torah establishes fixed amounts based solely on age and sex. This valuation of human beings doesn't take into account any other qualities: wealth, health, appearance, mental capacity, tribe, or even whether a person is a Jew or a gentile.

The Torah she'bi'Chsav explicitly states the value for each age/sex combination:

The valuation of a male shall be: for someone twenty years to sixty years of age, the valuation shall be fifty silver shekels, of the sacred shekel. If she is female, the valuation shall be thirty shekels. And if from five to twenty years of age, the valuation of a male shall be twenty shekels and of a female ten shekels. And if from one month to five years of age, the valuation shall be five silver shekels; and for a female, the valuation shall be three silver shekels. And if from sixty years and up, if for a male, the valuation shall be fifteen shekels; and for a female, ten shekels (Vayikra 27:3-7)

Here is the same information in the form of a table, incorporating some modifications from Torah she'baal Peh:

The Questions

I presented these facts to some of my students today. As I anticipated, one of them reacted by exclaiming: "WHAT?! HOW CAN THE TORAH SAY THAT MEN ARE WORTH MORE THAN WOMEN? THAT IS INCREDIBLY SEXIST!"  

To this student, and to anyone else who might respond in a likewise fashion, I would say the following: "Clearly, you are bothered by what the Torah says, and you have a legitimate question. Let's see if we can formulate your question in a clearer and more precise fashion."

Thankfully, the Abravanel does an excellent job of articulating the questions. He writes:

1. Why did the Torah establish the values of arachin vows for human beings? It would have been more fitting to entrust [this task] to the Kohen to evaluate each person in accordance with his or her value. For example, there might be a person who is worth 100 [shekels] and another person who isn't even worth 10. Just as the fields, and properties, and animals are evaluated by the Kohen, why aren't people evaluated in the same manner?  

2. Why did the Torah differentiate between the value of a male and the value of a female, seeing as how both of them are human beings, as it is stated, "male and female He created them" (Bereishis 1:27) "and He called their name 'man'" (ibid. 5:4)? In the realm of damages we see, "If the ox shall gore a slave or a maidservant, thirty silver shekels" (Shemos 21:32) - without making a differentiation between male and female. Why is the matter like this in this mitzvah? 

3. Why don't these valuations have a specific and set ratio between the male and the female? Between the ages of 20 and 60 the value of a female is 3/5ths the value of a male. From age 5 to 20 the value of a female is half the value of a male. From one month to 5 years the value of a female is 3/5ths the value of a male. And from 60 years and up the value of a female is 2/3rds the value of a male. It behooves us to investigate why this is the case. 

Let's take a moment to appreciate the difference between my student's initial reaction and the Abravanel's questions. The student was bothered by these facts and immediately jumped to a conclusion that the Torah was being sexist (i.e. discriminating against women out of the belief that they are inferior). In contrast, the Abravanel approached the area with the objective mindset of a scientist, looking for patterns, anomalies, and clues which might lead to deeper insight. This step of formulating the questions is critical. Even if we don't end up finding satisfactory answers, we will still have moved one step forward towards understanding.

An Approach

I would like to present Rav Hirsch's explanation, which answers the Abravanel's questions. His answers might not appeal to everyone, but I believe this is a good example of a valid and fruitful type of approach or method.

Rav Hirsch begins by examining the facts in search of some foothold from which to develop a comprehensive theory. He writes:

The eirech (valuation) of a male in these stages of life is 5, 20, 50, and 15 shekels, respectively. The eirech of a female is 3, 10, 30, and 10 shekels, respectively. These fixed amounts surely were not chosen arbitrarily, without reason. Since they do not take into account the physical, spiritual, moral, and social uniqueness of each nefesh (soul/being), and they vary only according to gender and age, it must be that they represent some common factor that is equal in all the nefashos, and that varies only according to age and gender.

Rav Hirsch's first deduction is a solid one. Unlike other areas of halacha, where we factor in a person's qualities, background, or circumstances, the laws of arachin are only interested in the subject's age and gender. Whatever these numbers represent, they must somehow be tied only to gender and age. Rav Hirsch continues:

Furthermore, since we are dealing here with erkecha nefashos la'Shem, with the national valuation of persons for God and His Sanctuary, it follows that this factor - common to all the nefashos and modified only by age and gender - pertains to the relation of these nefashos to God and to His Sanctuary. If we are not mistaken, then there is no factor that is common to all the nefashos as regards their relation to God and His Sanctuary, and that varies only according to age and gender, other than the task and mission of life that are given to every nefesh. On this basis we can explain the meaning of the numbers given here by Scripture, which rise and fall according to age and gender. 

This is the crux of Rav Hirsch's theory, namely, if we are evaluating eirech nefashos la'Shem ("the value of souls to Hashem"), and if this valuation is determined solely on the basis of age and gender, then these numbers must have something to do with "the task and mission of life that are given to every nefesh" - irrespective of any other personal quality. We will now see how he develops this approach:

Let us compare the numbers fixed for a male, namely, 5, 20, 50, and 15, to the numbers fixed for a female, namely 3, 10, 30, 10. Bear in mind that the full eierch amount for an adult male from the age of 20 to the age of 60 is 50 shekels, whereas the full eirech amount for an adult female is 30 shekels and that both these numbers - 30 and 50 - are 10 times the eirech of an infant girl or boy, whose eirech is 3 or 5. It appears, then, that we are not mistaken in proposing that the key to the whole scale is the numbers 3, 5, and 10. 3 is the signature of the female's life mission; 5 is the signature of the male's life mission; and 10 is a sign of completion and perfection.

Allow me to repeat this last point for emphasis: Rav Hirsch infers that 5 represents man's life mission; 3 represents woman's life mission; 10 signifies completion and perfection. How do these values make any sense? Rav Hirsch explains:

We venture to suggest that the home and the family - man, woman, and child - are represented by the number 3, whereas the society is represented by the number 2, as we often find in the Torah. Accordingly, the family and the society together would be represented by the number 5. The number 3 is the signature of woman's mission, namely, the family and the home, whereas the number 5 is the signature of man's mission, namely, the family and the society.

Rav Hirsch is working with the premise that a woman's life-mission pertains primarily to realm of the home, whereas a man is responsible for his home and his community. The number 3 represents the home, insofar as the smallest family unit is three people (man, woman, and child). I don't know where Rav Hirsch gets the idea from that society is represented by the number 2, but he seems to maintain that this is a recurring theme throughout Torah, and - for the purposes of this blog post - we'll take his word for it. Thus, woman's number is 3 (home) whereas man's number is 5, which is the sum of home (3) + community (2).

Now Rav Hirsch explains how these numbers account for all of the different values at each stage:

The eirech of an infant boy and of an infant girl starts with these two numbers, which signify the mission of man and woman. This eirech remains fixed for them, until they reach a trainable age, at the end of their 5th year.

From the end of the 5th year to the end of the 20th year are the years of training and completion in preparation for their mission. The preparation of the woman is on one level - preparation for the home; and its signature is 10. The preparation of the man is on two levels - preparation for the home and for the society; and its signature is 20. 

From the end of the 20th year to the end of the 60th year are the years of the full attainment of the male and female missions. The signature of this full attainment - as regards the woman's mission - is the product of 10 and 3: 30; whereas as regards the man's mission, it is the product of 10 and 5: 50.

From the end of the 60th year until the end of a person's life are the years of ziknah (old age) - the years of the harvest of life. As regards one's work as an individual, one can look back with satisfaction at the completed edifice of his life. As regards one's work in society, one can look back at least at a substantial contribution to the community. Hence, for the woman, whose work is in the individual realm, the signature of ziknah is a number representing completion: 10; whereas for the man, whose work is in the individual realm and also in the societal realm, the signature of ziknah is a number representing completion, plus partial completion: 10 + 5 = 15.

If one accepts Rav Hirsch's initial interpretation of the key numbers (i.e. 3, 5, and 10), then his interpretation of each of the stages fits quite nicely. To sum it up:

• 1 month to 5 years - pre-training: at this stage, prior to embarking on the preparation for one's life mission, we have the "base value" representing the life-task of each gender: the value of the male (5) and the value of the female (3), without any degree of completion (no 10s)
• 6 to 20 years - training for the mission: since 10 signifies the process of perfection, the woman's value lies in her single track of perfection (i.e. the realm of family) whereas the man's value lies in his dual-track of perfection (i.e. the realm of family and community); therefore, the woman's value at this stage is represented by a single 10, whereas the man's value reflects his dual track, and is a double-10 (i.e. 20). 
• 21 to 60 years - full attainment of mission: the Torah signifies a completed life-task as a product of the number representing completion (10) and the number representing the life-task of that specific gender. Thus, the man's value during this time is 10 x 5 = 50, whereas the woman's is 10 x 3 = 30.
• 61 years and up - the harvest of life: this value reflects what has been accomplished after the prime of one's life; the woman can look back at her contribution as being totally complete; in contrast, the man can only claim total completion in his family life, but only partial completion in the realm of his societal contributions; thus, the woman's value is the number of completion (10) whereas the man's is full completion plus partial completion (10 + 5 = 15).

This answers all three of the Abravanel's questions. 

1. Why did the Torah establish the values and not leave it up to the Kohen? Because the values here signify the life-missions of the age and gender to which the individual belongs - not the particular qualities of that individual, as is the case in the valuation of animals, houses, and land.

2. Why did the Torah differentiate between the valuation of men and women? Because their life-missions lie in different realms: the woman's is in the home, and the man's is in the home and in the community.

3. Why the differing ratios? Because the numbers are significant because of what they represent at each stage of life - not the intrinsic value of each gender. 

Upon hearing Rav Hirsch's explanation, my student said, "But the man is still worth more than the woman!" I responded that Rav Hirsch isn't necessarily learning that the monetary value of the ararchim-vow is an actual appraisal of the worth of the human being in the same way that a price tag indicates the value of the item. Rather, he is learning these arachim-valuations as symbolic - using fixed numbers as symbols to reflect ideas about the respective life-tasks of men and women.

An example of this type of numerical symbolism can be seen in the common Jewish practice of making donations in multiples of 18, which represents the numerical value of חי (chai = life). Imagine if everyone who would have donated $18 would donate $20 instead. From a strictly fiscal standpoint, $20 donations are much better. Nevertheless, people often want the amount they donate to represent something, or to convey a message. Donating $18 might provide less monetary value than donating $20, but it is superior in the message it conveys through the significance of the number 18.

I believe that is how Rav Hirsch regards these arachim-valuations. Yes, it is true that a woman who pledges her eirech will, in fact, be donating less money to the Beis ha'Mikdash than her male counterpart, but I think that it is a mistake to view this as indicative of women being inferior to men. This is especially true considering that this explanation comes from Rav Hirsch, who emphasizes the equality of men and women elsewhere in his Torah commentary.

Guess what? The student who objected ended up saying that she liked Rav Hirsch's explanation, and didn't find it to be sexist. That's great, but even great is the value of the methodology lesson that the student gained: things aren't always as they first appear, and if you take the time to formulate good questions, and approach your analysis in a deliberate and thoughtful manner, perhaps you'll find something you didn't expect.

Afterthought (5/30/19): 

Upon revisiting this post, I thought of another analogy. Women have two X chromosomes in each cell, whereas men have one X and one Y. Imagine if, upon first learning this fact, a student exclaimed, “THAT IS INCREDIBLY SEXIST! Why should a MAN get TWO types of chromosomes and a woman get stuck with just an extra of the same type?” We would all recognize such a question as being immature and misguided – and yet, when a person asks a question like this about the structure of a mitzvah, then it is often treated as a legitimate critique of Torah. 

This double-standard reveals a difference in the way people approach the empirical sciences versus the way they approach the analysis of Torah and mitzvos. This difference can be boiled down to two points: (1) in the sciences, people accept facts as facts, and (2) they recognize that these facts are determined by chochmah (wisdom) – namely, the lawfulness of nature. But when it comes to Torah and mitzvos, (1) people often refuse to even accept the facts as facts, and (2) they attribute the facts to social causes (e.g. “primitive beliefs about the world,” “outdated social norms,” “Old, white, cisgendered rabbis upholding the patriarchy under the guise of religion in order to oppress women and rob them of their power”). 

Ultimately, when analyzing Torah and mitzvos, the question is this: Do you regard the facts of Torah as being authored by the same Creator as the facts of nature? If so, then you should approach them with the same analytical objectivity, letting your investigation be guided by the facts and the nature of the subject matter, unencumbered by preexisting prejudices. If not, then on what basis do you make this distinction? If this latter question cannot be answered, then chances are it stems from some form of emotional prejudice or bias rather than from a genuine analysis of what Torah and mitzvos are.