Why was Sefer Yonah Included in Tanach? (Part 1 of 2)

I will be teaching Sefer Yonah for the first time this year. Since this is also the first time I've learned Sefer Yonah, I thought it might be a good idea to write out some of my findings, in an effort to organize my thoughts and better prepare myself for the course I'll be teaching. I hesitate to preemptively refer to this as a "series," but we'll be optimistic and see where this goes.

Assyrian Archers

Why was Sefer Yonah Included in Tanach? (Part 1 of 2)

The Question

The Radak begins his commentary on Sefer Yonah with a basic question:

One might ask: Why was this prophecy [of Yonah] written in the Kisvei ha'Kodesh, seeing as how (a) it is entirely about Ninveh, which belonged to the gentile nations, and (b) it contains no mention whatsoever of Israel? There is nothing like this in all of the Neviim.

Before we tackle this question, it would be prudent to review Chazal's general criterion for which prophecies were included in Kisvei ha'Kodesh and which were not: 

Many prophets arose for Yisrael - twice as many as the [number of Jews who] left Egypt - but only those prophecies which were necessary for [future] generations were written down, while those which were not needed for future generations were not written (Megilah 14a).

Rashi (ad loc.) explains the phrase "a prophecy which was necessary for [future] generations" to mean "[a prophecy which was necessary in order] to teach teshuvah or horaah (instruction)." 

One might think that this statement of Chazal paves the way for an answer to the Radak's question, namely, by allowing us to infer that Sefer Yonah was written and included in Kisvei haKodesh in order to teach some lesson in teshuvah or horaah to future generations. Upon further scrutiny, however, we see that this statement of Chazal is the basis of the Radak's question. Chazal introduced their principle with the words: "Many prophets arose for Yisrael." The Radak is bothered by the fact that Yonah didn't "arise for Yisrael" at all! He prophesied to Ninveh, and didn't even mention Yisrael! 

Radak offers three answers to his own question. The Abravanel objects to the Radak's first answer, and provides an answer of his own. We will examine the Radak's first answer and the Abravanel's answer in Part 1 of this blog post, and we will take up the Radak's second and third answers in Part 2.

Answer #1: Catalyst for Teshuvah

Radak's first answer is probably the most well-known: 

It is possible to explain that [Sefer Yonah] was written in order to serve as a mussar (disciplinary teaching) to Yisrael, for behold - a foreign nation which has no relation to Yisrael was close to doing teshuvah, and they actually did teshuvah shleimah from their evil the first time they were rebuked by a navi. [On the other hand,] Yisrael was rebuked day and night by neviim, and didn't do teshuvah from their wickedness. 

In other words, Sefer Yonah is meant to serve as a standing rebuke to Bnei Yisrael by drawing our attention to Ninveh as a paradigmatic response to a navi's call to teshuvah and inspiring us to follow in Ninveh's footsteps. 

This explanation is reflected in the selection of Sefer Yonah as the haftorah for minchah of Yom ha'Kippurim. Why else would we read this sefer on the final day of teshuvah, if not to inspire us to do teshuvah like the people in the story? Similarly, back when public fasts were decreed on account of catastrophes (e.g. droughts, plagues, wars), Sefer Yonah played an integral part of the halachically mandated communal teshuvah procedure, as outlined by the Rambam in Hilchos Taaniyos 4:2:

Afterwards, one of the wise elders [of the community] stands before them while they are sitting. If there is no wise elder, a man of wisdom should be chosen. If there is no man of wisdom, a man of stature should be chosen. He should speak words of rebuke to them, telling them: "Brethren, it is not sackcloth and fasting that will have an effect, but rather teshuvah and good deeds. This is evident from [the story of] Ninveh. It is not stated with regard to the people of Nineveh, 'And God saw their sackcloth and their fasting,' but rather, 'And God saw their deeds' (Yonah 3:10). Similarly, in the words of the prophetic tradition, it is written, 'Rend your hearts and not your garments' (Yoel 2:13)" He should continue in this vein according to his ability until they are humbled and turn [to God] in complete repentance.

Abravanel doesn't buy the Radak's explanation:

If we were to explain that [Sefer Yonah] was written as a mussar to Yisrael, to motivate them to do teshuvah like the citizens of Ninveh, this would be an extremely weak explanation. If Bnei Yisrael won't take mussar from the mitzvos of the Torah and the words of the Neviim, how will they take mussar from the actions of the citizens of Ninveh? 

Furthermore, nowhere is it mentioned that the bamos (altars), pesilim (graven images), and false gods were removed from Ninveh, because they still held fast to all of these things, in spite of their teshuvah. What, exactly, is the mussar that Bnei Yisrael are supposed to take from that [partial kind of teshuvah]?

The Abravanel is bothered by two points: (1) if the neviim sent to our own nation failed to motivate us to do teshuvah, then the neviim sent to another nation will certainly won't motivate us; (2) how can we look to Ninveh as our role model for teshuvah if their teshuvah wasn't complete? They neglected to do teshuvah for the most severe sin of avodah zarah! What kind of message does that send to Bnei Yisrael? That's like trying to inspire a teenager to become a straight-A student by pointing to another student who raised her grade in Art Class from a D to an A, but who flunked out of Math, History, and English! (Reminder: I'm preparing to teach Yonah to high school students; please excuse any mashalim which you find to be #unrelatable.)

Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing how the Radak would respond to the Abravanel's objections. The best I can do is offer my own defense of the Radak's answer, and suggest a framework for understanding their machlokes.

In order to defend the Radak's explanation, we must recognize who the people of Ninveh were, and appreciate the impression that their teshuvah would make on us, as members of the Jewish people. Ninveh was the capital of the Assyrian Empire - one of the most savage, ruthless, horrific nations in the Ancient World (as detailed by this gruesome article on Assyrian torture practices). Moreover, the Assyrians were the ones who would eventually go on to conquer the Northern Kingdom of Israel and bring about the exile of the Ten Tribes. According to my chavrusa (who happens to be quite the historian), the closest contemporary analogue to the Assyrian Empire is none other than Nazi Germany: a notoriously brutal and powerful regime which targeted the nation of Israel for destruction. 

Now, imagine what would happen if, in the middle of World War II, a Jewish leader traveled to Berlin and called for the Nazi's to repent from their evil ways ... and think about what it would be like if they did. Imagine seeing the entire population of Nazi Germany - led by none other than Hitler himself - don sackcloth, fast for three days and three nights, and cry out to Hashem for forgiveness. Imagine the Nazis voluntarily closing up the camps, freeing the Jews, returning their homes and possessions, showing genuine remorse for their actions, and expressing their regret to such an extent that the Jews of Europe actually forgave them. Wow, right? Seems impossible. But that's exactly the type of teshuvah that the barbaric Assyrians of Ninveh did:

The people of Ninveh believed in God, so they proclaimed a fast and donned sackcloth, from their great to their small. The matter reached the king of Ninveh; he rose from his throne, removed his robe from upon himself, covered himself with sackcloth and sat on the ashes, and had it promulgated and declared in Ninveh by the counsel of the king and his nobles, saying: "The man and the animal, the herd and the flock shall not taste anything; they shall neither graze, nor drink water. Both man and animal shall cover themselves with sackcloth; and they shall call out mightily to God. Every man shall turn back from his evil way, and from the robbery that is in their hands. He who knows shall repent and God will relent; He will turn away from His burning wrath so that we not perish." And God saw their deeds, that they had repented from their evil way; and God relented concerning the evil He said He would bring upon them, and did not do it.

The Abarbanel is correct in saying that we Jews have a bad track record when it comes to listening to calls for teshuvah from our own prophets. However, if we saw our enemies do real teshuvah, that would have a different sort of impact on us - one which might actually inspire us to do teshuvah ourselves. That, I believe, is the type of inspirational message that Sefer Yonah is intended to convey. In my opinion, that is far from "an extremely weak explanation."

And how would the Abravanel respond to this? I really don't know. I would like to think that he would agree, in principle, with my defense of the Radak, but that he would nevertheless maintain that this isn't sufficient to warrant including in Kisvei ha'Kodesh a prophecy which was directed at a gentile nation, and which doesn't even mention Yisrael. 

In other words, if Radak and Abravanel sat down to discuss why Sefer Yonah was included in Kisvei ha'Kodesh, I would not expect them to argue about whether or not Bnei Yisrael would be inspired by the teshuvah of Ninveh; rather, I would expect them to argue about whether that inspiration would be a sufficient basis for including Sefer Yonah in Kisvei ha'Kodesh. 

Unfortunately, my chavrusas and I were unable to define the root of the machlokes any further. If you have any insight, I would love to hear it.

Answer #2: Yonah's Piety (etc.)

In the meantime, the Abravanel offers his own explanation for why Sefer Yonah was included in Kisvei ha'Kodesh: 

Rather, according to what I have explained, Sefer Yonah was written [and included] among the Kisvei ha'Kodesh not on account of Ninveh, but on account of Yonah, and the strength of his piety, and the miracle that was done on his behalf, and in order that we should know that the word of God will forever be established.

Whereas the Radak's answer places Ninveh in the spotlight, the Abravanel maintains that Ninveh is merely the backdrop for the lessons to be learned from the prophet Yonah and his odyssey, with all of its ups and downs. 

I think that these two views of Sefer Yonah lead to two different experiences when learning the sefer. Based on the Radak's answer, our focus in learning Sefer Yonah should be the lessons about teshuvah that we learn from Ninveh. According to the Abravanel, our main focus should be on Yonah's struggle and Hashem's dialogue with him. 

Thankfully, I find myself drawn to different aspects of both approaches, and plan on learning Sefer Yonah using the commentary of the Radak and the Abravanel - among others. And that's just fine with me.

Parashas Shoftim: Comparative Religion

Note: This dvar Torah is NOT intended to serve as a halachic analysis of the topic, and should not be the basis for any halacha l'maaseh decisions. 

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Artwork: Evermind, by Matt Thompson

Parashas Shoftim: Comparative Religion

During the Shabbos Torah reading, the rav of our shul summarizes the contents of each aliyah before reading it. Last week, prior to the third aliyah, he said, "And from this week's parashah we learn that it is assur to take a class in comparative religion. It says so right in the pesukim!" He was referring to the following passage:

When Hashem, your God, will cut down the nations, to which you come to take possession from them, before you, and you will take possession from them and settle in their land, beware for yourself lest you be attracted after them after they have been destroyed before you, and lest you inquire about their gods, saying, "How did these nations worship their gods, and even I will do the same." You shall not not do so to Hashem, your God, for everything that is an abomination of Hashem, that He hates, have they done to their gods; for even their sons and their daughters have they burned in the fire for their gods (Devarim 12:29-31).

On the surface, it would seem that my shul rav's summary is accurate: these pesukim warn Bnei Yisrael against inquiring about the false gods and modes of worship of the Canaanite nations, lest they be drawn after them. It would be reasonable to infer from here that it is similarly prohibited for us to inquire about the false gods and modes of worship of other religions. 

However, there is a pasuk in this week's parashah which adds an important qualification:

When you come to the Land that Hashem, your God, gives you, you shall not learn to act according to the abominations of those nations. There shall not be found among you one who causes his son or daughter to pass through the fire, one who practices divinations, an astrologer, one who reads omens, a sorcerer, or an animal charmer, one who inquires of Ov or Yidoni, or one who consults the dead. For anyone who does these is an abomination of Hashem, and because of these abominations Hashem, your God, banishes [the Canaanite nations] from before you. You shall be whole with Hashem, your God. For these nations that you are possessing - they hearken to astrologers and diviners; but as for you - not so has Hashem, your God, given for you (ibid. 18:9-14).

This pasuk doesn't say, "you shall not learn about the abominations of those nations" but "you shall not learn to act according to the abominations of those nations." Rashi, citing the Gemara in Sanhedrin 68a (and the Sifrei), expands upon this distinction:

you shall not learn to act - but you may learn [about their practices] to understand and to teach, i.e. to understand how mekulkalim (degenerate, corrupt, faulty) their practices are, and to teach your children, "Do not do such-and-such, for this is an idolatrous custom!" 

In other words, there is a way of investigating other religions which is permissible, and there is a way which is prohibited. It is permissible to learn about these religions in order to understand their flaws, and in order to teach others to identify idolatrous customs in order to avoid them, and to teach others to avoid them. Investigating idolatrous religions for any other reason - including and especially "mere curiosity" - would seem to be prohibited. 

The Rambam codifies this prohibition in Hilchos Avodah Zarah 2:2:

The idolaters composed many books about its service, explaining its root, its laws, and its actions. The Holy One, Blessed is He, commanded us not to read those books at all, and not to muse about them, or about any of their matters. Even to gaze at the image of an idol is prohibited, as it is stated, “Do not turn towards the gods” (Vayikra 19:4). Regarding this matter it was stated, “Lest you inquire about their gods saying, ‘How do they worship?’” (Devarim 12:30) – that you should not inquire about how they practiced their method of worship, even if you do not worship, for this will cause you to turn towards it and to do similar actions to the actions they do, as it is stated, “and I, too, will do” (ibid.). All of these prohibitions share one theme: that one should not turn towards avodah zarah; anyone who is turned towards it in such a manner that he does an action – he receives whiplashes.  

Not only is it prohibited to turn after avodah zarah in our thoughts, but any thought that causes a person to uproot one of the foundational principles of Torah – we are prohibited not to bring it to mind, not to occupy our mind with it, and not to think about it and to be drawn after the musings of the heart, for man’s mind is deficient, and not all minds are able to grasp the truth clearly; and if each man were to be drawn after the thoughts of his heart, he would destroy the world due to his deficient mind.  

How [does one violate this mitzvah]? Sometimes a person will explore avodah zarah; sometimes he will speculate about the Oneness of the Creator, saying, “Perhaps He is One, perhaps He is not?" “What is above and what is below?” “What is in front and what is behind?” Sometimes he will think about prophecy, saying, “Maybe it is true, and maybe it is not?” “Maybe the Torah is from heaven and many it is not?” And he will not know the methods and standards of evaluation which would enable him to know the truth clearly; consequently, he will fall into heresy. 

This is the matter which the Torah prohibited. It was stated concerning this, “You shall not stray after your hearts and after your eyes, after which you lust” (Bamidbar 15:39). This means: each individual should not be drawn after his deficient mind and imagine that his speculation has apprehended the truth. Thus said the Sages: “after your hearts” – this refers to heresy; “and after your eyes” – this refers to sexual depravity. This prohibition, even though it causes a person to be driven out of the World to Come, does not carry a penalty of whiplashes. 

According to the Rambam, this prohibition aims to prevent people from engaging in a certain type of unbridled conjecture which leads to avodah zarah or heresy. In order to better understand the Rambam, it might help to compare and contrast the prohibited and permitted types of investigation. For the sake of clarity, I will attempt to paint an elaborate, archetypal picture of each.

There are two ways in which a person can approach a topic. The first way is to engage in a methodical, disciplined, intellectually honest investigation as a responsible thinker. A person who engages in such thinking will be cautious, thorough, and rigorous in his analysis, striving to avoid fallacy and error. He will guard against cognitive and emotional biases and not rely on first impressions. He will consult experts when he has questions and will discuss his thoughts with other people before drawing any conclusions. Most importantly, he will recognize the limitations of his own mind, and will only venture into areas which are within his intellectual capacity. And if he knows that he needs more training before he is ready, he will keep working at it and wait until the time is right. Let us call this approach: "analytical investigation." 

The second way to approach a topic is with untrained, undisciplined, intuitive musing. A person who uses this method will think casually, lazily, and uncritically. He will stick with his first impressions, not bothering to check his reasoning for bias and error. He will not consult experts, nor will he bother to discuss his questions, problems, and conclusions with others. He will feel confident and comfortable thinking about any area, without stopping to ask whether he is qualified, and he will not feel the need to train his mind. Let us call this approach: "affective speculation" (not to be confused with "effective speculation").

In light of all this, let us reexamine my shul rav's unequivocal statement that it is prohibited to attend a comparative religion class. If a person were to enroll in such a class out of curiosity, out of a desire to appreciate other cultures, or even in order to satisfy a college requirement, it would seem that this would indeed be prohibited. However, if his motive is to understand the falsehood and degeneracy of other religions, or to learn how to guard himself and others from idolatrous practices, then he must first assess whether he is qualified to engage in such study. If he is insufficiently trained in "the methods and standards of evaluation which would enable him to know the truth clearly," or if he is susceptible to being "drawn after the thoughts of his heart," then it would be prohibited for him to proceed, lest he "and destroy the world due to his deficient mind" or "fall into heresy."

Whenever I bring up this distinction to my students, there is always someone who feels that the Torah is engaging in religious censorship and trying to restrict our thoughts, like the Catholic Church did throughout its sordid history. My answer to them is that the Torah is trying to do the exact opposite! Hashem wants us to seek truth and to know reality to the extent possible. However, if we engage in affective speculation, we will be prone to err and to fall prey to falsehood. For this reason, we are prohibited from investigating certain topics until we become qualified to do so, and are driven by the correct motives. If the Torah were trying to restrict our thoughts, these topics would be inherently off-limits, no matter what. 

I find it helpful to use the following analogy. Let's say a person wants to become a chemist. She enrolls in a chemistry class which has a lab component. On the first day of lab, she ignores her assignment and begins conducting her own experiments, mixing random chemicals to see what will happen. Her professor sees what she is doing and says, "Stop that! Don't play with the chemicals! It's dangerous!" The fledgling chemist responds, "Oh, so you're saying that mixing chemicals is BAD? I get it! You're trying to prevent me from becoming a chemist!"

Obviously, this would reflect a severe misunderstanding of her professor's intent. In truth, the professor was trying to help the aspiring chemist to achieve her goal. One day, if she studies hard and follows the program, she will have the freedom to conduct her own experiments and mix whatever chemicals she sees fit - but if she does this now, out of ignorance, she endangers herself and others. In order to obtain freedom as a chemist, she must first exercise restraint and discipline by heeding the precautionary restrictions laid down by those who are knowledgeable in chemistry.

The same is true here. Hashem wants us to become independent thinkers and to follow our minds without restriction in order to apprehend truth as best as we can. However, there are certain types of investigation which might endanger the whole truth-seeking enterprise. In order to protect us from these dangers, we are prohibited from engaging in these types of speculation. These restrictions allow us to develop our minds and psyches to the level where these dangers are minimized, at which point, we may expand the freedom of our learning beyond those initial boundaries. 

"Is shomer negiah chayav misah?!" or "How to Determine the Severity of an Aveirah"

Originally posted in June 2012. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: Cloistered Youth, by Igor Kieryluk

"Is shomer negiah chayav misah?!" or "How to Determine the Severity of an Aveirah"

Introduction

One of the most common types of questions I'm asked by my students is any variant of: "If I violate such-and-such aveirah (transgression), how is God going to punish me?" Sometimes they ask the question in its generic, panic-stricken form: "Am I going to burn in hell?" Other times, they'll ask about specific punishments they've heard for specific aveiros.

Such a question was posed to me this past Monday in my 10th grade Chumash class. Since it was our last full day of class, I decided to have a "Q&A/discussion day." As it so happened, a student was visiting from another school and her friends told her that she can feel free to ask me any question, and no question is off limits in my class. Right away, she asked - with fear and trepidation in her eyes: "One of my teachers said that I violate 'shomer negiah' then I'm chayav misah (liable for the death penalty). Is that true? Is God going to kill me?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Sure, I was aware that some teachers and parents use scare tactics in an effort to get kids to keep halacha, but would a teacher really go so far as to tell a student that "shomer negiah" is chayav misah? And even if this was a result of the student misunderstanding, I would like to know what went on in the discussion which left the student with such a gross distortion.

Ideally, I would have attempted to address all of the flawed premises. However, given the limited amount of time, I decided to answer her question in two parts: (1) by teaching her a method of determining "how bad" any aveirah is, not just "shomer negiah," and (2) by clarifying precisely what is included in the halacha that has come to be known as "shomer negiah." In this post I will focus exclusively on the first part of my response.

I answered the student by explaining that the "severity" of an aveirah can be assessed in three different frameworks - two which are accessible by us, and one which is not.

Framework #1: The Halachic System

The mishnah in Avos 2:1 says in the name of Rebbi:

You should be as careful with a mitzvah kalah (a "light" mitzvah) as with a chamurah ("severe" mitzvah), for you do not know the rewards of the mitzvos; and you should calculate the cost of a mitzvah against its reward, and the reward of an aveirah against its cost.

In order  to implement this teaching, one would need some way of calculating the "costs" and "rewards" of mitzvos and aveiros. Thankfully, the Rambam provides such a method in his commentary on this mishnah. In this blog post we will focus exclusively on his method of calculating the "costs" of aveiros, since this will help us figure out which aveiros are more "severe" than others. Here are the words of the Rambam:

Throughout the entire Torah, which includes mitzvos aseh (positive commandments) and mitzvos lo taaseh (negative commandments), Scripture explicitly states the punishments for each and every one of the mitzvos lo taaseh except for a few. Some are punishable by misah (death), others by kareis (excision of the soul), misah b'ydei shamayim (death at the hands of heaven), and malkos (whiplashes). From the punishments we can know which of the mitzvos lo taaseh are more severe and which are less so. There are eight levels: 

1. the first level, which is the most stringent of them, are those things that are liable for skilah (death by stoning). 

2. The level below it are transgressions that are liable for sreifah (death by esophageal incineration). 

3. The third level is transgressions that are liable for hereg (death by decapitation). 

4. The fourth is transgressions that are liable for chenek (death by strangulation). 

5. The fifth is transgressions that are liable for kareis. 

6. The sixth is transgressions that are liable for death at the hands of heaven. 

7. The seventh is transgressions that are liable for malkos. 

8. The eighth is transgressions for which we do not administer malkos. 

From this hierarchy the severity and "lightness" of an aveirah can be known. 

There you have it. The Rambam clearly states that the relative severity of an aveirah can be inferred from its punishment. If you want to know "how bad" any given aveirah is - that is to say, any lo taaseh - the first place to look is its penalty. 

It is important to note that there are exceptions to this general rule, which the Rambam spells out in other places. Many of these exceptions have to do with (for lack of a better term) "halachic technicalities," which remove certain aveiros from the Rambam's eight-level hierarchy. For example:

• The prohibitions of rechilus (gossiping) and lashon ha'ra (negative speech) are not punishable by a court of law because they are violated through speech, which is not halachically recognized as a physical action that is punishable by a court of law. Nevertheless, the Rambam says that rechilus "destroys the world" and lashon ha'ra is comparable to the severe transgressions of murder, idolatry, and illicit sexual relations.
• Likewise, the mitzvah of Anochi Hashem Elokechah is the most fundamental mitzvas aseh, and one who violates it is considered  to be a kofer b'ikar (denier of the fundamental principle) and has no portion in the World to Come. Nevertheless, there is no penalty for violating this mitzvah, since purely cognitive transgressions are not punishable by human courts.
• Gezel (armed robbery) is certainly a severe and violent crime. Chazal teach us that the verdict of the Dor ha'Mabul was only sealed because of gezel (Sanhedrin 108a). Nevertheless, gezel falls in at the lowest level on the Rambam's hierarchy, and isn't even chayav malkos, due to the fact that the robber must pay back what he stole. 

It is also important to consider the other factors which determine the Torah's penalties for various transgressions, which the Rambam spells out in the Moreh ha'Nevuchim 3:41:

Preface: You should know that the severity of a punishment and the difficulty of suffering it, or the lightness of the punishment and the [relative] ease of tolerating it, are dependent on four factors:

(1) The severity of the sin. Actions whose consequences are very harmful are punished severely, whereas actions whose consequences are less harmful are punished less severely.

(2) The frequency of its occurrence. A transgression that is frequently violated requires a more severe punishment as a deterrent, whereas transgressions which are relatively infrequent are sufficiently deterred by their infrequency combined with a lighter punishment.

(3) The degree of temptation in the matter. If a person is greatly tempted to do something - either because he is drawn to it by a strong desire or due to the force of habit, or due to the great pain in abstaining from it - then he will only be deterred from it by something very intimidating.

(4) The ease of doing the thing secretly and in private, so that others will not notice. We are only repelled from such acts by the fear of a harsh and severe punishment.

In other words, the severity of the aveirah is only one determinant of the Torah's penalties. There are three others: the frequency of the violation, the degree of temptation, and the ease of transgressing in private. Nevertheless, it would appear from the Rambam's commentary on the mishnah in Avos that the severity of the aveirah is the primary determinant of the penalty - enough so that one can gauge an aveirah's severity based on the penalty alone.

But in spite of the aforementioned exceptions and limitations of the Rambam's principle, the Rambam still advocated his method of determining the severity of an aveirah based on the Torah's penalty. And if this method is good enough for the Rambam, then it is certainly good enough for me to teach my students.

Incidentally, the Rambam's principle provides a good answer for students who ask, "Why do the Torah's punishments even matter nowadays, since we don't even have a Sanhedrin?" The answer is clear from the Rambam: even when there is no court to impose these penalties, they still serve as general indicators of the severity of each aveirah.

Framework #2: Natural Consequences (a.k.a. Mishlei)

Then there is (what I refer to as) the framework of Mishlei: the natural consequences of an aveirah. For example, the Torah's penalty for adultery is chenek, which is the fourth most severe category of aveirah. But what does Shlomo ha'Melech have to say about the fate of an adulterer?

For on account of a harlot [one will lack] even a loaf of bread, and a married woman will entrap the noblest person. If a man stokes a fire in his bosom, will his clothes not burn? If a man walks on embers, will his feet not be scorched? So it is with one who sleeps with his fellow's wife; whoever touches her will not go unpunished. People do not despise a thief because he steals - it is in order to fill himself up, for he is starving. When caught, he pays sevenfold, giving up his entire household. [But] one who commits adultery with a woman lacks all sense; only one who wishes to destroy himself would do such a thing. Pestilence and degradation will befall him, and his disgrace will not be forgotten. For jealousy [awakens] a man's anger, and he (i.e. the husband of the adulteress) will show no mercy on the day of revenge. For he will not look favorably upon any ransom or be placated by your bribe, however great (Mishlei 6:26-35).

Even now, when there is no Sanhedrin to impose the penalty of chenek, the "natural punishments" described here by Shlomo ha'Melech are still in effect. The adulterer risks the wrath and vengeance of the husband, the loss of his own reputation, the numerous social complications and harms that follow, the stress that comes from the secrecy and the loss of secrecy, the shame of being discovered, and more.

This framework isn't limited to physical and psychological consequences, but extends to intellectual consequences as well. Consider, for example, the lo taaseh of "al tifnu el ha'elilim" ("do not turn [your thoughts] to false gods"), which prohibits us from pursuing our curiosity about avodah zarah beliefs and practices. Even though this aveirah falls under level 7 or 8 in the Rambam's scheme - depending on whether the violation involved an action - it clearly can lead to catastrophic intellectual/metaphysical consequences.

Needless to say, these natural consequences are not consistent, nor are they guaranteed. Sometimes the consequences are knowable and predictable, but other times they are not. Also, these consequences will differ in each and every case. In spite of all these variables, these consequences can be understood through the chochmah of Mishlei, and one can assess the severity of a given aveirah by applying that chochmah to the facts at hand.

In general, I try to initiate my students into this framework as soon as possible with the hopes that it will gradually supplant their the childish imagination-based fears they've accumulated over the years. I believe this is in line with what the Rambam wrote in Hilchos Teshuvah 10:5:

Therefore, when we teach the children, women, and general populace of laymen, we should only teach them to serve out of fear and in order to receive reward, until their minds mature and they gain additional wisdom; [then] we should reveal this secret to them little by little, and accustom them to this concept with pleasantness, until they apprehend it and know it and serve out of love. 

I find that high school students tend to have difficulty factoring in both frameworks. Either they latch onto the Halachic System Framework and downplay the natural consequences, or else they seize the Natural Consequences Framework and disregard the halachic one. I guess that's why both frameworks are necessary.

Framework #3: Divine Judgment

Lastly, there is another framework of evaluating aveiros which is unknowable to us, and is therefore worthy of consideration. This is the framework of zechus and avon, as explained in Hilchos Deos 3:2:

The weighing of zechuyos ("merits") and avonos ("iniquities") does not go according to their quantity, but according to their magnitude. One zechus might be equal to many avonos, as it is stated, "Because of the fact that he found something good in him" (Melachim I 14:13), and a single avon might be equal to many zechuyos, as it is stated, "One sinner can destroy much good" (Koheles 9:18). This weighing is only done in the "Mind" of the God of Deios; He is the One Who knows how to evaluate the zechuyos against the avonos.

In other words, even though the Torah assigns its own severity-indicator to each transgression (i.e. the halachic penalty), this is from the standpoint of the system. On an individual level, Hashem "weighs" each and every transgression differently, depending on the circumstances and the individual.

For example, if two people intentionally do melachah on Shabbos, their transgression is equal in the eyes of the system: both are chayav skilah if there are witnesses, and chayav kareis if there aren't witnesses. However, the avon of one person might carry a greater weight than the avon of the other person, and only Hashem can make that determination, since only He knows all of the factors involved in the transgression. 

Summary and Conclusion

Let's summarize what we've learned. The severity of an aveirah can be assessed in three frameworks: (1) the framework of the halachic system, according to which the severity of an aveirah can be determined by its Torah-imposed penalty; (2) the framework of natural consequences, according to which the severity of an aveirah can be discerned - with varying degrees of probability - in light of the wisdom of Mishlei; and (3) the framework of "divine judgment," which is known only to God.

After briefly explaining each of these three frameworks, I answered the student's question about "shomer negiah." I explained that what she refers to as "shomer negiah" falls under the mitzvas lo taaseh of lo tikrevu le'galos ervah (Vayikra 18:6,19) and - at worst - is chayav malkos, which ranks as #7 in the Torah's hierarchy of halachic penalties (with #1 being the most severe and #8 being the least). I then provided a basic explanation of some of the natural consequences of not abiding by this halacha. I concluded by saying that only Hashem knows how each instances of this transgression will be judged. 

In conclusion, it is my opinion that these three frameworks should be taught to high school students - especially the halachic system framework. The Torah does specify the punishments for violating halacha, and - according to the Rambam - those punishments were designed to deter us from transgression. There is no need for "scare tactics" beyond these, and there is a whole lot to gain from learning about each aveirah within these three frameworks.

Parashas Re'eh: MEAT IS MURDER!!!

Originally posted in August 2013. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Artwork: Butcher's Cleaver, by Jason Felix

I've always wanted to write about what the Torah would say about "ethical vegetarians" - people who refuse to eat meat for moral reasons. This "school newsletter dvar Torah" is not that post, but it's the closest thing to it that I've written. Enjoy!

Parashas Re'eh: MEAT IS MURDER!!!

Is the slaughtering of an animal tantamount to murder? This is a hotly debated question in contemporary society, especially among those who practice vegetarianism for ethical reasons. Although a comprehensive treatment of the topic of vegetarianism is beyond the scope of this dvar Torah, we will aim to answer the question above based on a mitzvah in this week's parashah.

During the 40 years in the Midbar (Wilderness), Bnei Yisrael were only permitted to slaughter animals in the context of korbanos (sacrifices). If you wanted a steak dinner, you would bring your cow to the Mishkan (Tabernacle) where it would be slaughtered and offered up as a korban to Hashem. Its fat and blood would be brought on the mizbeach (altar), and only afterwards would its flesh become permissible to eat.

In this week's parashah, Moshe Rabbeinu informs Bnei Yisrael of two changes that will take place upon entering Eretz Yisrael. The first change is that once the Beis ha'Mikdash (Holy Temple) is built, it will become prohibited to slaughter and offer korbanos in any other location: "Beware for yourself lest you bring up your burnt offerings in any place that you see. Rather, only in the place that Hashem will choose ... there shall you bring up your burnt-offerings, etc" (Devarim 12:13-14).

The second change is that Bnei Yisrael will be permitted to slaughter animals for food even outside of the context of korbanos: "However, in your soul's desire you may slaughter and eat meat, according to the blessing that Hashem, your God, will have given you in all your cities, etc." In other words, if you want a steak, you can slaughter your cow without bringing it as a korban.

The prohibition to slaughter animals outside the context of korbanos was originally stated in Parashas Acharei Mos. It is there that we find the answer to our question:

"Any man from the House of Israel who will slaughter an ox, a sheep, or a goat in the camp, or who will slaughter outside the camp, and he has not brought it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting to bring it as an offering to Hashem before the Tabernacle of Meeting - it shall be considered as bloodshed for that man; he has shed blood, and that man shall be cut off from the midst of his people" (Vayikra 17:3-4).

The Torah openly states that if a Jew slaughters an animal outside of the context of korbanos, it is considered to be bloodshed! The Hebrew term used here is shfichus damim (lit. "bloodshed"), which is the same term that the Torah uses for the coldblooded murder of a human being! [1] How are we to understand this seemingly excessive condemnation of slaughtering an animal outside of the Beis ha'Mikdash? After all, the Torah clearly endorses slaughtering an animal inside the Beis ha'Mikdash, as well as slaughtering it for food!

The Sefer ha'Chinuch [2] provides an answer. He explains that the human beings do not have an inherent right over the lives of animals. We were only permitted to take an animal's life for our physical needs (e.g. food, medicine, material) or for our "spiritual" needs (e.g. korbanos and other mitzvos). Thus, to take an animal's life without any useful purpose is a wantonly destructive act, which is why the Torah refers to it as an act of shfichus damim.

The Sefer ha'Chinuch goes on to explain that a person who slaughters an animal as a korban outside of the Beis ha'Mikdash is committing a wasteful and destructive act. He is taking an animal's life without any practical benefit to himself, and he is doing so by transgressing Hashem's commandment. It is purely an act of bloodshed.

However, the Sefer ha'Chinuch stresses that there is a major difference between killing an animal and killing a human. He writes:

Even though [killing an animal] is not like spilling human blood, due to the superiority of the human and the inferiority of the animal, it is nevertheless called bloodshed, since the Torah did not permit spilling [its blood] for no useful purpose. 

In truth, the Sefer ha'Chinuch's entire explanation is based on pesukim in Parashas Noach. Before the Flood, human beings were only permitted to eat vegetation; animals were entirely off limits. After the flood, as part of the covenant with Noach, Hashem permits mankind to kill animals for food. In the very same paragraph, He reiterates the prohibition of murder: "Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed; for in the tzelem Elokim (divine form) He made man" (Bereishis 9:6).

We see from the pesukim in Noach and Acharei Mos that the Torah regards taking any creature's life as an act of shfichus damim. However, a person who sheds the blood of another human being is liable for the death penalty because man was created b'tzelem Elokim. Sforno (like all other Rishonim) maintains that the tzelem Elokim refers to the human intellect - the capacity for rational thought. He explains that since the physical body of a human being is the vessel which serves his rational soul, the vessel itself is considered to be "precious" in God's eyes (so to speak). It is for this reason that He demands the blood of anyone who sheds the blood of his fellow human being. [3]

With animals, this isn't the case. It is clear that Hashem "cares" about the lives of all animals. He only permits us to slaughter animals for our physical or spiritual benefit, and if we take the life of an animal outside of those parameters, He considers it to be a destructive act of bloodshed.

[1] See, for example, Bereishis 37:22; Bamidbar 35:33; Devarim 21:7
[2] Sefer ha'Chinuch: Parashas Acharei Mos, Mitzvah #186
[3] Sforno on Bereishis 9:6

Sun Tzu: On Long School Days

Originally posted in August 2012.

I've been Sun Tzu's The Art of War - one of the most ancient, and certainly the most famous treatise on military strategy - with the goal of applying its principles to classroom teaching. I don't know whether this will actually become a series, but if it does, I shall call it: "Sun Tzu: The Art of Classroom Teaching." 

Sun Tzu: The Art of Classroom Teaching - Long School Days

I have taught in three different Jewish high schools. These three schools had at least one thing in common: a very, very, very long school day. On the left you'll see the daily schedule for the school at which I currently teach. However, the times alone do not tell the full story. Let's start from the beginning.

Students who live locally can probably afford a reasonable 7:00am wake-up time. Students who live "across town" (who constitute a third of our student body) have to wake up at 6:00am or earlier in order to catch the bus, since the bus makes several dozen stops along the way. When students arrive at school, they are immediately herded into to a single room to endure a lengthy (usually 40 minute) shacharis. Davening is often followed by either announcements, a dvar Torah of sorts, or both. Students are subsequently released to their precious 10-15 minutes of breakfast and socializing time.

Then the morning classes begin. Students are shunted from class to class for the next three hours and twenty minutes. Each class is exactly 38 minutes long. Students are given 2 minutes to get from one classroom to the other, and there are no other breaks in between. This allows for just enough time for them to pack up their belongings, rush to their lockers to retrieve any books or materials they need, dash to their new class, and sit down before the teacher takes attendance. If they need to use the restroom (or take some time to breathe), they must leave in the middle of class, so as not to be marked tardy at the beginning of the period - unless, of course, they are unfortunate enough to have a teacher who prohibits students to leave during class time. (And yes, such teachers still exist.)

Then comes lunch time: the 40 minutes of freedom and redemption for which they yearn all morning long. Here they finally get a chance to unwind, to socialize, to relax, and to tend to their bodily functions.

Before they realize it, their prison sentence resumes with the onset of the dreaded Double Period. For the next hour and 16 minutes - which, to children whose waking life is divided into 40 minute chunks, must feel like an eternity - students are subjected to a double period of a class. The more merciful teachers (such as myself) give them a short break in the middle, but other teachers keep them in their seats for the entire period. The fact that this double-period occurs right after lunch makes it even more intolerable.

After the double-period, students are given a generous four minutes before their next class starts. They have one more 38-minute class, followed by a 16 minute "break" after each of them davens minchah on her own. This tefilah will necessarily be rushed, since the sooner they get done with minchah, the more free time they'll have. Then comes the home stretch: three more 38-minute class periods. The light is visible at the end of the tunnel (except in the dead of winter, when its dark by the time students leave).

Finally, at 5:15, the school day ends. The fortunate students who live locally arrive at home by 5:45 at the latest. The students from the other side of town must suffer on the long bus ride with its many stops. Some don't get home until 7:00pm. And that's on days when they don't have any after-school sports or activities. 

But it doesn't end there. School extends its pale and spindly arms into the privacy of students' homes in the form of homework and studying. By "studying" I don't mean "learning" or "Torah lishmah." I am referring to the dreadful task of "learning" (read: memorizing) material for The Big Test. If the student is efficient and/or hasty enough, he or she might still manage to find a few hours (often, the wee hours of the morning) to have some time for friends, hobbies, relaxation, and socializing. But these hours are few and far between. Inmates at correctional facilities have more time to reflect on their lives than high schoolers. It's no wonder so many of students appear bleary-eyed and soul-stricken at the beginning of the school day.

Oh, I forgot to mention: I've only been talking about the schedule for the all-girls school. The all-boys school I taught at last year had all of that, plus an extended Thursday evening learning schedule - which would last several hours into the night - AND a half day of school every other Sunday.

Now before you start quoting to me Gemaras about the intensive type of schooling system advocated by Chazal, I'm going to stop you right there. My rant in this post is based purely on my own observations. The guidelines, halachos, and ideals set forth in the Mesora must be understood and taken into account, but the first step is to recognize the reality that confronts us at the present.

General Sun Tzu: 544 B.C.E. - 496 B.C.E.

This brings us to The Art of War. Sun Tzu said:

2:2 - When you engage in actual fighting, if victory is long in coming, the men's weapons will grow dull and their ardor will be damped. If you lay siege to a town, you will exhaust your strength.  

2:3 - Again, if the campaign is protracted, the resources of the State will not be equal to the strain.  

2:4 - Now, when your weapons are dulled, your ardor damped, your strength exhausted, and your treasure spent, other chieftains will spring up to take advantage of your extremity. Then no man, however wise, will be able to avert the consequences that must ensue.

Like many of Sun Tzu's teachings, the truth of these statements is evident. If you exhaust your soldiers, whether physically or psychologically, then your chances of victory are severely diminished, and in your weakened state, you will be open to defeat from a multitude of causes, from within and without.

What is true for actual milchamah is also true in the Milchamta shel Torah (the War of Torah). In my few years of teaching experience, I have found that most students are alert and eager to learn for the first five periods of the day, but as the afternoon drags on, they become increasingly weary. They become restless and fidgety, they lose focus, their "misbehavior" increases tenfold, and the overall quality of their learning suffers. By the time they get to the final periods of the day (which, thankfully, I have never had to teach), their minds have already left the building.

And the students aren't the only ones who are affected by the length of the day. The teachers who teach full-time are also exhausted by the intense schedule. For example, in my second year of teaching there were some days of the week when I'd show up at 8:00, teach six back-to-back-classes (with a couple of short breaks thrown in), then drive off to another school and teach for two full periods. I was able to teach effectively for the first six periods, but by the time I got to the afternoon classes, I was spent. My own exhaustion, when combined with the post-lunch exhaustion of the students, made for a bad mix. Those were not my proudest teaching times. I don't know whether any objective comparison can be made between the exhaustion of the students and that of the teachers, but neither are pleasant, and each exacerbates the other.

Artwork: Diminishing Returns, by L.A. Williams

The lesson here can be summed up by borrowing a phrase from Chazal: "tafasta merubah, lo tafasta" (Chagigah 17a) which may be loosely rendered as “If you try to grab a lot, you'll end up not grabbing anything at all.” I understand that Jewish schools are under a lot of pressure to help their students achieve success in limudei kodesh and the so-called "secular studies," but I wonder how many administrators have stopped to seriously consider the question of whether their ambition has lead to a diminishing returns sort of effect. Are we trying to accomplish too much? And could we accomplish even more by doing less? 

In any endeavor one can only push a human being so far for so long before the productivity level begins to decrease. Has our Jewish day school system reached this point, with its 12-period dual-curriculum school days? And how much of the problem has to do with the educational approach we have been duped into adopting? Personally, I think that if the day were less structured, and students had the freedom to learn what interests them, they'd be able to increase the quality and the quantity of their learning.

The need for reform is dire, but the prospects are dim. In major Jewish centers, such as New York and Baltimore (and probably elsewhere), any Jewish school that attempted to cut its curriculum or shorten its school day would immediately lose students whose parents would be afraid that their kids were at a disadvantage compared to the more "traditional" schools (whose "tradition" is not rooted in our Mesora).

I don't know of a good solution, but recognizing the problem is an important first step.

Playing with Torah (Updated for 2015)

Apparently, I feel the need to repost this every few years - mostly because I need a good reminder. Each time I post it, it is for a slightly different reason, which I write about in the last section of the post. That time has come once again. Enjoy!

Feynman: Playing with Physics

I've been reading a lot of Richard Feynman stories lately. For those of you who aren't familiar, Feynman (1918-1988) was the fun-loving, Nobel Prize winning theoretical physicist who grew up in Far Rockaway, NY. The many anecdotes about him are chronicled in various books: Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman! (1985), What Do You Care What Other People Think? (1988), No Ordinary Genius (1994), "The Pleasure of Finding Things Out (1999), and elsewhere. Not only are these stories insightful, but they are SO much fun to read! I recommend them to everyone - but only after watching some Feynman videos on YouTube to get a feel for the way he talks.

Anyway, there's one story I'd like to talk about today. It's rather long, but it is one of my absolute favorites. The story takes place in 1945, shortly after World War II. Now that Feynman was no longer needed for his work on the Manhattan Project, he accepted a professorship at Cornell. Feynman tells the story best, so I'll let him take over now. The story can be found in "Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!" on p.171-174 in the paperback edition, and p.66-67 in the PDF version. The italics are his, but the bold is mine:

At Cornell, I'd work on preparing my courses, and I'd go over to the library a lot and read through the Arabian Nights and ogle the girls that would go by. But when it came time to do some research, I couldn't get to work. I was a little tired; I was not interested; I couldn't do research! This went on for what I felt was a few years, but when I go back and calculate the timing, it couldn't have been that long. Perhaps nowadays I wouldn't think it was such a long time, but then, it seemed to go on for a very long time. I simply couldn't get started on any problem: I remember writing one or two sentences about some problem in gamma rays and then I couldn't go any further. I was convinced that from the war and everything else (the death of my wife) I had simply burned myself out ...

During this period I would get offers from different places -- universities and industry -- with salaries higher than my own. And each time I got something like that I would get a little more depressed. I would say to myself, "Look, they're giving me these wonderful offers, but they don't realize that I'm burned out! Of course I can't accept them. They expect me to accomplish something, and I can't accomplish anything! I have no ideas ..."

Finally there came in the mail an invitation from the Institute for Advanced Study: Einstein ... von Neumann ... Wyl ... all these great minds! They write to me, and invite me to be a professor there! And not just a regular professor. Somehow they knew my feelings about the Institute: how it's too theoretical; how there's not enough real activity and challenge. So they write, "We appreciate that you have a considerable interest in experiments and in teaching, so we have made arrangements to create a special type of professorship, if you wish: half professor at Princeton University, and half at the Institute."

Institute for Advanced Study! Special exception! A position better than Einstein, even! It was ideal; it was perfect; it was absurd!

It was absurd. The other offers had made me feel worse, up to a point. They were expecting me to accomplish something. But this offer was so ridiculous, so impossible for me ever to live up to, so ridiculously out of proportion. The other ones were just mistakes; this was an absurdity! I laughed at it while I was shaving, thinking about it.

And then I thought to myself, "You know, what they think of you is so fantastic, it's impossible to live up to it. You have no responsibility to live up to it!"

It was a brilliant idea: You have no responsibility to live up to what other people think you ought to accomplish. I have no responsibility to be like they expect me to be. It's their mistake, not my failing.

It wasn't a failure on my part that the Institute for Advanced Study expected me to be that good; it was impossible. It was clearly a mistake-and the moment I appreciated the possibility that they might be wrong, I realized that it was also true of all the other places, including my own university. I am what I am, and if they expected me to be good and they're offering me some money for it, it's their hard luck.

Then, within the day, by some strange miracle -- perhaps he overheard me talking about it, or maybe he just understood me -- Bob Wilson, who was head of the laboratory there at Cornell, called me in to see him. He said, in a serious tone, "Feynman, you're teaching your classes well; you're doing a good job, and we're very satisfied. Any other expectations we might have are a matter of luck. When we hire a professor, we're taking all the risks. If it comes out good, all right. If it doesn't, too bad. But you shouldn't worry about what you're doing or not doing." He said it much better than that, and it released me from the feeling of guilt.

Then I had another thought: Physics disgusts me a little bit now, but I used to enjoy doing physics. Why did I enjoy it? I used to play with it. I used to do whatever I felt like doing -- it didn't have to do with whether it was important for the development of nuclear physics, but whether it was interesting and amusing for me to play with. When I was in high school, I'd see water running out of a faucet growing narrower, and wonder if I could figure out what determines that curve. I found it was rather easy to do. I didn't have to do it; it wasn't important for the future of science; somebody else had already done it. That didn't make any difference: I'd invent things and play with things for my own entertainment.

So I got this new attitude. Now that I am burned out and I'll never accomplish anything, I've got this nice position at the university teaching classes which I rather enjoy, and just like I read the Arabian Nights for pleasure, I'm going to play with physics, whenever I want to, without worrying about any importance whatsoever.

Within a week I was in the cafeteria and some guy, fooling around, throws a plate in the air. As the plate went up in the air I saw it wobble, and I noticed the red medallion of Cornell on the plate going around. It was pretty obvious to me that the medallion went around faster than the wobbling.

I had nothing to do, so I start to figure out the motion of the rotating plate. I discover that when the angle is very slight, the medallion rotates twice as fast as the wobble rate -- two to one. It came out of a complicated equation! Then I thought, "Is there some way I can see in a more fundamental way, by looking at the forces or the dynamics, why it's two to one?"

I don't remember how I did it, but I ultimately worked out what the motion of the mass particles is, and how all the accelerations balance to make it come out two to one.

I still remember going to Hans Bethe and saying, "Hey, Hans! I noticed something interesting. Here the plate goes around so, and the reason it's two to one is . . ." and I showed him the accelerations.

He says, "Feynman, that's pretty interesting, but what's the importance of it? Why are you doing it?"

"Hah!" I say. "There's no importance whatsoever. I'm just doing it for the fun of it." His reaction didn't discourage me; I had made up my mind I was going to enjoy physics and do whatever I liked.

I went on to work out equations of wobbles. Then I thought about how electron orbits start to move in relativity. Then there's the Dirac Equation in electrodynamics. And then quantum electrodynamics. And before I knew it (it was a very short time) I was "playing" --working, really -- with the same old problem that I loved so much, that I had stopped working on when I went to Los Alamos: my thesis-type problems; all those old-fashioned, wonderful things.

It was effortless. It was easy to play with these things. It was like uncorking a bottle: Everything flowed out effortlessly. I almost tried to resist it! There was no importance to what I was doing, but ultimately there was. The diagrams and the whole business that I got the Nobel Prize for came from that piddling around with the wobbling plate.

This isn't the only time that Feynman spoke of the importance of "playing." In No Ordinary Genius, pp.17-18, Feynman was asked by the author whether he ever wonders about where his great thinking ability came from. Feynman answers, "No." The author persists, saying, "Perhaps you just don't find it interesting, but when a mathematical prodigy like, say, Ramanujan turns up out of nowhere, surely one does wonder how he could have got hold of such extraordinary mathematical abilities?" Feynman answers:

I find in the world very many interesting questions such as this one, but I have no way to know the answer to it, and no way to find out. It's not that I am not interested, I simply don't know anything about it, and I don't like to speculate about things I don't know very much about. It's much more interesting for me (unless I'm working on it) to leave a mystery a mystery, rather than to make believe I know an answer to it. So I can't tell you where Ramanujan got his mathematical desires - I should call them desires, because that's what you really require first. Not so much the ability, but the desire to play around, and to notice. That's what he had to do - to find out funny things about numbers and to explore some more, play with the numbers until he had played enough to discover things that nobody else knew. He was playing, that's all. He had to have the desire to play, and I don't know where that came from.

I've always played around. It's hard to explain it very well. When I was a kid I had a laboratory. Although I'm now in theoretical work, I originally played experimentally. It's a bad term - I mean that I fooled about. I never did experiments in a scientific sense, to find out something. I would make radios, or try to make a photocell work. I had a spark plug from an old Ford car that I would set up and use to burn holes in paper, or see what would happen when I tried to put a spark through a vacuum tube. But I never kept a notebook of things I did every day, or made careful measurements. I wasn't that kind of "scientist," so to speak. I was just playing, like a child playing, but with different toys. 

So much for the anecdotes about the importance of "play" in knowledge. 

The Moral of the Story (and Support from Mesorah)

In my opinion, the moral of the story is pretty much what Feynman said: when it comes to learning, you should forget about all goals, objectives, and accomplishments; forget about distinctions of "important" and "not important"; forget about how much of a contribution you're making to your field, and whether you are going to justify your work to your peers; forget about all expectations and totally disregard the expectations of others; forget about achievement, forget about mastery, forget about what everyone else is doing or not doing, and just enjoy learning. Learn what you love to learn, be realistic and intellectually honest, and follow your mind wherever it takes you.

The irony is that the best way to achieve your goals is to not worry about achieving them! If you follow the path described by Feynman, you'll likely to be way more successful than you would have been any other way! Perhaps this is what the Rambam means in Hilchos Teshuvah 10:2 when he writes:

One who serves [God] out of love occupies himself with Torah and mitzvos and follows the paths of wisdom not because of anything in this world, neither out of fear of the bad nor in order to inherit the good. Rather, he does what is true because it is true - and ultimately, the good will come on its own.

Not surprisingly, Chazal preempted Feynman's realization by centuries. People usually quote Rava's formulation of the principle: "Le'olam yilmad adam Torah b'makom she'libo chafetz - a person should always learn Torah where his heart desires" (Avodah Zarah 19b), which is a prescriptive statement. Personally, I prefer R' Yehudah ha'Nasi's formulation: "Ein adam lomeid Torah ela mi'makom she'libo chafetz - a person does not learn Torah except from where his heart desires" (ibid.), which is a descriptive statement. In other words, this isn't just a rule that a person should follow in his learning, but rather, it is a description of reality. If your heart isn't into it then you won't really learn it, but if your heart is into it then you'll really learn!

A few days after I reading this story, I realized that we ask Hashem to enable us to reach Feynman's level each and every morning. We say:

Please, Hashem, our God, sweeten the words of Your Torah in our mouth and in the mouth of Your people, the family of Israel. May we and our offspring and the offspring of Your people, the House of Israel - all of us - know Your Name and learn Your Torah lishmah (for its own sake). Blessed are You, Hashem, Who teaches Torah to His people Israel.

We beseech Hashem to make our learning of Torah sweet and enjoyable, and to facilitate yedias Hashem (knowledge of God) and Torah lishmah (learning Torah for its own sake). To learn Torah lishmah means to learn it as an end in and of itself - not in order to accomplish, to achieve, or as a means toward some objective. This is exactly the type of learning that Feynman was describing. His mind was drawn to unraveling the mystery of the wobbling plate. He allowed himself to be totally guided by his natural curiosity and didn't feel any need to justify it or explain the importance of what he was doing. He was seeking knowledge of reality lishmah, and it was sweet.

There is even support in the Mesorah for Feynman's choice of the verb "play" to describe his involvement in physics. I don't think I need to define what he means by "playing." Everyone knows what it means to play. What I realized was that this is actually encouraged in Torah! Tehilim 119 is filled with references to David ha'Melech "playing with Torah" and regarding Torah as "a plaything" - at least, according to the translation of the root שעשע by Radak and Metzudos. Check it out:

"I play with Your statutes, I will not forget Your word" (Tehilim 119:16); "Indeed, Your testimonies are my plaything and my counselors" (ibid. 24); "I will play with Your mitzvos that I love" (ibid. 47); "Their heart grew thick as fat; but as for me, Your Torah is my plaything" (ibid. 70); "May Your mercies come upon me so that I may live, for Your Torah is my plaything" (ibid. 77); "Had Your Torah not been my plaything, then I would have perished in my affliction" (ibid. 92); "Distress and anguish have overtaken me, Your mitzvos are my plaything" (ibid. 143); "I crave Your salvation, O Hashem, and Your Torah is my plaything" (ibid. 174)

Shlomo ha'Melech utilizes this metaphor in Mishlei to depict the relationship between Hashem and chochmah:

Hashem made me [chochmah] as the beginning of His way, before His deeds of yore . . . I was then His nursling, I was then His delightful plaything every day, playing before Him at all times, playing in the inhabited areas of His earth, delightfully playing with the sons of man (Mishlei 8:22, 30-31).

I can't say that I experience this every time I learn, but thank God, I do have this experience on a consistent basis in one area of learning: Mishlei. I'd say that 95% of the times I sit down to learn Mishlei with my students, my friends, and my teachers, I experience the sweetness of Torah lishmah. I actually used the metaphor of "plaything" to describe my learning of Mishlei before I was aware of the pesukim in Tehilim. When I learn Mishlei, I see each pasuk as a puzzle that I get to work out. The experience is fun, challenging, and rewarding - and I get the benefit of learning useful techniques for living an enjoyable life! What could be better?

Relevance to the Blog: as of 2010

I founded my first blog in April of 2007. Over the next five months I wrote 96 blog posts. Over the course of the following academic year I wrote 77 posts, and in the next academic year I wrote 81. This year, however, [editor's note: 2010] I've only written ten posts, and only three of these contained any original content. The question is: What happened? Why the dip in prolificacy?

The simplest explanation is that this was my first year "outside" of yeshiva. For a period of seven wonderful years, from September '02 until June '09, I was blessed with the privilege of learning in yeshiva full-time, or part-time while going to college (which was practically full-time). But in September '09 I got my first teaching job, and since then, I've devoted a great deal of time to my students. Time that was once spent writing blog posts was now spent preparing lessons and responding to students' questions via email and text messaging.

This explanation, while true, is not the whole truth. After reading the story of the wobbling plate I realized that my relationship to my blog has changed over the years. When I first started blogging, I did it for my own enjoyment. I love writing! Actually, that's not entirely accurate. I love thinking through writing. By that I mean formulating and organizing my ideas in writing, and discussing them with others in writing. My blog was originally conceived of as a venue for me to do what I love, for essentially selfish reasons.

But over time, as more and more people started reading my blog, I started to feel obligated to write. This had several negative effects: 

1. I felt increasingly restricted in the writing topics I chose. Instead of writing what I wanted to write about, I felt like I had to write about what others would be interested in. And when someone asked me to take up a certain topic or answer a certain question, I felt responsible for following through on the request.
   
2. My perfectionist tendencies were horrendously exacerbated. In the good ole' days I felt comfortable posting whatever I was thinking about: musings, questions, observations, insights, partial ideas, ideas in development, my feelings about certain ideas, my feelings toward learning in general, and the like. But as time went on, I felt the need to only post "publishable" material - the type of stuff that I would feel comfortable submitting to a newsletter or online publication. That cut out a lot of potentially "post-worthy" posts.
   
3. Likewise, I started to spend a longer and longer time tweaking, editing, and rewriting posts - many of which have never seen the light of day because they haven't met my unrealistic perfectionist standards. (Fun fact: Did you know that I have 106 drafts in my draft folder? That's 106 blog posts in various stages of completion, which I have "put on hold" because my perfectionist tendencies prevented me from finishing them. Sickening, isn't it?) [Editor's note: Since 2010, this number has increased twofold - or perhaps even threefold.]
   
4. For the same reason, I began to feel pressured to write "comprehensive" treatments of whatever topic I chose to write about. This was another unrealistic obstacle which compounded all of the other problems.
   
5. I felt increasing pressure to be prolific. If I didn't post a certain number of posts per week, I'd feel guilty or remiss in my duty as a writer. And when I didn't meet that self-imposed quota, I would start to ignore the blog altogether. It was a vicious cycle.
   
6. I used to write as a learner, but I somehow allowed myself to get into the mode of trying to teach through my blog. In retrospect, this was a mistake. There is a place for teaching and a place for learning, and for me, this blog is the latter. All of my feelings of obligation and responsibility are built on the premise that I am writing in the capacity of teacher. But if I'm just a guy thinking out loud and talking ideas with other people, then why should I have any responsibilities towards others? "If you have become wise, you have become wise for yourself, and if you have scoffed, then you alone will bear responsibility" (Mishlei 9:12). 

There may have been more, but that's all I can think of right now. The point is that I stopped enjoying writing on my blog, and consequently, I stopped trying. Whenever I did try, I didn't get anywhere. I'd either become frustrated, or obsessed with "getting it perfect," or disinterested. It just wasn't fun anymore.

And so, freshly inspired by Feynman's example, I'm going to set one more goal for myself: NOT to be goal-oriented in writing for my blog. I want to rekindle the original spirit of the blog. Starting this week, I'm going to go back to writing for my own benefit and my own enjoyment. I'm going to (try to) forget about my own expectations and the expectations of others and just have fun thinking in writing.

If I succeed, then this will be good for me and for the blog. If I fail, then things will remain as they have been. Either way, I've got nothing to lose. Wish me luck!

Relevance to the Blog: as of 2015

I began this blog last summer. My goal then was the same goal I had during the previous summer: to publish one blog post each weekday of the summer. This summer was slightly different: instead of prioritizing new blog posts, I made it my goal to edit and republish posts from the old blog. Thankfully, it appears that this has been a success. 

This week I will begin preparing for the classes I will be teaching during the upcoming school year. Last year at this time, I decided it would be prudent to stop writing new posts for the blog. During the school year, I barely wrote anything. I had consciously decided - for a number of reasons - to invest all of my learning/teaching energy into the classes I was teaching. In retrospect, I believe this was a mistake. Rereading these Feynman anecdotes helped me to understand why this is the case. In short: I need an outlet for "playing" with Torah, and this blog is that outlet.

As much as I incorporate the "playing" attitude into the way I teach my students, and in my chavrusa learning, neither of these activities can substitute for my own need to play with Torah. I need a venue in which I can freely play with ideas, without the responsibility of "teaching" or of being viewed as authority or even of "being a good chavrusa." I need the freedom to think out loud and explore questions and ideas which interest me, and I need to do this by writing in a public format. 

Why can I only satisfy this need in this manner? Who knows! I only know that it is true, and that I must do it. During this past school year, my teaching and my learning suffered because I wasn't playing with Torah through writing. I see now how critical it is for me to continue playing with Torah even during the school year. 

And so I am pleased to announce on the record that although my daily blogging will discontinue for the summer, I definitely plan to continue writing and posting for the remainder of the month, and - God willing - for the remainder of the year. I hope and pray that I will be successful in this endeavor, and that my efforts will not be thwarted by forces from within or from without. Thank you for your support!