Maurice Sendak: on Death, Life, and Speaking Truth to Children

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

Maurice Sendak: on Death, Life, and Speaking Truth to Children

Maurice Sendak, the children's writer and illustrator who authored Where the Wild Things Are (1963), died on May 8th 2012 at the age of 83. In the flurry of tributes posted online in the wake of his passing I stumbled upon a clip entitled Sendak On Death (And Life), from Spike Jonze's documentary, Tell Them Anything You Want: A Maurice Sendak Documentary (2009). The title intrigued me.

I am a firm believer in the notion that the thoughts and feelings of a man approaching death are worthy of consideration. It doesn't matter whether you agree with his beliefs, his philosophy, or his life choices. Man, when faced with his own mortality, can often apprehend reality with a clarity that the rest of us cannot.

Here is the clip, followed by a transcript of the part which deals with the topics in the title of this post.

I did some very good books, which mostly is an isolationist form of life - doing books, doing pictures - and is the only true happiness I've ever, ever enjoyed in my life. It's sublime! To just to go into another room and make pictures. It's magic time, where all your weaknesses of character and all blemishes of personality and whatever else torments you, fades away. It just doesn't matter. 

You're doing the one thing you want to do and you do it well and you know you do it well ...

... and you're happy!

The whole promise is to do the work. Sitting down at the drawing table, turning on the radio. I think, "What a transcendent life this is!" that I'm doing everything I want to do. 

And at that moment I feel that I'm a lucky man. 

I'm trying very hard to concentrate on what is here - what I can see, what I can smell, what I can feel - making that the important business of life. Just looking out the window and the colors that I see, reading Charles Dickens at night for an hour - little rituals I have - I'm listening to Mozart. 

I'm learning how not to take myself so seriously. That what I'm working on, what I'd like to work on - that it's not earthshakingly important anymore. I'm not earthshakingly important. 

So, what am I saying? ... I'm just clearing the decks for a simple death. 

You're done with your work. 

You're done with your life. 

And your life was your work. 

I think what I've offered was different. But not because I drew better than anybody or wrote better than anybody, but because I was more honest than anybody. And in the discussion of children and the lives of children and the fantasies of children and the language of children - I said anything I wanted. 

Because I don't believe in children, 

I don't believe in childhood, 

I don't believe that this demarcation - like, "You mustn't tell them that!" "You must tell them that!" - you tell them anything you want. Just tell them if it's true. 

If it's true, you tell them.

I have adult thoughts in my head - experiences - but I'm never going to talk about them, 

I'm never going to write about them. 

Why is my needle stuck in childhood? 

I don't know why. 

I don't know why. 

I guess that's where my heart is.

Several points in this excerpt resonated with me. 

First of all, I have found my life's calling - not as a children's author, but as a high school teacher, which is not entirely unrelated. Like Sendak, I am extremely grateful that my life's work brings me daily happiness, and enables me to live "a transcendent life." I am also grateful that my passion is in an enterprise that actually has real meaning and benefit. 

Secondly, I am slowly learning not to take myself so seriously, and the fact that I work with teenagers definitely helps with that. That, combined with the wisdom and maturity that comes from life experience and with age.

Lastly is the fact that I, too, am frustrated by society's insistence on restricting children's pursuit of truth based solely on fact that they are in the category of "children." I don't know if I would go so far as Sendak to say "I don't believe in children," but I definitely think that students suffer from being addressed by teachers as children. If we want children to think and act maturely as adults, then we need to start treating them that way - at least by the time they reach high school. 

Unlike so many of my fellow Jews, I believe that only get one life, and I thank God that this is the one I have been given.

Mishlei 16:18 - Two Types of Arrogance

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

Artwork: Tragic Slip, by Christopher Moeller
(color-adjusted using Google Photos)

Mishlei 16:18 - Two Types of Arrogance

משלי טז:יח

לִפְנֵי שֶׁבֶר גָּאוֹן וְלִפְנֵי כִשָּׁלוֹן גֹּבַהּ רוּחַ:

Mishlei 16:18

Arrogance comes before breaking, and haughtiness comes before stumbling.

The questions I had this time around are very straightforward:

1. What is the difference between gaon (arrogance) and govah ruach (haughtiness)? It's possible that the two halves of the pasuk are saying the same thing in different words, but the next question makes that assumption unlikely.
2. What is the difference between shever (breaking) and kishalon (stumbling)? These two terms seem quite different, but what do they mean? "Breaking" seems worse than merely "stumbling," but in what sense?
3. How does gaon cause "breaking," and govah ruach cause "stumbling"? The implication is that gaon leads to "breaking" specifically, as opposed to "stumbling," whereas govah ruach leads specifically to "stumbling" but not "breaking."

[Time to think! Read on when ready.]

Here is my four-sentence summary of the main idea. Because I am not 100% clear about my answer to Question #1, I've erred on the side of wordiness:

Govah ruach (“haughty spirit”) is the opposite of “shfal ruach” (“lowly spirit”), and refers to arrogance as a character disposition (i.e. an accidental quality of the personality) – a psychological tendency to overestimate one’s own abilities and relative superiority; like other dispositions, the degree of govah ruach may fluctuate based on external circumstances or internal moods.

Gaon (“arrogance”) is the opposite of “anavah” (“humility”) and refers to arrogance as a fundamental temperament (i.e. an essential quality of the personality) – a view of oneself as intrinsically superior and inherently deserving of success; the quality of gaon is so deeply rooted in the individual’s character that it tends to remain at a constant heightened level, which only grows more severe with each accomplishment.

Govah ruach will result in “stumbling” – bad decisions from which the individual can recover; since govah ruach is merely an inclination towards overestimation of the self, it is possible (albeit unlikely) for the individual to experience a “wake-up call” after suffering the consequences of his misstep, provided he recognizes his hubris as the cause.

In contrast, gaon will ultimately lead to “breaking” – total destruction; the baal gaon’s unshakable conviction that he is destined for greatness will render him blind and deaf to anything which might lead him to question this fundamental egocentric premise, and he will continue to march forward in his megalomaniacal pursuits until he is utterly destroyed by the harsh reality which refuses to show him the favoritism to which he feels entitled.

The question I haven't answered is how to determine whether a particular individual suffers from gaon or merely govah ruach. In certain cases it seems pretty clear that a person suffers from a terminal case of gaon, but it other cases it will take a lot of data (i.e. instances of arrogant decisions and their aftermath) to be able to make this determination with any degree of certainty - and even then, I'm not sure whether it's possible to know for sure. 

A Note on Methodology: Reviewing Without Reviewing

Readers of this blog might have seen this post and thought to themselves, "Wait a minute - didn't he already write a post about this pasuk?" Yes, I did! I called it Mishlei 16:18 - Pride Goeth Before the Fall, published in June 2017.

I learn with my Mishlei rebbi almost every Friday. A few years ago we started Mishlei Chapter 12, and have continued pasuk by pasuk. This past Friday we arrived at Mishlei 16:18. If I know I've written about a pasuk before or learned or taught it within the past few years, I'll usually remember the idea I came up with. This time, however, I couldn't remember. This afforded me the valuable opportunity to relearn it from scratch, and possibly arrive at a different idea.

After I learned through this pasuk again with my Mishlei rebbi, I went back and reread my old post. I was delighted by the fact that not only did we come up with a different idea this time, but the questions we asked were quite different. Last time I was most bothered by the phrasing and ordering of the clauses in the pasuk, but that question didn't even occur to me this time around. This time my mind seized upon the differences between the first and second half, and viewed that as the primary question, whereas last time I was more bothered by the question of "Duh! This idea seems obvious!"

I am fortunate to have had a Mishlei rebbi who has a terrible memory, who almost never recalls ideas and explanations we've come up with in the past. Consequently, no matter how many times we've learned a pasuk in the past, we always learn it from scratch with him. This has shown me how valuable it is to approach the material with fresh eyes and a fresh mind. Sometimes this takes me to the same conclusions as before, but most often, it leads to new discoveries and deeper insights that I missed the first time around. This pasuk was a nice reminder of that, especially since I have a written record of my thought process the last time around!

How I Teach Maaseh Bereishis - Part 2 of 2

This post is a continuation of How I Teach Maaseh Bereishis - Part 1 of 2. It is recommended that you read that post before reading this one.

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

How I Teach Maaseh Bereishis - Part 2 of 2

Reminder: The term “Maaseh Bereishis” in this post refers specifically to the text of Bereishis Perek 1 (Genesis Chapter 1). It does not refer to the pesukim after the first perek, nor does it refer to the event of the creation – just the pesukim. 

Kass's Approach to Maaseh Bereishis 

We left off with the following question: if the pesukim of Bereishis Perek 1 were never intended to be taken literally, and the true meaning was only intended for the elite chachamim, then what purpose do these pesukim serve for the masses? What is the average Jew supposed to get out of a literal reading of Maaseh Bereishis? Why didn't the Torah simply state the fact that Hashem created the universe in Six Days in a single pasuk and leave the detailed account to Torah she'baal Peh, as the Ramban suggested?

The best answer to this question I’ve encountered can be found in Leon Kass’s commentary on Sefer Bereishis, entitled, The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis (2003). Kass is a secular philosopher [1] whose commentary utilizes what he refers to as “a wisdom-seeking approach” to the text of the Bible (see this post for an elaboration). Though I cannot endorse his entire book, both because I haven’t read it all and I didn’t agree with everything I did read, his approach to Maaseh Bereishis certainly opened my eyes, and inspired the direction I take in teaching this unit. 

Here is Kass’s commentary on the first pasuk of Bereishis. I’ve underlined the passages which led me to develop the approach I use when teaching this to my students: 

Unfortunately for those who demand clear pictures, the text’s account of the very beginning is shrouded in mystery:

In beginning, God [’elohim] created the heavens and the earth. 

The first sentence of Genesis majestically summarizes the entire story and states its main theme and thesis: creation, by God, and creation by God. Yet there is much in this verse that is hard to understand: in beginning of what? (Of time? Of everything? Of God’s creative activities?) What is “creating”? And who or what is this creating being, God? To some of these difficulties – especially creation – we shall return. But even now, with our incomplete understanding, we grasp a major point: the assertion of creation by God emphatically denies important competing alternatives. Right from its beginning, Genesis, by speaking about the origins of heaven and earth, denies the eternity and, a fortiori, the divinity of the visible universe: neither the heavens – the lofty celestial vault with its sun, moon, stars – nor the earth, the fertile, teeming source of life, are gods. They are, rather, creatures, creations of God. Perhaps more important, Genesis denies the alternative of generative beginnings: the sky did not beget upon the earth; our world is not the result of sexual (or warring) activities of gods and goddesses. In denying that the world comes to be through giving birth – that is, in rejecting cosmogony and, all the more so, theogony – Genesis begins by rejecting the necessity of polytheism. The coming into being of our world does not imply or demand more than one god.  

The Bible does not polemicize against these alternatives. As Umberto Cassuto remarks, “the controversial note is heard indirectly, as it were, through the deliberate, quiet utterances of Scripture, which sets the opposing views at naught by silence or by subtle hint.” Still, one cannot exaggerate the importance the Bible attaches to rejecting these alternatives. Numerous people of the ancient Near East – and elsewhere – regarded the heavenly bodies as divine. In the course of Genesis, we shall meet – as alternative and rejected ways of life – the Babylonians, who looked up to the heavens, and the Egyptians, who worshipped the sun and other nature gods. Because every people (and also every person) is defined ultimately by what it (or he or she) admires and reveres, the Bible wastes no time in denying the standing of other peoples’ candidates for the divine. The reason for this urgent rejection is a matter to which we will return. 

Skipping a few paragraphs, here’s another part of Kass’s commentary which highlights his approach: 

The account, though comprehensive, has an earth-centered focus. Though it speaks about what we call, in nonbiblical language, the universe or the cosmos, it addresses us, as terrestrial beings and as seeing beings, looking around and, especially, up. It begins with what we recognize and trust: the visible world we see above and about us. It shows us the articulated world of our native experience, as it manifests itself to sight.

All the beings mentioned are known to us in ordinary experience: There are no mythical beasts and no gods and goddesses. The main regions of our world are present – land, sea, and air – with their appropriate inhabitants, divided into recognizable kinds or species. And the overarching, star-studded, watery blue vault of heaven that beckons our gaze is present almost from the start, preceded only by light, in the absence of which nothing at all could be distinguished or gazed upon. By addressing human beings exactly as they experience the world, especially through sight, Genesis begins with what is both familiar and first for us, and for all mankind at all times.

But in the course of appealing first to our familiar point of view, the story in fact calls that viewpoint into question. Although addressed to our experience, the account of Genesis 1 does not simply accord with our experience; indeed, some of the peculiarities of the account induce perplexities about the way we ordinarily encounter the world. 

To review, our question is: What purpose is served by the literal pshat of Maaseh Bereishis, as read and understood by the masses? Based on the approach set forth by Kass, we may answer our question as follows: Maaseh Bereishis is intended to be a philosophical primer for healthy development as a tzelem Elokim (truth-seeking intellect). Specifically, its purpose is twofold: (1) to establish the foundations of a worldview which helps the masses develop a philosophically mature way of relating to the world around them, and (2) to steer these readers away from competing worldviews which would otherwise arrest their philosophical maturation. 

This may seem like a radical move on the Torah’s part, but in truth, it is merely a specialized instance of dibra Torah ki’lshon bnei adam (“the Torah speaks in the language of man”). Rather than stating the “raw truth” explicitly, in a manner that would be incomprehensible and/or detrimental to the majority of readers, the Torah presents the truth in a manner which is accessible to the average readers on their level, in terms they can easily relate to. This “watered down” version of the truth is designed as a developmental primer. In other words, the literal interpretation is not intended to remain as the reader’s permanent understanding, like a classical myth; it is meant to temporarily frame the reader’s conception and lay the groundwork for the next step in his or her understanding. As the reader continues to develop intellectually and psychologically, he or she will delve deeper into the true meaning underlying the external sense of the pesukim and come to terms with the truth at his or her own pace. The Torah uses this approach when speaking about Hashem; the Neviim and Kesuvim use this approach with many subjects; Chazal use this approach in midrashim. It shouldn’t surprise us that the Torah uses this approach when discussing the profound subject of Maaseh Bereishis.

Before expanding on this approach, I'd like to anticipate and address an objection. Our instinctive reaction as "modern readers" is to compare and contrast the Torah’s account with our modern scientific understanding of cosmogony. If we do this, we will surely be disappointed. The Torah's geocentric narrative of the Six Days of Creation pales in comparison to the current theoretical model of the Big Bang and the unfolding of the entire universe. Some might even consider the Torah's account to appear childish in comparison. 

But we must remember that the Torah was not addressing itself to "scientifically enlightened" readers in the 21st century. Rather, as Kass pointed out, the Torah's narrative was competing with pre-scientific and non-scientific creation mythology - and rightly so, for it is these myths which have dominated mankind's conception of the heavens and earth for millennia. If the Torah had been written specifically for the 21st century, for an audience that already has a basic grasp of scientific thinking, or for readers immersed in a world where secular atheism is the competing worldview with Torah monotheism, I'm sure that the pesukim of Maaseh Bereishis would look quite different. 

It is this realization that the Torah was aimed at combating myths which prompted me to use an out-of-the-box method in presenting this to my students. 

Comparing Maaseh Bereishis to Creation Myths of Other Religions 

Rather than spoon-feeding this reading of Maaseh Bereishis to my students or having them read the relevant excerpts from Kass’s book, I try to have them derive it on their own. I found a site called www.BigMyth.com. The home page shows a map of the world with 25 dots identifying regions on six of the seven continents. If you hover your mouse over a dot, the name of the nation, culture, or religion will pop up (e.g. Egyptian, Chinese, Maori, Inuit, Inca, etc.). Once you make your selection, you’ll be taken to an early 2000’s era “flash animation” which depicts that group’s creation story, complete with cheesy sound effects and narration. 

I show my students the first couple of minutes of around 5-7 of these animations, then encourage them to watch more at home prior to doing their assignment. Their assignment is to identify the major differences between the Torah’s account of creation and the creation myths of these groups. I tell them to focus on how each account of creation might impact the way that these people view the human race, God (or gods), and the universe as a whole. 

On the day after the assignment is due, we go through the students’ findings and discuss them. I conclude the unit by presenting what I see as the key differences between the Torah’s account of creation and the common features of these creation myths. Here are a few examples. 

anthropomorphic creator(s) vs. non-anthropomorphic Creator: Other religions depict their god(s) in highly anthropomorphic ways. The Torah does not. The only verbs it uses are verbs which do not evoke strong anthropomorphic imagery (e.g. creating, speaking, seeing, separating, calling, making, placing etc.) as opposed to the gross anthropomorphisms found throughout the rest of the Torah (e.g. body parts, such as eyes, ears, hand, arm, or emotions such as anger, sadness, regret, mercy, love). It is as though the Torah wants our introduction to Hashem to be as devoid of physicality as possible, so as not to not lead us to associate the physical universe as proceeding from a physical creator – especially one that resembles ourselves. All of this prepares our minds to seek out the non-physical causes of nature, which will ultimately lead us to the non-physical First Cause.

multiple creators vs. One Creator: Many other creation stories involve multiple creators and/or divinities. According to the Torah, Hashem was the sole cause of the universe. A person who believes that the universe is the product of multiple gods will have no impetus to seek a unity of design underlying the diverse particulars of the universe. Why should he, if different parts of the universe belong to different gods? But according to the Torah, there is only One Architect of the universe with one law that governs His entire domain.

“scientific” account of creation vs. “magical” account of creation: Other religions’ creation stories are mythological and fantastical. Many of them involve a multiplicity of divine beings (e.g. spirits, angels, demons, demi-gods), supernatural objects with mystical properties, and magical generative processes. In contrast, Maaseh Bereishis is scientific in its character. It describes an orderly creation process involving things we see in the world around us: no otherworldly beings or supernatural things – just earthly phenomena that we observe around us every day. Even the actions of the Creator are not described in miraculous terms. It is easy to see how this orientation towards the world lends itself to a value system which promotes scientific inquiry, rather than imaginative mythos and primitive superstiion.

yeish me’yesh (creation out of something) vs. yeish me’ayin (creation out of nothing): Many other creation stories begin with something that already exists, and everything emanates or is created from that. According to the Torah – as understood by the majority of the meforshim – Hashem created the universe out of nothing. Therefore, He is truly the First Cause, and nothing can be compared to Him in His eternality. In other words, there is nothing in the Torah’s account that occupies the “throne” of eternality other than Hashem.

universe as divinity vs. universe as creation: Other religions maintain that the universe itself is divine, or has divine qualities. The Torah makes it clear that the entire universe is a creation. This rules out the possibility of worshipping the universe or parts of the universe (e.g. sun, moon, stars, planets) as gods, or having godly qualities. It can be argued that this is the essential difference between a primitive outlook and a scientific one. So long as a society perceives nature as a panoply of divinities, each with its own independent will that must be appeased, the gates of scientific inquiry will be barred and concealed.

creation process as melachah (intelligent design) vs. creation as non-melachah: Other religions’ creation stories involve accidents, mistakes, and automatic generative processes. According to the Torah, the entire work of creation is characterized as “melachah” – a deliberate creative process in which matter is transformed in accordance with intelligent design – and the sequence of days follows a logical, hierarchical order. Moreover, it is clear that our Creator knows what He is doing: at each step of the way, he declares what He intends to do, He does it, and He perceives that it is good. At the end of the Six Days of Creation, He deems the entire creation as “very good” – that is, produced in complete accord with His plan. It is easy to see how this analogy of melachah would radically alter a person’s view of the universe. Are we living in a universe which is an expression of wisdom, with an underlying lawfulness and order that can be discerned by the truth-seeking human intellect, or was the universe a fluke, a blunder, or the result of blind forces acting without any objective or blueprint.

no motives are given for creation vs. creation is a result of human motives: In the creation stories of other religions, motives are given for the actions of the gods. Usually these motives are petty: because the god is lonely, because the god is angry, because the god wants to be worshipped, etc. In stark contrast, the Torah says nothing about why Hashem created the universe. This underscores the Torah’s view that we cannot know the purpose of the universe, because we cannot know Hashem’s Mind, which is identical with His unknowable Essence. 

These aren’t the only differences between Maaseh Bereishis and the creation myths of other religions, but I hope they illustrate how a literal reading of the pesukim paves the way for the development of the scientific and philosophical worldview that is the ultimate objective of the Torah regimen. At the very least, I hope these fundamental distinctions highlight how being raised with the creation myths of other religions makes it extremely difficult for scientific truth-seeking thinkers to arise from their ranks. 

Conclusion 

So that concludes my overview of Unit 1: Maaseh Bereishis. I tweak it from year to year, and emphasize different things based on my students and their questions, but the core presentation has remained the same. If the only thing my students walk away with is an awareness that the pesukim of Maaseh Bereishis were never intended to be taken literally, and that that the literal meaning of the pesukim was designed to promote a scientific, philosophically mature worldview, then I have done my job. But I am always looking for ways to improve, so if you have any questions, objections, or suggestions about what I have presented here, then please do share!

[1] According to his Wikipedia page, he is “an American physician, scientist, educator, and public intellectual, best known as proponent of liberal education via the ‘Great Books,’ as an opponent of human cloning, life extension and euthanasia, as a critic of certain areas of technological progress and embryo research, and for his controversial tenure as chairman of the President's Council on Bioethics from 2001 to 2005. Although Kass is often referred to as a bioethicist, he eschews the term and refers to himself as ‘an old-fashioned humanist. A humanist is concerned broadly with all aspects of human life, not just the ethical.’” 

How I Teach Maaseh Bereishis - Part 1 of 2

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

How I Teach Maaseh Bereishis – Part 1 of 2 

Note: Throughout this post, the term “Maaseh Bereishis” (lit. “the work of In the Beginning”) is used in reference to the pesukim of Sefer Bereishis Perek 1 (the Book of Genesis Chapter 1). Although this term can refer to the first several chapters of Bereishis – including the second account of the creation of Adam and Chava in Gan Eden, their sin, their banishment, Kayin and Hevel, and the first generations – I teach Bereishis Perek 1 as its own unit, and this post is about that unit specifically. I intend to write another post about how I teach about Adam and Chava in Gan Eden, but that has nothing to do with the Maaseh Bereishis of this unit. 

Introduction 

I have taught Sefer Bereishis to 12th graders for the past seven years. One might think that Bereishis Perek 1 would be relatively easy to teach, since the “storyline” of Maaseh Bereishis is familiar to most students. I, however, have found that the task of teaching this perek is far from easy, due to the questions and problems which have arisen since the dawn of the scientific age. 

Students are aware that Maaseh Bereishis clashes with the modern scientific account of how the universe came to be. Some students are bothered by this conflict, and others are not. Of the former, some take the Torah’s account at face value and look askance at science; others embrace the scientific account and are troubled by how the Torah’s account could possibly differ. My approach to teaching Maaseh Bereishis aims to address all of these students, no matter where they are coming from, while upholding the truth of both Torah and science. Suffice it to say, this is easier said than done. 

There are additional difficulties in teaching this particular perek. Many of the meforshim (commentators) explain the pesukim using outdated Aristotelian physics, much of which has little meaning to offer my students. Even the meforshim who prioritize the pshat (straightforward meaning) of the pesukim exhibit this trend. The midrashic literature is rich in its content, but does very little to address the pshat of the pesukim. There is also the time constraint: during most years, we have a very limited number of days in September before we break for the moadim (holidays), which means that this unit has to be fairly quick. 

This post is about how I teach Maaseh Bereishis to my students. I am not claiming that this is the only way – or even the best way – to present this topic. I am aware that my approach is somewhat radical, and some may even find it objectionable, but at the present time, I think it represents my best efforts to teach this difficult material to the types of students I tend to have. I will now walk you through my actual lesson plan, explaining what I do and why I do it. 

Maaseh Bereishis was Never Meant to Be Taken Literally 

My first step is to show my students that the Torah’s account of the creation was never intended to be taken literally. I put the emphasis on “never” because I want to make it clear that this approach should not be dismissed as “apologetics” (i.e. interpretations aimed at upholding the truth of Scripture which only arose after these scientific questions came to light). Rather, the non-literal reading of Maaseh Bereishis has always been part of our mesorah (oral tradition), going back to the giving of the Torah at Sinai. 

I support my contention by drawing upon the words of “two trustworthy witnesses, pillars of the world, great Sages of understanding and refined intellects who are the recipients of the secrets of Torah,” [1] namely, the Rambam and the Ramban. 

[Reminder: when I say that “Maaseh Bereishis was never meant to be taken literally,” I am referring to how we interpret the pesukim of Maaseh Bereishis. Obviously, the phenomenon of God creating the universe was meant to be taken literally.]

Rambam on the Non-Literalness of Maaseh Bereishis

The Rambam expresses this in several places throughout the Moreh ha’Nevuchim, but I’ll content myself with citing a single passage from 2:29: 

Not everything mentioned in the Torah’s Maaseh Bereishis was intended to be taken literally, as the masses imagine. For if this were the case, then those who know [the true interpretation] wouldn’t have taken so much care to conceal it, and Chazal wouldn’t have tried to keep it secret and prevented people from talking about it in the presence of the masses. The literal meaning of the words [of the pesukim in Maaseh Bereishis] might lead us to form false ideas and false opinions about Hashem, or even to totally deny and reject the foundations of Torah. Therefore, it is proper to refrain from explaining this subject based on our empty imaginations which come from ignorance of science. In contrast, there are ignorant darshanim (i.e. people who give Torah lectures to the masses) and meforshim who imagine that wisdom consists in knowing the explanation of the words [in the pesukim], and that greater excellence is attained by using more words and longer speech. Rather, the proper understanding can only be attained after acquiring complete knowledge of the substantiated sciences and the sodos (esoteric truths) of the Prophets. 

The Rambam offers two arguments as to why the pesukim of Maaseh Bereishis shouldn’t be taken at face value. His first argument is that if Maaseh Bereishis were intended to be taken literally, then why did Chazal take such strict measures to conceal it and restrict its teaching? The Rambam is referring to the numerous restrictions on how and by whom Maaseh Bereishis ought to be learned and taught. The source of these restrictions is the mishnah in Chagigah 2:1 (Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 11b): 

One may not expound on arayos (sexual prohibitions) with three [people], nor Maaseh Bereishis with two, nor Maaseh Merkavah (the Work of the Chariot) with one, unless he is wise and intuitively understands with his own mind. Anyone who contemplates four things – it would be better for him if he didn’t come into the world: that which is above, that which is below, that which came before, and that which will come after. Anyone who does not have mercy on the glory of his Creator – it would be better for him not to have come into the world. 

The Rambam explains the restrictions on Maaseh Bereishis in his commentary on this mishnah: 

He said nor Maaseh Bereishis with two – and certainly not with more than two. The Sages said [on the pasuk] “When you inquire of the early days” – one may inquire, but two may not inquire. We have already explained the reason for this in our introduction to this composition, namely, that it is impossible for the masses to understand these concepts; [hence] they were only transmitted from individual to individual. The Sages were cautious with them because the masses would be able to understand very little. When the fool hears them, his beliefs will become confused and he would think that they contradicted the truth, though they are [actually] true … [For this reason the mishnah] spoke in an intimidating manner concerning one who applies his thoughts to Maaseh Bereishis without the prerequisites, saying, “anyone who contemplates four things etc.” 

Likewise, [the mishnah] intimidates the one who applies his thoughts and simple imagination to metaphysics without first having ascended the rungs of the sciences, saying, “anyone who does not have mercy on the glory of his Creator, it would be better for him not to have come into the world.” The explanation of this is that it would be better for [the totality of] existence if this individual were negated from humanity and were a different species of animal instead, for he desires to know in a manner contrary to his developmental course and contrary to his nature. The only one who imagines that he can know what is above and what is below is a person who is utterly ignorant regarding matters of truth. When a person who is devoid of all knowledge desires to comprehend in order to know what is above the heavens and what is under the earth by using his faulty imagination (for he imagines [the heavens] to be like the upper story of a house) and likewise, that which preceded the creation of the heavens and what will be after the cessation of their existence – such a person will certainly fall into madness and desolation. [2]

Going back to the Rambam’s statement in the Moreh ha’Nevuchim: if Maaseh Bereishis could be understood from a literal reading of the pesukim, then why would – or how could – Chazal place such a high barrier of entry around the subject matter? Rather, it is clear from their cautionary words and restrictions on how the subject is studied and taught that the true interpretation of Maaseh Bereishis is esoteric, and cannot be understood by the masses from the pesukim in the Torah. 

The Rambam’s second argument is that a literal reading of Maaseh Bereishis would lead to conclusions which are heretical, foolish, or both. We are in an even greater position than the Rambam to recognize the extent to which a belief in the literal understanding of the pesukim would lead to a denial of the truths arrived at through empirical science. It’s no coincidence that those Jews and Christians who insist on taking Maaseh Bereishis literally are invariably anti-science in their general outlook. 

For more on the Rambam's non-literal approach to Maaseh Bereishis, see the Moreh ha'Nevuchim 2:29-30.

Ramban on the Non-Literalness of Maaseh Bereishis

The Ramban (in his commentary on Bereishis 1:1) is just as firm in his assertion that Maaseh Bereishis should not be taken literally. The context of these comments is the Ramban’s analysis of the tanna R’ Yitzchak’s suggestion that the Torah could have started with the mitzvah of Rosh Chodesh in Sefer Shemos, and that there was no need for the entirety of Sefer Bereishis: 

Since Maaseh Bereishis is a sode amok (deep esoteric truth) which cannot be understood merely by reading the pesukim, and cannot be known with clarity except through the kabbalah ish mi’pi ish (the special oral tradition going back from mouth to mouth) from Moshe Rabbeinu who heard it from Hashem, and even the people who know this tradition are obligated to conceal it, therefore, R’ Yitzchak said that there was no need for the beginning of the Torah to include “In the beginning, God created etc.”, or the account of what was created on the first day and what was made on the second day and other days, or the lengthy story of Adam and Chava and their sin and punishment, or the story of the Garden of Eden and Adam’s banishment from it – for all of this cannot be fully understood by merely reading the pesukim. All the more so is this true for the story of the Generation of the Flood and the Generation of the Dispersion, which are not of such great necessity. It would have been enough for the followers of Torah without these pesukim, and they would believe in the general statement concerning the Six Days of Creation in the Decalogue: “For in six days Hashem made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and He rested on the seventh day” (Shemos 20:11), and the specialized knowledge of the Six Days of Creation could have been left for the yechidim (highly qualified individuals) as a halacha l’Moshe mi’Sinai (an authoritative tradition given directly to Moshe at Sinai), together with the rest of Torah she’baal Peh (the Oral Torah). 

Like the Rambam, the Ramban explicitly states that the pesukim of Maaseh Bereishis were never intended to be taken literally. Also like the Rambam, the Ramban says that Chazal concealed the true interpretation from the masses. He even goes so far as to entertain the possibility that the first several chapters of Sefer Bereishis could have been omitted from the Written Torah altogether, and relegated to the Oral Torah, where they could be understood properly by those individuals who are qualified to grasp the subject without distortion. [3] But unlike the Rambam, who maintains that our path to understanding Maaseh Bereishis is to study the empirical sciences and the esoteric ideas alluded to by the Prophets, the Ramban believes that the correct understanding can only be attained by a direct line of tradition going back to Moshe Rabbeinu – a mesorah that is part of the subject commonly referred to as “Kabbalah.” 

The question of what the true understanding of Maaseh Bereishis is will have to be left for another time. The point I intended to extract from the Rambam and the Ramban is clear: Maaseh Bereishis, as stated in the pesukim, was never intended to be taken literally. Chazal have always regarded the true interpretation to be among the “secrets of Torah” that have been concealed, and only taught to those who are ready. The Baalei Mesorah (transmitters of the Oral Tradition) have always viewed Maaseh Bereishis this way, even before science demonstrated that a literal reading of the pesukim was untenable. 

A New Question 

Although this “solves” the problem Maaseh Bereishis vs. science, it raises a new question: if the true interpretation of Maaseh Bereishis was only intended for the elite chachamim (wise men), then what purpose does it serve for the masses? What is the average Jew supposed to get out of a literal reading of the pesukim? 

We’ll leave that question for the next installment. 

[1] The adulation quotation comes from the Sefer ha’Chinuch: Parashas Ki Teitzei, Mitzvah #545. Not only do I love this description of the Rambam and the Ramban, but I also like the Sefer ha'Chinuch's approach of turning to these two Rishonim specifically when he wants to demonstrate that a certain idea is unanimous or mainstream.

[2] Even though I am trying to avoid discussing Maaseh Merkavah here, and I considered omitting the part of the Rambam’s commentary in which he discusses that part of the mishnah, I ultimately decided to retain it, since what he says about “one who applies his thoughts and simple imagination to metaphysics without first having ascended the rungs of the sciences” is equally relevant to those who attempt to approach Maaseh Bereishis based on their simple imagination without knowledge of science, as the Rambam excplicitly stated in the excerpt from the Moreh ha’Nevuchim. 

[3] The Ramban goes on to explain why these passages were included in the Written Torah, but his answer is irrelevant to our question, since the Ramban was not addressing conflicts between science and Torah. 

Parashas Chukas: Divine Justice for Those Under Duress

Technically speaking, this is a sequel to my July 2015 post Parashas Chukas: Overlooking Sacrilegious Speech, but there's no real necessity to read that post before this one. I'll recap the essential points. I gotchu!

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

Artwork: Stasis, by Seb McKinnon

Parashas Chukas: Divine Justice for Those Under Duress

A few years ago I wrote a post about the following pesukim in our parashah:

The Children of Israel, the whole assembly, arrived at the Wilderness of Tzin in the first month and the people settled in Kadesh. Miriam died there and she was buried there. There was no water for the assembly, and they gathered against Moshe and Aharon. The people quarreled with Moshe and spoke up, saying, "If only we had perished as our brethren perished before Hashem! Why have you brought the congregation of Hashem to this wilderness to die there, we and our animals? And why did you bring us up from Egypt to bring us to this evil place? - not a place of seed, or fig, or grape, or pomegranate; and there is no water to drink!" (Bamidbar 20:1-5)

I cited the Ralbag, who derives a lesson in middos (ethics) from the fact that Hashem doesn't punish Bnei Yisrael for these sacrilegious statements:

The first lesson we learn [in this section is] in middos, namely, that it is not proper to excessively denigrate a person who makes inappropriate statements at a time of suffering and lack of strength. We see that when Israel suffered greatly because of thirst, and they were afraid they would die because of the severity of their thirst, they said harsh words against Moshe - and yet, we do not find that they were punished for this. Indeed, Hashem (exalted is He) gave them water.

In that post I focused on the Ralbag's categorization of this idea as a lesson in middos. I wrote:

It is important to note that the Ralbag categorizes this lesson as a lesson in middos (character traits) rather than a lesson in deos (knowledge of how Hashem operates). In other words, Hashem's willingness to overlook Bnei Yisrael's inappropriate speech should not be regarded "merely" as some abstract principle of metaphysics. Rather, it should be looked upon as one of Hashem's middos ha'rachamim (merciful modes of behavior), which we are commanded to emulate. 

I went on to explain the implications of this lesson in how we relate to our fellow human beings, with a focus on how I intended to apply this lesson to the complaints of my own students. 

This year, when reviewing the Ralbag, I thought to myself, "What if we did derive a lesson in deos from this incident?" In other words, even though the Ralbag wants us to derive a lesson in middos from Hashem's response to Bnei Yisrael, he's not claiming that Hashem responded this way in order to teach us this lesson in middos. Presumably, Hashem did not consider Bnei Yisrael's improper statements to be a sin worthy of punishment, due to the fact that these statements were made when they were in a state of extreme suffering and weakness. There is a "principle of metaphysics" to be learned here, regarding how Hashem relates to those who deviate from the correct path on account of their state of emotional duress. 

This reminds me of another statement made by the Ralbag, which I wrote about in a post on Parashas Pinchas. The Ralbag explains that even though the Midianites and the Moabites both attempted to entice, harm, and eventually kill Bnei Yisrael, there was a fundamental difference in their motives: the Midianites were motivated by "their evil mentality," whereas the Moabites were only acting in self-defense, out of their fear that Bnei Yisrael would destroy them. The Ralbag derives a similar lesson in Divine judgment from this:

[We learn from here that] if one person is afraid of another, then there is nothing contemptible in him searching for any means by which to save himself. For this reason we find that the Moabites were not punished for enticing the Jews to sin, since the reason for their actions was their fear that the Jews would destroy them, for they were already afraid of Israel, as it is stated, “Moab became very frightened of the people, because it was numerous” (Bamidbar 22:3). For this reason, the Moabites' enticement of Israel to sin was but one of their weapons [of self-defense]. The Midianites, however, were not as afraid, and their intention in following the advice of Bilam was to rebel against Hashem; for this reason, Hashem desired that the Jews take vengeance against them.

Here, too, we have a situation in which a nation (Moav) engages in what would ordinarily be a punishable crime (seducing Bnei Yisrael and trying to destroy them) - yet, Hashem doesn't punish them because their actions stemmed from a state of extreme fear. 

This leads me to wonder: What are the parameters of this principle of Divine mercy for those who act wrongfully due to emotional distress? 

When it comes to halacha, the parameters are clear: "anoos Rachmana patrei" - "those who are in a situation of duress are halachically exempt from punishment." For example, if a woman is raped, then only the rapist is punished - not the victim. If a person is order to commit murder or be killed, then even though the halacha requires that person to give up his life rather than transgress, he is nevertheless not held accountable for committing this capital offense, since he did it under duress. If a person has a mental illness which causes him to violate halacha, then he is not held accountable for those actions that were done under the duress of his mental illness. 

My question is about how Divine mercy relates to people outside of the realm of halacha, in terms of Divine reward and punishment, or the state of the person's soul in Olam ha'ba (the World to Come), or a person's judgment on Rosh ha'Shanah and Yom ha'Kippurim, and other matters such as that. If a human being is in a terrible situation of suffering or fear, and this leads them to say blasphemous things or believe heretical thoughts, it would seem from the Ralbag that they would not be subject to Divine punishment. But how far does this extend? What if this person abandons Judaism altogether? Even worse, what if this emotional distress leads them to convert to a radical sect of Islam, and  commit murder in the name of Allah? How would Divine justice relate to such a person in these cases?

On the one hand, it seems from the Ralbag's cases that such a person would be exempt from Divine punishment. On the other hand, it is difficult to say that the state of this person's soul is on par with the soul of a person who didn't commit these acts. But isn't reward and punishment based, to at least some extent, on the state of a person's soul? This is what makes it a difficult question. 

One might point out the case of tinok she'nishbah bein ha'goyim (a baby that was kidnapped and raised by non-Jews) as a possible source of insight into this matter. The Rambam writes in Hilchos Mamrim 3:3:

But the children of those [Jews] who erred, and their grandchildren whose parents led them astray, and who were born and raised in heresy - they are like a baby that was captured and raised by non-Jews, in their religion, and are considered to be anoos (under duress). And even though [such an individual] heard afterwards that he was Jewish, and he saw Jews and their religion, he is still like an anoos, for he was raised in their error. The same is true of those who cling to the ways of their forefathers who strayed. Therefore, it is proper to bring them back in teshuvah, and to draw them [close] with ways of peace until they return to the strength of Torah, and one should not be quick to slay them [as one would do in the case of the founder of a heretical sect].

Although the Rambam clearly states that a tinok she'nishbah is considered to be anoos, and someone who is raised with heretical beliefs is considered to be "like an anoos," he only talks about how we should relate to such individuals - not how God relates to them, which is what I'm asking about.

I don't have an answer to this question, but I figured I'd raise it here. As the saying goes, "a good question is half of the answer." 

Q&A Tips from Peanuts

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

Q&A Tips from Peanuts

Introduction

My Mishlei rebbi in high school was known for the Q&A sessions which were a regular feature of his classes. Whenever we had extra time left between the end of the lesson and the end of the period, he'd say, "Gentlemen - I'll take a question." We could ask him any question about Judaism, philosophy, or ethics, and he would answer it, or at least try. And if we didn't agree with his answer, we would voice our disagreements, and a passionate discussion would ensue. And if he didn't know the answer, he'd say, "I don't know." 

I have carried on this tradition in my own teaching. At first it was intimidating to open the floor to any question, but the intimidation quickly turned into exhilaration, and now I love doing Q&A! And if the testimony of my students over the years is any indicator, they love it as well. I think it is extremely important for students to have regular access to this type of Q&A learning. Perhaps I'll write another blog post about why at some point.

Hold that thought while we switch gears for a moment. 

Like Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski, I have found many an insight in Charles Schulz's Peanuts comic strip. I have been known to incorporate Peanuts comics into several of my classes - especially when teaching Koheles and Iyov. Schulz most definitely had a firm grasp of human nature and psychology, and was talented at conveying this knowledge through his comics in a manner that even a young child could grasp. 

I was in the mood to write a short and informal blog post to write for today and I thought, "Why not share some Q&A tips which are reflected in Peanuts comics?" These tips aren't just for other teachers who hold Q&A sessions. They are just as useful for parents who answer questions from their children, or for any Jew who answers questions from anyone about Judaism.

I've chosen three tips to write about this time around, though I'm sure there are more. 

Tip #1: Know Which Terms to Define

Over the years my students have expressed astonishment at my ability to give clear and cogent answers to every question they throw at me, no matter how perplexing, difficult, or outside-of-the-box they may be. I explain that this ability of mine is something of a trick which came about as a result of the relatively late start of my Jewish education. 

When I first converted to Judaism and began my Jewish education from close to scratch a few months before my 17th birthday, I focused a great deal of attention on asking for definitions of basic terms and concepts. After all, how could I be a Jew without knowing the basics? For example: What is Torah? What is a mitzvah? Why do we keep mitzvos? Who is Hashem? What is a soul? What is Judaism's idea of good and evil? What is tefilah? I didn't naturally ask such questions at first, but thankfully, my Mishlei rebbi got me into this habit at an early point in my first year, and it stuck.

The more I developed in my learning, the more I realized how many of the Jews around me had not bothered to define or even investigate these very basic questions. This discovery caused me to intensify my effort to make sure that I always had at least a working definition, and that I always made it a priority to return to my working definitions to refine them as my own understanding grew. 

Fundamentals are fundamental for a reason. They are the foundations upon which everything else is built. Because these fundamentals occupy such a central place in my own learning and practice of Torah, I tend to (or try to) see all of the myriad particulars of Judaism in relation to these fundamentals. Consequently, whenever a student asks a question about a particular, I often begin my answer by identifying the fundamental on which it is based, and defining it. In many cases, that basic definition leads directly to an answer to the student's question. More importantly, my use of this technique instills within my students the intellectual habit of defining basic terms, which will better equip them to find answers to their own questions.

Unlike Linus in the comic above, always be sure to define the most basic terms, rather than getting caught up in the details from the get go. 

Tip #2: Differentiate Between Intellectual Questions and Emotional Questions

I don't remember the specifics of the event, but it went something like this. One day after class a student approached me after class and asked, "Why do bad things happen to those who are innocent?" My first reaction was excitement about the fact that this student asked such an important question. This was a student who hadn't shown any particular drive for philosophical inquiry, and rarely asked questions outside of class. 

I was about to begin a response using the approach outlined above when my spidey sense stopped me. Perhaps it was the vaguely distraught look in the student's eye, or the strange manner in which she framed her question (rather than the usual, "Why do bad things happen to good people?"). 

Instead, I asked, "Is there something in particular that prompted the question?" Tears started streaming down her face as she explained to me that they recently had to put down one of her pet dogs because it had advanced cancer, and yesterday her other pet dog was hit by a car and killed. These dogs didn't do anything wrong. Why did they have to suffer? 

I decided to shelve whatever answer I had planned to give her, and instead said whatever I thought would best express my sympathy and show that I cared. 

To oversimplify the point I'm making here, there are three basic types of questions students ask:

1. intellectual questions
2. emotional questions (which sometimes manifest as complaints or outbursts)
3. emotional questions that masquerade in intellectual garb (or questions which are driven 5% by intellectual curiosity and 95% by emotional issues)

It's fairly easy to spot types #1 and #2, but you have to be very discerning to pick up on type #3. The question asked by Sally in the comic strip and the question asked by my student in the anecdote fall into category #3. 

The answers to such questions usually involve addressing the intellectual dimension of the student's question by giving the smallest possible kernel of the truth, then making a hard pivot into addressing the underlying emotional issue, as the situation warrants. Sometimes the student just wants to feel heard by an authority figure, or just wants some sympathy, or just wants an emotional outlet. Deliver the kernel of truth to the mind, then talk to the heart.

If this approach is successful, then it will often lead to further questions which are driven by intellectual curiosity. However, this rarely happens in the moment, and usually takes place much later - sometimes months, or even years later. It is precisely because the student was given a meaningful emotional response when she most needed it that the answer left an impression in her mind, and gave her reason to believe that there was more to be gained by resuming her inquiry. 

This is why it's important to deliver a small but potent kernel of truth even when giving what is primarily an emotional response, rather than giving a response which is pure emotional "fluff." I believe that all people can sense the difference between fluff and truth on some level, and if their teacher gives them a fluffy answer, they know that "the well is empty," and there's no point in going back for more water.

So be like Charlie Brown and check to see whether the student is asking the intellectual question she says she's asking, or whether she's really voicing an emotional issue in the form of an intellectual question. 

Tip #3: Praise the Stupid Questions and Answer Them

Students are often taught that "there's no such thing as a stupid question." Although I get what this aphorism is saying, I don't like the way it's phrased. I prefer to tell my students that "there is such a thing as a stupid question, but you should always ask your stupid questions, or you'll never learn the answers."  

This isn't my own original saying. The Mivchar ha'Peninim says the same thing in a pithier manner: "ask the questions of fools." The Rashbatz explains to mean "that [a student] should ask everything and not be ashamed, even if his questions are the questions of fools." The context of the Rashbatz's explanation is his commentary on the statement in Avos 2:5, which says: "ein ha'bayshan lomed" ("one who is embarrassed doesn't learn"). This is the primary reason why students should be encouraged to ask stupid questions: if you don't ask, then you won't learn. And who is the real stupid person: one who asks a stupid question in order to gain more knowledge, or one who refuses to ask a stupid question and remains with his stupidity? I think the answer is clear. 

But there's another reason why students should get into the habit of asking stupid questions: it is often the stupid questions which lead to the greatest insights and innovations. If you look at the major breakthroughs made by the geniuses in any field - whether it be in science, math, technology, music, etc. - you will find that these breakthroughs were often made by asking questions that are so basic that others wouldn't even bother to voice them, because they would be ridiculed as "stupid questions." In this sense, Tip #3 is very much connected to Tip #1: questions are often labeled as "stupid" because they inquire about the fundamentals and first principles of the subject at hand. 

Lastly, it is important to ask stupid questions because this builds intellectual honesty and intellectual courage. It is embarrassing to acknowledge that you don't understand something that seems simple and basic to other people, but in order to become a thinker, you must be willing to suffer that blow to the ego. Similarly, it is scary to admit that you don't know something which other people seem to know, but in order to become a thinker, you have to be willing to confront your own ignorance and uncertainty head on. 

Be like Linus in this cartoon: ask your stupid questions, and don't let anyone stop you.

Conclusion ... for Now

I'm sure there are more pedagogical insights to be gleaned from Peanuts along these lines, but I think this is where I'll end for now. I hope that these tips are helpful for teachers and non-teachers alike. 

Mishlei 17:15 - Making Exceptions to Justice

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

Artwork: Vindicate, by Igor Kieryluk

Mishlei 17:15 - Making Exceptions to Justice

משלי יז:טו

מַצְדִּיק רָשָׁע וּמַרְשִׁיעַ צַדִּיק, תּוֹעֲבַת יְיָ גַּם שְׁנֵיהֶם:

Mishlei 17:15

One who treats a rasha as a tzadik and one who treats a tzadik as a rasha – both are an abomination to Hashem.

There are four major questions on this pasuk: 

(1) What are the definitions of “tzadik” (righteous person) and “rasha” (evil person) in this context? Even if we have “working definitions” of how these terms are often used in Mishlei, it’s an important methodological step to not just plug these definitions in without thinking, especially because Sefer Mishlei itself uses general terms like this in different ways. The most advisable course is to think about these terms in as fresh and unprejudiced of a way as possible within the context of the pasuk. If this approach is unfruitful, or if one is pressed for time, then it is acceptable to plug in preconceived definitions.  

(2) What does it mean to “treat a rasha as a tzadik” or “treat a tzadik as a rasha”? The Hebrew phrases are “matzdik rasha” and “marshia tzadik.” I’ve tried to preserve the ambiguity of the Hebrew as much as possible. Alternative translations of “matzdik” include “vindicate,” “justify,” and “behave righteously with.” The term “marshia” can be translated as “vilify,” “mistreat,” and “behave wickedly with,” and more. How should we translate these terms in this context?  

(3) What is meant by “an abomination to Hashem”? Both “toeivah” and “toavas Hashem” are loaded terms which are used in different ways throughout Mishlei, and certainly throughout Tanach. What does this phrase mean here?  

(4) What is the “abomination” that is common to these two cases? On the surface, the case of “one who treats a rasha as a tzadik” is quite different from the case of “one who treats a tzadik as a rasha.” It can be argued that the former is worse of a crime than the latter, insofar as it will tend to result in greater harm. Yet, our pasuk equates these cases by characterizing them both as “an abomination to Hashem.” What do these two perversions of justice have in common? One cannot simply answer, “they are both unjust.” While this may be true, it fails to explain our pasuk in a manner that enhances our practical decision-making, which is the foundation of our approach to Mishlei. 

[Okay - time to think! Read on when ready.] 

This time around I’m going to follow the Ralbag’s style of commentary by first defining the terms in the pasuk (beur ha’milos) and only afterwards explaining the ideas (beur ha’devarim). In other words, I will answer Questions #1, 2 and #3 by explaining what our pasuk means by tzadik, rasha, matzdik, marshia, and “abomination to Hashem.” 

I think the most straightforward answer to Questions #1 and 2 is that our pasuk is not referring to tzadik and rasha as types of people or archetypal Mishlei personalities. Rather, these terms are being employed in a juridical sense. “Tzadik” means “tzadik ba’din,” one who is innocent vis a vis a particular law, and “rasha” means “rasha ba’din,” one who is guilty of violating a particular law. Similarly, the term “matzdik” should be translated as “vindicate” or “exonerate” and “marshia” should be translated as “incriminate” or “convict.” The Torah itself uses these terms in this way (see, for example, Shemos 23:7 and Devarim 25:2), and the Ralbag takes this approach in our pasuk. Accordingly, our pasuk ought to be translated as follows: 

One who vindicates the guilty and one who incriminates the innocent – both are an abomination to Hashem. 

Question #3 is dicey. I do have a theory about how the term “toeivah” is used in Tanach, but I don’t think it’s necessary to delve that deeply into the term in order to explain how it’s used in our pasuk. It is sufficient to say that “abomination to Hashem” is a hyperbolic anthropomorphism intended to stigmatize the act(s) in question, usually because the behavior is one that people tend to rationalize. It is for this reason that the term “abomination” is employed in different situations for wildly different and unrelated reasons. The use of this term doesn’t tell us anything specific about of the behaviors or phenomena to which it is applied. Indeed, it ought to be viewed as more of a prescriptive than a descriptive adjective. It essentially conveys the message, “Stay away from this, no matter how good of a reason you think you have for engaging in it.” 

Having defined the terms, here's my four-sentence summary of the main idea of this pasuk: 

People have an intuitive sense of punitive justice which can be summed up as: “those who violate the law should be punished, and those who do not violate the law should not be punished.” In any system, particular cases will arise in which those who are responsible for adjudicating or enforcing the law will be tempted to pardon those who violate the law or punish those who adhere to the law; for example, a teacher might excuse a violator in order to “give him a second chance,” or might punish an entire class in order to put social pressure on the wrongdoer. The practical lesson of this pasuk is that no matter how reasonable and justifiable these exceptional cases may be, they will be perceived by the members of the system as undermining justice; this, in turn, will cause their overall commitment to justice – or at least, to the rules of that system – to weaken and deteriorate. Thus, whenever a judge or a law enforcer is tempted to make one of these two exceptions to justice, he should consider the detrimental ripple effect of his decision on the system as a whole. 

To be clear: “one who vindicates the guilty” and “one who convicts the innocent” are not the same. There are differences between these two cases – but the subject of our pasuk is what they have in common, not how they differ. 

Likewise, our pasuk does not mean to suggest that such exceptions to justice should never be made. Sometimes those who are guilty of violating a law should be vindicated, and maybe there are even cases in which those who are innocent should receive a punishment. Nevertheless, like almost all pesukim in Mishlei, this pasuk is speaking of the majority of situations. Generally speaking, it is unwise to vindicate the guilty and incriminate the innocent, and before an adjudicator or law enforcer decides to make an exception, he or she must assess the decision through the framework provided by our pasuk, asking: “If I make this exception, what will be the impact on the relationship of these people to justice in general, or to this system in particular?” 

For example, I am a classroom teacher. The students in my classes are subject to clearly delineated policies, rules, and obligations. One such policy is that if a homework assignment is submitted after the deadline, then the maximum number of points that can be earned on the assignment is capped at 80% (e.g. an assignment worth 10 points would only earn 8 points, even if it were flawless). Students are informed of this policy at the beginning of the year, and are reminded throughout. 

Now, there are many cases in which I feel compelled to make an exception to my own rule. Sometimes a student really does have a valid excuse, or just really needs to be cut some slack. However, I know that if I did allow myself to make such exceptions, that would harm my students’ relationship to the system of my class in the long-run. Other students might feel that my decision to waive the point deduction for their classmate was unfair, which in turn, might lead these students to be lax in submitting their own assignments, either because they hope I will excuse their lateness like I did for their classmate, or because they know that they needn’t take my rules seriously, since even I – the teacher who authored those rules – apparently do not take them seriously. This harm in this deterioration of “classroom justice” is evident. 

Similarly, the student who was the recipient of this exemption will also be inclined to repeat the offense. She will be more willing to turn in a late assignment, falling back on the hope (either consciously or unconsciously) that she might receive another exemption. Because this will lead to homework laxity, it is harmful for the student’s learning. 

Even my relationship as a teacher to my own system of rules will suffer if I make such exceptions. If I cave in and make an exception for one student, it will become that much easier for me to rationalize making other exceptions in other cases, even in cases where exceptions are not warranted. I would think to myself, “Well, it’s not fair that I made an exception for this student and not this other one, so even though the latter doesn’t really deserve it, I have to be fair.” Even worse, my decision whether to grant such exemptions may be influenced by subjective factors (e.g. being lenient with my favorite students and strict with the others). This, too, would be detrimental to the classroom system. 

But as I mentioned, there are ways to allow for merciful exceptions without jeopardizing the system as a whole. For example, another policy of mine is that that every student gets one “freebie” per year – that is, one instance of submitting a late assignment without any point deductions for lateness. Similarly, I have another policy that if a student knows she will not be able to complete an assignment on a given night (e.g. she is sick, there is an emergency, she forgot her books at school, etc.) then as long as she emails me to ask for an extension before the deadline, then I will grant her an extension without penalty. 

By incorporating these two “exception to the rule” rules into my class policies, I am allowing the space to make exceptions in a manner which will not be perceived as unfair by my students, and will not endanger the integrity of the system. If a student fails to complete an assignment on time because she was sick but she didn’t email me ahead of time and she already used up her freebie, then she will accept her 20% deduction as fair because she knows that it was her responsibility to email me before the deadline, and since she didn’t, then the loss of points is on her, not on me. And if a classmate of hers also neglected to hand in her assignment but didn’t receive a penalty because she emailed me ahead of time to ask for an extension, then my waiving of the second student’s lateness deduction will not be perceived by the first student as arbitrary or unfair because she knows that the second student followed the procedure. 

The reason why I have gone on at length with this real-world example is to illustrate how Mishlei is not giving practical rules for decision-making, which must be rigidly implemented in every situation. Rather, Mishlei is providing practical advice to consider when making decisions, and the chacham will factor in this advice, but will ultimately make his own decision using Mishleic thinking, rather than blindly applying the pasuk to every case it covers. 

In other words, don’t make the mistake of converting Mishlei pesukim into rules. Mishlei is a decision-making guide – not a halacha sefer.