Said Rabbi Yochanan: What is [the meaning
of] that which is written, “For the kohen’s lips should safeguard
knowledge, and they should seek Torah from his mouth; for he is an angel of the
G‑d of Hosts” (Malachi 2:7)? If the rav
resembles “an angel of the G‑d of Hosts,” then “they should
seek Torah from his mouth”; and, if not, then they should not “seek
Torah from his mouth.”
(Chagigah
15b and Mo‘ed Katan 17a)
Apparently, the meaning of likening [the rav]
to an angel is [based on] that which is written, “I shall give you moving
ones, among these standing ones” (Zecharyah 3:7). For man … through his engaging in Torah ascends every day from level
to level [and is therefore called “moving”]. And the angels are called “standing,”
since they stand at one level, as at the moment when they were created.… And
Rabbi Yochanan’s intention is that the rav, when he teaches his
students, should direct his attention to raise his students and to explain
[Torah] to them graciously. And he should not think at that moment of
benefiting [through] his own [attendant spiritual] ascensions. For thinking of
his own ascensions prevents [focusing on] his students’ ascensions. And at that
moment [the rav] must be like an angel, who is called a standing one.…
(Rav Pinchas
HaLevi Horowitz, “Pithcha Ze‘ira,” Foreword to HaMakneh
[Offenbach, 1801])
Over
the course of almost twenty years of teaching in post-secondary yeshivoth,
I have often reflected on Rav Horowitz’s admonition. His words are especially
germane when I encounter dedicated students who proudly announce their plans to
pursue teaching careers themselves. Typically, when asked for their motive,
their response is that they love studying Torah. Invariably, my (admittedly
irreverent) reply is: So, because you love Torah learning, your students
should suffer?
We
aspire to instill a love of Torah in all our students, believing that Torah
study should be “our life and the length of our days” (Arvith service, “Birkath
Ahavah”) for all, regardless of vocation. Every profession is compatible
with a serious commitment to ongoing Torah learning. And while a love of Torah
is obviously a prerequisite of a successful career in Torah education, by
itself it is woefully insufficient. Students who seek, through teaching,
gratification of their own craving for Torah study fail to appreciate the
teacher’s true mission and are liable to wreak havoc in the classroom.
Indeed,
when we ignore Rav Horowitz’s warning regarding the challenges of teaching, the
consequences are far more insidious than tragically inappropriate vocational
guidance for would-be educators. While the vast majority of yeshivah
faculty undoubtedly devote themselves heart and soul to their work, we need
critically to consider whether we are providing our charges with what they need
most. In particular, to what extent can we honestly claim to be successfully
equipping our students to function as exemplars of Torah values in contemporary
society? I submit that, on four levels, our performance demands urgent review.
The
Gemara stresses that the merit of “talmud”
(study) is not “if,” “when,” or “insofar as” it leads to
deed, but rather “because” it leads to deed; true talmud that
does not lead to deed is a contradiction in terms. Likewise, the Mishnah
instructs us, “Study is not paramount, but deed is” (Avoth 1:17). Since not all talmud relates to practical Halachah, “deed”
cannot refer simply to direct Halachic ramifications. Rather, the study itself
is expected to alter the student fundamentally. As a changed person, all
his deeds will inevitably be affected. Therefore, warns the Midrash, “You [may]
find a person reviewing midrash, halachoth, and aggadoth,
and if he possesses no fear of sin, he possesses nothing” (Shemoth
Rabbah 30:14 and 40:1). In Talmudic idiom, Torah is not simply
learned but “acquired” (“nikneith”), connoting a process of
internalization that can transform the acquirer. Thus, the sixth chapter of Avoth,
whose pervasive theme is study of Torah, is “the Chapter of Acquisition
of Torah” (“Perek Kinyan Torah”), not the chapter of Torah learning
or study.
In
this light, the most immediate issue to confront concerns the agenda and
priorities based upon which we structure our yeshivah curricula. Rav
Avraham Yeshayahu Karelitz (Chazon Ish) forcefully deplored the current
tendency to ignore such basic, straightforward commentators as Maharsha (Kovetz
Iggeroth Chazon Ish, I, 1). Rav Ya‘akov Yisra’el Kanievsky (the Steipler
Rav) similarly stressed, “A maggid shi‘ur must understand that there is
no need to present and it is best to avoid presenting self-composed novellae.…
A simple answer to a simple question is immeasurably better than an intricate response
comprised of multiple strands of thought woven into a tapestry of reasoning”
(“The Steipler’s Advice on Chinuch” [trans. Hanoch Teller], quoted in Sunset
[Jerusalem: New York City Publishing Co., 1987], p. 179). The dangers of
indulgence in excessively recondite dialectics are first and foremost
scholastic. Students who have not yet adequately developed the rudimentary
tools for apprehending and analyzing the plain meaning of the text are often
schooled prematurely in subtle abstractions. In the grind to prepare the source
list for such a Gemara shi‘ur, even experienced students may lapse into
a “checklist mode”: “covering” the requisite Talmudic passage, then “covering”
Rashi, the Tosafoth, and whichever additional commentators are on the agenda,
preparing — perhaps even memorizing — the material well but externally. Attempts to
understand remain detached and superficial, dominated by shallow questions of
“what” rather than probing demands of “why.” One can amass encyclopedic
knowledge this way — but passively, devoid of personal animation and individual innovation.
In
the end, the results of such intellectual detachment are far more treacherous
than pedagogical failure alone. Rabbi Emanuel Feldman recently observed, “Our
teaching of Torah is measured by surface standards. Students of Torah are
considered to have ‘succeeded’ when they know this or that Gemara.… But the
noblest internal possibilities of the Jew … are by and large not an integral
part of the learning program — as if middot [manners] and general
spiritual development will somehow take care of themselves” (“The Editor’s
Notebook: Observant Jews and Religious Jews,” Tradition, 26, No. 2
[Winter 1992], 1-2).
Likewise,
a friend of mine noted ruefully that, in many yeshivoth, considering the
practical Halachic implications of the Talmudic passage under scrutiny is de
rigueur when studying Seder Mo‘ed (Shabbath and the holidays)
and all but unheard of when studying Seder Nezikin (civil and monetary
laws and ethics). The impression is unwittingly fostered that Judaism is a
religion in a purely ritual or transcendent sense. Rav S.R. Hirsch (in the
“Eighteenth Letter,” in The Nineteen Letters, trans. Rabbi Dr. Bernard
Drachman, ed. Jacob Breuer [Jerusalem: Feldheim, 1969], pp. 122-123; and in
many later works) eloquently decries this misperception, in which “a part of a
work … referring to worship and holy days” (i.e., the Orach Chayyim
component of the Shulchan Aruch) is mistaken for the totality of Jewish
law. That people can bemoan the phenomenon of so-called “dishonest religious
Jews” — as if someone dishonest could possibly be regarded as “religious” (G‑d
forbid!) — is a sad testimony to this perversion of Judaism. Torah has a
standard of justice and righteousness for every situation, a message of
goodness and uprightness that can be applied to every aspect of life. We must
question whether we are inculcating this message in our students.
I
submit that the solution demands basic curricular restructuring. We must teach
Gemara, especially Seder Nezikin, in a manner that leads to and coheres
with practical applications in every sphere of existence, particularly in the
mundane affairs of business transactions and employment. This is no call for
simple-minded reductionism. On the contrary, it is imperative that whatever
complexities emerge from in-depth analysis of the Gemara should be anchored in
its “bottom line” and seen through the prism of their worldly ramifications. Choshen
Mishpat, the section of the Shulchan Aruch that encompasses civil
law and business ethics, must become the student’s — and layman’s — companion,
rather than the exclusive province of rabbinical judges and scholars. In recent
years, several excellent works have begun to fill this void. However, most yeshivah
curricula have yet to harness them.
More
fundamentally, we must organize our curricula vertically, with a vision not
only of where we expect our students to reach by the end of a well-defined
program but also of how, and through what steps, we expect them to get there.
Serious grounding in textual skills, for example, is the crucial basis upon
which any well-ordered course must rest. It is irresponsible to skip to the
“higher stories” of exacting dialectics in the naive hope that students will
somehow acquire the requisite tools for elementary textual analysis on their
own.
However,
while competence in vocabulary and punctuation is vital, it is only the
introductory phase. We must redress the “checklist mode” in tackling a passage,
by teaching our students first to learn it critically from their own
standpoint, asking themselves not only what the Gemara is saying but why.
Rav Karelitz reportedly urged his students to formulate their own “peshat” (understanding of the passage)
independently, before consulting Rashi or any other commentator — an approach
already advocated six centuries ago by Rabbi Yitzchak Canpanton in Darchei
HaTalmud, his systematic presentation of the pedagogical principles of
study. Only with this peshat in hand is it possible to confront Rashi,
the Tosafoth, and whichever additional commentators are on the agenda, without
succumbing to the “checklist mode.” Still, even as students prepare these later
sources as well, we should continue to provide them with specific guidance in
rigorous dissection of the text. Only thus can the Gemara — and the students —
truly come alive.
Clearly,
this course demands considerable individual attention to each student’s
abilities, needs, and inclinations. We must direct each student through the
discrete stages of scholarly development in a manner enabling each stage to
serve as a firm foundation for subsequent, more rarefied levels. Moreover, at
every stage, we should recall the Talmud’s admonition to teacher and pupil
alike: “A person can only learn Torah from the place that one’s heart desires”
(Avodah Zarah 19a). This is the crucial prerequisite of the
internalization process whereby “initially, [the Torah] is ascribed to the Holy
One Blessed be He, and ultimately it is ascribed to him [the student who
labored in it (Rashi)]” (ibid.). Only through such a methodical program can we
expect our students eventually to grapple with complex, abstract concepts
without succumbing to the intellectual detachment that divorces learning from
living.
Such
an approach is indispensable in cultivating the student’s relationship to
Talmudic study and life. It may be even more critical in the realm of Jewish
thought. All too frequently, Jewish thought, if taught at all, is relegated to
a few weekly shi‘urim, sichoth, or shemu‘esim, which may
at most convey certain localized messages regarding the weekly Torah portion or
contemporary issues. Alternatively, the subject may be treated as a purely
academic discipline, utterly dissociated from divine service and the soul. Even
advanced students are often appallingly ignorant of the axioms of Jewish belief
and are at a total loss to grapple with — much less respond to — the
theological, philosophical, and spiritual challenges of contemporary society.
Worse yet, they are generally functionally illiterate in the most cogent means
for ameliorating their ignorance. The timeless classics of Jewish thought from
the early rabbinical period (the rishonim) most comprehensively
articulate the essentials of Judaism and are arguably the most relevant to the
crises of faith that beset us nowadays. Yet, if they are quoted, the citations
are routinely superficial and out of context, treating these works as mere
anthologies of quaint aphorisms. While such dabblings in Jewish thought may be
appetizing condiments for a yeshivah curriculum, they definitely are not
a balanced diet.
In
this domain, as well, it is imperative to define both specific goals for each
student to achieve and the means to reach them. Certainly, we must carefully
tailor the depth and breadth of such a course of study to individual
capabilities, proclivities, and predilections. For all students, however, some
systematic program, through which progressively to master fundamental concepts,
is vital. A serious curriculum should build on the foundations of classic
Jewish thought through diligent, consistent textual scrutiny, while stressing
basic methodology and critical analysis of the subject matter. A complementary
focus on musar (ethics) should emphasize the realization of devotional
and religious ideals in practice. Direct treatment of particular theological,
philosophical, or spiritual problems confronting students can be developed far
more effectively based upon such a well-structured background. Ultimately, we
should encourage and expect our students to glean the raw materials for
beginning to cultivate, through supervised independent efforts, an individual
Jewish philosophy. To this end, we must equip our students to draw upon
expertise in all branches of Torah knowledge — and enable them to translate the
philosophy they construct into a practical, all-encompassing commitment in
their lives.
Obviously,
such a philosophy must be predicated first and foremost upon Torah. Still,
general knowledge, too, can have significant implications for Torah knowledge.
Thus, while the Midrash discounts the possibility of “Torah” existing “among
the nations,” it affirms that, “if a person tells you that wisdom exists
among the nations, believe it”
— because indeed it does. To cite just two major examples, both Rabbi Yehudah
HaLevi (in Sefer HaKozari 2:64) and Rambam (in Mishneh
Torah, Hilchoth Sanhedrin 2:1) derive (from Sanhedrin
17a and Menachoth 65a) that, to be eligible for membership in the Sanhedrin
(the chief rabbinical court), one was required to be well-versed in not
only all aspects of Torah learning but also all branches of worldly
scholarship. And, more broadly, the Vilna Ga’on (whom his closest students,
among them Rav Yisra’el of Shklov in the introduction to Pe’ath HaShulchan,
described as having personally mastered all extant faculties of knowledge,
“knowing them all completely”) warns all students of Torah, “To whatever
extent a person lacks knowledge of the other wisdoms, one will correspondingly
lack Torah wisdom one hundredfold, for the Torah and wisdom are coupled
together” (quoted by his student, Rav Baruch of Shklov, in the introduction to
his book, Euclid).
Unfortunately,
the increasing trend toward specialization and compartmentalization at the
expense of a holistic sense of the total picture is a major problem in the
world at large, not just the Jewish world. (It was Robert Heinlein who
protested that, compared with the grandeur of human potential, “specialization
is for insects.”) But especially in Torah scholarship, we can keenly appreciate
the Vilna Ga’on’s recognition of the vital need for such holism in order truly
to grapple with Torah — the most intense means through which we can
interconnect with G‑d — in all its dimensions. After all, G‑d
revealed Himself to us principally through two media: not only Torah (through
Revelation) but also the world (through Creation). Any author’s works are
better comprehended when another work by the same author is also studied.
Likewise, to whatever extent one is steeped in an understanding of the world,
one will better esteem the message of Torah (and vice versa). Furthermore, G‑d
gave us the Torah to guide us in the challenges of living in this world.
Thus, to whatever extent we learn better to deal with this world, we are better
equipped to relate to Him and to the Torah. Our involvement with both
media enhances our connection with Him.
Granted,
to avoid a dangerous imbalance, we must also note the other side of this coin.
While extolling the usefulness of studying nature, Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi warns
that such study is “at once the root of belief and the root of apostasy” (HaKozari
1:77), since — depending on what we derive from it — it can lead to either.
If we could rely on wisdom and its proponents to remain always within the
legitimate bounds of wisdom, we might embrace their conclusions unreservedly.
Since that is manifestly not the case, a painstaking winnowing process is
necessary; at times, microsurgery may be a more apt metaphor. Rambam’s Moreh
HaNevochim (Guide of the Perplexed)
is a dramatic case in point. Although he incorporates much of Aristotelian
thought into his philosophy, he unhesitatingly rejects components that he
regards as unproven and irreconcilable with foundational creeds of Judaism
(see, for example, Moreh 2:25). Surely, knowing how
and where to draw the line is no mean feat; microsurgery is not for amateurs.
Not incidentally, Rambam warns that he intends his book neither “for the masses
nor for those who are beginning to study nor to teach one who has studied only
Torah knowledge” (Ibid., Preface). In this vein, we can respect a certain
pragmatic parochialism in avoiding exposing our students to extraneous alien
influences.
Beyond
a certain point, however, we risk producing students who are ill-equipped to
contend with the conceptual challenges of the modern world. An ominous
dichotomy may then result, in which such students, in their embrace of Torah,
fail to function as productive members of society. Worse, they may conclude, in
their frustration, that, since they were never trained to deal with such
contemporary issues, Judaism lacks the wherewithal to do so. Many reports of
attrition within the religious community implicate this attitude as a
significant cause. We must question whether the current tendency toward
isolationism is excessive and, in the long run, self-defeating.
We
should carefully weigh the vices of both inordinate openness and extreme
insularity, to achieve a proper balance in yeshivah curricula.
Undoubtedly, the maturity of the students and each individual’s aptitudes and
limitations will necessitate ongoing reassessments of our conclusions. But
arbitrarily restricting or shunning external influences is a manifestly
irresponsible course and a disservice to our students.
Ideally,
our goal should be to direct our students first to distill from the diverse
faculties of Torah study — both Halachic and Aggadic — the underlying themes
and structures, which provide the basis of a Jewish approach and outlook toward
the myriad, apparently divergent aspects of existence. Through applying such a
Torah understanding to the various branches of secular wisdom, the student
should cultivate a sense of the role and “truth value” each branch has to
offer. Ultimately, the student must subordinate all these to an increasingly
comprehensive, holistic Torah perspective. Clearly, this is an ongoing mission,
whose conclusions should be subject to continuous refinement. This process is
the lifelong struggle to construct one’s own Jewish philosophy: the system
through which one confronts, orders, and relates to the givens of reality in
general and Torah in particular. It is our responsibility as educators to
provide our students with a thoughtfully crafted, methodical program that will
facilitate actualizing these objectives.
Thus
far, we have explored relatively academic matters of the yeshivah
curriculum as the most immediate questions to face in evaluating our
performance. Admittedly, there are those who view such considerations as the only
ones worthy of contemplation in this regard. I have heard putative educators
assert that the “spirit” of Torah learning, engendered by good curricula alone,
suffices to redress all additional issues — and teachers should
therefore refrain from “wasting” study time (“bittul Torah”) on private
consultations with students regarding personal, nonscholastic problems. I have
heard others argue that any additional issues are simply irrelevant: The
yeshivah teacher’s job is to teach Talmud, and other areas of concern to
his students should be of no greater interest to him than they would be to a
university professor.
This
is dangerous nonsense. Viewing Torah education as merely a discipline, whose
nonacademic ramifications can be left to the discretion of the student or
otherwise ignored, is the negation of Torah’s all-encompassing status as that
which “teaches and shows you the way of life” (Tifereth Yisra’el
[Maharal], ch. 9 [p. 32]). Moreover, affirmation of G‑d’s Oneness is a
recognition that everything derives from — and is traceable to — a single,
divine Source. Since everything is connected to that Source, everything is
relevant to Judaism, and Judaism is relevant to everything. Apart from the
specific Halachic implications of whatever we learn, noted above, our mission
is to infuse the Torah’s meaning and values into every nook and cranny of
existence. No “no man’s land” should remain bereft of the light of Torah, in
either our individual or communal lives.
Thus,
the Talmud affirms, “Anyone who says he has only Torah [without
fulfilling it (Rashi)] … has not even Torah” (Yevamoth 109b).
Worse than a contradiction, such “Torah” is a fraud. In particular, “Torah for
its own sake” is necessarily “a Torah of loving-kindness” (Sukkah
49b, in com. on Mishlei 31:26). Conversely, the
Midrash cautions, “Anyone who denies loving-kindness is as one who denies the
basis [of belief in G‑d]” (Koheleth Rabbah 7:1 [4] and Midrash Shemu’el 23:8). Similarly, the
Talmud warns, “Anyone who engages in Torah alone [without loving-kindness]
resembles one who has no G‑d” (Avodah Zarah 17b). In fact, a greater
involvement in Torah generates a correspondingly increased obligation to
engage in loving-kindness (ibid.).
Unfortunately,
a disparity between Torah study and practice, especially in relating to mundane
acts of loving-kindness and general menshlichkeit (human decency), is
all too apparent to passersby on sidewalks and buses frequented by yeshivah
students. Quoting again from Rabbi Feldman’s essay, “While we have created many
observant Jews, we have not created many religious Jews.… When it is possible
for a Jew to don tefillin, be rigorous in his kashrut, live a
life marked by many humrot [strictures], and yet be lax in his ben
’adam la-havero [interpersonal mitzvoth], something is clearly not
right.… We seem content to stop at the basic level of Torah study and of mitzva
observance, neglecting to push onward to that most challenging and fulfilling
of all plateaus in the life of Torah: the inwardness which results from the
deep awareness of the author of Torah and mitzvot.” More recently, a
detailed analysis of the impact of a year of study in Israeli yeshivoth
on American yeshivah high school graduates yielded a parallel assessment:
“In virtually all areas of religious ritual practice … there is a substantial
increase in students scoring HIGH. There are similar increases in commitment to
continued Torah study.… [But] with regard to … development of ethical behavior
… there is no indication of change” (Rabbi Shalom Berger, “A Year of Study in
an Israeli Yeshiva Program: Before and After,” Diss. Yeshiva University
1997). We must question to what extent we have impressed upon ourselves and our
students the crucial linkage between learning Torah and fully living
Torah. To whatever degree we have failed, we are not truly engaging in Torah —
or serving G‑d — at all.
Rabbi
Berger considered various explanations for his findings. He suggested, inter
alia, “The yeshivot spend a tremendous amount of time encouraging
students to absorb information and to learn to process and better analyze that
information. Perhaps encouragement to make decisions and choose to change behavior
patterns is not emphasized in the same way.”
It
is undoubtedly essential to stress incessantly the Talmud’s differentiation
between the student whose conduct is consonant with Torah values and his
antithesis. The former inspires others to comment, “So-and-so who was taught
Torah — see how pleasant are his ways, how refined are his deeds”; the latter
elicits the reaction, “So-and-so who learned Torah — see how corrupt are his
deeds and how ugly are his ways” (Yoma 86a). The one causes “the Name of
Heaven to be loved” (ibid.), epitomizing the utmost sanctification of G‑d’s
Name and Torah, whereas the other induces their most woeful profanation.
Yet,
this is not an issue that we can redress through simple exhortations and
curricular modifications, for it is primarily a matter of attitude — first and
foremost, that of the faculty. In particular, we must emphasize the
distinction, in yeshivah instruction, between a “melamed” and a “mechanech.” The
former, from the root l.m.d. (learn, teach), simply means “teacher.” The
latter, from the root ch.n.ch. (initiate, dedicate), implies far more.
Rashi comments that “‘chinnuch’
denotes ‘beginning’” (com. on Devarim
20:5). Thus, “chanichav” (BeReshith 14:14) means those
whom Avraham “initiated in the mitzvoth. It denotes the beginning of the
introduction of a person or an instrument into the work in which it is to remain.
Likewise, ‘train a child’ (Mishlei 22:6), ‘dedication
of the altar’ (BeMidbar 7:10-1,84,88), ‘dedication
of the House’ (Tehillim 30:1)” (com. on BeReshith 14:14).
The
mechanech must appreciate that his mission is preeminently to be his
students’ role-model, personal counselor, and confidante, in even the most
mundane aspects of living. (I annually inform my students that I judge my
success in chinnuch by the percentage of them who approach me to discuss
“girlfriend problems.”) Scholastics are definitely a crucial part, but
certainly far from all, of what the mechanech’s task entails. Surely,
this is the most basic meaning of the Gemara’s admonition, quoted above, “If
the rav resembles ‘an angel of the G‑d of Hosts,’ then ‘they
should seek Torah from his mouth’; and, if not, then they should not ‘seek
Torah from his mouth.’”
Furthermore,
complete fulfillment of this role depends on more than good intentions of a
committed faculty. Since counseling skills are rarely solicited or cultivated
as prerequisites for employment as yeshivah teachers, supplementary
training is often imperative. This is an institutional mandate. At least,
educators must learn to refer students, when necessary, to colleagues better
equipped to relate to the students’ needs. Thus, the yeshivah staff as a
whole serves as the students’ collective mechanech. In any case, only
through sensitivity to the mechanech’s mission can we successfully
“initiate” our students in, and “dedicate” them to, a lifelong,
all-encompassing commitment to Torah values.
An
obvious corollary of our quest to infuse the Torah’s meaning and values into
every component of our lives should be our position on work in general and
one’s career in particular. A job provides a livelihood and means for financial
independence and support of one’s family. Considering the dire spiritual
consequences of the loss of such autonomy, decried continually in the Talmud
and Midrash, these are laudable Jewish values in themselves. Moreover, our
sages repeatedly stress the significance of even the most demeaning work as the
basis of human dignity and honor — indeed, of life itself.
More
substantively, the Mechilta emphasizes that “melachah” (work) is a
religious imperative: “‘Six days
you shall work’ (Shemoth 20:8) — Rabbi [Yehudah HaNasi]
says: Behold, this is a distinct decree; for, just as Yisra’el were commanded
regarding the positive mitzvah of Shabbath, they were commanded
regarding melachah on the six [week]days” (Mechilta DeRabbi Shimon
Bar Yochai on Shemoth 20:8). In its context, this
observation provides the impetus for a veritable litany of statements by
various sages extolling “how great is melachah” (ibid.). In the same
vein, the Mishnah exhorts us to “love melachah” (Avoth 1:10) — not merely to engage in it — considering Torah with “derech
eretz” (worldly occupation) as corequisites of a worthy life (ibid. 2:2 and 3:17 and Kiddushin 1:10). Indeed, the Gemara concludes that, in a sense, “one who benefits
from his own toil is greater than one who is G‑d-fearing” (Berachoth
8a and Midrash Tehillim 128:1).
Ultimately,
expounds the Midrash, our involvement in melachah is a crucial element
in our fulfilling the mandate of imitatio dei — to emulate G‑d as
He manifests Himself in this world and thereby become G‑dly ourselves: “‘In the beginning, the L‑rd
created the heavens and the earth’ (BeReshith 1:1) — and He did melachah before you came to the world.… On the
sixth day [of Creation], which was the last [day] of [G‑d’s] melachah,
He created man. He said to man, ‘Until now, I was engaging in melachah;
from now on, you will engage in it.… I built all the city [the world] and all
that is in it.… Thus, you shall build and do the melachah of the
world.’… ‘The L‑rd created man with His essence’ (ibid. 1:27), to provide for all the needs of the world and its institutions, as
He did initially” (Midrash HaNe‘elam, “BeReshith,” 5a).
Evidently, then, one’s avodah (in the sense of vocation) is necessarily
a central aspect of one’s avodah (in the sense of the service of G‑d).
Too
often, either explicitly or tacitly, yeshivoth communicate the viewpoint
that the only truly ideal employment is ecclesiastical. However, the Talmud
concludes that, for “each and every one, the Holy One Blessed be He beautified
one’s trade to him” (Berachoth 43b), by predisposing each of us to a particular
field of endeavor. Therefore, a student whose G‑d-given abilities and
aptitudes are best suited for a different role will find maximum happiness,
satisfaction, and fulfillment there, since these result from the sense of
exhilaration achieved by feeling that all of one’s capabilities are being
effectively directed and fully actualized. Such a student can pursue his dream
and conclude that he is a religious failure, or disdain the professional
mission that G‑d equipped him to fulfill — and, with it, the precious
niche through which he might best have contributed to providing “for all the
needs of the world.” Either scenario is tragic for both the student and society
at large. The first possibility may lead to a successful career, but one likely
embittered by the misguided belief that Judaism regards any secular job per se
as inadequate. Such a sense of deficiency may well compromise the student’s
attitude toward continued Torah study as well as his capacity to consider his
work a critical opportunity to serve G‑d by sanctifying and bettering His
world. The second possibility will likely produce a misplaced, mediocre,
miserable Torah teacher, or worse: one who, by eschewing his calling, forfeited
a true sense of happiness and vocational success — and his chance, through that
success, to contribute most decisively to perfecting the world. Imagine the
ramifications to the next generation of viewing such a teacher as the paradigm
of being “transformed” by Torah.
Even
yeshivoth that concede the legitimacy of other occupations frequently
gauge their alumni’s spiritual success solely by inquiring about ongoing
involvement in Torah learning and communal prayer. The implied message is that
no other aspects of a person’s life are religiously significant. The Mishnah’s
mandate, that “all your deeds should be for the sake of heaven” (Avoth
2:12), is reduced to a hollow summons, applying to only one domain of
existence. We must question the extent to which we are faithfully steering our
students toward fruition in all dimensions of their “avodah.”
To
rear a generation of students who can function as exemplars of Torah values in
contemporary society, we must reevaluate our ideals and priorities. The
Mechilta lauds one who studies Torah as much as he can “and engages in his melachah
all day” as having “fulfilled all the entire Torah” (Mechilta on Shemoth
16:4 and Tanchuma BeShalach:20). Likewise, the
Midrash applies the appellation “holy assembly” to those who divide their time
among “Torah … prayer … [and] melachah” (Koheleth Rabbah 9:9). On manifold levels, such people have many opportunities that rabbis
lack to sanctify G‑d’s Name through even mundane actions and daily
routines.
On
an additional plane, I recall an observation I once heard from one of my
teachers: that a hotel manager with the proper outlook continuously engages in
an unending chain of mitzvoth. After all, such a person is always
involved in hachnasath orechim (welcoming guests)! Of course, the
manager must charge money for these efforts, because otherwise the hotel would
go bankrupt and the opportunity for hachnasath orechim would be lost.
But, as long as one relates to the money as only the means to perform the mitzvah,
one is fulfilling the Mishnah’s mandate that “all your deeds should be for the
sake of heaven.” (Conversely, there may also be hotel managers who relate to
the money as the end and the “mitzvah” as but the means to make money;
they would obviously miss this opportunity.) More generally, every legitimate
profession, which necessarily responds to some societal need and betters the
quality of life, contributes to the spiritual mission to refine and perfect the
world. The scientist, the shopkeeper, the surgeon, and the street cleaner (to
name just a few) each advance this goal in different ways, all of which are
vital. It is all a matter of attitude and commitment.
Consider,
for example, the Torah’s extraordinary praise of Chanoch, “Chanoch walked with
G‑d” (BeReshith 5:22,24). An enigmatic midrash
comments cryptically that he was a cobbler, “sewing shoes and unifying [G‑d’s]
Name” (Yalkut Re’uveni, “BeReshith,” and Midrash Talpiyyoth,
“Chanoch”). Rav Yisra’el Salanter demanded: What could be laudable about
such conduct? After all, the Tosefta and Gemara require day laborers to take
various “shortcuts” in even mandatory prayers and blessings, to avoid
effectively robbing their employers, who are paying for a full day’s work (see Tosefta
Berachoth 2:7-8 and 5:25 and Berachoth
16a and 46a). Certainly, then, the Midrash would not praise Chanoch for “praying
on the job,” when a client was waiting and paying for his services! The
response: Chanoch’s “unifications” were not exercises in the obscure or
abstract. On the contrary, he was unifying the reign of G‑d with the
earthly domain of shoes through focusing, with every stitch, on
rendering his services as faithfully as possible by making the best pair of
shoes he could (see Michtav MeEliyyahu, I, 34-5). That
perspective is what the Torah calls “walking with G‑d.”
We
must encourage our students to pursue their individual callings as means to
“unifying G‑d’s Name” like Chanoch: not by withdrawing into a realm of
transcendence but by infusing every “stitch” of their worldly endeavors with a
sense of and a dedication to G‑dliness and perfection of His world. This
is the all-encompassing nature of true avodah — that “all your
deeds should be for the sake of heaven.” The Baraitha appends to these words
trenchant Scriptural support: “In all your ways, consider Him, and He
will direct your paths” (Mishlei 3:6, quoted by Avoth
DeRabbi Nathan 17:7). Particularly, we must
instruct our students to prepare for whatever careers can best harness their G‑d-given
talents and capabilities and thus enable them to attain maximum fulfillment,
satisfaction, and happiness.
In
conclusion, we must maintain our focus on the objective toward which all the
above proposals, for guiding our students to learn and live Torah more fully,
are intended. All are vital steps in realizing the goal we affirm at least
three times daily in prayer: “to perfect the world through the reign of the Almighty.”
In this sense, we can appreciate the purpose of Torah study, as expressed by
the Midrash: “Because the Torah teaches a person how he should do the will
of the Omnipresent One, the reward of study is great” (BeMidbar Rabbah
14:9). Certainly, as noted above, “study is not paramount, but deed is.”
Fundamentally, “the object of wisdom is repentance and good deeds” (Berachoth
17a), and, without such a commitment to practice, “wisdom does not endure” (Avoth
3:9,17). But imagine a talented young student who, stirred by earnest
altruism, decides to drop out of school to solicit contributions door to door
to feed the world’s hungry. While we should genuinely encourage such idealism,
we still ought to discourage the plan. After all, by investing in a good
education, the student’s eventual capacity to alleviate global hunger and
poverty will be vastly augmented. With so much potential seething within, why
sell oneself — and all the world — so short? In our ongoing mission to
perfect ourselves and the entire world, “talmud is greater, because
talmud leads to deed.” That is the Torah’s definitive role.
Simultaneously,
once we understand what the Torah is and what it charges us to do, the
operative ramifications for us and our students are inevitable. “A Torah of
loving-kindness” necessarily impacts upon every element of our lives and colors
our relationship with everyone and everything with which we share the world.
The key word to inculcate in ourselves and our students is: responsibility.
The Midrash expresses this as a warning: “When the Holy One Blessed be He
created the First Man … He said to him, ‘See how becoming and praiseworthy My
creations are! And all that I created, I created for you. Pay attention that
you not become corrupt and destroy My world!’” (Koheleth Rabbah 7:13). Likewise, from
G‑d’s decision to create man singly, the Mishnah derives that “each and
every one is obligated to say, ‘For me the world was created’” (Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5). This is not a prerogative but a mandate: Each of us is accountable
for the world created on our behalf. Life is a gift with “strings
attached.”
We
are all obliged to contribute to the goal “to perfect the world through the
reign of the Almighty” through whatever worldly activities we pursue,
fulfilling the Mishnaic mandate that “all your deeds should be for the sake of
heaven.” Initially, our responsibility through yeshivah education is to advance
our students to self-actualization through studying Torah properly. As a users’
manual enables the customer to get the most out of one’s purchase, the Torah
empowers us to get the most out of life. Torah addresses the totality of
existence, potentially infusing meaning into everything we do, everywhere. It
summons us relentlessly to be all we can be, always — and, thus, through Torah,
to confront and grapple with everything in the world around us. Finally, this
Torah should train and transform us, to become G‑dly dispensers of loving-kindness
for the benefit of all.
In
that light, the Torah we study and teach provides us with the ultimate
challenge: to uplift ourselves as means to elevating all of humanity. “I, G‑d,
have called you in righteousness and shall hold your hand; and I shall
safeguard you and give you for a covenant of the people, for a light of the
nations.… I have given you as a light of the nations, that My salvation may be
to the end of the earth.… And nations will go by your light, and kings by the
gleam of your shining” (Yeshayahu 42:6, 49:6, and 60:3). By rising to the challenge, we have the
capacity to raise — and redeem — the entire world.
For the past twenty years, the author has taught at various yeshivoth in Israel and lectured on Jewish thought throughout
Jerusalem. As founding editor of the OU journal Jewish Thought, he also
wrote and edited numerous essays in this field. He currently teaches at the
OU-NCSY Israel Center and in the Torah Lecture Corps of the IDF Rabbinate (res.).
Some of the ideas presented in this
essay are developed more fully in the chapter “Rabbi Chaim Eisen,” in Learning in Jerusalem: Dialogues with Distinguished Teachers of Judaism,
ed. Shalom Freedman (Northvale, New Jersey: Jason Aronson, 5759), 85-115, where
they first appeared. In addition, the author gratefully acknowledges the
comments of Rav Nachum Neriah, who reviewed this essay, and the insights of
Rabbi Shalom Berger, who also furnished him with the conclusions of his
doctoral dissertation, cited above.
First,
I thank Rabbi Haber for focusing on an especially pressing issue addressed in
my essay. Counseling students in choosing a career for their avodah — in
the sense of not only vocation but service of G‑d — is undoubtedly
critical in enabling them to actualize throughout their lives the Mishnah’s
mandate that “all your deeds should be for the sake of heaven” (Avoth
2:12). Rabbi Haber’s concern and dedication to provide his students with
appropriate guidance in this domain eloquently testify to his role as not only
their melamed but their mechanech as well.
As
for the specific source from Chagigah 5b, cited by Rabbi Haber to
buttress the view I articulated regarding career choices, I confess that I am
doubtful of the interpretation advanced for the “three tears” listed by the
Gemara. I therefore consider its support for my position tenuous. However, as
noted in my essay, I believe many Talmudic, Midrashic, and rabbinical sources
amply support my contentions.
Concentrating
in particular on the acceptability of so-called secular vocations, I reiterate
the premise of the Mechilta: Engaging in “melachah [work] on the six
[week]days” is as much a divine command — and a religious imperative — as is
“the positive mitzvah of Shabbath” (Mechilta DeRabbi Shimon Bar
Yochai on Shemoth 20:8; see also Avoth
DeRabbi Nathan 11:1). None of the various
attendant statements extolling “how great is melachah” (ibid.; see also Nedarim
49b and Gittin 67b) presume ecclesiastical contexts. Moreover, the
Midrash portrays melachah, in the same sense, as the essence of G‑d’s
legacy to us: “‘Until now, I was
engaging in melachah; from now on, you will engage in it.… I built all
the city [the world] and all that is in it.… Thus, you shall build and do the melachah
of the world.’… ‘The L‑rd created man with His essence’ (BeReshith
1:27), to provide for all the needs of the world and its institutions, as
He did initially” (Midrash HaNe‘elam, “BeReshith,” 5a).
Evidently, engaging in melachah, in the most mundane sense of providing
materially “for all the needs of the world,” is a crucial element in our
emulating G‑d as He manifests Himself in this world and thereby becoming
G‑dly ourselves. Not incidentally, the Gemara lists “derech eretz”
(worldly occupation), together with “Torah, good deeds, and prayer,” as the
principal worthy endeavors that require perpetual “reinforcement” (Berachoth
32b). In a similar sense, the Gemara concludes that “one who benefits from his
own toil is greater than one who is G‑d-fearing” (ibid. 8a and Midrash
Tehillim 128:1; see also Tanna DeVei Eliyyahu Zuta
15:1 and 18:2). Likewise, the Midrash applies the
appellation “holy assembly” specifically to those who divide their time among
“Torah … prayer … [and] melachah” (Koheleth Rabbah 9:9), presupposing that these activities are all laudable and distinct —
and holy.
In
practical terms, from the Mishnah’s exhortation to “love melachah”
(Avoth 1:10; see also Avoth DeRabbi Nathan 11:1) — not merely engage in it — Rabbi Ovadyah Bertinoro derives that “even
if one has with what to support oneself, one is obligated to engage in melachah”
(com., loc. cit.). Still more emphatically, Maharal notes that the Mishnah’s
promise that “study of Torah is well together with derech eretz, for
toil in both causes sin to be forgotten” (Avoth 2:2; see also ibid. 3:17, Kiddushin 1:10, BeMidbar Rabbah 13:15, Koheleth Rabbah
7:11, and Midrash HaNe‘elam, loc. cit.) reckons toil in worldly
endeavors — not only in Torah study — as critical: “Sin is deficiency in man;
and, therefore, it is inappropriate for sin to be present in one who is
complete. And when a person is complete in both derech eretz and Torah,
he is without deficiency.… But if he is either uninvolved in derech eretz
or uninvolved in Torah, he is deficient.… It is fitting for a person to toil in
these two aspects that exist in man, for a person has a body and a soul.… One
is not considered toiling to complete oneself except through both — namely, derech
eretz and Torah.… Even if one has abundant wealth and is not lacking,
if one does not engage in completing oneself [through derech eretz],
[Torah study alone] does not cause sin to be forgotten.…” (Derech HaChayyim
on Avoth 2:2; see also ibid., on Avoth 1:18). Notwithstanding the religious significance of attaining financial
autonomy and supporting one’s family, articulated repeatedly in the Talmud and
Midrash, these sources clearly negate the attitude that one’s job is only
means to earning a livelihood.
Ultimately,
I submit that belief in a purposeful Creator dictates our conviction that
everyone enters this world with a unique mission, which each of us is ideally
equipped to discharge. Every legitimate profession, which necessarily
responds to some societal need and betters the quality of life, contributes
vitally to the all-encompassing spiritual goal to refine and perfect the world.
Granted, on the one hand, as Rabbi Haber notes, the Mishnah recommends
teaching children “a trade that is clean and easy” (Mishnah Kiddushin 4:14, Tosefta Kiddushin 5:12, Berachoth
63a, Kiddushin 82, Yerushalmi Kiddushin 4:11 [41a]). In the same context, the Gemara congratulates “one whose trade
is a perfumer” and bemoans “one whose trade is a tanner” (Kiddushin
82b). Certainly, in the absence of additional considerations, it would be
foolish to impose gratuitous difficulties on life. Yet, on the other hand, the
Gemara also comments that “it is impossible for the world to be without
perfumers or without tanners” (ibid.). An ideal society, in which
everyone strives to fulfill one’s divine mission, would still necessarily
feature both. Thus, the Gemara’s congratulating perfumers and bemoaning tanners
are descriptive — not prescriptive — declarations. The essential
Torah mandate, stated elsewhere, is to teach one’s child “a trade” (Mechilta
on Shemoth 13:13; see also Sifra on VaYikra 21:2, Tosefta
Kiddushin 1:8, Shabbath 12a and 150a, Kethubboth
5a, Kiddushin 29a and 30b, Yerushalmi Kiddushin 1:7 [16a], Koheleth Rabbah 9:9, and Tanchuma
BeReshith:2 and Shelach:14), irrespective of which one. (Indeed, while Rabbi Nehorai objects to
the requirement to teach a child any trade other than Torah [Mishnah
Kiddushin 4:14, Tosefta Kiddushin 5:14, Soferim 16:1, Kiddushin 82b, Yerushalmi
Kiddushin 4:12 (41b)], Rav Mosheh Feinstein deduces that
even he dissents only concerning a childhood curriculum but not regarding the
undisputed obligation to work in adulthood. See Iggeroth Mosheh, Orach
Chayyim 2:111.) In seeking our proper niche in this vein, we should mind the
Talmud’s conclusion that, for “each and every one, the Holy One Blessed be He
beautified one’s trade to him” (Berachoth 43b). By predisposing each of
us to a particular field of endeavor, G‑d “ensures” that every requisite
role in the world will be filled.
Furthermore,
on a personal level, whatever career best harnesses all of one’s unique
abilities, aptitudes, and talents necessarily also maximizes happiness and
satisfaction. Solely by feeling thoroughly actualized can one fully achieve the
exhilarating sense of complete fulfillment. Obviously, one of the greatest
practical challenges in life is determining, for each of us, the employment
that best satisfies these criteria. (Over the years, I have spent innumerable
hours deliberating this question individually with countless students.) The
principle, however, is straightforward. A student whose G‑d-given
faculties are best suited for a secular occupation will find only there both
the wherewithal fully “to provide for all the needs of the world and its institutions”
and maximum happiness and religious fulfillment. Guiding our charges on an
appropriate professional course is among the most vital services that we, as
spiritual mentors, can offer.
Finally,
I reply in this light to Rabbi Haber’s cautionary observation, that vocational
decisions are often “made based on parental pressure and the promise of
lucrative salaries.” I can only agree completely. However, this concern impels
me to affirm even more vehemently the responsibility of sincere educators to provide
students with, or refer them to, fitting career counseling that truly reflects
their G‑d-given talents and capabilities. Our silence in this domain —
or, worse, our proffering only unsuitable, stock advice that ignores individual
inclinations and that, therefore, our students cannot tenably heed — merely
drives them elsewhere, inducing them to submit to those ulterior considerations
we should be steering them to avoid most. As in many areas, if we fail to lead
effectively, we tacitly empower the gutter to hold sway in our stead.
The
alternatives are clear and nowadays are especially striking. On the one hand,
several years ago, a dedicated married student of mine structured his work
schedule to enable him to spend half his day in Torah study. Yet, an
internationally renowned rosh yeshivah informed him that he was not
welcome in the study hall of the latter’s yeshivah; working invalidated
him. I am aware of well-known yeshivoth in which students view any
employment — even as yeshivah teachers — disdainfully. On the other
hand, I recall the story of an acquaintance, who, as a teenager in yeshivah,
became an avid violin player. His rebbe, instead of automatically
discouraging him, sought a professional evaluation of his student’s talent and
then sympathetically but decisively reported to him that he would probably not
be able to succeed vocationally as a musician. Decades later, my acquaintance
is still grateful to his rebbe for the dedication and concern to guide
him on his path. Today, having heeded the advice that so disappointed him as a
youngster, he is a well-regarded, highly successful and dedicated
endocrinologist. He still loves playing the violin as an avocation — and he
still devotes his leisure time principally to his ongoing Talmudic studies.
In
conclusion, I reiterate that we must encourage our students to pursue their
individual callings, by infusing every aspect of their worldly endeavors with a
sense of and a dedication to G‑dliness and perfection of His world. This
is the all-encompassing nature of true avodah — that “all your
deeds should be for the sake of heaven.” Particularly, we must instruct our
students to prepare for whatever careers can best harness their G‑d-given
abilities and aptitudes. Only thus can we enable them to attain maximum
fulfillment, satisfaction, and happiness, through advancing the ultimate goal:
“to perfect the world through the reign of the Almighty” (“Aleinu”
prayer).
Again,
I thank Rabbi Haber for his constructive comments. I certainly appreciate the
opportunity to “discuss” these issues with him on the pages of Jewish Action,
and I look forward to continuing the dialogue between us in the future.
Chaim Eisen
Reprinted with permission of *Jewish Action, the Magazine of the Orthodox Union* as well as that of the author.