Hillel Praises; Shammai Appraises

Hillel and Shammai are perhaps the most famous pair of rabbinic rivals in the Talmud. Their rivalry, and their differences in personality, are a theme that runs through all parts of rabbinic literature - halakha and aggada, Mishna and Tosefta, Bavli and Yerushalmi. Any discussion of Jewish attitudes toward pluralism and its limits begins with Hillel and Shammai.

This rivalry has been treated extensively, so I doubt that I would have much to contribute on this front. Nevertheless, I had an insight into their names several years ago (thanks, David G, for reminding me about that blog post), and I believe it to be a true chiddush.

The name Hillel is related to hallel - praise. The name Shammai is related to shuma - evaluation. In fact, the Modern Hebrew word for an appraiser is a "shammai". The personalities of Hillel and Shammai are thematized along these lines. While Shammai and his disciples are concerned with the true, present, objective value of something, Hillel and his academy have a more generous outlook; they are able to see how something might have greater subjective value or potential value.

In the audio shiur I posted yesterday (and in a latent form in this post), this difference is used to understand the divergent approaches of Hillel and Shammai when confronting the prospective gerim. Shammai kicks them out using a yardstick - a tool of precise quantification, symbolizing the standards that potential gerim must meet, but that these do not. Hillel, in my reading, perceives some nobility in their motives and is willing to act based on their potential.

A similar dispute appears in Avot De-Rabbi Natan 2:9. Shammai's academy had very strict acceptance standards, whereas anyone could study at Hillel's. According to that passage, Hillel's lack of standards was not predicated on the belief in universal Torah education, but on the notion that it is impossible to know what sort of background will produce the next rabbinic leaders. Both Hillel and Shammai want to produce greatness, but whereas Shammai insists that greatness requires certain raw materials, Hillel contends that one's present state is not a good predictor of potential. So he refuses to evaluate, and lets everyone in.

Perhaps the most poignant example of this difference between Hillel and Shammai appears in Sanhedrin 16b-17a. The disciples of Hillel and Shammai disagree about "how one dances before the bride." Beit Hillel maintains that one should always tell the groom that "the bride is beautiful and charming," whereas Beit Shammai states that one should tell it like it is. The dispute, according to the ensuing discussion, is about whether there is value in reinforcing the groom's subjective perception. For the Hillelites, the true "worth" of the bride is irrelevant; this is what the groom has settled upon, and it is proper and generous to reinforce his beliefs, even if they are erroneous on some objective plane. Beit Shammai is unwilling to violate its objective evaluation - that is, lie - to make another person feel good (an outstanding and hilarious dramatization of Shammai's dilemma can be viewed here).

A final example further illustrate this theme and may even locate the differences within the general demeanor of the two sages. In Beitza 16a, it is recorded that Hillel and Shammai took different approaches to Shabbat, and really to life. Shammai would constantly be on the lookout for delicacies that he could serve on Shabbat. Even if he already bought a fine beast, he would look for a better one and compare it to the first. The impression here is that Shammai's life was an unending series of appraisals and evaluations. He simply could not turn off his faculty of judgment; Halakhic Man on steroids or, if you wish, a life-long appointment with an optometrist ("Is this better, or is this? Which is better, this or this?"). Hillel, on the other hand, felt that as long as one was living life for the sake of heaven, there was no need for the constant evaluation; one could live life as it happened.

In this passage, Hillel's position is not articulated in the form of a dissenting opinion. His position is introduced by the phrase "Hillel had a different demeanor" ("mida acheret hayta bo"). Similarly, in his response (and later in the passage, his disciples' response), he does not directly dispute Shammai's incessant appraisal, but simply quotes Psalms 68:20 "Blessed be the Lord, day by day." "Barukh Hashem yom yom."

This "dispute" straddles the line between halakha and aggada. Shammai acted a certain way, and his disciples transformed their stories about him into a halakhic position. Hillel does not get drawn into Shammai's impulse for constant evaluation, and his disciples resist the temptation to transform stories about their master into actual halakhic positions. The poetics of this short passage indicate that the Bavli has indeed thematized the divergent tendencies attributed to Hillel and Shammai, and subsequently to their respective circles of disciples.

One might ask, so what? What difference does it make if the Bavli conceptualized Hillel and Shammai in this way? What is the aggada le-ma'aseh? As I noted in yesterday's post (and here I am indebted to insights of Barry Wimpfheimer as well as Moshe Simon and Chaim Saiman), I think this insight is significant because it externalizes a certain tension that every rabbi feels to a certain degree. On one hand, there is the impulse toward rule-making, and on the other hand is an impulse to accept every moment and every individual with a spirit of generosity, without trying to impose an existing set of rules and standards on it. The rabbis of the Bavli felt this tension, too. Thus, although they engaged in formulating and standardizing law, they also expressed reservations and resistance to that attitude. My contention here is that the Sages externalized these opposing tendencies through the figures of Hillel and Shammai, and that by showing Hillel to be their clear favorite, they, in some way, legitimated the resistance that has accompanied the impulse toward codification, standardization, and rule-making every step of the way.

Moshe and R. Akiva as Givers of Torah

The following is the outline for the shiur that I am giving tonight. Many of the elements are based on what I wrote many years ago here, but I obviously think differently about some things now. The text is from Menachot 29b.

R. Yehuda said in the name of Rav: When Moshe ascended to the heavens, he found God sitting and tying crowns to the letters. He said: “Master of the Universe, who is holding You back?” He answered, “There will arise a man in the distant future, Akiva b. Yoseph by name, who will derive heaps of laws from each jot.”

·        According to R. Zadok, Keter is the “space between the lines.” Moshe was given a text and mastery of the text. The Torah was given at a particular time and place, and its meaning was particularly comprehensible to that time and place. Over time, as conditions changed and the laws of the Written Torah no longer addressed elements of their lives and prophets were no longer present to provide guidance directly from God. Torah study replaced prophecy. This is the beginning of the development of Torah She-ba’al Peh, which reaches its zenith in the generations after the Churban, with R. Akiva. In order generate new meaning from the Torah, he had to search between the lines of the text – in the margins and in context. Keter is also a kabbalistic concept that refers to the sublime unity that undergirds all of reality, the oneness of God that unifies all of the multiplicities of this world. Moshe never had to seek that oneness because everything was cut and dried for him. There is no machloket in Torah she-biktav. R. Akiva, who had a profound encounter with machloket in the form of his 2 rebbeim, R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua, was challenged to find the Divine unity underlying difference. This he was doresh the ketarim, he sought a framework that would allow for the Torah’s development even as it countenanced dispute.

“Master of the Universe, permit me to see him.” He replied, “Turn around.”

·        “Front” and “back” together constitute a mystical category. “Front” refers to the direct visual recognition of something, what we might call gestalt, that does not necessarily know the particular details. It’s a whole picture. The “back” is something that requires more detail for recognition to occur. Greater scrutiny. In terms of Torah, Moshe’s knowledge was of “front” – he spoke with God “Panim el Panim,” whereas R. Akiva’s knowledge was from a greater distance, piecing together an image without having gotten a good look. To get to R. Akiva, Moshe has to turn around, turn away from God’s face. R. Zadok connects R. Akiva here with Otniel ben Knaz, who similarly reconstructed Torah that was forgotten in the generation after Moshe with his intellect. This pattern of reason displacing revelation recurs throughout history.

Moshe went and sat down behind eight rows of students, and he did not know what they were saying. He was deflated.

·        Eight rows – back of the classroom, like first, second, etc. violin.

·        Based on the above, we understand full well why Moshe could not understand R. Akiva’s shiur. R. Akiva’s Torah was completely unrecognizable from the perspective of the Written Torah. It goes further, too; I have very little doubt that the Rambam would be lost in a shiur by R. Chaim Brisker, even though the latter is essentially expounding on the writings of the former. This is almost built into the process of development of the Oral Torah, as we shall see.

·        Another point – some have tried to mitigate this implication, the idea that Moshe’s knowledge of Torah was incomplete, by suggesting that he simply hadn’t been given the Torah yet. This clearly goes against the thrust of the Gemara. The Gemara is trying to be provocative by saying this, challenging us.

·        Moshe is anxious because he is afraid that the Torah will suffer discontinuity. If the giver of the Torah does not recognize R. Akiva’s Torah, then in what sense is it the Torah?

But when they came to a certain subject and the disciples said, “Rebbi, what is your source for that?” and he replied, “It is a law given to Moshe at Sinai,” he was comforted.

·        This is an almost mythic moment. Not only are Moshe and R. Akiva the quintessential givers of Torah – Moshe of the Written and R. Akiva of the Oral – they’re, to an extent, opposites. Moshe’s children did not follow in his footsteps, and R. Akiva’s parents were converts. There is no greater statement of the fact that the Torah is not a birthright. R. Tzadok speaks about the special love of Torah that a convert has – the Torah is revealed through them (Yitro, Rut, R’ Akiva); they give up the ‘easy life’ to come to Torah. R. Akiva is even possibly a descendant of Haman (mibnei banav…). His Torah even constitutes, on some level, an act of rebellion against God (nitzchuni banai…), an insistence on relying upon his own intellect to create new meanings – and not necessarily even correct meanings – from God’s Torah. Moshe’s comfort here lies in the fact that their greatness finds expression through his Torah. He is able to bridge to future generations not by heredity, but through the encounter of his Torah with the fresh, eager minds of those who are drawn to Torah through pure love.

·        Perhaps Moshe also takes comfort in the fact that this development remains anchored to his Torah. In the mind, everything is possible. R. Meir’s students could give 150 reasons why the forbidden should be permitted. But there remains an anchor – be it the Written Torah or more importantly tradition – that forces the Torah to adopt a practical dimension. After the theoretical shiur klali, there must be a bottom line. Someone must tell the Jews what to do. This, too, is the legacy of Moshe.

·        Finally, the fact that R. Akiva attributes his position to Moshe shows that despite the changes, there is a continuity. It might not be a straight line of development, and at some point it may become unrecognizable, but the chain is unbroken. Every part of the ship of Theseus may have been replaced, but we’ve been sailing on it the whole time, so we treat it as the same ship.

Thereupon he returned to God and asked, “Master of the Universe, You have such a person, yet You are giving the Torah through me?”

·        If this is the future of the Torah, why not skip straight to that? Why can’t the Torah be given in the form that R. Akiva would put it in? Why not skip straight to the Mishna Berura, or what have you, and dispense with the whole Written/Oral dichotomy?

He replied, “Be silent; thus it arose in My thought.”

·        God’s answer really is an answer. It’s not merely “because I said so,” although we have the advantage of hindsight that Moshe did not have. In this world, a Moshe is a prerequisite for a R’ Akiva, Rashi for Tosafot, Rambam for R’ Hayyim, and childhood for adulthood. As crazy as it sounds, G-d response was akin to a parent telling his child “you’ll understand when you get older.” There must be a naïve, almost childlike acceptance of the Torah before one can begin to wrestle with it. The Torah must be given to children, to the dependent and infantile generation of Moshe, and not to the rebellious and cocksure generation of R’ Akiva, to descendants of Haman. This relates to the na’aseh/nishma dichotomy that we discussed last year – there must be an uncritical consent to act before true understanding can begin to happen. Had God held the mountain over the likes of a R. Akiva, He might not have gotten away with it. This process of acceptance followed by grappling is part of God’s plan. God gave man the ability to seek and discover and create with his intellect. In order for the Torah to develop through the channels of a developed mind, it must first be embedded in the mind before it begins to develop. This is what arose in God’s thoughts.

Then Moshe asked, “Master of the Universe, You have shown me his Torah, now show me his reward.’ He said, “Turn around.” Moshe turned around and saw them weighing out his flesh at the market-stalls.

·        Is this ‘the reward?” Why did God show him that? It seems that God is playing a cruel joke on Moshe. Is this really R. Akiva’s reward?

 “Master of the Universe,” he cried, “this is the Torah, and this is the reward??!” He replied, “Be silent; thus it arose in My thought.”

·        I think that God’s answer really is an answer, and it is essentially the same as the previous answer. This is the downside of development and of intellectual creativity. Rabbi Akiva was flayed for the same reason that he was able to give a shiur that Moshe could not understand. His fate is truly the “payment” for his Torah. R. Akiva represents the emergence of the Torah from childhood into adulthood. As many can attest, this transition is a form of rebellion, an independence of mind, a willingness to reestablish old relationships on one’s own terms. R. Akiva, by furthering the cause of Torah by speaking it and teaching his own understanding of it – even at the risk of his own life - invited disaster. Such a person will always be misunderstood, antagonized, and figuratively if not literally, torn to shreds and cut down to size in public opinion. Such is the fate of innovative thinkers who insist on pushing the limits of human thought. Such was the fate of Socrates. Such was the fate of Galileo. Martin Luther King Jr., and Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Such was also the fate of the Rambam, Ramchal, R. Kook, and R. Soloveitchik. The path to the future is a dangerous one for all those who dare blaze it. In God’s plan for the world, development follows acceptance and adulthood follows childhood – but there is a price to be paid for making that transition.

Ushpizin on Shavu'ot

Since making aliyah, we have instituted a custom in our family regarding the night of Shavu'ot. Our meal is graced by the presence of two very important guests who truly enhance our simchat Yom Tov. Their names are Ben and Jerry.

The wife and I each gave a shiur over Yom Tov - the same shiur, more or less, in fact. It's an expansion of this. I generally don't stay up all night anymore. Maybe when the kids are older (more on that below). I made sure to give the shiur at a time that I could still get a decent night's sleep. I had the 12:40- 1:25 am slot. It went very well - there were a lot more people than I expected (I printed 20 source sheets, and there was not even enought for people to double up). The problem was, I got so jacked up on caffeine before the shiur that I could not fall asleep afterward.

My favorite Shavu'ot memory: I must have been 10 or 11. My father and I were learning mishnayot in the wee hours on Shavu'ot morning, in the basement of the shtiebl on Park Heights Avenue, AC on full blast, soda and chips in reach. We got up to the following mishna (Bekhorot 5:3):

One some children were playing in a field, and they tied the tails of two lambs together, and the tail of one of them was disconnected - and it was a firstborn. The incident came before the sages, and they permitted it. They went and tied the tails of other firstborns, and they forbade it...

I remember poring over the books, trying to figure out (er, make heads and tails?) out of the text, and then we get to this little anecdote, and we just lost it. We probably laughed for 10 minutes, imagining these kids tying the tails of sheep together. So what's your 'all time favorite mishna'?

Another Memorable Reading (That I Forgot About)

I forgot about one particularly memorable Megillah reading: my first one. I probably forgot about it because, for me, it was about getting through it and feeling a sense of relief. I was also a self-absorbed teenager at the time, and perhaps I did not notice how meaningful it was for others. Fortunately, my parents reminded me of that today.

That first reading was in 1992. I layned the Megillah at the Shomrei Emunah youth minyan in Baltimore. It was mostly people about my age, including many of my friends, but there were 2 people there who were much, much older: my grandfathers.

My paternal grandfather probably would have been critical of my reading had his hearing been intact. I know now that he always had a bit of trouble taking pride in his MO grandkids, but that's neither here nor there. He came, and he probably shepped some nachas. He passed away about 2 years later, on Chol Ha-Mo'ed Pesach.

For my maternal grandfather, it was a very different story. His hearing was fully intact, though the rest of his body, by that point, was wracked with cancer. Learning to layn the Megillah was a lifelong goal of his that he never fulfilled. He came to shul that night with an oxygen tank in tow and left with tears in his eyes, knowing full well that it was probably his last Purim, satisfied that he lived long enough to bear witness that one of his own lifelong dreams was being fulfilled by his posterity. He passed away less than 3 months later, on Erev Shavu'ot. Much of his last time on earth was spent tying off the loose ends of his life (it was quite fitting that he completed the counting of the Omer, with a bracha, the night before he passed away). Based on his remarks, that Purim was another of those loose ends, another item on his "Bucket List", that he was able to fulfill before departing. Memorable, indeed.

Pimp My Ride, Zeke

While nodding off and listening to my brother-in-law chant the Maase Merkava early Shavu’ot morning, I thought that it would make one hell of a ‘Pimp My Ride’ episode. Isaiah 6 and Ezekiel 1 can be the ‘Before and After’ (Note: I've never actually seen the shw, just heard abut it).

That reminded me of what a friend pointed out – that the reason that this haftarah is read when it is ensures that anyone is too delirious to actually listen to it, thus maintaining its status as something esoteric.

How Quickly We Forget

I was sort of whining about the fact that we will most probably be having 2 milchig meals this Shavu’ot. My wife pointed out that I grew up with that, because my parents are also making both meals milchig this year. I pointed out that when I grew up in my parents’ home, we actually had 4 meals on Shavu’ot, and 1 or 2 were usually dairy.

Last week, I was at a staff meeting for the seminary that I’ll be working at next year. I was asked to give a shiur on the different perspectives on keeping 2 days Yom Tov for chutznikim in Israel. I said I couldn’t – that I felt too strongly about the topic. For me, second day is quintessential galus halakha ­– by definition. It’s straight up ‘minahg avoteinu be-yadeinu’ – just keep it the same. Live in fear that the next regime will want to abolish your religion. Don’t acknowledge the fact that we know full well exactly which day is Yom Tov and which day is not.

When I think about the second day of Yom Tov, all I think is, “Good bye and good riddance”. I would advocate any legitimate position that if someone comes to Israel, they should keep one day of Yom Tov. There’s no balance here- the Torah says to keep one day. I have very little sympathy for those still stuck keeping two days.

I will never forget the fact that I once kept 2 days, though it’s been over 11 years (including several that I was keeping one but not doing melacha while I was in the States). I’m glad that I had that experience, unlike most Israelis. But I’m also glad that I don’t have to be embarrassed when I read the Chumash.