The confusing command to "walk in God's ways"

A repeated theme in yesterday’s Torah reading is the instruction that we are to walk in God’s ways – understood by our sages as a commandment to imitate God’s attributes as they define them: “Just as He is merciful so must you be merciful, just as He is gracious so must you be gracious”. As Judaism Reclaimed explores, this is a perplexing idea – particularly from the Rambam’s perspective what does it mean to mimic a deity which is understood to be beyond comparison and cannot even be described in human language?

One fascinating discussion of this concept can be found in the first chapter of Rambam’s Hilchot De’ot, where he contrasts the chacham (wise person) with the chassid. It would seem that according to Rambam’s understanding, an important step in correctly achieving and internalizing wisdom is balancing one’s character so that one’s perspective and analysis is not skewed by undesirable traits. This is the aim of a chacham whose connection to God is focused upon wisdom and intellectual pursuits. It may even be suggested that “walking in God’s ways” means attempting to minimize any imbalance and faulty reasoning in the same way as, it is understood, God’s “thought process” operates without external interference.

In contrast to the “chacham”, Rambam depicts a different mode of approaching God – the “chassid” whose “actions are more numerous than his wisdom” (see commentary to Avot chapter 3:9). The chassid, it would seem, seeks to “walk in God’s ways” by copying His actions of kindness as defined by the sages rather than idealizing the path of balance. The Rashba compiles a list of Talmudic mentions of chassidim, who are depicted as meditating for hours before and after prayer, searching out and removing dangerous objects from the public domain, and being prepared to use all of their possessions for the benefit of others.

Another fascinating dimension of this commandment to “walk in God’s ways” is the extent to which it overlaps with another biblical injunction: To love one’s fellow as oneself. Paraphrasing the sages, Rambam in the final chapter of Hilchot Avel defines this law as performing acts of kindness for others which one would want them to perform for oneself – such as comforting mourners, visiting the sick and rejoicing at weddings.

What emerges is that, when performing such a prescribed act of kindness, one may well be simultaneously fulfilling two separate biblical commands. The first, walking in God’s path, would be categorized as bein adam lamakom (between man and God) – strengthening one’s relationship and connection with God by making oneself more like Him. The second – loving one’s fellow as oneself – is more associated with bein adam lechaveiro (between man and man) as it improves the relationships between people and within communities.

Aside from the different focuses of these two commandments, there may also be circumstances in which they can apply independently of each other.

Imagine a scenario in which one travels for hours to visit a mourner only to find that he has traveled abroad or has closed the house of mourning for the day. From the perspective of “walking in God’s ways”, one may well have succeeded, through the attempted visit, in train his or her traits towards being a chacham or chasid. It is harder, however, to say that one has actually performed an act of kindness towards the other.

Alternatively, for a person whose personality has already stretched too far to the side of kindness towards others (the Rambam says this needs to be balanced with concern for one’s own wellbeing), a long trip to a mourner’s house may not be viewed as “walking in God’s ways” – but nevertheless should certainly constitute an “act of kindness” if he gets to comfort the mourner.

For comments and discussion of this post, click here and also here (on Avot Today)

Not for the cold-hearted

Listening to the parashah being read yesterday, I was reminded of a short speech I made eight years ago at the Kiddush for our daughter, Avital, who was born in the immediate aftermath of a severe Jerusalem snowstorm. The unexpected storm left many people trapped in their homes, and much of our neighbourhood without electricity over a freezing weekend.

I noted in my speech how people’s reactions varied. Everyone was aware of the great difficulties that many in our area were experiencing. But while for some this was just an interesting discussion point, several local residents took the initiative to actively check up on the welfare of the elderly and young families, and to arrange necessary assistance where possible. (For the record I was busy desperately googling DIY home-delivery advice as the due date came and went!).

This parallels a very profound commentary on parashat Shemot that sadly tends to get overlooked. When Moshe grows up, he goes out and witnesses the brutal slavery that the Jews are being subjected to. On the words “and he saw their burden” Rashi comments “he set his eyes and heart to be troubled on account of them”. As Maharal explains, Moshe had surely been aware of the enslavement previously. It was only once he made this mental shift that he allowed himself to become moved by their desperate plight to the extent that he stood up to one of their oppressors. An act which started him on a long journey that would see him become God’s agent to lead the Jews out of Egypt.

Judaism Reclaimed explores this concept in connection with the biblical instruction to “Love one’s fellow as oneself”, a command that Rabbi Akiva labelled a “major principle of the Torah”. Rabbi S. R. Hirsch questions why treating others as one wishes to be treated oneself should be considered such a weighty religious matter. After all, a general principle of reciprocity can be found in almost all cultures and reflects not just religious but also secular humanist thought. It is a basic prerequisite for a functioning civilised society.

In response, Rav Hirsch highlights that the commandment refers to a person acquiring a particular attitude and identification with others rather than merely accepting a practical code of conduct. This concept was expanded by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik who contrasted two very different ways of performing an act of kindness.

Regarding a normal act of kindness, he says:

“I am committed to genuinely helping a poor man, am genuinely committed to furthering his wellbeing … [M]y personality is still individual, still unique, still all-exclusive. I help out the Thou but he remains other to me.”

There is, however, a far higher and more elevated way of empathising and identifying with those who are poor and suffering so that:

“… my personality shifts from being all-exclusive to being all-inclusive. The poor man is no longer an other separate from me. In God-like fashion my helping him out becomes a way of letting him share in my existence and reality. My helping him out thus becomes an act of imitatio Dei, an act of God-like hesed in the sense that I do not simple give to him, but I identify with him”.

This second level of helping others means that kindness is no longer merely a ‘good deed’ but rather consists of a radical shift in the person’s perspective. By genuinely caring about another individual’s welfare, one ceases to think of one’s personal needs and the needs of others as distinct. The reason that Rabbi Akiva deemed that treating others as one would want to treat them is a fundamental Torah principle is that, properly performed, it radically changes a person’s entire perspective and outlook on the world. From a selfish inward-thinking path through life to a “divine” altruistic outward focus. (Judaism Reclaimed develops this idea further in order to address the conclusion of Moreh Nevuchim).

Regardless of whether our life circumstances lead us to heroism or activism, we are all capable of empathy and attempting to look at the world through the lens of others, feeling their pain as well as acknowledging it. Rashi teaches us that this shift from selfish-human to altruistic-divine perspective requires an active decision. It is not always easy to genuinely share the troubles of others – to feel pain when those around you are suffering. For this very reason, the willingness to allow oneself to be disturbed in this manner is considered “a fundamental principle of the Torah”.

First posted on Facebook 26 December 2021, here.

Loving others -- only when they are like yourself?

As Tisha Be’Av fast approaches we can brace ourselves for the usual traditional messages about why the Temple was destroyed. The baseless hatred that afflicted ancient Israel and how we must look to love one another more in order to merit redemption. Writing from my neighbourhood in “protest-land” near the Knesset – it seems that Tisha Be’Avs come and go, the messages get repeated, yet we as a nation grow ever further apart.

Over the past year I’ve witnessed first-hand the hatred and poisonous rhetoric which all-too-easily spills over into violence (one of our kids recently chose a bad time to walk down the street…). Even Tishe Be’av itself has seen rival groups scuffling over religious/political matters.

What is particularly striking from speaking to such people is they are typically adamant that achdut (unity) and interpersonal mitzvot are of utmost importance. Shockingly, many compatriots and co-religionists are so single-mindedly stuck in the echo chamber of their communal bubble that they define concepts such as “unity” and “love for the other” only within their own narrow ideological circle. How else can one explain the absurd TV interview from one of this week’s protests in which a woman claimed that “the whole nation is united in opposition to this reform”? (And yes, I have heard parallel absurdities being voiced by proponents of the reform too). Communities, schools and even kids’ summer camps are strictly screened to ensure that, God forbid, one’s children shouldn’t have to mix or converse with people who hold an opposing point of view.

The result is a nation made up of a series of distinct social, political and religious groupings, each of which is becoming increasingly separated and insulated from the others. One speaks to those who identify with religiously observant sectors who are unable to fathom how their secular counterparts might view them and their representatives as indulging in hypocritically pious externalities along with grubby and sometimes even corrupt political machinations. Meanwhile the outright hostility we received initially from some secular Israeli neighbours aghast at the thought of a religious family moving into their building (until we were able to get to know and eventually befriend them) was tragically eye-opening.

An early chapter of Judaism Reclaimed examines rabbinic sources which emphasise how national providence is primarily determined by national unity – to an even greater extent than it is affected by the committal of the three cardinal sins. Yet a prior step before we even discuss “unity” is the recognition that we are part of the same wider group to begin with – that we are all in the same boat even as we may try to steer it in different directions.

Instead of letting Tisha Be’Av become a caricature of the continuing crisis – sitting on the floor among likeminded lamenters sadly shaking our heads at “others” who practice baseless hatred – let it motivate us instead to make a firm commitment. To reach out beyond our comfort zone. To embrace and seek to understand the Other whenever they might cross our path.

Rather than lazily categorising and defining people based upon their political or religious affiliation we can attempt to see them first and foremost as fellow human beings and Jews – albeit ones who possess beliefs with which we may deeply disagree. Rather than thinking (or even shouting) “traitors” “parasites” “fascists” or making disparaging comments about “stupid …ists”, we can strive to see the humanity within people different from ourselves – people who on the whole are devoted friends, loving family members yet who hold a contrasting set of beliefs about how our little country and nation can be improved.

If we are able to collectively succeed in this realignment then we can look forward to a very different 9th of Av experience in years to come. Until such a time we can continue to mourn the destructive divisiveness of the past, safe in the knowledge that we are emulating our ancestors’ faults and repeating their deadly disunity and critical errors in our own modern era.

First posted on Facebook 26 July 2023., here

The true lesson of the hanging corpse

A teaching cited by Rashi on yesterday’s Torah reading has proven a firm favourite among those who seek to prove ancient rabbinic belief in a physical deity (a subject addressed at length in Judaism Reclaimed).

While the verse intriguingly informs us that the corpse of a condemned criminal should not be left overnight on a tree because this is an affront to God, Rashi’s rabbinic parable has raised many an eyebrow through the years:

“This is comparable to two identical twin brothers. One [of them] became king, while the other was arrested for robbery and hanged. Whoever saw him [the second brother, suspended on the gallows], would say, “The king is hanging!” Therefore, the king ordered, and they removed him.”

Attention is commonly concentrated on analysing the implications of this story for how God was perceived in ancient Israel. Could the same God who revealed Himself to Israel at Sinai to a nation who “saw no image” (Devarim 4:15), now be mistaken for the hanging body of an executed criminal?

As the Sforno and Maharal to this verse both argue, the only commonality and point of comparison between humanity and God is the intellect – the human ability to examine ideas, develop concepts of good and evil and then choose freely between them. It is in this capacity alone that mankind is described as having been created in God’s image.

But to my mind this whole discussion misses the primary point and real significance of the rabbinic parable.

Rather than focusing on what this comparison means for how we perceive God, we should instead recognise its far-reaching message for how we are to view our fellow humans.

To place this teaching in its correct context we must bear in mind how condemned criminals were typically treated until fairly recently – paraded through the streets to be humiliated, spat upon, cursed and pelted with all sorts of degrading objects. The message of this verse – as taught in the rabbinic parable – is that even a person who has committed an appalling crime which warrants a death penalty must still be treated with the dignity befitting a tselem Elokim.

Societies need a criminal system. Law and order must be maintained and serious offences must of course be punished. What the Torah appears to be rejecting here is the smug triumphalism of those who celebrate the destruction of another human being whether through execution or calling to “lock them up and throw away the key”.

Even at a person’s lowest possible moment – being executed for a serious criminal offence – his special human attribute and Godly image is recognised and respected. To leave him strung up on a tree overnight would be to degrade a creature which was endowed with this special potential to develop and connect with the divine. Rather than rejoicing and looking to make an example of a criminal who has got his come-uppance we should be soberly mourning the abject failure of a fellow tselem Elokim. The tragedy of a capital sentence is reflected in a teaching of Rabbi Akiva (Sanhedrin 63b) that judges handing down a death penalty must fast for the entire day.

A further manifestation of this principle is the somewhat comical application of “loving one’s fellow as oneself” to mean “select for him a pleasant form of death” (Sanhedrin 45a). Though not the most intuitive way of fulfilling brotherly love, this law reflects the idea that has been discussed in this post: that even a condemned criminal retains his humanity and therefore must be treated with all possible respect and dignity as one created in the image of God.

As I explore in greater detail in Judaism Reclaimed, the commandment to love one’s fellow is not fulfilled simply by providing for the needs of another. That may be a simple act of anticipated reciprocity which every functioning society requires to a certain extent. Rather the religious command requires us to radically change our perspective – until we identify fully with the other as a fellow human – until their needs and feelings are as our own.

Yesterday’s parasha shows how broadly this requirement applies. Every human we come across – never mind how pathetic or wretched they may appear to us – must be identified with and dignified to the greatest extent possible. Rather than the hanging corpse prompting us to imagine God as a physical form, it instead is supposed to evoke genuine pity and tragedy that a free-choosing human, created in God’s image, has used this potential so poorly.

This message from yesterday’s reading is also a timely reminder for Elul as we examine our deeds and look to improve our religious standing ahead of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. In just a month from now we will be sat in shul listening to the Yom Kippur Haftarah – how the process of repentance and fasting requires us to “break your bread with the hungry and bring the moaning poor to your home” and “offer your soul to the hungry”. Commenting on the latter phrase, Radak highlights the fact that it is not sufficient merely to throw a few coins at the unfortunate and feel that we have fulfilled our obligation – rather we must take a genuine interest in the recipient’s plight so that he sees that the gift is being presented wholeheartedly.

The prophet’s demands are not easy to fulfil. They require us to develop a sensitivity and perspective through which we regard every human being we come across – even the condemned criminal – not as a physical body but as a mind and soul endowed with the tselem Elokim.

First posted to Facebook 27 August 2023, here.