Torah-Only and Having a God
Understanding Aggada
Yeshivat Har Etzion
Shiur #3:
Torah-Only and Having a God
By Rav Yitzchak Blau
When Rabbi Elazar ben
Parta and Rabbi Chanina ben Teradyon were captured, Rabbi Elazar said to Rabbi
Chanina: "You are fortunate, as you were captured for one offense. Woe is me, as
I was captured for five offenses."
Rabbi Chanina said to
him: "You are fortunate, as you were captured for five offenses and you will be
saved. Woe is me, who was captured for one offense, and I will not be saved. For
you engaged in Torah and gemilut chasadim (acts of compassion),
and I was only involved in Torah alone."
It is as Rav Huna
taught. Rav Huna said: "Whoever is only involved in Torah, it is as if he has no
God, as it says 'And there where many days in Israel without a true God'
(Divrei Ha-yamim II 15:3). What does the verse mean when it says 'without
a true God?' That anyone who involves himself only with Torah is compared to
someone without a God." (Avoda Zara 17b)
The sharp formulation of
Rav Huna demands explanation. While we can easily understand that Torah learning
without acts of compassion leaves a person religiously incomplete, that hardly
constitutes lacking a God. Why does Rav Huna employ such a harsh and sweeping
formulation? Rashi explains that the person lacks a God to protect him, as God
will only step in to aid the compassionate. If so, the "Torah-only personality"
obviously has a God, but not a God who will provide
succor.
Rav Shmuel Edels, the
Maharsha, offers a beautiful alternative explanation. He points out that the
Divine attributes (see Shemot 34:6-7) are predominantly about compassion.
Furthermore, the attempt to emulate God, to the best of our human ability,
represents a significant religious ideal. Our Rabbis state on several occasions
that human acts of mercy fulfill the mitzva of imitating God (e.g. Sota
14a). Thus, one who eschews acts of kindness has a fundamentally flawed
conception of the Divine. A person who truly understands the nature of God would
be drawn to emulate His compassion. If so, the "Torah-only personality" is in
reality "without a true God."
This argument also finds
support from the magnificent closing chapter of Moreh Nevukhim (3:54).
There, the Rambam asks what is the true goal of human life. He rejects wealth as
a goal, as wealth is a means more than an end. He rejects physical prowess as
the goal, because feats of speed and strength are accomplished more effectively
by members of the animal kingdom. The Rambam initially asserts that human ethics
could not be the goal, as they apply only in an interpersonal context. The true
goal must have universal applicability. Therefore, he asserts that intellectual
cognition of the Divine truths represents the ultimate purpose of human
striving.
Had the Rambam stopped
here, it would seem that his vision of the good life was purely intellectual.
However, the Rambam continues to say that the person who authentically
comprehends the nature of the Divine would also be drawn to emulate God's acts
of compassion and justice. Thus, it emerges that only the ethics that do not
stem from imitatio Dei remain excluded from the true goal of mankind. For
a religious person intending to emulate his Maker, compassionate behavior is an
indispensable component of the summum bonum. Apparently, one cannot truly
understand God without the accompanying desire to follow in His ethical
footsteps.
Some verses in Yirmiyahu
beautifully convey the Rambam's vision. The prophet (9:23-24) tells the wise,
the strong and the wealthy not to glory in their achievements. For the Rambam,
this means that riches, physical might and ethics (here identified with a kind
of wisdom) are not the central achievement of mankind. Yirmiyahu continues: "But
let a man glory in this, that he understand and know Me, that I am the God who
does beneficence, justice and righteousness in the earth." This verse clearly
links knowledge of God with knowledge of His ethical actions. A person who fails
to make this connection, and does not draw the implications for his or her own
actions, has a faulty conception of the Master of the
Universe.
The Meiri interprets the
gemara somewhat differently, but a similar point emerges. He points out that
while many people do not keep various mitzvot, we do not charge that they
lack a God. He explains that, from a certain perspective, it is worse for one
who is engaged in Torah not to be engaged in chesed, than for a person to
be religiously uninvolved altogether. Someone who learns Torah should understand
the interpersonal obligations mandated by it. This knowing rejection of the
Torah's authority makes the person fall into the category of those "without a
God." To rephrase the Meiri in our own words, someone who truly learned and
internalized the message of Torah could not possibly be indifferent to the call
of chesed.
The continuation of the
gemara in Avoda Zara strengthens the point.
And did [Rabbi Chanina]
not engage in acts of benevolence? Did we not learn: Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov
taught: "A person should not give money to the purse of charity, unless the
person in charge is a sage like Rabbi Chanina ben Teradyon?"
[The Gemara answers:] He
was very trustworthy but was not actively engaged.
But did we not learn: He
(Rabbi Chanina) said to him: "Money for Purim became mixed up with money for
charity and I divided it among the poor?"
[The Gemara answers:] He
was involved, but not as much as he should have been.
Rashi offers two
interpretations of the money mix up. Rabbi Chanina may have confused money for
his own Purim feast with money for the poor, and he gave the entire amount to
charity. Alternatively, he used charitable Purim funds for a different
charitable cause, and he replenished the Purim fund from his own pocket.
According to either interpretation, Rabbi Chanina emerges as a person of
honesty, integrity and benevolence. Yet, he still felt that he had performed
inadequately in this regard. Apparently, the mere fact that a person engages in
some charitable work does not mean that that person has discharged his or her
duties in the realm of gemilut chasadim. This story calls for a more
serious and ongoing attempt to strike the right balance between the competing
claims of Torah and chesed.
This balance need not be
attained on a daily, or even yearly, basis. It is reasonable to argue that the
yeshiva years will be more dedicated to Torah, while more middle-aged years,
when a person has greater financial means and a home with which to host guests,
may offer more opportunities for chesed. However, even one's time in
yeshiva offers numerous opportunities for acts of compassion within the very
walls of the beit medrash. Additionally, the aspiring scholar should view
the time in yeshiva as an investment, enabling greater contributions to the
community at a later date.
In addition to the
above, this gemara clearly rejects the idea that chesed can be
accomplished in a metaphysical manner. Some say that everyone who learns Torah
engages in an act of compassion, because Torah learning improves the world in
some grand cosmic way. If we push such an idea too far, there would be no
category of Torah without chesed. Apparently, compassion must be
expressed in a naturalistic way, with our own efforts and resources directed
towards helping other flesh and blood human beings. May we successfully
integrate the great twin religious callings of Torah and
chesed.
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