Daf 5a - Burying the Future
Ein Yaakov
- The World of Talmudic Aggada
By Dr.
Moshe Simon-Shoshan
Lecture
18: Daf 5a -
Burying
the Future
The Gemara
now continues with its discussion of the meaning of suffering, focusing on those
whose children die:
A Tanna
recited before R. Yochanan the following:
If a man
busies himself in the study of the Torah
and in acts
of charity
and
[nonetheless] buries his children,
all his sins
are forgiven him.
This
statement picks up on several ideas about suffering that we have already seen. The first idea is that suffering can
atone for sins. This idea is
slightly different than the notion that suffering comes as a punishment for
sins. Here, the idea is that
suffering gives a person an opportunity to atone for his sins in this world, and
thereby avoid what is presumably a much more severe punishment in the next. This anonymous scholar presents a
particularly extreme case. The translation here presents the simple reading of
the case: A person spends his days involved in the study of Torah and the
pursuit of good deeds, but nevertheless confronts the loss of his children. How are we to understand such an
extreme case of the righteous suffering? The Tanna responds that in this case,
the righteous person will be forgiven even the relatively few sins he has
committed, and he will receive only the greatest reward in the world to come.
The note in
the Soncino translation suggests that this statement may not have been said in
front of R. Yochanan in a purely academic context. Rather, R. Yochanan was a prime
example of a person who was involved in Torah and good works and yet, as we
shall see later in this passage, buried his own children. This statement may well have been
said to him in an effort to comfort him for his loss. Whatever the speakers intent, R.
Yochanans response as reported here is analytical:
R. Yochanan
said to him:
I grant you
Torah and acts of charity,
for it is
written:
By mercy and
truth iniquity is expiated (Mishlei 16:6).
'Mercy' is acts of charity, for it is
said:
He that
followeth after righteousness and mercy findeth
life,
prosperity and honor (ibid. 21:
21).
'Truth' is
Torah, for it is said:
Buy the
truth and sell it not (ibid.
23:23).
But how do
you know [what you say about]
the one who
buries his children?
A certain
Elder [thereupon] recited to him
in the name
of R. Shimon b. Yochai:
It is
concluded from the analogy in the use of the word 'iniquity.
Here it is
written:
By mercy and
truth iniquity is expiated.
And elsewhere
it is written:
And who
recompenseth the iniquity of the fathers
into the
bosom of their children (Yirmiyahu 32:18).
R. Yochanan
clearly understood the statement to mean that all three traits - Torah study,
good deeds and the loss of children either individually or as a group have
the power to atone for all of ones sins.
R. Yochanan points to the verse in Mishlei, By mercy and truth
iniquity is expiated, as the source that Torah and good deeds atone for ones
sins. He understands mercy in this
verse to mean good deeds, and truth to mean Torah. But he does not find a source for the
idea that loss of children has the same effect.
Yet another anonymous scholar suggests a verse from Yirmiyahu,
which would allow us to understand the word iniquity in the Mishlei
verse as referring to loss of children.
The Tannas statement is thus transformed into an interpretation of this
verse.
On the
surface, it seems that R. Yochanan is not objecting to the notion that loss of
children can atone for ones sins.
Rather, he is just asking for the biblical source for this idea. However, as we proceed, we shall see
that R. Yochanan consistently questions efforts to attribute meaning to
suffering, especially in the case of loss of children. In light of this, it is possible to
see R. Yochanans question here as an effort to undermine the idea that loss of
children leads to forgiveness of sins.
The Gemara
now cites a statement of R. Yochanan on the issue of burying children:
R. Yochanan
says:
Leprosy and
[the lack of] children
are not
chastisements of love.
Once again we
encounter the term yisurin shel ahava, translated as chastisements of
love. As we noted in the previous class, this term has at least two possible
meanings. One possible meaning is
suffering which is not connected to sin.
This suffering shows Gods special regard for the sufferer, either by
raising him to a higher spiritual level or by guaranteeing him an even greater
share in the world to come.
Alternatively, yisurin shel ahava means suffering that is moderate in
some way. In this case, we say the
suffering was moderate enough to allow the individual to continue to engage in
Torah study and/or prayer. The
question now is which meaning does R. Yochanan intend here? It is tempting to
say that he means the latter definition. In
this case, he would be saying that loss of children and leprosy do not
constitute moderate suffering. But
if this is the case, what is the hava amina (the initial understanding
that this statement comes to reject)? Who would have thought that burying
ones children would constitute moderate suffering? The other possibility is
that R. Yochanan means that these two afflictions can never be seen as
expressions of Divine love. This
understanding, in turn, is open to two interpretations: 1) These afflictions are
always a result of sin, or 2) We cannot assign any meaning to them whatsoever.
The problem
of how to understand R. Yochanans statement becomes even more complex in light
of the Gemaras response to it:
But is
leprosy not a chastisement of love?
Is it not
taught:
If a man has
one of these four symptoms of leprosy,
it is nothing
else but an altar of atonement?
They are an
altar of atonement,
but they are
not chastisements of love.
If you like,
I can say:
This
[teaching of the baraita] is ours [in Babylonia],
and that
[saying of R. Yochanan] is theirs [in Palestine].
If you like,
I can say:
This
[teaching of the baraita] refers to hidden [leprosy],
that [saying
of R. Yochanan] refers to a case of visible [leprosy].
The Gemara
first challenges the proposition that leprosy cannot be a form of yisurin
shel ahava. It cites a
baraita that states that one who suffers from leprosy can be compared to an
altar of atonement." It is unclear
how the Gemara understood R. Yochanans use of the term yisurin shel ahava. If the Gemara understood the term as
referring to moderate suffering, how is this baraita relevant? How does
the fact that leprosy atones for sin like the altar suggest that it qualifies as
moderate suffering?" To the
contrary, the worse the suffering, the more the atonement! On the other hand, if
yisurin shel ahava refers to suffering without sin, then the fact that
leprosy is like an altar of atonement once again would disqualify it from the
category of yisurin shel ahava, because the need for atonement suggests
that the sufferer did in fact sin.
It therefore
makes most sense, as Benovitz suggests, to favor the reading found in several
manuscripts in which the term altar of atonement is followed by for Israel." The person afflicted with leprosy
atones not for his own sins, but for those of the entire people of Israel. This works well with the
understanding of yisurin shel ahava as suffering without sin. The reason that the righteous suffer,
despite their own blamelessness, is in order to atone for the sins of others. While the idea of one person
suffering for the sins of others is often thought of as Christian, it is well
rooted in Judaism as well. The idea
is discussed at several points in the Gemara, and this is the simple meaning of
the verses in Yishayahu 53, as we discussed previously. Jews disagree with Christians about
whom the prophet refers to in that passage.
However, they do not necessarily disagree with the basic theological
premise of the suffering servant.
This
understanding of the reason for yisurin shel ahava turns out to be only
provisional. The first answer which
the Gemara brings to resolve the contradiction between R. Yochanan and the
baraita is that yisurin shel ahava and an altar of atonement are
not necessarily the same thing. Perhaps
according to this answer, yisurin shel ahava refers only to suffering
that is for the benefit of the sufferer, not for the benefit of all Israel.
The Gemara
then offers two alternate resolutions: Either the status of leprosy depends on
whether you are in the Land of Israel or Babylonia, or it depends on whether the
leprosy is visible or not.
The Gemara
now takes on R. Yochanans contention that the loss of children does not
constitute yisurin shel ahava:
But is [the
lack of] children not a chastisement of love?
How is this
to be understood?
Shall I say
that he had children and they died?
Did not R.
Yochanan himself say:
This is the
bone of my tenth son?
Rather [say
then] that
the former
saying refers to one who never had children,
the latter to
one who had children and lost them.
The Gemara
argues that R. Yochanan must be referring to individuals who never had children. However, R. Yochanan agrees that the
loss of children who have already been born can be considered yisurin shel
ahava. The Gemaras proof for
this understanding is that R. Yochanan himself lost ten sons and carried around
a piece of bone, about which he used to tell people, this is the bone of my
tenth son." According to Rashi,
since R. Yochanan was himself a great tzaddik, if he lost ten sons, it
can only have been as a result of yisurin shel ahava. Tosafot reject this reading,
pointing out that one could make the same argument about those who never have
children, because there have certainly been many tzaddikim who were never
blessed with children. Rather, they
suggest that since R. Yochanan used to mention his lost children in an effort to
comfort others, he must not have regarded the loss as the result of his own
sins.
The answers
of Rashi and Tosafot call attention to the Gemaras assumption that there are
two options for explaining suffering either it is a punishment for sin, or it
is an expression of Divine love, not connected to sin. On the basis of this assumption, the
Gemara comes to the conclusion that R. Yochanan did not deny that burying ones
own children is a form of yisurin shel ahava.
I would like to suggest that, despite the Gemaras conclusion, R.
Yochanan did deny that burying ones children can be a form of yisurin shel
ahava. This interpretation of R.
Yochanan is only possible if we reject the Gemaras dichotomy between suffering
with sin and suffering without sin.
Perhaps R. Yochanan believes that some suffering is so terrible that one should
not assign any meaning to it. This
belief would be consistent with R. Yochanan questioning the source for the idea
that losing ones children can lead to forgiveness of sins, which we saw
previously. R. Yochanan insists that
some tragedies are neither forms of atonement nor signs of Divine love. They just are.
The Gemara
proceeds by presenting a series of three very similar stories. Each features R. Yochanan, a
miraculous cure, and a discussion of human suffering. The first two are virtually
identical:
R. Chiya b.
Aba fell ill
and R.
Yochanan went in to visit him.
He said to
him:
Are your
sufferings welcome to you?
He replied:
Neither they
nor their reward.
He said to
him:
Give me your
hand.
He gave him
his hand and he raised him.
R. Yochanan
once fell ill
and R.
Chanina went in to visit him.
He said to
him:
Are your
sufferings welcome to you?
He replied:
Neither they
nor their reward.
He said to
him: Give me your hand.
He gave him
his hand and he raised him.
(Note that we
are following the order of the stories as they are found in the printed text of
Talmud and not as they are found in the Ein Yaakov.) In the first story, R.
Yochanan visits his student R. Chiya, who is lying ill. He asks him if his suffering (yisurin)
is dear to him. When R. Chiya
responds, no," R. Yochanan takes his hand and miraculously cures him.
The principle
underlying this story appears to be the principle cited on the previous side of
the page, that yisurin shel ahava (in the sense of suffering without sin)
must be accepted by the sufferer with love, just as God gives them with love, in
order to be effective. However, R.
Yochanan has a most peculiar take on this idea.
The most obvious application of this principle to a sick person would be
to urge him to accept his sufferings as an expression of Divine love. R. Yochanan instead merely confirms
that the sufferer rejects his suffering and the Divine love they apparently
represent. R. Yochanan then
miraculously removes the suffering.
In curing R. Chiya, R. Yochanan is, in effect, challenging God and His policy of
afflicting the righteous. This
stance is generally consistent with, although not identical to, R. Yochanans
refusal to attribute significance to various types of suffering that we saw just
above.
The next
story differs from the first only in that it features R. Yochanan and his
teacher R. Chanina, rather than R. Yochanan and his student R. Chiya, and the
roles are reversed. Now R. Yochanan
lies ill and the other character heals him.
Given these similarities, it is tempting to view these accounts as two
versions of the same story. One
version evolved from the other. The
person who retold the story accidently made these simple changes when he
confused Chanina the teacher with Chiya the student. Be that as it may, the Gemara, by
presenting both versions, focuses our attention on the common character between
them, R. Yochanan, and further clarifies his position on suffering. If we only had the first story, we
might have thought that R. Yochanan merely sought to alleviate the suffering of
those who in any case do not accept their lot with love, and therefore will not
benefit from it. Ideally though, one
should accept such suffering with love and merit its reward. Now we see that R. Yochanan did not
embrace his own suffering, further strengthening his image as one who does not
seek meaning in suffering, but merely seeks to avoid it.
The Gemara
itself comments on the fact that we have mirror image stories before us:
Why could not
R. Yochanan raise himself?
They replied:
The prisoner
cannot free himself from jail.
The Gemara is
bothered that in the first story, we see that R. Yochanan has the power to cure
illness, but in the second story he cannot cure himself and needs the services
of R. Chanina. The Gemara responds, The prisoner cannot free himself from jail.
This proverb holds true not only for the dynamics of miraculous cures, but for
many aspects of the human condition.
In many situations, a person is helpless to solve his own problems, even though
he could have easily helped another person suffering in the same situation. We lack insight and objectivity about
ourselves and sometimes need the help of an outsider, who can bring a different
perspective.
The third and
final story in this series is much longer and more complex:
R. Elazar
fell ill and R. Yochanan went in to visit him.
He noticed
that he was lying in a dark room,
and he bared
his arm and light radiated from it.
Thereupon he
noticed that R. Elazar was weeping,
and he said
to him:
Why do you
weep?
Is it because
you did not study enough Torah?
Surely we
learnt:
The one who
sacrifices much
and the one
who sacrifices little
have the same
merit,
provided that
the heart is directed to heaven.
Is it perhaps
lack of sustenance?
Not everybody
has the privilege to enjoy two tables.
Is it perhaps
because of [the lack of] children?
This is the
bone of my tenth son!
He replied to
him:
I am weeping
on account of this beauty
that is going
to rot in the earth.
He said to
him:
On that
account you surely have a reason to weep;
and they both
wept.
In the
meanwhile he said to him:
Are your
sufferings welcome to you?
He replied:
Neither they
nor their reward.
He said to
him:
Give me your
hand,
and he gave
him his hand and he raised him.
(For a visual
rendition of this story see
http://www.talmudcomics.net/berachot%205b2.jpg )
The story
opens with the now familiar scene of R. Yochanan visiting an ailing student. This time the student is his prize
disciple R. Elazar. However, the
story does not continue as expected.
First R. Yochanan finds himself in the dark.
This darkness might be seen as symbolically reflecting R. Elazars dire
situation. The image of the sick
person sitting in a windowless room also recalls the metaphor of the prisoner
which the Gemara uses just above.
R. Yochanans
response to the darkness is quite unexpected; he reveals his arm, which
apparently glows like a lantern. Why
does R. Yochanans arm emit light? Rashi suggests that this a result of R.
Yochanans great beauty, which is mentioned later in the story as well as in his
famous first encounter with Reish Lakish, related in Bava Metzia 84a. Furthermore, the Gemara in Bava Batra
58a cites R. Banaa, who states that Adam was so beautiful that his two heels
each shined as bright as the sun. R.
Yochanan here may thus represent the primal Adam or humanity as a whole.
This image of
R. Yochanan chasing away the darkness with the light of his body may be seen as
a symbol of his endeavors as a miraculous healer.
R. Yochanan rejects the notion that this world is merely a veil of tears
in which we accumulate merit for the world to come. R. Yochanan seeks to alleviate
suffering in this world and focus on the good that we can have in our lifetimes,
just as he seeks to banish the darkness, emphasizing his own physical beauty.
Now that R.
Yochanan has brought light to the room, the reader expects him to get on with
his business of questioning the patient about his attitude toward suffering and
then healing him, as we saw in the previous stories. Instead, R. Yochanan finds R. Elazar
crying. Before he can heal R.
Elazars physical pain, R. Yochanan must deal with his emotional pain. R. Yochanan feels confident that he
can do away with this sorrow just as well as he can do away with illness. He assumes that R. Elazar must be
crying because of the suffering and disappointments in his life. R. Yochanan responds, effectively,
that suffering is inevitable in this world, and it needs to be kept in
perspective.
R. Elazars
response effects a complete reversal in the story, undermining R. Yochanans
worldview. R. Elazar is not saddened
by the darkness and pain that we experience in this world. Rather, the beauty and goodness in
this world are precisely what makes him sad.
Even at its best, this world reflects but a fleeting existence. Even R. Yochanans light must
eventually succumb to darkness.
Instead of overwhelming the darkness and disease that grips R. Elazar, R.
Yochanan is overwhelmed by it, breaking down in tears.
In the end,
R. Yochanan does heal R. Elazar, as he heals the others in the previous stories. This time, however, as R. Elazar
rises up from his death bed, our joy is tempered knowing that R. Yochanan has
scored only a temporary victory over the angel of death.
This passage
in the Talmud presents a rather grim picture of the nature of suffering. On the one hand, we have R. Yochanan
repeatedly challenging, or at least seeking to limit, the idea of yisurin
shel ahava. He cannot accept the
notion of suffering as a sign of love. At
the same time, even the good in this world is doomed to destruction. There is nary a quantum of solace
here.
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