Tag Archives: Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai

The Real Meaning of Tikkun Olam

A get from the 19th-century (Credit: Israel Museum)

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tetze, sets the record for most mitzvot in one parasha with a whopping 74 of them. One of these mitzvot is that of divorce: “When a man takes a woman and becomes her husband, and finds her displeasing because he finds something obnoxious about her, he shall write her a bill of divorce, hand it to her, and send her away from his house.” (Deuteronomy 24:1) The bill of divorce, called here a sefer kritut, would come to be more simply known as a get. In fact, there is an entire Talmudic tractate, Gittin, that explores all aspects of divorce and bills of divorce.

One of the questions discussed in this tractate is what does the Torah mean when it says the husband discovers something “obnoxious” about his wife? It is actually one of the more famous arguments between the ancient Jewish schools of Hillel and Shammai two thousand years ago. The more stringent Shammai believed that divorce was only permitted if the woman committed adultery or did something promiscuous (Gittin 9:10). Hillel believed divorce was allowed under any circumstances, for whatever reason the relationship was not working out. (Rabbi Akiva went even further and said a man could divorce even if he simply found another woman who is more attractive!)

More intriguingly, it is here in the tractate about divorce where we first come across the now-ubiquitous term tikkun olam, literally “repairing the world”. Today, many believe tikkun olam is a Hebrew term for social justice, but this is not accurate. What does “tikkun olam” actually mean? And why does it come from a tractate about, of all things, divorce?

Maintaining Order

In the fourth chapter of Gittin, the Mishnah and Talmud give many examples of things the Sages instituted mipnei tikkun ha’olam, “for the betterment of the world”. One of the first such things is that originally divorce documents needed to include essentially any name that the husband and wife went by. Rabban Gamliel, one of the last presidents of Israel before the Temple was destroyed in the 1st century CE, instituted that a get should list all names by which the husband and wife are commonly known. This was done mipnei tikkun ha’olam, and would ensure that the divorce is properly recognized in all places and by all people, even where the husband and wife might be known by other names.

Another example of tikkun olam is the prozbul, instituted by Rabban Gamliel’s grandfather, Hillel himself (Gittin 4:3). Recall that the Torah commands that all loans be paid back during Shemittah, the Sabbatical year, or otherwise be forgiven. A problem arose in that people were hesitant to lend money as the seventh year approached, since it was more likely that the borrowers would be unable to pay back the debt, putting the lender at an unfair loss. The reduction in available credit harmed the Judean economy. So, Hillel creatively came up with a prozbul that would sidestep the issue and allow the repayment of loans passed the Sabbatical year. The Talmud (Gittin 36b-37a) explains that “prozbul” came from a Greek term, meaning this decree was pro for both the bulei and the butei, the rich and the poor, benefitting all members of society.

We can now begin to understand the original meaning of the term “tikkun olam”. It was about adjusting Jewish law where necessary, within the framework of halakhah, for the betterment of society and to maintain peace and order. With time, tikkun olam took on a more mystical, cosmic meaning, too.

Rectifying the World

Ancient Jewish mystical texts described our world as one that is broken and in need of repair. God initially created a perfect world, but that world collapsed right at the beginning, in a process called shevirat hakelim, the “Shattering of the Vessels”. Adam and Eve had a chance to repair it, but only made the situation worse when they consumed the Forbidden Fruit. Since then, our mystical purpose is to reverse the damage and restore the wholesome primordial world, putting the pieces of those spiritual vessels back in place.

This process of repair and rectification, tikkun, is accomplished through the observance and fulfilment of mitzvot. This is the deeper purpose behind the Torah’s many laws—God gave them to us as tools to rectify the cosmos. Of all the mitzvot, the recitation of prayers and blessings in particular serve to elevate the world around us. All the small sparks of holiness, the nitzotzot, that came from the shattered vessels are trapped within the impure “husks”, kelipot, of the material world. The divine words of the prayers and blessings (in the original lashon hakodesh, the holy Hebrew tongue of Creation) are like spiritual formulas for freeing the sparks and restoring them to the Heavens. For instance, when one recites the boreh pri ha’etz blessing before consuming an apple, they unlock whatever sparks of holiness might be present inside. In this way, little by little, the entire cosmos is rectified.

The greatest proponent and expounder of this process was undoubtedly the Arizal (Rabbi Itzhak Luria, 1534-1572). It was he who put together the earlier Kabbalistic works into one complete mystical system, revealed only in the last two years of his short life in Tzfat, the “capital” of Jewish mysticism. The Arizal explained that this is the real reason why Jews were exiled to the farthest corners of the planet. On the surface level, it was a punishment and an exile, but God does not truly punish or exile. God is all-good, after all. The deeper reason for Jewish exile was so that Jews could reach every part of the planet and elevate all those lost sparks of holiness. Only when that process is complete will the Final Redemption be ushered in and the Messianic Age will officially begin.

Long before the Arizal, the Zohar already outlined the four aspects of tikkun. Recall that the Zohar is the central “textbook” of Kabbalah, first revealed to the public in the 13th century but originally dating back to the teachings of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and his 2nd-century CE mystical circle. The Zohar (II, 215b) states that the first level of tikkun is rectification of the self. This is the process of personal development and self-refinement, the life-long journey of becoming a better, more Godly person. Each of us has many internal rectifications to achieve (both spiritual and physical).

Next is the tikkun of this lower physical world, primarily referring to that process of freeing the sparks trapped in the kelipot of the material around us. This is followed by the tikkun of the higher spiritual realms. For instance, reciting Kaddish for the departed serves to elevate their souls in the afterlife. Many of the mitzvot and rituals we perform similarly serve to affect great changes in the upper worlds. Finally, there is the tikkun of “God’s Name” which means a number of things, including bringing more Godliness down to Earth. Drawing more souls to recognize God, spreading Torah wisdom, and inspiring observance of mitzvot is a part of this process, too. The ultimate goal is, as the prophet Zechariah said, to bring about the day “When God will reign over the whole world; on that day God will be one and His name one.” (Zechariah 14:9)

These are the four aspects of genuine tikkun ha’olam: improving one’s self, fixing the spiritual fabric of the cosmos above and below, and infusing more Godliness into the world. So, how did some come to believe that tikkun olam is simply synonymous with “social justice”?

Tikkun as Social Justice

Real tikkun olam is clearly rooted in observance of Torah law and halakhah. With the rise of Reform Judaism in the 1800s, and their subsequent move away from halakhah, ancient ideas had to be rebranded. Tikkun olam was one of those ideas. Since Reform made halakhah essentially optional (at best), there was no way to root tikkun olam in the Law. Thus, rectifying the world was no longer a spiritual process requiring punctilious observance of mitzvot, prayers, and blessings, but rather a generic physical task of “making the world a better place”.

Now, there is certainly an element of “social justice” and making the world a better place within the larger umbrella of tikkun olam. It is true that God gave the Jewish people a mandate to improve the world, make it a more ethical and moral place, root out idolatry, spread monotheism, make life better for all, and be a “light unto the nations” (Isaiah 42:6). This is what the Jewish people were “chosen” for. Indeed, Jews have lived up to the challenge, and have been hugely instrumental (in disproportionate fashion) in advancing science and technology, medicine, civil law, democratic government, economics, arts, and yes, social justice, too. Some of the original “social justice warriors” of the past were Jews, including giants like Samuel Gompers and Louis Brandeis.

That said, tikkun olam must be rooted in the Torah. Commenting on the famous adage of Shimon haTzadik (in Pirkei Avot 1:2) that the world is established on “Torah, service, and acts of kindness”, the great codifier Rambam (Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, 1138-1204) writes that true tikkun olam requires all three: Torah study, service of God, and kindness to others. Therefore, if some idea or movement is obviously contradictory to what the Torah stands for, it cannot in any way be “tikkun olam”. Today, some misuse the “tikkun olam” label and think it includes embracing all kinds of philosophies that are completely at odds with God and His Torah, which openly and proudly transgress Torah law.

For instance, while we should certainly care about the living conditions of all human beings around the world, there is no tikkun in marching alongside people who support terrorists that murder innocent Israelis. While we should certainly reach out to all Jews—regardless of their background, identification, or orientation—to inspire them to come closer to God and be more Torah observant, there is no tikkun in waving a rainbow flag nor in supporting “drag” shows. Nor is there any tikkun olam in going against the Torah’s gender roles, or in dismantling the traditional family unit, or in denying basic biological facts. Tikkun olam should not be confused with “spreading love” to anyone and everyone, or to embrace all peoples and philosophies and lifestyles. Tikkun olam cannot come before Torah law—it is supposed to enhance Torah law, not transgress it. Which brings us right back to our first question:

Why is tikkun olam introduced, of all places, in a tractate devoted to exploring divorce? I believe the subtle message is that we shouldn’t ever lose sight of what tikkun olam is truly about and that, sometimes, tikkun olam is not about embrace, but about divorce. There are things that must be opposed, and there are things that must be fought, and there is a line that cannot be crossed. We should never forget the true meaning of tikkun olam, that it is a spiritual process first and foremost, about bringing more Godliness and morality into the world (not Godlessness and immorality), about understanding the deeper cosmic purpose of Jewish laws and rituals, and about actually fulfilling those laws in order to bring about the Final Redemption, when true social justice (and not a distorted social justice) will reign.

May we merit to see that day very soon.

The 18 Decrees of Beit Shammai

In this week’s parasha, Re’eh, Moses cautions the Israelites that they should observe every Torah mitzvah that he relayed to them, and not to add or detract from it (Deuteronomy 13:1). This always brings to mind the question of Rabbinic additions, expansions, fences, and stringencies that have been added to Jewish practice over the centuries. In light of the above verse, are such extras valid? Karaite Jews would argue with a resounding “no”, and this is why they stick to a strictly literal observance of the Torah.

The reality is that the Torah does also allow for the leaders and sages of future generations to make new rulings as necessary. Generally speaking, tough, such rulings must be based on something in the Torah itself, and rabbis are only attempting to extract the Torah’s true meaning and practice. Talmudic opinions are almost always supported by a Scriptural verse, even if it sometimes takes a lot of mental acrobatics to see how. We have 13 major rules of exegesis that the Sages followed in deriving rabbinic laws, and the general view is that the Sages did not invent anything new, but only rediscovered something lost:

In one passage, we are told that as soon as Moses passed away, some 3000 halakhot were forgotten (Temurah 16a). The Israelites asked Moses’ successor Joshua to get them back through prophecy, but he countered that no longer can laws be derived through prophecy—lo bashamayim hi! “The Torah is not in Heaven!” (Deuteronomy 30:12) Ultimately, Joshua’s successor Othniel was able to restore 1700 halakhot through the use of the 13 principles of exegesis. In other words, built into the Torah itself is the power to extract its true meaning, and to derive all laws, including rabbinical ones, from it.

That said, sometimes laws are introduced without a Scriptural basis, presumably out of necessity. The most infamous case of this is the time when Beit Shammai took over the Sanhedrin by force and voted in 18 new decrees (see Shabbat 13b-17b and Yerushalmi Shabbat 1:4). It isn’t clear what exactly happened, and how it transpired. It began when the Sages of the day all went to visit one of the leading scholars, Chananiah ben Hizkiya ben Garon, who was ill at the time. (Ben Garon’s greatest achievements were composing a text called Megillat Ta’anit, and ensuring that the Book of Ezekiel remained in the Tanakh at a time when many Sages wanted it removed. He was able to resolve all apparent contradictions stemming from the Book of Ezekiel.)

While in Ben Garon’s attic, it turned out that the disciples of Shammai outnumbered the disciples of Hillel. As this was a valid convocation of rabbis, it would be permitted to vote in new laws. Beit Shammai took advantage of the opportunity, and brought in armed guards to block the entryway to the attic so that Beit Hillel could not escape. Then, they proposed 18 laws and voted them in by majority. The Talmud Bavli says that Hillel was made to sit in submission before Shammai, and this was a most shameful event. The Talmud Yerushalmi goes even further and says things got violent, and disciples of Shammai actually killed disciples of Hillel! Many refuse to believe that Torah sages literally harmed each other, and say the Talmud must be speaking figuratively. Whatever the case, both Talmuds assert that this day was as difficult and terrible for the Jewish people as the day of the Golden Calf. In fact, there used to be a fast day observed in commemoration of this tragedy, on the 9th of Adar (see Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chaim 580).

When did this event happen? There are two possibilities: the first is that it happened in the time of Hillel and Shammai, and this is supported by the language of the Bavli which suggests Hillel and Shammai were themselves present. Hillel’s life overlapped with that of the cruel King Herod. We know from both Jewish and historical sources that Herod persecuted the rabbis, which might explain why they had to make new rulings in secret, in places like the attic of Ben Garon. The other possibility is that it happened during the Great Revolt, shortly before the destruction of the Second Temple. By that point, the Sanhedrin could not convene in its proper quarters on the Temple Mount, which might also explain why they had to gather secretly in an attic. Moreover, we know that at the time there were Kanayim, “Zealots”, a faction of Beit Shammai that did indeed take up arms and sought to violently rule the streets of Jerusalem. This is more fitting with the Yerushalmi’s violent account. In addition, the Yerushalmi does not say Hillel and Shammai were there, but does suggest Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Eliezer were there. Recall that Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Eliezer were students of Rabban Yochanan Ben Zakkai, the leading sage at the time of the Temple’s destruction.

Rabbi Eliezer, who was stringent and more of a Shammai at heart (even though his main teacher Rabban Yochanan was a disciple of Hillel), believed that the 18 decrees of Beit Shammai were a good thing. They had “filled the measure”. His more lenient colleague Rabbi Yehoshua believed it was a terrible thing, and not only did they not fill the measure, they “erased” the measure! He thought that more stringencies were counterproductive, and instead of being a fence that preserves Judaism, would make Judaism too difficult to observe and drive people away. Not only will the unlearned majority stop keeping rabbinic laws, they will throw off the yoke of Torah entirely and stop keeping even Scriptural laws. In short, the masses will “throw out the baby with the bathwater”. Rabbi Yehoshua’s observation was prescient, and it seems history has confirmed his fears.

With that long introduction, what exactly were those 18 decrees?

“A Nation That Dwells Alone”

There are vast differences in opinion regarding the nature of the 18 laws. Both Talmuds present multiple lists, with varying items. Most of them tend to focus on purity laws that applied in Temple times but are not so relevant today. The list that is most applicable for us is given in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Shabbat 1:4) by Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, as follows:

Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai taught: On that day they decreed about [1] their bread, and [2] their cheese, and [3] their wine, and [4] their vinegar, and [5] their fish brine, and [6] their muries, and [7] their preserves, and [8] their parboiled food, and [9] their corned food, and [10] on split grain, and [11] on ground food, and [12] on peeled barley; [13] on their speech, and [14] on their testimony, and [15] on their gifts, [16] on their sons, and [17] on their daughters, and [18] on their firstlings.

First is the law of pat israel, to only consume bread that was made by Jews, or that a Jew participated in making at some point in the process. This is a stringency still observed by many today. Similarly, the second law was against gevinat akum, the “cheese of idolaters”. Until then, all cheese was considered kosher by default, since it can only be made from cow or goat milk (although there is a question regarding the kosher status of rennet). Henceforth, only cheese made by Jews or closely supervised by Jews would be kosher. This, too, is a law that is widely observed today. (Having said that, Italian Jews typically did not observe this stringency, and consumed all cheese.)

The related law of chalav israel—not consuming gentile-drawn milk—is derived by the Sages from this one about cheese, and the Talmud goes on to say that we are concerned cow or goat milk will be mixed with milk from non-kosher animals (like horses). For much of history, Jews in many locales were lenient with chalav israel, and typically did consume gentile milk, especially if it came from a trusted source. Today, because government bodies regulate milk in most developed countries, people have become even more lenient regarding milk and it is common to consume chalav stam.

The most widely accepted and well-known of the 18 is the prohibition against yayin stam, gentile-made wine. The Torah itself only forbids yayin nesech, wine that was used in idolatrous libations. (More accurately, the Rambam explains in his Sefer haMitzvot [Negative Mitzvah #194] that even the Torah itself does not prohibit idolatrous wine explicitly, but it is derived from a verse in parashat Ha’azinu where God admonishes the people for drinking idolatrous wine.) In that Ben Garon attic, Beit Shammai forbid all gentile wine. This has become standard halakhic practice today.

The Talmud Bavli concurs that gentile-made wine was one of the 18 decrees (Shabbat 17b). It also adds gentile-made oils. Oils are mentioned in the other Yerushalmi list, too. The oil ban is discussed in other places in the Talmud, where the Sages say that the prohibition on oils didn’t take effect because it was just way too difficult to keep (Avodah Zarah 36a). On the same page, the Talmud suggests that the ban on gentile wine and oil actually dates back to the prophet Daniel, though he had taken these stringencies only upon himself. Whatever the case, the one rule that all lists agree on without a doubt is the prohibition on “their daughters”, presumably meaning intermarriage. But wait, wasn’t intermarriage already forbidden from the Torah?

One minority opinion in the Yerushalmi suggests that the ban on “their daughters” is metaphorical, and actually just means on eating their eggs! In other words, there may have been a time when Jews only consumed eggs from Jewish-supervised hen houses. While intriguing, this is not the accepted opinion. Instead, the Sages explain that when the Torah banned intermarriage, it only meant specifically with the seven Canaanite nations. Beit Shammai decreed a ban on all intermarriage. In that case, what do we make of Ezra’s pronouncement for the Israelites returning to the Holy Land after the Babylonian Captivity to get rid of their foreign wives?

Some interpret the Torah to mean that it was originally forbidden to intermarry with Canaanites even if they converted to Judaism. All other nations were permitted to marry as long as they converted. Ezra’s pronouncement was against the wives that didn’t convert, or refused to convert. According to this view, Beit Shammai would have banned all intermarriage, even with converts. This really cannot be accurate. Bartenura (Rabbi Ovadia of Bertinoro, c.1445-1515) comments on Shabbat 1:4 that “their daughters” refers specifically to Samaritans, and it was intermarriage with Samaritans that was prohibited.

A different interpretation is given in the Talmud Bavli (Avodah Zarah 36b). Here we read that the ban on “their daughters” was not referring to marriage, but to any sexual intimacy with gentiles, even outside the context of marriage. In other words, before Beit Shammai’s decree, a Jewish man may have been allowed to be intimate with a gentile woman, and this is what was banned. The Talmud continues with a long series of back-and-forth arguments to show that truly, this was all prohibited already in the Torah itself. What Beit Shammai did was only to prohibit intimacy with gentiles even in private quarters and in secret—and this had already been instituted once before by the Hasmonean Maccabees, of Chanukah fame.

The Talmud adds here that the reason Beit Shammai made these decrees is to separate Jews from non-Jews and to lessen mingling between them. The ultimate goal was to prevent Jews from assimilating or falling to idolatry. (Keep in mind that at this time, two thousand years ago, “gentile” and “idolater” were basically interchangeable, since there were no other monotheistic religions around.) Beit Shammai banned gentile wine and bread so that Jews don’t go to non-Jewish parties. They made decrees on purity to further solidify the separation between Jews and idolaters. Perhaps Beit Shammai wanted Israel to live up to Bilaam’s words in the Torah that Israel is “a nation that dwells alone”. This was necessary because the Roman Empire was a huge melting pot, and many Jews were becoming Romans. (Including the Jewish-Roman general that destroyed the Temple, as explored in the past here.)

Having said all that, the rule in Judaism is that the law always follows Beit Hillel, so why were the decrees of Beit Shammai accepted at all?

“Halakhah K’Beit Hillel”

Presumably, the decrees of Beit Shammai were accepted because they were voted in by majority in a Sanhedrin-like council. However, the Talmudic narrative makes it quite clear that it was not a legitimate Sanhedrin. Beit Hillel were forced to vote, and perhaps were even violently suppressed. Beit Shammai took majority through an inappropriate ruse. How could such laws ever be passed or accepted? I think it is a likely possibility that they weren’t accepted.

If we date the event to the time of the Great Revolt—which makes more sense altogether—we can understand why Beit Shammai pushed these laws. Not only did they want to separate between Jews and Romans, but they also wanted to weed out Roman sympathizers and collaborators. They became uncharacteristically violent because they felt desperate times called for desperate measures. It is possible that this event led directly to Rabban Yochanan’s exit from Jerusalem. He got permission from Vespasian to establish a new school in Yavne. Rabban Yochanan was a Hillelite, as were his disciples. Now we can better understand why, henceforth, Beit Shammai basically ceased to exist.

However, there were among Rabban Yochanan’s students those who favoured more stringencies, like Rabbi Eliezer. They personally upheld the decrees of Beit Shammai, inspiring others to do the same. Over time, the stringencies became more and more commonplace, and some did become universally accepted. Since they became accepted, that became normative halakhah. The question for us today is: should we continue to observe these Shammaian practices, and should we encourage people to take on these stringencies? Do we side with Rabbi Eliezer, or with Rabbi Yehoshua? Shammai or Hillel?

The Talmud itself affirms that we never accept Beit Shammai (Berakhot 36b). In fact, the language there is that we don’t even consider their opinion to be valid! So why observe their decrees, especially in light of the horrible way they voted them in? It is intriguing to note the position of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who spoke about this issue at length, explaining that Beit Shammai is all about potentials and not realities, and is rooted in the mystical side of Gevurah and Din, not Chessed—hence the reason for the complete rejection of Shammai (see, for instance, Likkutei Sichos, Vol. II, on Beshalach/Tu b’Shevat). Yet, Lubavitch is quite strict regarding things like chalav israel and gevinat akum! (Some explain it by finding other sources and explanations. However, it doesn’t change the fact that it is a Shammaian law!)

Another argument might be based on the oft-repeated idea that in the Messianic Age, the law will switch to follow Shammai. Since we are approaching that era, should we take these extras upon ourselves? Or should we do the very opposite, and rule on the side of Chessed at a time when the world clearly needs it.

A final note to keep in mind is that the Talmud (Avodah Zarah 36a) suggests that the 18 decrees of Beit Shammai actually cannot be repealed, even by the future Sanhedrin of Eliyahu! How could this be? (And, in that case, how was it that the prohibition on oils was rescinded?) And how do we make sense of all this in light of the famous Heavenly Voice that proclaimed, after three years of ceaseless debates, that the halakhah should always follow Beit Hillel? (Eruvin 13b)

I leave these questions unanswered, and will instead conclude with one more teaching of the Sages. A Tosefta in Eduyot 2:2 states that there are 24 instances where Beit Hillel is actually stricter than Beit Shammai. (The Jewish Encyclopedia counted 55 instances!) The Sages conclude by stating the following:

Forever the law follows Beit Hillel. One who wishes to take stringencies upon himself and follow the stringencies of both Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai, of him it is said: “A fool walks in darkness” (Ecclesiastes 2:14). However, one who takes on both the leniencies of Beit Shammai and the leniencies of Beit Hillel is wicked. Rather, one should either follow Beit Hillel—with their leniencies and stringencies—or follow Beit Shammai—with their leniencies and stringencies.

לעולם הלכה כדברי ב”ה והרוצה לעשות להחמיר על עצמו ולנהוג כחומרי ב”ה וכחומרי ב”ש על זה נאמר (קוהלת ה) והכסיל בחשך הולך התופס קולי ב”ש וקולי ב”ה ה”ז רשע אלא או כדברי ב”ה כקוליהן וכחומריהן או כדברי ב”ש כקוליהן וכחומריהן.

Shabbat Shalom!

When Rashbi Threatened Rabbi Akiva

This Monday evening is Lag b’Omer, the 33rd day in the Omer count and traditionally commemorated as the yahrzeit of the 2nd-century CE sage and mystic Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. Aside from being one of the most-cited voices in the Mishnah and Talmud, Rabbi Shimon (“Rashbi”) is even more famous for being the protagonist of the Zohar, the “textbook” of Jewish mysticism. Although he himself did not write it, the Zohar is based on his life and teachings, and is drawn from a collection of manuscripts initially produced by his disciples.

The timing of Lag b’Omer is even more significant because it is also the date when the “plague” upon the students of Rabbi Akiva ceased. After the deaths of some 24,000, only five of his students survived to rebuild Judaism—Rashbi being one of them. We must remember that Rabbi Akiva himself was jailed during this time, and eventually executed. It is during Rabbi Akiva’s time imprisoned that the Talmud (Pesachim 112a) relates an incredible story of when his student Rashbi came for a visit:

Rabbi Shimon approached his teacher behind bars and said lamdeni Torah, “teach me Torah!” Rabbi Akiva refused, since the Romans had banned Torah study—that was the reason Rabbi Akiva was imprisoned in the first place—and he did not want to get Rashbi in trouble, too. Incredibly, Rashbi responded by threatening Rabbi Akiva: “If you will not teach me, I will tell Yochai my father, and he will deliver you to the government!” This is puzzling, since Rabbi Akiva was already in jail at this point, so it seems like Rashbi was threatening to have Rabbi Akiva executed! We learn from this (among other places) that Rashbi’s father Yochai was a wealthy and influential figure in the Roman government, and could make such an order. This actually helps to explain why Rashbi later had to go into hiding from the Romans and spent over a dozen years in a cave, simply for criticizing the Roman regime. Certainly, many simple Jews (and gentiles) at the time would have criticized the Roman authorities without having to fear for their lives. Rashbi probably needed to go into hiding for what he said because his father was involved with the Roman government. He was well-connected and potentially a political threat to the authorities.

Rabbi Akiva told Rashbi: “My son, more than the calf wishes to suck, the cow wants to suckle!” In other words, Rabbi Akiva really did want to teach Torah, of course, even more than Rashbi wanted to learn, but he did not want to put his student in danger. Rashbi countered by arguing: “But who is the one in danger? The calf!” It is the baby that is in a fragile state, and needs the mother more than the mother needs the child. Rashbi was saying he needed Torah like a calf needs milk, otherwise he is (spiritually) in trouble anyway. Rabbi Akiva relented and relayed five final teachings, though they were terse and cryptic.

The first, appropriately, was “If you wish to hang yourself, do so on a big tree.” Since what Rashbi was asking of Rabbi Akiva potentially carried a death sentence, Rabbi Akiva gave him a teaching directly related to that. The simple meaning is that if Rashbi is going to be executed al kiddush Hashem, as a martyr sanctifying God’s Name, he should do so on a “big tree”, meaning to make it public so that the Kiddush Hashem is that much greater and inspires others to strengthen their resolve. Of course, Rabbi Akiva himself would soon be executed in such a way, with a huge Kiddush Hashem of his own.

[It should be noted that Rashi (not Rashbi) interpreted this first teaching metaphorically to mean that if you cite a Torah teaching, do so by citing it in the name of a great earlier sage, the “big tree”. The Ben Ish Chai, meanwhile, comments mystically that the “big tree”, ilan gadol, is the mystical Tree of Life, the ilan hakadosh, of the Sefirot. More specifically, ilan (אילן) has a value of 91, which is a clear allusion to the special Octagrammaton, explained here.]

The Octagrammaton, the eight-letter Name of God that fuses Hashem with Adonai

Rabbi Akiva’s second teaching was: “When you teach your son, teach him from a corrected scroll.” This teaching was also highly prescient, since Rashbi would soon have to go into hiding with his son, Rabbi Elazar. The two spent all of their time in the cave learning. From elsewhere in the Talmud (Ketubot 19b) we learn that a “corrected scroll”, sefer mugah, is any scroll or book of Tanakh that has been carefully proofread to make sure there are no errors. If an error is found, one has up to thirty days to correct it. Based on this, the Talmud explains the meaning of Rabbi Akiva’s second teaching is that a child should be taught properly from the beginning, because if they learn something erroneous in childhood, it will be hard to correct later.

The third teaching of Rabbi Akiva was: “Do not cook in your fellow’s pot.” The Talmud explains that this means a person should preferably not marry a divorcee whose husband is still alive, for she will likely still be thinking of her first love (whether positively or negatively). The Talmud cites a parallel teaching that when two divorced people marry each other, there are “four minds in their bed”. Each one brings the baggage of their previous relationship!

We’ll skip ahead to the fifth teaching as it is related to the third one: Rabbi Akiva teaches that a man should get married (and stay married!) and this is a mitzvah v’guf tahor, both a great mitzvah in itself, and also makes a man’s body pure, since he will not be drawn to sexual sins (having a wife to take care of those urges), and will have children to keep him busy and make him more responsible. It’s no coincidence that Rabbi Akiva saves this for his final teaching, since he himself was lucky to marry the right woman, who encouraged and supported him, and whom he later credited for all of his Torah learning and success.

These two short teachings on marriage actually carry a great deal of hidden mystical meaning (as, for instance, the Ben Ish Chai comments and explains in his Ben Yehoyada). Rashbi would go on to teach the fundamentals of Jewish mysticism in the Zohar, where marital intimacy is the central theme and metaphor that runs throughout the text. In fact, much of Kabbalah in general is based on the dynamics of a marriage as a metaphor for greater cosmic spiritual realities.

Finally, the fourth teaching of Rabbi Akiva is regarding a case where a person rents out a field to their fellow, who will work the land. Instead of taking monetary payment, the renter takes a portion of the produce of the field. This is both a mitzvah to help your fellow, who gets land to work and does not have to pay rent (just a portion of his yields), and is good for the renter’s own wellbeing, since he will eat fresh fruits and be healthy. Thus, it is a mitzvah v’guf gadol—both a big mitzvah and gives one a great, healthy body. Like the other teachings, this one was relevant to Rashbi since, as we’ve seen, Rashbi came from a powerful and wealthy family. He had the means to rent out fields to less privileged people.

As an important aside, there is a famous Talmudic debate between Rashbi and Rabbi Ishmael regarding whether a man should spend all of his time learning Torah, or get a job and make his own living, while also making time to learn Torah (Berakhot 35b). Rabbi Ishmael argued that, although the Tanakh tells us to meditate upon the Torah day and night, and that “it should not depart from your mouth” (Joshua 1:8), we also recite every day in the Shema that “you shall gather in your grain…” (Deuteronomy 11:14), meaning a person needs to work, too! Rashbi countered that if a person works, they will not have enough time to study Torah, as they will always be busy with something; plowing, sowing, harvesting, threshing, and so on. Rashbi argued that if a person fulfils God’s will, then God will bless them with riches, allowing them to outsource the work to others. He therefore concluded that ideally a person should learn all day, and leave the physical work for others. Of course, it was easy for Rashbi to say this since he came from a super-wealthy family, and was able to hire people to do that work!

Ultimately, the debate in the Talmud is settled by Abaye who said: “Many have acted in accordance with Rabbi Ishmael and were successful [in their Torah study. And many] have acted in accordance with Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai and were not successful!” Oftentimes, it is those who balance Torah with labour that become the greatest scholars, while those who are full-time learners fail to achieve Torah greatness. Note as well that Abaye specifically referred to Rashbi as, not just “Rabbi Shimon” (as he did Rabbi Ishmael, without a patronym), but “Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai”, emphasizing that he was the son of the wealthy Yochai, and most people are not so privileged like him.

Today, Rashbi’s position is still taken as support for certain kollels and for those who “make Torah-learning their profession”. However, it is important to clarify here that Rashbi never supported learning Torah at someone else’s expense. Rashbi was very wealthy himself, and could afford to hire others to do his work, while he learned all day. He certainly would not have supported the idea of making a living through learning Torah, for the Talmud clearly states in many places (including several times in Pirkei Avot 1:13, 2:2, 4:5) that this is unacceptable. The Torah should not be used as a “shovel to dig with”, to derive personal or material benefit. And when Rashbi had to go into hiding and did not have his father’s wealth and estate to support him, he lived meagrely on nothing but carobs and water. In either case, he never relied on the funds of others to make a living.

Going back to Rabbi Akiva, it appears that this encounter with Rashbi was his last, and he was soon executed. His final five teachings were concise, but deeply meaningful, especially for Rashbi himself. Rashbi would go on to be one of the five who rebuilt Judaism. His own final discourse, the Idra Zuta, contained deeply profound teachings as well. For an exploration of the last passage in the Idra Zuta, see the following short class:

Happy Lag b’Omer!