Chulin – Daf 44
Our Gemara on amud aleph quotes a verse in Koheles (2:14): “The wise have their eyes in their head, whereas the fools walk in darkness.” The unwise person is metaphorically represented as a fool in darkness. Why this metaphor? Darkness is something that blocks a person from seeing reality. Just like in the darkness, one cannot see obstacles that are truly there, in a certain state of mind one cannot see the truth that’s right in front of him. Torah wisdom is likened to light because it quite literally “enlightens.” This is why in the Birchos Keriyas Shema liturgy, the first blessing is on light and then the second blessing is on Torah. We are not just blessing G-d for the heavenly spheres, but also for the symbolic idea that He gives us the tools to allow us to see and comprehend the truth of the world.
Likkutei Maharan (112-113) expands on the theme of this verse – that wisdom is light, particularly the sense of pure truth and self-honesty. He notes that the way out of the quagmire of impurity and corruption created by sin is to encounter raw honesty and truth. When one is utterly truthful in thought and words, he will instantly access G-d, who is the source of all truth.
To support this insight, he reinterprets a Rashi in a delightful allegorical manner. The verse in Bereishis (6:16) states that Noach should build a tzohar in the Ark. Rashi (ibid.) records two opinions about what this tzohar was. One opinion says it was a window, and the other says it was a gem that provided light from within. Likkutei Maharan says this represents the two ways in which a person can encounter truth. One is a case where he does not yet have the fullest sense of truth and self-honesty within. Such a person can still access honesty, but it must come from the teachings and inspiration of others. However, an individual can also reach a higher level and find the truth inside. Such a person becomes close to G-d directly, through his inner honesty, connecting and accessing G-d, who is the source of truth. The window in the Ark is an allegory for gaining access to the truth through outside inspiration, while the gem that provides its own light is allegorical for the truth that comes from within.
The standard peshat of the words “The wise have their eyes in their head” is that they are introspective and consider the consequences of their choices prior to taking action. With the Likkutei Maharan’s idea in mind, we can say more: The truly wise are able to find truth by looking inward; so long as they are completely honest with themselves, they will find direct access to G-d. Being honest with oneself is the work of one lifetime, if not many.
Prayer with Backbone
Daf 45
Our Gemara on amud beis discusses how a severed spinal cord renders the animal a tereifah. The Baal HaTanya (Likkutei Torah, Balak 3) observes that the spinal cord is not counted as one of the 248 limbs in the body according to Talmudic medical tradition. Yet although it is not a specific limb, it serves a vital purpose as a conduit of the life force from the brain to the rest of the parts of the body. Therefore, even though it is not a limb, if it is severed, the animal is rendered tereifah.
Likkutei Torah considers this as an allegorical message regarding prayer and spiritual intentions. We have many mitzvos which could be considered like the limbs of the body of Torah. Just as limbs help us accomplish our intentions, so too the mitzvos allow us to accomplish G-d’s intention. Yet even though the spinal cord is not one of those limbs, if it is severed the animal is a tereifah – meaning, the mitzvos will not be truly alive without the unifying force of our intentions.
He goes on to explain how prayer is a way of materializing those intentions. Notably, the 18 blessings in the Amidah correspond to the 18 anatomical joints in the spine. Though it is a matter of debate between Rambam and Ramban (Sefer HaMitzvos 5 and Hasagos HaRamban) whether prayer itself is a Torah obligation, it clearly transcends obligation as an implicit necessity. Just as a spinal cord is not a limb, but is vital to the life of the animal, so too intention – and prayer that helps create that intention – is vital to every single limb, that is, every single mitzvah within the Torah.
Stand Your Ground or Run? Lessons for Crisis and Courage
Daf 46
Our Gemara on amud aleph records an incident that occurred among the sages Rav Yosef, Rabbah, and Rav Zeira, who discussed the halachos of what part of the liver must remain connected: “A certain occupying royal army came to Pumbedita, and Rabba and Rav Yosef fled the city, whereupon Rabbi Zeira met them. Rabbi Zeira said to them: ‘Refugees, hear this halacha: The olive-bulk that the Sages said must remain of the liver so the animal will remain kosher must be in the place where the liver connects to the gallbladder. Rav Adda bar Ahava says: The olive-bulk must be in the place that the liver lives, i.e., is connected to the other organs, under the right kidney.’”
On a basic level, this teaching is fascinating and inspiring. While these great men are in existential danger and fleeing for their lives, their heads are engaged in abstract discussions of what particular injury will render an animal tereifah.
But one must wonder about their choice of discussion, and their ability to speak in innuendo, if not actually channeling Divine inspiration. After all, the core subject matter is about connection to and disconnection from vital places which dictate whether the organism will live or die. Could it be a coincidence that these great people were having such a discussion while they were fleeing for their lives?
Mei Shiloach (Devarim, V’Zos HaBeracha) understands Rabbi Zeira as subtly rebuking his colleagues for running away, as if they were lacking in faith. The two parts of the liver represent two states of spiritual access. One is providential and Divine assistance through existing physical capabilities. That is, for example, a skilled army that succeeds in battle, but recognizes that G-d blessed their actions. That is the liver connecting to vital organs. But then there are situations where there are no material abilities or natural ways to win, and a person can still channel a totally miraculous help from G-d. This is represented by the part of the liver that connects to the gallbladder. That is, even though it is not connected to the life-giving organs, and is only connected through bitterness and despair, one can still channel a completely miraculous intervention.
He says that there are times when righteous individuals sense that G-d is going to protect them and intervene through unnatural means, and they are allowed to take risks that normally one would be forbidden to do. This is like Elisha Baal Kanafayim (Shabbos 49a), who defied a Roman decree and wore tefillin, risking his life.
Rav Zeira was rebuking his colleagues and calling them refugees because he believed they should have been on a higher level. They should have stood their ground and kept their community and Torah institutions intact. He was telling them that the animal can still live even when the liver is not connected to the life-giving force, but only to the gallbladder – to the bitterness, to utter desperation and reliance on G-d.
But they were not of that persuasion. Their sense was that they were not going to receive that degree of Divine assistance, and that they needed to run away to protect their lives. They answered, “The liver must be connected to the lifeforce.”
From time to time in history, Jewish communities and their leaders have faced the question: Should we commit social suicide by running away and letting our institutions dissolve or shall we stand our ground? At different times, history has vindicated both positions and punished both positions. In hindsight, we know that those who left Europe and went to America avoided the horrors of the Holocaust. Yet the Torah leadership at that time was divided, and largely in favor of standing their ground and staying put. My own maternal grandfather, himself a grandson of the Trisker Maggid, defied the wishes of his father and grandfather, and left Poland to go to London. To his father and grandfather – rebbishe kint – this was practically equivalent to leaving Judaism. The Trisker Maggid was adamant about his position of staying put, and even in the final hours, when my grandfather moved heaven and earth and obtained two visas for his father and grandfather, they both refused to leave Europe and rather stayed with their chassidim. At that time, I think they were fairly sure they were facing death.
They represented one form of heroism, while my grandfather, who left, represented another. If he didn’t leave, myself and many others of his descendants who are far more worthy than me would not be here today.
Every time the question comes up, the answer may be different. But we do know that there is the possibility to sense, in a moment of crisis, what G-d wants from you. While we can never be sure, we have no choice but to try, because certain situations call for decisions and a path must be chosen. Passivity in a crisis is also an active choice because when the stakes are life and death, the opportunity cost of inaction is equal to taking poor action.
A final thought. While emergencies can happen and one never knows what they will do or what exactly will follow, fire drills and tabletop exercises allow people to develop patterns of thought and behavior that can be accessed instinctively during moments of crisis. First responders, EMTs, and soldiers train with various exercises so that when emergencies happen, their instincts engage. I think this is true spiritually as well. If a person is going to be able to follow his instinct and sense what G-d wants from him in a moment of crisis, his chances of accessing that spiritual channel are greatly increased if he practices mindful spiritual contact throughout his life. If one is constantly asking himself what G-d wants from him, and prays for guidance from both the teachings of the Torah and the teachings of life, in a moment of crisis he or she might be more equipped to make the right decision.
I heard a fascinating anecdotal observation about the experience of October 7. During those horrific attacks, many of the non-army civilians experienced a loss of connection to G-d. They wondered, understandably, “How could G-d let this happen?” But here is the strange thing: Many of the soldiers and armed responders experienced a special sense of Divine grace and connection; they knew that they needed to be there and felt G-d with them. How is that possible? At the moment of horror and despair, one group felt connected to G-d – and the other one, far from G-d.
Ask yourself: Among the pockets of Jews in concentration camps who somehow managed to bake matzah, light Chanukah lights, smuggle tefillin, and perform other religious acts during times of chaos and torture, did those people feel far from G-d or connected to G-d? Was that matzah sweet or bitter? Despite being shackled, beaten, and starved, they may have felt freer than their beastly guards and oppressors. Who knows? I don’t believe I am made out of the material that could survive such a thing. But others did, and did it while feeling unnaturally close to G-d.