Bava Basra 62
Our Gemara on amud aleph and beis record halachic discussions and situations when the great amora, Rav, was presented with a challenge to his argument and it was met with silence on his part. Rashbam (“Umodeh”) notes that sometimes the silence is to be interpreted as tacit admission, and other times, it is to be interpreted as a response to a question that is lacking in sophistication. That is, when questioned by peers who are close to his level of scholarship, if Rav does not respond, he is conceding their point. On the other hand, if the question is by somebody of lesser scholarship such as a student, the question might be due to ignorance that would be obvious to the greater sages, and in such a case, there is no response by Rav, but no indication of admission.
In those situations, why is there no response? Is it that it is beneath the dignity of Rav to explain himself? That seems discordant with the ethic of humility which is emphasized in teachings such as: “An exacting teacher cannot teach” (Avos 2:5). Or “Who is wise? One who learns from every person” (ibid 4:1).
And there is the famous story of Rabbi Pereida (Eruvin 54b), who patiently reviewed a teaching with a student 400 times. Even more fascinating, the student was highly sensitive, and when he sensed that the rabbi felt pressure to be somewhere else, it made it even harder for him to concentrate. Instead of getting frustrated, this caused Rabbi Pereida to start all over again, reassuring the student that he will devote all the time necessary.
On the other hand, there is a concept called “zrok mara be-talmidim,” instilling fear and dread in the students, as described in Kesuvos (103b). However, Rambam (Talmud Torah 4:5) says that it only applies if the teacher perceives that the students are being intellectually lazy and lacking respect for the material. If they are merely having difficulty understanding due to intellectual shortcomings or density of the material, Rambam says the teacher must be patient. These principles are similarly codified in Shulchan Aruch (Yorah Deiah 246:10-12).
If so, we cannot justify Rav’s ignoring the questioner on the basis of respect and dignity for the content alone. There is no indication from the dialogue that there was any laziness or lack of respect on the part of the students; they merely lacked advanced ability. So why ignore them?
I believe the correct answer is that Rav was engaged in study with an advanced group. Answering the question would have consumed a large amount of time, taking opportunity for study away from the majority of students who understood that it was not a question. Apparently, Rav relied on the advanced students to later address the lacunae of the less advanced students. To this day, there are shiurim where this practice occurs. Students do not dare interrupt with a question. Only after the shiur, the more advanced students review with the lesser ones the content of the rosh yeshiva’s lecture. In some yeshivos, no one interrupts, and in others it’s completely open and anybody can interrupt, and still in others, it’s understood by some invisible yet distinct pecking order that your question must be of a high caliber before you dare ask it.
This is the way of scholarship. You can still see traces of that in old movies such as The Paper Chase, where John Hausman literally embodies this idea of zrok mara. Professor Kingsfield, dresses down the incoming class of Harvard Law School: “You come in here with a skull full of mush and you leave thinking like a lawyer.”
We belong to a generation of extreme casualness, where the old practices of respecting authority and hierarchy are alien. Here and there, you can see in older, traditional families, often with Persians, how much respect is given to elders. I have observed younger people who will not speak English in front of their elderly grandparents. Those gestures and degree of respect are lost on most of us. Kids today are brought up to feel that their teachers are like buddies and friends. You can’t turn back the clock, and these practices have evolved to suit the sensibilities and needs of our culture. Still, it is worth contemplating the way in which silence, dignity, and respect went hand in hand. We are used to people posting on social media what they ate for breakfast, so the idea of calm reticence is unusual.
My father, z”l, used to tell me, “Once upon a time, people behaved in such a manner that they thought twice before they spoke what they thought, and they thought four times before they wrote what they spoke. In our times, people don’t think before they speak, and hardly much before they write.” And what is interesting is that there’s a deep yearning in the soul for this kind of quiet, humble dignity.
As we saw, even in popular American culture and media, there is this fascination with elderly sage characters. For the younger generation, we have characters such as Yoda or a sensei in a dumb cartoon. Unfortunately, they are crass caricatures, and generally speaking, after a spouting some deep, philosophical idea of passivity and humility, to make the movie interesting they end up brandishing a sword and slaughtering their enemies. (To be honest, we have that archetype ourselves. For example, Moshe doing battle personally with Og (Berachos 54b), or Shmuel against Agog (Shmuel I:15:33), and the Maccabees.)
Regardless of the subtleties, we do see that there is a craving for an all-wise, transcendent character who speaks in riddles and challenges the intellect and the heart. This is an important human pattern of how nonverbal attitudes and ideas are transmitted by sages to students who have an open mind and heart.
Beware of Heavenly Bureaucracy
Bava Basra 68
Our Gemara on amud beis quotes a verse in Iyov to prove the definition of a particular word known as “shelachim,” which seems to be certain kinds of fields irrigated by water.
Who gives rain upon the earth and sends [sholeacḥ] waters upon the fields (Job 5:10).
The Gemara (Ta’anis 10a) uses the same verse to draw a distinction between how the land of Israel is supported by rain versus other lands:
Eretz Yisrael is watered by the Holy One, Blessed be He, Himself, and the rest of the entire world is watered through an intermediary, as it is stated: “Who gives rain upon the land, and sends water upon the fields” (Job 5:10).
The implication of this verse is that G-d himself gives water to Israel, while he “sends” water to other countries.
What is the theological significance between G-d’s providence that comes directly, versus through one of G-d’s messengers and intermediaries? Presumably, if it is through an intermediary, it is harder to ask for mercy or exceptions to the rule.
Anybody that has had to work with a lower clerk and bureaucrat has experienced the difference between working with somebody who has the authority to say yes or no, versus somebody who is a lower functionary and has little latitude. A good tip for anybody in such a frustrating situation is to ask the person directly, “Are you empowered to give a different answer other than no? Do you have the authority, at your discretion, to make exceptions to the rule?” If the answer is negative, don’t waste your time, and respectfully and courteously ask for a supervisor. At that point, the person won’t have much of a reason to object, although they will try to save face and say, “Oh, he or she won’t be able to give you a different answer.” Don’t believe it for a minute, because life experience has taught many that the supervisor absolutely has the ability to make an exception to the rule. If not, they aren’t really a supervisor.
One more thing to keep in mind is that nowadays, everybody is a manager. You go to the chain store, and there’s somebody called a “manager” who makes 50 cents more an hour than the other workers. That’s not a person who’s authorized to make decisions, you can be sure of that.
Enough of this digression – let’s get back to the theological significance of what we are learning. As we saw in our discussion of Bava Basra daf 66, all these archetypes of relating to G-d as a king and such are there to help us understand the gravity, the humility, but also the beneficence of an omnipotent being. If we throw ourselves at the mercy of G-d, especially at times or situations where there is no intermediary, exceptions to the rule can be made. We only need to pray for it.
It is interesting to note that there are certain aggados that perhaps playfully describe a heavenly bureaucracy (Shabbos 88b and Chagigah 15a, where Moshe and other mystics encounter angels and forces who seem to be invested in technical rules which thwarted their spiritual progress). The sages of the Talmud were quite familiar with bureaucracy in terms of the governmental authorities from Athens and the like. They sometimes used that to their advantage to work around oppressive decrees such as what is described in Gemara Kesuvos (3b), where they simply switched the customary days of a Jewish wedding to a different day in order to avoid an anti-religious mandate.
We are heading toward the Ten Days of Repentance between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, a time traditionally understood as when G-d is closer and more receptive to our prayers and repentance (see Rosh Hashana 18a.) Of course, repentance is important, but they are two other pillars of godly pardon in the liturgy: charity and prayer. Presumably, each of these have a power separately, aside from jointly. I believe this is what is meant by the line in Avinu Malkeinu in which we ask to be written in the “Scroll of Forgiveness and Pardon.” Why is there a separate scroll for forgiveness and pardon? Obviously, we are asking for forgiveness and pardon in order that we be written in the Scroll of Life, the Scroll of Success, etc.
I believe the answer is that there is a separate scroll and decree for those who pray for pardon and forgiveness, even if they otherwise would not deserve such an outcome as their deeds and misdeeds are reviewed.
(By the way, it is a scroll, not a book. The heavenly magistrate operated way before the codex was invented. And if you’re going to argue that the heavenly court updated itself with new technology, then we might as well say the “Spreadsheet of Forgiveness.” Personally, I’m happy with sticking with the imagery of a scroll.)
