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The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit
Midrash
Understanding Aggada Yeshivat Har Etzion
Shiur #16: Integration and the Tale of a
Lifetime
By Rav Yitzchak Blau
R. Illai said: "A man is known in three ways: by how he drinks
(be-koso), how he is with his money (be-kiso), and in his anger
(be-ka'aso)." And some say: Also in his play. (Eruvin
65b)
Although the play on words of be-koso, be-kiso
and be-ka'aso certainly appealed to R. Illai, we imagine that he selected
three items that reflect a substantive point as well. One the one hand, we could
find a common denominator in these three items. In all three, a person who
normally hides corrupt aspects of his or her personality suddenly finds the
corruption revealed. Drunkenness and anger certainly reveal normally hidden
aspects of a personality, and many people show a new side of themselves when
asked to open their wallets. Alternatively, we could view each item as
representing an independent category.
R. Shmuel Edels, the Maharsha, adopts this second approach in
his commentary on Eruvin. Although I find one aspect of his
interpretation to be somewhat forced, his essential idea is quite profound and
important. R. Edels argues that a person's traits relate to three aspects of
life: being good to others, being good to Hashem and being good to
himself. The challenge of money belongs to the interpersonal realm. As a
Talmudic statement compares anger to idolatry, Maharsha understands the
challenge of anger as belonging to the sphere of relations between a person and
God. The temptation to drink relates to how a person treats himself.
Maharsha's third category represents the innovative idea.
It is a commonplace that religion challenges us in the realms of both
interpersonal behavior and with regard to our relationship with Hashem.
Apparently, it also challenges us to think about how we treat ourselves. Imagine
a person with a drinking problem who claims that his drinking binges do not
interfere in any way with his interpersonal responsibilities or religious
duties. We could try to convince such a person that alcoholism will invariably
cause harm in these areas. Alternatively, we could say to that person that he or
she is not being fair to himself. Maharsha teaches us that this too constitutes
a religious sentiment.
Let us turn our attention to the final item suggested in the
gemara. Why does "play" reveal the truth about a person in a way that
more serious pursuits do not? The answer may have to do with the religious call
to live an integrated life. Most observant Jews realize that mitzva
performance demands a certain religious orientation and seriousness of purpose.
While in the beit midrash or beit ha-knesset, they would not dream
of consciously excluding religious values. At the same time, they may think of
their leisure time as divorced from religious demands. They fail to realize that
even as we affirm that certain areas of life are indeed devar reshut,
neither forbidden nor commanded, religious ideals do not become irrelevant to
those areas. Halakha has nothing against playing basketball but it does
have something to say about how one plays. Halakha's voice in this area
is not to be found in a section of the Shulchan Arukh called
Hilkhot Basketball but in the more general command to live a life of
holiness, service, and morality. The individual whose play also exhibits
religious ideals (e. g. playing without selfishness, laziness, or anger) has
moved to a more profound level of commitment. Sometimes, it is precisely the
conduct while engaging in a leisure activity that reveals the true quality of a
given individual.
A different gemara helps to develop this idea:
King Ptolemy gathered seventy-two sages and put them each in
separate rooms without revealing to them why he gathered them. He went into each
room and asked each sage to translate the Torah [into Greek}. The Holy One,
blessed be He, placed good counsel in the hearts of each one and they all
translated in an identical fashion. They wrote for him... 'And God finished on
the sixth day.' (Megilla 9a)
In this gemara, the many sages choose not to offer a
literal translation in passages in which such literalness might lead the readers
astray. In the original, the verse actually says "And God completed his work on
the seventh day" (Bereishit 2:2). An innocent reader might mistakenly
understand that Hashem created something on the seventh day also.
Therefore, they took liberties with the translation.
Yet we should still ask how to explain a verse that, on a
superficial level, indicates that God did create on the seventh day.
Commentators suggest various solutions but we will focus on that of Rashi. Rashi
explains that the six days of physical creation did not encompass everything
needed as the world still lacked rest. Hashem completed the created order
on the seventh day by adding the element of rest.
Rashi offers a nice answer but it brings us to a different
question. If this problem can be resolved so easily, why didn't the sages just
translate the verse literally and explain it to the Greeks using Rashi's
interpretation? Rabbi Norman Lamm provides an excellent answer in his article
entitled "A Jewish Ethic of Leisure" (found in his book Faith and Doubt).
Rabbi Lamm explains that there are two possible conceptions of rest. One thinks
of rest as pure passivity, as a time to get away from it all and not think about
ideals and accomplishments. The other conception sees rest as something with
creative potential.
Shabbat provides the finest example of the latter model. While
we keep Shabbat by abstaining from work, we experience Shabbat as something
positive and creative. According to Rabbi Lamm, the Greeks though of rest in
purely negative and passive terms. Therefore, they could not view rest as part
of the positive created order. The seventy-two sages decided that the Greeks
need a non-literal translation as they do not understand the creative model of
rest.
The attempt to practice a positive kind of rest should be
expanded beyond Shabbat to all our leisure activities. This message should have
particular relevance to those who, like this author, do not think that Judaism
grants no value to all activities that are not concrete mitzvot. In an
excellent essay (found in Tradition, Fall 1985), Rabbi Shalom
Carmy writes of the challenge facing Modern Orthodox Jews to live a unified
existence. Rabbi Carmy utilizes the image of the human life as a story. In
discussing a person's adherence to his or her core ideals, Rabbi Carmy writes as
follows:
"A life is integrated if it tells a coherent story in the light
of those principles and ideals, it is dis-integrated to the degree that the
individual's experience, thoughts, and deeds fail to cohere with them, or
insofar as the principles and ideals are internally inconsistent."
When thinking about the quality of our recreational activity,
it behooves us to ask whether or not they fit into the same story as our
learning, davening, and tzedaka. Just as a good author strives to craft a
unified story, each person constantly engaged in writing the most important tale
there is, his or her own life story, must certainly work on a coherence of
meaning in the wholeness of a human life. |