2,711 pages of Talmud. A gem a day.

Phenomenal story today – with Talmudic lazer beams shooting from the eyes, and a message that – even if you’re steeped in Torah, if you can’t see the beauty in nature and how the common person appreciates the world – then you haven’t learned enough (retelling thanks to Jewish Virtual Library):

Once, when Rabbi Shimon was together with Rabbi Yehudah ben Ilai and Rabbi Yose ben Chalafta, Rabbi Yehudah praised the Romans for their construction of markets, bridges and bathhouses. Rabbi Yose remained silent. But Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said that all those engineering marvels were made for their own self-interest. When the Romans heard this, they rewarded Yehudah by appointing him to a position in government. Rabbi Yose, for not supporting him, was punished by exile. For his disparagement of the Romans, Rabbi Shimon was condemned to death.

To escape this punishment, Rabbi Shimon fled with his son to a cave. There they remained for thirteen years, studying Torah together, both the Revealed and the Hidden Torah. Rabbi Shimon wrote down the latter material for the first time in a book called the “Zohar,” Splendor, or Radiance.

The first time Rabbi Shimon came out of the cave, he was completely “out of tune” with the people of his generation. He observed Jews farming the land, and engaged in other normal pursuits, and made known his disapproval, “How can people engage themselves in matters of this world and neglect matters of the next world?” Whereupon a Heavenly Voice was heard, which said “Bar Yochai, go back to the cave! You are no longer fit for the company of other human beings.” Rabbi Shimon went back to the cave, reoriented his perspective, and emerged again. This time, he was able to interact with the people of his generation, and become a great teacher of Torah, the Revealed and the Hidden.

Today’s gem sounds like Hip Hop lyrics, and not just because it’s from Rav Papa: “Rav Pappa said: At the entrance to the stores, during a time of prosperity, brothers and loved ones abound. However, at the gate of disgrace, during a time of loss and poverty, he has no brothers and no loved ones; everyone abandons him.”

Everyone likes to celebrate with the winner. But who is there for you when you’re down? When you’ve messed up, who stays by your side?

Rav Papa gives us a true test of friendship – your real friends are the people who will be with you through, not just the good, but the bad. And I think of the words, “gate of disgrace” and can’t help but read that the bad is also when we are bad, when we mess up, when we fall short. It doesn’t mean it’s okay, it isn’t approval, a good friend also reprimands, but when we love we don’t abandon.

As Brittany Addams points out in her medium article – real love, even for friends, shouldn’t be fragile.

And a quick second gem – just showing how much we imagine God wants to forgive us: “And with regard to divine judgment, these are a person’s advocates: Repentance and good deeds. The Gemara comments: And even if there are nine hundred ninety-nine asserting his guilt and only one asserting his innocence, he is spared, as it is stated: “If there be for him an angel, an advocate, one among a thousand, to vouch for a man’s uprightness; then He is gracious unto him, and says: Deliver him from going down to the pit, I have found a ransom” (Job 33:23–24). Rabbi Eliezer, son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili, says: Even if there are nine hundred ninety-nine portions within that same angel accusing him, and one portion asserting his innocence, he is spared, as it stated: “An advocate, one among a thousand.”

Today’s page recounts the tremendous patience of Hillel. It discusses how Hillel was so able to keep his cool that one guy bet another that he couldn’t get Hillel to be aggravated with him. What follows on the page are a series of situations in which any normal person would have lost their cool, but Hillel holds it together, assumes the best out of people, and even converts some to Judaism because of his audacious patience and acceptance.

Perhaps the most famous story about Hillel is on this daf: A gentile who came before Shammai and said: Convert me on condition that you teach me the entire Torah while I am standing on one foot. Shammai pushed him away with the builder’s cubit in his hand. He then came before Hillel. Hillel converted him and said to him: That which is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the entire Torah, and the rest is its interpretation. Go study.

Other similar stories follow. And reading this, I know I should be writing about patience, but instead, I keep thinking about Hillel’s approach to conversion. Because it’s not just this incident, but two others where Hillel also might have (and Shammai did) push people away who weren’t taking Judaism seriously, but Hillel brought them in and helped them to fall in love with Judaism.

And I wonder, what if, instead of the tradition of turning someone away three times, requiring a year of study, sitting them before a panel of judges and all that we require – what if we said, yes! Thank you for wanting to be part of us! Now, let’s map out a meaningful spiritual path?

What if, when a couple came before any rabbi, wanting to get married, where one identified as Jewish and the other did not, the rabbi embraced them? What if the rabbi, instead of showing judgement, celebrated that they came to a rabbi for the most important day in their life? What if we invited them in? Taught them how to make a Jewish home? invited them to get blessed on the bima? Without judgement or coercion, asked them how we can help them create the kind of spiritual home they envision?

I have never been as boldly welcoming as Hillel. I have never converted someone while they stood on one foot. It usually takes a year or more. But he is inspiring me to think about how I can be more patient and more radically welcoming.

Rav Yehuda said that Rav said: What is the meaning of that verse which David said: “Lord, make me to know my end, and the measure of my days, what it is; let me know how short-lived I am” (Psalms 39:5)? It means that David said before the Holy One, Blessed be He: Master of the Universe, Lord, make me to know my end; in how long will I die? God said to him: It is decreed before Me that I do not reveal the end of the life of flesh and blood. He asked further: And the measure of my days; on what day of the year will I die? He said to him: It is decreed before Me not to reveal the measure of a person’s days. So David asked: Let me know how short-lived I am; on what day of the week will I die? He said to him: You will die on Shabbat. David asked: Let me die on the first day of the week so that the honor of Shabbat will not be tarnished by the pain of death. God said to him: On that day the time of the kingdom of your son Solomon has already arrived, and one kingdom does not overlap with another even a hairbreadth. David said to God: I will cede a day of my life and die on Shabbat eve. God said to him: “For a day in your courts is better than a thousand” (Psalms 84:11); a single day in which you sit and engage in Torah is preferable to Me than the thousand burnt-offerings that your son Solomon will offer before Me on the altar (see I Kings 3:4). 30b

What did David do? Every Shabbat he would sit and learn all day long to protect himself from the Angel of Death. On that day on which the Angel of Death was supposed to put his soul to rest, the Angel of Death stood before him and was unable to take his soul because his mouth did not pause from study. The Angel of Death said: What shall I do to him? David had a garden [bustana] behind his house; the Angel of Death came, climbed, and shook the trees. David went out to see. As he climbed the stair, the stair broke beneath him. He was startled and was silent, interrupted his studies for a moment, and died.

I just finished a book by Etgar Keret, a fabulously funny Israeli writer. In it, he talks about making shivah for his father. A religious Jew is there that Etgar does not know, but he shares a story with Etgar. There was a man named Avraham who was part of the religious community. But one day, he decided he had had enough. He packed his things and got ready to leave. But before he left he visits the rabbi. The rabbi looks him in the eye and says, “Before you die, you will return to Torah.” The religious man goes on to tell stories about what happened next to Avraham. How during the Lebanon war, bombs were falling, people all around were lying on the ground, trying to protect themselves from the incoming fire. Avraham saw a woman, called her over to him and said – you will be safe by me, I can’t die since I have not returned to the religious life. Another time he found himself almost drowning in the ocean. When the rescue team pulled him from the water, he was yelling, “I still don’t believe you rabbi!”

And then it was that he became old and was suffering from a terrible illness. Etgar’s father, a secular man, came to visit Avraham in the hospital. He put on his tefillin and tallis and prayed the service for Avraham. It was then that his soul was taken.

Ironic how in the Talmudic tale, David embraces religion to prolong life whereas in Etgar Keret’s story, Avraham’s fleeing from religion prolongs his. Perhaps the two together can highlight what faith can do for us. Faith can help us make meaning fo our days. And, when the time comes, faith can help us go willingly into the World to Come.

Full of wonderful stories about David and Solomon. Amidst this we get this beautiful little line: A lamp is called ner and a person’s soul is also called ner, as it is written: “The spirit of man is the lamp [ner] of the Lord” (Proverbs 20:27). It is preferable that the lamp of flesh and blood, meaning an actual lamp, will be extinguished in favor of the lamp of the Holy One, Blessed be He, which is a person’s soul. Therefore, one is permitted to extinguish a flame for the sake of a sick person. (The text goes on to talk about how Kohelet and Proverbs almost didn’t make it into the canonized bible because the verses seem contradictory and need a ton of explanation.)

This is a gem because it reminds us that preserving life is more important than other mitzvot. It reminds us that the soul is more important than material goods. That our inner light is precious and needs to be nourished and cared for.

How are you keeping your inner light nourished? When might you need to put aside to fan the flame?

It was taught: Rabbi Yehuda said: One time we spent our Shabbat in the upper story of the house of Nit’za in Lod. And they brought us an eggshell, and we filled it with oil, and pierced it, and left it over the lamp (something the Gemara had just rules was forbidden). And Rabbi Tarfon and Elders were there and they did not say anything to us. (This is strange, if it was a ruling, they had an obligation to correct him, which is why he is telling the story.) The Rabbis said to him: Do you bring proof from there? Nit’za is different. They are vigilant. (While it’s prohibited for everyone else, since they are so “vigilant” in their observance they are permitted . . . )

Avin from Tzippori dragged a bench in an upper story, with marble floor, before Rabbi Yitzḥak ben Elazar. He said to him: If I remain silent and say nothing to you, as the members of the group of Elders were silent before Rabbi Yehuda, damage will result, So, he issued a decree on a marble-floored upper story due to a standard upper story with an earth floor. (One who drags a bench on an earth floor will create a furrow and so it is prohibited, they are extending the law to also say don’t drag benches on the second floor.)

Okay, why is this a gem? We see from the story what happens when people violate a rule, or do something wrong, and those around them don’t try say anything to stop or correct them. When we stay silent, we send the message that the behavior is okay. Rabbi Tarfon used an egg full of oil to extend how long his candle burned as it would drip oil into the candle to extend it’s life. The Elders said nothing, so he was surprised later to hear that what he did was wrong. Knowing this story, when Avin dragged a bench on the second floor, believing that it would be okay because it wouldn’t make a furrow (the reasoning behind saying it was not okay to drag a bench on the ground) Rabbi Yitzhak ben Elazar saw this and spoke out. He knew if he said nothing, not only was he allowing someone else to perform a violation, he was sending the message that this was perhaps permitted.

Now, dripping oil and dragging benches is hardly one of our major worries today. But this lesson, that we need to speak out and correct others, is something that still speaks to us. People sometimes do the wrong thing, and sometimes, like in our gemara today, it’s just because they don’t know. They need to be told. I know it’s hard to correct people. That’s why there is an art to doing it without embarrassing. But the Talmud is pushing us. I can think of a time when someone, who was mad at me, pointed out a repeated behavior of mine. When he mentioned it, I had no idea that I was doing anything wrong, that I was hurting anybody. I felt bad – but I was also mad that this person, who was supposed to be my friend, because he let me continue the behavior for so long without saying anything.

Think of your relative who uses words that are no longer considered P.C., perhaps if you spoke up they would be grateful. Think of the child who speaks disrespectfully to their parent, perhaps if you spoke up there would be more shalom bayit (peace in the home). Think of the person who says something without thinking, without realizing that what their saying might unintentionally hurt another person. If it were you, wouldn’t you want to know?

Today’s Gem: “Do you say [that the verse] excludes a night garment? Or is it only to exclude the garment of a blind person [who is unable to fulfill the verse ‘that you may look upon it’? When it says [in Deuteronomy] with which you cover yourself, the garment of a blind person is mentioned [as they, too, cover themselves].”

I love this text because the rabbis recognized the importance of including everyone possible with their language. They looked for a way to be able to read the text so that people with disability are included. (In fact, in Pesachim we see two blind rabbis leading the seder!)

We too should look for more ways to include people with disability. This virus and turning virtual has lead to some good – people who have mobility issues are able to participate in ways they hadn’t before.

I hope we continue to learn how to be more inclusive.

Today’s gem is just a bit of drama, after all, don’t we need a good story/distraction from our own lives now and then? “A mother-in-law who hated her daughter-in-law said to her: Go adorn yourself with balsam oil. She went and adorned herself. When she came, her mother-in-law said to her: Go light the lamp. She went and lit the lamp. She caught fire and was burned.“

When ever I do premarital counseling with a couple, I remind them that even if they aren’t physically living with their future in-laws, they need to remember that they are marrying into a family. You never marry just the person you (hopefully) fell in love with – you marry their entire family. And even if your spouse isn’t close to their family – it’s still their family.

I read this and want to feel sorry for the daughter in law. But who is this woman who would spark so much rage in her mother-in-law?

The tosafot (medieval commentary) use this to demonstrate how mothers and daughters-in-law, by nature, do not get along, and how exceptional it is to see Naomi and Ruth who love one another. But I don’t by it.

I love my mother-in-law. I love to talk books with her. I respect her. I like her. I think we would be friends if we had cause to know one another outside of her son. As a rabbi, I see this all the time – women who love one another. Daughter and mother-in-law.

It’s a horrible stereotype. We need to look out for one another and love one another, after all, we (again, hopefully) already love the same man.

It burns when you are hurt by someone you consider family – but hopefully evil step-mothers and evil daughters-in-law are more characters than realitites.

Today’s gem: “the Sages taught: Who is wealthy? Anyone who gets pleasure from his wealth, that is the statement of Rabbi Meir. Rabbi Tarfon says: anyone who has one hundred vineyards, and one hundred fields, and one hundred slaves working in them. Rabbi Akiva says: Anyone who has a wife whose actions are pleasant. Rabbi Yosei says: Anyone who has a bathroom close to his table.“

What makes you feel rich? Is it lavish vacations? Flashy items? (Meir) Is it acquisitions? Multiple homes? Success in business? (Tarfon) Is it love? Friendship? (Akiva) Is it a good meal and some privacy on the toilet? (Yosei)

Right now, if we can have these last two – people we love to connect with, even if it be virtual; and good food and some alone time in the bathroom (with TP!) – then we feel rich and blessed. Nothing like a pandmeic to help us get our priorities in order.

Those who have this are truly rich. Any day.

Today’s gem discusses a Torah law I am very proud and inspired by: “As it was taught in a Tosefta that Rabbi Shimon said: On account of four things the Torah said that one should leave pe’a at the end of his field: Due to robbing the poor, and due to causing the poor to be idle, and due to suspicion, and due to the verse from Lev. 23:22: “You shall not wholly reap the corner of your field.”

The mitzvah of Pe‘ah is the requirement to leave the corner of your field uncut and available for the poor to take. In our gem, Rabbi Shimon is saying that the pe’ah HAS to be a corner on the outer edge of the field for 4 reasons. The first is the most important, if you don’t leave it on the outer corner, you may end up robbing the poor. Jewish understanding of leaving the corners of your field for the poor, is that it’s not something you are “giving” to the poor – it’s something that already belongs to the poor. Therefore, if you don’t leave it for them to easily access, you are, in effect, stealing from them. The second reason given emphasizes this even more, that if the pe’ah isn’t easily accessible, you may cause the poor to be idle – don’t make people wait around to collect what is theirs! The third reason, suspicion, is that, were you to leave pe’ah in the center of your field, or in a place that is not easily visible – then others would walk by and think that you hadn’t’ done this mitzvah – their suspicion would be that you are stealing for the poor! The fourth reason is that it’s biblically mandated.

I love the progression 1) it’s not yours, 2) don’t waste people’s time 3) people are going to think you’re a bad person 4) because God said so. It’s like good parenting – you want your kids to do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. If they can’t get it, you appeal to the greater good. If that doesn’t work, you make them feel self conscious about being seen as a bad person. If that doesn’t work – because I said so (or God, depends on the child).

But what I really love is this mitzvah. I love that understanding that the tzedakah for the poor doesn’t even belong to us – that we are just giving back to others what’s already theirs. I love what this does to the psyche in terms of giving – it’s no longer a choice, we’re just a temporary holding place. And I love how this really captures how the world truly works. None of us are successful in a vacuum. The society that makes one able to have a successful harvest, or income, is the same society that allows some to not have enough. Therefor, if we are part of the society, we are obligated to give.

My husband and I tithe, another law that was built from biblical agricultural laws. And even thought we had a lot of expenses this past year that were somewhat unexpected – we didn’t reduce our tithing, even though it was tempting, because that money doesn’t belong to us.

Now is a time to give if you can. There are a lot of hungry and a lot of poor. Leave your pe’ah if you can.