Daf 6b - Glad Runner
Ein Yaakov - The World of Talmudic Aggada
By Dr. Moshe Simon-Shoshan
Lecture #23: Daf 6b
Glad Runner
The
Gemara continues discussing the importance of praying in the synagogue by citing
another statement of R. Chelbo in the name of R. Huna:
R. Chelbo, in the name of R. Huna, says [further]:
When a man leaves the synagogue, he should not take large
steps.
Abaye says: This is only when one goes from the synagogue,
but when one goes to the synagogue, it is a pious deed to
run.
For it is said:
Let us run to know the Lord (Hoshea,
6:3).
Neither
R. Chelbo's statement nor Abaye's follow-up statement are particularly striking. At first, it is unclear exactly what
sort of large steps R. Huna is discussing.
However, it quickly becomes clear from Abaye's response that R. Huna
means running. The combined message of these two statements is: One
should rush to get to the synagogue, but never rush to leave. This may be a message that bears
repeating, but it is not especially interesting or original.
The novel aspect of this passage comes only with its final teaching:
R. Zera says:
At first when I saw the scholars running to the lecture on a
Sabbath day,
I thought that they were desecrating the Sabbath.
But since I have heard the saying of R. Tanchum in the name
of R. Yehoshua b. Levi:
A man should always, even on a Sabbath,
run to listen to the word of Halakha,
as it is said:
They shall walk after the Lord, who shall roar like a lion
(Hoshea 11:10),
now, I also run.
In this
passage, we learn that according to R. Tanchum, not only is running to study
Torah a mitzva, it is even permitted on the Sabbath, when running is otherwise
forbidden. Now we see the
extraordinary importance which the rabbis attributed to running to serve God. Showing enthusiasm when going to
encounter God is even more important than showing proper respect for the
Sabbaths restful sanctity.
Once again, we see in this chapter the close relationship between
prayer and Torah study. The passage
moves from the topic of running to prayer to running to study, almost as if the
two were interchangeable.
If the Talmud had sought simply to teach us that running to a Torah
lecture on the Sabbath is permissible and even meritorious, it could easily have
cited only the statement that R. Zera makes in R. Tanchum's name. Instead, the Talmud brings this
statement in the context of a larger first-person narrative told by R. Zera. In doing so, the Gemara teaches us
some larger lessons about learning Torah.
In this story, R. Zera goes through a transformation. At the beginning, he erroneously
believes that running to the study session on Shabbat is forbidden. By the end of the story, he has
learned that it is actually a mitzva to do so, and he adjusts his
behavior accordingly. This story
follows a common pattern found in many rabbinic stories. We do not learn from the
rabbinic protagonist; we learn with him.
The sages are not all-knowing.
Quite to the contrary, they have much to learn, like all of us. One of the most important things we
can learn from the sages is an openness and willingness to learn from others and
from life experiences. Equally
important is the willingness to change our opinions and ourselves on the basis
of what we have learned.
This story also traces another transformation of R. Zera. At first R. Zera stands aloof from
his fellow scholars, because he sees their behavior as violating the laws of
Sabbath. At the end, he approves of their behavior and joins them in their
sprint to the beit midrash (the study hall). Thus, by receiving halakhic
enlightenment from R. Tanchum, R. Zera not only moves from ignorance to
knowledge, but from isolation to participation in the community of scholars. This process picks up on a motif
found elsewhere in the Gemara, in which the common practice, which appears
wrong, ends up being vindicated through some previously unknown teaching.
A for
Effort
The Gemara concludes this section with a series of adages, the first
one of which is recorded in the name of R. Zera:
R. Zera says:
The merit of attending a lecture lies in the running.
Abaye says:
The merit of attending the Kalla sessions lies in the crush.
Raba says:
The merit of repeating a tradition lies in [improving] the
understanding of it.
R. Papa says:
the merit of attending a house of mourning lies in the
silence observed.
Mar Zutra says:
The merit of a fast day lies in the charity.
R. Sheshet says:
The merit of a funeral oration lies in raising the voice.
R. Ashi says:
The merit of attending a wedding lies in the words
[of congratulation addressed to the bride and bridegroom].
This passage
presents a series of proverbs, each in the name of a different amora. Each saying follows the general
format of "the merit of X lies in Y.
The passage divides into two sections.
The first three lines deal with different types of Torah study, and the
second four deal with mourning and rejoicing.
Several
of these proverbs also share a common ironic theme: the real value of the
activity at hand is not what is commonly assumed.
Thus the first two proverbs deal with two different types of Torah
lessons, the weekly Shabbat lecture and the annual kalla (assembly of the
Babylonian yeshivot).
In both cases, we would have thought that the primary merit in attending these
events lies in the Torah that one learns there.
Rather, we are taught that the physical exertion involved in getting to
the lesson is actually primary. It
is unclear to what extent we should take these statements literally. Is this simply an exaggerated way of
saying that even if one does not remember or understand the lesson, one still
receives the sekhar holakha? (Pirke Avot (5:14) uses the term
sekhar holakha to describe the reward for traveling to the class, as well as
enduring the overcrowding of the study hall at high season.) Or, do these rabbis
really mean to say that understanding is truly secondary and that, as a popular
filmmaker once said, "ninety per cent of life is just showing up"?
Along
similar lines, when Mar Zutra says, "The merit of a
fast day lies in the charity," he is dispelling the common notion that the
important thing about a fast day is fasting.
Rather, he echoes the prophet Yeshayahu's words (58:5-7):
Is such the fast I desire,
A day for men to starve their bodies?
Is it bowing like a bulrush
And lying in sackcloth and ashes?
Do you call that a fast,
A day when the Lord is favorable?
No, this is not the fast I desire.
To unlock fetters of wickedness
It is to share bread with the hungry,
And take the wretched poor into your home
Mar Zutra argues
that fasting is secondary on a fast day; the important thing is doing deeds of
loving-kindness.
In light
of this pattern, we suggest that the other proverbs in the list, some of whose
meaning is obscure in the first place, should also be read ironically as
suggesting that the most important part of the activity at hand is not as
obvious as one thinks. Thus Raba
states "The merit of a legal teaching (shemata)
lies in the understanding (sevara) of it. We can understand this statement in
light of a line in the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Pesachim 34b (see also
Tractate Menachot 52a). R. Yirmiya responds to a teaching that he just
heard in the name of the Babylonian rabbis as follows: "Silly Babylonians!
Because they dwell in a land of darkness, they engage in dark (obscure)
discussions (shematteta)." R. Yirmiya disparages the Babylonian rabbis
for presenting legal teachings that are not straightforward. Our passage may be seen as a
Babylonian response to this charge.
Contrary to common opinion, legal teachings are not meant to be easily
understood. Rather, they are meant
to be complex, and the student gains merit by deciphering them.
Along
similar lines, we can understand R. Papa's declaration
that "the merit of attending a house of
mourning lies in the silence observed," as negating the popular
understanding that the purpose of a shiva visit is to offer words of comfort to the
bereaved. R. Papa tells us that
words are often insufficient to comfort the bereaved, and it is better merely to
join the mourner in silence.
Turn, Turn, Turn
The
Gemara continues presenting traditions of R. Chelbo in
the name of R. Huna regarding the synagogue:
R. Chelbo in the name of R. Huna
said:
[Printed
editions read "R. Huna says:" See Benovitz.]
Whosoever prays at the rear of a synagogue is called wicked.
For it
is said:
The
wicked walk round about (Tehillim 12:9).
Abaye
says:
This
only applies where he does not turn his face towards the synagogue,
but if
he does turn his face towards the synagogue,
there is
no objection to it.
The first issue to
resolve is what does R. Huna mean when he says that one should not pray
achorei bet ha-knesset, translated here as "at the rear of the synagogue."
Rashi comments as follows:
Synagogue entrances were always in the east.
As it is taught in Tosefta Megilla (see 3:22),
Like the Temple and Tabernacle,
[Synagogues] face west, and their rear is to the East,
So that one who prays to the rear of the synagogue
And does not turn his face towards the synagogue
Appears to deny He whom the congregation is praying before.
According to Rashi,
"praying at the rear" means standing in the back of the synagogue and facing the
door. By doing so, a person
effectively turns his back to God.
This is reminiscent of the scene described in Yechezkel, when God shows
the prophet a vision of the Temple overrun with idolaters (8:16):
Then he brought me to the inner court of the House of the Lord
Between the portico and the altar,
Were about twenty-five men,
Their backs to the Temple of the Lord,
And their faces to the east;
They were bowing low to the sun in the east.
The behavior
condemned by the Gemara as evil recalls how the idolaters turned away from God
and worshipped nature in the book of Yechezkel. This reading, however, has a few
problems. First, Rashi assumes that
R. Huna's initial statement only makes sense according to Abaye's caveat that
standing in the back of the synagogue is only problematic if one also faces the
rear. Generally, when a rabbi
qualifies an earlier statement using a phrase like, "This only applies where,"
he implies that the original statement could be understood otherwise. Optimally, we would want an
explanation of R. Huna that does not depend on Abaye's gloss.
Furthermore, one gets the sense that R. Huna refers to an actual practice taking
place in his day. Did people
actually come to synagogues and pray facing backwards in the days of the
amoraim? It seems hard to
imagine, but perhaps we are missing some historical context.
Benovitz,
in his commentary, gives another reading, which is already suggested in earlier
commentators. Praying "at the rear"
of the synagogue refers to those who stand just outside of the synagogue. By doing so, a person separates
himself from the community within the synagogue.
Abaye adds that standing outside the synagogue is only a problem if the
person does not face the same direction as the community. But if one faces the same way as
those inside the synagogue, one retains ones place in the prayer community even
while standing outside the physical structure of the synagogue.
This
teaching is followed up by a brief anecdote emphasizing the severity of such
behavior.
There
was once a man
who
prayed at the rear of a synagogue
and did
not turn his face towards the synagogue.
Elijah
passed by
and
appeared to him in the guise of an Arab.
He said
to him:
Are you
standing with your back to your Master?
and drew
his sword and slew him.
The basic message of
this story is clear. Standing at the
rear of the synagogue is such a severe sin that a man was once struck down where
he stood just for doing so. However,
the details of this story remain obscure.
First, as
Benovitz notes, most manuscripts omit any reference to Elijah. Rather, in these versions an actual
Arab comes and slays the man. This
obviously changes the story significantly.
In the printed versions, Elijah kills the man in a direct act of Divine
retribution. Elijah is a messenger
of Divine wrath, as he often is in the Bible.
Elijah appears as an Arab traveler, like Odysseus returning to Ithica, in
order to hide his appearance on earth from onlookers. On the other hand, in the
manuscripts' version, the man who stands at the back of the synagogue is struck
down by a man with no name. What is
the significance of this man? I would like to suggest that the Arab in this
story represents a radical outsider.
Even to this high desert drifter, this Jew's behavior was scandalous and
demanded a violent response. The
moral would be: If even this Arab understood how outrageous such behavior is,
how much more so should we.
This
brings us to the second difficulty in the story.
The meaning of the Arab's statement to the man before he kills him,
kadu bar kayymat kamei marakh remains obscure. The last words of the sentence mean
"you stand before your Master." However, the first words, kadu bar, have
defied interpretation. Here the
entire line is translated as, "Are you standing with your back to your Master?" This translation probably is based on
R. Sherira Gaon's interpretation of kadu bar as an Arabic phrase meaning
"behind. Rashi, on the other hand,
understands the term as referring to the "two powers, i.e. a dualistic heresy
implied by one who prays with his back to God.
Benovitz argues for a literal reading of these words as "now, outside,"
which would suggest a translation of "Now, you stand before your Master
outside?" This reading assumes that the man's fundamental sin is praying outside
the synagogue, as Benovitz suggested earlier.
The
Gemara now concludes this section with a discussion of the second half of
Tehillim 12:9, the verse whose opening words were cited previously to
condemn praying at the back of the synagogue:
One of
the scholars said to R. Bibi b. Abaye
(some
say: R. Bibi said to R. Nachman b. Yitzchak):
What is
the meaning of:
When
vileness is exalted among the sons of men? (Tehillim 12:9)
He
replied to him:
These
are the things of supreme importance
which
nevertheless people neglect.
R.
Yochanan and R. Eliezer both interpret:
As soon
as a man needs the support of his fellow-creatures
his face
changes color like the kerum,
as it is
said:
'As the
kerum is to be reviled among the sons of men.'
(an alternate translation of Tehillim 12:9)
What is
the 'kerum'?
When R.
Dimi came [from Palestine] he said:
There is a bird in lands beyond the sea
(lit. the cities of the sea).
whose name is kerum,
and as soon as the sun shines upon it,
it changes into several colors.
R. Ammi and R. Assi both say:
[When a man needs the support of his
fellow-beings]
it is as if he were punished with two
[opposite] punishments,
with fire and water.
For it is said:
When Thou hast caused men to ride over
our heads,
we went through fire and through water (Tehillim 66:12).
This passage offers
two interpretations of a difficult biblical phrase, kerum zulut benei adam. These interpretations are
followed by an interpretation of another verse from Tehillim, which we
will not deal with here. The most
problematic part of Tehillim 12:9 is the term kerum. The first opinion breaks this
word into two parts, the prefix ke meaning "like" and the root rum,
meaning "high. These rabbis further
understood the term zulut as meaning something like "cheapen," as in the
word zol. They translate the
entire verse as "[When] people degrade things that are high (important),
evildoers surround them."
The
second interpretation takes kerum to be the name of an exotic bird whose
feathers change colors in the sunlight.
The term zulut is taken to mean "others," as in the word
zulat. These rabbis render this
part of the verse as "[When] people [become dependent] on others, [their faces
change colors like] a kerum.
Soncino identifies the kerum with the family
of birds known to ornithologists as
Paradisaeidae ("Birds of paradise"). This seems unlikely because, at least
according to Wikipedia, these birds are native to the islands of the Pacific
Ocean. It would be impressive indeed
if the rabbis had knowledge of such distant shores, which even the most intrepid
travelers of the day were unlikely to have reached. Steinsaltz more plausibly identifies
the bird with the
Lamprotornis splendidus ("The
Splendid Glossy-starling") which is
native to western, central and eastern Africa.
As the name suggests, this bird has a metallic sheen, which according to
Steinsaltz, changes color in the sun.
But the question of identifying the exact species to
which the Gemara refers is of secondary importance. Indeed, the rabbis may not have had
exact or even reliable knowledge on this matter.
More interesting here is the way in which the Gemara introduces a new
type of "voice" into this passage.
The Gemara generally is made up of mixing different voices from various sources. This passage mixes two of the most
common voices in the Talmud: the prophetic voice of the biblical text and the
midrashic voice of the rabbis who interpret and expound upon the Bible. Now a third voice is introduced from
beyond the Beit Midrash. It
is the voice of sailors and adventurers who regale their audiences with tales of
the wondrous flora and fauna of lands far, far way. This exotic voice adds richness and
texture to the Gemara's discourse.
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