The Nazir, the Rabbis, and Yichud

The Gaon of Vilna is often quoted as saying that the Mesilas Yesharim does not contain a single extra word until chapter eleven. It is not hard to understand the Gaon's meaning, for the change in writing style is immediately evident to every reader. The first ten chapters speak of principles; chapter eleven consists of examples. The author could not be more explicit about this shift; he titled the chapter, "The Details of the Trait of Nekius." This is only chapter name in the book that mentions "details."

Why did the author change his style and give us a long list of detailed examples? The answer can be found in chapter ten. 

So now you see the difference between the Zahir and the Naki, even though they are similar. The Zahir is careful with his behavior and makes sure not to sin in ways that he is aware of and are considered by everyone to be sinful. However, he is not yet a master over himself to prevent his heart from being drawn after the natural desires, that it should not influence him with leniencies in areas where the wrongness is not well-known...      

This then is the goal of Nekius: achieving mastery over our Yetzer HaRa so as not to be seduced in the grey areas of Halacha where "the wrongness is not well-known." Now we understand why the Ramchal has to delineate specific examples in chapter eleven. By definition, Nekius is gaining awareness and building resistance against the forgotten sins. If the Ramchal doesn't identify them, we would never know what he's referring to. Unless, of course, you are the Vilna Gaon.

II

For years I was troubled by the Ramchal's blatant omission of yichud from chapter eleven. Trumped only by the desire for money, arayos (sexual immorality) comes in second in the Ramchal's list of the most challenging sins. Aside from the primary act, he lists multiple secondary ways arayos can be violated: by touch, sight, speech, hearing, even thought. Surprisingly though, the Ramchal makes no mention of yichud, the prohibition against being alone with a woman. Why did he leave out yichud from his otherwise comprehensive list?

By way of introduction to arayos, the Ramchal quotes an intriguing Midrash. It is understood that the Nazir's primary sin is to drink wine, nonetheless, the Torah also prohibits the Nazir from eating grapes and grape leaves. According to the Midrash, these biblical laws of the Nazir serve as a model for the rabbis, directing them to pass similar legislation for arayos. It is not only the primary sin that should be prohibited, but also anything close to it. 

The Ramchal feels this is an important Midrash, but it is hard to see what is new here. The job of the rabbis is known; their mandate is to construct "fences" around the law, prohibiting any act that may lead to a biblical violation. What does the Nazir teach us that we didn't already know?

The answer is that the Nazir is actually introducing an entirely new type of rabbinic law, one that is not a fence at all. If the objective was merely to prevent the Nazir from drinking wine, what is the sense of prohibiting grape leaves? Does eating leaves generate a thirst for wine? Most certainly not. So why does the Torah prohibit it? The answer is that grape leaves have something in common with wine - they both come from the grape vine - and that is reason enough to stay away. This is the remarkable stringency the rabbis learned from the Nazir and applied to arayos: prohibit anything similar to the sin, even if it does not lead to the sin.

The Ramchal underscores this truth in a pointed paragraph.

If a person suggests that what the sages said about verbal vulgarity was just intended to frighten and distance people from sin... but if someone speaks that way just to be funny there is no issue and nothing to be concerned about, tell this person that he is quoting the Yetzer HaRa! ... The truth is what the sages said, vulgarity is literally the arayos of the mouth, it is a prohibited form of promiscuity no different from all the other forms of promiscuity... Even though there is no kares or capital punishment, they are inherently prohibited, apart from their ability to cause and lead to the primary sin itself, just like the Nazir in the Midrash we quoted above.   

There are "innocent" acts that must be condemned and prohibited, not because of the proverbial slippery slope, but because their association with sin makes them inherently wrong. This, says the Ramchal, is what the Nazir taught the rabbis about arayos.

It is the very novelty of these laws that drives the Ramchal to write about them. Since these behaviors don't necessarily lead to sin, people don't see the problem. The wrongness is not well-known. Nonetheless, they are a form of arayos and to be Naki from arayos requires Nekius from these behaviors too. Yichud, however, belongs to an entirely different category. The sages did not ban Yichud because it is a form of arayos, they banned it because it leads to arayos. Abstaining from being alone with a member of the opposite sex is simply common sense; one who is permissive is not only in violation of a well-known law, he is grossly negligent. Forget Nekius, this person lacks basic Zehirus! This is why yichud does not belong in chapter eleven.

A Blind Man and a Horse III

In his first chapter on Zehirus (chapter two) the Ramchal utilizes two very different analogies to depict the unexamined life. The first is his own invention: a blind man walking along a riverbank. The second comes from the prophet Yirmiyahu: a horse plunging into battle. The question is why our usually concise author felt the need for two different analogies when one would suffice. We have written about this before (here and here), but this morning I discovered a new possibility.

In the next chapter, chapter three, we read the following:

This is what the sages said, "You make darkness and it is night" (Tehillim 104) - this refers to this world which is comparable to night (Baba Metzia 83). Appreciate how extraordinary this truth is for someone who delves into its meaning! For the darkness of night can cause the human eye to err in two ways. Either it blocks [man's] vision to the point that he cannot see anything in front of him at all, or it tricks him into thinking a pole is a person or a person is a pole. The materialism and physicality of this world does the same, for it is the darkness of night for the mind's eye, and it causes [the same] two errors: (1) The first is that it does not allow [man] to recognize the stumbling blocks on the road of life, and so fools walk with confidence and fall [into sin]. They are lost without being frightened first... (2) The second error is worse than the first. [The darkness of this world] tricks [man's] vision, causing evil to appear as if it were undeniably good and goodness to appear as if it were evil. As a result, [people] are strengthened and they strengthen themselves in their evil deeds... They come up with great evidence and proofs that confirm their evil thoughts and mistaken opinions...  

The parallels could not be more clear. With the analogies of the blind man and the horse, Luzzatto is depicting the two types of errors people make when their vision is impaired on the dark road of life. First, a blind man walking on the edge of a river. He does not see the stumbling blocks in front of him and so he falls and is lost without even being frightened first. Second, a horse charging into battle. Worse than the blind man, he confuses good and evil. Strengthening himself with false arguments, he charges headlong into sin.

Luzzatto does not waste our time. Each analogy makes a different point.

Are You Scared?

As much as I believe in the timeless quality of this book, I had long suspected that chapter nine focuses on an eighteenth century societal problem that has ceased to be an issue. The detailed treatment of the fears that keep people indoors and under the covers does not resonate with my personal experience and lacks the bite that I have come to expect from the Mesilas Yesharim. Frankly, my lack of Zerizus has little to do with the Halachic parameters of when I should or should not be afraid of the weather. I offer no excuses and I make no claims of fear. I'm just plain lazy.

A careful reading of the chapter raises more serious question: Is the fear Luzzatto speaks of real, or is it a farce? On the one hand, he encourages the reader to overcome his fears with faith, quoting Tehillim (37:3), "Rely on Hashem!" This certainly implies that we are dealing with an authentic fear. On the other hand, Luzzatto characterizes the fear as sinful, implying that the person is just using it as an excuse.

Another thing that causes the loss of Zerizus is an excessive fear and a great terror of the times and its events. Sometimes he will be afraid of the cold or the heat, sometimes accidents, sometimes illness, sometimes the wind, and all other such similar things... Our sages have already derided this characteristic and associated it with sinners... to the point that when one of the great [sages] saw his student frightened, he said, "You are a sinner!"

Luzzatto explains the sin with a Midrash that mocks people's excuses.

They tell the lazy man, "Your rabbi is in the city, go learn Torah from him!" He responds to them, "I am frightened of the lion on the road." "Your rabbi is in the neighborhood!" He says to them, "I am frightened there might be a lion in the alley." They tell him, "He is in your house!" He says to them, "If I go to him I'll find the door locked." They tell him, "It is open!" When he has nothing left to say, he tells them, "Whether the door is open or locked, I would like to take a short nap."

Luzzatto ends with this cutting observation: "It is not fear that is causing him to be lazy; it is laziness that is causing him to be frightened."

Apparently, the fears of this chapter are not only irrational, they are non-existent. This person is not afraid at all, he is just inventing excuses. But if this is the case, why does Luzzatto honor such "fears" with an entire chapter? Why take pains to distinguish between "appropriate fear" and "foolish fear" as if we had a Halachic question, and why define the limits of Bitachon as if this were a theological discussion? We are dealing with an unabashed liar! He is not afraid, he is a lazy sinner! Why validate a lie? Our author should call a spade a spade, not engage in dialogue.

After years of shrugging shoulders, I finally cracked the mystery last week. The answer can be found in the first chapter on Zerizus, chapter six.

If you challenge the lazy man, he will bring you many quotes from the sayings of the sages, verses from Scripture, and rational arguments, all of which, according to his confused opinion, teach him to be lenient and permit him to indulge his laziness. He fails to recognize that these arguments and these rationales are not founded on his objective thought, but flow from his laziness. As [his laziness] overpowers him, it influences his opinions and his mind towards these arguments... 

It is a terrifying prospect. We naturally assume that our dearly-held opinions are rational, but the truth is that laziness influences the way we think and we don't even realize it. 

After diagnosing the problem, Luzzatto deals with it the only way he can. To criticize laziness would be ineffective, for this person is convinced of the validity of his position. The "fear" began life as a lame excuse, but eventually the mind was hijacked and now he believes it. Luzzatto is thus forced to respect the fallacy and debate it, for the lazy man really is frightened. And so Luzzatto takes the time to demolish these nonsensical arguments. The mind must be healed first.

Clear thinking is not merely the solution to a peculiar side effect of laziness. It is a critical step in the system of growth described by this book. The poisoning of the subconscious by our negative drives is one of Luzzatto's central themes and the cleansing process is described in the next chapter, in the introduction to Nekius:

The trait of Nekius is [achieved] when a person is completely cleansed of every negative trait and from all sin... His vision will be completely clear, his judgement pure, and desires will not influence him... The Zahir is careful with his behavior and makes sure not to violate what he already knows and is popularly accepted to be a sin. However, [the Zahir] is not yet a master over himself to prevent his heart from being drawn towards the natural desires, that they should not influence him... However, after man trains himself greatly in this Zehirus, achieving the initial cleansing from the well-known sins, and [then] trains himself in the service [of mitzvos] and its Zerizus, and the love for his creator and the yearning for Him intensifies - the force of this training will distance him from materialism and focus his mind on self-perfection until he is finally able to achieve a complete cleansing... His vision will then be pure and clear, like I wrote above, so that he won't be seduced nor influenced by his dark, material nature and his behavior will be totally cleansed.     

In short, the goal of the Zehirus-Zerizus-Nekius program is clear thinking and objective judgement, unclouded by desires. Debunking the lazy man is not just a practical matter of acquiring Zerizus. More fundamentally, it is required for the Nekius of the mind.

Once upon a time, people lived with a heightened sense of mortality. Ancient Israelites had to contend with mountain lions on the streets. Before modern medicine, the common cold could kill. In such an environment, staying balanced took mental effort and a strong faith. Today we feel secure and, for better or worse, generally don't worry about such things. Although we do not share the fears of Luzzatto's lazy man, we certainly have much to learn from his diagnosis and treatment. Regardless of the century you happen to be living in, laziness poisons the mind of man. 

The bite is back!

The Lazy Farmer & the Bread Tree

In chapter six we are introduced to a new spiritual level. Typically translated as “Alacrity,” Zerizus is about becoming pro-active and excited about Mitzvos. Despite the chapter’s title – “Defining the Trait of Zerizus” – Luzzatto spends the chapter describing not Zerizus, but the lack thereof, i.e., the ill effects of laziness. Our author did the same for the previous level of Zehirus, “Vigilance.” Chapter two was titled “Defining the Trait of Zehirus” and instead of describing Zehirus itself, Luzzatto painted a stark picture of what people look like when they lack vigilance. Apparently, some things are best appreciated by their absence.

Learning from Everyman

Chapter six is built upon a short story told by King Solomon:

I passed through the field of a lazy man and the vineyard of a man who lacks a heart. And behold! It was entirely overgrown with thorns; nettles covered its surface; its stone fence was in ruins. I looked, my heart took notice. I saw, I took a lesson. A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to lie down, and your poverty will arrive steadily, your loss like an armored man. (Proverbs 24:30-34)

After affirming the literal meaning of the text – a description of what happens to the field of a lazy farmer – Luzzatto cites a Midrash which sees these verses as an allegory about a lazy Torah scholar:

“And behold! It was entirely overgrown with thorns” – He searches for the explanation of a Parasha and can’t find it. “Nettles covered its surface” – Because he didn’t labor in [Torah], he will sit and [mistakenly] judge the pure to be impure and the impure to be pure, and he will breach the fences of the sages. What is his punishment? Solomon stated it explicitly, “One who breaches a fence will be bitten by a snake” (Koheles 10:8). (Yalkut Mishlei 961)   

Elaborating on this Midrash, Luzzatto describes the doom of the lazy sage, step-by-step. The problem began in his youth, innocently enough: he lacked diligence in his studies. But due to this lack of diligence, his training was flawed. A flawed training leads to misinterpretations of Torah, which leads to faulty rulings, which leads to violations of the law. And the consequence for breaching the fence of law, King Solomon informs us, is a “snake bite.” Luzzatto explains that just as the poison of venom spreads slowly, so too the effects of laziness spread slowly and invisibly, ultimately leading to death by sins the man doesn’t even realize he is committing.

Luzzatto loves this Midrash and he calls it “beautiful.” The Midrash certainly raises awareness about the dangers of laziness for scholars, but King Solomon wrote about an overgrown field. What made the sages think King Solomon was referring to Torah study?

I would suggest they were tipped off by the words, “I took a lesson...”

King Solomon was not a lazy man. According to a Midrash cited by Luzzatto (in chapter seven), King Solomon prided himself for his swift construction of the First Temple. But yet King Solomon states here that he learned a lesson from a lazy farmer?! What lesson could that possibly be?

The Midrash supplies the answer. There is one area where even King Solomon can be self-critical. There is one thing that no one, no matter how great, can ever be fully confident about, and that is Torah study. When King Solomon passed through the overgrown field, he asked himself, “Maybe in my youth I wasn’t sufficiently diligent… and maybe my skills currently suffer as a result!”

The Mishnah states, “Who is a wise man? He who learns from every man” (Avos 4:1). It takes a great deal of sensitivity, humility and wisdom to learn a personally relevant lesson from every person you meet. The wisest of men demonstrated precisely this kind of wisdom when he learned a lesson from the laziest of men.   

As Luzzatto said, it is a beautiful Midrash.

The Field of Halacha

This is not the only time King Solomon uses a field as a symbol for Torah learning. According to the Talmud, King Solomon used the exact same symbol just three verses earlier.

“Prepare your work outside and set up what you need in the field. After that, build your house” (Proverbs 24:27).

“Prepare your work outside” – this refers to Scripture and Mishnah. “Set up what you need in the field” – this refers to Gemora. “After that, build your house” – this refers to good deeds. (Sotah 24a)

Here the symbol of the field is refined. It refers not to Torah study in general, but specifically to the study of “Gemora.” What is Gemora? Rashi explains:

[To learn] Gemora is to explain the rationale behind the Mishnah and the determination of which opinion the Halacha should follow.

This Rashi helps us appreciate the flow of this allegorical verse. It begins with “preparing your work outside,” i.e., the learning of Mishnah. With its cryptic wording and multiplicity of opinions, the bare Mishnah text is deemed to be “outside” and unusable. From working on Mishnah we progress to “setting up what we need in the field,” i.e., the learning of Gemora. As Rashi explains, this refers to the determination of the Halacha. After that, we are ready “build” a “house,” i.e., perform good deeds. King Solomon is comparing the application of Halacha and the performance of good deeds to the construction of a house from the profits earned out in the field. 

This Talmudic understanding of the field in 24:27 fits perfectly with the Midrashic understanding of the lazy man’s field three verses later in 24:30. If a scholar lacks diligence when it comes to Gemora, if he is lazy in the study of the Halacha and fails to work his “field,” then he will get the Halacha wrong. And just as a house built on errors cannot last, so too a Judaism of errors cannot last, no matter how well intentioned. 

Apparently referring back to his analogy in Proverbs, King Solomon wrote the following in his Megillah:

“Due to laziness the ceiling sags and due to the lowering of hands the house leaks” (Koheles 10:18).

It is no coincidence that in our chapter Luzzatto connects this verse about a leaky house in Koheles to the overgrown field in Proverbs. For the produce of the “field” is meant to be used in the construction of a “house,” but if we are lazy in the field, then our homes are in danger of collapse.

There is a fascinating tie-in here to the Yomim Tovim. Shavuos, the day we received the Torah, is called "Chag HaKatzir," the holiday of the harvest (Shemos 23:16). And Sukkos is called "Chag HaAsif," the holiday of gathering in the produce and bringing it all home. On Sukkos we build a temporary home, a Sukkah, and we are instructed to use the leftover straw and branches from the harvest for the Schach (Sukkah 12a). This is precisely what King Solomon said. From the harvest of Torah we construct a home.

There is another well-known instance where the sages draw a parallel between Torah and a field:

One who studies Torah but does not review is akin to a man who plants and does not harvest. (Sanhedrin 99a)  

Here too, it is the harvest of the field – the Halacha – that is of interest. And here too, it is laziness - the failure to review - that leads to the loss of the precious harvest.

In light of all the above, we gain a new appreciation for a Talmudic teaching cited by Rashi at the beginning of Parshas Mishpatim:

"And these are the laws that you shall place before them" (Shemos 21:1).

God said to Moshe, "Don't think, I'll teach them the chapter and the law two or three times until they are fluent in it like its Mishnah, and I won't trouble myself to make them understand the rationale or the explanation." This is why the verse states, "...that you shall place before them" - like a table set and prepared for people to eat.

Hashem is saying that the memorization of Mishnaic texts is insufficient. Moshe must serve the people something "edible" - the complete Talmudic understanding of the law. 

The sources all line up neatly, but we have never explained why the Halacha is compared to food. For the answer to that question we will need to delve a little deeper.

Feeding the Universe

There is another layer of meaning to our Midrash, a mystical dimension, but in order to appreciate it we must first learn some spiritual cosmology.

The Talmud draws a surprising comparison between God and the human soul. “Just as the Holy One, blessed be He, fills the entire universe, so too the Neshama fills the entire body” (Berachos 10a). After warning us not to take the comparison literally (the Creator is unique and incomparable to any created thing), Rabbi Chaim Volozhiner elaborates on the God/universe and soul/body analogy in his sefer Nefesh HaChaim, supporting his thesis with a plethora of Talmudic, Midrashic and Zoharic sources. In the process, we gain a new perspective on food.

Keeping our soul in our bodies obviously requires the consumption of food. In other words, if we don’t eat, we die and the soul departs. For our souls to dwell securely inside our bodies so we can function properly, our bodies need to be physically healthy, and for that people need to have a robust diet of healthy, nutritious food. A malnourished man has a weak hold on his soul and cannot live life to the fullest.

The same can be said for the universe. If we want to maintain a fully functioning universe, we need Hashem to maintain a strong presence, and to achieve that, the universe needs to “eat.” The prescribed diet for the universe consists of Torah, Tefillah and Mitzvos. This is what keeps the universe spiritually healthy and makes it a place where Hashem is comfortable and His blessings flow. When Mitzvos are lacking, the universe is malnourished and weakened, and we receive correspondingly limited divine blessings.

Of course, not everything is nutritious. Food gives life; poison saps it. Just as a person who consumes poison damages his body, so it is with the universe. If we feed sins into the universe, we damage the system and Hashem can’t connect. With the flow of blessings restricted, things will not function as they should. The results can be disastrous. 

The food/mitzvah analogy is no mere illustrative analogy. The fate of humanity is intimately linked the fate of the universe and, as a result, an actual symbiotic relationship exists between the mitzvos we do and the food we eat. 

We declare this truth daily in the Shema. If we listen to the Mitzvos, to love Hashem and serve Him, then the rain will fall, food will grow, we will eat and be satisfied. But if we turn away from Hashem and worship other gods, then Hashem will seal the sky and there there will be drought and famine (cf. Devarim 11:13-17). This idea is not new; the Shema is a reiteration of the opening verses of Parshas Bechukosai:

If you follow my laws and observe my Mitzvos and do them, then I will deliver your rains at the right time and the earth will give its produce and the trees will give their fruit... But if you do not listen to Me and do not do all these Mitzvos... your land will not give its produce and the tree of the land will not give its fruit.  (Vayikra 26:3-4,14,20).

Two Loaves of Bread

Earlier we pointed to the agricultural dimension of the Yomim Tovim, but now we can better appreciate the significance of Shavuos as the Holiday of the Harvest. On Shavuos two loaves of bread are brought as offerings (Vayikra 23:17) and they serve to direct divine blessings to the fruit harvest of the coming year (Rosh Hashana 16a). As we have learned, the earth needs our mitzvos in order to produce food, and so the harvest of the coming year truly does depend on our Kabolas HaTorah on Shavuos.

But the reality runs deeper. Human behavior determines not only whether or not there will be food, it also determines the quality of that food. 

In the Garden of Eden before the first sin, the universe was pristine, and consequently, the earth produced perfected food which required zero human input. In the garden, bread literally grew on trees (Bereishis Rabba 15:7). Roasted meat and filtered wine was served to Adam and Eve by angels (cf. Sanhedrin 59b). Similarly, after the Exodus the world was in a perfected state and the Jews received Manna from heaven which produced no waste.

However, when Adam fed sin into the system (by eating forbidden fruit) the universe’s ability to produce healthy food was damaged. “The ground is cursed because of you… thorns and thistles it shall sprout for you” (Bereishis 3:17-18). Similarly, after the sin of the Golden Calf, the Manna lost its cleansing power (cf. Yoma 75b).  (See at length, Rabbi Chaim Volozhiner, Nefesh HaChaim 2:5-7; Derashos Beis Dovid, drush 3.)

Understanding the relationship between Torah and food gives us a new insight into the two loaves of Shavuos. Earlier we cited the Talmudic teaching that these loaves directed divine blessings to the fruits of the trees. But the loaves were made of wheat, not fruit! Why should they have an effect on trees? Rashi (ad loc.) finds a precedent for calling wheat "fruit." There is an opinion that Tree of Knowledge was actually wheat (Berachos 40a). But this appears to be a dodge, not an answer. How could the tree of knowledge be wheat?! Wheat does not grow on trees. What is Rashi saying?

The answer is that in the garden, bread really did grow on trees! The tree of knowledge was a "wheat tree" which grew the forbidden fruit, loaves of fresh bread. Adam sinned and he was cursed together with the land: "By the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread." No longer would the earth produce bread; man will have to work for it. But one day in the future, the world will be fixed and once again bread will grow on trees. "In the future, the land of Israel will give forth loaves of bread... wheat will grow up like a palm tree" (Kesubos 111b; cf. Toras Chaim to Sanhedrin 70b). 

This then is the symbolism of the two loaves of bread offered in the Mikdash on Shavuos. One for the lost past, the bread of the garden, and one for the utopian future, the bread of Israel rebuilt. How do we bridge the gap? How do we fix the earth? By receiving the Torah on Shavuos.

Returning now to the Midrash cited by Luzzatto, we arrive at a new and astounding realization: A field is a symbol for Gemora because the determination of Halacha is synonymous with the production of food!  If we are diligent in the study of Gemora and get the Halacha right, then we will eat right. Otherwise, we are producing thorns, thistles and poison. This is the snake venom referred to by King Solomon.

The health of the universe and the health of man depend on sound Halachic rulings, and in the end, Halachic rulings come down to our Zerizus in the field.

A beautiful Midrash, indeed!

Partners in the Good Fight

Chapter two is about "Zehirus," which, according to Luzzatto, refers to the need to be introspective and take control of our lives. But, just as the chapter is about to end, the author makes one final, surprising point.

Even if a person keeps watch over himself, it is obvious that he lacks the strength [to defeat the Yetzer HaRa] without Hashem's help, for the Yetzer HaRa is very powerful...

It is generally assumed that we are able to make choices and follow though on those choices because our positive and negative drives are of basically equal strength. But this is a misconception born of the illusion of our experience. The spiritual reality is altogether different.

The truth is that the Yetzer HaRa is far stronger than the Yetzer Tov and we are powerless against it. Left to our own devices, we would lose every battle and commit any and every sin that came our way. If we have ever emerged victorious against the Yetzer HaRa it is only because we have a secret ally called God. God regularly intervenes and saves us. However, God only gets involved if we put up a fight. 

If a person keeps watch over himself then Hashem will help him and he will be saved from the Yetzer HaRa. But if he fails to keep watch over himself, then Hashem will certainly not protect him, because if he doesn't care, why should anyone care about him?

In short, man cannot defeat the Yetzer HaRa alone, but if he makes an attempt then Hashem will help. 

Strange that things would be designed that way. Why did Hashem make the Yetzer Tov weaker than its opponent? Wouldn't it make more sense to have a balance of powers? That way we could save ourselves and Hashem wouldn't have to help us all the time.

The beginning of answer can be found at the end of chapter one.

... And so we learn that the point of man being in this world is only to fulfill Mitzvos, to serve [Hashem] and to withstand [the divinely orchestrated] challenges [of life]... There should be no intent in any act that man does, big or small, other than getting closer to Him...   

In other words, beating the the Yetzer HaRa brings us closer to Hashem. The basic idea is that man is elevated through the struggle and sanctified by the Mitzvah, but now we have new understanding of how the system works.  

Man gets closer to God when he struggles against his Yetzer HaRa because when man puts up a fight, Hashem is at his side fighting with him. This fosters a deep relationship between God and man for nothing bonds two soldiers like a good battle. And since building a relationship with God is the sole purpose of life on earth (as per chapter one), this set-up turns out to be a central feature in the design of man. 

The Gemora in Yoma (39a-b) brings the point home with an astonishing parable. (The translation of the verse is based on Rashi.)

אם ללצים - הוא יליץ, ולענוים - יתן חן  "If [a person wants to associate] with scorners, then he [alone] is [responsible for] becoming a scorner, but if [he wishes to associate] with the humble, then [God will] make him charming" (Proverbs 3:34). When a person is trying to make himself impure, he is given the opportunity, but when a person is trying to be pure, he is helped. In the Yeshiva of Rabbi Yishmael they taught: The parable here is to a vendor who sells petroleum and persimmon. [If] a customer comes to measure out petroleum, the vendor tells him, "Do it yourself." [But if] a customer comes to measure out persimmon, then the vendor says, "Wait for me to do it with you, for then we will both be scented." 

There you have it. God Himself comes to assist man in his strivings because God also wants to enjoy the sweet aroma of Mitzvah and the sweet victory over evil. In the process, a new relationship is forged. It is this singular relationship that gives meaning to all of creation, but everything depends on the few good men who take a stand against their Yetzer HaRa. 

The Stones of Yaakov: A Tangent that Isn't

Dedicated to the Four Kedoshim of Har Nof

Was ever a writer more disciplined than the Ramchal or a book more precise than the Mesilas Yesharim? Famous for its economy of language, the Gaon of Vilna declared that he couldn't find a single superfluous word in the first ten chapters. At the very least, we can expect the Ramchal to stay on point. Which is why I was troubled when I discovered a long, meandering tangent right in the heart of chapter one.

The author's message in this chapter is clear. Man was created to experience the pleasure of being with the Shechina. This occurs in the afterlife, but it must be earned first. Life on earth is our opportunity to earn that reward through the performance of Mitzvos. That's the chapter in a nutshell.

Strangely, right in the middle of this presentation on the meaning of life, the Ramchal introduces a mystical concept.

If you delve deeper into this issue you will realize that the world was created for the service of man. For if man follows after the physical realm, distancing himself from his creator, then he is ruined and the world is ruined with him. But if he controls himself and sticks with his creator, using the world solely to assist him in his service of his creator, then he is elevated and the world is elevated with him. 

Luzzatto proves this point with a well-known Midrash. The Torah tells us that although Yaakov placed multiple stones around his head before he went to sleep (Bereishis 28:11), in the morning there was only one stone there (28:18). Rabbi Yitzchok explains that each stone wanted to be the pillow for the Tzaddik. God had compassion on the stones and fused them all into one (Chulin 91b). 

There is an innate desire in all things, writes Luzzatto, to be of service to the "perfected man who is sanctified with God's sanctity," for by doing so the mundane matter is itself sanctified. Every lonely stone on every barren hilltop yearns to get closer to its creator.  

This is all very fascinating, but what relevance does it carry for our chapter? What difference does it make? Let us imagine, for a moment, that this is all false and the physical realm is unaffected by the presence of Tzaddikim. What bearing would that have on the fact that people were created to do Mitzvos and earn reward for the World to Come? None whatsoever. So why is the Ramchal writing about this here?

I struggled with this question for several weeks before I came up with an answer. 

All writers are afraid of being misunderstood, and the fear is particularly acute in writers of Jewish theology. The Ramchal was worried that some readers would think of life as a big casino. The game is to do as many Mitzvos as you can, accruing the maximum number of chips. And then, when you're finished playing, you cash in. Right? 

Wrong. 

This analogy is deeply misleading. While it can be said that we do Mitzvos in this life and receive reward in the next, that is only because the physical universe filters out the splendor of the Shechina. This has no bearing on the fact that every Mitzvah we do and every test we past builds a relationship with Hashem. It is not a matter of collecting plastic chips for future use. The relationship is real and it exists in the here and now.

The Ramchal proves the point with the stones of Yaakov. If Mitzvos were mere chips, stones would reap no benefit by assisting the Tzaddik. The stones are attracted to the Tzaddik because he is "sanctified with God's sanctity" in this life, right here on earth. 

Unable to experience the presence of the Shechina, the Tzaddik is himself unaware of the Kedusha within him. As much as we think we can sense Kedusha and identify Tzaddikim, that is just wishful thinking. Only Hashem can make that judgement (cf. Rambam, Laws of Teshuva 3:2). We are oblivious to the Kedusha that is all around us. Yaakov said as much upon awaking after a night on the rocks. "Hashem is actually present in this place and I didn't know!" (Bereishis 28:16).

Despite the Tzaddik's ignorance, he sanctifies the world. Sadly, the opposite is also true. When we opt out of a relationship with Hashem and distance ourselves from Him, we drag the world down with us. 

This is the Ramchal's point and it is no tangent. It is central to our understanding of the power of mitzvos and the ultimate purpose of human life, the subject of chapter one.

Last Tuesday, Hashem selected four Tzaddikim for all the world to see. They brought Kedusha into the world - בקרובי אקדש - and now that Kedusha is lacking. 

The very stones of Jerusalem mourn their loss.

ה' ינקם דמם

Are You Arrogant or Do You Just Enjoy Honor?

Most people naturally assume that arrogance and an interest in honor are synonymous, but Luzzatto has a more nuanced approach. He views them quite differently.

At the end of chapter eleven, Luzzatto identifies and analyzes what he considers to be the most common character flaws: Arrogance, Anger, Jealousy, and Desire. Luzzatto then divides Desire in two - the desire for money and the desire for honor - bringing the total to five common flaws. (The "desire" discussed here is a character issue and is to be distinguished from the Yetzer HaRa for prohibited relationships. Luzzatto dealt with that problem at length at the beginning of the chapter.) By way of introduction, Luzzatto tells us that these traits all occur naturally in man and it is no small battle to get them under control.

Luzzatto thus begins his list of flaws with arrogance and ends it with the desire for honor. Interestingly, he spends more words on these two traits than on any of the others. But aren't they one and the same? What is arrogance if not an obsession with being honored?

The answer to our question can easily be found by contrasting Luzzatto's sharp definitions for these two traits. Arrogance, he writes, is thinking that you are important and deserving of praise. Honor, on the other hand, is a desire. The difference is clear. Arrogance is a way of thinking about yourself (irrational and baseless, but a way of thinking nonetheless) and the desire for honor is just that, a desire. Fundamentally, it no different than other desires, e.g., the desire for money. Desires exist irrespective of how you think about yourself.

Although it is true that arrogance can lead to an obsession with honor - Luzzatto himself described this phenomenon in his treatment of arrogance - it does not follow that any interest in honor is indicative of arrogance. It is natural for man to enjoy honor and the humble are no exception. 

What an incisive insight! And what a great relief! Thank you, Luzzatto.