The Revolutionary Ideology of Humility

In a time of selfies and self-esteem, humility is a forgotten virtue. The Jewish tradition's emphasis on humility runs counter to our Zeitgeist, which places each individual at the very center of the universe. It is challenging for us today to make sense of the statement of Maimonides, that “the proper way is not merely that man be humble, but that one should be of a very diminutive spirit, and their spirit extremely lowly”. In some of the pre-war European Mussar Yeshivot, which were devoted to developing spiritual greatness, the students would constantly repeat aloud “ich bin a gornisht”, “I am a nobody”; this habit was meant to cultivate humility. Contrast that with social media, whose very purpose is to declare the opposite: I am a somebody, and I am worthy of attention.

For this reason, contemporary readers are shocked by archaic descriptions of radical humility. The following passage in Maimonides’ Commentary to the Mishnah (Avot 4:4) is a good example of this:

“I saw in a book from the books on characteristics that one of the important pious men was asked "Which day is the one upon which you rejoiced more than any of your days?" He said [back], "The day that I was going on a boat and my place was in the lowest places of the boat among the packages of clothing, and there were traders and men of means on the boat [as well]. And I was laying in my place and one of the men of the boat got up to urinate and I was insignificant in his eyes and lowly - as I was very low in his eyes - to the point that he revealed his nakedness and urinated on me. And I was astonished by the intensity of the trait of brazenness in his soul. But, as God lives, my soul was not pained by his act at all and my strength was not aroused. And I rejoiced with a great joy that I had reached the point that the disgrace of this empty person did not pain me and [that] my soul did not feel [anything] towards him..."

This type of saintly behavior seems strange to contemporary readers, and raises questions about the value of humility. Is humility submitting to humiliation? How can one live a life of joy with such a lowly self image? Furthermore, humility seems to undermine ambition. If a humble person doesn't see any value in their own abilities, they will never produce anything. Rabbeinu Bachya ibn Pakuda, the 11th century author of the classic ethical work, Chovot Halevavot, grappled with how he could be both humble and an author. In his introduction, he openly discusses his doubts about writing this brilliant work. He says that “..when I thought of proceeding to carry out my decision to write this book, I saw that a man like myself is not fit to compose a work like this. I estimated that my…. knowledge was too inadequate, and my intellectual faculties too weak to grasp the topics……(But) I knew that many great works were lost due to fear, and many losses were caused by concern. I remembered the saying: "it is part of prudence not to be overly prudent". ...Therefore, I found myself obligated to force my soul to bear the task of composing this book…” Bachya has to convince himself to disregard his own humility and write his book, because he recognizes that if every humble person desisted from writing, too much would be lost. Humility was always a complicated virtue; and in a time when self worth is the currency of the realm, humility is seen as a roadblock to happiness.

Our difficulty with humility is that we imagine it to be a form of self-affliction, and perhaps even self-delusion. But humility is also quite practical, and more necessary than ever. In our Torah reading, there are several regulations regarding the King; he has to limit the amount of horses and money he has, and must keep a Torah scroll with himself at all times. These rules are instituted in order “that his heart may not be lifted above his brethren, that he may not turn aside from the commandment to the right hand or to the left.” (Deuteronomy 17:20)  The Ramban explains that this represents an obligation for the King, and everyone else, to be humble. And the Torah outlines why this is so important: an arrogant king will ignore the Torah’s responsibilities and lose his connection with others. A humble King will be compassionate; as Maimonides puts it, he will “be merciful and compassionate to the small and great and attend to their wants and welfare…(and) show respect for even the lowest of the low.” (Laws of Kings, 2:6).

There are other benefits to humility. The Talmud asserts that humility is a prerequisite to learning, because one cannot learn if they believe they have all the answers; wisdom is found in those humble enough to learn from anyone. These rules recognize that arrogance is destructive. An arrogant king could become drunk with power, detached from his values, his people, and even common sense. A basic sense of humility is critical to the proper functioning of society.

But humility is more than a practical attitude; it is an ideology. Maimonides’ radical humility is meant to liberate humanity from the foolish desire for honor. Moshe Halbertal describes Maimonides’ view this way:"The humble man, the man of lowly spirit, is one whose self-esteem does not depend on social recognition. It follows that humility is not a belief in the lowliness of one's stature; rather, it is indifference to the value of honor." This is revolutionary. For the Greco-Roman political tradition, recognition on the public stage was a central value; but for Maimonides, God stands at the center. Once a person no longer seeks the accolades of others, they will base their self worth on whether they have served God and fulfilled their mission. As Halbertal notes, Maimonides’ view of humility threatens a political order built on controlling the public through honor and shame, because the humble will be far more independent than those who seek honor.  This is the ideology of radical humility; to pursue your mission without regard to stature, status, or honor.

The truly humble are driven, not by ego, but by purpose. Indeed, they will often achieve lofty goals, but make little of it. Their attitude is that they are “just doing their job”.

During World War II, Irena Sendlerowa, a young mother and social worker, was a member of a Polish underground devoted to saving Jews. With great courage and cunning, Irena used her position to smuggle 2,500 children out of the Warsaw ghetto and hide them in orphanages. After receiving a long overdue honor from the Polish government in 2007, Irena did not take a bow; instead, she shared her own abiding disappointment: "I could have done more…..this regret will follow me to my death.". When pressed by reporters about whether she was a hero, Irena responded: "Every child saved with my help and the help of all the wonderful secret messengers, who today are no longer living, is the justification of my existence on this Earth, and not a title to glory." Irena was a humble hero, unworried by popular opinion or the dangers in her path.

This is the ideology of humility; it matters not what humans think of you, only what God expects of you. And if you succeed in fulfilling your mission, you may have justified your existence on earth. 

I just wish the justification for my existence on earth was as good as Irena’s.

Disabilities and Divine Eyeglasses

Can a disabled person be a spiritual leader? The answer might seem simple, but it’s not. The reason why it is a challenging question is because of this week's Torah reading, something I first realized when I confronted it directly.

On the weekend of Parshat Emor, in 2009, my synagogue held a unique Bar and Bat Mitzvah celebration. The celebrants were a group of 6 adults, most in their forties and fifties, who had never had a Bar or Bat Mitzvah. They were residents at the Miriam Home, a Montreal institution which provides services for intellectually disabled adults. These Bnei Mitzvah had turned 12 and 13 at a time when developmentally disabled children were hidden away, and because of that, they had been excluded from a ceremony that every Jewish child takes for granted.

On Thursday morning we held a rehearsal to acclimate the participants. As the press cameras rolled, I took out the Torah, and began to call up the men to practice their aliyot. As part of the rehearsal, I read the Torah between aliyot. And then, there it was, right in front of me: the section that declares that a baal mum, a blemished Kohen (priest), cannot serve in the Temple. A Kohen who has a broken hand or broken foot, who is a hunchback or a dwarf, who is blind, lame, or has scurvy, cannot serve before God in the Temple. I was shocked. How could we read this passage on the very week we were honoring the disabled? I thought of using the time-tested Rabbinic technique of ignoring uncomfortable topics, and in my sermon, talk about something else. But the more I thought about it, the more I recognized that this coincidence was not a coincidence, and that I was being called upon to deal directly with this issue.

That Shabbat morning I offered a response, which concluded that the reason why the baal mum is disqualified from serving in the Temple is because the community would be too superficial to accept them. The real blemish of the baal mum is in the hearts of the average man, and the physical blemish on the Kohen does not diminish him at all in the eyes of God. The Torah is holding a mirror to the community and its inability to look past appearances.

I knew this was a radical approach, but that morning, it was obvious to me that it was the correct one. But this idea is controversial. Three years later, this very same issue was the topic of serious debate in Israel. Rav Benny Lau wrote an article in which he concluded that the Torah’s reason for disqualifying the baal mum is because they were once considered undesirable; however, if the attitudes of the community changed, so would the Halakhah. This article drew a sharp response from Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, who saw this argument as a deviation from standard Halakhic methodology.  Rav Lau responded, explaining that he was emphasizing that all too often, Halakhic stringency is applied to those with disabilities. In the end, both sides agreed about the importance of ethical sensitivity and respecting the integrity of the Halakhic system, and differed mostly on emphasis and nuance.

This debate was primarily about the Halakhic process, and how to apply it regarding those who are disabled. But what motivated me that Thursday morning was a different question: When a disabled person reads Parshat Emor, what is it saying to them?

The Zohar writes that the blemished Kohen is disqualified is because “holiness on high cannot dwell in a blemished place.” (The Magen Avraham explains that the Zohar’s view would bar a person with a physical blemish from serving as the chazan; however, he notes that the vast majority of Halakhic authorities disagree with the Zohar.) The Zohar’s perspective is both shocking and painful to those with disabilities. But a very different understanding of the Torah reading comes from the Rambam. In the Moreh Nevukhim (III:45), he writes:

“In order to raise the estimation of the Temple, those who ministered therein received great honour: and the priests and Levites were therefore distinguished from the rest. It was commanded that the priests should be clothed properly with beautiful and good garments, "holy garments for glory and for beauty" (Exod. xxviii. 2). A priest that had a blemish was not allowed to officiate; and not only those that had a blemish were excluded from the service, but also--according to the Talmudic interpretation of this precept--those that had an abnormal appearance; for the multitude does not estimate man by his true form but by the perfection of his bodily limbs and the beauty of his garments, and the temple was to be held in great reverence by all.”

The Rambam explains that the clothing and physical appearance of the Kohen were a question of aesthetics; they needed to dress well and look good to gain the respect of the multitude. The very use of the word “multitude” tells you everything you need to know about this passage; to the Rambam, the multitude are the uneducated masses who are unable to understand the deeper truths of the Torah. The Rambam is teaching us that a blemished Kohen is disqualified because the multitude won’t respect him. The disqualification of the blemished Kohen is a concession to the bitter reality that people judge others by their appearances.

And this reality remains true to this day. Multiple studies have shown that voters are deeply influenced by how a politician looks, so much so, it can often decide the winner. And this superficiality has gotten worse since the advent of TV. As Neil Postman notes in Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business, William Howard Taft would never get elected today because of his appearance. Physical appearance plays a larger role today than it did 200 years ago.

The section on the baal mum challenges us to recognize our own spiritual blindness, and how we subconsciously diminish those with physical and intellectual disabilities. Throughout history, multiple societies have stigmatized, mistreated and even murdered the disabled. Due to social pressure, people with intellectual disabilities were often hidden away, their very existence treated as a secret. Up to just a few years ago there was little possibility for an intellectually disabled child to have a large, well attended, public Bar or Bat Mitzvah. It was considered dramatic when Vice President Hubert Humphrey spoke about his granddaughter having Down syndrome in the 1960s, and many look back at that as a turning point in changing people’s attitudes. But change has come very slowly. For too long, people simply couldn’t see the person beyond the disability.

I learned that Thursday morning how to see things differently. Human vision is clouded by the superficial and the subjective. There is a powerful verse in the Book of Samuel that says that “Man sees only with his eyes, but God sees into the heart.” Humanity’s perspective is shallow, limited by what our eyes can see. We all need a pair of Divine eyeglasses.

On that Shabbat morning in 2009, we celebrated a remarkable Bar and Bat Mitzvah. Nearly 700 people crowded into the synagogue to be a part of this event.  In front of us were six people whose hearts were full of joy and pride. We clapped each time someone was called to the Torah, said a prayer, or read a speech. Time and again, these belated Bnei Mitzvah got a standing ovation. In their restrained demeanor and gentle words we could see the long road they had taken in search of dignity, and all the struggles they had faced. And most of all, their faces radiated love; you could immediately sense the connection between the participants and everyone in the room. Everyone in the synagogue cried, smiled, and then cried and smiled again. It was a transcendent moment.

One of the participants turned to me and said: “Thank you for making my dream come true.” But it was not only her dream; it was everyone’s dream. That morning, an entire synagogue was able to see past superficial disabilities and appreciate the gifts of love, friendship, and community. And for a few short moments, we were all wearing Divine eyeglasses.

This week, when I read the Parsha, I will put on my Divine eyeglasses. I will see everyone around me differently, and give them the love and respect they truly deserve.

What Gossip Destroys

  

Gossip is wrong. We shouldn’t reveal embarrassing secrets about others, and we certainly shouldn’t repeat slanders that will hurt their reputation. The Torah prohibits lashon hara, “negative speech,” including gossip and slander. In the past century, thanks to the publication of Sefer Chofetz Chaim by Rabbi Yisroel Meir Kagan, the laws of lashon hara are very much a part of the ethics curriculum in Jewish schools.

It is easy to see the laws of lashon harah as a form of domestic ethics, a way to make sure that friends don’t hurt friends. But Maimonides offers a revolutionary insight into lashon hara. He sees within gossip and slander a malignant perspective on life, one which is corrosive to the speaker’s character and detrimental to society.

Maimonides himself was the subject of many personal attacks in his lifetime. Several of his letters offer glimpses to how he responded to these controversies. In a letter to Yaphet, the judge of Acre, Maimonides writes that through the years, informers plotted against his life. In another series of letters to his student Joseph ben Judah in Bagdad, Maimonides instructs his student on how to respond to a local controversy about his recently published Mishneh Torah. The Gaon of Babylonia, Samuel ben Eli, had disparaged Maimonides and the Mishneh Torah; he and his son-in-law Zechariah had issued a series of criticisms, and claimed that they could have written a much better book than Mishneh Torah in a very short period of time. As Maimonides notes in his letters to Joseph, the Babylonian leadership was threatened by his stature. Samuel ben Eli still clung to the dream that the Gaon of Babylonia would be the Rabbinic leader of the entire Jewish world; the presence of other great rabbis like Maimonides was a threat to his dream. Samuel and his cohort had ample motivation to belittle Maimonides and his works. But Maimonides explains that he himself is not concerned by these attacks, that he remains silent in response, and when he meets his attackers, he speaks to them politely. Maimonides advises Joseph to be “among the insulted and not among the insulting,” and to hold his tongue. 

These letters remind us that Maimonides was not just a brilliant author; he was also a communal leader. He lived his life in the public eye, and despite - or perhaps because of - his extraordinary brilliance, he attracted more than his fair share of controversy throughout his life. It is for this reason that what Maimonides has to say about slander, rumors, and disparagement is very significant.

Lashon hara is a topic in this week's Torah reading. The Torah describes the regulations surrounding the afflictions of tzaraat, skin lesions that have a similarity to leprosy. Included in the regulations is that the person afflicted with tzaraat is sent to live far away from the camp or city. Later in the Bible, there is a strong hint that these afflictions are a punishment for speaking lashon hara. Miriam speaks ill about her brother Moshe, and is immediately punished with tzaraat. This connection is further developed by the Talmud, Midrash and a legion of later commentaries. At first glance, the connection between tzaraat and lashon hara is obvious. Speaking gossip creates ill will between people, and exiling the one who speaks lashon hara protects the community from a divisive personality who slanders others.

It is fascinating that Maimonides took a very different approach to tzaraat. In the Mishneh Torah, at the end of the laws of leprosy, he offers a lengthy explanation of the prohibition against gossip. (This is one of the longest non-halakhic digressions in the entire Mishneh Torah.) Maimonides explains that lashon hara is not always about spite or animosity; even Miriam, who loved her brother dearly, spoke lashon hara about Moshe. Rather, lashon hara reflects an attitude of disrespect; they are the words of the cynical, people who lose sight of the true value of everything. Maimonides explains this has far reaching implications, and lashon hara can lead to a loss of faith in both God and humanity. He writes: In this vein, Psalms states: "They set their mouths against Heaven and their tongues strut on earth." What caused them to "set their mouths against Heaven?" Their tongues, which previously were given free rein on earth. This is the speech of the wicked that is caused by loitering on the street corners, frequenting the assemblies of commoners, and spending time at the parties of drunkards. Slander and gossip reflect a mindset of irony and sarcasm, a mindset that flourishes in the boozy gatherings of callous and uncaring fools. To Maimonides, the great evil of lashon hara is that it degrades the intellect and undermines values. Lashon hara begins with ones’ neighbors but then proceeds to the mockery of everything, insulting and undermining even that which is holy and wholesome.

Maimonides offers a very different understanding of the prohibition against lashon hara. In his view, the true harm caused by lashon hara comes from negativity and cynicism. It destroys our virtues by mocking nearly anything and forgetting the value of everything. (It should be noted that this cynicism is very different than criticism. It is not interested in evaluation, just denigration.)

We live in a dark age of lashon hara, facilitated in large part by the internet and social media. The first time I got attacked on the internet was back in 2001. I had written an article that was later posted to a Jewish law website. It was an in-depth, nuanced exploration of Rabbinic sources on the controversial issue of rabbis writing letters to parole boards on behalf of convicted criminals. It quickly received a scathing comment. This comment really bothered me; its language was nasty, its tone dismissive, and it questioned my character. From the looks of it, it was pretty clear the commenter hadn't read the article, just the headline. Over the years, I have come to realize that such comments are pretty ordinary, and that thoughtless, nasty, and harsh criticism is very much a part of internet culture. There is an entire vocabulary for the online bullying that takes place in social media, such as dunking and trolls. Respectable people get on Twitter and lose their minds; they engage in virulent attacks against strangers with whom they have political disagreements. An ugly subculture of people who look to embarrass and mock others has flourished; remarkably, many of those people are quite nice in person. Reasoned debate and civil discourse have been replaced by 140 character insults.

It is this type of criticism to which Maimonides is referring when he speaks about the ills of lashon hara. This type of negative speech is much more than a social ill. It actually is an intellectual pollutant, a noisy screech that prevents the small, still voice of goodness from being heard. Maimonides reminds us that a society built on gratuitous abuse will spiritually collapse. That's something to think about next time you read a snarky remark on Twitter.