Daf Ditty Taanis 25: ‫ַמֲﬠִביר ַﬠל ִמדּוָֹתיו‬/nicht fargin

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The Sages taught: An incident occurred involving Rabbi Eliezer, who decreed a complete cycle
of thirteen fasts upon the congregation, but rain did not fall. At the end of the last fast, the
congregation began to exit the synagogue. He said to them: Have you prepared graves for
yourselves? If rain does not fall, we will all die of hunger. All the people burst into tears, and
rain fell.

There was another incident involving Rabbi Eliezer, who descended to serve as prayer leader
before the ark on a fast day. And he recited twenty-four blessings, but he was not answered.
Rabbi Akiva descended before the ark after him and said: Our Father, our King, we have no
king other than You. Our Father, our King, for Your sake, have mercy on us. And rain
immediately fell. The Sages were whispering among themselves that Rabbi Akiva was answered
while his teacher, Rabbi Eliezer, was not. A Divine Voice emerged and said: It is not because
this Sage, Rabbi Akiva, is greater than that one, Rabbi Eliezer, but that this one is forgiving,
and that one is not forgiving. God responded to Rabbi Akiva’s forgiving nature in kind by
sending rain.

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Summary

Who Warrants a Response From G-d?1

The Gamara tells us tale after tale of our righteous rabbis and their direct line to G-d. When the
people need rain, certain rabbis have miracles performed when they cry out. Rabbi Chanina ben
Dosa is one of the rabbis who more consistently has his prayers answered. We hear fantastic
stories of rain falling, bread appearing in ovens from nothing, vinegar turning to oil for Shabbat
light... one miracle is performed simply to save poor Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa's wife from
embarrassment.

Some rabbis do not have their prayers answered, however. The rabbis explain this by detailing
errors in how or why the prayers were uttered. More about this shortly.

Amud (b) teaches about Psalms (92:13) where the righteous are compared to both palm and cedar
trees. The Gemara walks us through different varieties of palms and cedars, their root systems,
and their growth patterns, to help us understand the Jewish people through these metaphors.

Our daf ends with a conversation about when (and whether) the fast should cease after the rain
has fallen. The rabbis suggest that we end our fast and celebrate G-d's gift if the rain comes before
the ninth hour of the day.

Again, I find many of the rabbis' arguments to be both self-serving and self-congratulatory. How
can the rabbis focus on their special connection with G-d? Do they truly believe that study and
righteousness will lead to supernatural power? Perhaps they are thinking of their requests of G-d
as a type of prophecy. In my mind, requesting something from G-d and expecting a direct response
is not a Jewish concept. Clearly my ideas are based on modern ideals rather than those of antiquity
- and of the tradition of our rabbis.

One other thought - are there orthodox Jews who, right now, are grappling with guilt because they
did not get the desired answer to to their prayers? And do they believe that they didn't pray
properly? Or that they weren't righteous enough to merit a direct answer from G-d?

1
http://dafyomibeginner.blogspot.com/2014/07/

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 THE PITFALLS OF POVERTY

Rav Mordechai Kornfeld writes:2

Rebbi Elazar ben Pedas lived a life of dire poverty and suffered greatly. When he asked Hash-m for
help, Hash-m offered to destroy the world and re-create it in order to give Rebbi Elazar a chance to be
born in a more fortuitous Mazal. Rebbi Elazar asked Hash-m whether he had lived a majority of his
life yet. Hash-m answered that he had, and Rebbi Elazar said that in that case he does not want the
world to be destroyed and re-created just for him.

Why did Rebbi Elazar's decision depend on whether or not he had lived a majority of his life already?
RAV YEHUDAH LANDY suggests the following explanation. The Gemara in Eruvin (41b) lists
three things which are "Ma'avirin Es ha'Adam... Al Da'as Kono" -- which cause a person to leave the
service of Hash-m. One of them is the pangs of poverty. The reason Rebbi Elazar resented being so
poor was because he feared that his poverty would interfere with his service of Hash-m, as the Gemara
in Eruvin describes.

The Gemara in Yoma (38b) quotes Rebbi Yochanan (who was Rebbi Elazar's mentor) who says that
if most of a person's life has passed without sin, that person is assured that he will not sin for the
remainder of his life. That is why Rebbi Elazar asked whether a majority of his life had already passed.
If it had, then he could rest assured that his poverty would not cause him to sin since he did not sin
during the majority of his life. He could confidently decide to bear the physical suffering of his poverty
for the remainder of his life.

WHO IS IN CHARGE OF THE RAIN?

RASHI (DH Hai Ridya) writes that the Mal'ach appointed over rain is called "Ridya." Rashi earlier
(7b, DH Afilu) says that the actual name of the Mal'ach is "Af Bri."

How can a Mal'ach be in charge of the rain? The Gemara (2a) explicitly states that no agent is appointed
over the rain. Hash-m is directly in charge of the rain.

TOSFOS in Nidah (16b, DH Malach) answers that the Mal'ach Af Bri does not actually cause rain to
fall himself. Rather, when Hash-m decides to give rain, He instructs Af Bri to carry out His will.

Similarly, the TOSFOS HA'ROSH there implies that while Hash-m gives the rain, the Mal'ach
distributes it to different places.

2
https://dafyomi.co.il/taanis/insites/tn-dt-025.htm

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 Unsuccessful Prayers for Rain

Steinzaltz (OBM) writes:3

The Gemara relates two stories about Rabbi Eliezer and unsuccessful attempts to pray for rain. In
the first, even after establishing thirteen fast days, still no rain fell. When the last fast was over and
the people began to leave the synagogue, Rabbi Eliezer called out to them, “Have you prepared
graves for yourselves?” – a statement that so shocked the people that they began to cry. Only then
did the rain begin.

In the second story, Rabbi Eliezer led the congregation in the lengthy amidah prayer for fast days,
but his prayers were not answered. At that point, his student, Rabbi Akiva, prayed for rain, and
rain began to fall. When the rabbis present began to discuss why the student, Rabbi Akiva, was
successful, while Rabbi Eliezer was not, a heavenly voice called out that it was not an issue of
greatness; rather, Rabbi Akiva was more relaxed and forgiving, while Rabbi Eliezer was more
exact and demanding. God responded to each of them according to his personality.

This can be understood based on the Gemara in Rosh Hashanah (17a), which teaches that a person
who is relaxed and forgiving is more easily forgiven by God, who responds to every person
according to his own behavior and personality – midah ke-neged midah (measure for measure).

The Talmud Yerushalmi tells the story differently. According to the Yerushalmi, when Rabbi
Akiva was asked to explain his success, he offered a parable of a king who had two daughters –
one who was unpleasant and inappropriate, the other who was agreeable and pleasing. It is the
unpleasant daughter to whom the king responds more quickly since he prefers to interact with her
as little as possible. The agreeable daughter, however, is required to put in greater effort to receive
what she wants, since he enjoys and looks forward to their interactions.

3
https://www.ou.org/life/torah/masechet_taanit2531/

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 Dancing Bears by William Holbrook Beard

Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa

Mark Kerzner writes:4

Earlier, we mentioned that the prayer of the High Priest was no match to that of Rabbi Chanina
ben Dosa. In his merit, the world was sustained, but Rabbi Chanina himself only had a bag of carob
nuts a week. His wife was embarrassed by their poverty and would put smoking wood into her
empty oven on Friday. Her neighbor once decided to check what she was baking - since she knew
that they had nothing - and knocked on the door. R. Chanina's wife hid inside. However, the
neighbor saw an oven full of bread and called - "Your bread is being burned, bring a shovel!" R'
Chanina's wife replied that she went for the shovel herself. This was actually true since she was
used to miracles.

Another time, however, she said it was too hard and asked Rabbi Chanina to pray. A golden hand
appeared and gave him one leg of a golden table. However, Rabbi Chanina was shown a dream
wherein the World to Come all were eating at a three-legged table, but the table of his wife and
him only had two. She asked him to pray again, and the leg was taken back.

Once, R' Chanina's daughter was sad: she put vinegar instead of oil into the Shabbat lamp.

4
https://talmudilluminated.com/taanit/taanit25.html

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However, R' Chanina commented: the One who made the oil burn can command the vinegar to
burn, and so it was: vinegar lamp burned till the end of Shabbat.

Rabbi Chanina had some goats, and the neighbors claimed that they were ruining their fields. Rabbi
Chanina said, "If they do - they should be eaten by bears, but if not - each should bring a bear on
her horns," and indeed, each goat brought a bear on its horns.

Rebbe Elazar ben Pedas told of a fantastic vision he saw in a dream. He was promised that he
would merit a great reward of thirteen rivers of pure balsam oil in the World-to-Come.5

According to one version of the text of the story, when he asked Hashem whether this was the full
extent of his reward, Hashem asked him in return, ‫—מאי‬And what should I then give to
the other righteous ones?”
Ben Yehoyada wonders about this response. Hashem has infinite resources, and there would be no
meaning to the response as we have it, which suggests that there was a limit to how much reward
could be distributed.

Rather, Ben Yehoyada therefore suggests that the text should be interpreted to mean, “What should
I answer to the other righteous ones who have already been judged and rewarded
appropriately if I were to give you more?” Rebbe Elazar misunderstood and asked Hashem, “Am
I asking from one who does not have enough resources?” Hashem did not answer him, though,
and He instead tapped him on his forehead as if to say that he did not comprehend what Hashem
had told him. Although the word “‫“ יהיב‬can be translated “give” or “respond,” the text in our
Gemara reads which does not translate according in both these manners.

presented it above, in that Rebbe Elazar was asking rhetorically, “Am I asking reward from one
who does not have enough?” Maharsha, however, does not understand this as a question, but rather
as a statement: “I am asking to receive the reward of a person who has forfeited his portion in the
World-to-Come.” Rebbe Elazar accepted the fact that he could not receive more at the expense of
the righteous, so he requested to receive a portion of someone who would not receive his at all.

5
https://www.dafdigest.org/masechtos/Taanis%20025.pdf

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A chossid once came to Rav Moshe of Lelov, zt”l, with a plea for help: “Rebbe, I don’t know what
to do. I try so hard to make a living, but my parnassa is just not what it needs to be! Sometimes I
go through a better period when I make money, but then just when it seems to be going well I
suddenly lose everything I’ve gained. How can I attain more stability in my finances?”

The Lelover Rebbe answered, “What you need to do is accept upon yourself to learn Gemara every
day, and then you will certainly succeed. I learn this out from the Gemara in Taanis 25. There, the
Gemara relates that Rav Chanina’s dire circumstances influenced him to pray that he would be
granted a part of his eternal reward in this world so that he could secure some degree of material
ease. He prayed and his prayers were answered; he was given one of the gold legs from his table
in the next world.

When his wife saw in a dream that their table in the next world would be missing a leg, unlike the
rest of the righteous whose reward was untouched and still whole, they decided to give it back and
it was accepted.

The Gemara concludes that the fact that the heavenly table leg was taken back was an even greater
miracle than the first. They said because, ‘we have learned that one who has something given to
him from on high does not have it taken back.’

But this can also be explained a different way. “Gemiri”— one who learns his set seder of Gemara
every day will be granted success from heaven that will not be taken back!”

Sari Laufer writes:6

Today’s daf continues to present incredible stories about times that people prayed to God to
intercede and prevent a disaster — and what happened. Why does God choose to avert some
tragedies and not others? Why does God seem more willing to answer some people and not others?
The rabbis have no single answer, no grand theory that explains or predicts exactly what will
happen. Instead they present stories, many stories, that offer different perspectives.

In fact, there is a story on today’s page in which the sages themselves don’t even understand exactly
why one prayer was answered while another was not. It also happens to be a story that explains
the origins of one of the most iconic prayers of the High Holidays.

There was another incident involving Rabbi Eliezer, who descended to serve as prayer leader
before the ark on a fast day. And he recited 24 blessings, but he was not answered.

Rabbi Akiva descended before the ark after him and said: Avinu Malkeinu — our Father, our
King — we have no king other than you. Our Father, our King, for your sake, have mercy on
us. And rain immediately fell.

6
Myjewishlearning.com

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As the sages were whispering, a bat kol (divine voice) emerged and said: It is not because this
one is greater than that one, but that this one is forgiving, and that one is not forgiving.

If you have ever stood in a synagogue on the High Holy Days (or perhaps listened to Barbra
Streisand’s classic rendition or this cult favorite interpretation by Phish) Rabbi Akiva’s words
likely sound familiar to you. Avinu Malkeinu is one of the iconic prayers of the season of
atonement. Avinu Malkeinu (our parent, our sovereign), we cry out, asking for a good year, for
forgiveness, to be inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life.

In our story, God’s response was immediate. The rain began to fall. Notice that the rabbis
themselves did not know why this was. When Rabbi Akiva’s prayer was answered, the assembled
sages began to murmur among themselves in surprise. Why, they wondered, did God answer Rabbi
Akiva, but not Rabbi Eliezer? Is he wiser? More pious? Did he say more blessings? (It was seem
not! Rabbi Eliezer offered 24 to Akiva’s 1!) Initially, they did not know why Rabbi Eliezer’s
prayers failed. But thanks to the bat kol, the heavenly voice, they (and we) come to understand:
Rabbi Akiva was answered because he was the most forgiving. It is clear that God is responding
not to the words themselves, but to the character, and behavior, of the person speaking them.

How Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Eliezer prayed in that moment of crisis, it seems, did not matter at
all. God’s decision to answer Rabbi Akiva was based entirely on his behavior outside of prayer.
Rabbi Akiva was not answered because he was the most learned, or the most pious. He was
answered because he was the most forgiving. God was less concerned about how these supplicants
approached the divine than about how they interacted with other humans. In the end, that is how
their merit was measured. What God most wants is that we treat one another well.

These words worked out for Rabbi Akiva, and so have become an indelible part of Jewish liturgy.
We use Rabbi Akiva’s words to this day every year when we pray Avinu Malkeinu. But when we
offer these words on the High Holy Days, we close with this plea: Avinu Malkeinu! Favor us and
answer us for we have no accomplishments; deal with us charitably and kindly and deliver
us. We recognize that we may not deserve forgiveness, and we say this to God, but we are asking
for it anyway, and we are counting on divine kindness and mercy to come through.

Rabbi Johnny Solomon writes:7

There is a verse in Tehillim 92:13 which Rabbi Chiya bar Luliani explains in our daf (Ta’anit 25a-
b). Specifically, the verse states ‫‘ – ַצ ִדּיק ַכָּתָּמר ִיְפ ָרח ְכֶּא ֶרז ַבְּלָּבנוֹן ִיְשֶׂגּה‬the righteous will flourish like
a date palm; they will grow call like a cedar of Lebanon’ and intrigued by the dual reference to
both a date palm and a cedar, each of which are majestic trees, Rabbi Chiya explains that each
have features that the other does not.

Though the date palm does not regenerate once cut down, the cedar does; and though the cedar
does not bear fruit, the date palm does. Therefore, both the date palm and cedar are referenced

7
www.rabbijohnnysolomon.com

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when speaking of the righteous in order to convey that the righteous will regenerate if cut down,
and they will also bear fruit.

And why did I choose to focus on this teaching today? Because yesterday the world lost a righteous
person, a very dear friend of mine, Leonard/Lenny Borger zt’l (Yehuda Leib ben Reb Shmuel)
who was – to quote another friend – simply ‘Mr. Chessed’. Given this, I would like to provide a
portrait of this tzaddik whose picture won’t be sold in Meah She’arim, and whose life story will
unlikely be told in any biography, because all too often we misunderstand what it means to be a
tzaddik.

Firstly, we often think of the tzaddik as being identifiable like a date palm or a cedar. Yet it is not
the tallness or the grandeur of the tzaddik that is impressive. Instead, as the Midrash (Bereishit
Rabbah 41:1) notes, it is their integrity, and like a date palm a true tzaddik is someone who is
upright, honest, and behaves with impeccable integrity. This was undoubtedly Lenny who was the
most upright and honest person you could ever know.

Beyond this, as a further Midrash (Shocher Tov) observes, just as a cedar’s wood is used for
producing furniture and can be fashioned in a variety of ways, a righteous person is someone who
makes themselves into a vessel to do the will of God in whichever way is needed. And this too
was Lenny who made himself available to assist so many people in so many ways.

Yet the problem with these descriptions is that both a date palm and a cedar are very visible, and
while Lenny did so much good, so much of it was hidden from so many of us. In a world where
hubris and ego drive so many things, Lenny helped remind each of us what it meant to live a
sincere and humble life. In fact, the only person I may even dare to compare Lenny to is Rabbi
Aryeh Levin who, in his sincere and humble way, did so much for so many. Given this, it is
someone unsurprising that when I just opened a book about Rabbi Levin (A Tzaddik in Our Time
p. 457) I found a remarkable insight which not only helps explain our daf, but also helps me and
others in our grieving for our friend.

Rabbi Levin quotes a different Gemara (Eruvin 43b) which states that, ‘whoever wants to know
what the height of a date palm should measure their own height, the length of the shadow cast by
the tree, and the length of their own shadow’. Explaining this teaching, Rabbi Levin writes that ‘it
is difficult to measure the height of a palm tree. Even the shadow that it casts can be deceptive
since it depends on the angle at which the shadow is cast. So when can we really measure a palm
tree’s height? When it has been cut down and it lies on the ground.’

Then, applying this to people, Rabbi Levin continues: ‘as long as someone is alive, they are times
when they are praised for the sake of flattery, or because a favour is needed. So when do we know
if they are really a fine or great person? When they depart from this world. Then, when they have
been ‘cut down’ and when people speak their praises, can you be sure that they are deserving.’
And Lenny was most certainly deserving.
Yet until now I’ve avoided the key question raised by our daf – namely the idea that the righteous
regenerate and bear fruit. So how is this to be understood especially when the righteous have been
‘cut down’ and when they are no longer physically in this world? The answer, I believe, is by

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speaking of them and by inspiring others, because in doing so we can regenerate their deeds which
can bear fruit of more mitzvot.

People think that the righteous are the people we go to because they are righteous. But the truly
righteous are those who, through our interactions with them, help us become better people. This
was Lenny through and through. Each interaction and conversation with him motivated me to be
better, kinder, more thoughtful, to help more people, and to spread goodness even further. And
though his loss, aged just 48, is hard to bear, especially for his special family, his goodness will
continue to bear much fruit in the lives of those who were fortunate to know him.

Sources:

Maimonides Hil Deot 7:7

‫ ה ל כ ו ת ד ע ו ת ז ׳‬, ‫מש נ ה ת ו ר ה‬

He who takes vengeance of his fellow violates the prohibitive commandment of, "Thou shalt not
take vengeance" (Lev. 19.18.); and even though he is not flogged for the violation, it is an
extremely evil tendency. Forsooth, it becomes man to be indulgent in his ethical conduct in all
temporal matters, for, to those who can reason all worldly matters are vanity and absurdity,
unworthy to call forth vengeance on their account.

How is the sin of taking vengeance established? Said his friend to him: "Lend me your ax".
Answered he: "No, I will not lend it to you." On the morrow, he needs to borrow an ax himself.
Says he to his friend: "Lend me your ax." Answered his friend: "No, I will not lend it to you, even

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as you refused to lend it to me when I asked for it." Behold, this one takes vengeance. For when
one comes to lend aught of the other, he should give it to him whole-heartedly, and not to deal
with him as he was dealt with by him. And so in all like matters.

Even so David expressed it in his good ethical ideas: "If I have requited him that did evil unto me
or spoiled mine adversary unto emptiness etc." (Ps. 7.5).8

Mishneh Torah, Human Dispositions 7

8
Yoma, 23a; Rosh ha-Shanah, 17b; Sifra, Lev. 4. C. G.

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 9

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https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=heb.apps.orchottzaddikim

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14
 Revenge and Bearing a Grudge (Lo Tikom veLo Titor)

One who bears a grudge or takes revenge violates the negative prohibition of "Lo Tikom and
Lo Titor", i.e. Do not take revenge and do not bear a grudge [1].

Revenge

1. Revenge: Reuven asked Shimon to borrow his shovel. Shimon refused. The next
day, Shimon asked Reuven to borrow his shovel, and Reuven refused, saying "I
am not going to lend you my shovel, just as you didn't loan me your shovel." [2]
2. In this situation, Reuven should loan Shimon the shovel with a full heart; it is fitting
for a person to be "Ma'avir al Midosav” or forgiving. This becomes easier when
one considers the futility and insignificance of worldly matters, which aren't
worthy of taking revenge over. [3] Alternatively, one should consider that the
offense that the other person did against oneself as coming from Hashem as a
decree because no one can harm someone else unless Hashem decreed
it.[4] Alternatively, one should consider the Jewish people like one unit and just like
if a person's right hand cut his left hand his left hand wouldn't take revenge against
the right hand because he's one person, so too if one Jew hurts another one there's
no point in one Jew taking revenge against the other.[5]

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 3. Some poskim hold that revenge only applies to someone who responds to being
pained after he considered the matter and harbored the grudge; some say that the
cutoff according to this approach is that it is considered vengeance to harbor a
grudge until tomorrow as the immediate pain subsides by the next morning.
However, most poskim disagree and hold that even immediate revenge is called
revenge. They hold that even though one could be exempt from monetary
retribution for actions he took out of revenge immediately since it is natural to
respond someone's emotional attack in kind but nonetheless that would constitute
a biblical prohibition of revenge.[6]
1. Hitting someone back out of self-defense is
permitted.[7] Similarly, responding to an insult out of self-defense
is also permitted.[8]
4. Most rishonim hold that the prohibition is only violated for monetary matters such
as not returning a favor that has some monetary value. However some rishonim
hold that a verbal or emotional assault out of vengeance isn't the actual prohibition
of revenge. The halacha is that we are strict that all types of revenge are
forbidden.[9]
5. It isn't considered revenge not to go a person's wedding because they didn't come
to yours if your decision is based on a calculation that one isn't such a close friend
that you feel you need to go to the wedding.[10]

Bearing a Grudge

1. Bearing a Grudge: Reuven asked Shimon to borrow his shovel, but Shimon didn't
want to. [11]. Eventually, Shimon came to Reuven to ask him to borrow an object.
Reuven replied: "I am not like you, and I won't respond in kind. [I will loan to you,
even though you didn't loan to me.]" [12].
2. In this situation, Reuven should erase the matter from his heart completely. This
makes human interaction possible [13].

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17
 Become A Ma’Avir Al Midosav10

In Maseches Rosh Hashanah, Daf 17, Amud 1, the Gemara states: Whoever is “ma’avir al
midosav”, ma’avirin lo, they pass over his sins for him. As it says, ‘… forgiving iniquity and
remitting transgression’ (Micha 7:18). To whom does He forgive iniquity? To the one who
remits transgression.

Rashi in Rosh Hashanah, Daf 17 Amud 1, explains that a Ma’avir Al Midosav, is “… one who
does not mete out judgment to those who mistreat him.”

Rav Dessler, in Michtav MeiEliyahu Vol V. p. 70 explains that:

It’s measure-for-measure, being repaid in kind, for someone who forgives others to be forgiven
by G-d. In addition to this, there is a second reason why heaven “passes over his sins”. Someone

10
https://menuchashanefeshblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/25/become-a-maavir-al-midosav/

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who is ma’avir al midosav connects himself to the community. He therefore is judged as part of
that community, which is always more meritorious than having to stand on his own.

Rabbi Chaim Shmuelevitz (1901-1978), in Sichot Mussar, Section 2 (5732), #38 (p. 140), explains
that:

In other words, if you can forgive other people for offending and hurting you, then God will
reciprocate and forgive you for your sins. Rashi elaborates: Let’s say people hurt you so much
that you can carry around a measurement (midotav) of how much pain you’re suffering and
how much pain they deserve to suffer. If you can bring yourself to let it go (ma’avir) and forgive
them, the Heavenly Court will do the same to you and let go of your sins, so you’ll be forgiven.
This is what we pray for when we say, at the end of every Amidah, “To those who curse me, let
my soul be silent and like dirt (velimkallelai nafshi tidom).” Not that we want to turn the other
cheek when attacked, but that afterwards we want to be able to forgive and forget.

However, there’s a catch. As the next words of the Talmud put it, it’s like a sheep’s delicious
fatty tail that has a thorn caught in it (alyah vekotz bah). The next words of the pasuk are “to
the leftovers of His inheritance,” and the Talmud explains that this amazing power of
forgiveness works only for someone who can act like leftovers. To put it a little differently,
whether ma’avir al midotav involves overcoming your bad character traits, going beyond the
letter of the law, or truly forgiving other people, the only way you’ll be able to do that is if you’ve
developed a deep humility.

Rabbi Micha Berger explains that:

A ma’avir al midosav, then, is someone who is able to assume the perspective of another. He
is capable of forgiving slights when he can see the perspective of the person who made them.
He would choose to sacrifice his inch, even if it’s coming to him by law, to avoid the cost of a
foot to the other party. The ma’avir al midosav is not the one who seeks compromise or self-
sacrifice, but rather one who seeks the win-win scenario, one that maximizes the gain for all.

Rabbi Kalman Baumann, Yeshiva Toras Chaim Toras Emes, explains that:

The concept of Teshuva is absolutely remarkable in that bad deeds can actually be forgiven and
then erased. Over and beyond this Chessed, loving kindness from Hashem, is an added
dimension of forgiveness for one who is “Ma’avir Al Midosav”, known also as a vatran, one
who ‘overlooks’ slights, insults and humiliation. The Gemara in Rosh Hashana 17a tells us that
for such a person, one who `overlooks’ that which would ordinarily bring forth an angry or
harsh reaction, Hashem forgives all of his aveiros …

This is an incredibly challenging attribute to aspire to, and clearly, most of us have difficulty
achieving it. If so, why even mention it? The answer is, it’s important, very important, to know
what there is to strive for, even if we only achieve partial success. In raising our children we
need to ask ourselves – are we modeling and teaching being easy going and forgiving, or do we

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tend more to the side of entitlement and standing up for our rights. If we stop and analyze
ourselves and our own behavior and values, we will find justification for either approach. Rav
Dessler (in a simplified version of his explanation) demonstrates that Shammai and Hillel, the
great Tannaim, represented the two opposing viewpoints of this very question. Shammai clearly
felt that the honor of the Torah was so great it required the Din approach, while Hillel followed
the Rachamim approach. Neither side was technically righter than the other.

At the end of the day however, the one with more `clout’ in heaven was Hillel, because of the
Rachamim approach. That’s because Hashem was swayed, so to speak, to also deal with Hillel
with Rachamim and not Din. Before we conclude which way we want our children to go, it
behooves us to keep this in mind. A person who can be forgiving, easygoing and pleasant to deal
with, is a person who has a lot going for him and can anticipate a life blessed with benevolence
and favor from Above.

Ma’avir al Midosav
MICHA BERGER WRITES:11

With such a promise, we would surely be motivated to master this middah, “ma’avir al midosav”!
But what exactly does it mean?

The first definition will look at is provided by Rashi (ad loc). It’s one who does not mete out
judgment to those who mistreat him. If so, this middah is not only critical to improving our
personal fate, but a key factor in causing — and therefore ending — the current exile.

11
https://www.aishdas.org/asp/maavir-al-midosav

20
 Bava Metzia 30b

They tell a story about a chassid who was quite wealthy. Every year he would give his rebbe a
share of his income, and every year was more prosperous than the last. One year he came to see
the rebbe, and found out that his rebbe wasn’t in. His rebbe had gon to see his own rebbe, the
Chozeh of Lublin.

This was an education for the chassid. “My rebbe too has a rebbe? Then why should I be giving
my money to this rebbe? Shouldn’t I instead give the money to the Chozeh? Wouldn’t that be the
greater berakhah?” And so he did.

Very quickly, the chassid’s fortunes turned for the worse. The chassid was quite perplexed, being
quite certain of his reasoning, so he went to ask of the Chozeh of Lublin for advice and an
explanation.

The Chozeh answered, “As long as you weren’t exacting about whom you gave your tzedakah too,
Hashem wasn’t too exacting about whether or not you deserved the money he gave you. Once you
started taking careful score about who got the money, Hashem began examining your actions
carefully as well.”

This points out the obvious justice in our first quote. It’s measure-for-measure, being repaid in
kind, for someone who forgives others to be forgiven by G-d. Rav Dessler (Michtav M’Eliyahu
vol V pg 70) writes that in addition to this, there is a second reason why heaven “passes over his
sins”. Someone who is ma’avir al midosav connects himself to the community. He therefore is
judged as part of that community, which is always more meritorious than having to stand on his
own.

Rav Dessler continues by contrasting ma’avir al midosav with situations when we are called upon
to act in a manner that is at the opposite extreme. We are obligated to hate evil. However, Tosafos
write (Pesachim 113b “shera’ah”) that one still may not reach a point of “sin’ah gemurah”
(complete hatred). Complete hatred would engender hatred in return, and he is presumably not
permitted to hate you!

21
Another example, Pinechas, when he saw a leader of Shim’on acting immorally with a Midianite
princess, is called a qana’i, an extremist, “beqan’o es qin’asi — when he avenged My vengeAnce”.
Since he did so, he got a berakhah of shalom. However, the word is spelled with a broken vav; the
complete letters spell only “shaleim”, whole. In the short run, his actions were shaleim, whole,
performed for the right reasons. In the long term, this will bring shalom, but in the short term, there
is no peace without someone being willing to be ma’avir al midosav.

This is directly connected to a point raised in an earlier entry on “Rights and Duties” (updated
version 11/25/2009). American law is based on the Lockian notion that the purpose of law is to
protect rights. Halakhah, while it occasionally directly implies the existence of rights (e.g. when
speaking of “stealing sleep” or “stealing knowledge”), is based on a language of issur (prohibition)
or chiyuv (obligation). Often, the pragmatic law is identical; the thief violates the law whether we
phrase it as his abrogating his neighbor’s right to property, or as his violating the prohibition
against theft. However, there is a difference in attitude:

But doesn’t a duty-based law carry its own dangers? If I am to only worry about the other getting
theirs, but to be ma’avir al midosai, to forego my rights and not always demand justice when it
comes to myself, aren’t I inviting myself to be abused? Does the Torah really expect up to be a
nation of doormats, allowing ourselves to be stepped upon and mistreated?

Ta’anis 25b

Rav Yisrael Salanter (Or Yisrael #28) elaborates. If being a ma’avir al midosav is so important,
wouldn’t that mean that Rabbi Aqiva greater than Rabbi Eliezer after all? Rather, there are two

22
equally valid approaches to serving Hashem. Rabbi Aqiva, being from Beis Hillel, was ma’avir al
midosav. Rabbi Eliezer was a member of Beis Shammai (Tosafos Shabbos 130b), and therefore
stood upon strict justice (Shabbos 31a). Both approaches are equally valid, and until the ruling that
we are to follow Beis Hillel, both Rabbi Aqiva’s approach and Rabbi Eliezer’s were equal paths
to holiness. However, at a time when we can’t stand under the scrutiny of justice, it’s Rabbi
Aqiva’s approach that is more appropriate.

This is akin to what we already saw in the words of Rav Dessler — there is a time for qana’us and
a time to be ma’avir al midosav. Knowing when to use each is knowing whether it is time to seek
shalom in the short-term, or to work for longer-term goals.

Until now, we’ve looked at the subject based upon Rashi’s definition, that the issue is knowing
when not demanding strict justice is the greater good. However, this definition is different than
one found in the actual gemara. The gemara (Yuma 23a) says it’s someone who forgives others
when he is slighted.

With this definition, it’s not about an antonym to strict justice, but an antonym to neqamah,
revenge. “The path of tzadiqim: They are shamed, but do not shame, listen to their insult and do
not reply, and are content [even] in their struggles. About them the verse says, ‘And His beloved
is like the emergence of the sun in its strength.’ (Shofetim 5:31)” (Shabbos 88b)

Another difference is that justice is objective, whereas being slighted is subjective, depending upon
the sensitivities of the person. The Chokhmas Manoach brings this perspective to our gemara about
the difference — and yet equal value — of Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Aqiva. Rabbi Aqiva was more
of the ma’avir al midosav because he was raised non-observant. He overcame his more natural
middos — ma’avir al midosav in a literal sense.

How do we explain Rashi’s willingness to give a different translation to that of the gemara?
Perhaps they are not so much defining ma’avir al midosav as giving examples of the behavior of
someone who mastered this middah rather than the middah itself. In other words, if we view
ma’avir al midosav as an attitude, we cannot see it directly in others, and therefore we look at how
the person acts. The actual definition, therefore, would be a character trait that would motivate not
demanding exact justice and standing on one’s rights and also motivate forgiving slights to one’s
honor. We also know from Rav Dessler that this trait is one that mirrors its reward, getting forgiven

23
for one’s sins, and that it unites one with the community. Last, as per the Chokhmas Manoach, it
requires assuming a perspective other than the one that comes naturally.

What’s the difference between a rights-based morality and a duty-based one? The rights-based
morality teaches one to guard their own “domain”, whereas duties force one to constantly guard
everyone else’s. Such a person is led to be ma’avir al midosav because he is constantly focusing
his decisions on what others stand to lose or gain.

A ma’avir al midosav, then, is someone who is able to assume the perspective of another. He is
capable of forgiving slights when he can see the perspective of the person who made them. He
would choose to sacrifice his inch, even if it’s coming to him by law, to avoid the cost of a foot to
the other party. The ma’avir al midosav is not the one who seeks compromise or self-sacrifice, but
rather one who seeks the win-win scenario, one that maximizes the gain for all.

Rabbi Dessler collected some advice for someone starting to develop this middah. As he cautions,
his advice isn’t quite mastery of the middah for its own sake, but it does provide the habits from
one can build. There are 10 such actions, perhaps suitable as a basis for a va’ad on the subject.

Maavir al Middotav

Rav Binyamin Zimmerman writes:12

When on the Defensive

In last week's lesson, we dealt with the ramifications of the severity of halbanat
panim (embarrassing others) and the steps that must be taken to ensure that one doesn't humiliate
another Jew. The simple understanding of the Talmudic ruling is that one must be willing to give
up one's life in order to prevent another's embarrassment. While this understanding is generally

12
https://torah.etzion.org.il/en/shiur-12-maavir-al-middotav

24
not viewed as authoritative, it is clear that one must go to great lengths so as not to cause
unnecessary pain to others.

In truth, the responsibility to hold one's temptation to embarrass others back is very
understandable and certainly laudatory. However, that is not always the case. Sometimes, the
urge to embarrass another arises in the midst of fighting. After being called names or verbally
attacked, must one really be silent?

This scenario is discussed by the Chinnukh (Mitzva 338) in his discussion of the prohibition
of onaat devarim, verbal abuse:

However, as it would seem, this does not mean that if one Jew comes along and wickedly begins
to inflict pain on his fellow with evil words, the listener should not answer him, for it is impossible
for a person to be as a stone that has no one to turn it over. Moreover, with his silence, he would
seem to be confirming these calumnies.

In truth, the Torah does not order a person to be a stone, silent toward his slanderers as if
they were blessing him. It rather commands us to move far away from this behavior, that
we should not start to quarrel with and defame people. In this way, a person will be saved
from all that: for whoever is not a quarrelsome person, people will not defame him – unless
they be utter fools, and no attention need be paid to fools.

The Chinnukh does indicate, however, that if compelled to respond, one should do so in a dignified
manner, without anger. He then goes on to explain the precedent for this behavior.

HaRav Yehuda Amital explains (Jewish Values in a Changing World, p. 201): “In any event, the
words of the Sefer Ha-chinukh point to the Torah's recognition of humanity, and to the fact that it
does not demand of a person to relate with equanimity to those who insult him.”

The Chinnukh concludes with a startling remark, strikingly different from his earlier tone:

25
Rav Amital (ibid.) makes an important point:

It should, however, be noted that it was never said even about the pious that they should
not feel anger. Rather, that because of their heightened trait of watchfulness, lest they
be overcome by anger, they do not respond to those who insult them.

Let us turn to the Chinnukh's source for this description, Shabbat 88b:

The commentators (ad loc.) ask: what is the comparison of those who are silent in the face of insult
to the sun? The Tosafot Ha-Rosh explains that this is an aggadic reference to the sun’s silence
when the moon complained to God at Creation (Chullin 60b), “Can two kings use the same
crown?”

Similarly Rav Yoshiya ben Yosef (Rif) Pinto writes in his commentary on the Ein Yaakov:

Their silence is the silence of greatness, of might (gevura), expressing the inner strength of one
who loves God and does not want to exacerbate the situation.

This idea is also expressed by the Ritva, who bases this on a textual analogy, namely the two times
that the word “Va-yiddom” appears in all of Scripture, Vayikra 10:3 (referring to Aharon)
and Yehoshua 10:13 (referring to the sun).

26
The power of the sun lies in its role as the silent messenger of God, which rises without any musical
interlude or any fanfare but lights up the world. So too, the individual who follows the personal
example of Aharon expresses the power of staying silent in the face of pain and attack, recognizing
the gevura of one who feels no need to announce his or her greatness but enlightens the world.

Maavir al Middotav

This brings us to the concept of one who is “maavir al middotav,” forgoing of his or her
rights, forbearing, restrained and longsuffering. According to numerous sources, embracing this
attribute has tremendous powers to balance one's spiritual ledger.

The Talmud (Rosh Hashana 17a) states:

The Talmud is clear that one’s being maavir al middotav is extremely potent, but it is a little
unclear exactly what is subsumed under this category. The continuation of the passage may
provide a clue.

The Talmud continues with a story:

Rashi elucidates:

27
The Talmud (Yoma 23a) seems to apply this trait in a second context as well, referring to one who
doesn't take revenge when entitled to but holds off until the other individual sincerely attempts to
achieve forgiveness.

Rashi's explanation is an outgrowth of this outlook of not demanding all that one is entitled to
when dealing with others who have done one wrong.

Still, what is the power of being maavir al middotav? Of all of Rav Huna's great qualities, it is this
that saves him from death, and it is this quality that allows one clemency for all of one's sins. But
why?

Midda Keneged Midda

The most basic understanding dovetails with the use of the term “midda,” which we recognize well
from the concept of midda keneged midda, measure for measure, tit for tat.

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 90a) addresses this when dealing with the severe punishment for one who
denies that the resurrection of the dead is a biblical concept: disinheritance from the World to
Come.

God acts with man in a way that reflects the way in which man acts with others. Thus,
in Tehillim 121:5, we read, “God is your shadow on your right hand.” Therefore, the degree in
which we are exacting with others God will be exacting with us.

The Maharal (Chiddushei Aggadot, Sanhedrin 90a) explains why midda keneged midda is so
essential:

28
This then, explains Rashi, is the basic understanding of the significance of one’s being maavir al
middotav. One who is willing to forgo others’ responsibilities to him and not to demand all of his
entitlements merits a measure-for-measure treatment by God, who is similarly willing to forgo
misdeeds and not exact full payment for human misbehavior.

Part of the Community

Rav Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler (Mikhtav Mei-Eliyahu Vol. V, p. 70) provides an additional
explanation for the power of one’s being maavir al middotav to allow God to pass over one's
sins. He explains that one who is maavir al middotav connects himself or herself to the
community and forgoes his or her own personal drives for the good of the greater whole. For this
reason, one who does so is not judged by the strict judgment deserved; rather, one is judged as part
of the community and merits a much more meritorious evaluation.

Rav Dessler continues that for this reason, even under circumstances in which one is permitted to
treat others with a stricter level of justice, the Torah recognizes that it is preferable to be forbearing
and act in a manner which demonstrates self-control. For this reason, even when one must act
with a level of hatred towards evildoers, one must not reach levels of extreme hatred (based on
Tosafot, Pesachim 113b, s.v. She-raa). All situations require a level of self-control; one must care
for the greater good of bringing about a unified community.

Equanimity

The Maharal of Prague (Chidushei Aggadot I 44) provides a different outlook, vis-Ã -vis the
relationship of the Jewish people to God.

29
The Maharal states here that the level to which we aspire is the "level of equanimity," which
separates a person from the material, and which allows him to reach the loftiest simplicity. The
Maharal explains that one who is balanced, maintaining composure, is able to be silent in the wake
of insult and expresses his or her focus on the spiritual world. One who fails to do so is rooted in
the natural physical drives that usually cause one to respond to distress outwardly. (See Rav Itamar
Eldar's “Introduction to the Thought of Rav Nachman of Breslov” 16b, at the VBM, for a beautiful
exposition of this teaching of the Maharal.)

Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Akiva and the Power of One's Prayers

The power of one’s being maavir al middotav is expressed in a story recorded in the
Talmud (Taanit 25b) regarding the prayers of two great men during a severe drought:

The Talmud thus attributes Rabbi Akiva's success to his being maavir al middotav. Yet, if this is
such an important trait, why does Rabbi Eliezer not act this way as well? Secondly, why does the

30
Heavenly voice say that Rabbi Akiva is not greater than Rabbi Eliezer — doesn’t this very trait of
forbearance provide sufficient reason to consider him greater?

Rav Yisrael Salanter (Or Yisrael #28) explains that these sages’ behavior is the natural outgrowth
of their belonging to two different schools of thought: Rabbi Akiva is a student of Beit Hillel,
while Rabbi Eliezer belongs to Beit Shammai. The various deliberations and discussions between
these two schools regarding sundry halakhic issues are familiar, but they also differed regarding
the proper way of serving God.

The Talmud (Shabbat 31a) describes Shammai as one who was very quick to point out
inconsistencies in behavior, as opposed to Hillel, who was a truly humble individual. Rav Yisrael
Salanter explains that the Talmud is not defining their innate attributes but rather their attitudes
toward proper service of God. Shammai felt that strict adherence to the honor of the Torah is
necessary, and he therefore was very strict in his trying to uphold and protect the Torah. Hillel,
on the other hand, felt the proper path is one built on a different attribute, that of humility, being
forbearing to those who have mistreated one. Each founded an academy dedicated to the way of
life he saw as the most fitting.

In the episode in Taanit, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Eliezer each follow the master’s teachings: Rabbi
Akiva is forgiving of insult, maavir al middotav, while Rabbi Eliezer lives by a code of strict
justice. As this dispute is for the sake of Heaven, both approaches are equally valid for the service
of God, and therefore, the Heavenly voice assures all that neither can be considered definitively
"greater" than the other.

Yet, though both approaches are equally valid, Rabbi Akiva's prayers are answered, and Rabbi
Eliezer's are not, for a different reason. As mentioned above, God treats all according to the
principle of midda keneged midda, measure for measure. Rabbi Akiva's behavior, being
forbearing towards others, allows God to accept his prayers in the same way; even though the
community may not deserve it, God can be forbearing and grant rain. On the other hand, Rabbi
Eliezer's strict justice requires that the community be fully deserving of rain, which, in this case,
they are not.

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This fascinating explanation of the passage concludes with one caveat provided by Rav Yisrael
Salanter. At the time of Shammai and Hillel, there was a legitimate difference of opinion as to
whether it was preferable to be strict or forbearing. Yet, the Talmud (Shabbat 31a) concludes:

The Talmud testifies that the proper approach is that of Hillel. If so, acquiring Rabbi Akiva's trait
of being maavir al middotav is mandatory. It is an extension of living a life of humility, driven by
the teaching of forbearance and forgiveness.

Gevura

One might ask: why is this attribute so great? We must now return to the verse quoted by the
Talmud, Shofetim 5:31: “But they that love Him are like the sun rising in its might.”

The standard translation of gevura is might, but Rav Yosef Dov Ha-Levi Soloveitchik points out,
that this is a little too simplistic. There are two different terms used for a show of strength: one
is koach (power), the other is gevura. Clearly there is a difference between the two, as the morning
blessings contain a separate blessing for each of these qualities. If so, what is the distinction?

Koach, we may see, is the power to move forward and conquer, readily understandable to modern
man, who is used to viewing the conqueror as the victor. However, the Mishna (Avot 4:1)
provides a different explanation for gevura:

Who is mighty? One who conquers his desire.

Gevura consists primarily of the capacity to withdraw, to overcome oneself, to purge or to purify
one's existence. Whenever, for a loftier cause, one can hold back and stop, conquering one's desire
for total victory, one expresses gevura. Thus, gevura may more accurately be rendered “heroism”.

Rav Soloveitchik adds that in fact, this is the defining factor of the Torah's view of heroic action
and the character of the hero. The strongest does not receive this title; rather, it is the one who is
driven by a calling and has the inner strength to live within self-imposed limits.

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An example of the tremendous inner strength and heroism necessary for one who lives by the
calling of Halakha is expressed in this moving description of Rav Soloveitchik, regarding the
heroism of a bride and groom who withdraw from each other when the bride sees a speck of
menstrual blood:

This Jewish heroism is so significant because it doesn't only express itself in a moment of victory,
but in a lifelong expression of one's personality.

This gevura of “the sun rising in its might” is the ability to express true heroism, along with the
power to remain calm to insult. It is an expression of a lifelong pursuit of the composure to answer
to a higher calling, and this represents true heroism. This trait of forbearance, of one’s
being maavir al middotav, is extremely difficult, and for that reason it is so powerful. Next week,
we hope to continue analyzing this trait and to speak of the practical ways of attaining it.

33
 Is Everything Forgivable?

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg writes:13

“No matter how many times I attempt to apologize, it will never be enough. There are simply no
words available to sufficiently assuage the hurt that I caused among conversion candidates,
congregants, students, family, friends, and rabbinic and academic colleagues. I am sorry,
beyond measure, for my heinous behavior and perverse mindset that provoked my actions.”

These words were penned this week in a public letter of apology by a disgraced rabbi who
pleaded guilty to secretly videotaping fifty-two women and was sentenced to six and a half years
in prison. One of his victims said she is “torn on the apology… I don’t think we would be seeing
this had he not been caught. It’s hard to take it seriously when he’s making the apology after the
fact.”

Who could blame or judge this victim or any other for struggling with granting forgiveness to a
perpetrator who caused them immeasurable and unimaginable pain? It takes time to heal from the

13
https://www.ou.org/life/torah/is-everything-forgivable/

34
trauma of being violated and similarly it takes time to find the capacity for forgiveness if it can be
found at all.

In his bestselling book “The Sunflower,” Simon Wiesenthal recounts his work camp experience
of being brought to a dying Nazi soldier’s bedside. The man turned to Wiesenthal and confessed
his crimes and horrific wrongdoings against the Jewish people. He then asked Wiesenthal to serve
as a representative of all his victims and begged forgiveness. Wiesenthal describes that he could
not grant the soldier his wish because some things are simply too heinous and atrocious to forgive.
Wiesenthal describes that the rest of his life, he remained tortured by that request and by his
reaction to it.

Are there indeed things that are unforgivable? Or does every sincere, genuine, remorseful appeal
for forgiveness deserve to be granted? Victims of unthinkable heinous acts undoubtedly struggle
with this question for the rest of their lives. Those that have never walked in their shoes cannot
and should not judge the conclusion they reach.

For survivors of the Holocaust or victims of enormous abuse like being physically violated as a
child or adult, or videotaped in a Mikvah, granting forgiveness is tremendously complicated.
However, when it comes to the everyday slights, snubs, insults, and offenses, granting forgiveness
is even more valuable and important for us than it is for the one requesting it.

Our rabbis teach: “Kol ha’maavir al midosav, ma’avirin lo kol p’shaav – who is forgiving, God is
forgiving of them.” (Rosh Hashana 17a) Too many of us are accountants, not by training or trade,
but in practice. We are constantly balancing the books of our relationships with others. “We invited
them 3 times and they only invited us once,” or “they didn’t give my son a bar mitzvah gift even
though they attended, so I am not giving their child a gift either.” “I am always calling him or
asking to go to lunch, he never initiates so I am done with this friendship.” “Would you believe he
walked right by me in Shul and shook hands with someone else without even acknowledging my
presence. Forget him, our friendship is over.”

With family, the accounting is often more detailed – “I always call her on her birthday, she didn’t
call me this year, so I am not talking to her.” “I can’t believe they sat me at the table with those

35
cousins and not with the people I wanted to sit with.” “Three years ago, we didn’t get a card for
our anniversary, so we are no longer sending them cards.”

“Kol ha’maavir al midosav, ma’avirin lo kol p’shaav.” With this statement the Talmud provides
the formula for receiving forgiveness from the Heavenly court. God, say our rabbis, approaches
us with the same attitude and philosophy we approach the people in our lives. He judges us with a
mirror. If we are exacting, accounting and unforgiving to those around us, He is exacting,
accounting and unforgiving of us. If we instead choose to dismiss, minimize, and ignore the slights,
snubs, and slurs that people have perpetrated against us, then Hashem chooses to dismiss and
ignore our slights and snubs of Him.

I don’t believe that the Talmud is referring to Wiesenthal’s conundrum, which is of a different
magnitude and order. Perhaps there are violations that the Ribonno Shel Olam Himself cannot
expect the victims to forgive and certainly not forget. However, when it comes to the petty affronts
and offensives that are committed against us sometimes as often as daily or weekly, it is in our
own self-interest to find a way to grant forgiveness when it is sincerely sought and sometimes,
even when it isn’t.

When we walk around with the accounting books and keep track of everything everyone around
us has done that is hurtful both intentionally and unintentionally, the one who suffers the most is
ourselves. Authentic forgiveness is not only about the perpetrator of the act and absolving him or
her of their misdeed. Forgiveness is for the victim, the one who has been hurt or harmed. It is
exhausting, burdensome, even paralyzing to carry and harbor negative feelings and negative
memories.

This is the season to let go. A professor once held up a beaker filled with water before a class and
asked how much they think it weighs. One student said two ounces, another though six ounces,
another two pounds. The professor looked at the class and said they are all right. How could they
all be right, asked the students, aren’t they saying different things? The professor answered, they
are all right, it just depends how long I hold onto it.

36
When our grudge is formed, it seems somewhat light, small, and insignificant so it is easy enough
to carry around with us. The longer we hold onto it, however, the heavier it becomes and the greater
the energy, effort, and focus necessary to carry it forward. It is time to let go, to be willing to
forgive and forego, even that which is due to us.

Indeed, it is only when we have the capacity to let go, to move on, to not absorb the negativity and
toxicity of a strained relationship, to be a forgiving person, that we have the capacity for greatness.
The Rambam identifies as one of the defining characteristics of a Talmid Chacham that one must
be a mevateir, a forgoer, one who is forgiving and does not hold a grudge.

As we enter Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, now is the time to decide to be a mevaitair, to
transform ourselves into the kind of people who let things go. I can tell you with certainty the
Almighty loves a mevateir. Don’t be concerned with rights, honors, privileges, and entitlements.
Don’t focus on what we are due and what the people who hurt us deserve. Put down the heavy
baggage, let go and forgive, and you will live life so much lighter.

37
 Avinu Malkeinu

Rabbi Label Lam writes:14

“Avinu Malkeinu”-Our Father our King; be gracious with us and answer us, though we have
no worthy deeds, treat us with us charity and kindliness and save us! (Machzor)

These are concluding words of Avinu Malkeinu- Our Father, our King, which is a prayer that we
recite on Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur and the days in between. It is based on a Talmudic
account of a successful heavenly appeal launched by the great Rabbi Akiva. (Tractate Taanis 25B)
It’s not clear why this particular formulation proved more potent than other attempts to bring a
timely rain but it worked and so we employ an expanded adaptation on these auspicious days.
Perhaps it’s the balanced approach between two necessary ingredients, as we relate to our Creator
as both a loving Father and a King to be feared. Looking over the 44 bold requests listed in the
full-length version spelled out in our Siddurim and Machzorim it’s hard to figure which are the
petitions of a servant pleading to his king and which represent the call of a son to his adoring dad.
It may not be necessary that they be categorized this way or the other and even if there is a
distinction to be made it might not be detectable from the text alone. How else can one figure if
this an “Avinu” or a “Malkeinu” dominant request?

The Dubno Maggid ztl. had a revealing insight into the “Avinu Malkeinu”. He wondered why the
first 43 requests are boldly shouted out loud while the last one- listed above, is said in a quiet
undertone. Not surprisingly he answered with a parable: A wealthy merchant was a frequent
customer of a certain wholesaler. Every time he needed merchandise to sell he would make it his
business to go first to the storage facility of this large provider of goods. He would walk proudly
throughout the warehouse pointing to various products and commanding that “I want a hundred
skids of this and a gross of that and a ton of some of those over there” and the workers would
scramble to fill his large orders and load his truck up with the goods he was purchasing. That’s
how it worked season after season and year after year.

Hard financial times began to overtake the merchant. He wanted very much to keep his fiscal
failings as private as possible. Therefore he would stride confidently as was his custom onto the
loading dock and go about in his usual manner of pointing and calling out for big orders until his
truck was brimming. However, since his business had suffered so, he had no monies with which
to pay the wholesale provider for everything now sitting in his truck. So he quietly approached the
owner of the business and humbly admitted, “I have no means with which to pay now. Is it possible
that you can extend me a little credit?”

The Dubno Maggid explained that, so it is with us during these days when so much lies in the
balance. We open our mouths with an almost a brazen familiarity, like a child who calls his father
from school or camp and feels so at ease and comfortable to ask for whatever he needs, “Abba, I
need new shoes! Abba I need a new suit! Abba, please send money!” The good father always is
there and ready to fulfill his child’s vital requests.

14
https://torah.org/torah-portion/dvartorah-5770-yomkippur/

38
However, once the child realizes the extent to which goodness is being extended to him, his heart
overflows with gratitude and humility and so he surrenders himself weeping quietly in an
undertone as one absolutely dependent upon and completely subservient to a king. He begs for
credit and admits privately that he is utterly destitute and in need of Tzedaka and Chessed- charity
and kindliness.

Perspectives on Avinu Malkeinu, the Classic High Holiday Prayer

Different aspects of this popular and fascinating liturgy15

The prayer Avinu Malkeinu (Our Father, Our King) is recited after the Amidah (the main prayer,
said while standing) and before the Torah service. It is recited throughout the Ten Days of
Repentance, from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur , as well as on fast days.

The following short passages explore different aspects of this popular and fascinating prayer.

15
https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/avinu-malkenu/

39
From Orhot Hayyim

Rabbi Akiva instituted this prayer, as it is stated: “Once Rabbi Eliezer ordered 13 fast days, but
no rains fell…. Rabbi Akiva followed him before the Ark and said, ‘Our Father, our King, we
have no king but Thee.’ He was immediately answered” ( Taanit 25b ).

–Orhot Hayyim, Aharon haKohen of Lunel. Reprinted from S. Y. Agnon’s anthology “Days of
Awe,” published by Schocken Books.

Our Parent, Our Sovereign?

It can be argued that regular masculine language for God promotes the distinct presumption that
though all of us are created in God’s image, some of us are more Godlike than others. In Avinu
Malkenu, by retaining the image of Father and King, one might infer that important decisions about
life are made, or should be made, by fathers (but not mothers) and kings (not queens).

After all this discussion, it may come as a surprise to discover that it was decided [by the committee
of Reform rabbis revising the Reform Mahzor] to retain masculine language for God anyway.
Some people held that neutral language virtually does away with the concrete imagery that the
Days of Awe demand. Calling God “Our Parent, our Sovereign” here, for example, seemed far
more remote, far less compelling, than the traditional “Father” and “King.” Others noted that doing
away with “He” and “Him” presented insurmountable problems in translation, which could not be
overcome without completely altering the sense of ancient Hebrew passages whose integrity we
respected. Would the committee charged with our liturgy vote that way today, if we had it to do
again? I doubt it. One’s consciousness of language’s subtle effect on our thinking rises slowly.
Nevertheless, it does rise. And today, I think, we would have voted the other way.16

Inscribe Us Five Times

“Our Father, our King, inscribe us in a book.” The five petitions of “Inscribe us in a book”
correspond to the Five Books of Moses.

The first, “Inscribe us in the book of happy life” corresponds to the Book of Genesis, in which the
creation of all things, meaning life, is spoken of. The second, “Inscribe us in the book of
redemption and salvation” corresponds to the Book of Exodus, which speaks of the redemption
from Egypt. “Inscribe us in the book of maintenance and sustenance” corresponds to the Book of
Leviticus, which speaks of the holy sacrifices and thank-offerings, for the essence of sustenance
must be in holiness. “Inscribe us in the book of aiding merit” corresponds to the Book of Numbers,
which speaks of the Twelve Tribes that camped near their standards, every tribe being a Chariot
to its root, that is to say, to the patriarchs, because of whose aiding merit we are alive. “Inscribe us
in the book of forgiveness and pardon” corresponds to the Book of Deuteronomy, in which Moses

16
–Reprinted from Lawrence A. Hoffman’s “Gates of Understanding 2: Appreciating the Days of Awe,” published by the Central
Conference of American Rabbis.

40
our master upbraids Israel for all they did that was wrong, and which contains the scriptural portion
of teshuvah (repentance), by means of which we merit forgiveness and pardon.17

Can I Have That On Credit?

A retail merchant who dealt in fabrics made his way to his wholesale supplier to buy the goods he
needed for his business. The wholesaler instructed his workers to wait on the merchant and to bring
him all that he ordered. Standing in the middle of the warehouse, the merchant bellowed all sorts
of orders and requests.

“I want 1,000 yards of that cloth, 2,000 yards of the blue velvet, 3,000 yards of that white silk,” he
shouted, and on and on he went, requesting many other items. When it came time to total up the
price of the goods and to pay the bill, the merchant took the wholesaler to the side and, very
embarrassed, whispered in his ear: “Listen, I can’t give you any money for this right now. Please
allow me credit until I can pay you.”

So it is with us, said the Dubno Maggid. We shout out all sorts of requests to God in the Avinu
Malkenu prayer. We want forgiveness, health, a good life, wealth, redemption, and many other
things. But when it comes down to the last verse (to pay the bill, so to speak), we whisper: “Our
Father, our King, be gracious to us and answer us, though we have no worthy deeds (with which
to pay You for our large order) please grant us charity and kindness and save us.”

17
–From Uziel Meisel’s “Tiferet Uziel.” Reprinted from S. Y. Agnon’s anthology “Days of Awe,” published by Schocken Books.

41
 The Power of the Avinu Malkenu Prayer

Sharona Margolin Halickman writes:18

The Avinu Malkenu (Our Father our King) prayer was first said in the Talmud, Taanit 25b. Rabbi
Eliezer led the Shmoneh Esrei including six special blessings for fasts enacted during a drought,
yet his prayers were not answered, it did not rain. His student, Rabbi Akiva then recited: “Avinu
Malkenu, we have no King but You! Avinu Malkenu for Your sake Have compassion on us!” and
the rains fell.

18
https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/the-power-of-the-avinu-malkenu-prayer/

42
Since Rabbi Akiva’s prayers were answered, his formula of “Avinu Makenu” was used in the
prayers for fasts and other times of trajedy including the Ten Days of Repentance.

Over the past ten days we have been saying Avinu Malkenu twice a day (at Shacharit and Mincha)
aside from Shabbat since Shabbat is not the time to pray for communal distress or to make requests.

We will not say Avinu Malkenu on Yom Kippur this year until the end of the Neilah service since
this year Yom Kippur falls on Shabbat.

Why are we permitted to recite Avinu Malkenu during Neilah?

The RaN comments at the end of Masechet Rosh HaShana that Neilah is the time that God makes
his final decree so “If not now than when?”

According to the Levush, by the time we get to Neilah Shabbat is officially over so there is no
issue.

The words “Avinu” and “Malkenu” were used in the TaNaCh, but they were not used together
until Rabbi Akiva’s prayer.

The Maharsha explains that the word “Avinu” is taken from Yishayahu 63:16 “For You are our
Father; though Avraham may not know us and Israel may not recognize us, You HaShem are our
Father; our Eternal Redeemer is Your name.”

“Avinu” is also taken from Yishayahu 64:7: “So now HaShem, You are our Father. We are the
clay, and You are our Potter, and we are all Your handiwork.”
The word “Malkenu” comes from Devarim, Parshat Haazinu 33:5: “And He became King over
Yeshurun when the numbers of the nation gathered- the tribes of Israel in unity”.

As we gear up for the last “Avinu Malkenu” of the High Holiday season, let’s try to add extra
Kavana (intent) as Rabbi Akiva did and hope that all of our prayers are answered favorably.

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 Avinu Malkeinu19

‫ החזירנו בתשובה שלמה לפניך‬,‫אבינו מלכנו‬

Our Father, our King, return us to You in perfect repentance.

Avinu Malkeinu is one of our most prominent and most passionately and powerfully
recited tefilos in these days of Aseres Y’mei T’shuvah. In fact, the same is true during the very last
moments of N’ilah, which is the climax of Yom Kippur and the 40 days of awe and unique
closeness to Hashem.

In almost every shul in which I have davened, the chazan and responders seem most passionate
about the ending of the phrases rather than the words “Avinu Malkeinu.” Perhaps we should place
at least as much passion into the beginning of each line. I have heard stories and parables that all
end with someone being petrified of a major court case as they walk into the courtroom. When

19
https://www.ou.org/holidays/avinu-malkeinu/

44
the judge makes his appearance, they breathe a huge sigh of relief when they see that the judge is
their father.

Although the judgment of every aspect of our lives and that of our loved ones is being sealed on
Yom Kippur, the Judge is our loving Father. He chose us as His nation, and He loves us more
than we can imagine. He is also Malkeinu – the King of all kings. He is All-Powerful and All-
Capable. Nothing is out of His abilities.

Regardless of which line of Avinu Malkeinu we are currently saying, what we are asking for is in
the hands of our loving, All-Powerful Father. That is something we should feel passionately about
and internalize. This bitachon, as we say the two words “Avinu Malkeinu,” will also be a
tremendous z’chus for Hashem to grant whatever request is made at the end of the line.

A second consistency I have noticed is that the second responsively recited phrase – “ ‫שלח רפואה‬
‫–שלמה‬Sh’lach r’fuah sh’leimah… (Send complete recovery…)” – is belted out at a much higher
decibel level than the others, and especially much louder than the one before it, “‫–החזירנו‬
Hachazireinu…”

Without in any way detracting from the heartfelt pleas for those who are ill, perhaps t’shuvah,
which is what we are focused on for these ten days (and should be focused on every day), should
get the same fervor and passion.

What are we really asking for? Isn’t t’shuvah up to us? How can we even ask Hashem to return
us? What is t’shuvah “sh’leimah”?

There are many answers to this, but we would like to focus on one in particular. In these days,
there is a heightened focus on seeking and obtaining forgiveness from those we have hurt or
harmed in any way. Often, there are people who we do not realize were hurt by us. There have
been incidents where people’s feelings have not come out for years. For all those years, they live
with the hurt and say nothing.

Perhaps one understanding of our phrase is that Hashem should help us by enlightening us when
we sit down to think about from whom we need to ask forgiveness. There can be no

45
complete t’shuvah without forgiveness from each person whom we hurt or harmed. We must put
forth great effort to think about whom we hurt. However, we need Hashem’s help, as we always
do. We need Him to open our eyes to someone we have not thought about.

Lastly, let us remember the origin of the Avinu Malkeinu prayer. The Gemara
in Taanis (25b) relates that during a famine, Rabbi Eliezer, the gadol ha’dor, prayed the
longest tefilah of 24 brachos for rain. No rain fell. Then Rabbi Akiva, his student, prayed a very
short tefilah (two of the Avinu Malkeinu phrases) and it started raining. A heavenly voice
announced: It is not because Rabbi Akiva is greater, but rather simply because Rabbi Akiva was
“maavir al midosav.”

HaRav Yisrael Salant explains: There was absolutely nothing wrong with the way Rabbi Eliezer
conducted himself. He was exacting. Right was right and wrong was wrong – that was his path
of serving Hashem. Since the Jewish people at that time did not deserve rain, and since Rabbi
Eliezer was exacting in judging others, he could not bring about the rain. On a judgment level, the
people did not deserve the rain at that time.

However, since Rabbi Akiva was not exacting with others and, even when he was 100 percent
correct, he nonetheless stepped aside in favor of others and forgave others – even when they were
100 percent wrong – he was able to bring the rain, even though it was not deserved.

The rewards of being “maavir al midos” are no less than overturning decrees, as we see in the
above incident, and extending life when death was the true judgment, as seen in another incident
related in the Gemara Rosh HaShanah. As the saying goes, “They don’t pay the big bucks for
nothing.” It is very difficult to overlook hurt and to forgive others, especially if they haven’t
apologized or they apologized half-heartedly.

Ultimately, we are in control of the method of judgment applied to us. Will we be judged
exactingly, or will we be judged with the compassion and “above-and-beyond” measure we apply
to others? It is all in our hands.

May we all merit a g’mar chasimah tovah and a complete m’chilah, s’lichah, and kaparah this
Yom Kippur.

46
Rabbi Micah Streiffer writes:20

I don’t know about you, but I like to be right. I like to know things; I like to win debates; I like
to teach other people what I know.

And I don’t think I’m alone. Everybody likes to be right. You can see that all around you – in our
classrooms, our workspaces, at our board tables and our dinner tables (especially when we debate
politics or religion). You can see it in our national political conversation during this election
season. You can definitely see it on social media: Have you ever gotten yourself into one of those
debates on Facebook or Twitter, and you just couldn’t stop posting because if you did you’d be
letting the other person win?

We all like to be right.

We come honestly by our obsession with being right. Our society places a high value on knowledge
and on articulate communication. In fact, that’s what we look for in leaders: we ordain rabbis based
on what they know and how well they can explain it; we value teachers and lawyers and professors

14 https://micahstreiffer.com/2021/09/25/a-listening-heart-or-how-to-be-right/

47
for their ability to make a cogent argument. We require our political leaders to display knowledge
on a whole variety of issues – we even put them on stage together to hash it out.

The psychologist Adam Grant writes that “we typically celebrate great… leaders for being strong-
minded and clear-sighted. They’re supposed to be paragons of conviction: decisive and certain.”[1]

In many ways, we are in the habit of measuring the worth of a person by what they know and how
often they get it right. And we believe, therefore, that the more right we are, and the more we can
convince others of how right we are, the happier we’ll all be.

If only the other side would just hear me out. If only the other political party would just listen. If
only the anti-vaxxers, the pro-Palestinian activists, the Ultra-Orthodox, the Alberta oil industry,
the Liberals, the Conservatives, my coworkers, my students, my children, my spouse, or partner –
if only they would listen to me, then we could all be happy.

But the thing is, it’s not making any of us happy.

We live in a time of incredible isolation and polarization. And our obsession with being right isn’t
making us any happier. And we know it, too. Anyone who’s ever out-argued a friend knows that
winning an argument doesn’t actually feel that good. Anyone who’s ever engaged in one of those
social media debates knows that there’s very little exchange of ideas going on there. Anyone who
watched Canada’s party leaders on stage together last week knows that an hour of soundbites
doesn’t make for real dialogue. And anyone who reads up on the Israel-Palestinian conflict knows
that you can be right without the other side have to be wrong.

Deep in our heart of hearts we know that knowing the most and arguing the best isn’t the route to
happiness or fulfillment or connection.

There must be another way to be right.

The Rabbis of the Talmud have a story that speaks to this idea. They tell that once, about nineteen
centuries ago, there was a drought. Food and water were becoming scarce, and people were getting
scared. So the great sages gathered in the hopes that if they combined their prayers, God might
hear them and bring the rain.

In that community there were two great leaders: Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva. And the sages
were sure that if anybody could make the rains come with their prayers, it was one of those two.

48
So first, Rabbi Eliezer came to the bima. The great Rabbi Eliezer, known for his wealth; for his
deep knowledge; for his unbending assuredness in halachic matters. He began to pray and sing and
wail and beat his chest. The Talmud says that he uttered 24 prayers that day – but to no avail. The
rain didn’t fall.

Then, his colleague Rabbi Akiva came down to the bima. Akiva was a poor man, a shepherd,
known for his kindness and his chesed – his caring for others. And he began to pray as well – using
words that no one had ever heard before:

‫ ָאִבינוּ ַמְלֵכּנוּ‬, he said – O God who is our Parent and Ruler.

‫ – ֵאין ָלנוּ ֶמֶל„ ֶאָלּא ָאָתּה‬We have no Sovereign but you.

‫ – ָאִבינוּ ַמְלֵכּנוּ ְלַמַﬠ ְנ† ַרֵחם ָﬠֵלינוּ‬O God, for Your own sake, have mercy on us.

Rabbi Akiva finished that short prayer and waited in silence. The sages waited with him, watching
to see what would happen next. Then they began to hear the sound of drops on the roof. The rabbi’s
prayer had brought the rain.

You may be wondering: What did Rabbi Akiva do? What was so much better about his prayer that
God heard it and sent the rain? The Rabbis of the Talmud have the same question – which is why
the next thing that happens in the story is that a voice comes from heaven to explain. It says:

‫ – ל ֹא ִמְפֵּני ֶשֶׁזּה ָגּדוֹל ִמ ֶּזה‬It wasn’t because one because the one sage was greater than the other. ‫ֶאָלּא‬
‫ – ֶשֶׁזּה ַמֲﬠִביר ַﬠל ִמידּוָֹתיו ְוֶזה ֵאינוֹ ַמֲﬠִביר ַﬠל ִמדּוָֹתיו‬Rather, it was because the one (Rabbi Akiva) was
willing to get over his own righteousness. And the other one wasn’t.[2]

So, according to the Talmud, Rabbi Akiva’s effectiveness had nothing to do with the words of his
prayer. It had to do with this character trait: ‫ – ַמֲﬠִביר ַﬠל ִמדּוָֹתיו‬the willingness to “get over his own
righteousness.” And what that means, according to the commentators,[3] is that he was humble;
he was willing to overlook the wrongs of others; and he was willing hear out arguments and
opinions that he didn’t necessarily agree with.

In other words, what made Rabbi Akiva great wasn’t that he was smarter than anybody else, or
more articulate, or had more knowledge. It was that he was willing to listen to others; and therefore
why God was willing to listen to him.

49
 Isidore Rebi (inventor of MRI)

Judaism teaches that wisdom is defined not by what you know, but by being aware of what you
don’t know. Rabbi Akiva was a great leader because he knew he had something to learn from
others.

That’s a really old Jewish idea. Last year, some of us studied the book of Proverbs together in
Shabbat morning Torah study. Proverbs is Judaism’s great book of wisdom. It’s full of ancient
wise sayings that are meant to teach us how to live our best, most fulfilling life.

What struck me most in our study of Proverbs was how it starts, this verse that’s meant to be an
introduction to the entire book:

[4]‫ – ִי ְרַ֣את ֭ ְיֹהָוה ֵראִ֣שׁית ָ֑דַּﬠת‬The awe of God is the beginning of all knowledge.

50
It’s a fascinating idea to me: that knowledge or wisdom begins with a sense of awe. We might
think of wisdom is knowing a lot, but awe is actually the opposite of that. Awe is that sense of
being amazed by something that’s much greater than yourself.

You know that awesome feeling when you look up at the night sky, or when you hold your
newborn in your arms? Moments of awe are moments when we recognize how vast and amazing
the universe is and how small we are. That’s the beginning of knowledge because it reminds us
how much we don’t know.

So part of the work of Jewish life – and truly, human life – is cultivating that humility, that
knowledge that we have a lot to learn. That means opening ourselves up to what we can learn from
others. And that usually means asking a lot of questions.

The renowned physicist Isidor Rabi, who won the Nobel Prize in 1944, was once asked what made
him want to be a scientist. Here’s what he said:

My mother made me a scientist without ever intending it. Every other Jewish mother in
Brooklyn would ask her child after school, ‘Nu? Did you learn anything today?’ But not my
mother. She always asked a different question: ‘Izzy, did you ask a good question today?’ That
difference made me a scientist.

For Dr. Rabi, the practice of asking questions helped open his mind. Helped him learn how to
learn. That made him a successful scientist.

51
The psychologist Adam Grant says that this is a recipe for success not just in science but in pretty
much everything we do. In his book, Think Again, he cites study after study to show that the most
successful entrepreneurs, leaders, artists, and CEOs, are the ones who ask a lot of questions, who
listen to other people’s opinions, and who are willing to change their minds.

For example, he writes that according to a psychological study, “what differentiated [eminent
scientists like Linus Pauling and Jonas Salk] from their peers was their cognitive flexibility,
their willingness “to move from one extreme to the other as the occasion requires.” The same
pattern held for great artists and… architects.

Same thing for political leaders. An independent ranking of US presidents showed that only one
trait consistently predicted presidential greatness: intellectual curiosity and openness…. [Great
presidents] read widely [about a variety of topics] and were interested in hearing new views and
revising their old ones.[5]

Adam Grant concludes that this is our recipe for being our best: “We live in a rapidly changing
world where we need to spend as much time rethinking as we do thinking.”[6]

There’s a lot in Judaism to reinforce the idea that wisdom begins with listening and asking
questions. In fact, two of our most important Jewish rituals are about listening. The Passover Seder,
which is meant to be an exercise in questions and discussions. And the Shema, where we literally
cover our eyes and remind ourselves to listen.

So, built into Judaism is a constant reminder that we are at our best when we open our ears and
our minds to what others have to say. That’s true even when what they have to say is hard for us
to hear.

You might think that given our ancient tradition of questioning and debate; we Jews would be
pretty good at listening to others. But the reality is, we’re no better at it than anybody else.

One of the reasons that human beings have a hard time hearing what others have to say, is that we
tend to root our security and our identity in our knowledge and opinions. So we tend to hear a
disagreement as an attack.

What are the ways that you define yourself? By your profession? Your family relationships? Do
you define yourself by your Jewishness? Your nationality? Your place on the political spectrum?

Your support for Israel, or for social justice, or the environment?

52
Our sense of self is tied up with the things that we believe about the world. So when people
question those things, it can feel like an attack on our identity.

In fact, listening to others is just about the hardest thing there is: it means quieting our own egos.
It means quieting the voice telling us that we already know everything we need to know. It means
quieting our internal story that says that changing your mind is a sign of weakness.

Because the thing is, being willing to change your mind is actually a sign of strength. It shows that
we are capable of growing. And it carries incredible transformative power.

I have two examples of that – one is corporate and the other is much deeper.

Here’s the corporate example. In the year 2005, executives from Apple corporation came to their
boss, Steve Jobs, with a strange new idea: they suggested combining the iPod – an incredibly
popular product – with a phone. Steve Jobs immediately and adamantly refused. For about a
hundred reasons: he didn’t want to deal with the phone companies; he didn’t think people would
want a device like that. Only after 6 months of convincing did he finally open himself up to the
possibility that there could be another way of thinking about it.

We all know that the iPhone was revolutionary – it has transformed communication for the entire
world. But Steve Jobs didn’t know that in 2005. He just knew what he knew. He thought he was
right.

But in the end, it wasn’t what he knew that changed the world. It was when he opened his mind to
what he didn’t know.

Here’s the second example. My mentor and friend Rabbi Judy Schindler talks about a friend of
hers named Jihad. Rabbi Judy first met Jihad at a Muslim-Jewish women’s dialogue group. Judy
is a rabbi, a Jew, a descendant of Holocaust survivors. Jihad is a Palestinian born in 1948.
Apparently she got her name because her father was off fighting against the establishment of the
state of Israel when she came into the world.

In her TEDx talk, Rabbi Schindler describes her initial internal reaction to hearing Jihad’s story
for the first time:

https://www.ted.com/talks/judy_schindler_mastering_the_art_of_loving_your_neighbor

53
I experienced her telling her story as a personal attack on our people. My first reaction was to
become defensive – to counter her pain with mine: “You do not understand. Our Jewish world
was also in turmoil. The Holocaust stole six million of our brothers’ and sisters’ lives – a large
segment of my personal family tree. Israel was our only place of sanctuary, our historic home….
It was the only haven we had.”

But despite her internal struggle, Rabbi Schindler willed herself to hear Jihad’s words. After that
first program they exchanged phone numbers, then they met for coffee, and slowly but surely they
established a connection. Today they are friends. They march together for social justice in North
Carolina, and they share pictures of children and grandchildren by text.

Rabbi Schindler says: “Today I know Jihad. I better understand her voice and her pain.”

There is nothing harder than hearing out the other – especially when it requires us to question our
own assumptions or when it rocks our own sense of self.

And yet, there is no greater reward in this world than the connection and the transformation that
can come of listening to each other.

That’s true at every level of human life – from the international to the very, very personal.

It’s true when it comes to fuelling social change: the #MeToo movement, Black Lives Matter, the
Truth and Reconciliation Commission; these are all areas of our national life where we are
beginning to think differently, specifically because we are allowing others’ voices to be heard.

It’s true when it comes to solving ethnic conflict – like in the case of Tag Meir, a coalition of
Israeli Jews and Palestinians who travel together to visit victims of hate crimes. And who are
beginning to break through the wall of dehumanization between their peoples.

And it’s also true on a personal level – when it comes to our own lives and our own relationships.

Every one of us has conflict or disagreement with people that we love. Every one of us struggles
to hear those people out. Because their words are uncomfortable; or because we disagree so
vehemently; because their criticisms hurt. Or simply because we know we are right.

But the collateral damage of being right is a loss of connection to the people we love, while the
benefit of hearing each other out is a deepening of that connection.

54
Think about what it feels like to really hear out a friend that you disagree with. To try to take their
perspective and understand why they believe what they believe – even if their views are polar
opposite of your own.

Think of what it feels like to truly listen to what your partner or sibling or loved one is saying
during a moment of conflict. Not to defend; not to be forming your rebuttal before they’re even
finished talking. But to ask questions and try to understand their feelings.

Think of what it feels like when we focus on connection rather than on getting our point across.

When we listen deeply to others – when we seek to understand them, their experiences, and their
positions, then we are more likely to learn from them and to connect with then. And ironically,
they are more likely to learn from us as well. We think that in order to be heard we have to talk.
But it turns out that real relationships are built on connection – not on opinions. So in order to be
heard we actually have to listen.

Our tradition tells that at the beginning of his reign, a young King Solomon was struggling to know
how to rule the people. They are a stiffnecked people, these Jews, and it’s not easy to be their king.
So one day, in the midst of prayer, Solomon cried out: “My God!” he said, “I am only a young
man. I have no experience as a leader, and yet I find myself in the midst of this numerous people.
What do I do? How shall I lead them?”

Solomon heard God’s voice, with an offer of support: ‫“ – ְשַׁ֖אל ָ֥מה ֶאֶתּן־ ָֽל„׃‬What shall I grant you?”
asked God. “Anything. You just have to ask.”

And Solomon responded with words that would change his life, shape his kingship, and influence
the course of Jewish history: ‫ – ְוָנַתָ֨תּ ְלַﬠְבְדּ֜– ֵ֤לב ֹשֵׁ֙מַ֙ﬠ‬God, grant me an understanding mind. Grant me
a heart that knows how to listen.[7]

On these High Holy Days, and every day of our lives, may we also strive for a lev shomea – a
listening heart.

In this polarized world, may we work to hear others’ words. May we always be ready to learn new
things and open our minds to ideas that are different from our own.

Like Rabbi Akiva, may we be willing to maavir all midoteinu – to move through our own sense
of righteousness and rightness in order to build connection, in order to focus on each other’s
humanity.

55
And may those connections lead us to Tikkun Hanefesh – to an honest accounting of ourselves,
our hearts, our souls. And to Tikkun Olam – to the repair and redemption of this world that we all
share.

[1] Think Again, by Adam Grant, p. 21.

[2] This story is from B. Taanit 25b.

[3] Petach Einaim on ibid.

[4] Proverbs 1:7.

[5] Think Again, by Adam Grant, p. 27.

[6] Ibid 16.

[7] I Kings 3.

56
 What is Fierce Self-Compassion?
Dr. Kristin Neff writes:21

The quintessential question of self-compassion is “What do I need right now?” and more
specifically “What do I need to help alleviate my suffering?” The answer to this question changes
depending on the circumstances. Sometimes what we need is to accept ourselves in all our human
imperfection, to love ourselves as we are in the moment. But that doesn’t mean we necessarily
want to stay as we are in the moment. If a herd of cattle is stampeding toward you, it’s not the time
for self-acceptance, it’s time for action. Most people think of self-compassion as soft and gentle,
but self-compassion can be fierce as well as tender.

21
https://www.sefaria.org/sheets/358958.28?lang=en&with=all&lang2=en

57
Tender self-compassion involves “being with” ourselves in an accepting way: comforting
ourselves, reassuring ourselves that we aren’t alone, and being present with our pain. Fierce self-
compassion involves “acting in the world” to alleviate suffering. It tends to involve protecting,
providing for, and motivating ourselves. Sometimes we need to stand tall and say no, draw
boundaries, or fight injustice. Or we may need to say yes to ourselves, to do what’s needed to be
happy rather than subordinating our needs to those of others. And if we’re stuck in a bad situation
or habits that are harmful, it means doing something different. Not because we’re unacceptable as
we are, but because we care.

If tender self-compassion is metaphorically like a parent soothing his crying child, fierce self-
compassion is like Momma Bear who ferociously protects her cubs when threatened, or catches
fish to feed them, or moves them to a new territory with better resources. Just as tenderness can be
turned inward so that we nurture and care for ourselves, the fierce energy of Momma Bear can
also be turned inward to stand up for ourselves. What’s essential is that like yin and yang, these
two faces of self-compassion are balanced and integrated so that we can be whole. When both are
present, it creates a caring force that can be used to transform ourselves and the world around us.22

Bavli Keren23
22
https://self-compassion.org/fierce-self-compassion/
23
https://www.graduate.technion.ac.il/Theses/Abstracts.asp?Id=25773

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 Hebrew word "firgun" ("l'fargen") (‫) פירגון‬24

I will leave the judgment call to those who know German better than I, but evidently the unofficial
Hebrew word ‫ פירגון‬could go back to the German vergönnen, meaning to give acquiescence. Or it
could go back to the German vergnügen, meaning to give pleasure (“Thus lefargen is to take
pleasure in someone else’s achievement”).

What is ‫ ?פירגון‬A master’s thesis from the Technion says that “Firgun is the ability to view the
success or virtue of the other with feelings of good will and sympathy, without jealousy or envy”
according to “Shvika, 1997.” I suspect that “Shvika” may be Prof. Yaacov Choueka of the Rav-
Milim project.

But I believe that the word is used on the street not only to describe an attitude but also to describe
behavior. Morfix calls ‫ פירגון‬colloquial and says it means “to treat favorably, to treat with

24
http://www.elephant.org.il/translate/discussing-the-hebrew-word-firgun-lfargen

59
equanimity, to bear no grudge or jealousy against.” Babylon says “lack of envy, without jealousy,”
but its Hebrew definition is broader:

‫ עזרה‬,‫ עידוד‬,‫ תמיכה‬,‫ ללא קנאה‬,‫ חוסר קנאות‬,‫חוסר קנאה‬

Once that brief list moves from negative definitions to positive, simple English equivalents are
easy to find support, encouragement, assistance. A contributor to “Better than English” writes
that ‫ פירגון‬is “An act of saying nice things or doing nice things to another person without any other
purpose, but to make the other feel good about what he is or what he does” but another contributor
responds that “It can also be to share the credit with someone or not try to stab them in the
back. Not to be jealous of someone’s accomplishments. It really is an untranslatable word. It is
very often used with the negative. Not to fargen someone in the sense of trying to one-up them.”

The easy definitions refer to second-person ‫פירגון‬, congratulating others and expressing
encouragement to them. There is also third-person ‫פירגון‬, which consists of spreading favorable
news and opinions about somebody else. That might be what Babylon means by ‫עזרה‬, but ‫ עזרה‬is
a very broad term. In English you could call it lionizing someone
or publicizing or promoting although those sound a little cynical about the activity. Hardest, I
think, is the first-person form of ‫פירגון‬, echoing back to the German for acquiescence and referring
strictly to inner emotion — feeling okay within yourself about someone else’s success. There are
negative words: unresentful is a legitimate word, as is either nonenvious or unenvious depending
on where you look. But I’m stuck for the word in English that puts in positive terms the feeling
of gladness for someone else’s personal success.

60
 Who needs ‘schadenfreude,’ when we have ‘fargin’?

David Werdiger writes:25

“Schadenfreude” is a word that has captured the imagination in recent years. It means “the pleasure
derived by someone from another person’s misfortune”. WTF?! Who on earth invents a word like
that? It would be crude and simplistic to say, “the Germans”. At the same time, language is the
vehicle we use to communicate, and cultures invent words to express the ideas they need to
express. The Eskimos have over 100 different words for snow.

While it’s hard to know why the Germans needed such a word, when it is borrowed and moves
into common usage, it says a lot about society. In this case, it’s reasonable to suggest that there is
sufficient pleasure found in other’s misfortune that we need to use a word for it. What an ugly
world that needs to express that sentiment. It’s a world where we measure ourselves relative to
those around us (perhaps because the public sharing of our lives is so pervasive). It reminds me of
the law of relative misery, which says that one’s happiness is measured only relative to others.
While self-esteem is important, there are better ways to prop we up than to hunt for others who are
not as well off.

25
https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/who-needs-schadenfreude-when-we-have-fargin/

61
There are two antidotes to this malaise:

One is the obvious: follow the adage of Ethics of the Fathers (4:1) “Who is wealthy? One who is
happy with their lot”. The emphasis is on “their lot” – the key to a sense of success is to focus
inward rather than benchmark ourselves relative to others. By example, it’s interesting to note that
professional sport-people rarely compare themselves to others – more often they are competing
against themselves – seeking to be better versions of themselves. It is us – the spectators and
commentators – who consider rankings important. But in any ranking system, there is room for
only one “first”.

Everyone else is looking up the ladder at someone better (or perceived as such on that particular
ranking). A true sense of wealth and satiation comes from abandoning that mindset.

The second – and perhaps more powerful – antidote is to borrow a beautiful word from a beautiful
language that has been ours for hundreds of years – Yiddish. The word – fargin – is classically
untranslatable and means “not to begrudge the success of someone else.” Because to begrudge is
a bad thing to do, this literal translation is a double negative – “don’t begrudge”, and often in
Yiddish one might say about another person that “they cannot fargin” meaning that they cannot
help but begrudge another person’s happiness (which is actually a triple negative).

We can more simply imagine fargin in purely positive terms: “to be joyous with and for the joy of
others.” When others are successful, be happy for them (even if you are not as successful). When
friends or family celebrate a simcha, celebrate and be happy for them (even if you have little else
to be happy about in your own life). It expresses the infectiousness of joy, and its power to lift up
not just those directly celebrating, but also those around them.

While schadenfreude leads to a vicious cycle of wanting bad for others to bring them down to our
level (and lower), fargin is the direct opposite: a virtuous cycle of joy leading to more joy. So who
needs “schadenfreude”, when we have “fargin”?

62
No jealousy and no grudge, just "firgun" and love: "Lefargen" is a
rather special word with no simple translation into English. It means to
express happiness for someone, to encourage and praise them with full
empathy

Guy Sharett writes: 26

Description
"Lefargen" is a rather special word with no simple translation into English. It means to
express happiness for someone, to encourage and praise them with full empathy.

As host explains, in some cases it can mean to give something out of the goodness of your heart.

New words & expressions: Lefargen – To express happiness for someone, to encourage and praise
them with full empathy

26
https://www.scribd.com/podcast/506011119/131-No-jealousy-and-no-grudge-just-firgun-and-love-Lefargen-is-a-rather-
special-word-with-no-simple-translation-into-English-It-means-to-expre

63
 – ‫ לפרגן‬Firgun (verbal noun)
– The act of "lefargen"
– ‫ פרגון‬Farginen (Yiddish)
– "Lefargen" – ‫ פַֿארגינען‬Farginen sich (Yiddish)
–‫ – זיך פַֿארגינען‬Lefargen le-atsmo
– ‫ – לפרגן לעצמו‬To allow oneself to do something VergÖnnen (German)
– To grant someone something Hu firgen le mishehu
– He "firgened" (to) someone – ‫ הוא פרגן למישהו‬Fargen lo (imperative)
– "Fargen" (to) him! – ‫ פרגן לו‬Az ten kavod, fargen le'atsmecha
- So give respect, "fargen" (to) yourself
– ‫ פרגן לעצמך‬,‫ אז תן כבוד‬Zo she-tsricha lilmod lefargen le-atsma
– The one (fem.) who needs to learn to "lefargen" (to) herself
– ‫ זו שצריכה ללמוד לפרגן לעצמה‬Lefargen le'atsmecha, le'atsmech, le'atsmechem
– "Lefargen" to yourself/yourselves
– ‫לעצמכם‬/‫ לפרגן לעצמך‬Ein kin'a ve-ein tina, rak firgun ve-ahava
- No jealousy and no grudge, just firgun, and love
– ‫ רק פרגון ואהבה‬,‫ אין קנאה ואין טינה‬Sihot mefargenot
– Positive conversations – ‫ שיחות מפרגנות‬Ben zug mefargen/Bat zug mefargenet
– A supportive partner – ‫מפרגנת‬/‫בת זוג מפרגן‬/‫ בן‬Hu firgen li be-zer prahim madhim
– He "firgened" me with an amazing bouquet of flowers – ‫ הוא פרגן לי בזר פרחים מדהים‬Fargen
li eize espresso (imperative)
– Make me an espresso! – ‫ פרגן לי איזה אספרסו‬Lefargen lecha eize ugat shokolad?
– Can I "lefargen" you a chocolate cake? – ?‫ לפרגן לך איזה עוגת שוקולד‬Toda al ha-firgun
– Thanks for the "firgun" – ‫ תודה על הפרגון‬Rak ratziti lefargen
– I just wanted to compliment you – ‫רק רציתי לפרגן‬

64
 Hebrew’s Special Pride
Firgun is the ungrudging pleasure one takes in another’s good fortune, and
there’s no English word for it

IRIN CARMON WRITES:27

A few weeks ago, I called Michael Wex, author of Born to Kvetch, wanting to know about the
Yiddish origin of the Hebrew word firgun, a word I’d come to translate, incompletely, as the
opposite of schadenfreude but that literally translated as “not to begrudge.” Wex’s first reaction
was to tell me a joke: An angel appears to a man walking down the street. This is your lucky day,
the angel says, you can have anything you want, and in unlimited quantities. The thing is, whatever
you get, your neighbor gets twice as much. It’s maddening, thinks the man. And then he has a
solution: “I want to lose sight in one eye.”

That’s nisht farginen.

In Yiddish, it turns out, this twice-exiled phrase (thrice if you count the German original,
vergonnen) is all about actually begrudging. (An exception, Wex says, is when it’s used
reflexively: I fargin myself this chocolate cake even though I’m on a diet.) But that’s not how I

27
https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/community/articles/hebrews-special-pride

65
understood the term, hearing it in Israel and in an Israeli home. The Hebrew noun
is firgun; mefargenet and mefargen are adjectives. It describes a generosity of spirit, an unselfish,
empathetic joy that something good has happened, or might happen, to another person. A typical
use in my family would be passing on a trip itinerary and getting the maternal reply, “Mefargenet
lach, motek.” I’ve got such firgun for you, sweetheart—drawing pleasure from a vacation she
won’t take.

I’ve found that English is bereft without an equivalent. “Maybe we ought to import the term into
English as Israelis did into Hebrew,” wrote Ruth Wisse, professor of Yiddish and comparative
literature at Harvard, in an email from Israel. “I fargin you. It’s a real contribution to the moral
breadth of the language.” Gabriella Samuel’s Kabbalah Handbook translates it as “to open up a
space in which to share pleasure with others,” an “antidote to envy.” It cites the Sefer Ha’Zohar in
holding that farginen “is an aspect of serving G-d with a joyous heart and therefore invokes a
mirror response from Above that helps one to transcend limitations.”

In practice, that transcendence can be, shall we say, elusive. In Just Say Nu: Yiddish For Every
Occasion (When English Just Won’t Do), Wex calls farginen “a verb of the sort that makes Yiddish
Yiddish,” adding, “according to the Talmud, a human being envies everybody except for his
children and his students—and we’re not always sure about them. For the rest, Jewish tradition
tends towards unblinkered acceptance of the fact that deep down … 99.9 percent of us are rank
pieces of shit with no more regard for others than the average stoat.”

And that envy is often of something banal and insignificant—like a parking spot (outside of New
York City, probably). “It’s that pointless malice,” Wex told me. “It ties into the whole kvetch
Weltanschauung.” (German, if you’re keeping track).

“Jewish people seem to get more pleasure from seeing other people badly off,” joked Paul Glasser,
dean of the Max Weinreich Center at YIVO Institute for Jewish Research.

Wex thinks the drought in generosity is broader than that: “People just aren’t that nice generally,”
he said. “Jews might like to complain, but I don’t think on a basic level they’re nicer or not nicer
than any other large group of people.”

According to Tamar Katriel’s chapter on the term in Language & Communication in

Israel, firgun crept into Hebrew fairly recently—first in the 1970s and then gaining steam in
subsequent decades. In a telling glimpse into Israeli society, which generally sees manners as
synonymous with artifice, genuine firgun is also seen as being directly in opposition to nimus, or
politesse. One of her Israeli interviewees said, “It is not just giving compliments, it’s when you
identify with, encourage, and feel proud of the other person.” In other words, it’s about an affinity
that is authentic and without agenda.

Of course, the way Katriel’s respondents most often used the phrase: “Etslenu lo yo’dim
lefargen”—here, at our place or in our country, people don’t know how to show firgun. “The
emergence of firgun as a culturally focal term in Israeli discourse in recent years,” argues Katriel,
“attests to a much more far-reaching cultural tale: the uneasy and partial shift from a communal to

66
an individualistic orientation in Israeli society.” A more Americanized, capitalistic society, it’s
often said—another indication for why we have no such equivalent stateside.

Firgun, then, is a double absence—hard to find as a genuine sentiment, impossible to translate into
English. But the hunt for it is something, too.

67