Tag Archives: sforno

Love Your Neighbour

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Perhaps the most quoted verse in the bible – Leviticus 19:18 – says “

לֹֽא־תִקֹּ֤ם וְלֹֽא־תִטֹּר֙ אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י עַמֶּ֔ךָ וְאָֽהַבְתָּ֥ לְרֵעֲךָ֖ כָּמ֑וֹךָ אֲנִ֖י יְהֹוָֽה׃

You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against members of your people. Love your neighbour as yourself: I am GOD.

Ve’ahavta le’re’echa kamocha. Rabbi Akiva said that this is the fundamental commandment of Torah. It is both a powerfully immediate text and one that causes us to question. Can one be commanded to love, and in which case (as we are also commanded to love God in the Shema prayer, what does that love look like? It cannot be a feeling for these are never under our control, so it must be an action.

How should we behave in order to show that we are following this commandment?

Rabbi Ovadia Sforno tells us that this is a general and all inclusive rule dictating how we should behave towards other human beings – not that we should do for them things that we might want done for ourselves, but that we should apply the same concern for our fellow human being that we would want applied to ourselves were we in their situation. So we need to practise empathy – putting ourselves in the place of another and considering what that would feel like.  This rule is wonderful, but it has its limitations. How can we know for sure that what we would want for ourselves would really be what another person would want and need for themselves?

Ibn Ezra has a slightly different view. Because there is what appears to be a superfluous letter – a lamed – he translates the verse not as to love, but to act lovingly – we should love that which is good for our neighbour, just as we want that which is good for ourselves.

There is a famous story in the Babylonian Talmud (Shabbat 31a).

Once there was a gentile who came before Shammai, and said to him: “Convert me on the condition that you teach me the whole Torah while I stand on one foot. Shammai pushed him aside with the measuring stick he was holding. The same fellow came before Hillel the elder   (110BCE-10CE) and Hillel converted him, saying: That which is despicable to you, do not do to your fellow, this is the whole Torah, and the rest is commentary, go and learn it.”

I love the fact that Hillel, who clearly knew the verse in Leviticus, chose to frame this golden rule differently. It is, I think, typical of his teaching which tries to open up Jewish life rather than to close it down, to interpret the spirit of a law rather than to create a plethora of regulations to follow.

Rather than to require us to know something that ultimately we cannot always know – what another person wants and needs beyond those needs we all have for survival – Hillel asks us to empathise in a different way. That which is abhorrent to us we must not do to others.  We know what we find abhorrent. We don’t have to be scholars of texts or of human psychology in order to fulfil this commandment.

Love your neighbour as yourself. While Hillel and Akiva both describe this as being (almost) the whole of torah, a foundational principle from which everything else springs, I cannot help but notice that the midrash twice quotes a debate between Akiva and Ben Azzai who says that there is an even deeper and more critical principle in Torah: “Ben Azzai says; ‘This is the book of the generations of Adam’ (Genesis 5:1) is a greater principle” – Why? Because it reminds us that all of us human beings are related and connected. We don’t have to ask what does it mean to love, nor do we ask whether our neighbour is in some way different from people more distant from us. Instead, if we truly understand we are one creation, with one God who made and loves us all, then everything else will follow and we will live lives of meaning and of love.

Forse il versetto più citato della Bibbia – Levitico 19:18 – recita: «  לֹֽא־תִקֹּ֤ם וְלֹֽא־תִטֹּר֙ אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י עַמֶּ֔ךָ וְאָֽהַבְתָּ֥ לְרֵעֲךָ֖ כָּמ֑וֹךָ אֲנִ֖י יְהֹוָֽה׃

Non ti vendicherai né serberai rancore contro i membri del tuo popolo. Ama il tuo prossimo come te stesso: Io sono DIO.

Ve’ahavta le’re’echa kamocha. Rabbi Akiva disse che questo è il comandamento fondamentale della Torah. È un testo dal significato immediato e potente, che ci induce a porci delle domande. Si può comandare di amare, e in tal caso (poiché ci viene anche comandato di amare Dio nella preghiera dello Shema), che tipo di amore è questo? Non può essere un sentimento, poiché i sentimenti non sono mai sotto il nostro controllo, quindi deve trattarsi di un’azione.

Come dovremmo comportarci per dimostrare che stiamo seguendo questo comandamento?

Rabbi Ovadia Sforno ci dice che questa è una regola generale e onnicomprensiva che detta come dovremmo comportarci nei confronti degli altri esseri umani: non che dovremmo fare per loro ciò che vorremmo fosse fatto per noi stessi, ma che dovremmo applicare ai nostri simili la stessa attenzione che vorremmo fosse applicata a noi stessi se fossimo nella loro situazione. Quindi dobbiamo praticare l’empatia, mettendoci al posto dell’altro e considerando come ci sentireste. Questa regola è meravigliosa, ma ha i suoi limiti. Come possiamo sapere con certezza che ciò che vorremmo per noi stessi sarebbe davvero ciò che un’altra persona vorrebbe e avrebbe bisogno per sé?

Ibn Ezra ha un punto di vista leggermente diverso. Poiché c’è una lettera che sembra superflua, una lamed, egli traduce il versetto non come amare, ma come agire con amore: dovremmo amare ciò che è buono per il nostro prossimo, proprio come desideriamo ciò che è buono per noi stessi.

C’è una famosa storia nel Talmud babilonese (Shabbat 31a).

Una volta un gentile si presentò davanti a Shammai e gli disse: “Convertimi a condizione che tu mi insegni tutta la Torah mentre sto su un piede solo”. Shammai lo spinse via con il bastone che aveva in mano. Lo stesso uomo si presentò davanti a Hillel il Vecchio (110 a.C.-10 d.C.) e Hillel lo convertì, dicendo: “Non fare al tuo prossimo ciò che è spregevole per te, questa è tutta la Torah, il resto è commento, vai e imparalo”.

Mi piace il fatto che Hillel, che chiaramente conosceva il versetto del Levitico, abbia scelto di formulare questa regola d’oro in modo diverso. È, credo, tipico del suo insegnamento che cerca di aprire la vita ebraica piuttosto che chiuderla, di interpretare lo spirito di una legge piuttosto che creare una pletora di regole da seguire.

Piuttosto che esigere da noi di conoscere qualcosa che in definitiva non possiamo sempre conoscere – ciò che un’altra persona vuole e di cui ha bisogno al di là dei bisogni che tutti abbiamo per sopravvivere – Hillel ci chiede di entrare in empatia in un modo diverso. Non dobbiamo fare agli altri ciò che è ripugnante per noi. Sappiamo cosa troviamo ripugnante. Non dobbiamo essere studiosi di testi o di psicologia umana per adempiere a questo comandamento.

Ama il tuo prossimo come te stesso. Mentre Hillel e Akiva descrivono entrambi questo come (quasi) l’intera Torah, un principio fondamentale da cui tutto il resto deriva, non posso fare a meno di notare che il midrash cita due volte un dibattito tra Akiva e Ben Azzai, il quale afferma che nella Torah esiste un principio ancora più profondo e fondamentale: «Ben Azzai dice: ‘Questo è il libro delle generazioni di Adamo’ (Genesi 5:1) è un principio più grande” – Perché? Perché ci ricorda che tutti noi esseri umani siamo imparentati e collegati. Non dobbiamo chiederci cosa significhi amare, né chiederci se il nostro prossimo sia in qualche modo diverso dalle persone più lontane da noi. Invece, se comprendiamo veramente che siamo un’unica creazione, con un unico Dio che ci ha creati e ci ama tutti, allora tutto il resto seguirà e vivremo una vita piena di significato e di amore.

Bereishit – the roots of social justice are entwined with our creation as human beings

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And the Eternal God said, behold, the human being is become like one of us, to be able to know good and evil (Gen 3:22)

ֶוַיֹּאמֶר יְהוָה אֱלֹהִים, הֵן הָאָדָם הָיָה כְּאַחַד מִמֶּנּוּ, לָדַעַת, טוֹב וָרָע;

What had been an ability reserved for divinity, to know and differentiate good and evil, to understand morality and make ethical decisions, has now become a human capacity. We can no longer exist in a state of ethical indifference to the world – we cannot claim we do not understand the consequences of our actions.

The Italian rabbi  and biblical commentator Ovadia ben Jacob Sforno (died Bologna 1550) wrote an extraordinary comment on this verse. He read the latter half of the verse as meaning that humanity will know good and evil while continuing to “wear our image”, an intolerable situation because of the human tendency to give in to the yetzer ha’ra, the inclination towards material rather than spiritual imperatives.

For Sforno the problem was that the human being, in favouring their yetzer hara, would not then reach the spiritual level set out for them when God first created them in the image of the divine, but I read his comment slightly differently. While protected and camouflaged because they were wearing the clothing of being created in the image of God, human beings would continue to choose selfishly intentionally. They would bring into disrepute the name and the meaning of being a religious person, they would disgrace and dishonour the values taught by religious traditions, because they would use it for their own purposes and to fulfil their own needs.

I cannot help thinking of how often in our world people wear the clothing of integrity while simultaneously denigrating and demeaning it. Of the police officer who used his warrant card to kidnap, rape and murder a young woman walking home, and all the other stories that are emerging as women tell their stories. Of the politicians who flaunt the national flag in their interviews as if they are defending the values of our nations. Of the despots who rule in the name of “the people” and divide communities by disparaging some imagined “elite”. Of the clergy and the educators and the employers who have historically abused their power and abused those in their power. Of the “nationalists” who foment hatred against outsiders and people in need. The list seems endless right now.

Moral authority  must be much more than clothing we can take on or take off. And much more than the roles we inhabit professionally. It must come from within, be ingrained in how we choose to behave whether “in role” or not, our actions informed by it whether we can be seen or whether we are in private.

Judaism is very clear that each of us is responsible for our own actions. God has given us a pure soul for which we thank God every morning in the “elohai neshama” prayer. It is for each of us to take care of that gift, to be aware of what might taint it and how we can make reparations and teshuvah in order to keep ourselves in good order. No one else can act as intermediary or offer absolution – we have to do the work ourselves.

 But Judaism is also interested in our responsibility for others and for our world. In this week’s sidra the first murder, the fratricide of Abel by Cain, is recorded. And God asks Cain the same question that God asked Eve – “What have you done? (Mah zot aseet/ mah aseeta?”. Eve tries to pass the blame onto the serpent who is then cursed among all the animals, (Genesis 3:13ff) but Cain’s denial of responsibility is far more chilling, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” and it leads to him being cursed from the very earth of which he is made, as God says “the bloods of your brother cry out to me from the ground” (Genesis 4:10).

We cannot read this sidra without being very clear that the actions of one can impinge upon another. We cannot see God’s responses to our actions as being anything other than a repeated demand that we act ethically and morally, in the interest of the community rather than pursue our own desires. We see that God doesn’t ignore or deny the wrongdoing even if we might try to do so, to mitigate, to explain away, to obfuscate to ourselves or to others.

Each of us has the gift of moral discernment. We know the difference between right and wrong; we can identify even in the most complex situations what we should be doing, even if we choose not to do so. Each of us has the gift of a pure soul, every morning we are reminded in our prayers that the condition of our moral being is our own responsibility.  Each of us is also tasked with the welfare and well-being of our own communities, of giving a gentle “tochecha”(rebuke/honest feedback/helpful criticism) when we see someone whose behaviour is not in line with ethical imperatives.  We are indeed “our brother’s keeper”

In this very first sidra of the yearly cycle, we see the roots of social justice established as part of the agreement between God and humanity. We see how each of us is given the ability to understand right and wrong, each of us is given the choice, the continuous and continuing choice, in how we decide to act. We see that none of us are isolated or insulated from each other, that the choices we make may have deep impact on the lives and wellbeing of others. That we have responsibility to and for each other.

So when we see people wearing the image of the divine while at the same time diminishing the presence of divine will in the world, we have to speak up. When we see people abusing their authority, abusing their power over others; when we see politicians gaslighting the electorate or waving the flag to cover their selfish and destructive behaviour, we have to stand up and speak out. When we hear the rhetoric of hate in the guise of patriotism, we must call it out, confront it and those who speak it.

If like Adam, Eve and the Serpent we just try to pass on the blame, or like Cain we deny that any blame might be attached, we are denying the humanity of the other and denying our own human obligation to support and care for others – our obligation to act in the image of God. If we add to that our wearing the clothing of integrity and moral authority while denying the obligations they entail, we are truly ignoring the lessons of this sidra, and we are adding insult to injury by not only choosing our yetzer ha’ra over our yetzer hatov, but masquerading, pretending that this is divinely sanctioned behaviour.

Hiding behind a professional role, clothing ourselves in terms of values while choosing to behave directly in contradiction to those values, whether it be a religious professional or a policeman, a politician charged with working to benefit the country or a regulator tasked with ensuring their organisation does what it is supposed to do – Sforno was right to be worried. If we traduce the divine image in which we are made while proclaiming our rights and our righteousness, the damage we can do is amplified beyond measure. And so society loses trust in educators and police, in politicians and regulators, in journalists and in clergy…