#3 - Anavah

• What qualities does it take to make a set place for one’s prayer? What does this practice say about someone?

• What can this practice, and the Talmud’s connection between making a set place for prayer and anava, teach us about anava?

What is the relationship between making a set place for prayer and Anavah? Dr. Alan Morinis writes that the main issue is about space. When we say that this seat is mine, we are also saying that that other seat is not mine. By making a set place, we are also giving space to others. According to Morinis, this is the key to Anavah. The Anav knows how much space to take up in any situation. When our Anavah is out of balance, we take either too little or too much space.

Think about yourself in different situations. Are you always the first one to talk in meetings or groups? Do you speak several times before others speak at all? If so, you may be taking too much space. Or, are you the kind of person who hangs back and either doesn’t talk at all or says one thing just before the program leader closes the discussion? You may be taking up too little space. Our goal is to take the right amount of space in each situation.

Micha Berger: Perhaps the idea is that the ba’al ga’avah believes that the best world is one with the most him in it. Whereas anav knows he fits in a larger scheme of things. Therefore, rather than trying to impose his view, he perfects the world by seeing how he is supposed to fit, what his place is.

For some interpreters, Moses, “more humble than any 9 man” (Numbers 12:3), has been led by his humility to refrain from aggression; other interpreters, however, have seen Moses’s humility at work in his submission to God’s command to wage a genocidal war against Midian (Numbers 31). The proper contours of humility, or of any other 10 virtue, must be worked out through a good deal of critical reasoning. This process requires, in part, what is best known in Hebrew as ḥeshbon ha-nefesh, a phrase that may be translated as “selfreckoning” or as “moral accounting.”11

Humility is another key virtue mentioned throughout this essay. Appropriate humility guards against the pride that distorts equanimity; humility guards against the personal and national pride that may cause policymakers to ignore the suffering of others, especially those beyond their borders; humility also guards against the tendency of policymakers to overestimate what various policies can accomplish. And humility is required in order to undertake the process of moral accounting at all, as moral accounting requires openness to hearing the critiques of others, acknowledgement of one’s own weaknesses, and submission before God. Can we imagine war policymakers possessing this sort of humility? Even if we can imagine the policymaker who is dedicated to private, contemplative exercises (as Baḥya ibn Pakuda might recommend), it might be especially hard to imagine the policymaker who would submit the results of his or her moral accounting to the sort of external critique that Menachem Mendel Lefin would advise. But Lefin’s model of a rigorous program of self-examination carried out in conversation with various mentors—each with their own expertise, each bringing their own critical perspective—is an important model for anyone seeking guidance from the Jewish tradition. It is a model that might be extended in various ways beyond what Lefin himself described. We might imagine, for example, that hearing the perspectives of teachers from beyond one’s nation and beyond one’s tradition might be especially helpful to policymakers. Opening oneself up to such critique would might require particular humility, but it would also help to further instill the qualities of humility and the other virtues that are so important for war policymakers to develop.

I would like to cite a few more statements made by Rav Kook in Midot Ha-Re'iya which illustrate this. The first example contrasts the psychological effects of the two types of anava (Anava 11):

Genuine humility and lowliness increase health and vitality, whereas the imaginary (humility) causes illness and melancholy. Therefore, one ought to choose for oneself the traits of humility and lowliness in their clear form, and thus become strong and valiant.

Here we are given a rule of thumb for distinguishing true humility from its bogus look-alike (ibid. 7):

Whenever humility brings about melancholy, it is invalid. But when it is worthy, it engenders joy, courage and inner glory.

Rav Kook has this to say about the relation of self-esteem and humility (8):

At times we should not be afraid of the feeling of greatness, which elevates man to do great things. And all humility is based on such a holy feeling of greatness.

Rav Aharon’s students, very simply put, loved him, but I don’t know if he ever knew how much and how well we loved him. It was the purest type of love: Anyone who truly loved Torah had to love Rav Aharon. Anyone who loved middot had to love Rav Aharon. Anyone who respected authentic Avodat Hashem had to love Rav Aharon. Anyone who respected authenticity had to love Rav Aharon. He had all of these traits, coupled with profound humility, which was evident in everything he did - from the way he thought to the way he gave shiur to the way he conducted himself, from his dress and comportment to his absolute refusal to accept any preferential treatment. Some poignant stories and remembrances illustrate this extreme humility:

When Rav Aharon was inducted in the IDF, Rav Amital went to pay him a visit on his base. Rav Amital, who was an officer, visited the base and asked to see “The Rav Lichtenstein.” “Rav who? What Rav?” was the response. Rav Amital made a few quick inquiries, and discovered that Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, Rosh Yeshiva of Har Etzion and one of the leaders of the Hesder movement, was in the kitchen, washing dishes. When it was made clear to the base commander exactly who it was that was washing the dishes, the kitchen didn’t want to let him go: He was the best dishwasher ever to serve in the IDF. Like everything else he did, Rav Aharon invested every bit of himself, heart and soul, 100%, into the task he had been assigned. He had no expectation that he would be assigned any more lofty position, nor did he feel that his assignment was in any way demeaning. (Subsequently, I heard that he himself would wash the dishes after Shabbat dinner at home so that none of the other members of the household would grow to resent Shabbat.)

On more than one occasion, when driving with Rav Amital, Rav Aharon was stopped and questioned; to those not familiar with them, it seemed clear that Rav Aharon –clean-shaven and in “regular” clothing – was the Rosh Yeshiva’s driver. It never dawned upon outsiders that he himself was a Rosh Yeshiva - but he knew who he was, and he had a very keen awareness of his abilities, his calling, and his mission. He knew that his task was to teach and spread Torah. Real an­avah - real modesty – does not mean that a person devalues their own worth; real modesty means that despite being self-aware, an anav does not believe that he or she deserves special treatment. A story is told about Rav Moshe Feinstein, who was seen travelling on the subway one evening. When a surprised talmid asked, “Where is the Rosh Yeshiva going?” Rav Moshe explained that he was on the way to the wedding of a child of one of his former students who had passed away. The family had sent an invitation as a courtesy; they did not imagine that Rav Moshe would actually attend – and most certainly did not dream that he would use public transportation to get there. Rav Moshe understood how happy it would make the hatan and kalla to see him, but it never occurred to him to ask that they arrange for him to be escorted or transported in any way. He knew full well what the impact of his attendance at the wedding would be; he simply did not consider asking anyone else to be inconvenienced on his behalf. Rav Moshe knew he was the Gadol haDor; he knew his presence would bring honor and joy to the family. The family in question would most certainly have been honored to arrange for transportation, but Rav Moshe was an anav; he knew who he was, was aware of the power of his position, but did not think he deserved special treatment.

So, too, Rav Aharon knew who he was. He was fully engaged in the world around him, and knew his place in it and the responsibility that place engendered. On the other hand, he would not even let his talmidim carry any of the dozens of books he invariably brought to shiur. Once, a talmid intended to do just that: He placed his own sefer on top of the pile of Rav Aharon’s books, but before he could pick up the pile, Rav Aharon headed off - carrying his own books, and the student’s Gemara as well.

When my father came on aliya over 20 years ago, he went to see Rav Lichtenstein. They had been friendly when they were younger, had been in college together. Even then, my father tells me, there was a sense of awe when one spoke to the 19-year-old Aharon Lichtenstein. Despite this awe, upon arriving in Israel, my father paid Rav Aharon a visit. At the very beginning of their conversation, my father asked: “How should I address you? What should I call you?” Rav Aharon considered the question for a moment, and replied: “Call me Aharon.” They had been, and continued to be friendly. And so, my father called him “Aharon,” and they were, in fact, good friends – to the extent that such a friendship was possible: For the next 20 years my father diligently attended Rav Aharon’s shiur in the Gruss Kollel. My father often drove him to and from shiur, and I believe the enjoyment of their relationship was mutual. Nonetheless, from the moment my father began attending the shiur, he could no longer call him “Aharon” – only “Rebbe.” “Call me Aharon,” he had said, with nonchalance, with no airs about him, like an old friend in a rekindled relationship – but my father knew that he was in the company of the Gadol haDor - and you just don’t call the Gadol haDor “Aharon,” even if he himself doesn’t think he deserves any honor.

Rav Aharon had self-awareness; over the years, he came to understand that his intellectual gifts surpassed those of others,[37] but he felt he was put on this earth to learn and teach Torah, so that is what he did. And when you learn and teach Torah for 81 years, 15, 16, even 17 hours a day with diligence, day after day, year after year; and when you give shiur - always holding back, keeping your own chidushim to yourself and sacrificing the spotlight for pedagogical purposes, to enable your students to learn how to learn; when you give more shiurim than seems humanly possible - each one deep, fully developed and polished to perfection, complete, a masterpiece, ready for publication; and when you raise a seemingly impossible number of students - and not just students, but leaders – and despite all of this you don’t think you deserve anything more than anyone else – only then do you reach the level that Rav Lichtenstein, in his modesty, attained.

בס’’ד

Jacob Siegel

2013 12 17

Parshat Shemot

In this week’s parsha, פרשת שמות, we see Moshe encounter Hashem for the first time. His response is very indicative of his character. The first thing Moshe says to Hashem is, “הנני.” The very next thing Moshe says is “מי אנוכי”. The next several responses in the series all exemplify Moshe’s humility upon hearing that he is the one to actually carry out his mission. Moshe is ענו מכל אדם. And it might be the case that Hashem chose Moshe precisely for this reason.

But what is ענוה? We have a great example of what ענוה looks like when God is talking to us. But for most of us, who don’t have that experience, what does ענוה look like the rest of the time?

I’d like to examine ענוה in halakhah, and from that, glean some idea of what ענוה can look like for us. It seems universal that ענוה is a value in our Masora, but there are several interesting places where it comes up concretely in הלכה. I’d like to outline three of those: in דיינים, in מחילה, and in תלמוד תורה.

First of all, ענוה is one of the seven character qualities that the רמב’’ם sees as essential for a דיין. In Midrash Aggadah on פרשת דברים, commenting on the pasuk אנשים חכמים ונבונים וידועים, (Devarim א:יג), Hazal note these were some of the seven qualities that Yitro told Moshe to look for in selecting judges. Moshe found exactly 3 such men, and so established a court. This is brought pretty directly in the רמב’’ם and the לחם משנה, in הלכות סנהדרין פרק ב הלכה ז. So ענוה somehow seems tied to good judgment and honesty, qualities of a judge.

Second, ענוה is a factor in how one reacts to someone who has wronged them. When discussing forgiveness on Erev Yom Kippur, the שולחן ערוך brings the famous issue in laws of forgiveness that one who has been the victim of מוציא שם רע doesn’t need to forgive the one who defames them. The Mishna Brurah brings down the explanation that this is because there might have been people who heard the defamation but not the apology. However, the Magen Avraham adds that it is a mark of ענוה to forgive even in this case. (מגן אברהם תרו:ה). So we see ענוה as a kind of maturity and self-awareness.

Finally, ענוה is a factor in how we talk about our תלמוד תורה. The Gemara in בבא מציעה דף כג highlights only three subjects about which a תלמיד חכם is allowed to lie, and one of these categories is in “מסכתא,” answering the question of whether one has learned a particular מסכת or not. Rashi explains that this is because of “ענוה,” and this is brought down in halakhah. (מגן אברהם תקסה). In a culture where knowing Torah in some ways defines one’s value, ענוה is a sensitivity to others’ needs for belonging and acceptance.

Our culture often talks about humility as a kind of defacing ourselves in comparison to others. In our Mesorah, it seems this isn’t quite the case. ענוה is a mark of honesty, maturity, and sensitivity to others.

• What is Moses communicating here when he responds “Hineini”? What about this moment might be difficult for him? What about this moment might be easy for him?

• What can this moment, and Rashi’s connection between “hineini” and anava, teach us about anava?

Hineni means you are ready to put aside your own agenda and respond to what you are being called on to do. It also takes great presence to be able to hear the call. Moses shows this presence by taking a long look at the bush and not turning away. It was then he was able to hear the call. This kind of looking is a form of stepping up and being present.

1. Moses is described in the Torah as more humble than any other person. What can we learn about the trait of humility from his behavior in this instance? How does ‘Hineini/Here I am’ suggest anavah/humility? Is that different than our initial sense of humility?

2. On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur mornings, in many Jewish places of worship, just prior to Mussaf (the “additional” liturgical offerings for the Days of Awe), the prayer leader steps forth from the community to begin this special service, and his/her first word is ‘Hineini/Here I am’. How can we understand that choice of words in light of Rav Kook’s statement and the story of Moses and the burning bush?

3. Can you think of a moment in your own life, large or small, where you responded with ‘Hineini/Here I am’? What about a moment where something or someone was calling out to you and you didn’t respond with ‘Hineini/Here I am’?

4. Rabbi Micha Berger asks “When we’re conversing with someone...do we spend the whole time searching for launching points for what we want to say? Or, do we actually listen to appreciate what they are trying to relate?...The root of the Hebrew word for humility (anavah) is la’anot, which means ‘to answer.’ When the humble person speaks, he participates as one component of the whole. He truly responds.” Reflect back on some of the conversations you have had recently. What’s the difference between a ‘question in service of the asker’, and ‘a question in service of the asked’?

• According to Rashi, what additional steps does God take in the process of creating humans? What qualities do these steps point to?

• What can these qualities, and Rashi’s connection between this creative process and anava, teach us about anava?

• God worked collaboratively. God does not have to do this—in the text’s own understanding, God is the most powerful being in the world. This is a sign of humility—not taking up all the space even though you could.

• God also inculcates humility in the angels— “think of the needs of the earthly beings—they too will be jealous if there are no beings after My likeness on earth.” God is building a culture of locating yourself in relationship with others and in relation to the needs of those around you.

• The jealousy did not stop God from creating people—the question before God was a how question: how does God move forward on this important project with others and considerate of the needs of others?

Rabbi David Jaffe

The hebrew word for humility is “anavah”, and these letters also form the root for the word “responding”. When we respond to the demands of the moment with a sense of service and without the arrogance or inflated sense of our own importance, we are acting with humility. It is about finding the proper relationship between ourselves and the world around us, about not taking up so much space but taking up the space that’s needed. It’s a spectrum: on one end is arrogance and on the other is low self esteem. Our work is to figure out how much to insert ourselves into any particular situation, depending on the need of the moment, knowing the amount of space to take up in a given moment on a given issue.

micha berger

When we’re conversing with someone, do we spend the whole time searching for launching points for what we want to say? Or, do we actually listen to appreciate what they are trying to relate? The first stance is the hubris of believing that what we have to say and contribute is primary; certainly my insight is brighter, my interpretation more inspiring, and my perspective more valuable. The root of the Hebrew word for humility (anavah) is la’anot, which means “to answer.” When the humble person speaks, he participates as one component of the whole. He truly responds. – Rabbi Micha Berger (b. 1965)

One who denies one’s strengths is not humble, but rather a fool. Rather, a humble person is one who understands that all his strengths and accomplishments are a gift from heaven. The more a person recognizes this, the more humble he is. – Rabbi Leib Chasman (1867- 1931

One who craves attention from others has not yet found himself. He is unaware of his true worth. Lacking self-esteem, he relies on the opinion of others. He hungers for their praise, because without hearing their appreciation he feels worthless. When people do not applaud him, he feels helpless and, consequently, hostile and angry. – Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe (1914-2005)

The 20th century Jewish philosopher and Hasidic scholar Martin Buber understands humility as living without competing for space, without comparing ourselves with others. Anavah involves conceiving of ourselves as essential aspects of a single totality, embracing our uniqueness while being mindful of a shared source and goal: The individual is not the whole, but a part. And the purer and more perfect he [sic] is, so much more intimately does he know he is a part and so much more actively there stirs in his the community of existence. That is the mystery of humility. … To feel the universal generation as a sea, and oneself as a wave—that is the mystery of humility. … He who is truly humble feels the other as himself and himself in the other.

5 Martin Buber, “The Life of the Hasidim,” in The Martin Buber Reader: Essential Writings, ed. A. Biemann (Springer: 2016), p. 82.

This is the Torah’s first use of the term anav/humble. Rashi understands it as connoting shafal v’savlan, “lowly and forbearing.” Ramban interprets it to mean that Moses “bore,” without reacting to, the unpleasantness of hearing his siblings deprecate him; as a result of his forbearance, God answered Miriam and Aaron on his behalf. That is, the anavah of Moses in this instance was that he “stayed in his place” and was able to bear others’ behaviors without becoming reactive. Humility does not demand that we be a “doormat” or allow ourselves to be abused. It does mean staying with “our own truth,” and not reacting automatically to others’ slights. 6 Anavah/humility is synonymous with fully occupying one’s unique makom (place). When God calls upon Abraham in the akeidah, the famous “binding of Isaac,” Abraham responds to the call with hineini, “here I am” (Genesis 22:1). Rashi describes this as the “response of the pious;” hineini, he says, implies the quality of anavah/humility. Each time we are fully present in our person and our place, we are cultivating anavah. The Talmud7 provides another example: Rabbi Helbo teaches in the name of Rav Huna that “anyone who make a set place (hakovea makom) for one’s prayer receives assistance from the God of Abraham; when that person dies, it is said that the person was an anav (humble) person, a Hasid (pious), and one of the students of Abraham.” Identifying, standing securely in, and refusing to be moved from our unique, sacred place in the world is one mark of anavah/humility; another is the capacity to respect the makom/place of others. A famous Talmudic passage8 describes the views of the rival rabbinic camps, Beit Hillel

and Beit Shammai, as equally sacred and valid. A Heavenly Voice declares: eilu v’eilu divrei elokim chayim, “these and these are both the words of the living God,” but also declares that the law follows Beit Hillel. Why? Because "the students of Hillel were kindly and modest, they taught Beit Shammai’s rulings as well as their own; they even prioritized the views of Beit Shammai before their own." Beit Hillel was secure enough in their own opinions to teach the views of others as well as their own. Like Moses in Behaa’lotcha, they occupied their perspective fully without feeling threatened by or needing to react to the views even of their rivals. In our practice this week, we bring special attention to the space we occupy: our physical space, our opinions, our voices. We investigate, through hitlamdut, how we habitually respond in different situations: whether we tend to yield our space and voice, or to step into the space of others or speak over them. We notice the extent to which we feel threatened by others, or whether we see them, like ourselves, as part of a larger whole. In the bechirah point, the moment of enhanced awareness, we see if we can freely choose to be less reactive to others, to speak more loudly or confidently, to yield when it seems appropriate and to refuse to yield when it is not. We apply compassion to our own competitive instincts, and strive to see others’ successes as our own, and our own as theirs. In this week of Beha’alotcha, may we find and rejoice in our own unique, irreplaceable place in the scheme of Creation; may we celebrate the distinctive contributions of others; and may we recognize the greater whole of which these are part, and the single, sacred Source from which they all flow.