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Simcha Feuerman
Psychology, Torah and the Daf Yomi

Sticks, Stones, and Social Scorn: False Testimony and More Sanhedrin 28-31

28

Bound by Marriage, Not by Blood: The Tangled Ties of Machatonim

Our Gemara on Amud Beis discusses the status of the parents of children who marry each other (known in Yiddish as machatonim), and whether their closeness disqualifies them from serving as witnesses:

The father of the groom and the father of the bride can testify about each other, as they are considered to each other like a lid on a barrel.

The Gemara uses a metaphor of a lid on a barrel to describe the relationship between the two parents/in-laws. They are connected but not truly related.

Rashi explains the metaphor: “It is like the magufah, the clay seal on the barrel, which is not of the same material as the barrel.”

Aruch (39, “avla”) and Yad Ramah interpret the metaphor differently: “It is like the cover of a barrel that is not attached but merely rests on top of it.”

Rashi seems to emphasize the lack of familial closeness due to the absence of shared blood relations. Each in-law comes from a different family line (made of different material). Although the in-laws share children through marriage, there is no direct blood connection. A husband and wife become “one flesh,” as described in Bereishis (2:24), but this unity only extends to their children and future generations, not upward to their parents. Yad Ramah and Aruch stress that the bond is tangential. Just as the lid merely rests on the barrel without being part of it, the in-laws are connected only because of their children’s marriage.

Regardless of the interpretation, it is essential to recognize that the relationship between parents of married children is not akin to the attachment one has with other blood relatives. Healthy relationships are maintained when expectations and roles are clear. It is a bonus to feel kinship or friendship with the parents of your son-in-law or daughter-in-law, but it is not a requirement. Respect, cordiality, and cooperation for the benefit of the shared children are the primary roles and expectations. Do not expect more, and do not be offended if you do not receive more.

The Yiddish term machatonim is a fascinating example of a word unique to certain cultures. It derives from Lashon Hakodesh, using the mem prefix that denotes an action. A mechutan is one who becomes connected through marriage (chatanus). Interestingly, while Yiddish borrowed the Hebrew roots, this term does not exist in biblical or Talmudic Hebrew. It does, however, appear in Spanish as consuegros, and in Punjabi and Urdu as kurmani and samdhan, respectively.

Another example of a unique word is mshakela, found in Lashon Kodesh, describing a parent who has lost a child, distinct from other types of loss (see Shemos 23:26 and Bereishis 27:45). Arabic has a similar word, thakla, which appears related to the Hebrew mshakela. In English, there is no specific term for a parent who has lost a child. In German, the term “verwaiste eltern” (orphaned parent) is used. Sanskrit has a term, vilomah, for this loss.

When one culture has a word for a specific relationship or experience that others do not, it highlights the importance or frequency of that concept in the culture. The presence of these terms in certain languages reflects how these cultures experience relationships and losses. In contrast, Western cultures often lack these terms, suggesting that marriage and extended family may be seen as less central to individual life.

29

Sticks, Stones, and Social Scorn: The Real Deterrent to False Testimony

The Mishna on amud aleph states that witnesses were intimidated with warnings about the catastrophic spiritual and physical consequences of false testimony, aiming to deter potential perjurers. Our Gemara on amud aleph explores the specific message conveyed to these witnesses.

Initially, the Gemara considers a warning based on a verse indicating that false testimony leads to starvation through famine. This idea is rejected because the rabbis reason that a witness might rationalize that famine affects farmers, but a craftsman can always find a way to earn a living. The Gemara then suggests a warning invoking a curse of death upon false witnesses. This too is dismissed, as people might rationalize that death is inevitable and predetermined, rendering such a threat ineffective. Ultimately, the Gemara settles on a verse suggesting that false witnesses are disrespected by society, including those they aim to benefit.

The Chida (Maris Ayin) raises an obvious question: If potential perjurers are unfazed by threats of starvation or death, why would the loss of respect deter them? The Ben Yehoyada offers an explanation: Since those who encourage false testimony do not truly respect the perjurer, they are unlikely to protect his secret. Gossip will spread, exposing the lie and leading to social consequences for the crooked witnesses.

I suggest a simpler answer: A perjurer, lying to protect someone else, may reconsider if he realizes that very person holds him in contempt. Another perspective is from the would-be false witness, rationalizes that he can survive famine through cunning, and that death is beyond his control. However, the threat of social mockery touches a nerve, deterring him more effectively than threats of physical harm because he thinks he has more control over this area of his life.

A final answer highlights a psychological nuance: The emotional pain of social shame may feel more severe than physical injury or death. The need to conform to societal norms and maintain status is a fundamental force in civilization. An instinct geared toward societal protection often outweighs personal self-preservation. If personal needs always took precedence, the sacrifices necessary for societal cohesion would not occur. This insight suggests that verbal abuse and humiliation, though often considered less damaging than physical abuse, can cause greater subjective pain.

31

Shedding Our Inner Egyptian 

Our Gemara on Amud Beis offers an intriguing expression of praise for the sage, Mar Ukva:

“He who has light upon him, like Moses, who is called the son of Batya.”

The commentaries question why Mar Ukva is specifically described in this way, and why Moshe is principally identified as the son of Batya (who, according to the Midrash, was Pharaoh’s daughter and raised him).

Rashi cites a tradition that Mar Ukva’s initial repentance and awakening to Torah life occurred after a severe temptation to commit adultery, which he overcame at the last moment. He is compared to Nosson Tzutzisa, as described in Shabbos (56b), whose holiness was symbolized by a fire above his head, a light from his otherworldly purity that allowed him to resist temptation and adhere to his morals. Peri Tzaddik (Shemos 10) notes that Moshe, who was known as the “Egyptian man” (Shemos 2:19), also had rays of light emanating from his head because, like Mar Ukva, he had to resist temptations despite the challenges posed by his upbringing as an Egyptian in Pharaoh’s palace.

I will develop this idea further. Where else do we find the term “Egyptian man”? Moshe killed an Egyptian man who was beating a fellow Jew (Shemos 2:11-12). Some see Avraham’s departure from his birthplace as a symbolic shedding of an old self to embrace his destiny. Similarly, Yaakov’s wrestling with the angel represents his internal struggle as he prepares to confront his estranged brother and return to his childhood home. In the same way, before Moshe could confront Pharaoh and lead the Jewish people, he needed to “kill off” the Egyptian within him. This Egyptian represented traits he had adopted in Egypt that he needed to discard in order to fulfill his mission.

Later, in the wilderness, we encounter another Egyptian man, the son of an Egyptian and a Jewish woman (Vayikra 24:10). This individual blasphemes, and Moshe, perplexed, seeks divine guidance. He ultimately rules that the man is to be stoned (ibid 11-14). Who is this half-Jew, half-Egyptian? According to the Midrash, he is the son of the same Egyptian whom Moshe had killed (Rashi, ibid 10). Why was he beating the Jew? The Midrash explains that he raped the Jewish man’s wife in order to dispose of him (Shemos 2:11). Isn’t it interesting that off the conundrums to confront Moshe, this one involves a part of his past, and he cannot recall the halacha? This violent act, along with the illegitimate birth and subsequent execution of the child, could symbolize aspects of the “Egyptian man” still lingering within Moshe. These unresolved elements of his past surfaced in the wilderness and needed to be eliminated once again.

Why a second time? It’s notable that this time the man is not purely Egyptian, but a mix of Egyptian and Jewish. Perhaps Moshe’s act of killing the Egyptian earlier in the Exodus symbolized his casting off the overt, obvious influences of Egypt. However, after the Exodus, to fully accept the Torah, Moshe had to confront even the more subtle aspects of Egyptian influence—those elements born of both his Egyptian and Jewish upbringing.

As members of a society and era that often corrupts our morals through tempting deconstructions and rationalizations, we too must confront the Egyptians and half-Egyptians within us.

About the Author
Rabbi, Psychotherapist with 30 years experience specializing in high conflict couples and families.
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