Taking Responsibility and Returning to Self And More Bava Basra 171-174

171

A Grave Cure

Our Gemara on Amud Beis quotes Rabbi Ḥanina bar Pappi, who expresses his profound reverence for Rav and Shmuel with a striking metaphor:

“Who will give us some of the dust of Rav and Shmuel, and I will place it on my eyes, so highly do I regard them.”

At first glance, the notion of putting dust in one’s eyes seems puzzling as an expression of honor. To understand this, we must look to a related account in Sanhedrin 47b, which provides essential context:

It was related that people would take dirt from the grave of Rav as a remedy for a one-day fever. A number of people reported this practice to Shmuel, questioning whether it might be prohibited, since one may not derive benefit from a corpse. Shmuel responded: They are acting properly, as the dirt in the grave is natural ground, and natural ground does not become forbidden in any situation.

This story reveals that the dirt from Rav’s grave held some therapeutic quality, specifically for a one-day fever. At the time, Shmuel was still alive. However, after his passing, it appears his grave achieved a similar sanctified status. This equivalence in their posthumous influence suggests a divine endorsement of their equal spiritual stature.

Humility as a Source of Sanctity

The Ben Yehoyada (Sanhedrin 47b) posits that Rav’s merit in sanctifying the ground by his grave was a middah k’negged middah (measure-for-measure) reward for his profound humility. Dirt, in its simplicity and lowliness, symbolizes a lack of pretension. Rav’s deep humility evidently permeated even the physical ground surrounding him, transforming it into a source of healing.

How Did the Cure Work?

The Aruch (entry: Ayin) notes that this dirt was applied to the eyes, and I suggest that this offers a further layer of symbolism. The eyes are frequently associated with lust, desire, and arrogance. One Hebrew expression for haughtiness is eynayim ramos (Mishlei 6:17), literally “high eyes,” which is similar to the English phrase “stuck-up,” conveying an attitude of superiority.

The use of dirt from Rav’s grave—imbued with humility—might serve as a remedy for the spiritual illness of “haughty eyes.” It reminds the afflicted person to adopt Rav’s humility, counteracting their pride.

The Counterintuitive Nature of Dirt in the Eyes

Interestingly, dirt in the eyes is generally an irritant, not a remedy. However, when viewed metaphorically, this irritation could represent the discomfort of cognitive dissonance—a necessary precursor to personal growth. An arrogant person often faces relational or situational setbacks that should prompt self-reflection. In this sense, the speck of dirt serves as both a physical irritant and a symbolic reminder of the damage even a small amount of arrogance can inflict.

This idea aligns with the Rambam (Laws of Dispositions 2:3), who famously teaches that arrogance is one of the few traits that a person should avoid entirely, advocating instead for extreme humility. The irritant of the dirt, paired with the sanctity of Rav’s humility, forces the afflicted to “see” themselves clearly and recalibrate their perspective.

Rabbi Ḥanina bar Pappi’s statement about placing the dust of Rav and Shmuel on his eyes takes on deeper meaning when viewed through this lens. It signifies his desire to emulate their humility, recognizing its transformative power both in life and in death.

172

You Really Can’t Judge

Our Gemara on Amud Beis explores a situation involving two people with identical names, as well as fathers with identical names. This creates a significant problem in the absence of last names, as the culture of the Talmud relied on patronymic identification—“son of so-and-so.” The Gemara chooses the example of “Yosef ben Shimon” to illustrate the issue.

This choice of names has piqued the curiosity of many commentators, as the Talmud often uses names of the tribes—Reuven, Shimon, Levi, Yehuda—or their father Yaakov and grandchildren like Chushim and Amram in hypothetical cases. Yet for scenarios involving two people with the same name, “Yosef ben Shimon” is consistently used.

Symbolism of Yosef and Shimon

Rav Tzaddok HaKohen (Pri Tzaddik, Korach and Takanas Hashavim 6) suggests a deeper significance to the names Yosef and Shimon. He explains that these figures represent opposite approaches to managing sexual impulses. Yosef is the paradigmatic figure of self-control and resistance to temptation, as exemplified in his refusal of Potiphar’s wife (Bereishis 39). In contrast, many from the tribe of Shimon succumbed to temptation in the episode of the Moabite women (Bamidbar 25:1-14).

Rav Tzaddok notes the importance of the order in which the names appear. It is not Shimon ben Yosef, but Yosef ben Shimon. This suggests a progression: Shimon, the father, represents someone with both the potential for holiness and the capacity for sin. Yosef, the son, represents the next generation that transcends these struggles, embodying moral growth and refinement.

Identical Names, Different Journeys

Building on Rav Tzaddok’s insight, there is an additional layer of meaning to this choice. While both individuals share the same name—Yosef ben Shimon—their spiritual journeys are vastly different. One of them rises above the flaws of his father’s legacy and fulfills his potential, while the other may remain trapped in his father’s struggles.

This underscores a profound truth about human nature: appearances can be deceptive. Two people may seem identical—sharing not only names but also background and lineage—yet their internal realities and spiritual trajectories may be entirely distinct.

A Lesson in Judging Others

The Gemara’s example reminds us to be cautious in forming judgments about others. Someone who appears outwardly pious may harbor private failings, while someone who struggles openly with sin might possess immense potential or face challenges we cannot fully comprehend.

This lesson resonates deeply with a central tenet of Jewish thought: to avoid judging others superficially. The story of Yosef ben Shimon illustrates that every individual’s spiritual journey is unique, and the surface similarities between people often obscure profound inner differences.

In the end, the two Yosef ben Shimons stand as a reminder that true understanding requires humility, empathy, and an acknowledgment of the complexities of human growth and repentance.

173

Taking Responsibility and Returning to Self

Our Gemara on Amud Beis quotes a series of verses from Mishlei (6:1-3), which caution against the dangers of becoming a cosigner for another’s debt:

son, if you have stood surety for your fellow,

Given your hand for another,

You have been trapped by the words of your mouth,

Snared by the words of your mouth.

Do this, then, my son, to extricate yourself,

For you have come into the power of your fellow:

Go grovel—and badger your fellow.”

The concept of cosigning in Mishlei extends beyond financial responsibility to encompass moral and spiritual responsibility. The Hebrew term for a cosigner, arev, shares its root with the concept of moral accountability toward others (arvus), as noted by Rashi in his commentary on Devarim (29:28). In this sense, the verses in Mishlei allude to the ethical “debt” one owes to others and the need to either fulfill it or seek additional time and understanding.

Our Gemara also connects this to Yehuda’s pledge to Yaakov to ensure Binyamin’s safe return, presenting it as a proto-source for the concept of cosignership—taking full responsibility for someone else’s obligations.

Yehuda’s Moment of Awakening

The Sefas Emes (Vayigash 5) offers a profound interpretation of Yehuda’s emotional plea to the ruler of Egypt, which ultimately leads to Yosef revealing himself. In Bereishis 44:18, Yehuda says:

“Then Yehuda drew near to him and said, ‘Please, my lord, let your servant appeal to my lord, and do not be impatient with your servant, you who are the equal of Pharaoh.’”

The Sefas Emes notes a subtlety in the Hebrew wording, which could alternatively be read as “Yehuda drew near to himself.” This reflects the first step in repentance (teshuvah): returning to oneself. Before one can return to God, one must recognize and reconnect with their true self, their divine essence, and acknowledge how far they have strayed from their inner goodness.

This idea becomes even clearer in Yehuda’s anguished declaration (Bereishis 44:34):

“For how can I go back to my father unless the boy is with me? Let me not be witness to the woe that would overtake my father!”

Here, the Sefas Emes sees an allegorical meaning: “How can I face my Father in heaven and return my soul in such a damaged condition?” Yehuda is not merely concerned with Binyamin’s safety but with his own spiritual reckoning and his accountability before God.

Redemption Through Repentance

The ultimate message of this episode is transformative. When repentance is complete, even sins can be retroactively transformed into mitzvos, as taught in Yoma 86b. Yosef’s reassurance to his brothers encapsulates this idea (Bereishis 45:5):

“Now, do not be distressed or reproach yourselves because you sold me hither; it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you.”

On a deeper level, Yosef is saying that their sins—and the pain they caused—were ultimately part of a divine plan. Their wrongdoing became the catalyst for growth, reconciliation, and salvation.

The Journey of the Nation

This principle is not limited to individuals but applies to the collective journey of the Jewish people. The Mishna (Pesachim 10:4) notes that the Haggadah begins with a humbling acknowledgment: “Originally, our ancestors were idolaters.” This history is not a mere prelude to the Exodus; it is an integral part of the Jewish story. The idolatry of our ancestors reflects a deep spiritual hunger and search for connection, which ultimately led to the discovery of God.

Rashi (Shemos 2:16) highlights Yisro as an emblem of this process. Yisro, though initially a devout worshiper of false gods, was driven by an insatiable desire for truth, which eventually brought him to God.

Sometimes, the longer road is simply a detour caused by mistakes. But other times, it is the only road that leads to the destination, shaping and refining us in ways that a direct path never could.

Conclusion

The interplay between moral responsibility, repentance, and self-discovery is a recurring theme in Torah thought. Just as Yehuda took responsibility for Binyamin and ultimately returned to his own true self, we, too, must grapple with our responsibilities and spiritual debts. Whether through sin or misstep, the path we take may seem circuitous, but it is often precisely these challenges that lead us to genuine growth and redemption.

174

An Impoverished Attitude

Our Gemara on Amud Beis recounts the story of a person in dire financial straits who devised a plan to improve his situation, only for unforeseen circumstances to derail it. Reflecting on this, the Gemara uses the aphorism: “Poverty follows the impoverished person.”

Similarly, in Bava Kamma 92a, the sages observe a poignant inequality: wealthy individuals who brought their first fruits to the Temple in gold and silver baskets were permitted to take the baskets home, while poorer individuals who used simple wicker baskets were required to leave them behind. Here too, the Gemara remarks on how poverty seems to perpetuate itself, echoing the sentiment of the secular saying: “The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer.”

Psychological and Spiritual Roots of Poverty

In his Likkutei Halachos (Laws of Collecting Loans 3; Laws of Passover 6), Rabbi Nachman of Breslov offers an explanation for the persistent cycle of poverty. He identifies its root cause as a deficiency in wisdom and a spiritual distortion stemming from a lack of justice (mishpat). However, mishpat here is understood broadly—not merely as fairness in legal or business matters but as an inner sense of balance, self-honesty, and character alignment.

According to Rabbi Nachman, helping the impoverished is more than an act of temporary relief. It is a profound rectification of the imbalance and distortion in the world. By aiding others, we contribute to restoring fairness and balance, which can, in turn, help repair the internal disarray within the person who is impoverished.

The Psychological Perspective

Modern psychology provides insights into how poverty becomes a self-reinforcing cycle. Studies show that financial hardship fosters short-term thinking and impulsivity. When survival becomes the primary concern, long-term planning and rational decision-making often take a back seat.

For example:

•A person struggling to make ends meet might rely on high-interest credit cards to cover sudden expenses. The resulting debt, compounded by exorbitant interest rates, traps them in a cycle of financial instability.

•Wealthier individuals, by contrast, often borrow strategically, such as taking out mortgages or business loans that yield long-term returns.

Beyond finances, poverty often brings chronic stress, poor health, and disrupted sleep—factors that impair cognitive functioning and decision-making. Good judgment frequently depends on subtle discernment, which is harder to achieve under the fog of exhaustion and anxiety.

Confidence also plays a key role. A wealthy person projects stability and optimism, which positively influences how others respond to them. This, in turn, reinforces their persistence and resilience in overcoming challenges. For the impoverished, low self-esteem and constant setbacks can erode patience, confidence, and the ability to persist in the face of difficulties.

A State of Mind

The lesson here is that poverty is not solely defined by material lack; it is also a state of mind. An “empty belly”—whether it stems from physical hunger, emotional starvation for love, or spiritual disconnection—makes it harder to think beyond immediate needs and make sound long-term decisions.

In our own lives, we can strive to cultivate a mindset of abundance—emotionally, spiritually, and materially. Whether we are rich or poor, our choices, attitudes, and willingness to help others can create a virtuous cycle of fairness, balance, and ultimately, redemption.