The Grass is Always Greener…on the Pagan Side? and More Sanhedrin 67-68

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The Grass is Always Greener… on the Pagan Side?

Our Gemara on Amud Aleph describes the actions and words that the Inciter (to commit idolatry) must say in order to be liable for the death penalty. An example is how he might educate someone about a particular mode of idol worship and its rituals:

“There is an idol in such and such a place, which eats like this, drinks like this, does good for its worshippers like this, and harms those who do not worship it like this.”

It is curious that one part of the description involves specifying that the idol is in “such and such a place.” Why is location part of the pitch?

I believe this highlights a psychological message about the appeal of novelty. Many Jews today grew up with what I call “Gefilte Fish Judaism”—a Judaism reduced to simplistic notions of theology and hollow rituals. Their connection might consist of eating matzoh ball soup on Pesach, attending temple on Yom Kippur, and hearing the rabbi speak about Israel while making a few jokes from the pulpit. To them, Judaism feels devoid of spirituality. Then, in college, they meet a devout Christian friend and become enamored with Christianity’s approach to sin and forgiveness. Or perhaps they discover meditation and are captivated by Hinduism’s mystical philosophies. Suddenly, these foreign ideas seem profound, while they remain unaware of the vast philosophical and mystical depths in their own Jewish heritage.

I believe this is what the Mishna is hinting at when it describes the pitch of the Inciter. If the idol was local, it wouldn’t be very interesting. But because it hails from some distant, exotic place, it suddenly becomes appealing.

Ibn Ezra (Shemos 2:3) uses a similar idea to explain why Hashem orchestrated Moshe’s upbringing in Pharaoh’s palace. In addition to the education in arts and sciences that royalty received, which contributed to Moshe’s own enlightenment, Ibn Ezra muses:

“If he had grown up among his brothers, and they felt familiar with him, knowing him from his youth, they would not have had the appropriate reverence, because they would feel like he was just one of them.”

Though applied in the opposite way, Ibn Ezra still highlights the human tendency to assign greater weight to something that is novel, foreign, and exotic. This is just one of many ways in which humans do not actually function rationally. We fail to appreciate how many of our decisions stem from subtle emotional cues that bias our thinking, leading us to construct intellectual rationales to support what is actually a deeper intuition or instinct.

The Nobel Prize-winning economist Daniel Kahneman spent his career demonstrating how so-called rational decisions are often deeply influenced by intrinsic biases. People tend to give much greater weight to the fear of loss than to opportunities for gain, and they often define an experience by its “peak-end” rather than its entirety. That is, the final moments of an experience disproportionately shape their recollection of it. Research supports this: when individuals report their enjoyment levels during a vacation or event and later recall the experience, their memories are often heavily influenced by how it ended. (Imagine a wonderful vacation where, on the last day, the hotel’s electricity shuts off—suddenly, the entire trip is remembered as unpleasant.)

The human mind operates with these intuitive and instinctive shortcuts because, while they sacrifice accuracy, they enhance efficiency. Our consciousness can only process so much at once, so many decisions are made on autopilot. This is not inherently bad; it is a necessary function of cognition. However, we should strive not to be naïve. By recognizing our biases, we can make more deliberate and objective decisions when the situation demands deeper thought.

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Unlaced Truths: Rabbi Eliezer’s Last Dialogue

Our Gemara on Amud Aleph describes a poignant scene where the sages visit their colleague, Rabbi Eliezer, who is on his deathbed. This is a psychologically complex encounter, as these very same colleagues had excommunicated him for his intense and disrespectful manner of disagreeing with them during the famous “Oven of Achnai” dispute (see Bava Metzia 59b).

For obvious reasons, there was tension and regret on both sides, which had never been fully addressed. Time was running short, as he was dying, and perhaps neither party—despite their shared respect—saw reason to concede or change their position. However, despite this, they held great respect and admiration for each other. So, in veiled language, they addressed their grievances, mostly through poetic allusion, using various halachic discussions and questions as their language of expression and thought.

There is a final discussion that we will study in depth:

They asked him further: What is the halachah regarding a newly formed shoe that is on a shoe tree? Is it considered a complete vessel, which needs no further preparation, and is therefore susceptible to impurity? Rabbi Eliezer said to them: It is pure, and with this word, his soul left him in purity. Rabbi Yehoshua stood on his feet and said: The vow is permitted; the vow is permitted—meaning that the ostracism placed upon Rabbi Eliezer was now removed.

These were not people of many words, and their words were chosen with precision, especially during the final moments of life. Although it is meaningful that Rabbi Eliezer should leave this world with a pronouncement of “pure,” surely there could have been other mystical meditations; why discuss a shoe-tree? I believe the answer is that this was, in fact, a mystical discussion. The mystics often refrain from discussing esoteric matters openly for fear that the less educated would misinterpret, misunderstand, or be unworthy of the teachings. They often communicated through illusions and hints, sharing only on a “need-to-know” basis (see Chagigah 14b). To better understand their dialogue, I will provide some introduction:

Clothing serves as a metaphor for how a human is cloaked. Just as clothes cover the body, the body itself is a kind of cloak for the soul. Moshe is told to “remove his shoes (enclosures), for he is standing on holy ground” (Shemos 3:5). But is that all? Perhaps Moshe was also being instructed to shed his physicality—his clothes, his enclosures—so that he could experience God in the fullest way. Megillas Rus documents (4:7) the removal and transfer of an article of clothing, na’alo, which some translate as “shoe,” but literally means “enclosure.” This transfer is a way to convey ownership. But what else was being transferred here? This was a quasi-yibum ceremony in which Boaz, a relative of Avimelech, could redeem his soul by marrying Rus and continuing his family line. Perhaps he even served as a form of reincarnation for Elimelech or his sons. The use of an enclosure or shoe to marry Rus, and even its presence in the chalitzah ceremony (Devarim 25:9), is not lost on the Zohar. The Zohar, at the beginning of Parashas Chukas, compares kinyan sudar (a method to acquire ownership), levirate marriage, Boaz’s actions to assume the rights of the closest relative in order to marry Rus and redeem the fields of Avimelech’s estate, and the transmigration of the soul (reincarnation).

One more point: The state of excommunication often involves assuming a certain state of mourning, which can include not wearing shoes (Shulchan Aruch YD 334:2). So, the question about the shoes on the mold was also a question about the status of Rabbi Eliezer’s excommunication. Additionally, this particular shoot in question was in a liminal state, that is, almost complete, but not yet released from the mold. That is similar to Rabbi Eliezer’s body and soul, who has almost finished the mission. I believe that when Rabbi Eliezer determined that the shoe in the mold was not yet fully complete and therefore not susceptible to impurity, he was, in a veiled way, admitting that his “body” was not yet complete. He still needed to repent. This, in itself, was his admission and repentance, which his colleagues accepted. That is why the “shoe” was declared pure, and with it, he died. Meaning, in a respectful and sophisticated manner, he communicated his repentance and acceptance to his colleagues, and they understood exactly what he was referring to, without needing to make it more embarrassing or obvious. His body was purified, his mission was complete, and his soul was now free to ascend.