Arevus, the concept of “kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh” (Shevuos 39a), meaning in effect, “all Jews are co-responsible for each other,” is a fundamental tenet of Judaism. It is commonly assumed that arevus signifies the obligation that is incumbent upon all Jews to maintain humanity, decency, and morality within the Jewish community. It is true that the concept includes this meaning, but it is not limited to it. The obligation to maintain decency and morality within the community extends to the whole human race. One of the seven commandments given by God to Noach in the covenant binding all humanity, according to the Rambam (Hilchos M’lachim 9:14), has this application, namely, of maintaining fundamental humanity within society. Obviously, such application is not confined to Jews, but extends to all people. It is incumbent upon the members of any human community to maintain certain standards of morality, to deter the members of the community from crime and sin. Arevus, however, is something peculiar to Israel — “kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh.” It does not apply to non-Jews. We thus see that arevus implies something more than the obligation to maintain morality within the community.
To understand the real significance of this concept, one must take notice of the juxtaposition in the Torah of two commandments, the one upon which the concept of arevus is founded and the one commanding brotherly love. In Parshas K’doshim the Torah says: “You shall not dislike your brother in your heart; you shall surely rebuke your neighbor and not bear sin for him” (Leviticus 19:17). And then, the Torah proceeds in the next verse with the prohibition against revenge and bearing a grudge against a brother: “You shall not take vengeance, or bear any grudge against the children of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself; I am God.” We thus see that there is a very close affinity between the mitzvah of reproof (tochachah), which derives from the concept of arevus, and the mitzvah of brotherly love (“V’ahavta l’reiacha”). Likewise, it is evident that arevus and its corollary, the mitzvah of tochachah, are both based upon ahavas Yisrael, love of Israel.
If we grasp the real significance of the concept, ahavas Yisrael, then we will also be able to understand the significance of arevus. Unfortunately, the former, though a basic Torah tenet, is widely misunderstood.
In the Talmud we find the expression ahavas Yisrael on the one hand and ahavas habriyos, love of mankind, on the other. The expression ahavas habriyos is more general, more inclusive than the other. It implies that ahavah, brotherly love, is to be applied to everyone, whether Jews or non-Jews. As Rabbi Chayim Vital points out in Shaar Hak’dushah: “Know that ‘love of mankind’ applies even to non-Jews for it is incumbent upon one to love all of Mankind created in the Image, as it is said (Avos 3:18): ‘Chaviv ha’adam shenivra b’tzelem — Beloved is Man who was created in the image [of God].’” (Tosfos Yom Tov points out that ha’adam, not adam, is the correct version because ha’adam has reference to non-Jews as well.) So there is a concept of “Beloved is Man who was created in the image of God,” of brotherly love — towards all Mankind. But then there is the concept of ahavas Yisrael — brotherly love that is peculiar to Israel, that is to be applied in a special way to Jews. This mitzvah of “and you shall love your neighbor as yourself, I am God” obviously is confined to Jews, for the Torah enjoins us: “You shall bear no grudge against children of your people but you shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
The question arises: Of what significance is the application of love of Israel if there is an obligation of love of Mankind that is applicable to all people? It seems that there is a definite distinction between the two, for there are two kinds of ahavah. There is intellectual love — love deriving from logic of the mind, marked by an objective view of the person who is loved. And then there is emotional love, springing from the heart. Emotional love is not based upon any logic of the mind; it is blind. Ahavas habriyos, which is coextensive with the whole human race, must be based upon a full cognizance of the good qualities possessed by Man as well as the frailties that can be found in each and every person. Love of Mankind, based upon the teaching “Beloved is Man who was created in the image [of God],” is keyed to the idea of human dignity; it bespeaks the fact that every human being is endowed with kavod, dignity, and hadar, majesty. But then, in regard to Yisrael there is an obligation of “blind” love — love that springs from the heart rather than the mind. There is a wisdom of the heart just as there is a wisdom of the mind. This is shown in the debate cited in the Midrash (Yalkut Shimoni on Job) between Rebbe Elazar and Rebbe Yehoshua on the point: “Where do we find wisdom?” According to Rebbe Elazar, wisdom is to be found in the heart of Man, while according to Rebbe Yehoshua, it is to be found in the mind of Man. “These and these both are words of the living God.”
Now the world in its entirety has a mind. There are certain phenomena in the world that generate logic of the mind. The world in its entirety also has a heart — and there are certain phenomena in the world that animate the heart of Man. The commandments of the Torah correspond to this division, for there is a close affinity between the pattern of the Torah in its entirety and the pattern of the world in its entirety. Our Sages (Midrash Rabbah, B’reishis) point out that when the Almighty God decreed Creation, “He looked into the Torah and created the universe” — the universe was created in accordance with the pattern of the Torah. Consequently, there must be an affinity between the two. Thus, the commandments of the Torah are of the two kinds — those based upon logic of the mind and those based upon logic of the heart. As the Rashba points out in one of his responsa, the two separate mitzvos pertaining to the phylacteries placed on the head and on the arm against the heart, the t’filin shel rosh and t’filin shel yad, represent these two categories in the Torah. The category comprising the commandments that stem from logic of the mind is that of the t’filin shel rosh, while the category that comprises the commandments that stem from the logic of the heart is that of the t’filin shel yad k’neged halev — adjoining the heart.
It is remarkable that during the course of the Exodus form Egypt, the mitzvos of t’filin, of both t’filin shel rosh and t’filin shel yad, were revealed by God to Moshe (as were a number of other mitzvos). Now we can very well understand why the mitzvah which regulates the calendar, “Hachodesh hazeh lachem” (Exodus 12:2), was revealed in Egypt, for without that mitzvah there could not be any compliance with the korban Pesach, the Passover sacrifice, and there could not be any festivals. But why were the mitzvos of t’filin shel rosh and t’filin shel yad revealed as the Israelites were delivered from Egypt?
The Torah, at the end of Parshas Bo, mentions these mitzvos twice. First in Exodus 13:9 the Torah says: “And it shall be for a sign to you upon your arm, and for a reminder between your eyes,” and then again at the very end of the same parshah, in Exodus 13:16, “And it shall be for a sign upon your arm, and for frontlets between your eyes, for by strength of arm the Lord brought us forth from Egypt.” It seems that the mitzvos of t’filin shel rosh and of t’filin shel yad had a direct connection with the Exodus, more than most other mitzvos. All the commandments of the Torah have a connection with the Exodus but the mitzvos of t’filin shel rosh and t’filin shel yad had a direct connection.
The key to the explanation of this rests in a statement of the Zohar on Parshas Va’era: “So long as the Israelites were in Egypt, their dibur, their speech, was also in bondage, and then when the Israelites were delivered out of Egyptian slavery, niskan hadibur — the speech of the Israelites was corrected,” that is, regained. This, the Kabbalah tells us, is the reason why the festival of Pesach is so designated, because peh sach, “a mouth speaks” — upon delivery from Egyptian bondage, the Israelites regained their self-expression. As long as they were subjected to Egyptian bondage, their self-expression was stifled and suppressed. But at the moment of Exodus, the Israelites regained their speech. Slaves cannot express or assert themselves properly; they cannot realize their potential. Only the free man is capable of doing so.
There are two main forms of expression — prose and poetry. Since the cheirus, the freedom, of the Israelites was coupled with liberation of their speech, so also cheirus of the Israelites manifests itself in the two realms of prose and poetry. The distinguishing feature of human poetry as contrasted with human prose is rhyme and rhythm. But, in regard to Divine poetry, as contrasted with Divine prose, rhyme and rhythm are not important. Rhyme and rhythm are only external manifestations of poetry. Halachah itself marks the distinction between Divine poetry and Divine prose.
In the Torah we have passages that represent Divine prose, the non-shirah part of the Torah, and we have others such as the Az Yashir (Exodus 15:1-19), which represent Divine poetry — shirah. According to the halachah, when writing a Torah scroll one must write the shirah sections in a peculiar way — in the form of half a brick set upon a whole brick. As Rashi (Megillah 16b) explains, the half bricks represent the written part of the lines of shirah and the whole bricks represent the blank part of the lines. That means that the Divine poetry of the Torah must be written and spaced in such a way that the unwritten portions of the lines are double the written parts. Divine prose, however, must be written so that one word follows upon another, with only as much blank space as is necessary to separate one word from another, not more.
This halachah is symbolic and indicative of the logic of the heart from which Divine poetry stems. The distinction between Divine prose and Divine poetry consists of the following: Divine prose is perceived in accordance with the logic of the mind, through observation and deductive and inductive reasoning. The Divine poetry of the Torah, however, stems from logic of the heart, which contains more “unwritten space” than “written space.” A great deal of the logic of the heart, the shirah, in the Torah cannot be seen by the human eye. It can only be perceived intuitively by the hearts of those Jews who want to perceive. Those who refuse to see through the vision of the heart will not see anything. Consequently, the Torah says: “And it shall be for a sign [os] upon your arm, and for frontlets [totafos] between your eyes.” Totafos, frontlets, our Sages tell us, signifies the t’filin. As Rashi on this verse points out, in the name of Menachem Ibn Saruk, totafos is derived from the term “speak,” so that it has the significance of “speaking” and corresponds to l’zikaron, “for a reminder,” for whoever sees the t’filin bound between the eyes will remember the miracle and speak about it.
The t’filin shel rosh thus has the distinguishing feature of speech. It is a totafos, it is matif, it articulates, it talks. This is the meaning of “for a reminder between your eyes.” The t’filin shel rosh corresponds to all the obligations of the Torah that are based upon the logic of the mind. This logic can be perceived through observation, through deductive and inductive reasoning. It expresses ideas in a way that anyone can understand. It is the power of speech. But the t’filin shel yad, though, represents the commandments based upon the logic of the heart. Such logic contains an unwritten dimension that is double the written dimension; it cannot be seen so easily. It must be perceived intuitively. It expresses itself only in a poetic, rather than a prosaic, form. Consequently, the Talmud in Brachos (6a) says, in regard to the verse (Deuteronomy 28:10), “‘And all the peoples of the earth shall see that the name of God is called upon you, and they shall be afraid of you’ — this is the t’filin shel rosh.” Tosfos, on this Talmudic passage, explains that “all the peoples of the earth” must have reference to the t’filin shel rosh. Why could it not have reference to the t’filin shel yad? The reason given by Tosfos is because here it is stated: “And all the peoples,” thus implying that it is something that can be seen by everyone, by all the nations. And t’filin shel yad is mechuseh, covered — it cannot be seen; only the t’filin shel rosh is exposed, it can be seen by everyone. You must regard the t’filin shel yad, our Sages say, in the sense of: “‘And it shall be for a sign to you’ — a sign to you, not a sign to others,” it is mechuseh, it is not exposed. Only the t’filin shel rosh is exposed. Why? Why does the Torah say in regard to t’filin shel yad, “a sign to you, not a sign to others,” and in regard to t’filin shel rosh: “And all the peoples of the earth shall see that the name of God is called upon you, and they shall be afraid of you”?
The answer is clear. The t’filin placed on the head corresponds to the commandments that are based upon logic of the mind. It represents something that can be perceived by everyone, by Jews and non-Jews alike. But the t’filin placed on the arm adjoining the heart is mechuseh, a sign for you, peculiar to Israel. It has no application to non-Jews. The Torah, therefore, says, “And it shall be for a sign to you upon your arm, and for a reminder between your eyes, that the Torah of God may be in your mouth.” Through the “reminder between your eyes,” you articulate the Torah of God. You will represent the Torah before all the peoples of the world. But the t’filin shel yad, representing the obligations stemming from logic of the heart, is “a sign to you, not a sign to others.” Consequently, brotherly love that stems from the heart, emotional love, has application only to Jews.
Turning now to the prohibition: “You shall not take vengeance, or bear any grudge against the children of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself; I am God,” we find complementary significance.
Our Sages tell us, in Maseches Yoma (23a) and also in Toras Kohanim on this verse, that if one has been acting very rudely and has always refused to lend any object to another, then the one so abused and mistreated is not allowed to mete out retribution against the offending and abusing person, or even to act with a feeling of resentment toward the person. Even if one does not recompense the rude person in accordance with his or her rudeness but simply acts with a feeling of resentment toward the person, one violates the prohibition: “You shall not...bear any grudge against the children of your people.” Is that in accordance with logic? Can we explain, on the basis of logic of the mind, this prohibition against bearing a grudge against a person who has abused, mistreated and humiliated us? From the point of view of logic of the mind, if a person abuses me, if he humiliates me, then I should bear a grudge against that person. But the Torah, in molding the pattern of our behavior in relation to our fellow Jews, imposes upon us the obligation of being motivated by logic of the heart; and this logic is so often repugnant to logic of the mind. From the standpoint of logic of the mind, it is perhaps absurd not to bear a grudge against those who humiliate us and mistreat us and abuse us, but this is the obligation that is imposed upon us by the Torah with regard to fellow Jews.
This, however, does not apply to one who is not a member of the Jewish people. With respect to our relationship with non-Jews, the pattern is based upon logic of the mind. Consequently, there is no basis in such a relationship for the commandment of “you shall love your neighbor as yourself,” which has reference to emotional love — love that is blind, love that is not conditioned upon the merits of the person loved. Emotional love does not take cognizance of the merits or failings of the person loved. “Love covers all inequities” (Proverbs 10:12). This is the concept of ahavas Yisrael. Love of Israel must be applied towards all Jews indiscriminately — religious or non-observant, gentle or rude, pleasant or unpleasant, respectful or abusive. It is inconsistent with all rules of logic of the mind to love someone in the way that I love myself. Only with logic of the heart is it possible to realize a love of “Vahavta l’reiacha kamocha.”
Blind love towards non-Jews would be suicidal for the Jews themselves. That has always been true and there has never been any exception to: “In every generation they set forth to destroy us but the Holy One Blessed be He rescued us from their hand” (Haggadah of Pesach).
Rashi quotes the Midrash (on Genesis 33:4) saying, it is halachah l’Moshe miSinai, a decree handed down from Mount Sinai (something that cannot be conceived by reason), that “Esav hates Yaakov.” One cannot explain on the basis of psychological or sociological principles why there is such a deeply rooted, inherent prejudice in the heart and mind of every non-Jew, be it the best of them, against Jews. It cannot be explained. It is a fact. Ina book by a certain French journalist, the author tells of an interview he once had with Thomas Masaryk, who was known as a great liberal and as an ohev Yisrael, a great friend of the Jewish people, certainly one of the chasidei umos ha’olam, the righteous of the peoples of the world. He was responsible to a certain extent for the issuance of the Balfour Declaration, and even fought against anti-Semitism. Asked by the French correspondent whether in his heart he entertained any prejudice against Jews, Masaryk gave him the very honest answer: “In my mind I do not have any prejudice against the Jews. Whenever I feel that I am under the impact of pure logic, then I realize that the Jew should not be disliked. The Jew is as human as anyone else. But sometimes when the control of the logic of the mind loosens, and I fall prey to my feeling, then I take notice of the fact that deep in my heart there is a prejudice raging against the Jews. Why, I don’t know.” This was the answer that was given by Thomas Masaryk. And this is the reason why our Sages apply the expression “halachah [l’Moshe miSinai] sheEsav sonei l’Yaakov.”
The Midrash does not mean “halachah [l’Moshe miSinai] she-Hitler, y’mach sh’mo, sonei l’Yaakov.” Do we have to resort to this source to find out that Hitler was a Jew-hater, or that Haman was a Jew-hater? The Midrash points to Esav in the generic sense. All descendants of Esav, be they the saintliest among the chasidei umos ha’olam, have an innate prejudice against the Jew. How then could we apply blind, emotional love toward non-Jews when prejudice against Jews is so common in the hearts of non-Jews? The Torah has great consideration for human frailty. The Mishnah declares: “Beloved is Man who was created in the image of God.” Brotherly love is to be applied towards all people, but not from the point of view of logic of the heart, not blind love, but based rather upon logic of the mind. It must be applied with objective analysis of the merits of the individual. We cannot apply brotherly love towards all non-Jews, including all the anti-Semites. Consequently, our Sages say, with respect to the blessing which Yitzchak conferred upon Yaakov, “They who curse you shall be cursed, and they who bless you shall be blessed” (Genesis 27:29) — “Every non-Jew who blesses Israel shall be blessed, as it is written, ‘Whom you bless shall be blessed’ — and every non-Jew who curses Israel shall be accursed.”
Love of non-Jews must be commensurate with their behavior. Any non-Jew who looks upon the Jew as a human being, who is m’vorech es Yisrael, is blessed. A rational love is to be extended toward him or her. However, because there are those who curse Israel, this love cannot be extended indiscriminately to all human beings.
Now, as mentioned above, the Torah sets forth the mitzvah of tochachah, reproof, as a corollary to the arevus concept, next to the mitzvah of “Love your neighbor as yourself.” It follows, therefore, that just as the latter is based upon logic of the heart, so also is the former. And this is the distinguishing feature between the mitzvah of dinim, a law which is coextensive with the whole human race, and the mitzvah of tochachah, which is particular to Jews. The mitzvah of dinim is based upon logic of the mind; hence, its application to all members of the human race. Rabbenu Bachaye in the Kad Hakemach points out the reason why the Torah repeats the term tzedek, righteousness, in saying: “Tzedek, tzedek tirdof” (Deuteronomy 16:20). Why does the Torah repeat — “Righteousness, righteousness you shall pursue”? Rabbenu Bachaye says, because the rule of tzedek must be pursued in our relationship with Jews and also in our relationship with non-Jews, even with pagans. In our relationship with non-pagan non-Jews, we are to apply not only the norm of tzedek but also the norms of brotherhood and generosity. Tzedek is based upon the premise of Man as created in the Divine image. Righteousness, based upon logic of the mind, is coextensive with the whole human race. Those obligations that stem from logic of the mind must be applied to all human beings.
Dinim, law, which is one of the Noachide commandments, implies the obligation that is incumbent upon all to deter the members of the community from crime. That is based upon logic of the mind. But arevus is something that cannot even be perceived by human reason.
We find the concept of arevus in that area of Jewish civil law designated the Choshen Mishpat. If someone becomes a surety, if someone undertakes to be responsible for the debt of another, then that person is held responsible as if he or she had borrowed the money. Arevus means suretyship. We have the concept of arevus in regard to Jews on a spiritual level.
A halachah (see Rosh Hashanah 29a) in birkas hamitzvos, blessings recited before performing mitzvos, stipulates that if one Jew has already fulfilled a given mitzvah but another Jew has not, the Jew who has already fulfilled the mitzvah may recite the brachah on behalf of a fellow Jew who has not fulfilled it as yet. This would seem to conflict with the halachah (Mishnah, Rosh Hashanah 3:8) that only one upon whom a given precept is obligatory may be motzi (act on behalf of another). How then can one who has fulfilled one’s obligation — being no longer a m’chuyav b’davar, subject to obligation — be motzi another? The concept of arevus comes in, however, and declares: True, you fulfilled the obligation with respect to yourself, but you have not completely fulfilled your obligation, since your fellow Jew has not fulfilled the obligation. If your fellow Jew has not recited kiddush, the Shabbos blessing on the wine, then you have not recited kiddush.
Arevus means more than just an interested concern for one’s fellow Jew. It means that I am a surety — each and every Jew is a surety for every other Jew. Just as a surety in money is held responsible as if he or she had been the debtor, so also every Jew is a surety for all the spiritual obligations of every other Jew. From the point of view of dinim, universal law, the obligation is only to deter the members of the community from crime. That is the extent of the mitzvah of dinim, and that can be explained on the basis of logic of the mind. But from the point of view of arevus, if one Jew who is a Shabbos observer is capable of influencing another who is a Shabbos profaner to become observant, yet fails to exert such influence, then the Jew who has been a Shabbos observer is considered a Shabbos profaner in a certain sense. Every Jew is responsible for and shares the default, the failures, of every other Jew who was within his or her power to correct and change.
This cannot be explained from the point of view of logic of the mind. How can we consider a Jew who is so scrupulous in the observance of a given commandment a violator thereof, just because of failure to exercise the proper hashpaah, the proper influence, upon the fellow Jew who throughout his life has been a violator? It cannot be explained, but this is the concept of suretyship with respect to matters of the spirit. And it is remarkable that the Midrash on Parshas Vayigash, with respect to the verse “For your servant is a surety for the boy” (Genesis 44:32), points out that it is because of this plea by Yehudah that every Jew is called after his name. Now the name of Yehudah is a synonym for the Jew. “Yehudi” means “Jew.” Everyone in the House of Israel is a Yehudi; whether one be a descendant of the tribe of Yehudah or a descendant of the tribe of Levi or Ephrayim, or of any other of the shivtei Yisrael (Tribes of Israel), one is called Yehudi. Yehudah has become the prototype for the spiritual pattern of Israel. Why, the Midrash Rabbah asks, was Israel not called “Binyamin” — why are the Reuveni, the Shimoni and Israelites of all tribes, called “Yehudi”? And the answer is given: Because he, Yehudah, said, “For your servant is a surety for the boy.” It is the principle of surety that constitutes the distinguishing feature of the Jew.
The question was raised by Ben Gurion, Mihu Yehudi — Who is a Jew? A Jew is a Jew. But what is the distinguishing feature of the Jew? The principle of suretyship, arevus. And arevus does not mean only an interest in and concern for one’s fellow Jew; it means that every Jew is bound to exercise the proper influence upon a fellow Jew and if one fails to do so, then the guilt of the fellow Jew is attributed to the Jew who does not act as a surety.
Now the question arises, if a Jew is called “Yehudi” because the principle of suretyship so typical of Yehudah is the distinguishing attribute of the Jew, then how could the term “Yehudi” be applied to Jews who have no concern for their fellow Jews? But this can be explained if we delve into the meaning of the mitzvah of tochachah: “Hocheiach tochiach es amisecha,” usually translated: “you shall surely rebuke your neighbor.”
Let us analyze that expression.
In the Torah we have the term reia and we have the term amisecha, both of which are usually translated as “neighbor.” Onkelos translates amisecha as chavrach — your chaver, your fellow. From this we see the distinction between the term reia which actually signifies “a friend,” and the term amisecha, signifying chaver, a fellow. We know that the designation chaver was the synonym used by our Sages for the Pharisee, the P’rushi. Now superficially it would appear that the term parush, or p’rushi — referring to those Jews who followed the Oral Torah — is inconsistent with the connotation of chaver, which likewise refers to those Jews who followed the Torah shebeal peh. Parush means one who is isolated — separated from society, from the community. Chaver, on the other hand, means, as noted, a fellow, a member. The two connotations seem to be diametrically opposed to each other. Still we find that a Jew who is determined to comply with the Oral Torah is designated both by the term parush and by the term chaver. The term chaver, furthermore, is mentioned in the Talmud in contrast to the term am haaretz (see Chagigah 2:7). In popular usage, the term am haaretz is applied to a Jew who is ignorant of the law, but in the Talmud it is never used in that sense but only in reference to the Jew who is delinquent in his religious duties. And of these there are various kinds. There is the am haaretz who does not wear t’filin. There is the one who eats tevel, untithed produce. There is the am haaretz who is a kofer ba’ikar, one who denies the existence of God (see Tosfos on P’sachim 49b). The term am haaretz thus refers to a delinquent Jew. What then should be our attitude towards ammei haaretz, non-observant Jews?
There are some among us who say that according to halachah, one should keep separate from non-observant Jews. And they might substantiate their views with numerous citations from our Sages. It is true that there are certain citations which, superficially, tend to indicate that according to halachah, an observant Jew is to keep separate from non-observant Jews. For example, there is the Mishnah in Avos (1:7): “Do not associate with one who is sinful.” But on the other hand, there are statements by our Sages which tend to indicate that a Jew should never remain apart from fellow Jews — not even from those completely divorced from Jewish observance. Now, it is needless for me to exhaust the list of citations of both kinds. It is more to the point to see how we can reconcile these two kinds of statements, which on the surface appear to be diametrically opposed to each other. Let us take just two halachos, which are typical of the two apparent approaches. One is the above-cited Mishnah: “Do not associate with one who is sinful.” The other is the halachah mentioned in Bava M’tziya (32a) where the Gemara discusses the law pertaining to the mitzvos of p’rikah and t’inah. These are the commandments given in the Torah concerning unloading the burden from an ass staggering under it — not only a tottering human being, but even a tottering ass — and of reloading a burden upon a fallen ass, or a fallen ox. In Exodus (23:5), the Torah enjoins: “If you see the ass of your opponent staggering under its burden, and you would forbear to pass by him; you shall surely help and release it with him.” Then in Deuteronomy (22:4), we have the mitzvah of t’inah: “You shall not see your brother’s ass or ox fallen down by the way and hide yourself from them; you shall surely help him to lift them up again.” The mitzvah of p’rikah, of unloading, has precedence over the mitzvah of t’inah, because the former involves tzaar baalei chayim — the relief of pain of a living being. So if one finds one human being who requires an unloading, and another human being who requires a loading, one must first attend to the unloading and then attend to the loading. What, however, if someone simultaneously finds an oheyv lifrok, a friend or an observant Jew needing help in unloading a burden, and a sonei liton or mumar, an opponent or a non-observant Jew needing help in loading a burden — to which shall precedence be given? The Talmud (Bava M’tziya 32b) tells us that in this circumstance one must first attend to the loading of the non-observant Jew and thereafter render the required service for the observant Jew. Why? “In order to subdue the evil inclinations within him.” For if the Yisrael mumar would see that the observant Jew first attends to the unloading of the observant Jew, then he or she would explain it on the basis of a prejudice he or she fears in the heart of the pious Jew against non-observant Jews. Pious Jews, he or she will say, have no compassion, have no consideration for non-observant Jews. Consequently, we must give precedence to the need of the non-observant Jew and then attend to that of the observant Jew.
This indicates the principle that an observant Jew is obligated to help out a non-observant Jew and, furthermore, that a non-observant Jew deserves priority of attention over the religious Jew.
How can this be reconciled with the concept that is implicit in the Mishnah of “al tischaber l’rasha” — do not associate with one who is sinful, have nothing to do with him? The answer is that a distinction is to be made between friendship and fellowship.
Many non-Jews and, unfortunately, many Jews have fabricated a notion that the Torah shebeal peh, the Talmud, has no consideration, no compassion, for non-Jews. They seek to substantiate this charge by citing the numerous laws which were enacted by the Sages for the purpose of isolating Jews from non-Jews.
It cannot be denied that our Sages did enact numerous ordinances designed to establish safeguards against commingling with non-Jews. Our Sages, for example, forbade partaking of non-Jewish wine and that applies not only to the wine of the pagan, it applies even to the wine of the Gentiles of today who are not pagans. The reason for this is that the partaking of the wine of a non-Jew makes for associations conducive to intermarriage. And there are numerous other such ordinances, the purpose of which is to establish safeguards against commingling of Jews with non-Jews.
Thus, it is useless and absurd to deny the allegation that our Sages endeavored to establish a fence between Jews and non-Jews, for it is true that they did so. And if it were not for these safeguards by our Sages, the Jewish people would not have survived. But not only did our Sages provide safeguards against close association with non-Jews, they established safeguards against close association with non-observant Jews. Thus, the Rambam in his Commentary on the Mishnah explains that the halachah of tumas am haaretz (that delinquent Jews are ritually impure) was also enacted not so much because of the laxity that prevailed among the non-observant Jews at the time of Chazal as regards taharah and tumah, but primarily in order to prevent the association of chaverim with ammei haaretz, the non-observant Jews. How can that be reconciled with the concept of “you shall love your neighbor as yourself; I am God”?
Avos D’Rebbe Nasan explains that this commandment obliges one to bear love — the blind, emotional love to which we have referred — for all Jews — even the Yisrael mumar, even the Jew who has become an idolator (see also Ramah on Sanhedrin 52b); it is to be applied indiscriminately. How can the halachah on one hand declare that blind, emotional love is to be entertained towards all Jews indiscriminately, and on the other establish safeguards, the obvious purpose of which is to prevent association with non-observant Jews? The answer lies in the distinction to be drawn between association in friendship and association in fellowship.
Association in friendship means living together, helping one another, guiding, comforting, encouraging one another. In contradistinction to this type of relationship, association in fellowship does not necessarily involve deep concern for the welfare of the person with whom one-shares fellowship. Association in fellowship means joining with each other in intimate facets of life; it means playing together, drinking together, seeking pleasure together. In matters of friendship, the Torah does not want any separation. The Torah indeed condemns and bans such separation, and not only with regard to non-observant Jews but with respect to non-Jews also and even with respect to the akum, the pagan non-Jews. No discrimination in friendship is to be applied toward the pagan. It is set forth in the Mishnah (Gittin 5:8) as well as the Gemara (Gittin 61a) that just as we are obligated to support and maintain the poor among the Jews, we are obligated to support and maintain the poor among the pagan. Just as we are required to comfort mourners, those who are overtaken by sorrow, among the Jews, so are we obligated to comfort and encourage the pagans who are overtaken by grief. We are not allowed even to hinder a poor pagan from gathering the gleanings, the forgotten sheaves and the field corners of the Jews. Any act of discrimination shown toward a pagan constitutes a violation of the principle of darkei shalom (ways of peace), which is a fundamental tenet of direct Scriptural derivation (mid’oraisa) rather than Rabbinic enactment (mid’rabbanan).
There are no limits upon friendship. It is scarcely necessary to state that there are no limits upon association in friendship with non-observant Jews. As has previously been noted, the mitzvah of “you shall love your neighbor as yourself” is coextensive with each and every Jew. It is to be applied, without discrimination, to all Jews.
But when we consider the association in fellowship, association of playing together, drinking together, feasting together, then it is another matter. Then association of any sort in fellowship with non-Jews is prohibited. Any sort of association in fellowship with non-Jews is conducive to intermarriage. Do we not see this today on the campuses of the various colleges throughout the United States?
Why is there so much intermarriage? Because there is association in fellowship with non-Jews; because there is no demarcation between a Jew and a non-Jew. And not only is fellowship association with non-Jews condemned, but so, too, does the halachah bar fellowship association with non-observant Jews. That is the meaning of “al tischaber l’rasha.” Chaver means a fellow, not a friend. A chaver is one with whom you play together, you share life’s intimate occasions, one in whom you confide all your secrets. And chavrusa, fellowship, is a very important matter. “O chavrusa, o misusa” (Taanis 23a) — the human being cannot survive without fellowship. We must have fellowship with certain people. But we must be very careful in choosing those with whom we associate in fellowship. “Al tischaber l’rasha” — there cannot be any association in fellowship with a sinner. True, it is not entirely the sinner’s fault. A person becomes a sinner because of the multifarious circumstances that mold his or her behavior. But the fact remains that the person is a sinner. Association in fellowship with such a person is conducive to further demoralization.
If you associate in fellowship with a drug addict or a drunkard, and you join together for a l’chayim, then you will not elevate the alcoholic or the drug addict but you yourself will become demoralized. However, association in friendship with anyone tends to elevate the person. If you associate with a drug addict, with an alcoholic, in friendship, then not only are you immune to infection with his or her sickness but in fact you will be elevated. That was the attitude of our Sages toward association with non-observant Jews. Friendship association, yes. Fellowship association, no.
Now, on “al tischaber l’rasha,” fellowship with one who has fallen away from Torah — no!; but ohev lifrok, v’sonei liton — if it is a matter of helping someone in distress, then there cannot be any discrimination against a non-observant Jew. On the contrary, it is a mitzvah to give him preferential aid, “in order to subdue the evil inclinations within him.”
Why are many Jews delinquent in their behavior? They are responsible, but their neighbors are also responsible. Had their supposed friends — who actually are only fellows — been real friends, then they would have inspired the so-called non-observant Jews and would have elevated them to a higher realm. The Torah, in the mitzvah of tochachah, says: “You shall surely rebuke your friend, so that lo sisa alav chet — you shall not bear his guilt.” Now what does the mitzvah of “lo sisa alav chet” imply? The Rambam says (Hilchos Deos 6:8; Sefer Hamitzvos, #205, based on Toras Kohanim on Leviticus 19:17) that it indicates the Talmudic prohibition against reproving a sinner in the presence of other people, so that “the color of his face changes.” Accordingly, if one admonishes another for wrongful conduct, then one is to do it in quiet privacy, not in the presence of others, so that the person not be embarrassed. However, Rabbenu Yonah, in Shaarei T’shuvah, and the Ramban have a different explanation of this verse. Both these expositors say that “that you shall not bear his guilt” implies a negative commandment applying to failure to fulfill the duty of rebuke. In other words, if a person fails to admonish a delinquent Jew, then that person violates both a positive command, to give necessary reproof, and a negative command, to not incur the guilt of one’s fellow. This interpretation of the verse is in full conformity with the rendering given by Onkelos, as cited earlier.
The question now arises, how can the interpretation given by the Rambam, based on Toras Kohanim, be reconciled with the interpretation given by the Ramban, which accords with Onkelos? The two interpretations seem to negate each other. In seeking the answer, we shall see that both interpretations are based upon the same concept.
In every English translation of the Bible, “hocheiach tochiach” is translated as “rebuke” or “reprimand.” This is not an accurate translation. Hocheiach does not mean rebuke, and does not mean reprimand. It really means “a proof”; something that serves as a raayah, for evidence is called a hochachah — a proof. Thus the Torah says, in fact: You shall prove to your fellow — to your chaver. Prove what? What shall you prove? Obviously it means: “You shall prove to your fellow the wrongful path upon which he embarks, the wrongfulness of his conduct.” Although the words are omitted, the meaning is implicit. But the question then arises, why, if that be the case, does not the Torah say, “l’amisecha — unto your fellow”? If the Torah means, “you shall convince, you shall prove unto your fellow the wrongfulness of his course,” then “amisecha — your fellow,” is an indirect object. How is it that the Torah employs the direct object — “es amisecha” — when the indirect object should be employed? A very profound concept is contained in this verse, and the key to it lies in the grammatical formulation of this mitzvah.
We find in the Talmud that whenever people are quoted as referring to the better side of their character, they speak of themselves in the first person, while if quoted as referring to the evil aspect of their character, then they refer to themselves in the third person. Thus, when the Talmud quotes people as saying that they fulfilled a certain mitzvah, it puts the word ana, “I,” in the mouth of the person quoted. Should the Talmud quote people as telling that they were violators of the Shabbos, or that they were rude, then the term hahu gavra, “that person,” is used by the person quoted.
We learn from this that within every person there are two personalities. In every individual there is the ideal personality, aspiring towards that which is sacred, noble, worthy. And simultaneously, every person is moved by certain animal instincts which lead him or her to sinful acts. The real personality is the one that is motivated by the lofty inclination. That is the “ana,” the “I,” the essential inner self of the person; the animal instincts that impel one towards wrongful ways constitute only the “hahu gavra,” “that person,” a stranger, a trespasser who occupies one’s spirit.
A remarkable passage in the Gemara (Sotah 49b) sheds light on this duality of the human personality. Commenting there on the statement in the Mishnah (Sotah 9:15): “With the death of Rabbenu Hakadosh, anavah, humility, disappeared from among men,” Rav Yosef said: “Do not say humility disappeared — I [ana] exist.” Now what does this mean? Does Rav Yosef mean to say that he is the exemplar of humility? Not at all: what he sought to point out was that one should not think that humility vanished with the death of Rebbe Yehudah the Prince (Rabbenu Hakadosh), for every man possesses a certain measure of humility. Some people appear rude, mean, or arrogant but in most cases these traits are only a defense mechanism. They do not represent the inner self of the person. In every person there is the spark of humanity, latent though it often may be. It is only because of certain frustrating experiences that the “hahu gavra” is able to penetrate the spirit of the real person. So there is in every individual the “ana” who represents the real person, the person as he or she is able to be and would like to be.
Every person has a degree of humility. It is only covered up by the subterfuge of rudeness. If we can but arouse the latent humanity and the latent humility that inhere in the soul of every person, then this spark of humanity can turn into l’havas kodesh, the sacred flame.
The mitzvah of tochachah is based upon the belief that the true self is the “I” of the person, not the “that person.” The “hahu gavra” is only a subterfuge that covers up and imprisons the real self. How can one correct another? If you see that a person is addicted to sin, how can you change the person? Not by calling names, not by reprimanding, but by proving to the person his or her true self. Our Sages (Chagigah 15a) tell us that Acher, Elisha ben Avuyah, originally a devout and gifted scholar, had fallen away from the believers’ fold, and Rebbe Meir again and again urged him to repent. Acher responded, “I cannot repent, because as I was riding on my horse on Shabbos, I heard a bas kol, a Heavenly voice, exclaim: ‘Shuvah, shuvah, chutz m’Acher — Repent, repent, but Acher is lost.’” Note that our Sages referred to Elisha ben Avuyah, after he had drifted away from the Jewish path, by the appellation “Acher,” “Stranger.” Spiritually, he was no longer Elisha ben Avuyah; he did not manifest his real self when he drifted away. It was a “stranger,” a “hahu gavra,” who carried him away into foreign domains where he did not belong. Elisha ben Avuyah was the prisoner of Acher. Yet Elisha ben Avuyah was noble and lofty and he aspired towards everything that was sacred, noble, and worthy. Why then did he not repent? Because Elisha-Acher was laboring under the erroneous conviction that he was corrupt, basically evil. But this was not true. Acher had failed to understand, when he heard the bas kol, that its message was: Acher cannot repent, cannot do t’shuvah, but Elisha ben Avuyah can do t’shuvah. Had he not mistaken Elisha ben Avuyah for Acher, had he realized that he but needed to expel the stranger from himself, then the real Elisha ben Avuyah would have reemerged in true glory, as a baal t’shuvah.
The reason so many Jews feel incapable of t’shuvah is because they are not aware of their own spiritual strength. They think that the acher is the real person when actually it is only a trespasser. The Torah says if you want to succeed in correcting Jews who are delinquent in their demeanor, then do not try to reprimand them. Do not tell them, “You are no good,” “You are impure”; that is not tochachah. Rather, tochachah requires that you convince the delinquents of their inner selves: you shall retrieve your fellow.
We cannot associate in fellowship with the sinner so long as the acher, the “that person,” is not expelled from the Jew, but the moment we succeed in expelling the intruder from the real Jew, then that Jew becomes a chaver. The purpose of tochachah is to retrieve, regain, revive the fellow Jew. Right now certain Jews are not chaverim, because externally there is a rude shell, a hahu gavra that imprisons their personality, frustrates them, and does not allow them to realize their potential. But with the proper approach and proper guidance, you can revive and regain the chaver so that this Jew will be a chavrusa to you. This is the purpose of the “hocheiach tochiach...v’lo sisa alav chet” — that you shall not incur guilt.
Shall we then fail to realize why so many Jews are delinquent in their religious and moral demeanor? Is it not because we, the so-called observant Jews, fail to inspire them? Had we grasped the proper approach towards these Jews, then they would have been inspired to expel the shell that covers up their real selves. Were we to realize now the proper approach and the proper guidance, we would beyond any doubt succeed in retrieving and reviving the chaver, the amisecha, If we fail to fulfill the tochachah, then it is our fault, and we share the guilt.
Now, we can understand why we are called “Yehudi.” We have seen that the Jew, the Yehudi, bears his or her designation because the principle of suretyship is the predominant feature in Jewishness. Should it not then follow that only one who is motivated by the concept of suretyship may be deemed a Yehudi — and one who is not so motivated should not be called Yehudi? The answer is: Potentially, every Jew is capable of being motivated throughout his or her life by the principle of suretyship. It is only because of the “hahu gavra,” the “Acher” who encompasses us, that we fail to be governed by the concept of arevus. But every member of the House of Israel is called “Yehudi” because the predominant feature of Jewishness is the potential which persists in every one of us.
Logic of the Heart, Logic of the Mind, by HaRav Ahron Soloveichik.
