Avodah Zarah – Daf 34
Our Gemara on the top of amud aleph continues a discussion about the qualities of earthenware clay vessels. Unlike metal vessels, which can be purged via boiling water and fully expel the contents absorbed in the walls, earthenware clay vessels absorb foodstuffs and flavors and cannot be fully purged. Therefore, they are difficult to kasher and can only be restored by being broken and reformed in a kiln.
Symbolically, some mystics see the clay vessel as a metaphor for the physical body. Toldos Yitzchok (Bamidbar 5:17) says certain sins leave such a strong impression that they cannot be purged from the person except through his death – i.e., the shattering of the vessel.
Is there no hope other than death? I’d like to think not. If we continue with this metaphor, reviewing what we learned on the prior daf (33b), there are possible ways to kasher the utensil without utterly destroying it:
Rabbi Yehuda Nesia raised a dilemma before Rabbi Ami: If one returned prohibited containers to the furnace and they whitened due to its heat, what is the halacha? Is the fire assumed to expunge the absorbed wine or not?
Rabbi Ami said to him: If brine burns away the wine, all the more so is it not clear that fire does as well? It was also stated that Rabbi Yoḥanan says, and some say Rabbi Asi says that Rabbi Yoḥanan says: With regard to jugs belonging to gentiles that one returned to the furnace, once their tar coating has disintegrated, they are permitted.
So the vessel does not actually have to be shattered, but exposed to enough heat that its “tar disintegrates.” We can understand this metaphorically: If the heat and passion of repentance peels away the tar coating (defenses and rationalizations), total destruction is not inevitable.
But there is more:
Rav Ashi said: Do not say that the jugs must stay in the furnace until the tar falls apart entirely; rather, even if it only softens, the jug is permitted, despite the fact that the tar did not fall off.
Metaphorically, we do not even require a complete sweeping elimination of all defenses – rather, a softening and an opening is sufficient.
And there still is more:
With regard to a situation in which the tar was removed by dropping ignited splinters of wood [kinsa] into the jug, Rav Aḥa and Ravina disagree: One deemed the jug prohibited, and one deemed it permitted. The Gemara adds: And the halacha is in accordance with the opinion of the one who deemed it prohibited.
Staying with our metaphor, internal stirrings of the “Jew at heart” without any action do not generate enough heat to purify the vessel. However, Tosafos (ibid, “kinsa”) rules:
Rabbi Moshe from Coucy [states] that even though we rule in accordance with the opinion that prohibits, nevertheless, it is permissible to place the barrel on the fire if the fire is so large and strong from within that one’s hand would be scalded from the outside.
And finally: If the stirrings within the heart are so powerful that the outside becomes hot enough to scald, then even if there is no external action, this too reaches a level of purification.
In principle, certain sins indeed leave a mark and are absorbed so deeply that the body must be destroyed. Yet, if the internal actions and repentance reach a level that rationalizations peel away – or at least significantly weaken – the vessel is reformed without actual destruction. Matters of the heart alone are not enough, but when they come with a burning conviction that compels physical change, even in potentia, it is sufficient to avert spiritual doom.
The Secret Life Of Decrees
Avodah Zarah – Daf 35
Our Gemara on amud aleph discusses a leadership and governance practice that is alien to modern thinking. As with many ideas and wisdoms in the Gemara, there is no pretense of political correctness; instead, it presents a hierarchical, though generally benevolent, perspective on society.
The Gemara discusses the following rabbinic practice:
When the Sages decreed a decree in the West, Eretz Yisrael, they would not reveal the reason behind it until twelve months had passed, lest there be a person who does not agree with it and will come to treat it with contempt.
In other words, a little knowledge is dangerous. The belief was that if people knew the specific reasons for the enactment, they might lack the nuance or perspective to appreciate its importance, and would therefore minimize its applicability. On the other hand, if they did not know the precise reasoning, they would be more trusting and deferential.
This kind of mentality runs counter to our modern sensibilities about transparency and information-sharing between government and the governed. Today’s psychological belief is that if people understand the rationale for a rule – whether students in a school, children in a family, or citizens in a society – they are more likely to buy in and internalize it.
There is logic and experience to justify such an approach in a society steeped in individualism and independence. Most people do not take well to being asked to “take one for the team,” not because it isn’t theoretically a morally just idea, but because they don’t trust their leaders. The abuse of misinformation during Covid – especially the pretense that side effects were so rare as to be nonexistent, and the dismissal of a lab-origin hypothesis as a conspiracy theory – is only one recent example of shattered trust.
Although anecdotal, a number of chassidic clients have shared with me their belief that there is a stronger tendency for a chassid who leaves his community to go totally OTD, compared to a yeshivishe counterpart who becomes secular. The reason stated is that since they are not taught to psychologically or halachically differentiate between a custom held sacred or taboo and a halacha in Shulchan Aruch, breaking with a mode of dress or other modesty custom feels the same as eating a cheeseburger or violating Shabbos. The litvishe counterpart, by contrast, might go too heavy on the rationalizations, perhaps feeling that looking at a phone on Shabbos or taking sexual liberties are “only d’rabbanan.” Still, the legalism allows them to maintain some self-perception of observance which contributes to continued observance of a sort.
The rabbis of the Talmud apparently felt that the first year required experiential adoption of the rules, with less analysis or give-and-take. After that period, if the population accepted the practice (see our discussion on Avodah Zarah daf 33), more information could be disclosed. Like many aspects of Torah, there is sensibility and balance, without rigid allegiance to one political mindset or the other.
For example, the Torah generally respects autonomy and allows capitalism and market forces to promote economic well-being. Yet when it comes to major assets such as real estate, the fear that eventually the everyday man will lose his birthright to a small group of wealthy barons is addressed through the return of ancestral property to the tribe every Yovel year. Similarly, restrictions on usury and loan forgiveness in the shemittah year serve as wealth resets. These are socialistic features within a generally capitalistic system.
So too, the Rabbis believed (at least for their times and perhaps ours as well – though that remains unknown) that certain rules needed to be introduced out of trust and acceptance of authority in order to see if their desired effect could be realized. Indeed, this has been effective with certain kiruv approaches, where the emphasis is on immersion in the system rather than logical persuasion. Live Shabbos or daven the tefillos before analyzing their purpose, because only within the totality can their meaning be appreciated. So it is with many Torah ideas: They generally prove reasonable and offer both subjective and objective benefits, but trying to understand the “why” before the “what” often misses the insight that comes from firsthand experience.
The Horse, Heart, And Rider
Avodah Zarah – Daf 36
Our Gemara on amud aleph cites a prooftext from Sefer Daniel (1:8), which indicates a prototype of the prohibition against gentile wine, oil, and other products:
Daniel set the matter upon his heart not to defile himself with the king’s food or the wine he drank, so he sought permission of the chief officer not to defile himself.
Daniel, a young Jewish exile groomed for the royal court, found the strength, resolved in his heart, to create a barrier between himself and his gentile colleagues. He knew that he needed this to help him remember his identity as a Jew and to hold strong against the temptation to fully acculturate. He must have seen parallels between himself and the Biblical Yosef, who was young, all alone, and in an alien culture facing many temptations. For both of them, success was as much of a potential temptation as oppression. Their talents were recognized, and they rose through the ranks, making assimilation seductive.
Along those lines, let us pay special attention to the phrase of “set the matter upon his heart.” The heart is at least metaphorically, if not actually, the seat of emotions, residing in the main part of the body. The resolve and commitment against the social tide must come from the heart.
However, the scripture describes the heart of evil people as well:
Now Esau harbored a grudge against Jacob because of the blessing which his father had given him, and Esau said in his heart, “Let but the mourning period of my father come, and I will kill my brother Jacob” Bereishis (27:41).
Yerovam said in his heart… (I Kings 12:26).
Haman said in his heart… (Esther 6:6).
The scoundrel says in his heart… (Psalms 14:1).
Bereishis Rabbah (34:10) notes a difference in how the scripture describes the righteous heart versus the wicked heart:
The wicked are under the control of their hearts… But the righteous, their hearts are subject to them: “Hannah was speaking to her heart” (I Samuel 1:13); “David said to his heart” (I Samuel 27:1); “Daniel placed in his heart” (Daniel 1:8); “the L-rd said to His heart.” Source?
The Midrash notes that when referring to evil characters, they are described as speaking in their heart. However, the righteous are described as speaking to their heart or speaking on their heart. Akeidas Yitzchak (90:1) notes that in the Shema declaration it also states: “Take these words onto your heart…” (Devarim 6:6).
What’s the difference between “in the heart” and “on the heart” or “to the heart?” “In the heart” implies the entity is within the heart; thus the person’s self is inducted and given over to his emotions. But “on the heart” or “to the heart” implies the entity is external to the heart; the person’s self is separate from the passing but speaks to and collaborates with it.
Our passions and emotions are a vital part of who we are and what we do; however, the horse cannot sit atop the rider but the rider must lead the horse.
