These questions, and more, bubble to the surface as we delve into a fascinating passage from Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Ecclesiastes.
Our story begins with Rabbi Yoḥanan ben Zakkai, a towering figure in Jewish history. He had five exceptional disciples, each a luminary in their own right. You might recognize their names from Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers 2:8): Rabbi Eliezer ben Horkanos, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Ḥananya, Rabbi Yosei HaKohen, Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel, and Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh. While Rabbi Yoḥanan ben Zakkai lived, these students sat at his feet, absorbing his wisdom. But what happened after his death?
The text tells us they relocated to Yavne, a center of Jewish learning after the destruction of the Second Temple. All except one, that is. Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh, seduced by the allure of a tranquil life, retreated to Emmaus with his wife, a place blessed with good water and scenic views. He expected his colleagues to seek him out. But they didn't.
Eventually, Rabbi Elazar wanted to rejoin his fellow scholars, but his wife dissuaded him. "Who needs whom more?" she shrewdly asked. He insisted they needed him. Her response? A memorable analogy: "A leather container [of food] and mice – which goes to which? The mice to the container, or the container to the mice?" In other words, Rabbi Elazar, the "container" of wisdom, was waiting for the "mice" (his colleagues) to come to him. But his wisdom, like food left too long, began to spoil.
The tragic result? When his former colleagues finally visited, they tested him on a complex point of Jewish law (halakha) regarding ritual purity and the consumption of bread. The question involved the concept of liftan, which means a relish or food item eaten with bread. Rabbi Elazar couldn't answer. He'd forgotten the meaning of liftan! The brilliant student, once overflowing with knowledge, had allowed his learning to atrophy.
The story of Rabbi Elazar serves as a cautionary tale. It highlights the importance of continuous engagement with learning and the dangers of intellectual complacency. It's easy to see the appeal of a peaceful life, but at what cost?
The passage then shifts to Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, also known simply as "Rabbi," another key figure in Jewish history, renowned as the compiler of the Mishnah. We learn about the process of appointing leaders in the academy (yeshiva) and the court. Rabbi typically appointed two individuals each year – one to head the yeshiva and another to preside over the court. If they proved worthy, they remained. If not… well, let's just say their tenure was short-lived.
As Rabbi's death approached, he advised his son to appoint all the leaders at once and to appoint Rabbi Ḥanina as their head. But why hadn't Rabbi appointed him himself during his lifetime?
Rabbi Yosei bar Zevid explains that the residents of Tzippori had spoken negatively about Rabbi Ḥanina. But Rabbi Bon offers a more specific reason, found in the Jerusalem Talmud (Ta’anit 4:2). It seems Rabbi Ḥanina publicly corrected Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi's pronunciation of a word from the Book of Ezekiel (7:15) during a lecture. Imagine the audacity! Rabbi Ḥanina had corrected the head of the Sanhedrin in public!
Rabbi, understandably embarrassed, asked where he'd learned that pronunciation. Rabbi Ḥanina replied that he'd learned it from Rav Hamnuna, a renowned Bible expert in Babylon. Rabbi then told him, "When you go there, tell him that I appointed you to serve as an elder.” But Rabbi Ḥanina knew this was not going to happen during Rabbi’s lifetime.
After Rabbi’s death, his son sought to appoint Rabbi Ḥanina, but he declined, deferring to Rabbi Afes of the south. Another elder present declared that if Rabbi Ḥanina was appointed first, he would be second, and if Rabbi Afes was appointed first, he would be second. Rabbi Ḥanina then agreed to be appointed third and lived a very long life! He attributed his longevity either to his act of deference or to his habit of detouring to visit Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta on his journeys. It's a beautiful reminder that humility and honoring others can bring unexpected blessings.
Finally, the passage turns to Moses and his frustrations with the Israelites in Egypt. "For exploitation disconcerts a wise man," the text states, referencing the rebellion of Datan and Aviram. Their actions, according to this interpretation, caused Moses to lose his patience, even leading him to question God's plan.
God, in turn, reminds Moses of his own limitations, saying, "You are flesh and blood and unable to bear them." God then assures Moses that He, the merciful Lord, will ultimately redeem the Israelites. This section emphasizes the importance of patience and understanding, even in the face of adversity. It also highlights the contrast between human limitations and divine mercy.
So, what can we take away from these interwoven stories? Perhaps it’s a reminder that wisdom isn't a static possession, but something that requires constant cultivation. Maybe it's a lesson in humility, recognizing that even the most learned among us can benefit from respecting others. Or perhaps it's a call to remember that even in moments of frustration and doubt, divine mercy and understanding are always present.