March 9, 2012 | 11:00 am

Day 2543 - What is a Person Worth?

Posted by Salvador Litvak

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We just finished Tractate Arachin, in which we studied the law of monetary vows made for the sake of the the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Because the Temple was destroyed in 70 C.E., we are no longer able to fulfill these laws, but we do study them, and they can be perplexing.

All persons can declare an erech vow and be the subject of an erech vow; all can declare a vow for the worth of another and be the subject of a vow for their own worth.
- Arachin 2a, Day 2511

Though one is not required to make a donation to the Temple, he or she may elect to do so. If the person so elects, he or she may simply consecrate money or property to hekdesh, the Temple treasury. If, however, the person chooses to make a specific kind of pledge known as an erech vow, he or she becomes legally obligated to donate a specific amount to hekdesh.

The pledge is usually worded, “I undertake to give my erech,” or “I undertake to give my worth.” The actual amount the person has promised to give is the subject of some lively Talmudic debate. Broadly speaking, the person has either promised to give a fixed, statutory amount based on age and gender (Leviticus 27:1-8), or the person has promised to give the amount he or she would fetch if sold as a slave.

Both concepts are difficult. Putting a number on a person’s worth seems antithetical to all our views in the 21st century. And even if we can imagine living in ancient Jerusalem, it’s hard to understand how these laws would help a public institution. After all, we’re talking about voluntary offerings. If the wording of these pledges ends up leading to litigation, liens, perhaps even lashes, it just doesn’t seem like good PR for a non-profit.

Digging for a lesson in the erech laws, I concluded that charitable giving is a serious undertaking. You must do your research, and make good on your pledges. I learned a much deeper lesson, however, this past Saturday when I attended a siyum for Arachin.

A siyum is a celebration marking the completion of a tractate - when we complete the whole Talmud in August, B”H, there will be a huge siyum at Metlife Stadium (Giants Stadium to me). They expect 100,000 teachers, students, spouses, relatives, and friends.

Saturday’s siyum was held at Etz Chayim, the shul where I study with Rabbi Blau and the other half dozen members of our shiur. Perhaps 70 more members of the congregation were there for the festive meal which marks the end of every Sabbath with singing and great joy. We had left the last paragraph of Arachin unread the previous day so that Rabbi Blau could teach it now. Then we recited a sweet prayer of thanksgiving, and one of my colleagues, Dr. Baruch Twersky, came forward to share a few words.

Though the moment was jubilant, Baruch could not take full pleasure in it because Saturday also marked the yartzeit, or anniversary, of his son’s passing. Shaya Twersky died in a car accident nine years ago. Baruch feels the loss as keenly now as he did then, and yet he found the strength to prepare a teaching for us. He said Arachin is a difficult tractate, one of those volumes of Talmud whose lessons feel distant to our modern lives. When he realized, however, that Arachin’s completion and Shaya’s yartzeit would coincide, he found a connection.

Why did the Torah assign specific values to people, and highly specific laws for pledging the worth of those values? Because every person does indeed have a specific worth. How is it measured? By the work that person is able to perform in an allotted time.

How often we hear, “Time is money.” We must never waste either.

Shaya only lived for 20 years, but he filled them. He was quick to do chesed - loving kindness. He worked as a counselor for kids with serious illnesses. He composed a niggun - a wordless song that unites people with each other and with the Holy One, Blessed be He. Shaya loved G-d and did all he could with the brief time that was allotted to him. He gave his full erech.

We must do the same. When I embarked upon Daf Yomi, I did not think I had time for it, but I tried anyway. Right now, I am so deep in work that I don’t have time to write this blog. But I’m doing it anyway because Shaya inspired me via his father, Baruch.

None of us has enough time to do all we are called to do. Do it anyway. That is the greatest gift we can give G-d and each other. Yasher koach, Baruch.

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Salvador Litvak wrote and directed the Passover comedy and cult hit “When Do We Eat?” His current film, “Saving Lincoln”, explores Abraham Lincoln’s conflicted tenure as commander-in-chief through the eyes of his dear friend and bodyguard, Ward Hill Lamon.

March 1, 2012 | 9:36 pm

Day 715 - Murder at a Purim Feast

Posted by Salvador Litvak

As Purim approaches, we encounter a Talmudic conundrum:

Rava said: One must become so intoxicated on Purim that he cannot distinguish between “Cursed is Haman” and “Blessed is Mordechai.” Rabbah and Rav Zeira celebrated the Purim feast together. They became intoxicated. Rabbah arose and slaughtered Rav Zeira. The next day, Rabbah prayed for mercy on Rav Zeira’s behalf and revived him. The following year, Rabbah said, “Let master come, and we will celebrate the Purim feast together.” Rav Zeira answered, “Not every time does a miracle occur.” Megillah (7b)

What is going on here? A holy Sage declares we must get whopping drunk on Purim. Another Sage obeys and gets so drunk that he slaughters a colleague, and yet the killer merits to have his resurrection prayer answered by G-d. Whoa. Let’s see what the commentators say.

Regarding Rava’s declaration, Rambam (the great rabbi/philosopher/doctor, Moses Maimonides) says one should simply drink more than usual - just enough so we fall asleep and thus can’t tell the difference between “Cursed is Haman, etc.”

Rav Ephraim says the story was included by the original editors of the Talmud in order to disprove Rava’s declaration that one must get drunk. But the Shulchan Aruch, (our modern and very Orthodox Code of Jewish Law) says, yes indeed - get drunk.

Of the story itself, Rambam’s son, R’ Avrohom says, this passage is an example of Talmudic hyperbole in a situation where the literal meaning is clearly impossible. Therefore, what really happened is that Rabbah struck R’ Zeira a serious blow on the neck, and the term “slaughter” is used because the neck is the location of ritual slaughter for kosher animals.

On the other hand, Maharsha says it was the intoxication itself which caused Rav Zeira’s near-death experience. Thus, after Rabbah plowed him with wine, he prayed that his friend would recover, and so he did.

But, according to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, we have not reached a proper interpretation until (1) we acknowledge that the simple meaning of the story is true (Rabbah and R’ Zeira got drunk and the former “slaughtered” the latter) and (2) our interpretation reveals an image of our Sages which befits their holy stature. Rebbe Schneerson accomplishes this task by comparing the Sages of our Purim story to Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, who entered the Holy Sanctuary while intoxicated (Vayikra Rabbah 12:1) and expired as a result. They too appear to have behaved inappropriately, yet Moses himself praises them (Leviticus 10:3).

OK, are we closer to understanding our conundrum, or even more confused? The answer can be found back on Day 283 of our Daf Yomi cycle at Eruvin 65a: “When wine enters, secrets come out.” These secrets are not your nasty college exploits but rather hidden meanings of Torah. If you drink the right amount and for the right reason, wine will help you uncover mystical secrets. Few people, however, have the capacity to drink just the right amount, and perhaps fewer still can maintain their holy intent once they’re nicely intoxicated.

Rabbah was able to use wine correctly because he had the right constitution and a mighty intellect. Rav Zeira preferred to plumb the depths of Torah in other ways. He gave Rabbah’s method a try one year and it nearly killed him. So the following year he politely declined.

May we all merit to find our own best ways to learn, and may we all occasionally step out of our comfort zones for the sake of Heaven.

Happy Purim!

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March 1, 2012 | 6:19 pm

Accidental Talmudist, Day One

Posted by Salvador Litvak

This week marks the seventh anniversary of an errand that changed my life.

On March 2, 2005, I went to The Mitzvah Store on Pico Boulevard in order to buy a book. I was in my seventh year of being a practicing Jew, and I had probably visited the shop a dozen times. After finding the needed book, I glanced over at the shelves of Talmud. Every set looked like three Encyclopedia Britannicas and, as usual, I was totally intimidated.

I’d heard of the Talmud, of course. I had a bar mitzvah in the late disco era. My mother is a survivor of Theresienstadt. And my father sent me to Hebrew school so this Judaism thing wouldn’t end with him. I think even most non-Jews have heard of the Talmud.

But to study it? That’s something rabbis and yeshiva boys do. Not that I was opposed to Jewish learning — after finding my own way back to Judaism, I studied with some of Los Angeles’ finest — Rabbis Mordecai Finley, Shlomo Schwartz, Mark Blazer, Jonathan Omer-Man, David Wolpe and David Seidenberg — and they all brought down words from the Talmud. But to actually read those books myself? Not with a family and a career. It was pretty clear to me that that boat had already sailed.

Still, as I looked over at those rows of tractates with strange names like “Bava Kama” and “Avodah Zara,” I thought, “What am I afraid of? They’re just books.” I was an English major in college. I read the whole Bible for a class. These volumes have English on their spines, and there must be a book one of the Talmud. I’ll just buy that and dip my toe in the sea. What could it hurt?

I walked over and picked up the nearest volume of something called the “Schottenstein Edition of Talmud Bavli — the Babylonian Talmud.” The table of contents told me that the first book is “Berachos 1.” I found a copy and took it over to the counter with my other purchases. The kid at the register wore a kippah. As he rang up “Berachos 1,” he remarked, “You’re doing Daf Yomi.”

I said, “What’s Daf Yomi?”

He looked at me strangely. “Well, Daf Yomi means page-of-the-day. It’s a program where Jews all over the world read the Talmud together, one page every day. It takes seven and a half years to do the cycle, and today ... is day one.”

“Really?” “Really.”

Fairly stunned, I walked out to the car. “Seven and a half years’ worth of pages,” I thought, as I perused the strange layout of “Berachos 1.” Aramaic, Hebrew and English; boldface here, all caps there, comments on comments, an ocean of footnotes.

“And today is day one. A 1-in-2,711 chance. OK, God, I get the message. I’m doing Daf Yomi.”

And that’s how my voyage began. It’s been called the world’s longest marathon. A page of Talmud equals four to 12 pages of English. It takes 20 to 50 minutes a day for seven and a half years. Every day, including Shabbat, Yom Kippur and even your wedding day, if that should occur during the cycle.

I also learned it’s considered a sin to study Talmud without a teacher. So I found a Daf Yomi class, or shiur, in my neighborhood, but every other word from the teacher’s mouth was in Hebrew. My colleagues all nodded along, but I was lost. I felt like I didn’t learn a thing, and I had to reread the page by myself later in the Schottenstein.

So much for the shiur, I thought. It might be a sin to read alone, but the editors of the Schottenstein did a phenomenal job. Their Talmud is not just a translation. They add explanatory language between every phrase, thus tripling the length of the text but essentially “teaching” it as a Daf Yomi teacher would.

Still, I felt guilty reading alone. It nagged at me for the next three years, until I finally tried another shiur. Miraculously, things had changed, or rather, I had changed. When I checked into Mechie Blau’s shiur at Congregation Etz Chaim on Highland Avenue, he also spoke every other word in Hebrew, but by then, I had absorbed enough Talmud logic and language that I could follow along. I was thrilled.

I have so much more to tell you about my journey, but that’s why I’m embarking on the Accidental Talmudist blog. Over the past seven years, I marked hundreds of profound tales, strange laws, ribald legends, ancient prescriptions, and I hope to transmit them all. The Talmud is roughly arranged by subject matter, but the Sages digress constantly, and when you embark upon a linear Daf Yomi voyage through their seas, you never know what the day’s page will bring. What you will always find, however, is a passionate quest for truth in every aspect of human experience. There is simply no matter too small or too large for the Sages — they eventually focus on everything. If God is in the details, this is the surest path to Him.

My hope is that someone will hear my story and try out Daf Yomi for himself or herself. The cycle renews this August, so now is the perfect time to investigate and prepare. You don’t need a 1-in-2,711 miracle to set sail on the seas of Talmud.

As Purim arrives this week, I will leave you with a tale from tractate Megillah (7b): Rava said: One must become so intoxicated on Purim that he cannot distinguish between “cursed is Haman” and “blessed is Mordecai.” Rabbah and R. Zeira celebrated the Purim feast together. They became intoxicated. Rabbah stood up and killed R. Zeira. The next day, Rabbah prayed for him and revived him. The following year, Rabbah said, “Come, let us celebrate the Purim feast together!” R. Zeira answered, “A miracle does not happen every day!”

Not every day, but perhaps today. To learn more about how, when and why Rabbah killed R. Zeira, check back here.

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Salvador Litvak wrote and directed the Passover comedy and cult hit “When Do We Eat?” His current film, “Saving Lincoln”, explores Abraham Lincoln’s conflicted tenure as commander-in-chief through the eyes of his dear friend and bodyguard, Ward Hill Lamon.

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