As
a parent, I like all parents have found that I sometimes learn new and valuable
lessons from my children. And as is the
case with most parents, I often do not take the lessons terribly well.
I’ll never forget when my children
were very young and in pre-school. One
day I raised my voice to scold them about something, and they responded: “I
don’t like that!” They’d been taught in pre-school to respond
in that way whenever someone said something that was hurtful, or in a hurtful tone. So here I am about to upbraid for my children
for something – I’ve long since forgotten what – and they’re saying to me; “I
don’t like that!”
Now I don’t know about you, but as
cold-hearted as I’ve occasionally been accused of being, my heart absolutely melted when my children responded “I
don’t like that” to being yelled
at. Once it had again solidified I
wanted to murder the pre-school teacher…but that’s another point!
So my children taught me an important
lesson that day about what happens when I raise my voice. I’d already understood the impact I can make
by the words I use. Now I could begin to understand the effect of
voice tone. It has taught me to raise my voice far more
judiciously than I used to.
This is not to say that it’s never
appropriate to raise one’s voice. After
the children’s first shocking use of that response, there were times when they
told me “I don’t like that” and I
retorted: “Maybe not, but here’s something you need to hear…”
My point is that, on the occasion in
question as well as numerous other occasions since, I learned a valuable lesson
from my children. This would seem to be
a reversal of natural roles. That is,
except when one considers the important message of Mishnah Avoth 4.1.: “Who is
wise? The one who learns from everyone.”
I invoked this Mishnah last week
during our responsive reading on the occasion of my ‘induction’ as rabbi of
this community. The context, in case you
don’t remember, was this; just as you commit to learn from me as your rabbi and
teacher, I commit from you my students…and teachers. Because as the Mishnah teaches us, the
one who is wise has the capacity to draw important lessons from everyone – even
the sources one might not naturally consider.
This week’s Torah portion provides a
lesson in this principle. We see a pagan
prophet, Bilaam, make an important point about Israel. Bilaam’s pronouncement offers much to teach
us about how we should relate to one another.
Ma
tovu ohaleicha Ya’akov, mishkinoteicha Yisrael.
How fair are your tents, O Jacob; your dwellings, O Israel. As Zoe will teach us in her Bat Mitzvah drash
tomorrow – and not to steal her thunder! – Bilaam is not saying that the
Israelites’ tents are beautiful. He doesn’t mean that they are
well-crafted, or made of high-quality cloth.
But if so, what does he mean?
The Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 60a
suggests that Bilaam was praising very specifically the arrangement of the
tents. The sugya asserts that the tents of Israel were arranged in such a way as
to afford each family privacy. The
entrance to each tent was set so that none of the people in the neighbouring
tents could see inside. Anybody who has
ever spent their summer holiday in a closely-packed campground can appreciate
the beauty of such an arrangement. The tents
had to be closely clustered for mutual defence.
That they were arrayed in such a way as to afford privacy for each
family must have been quite a feat!
So every time we gather for a morning
service, we begin with the singing of Ma
Tovu, taken from this week’s Torah portion, which has become an important anthem to us. And when we sing it, we are in effect saying: How
wonderful that, in the sojourn through the wilderness, the individual families
of Israel were able to have a measure of privacy.
This is certainly something to think
about. If so, what does it say about us
when we gossip about one another, and deliberately pass on the secrets of one
Jewish family to the rest of the community?
Perhaps it means, taken with the Talmudic passage I cited, that we’re no
longer worthy of thinking of our tents as being ‘fair.’ But as I like to say, that’s another
sermon…for another day.
My point here is only that we listen
to the voices around us and expect wisdom from every voice. Even from a child. One who is unlearned and not naturally
articulate. One who does not present
himself or herself as a natural teacher.
One who is not successful, or is unattractive, or who for whatever
reason does not engender respect. Someone
from whom you don’t, for whatever reason, particularly want to learn. Even from a
pagan prophet.
Not only that, but we can learn
important life lessons from our cousins in the animal kingdom as well. Rashi, in his commentary on the Babylonian
Talmud Eruvin 100b points out that we learn the following lessons:
-
Modesty
from the cat, which covers up its excrement and will not perform such bodily
functions in front of others.
-
Avoidance
of theft from the ant, which stores the food it gains from its honest work in
the summer, for its use in the winter.
-
Marital
fidelity from the dove, which mates for life.
-
Good
manners in marital relations from the rooster, which appeases its mate before
attempting to have relations with her.
So
there are lessons apparent in the behaviours of all the people, and even all the creatures
around us. One who endeavours to be
wise, is well-advised to learn from all.
Surely
this is not the only key to wisdom;
this one ‘trick’ alone will not make one wise.
But it’s pretty good advice. As
we go along on the voyage we call life, we all at least occasionally allow our
prejudices to prevent us from accepting wisdom when it is offered. The less we do so, the fewer opportunities
for gaining wisdom we’ll miss.
Let’s
try not to let such opportunities pass us by.
Just as the Rabbis found important wisdom in the words of the pagan
prophet Bilaam, let us endeavour to
find the wisdom in the words of the people we encounter every day. Even if the particular individual might, on
the surface, seem to be an unlikely source of wisdom.
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