Max Hollander
The Pardes, too, remains open, and that is the power of its spell — and its challenge too. Yes: they were four sages who entered the orchard of forbidden knowledge. Why did they try to lure us along? And why did we choose to stay behind? Excessive prudence? Perhaps. What frightens us is not the whiteness of the white marble pillars. What frightens us is the darkness of the fire.[1]
There are few stories with more allure than that of the Pardes. Four sages ascend to the heavenly realm for reasons unknown, only to come back broken — if they come back at all. Its mystery demands inquiry, and scholars have spent centuries searching for theological truths within the perceived shortcomings of its characters. However, fixating on their theologies comes at the cost of the story it tells about their humanity and ours, as demonstrated by Elie Wiesel’s treatment of the story. When contrasted with other interpretations, his approach to the story is transformative, stripping the story of its esoterica and turning it into a meditation on the ways human beings respond to crises and uncertainties, and how easy it is to become the very things we despise.[2]
Peshat – What is the Pardes?
The Sages taught: Four entered the orchard [pardes]: Ben Azzai; and ben Zoma; Aḥer, [the other, a name for Elisha ben Avuya]; and Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Akiva said to them: When you arrive at the upper world and you reach pure marble stones, do not say: “Water, water,” because it is stated: “He who speaks falsehood shall not be established before My eyes” (Psalms 101:7). Ben Azzai glimpsed the Divine Presence and died. And with regard to him the verse states: “Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His pious ones” (Psalms 116:15). Ben Zoma glimpsed the Divine Presence and was harmed [went insane]. And with regard to him the verse states: “Have you found honey? Eat as much as is sufficient for you, lest you become full from it and vomit it” (Proverbs 25:16). Aḥer chopped down the shoots of saplings [became a heretic]. Rabbi Akiva came out safely. (Talmud Bavli, Hagigah 14b)
This story is ubiquitous in Jewish tradition. In addition to this Tosefta[3] cited in Bavli Hagigah, it appears in the the Yerushalmi[4], Shir HaShirim Rabbah[5], and Hekhalot Zutari.[6] It’s the foundation of the four-tier interpretive system, Peshat/surface-level or the literal meaning of a phrase, Remez/hints or allegorical (hidden or symbolic) meaning beyond just the literal sense, Derash/the comparative (midrashic) meaning, and Sod/th “secret” (“mystery”) or the esoteric/mystical/deeper meaning.[7] But what was the Pardes? Its placement within the tractate among discussions about the qualifications for scholars seeking to study the esoteric, the dangers of doing so without proper preparation, descriptions of angels and demons,[8] and accounts of other sages successfully discussing the esoterica of the Ma’aseh Merkava, or Divine Chariot vision in Ezekiel,[9] implies a divine/mystical quality. According to Rashi, the Pardes is a divine space located at the Rakia — the firmament serving as the divide between the upper and lower realms — only accessible using the divine names of God. He also read the story as a physical experience by the sages, while Tosafot asserted it was only a mental experience.[10]
Scholar Maria E. Subtelny, in the paper The Tale of the Four Sages who Entered the Pardes, offers historical context for the term that more finely defines the nature of the Pardes. Though commonly translated as “orchard,” Subtelny explains that Pardes is a loanword from an Old Persian term, paridaida (via the intermediate form paridaiza, also the source of the cognate “paradise”), referring to enclosures surrounding royal palaces under the Achaemenids between the sixth and fourth centuries BCE. These gardens were an essential feature of palace architecture and separated the outside world from the royal suite. While the words Pardes and paridaida may not be used, descriptions of the royal Persian palaces and gardens in the Book of Esther “provide a remarkably accurate portrayal of the life of the Achaemenid court.” In these palaces, royal processions and festivities happened in the garden, while the throne room “was an inviolable space located in the innermost reaches of the palace complex, accessible only to those permitted to ‘see the face of the king.’ For visitors, there were innumerable control points that had to be passed, which were manned by royal bodyguards and other guardians of the gates.”[11] Furthermore, Subtelny notes that cutting down any trees in the garden was considered an affront to palace royalty in Achaemenidian society, which explains why Aher’s rejection of the divine royalty, or heresy, is described as “chopped down the shoots [of saplings].”[12] The term “pardes,” in her view, was meant to evoke awe and reverence for a physical space akin to these royal palaces.
The descriptions of these royal Persian palaces also bear a striking resemblance to accounts of Rabbi Akiva’s adventures in heavenly palaces recorded in the mystical Ta’anaitic work, Hekhlaot Zutarti, along with the story of the Pardes. In one instance, Rabbi Akiva guides an unnamed individual through a series of heavenly palaces.
Rabbi Akiva said: So-and-so had merit and stood at the entrance of the sixth palace and he saw the splendor of the atmosphere of the stones. He opened his mouth two times and said, “Water, water!” In the blink of an eye they severed his head and they cast on him eleven thousand iron axes. Let it be according to this sign for generations, so that no one err at the entrance of the sixth palace. God has been King, God has been King, (Ps 93:1 etc.) God will be King forever and ever (Exod 15:18).[13]
Like the sages of the Pardes, this individual ignored Rabbi Akiva’s guidance and proclaimed “water, water,” after seeing the stones of the palace, and suffered terrible consequences.
These approaches offer a picture of the Pardes as an entryway for worthy sages into an intense divine encounter, but what was the goal of these four sages’ ascension to this divine realm? Its placement within the tractate suggests that they, like Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh and Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakai earlier on the page, had no goal other than to study the divine.[14] Others assume they had more specific goals in mind. In Shaar Maamarei Chazal, Rabbi Chaim Vital records the position of the Arizal that their mission was to use esoteric knowledge to “correct the sin of Adam” and prevent some major catastrophe.[15] Some suggest the catastrophe was the Roman oppression that destroyed the Temple and eventually killed Rabbi Akiva.[16]
However, there is still the mystery of why the four sages met the fates they did — one dying, another losing his mind, another committing heresy, and another surviving unharmed. Understanding these details requires more information about who these characters were.
Remez – Who Were They?
The experiences each of our story’s main characters had in the Pardes can only be understood through the lens of their individual histories and spiritual interests.
A. Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma
Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma were both respected figures in rabbinic tradition.
The diligent students ceased when ben Azzai died, and there were no more expounders (of the Torah) when ben Zoma died. (Mishnah Sotah 9:15)
However, despite their esteem they never earned semicha (rabbinic ordination), possibly because they never got the chance to before their untimely demise, or because of the shortcomings that led to their demise.
Ben Azzai, the only character to die in the Pardes, is associated with piety.
There are three Torah scholars whose appearance in a dream is significant: One who sees Ben Azzai in a dream should anticipate piety; one who sees Ben Zoma should anticipate wisdom; and one who sees Aḥer, Elisha ben Avuya, should be concerned about calamity. (Berachot 57b)
Elaborating on the nature of his “piety,” Rashi explains that Ben Azzai “spent all day and night in the beit midrash,” citing a gemara in Yevamot. There, he, Rabbi Eliezer, and Rabbi Ya’akov discussed the mitzvah of peru u’rvu (having children), and the consequences of neglecting that mitzvah. Rabbi Eliezer asserted that neglecting this mitzvah was tantamount to shedding blood, while Rabbi Yaakov said neglecting this mitzvah was tantamount to “diminishing the image of God in the world.” Ben Azzai, however, took it a step further and claimed it was tantamount to both diminishing the image of God and shedding blood.[17] But, rather than respond to his particular point, the first two sages took issue with something else.
They said to ben Azzai: There is a type of scholar who expounds well and fulfills his own teachings well, and another who fulfills well and does not expound well. But you, who have never married, expound well on the importance of procreation, and yet you do not fulfill well your own teachings. Ben Azzai said to them: What shall I do, as my soul yearns for Torah, and I do not wish to deal with anything else. It is possible for the world to be maintained by others who are engaged in the mitzvah to be fruitful and multiply. (Yevamot 63b)
Ben Azzai never had children, choosing his urge to learn over the commandment to start a family because of his love for Torah. Along similar lines, scholar Marvin Sweeney in Pardes Revisited Once Again: A Reassessment of the Rabbinic Legend Concerning the Four Who Entered Pardes sees an allusion to Rabbi Ya’akov and Rabbi Eliezer’s critique of Ben Azzai in the verse associated with him in Hagigah, “Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His pious.” While it sounds like an accolade, Sweeney sees in it a subtle criticism of Ben Azzai. He writes, “In striking contrast to Akiva, whose marriage to Rachel and the birth of his children not only fulfilled the most fundamental command of Jewish tradition, but led him to become one of the greatest sages of Talmudic tradition precisely so he could teach his son… the term ‘precious,’ yakar, is best translated as ‘costly,’ and indicates that Ben Azzai’s lack of children at his death cost the world dearly in lost potential.”[18]
Ben Azzai’s perspective is still perplexing, but it becomes clearer when you consider the way some interpret his position in an argument with Rabbi Akiva over what constitutes the greatest principle in the Torah.
“You shall not take revenge and you shall not bear a grudge against the children of your people”: You may take revenge on and bear a grudge against others (idolators). “And you shall love your neighbor as yourself”: Rabbi Akiva says: This is an all-embracing principle in the Torah. Ben Azzai says: (Bereshith 5:1) “This is the numeration of the generations of Adam” — This is an even greater principle. (Sifra, Kedoshim, Chapter 4)
On the surface their opinions are unrelated to one another, but the nature of their disagreement depends on which part of the verse, “This is the book of Adam’s line — When God created humankind, He made it in the likeness of God” Ben Azzai is emphasizing. Intuitively, the second half of the verse about mankind being created in the image of God seems more relevant to their disagreement and Rabbi Akiva’s position than the section he quotes, and some commentators assume that’s what he was referencing. Malbim, for example, shares critiques of Rabbi Akiva’s position, highlighting how easily his principle can become self-serving. To love someone as yourself, he argues, is rooted in self-interest, seeing every encounter through the lens of your own needs and how you’d want to benefit, rather than another’s well being. Ben Azzai, on the other hand, “elevated the axiom to a more sublime matter when he based [it] on “This is the book of the generations of man.” For all men are bound together like one body. All of them were created in the image of God to complete the highest image and form which contains the souls of all mankind… In this way, a person can truly desire for another what they desire for themselves, for that other person is their own flesh and bone.”[19]
However, other commentators like Rabbeinu Bachya see Ben Azzai’s choice to quote the second half of the verse as reflecting his interests in the esoteric.[20] Commenting on this verse in Bereshit, Rabbeinu Bachya claims the seemingly superfluous word “book” is a reference to a literal collection of divine knowledge that would have been given to humankind had man not sinned. He subsequently identifies this divine knowledge as what Ben Azzai was preoccupied with in Yevamot, seeing a person’s accomplishments in Torah knowledge as their true descendants in this world.[21] Meaning that, while Rabbi Akiva saw interpersonal goodness as mankind’s most important pursuit, Ben Azzai thought it was engagement with the divine through Torah study.
Seemingly, Ben Azzai’s piety manifested in a deep attachment to the divine and a rejection of the physical world, refusing to marry and contribute to the population and perhaps even living an ascetic lifestyle.
In contrast to Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma was known for his attachment to the earthly realm. In Pirkei Avot, he explicitly defines wisdom as human-centered saying, “Who is wise, those who learn from all men.”[22] Furthermore, while admiring the crowds of people in Jerusalem from the Temple Mount, he penned a blessing expressing gratitude for having the good fortune of living in a metropolis with resources like food and clothing readily available, unlike Adam who had to toil to produce those same resources.[23]
Ben Zoma is the only non-ordained sage mentioned in the Passover Haggadah, and is praised by Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria for his novel interpretation of the commandment to remember the Exodus.
Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria said: I am almost seventy years old, and never have I merited to find the command to speak of the Exodus from Egypt at night – until Ben Zoma interpreted: It is written, “so that you remember the day of your Exodus from Egypt all the Days of your life.” “The days of your life” would mean in the days; “all the days of your life” includes the nights.[24]
However, the sages aren’t convinced by his interpretation.
But the sages say, “The days of your life” would mean only in this world; “all the days of your life” brings in the time of the Messiah.[25]
Whereas Ben Zoma’s grounded interpretation defined our obligation to remember the Exodus within the confines of our earthly existence, the sages believed our obligation continued into the messianic, redeemed future.
The verse Ben Zoma is paired with in Hagigah, “Have you found honey? Eat as much as is sufficient for you, lest you become full from it and vomit it” (Proverbs 25:16) also reflects an over-attachment to human thought and an inability to engage with divine wisdom. Explaining Ben Zoma’s association with “wisdom” in Berakhot, 19th-century Lithuanian commentator Rashash cited this verse, claiming the honey in the verse Hagigah associates with Ben Zoma is a euphemism for wisdom. Within its context in Hagigah, this verse seems to imply an inability to appropriately handle the divine knowledge of the Pardes experience, but Marvin Sweeney offers insight into this verse that reveals the specificity of its critique. Sweeney suggests that this verse should be read in contrast to Ezekiel 3:1-3 where, in the context of the original divine chariot text, the prophet’s reception of divine wisdom is described “with the imagery of his eating a scroll that tasted like honey. Whereas Ezekiel was capable of understanding properly the message that he ingested, Ben Zoma was not.”[26] The Pardes story’s association of Ben Zoma with this specific imagery of ingesting honey draws a direct comparison to Ezekiel, proving that the text’s critique of Ben Zoma is centered on his inability to grasp divine knowledge in contrast to Ezekiel.
One final key to understanding Ben Zoma is his descent into madness following his experience in the Pardes. It reflects his attachment to earthly, human knowledge — so much so that his experience with divine knowledge broke him. Describing his life in the aftermath of the Pardes experience, the Gemara records an incident when he was so deep in thought that he failed to accord his teacher, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Ḥananya, the proper honor of standing up for him as he passed by. Rabbi Yehoshua asked Ben Zoma what he was contemplating so deeply, and he said he was “contemplating the size of the gap between the upper waters and lower waters.” Something about this encounter disturbed Rabbi Yehoshua, and he turned to his other students and said “Ben Zoma is still outside.”[27] According to the Tosefta, Ben Zoma died a few days later.[28]
The difference between Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma was that whereas one was defined as extraneously pious and divinely oriented — a spiritualist — the other was defined by an overly-earthbound approach to religion and spirituality. Normally, either approach to religious life is acceptable, but within the context of an intense divine experience like the Pardes they weren’t appropriate. Describing their shortcomings, 13th century sage Rabbi Todros Abulafia wrote, “when he [ben Zoma] gazed at the brilliant light, it was more than his mind could handle and he became psychotic.”[29] Ben Azzai, on the other hand, was so intensely dedicated to the divine that when given the opportunity to give himself over to the sublime rather than collect the knowledge it offered for mankind to enjoy, he chose the next world over this one, leaving the maintenance of this world to others like he promised in Yevamot.
B. Aher and Rabbi Akiva
Aher (also known by his original name, Elisha Ben Abuya) and Rabbi Akiva have far more detailed descriptions than either of their companions, and seem more connected to each other. Marvin Sweeney suggests that Elisha is meant to be a direct antitype to Rabbi Akiva.[30] Jewish tradition maintained biographical information about Aher and Rabbi Akiva much more so than Ben Azzai or Ben Zoma, although some details are dispersed between the Bavli and Yerushalmi.
Starting with Aher, the Yerushalmi records that Aher told Rabbi Meir how his father, Abuya, dedicated him to a life of Torah scholarship at his brit milah, but not for the right reasons. After witnessing the divine power of Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Joshua, Abuya dedicated Aher to a life of scholarship, hoping he would acquire that same power one day.[31]
Growing up, Aher grappled with questions of theology despite being a learned scholar. He had an intense obsession with Greek culture and philosophy, to the point that when he stood up in the beit midrash heretical textbooks would fall from his lap.[32] He was disturbed by questions of theodicy. The Gemara records a scene where Aher watched two men ascend separate ladders to retrieve eggs from bird nests, but only one of them properly performed the mitzvah of Shiluach HaKan, shooing the mother bird away so it wouldn’t have to see its eggs being taken. However, despite being a mitzvah that carries an explicit blessing of long life for those who perform it according to the verse’s plain meaning, the man who performed the mitzvah died while the other lived.[33] Others say his theodicy concerns emerged after watching Rabbi Judah ha-Nahtom’s tongue get cut off and thrown to the dogs by Roman soldiers, whereupon he yelled, “is this Torah and this is its reward?”[34] Another telling on Chullin 142a relates this incident to the martyrdom of Hutzpit the Translator: “What did Aher see [that led him to heresy?] … Some say that he saw the tongue of Rabbi Hutzpit the meturgeman which was thrown into a trash-heap. Aher said: Will a mouth that produced pearls of wisdom lick the dust?”
However, these challenges to his faith reached their breaking point in the Pardes. There, the Bavli records his encounter with a divine being named Metatron, who was sitting and recording the merits of the Jewish people (instead of God doing so). Upon seeing him, Aher’s faith was broken as he asked, dumbfoundedly, “Perhaps, Heaven forbid, there are two authorities [in the divine realm?!]”[35] Following this experience, he rejected his status as a sage and was henceforth known as Aher, Other, his identity becoming synonymous with the corruption he underwent.[36] It is further said that he was also abusive to Rabbi Meir,[37] the one student who maintained a relationship with him despite his excommunication,[38] that he murdered children,[39] and that he convinced other children to stop learning Torah.[40] But perhaps worst of all, the Yerushalmi claims he became a Roman informant, proposing adjustments to Roman law that purposely made it difficult for Jews to follow the Torah and keep Shabbat.[41] All of this amounted to heaven declaring, ““Return, rebellious children” (Jeremiah 3:22), apart from Aḥer.”[42] However, the Yerushalmi and Bavli differ over whether or not he repented later in life. According to the former, he did repent after falling ill,[43] while the latter recorded no such repentance.[44]
Rabbi Akiva’s life, in many ways, stands in contrast to Elisha’s life. He, unlike Elisha, was not born into a life of Torah. Instead, he pursued Torah scholarship later in life[45] after either reflecting on the possibility that like water erodes rock, Torah could seep into him,[46] or (other accounts insist) at the behest of his wife.[47] He mentored thousands of students,[48] whereas Elisha only raised one and constantly discouraged him, questioning his interpretations and belittling him. Rabbi Akiva continued to learn Torah despite it being outlawed,[49] whereas Elisha used his knowledge of Torah to abuse others. Akiva was an optimist who laughed at the ruins of the Second Temple while his compatriots cried, and comforted them by explaining that the destruction wasn’t a final calamity but the first step towards redemption.[50] And famously, while being tortured at the hands of the Romans, Rabbi Akiva saw through the disunity and injustice of that moment and declared God’s oneness by reciting the Shema before he died.[51] Elisha, on the other hand, witnessed injustices that didn’t involve him but nonetheless renounced his faith.
Derash – What is this Story About?
With a deeper understanding of these characters, we can consider the purpose of this story within our canon. Marvin Sweeney saw this work as a multi-step process towards establishing proper criteria for textual interpretation, each of the three initial sages and their accompanying Torah verses acting as a representative of some form of subpar interpretation. He argues that “given the potentially heretical character of much of the mystical, theurgical, and Hekhalot literature of the early Talmudic period, this suggests that the purpose of the legend concerning the four who entered pardes is to attempt to gain some control over the proper exposition of the mystical texts, the account of creation in Genesis 1 (Ma’aseh Bereshit) and the account of Ezekiel’s vision of God in Ezekiel 1 (Ma’aseh Merkavah).”[52] His approach has synergy with other approaches to this story that see it, albeit more positively, as the foundation for the Pardes four-layered system of textual interpretation.
Others see the Pardes solely as a warning against studying and engaging with the divine without proper preparation, serving as an example of the consequences of approaching those subjects ill-prepared or unworthy. Protesting more complex readings of this text, Gershom Sholem wrote that modern commentators offer readings that are “extremely far-fetched and not a little irrational in their determination at all costs to preserve the characteristic essentials of rationalism. We are told that the passage refers to cosmological speculations about the materia prima, an explanation which lacks all plausibility and finds no support in the context or in the subject matter itself… there is no reason whatsoever to doubt that the mystical experience of the dangers of the ascent is really the subject of the anecdote.”[53] According to Sholem, any reading of this story that tries to expand its intent beyond a cautionary tale against mystical encounters without proper preparation is unfounded.
The Tikkunei Zohar, focusing on Rabbi Akiva’s warning to not say “water, water” upon entrance into the Pardes, claimed this story presents readers with a warning against a more specific form of heresy that saw humankind and God as detached from one another using the upper and lower yud-shaped branches of the letter alef bound together with a diagonal vav-shaped line as a visual representation of their connection. According to Ramak, this alef is representative of the sefirot, a Kabbalisic theory of reality that explains God and humankind’s connection to one another through a series of ten stages of divine emanation that reveal Godliness in our world. He explains that the upper and lower yuds are representative of the uppermost and lowermost stages of this system, while the vav represents the stages that connect them. To proclaim “water, water” — water being understood as another term for these stages— was to break this connection and see man and God as separated.[54] Scholar Heinrich Graetz saw this story as a warning against a similar heresy of disunity, gnosticism: a popular cosmogony that generally presented a distinction between a supreme, hidden God and a malevolent lesser divinity who is responsible for creating the material universe, or a dualist approach that doesn’t see God as all-powerful.[55]
These approaches focus on the story’s spiritual, mystical, and/or theological elements. However, Elie Wiesel uncovers the more human elements of this tale. Viewing the story through the lens of someone who witnessed the near-destruction and oppression of his own people, he understands the sages as attempting to either prevent the kind of calamity that he suffered through, or at least to try to understand it. These characters present “four basic responses to what today we call extreme situations: madness, heresy, death, and faith… four men can pass the same gate at the same moment, live the same experience, but what they derive from it depends on their nature. Have they “seen” the same pillars?”[56] His reflections on Rabbi Akiva and Aher present this approach most powerfully.
Starting with Rabbi Akiva, Wiesel has a surprising amount of contempt for him.
He [Akiva] appeals to the imagination of the learned and the unlearned alike. He is loved by the mystics and rationalists. He is the perfect hero in everyone’s book… and yet—I have some difficulties with Rabbi Akiva. His attitude toward suffering disturbs me… Didn’t he understand that he could set an example for generations of martyrs… inside the kingdom of night, Hasidim not only sang Ani Maamin, but also “Amar Rabbi Akiva, amar Rabbi Akiva, Ashrekhem Israel—and Rabbi Akiva said, Blessed and happy are you, Israel—for you are purifying yourselves before Him who purifies you…”[57]
Having witnessed substantial martyrdom performed in Rabbi Akiva’s name, Wiesel couldn’t help but associate him with death. However, Wiesel proceeds to explain how he ultimately realized his mistake. Despite his reputation as a martyr par-excellence who recited the Shema while being tortured by the Romans, Rabbi Akiva wasn’t actually someone who loved or welcomed suffering — at least, not for others — and so Wiesel cites source after source detailing the pragmatic and humanitarian nature of Rabbi Akiva’s life and thought. When teaching Torah became illegal he refused to stop and was thrown in jail, but refused to teach those who came to learn from him in jail lest they get in trouble on his account. He held the position that if two people were walking in a desert and only one of them had enough water for a single person to drink and survive, they should drink their water rather than forfeit their life.[58]
Rabbi Akiva was ready to endanger himself but not others. He was ready to advocate suffering for himself but not for others… His argument with Ben P’tura on the duties and obligations of friendship? His decision teaches us something important. When the surviving friend emerges from the desert, he is no longer alone; he will have to live two lives, his own and that of his dead friend. Isn’t this applicable to the American Jewish community? Six million Jews live in this land; let every one of them choose to live his or her life and that of a victim who died in battle or in a mass grave… Obsessed with the suffering of our people, Rabbi Akiva so wanted to curtail it. But he could not.[59]
In reality, Rabbi Akiva was someone who valued life above all else. Elie Wiesel specifically endorses Saul Lieberman’s reading of his final moments, i.e. that reciting Shema wasn’t meant to be an act of rebellion to be idolized. It was just time to recite the Shema, and had it not been, he wouldn’t have said it. But most notably, Rabbi Akiva championed the belief that loving your neighbor was paramount in Jewish tradition.
In conclusion, I love Rabbi Akiva. I love him for his humanity, for his passion for study, I love him for his love of the Jewish people.[60]
Ultimately, Elie Wiesel comes to love Rabbi Akiva for his humanity, compassion, and love of life despite popular misconceptions of his martyrdom that often define him. On the other hand, his initial reflections on Elisha are surprisingly sympathetic.
And here I must make a confession: At first I was drawn to this tormented Master, drawn to his extraordinary lucidity and honesty… I found him the most stimulating of his group, more humane than Rabbi Akiva.[61]
Wiesel asserts that most readers should feel kinship with Elisha. “Surely his angry questions are valid… we admire his courage. We admire his demands.”[62] But, highlighting the purported evildoings of Aher in the Talmud — Wiesel turns on Elisha whose “shadow covered the light… his cruelty weightier than his human warmth.”[63]
I find his attitude toward his devoted disciple Rabbi Meir unacceptable… by rewarding good with evil, Elisha did exactly that which he accused God of doing… In the second place… all his provocations took place on Shabbat… If God did wrong, why offend the Shabbat?[64]
Furthermore, he questions the selflessness of Elisha’s concerns with theodicy and injustice.
Appearances are deceiving. When he saw the man fall from the tree, Elisha rebelled. Why? Because he felt sorry for him? No. He rebelled because justice—the abstract concept of justice—had been flouted before his eyes. What concerned him was not man but the idea of divine fairness.[65]
Finally, he condemns Elisha for his need to answer his questions.
His quest is ours, his thirst is ours. Yet our paths separate when he deems it necessary to provide answers… had he not indicated his solution, his drastic solution, to the problem — he would have emerged as a beacon and a guide. After all, Jewish tradition permits man to question heaven, but one cannot pronounce judgment, one cannot boast of knowing everything… Having seen evil, having witnessed the intolerable injustice inherent in the death of a man, he proclaimed the verdict: Reward does not exist, and neither does eternity. Therein lay his mistake. He wished to acquire knowledge and thought that he did.[66]
Facing the horrors of his era, Elisha, “mad with pain, he never recovered from this trauma: he broke with his Jewish past.”[67] Despite sharing his concerns, the decisions Elisha allowed himself to make were too despicable to bear for Wiesel. Elisha’s need for certainty and answers to impossible questions of theodicy and human suffering they were experiencing came at the expense of his own humanity and his faith community.
What was his answer? “Yatza ve-hata” says the Talmud. He went outside and sinned.” Against God? If that has been all, we would have found an excuse. But he sinned against his brothers, and that is inadmissible. If you quarrel with God, it is your concern—His concern. But why implicate your brothers? You protest against heaven? So be it. But why express such protest by turning against your own people?… The only cry which is justified in our tradition is that uttered on behalf of man—and not against man…[68]
In conclusion, Elie Wiesel emphatically states that despite the superficial allure of Elisha’s anger at the injustices of his era, he is not a model for us to follow in times of turmoil.
No: his anger was not Jewish. No: his rebellion was not meant to help Jews. No: he was not an example to be followed.[69]
In the end, despite his reservations about his supposed martyrdom, the person we should emulate amidst calamity is Rabbi Akiva.
All things considered, I prefer Rabbi Akiva.[70]
Sod – What Can We Be Certain of?
The true test for these characters was not what happened to them the day they ventured into the Pardes, but what happened the day after. Seeing this story through Elie Wiesel’s eyes humanizes them and lets us see ourselves in them and their responses to the Pardes experience. When we have experiences that disturb us, face doubts or threats that destabilize us, or are plagued by uncertainties that haunt us, how do we respond? Do we turn inward like Ben Azzai and become self-destructive? Maybe we become self-involved to the point that we completely isolate ourselves like Ben Zoma, losing ourselves in the process of trying to grasp things we can’t understand. Or, like Elisha, do we delude ourselves into a false sense of certainty and security to cope with things we cannot understand or escape from, regardless of the consequences?
Elisha spoke proudly of his apostasy, parading by Rabbi Meir’s study hall only to try to outwit his former student with his own Torah teachings — but it was a false bravado. Elisha repeatedly projected his uncertainty onto others. In one instance in the Bavli, Rabbi Meir brought him to the synagogue and asked the children present what they were learning — a form of primitive prophecy. One child answered, but the gemara makes a point to say that the child stuttered and misquoted his verse in a way that sounded like an insult to Elisha. This mistake gave Elisha the chance to mishear him and violently lash out. That is the behavior of someone acting out of fear and self-hatred, not certainty.[71] And in the Yerushalmi we are privileged to a conversation between Elisha and Rabbi Meir at the end of his life where he lays in bed, ill and broken, seeking repentance for what he’d done.[72]
It’s worth noting that this behavior is possible regardless of whether someone chooses to become less or more religious. The Kuzari even suggests that Elisha saw his heresy as an elevation in religiosity, not a downgrade, viewing himself as having attained a superior level of spirituality that no longer required mitzvah performance.[73] Tragically, cowardice and cruelty are non-denominational, and you don’t have to leave religion to become cruel, and becoming more religious doesn’t make you any less cruel. You just have to think you’re right.[74] Anyone who has undergone a spiritual journey knows how easy it is to slip into self-righteousness and become an Aher while thinking they’re a Rabbi Akiva.
But, should we have the strength of character and resilience to live with uncertainty, we can persevere. Regarding Rabbi Akiva, the gemara asks, “Mai Daresh,” “What did he expound that helped him survive the Pardes?” Rashi offers two interpretations of the gemara’s question and subsequently, two versions of what actually happened in the Pardes. According to Rashi, the gemara is either asking what it was that Akiva knew that helped him survive the experience despite seeing the same thing as Elisha, or else what he knew that made him not look at all.[75] Emphasizing Rashi’s second interpretation, I’d like to suggest that what made Rabbi Akiva worthy of surviving the Pardes was that he didn’t look into the unknown for an answer to human suffering. Perhaps because he had the foresight to recognize what the experience would do to him, or maybe because he simply realized that survival isn’t contingent upon divine truths about theodicy that can break you, but rather upon kindness and community. When God wanted to make the world, He asked Kindness and Truth if He should. Kindness said He should because people would be kind, but Truth said not to because they would lie, but God created the world anyway. When asked why He didn’t listen to Truth, God threw Truth to the ground and said “Truth will grow from the earth.”[76] In other words, truth will come later, but kindness will come sooner, and that was enough.
Rabbi Akiva, despite facing the same existential threats as his compatriots, lived a life loving his neighbors and caring for his community. While Elisha became an other, Rabbi Akiva showed us how to dedicate ourselves to one another, and that the only thing we can be certain of is how we treat each other.
Only Rabbi Akiva saved himself. He sought peace for his people and for the world — and that is what saved him.[77]
Jewish tradition presents us with a profound challenge. On several occasions we are asked to remember the pain we’ve endured and meditate on the traumas we’re continuously facing, but not let it change us. When our pain is immense and life is uncertain, we need to take care of each other, and ensure our decisions are driven by our love for one another rather than our fears of the unknown. Ultimately, it is by maintaining our connections that we survive calamity.
From the place where we are right
flowers will never grow
in the spring.
The place where we are right
is hard and trampled
like a yard.
But doubts and loves
dig up the world
like a mole, a plow.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
where the ruined
house once stood.[78]
[1] Elie Wiesel, Sages and Dreamers: Biblical, Talmudic, and Hasidic Portraits and Legends. Summit Books, 1991, 255.
[2] I’d like to thank my friend, Alex Behar, for his characterization of Ben Azzai that prompted the idea for this paper. I’d also like to thank my friends Morgan Figa and Rabbi Zach Beer, and my father-in-law, Dr. John Klein, for reviewing and offering feedback on the paper.
[3] Tosefta Hagigah 2:2
[4] Talmud Yerushalmi Hagigah 2:1:9b Vilna Edition
[6] James Davila, Hekhalot literature in Translation: Major Texts of Merkavah Mysticism. Brill, 2013, 202.
[7] Zohar Chadash, Sifra Tanina 102
[8] Talmud Bavli, Tractate Chagigah 16a
[9] Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 14b
[10] Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 14b
[11] Subtelny, The Tale of the Four Sages who Entered the Pardes, Jewish Studies Quarterly, 2004, Vol. 11, No. 1/2 (2004), 20
[12] Talmud Bavli, Hagigah 14b
[13] Peter Schäfer, Synopse zur Hekhalot-Literatur. In collaboration with Margarete Schlüter and Hans Georg von Mutius (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1981), 172
[14] Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 14b
[15] Shaar Maamarei Chazal, Rabbi Chaim Vital, 3b (Chagiga 14b)
[16] For example, When Less Is Truly More, Rabbi Pinchas Winston, https://torah.org/torah-portion/perceptions-5763-naso/
[17] Talmud Bavli, Yevamot 63b
[18] Marvin A. Sweeney, Shofar Vol. 22, No 4, Pardes Revisited Once Again: A Reassessment of the Rabbinic Legend Concerning the Four Who Entered Pardes, 2004, 52-53.
[19] Malbim on VaYikra 19:18.
[20] Special thanks to Alex Behar for sharing this reading of Ben Azzai at the Brownstone NYC.
[21] Rabbeinu Bachya on Bereshit 5:1
[23] Talmud Bavli, Berachot 58a
[24] Passover Haggadah, Maggid, Story of the Five Rabbis
[25] Ibid.
[26] Sweeney, 2004, 54.
[27] Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 15a
[28] Tosefta Chagigah 2:2. In this account, the formulation is “Ben Zoma is already outside,” i.e. leaving this world.
[29] Otzar HaKabod 24A
[30] Sweeney, 2004, 52.
[31] Talmud Yerushalmi, Chagigah 2:1:9b Vilna Edition
[32] Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 15b
[33] Talmud Yerushalmi, Chagigah 2:1:9b Vilna Edition
[34] Ibid.
[35] Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 15a
[36] ibid.
[37] ibid.
[38] ibid.
[39] ibid.
[40] Talmud Yerushalmi, Chagigah 2:1:9a-b Vilna Edition
[41] Ibid, 9b
[42] Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 15a
[43] Talmud Yerushalmi, Chagigah 2:1:9a-b Vilna Edition
[44] Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 15b
[45] Some suggest that Elisha was cognizant of this dynamic, and that his famous contribution to Pirkei Avot, “Elisha ben Abuyah said: He who learns when a child, to what is he compared? To ink written upon a new writing sheet. And he who learns when an old man, to what is he compared? To ink written on a rubbed writing sheet. (Avot 4:20)” was actually an insult to Rabbi Akiva.
[47] Talmud Bavli, Ketubot 62b
[48] ibid.
[49] Talmud Bavli, Berakhot 61b
[50] Talmud Bavli, Makkot 24b
[51] Talmud Bavli, Berakhot 61b
[52] Sweeney, 2004, 55-56
[53] Gershom Sholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism. Schocken, 1995, 52-53.
[54] Tikkunei Zohar, Tikun 40, with points of clarity between bolded words from Moshe Miller, https://www.chabad.org/kabbalah/article_cdo/aid/380344/jewish/Four-Who-Entered-Paradise.htm
[55] Graetz, Heinrich. Gnosticismus und Judenthum. Germany, B. L. Monasch, 1846, 65
[56] Wiesel, Sages and Dreamers, 242-243.
[57] Ibid. 232; 240.
[59] Ibid. 240-241.
[60] Ibid.
[61] Ibid. 267.
[62] Ibid. 268-269
[63] Ibid. 267
[64] Ibid.
[65] Ibid.
[66] Ibid. 268
[67] Ibid. 260
[68] Ibid. 268
[69] Ibid. 269
[70] Ibid.
[71] Talmud Bavli, Tractate Chagigah 15b
[72] Talmud Yerushalmi, Chagigah 2:1:9a-b Vilna Edition
[74] On a related note connected to halacha, the Gemara in Eruvin 13b explains that the reason we uphold the rulings of Beit Hillel over those of Beit Shammai a majority of the time is because when they would debate, Beit Hillel would be more amicable and explain both sides while Beit Shammai was rude and only saw their side.
[75] Talmud Bavli, Chagigah 16a
[77] Wiesel, Sages and Dreamers,. 255.
[78] Yehuda Amichai, “The Place Where We Are Right.” The Selected Poetry of Yehuda Amichai, translated by Chana Bloch and Stephen Mitchell. University of California Press, 1986-2013.
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