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Are the Sages Infallible?

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muman613:
I would first like to wish everyone a productive Elul so that we enter the High Holidays ready for the awesome decision ahead. The sages tought that the month of Elul is an opportune time to do teshuva, to rectify the wrongs which we all did last year.

Recently I was thinking about the pasuk in Pirkie Avot which discusses the various qualities or traits required to attain Torah wisdom.

Torah.org has an excellent discussion of this pasuk which I will reproduce here and then open up the thread for discussion.

PS: I am obviously not referring to Rabbi Yosef in particular... But he is considered a Gedolim/Great Rabbi.

muman613:
http://torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos/chapter6-622.html

Pirkei Avos

The 48 Ways: 22(a)
Are the Sages Infallible? Part I
Chapter 6, Mishna 6

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Torah is greater than priesthood and kingship, for kingship is acquired with 30 qualities, priesthood is acquired with 24, whereas the Torah is acquired with 48 ways. These are: ... (22) trust in the Sages..."

This week's quality, "emunas chachamim," means trusting or having faith in the Sages. There are a number of implications to this term, all of them significant. In fact, this quality might be considered one of the truest signs of the true believer as opposed to the religious skeptic.

On its simplest level, trust in the Sages implies believing in their teachings and the traditions upon which they are based. We accept that the laws, discussions and homilies of the Sages are authentic and a part of our Torah.

This immediately raises a few issues. How *do* we know that the Talmud and Midrash are sacred and divinely inspired? Weren't they authored by scholars who lived a millennium or more after the Revelation at Sinai? We have no doubt they were great men -- just look at their words and advice -- but are their words on par with the Torah itself? And if not, what does "trust in the Sages" exactly mean? Trust that what? That they are infallible, that everything they say is in line with G-d's will? Again, they were certainly great men, but doesn't everyone make mistakes? Didn't Moses himself makes mistakes -- as well as virtually all the great men of Scripture? "Trust" implies almost a degree of blind faith -- of submitting ourselves before the Sages even beyond what makes sense to us. Is that what is required of the true believer? Do we have no right to challenge or question the scholars before us but must blindly "trust" whoever preceded us?

We're opening an important issue. Let us back up slightly and review some of our past discussions relating to this issue. After the review, we will hopefully gain a better understanding of the subject matter at hand. (You can find a related discussion on 3:17 (start with Chapter 3 Archives and follow the links). Below I present a somewhat condensed version of the discussion.)

As we know, the Torah was given to us at Sinai in two sections -- the Scriptures or the Written Law, and the Oral Law -- a set of laws not recorded in writing but memorized and passed down orally from generation to generation. The Written Law on its own is filled with pleasant but meaningless generalities ("Do no manner of servile labor on the Sabbath," "It shall be for a sign between your eyes," etc.) charging us with all sorts of dramatic and inspiring commandments, but telling us very little about what it actually means to be a good Jew. The Oral Law fills in the gaps left by the Written. It provides structure and detail for the general concepts of the Written. It takes religion from the level of empty inspiration -- where most other religions leave their adherents -- to an organized and well-thought-out guide for life.

This arrangement did not last forever. The Oral Law was afterwards recorded and committed to writing. The scholars of later generations recognized that the burden of memorizing the entire Torah was becoming too great -- especially after the destruction of the Second Temple as the Jews began their long history of exile and persecution. Thus, earlier the Mishna (circa 200 C.E.) and later the Talmud (c. 420) were committed to writing.

It might be observed, however, that even in its recorded form the Oral Law is hardly a closed book, set in stone and preserved in amber. The Talmud is filled with the lively debates and discussions of our Sages. The student, in studying the Talmud, sees not only the conclusions our Sages reached but their debates and thought processes as well, understanding the analysis and give-and-take the Sages underwent to reach their conclusions. Thus, students who study Talmud are not studying a closed book, but are reliving, reenacting -- and even further developing -- the same discussions our Sages had when our tradition was oral. Thus, even in written form, the Oral Law has for centuries remained a vibrant and living document.

There is something both intriguing and bothersome about the Torah's division into a Written and Oral Law. Why did G-d intend it originally that a great part of our tradition be memorized? We know how extensive the Talmud and Midrash are. Why not write it all down as Scripture? Why leave it in the hands of imperfect human beings, who for all their noble deeds and aspirations, are all too human and can easily forget, misinterpret or even willfully corrupt and distort? What was the benefit of entrusting man with such a precious and delicate heritage?

Now we arrive at the first critical point in our discussion -- and this is something we've discussed in the past. The Torah cannot possibly write down everything we need to know to live as Jews. This is simply because the world is far too vast. There are too many people and too many situations. Times change, people change, and societies change. The Torah cannot possibly tell every person how to act in every possible situation from the Revelation till the End of Days. How do we remain as Jews in different eras and societies? How do we deal with advances in technology? How do we adapt to new social trends or political realities? How does one deal with his parents, his kid sister, or his mother-in-law? No two people and no two situations are alike. The Torah teaches us eternal and timeless principles -- ones always true and relevant -- but how to apply them to each individual and in every age requires knowledge that no finite work of wisdom, no matter how large and penetrating, could ever record.

For this reason, the Torah was not given to us in written form alone. It would have to contain two sections -- one concrete and unchanging, and the other dynamic and living. The Written Law reflects the eternal and unchanging realities of the Torah, the parts which -- as the Ten Commandments -- were set in stone. It contains absolute and permanent truths, those which never change or alter in any way regardless of society, social mores, or personal situation. The Sabbath, holidays, forbidden relationships, dietary laws: they are here to stay regardless of where fate leads us or the changing whims of society.

In truth, the great majority of the Oral Law too consists of definite and factual knowledge. So much of it is legal code which, despite the often vigorous debates of the Talmud, provides us with a fairly rigorous and demanding set of instructions for living. But the Oral Law is much more than that. It is not set in stone the same way the Written is. It cannot be. It is in a more dynamic and oral -- or semi-oral -- state. People would have to study it and *apply* it, fathoming how its eternal principles apply to new and ever-changing realities in the world -- as well as to their own lives.

The Oral Law thus provides the bridge between the Written Law and the physical, relativistic world in which we live. It spans the distance from the Written Law, representing the absolutes of the spiritual world, to the ordinary and commonplace of everyday life. It takes absolute and uncompromising truths and recognizes how to apply them -- judiciously -- to the relativity of the human condition.

The key to this bridge -- as we will see -- is mankind. It requires human beings to bridge the gap between the spiritual and physical, to understand this world and how the Torah must be applied to it. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. G-d willing, next time we will begin to understand the importance and necessity of placing the Oral Law in the hands of man, into the hands of great but human sages. We will then begin to appreciate the centrality of "trust in the Sages" to Judaism.

muman613:
http://torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos/chapter6-623.html

Pirkei Avos

The 48 Ways: 22(b)
Are the Sages Infallible? Part II
Chapter 6, Mishna 6

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Torah is greater than priesthood and kingship, for kingship is acquired with 30 qualities, priesthood is acquired with 24, whereas the Torah is acquired with 48 ways. These are: ... (22) trust in the Sages..."

In the previous class we began to discuss the importance of "trusting" the Sages. As we explained, "trust" implies a degree of blind faith -- believing in the words of the Sages beyond what we understand or necessarily agree with. In fact, this seems to be precisely what the Sages (!) ask of us. When Deuteronomy 17:11 tells us not to veer from the decisions of the high court "right or left," the Sages comment, "Even if they tell you your right is your left and your left is your right" (Rashi, based on Sifri).

The question we asked on this -- and we are taking one of the Judaism's biggest issues head on -- is what grounds does the Torah have to require us to accept the infallibility of the Sages. Let's face it: we are certainly willing to accept that the scholars of the Mishna and Talmud were great men. They were not the sort to invent laws based on personal prejudice or in order to safeguard their own authority. But nobody's perfect. Couldn't the scholars have made a few mistakes? And if they did, should I (who somehow knows better) be bound by their decisions? And further, do all the writings of the Sages assume the status of "Torah"? We consider the Talmud and later writings until this day a part of our Oral Tradition. But if the Sages were and are not perfect -- and who is? -- why are their words "Torah", and are they really on par with Scripture itself - - the direct word of G-d?

Let us quickly recap the first part of our discussion. We have much more intellectual ground to cover. We observed that much of our tradition -- basically everything other than Scripture -- is considered a part of the Oral Law. This is the part of our tradition which was not originally committed to writing, but was for centuries taught and preserved orally. Later, the bulk of it was recorded in the Mishna and Talmud -- as well as in the many other midrashic works from that period. Yet the initial intent was that our tradition be discussed and memorized rather than written down. (And as we noted, the Talmud, even in written form, captures much of this oral nature with its often vigorous and animated discussions.)

We explained that G-d recognized the necessity that a part of our Torah be in oral form. It could not all be written down. The world is a changing and dynamic place. It contains an infinite number of people and situations. No written work could ever tell man how every person should act in every possible religious and personal situation from the Revelation till the End of Days. Thus, the Torah did not attempt to write everything down. Instead, G-d gave us a law -- or a part of it -- which would be living and dynamic. It would not be -- *could* not be -- set in stone. It would have to be discussed, reviewed and applied by the Sages of every generation -- and its eternal and timeless messages would assume new relevance and timeliness in every age and every society. (Based in part on thoughts from my Rosh HaYeshiva, R. Yaakov Weinberg of blessed memory.)

We may thus say that the Oral Law forms the bridge between the Written Torah and the physical world. The Written Law represents the absoluteness of the spiritual realm, a world of unchanging and unchangeable truth. The laws recorded in Scripture, such as Sabbath, holidays and dietary laws, are permanent and unalterable: they apply as absolute truths regardless of age, society or personal preference. As the Ten Commandments, the words of Scriptures are set in stone. They represent a level of truth almost untouchable to man, almost more "real" than the physical world itself. Thus, we may recite and study the verses of Scripture, and we see their enormous depth and beauty. But we can never add to them. The Scriptures are complete and perfect as they are. Humans can understand and admire, but can do little else.

The Oral Law is different. Its principles are equally eternal, but they are not in a frozen and unalterable state. They are meant to be discussed, analyzed and applied. We do not just recite the Oral Law verbatim. We understand it, put it in our own words, internalize it, and apply it to our lives. It was meant to be studied and applied -- using the principles and methods of study handed down to us from Sinai -- so that the Torah's eternal truths would find new meaning and relevance to each succeeding generation. Oral Law does not just consist of G-d's words; it consists of *our* words, being inexorably bound and intertwined with G-d's infinite knowledge.

We now bring this discussion to its critical point. The key to this bridge -- to spanning this great distance from the spiritual to the physical -- is human involvement. Human beings are the only creatures who live in the physical realm yet aspire to such great spiritual heights. It takes human beings -- perhaps the human touch -- to bring the Torah down, to understand both spirituality and the physical world in which it must be applied. Thus, G-d placed the Torah in the hands of man. It would be we -- the greatest and most sincere among us -- who would be entrusted with understanding the Torah, interpreting it, and applying it to the vastness and relativity of the physical world.

But if G-d entrusted us with understanding the Torah, He would have to *give* it to us as well. The Torah would be ours to understand and sometimes even to misunderstand. Could G-d really hold us responsible for the Torah's interpretation yet fault us if -- in spite of our greatest efforts -- we do not always understand perfectly? If we bear the burden of understanding the Torah, if we must live and die by its word, we would have the privilege -- and the gift -- of its possession as well. Scripture describes the Torah as "the possession of the Congregation of Jacob" (Deuteronomy 33:4). We own the Torah -- to understand and even, rarely, to misunderstand. But this was simply the risk G-d had to take, so to speak, if He would challenge us to be people of spirit and soul.

But there is an even deeper concept here. The Talmud (Bava Metziah 59) records a fantastic debate between the scholars. R. Eliezer, in spite of his great scholarship, stood alone against the Rabbis in their debate about a certain complex issue. After they refused to accept his position, he demanded: "If the law is like me, let this carob tree bear witness." The tree uprooted itself and moved a distance. The Rabbis were not swayed, saying that one cannot prove anything from a carob tree. He continued, "If the law is like me let this aqueduct prove it." The water reversed its course. The Rabbis were still not swayed. Finally, R. Eliezer cried out, "If the law is like me, let the Heavens bear witness." A voice then emanated from the Heavens, stating: "What do you have with R. Eliezer? The law is like him everywhere!" R. Yehoshua stood up and proclaimed: "It [the Torah] is not in the Heavens" (Deuteronomy 30:12). The Talmud explains: The Torah was already given to man at Sinai. It is no longer G-d's to decide. Rather, we adhere to the general principle of following the majority opinion (Exodus 23:2).

Well, the question is so obvious as to be glaring. How could the Rabbis argue with G-d?! So what standard protocol is to follow the majority? G-d Himself told the Sages they were wrong! The Torah may be ours to understand -- and perhaps even our mistakes are forgiven -- but here the Rabbis *knew* they were wrong -- they were understanding Torah not as G-d originally intended. On what grounds could our "possession" of the Torah justify going against the direct word of G-d?!

Well, we're opening up yet another can of worms... er, deep philosophical question. I'm afraid I'll have to break this up again to explain this properly (if even then). As always, pardon the lengthiness, but these issues require serious thought and explanation. If Judaism really could be understood in a few paragraphs a week, it couldn't possibly be very profound. Till then!

muman613:
http://torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos/chapter6-624.html

Pirkei Avos

The 48 Ways: 22(c)
Are the Sages Infallible? Part III
Chapter 6, Mishna 6

By Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld

"Torah is greater than priesthood and kingship, for kingship is acquired with 30 qualities, priesthood is acquired with 24, whereas the Torah is acquired with 48 ways. These are: ... (22) trust in the Sages..."

We're now up to Part III of a topic which many find one of the most difficult to accept about traditional Judaism -- trust in the Sages. The Torah seems to insist that we accept the words and decisions of the Sages to be on par with Scripture itself. We are told almost to "trust" them -- even beyond what we understand or agree with, even if "they tell you your right is your left and your left is your right" (see again Deuteronomy 17:8-13). The question we have been dealing is: Were the scholars of the Mishna and Talmud perfect? As great as they were, were they infallible? And theoretically if they did err, why should I (who somehow knows better) be bound by their decisions? Is what they wrote "Torah" per se -- or is it merely their own imperfect attempt to make sense of the same Scripture and tradition we can understand ourselves?

Let us briefly review the discussion up until now before we arrive at the final hurdle. As we explained, most of our tradition was given to us orally rather than in written form. Originally, only Scripture itself was recorded in writing. Most of the explanation -- the Oral Law -- was memorized and passed from teacher to student until the period of the Mishna and Talmud many centuries later. We explained that the Torah had to be in an oral state. The world is an ever-changing and developing place. New societies and situations arise and new technologies develop. There is no way a written work could tell man how every person should act in every possible situation from the Revelation till the End of Days. Rather, G-d gave us a *dynamic* Torah -- in a state we would have to explain and interpret ourselves. Man would have the task of understanding the Torah's eternal truths and applying them to myriads of people and situations. The Oral Law, as a living document, would bridge this gap. It would be the tool through which man would take G-d's infinite and absolute knowledge and apply it to the relativity of the physical world.

The key to this arrangement is that G-d placed the Torah in man's hands. Since we were entrusted with the mission of understanding the Torah and applying it to mankind, G-d would have to *give* us the Torah as well. Could G-d have us interpret and live by the Torah, yet fault us if we make mistakes? G-d gave us the tools for understanding the Torah, the various methods of interpretation, but at that point the Torah was no longer in the hands of Heaven. It was ours understand and apply. And if we would err -- after -- and only after -- our greatest efforts -- that is the only Torah G-d gave us, and it is the one we would have to live with. (In addition, the Torah provides guidelines for settling debates among the Sages -- primarily by following the majority opinion. It also provides criteria for defining who is a true and authentic scholar -- although that has not gone uncontested over the centuries.)

We then introduced the final issue. We quoted the passage in the Talmud (Bava Metziah 59) in which during a debate a Heavenly voice spoke up in favor of R. Eliezer's opinion, yet the remaining scholars (who were in the majority) rejected it, stating that the Torah was no longer in Heaven's hands to decide. To this we asked that we might accept the Sages could make an occasional mistake and we should still follow it. But here the scholars *knew* they were wrong -- their understanding of the Torah was not in accordance with G-d's original intent. If so, how in the world could they have persisted?

We now arrive at an even deeper issue. The task of the sages of each generation is not merely to "figure out" what G-d meant in the Torah. And if they err, it is not just simply a matter that their mistakes can be forgiven. Rather the task of the sages is infinitely more profound: to bring down the Torah from the heavens to the world of man and to fathom how their particular generation relates to the Torah. What does the Torah - - in its many possible interpretations -- mean to *us*, not what did it mean to G-d in heaven?

As we explained above, it is the task of man to bring G-d's Torah down to this world, applying its timeless principles to the relativity of man and the physical world. This is the charge of the greatest scholars of each generation. They must take the Torah from the level of the abstract to the down-to-earth. They must ascertain what the Torah means to *them*, and what particular messages and applications are most relevant to their times. This is because the Torah does not and cannot on its own reside in the world of man. The Torah is eternal and infinite; the world physical, finite and relativistic. It is the task of the sages to bridge this gap, to understand the Torah as they are best able, and to fathom what particular messages are most relevant to their day and age.

Thus, amazingly, when the sages rejected R. Eliezer's opinion, they were not interested in how G-d understood the Torah. The Torah was truly no longer in heaven. It was theirs. They realized they were the leading scholars of the age. They were entrusted with the task of bringing the Torah down to their generation. They were not studying the abstract law of heaven, but the practical law of man. And so, as great as R. Eliezer no doubt was, the sages decided to -- in fact they had to -- reject his opinion. If anything, he was *too* right. His arguments were perhaps too sharp and profound for them to grasp, and he touched upon a level of truth they simply could not comprehend. And they recognized that his opinion was just not one their generation was worthy of. (Based in part in thoughts heard from my teacher R. Moshe Eisemann.)

It should also be borne in mind that the Sages tell us there are many valid interpretations to the Torah. The Midrash writes that there are 70 "faces" (facets) to the Torah (Bamidbar Rabbah 13:15). There are many valid ways of understanding each part of the Torah -- some more literal and some more profound -- but all valid according to the legitimate methods of Torah study handed to us. Thus, the Sages who contested R. Eliezer did not consider themselves "wrong". Perhaps their opinion was not the most profound in an absolute sense. But they correctly recognized that it was the only explanation their generation could fathom.

I'd like to illustrate this principle with yet another fascinating episode from the Talmud (Shabbos 12b). I recognize this topic is one of our most profound and to be honest, most difficult to explain. Hopefully another illustration will shed a little more light -- then we'll call it a day.

The Sages of the Mishna forbade reading from the light of an oil lamp on the Sabbath for fear the reader would tilt the lamp to adjust the light (causing a fire to burn better on the Sabbath). R. Yishmael son of Elisha responded: "I will read and I will not tilt." He felt, probably rightly so, that he was so cognizant of the Sabbath that it would never slip his mind. He went ahead and ignored the decree and the expected happened: he found himself tilting the lamp.

The simplest explanation of this incident is that one never really knows and we can never be too sure of ourselves. My teacher, R. Yochanan Zweig (www.talmudicu.edu), saw a much deeper lesson. One person cannot disassociate himself from his generation. Just as the sages of a generation bring down the Torah according to their ability, they also recognize precisely how it applies to their generation. This is a part of their mission of applying the Torah. They define the reality of Torah for their day -- what precisely is the Torah their generation is privy to. If the Sages correctly see that their generation requires an extra safeguard for Torah observance, they are defining how their generation (and future generations) relates to Judaism -- in this case, to the Sabbath. The Sages of the Mishna saw that as a whole, their generation did not have the same awe of Sabbath that previous generations did. There was the need for an additional fence or decree. They had therefore defined their generation's relationship to the Sabbath. This was now the Sabbath that existed for them. And very few individuals, no matter how great, could relate any differently.

We now have an inkling of the magnitude of the Sages' mission -- then and today. They see Torah, they define it, and they bring it to man and the world. Over the generations, our greatest leaders have seen the need for new concepts and new stresses within Judaism -- for Chassidus, the mussar (ethics) movement, or the study of kabbalah. (Not, of course, that they introduced something foreign to Judaism, but the Sages saw need for new stresses or safeguards.) Each generation would then have its own unique approach to the Torah, and each would make its own contribution. And so, the Torah in all its wonder and eternity, would assume greater freshness, relevance and vitality in each and every generation.

muman613:
http://www.rjconline.org/hib131.htm

Rabbi Gidon Rothstein's Halakhah in Brief #131

MITSVAH of the WEEK

#209 Honoring Sages

Leviticus 19:32 reads "Mipnei sevah takum, vehadarta penei zaken, In the presence of an old person you should rise and you should honor the presence of a sage (in the ArtScroll translation)." The ordinary halakhic questions- who it is we are supposed to honor and how—engendered some discussion in the gemara and halakhah as did questions of the purpose of this mitsvah. Let’s see if we can combine the two into a meaningful presentation. The obligation to stand up before a hakham, a wise person, applies even to wise people who are not our own particular rebbeim, our own teachers. For such people, we are obligated to stand up when they enter into our daled amot, within about six feet of us, and can sit down once they pass beyond us. That obligation applies not only to wise people, but to those who are notably elderly, as long as they are not evildoers. The Talmud even entertains an opinion that Rambam seems to accept as a matter of practice (Hilkhot Talmud Torah 6:9), that we should verbally honor elderly non-Jews (meaning we do not have to rise out of honor, but do have to say something that shows our respect for them) and offer them a helping hand. Wisdom and age, then, seem to incur the right to honor by others.

The standards of required respect rise even higher when it comes to one’s own main teacher, the person who rov hokhmato mimenu, from whom most of one’s knowledge is derived. (This is, perhaps, less common today when people tend to attend many institutions, learning from various teachers. In the Talmud’s time, students entered the school of a particular rabbi when young and did not leave until the bulk of their education had been completed). One who has such a rebbe owes him respect and fear approaching that of God, and outweighing even that of a parent. For such a man, we must rise from the time we see him and remain standing until he either disappears from view or reaches his place and sits down. There are also detailed rules requiring one to secure the permission of one’s teacher before becoming a rabbi on one’s own, and also prohibitions of ruling on a matter of law within that teacher’s presence.

For the many who do not have a teacher like that, the obligation remains only to honor scholars by rising for them. This might seem insignificant, except that halakhah gave the power of nidui to Sages, meaning any individual Torah scholar (of a certain stature) had the right to impose a form of excommunication on someone who he felt had mistreated him. While Rambam discourages the use of that power for private insults, the power (and other statements stressing the importance of proper respect for Sages) shows that Hazal invested our attitude towards talmidei hakhamim with greater importance than just how much we rise to greet them.

Perhaps shifting our attention to the reasons offered for the mitsvah will help us understand why so much seems to ride on our rising for Torah scholars. The Sefer haHinukh, Mitsvah 257, says that since people were created to use their wisdom to find God, we should demonstrate our respect for those who have succeeded at that goal. Our standing for talmidei hakhamim, in this view, is supposed to remind us that such people (and, perhaps, elderly people in general) have come closer to the ultimate goal of our existence than those who have not consistently applied their intellects to the search for God.

Rambam offers two other reasons for honoring Sages. First, in the fourth chapter of Shemonah Perakim (his introduction to his commentary on Avot), he says that standing for talmidei hakhamim teaches busha ve-anavah, embarrassment and humility. Bushah here does not have the negative connotations it does in English, but refers to an appropriate and laudable embarrassment that leads to care in avoiding wrong. In that reasoning, however, it is almost irrelevant before whom we are ordered to rise, since the value is only in our having to demonstrate respect for some class of people. Had Hashem wanted to order us to rise for another segment of society, it would nonetheless have served the purpose of our development, since that, too, would have reduced our sense of self, inculcating humility in us.

Rambam’s placing these rules in his Hilkhot Talmud Torah suggests that he had by then already thought of the reason for this mitsvah that he gives in GuideIII;36. While he re-records the idea about busha ve-anavah, he also says that unless people already respect Torah scholars, they will not listen to them when it comes to matters of character or action, which he assumes is a central function of the Torah scholar. In his view, in other words, the mitsvah of honoring such people was to safeguard our respect for their point of view. Without that respect, people will not follow (or solicit) much-needed advice about how the Torah and God want them to live their lives.

A story on this very issue. A doctor was once set upon by robbers, who were about to steal his medical bag for the drugs and money they knew were inside. He begged them to leave him the rest of the bag, explaining that he needed his medications to heal sick people. Nonetheless the robbers took the bag, took the drugs they could use, and threw the rest of it in the river. Soon after, one of the robbers became ill. Somewhat embarrassed, he went to the doctor to beg his forgiveness and ask for his help. The doctor readily forgave him, but told him that the medication he needed to give him was in the bag that the robber had stolen from him. So, too, the remedy to some of our spiritual ills (or, the key to finding the next positive avenue for our spiritual growth) often lies in finding proper advice from those who have spent the time and effort to gain the insight that is relevant to living as God would want. The mitsvah of standing before Sages helps us maintain our respect for those who can advise us as to how to match our lives and life-goals to those determined by the Creator. Shabbat Shalom.

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