Daf Yomi, Marriage Counseling, Psychotherapy, Rabbi Simcha Feuerman, Torah and Psychology
Our Gemara on Amud Aleph records an incident that occurred between the sages Rav Yosef, Rabbah and Rav Zeira, who discussed the Halachos of what part of the liver must remain connected:
“A certain occupying Royal army came to Pumbedita, and Rabba and Rav Yosef fled the city, whereupon Rabbi Zeira met them. Rabbi Zeira said to them: Refugees, hear this halakha: The olive-bulk that the Sages said must remain of the liver so the animal will remain kosher must be in the place where the liver connects to the gallbladder. Rav Adda bar Ahava says: The olive-bulk must be in the place that the liver lives, i.e., is connected to the other organs, under the right kidney.”
On a basic level, this teaching is fascinating and inspiring. While these great men are in existential danger and fleeing for their lives, their heads are engaged in abstract discussions of what particular injury will render an animal tereifah.
But one must wonder about their choice of discussion, and their ability to speak in innuendo, if not actually channeling divine inspiration. After all, the core subject matter is about connection and disconnection to vital places which dictate whether the organism will live or die. Could it be an accident that these great people were having such a discussion while they were fleeing for their lives?
Mei Shiloach (Devarim Zos Haberacha) understands Rabbi Zeira as subtly rebuking his colleagues for running away, as if they were lacking in faith. The two places of the liver represent two states of spiritual access. One is providential and divine assistance through existing physical capabilities. That is, for example, a skilled army who succeeds in battle, but recognizes that God blessed their actions. That is the liver connecting to vital organs. But then there are situations where there are no material abilities or natural ways to win, and a person can still channel a totally miraculous help from God. This is represented by the part of the liver that connects to the gallbladder. That is, even though it is not connected to the life-giving organs, and it is only connected through bitterness and despair, one can still channel a completely miraculous intervention.
He says that there are times when righteous individuals sense that God is going to protect them and intervene through unnatural means, and they are allowed to take risks that normally one would be forbidden to do. This is like Elisha Baal Kanafayim (Shabbos 49a) who defied a Roman decree and wore tefilin, risking his life.
Rav Zeira was rebuking his colleagues and called them refugees because he believed they should have been on a higher level. They should have stood their ground, and kept their community and Torah institutions intact. He was telling them that the animal can still live even when the liver is not connected to the life-giving force, but only to the gallbladder, to the bitterness, to utter desperation and reliance on God. But they were not of that persuasion. Their sense was that they were not going to receive that degree of divine assistance, and they needed to run away to protect their lives. They answered, “the liver must be connected to the life force.”
From time to time in history, Jewish communities and their leaders have faced a question of: should we commit social suicide by running away and letting our institutions dissolve or shall we stand our ground? At different times, history has vindicated both positions and punished both positions. In hindsight, we know that those who left Europe and went to America avoided the horrors of the Holocaust. Yet, the Torah leadership at that time was divided, and largely in favor of standing ground and staying put. My own maternal grandfather, himself a grandson of the Trisker Maggid, defied the wishes of his father and grandfather, and left Poland to go to London. To his father and grandfather, rebbishe kint, this was practically equivalent to leaving Judaism. The Trisker Maggid was adamant about his position of staying put, and even in the final hours, where my grandfather moved heaven and earth and obtained two visas for his father and grandfather, they both refused to leave Europe and rather stayed with their chassidim. At that time, I think they were fairly sure they were facing death.
They represented one form of heroism while my grandfather, who left, represented another. If he didn’t leave, myself and many other of his descendants who are far more worthy than me, would not be here today.
Every time the question comes up the answer may be different. But we do know that there is the possibility to sense, in a moment of crisis, what God wants from you. While we can never be sure, we have no choice but to try, because certain situations call for decisions and a path must be chosen. Passivity in a crisis is also an active choice because when the stakes are life and death, the opportunity cost of inaction is equal to taking poor action.
A final thought. While emergencies can happen and one never knows what they will do or what exactly will happen, fire drills and tabletop exercises allow people to develop patterns of thought and behavior that can be accessed instinctively during moments of an crisis. So first responders and EMTs and soldiers train with various exercises so that when emergencies happen, their instincts engage. I think this is true spiritually as well. If a person is going to be able to follow his instinct and sense what God wants from him in a moment of crisis, his chances of accessing that spiritual channel are greatly increased if he practices mindful spiritual contact throughout his lives. If one is constantly asking himself what God wants from him, and prays for guidance from both the teachings of the Torah and the teachings of life, in a moment of crisis, he or she might be more equipped to make the right decision.
I heard a fascinating anecdotal observation about the experience of October 7. During those horrific attacks, many of the non-army civilians experienced a loss of connection to God. They wondered, understandably, “How could God let this happen?” But here is the strange thing: many of the soldiers and armed responders experienced a special sense of divine grace and connection, and knew that they needed to be there and felt God with them. How is that possible? At the moment of horror and despair one group is feeling connected to God and the other one far from God? Ask yourself, the pockets of Jews in concentration camps, who somehow managed to bake matzah, light Chanuka lights, smuggle tefilin and perform other religious acts during times of chaos and torture, did those people feel far from God or connected to God? Was that matzah sweet or bitter? Despite being shackled, beaten and starved, they may have felt more free than their beastly guards and oppressors. Who knows? I don’t believe I am made out of the material that could survive such a thing. But others did, and did it while feeling unnaturally close to God.
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Translations Courtesy of Sefaria, except when, sometimes, I disagree with the translation
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Rabbi Simcha Feuerman, Rabbi Simcha Feuerman, LCSW-R, LMFT, DHL is a psychotherapist who works with high conflict couples and families. He can be reached via email at simchafeuerman@gmail.com