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AUGUST 1996 EDITION
by Gerald Blidstein
Reprinted with permission from HONOR THY MOTHER AND FATHER
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How does one honor his parents? How does one fear them? These
questions, directed as they are to the individual, require intimate and
individual answers that emerge from the singularity of persons and
their relationship in the creative play of the unique situation. Judaism
though, does not reject the answers to be found in patterns of behavior
objectively imposed upon persons and situations rather than spontaneously
and subjectively growing from them. Man's response draws upon
both his individual resources and a universal heritage; it moves in a
context that is both unique and common.
The overriding foci of Jewish filial piety are stated in the two general
and positive imperatives of the Torah, taken in rabbinic thought as
typological categories:
(1) Honor your father and your mother. . .. (Exodus 20:12)
'Honor' would seem to demand behavioral concretization, while
'reverence' might primarily describe an inner feeling. For Jewish
law (1-3) both have normative manifestations:
Our rabbis taught: What is reverence and what is honor? Reverence
means that he (the son) must neither stand nor sit in his [father's]
place, nor contradict his words, nor tip the scale against him.
Honor means that he must give him food and drink, clothe and
cover him, and lead him in and out [of the home].
(Talmud, Tractacte Kiddushin 31b) (4)
All this expresses what the Talmud calls "the obligations (mitzvot ) of
a son toward a father," which are incumbent on both men and women. (5)
The Talmudic (6) vocabulary shows that the filial relationship was to be
concretized in an expected pattern of behavior.
The terminological compartmentalization of kibud ('honor') and
morah ('reverence' ) introduced by the Talmud is hardly absolute.
Honor, which here denotes acts of service, is often used by the rabbis for
the entire area of filial piety, including those characteristics listed here
under the rubric of 'fearing' parents. (7) The terminological distinction between
honoring and fearing does, however, reflect an attentive and pedagogic
reading of the biblical verses and functions broadly in legal sources.
The Talmud also reverses the biblical sequence ('honor' in
Exodus, and 'fear' in Leviticus) in favor of a conceptual one: fear, or
reverence, demands the avoidance of certain acts, while honor goes
beyond it to claim positive deeds.
Furthermore, the specifics listed hardly exhaust the meaning of
'honor' or 'reverence'; rather they serve as examples. Honor and
reverence are both goals to be attained through faithfulness to many
specifics; they are guides to conduct in situations where no specific response
had been plotted. (9-12)
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Filial ReverenceThe Talmud illustrates 'reverence' tersely: "Reverence means that the son must neither stand nor sit in his [father's] place, nor contradict his words, nor tip the scale against him.'' (l3) The principle behind this pattern is clear: nothing is to be done that might diminish the dignity, and hence the feeling of worth, of one's parent--either father or mother. (l4) Reverence (morah) is expressed by this unegalitarian reserve which demonstrates behaviorally the qualitative gulf in status separating parent and child. Indeed, parental dignity is here virtually identical with inviolability and superiority, just as respect shown others generally expresses itself in self-abnegation of some sort. The Talmudic insistence upon a formal etiquette of filial reverence is limited by the 11th century commentator Rashi to public situations outside the home. There, parental worth or disgrace may ride on externals, and these must be scrupulously safeguarded. In the home, he implies, a more informal, fluid, standard prevails. Thus, he interprets the first of these phrases ("do not stand . . . in his place") to mean: "Do not stand in the place reserved for your father at the council of the elders, at deliberations with his friends.'' (l7) The context for Rashi is spatial in the narrow sense but also symbolic of the role of the father, which is not to be usurped. Rashi sees the Talmud as concerned with the audience of peers rather than with the family hearth. Others, however, rejected such relaxation. R. Me'ir ha-Levi Abulafia added that the phrase does not lose its literal significance: if your father habitually occupies a certain place, say, for prayer or at meals, do not displace him. The Code of Jewish Law accepted this latter view, and it is safe to say that Jewish homes were ordered accordingly. (l8) Finally, Rabbi Menahem ha-Me'iri--influenced no doubt by a similar Maimonidean ruling with regard to one's teacher--writes that the son may not even leave the presence of his father without first getting permission. (l9)
" . . . Nor contradict his words, nor tip the scale against him." Is silent agreement, then, the public price of discourse with one's father? It would be all too facile to reject the apparent Talmudic norm out of hand, to claim that it does not mean what it seems to say. What we can point to, though, are the many father-son debates scattered throughout the Talmud and, beyond that, to the idealization of the father and son who do battle on the field of Torah. (2l) Clearly, vigorous assertion and honest disagreement were valued. We might do well, now, to return to R. Me'ir Abulafia. Noting that Rashi ruled out personal identification with the adversary, rather than substantive contribution to the debate in his behalf, R. Me'ir (having made the adjustments demanded by his own interpretation) explicates: "Even if he agreed with his father's point of view, he may not say, 'My father's words appear to me correct,' for he seems to be implying that he needs to support his father [for his father requires support]; rather, if he has an answer to the claims of his father's opponent, let him offer it." The words of Rashi do indeed, carry this implication. It is the unsupported assertiveness of the son that is banned, not his genuine contribution. But in spelling out the difficulties felt by the medieval scholars in their grappling with the question, "What is reverence?" we ought to point out explicitly that for some the paramount difficulty in the demand that the son not "contradict" the father did not lie in the kind of ethical or social relationship this would presuppose, but in its application to the universe of Torah study. A son could be bidden to silence in all secular, mundane matters; but how could he be expected to maintain his silence in the "war of Torah"? Thus R. Israel ben Joseph Alnakawa, the l4th-century moralist, wrote: " he may not contradict him" --in worldly things, but not in matters of Torah. (22) Thus, many medieval scholars took the passage at its word and understood the Talmud to forbid the son to disagree publicly with his father, except perhaps in discussions of Torah. (23) Public disagreement (i.e. to his face)was an embarrassment, an affront. (24-28) Indeed, the Talmudic rabbis had already focused on speech as an instrument of reverence and its opposite: "A man should not refer to his father by name, neither during his lifetime nor after his death, but should say, 'My father, my master.' (29-31) The Talmud does not, by and large, undertake any conceptual explorations of filial reverence, but its anecdotes of heroic filial concern have had a telling impact upon Jewish ethics. They asked Rabbi Eliezer how far must one go in honoring parents? He replied: "Go and learn from the behavior of an Ashkelonite gentile, Dama ben Netinah, to his father. The sages wished to buy jewels for the [high priest’s] ephod (garment) at sixty thousand, . . . but the key [to the jewel box] was under his sleeping father's head, and he did not disturb him. In the next year, God caused a red heifer to be born in his flock as a reward. When the sages of Israel came to him [to buy the heifer] he said: 'I know that I can ask of you all the money in the world, and you will pay it--but I ask only for the amount I lost in honoring my father.' " ( Talmud, Tractate Kiddushin 3la) In another version of this story, Dama, seeing his father asleep and not wishing to rouse him, simply told the sages he could not provide them with the stone. Thinking he was trying to raise the price, they offered him more and more money--but he was adamant. Upon his father's wakening, he was able to deliver the stone; to the offer of the sages to pay the highest sum they had previously mentioned, he replied, "Do you think I will sell my father's honor for money? I refuse to derive any benefit from the honor of my parents!" (32) Here is a man who refuses to disturb his parent in any way, even when the magnitude of annoyance to the father is so inconsequential so unproportionate to the loss taken by the son. The guideline is obvious: when such a conflict arises, the effect on the parent becomes an absolute, evaluated without respect to the effect on the son. However obvious the guideline, though, such conduct is heroic. Perhaps more heroic--though in another sense more easily understandable--is the behavior of the same man in the following narrative: Once he [Dama ben Netinah] was seated among the great men of Rome, (33) dressed in a silken gold garment, when his mother came and tore the garment from him, slapped him on the head, and spat in his face but he did not shame her. Another version adds: "When the slipper [with which she was hitting him] (34) fell from her hand, he reached forward and returned it to her; he only said: 'Enough, mother."' (35) A final detail is provided by another midrash: "His mother was mentally disturbed." (36) Here again, legal analysis of the problem of the wicked parent, or of the mentally incompetent parent, must defer to the lesson of the episode: however trying the provocation, the honor of the parent remains an absolute in relation to the difficulties of the son. The obvious psychological and even physical suffering of the son are never to be relieved at the expense of the parent, even when the parent is their cause. A final instance of filial self-control is presented by R. Eliezer: "They asked R. Eliezer, 'How far must one go in honoring one's parents?' He said, Till the father throws the wallet of the son into the sea, and his son does not shame him.'" (37) Other incidents recorded in the Talmud served as ideals of concern and solicitousness: The mother of Rabbi Tarfon went walking in the courtyard one Sabbath day, and her shoe tore and came off. Rabbi Tarfon came and placed his hands under her feet, and she walked in this manner until she reached her couch. Once when he fell ill and the sages came to visit him, his mother said to them: "Pray for my son Rabbi Tarfon, for he serves me with excessive honor." They said to her, "What did he do for you?" She told them what had happened. They responded, "Were he to do that a thousand times, he has not yet bestowed even half the honor demanded by the Torah." (Jerusalem Talmud, Pe'ah 1:1) Picturesque and clear, it presented a model that Jewish children ought to imitate and by which they ought to measure themselves. And another example: Rabbi Abahu said: "My son Abimi has fulfilled the commandment of filial respect." Abimi was the father of five sons who were all ordained during the lifetime of his father. When R. Abahu would arrive at his son's door, Abimi would [himself] race to open the door saying, "Yes, yes," until he reached it. Once R. Abahu asked his son for a drink of water. Until Abimi brought the water to his father, the older man fell asleep. Abimi sat down and waited until his father awoke. (Talmud, Tractate Kiddushin 31b) Through such incidents related in the Talmud does the heroic, the exemplary, become the expected. The wondrous is codified. Indeed, heroic incidents are always pedagogic; their inner thrust is, paradoxically to elevate all men to their standard. In codifying the heroic, exemplary act, we must reckon with another, most delicate question. A heroic standard of behavior should sometimes compel only the hero; to turn it into a norm for all men demands of them something beyond their powers, and transforms a pedagogic and inspiring model into an oppressive goad. Any experiential evaluation or description of the ethos of filial piety must recognize this transformation of exemplary model into norm and explore its human implications. This transformation was, in large measure, implied in the very question of Rabbi Eliezer's disciples: "How far does honoring parents extend?" For they posed the question in the generalized terms of the normative structure. In the more formal statement of Maimonides we find the completed process: "How far must one go to honor one's father and mother? Even if they took his wallet full of gold pieces and threw it into the sea before his very eyes, he must not shame them, show pain before them, or display anger to them: but he must accept the decree of Scripture and keep his silence. And how far must one go in their reverence? Even if he is dressed in precious clothes and is sitting in an honored place before many people, and his parents come and tear his clothes, hitting him in the head and spitting in his face, he may not shame them, but he must keep silent, and be in awe and fear of the King of Kings Who commanded him thus. For if a king of flesh and blood had decreed that he do something more painful than this, he could not hesitate in its performance. How much more so, then, when he is commanded by Him Who created the world at His will!" (40) Interestingly, Maimonides does more than codify. Deeply aware of the nature of the demand that is here made upon a man's normal self respect, he supplies a motive force for restraint: "be in awe and fear of the King of Kings" Who has commanded reverence of parents. In order to transform the heroic into the required, Maimonides must mobilize the fear and reverence of God, for he believes that reverence for parents alone could not universally produce the desired response.
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Honor and ServiceThe second term to be clarified is kabed ("honor"). Kabed (honor) is the verb found in the fifth commandment, and it has also provided the phrase around which all aspects of filial piety and responsibility have clustered: honoring one's mother and father. Its definition is central. All societies--democratic or not--and all individuals designate certain persons as men of greater worth than others, though they may differ on the persons and qualities singled out. This designation carries with it both internalized and behavioral responses: the man of worth is treated differently, and one relates to him differently from other men. Father and mother are to be perceived and treated as persons of import, worth, significance. We have already seen the expression of this attitude in the reverence with which parents are treated. What more positive expression is cultivated by the Jewish ethic? Honor means that he must give food and drink, dress and cover him, and lead him in and out [of the home]. (41) The fundamental motif of honor is personal service. (42) Though the passage cited above does indeed serve as a springboard for the talmudic and medieval discussions of filial support of parents, its primary meaning is to require personal service in the parent's behalf quite similar to that performed by the servant for his master. To feed and clothe requires, primarily, not the financial expenditure for food and clothing, though it may imply that as well, but the physical deed itself. Thus, the personal responsibilities of the son to his father are analogous to those of a servant to his master. These include the symbolic gestures of attentiveness as well as the satisfaction of real needs, for both dimensions of service underscore the worth of the person so served and honored. ![]() FOOTNOTES:
1. Jewish tradition has understood Exodus 21:17, which does, after all, impose
the death penalty, to refer to the cursing of parents (see Mekhilta, ad loc.);
Deuteronomy 27: 16 is understood to be referring to the slighting of parental
dignity.
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