Where are you, son of Lakish?!

Sharpening

I’ve been working on meditating these past two years. Some days pass without checking it off my to do list but more often than not, I succeed at finding a few moments to breathe, pause, and reflect. It’s a practice I have started and stopped many times. This recent stint came at the suggestion of my therapist who saw it as a good opportunity for me to teach myself how to slow down time when I find myself getting overly reactive.

It’s hard to know exactly how much progress one is making in meditation but this week was one of those moments where I could see the growth. I received some feedback, secondhand, at work about some learnings I had facilitated. At first read, my initial reaction was frustration and immediate rejection. That’s wrong, I mused to myself. I got heated.

I began processing through it with a coworker who pushed back on my initial reaction with her own read on the situation. The good thing about working remotely and using slack is it gives you the option to wait before you respond. As I read through her comments the first time, I bristled because I wanted validation. After a couple hours of letting it sit and letting myself breathe, I came back to it with a much cooler head. I realized, despite the fact that some of the original feedback felt unfair, my co-worker’s ability to lovingly nudge me was the right move. This dynamic is a foundational part of the Jewish wisdom tradition.

Just like certain songs can become an ear worm, a song that you can’t get out of your head, that happens to me with texts. In specific periods of my life, texts will stay rooted in my brain and become the lens through which I see the world. Lately, that text has been the narrative of Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish¹. I want to dissect it for the lessons it teaches on the power of surrounding ourselves with those who don’t just love us but also nudge us lovingly.

One day, Rabbi Yoḥanan was bathing in the Jordan River. Reish Lakish saw him and jumped into the Jordan, pursuing him. At that time, Reish Lakish was the leader of a band of marauders. Rabbi Yoḥanan said to Reish Lakish: Your strength is fit for Torah study. Reish Lakish said to him: Your beauty is fit for women. Rabbi Yoḥanan said to him: If you return to the pursuit of Torah, I will give you my sister in marriage, who is more beautiful than I am. Reish Lakish accepted upon himself to study Torah. Subsequently, Reish Lakish wanted to jump back out of the river to bring back his clothes, but he was unable to return, as he had lost his physical strength as soon as he accepted the responsibility to study Torah upon himself. Rabbi Yoḥanan taught Reish Lakish Bible, and taught him Mishna, and turned him into a great man.

A scholar and a bandit walk into a body of water. Somehow, after trading a few barbs, they become the best of pals. Rabbi Yochanan promises wisdom and a wife and Reish Lakish gladly accepts giving up his life of marauding. Soon enough, Reish Lakish was learning with the best of them.

Eventually, Reish Lakish became one of the outstanding Torah scholars of his generation. One day the Sages of the study hall were engaging in a dispute concerning the following baraita: With regard to the sword, the knife, the dagger [vehapigyon], the spear, a hand sickle, and a harvest sickle, from when are they susceptible to ritual impurity? The baraita answers: It is from the time of the completion of their manufacture, which is the halakha with regard to metal vessels in general. These Sages inquired: And when is the completion of their manufacture? Rabbi Yoḥanan says: It is from when one fires these items in the furnace. Reish Lakish said: It is from when one scours them in water, after they have been fired in the furnace. Rabbi Yoḥanan said to Reish Lakish: A bandit knows about his banditry, i.e., you are an expert in weaponry because you were a bandit in your youth. Reish Lakish said to Rabbi Yoḥanan: What benefit did you provide me by bringing me close to Torah? There, among the bandits, they called me: Leader of the bandits, and here, too, they call me: Leader of the bandits. Rabbi Yoḥanan said to him: I provided benefit to you, as I brought you close to God, under the wings of the Divine Presence. As a result of the quarrel, Rabbi Yoḥanan was offended, which in turn affected Reish Lakish, who fell ill.

As so often happens, these Rabbis were engaged in a debate about when in the process of creating various instruments does impurity become a thing to worry about. Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish disagreed but this time their vocal barbs stung more. Rabbi Yochanan mocked Reish Lakish, saying you only have a strong opinion about this because you used to wield such instruments in your past. Reish Lakish retorts that you haven’t really done that much for me. Back with my merry band of marauders, I was also considered a leader! This exchange ends with Rabbi Yochanan’s feelings hurt and Reish Lakish falling physically ill at the severity of Rabbi Yochanan’s comments.

Rabbi Yoḥanan’s sister, who was Reish Lakish’s wife, came crying to Rabbi Yoḥanan, begging that he pray for Reish Lakish’s recovery. She said to him: Do this for the sake of my children, so that they should have a father. Rabbi Yoḥanan said to her the verse: “Leave your fatherless children, I will rear them” (Jeremiah 49:11), i.e., I will take care of them. She said to him: Do so for the sake of my widowhood. He said to her the rest of the verse: “And let your widows trust in Me.” Ultimately, Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish, Reish Lakish, died. Rabbi Yoḥanan was sorely pained over losing him.

Reish Lakish’s wife, the aforementioned sister of Rabbi Yochanan goes to him for help as her husband is now ill. He is obstinate though. Don’t worry; he tries to assuage her. I’ll take care of you, he promises. Tragically, and without much notice, we then hear that Reish Lakish has succumbed to his illness. Rabbi Yochanan is despondent.

The Rabbis said: Who will go to calm Rabbi Yoḥanan’s mind and comfort him over his loss? They said: Let Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat go, as his statements are sharp, i.e., he is clever and will be able to serve as a substitute for Reish Lakish. Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat went and sat before Rabbi Yoḥanan. With regard to every matter that Rabbi Yoḥanan would say, Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat would say to him: There is a ruling which is taught in a baraita that supports your opinion. Rabbi Yoḥanan said to him: Are you comparable to the son of Lakish? In my discussions with the son of Lakish, when I would state a matter, he would raise twenty-four difficulties against me in an attempt to disprove my claim, and I would answer him with twenty-four answers, and the halakha by itself would become broadened and clarified. And yet you say to me: There is a ruling which is taught in a baraita that supports your opinion. Do I not know that what I say is good? Being rebutted by Reish Lakish served a purpose; your bringing proof to my statements does not. Rabbi Yoḥanan went around, rending his clothing, weeping and saying: Where are you, son of Lakish? Where are you, son of Lakish? Rabbi Yoḥanan screamed until his mind was taken from him, i.e., he went insane. The Rabbis prayed and requested for God to have mercy on him and take his soul, and Rabbi Yoḥanan died.

An even more tragic end ensues. In attempting to ameliorate Rabbi Yochanan’s pain, his fellow Rabbis send Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat to be his new study partner. Thinking simple agreement was the best way to gain favor, Rabbi Elazar became his ‘yes man.’ Disgusted with this attempt, Rabbi Yochanan says that the best part of his relationship with Reish Lakish was its iron sharpens iron foundation. Every debate they had was legendary. Any answer one would raise, the other would have a powerful retort.

None of it was enough for Rabbi Yochanan. Crying out for his old study partner, he lost his mind. Ultimately, the only way for his pain to end was for his life to end. Certainly, a fantastical story but one that provides important fodder for the world in which we live.

Two generations of Ishbitzer-Radzin Rebbes add some essential meaning to these texts. The first is from the Mei Hashiloach, the first Rabbi of the Ishbitz dynasty:

It is the Creator’s will that salvation comes to humans from that which opposes him, like the challenges of a student to a teacher…The challenge inspires the other to strengthen his argument with greater proofs and clarifies his position.

It is a foundational aspect of our being that we surround ourselves with people who sharpen us. The language in Hebrew he uses there is the same word for organic growth. The only way in which we develop as humans is specifically when we are in relationships that truly challenge us, not like Elazar ben Pedat does in attempting to agree with everything Rabbi Yochanan says. Not just that it’s good for us but it is our salvation. Engaging with that which opposes us saves us.

But it’s hard work. After all, the whole source of both of their deaths was a disagreement between Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish. How do we understand that? If healthy disagreement is essential but disagreement ended their story, how do we glean something from their example?

One good reminder is that their rift wasn’t because of their disagreement but rather in how it was communicated. Both went below the belt in their retorts. Strengthening this muscle of disagreement to keep the content isolated to the idea and not the person is essential in this work. Those barriers can get permeable in a heated debate. Many of us know right away when we’ve gone too far. These moments are elemental to life. And we all have an obligation to aspire to what Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish had but also not to fall prey to its dangerous side.

That is a gift. The Mei Hashiloach’s grandson, Rabbi Gershon Chanoch Henech Leiner of Radzyn (1839-1890) had a name for this gift calling it pilpul d’oraita, the spicy back and forth of Torah study. It’s not just an exchange of ideas but the way in which we get clarity in life. Commenting on the notion that the Torah is a morashah-inheritance, he says the following:

The Torah that was given from Moses to Israel is embedded in each individual of the Jewish people, even the smallest among them. Part of that inheritance is the ability to engage in real back and forth.

Without this type of spicy exchange, one can never gain the clarity of thought that comes from a back and forth of ideas. That is part of this inheritance we received from Moses. It takes hard work to break through these challenges and split through the roadblocks to reach the essence of that light.

Every person has access to this tradition. The work is hard, so much so that it will probably be ever present in our lives if we’re honest about it. But if we can pay attention to it, we also can recognize the growth that it can provide. Rabbi Yochanan cried out for Reish Lakish not just because he loved him as a friend but because he loved him for the way that he sharpened him, allowing him to be a better thinker and human.

That should be a goal for all of us. Can we surround ourselves with our own Rabbi Yochanans and Reish Lakishes? Can we teach ourselves to remember that they’re just trying to sharpen us as we’re trying to sharpen them? And can we remember to pause, breathe, and reflect when those spicy moments eventually come?

Where are you, son of Lakish? Maybe you’re still right here.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Weekend!

1. Bava Metziah 84a