Starting this Thursday with the Fast of the 17th of Tammuz, we are about to enter the period of the Bein Metzarim, or the Three Weeks, the period of mourning commemorating the destruction of the 1st and 2nd Temples the ends with the Fast of the Ninth of Av.
In Yoma 9b, the Sages discuss the reasons for the destruction of the two Temples.
“Due to what reason was the First Temple destroyed? It was destroyed due to the fact that there were three matters that existed in the First Temple: Idol worship, forbidden sexual relations, and bloodshed…However, considering that the people during the Second Temple period were engaged in Torah study, observance of mitzvot, and acts of kindness, and that they did not perform the sinful acts that were performed in the First Temple, why was the Second Temple destroyed? It was destroyed due to the fact that there was wanton hatred during that period.”
So, in short, The first Temple was destroyed because of the three cardinal sins of Judaism, for which one is required to give up his life rather than violate. However, while the Jews of the Second Temple were pious in regard to Torah study, fulfillment of mitzvot and performance of kind deeds, their Temple was destroyed due to sinat chinam, baseless hatred, which the Gemara therefore concludes is as weighty a cause for destruction as all the three gravest sins combined.
An example of the hatred being discussed? For that, we’d direct our eyes to Gittin 55b, which relates the infamous story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.
As a synopsis: The story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza tells of a wealthy man who lived in the 1st century CE. For an upcoming party he sent his servant to deliver an invitation to his friend, a man named Kamtza. However, the servant mistakes the recipient as Bar Kamtza, an enemy of the wealthy man. Upon seeing the hated Bar Kamtza at his party, the host orders him to leave. Bar Kamtza, attempting to save face, thrice offers to make peace with the host, first offering to pay for the food he eats, then for half of the expenses of the party, and then for the entire party, each time rebuffed by the angry host. Finally, the host forcibly removes Bar Kamtza, in the presence of the communal leaders present who do not protest his shameful actions.
Humiliated, Bar Kamtza vows revenge against the rabbis present who did not defend him allowing him to be publicly embarrassed. He visits the Roman Caesar who controls the region and tells him the Jews are inciting to revolt against the Roman Empire. The Caesar, unsure of whether to believe Bar Kamtza, sends an animal to be sacrificed as a peace offering in the Temple in Jerusalem along with Bar Kamtza. On the way, Bar Kamtza purposefully slightly wounds the animal in a way that would disqualify it as a Jewish sacrifice but not as a Roman offering.
Upon seeing the disfigured animal, the rabbis of the Sanhedrin present at the Temple have to make a decision as to how to respond to the delicate situation presented. Some advocate dispensing with the law and offering the animal anyway to avoid war. This plan is vetoed by Rabbi Zecharia ben Avkolos who fears that people will begin to bring blemished animals to the Temple to be sacrificed. They then suggest putting Bar Kamtza to death to prove that he is at fault, but Rabbi Zecharia ben Avkolos again refuses, because this is not the mandated penalty for intentionally bringing a disqualified offering to the Temple.
Rabbi Yochanan says because of the humility of Rabbi Zecharia ben Avkolos the Temple was destroyed and the Jews were exiled from the land.
Clearly, this is a pretty cut and dry example of the sinat chinam, the baseless hatred, that destroyed the Second Temple. But what’s very interesting here is that the blame for the Temple’s destruction is not laid on the enmity between the host and Bar Kamtza, or on Bar Kamtza’s subsequent actions, but on Rabbi Zecharia ben Avkolos and “anvitanuto”, his humility. Many commentators are a little baffled at this charge, because it seems like the word used here should’ve been “piety” or “stringency.” After all, the Gemara seems to be saying that Rabbi Zecharia’s overly stringent ruling is what started the chain of events leading to the Temple’s destruction. So what does humility have to do with any of this?
Rav Moshe Feinstein quotes the Maharitz Chayot, who explains that Rabbi Zecharia was concerned, given the potential consequences of refusing or accepting this blemished sacrifice, that he was unqualified to render a decision of this magnitude, thus his humility in this situation was inappropriate.
This is a very interesting conclusion, especially given the statement of Yoma 9b that the Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam, baseless hatred. It would stand to reason that humility is the solution to hatred, no? After all, it is ego that fuels the confidence to judge and condemn others. But if one is humble, it would seem a difficult thing to be able to develop a hatred towards someone. So it’s quite surprising that Rabbi Zecharia’s humility would be named as the catalyst for the destruction.
I have a slightly different take on this situation, informed by the Midrash Rabba Eichah, which recounts the Kamtza/Bar Kamtza story but with an added twist: that Rabbi Zecharia ben Avkolos was at the party that Bar Kamtza attended, and present when he was ejected. This particular Midrash calls Rabbi Zecharia out for criticism because “he had the ability to protest but failed to protest.”
And why did he refrain from protesting? According to the Etz Yosef, humility was once again the impetus. To chastise the wealthy host in his own house, at his own party, and dictate how he should treat his guests seemed too arrogant for Rabbi Zecharia’s tastes, and so he refrained. He reasoned, “Well there are other sages here who can speak up, let them do it, because that isn’t in my nature.” Yet, given how the sages later listened to his protestations about offering a blemished sacrifice, we can only assume that had he protested, it would’ve been listened to.
However, this defense of misplaced humility seems empty to me. And familiar. It seems empty because how could Rabbi Zecharia argue that he was too humble to protest the host’s actions at the party, yet have that same humility disappear enough that he was willing to protest bringing a blemished sacrifice? And it seems familiar to me as the same mindset I see many espousing during this time of heightened social unrest. The way that people are silent in the face of wrongdoing, yet when a solution is presented, it is shouted down as an answer yet not replied to with actual courses of action or useful directives.
In fact, it reminds me of a quote from Dr. MLK’s “Letter From A Birmingham Jail”:
“First, I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Council-er or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can’t agree with your methods of direct action;” who paternalistically feels he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a “more convenient season.”
Shallow understanding from people of goodwill is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”
This was the stance of Rabbi Zecharia, and the stance I see replicated today still. Rabbi Zecharia proved himself to be more devoted to the “order” of the halacha of offering unblemished sacrifices, than the “justice” of how Bar Kamtza’s host should not have embarrassed him publicly. Rabbi Zecharia preferred the “negative peace” and not causing tension by speaking up at the party, and not the justness of the “positive peace” of speaking up for what was right in that moment.
It is the same stance I see happening today, where people shake their heads at the tragic goings-on in the world, of racial inequality and police brutality, but prefer a “negative peace” of “following procedures” and “going through the correct channels” and not the “positive peace” of protests, marches, and the taking of knees.
But who was Rabbi Zecharia ben Avkolos?
He was a scholar in the generation of the destruction of the Second Temple, this we know. But he appears in only one other instance in the Talmud, Tosefta Shabbat 16:7, in a discussion about the proper way to dispose of bones at the Shabbat table:
“Beit Hillel said, lift the bones and shells from the table; Beit Shammai said, remove the entire tray (or tabletop) and shake off the refuse. Zecharia ben Avkolos did not follow the opinion of Beit Shammai or that of Beit Hillel, rather he spat the bones out behind the couch. Rabbi Yose taught, “The ‘modesty’ of Rav Zecharia ben Avkolos burnt the Temple.”
Rabbi Zecharia, it seems, epitomizes the ideology of the worst aspects of centrism, the rhetoric of “both sides” that produces inaction and relieves one from having to make a stand. One that removes oneself from conflict and changing or shaping the world for the better. What is even more striking is that once again Rabbi Zecaharia’s humility is cited, and again in the context of the Temple’s destruction.
But why?
Also, in addition to Rabbi Zecharia himself, the rabbis also seem to be held partially responsible for the course of events–and explicitly by Bar Kamtza–because they did nothing to prevent Bar Kamtza’s humiliation. It seems that inaction and apathy–pursuing negative peace and order–allowed such terrible consequences to take place.
However, to say that indifference destroyed the second Beis HaMikdash, seems somewhat contradictory to the Gemara in Yoma, which states that sinat chinam was the ultimate cause of the destruction.
But perhaps we should reevaluate what “sinat chinam” actually is. Perhaps it is that sinas chinam is not limited to active hatred, but can also include apathy.
One of the first times we encounter the root of the word sinah, hatred, is in Parshat Vayetzei, after Yaakov has married Rachel and Leah. Genesis 29:31 reads: “Gd saw that Leah was s’nuah, hated.”
In trying to grapple with how one of the greatest of the Patriarchs could ever be perceived as “hating” his wife, the Ramban offers the commentary that when one has two wives, the one he loves less is called senuah. The implication is not that he hates the second wife. Just that he loves her less. So, with this interpretation in mind, Yaakov didn’t hate Leah, but he was somewhat lacking in love for her.
From this we can glean that the word sinah does not necessarily imply an active hatred, but rather be indicative of a lack of sufficient care and love. Likewise, the sinat chinam declared in Yoma 9b does not necessarily only refer to raw hatred, but also encompassed apathy and a lack of concern for the pain of one’s fellow.
We find that same misconception today as well, where “racism” or “racists” are relegated to Klan hoods, the N-word, and lynchings, where they can equally means microaggressions, tokenism, colorblindness, racist jokes, or simply not speaking up in the presence of such.
And we can clearly see the effect that those expressions of indifference and apathy have.
Bar Kamtza was devastated and disillusioned by the inaction of Rabbi Zecharia and his colleagues to spare him his embarrassment. Yet, why isn’t Bar Kamtza, the one whose actions most directly set things into motion, seen as the villain?
If we return to Gittin, an interesting thing happens in the wording in the events after the party. Bar Kamtza says that he’s going to inform on them to malcha, the king, yet the very next line has him talking to kayser, the Caesar. Rome didn’t have kings, Bar Kamtza knows this, as he addresses the Caesar as “Caesar” just four words later. So what’s with this mention of “the king”?
For a moment, I’d like to rewind us back to a few months ago in the calendar to the holiday Purim and Megilat Esther. The megilah is famous for unfolding as a series of seeming coincidences and not containing a single mention of Gd. At least explicitly. According to Esther Rabbah (3:10) whenever the phrase “HaMelech Achashverosh” appears it is referring to Achashverosh. However, when the word “HaMelech” appears by itself, it is referring to Gd.
When Bar Kamtza is contemplating his situation, he doesn’t immediately go to the Caesar. He first informs on the rabbis to the king. To Gd. The rabbis were at the top of the leadership pyramid. They told the priests how to act. They effectively supervised the worship in the Temple and society as a whole. They were at the party. And they said nothing.
“These are your representatives?” Bar Kamtza essentially asks Gd.
And what is Gd’s response? He agrees. The silence of the rabbi’s is intolerable to Him. And so He does nothing to block Bar Kamtza’s revenge. Because Bar Kamtza is right. And Gd could not assent to the leadership of those who were more concerned with “order” than justice or empathy.
Which brings us to the question: On what side of Bar Kamtza’s challenge or we?
Whose side do we regularly choose, the powerful or the powerless? The victim or the perpetrator? Are we silent in the face of bullies? Do we stay on the fence, hiding behind the excuse of “It’s complicated” or “I’m not qualified”?
To quote my friend and colleague Rabbi Mike Moskowitz:
“Our tradition associates a refusal to participate in collective reckoning with the behavior of a wicked child. In the Haggadah, the wicked son wants to know, “Why should I be a part of this?” He asks his parent, “What is this work for you?” as if to exclude himself from the obligation of learning about systemic racism and systems of oppression. He is not interested in anything unless it directly affects him, denying his actual connections to others.”
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people, “people of goodwill”, to do nothing.
