Hearing the Cries of Others and Doing Good: A Reinterpretation
Elisheva Baumgarten
Credit: Kurt Hoffman
Elisheva Baumgarten is the Yitzhak Becker Professor of Jewish Studies in the Departments of History and Jewish History and the academic head of the Jack, Joseph, and Morton Mandel School for Advanced Studies in the Humanities at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem.
In memory of Hersh Goldberg-Polin and Yuval Shoham
How do we come to terms with crises? What stories do we tell ourselves to integrate difficult current events into our worlds and help ourselves come to terms with the new challenges we face? Jews retell the stories of past crises and victories year in, year out. For example: the story of slavery, exodus, and redemption on Passover; the story of the sacrifice of Isaac on Rosh Hashanah. Yet, we do more than retell these stories. Each generation adds new emphases, adjusting the tales they tell to the concerns and dilemmas with which they are occupied at a given moment. As a historian, I seek to understand the interplay between the constancy and the variation, which can reveal a complexity of both past and present life. Nothing is ever completely novel nor is it ever an exact repetition of the past.
My reaction, as an Israeli, as a Jew, as a person, to the events of October 7, and some of the political and moral debates that have raged around us since then, has taken me back repeatedly to two stories found in late antique midrashim. Retelling and reinterpreting them within the context of current events and this never-ending war has provided me with some reassurance and direction. They also constitute a constant call to action, for I believe that without civilian activism, no resolution can ever come about. It is these two stories and their retellings that I am sharing here.
Hearing the Cries of Others
The first story appears both in the midrashic collection Lamentations Rabbah (1:24) and in the Talmud (bSanhedrin 104b) as a commentary on the second verse of Lamentations. (I thank Dr. Chana Pinchasi for first drawing my attention to it, years ago.) The biblical verse describes Jerusalem after its destruction: “She weeps (bakhoh tivkeh) sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks; she has none to comfort her among all her lovers; all her friends have dealt treacherously with her, they have become her enemies” (Lam. 1:2).
In both sources, the traditional commentators ask why the act of crying is described twice, both as “weeping” and as “tears on the cheeks.” In Hebrew, the same verb (with the root b.k.h) is doubled. One explanation is that the verse describes two separate events that each required weeping: the destruction of both the first and the second Temples. Another explanation has to do with the way weeping triggers emotion. As the rabbis in the Talmud explain, when one hears crying at night, it provokes the one who hears the crying to cry as well. The logic here seems to be that the weeping in the first half of the verse is made all the more powerful by happening at night, and it thus triggers the tears of the verse’s second half.
Both the Talmud and the Midrash recount the following story as an explanation, with slight differences:
Once there was a woman who lived in Rabban Gamliel’s neighborhood, and she had a son who died. And she cried, mourning for him, at night. Rabban Gamliel heard her voice and wept with her until his eyelashes fell off. The next day, his students realized [the cause of his despair] and removed her from the neighborhood. (bSanhedrin 104b)
The version in Lamentations Rabbah explains that when Rabban Gamliel heard the woman crying for her son, he remembered the destruction of the Temple, and this is what caused him to cry inconsolably, “until his eyelashes fell off.”
I have always found this story disturbing. How does one compare personal pain to national pain as this story does? Can they be exchanged, one for the other? Rabban Gamliel hears his neighbor crying but gets the wrong message. In thinking of the Temple, he fails to respond to the individual who was crying. Perhaps he could have comforted her instead of connecting her crying to an unrelated issue? No less disturbing is the solution his students provided: Is removing people whose emotions cause others distress the right way for our society to deal with individuals contending with trauma and pain? The rabbinic solution here has often been a symbol for me of the abyss between them and us, the past and the present, and the way I believe we should act as human beings.
As this war has gone on, I often think of how members of Israeli society and the world at large are not managing to comprehend or attend to the pain of others’ suffering. How the government does not see and respond to the pain, trauma, and damage this war has done to individuals, families, and communities; how Israelis cannot hear or comprehend what the families of the hostages are enduring; and how hard it seems to be for Israelis to remember that many Gazans are also undergoing terrible suffering brought upon them by Hamas, without their choosing to be part of this war. I also think about the one-sidedness of so many who are involved in condemning the war and the events leading to it and part of its continuation as another failure to respond to the pain of others.
Our problem today is not just comprehending the cries that abound around us but simply being able to hear them. In “Blowin’ in the Wind,” Bob Dylan asked: “How many ears must one man have before he can hear people cry? And how many deaths will it take till we know that too many people have died?”
Certain segments of the Israeli public go about their business as if there is no ongoing war; at the same time, the government refuses to end the war and end the pain of the hostage families. The result is that the pain of the soldiers and their families is both extended and ignored, as are the difficulties experienced by the evacuees. Moreover, the loss of life, in Israel and in Gaza, is continuing amidst this indifference and the hostages are not yet home.
This story about the choice made by Rabban Gamliel’s students, seemingly to protect their teacher and leader’s sanity, reflects our reality in a jarring way. It makes the refusal to recognize personal pain and the focus on national issues all the more repulsive.
Those who justify decisions made by the government seem not to hear cries for help from the hostages, from soldiers in the army and reserves buckling under strain, from families that have been exiled from their homes, and even from the Palestinians themselves. They say that the price to pay for listening and being empathetic and sympathetic is too high. They argue that if we agree to end the war and bring home the hostages, the terrorists we release from Israeli prison in exchange may cause the next October 7. But I ask two questions: Can we really put a price on an individual life? And can we be sure that bringing the hostages home will increase the danger to Israel? I ask this knowing that the military authorities have stated again and again that returning the hostages takes precedence, and that there is no security concern that cannot be addressed.
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Seven Good Years (Now!)
A second story, one that originates in a different collection of midrashim, Ruth Zutah, is my answer to people who think a hostage deal is too risky. I quote the story here in a medieval version that expands it slightly. The text can be found in Rella Kushelevsky’s Tales in Context: Sefer Ha-Ma’asim in Medieval Northern France (2017).
The midrash tells of a poor family in which the father was a day worker. One day when he was working, “Elijah of blessed memory encountered him and said: The Almighty has granted you seven good years, but tell me if you want them in your old age or in your youth?” Hearing this question, the man refused to answer:
Elijah came to him a second and then a third time and said to him: “If you accept them, fine, but if not, I will not come back. He said to Elijah: Wait until I have spoken to
my wife and the members of my household. He went home and told them everything.
His wife said: Take them now. He said to her: But now I am a young man, and I can work. It is better to receive the seven good years in our old age. She said to him: “Blessed is God, day by day.”
The dilemma at hand in this midrash is in some ways like the question I noted above, the so-called “price” of a hostage deal and end of the war. Should we reap the benefits of the present or delay satisfaction till an unknown future? The wife in this story had no doubts, and she quotes a very popular medieval poem written by Simon b. Isaac in tenth century Germany, to support her view that it is better to have good fortune in the present than to push it off for the future.
Listening to his wife, the man returned to Elijah and requested the good fortune at once and by the time he came home, his house was filled with riches. Then,
His wife said to him: You may not benefit at all [from this wealth] until you bring me a scribe who will write down everything I give to the poor. He went and brought her a scribe. She sat him down at her door, and said: Any poor man who comes here, if he is accustomed to riding a horse, place him on a horse, and if he is accustomed to wearing wool robes, dress each according to what he is accustomed to. And write everything down, as it says: “He that has pity on the poor lends to the Almighty [and that which he has given he shall be repaid] (Proverbs 19:17).”
The family’s plentitude continued for seven years, and when these years were over, the wealth disappeared and the family was once again left destitute, without even enough food for dinner that night. As the text continues, “They began to weep. Her husband said to her: That is what I said. Now the world believes that we are wealthy, and we and our children will die of starvation.”
The husband’s reaction here is, “I told you so,” blaming his wife for the decision they made seven years earlier when they took the good offered to them, rather than delaying comfort and well-being for a later time. His wife disagrees. The story continues:
She immediately went to the study hall of Rabbi Hiyya in Tiberias and said: Doesn’t it say: “He that has pity on the poor lends to the Almighty” (Proverbs 19:17) and I have done a great deal of charity and lent to the Almighty, and now I and my household are dying of starvation. Rabbi Hiyya said to her: How much did you lend? She said to him: Three hundred camels loaded [with documentation] and upon all [these pages], it is written: “He that has pity on the poor lends to the Almighty.” He said to her: Go and bring all the written records and spread them out on the roof of the study hall. And when the rooster cries, stand on your feet before the Almighty and say to Him: ‘Master of the Universe, You have written: “He that has pity on the poor lends to the Almighty” and I have done much charity and remained bereft of all good things. May it be Your will, God Almighty, that You should show them to me, so that I and my family do not die.’”
And at that moment, God said to Elijah: Go and support them all their days in this world. Now come and see the power of charity and prayer.
The wife’s protest ensures a happy ending: all the good the family received and all the good they did remained with them.
For many years, I read this story in one of two ways. The first was feminist. This woman, far more practical than her husband, knew a good opportunity when she saw it, and she also knew how to stand up for herself. When she was lucky, she shared her wealth, and she made sure it benefited others. When Elijah came to take her wealth away, she was not willing to give up without a fight. Interestingly, Rabbi Hiyya did not take her word for the charity she had done, nor did he volunteer to help her, but instead he demanded evidence. She brought him written proof and appealed to God, on her own, who then instructed Elijah to leave the wealth with her. I saw this as an example of how women have the ability and potential to shape their lives and the world around them.
The second way I read this story had to do with the more practical aspects of institution building. Planning is important, but plans are worthless if they are not implemented. So, despite a deep belief in the words of the Friday night liturgy סוֹף מַעֲשֶׂה בְּמַחְשָׁבָה תְּחִילָה,, loosely, “action is the result of planning,” I have also found meaning in the idea that sometimes action is needed even when the ultimate results cannot be foreseen. Knowing that every action, every change, every decision may have unanticipated outcomes is important both when formulating policy and when implementing it.
Coming back to this story since October 7, I find a different lesson emerging. This time, I see that when you do good, you create good. The heroine of this story seized the opportunity to help her family and made it into an opportunity to help others. She helped countless people whom she could not have imagined helping, due to her poverty prior to receiving the miraculous gift.
Anyone who says they know what the result will be of an agreement that brings the hostages home and ends the war is undoubtedly wrong. We cannot know. It is the job of Israel’s security forces and of international forces, military and governmental, to consider possible consequences of actions and think strategically. But even their strong approval is by no means a certainty. What is certain is that when the hostages come home, we will save lives. And if the fighting ends in Gaza and rebuilding is possible, Israeli lives and Palestinian lives will also be spared. And if children in Israel and in Gaza grow up with the evidence of this goodness, there is a much greater chance that good will come out of their contacts with each other.
All the men, women, and children who have lost their lives, homes, and health in Israel—as civilians and as part of the security forces—and all the innocent civilians in Gaza who have lost their lives, health, and homes in this war, will not recover and rebuild if they are not given the opportunity to do so. It is our obligation, our duty as people and as Jews, to open our ears, to hear the pleas for help around us, from the hostages and their families and from so many others. We must refuse to shut our ears, refuse to let our lives continue, until they are home.
At this moment in the State of Israel's existence, I suggest the ideas arising from these two stories as guiding principles for the future. If our leaders cannot follow them, and this seems to be the case, may these midrashim provide us with direction as we pursue justice and peace. We can’t wait for solutions; we must bring them about, hearing the cries for help around us and making sure good begins immediately.
"Depart from evil and do good. Seek peace and pursue it” (Ps. 34:14). Much like peace must be sought and pursued, doing good allows us to avoid evil, and to hope that the returns we realize will be even greater than we can imagine.
Postscript 1: I prepared an initial version of this article for a class at the Jerusalem Hostage tent in Summer 2024, when Hersh Goldberg-Polin, whose family I have known since they made aliyah, was still alive. The ideas here were in line with what his family shared when speaking about him and the ideas they themselves promoted. In Fall 2024, I was introduced to a modern midrash written by Liora Eilon, a survivor of October 7 in Kfar Aza, on the first story I discuss above. [The midrash follows this piece. —Ed.] I wrote the first draft of this piece over Hannukah 2024. On the fourth day of the holiday, when my draft was complete, Yuval Shoham, the son of my old friend and colleague, Professor Effie Shoham, found his death in Gaza. Based on the family’s eulogies, many of these ideas are consistent with who Yuval was and what he did in his (too) short life.
I dedicate this article to the memories of Yuval Shoham and Hersh Goldberg-Polin. May their memories be a blessing, may their parents, brothers, sisters, and friends find comfort, and may their lights continue to shine.
Postscript 2: Since I first wrote this piece, a ceasefire agreement has been reached, and hostages have begun to return. May this continue and by the time this piece appears, may all the hostages be home and may we all be on the path to a better future.
