Only Heaven and Nothing Else?
It was not the force of despair that bred Rabbi Shimeon’s contempt for the affairs of this world. Behind his blunt repudiation of worldliness we discern a thirst for the treasures of eternity and a sense of horror at seeing how people were wasting their lives in the pursuit of temporary life, and neglecting the pursuit of eternal life. In his boundless thirst, he saw no middle way, no ground for compromise. The duty to study Torah—which was the way to attain eternity—had an exclusive claim on all of life: “This book of the Torah shall not depart out of thy mouth but thou shalt meditate therein day and night” (Joshua 1:8). To abate, to relent even for an hour was to forfeit a part of eternal life, an act of partial suicide. Hence Rabbi Shimeon could not but regard any secular activity as iniquity.
An older contemporary of Rabbi Shimeon ben Yohai, the distinguished heretic Alisha ben Abuyah, had taken the opposite view. Charmed with the worldly culture of Hellenism, he would visit the schools and attempt to entice the students from the study of the Torah and urge them to dedicate their energies to some more practical occupation:
“Out with you, you lazy people, stop idling away your days. Begin a human work: you become a carpenter, and you a mason, you a tailor, and you a fisherman.” 1
Rabbi Shimeon’s renunciation of this world and Elisha’s infatuation with this world represented an extremism which found little acclamation among their contemporaries. The saintly Rabbi Judah ben Ilai, who argued with Rabbi Shimeon in favor of the Romans, rejected Rabbi Shimeon’s immoderate demands of man. Personally, Rabbi Judah was given to severe self-denial and austerity. “I do not wish to derive any pleasure from this world,”2 he said. Yet his advice to others was that the ideal path lay midway. Life is likened unto two roads: one of fire and one of ice. “If you walk in the one, you will be burned, and if in the other, you will be frozen. What shall one do? Walk in the middle.” 3
Quite different was the outlook of Rabbi Shimeon. “Scripture says: And thou shalt gather in thy corn (Deuteronomy 11:14)—what has this teaching to tell us? Since it is written: This book of the Torah shall not depart out of thy mouth but thou shalt meditate therein day and night (Joshua 1:8), it is possible to think that these words are to be understood as they are written (namely, that no time be devoted to any other activity, such as earning a livelihood); therefore there is a teaching to say: And thou shalt gather in thy corn, i.e., conduct at the same time a worldly occupation. These are the words of Rabbi Ishmael. Rabbi Shimeon ben Yohai says: Is it possible for a man to plow at the time of plowing, sow at the time of sowing, harvest at the time of harvesting, thresh at the time of threshing, and winnow at the time of winnowing—what is to become of Torah?” 4
Rabbi Shimeon and his son appear in this story as the antipodes of Prometheus. When Zeus, in an act of revenge, withheld fire from men, Prometheus stole it from the deity in heaven and brought it down to men on earth, concealed in a hollow stalk, and taught them the use of the technical arts. For this he was honored by men as the founder of civilization, and for this he was punished by the gods and was chained to a rock where every day an eagle ate his liver, which was healed again at night.5 In contrast, Rabbi Shimeon tried, as it were, to take away fire from men, reproving them for pursuing the art of cultivating the ground. For this he was remonstrated by a heavenly voice and punished by being placed in confinement in a cave for twelve months.
The most baffling moment of the story comes at the end, in the epilogue. After spending twelve years in the cave in study and prayer, the two saints persisted in their condemnation of all worldly activities. Having been reproved by a heavenly voice, and having spent twelve more penitential months in the cave, the father was cured of his world-negation. The son, however, did not make peace with the world even then; not until both encountered the sight of “the old man” holding two bundles of myrtle in honor of the Sabbath, and that sight gave both of them tranquility of spirit. What was the symbolic significance of that sight? Why did it indicate a solution to the tragic problem of civilization?
Rabbi Shimeon’s doctrine was: There is only heaven and nothing else; but heaven contradicted him and said: There is heaven and everything else. His martial anger was sharply broken by the Voice: Have ye emerged to destroy my World? What Rabbi Shimeon decried, the Voice endorsed.
It was not until Rabbi Shimeon and his son came out of the cave at the end of their second period of retreat that their minds were reconciled to the idea that the world this side of heaven is worth working in. What caused the change of mind?
It was the “old man”—symbolizing the people of Israel—who went out to meet the Sabbath with myrtles in his hand as if the Sabbath were a bride.
The myrtle was, in ancient times, the symbol of love, the plant of the bride. When going out to invite his friends to the wedding, the groom would carry myrtle sprigs in his hands.6 At the wedding ceremony it was customary in some places to recite the blessing over the myrtle.7 An overhead awning of myrtle was erected for the bride,8 while the groom wore a garland of roses or myrtles.9 It was customary to perform a dance with myrtle branches before the bride. Rabbi Judah ben Ilai, the colleague of Rabbi Shimeon ben Yohai, known to us from his part in the debate about Rome, was praised for his efforts in bringing joy to every bride. He would take myrtle twigs to a wedding, dance before the bride and exclaim: Beautiful and graceful bride! 10 The “old man” who was running at twilight to welcome the Sabbath, holding two bundles of myrtle in his hands,11 personified the idea of Israel welcoming the Sabbath as a bride.12
To the Romans technical civilization was the highest goal, and time for the sake of space. To Rabbi Shimeon spiritual life was the highest goal, and time for the sake of eternity. His conclusive comfort was: in spite of all dedication to temporal things, there was a destiny that would save the people of Israel, a commitment deeper than all interests—the commitment to the Sabbath.
This, then, is the answer to the problem of civilization: not to flee from the realm of space; to work with things of space but to be in love with eternity. Things are our tools; eternity, the Sabbath, is our mate. Israel is engaged to eternity. Even if they dedicate six days of the week to worldly pursuits, their soul is claimed by the seventh day.