Shavuot (Rambam)

Three Beginnings to Talmud Torah

At times, I like to think of Shavuot as a kind of “Rosh Hashanah” for Torah study: as a time when a person evaluates his devotion to Torah study during the previous year, and accepts the Torah anew: meaning, not only a life based on performing the mitzvot of the Torah, but one in which Torah study itself plays a central, vital role.

It is thus a truism to say that the study of Torah occupies a unique place among the mitzvot. “Talmud Torah is equivalent to them all.” Traditionally, the act of study is of the highest value; since hoary antiquity the talmid hakham has been a central culture hero of Judaism. But it is also great because it “leads to action”—knowledge of Torah is necessary in order to perform the other mitzvot, and in general to leave a good, ethical, holy life; that is, it performs an instrumental function in relation to the rest of the Torah.

For all these reasons, Hilkhot Talmud Torah (“the Laws of Torah Study”) enjoys honor of place in Rambam’s Yad as the third treatise in Sefer ha-Mada, the book of basics, immediately after the Fundaments of Torah (basic theology and premises), and Hilkhot Deot (ethics, character building), as an essential building block of the Jewish religious personality. Like them, there is nothing quite like it in the other standard halakhic codes. As if to say: after correct belief and decent ethical traits, the central thing a Jew needs (prior even to rejecting idolatry?) is knowledge of Torah.

Many years ago I heard a talk by Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, in which he stated that this work really has “three beginnings”—by which he meant that there are three separate, albeit interrelated and intertwined, aspects to Torah study that are treated in this treatise, which define the contours of its internal division. Our shiur for this Shabbat, sometimes known as Shabbat Kallah, in which Israel prepares itself like a bride for the great day of Shavuot, will be based on these texts, and some of their features:

We begin at the beginning, with Hilkhot Talmud Torah 1.1:

1. Women, slaves and minors are exempt from Torah study, but a minor is to be taught Torah by his father, as is said, “and you shall teach them to your sons, to speak of them” [Deut 11:19]. And a woman is not required to teach her son, as whoever is required to study is required to teach.

This is a very strange beginning. Why does Rambam begin with a negative listing of those who are exempt from this mitzvah, rather than defining who is obligated to do so, or even more, what the mitzvah itself is all about? Basically, this is a slightly roundabout way of getting at the essential, paradoxical point: that the focus of Talmud Torah (at least in this, its first aspect) is upon a class of people who are themselves not obligated in the mitzvah: namely, minors, i.e., small children. In other words, Torah is first and foremost the vehicle for transmitting the tradition to the next generation. As such, almost by definition, it must start with those who are ignorant of it, and need to be taught (Is not that, after all, the goal of all education: to convey knowledge to those who do not yet possess it?).

I won’t elaborate here upon the issue of women and Torah study, even though I can imagine that many women readers will be riled upon reading the first words of this passage, not to mention §13, which implies that they are not even allowed to do so: first, because it is a vast subject, whose discussion would take us too far afield; and second, because much has been written about it, and there are in fact many far-reaching rulings and interpretations both permitting and encouraging women to study Torah, many institutions of higher Torah learning specifically for women, both here and in a fair number of places in the Diaspora, etc.

I will only comment that Rav Soloveitchik often spoke of the central role of women in the education of children. He said that, whereas the task of the fathers is to convey formal textual learning, the “discipline of thought and discipline of action,” the “what” of the halakhah; whereas the women taught the “how,” the “flavor” of the mitzvot, the living experience of Jewish life. “Without [my mother’s] teachings, which quite often were transmitted to me in silence, I would have grown up a soulless being, dry and insensitive…. The fathers knew much about the Shabbat; the mothers lived the Shabbat, experienced her presence, and perceived her beauty and splendor.”

2. Just as a man is required to teach his son, so is he required to teach his grandson, as is said, “and you shall make them known to your children and your children’s children” [Deut 4:9]. And not his son and his grandson alone, but it is incumbent upon every sage in Israel to teach all of the students, even though they are not his children. As is said, “you shall teach them to your sons” [Deut 6:7] From the oral tradition we learn that “your sons” refers to disciples, for the disciples are called sons, as is said, “and the sons of the prophets came out” [2 Kgs 2:3] If so, why is he commanded concerning his son and his grandson? To give priority to his son over his grandson, and to his grandson over the son of his neighbor.

Several important points here. The law about teaching one’s grandchildren as well as one’s children is derived from the dictum of R. Yehoshua b. Levi that “Whoever teaches his grandson Torah as if he received it at Mount Sinai” (Kiddushin 30a; compare Berakhot 21b, where the reading is “son”). That is, in addition to the obligation to transmit the contents of the tradition to the next generation, there is a sense in which an important element in teaching Torah is conveying the actuality of the Sinai experience. The young child, upon hearing words of Torah from his grandfather, may well imagine that this old, hoary-haired man was himself present at that great event—since, at a certain age, the child does not yet understand the difference between a gap of 60 years [or even less!] and one of 3000 years!). Somehow, on a very primal level, such an experience conveys the great antiquity of the Torah.

The above halakhah also touches upon the relationship between rebbe and talmid, or teacher and disciple, as one of the strongest relationships in Judaism. The process of teaching, of transmitting the tradition, that takes place in every family, occurs in greater intensity among those who engage in study as adults, in the Study House or the yeshiva; the relationship there is in many ways like that of parent and child, perhaps in idealized form. Moreover, it was not uncommon for a scholar to give his daughter in marriage to his brightest student, so that “the disciples are called sons” became a literal truth. (Incidentally, the laws of kavod rabbo, the honor to be shown to one’s teacher, occupy a central place in the later chapters of Hilkhot Talmud Torah, and there are many interesting parallels to the honor due to parents.)

The idea of masoret, or what the Rav used to call a masorah community, a community based upon a tradition, in which the act of transmitting the tradition is perhaps the central cultural enterprise, is a very important Jewish concept, and one that is markedly different from the modern mentality. Where modernity sees constant change, progress, renewal, and innovation as a central value, the idea of masoret takes as axiomatic the notion of continuity with past.

After elaborating, in §§3-7, the obligation to teach one’s child, to hire a tutor if need be, etc., Rambam turns in §8 of this chapter to what might be called the “second beginning” of Hilkhot Talmud Torah—the obligation of each individual to study Torah for himself:

8. Every man in Israel is required to study Torah, be he wealthy or poor, whole in body or beset by suffering, be he a youth or an old man whose strength has waned. Even if he is a poor man sustained by alms who goes [begging] from door to door, and even if he had a wife and children [to support], he is required to set aside a fixed time to engage in Torah study, by day and by night, as is said “you shall meditate upon it day and night’ [Josh 1:8].

Here we have what many would consider the basic obligation of Torah study per se: the obligation of each person to set aside times for Torah study every day, known as kevi’at itim latorah, “fixing times for Torah.” This rule created what is one of the most striking and unique features of traditional Jewish society, both past and present: the ideal of ongoing, continuous adult study as a natural, self-evident part of life, almost literally from the cradle to the grave. This fostered, as a matter of course, nearly universal adult literacy, at least among males. In the shteitl, there were study circles suitable for everybody, at every conceivable level: from the Hevra Tehillim or Hevra Ein Yaakov for the simple folk, for reciting Psalms or the study of Rabbinic legends; through Hevra Mishnayos, to the Hevra Shas, for serious daily Talmudic study by those capable of it. Rambam defines the desited curriculum for such study in a passage we shall bring in our next issue.

The third “beginning” describes the person who chooses to devote himself entirely to Torah; who decides, so to speak, to “pick up” the “crown of Torah.” Here, we turn to Chapter 3:

1. Israel were crowned with three crowns: the crown of Torah, the crown of priesthood, and the crown of kingship. The crown of priesthood was given to Aaron, as is said, “And it shall be for him and his seed after him an eternal covenant of priesthood” [Num 25:13]. The crown of kingship was given to David, as is said, “His seed shall endure forever, and his throne as long as the sun is before Me” [Ps 89:37]. The crown of the Torah is set aside, waiting and ready for all Israel. As is said, “The Torah commanded us by Moses is a heritage for the congregation of Jacob” [Deut 33:4]. Whoever wishes to may come and pick it up. Lest you say that these crowns are greater than the crown of Torah, it says, “By me kings reign, and rulers legislate what is just, by me princes rule” [Prov 8:15-16]. [From this] you learn that the crown of Torah is greater than both of these.

What is symbolized by a crown? It connotes, first of all, power and honor, that the one wearing it is accorded recognition and even homage by the public. But also, that the one wearing it embodies something greater than him or herself: the Queen of England in some sense embodies the State (the abuses of absolute monarchy in days gone by were justified by this self-same conception; see Louis Quatorze’s notorious “L’êtat c’est moi”): the respect shown the queen is not for the flesh and blood Elizabeth Windsor, but for the concept of England that she symbolizes and in some sense incarnates. But the crown symbolizes not only something greater than its wearer, but also something far more ancient; in a certain sense, the king or queen is important as a point on an unbroken continuum going far back in times, to its distant origins. Thus, today’s Elizabeth is in a sense an embodiment, an avatar, of the first Norman kings.

Returning to the world of Judaism: the talmid hakham, who wears the “crown of Torah,” in some sense embodies the Torah itself; the respect shown him is a sign of respect for the Torah. Indeed, a great Torah sage is often referred to as “a walking Sefer Torah” (just as the physical Torah scroll is itself really a symbol, an embodiment of the metaphysical, cosmic idea of Torah). In a certain sense, every king of Israel is an avatar of King David; every priest is an avatar of Aaron; (Hasidim might add here: every Rebbe is an avatar of the Baal Shem Tov); and every talmid hakham is an avatar of … Moshe Rabbeinu. It is for that reason that, in the Talmud, when one of the sages expresses a sharp insight, it is often responded to with the words, Moshe, shapir kamart! “Moshe, you have spoken well!”

But what is implied when it states that the crown of Torah is “set aside and waiting” for those who wish to “pick it up“? Essentially, that the ideal of the Torah sage is a democratic ideal; unlike the Davidic monarchy or the Aharonide priesthood, the Torah is not hereditary, but is a function of devotion to study, knowledge, arduous training, and intellectual power. It is no simple matter, and demands much hard work, but in principle it is available to all. “Be careful of the children of the poor, for from them shall come Torah.” True, there have been and are families of hakhamim, entire families all of whose members have been distinguished rabbis, a certain “aristocracy of learning”—but it is not an inheritance passed down automatically. If someone doesn’t cut the grade, his Rabbinic “yihus” is worthless, and there are many stories of great sages who emerged from obscurity—from Rabbi Akiva on. In our own day, quite a few outstanding figures have started as ba’alei teshuvah, people who started from assimilated families without any religious tradition to speak of.

Finally, the concept of a “crown of Torah” implies that Torah differs from every other mitzvah, in that it is not something which one performs with a sense that one has ever completed it and fulfilled one’s duty. Rather, it is something to which a person can devote his entire life. Thus, after quoting various Rabbinic dicta in praise of Torah study, in 3.6 Rambam redefines the mitzvah of Talmud Torah with the words: “... One who has decided to perform this mitzvah properly and to be crowned with the crown of Torah…” should live in thus-and-such a way.

There is thus a minimum requirement of Torah study incumbent upon every Jew, as described in 1.8-12; and then there is the life of one who wishes to be “crowned with Torah,” which has its demanding rules. The Torah is described as a sea, that is literally infinite. We shall continue with this concept, and several other related passages, below.

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The great moment of the Revelation at Sinai, celebrated on Shavuot, was two things: it was a moment of epiphany, when the seemingly unbridgeable gap between heaven and earth, between the human and the Divine, was for a moment somehow bridged, like the mountain itself on which the Shekhinah descended. And it was also the moment when the Torah was given, that entity—book? code of law? teaching? concretization of Wisdom? — that was to serve ever after as an eternal bond between man and God, a kind of crystallization of that great moment. Hence, study of the Torah is the supreme religious act that ties man to the Divine.

Torah Study and Pardes

In the passage devoted to the “second definition” of Talmud Torah, Rambam describes the basic curriculum of Torah study: that knowledge which every Jew is to devote himself to acquiring over the course of his life. His presentation is based upon the Rabbinic statement, found in Kiddushin 30a, that “a person ought to divide his years in three: one third in Scripture, one third in Mishnah, and one third in Talmud (or ‘gemara’).”

This discussion sheds some light on the mishnah in Avot 5.25, describing the ages of man, in which these three levels are introduced at five-year intervals, suggesting that each one should be studied intensively for five years: Bible from age 5 to 10, Mishnah from 10 to 15, and Gemara from 15 to 20, with a man marrying at 18 and, at age 20, beginning ”to chase” —i.e., to earn a living in a serious way. But after raising the obvious point that no person knows how long he will live, the Talmudic discussants conclude that this tripartite division must be made in an ongoing way: either that one ought to divide the week into thirds, or even that one should make sure to study all three of these areas every day. Rambam presents his “take” on this saying in Hilkhot Talmud Torah 1.11:

11. A person is required to divide his study time in three: one-third in written Torah, one-third in Oral Torah, and one-third he should reflect and understand the conclusion of a thing from its initial premises, and infer one thing from another, and compare one thing to another, and understand the principles by which the Torah is expounded, until he knows the essence of these rules and how to derive what is forbidden and what is permitted and the like from those things that are learned by tradition. And this subject is called gemara.

Rambam here offers an interesting interpretation of this text. Obviously, neither “gemara” nor “Talmud” can refer to the text of the Talmud itself, as that book had not yet been redacted when this statement was made; hence, it must refer to a certain mode or method of study. If Mishnah refers to simple learning of a certain body of traditions or texts, understanding them on a simple level of knowing what the words mean and what it is talking about, and repetition so that the information therein becomes part of one’s acquired body of knowledge, then gemara means understanding and reconstructing the innate, internal logic of the halakhah, how its laws are derived from its first premises and from the biblical text itself.

This last is particularly important. A central and often vexing problem of Oral Torah is how the rules are derived from the biblical text—and for that reason it is a central concern in numerous Talmudic sugyot. In modern times, a frequent complaint of neophytes to Jewish practice, and an ideological criticism raised both by Christianity and by certain modernist schools in Judaism, is that the halakhah often seems far-fetched in relation to the biblical verse on which it is based. “Moses didn’t say to have two sets of dishes. He only said to ‘do not boil a kid in its mother’s milk!” This problems was a central one in Maimonides day as well. The Karaite movement, which claimed to follow the written law alone without the “frills” of what they called “Rabbanism,” was a vigorous and very articulate opponent of and alternative to Rabbinic Judaism, in Egypt, in Babylonia, and throughout the Middle East, against which Maimonides directed much of his polemics. Hence, any teacher of Torah, and for that matter any thinking Jew, needed to know how to “derived one thing so from another,” that is, how the tradition itself arrived at its conclusions. But he then takes this further. He continues:

12. How so? If he was an artisan and engaged in labor three hours a day and studied Torah nine. During those nine [hours]: for three he reads Written Torah, for three Oral Torah, and the other three he reflects in his mind about how one derives one thing from another. And those things received by tradition are part of Written Torah, and their interpretation are part of oral Torah. And the matters we have referred to as Pardes are included in the gemara.

Note, first of all, Rambam’s expectations in terms of the division of time, even if only offered by way of example: three hours work and nine hours of Torah study daily! He also makes it clear that “things received by tradition”—that is, halakhic contents based not upon exegesis, but upon ancient orally-transmitted traditions (for example, how to make tefillin), known as halakhah li-Moshe mi-Sinai, “halakhot given to Moses at Sinai”—are considered an integral part of the Written Torah. More important is the seemingly innocent remark in the final sentence, that the discipline referred to as Pardes is part of gemara. We shall return to this remark below.

To what does this refer? To the beginnings of a person’s study. But once he grows in wisdom and no longer needs to study Written Torah nor to engage constantly in Oral Torah, he should periodically read Written Torah and engage in the orally received tradition, so that he not forget any of the laws of the Torah. But he shall spend all of his days in gemara alone, according to the breadth of his thought and the composure of his mind.

This is an important innovation. The three-fold division is not a fixed measure that must be followed throughout a person’s lifetime, but refers primarily to the earlier stages of study, before a person gains mastery of the Torah (of course many people, perhaps the majority today, never get much past this stage). Once a person knows all the halakhot, at least in some basic way, the goal of his study changes, from acquiring basic knowledge (including practical information needed for observing the mitzvot in everyday life) to ever-deepening understanding of Torah, in accordance with the method of gemara.

I should interject here that the Rambam wrote the Mishneh Torah, in large part, as a kind of “substitute mishnah.” Indeed, he states in the Introduction to this work that it was written “so that a person may read, first the Written Torah, and then this book, and he will know all of Oral Torah and not need any other book between them,” rather than having to plow through numerous different sources—which by then included not only the Mishnah and its parallel tannaitic works (Tosefta, Mekhilta, Sifra, Sifrei), not only the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds, but also the edicts and rulings of the Geonim and the latter sages up to his own day, scattered through a variety of books.

Up to this point, the picture painted is one suitable, say, to a traditional Lithuanian talmid hakham who, having mastered the basic literature, spends most of his time in deeper reflection upon and study of the vast body of Torah literature. The image of the sage “reflecting in his mind” upon the underlying principles and interconnections of Oral Torah conjures up the image of Rav Hayyim of Brisk, whom Rav Soloveitchik once described spending an entire night, from 8 pm till dawn, sitting and reflecting in his mind about a certain problem in the Talmud until worshippers came in for the morning prayer—and his powers of concentration were such that he was totally unaware of the passage of time!

But remembering his remark about Pardes being included within the rubric of gemara, it seems that Rambam had something quite different in mind. To understand this properly, we shal need to turn to a passage that we briefly mentioned at the very beginning of our studies on Rambam. Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah 4.13:

13. The subject matter of these four chapters in which we have expounded these five mitzvot, are that which the early Sages called Pardes, as they said “Four entered Pardes” [Hagigga 14b]. And even though they were leaders of Israel and great sages, not all of them had the power to know and to apprehend all these things clearly. And I say that no one is suited to stroll in Pardes save one who has filled his belly with meat and bread. And meat and bread means, to know the forbidden and the permitted and the rest of all the mitzvot.

The Talmudic story alluded to here tells the story of four sages who “entered Pardes”: Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Elisha ben Abuyah and and Rabbi Akiva. Of the four, Ben Azzai ”looked and died”; Ben Zoma “glanced and was harmed“ (i.e., went crazy]; Elisha ben Abbuya “uprooted the plantings” (i.e., became a heretic, and from then on was known as Aheir, “the other one”); and only Rabbi Akiva “entered in peace and left in peace.”

What is meant by Pardes? The word itself is a late Persian loan word that appears only three times in the Bible, meaning an orchard, or a grove of fruit trees—and as such is a pleasant, even tempting, attractive place. But the term is understood here to refer to some sort of hidden, esoteric teaching. Some say that this alludes to what later became known as Kabbalistic teaching, with its secrets of the Godhead and the hidden cosmic meanings of the Torah, the mitzvot, etc., adding that the initials of the word Pardes alludes to the four levels of teaching of the Torah. Other historians say that it alludes to Gnostic religion, or perhaps to proto-Christian theology. In any event, it involved profound, hidden matters, an involvement entailing certain dangers.

The reactions described here, in which certain people, plumbing the depths of esoteric knowledge or experiencing mystical visions (some traditions say they literally ascended to Heaven!) either go crazy, break with their inherited tradition and go astray after heretical ideas, or even drop dead from the overpowering nature of the personal epiphany. Such things are perhaps not unfamiliar to modern readers. In our day, some people using psychedelic drugs saw or felt things that were too frightening, too uncanny, for them to absorb. This may be the essential point of the idea that “no man can see Me and live”—that direct knowledge of God is too deep, too frightening, too overwhelming for a human being to absorb.

But Rambam takes all this in a different direction. He defines Pardes as ma’aseh bereshit & ma’aseh merkavah: that is, the hidden meanings of the Account of the Creation in Genesis 1, and that of the Divine Chariot in Ezekiel 1, as natural science and the philosophical knowledge of God. These are subjects with which he deals in Chapters 1-4 of Yesodei ha-Torah as necessary prerequisites of the mitzvot of knowing that God exists, that He is one, and His love and fear. We continue:

And even though these things [i.e., halakhic studies] are called a small thing by the Sages, for our Sages said, ”’A great thing’: this refers to the Works of the Chariot; ‘a small thing’: the premises of Abbaye and Rabba” [Sukkah 28a]. Nevertheless, it is fitting that they should come first. For they settle a man’s mind initially; moreover, they are the great good that the Holy One blessed be He gave for the inhabitation of this world, so that people may inherit the life of the World to Come. And it is possible for all to know them, great and small, man and woman, a person of broad thought and one of narrow scope.

The Way of Torah

This past Shabbat we began to present Rambam’s “Laws of Torah Study.” The third chapter of this treatise, in which Rambam describes the qualities and way of life of the person who strives to be adorned with “the crown of the Torah,” gives a glimpse of his conception of the ideal Jewish spiritual personality. As we mentioned at the beginning of this year, one of our goals here was to recreate a picture of Maimonides’ conception of what would today be called “spirituality.” It seems to me that this chapter, together with the description of love of God in Teshuvah Ch 10, and that of the prophet in Yesodei ha-Torah Ch 7, combine to provide a picture of what this looks like.

Following the introductory halakhah, and a series of passages quoting Rabbinic sayings in praise of Torah, Rambam addresses the question of how a person who wishes to acquire mastery of Torah ought to live. It is significant that the emphasis is placed, not on the curriculum of what he needs to learn, but on the ethical discipline of learning. Hilkhot Talmud Torah 3.6:

He who has decided to perform this mitzvah properly and to be crowned with the crown of Torah, will not turn his mind to other things, and will not have in his heart [the idea] that he will acquire Torah together with wealth and honor. For this is the way of Torah: eat bread with salt, and drink water by measure, and sleep on the ground, and live a life of pain, and labor in Torah [Avot 6.4]. And the labor is not for you to finish, but neither are you free to neglect it. And if you have learned much Torah, you shall earn much reward, and the reward corresponds to the pain trouble.

What is striking here is the ascetic tone, the strident opposition to any sort of creature comforts, the idea that Torah study is a single–minded, all-embracing endeavor that leaves no room even for the simple, ordinary pleasures of life. “Live a life of pain” (or: difficulty). Indeed, it sounds almost like monasticism—in the sense of a tough, no-frills existence, devoted to a sacred cause—except for the assumption is that one will be married. He particularly condemns (in §§7-9, which we have not brought here) the idea that one can combine Torah study with earning and enjoying wealth.

10. Whoever has in mind that he shall engage in Torah and not perform labor and will be supported by alms, such a one has profaned God’s name and shamed the Torah and extinguished the light of religion, and caused evil to himself, and removed himself from the life of the world to come. For it is forbidden to derive benefit from words of Torah in this world. Our Sages said, “Whoever derive benefit from words of Torah, has removed himself from the world.” And they also commanded, saying, “Do no make them a crown to aggrandize yourselves therewith, nor a shovel with which to dig.”

11. It is a great virtue that one support himself by the labor of his own hands. And such was the way of the early Sages. And by this he shall merit to all the honor and goodness in this world and the next…

12. Words of Torah are only sustained by those that exhaust themselves over them. Not among those who study out of luxury and eating and drinking, but by one who kills himself over them and constantly pains his body, and does not give sleep to his eyes nor to his eyelids rest. Our Sages said, by way of metaphor, “This is the Torah, when a person dies in a tent” [Num 19:14]. The Torah is only sustained by those that kill themselves in the tent of the wise. As Solomon said in his wisdom, “If you faint on the day of adversity your strength is small” (Prov 24:10). And he also said in his wisdom, “also my wisdom remained with me [i.e., stood me in good stead]” (Eccles 2:9). That wisdom which he learned through travail was that lasted.

Our Sages said, a covenant is made, that whoever labors in Torah in the Study House, does not quickly forget. And whoever labors in secret becomes wise, as is said. “but with the humble is wisdom” [Prv 11:2]. And whoever makes his voice heard in the study house at the time of his study, his learning lasts. But one who reads silently, quickly forgets.

13. Even though it is a mitzvah to study at day and at night, a person does not learn most of his wisdom save at night. Therefore he who wises to merit the crown of Torah will take care about all his nights, and not waste even one of them in sleeping and eating and drinking and idle conversation and the like, but in studying Torah and words of wisdom. Our Sages said, the song of Torah is only heard at night, as is said, “Arise, cry out in the night” [Lam 2:19]. And whoever studies Torah at night, a string of grace is stretched over him by day, as is said, ‘By day the Lord commands His steadfast love, and at night His song is with me, a prayer for the living God” [Ps 42:9]….

The chapter concludes with the converse message as well: the negative impact and dire evil of the neglect of Torah. Although Chapter 4 is mostly devoted to issues of teaching, and the conduct of yeshivot and other communal institutions of Torah study, he has something more to say about the ethical qualities of both Torah students and leaders:

4.1 One does not teach Torah except to a student who is proper and decent and pleasant in his acts. But if he had gone in a bad way, one is to return him to the good path and teach him to behave in the good way and one examines him, and thereafter brings him into the Study House and teaches him. Our sages said whoever teaches a student who is not good is as if he threw a rock to Mercury [i.e., engaged in idolatrous practice], as is said, “Like one who binds the stone in the sling is he who gives honor to a fool.” [Prv 26:8] And there is no honor other than Torah, said, “the wise shall inherit honor” [Prv 3:35].

Similarly, a teacher who did not walk in the good path, even if he was a great sage and all the people need him, one does not study from him until he returns to the good. As is said, “For the lips of the priest shall teach knowledge, and you shall seek Torah from his mouth, for he is an angel of the Lord of Hosts” [Mal 2:7]. Our Sages said that if the rabbi is similar to an angel of the Lord, seek Torah from him; if not, do not do so.