Chapter 22 of Mishlei addresses a series of fundamental principles regarding character traits and human conduct, and two of the pesukim before us touch upon two great pillars: educating children from a young age, and the purity of the means by which a person achieves his goals. We will follow the order of the pesukim and present the words of the commentators as explained in the lesson.
אִוֶּלֶת קְשׁוּרָה בְלֶב נָעַר, שֵׁבֶט מוּסָר יַרְחִיקֶנָּה מִמֶּנּוּ׃ (טו) - "Foolishness is bound in the heart of a youth; the rod of discipline will distance it from him." (15)
Rabbeinu Yonah explains: even if you see that foolishness and misconduct overwhelm the youth, this folly is bound up in his heart. And what does it mean that it is "bound in his heart"? Among those with bad character traits, there are some whose inborn nature - that is, the predispositions they were born with - dominates them more than it does others. In simple terms: this refers to a very young boy, but one born with difficult inclinations. Anyone can see this. There is a stubborn, defiant child; with him everything is "against," oppositional, never willing to accept anything, and whatever he does comes out backwards. Yet other children are born patient and adaptable, possessing a nature that is easy to educate. Sometimes one sees this foolishness from a very young age.
What happens in such cases? People slap a label on the child: "He is stubborn, what can you do, it has been like this since he was tiny." But that is a mistake. Rabbeinu Yonah says: nevertheless, do not despair of rebuking him, for there is hope of shifting him away from his inborn nature during his youth through a rod of discipline. You may be right that he was born with difficult traits, but there is a way to shift him - to transition him away from bad character traits and plant good ones within him, through mussar.
When Scripture says "a rod of discipline," one must not be confused. Some think this refers to an actual physical rod, and in doing so they have ruined their children: the child is stubborn, so strike him again and then he will understand. And know this: those who were beaten are the very ones who ran away from home at the earliest age, and very early on you lose control over them. How much can you hit him? With a child today, even at the age of six one can no longer raise a hand against him, neither physically nor otherwise: he is already brazen, already answering back and fighting back. By age seven he will file a police complaint against you. That is from a practical standpoint.
And in terms of effectiveness: who ever raised a hand against his son and saw positive results from it? Show me one person who can say that his son grew into a talmid chacham and a ben Torah, filled with a love for Torah, because he hit him properly. Fifty, sixty, or seventy years ago there were no other methods or avenues, and that was the standard path. But in today's reality, the governing principle is: "Draw me after you, let us run." The educational path is always to make learning beloved to the children - handing out sweets, offering prizes. As the Rambam writes: when the child is small, one promises him nuts and roasted seeds; when he grows a bit, one promises him bigger things; and later - that he will become a teacher, that he will become a talmid chacham. And what is astounding is that the Rambam continues: later, they will tell him he will become a dayan - and what age is being discussed here? A person of forty! The path is always encouragement. When you hold a gun to someone's temple, it paralyzes him; it does not motivate him.
Therefore, "the rod of discipline will distance it from him" is not a rod of physical beating. "Shevet" means a staff, but a staff of mussar - rebuking, talking, guiding. Through this method, it "will distance it from him," primarily by making the Torah beloved to him and bringing him close to the mitzvos. Through this, there is hope of shifting him away from his inborn nature, so that he will be capable of overcoming even the negative predispositions he acquired from birth.
There was a man who argued with his wife: she opposed his raising a hand against the child, while he argued, "He who spares his rod hates his son," and began citing quotes and bringing proofs. She said to him, "Let us go to the Rav, and whatever the Rav says, we will do." They went to the Rav. The Rav listened to the wife, and then to the husband, who opened with pesukim and statements of Chazal. The Rav said to him: "I have no desire at all to enter into an argument with you over pesukim; I want to tell you what the reality is. Know this: those who raised a hand against their children and thought to educate them through violence met with bitter failure. But those who educated their children out of warmth and love, sometimes even with punishment but without raising a hand, succeeded. Raising a hand is humiliating."
Today we live in a generation where insolence abounds (*chutzpah yasgei*). If we say that one should not strike his older son, today an "older son" is already four or five years old: what once came out of the mouth of a sixteen-year-old is spoken today by a four-year-old child talking back to you. So what do you accomplish? All you do is break the child and ruin him, and at a certain point it no longer works - and then the dosages are increased, with harder beatings. At some stage he already smiles right in your face, as if to say, "This doesn't bother me" - and then terrible things follow. These people tear their children's souls to shreds and drive the child so far away that he will never return.
A person once remarked: "I do not forgive my father. Whenever I did something wrong, he would kick me." He felt so humiliated - and this was someone speaking thirty years after the fact. These things leave an indelible mark, burn marks upon the child's soul. And worst of all: the child will later behave the same way with his own son, because children of violent parents become violent themselves. That is how he resolves problems with his friends, later with his children, and perhaps also with his wife.
Therefore, one must know: in our generation, there is an absolute prohibition against raising a hand. Perhaps for a two-year-old child about to touch something dangerous, one might give a light tap on the hand - and even that is better avoided. It is preferable to grasp him by the arm slightly above the elbow with a firm, somewhat uncomfortable grip and pull him away, so that he realizes it is dangerous, rather than resorting to slaps and hits. That approach is horribly destructive. "A rod of discipline" - discipline through guidance, not physical striking. All the leading sages of our generation and foremost educators state: this is a path that will certainly not help and will only cause harm.
The Malbim explains: an adult may also act foolishly; he too is liable to stumble and do irrational things. Yet an adult is not bound to folly, because he recognizes that it is folly: he possesses enough sense to realize that what he did was foolishness. With a youth, however, folly is bound up in him, and he does not comprehend at all what is wrong; thus he continues to pursue it and feels no need to correct himself. To take an extreme example: if one gives drugs to a fourteen-year-old, he will take them without understanding that there is any problem at all, completely unaware of what he is getting into.
The Vilna Gaon states: when folly is bound in the heart of a youth, it is very difficult to remove. In an adult, it is not bound up in him - he always knows that it is wrong, his intellect can overcome his passions and desires, and even if he stumbled, he understands that this is not the proper path; therefore, there is a chance he will cast it away from himself. But with a youth, there is no choice: one needs a rod of discipline to distance folly from him - meaning to teach him and impart wisdom, so that he understands that what he is doing is improper, that this corrupt path will lead him to the brink of the abyss. Much instruction and thorough explanation are needed so that the child, too, will understand what an adult grasps on his own.
Ralbag explains that initially, folly is bound to the heart of a youth for a specific reason: a youth constantly seeks to satisfy his desires and indulge his will, without reflecting at all upon what is required of him. As explained previously, the word na'ar (youth) relates to hitna'arut (shaking off): a youth always seeks to shake off obligations, directives, and authority. Therefore he is called a na'ar, "shaken free from the mitzvot" (menu'ar min hamitzvot), as Chazal phrase it. Because of this, it is difficult for him to achieve consistency in the service of Hashem: suddenly he wakes up late, suddenly he lacks the desire to study - that is his nature. "The rod of discipline will distance it from him": when you provide him with guidance from a young age, you will succeed even early on in directing him toward the upright path.
The Malbim has a consistent explanation for the concept of ivvelet (folly) and an evil (fool): an evil is a skeptic, related to ulai ("maybe") - someone who constantly says "maybe." "Folly is bound in the heart of a youth" refers to doubts a person harbors regarding the paths of wisdom. As explained earlier, there are no definitive mathematical proofs for the paths of wisdom. The paths of wisdom concern what is decent to do and what is not, what is upright and what is crooked - matters of ethics and character. In ethical questions, one person will argue that something is moral while another argues differently, and there are no empirical proofs. Therefore, the youth demands: "Who says? How do you know? Bring me proof." Everything for him remains in the realm of "maybe," a state of doubt.
However, if one grows up with this mindset, the Malbim explains, the situation becomes far worse: in an adult, folly is no longer merely tied to him, but deeply rooted. Thus, a youth holds an advantage over an adult: when folly is only "bound," a bond is just a thread - take scissors or a knife, cut it, and you have severed the folly from the youth's heart. But once he matures, that bound folly strikes roots and becomes firmly planted in his heart, and even a rod of discipline will not extract it from him. Therefore, as long as it is only tied on the outside and has not taken root, seize the opportunity: at a young age, one can still guide and direct him.
This offers a profound lesson concerning the education of our children. When a child is young and you direct him along the straight path, he will continue that way later on as well. But when you place him from an early age in unsuitable educational settings, failing to guide him properly, and telling yourself, "Don't worry, he grows up in a good home; when he matures he will know better" - you are mistaken. Some might say, "I, too, only began to straighten out when I grew up." But then ask him: And today, as an adult, do you have no lingering baggage from the past? Is there anyone without baggage? Only someone suffering from dementia. A person whose memory works can never say, "I spent time in all sorts of places and, Baruch Hashem, I'm past it." What does "past it" mean? Does one ever break free of it totally and completely?
One must certainly understand that everything a person does and every place he visits leaves an impression and takes up residence in his heart. There are people who, even after years of teshuvah, are seen stumbling again in areas that once ensnared them, leaving you wondering: How could you return to that? This is "foolishness is bound up in the heart of a youth" - it was bound up in the heart, and was not removed when it was merely tied, so it took root. He may, Baruch Hashem, have grown stronger, but the roots remain hidden somewhere, and unless one works on these matters continuously, they remain inside and can burst forth at some point.
The conclusion: do not say, "When he grows up, b'ezrat Hashem, he will straighten out." As long as foolishness is only bound up in the boy's heart and has not yet taken root - straighten him now. Why should he be exposed to things from which he will spend years searching for a way to break free? Is it not far better that from a young age he drink from the springs of Torah and fear of Heaven, and study Torah and cultivate yirat Shamayim with a clean slate from the very start, living as holy of holies all his days - rather than starting at an older age and having to struggle with lingering baggage and memories? "The rod of correction will drive it far away" - at a young age it is still possible; later on it becomes exceptionally difficult, and even if he returns, the struggle will be fierce.
עֹשֵׁק דָּל לְהַרְבּוֹת לוֹ, נֹתֵן לְעָשִׁיר אַךְ לְמַחְסוֹר׃ (טז) - One who oppresses the poor to increase for himself, or gives to the rich, will only come to want. (16)
Rashi explains the plain meaning: one who oppresses the poor to increase his own wealth will ultimately surrender his wealth to wealthy idolaters, and through this he will come to lack. In plain terms: no profit will come of it. The Gra explains similarly, that it will be brought about through Providence that his money eventually falls into gentile hands. And what is the loss? Had your money gone to the poor, you might have received a reward, for an impoverished person benefited from it; but it is brought about that your money ends up in the hands of wealthy gentiles, and you gain nothing at all from it. It turns out that oppressing the poor simply does not pay.
The Ibn Ezra explains: "Ach" ("only") serves to limit. What you think is meant "to increase for himself" - to profit or to give to a rich person - will actually result in the deprivation that this brings upon him. Let us elaborate, in light of the other commentators, on why giving to the rich results "only in want."
Rabbeinu Yonah elaborates: concerning one who gives a gift to a rich person, Scripture states, "to add the watered to the thirsty." The rich person is already sated, yet you come along to add to his satiation, and Scripture designates him a sinner. This designation may apply because at that very moment you could have given the money to a poor person, and by giving it to the rich person, you deprived the poor.
Rabbeinu Yonah continues: see how this person sins without even gaining pleasure. For his thought was that he would profit - "I gave the rich man a gift, found favor in his eyes, one day he will remember it for me, and perhaps I will also gain honor from it." But know that no benefit will come to you, for most lovers of money are begrudging, and he will not repay your favor. The result is that you sinned with no benefit and no profit. Had a person only known the immense value of tzedakah and gemilut chasadim, he would have given the gift to a poor person instead of scattering his wealth among the rich.
Ralbag first explains the verse homiletically, applying it to character traits. A person has desires, and imagines that the moment he fulfills his desire, he will quiet it - yet in reality it works in reverse: "There is a small limb in man; satisfy it and it hungers, starve it and it is satisfied." When you constantly fulfill your desires, you are required each time to increase the dosage, and the desire overpowers you more and more. But when one "starves it" - when he does not grant the yetzer hara full satisfaction - it is precisely then that the yetzer grows quiet and satisfied.
And this is "He who oppresses the poor to increase for himself": oppressing the poor refers to the power of physical desire. Instead of satisfying one's lust, he oppresses it and keeps it poor, and through this, "to increase for himself" - he increases his sense of satisfaction in these matters and does not hunger after desire. But "he who gives to the rich, it leads only to poverty": one who allows the power of desire to fulfill its wishes, making it rich - another desire, another craving, another pleasure - do you think it will now calm down and desires will quiet down? "It leads only to poverty" - this causes hunger, and it will never be satisfied.
The Ralbag offers an additional explanation: "Oppressing the poor" does not mean oppressing the poor person, but rather a poor person who oppresses others. If a poor person oppresses, he at least has some explanation - not a justification or permission, but one can somehow understand his plight: his financial situation is dire, so he seeks to increase his possessions. But a poor person who gives to the rich hoping to benefit from it - not only will he derive no benefit, but his possessions will only diminish. He thinks: I will not steal; I will invest in another channel - I will give gifts to the wealthy; it is worthwhile to build connections; it pays off and I will profit from it.
Concerning this, the Ralbag writes in his own words: for the rich man will not value this gift highly, and indeed he will despise the poor man and mock him for what he gave him, making no effort to repay his kindness. The rich man feels that by accepting the gift, he did you an honor, and on the contrary, he looks down upon you with arrogance: Who is this pathetic person trying to flatter me, thinking he has bought me with his gift? And the Ralbag concludes: "And this behavior of the rich is well known" - this conduct is familiar and widely recognized; go out and see. In summary: when a poor person oppresses, he at least imagines he will gain something; but when you give to the rich, you have merely lost your money, nothing more.
The Malbim offers an original and distinctive interpretation. "He who oppresses the poor to increase for him" refers to one who withholds from the poor person with good intentions. What good intention could there be in oppressing the poor? "To increase for him": I will take the poor person's wages as a loan and return them later with interest, thereby giving him a large lump sum at once. "To increase" (leharbot) shares an etymology with interest (ribit), like the phrasing in Chavakuk, "He who increases what is not his," which refers to taking interest. Thus, he withholds the poor man's money under the pretext of wanting to help him: I will hold the money, invest it in profitable ventures, and return a substantial sum to him - so that he will have real capital instead of dealing with pennies each time.
And nevertheless - "it leads only to poverty." Know that this results only in harm. This is comparable to an employer who hires a poor worker and pays him minimum wage, say, four thousand shekels. What good does that small amount do you? Nothing. So the employer says: I will hold your money for ten months, forty thousand shekels, and I will even invest it - I have connections and business know-how - and you will receive not forty thousand, but sixty thousand. Isn't that great? Look how I cared for you; look how I am helping you.
Yet come and see what you have done: you fall into the category of "one who oppresses the poor." Consider the small amount you withheld from him - what was his condition back then? He was impoverished, destitute, without food to eat; you withheld the four thousand shekels owed to him and pushed him into extreme poverty. And now, when you hand him sixty thousand - he is already rich! What value is there in giving to him when he is rich, when he had nothing to eat while he was poor? You robbed a pauper and gave to a rich man, which is thoroughly improper. True, he has funds now, but that did nothing for him during the time he suffered agonizing distress and want.
On this point, the Malbim cites the words of the philosopher in Sefer HaMiddot (the Ethics): "It is a requirement of the discerning person that in whatever actions he arranges to achieve a good end, he must intend to reach it through a good and proper path. Otherwise, he will be like one who derives a true conclusion from a false premise, because the middle term is false." This is the phrasing of early scholars; let us explain it.
When we wish to accomplish something, some might say: The goal is what matters. If you reached it, excellent; how you got there is unimportant. This is the idea of "the end justifies the means." The sage says: This is a complete mistake. The condition of a discerning person is that all the actions taken to reach the desired outcome must also be good and proper, not merely the outcome itself.
For if not, it is like someone who derives a true conclusion from a false premise. Suppose a person does a calculation, and you ask him how he arrived at the answer. He says: I took two times two, which equals five, subtracted something, and arrived at this result. What do we say to him? Your final result happened to be right, but your process was flawed, because two times two is not five. The logical process itself must also be correct. When a person derives a true conclusion from a false syllogism - an analogy or deductive deduction - the entire process is invalid, because the "middle term is false": the vehicle through which you reached the outcome is flawed, and most likely the outcome will be flawed as well. Even if by chance you landed on the correct answer, no one will applaud you, because when they examine your methods, it becomes clear that your calculation was fundamentally mistaken.
This is a foundational principle in Judaism: the end does not justify the means. The Holy One, blessed be He, hates robbery in a burnt offering. A person wants to bring an olah offering - a wonderful goal; so he takes a sheep from his neighbor - "Never mind, it is all for the honor of Hashem, may He be blessed." Do not be Robin Hood. Do not steal from the rich to give to the poor. "The kindness of the nations is sin": Robin Hood is often presented as a lovable figure who helps the poor and destitute - how? By stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. But "one who blesses over ill-gotten gain blasphemes Hashem" - that which was acquired through a transgression in order to make a blessing over it is an act of blasphemy. Similarly, one who buys a stolen etrog, or committed a transgression through which he attained a mitzvah - this is no mitzvah at all.
In Christianity, this is of no concern; there, it is well known that the end justifies the means: the goal is that people believe in that man, and therefore all means are kosher - murder, slaughter, crusades, so long as they reach the desired conclusion. In Judaism, it is entirely different, and the reason is simple: in Judaism there is no divide between ends and means, for the means are themselves an end in their own right.
Let us return to the person who went to buy an etrog. The Torah states, "And you shall take for yourselves on the first day" - one needs to have an etrog to shake on the first day. Does that mean that going to buy an etrog is not a mitzvah, but merely the preparation for a mitzvah (hechsher mitzvah)? That is not correct. In Judaism, walking to buy an etrog is also a mitzvah, and one receives reward for the actions leading up to the mitzvah, not only for the fulfillment of the mitzvah itself. The same is true in Torah study: the effort you invest is itself a goal, and someone who toils greatly until he understands will receive far more reward than someone who understood immediately. While the goal is to understand - and one understood after five minutes while another understood after five days - all the effort invested is also an end in itself.
The holy Arizal told Rav Chaim Vital regarding the tefillin his father wrote: on the tefillin your father writes, half the world is sustained. And what is the writing of tefillin? Seemingly, the mitzvah is to wear them, and writing them is merely the preparation. But there is no such division: writing the tefillin is a mitzvah, the effort invested is a mitzvah, the financial expenditure is a mitzvah. All the means are a mitzvah. If so, how could one use improper means? An unkosher means signifies that the mitzvah itself is unkosher, for there is no division here between means and mitzvah - the means itself becomes a mitzvah, and therefore it must be pure and valid.
This is why it is often emphasized that one does not bring people back in teshuvah through falsehood. There is an erroneous notion that one should tell tall tales and fabricate stories that never happened, as long as it draws people closer. Time and again one hears such stories - about someone who was in Lebanon, a séance that was conducted, ten friends who were killed - and it turns out to be utter bubbe meises, completely made up from whole cloth, without a shred of truth. Or the story about a missile headed for the Azrieli Towers when a wind miraculously blew it aside - which also turned out to be completely fabricated.
Why is this necessary? Is the Torah not a Torah of truth on its own, that one must fabricate stories to validate it? It is truth, and truth paves its own path. One who lacks truth must invent stories and fabricate tales, but one who possesses the truth - why would he need inventions? On the contrary, once such a story is debunked, what do people say? "You see, they are trying to con us, selling us empty tales." This causes far greater damage than any intended benefit, for people will say: Judaism evidently needs to prove itself through tall tales of wonders that never took place.
Likewise with stories about apparitions of Rachel Imeinu - who saw it? Who documented it? To this day people search for the person who allegedly witnessed it and find no one. Whom does this draw closer? Are there not enough real, documented miracles? When one sees tens of thousands of missiles fired and only a tiny fraction hitting - is that not enough of a miracle? Does one really need to invent stories? Does Rachel not pray anyway? "Rachel weeps for her children" - this we know, and one does not need to see her standing there to know that she intercedes for Klal Yisrael. These are truths we believe in and know, but inventing tales accomplishes nothing. The end does not justify the means, and the means must be genuine, because the goal itself is truth.
There was once a maggid who announced: "I want to tell you something. I asked the Rav whether it is permissible to invent stories to bring people back in teshuvah, and the Rav told me it is permitted - and that was the first story."
Two pesukim and two fundamental principles. "Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a youth" - at a young age, foolishness is merely tied to the heart and has not yet taken deep root; therefore, precisely now one can sever the bond and guide the child. Not with a rod of physical blows, which is destructive, humiliating, and only drives a child away, but with a "rod of discipline" - rebuke, explanation, warmth, encouragement, and instilling a love of Torah. Nor should one delay until "he grows older," for negative impressions take root and linger for years. And "He who oppresses the poor to increase for himself, or gives to the rich, will only come to loss" - whether according to its plain meaning, that oppression does not pay and giving to the rich brings no benefit but only disgrace; or according to the Ralbag's homiletic interpretation regarding the power of physical desire, where feeding it leaves one hungry and starving it brings satisfaction; or according to the Malbim's explanation: even when one's intention is for the benefit of the poor, if the path taken is flawed, it leads only to loss. The end does not justify the means, for in Judaism the means is itself a mitzvah and a goal, and it must be pure, kosher, and true.