In Chapter 23, King Solomon continues with practical lessons in ethics: how a person should conduct himself at the table of others, before whom it is fitting to share words of wisdom and before whom it is not, and the warning against robbing orphans and the poor. In the following discussion, we will proceed through the verses in order, bringing the explanations of Rashi, Rabbeinu Yonah, the Metzudos, the Vilna Gaon, and the Malbim, and drawing from them practical moral lessons for daily life.
אַל־תִּלְחַם אֶת־לֶחֶם רַע עָיִן וְאַל־תִּתְאָו לְמַטְעַמֹּתָיו׃ כִּי כְּמוֹ שָׁעַר בְּנַפְשׁוֹ כֶּן־הוּא אֱכוֹל וּשְׁתֵה יֹאמַר לָךְ וְלִבּוֹ בַּל־עִמָּךְ׃ פִּתְּךָ־אָכַלְתָּ תְקִיאֶנָּה וְשִׁחַתָּ דְּבָרֶיךָ הַנְּעִימִים׃ - "Do not eat the bread of a miser, and do not crave his delicacies. For as he calculates in his heart, so is he; 'Eat and drink,' he says to you, but his heart is not with you. The morsel you ate you will vomit up, and you will have wasted your pleasant words."
Rashi explains the words according to their plain meaning: a stingy person invites you to his home and says, "Please, help yourself, eat" - this is the "bread of a miser." And what will be the outcome? "The morsel you ate you will vomit up" - you will end up vomiting it from sheer embarrassment. What humiliation: I ate thinking he was genuinely pleased to host me, only to discover that the entire time he was just waiting for me to leave his house.
Metzudas David adds that this also operates on a physical level, since the host looked upon you with an evil eye. When a person senses that someone is looking at him with ill will, the food becomes repulsive to him, he feels nauseous, and he looks for a way to throw it up.
And what is the meaning of "and you will have wasted your pleasant words"? The Malbim has already taught us that here Solomon reveals that the entire matter is an allegory, and that the text refers to "your words" rather than food. But according to Rashi's literal reading, where do these "pleasant words" fit in? The explanation is as follows: when someone invites you, serves you, offers you second helpings, and tells you, "Eat and drink," you feel comfortable with him - never noticing that "his heart is not with you." You say to him, "Thank you so much, you are a person of tremendous kindness, there is no one quite like you, what wonderful hospitality, what generosity." Yet in the end, when it turns out that everything stemmed from malice, all your pleasant words and all the compliments you lavished upon him were ruined and completely wasted. There was no goodwill there, no genuine desire to give or share - only a longing of "when will you get out of here," and perhaps he had even expected you to decline the offer. Thus, all the gracious expressions you uttered in gratitude and appreciation - you have ruined and wasted in vain.
Rabbeinu Yonah explains "The morsel you ate you will vomit up" differently: when you sit down to eat with him, you see his face, and you notice that he cringes and feels miserable - the face of a person who is distressed over every bite you eat. From this you recognize that his heart is not with you, and consequently you eat your bread in grief. And because of this, naturally "the itztemacha will not grind it." Itztemacha is a term frequently found in the early sages, referring to the stomach.
And such is human nature: when a person's body is healthy and all is well, the stomach functions properly; but when a person is angry or immersed in sadness, it affects the stomach. This is indeed recorded in the classical works. Consider an interesting phenomenon: when a person is depressed, the stomach contracts and does not send out hunger signals. Cheerful, content individuals are often heavier, whereas depressed people are sometimes thin and gaunt - because when someone is depressed the stomach contracts, but when one is satisfied with life, there is a constant signal to the brain that the stomach is ready and eager to eat more. It turns out, then, that when a person eats in distress and sorrow, it causes stomach cramps, the digestive tract does not grind properly - and hence, "you will vomit it up."
And how does "and you will have wasted your pleasant words" fit in according to Rabbeinu Yonah? The guest thinks to himself: "He honored me so graciously, how can I show my gratitude? I will share a Dvar Torah at the table, a word of wisdom, insights of knowledge and proper conduct." Yet regarding this it is said: it is a waste of time, you have ruined your pleasant words. There are people to whom you come to share a chiddush, a vort, an inspiring idea, and you cannot fathom why they are not as impressed as you are. As you share the insight you are full of enthusiasm, while as he listens, he is only thinking: "When is he going to finish? When will he be done?"
From here we see that great wisdom is required to know what to say before whom. Words must be tailored to each individual. To one person you might say: "We came across a novel insight in the Gemara discussion of whether maturity applies in the grave (yeish bagrus ba'kever), or an insight in the law of takfo kohen" - and he responds: "Leave me alone with all these seizures; do you have a gematria? Give me something light, a short vort." Another person, if you tell him a gematria, will say: "Come on, you're wearing me out with your numerical values; say something sharp, a keen piece of analytical pilpul." One must read and understand every person, knowing his level of Torah knowledge and what speaks to him. Tell one person a halachic novelty, and you elevate his spirits: "What a fascinating question! What is the ruling if one did this and gave that, liable or exempt?" You ignite his interest. Yet someone else, hearing the exact same thing, will say: "That is way too heavy for me, rabbi, swipe next." Nowadays, there are all sorts of colloquial expressions people use that reflect superficiality and lack of contemplation; he treats you like a smartphone, swiping right, skipping past you, because he lacks the stamina and patience to listen.
Thus, it turns out you came to him, sat down, and even spoke words of Torah - and you ruined your pleasant words, a complete waste of time. For not only is that man thinking to himself, "This fellow ate my food," but now he also wants to deliver a lecture to me! You have stressed him out completely. Therefore: do not eat the bread of a grudging person. Even if he tells you to eat, do not be swayed and do not eat based on what he says - his heart is not with you, you will vomit up the morsel you ate, and you have ruined your pleasant words. Tell him: "Thank you very much, I ate not long ago, I am not hungry" - and move on.
בְּאׇזְנֵי כְסִיל אַל־תְּדַבֵּר כִּי־יָבוּז לְשֵׂכֶל מִלֶּיךָ׃ - Do not speak in the ears of a fool, for he will despise the wisdom of your words.
Rabbeinu Yonah connects this verse to the preceding one. For he explained "do not waste your pleasant words in vain": that grudging person is not interested in Torah; you come and share novellae and insightful thoughts with him, and it means nothing to him. And this is the continuation of the matter - do not speak in the ears of a fool. If a person is a fool, what is the point of speaking into his ears? "He will despise the wisdom of your words" - you possess words of wisdom and good sense, yet he will despise them. Whatever you say to him will not penetrate, and on the contrary, he will even mock your words. Therefore, Rabbeinu Yonah writes: one should not speak at length with him, nor should one speak words of wisdom in the ears of a fool, for he holds words of wisdom in contempt.
Rabbi Neugroschel once related that he gave a lecture at a simple, grassroots seminar - for ordinary, unassuming folks. After the lecture, he mentioned that he was continuing on to another seminar, one for academics. One of the participants approached him: "Honored Rabbi, I enjoyed the lecture very much; may I accompany you to the second seminar?" "Gladly." The man traveled with him. There, Rabbi Neugroschel spoke the way one speaks to academics, using concepts of quantum physics and academic theories. At the end, that same man approached him and said: "Honored Rabbi, I want to tell you that at the previous seminar, the Rabbi spoke much more to the point." He could not follow where the Rabbi began or where he ended, or make any sense of it at all; but at the grassroots seminar, where he spoke in a simple style, he grasped the ideas. This is "Do not speak in the ears of a fool, for he will despise the wisdom of your words."
Rabbeinu Yonah makes a fascinating point here: "Out of respect for wisdom, one should speak of its matters only into the ears of someone who loves and cherishes them." Everyone understands there is no point in speaking words of wisdom to someone who will not understand and will despise them - you have ruined your pleasant words. But Rabbeinu Yonah says: it is not just that. You have degraded wisdom itself. Wisdom is a precious commodity, and it is bestowed upon one who knows how to appreciate it. "He gives wisdom to the wise" - and why does the Holy One, blessed be He, give wisdom specifically to the wise? Shouldn't He give wisdom to fools, so that they gain some sense! Rather, the answer is: "the wise" are those who seek wisdom and appreciate it. The Holy One, blessed be He, gives wisdom to one who knows how to value it. But if He gives wisdom to a fool, how will he use it? To devise a system to beat the lottery. Is that why you were granted genius - to sit and compute mathematical calculations just to get as close as possible to winning? By contrast, a wise person who receives wisdom treats it with the respect it deserves: how to help people, how to grow wise in Torah, how to delve deeply into Halachic analysis. Thus, when you impart wisdom to a fool, you have degraded wisdom, for he will only use it for unworthy ends.
Concerning this matter, the mussar works state: do not be like those who cast pearls before swine. One who gives words of wisdom to someone unworthy is like one who throws pearls before a pig. Does a pig understand the value of pearls? "A gold ring in a swine's snout" - it understands nothing, so what is the point of casting pearls before it?
These points are critically important, for one must always know what to say and to whom, and this requires immense wisdom and careful reflection. Not everything can be said in front of everyone. There are statements of Chazal, among the more perplexing ones, that require proper explanation to be understood; if you say them before an unlearned person, he will take them literally and arrive at flawed conclusions. Indeed, it is taught that even the statement, "Do not be like servants who serve the master for the sake of receiving a reward," led to error - Tzadok and Beitos went astray and corrupted their ways because they reasoned: there is no reward, there is no recompense.
From this we learn that when conveying a message, you must pay close attention to how it is received, and whether the listener possesses the ability to process and understand it properly. Otherwise, you tell him something, he misunderstands it, reaches erroneous conclusions, and acts inappropriately as a result - all because he heard a message from you and misunderstood it.
There is also an admonition here for those who have appointed themselves "spokesmen." A person who lacks the proper education, does not specialize in the field, and has no deep understanding of it immediately rushes to the media; they want to interview someone, and he becomes the national spokesman, reaching out to those far away. He fails to understand that far from bringing those who are distant closer, he is driving away those who are close! Do you really have the appropriate training to be a spokesman? Do you know how much wisdom is required to explain a concept? You might know the reasons, even the true reasons according to the Torah - and yet it is forbidden to present such a matter to an unobservant person in that manner. You tell him the true reason, and immediately: "See? Look at how the Torah is..." Why? Because often, properly explaining a concept requires two hours: laying out the fundamentals, the sources, and the underlying perspective. If you attempt to explain it in thirty seconds, you only end up reinforcing his misconception.
For example, if someone asks why women do not rely on such-and-such, and one answers, "Because women's minds are light [da'atan kalah]" - has one truly explained what "their minds are light" means? Why are their minds light? Is this a deficiency or an advantage? Why did the Holy One, blessed be He, create man with certain traits and natures and woman with other traits and natures? If one utters such a sentence, immediately the reaction is: "You see? Look at how the religious, look at how the Torah treats women!" And in the media there is no time to explain - you drop a sentence, and: "Thank you very much, we must move on, we have a news flash, yes, now to the second interviewee." And who hears you? Who is listening? Nobody. It turns out that one must possess great talent, wisdom, and an understanding of the media to know what to say, to formulate a concise sentence that encapsulates the matter, and to know how to navigate landmines - for they are experts at laying landmines. A person thinks he is speaking sense and quoting "what is written" - but who is listening to what is written? "Do not speak in the hearing of a fool, for he will despise the wisdom of your words"; they will not even give you a chance to explain.
Therefore, a person must always be wise: what to say, how to say it, in what manner, and before whom. Before different people, one needs to provide different reasons and explanations. We sometimes find in the Gemara that a heretic came and posed a challenge, and the Sage gave him an answer with which he walked away satisfied; afterward, the disciples asked, "Our master, and what will you say to us?" Then he gave them a profound answer. See how much wisdom lies in this: the superficial answer given to him, which was not even the real answer, satisfied his mind; had the Sage given him the profound answer, he would have mocked it. To disciples one can offer a deep answer, but to that person who came to challenge, one must give an answer that puts his mind at ease - the main thing being that he leaves his heresy and is left with no objections. For each person, one must know which answer will genuinely help him.
The Malbim, as we know, consistently distinguishes between a ksil (fool) and an evil (skeptic). The ksil is not mentally incompetent; he has intellect, but he follows his desires. That is why he is called a ksil: he desires things that he himself knows are incorrect, untrue, and bad, yet he still pursues them and is drawn to them. The ksil knows the truth and ignores it; he knows the path is wrong and walks it anyway - that is the essence of a ksil.
In contrast, the evil is uncertain about the rules of wisdom. Evil is related to ulai ("perhaps") - the skeptical approach. To everything he says: perhaps, who says, there is no proof, it is not clear, it is ambiguous; everything is doubt, questioning, and objection, and he is not certain. Thus, the evil has an advantage over the ksil: the evil simply lacks proof - present him with proof, and he will gain understanding. The ksil, on the other hand, knows the rules of wisdom, but desires to follow his lusts and therefore rejects them, consciously rejecting them. The evil raises doubts - one can sit with him and resolve them. Therefore, the Malbim explains that it is possible to set the evil straight, but the ksil flees from wisdom because of his desires, making it far harder to persuade him.
And the problem, as explained several times, is that the principles of wisdom are difficult to explain through cold logic alone. The laws of wisdom pertain to morality, integrity, fairness, and the conduct a person ought to choose; it is not a matter of pure logical truth and falsehood, which are absolute, but of moral aspects where there is room to argue - who says it must be this way, perhaps it is otherwise? That is why the laws of wisdom must be received by tradition: received from a prophet, from Moshe Rabbeinu, from the holy Torah. These are matters a person cannot arrive at entirely independently. By contrast, tevunah (understanding), which is deducing one matter from another, allows one to reach an unequivocal conclusion, which is an aspect of da'at: arriving at the true and correct conclusion, clear knowledge.
It follows that whoever enlightens the evil can rescue him from his folly, since this folly stems from lack of knowledge; teach him understanding and wisdom, and he will arrive at the right conclusion. But with the ksil there is no talking, and therefore it is said: "Go away from the presence of a foolish man, where you perceive not the lips of knowledge" - do not walk beside him and do not associate with him. He does not want wisdom and does not want enlightenment; consequently, he will mock whatever you say, and you will have wasted your words and squandered your time, for he truly has no desire to accept the truth.
This is indeed one of the challenges when attempting to bring someone closer to Torah who has no genuine interest: he immediately offers resistance, and for every argument you present, he counters with ten opposite claims. Why? Because he has desires and simply does not want to hear it. His issue is not a lack of knowledge; you have targeted him, and he does not want it. By contrast, someone who simply does not know - often you spark his interest in something, and he says: "Yes, that is intriguing, very interesting to hear." But one who acts out of defiance is not seeking to be convinced and is not searching for truth at all; he merely wants to pursue the desires of his heart.
אַל־תַּסֵּג גְּבוּל עוֹלָם וּבִשְׂדֵי יְתוֹמִים אַל־תָּבֹא׃ - Do not move an ancient boundary stone, and do not enter the fields of orphans.
Taseg is related to nasog, drawing back: there is a boundary, and you push it back toward your neighbor's property to take something from his territory - annexing another half meter, another meter, from his courtyard or field. And "do not enter the fields of orphans" - Rashi cites the exposition of Chazal that this refers to leket, shikchah, and pe'ah, which belong to the poor: do not take from them what is rightfully theirs.
Why is there such strictness here? The Gra (Vilna Gaon) explains: other people might forgive you, but orphans are not legally capable of forgiving (lav benei mechilah ninhu) - orphans are minors and cannot grant forgiveness. Therefore, if you encroach upon the fields of orphans, who will ever forgive you?
The Malbim notes that "Do not move the ancient boundary" already appeared in chapter 22, and here, paired with "and into the fields of orphans do not enter," it refers to the boundary of the poor; and so it is cited in the Sifra, that this refers to a person who robs the poor of leket, shikhechah, and pe'ah, as Rashi explains. The Malbim explains that "boundary" (gevul) and "world/public" (olam) are seemingly two opposites: a "boundary" is what belongs to each individual privately, whereas olam represents what belongs to the collective, not to the single individual. If so, how can one say "the boundary of the world" (gevul olam)? Does the collective have a boundary? An individual has a boundary - "my courtyard extends up to here"; but where is the collective's boundary?
Rather, it must refer to a collective that is inherently defined and bounded, set apart from the rest of the public. That is to say, even within the collective there are sub-groups, creating a reality of a collective that possesses a boundary. And what is the example? The gifts of the poor (matnot aniyim). The poor form a distinct collective; not the entirety of the community, but a significant portion of it. And this collective has a boundary, and its boundary is the agricultural gifts left for the poor: leket, shikhechah, and pe'ah. Concerning this, the verse says, "Do not move the boundary of the world" - the boundary that the Holy One, Blessed is He, set for that group within the world, saying to them: This is your portion. Do not go and take from the gifts of the poor, for by doing so you encroach upon the boundary of that collective.
כִּי־גֹאֲלָם חָזָק הוּא־יָרִיב אֶת־רִיבָם אִתָּךְ׃ - For their Redeemer is strong; He will champion their cause against you.
Lest you say: These are the fields of orphans - who will judge me, who will take up a grievance against me? To this, the verse says, "For their redeemer is strong." The Malbim explains: Their fields have a redeemer (go'el), the relative who holds the right of redemption. Simply put, when there is someone destined to inherit, that heir is deeply concerned about what happens to the property he is set to inherit years down the line. Even though he does not currently own the property, at some point he will inherit it, and he is called a redeemer. Therefore, even though we are dealing with orphans who have no father to champion their cause, they do have a redeemer - a relative keeping a watchful eye, knowing that he is next in line. Do not think, then, that there is no one to fight for them: this redeemer, who holds the right of redemption, is strong and will champion their cause against you, and through this you will be severely punished.
Rabbeinu Yonah explains this differently. We were already warned against robbing the pauper who has no helper, and we saw that there the Holy One, Blessed is He, champions his cause. Here, the verse warns against robbing orphans - and note, even if they are wealthy. This is the reason for the repetition: there it spoke of the indigent (dal), whereas here one might argue, "They are not indigent; they are orphans, but their father left them more than enough." Concerning this, the verse states that it makes no difference. Even though they are not poor, do not enter the fields of orphans, "for their Redeemer is strong." According to Rabbeinu Yonah, their Redeemer is the Holy One, Blessed is He, Himself - Father of orphans and Judge of widows - and He is mighty and will exact retribution from you.
הָבִיאָה לַמּוּסָר לִבֶּךָ וְאׇזְנֶךָ לְאִמְרֵי־דָעַת׃ - Apply your heart to instruction, and your ear to words of knowledge.
Notice, says Rabbeinu Yonah: regarding mussar (ethical instruction), the verse uses "heart" - "Apply your heart to instruction"; while regarding da'at (knowledge), it uses "ear" - "and your ear to words of knowledge." This is entirely understandable. The heart symbolizes desires and cravings, as it is written, "You granted him his heart's desire"; the heart is passion, yearning, and will. Mussar, on the other hand, consists of words of wisdom that rectify a person's deeds. If so, when a person has desires, what will correct him? Mussar. "Apply your heart to instruction" - surrender the desiring heart to mussar, and mussar will straighten it out.
"And your ear to words of knowledge" - the words of wisdom are what must enter your ears. This means that words of knowledge are not primarily meant to correct a person's behavior, but represent the engagement in Torah study for the sake of the Torah itself, the intellectual comprehension of Torah. Even regardless of refining character traits (tikkun hammidot), a person must study Torah; even regardless of improving one's conduct, and even if someone were utterly perfect in their duties toward God and toward their fellow man, he would still need to study Torah.
In this passage, we learned several practical principles: Do not partake of the meal of one who has an evil eye, for "his heart is not with you," and the outcome is shame, revulsion, and wasting all your pleasant words in vain. We learned that great wisdom is required to know what to say and to whom, for "do not speak in the ears of a fool" - not only because it is useless, but because by doing so you disgrace wisdom itself, like casting pearls before swine. We saw the Malbim's distinction between the evil (senseless one), whose flaw is mere ignorance and who can be guided, and the kesil (fool), who knows the truth yet is drawn after his desires and is difficult to persuade. We learned of the gravity of encroaching upon the boundary of the poor and the orphans, for "their redeemer is strong" - whether the flesh-and-blood redeemer or the Father of orphans in Heaven. And finally, "Apply your heart to instruction, and your ear to words of knowledge": the desiring heart is healed through mussar, and the ear is filled with words of Torah and knowledge, which remain a person's obligation even when his character traits are fully refined.