וְהָאִ֥ישׁ מֹשֶׁ֖ה ענו [עָנָ֣יו] מְאֹ֑ד מִכֹּל֙ הָֽאָדָ֔ם אֲשֶׁ֖ר עַל־פְּנֵ֥י הָאֲדָמָֽה׃ (ס)
Now Moses was a very humble man, more so than any other man on earth.
Are Humility and Self-Esteem Contradictory?
The Chofetz Chaim was once traveling by train to a Jewish community to give a lecture. A man sat down next to him during the trip and started a conversation. When the Chofetz Chaim asked where he was heading, the man replied, "I'm going into town to hear the Chofetz Chaim speak. He's the greatest tzaddik (righteous person) in the Jewish world today." Embarrassed by what he was hearing, the Chofetz Chaim told the man, "People exaggerate about his greatness. I know him very well and he's not that great." The man became infuriated by what he was hearing and slapped the Chofetz Chaim in the face. That night, the man was horrified when he came to the lecture and realized that the person he hit was actually the Chofetz Chaim. As soon as the lecture was over, the man pleaded for forgiveness. The Chofetz Chaim smiled and said, "There's no need for forgiveness - you were defending me. In fact, you taught me a great lesson: my whole life I've been teaching people not to defame others; now I've learned that it's also wrong to defame yourself."
Humility isn't just about acknowledging that which you are not, it's also about recognizing that which you are. Thus, Moses is described as the most humble man who ever lived (Numbers 12:3). Yet, he could have also been referred to as the most courageous or the most compassionate human being of all time. Why does the Torah go out of its way to only mention this characteristic? Given the above definition of humility, it becomes clear as to why this was the case. Moses was quite aware of his weaknesses (including having a speech impediment), but at the same time also understood that his strengths put him in the position to lead the Jewish people. A lesser person would have either failed to acknowledge their weaknesses, or worse yet, would have downplayed the strengths they did possess in order to avoid greater responsibility.
The Chofetz Chaim was once traveling by train to a Jewish community to give a lecture. A man sat down next to him during the trip and started a conversation. When the Chofetz Chaim asked where he was heading, the man replied, "I'm going into town to hear the Chofetz Chaim speak. He's the greatest tzaddik (righteous person) in the Jewish world today." Embarrassed by what he was hearing, the Chofetz Chaim told the man, "People exaggerate about his greatness. I know him very well and he's not that great." The man became infuriated by what he was hearing and slapped the Chofetz Chaim in the face. That night, the man was horrified when he came to the lecture and realized that the person he hit was actually the Chofetz Chaim. As soon as the lecture was over, the man pleaded for forgiveness. The Chofetz Chaim smiled and said, "There's no need for forgiveness - you were defending me. In fact, you taught me a great lesson: my whole life I've been teaching people not to defame others; now I've learned that it's also wrong to defame yourself."
Humility isn't just about acknowledging that which you are not, it's also about recognizing that which you are. Thus, Moses is described as the most humble man who ever lived (Numbers 12:3). Yet, he could have also been referred to as the most courageous or the most compassionate human being of all time. Why does the Torah go out of its way to only mention this characteristic? Given the above definition of humility, it becomes clear as to why this was the case. Moses was quite aware of his weaknesses (including having a speech impediment), but at the same time also understood that his strengths put him in the position to lead the Jewish people. A lesser person would have either failed to acknowledge their weaknesses, or worse yet, would have downplayed the strengths they did possess in order to avoid greater responsibility.
Two Stones
Keep two stones in your pocket, and take them out according to the need of the moment. On one should be inscribed, “I am dust and ashes.” On the other, “For my sake was the world created.” (Simchah Bunem)
All my life I have been carrying these two stones:
the one to keep my wings on the ground,
the ashes sprinkled in my hair,
to remind me I am merely dust; the other
with which to declare, “I am a strong reed
among the heathens, I am entitled
to prosper and thrive.”
Now, well past mid-way
to my allotted threescore-and-ten,
I pause on the road taking me
God-only-knows-where. I look
to the left, then the right.
Oh Lord, I wonder, could it be
I have spent more than half my earthly days
using the wrong stone in the wrong place?
-Michael Blumenthal
Keep two stones in your pocket, and take them out according to the need of the moment. On one should be inscribed, “I am dust and ashes.” On the other, “For my sake was the world created.” (Simchah Bunem)
All my life I have been carrying these two stones:
the one to keep my wings on the ground,
the ashes sprinkled in my hair,
to remind me I am merely dust; the other
with which to declare, “I am a strong reed
among the heathens, I am entitled
to prosper and thrive.”
Now, well past mid-way
to my allotted threescore-and-ten,
I pause on the road taking me
God-only-knows-where. I look
to the left, then the right.
Oh Lord, I wonder, could it be
I have spent more than half my earthly days
using the wrong stone in the wrong place?
-Michael Blumenthal
Rabbi Lawrence Kushner: Every great leader must maintain his or her own precarious and perpetually shifting balance between the debilitations of humility and the cravings of ego. "Who am i to lead these people?" and "God has specifically chosen Me!" To choose either spells disaster for both the leader and the led. Nowhere do we see this more excruciatingly played out than in the career of one who is arguably the greatest leader of all time, Moses. He is portrayed as staggeringly humble.
It is just this dilemma that Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev addresses in his K’dushat Levi. After God’s appearance in the flames of the bush and the ensuing divine summons to lead the Jewish people to freedom, Moses not unreasonably asks, "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh . . . ?" But instead of sending a sign, God only says, "This will be a sign for you that I have sent you, once you’ve brought them out from Egypt, you’ll come and worship God here at this mountain". (Moses must think to himself, "Thanks, but after I’ve brought them out, I won’t need a sign!")
Levi Yitzchak uses precisely Moses’s apparently unanswered question as an opportunity to contemplate the nature of genuine religious leadership. Striving is an endless and lifelong process. A would-be serious Jew is perpetually conscious of what s/he lacks. And his or her only spiritual question is, "Now what?" The Berditchever cites a tradition teaching that even the spiritual exemplar par excellence , Elijah, exclaims, "I know nothing of You at all!" And just this is the highest form of awareness! For this reason we are well advised to distrust anyone who claims to have found the way or the answer.
And this brings us (and the Berditchever) to Moses’s apparently unanswered question: "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?" The question is obviously spoken from the great man’s humility and his keen awareness of his own inadequacy. And here, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev offers us a preposterously simple yet profoundly chastening answer. We must read it as if God, in effect, says to Moses that the question is itself the answer! "Just this will be the sign that I have sent you," says God. "Because You, Moses, are humble enough to ask and truly believe, ‘Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?’ means that you are precisely the right one for the task. Don’t you understand? Moses, your asking, ‘Who am I?’ is itself " the sign that I am sending you!"
It is just this dilemma that Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev addresses in his K’dushat Levi. After God’s appearance in the flames of the bush and the ensuing divine summons to lead the Jewish people to freedom, Moses not unreasonably asks, "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh . . . ?" But instead of sending a sign, God only says, "This will be a sign for you that I have sent you, once you’ve brought them out from Egypt, you’ll come and worship God here at this mountain". (Moses must think to himself, "Thanks, but after I’ve brought them out, I won’t need a sign!")
Levi Yitzchak uses precisely Moses’s apparently unanswered question as an opportunity to contemplate the nature of genuine religious leadership. Striving is an endless and lifelong process. A would-be serious Jew is perpetually conscious of what s/he lacks. And his or her only spiritual question is, "Now what?" The Berditchever cites a tradition teaching that even the spiritual exemplar par excellence , Elijah, exclaims, "I know nothing of You at all!" And just this is the highest form of awareness! For this reason we are well advised to distrust anyone who claims to have found the way or the answer.
And this brings us (and the Berditchever) to Moses’s apparently unanswered question: "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?" The question is obviously spoken from the great man’s humility and his keen awareness of his own inadequacy. And here, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev offers us a preposterously simple yet profoundly chastening answer. We must read it as if God, in effect, says to Moses that the question is itself the answer! "Just this will be the sign that I have sent you," says God. "Because You, Moses, are humble enough to ask and truly believe, ‘Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?’ means that you are precisely the right one for the task. Don’t you understand? Moses, your asking, ‘Who am I?’ is itself " the sign that I am sending you!"
Humility in Mussar: “Humility is associated with spiritual perfection,” writes Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook in The Moral Principles. “When humility effects depression it is defective; when it is genuine it inspires joy, courage and inner dignity. At times it is not necessary to be afraid of greatness, which inspires a person to do great things. All humility is based on such holy greatness.”
Humility (anavah in Hebrew) is a much misunderstood trait. In the Jewish view, humility does not mean being a meek, silent, cowering person who is always deferring to others. How could that be when the Torah tells us that Moses, who repeatedly confronted Egypt’s god-king, led the Jewish people out of Egypt, and cut such a large figure in Jewish history, was “the most humble man on the face of the earth” (Numbers 12:3)?
The Mussar Institute’s recommended daily affirmation for ענוה (anavah – humility) is, “No more than my place, no less than my space.” The second half of the phrase suggests that one who is “too humble” isn’t humble at all.
Questions to discuss:
Humility (anavah in Hebrew) is a much misunderstood trait. In the Jewish view, humility does not mean being a meek, silent, cowering person who is always deferring to others. How could that be when the Torah tells us that Moses, who repeatedly confronted Egypt’s god-king, led the Jewish people out of Egypt, and cut such a large figure in Jewish history, was “the most humble man on the face of the earth” (Numbers 12:3)?
The Mussar Institute’s recommended daily affirmation for ענוה (anavah – humility) is, “No more than my place, no less than my space.” The second half of the phrase suggests that one who is “too humble” isn’t humble at all.
Questions to discuss:
- Given the modern Mussar definition of humility, do you see yourself as needing to expand or contract the personal space you tend to occupy in your life situations?
- How might you go about contracting or expanding the personal space you fill up?