Thanks to Rabbi Ian Pear (Rabbi of the Shir Hadash community in Israel) for this guest post. It’s funny how things come in twos and threes - Rabbi Pear’s post picks up on the theme of simcha and meat that Avi included in his most recent post about Chef Frankel.

Cross-posted from (Joyous Judaism)

For vegetarians, one Talmudic phrase is particularly bothersome: “There is no simcha (joy) without meat and wine.” The customary way to deal with this dictum — that is, if one is a vegetarian — is to argue that the Talmud was speaking subjectively not objectively — i.e., it did not believe meat and wine were objectively the only means by which simcha could be achieved, but rather the most likely catalyst for the majority of people. Or to put it another way: If one genuinely feels simcha by eating meat and drinking wine, then such a person certainly should not refrain from doing so when mandated to celebrate life — like at a wedding, brit mila, Shabbat meal, etc.. He must enjoy himself! A puritanical asceticism is not permitted; the simcha requires meat and wine. On the other hand, if a person does not feel simcha by eating meat and wine, then he is certainly not obligated to do so, but rather must find an alternative source of joy and pursue that course instead.

This understanding of the “there is no simcha without meat and wine” dictum has served most vegetarians well, but I’d like to offer another possible understanding of the phrase, one that both addresses the issue for vegetarians but also, more importantly, uncovers a much deeper meaning about joy in general — and how we all, vegetarian and carnivore alike, can achieve it in our personal and national lives.

The starting point for this additional explanation is the original — and complete – Talmudic statement itself. It appears in Tractate Pesachim 109A (and I am grateful to fellow blogger On the Contrary for pointing it out and highlighting its significance):

Rabbi Yehuda Ben Beteira says: “While the Temple is standing, there
is no joy unless there is meat, as it says (Deut. 27) ‘And you shall sacrifice
peace-offerings and eat them there, and you will be joyful before the Lord,
your God’. Now that the Temple is not standing, there is no joy without wine, as it says (Psalms 104) ‘ And wine will rejoice the heart of man.’”

In light of this full text, it is clear that the way the phrase “no simcha without meat or wine” has been brought down is woefully inadequate. For starters, it lumps meat and wine together when in fact they are meant to represent different types of joy. Second, it neglects Rabbi Yehuda Ben Beteira’s distinction between the time the Temple stood and today’s world in which the Temple is no longer. And finally, it fails to include the Torah verse — and its meaning — that provides the basis for the statement in the first place.

All these differences are significant, and awareness of them leads us to a completely different understanding of the oft-quoted phrase. Meat is not the source of one’s joy, but is rather a symbol of it. The real joy is the Temple experience, the ability to bring a sacrifice to God and draw closer to God as a result. It is the ability to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, to celebrate the Holiday with one’s friends and family, and to be a part of a nation espousing the deepest values the world has ever heard. There is no joy without meat doesn’t mean meat brings joy, but rather that the Temple service and our national existence brings joy.

In contrast, the joy inspired by wine is the exact opposite. It is a secondary type of joy, perhaps the only type possible in a world made much darker and less certain by the destruction of our Temple, which brought with it exile, disunity, the loss of national purpose and the sense of God’s absence in our daily lives. In such a world, we need wine to experience joy; it is an artificial source of joy, perhaps a necessary, but by no means ideal, way to replace the true joy we once experienced. This is not to say that the joy produced by wine is not a good thing. It is, after all, an attempt to retain some type of connection, no matter how tentative, to a once obviously joyful experience. It’s a zecher — a remembrance — of the true joy we once felt. As such, it is valuable, for it reminds us of what we once had and what we must once again attempt to attain, but it is not ideal.

To me, the deeper lessons of these two types of joy are obvious. The first joy is inspired by participation, by our offering ourselves in service to God and our nation in service to the world. Our Temple of old brought forth through its prophets the great values of Liberty and Equality, and genuinely made the world a better place; to be a part of that experience was was joyful.

The second joy is passive, almost escapist. It is the joy experienced by a spectator at a sporting event rather than the joy experienced by the winning athlete who participated in the event directly.

On a person to person level, this means that those interested in achieving true joy in their life should pursue a path of participation, of making a difference in their surroundings and with the people around them. Join organizations. Volunteer. Give. These are all things that will add true joy to one’s life.

They are also all things that will allow a person to live a much healthier life. In fact, there are now over 500 studies that link generous, participatory behavior with good — and joyful — health. As one researcher put it, “giving protects overall health twice as much as aspirin protects against heart disease. If giving weren’t free, pharmaceutical companies could herald the discovery of a stupendous new drug called “Give Back” — instead of Prozac.” As a result of these findings, some doctors are now actually prescribing generous behavior. There’s a program in California, for example, that’s called Rx:Volunteer, and in it patients recruited from the Medicare practice of a large HMO receive volunteerism ‘prescriptions’ from their physicians.

Meanwhile, the alternative behaviors of dropping out from society, worrying about one’s problems alone, and becoming a taker rather than a giver will produce the exact opposite results.

So too on a national level. Today, in many respects, we have the opportunity to transform Jewish life from one satisfied with the joy of ‘wine’ to one in pursuit of the joy of ‘meat’. Our return to Israel, our rebuilding of the land — both physically and spiritually, and our ability to once again contribute to the world as an equal player on the stage of international drama are all things that symbolize this opportunity. We must be careful not to become satisfied with the joy we have become accustomed to thanks to wine, of being a people satisfied to worry about our own survival alone and cloistered in the ghettos of the Diaspora. Let us eat meat! Let us seize the opportunity to renew our national destiny and international relevance. May we all — vegetarian and carnivore alike — appreciate this special time and be sure to take advantage of it.