Some things just never change. When someone joins a weight-loss group, some people ask, “Can’t you just diet by yourself?” When someone sees a nutritionist, some people ask, “Can’t you just eat healthy?” The presumption of these questions is that a weight-loss group or a nutritionist just facilitates something you can do on your own. Of course a nutritionist would vehemently disagree. However, supposing they indeed only provided moral support in one’s quest to be healthy, wouldn’t that suffice? It is an aspect of human nature that people often tend to be lax in issues relating to their health. Any possible advantage we can gain to overcome this should be implemented. This is nothing new. Even two thousand years ago, people needed extra encouragement to follow healthy practices.
The Gemara in Bava Metzia discusses what material possessions should be left with a debtor when collecting a loan. (There is a disagreement among the Rishonim as to the precise circumstances the Gemara is referring to.) A beraisa (113b) states that a debtor must be left with two beds. The Gemara questions why an individual needs two beds. The Gemara explains that one bed was used for eating (people used to recline while eating) and one bed was used for sleeping. Why was it necessary to have two beds? Couldn’t he use the same bed for eating and sleeping? The Gemara quotes a statement from Shmuel attesting to the fact that sleeping immediately after eating without even taking a walk of a few steps can be extremely detrimental to one’s health.
Rashi explains that one positions the sleeping bed four amos (six to eight feet) from the bed on which he eats. This will ensure that he walks at least this far after eating before he goes to sleep. Yet seemingly the same question can still be raised. Why can’t the debtor use the same bed for eating and sleeping? To overcome the relevant health issue, the debtor should simply get up after eating, take a short walk, and return to the same bed to sleep. The creditor should have a right to take the extra bed. It’s not a necessity; it’s a luxury! The debtor would personally rather take a meaningful walk from one bed to the other, instead of simply encircling his only bed. That’s a personal preference.
Rashi seems to answer this by saying, “This will condition him to get up and walk.”
Of course you could always tell a person he needs to exercise. How many doctors have told their patients that they need to exercise? Yet how many actually do? (I try not to be too hypocritical in my articles. At least when it comes to exercise, I do follow some sort of regimen.)
We could tell the debtor, “Don’t fall asleep! Get up and walk around!” Yet we all know that after a nice good meal, he most likely will be too sleepy to get up. After all, this is where he sleeps anyway. The next time he eats, he’ll be sure to walk around before sleeping. But it’s always the next time. The solution therefore is to leave the debtor with two beds. He’ll be forced to get up before sleeping (assuming he wants to sleep in the bed where he usually sleeps). Humans always need various ploys to get them to follow healthy habits. Chazal considered this particular ploy not a luxury, but a necessity.
The Mishnah in Bava Metzia (105b) says that a renter of a field that was affected by a general calamity may deduct from his rent according to the amount of damage the field suffered. The two examples of general calamities offered in the Mishnah are strong winds and locusts.
How widespread does the damage have to be to be considered a general calamity where the farmer may deduct from his rent? According to Rav Yehuda, most of the fields in the same valley as the rented field have to be negatively affected as well. This way the calamity can’t be blamed on the renter’s bad mazal, since it wasn’t just his field that was harmed.
The Gemara (106a) makes an interesting qualification to the above law. Where the landowner stipulated with the farmer that he plant wheat, and the renter planted barley instead, he may not make a deduction for a general calamity. Even though all the fields nearby, whether they were planted with wheat or barley, were attacked by locusts, the farmer may not deduct from his rent for his ruined field. Why? The landowner can say to him: True, all the nearby fields were harmed; but I davened on Rosh Hashanah that my wheat crop should be successful. If you had planted wheat, as we agreed, perhaps Hashem would have listened to my tefillos and my field would have been spared from the locusts. You planted barley instead, so my tefillos on Rosh Hashanah for a successful wheat crop had no effect. You are responsible for this; therefore, you must absorb the loss.
We see from here the power of tefillah. All the fields in the valley might be destroyed, but one’s tefillah can save his field. As we will demonstrate shortly, this is not considered as being in the realm of the miraculous; this is just the power of tefillah.
A little further in the Gemara, a different scenario is presented by Shmuel. A landowner tells the renter that he can plant whatever crop he wishes to (according to Tosfos’s explanation). Once again, most or all of the fields in the valley are consumed by locusts. However, our farmer was a little lazy and never got around to planting his crops. The farmer says that he should be excused from the rental payment, because there was a general calamity; even if he had planted a crop, it would have been destroyed. The landowner contends that perhaps Hashem would have performed a minor miracle and his field would have been spared from the general calamity. Now that the farmer didn’t plant anything, a minor miracle would not help! The renter is therefore responsible for the loss. Shmuel sides with the landowner and says the renter must make the full rental payment.
Tosfos HaRosh and other Rishonim raise the following question: Why does Shmuel have to explain that the landowner’s claim is based upon a minor miracle occurring? Didn’t the Gemara already establish that where the farmer deviated from the agreed-upon stipulation, the landowner has a good claim based upon his prayers? Here the farmer deviated by not planting anything! The landowner could simply say, “If you had planted something, perhaps my prayers on Rosh Hashanah for a successful crop would’ve been answered. Now that you planted nothing, my tefillah had no effect.” (As mentioned earlier, having one’s tefillah accepted is not considered a minor miracle.)
Here is where things start to get a little murky. To add some clarification, according to the Tosfos HaRosh, an example of a minor miracle is a lone shepherd in the Talmudic era being able to fight off a lion from attacking one of his sheep. (Generally, it took a group of shepherds to fight off a lion.)
Tosfos HaRosh and our Tosefos explain that in the current case the landowner did not tell the farmer what to plant. It was left to the discretion of the farmer. Therefore, the landowner could not daven on Rosh Hashanah that a specific crop should be successful. He had no idea what the farmer would eventually choose to plant. The only prayer he could offer is a general one: “Whatever crop is planted in my field should be successful.” A specific tefillah can always be efficacious for anyone, but for Hashem to accept a non-specific prayer, one has to be worthy of a minor miracle.
So it is true that the landowner could say, “If you had planted any crop, perhaps my general tefillah would have been answered.” However, that claim is based upon his being on the madreigah to have a minor miracle occur for him. And if he is indeed on that madreigah, a simpler claim can be made without invoking his prayers: perhaps a minor miracle would have occurred for him and his renter’s crops would be saved.
In the first case, the landowner’s claim is based upon his specific prayer, since he thought he knew which crop the farmer would plant. In that case, the landowner’s claim is not based upon a minor miracle occurring. One can claim his prayer for a specific request might have been answered even though he was not worthy of a minor miracle.
The troubling question is, where does this requirement in tefillah—that every tefillah must be specific—come from? Can’t a person simply daven to Hashem to send him parnassah? Must he mention in his prayers the exact nature of his hishtadlus? Must he mention the exact crop that was planted?
I saw a commentary from the Mitzur D’vash quoted in the Mesivta Gemara. He accepts Tosfos at its simple explanation. He therefore raises the following question: How can we daven three times a day in Shemoneh Esreih that Hashem should bless all the types of crops for the good? That’s not being specific! We should mention specific crops. One answer offered is that a prayer which is recited by the public can be non-specific. It is only personal requests that need to be specific.
Still, according to this, personal requests for parnassah must be specific. I mentioned this Tosfos to a rosh yeshiva and he pointed out that the Ohr HaChaim on the first pasuk of Va’eschanan states that Moshe Rabbeinu’s tefillos were good tefillos because they were specific. However, the Ohr HaChaim is not discussing the exact same point as our Gemara. He states that when one davens, one should formulate his tefillos in a way that excludes other interpretations. He refers to a Midrash on Esther that relates the following episode:
A man was traveling on the road and was tired. He davened to Hashem that Hashem should send him a donkey (to ride on or carry his belongings). A Roman man’s donkey had just given birth and he needed someone to carry the foal. He made this poor Jew carry it; whereupon, the man lamented that he had not been more specific in his tefillos. He should have davened not just for “a donkey,” but for “a donkey to ride on.”
The pasuk states, “Before they call out, I will answer; while they are still speaking, I will listen” (Yeshayah 65:24). Hashem knows exactly what we intend to daven for. At times, He answers us before we even daven. So why is there a need to be so specific in tefillos?
HaRav C.W., shlita, offered an explanation that limits the specificity requirements just mentioned. Perhaps a general tefillah usually suffices; it is only when there a gezeirah that one is trying to overcome that one requires a specific tefillah. In Va’eschanan, there was a gezeirah that Moshe Rabbeinu not be allowed to enter Eretz Yisrael. He needed a specific tefillah to overcome it. In our Gemara, it seems there was a Heavenly decree that all the fields should be destroyed. Someone who wants to be exempt from that gezeirah would require a specific tefillah. This differs from the Mitzur D’vash; according to this explanation, Shemoneh Esreih is not an exception because it’s a public tefillah; a general tefillah is the rule for all prayers, public or private. Our Gemara is the exception in that instances of gezeiros require specific tefillos.
Be that as it may, all can agree that we see two powerful points from our Gemara. First, even in a situation where harm is coming to others around a person, a specific tefillah can save him. One does not need to be on the level of having a miracle occur to have this type of tefillah answered. Second, we also see that a specific tefillah is more powerful than a general one. So, regardless of how you interpret the sources above, it would seem that one should be specific in his tefillah requests.
My father and rebbe, shlita, thought that this was obvious. Tefillah is avodah she’be’lev, and we know that more-emotional tefillos are more powerful. Consequently, when a person makes a specific request he can have more emotions behind it and of course it will be more powerful.
Maggid shiur and Rebbe at Yeshiva Ateres Shimon in Far Rockaway. He leads the Daf Yomi chaburah at Eitz Chayim of Dogwood Park in West Hempstead, and writes “Delving into the Daf” each week for The Jewish Home.
