Adding Benches to the Study Hall

It was taught: On that day [that they removed Rabban Gamliel from his position and appointed Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya in his place, there was also a fundamental change in the general approach of the study hall] as they dismissed the guard at the door and permission was granted to the students to enter. [Instead of Rabban Gamliel’s selective approach that asserted that the students must be screened before accepting them into the study hall, the new approach asserted that anyone who seeks to study should be given opportunity to do so.] As Rabban Gamliel would proclaim and say: Any student whose inside, his thoughts and feelings, are not like his outside, i.e., his conduct and his character traits are lacking, will not enter the study hall. The Gemara relates: On that day several benches were added to the study hall to accommodate the numerous students. Rabbi Yoĥanan said: Abba Yosef ben Dostai and the Rabbis disputed this matter. One said: Four hundred benches were added to the study hall. And one said: Seven hundred benches were added to the study hall. (Babylonian Talmud, Berachot 28a, translation from Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, Koren Talmud Bavli)

On the face of it, Rabban Gamliel’s criteria for entering the beit midrash (study hall) might seem like a  justified, and even wise standard of admissions.  The beit midrash seeks out students who have integrity, are honest, and without pretenses of being something they are not.  That personality combined with the serious study of Jewish texts might indeed lead to a character development that successfully integrates the values gleaned from the texts themselves. But who knows what is truly in another’s heart?  Who can predetermine how Torah study might shape an individual and contribute to his or her evolving personality and sense of self?  If Rabban Gamliel is representative of the high bar approach to learning, Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaria brings with him a diametrically opposed point of view.  He eliminates the bouncer, opens wide the gates, and allows everyone who desires to come and learn.

Accessibility, of course, is a relevant theme both in the world or Torah and Art.  For the Talmudic Rabbis, the question was who may enter the world of Jewish study?   Might it be wise to establish as prerequisites a certain background and a particular personality?  But the approach of Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaria, embodied in Hanan’s work is one that maintains that by opening up the world of study to everyone, far more will be gained than what might be lost.  Of course, there is a risk that, outside of a traditional environment of learning, these texts may not be treated with sufficient reverence.  Artists in particular raise the fears of religious authorities that boundaries will be transgressed. Ultimately however, the approach of Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaria demonstrates how both the individual and the system ultimately benefit from this openness.  Individuals are given the opportunity to expand their minds and their hearts, to acquire new forms of expression, to pursue wisdom, to enhance their lives, and to strengthen their connection to God and to one another.  At the same time, the classic texts pored over by a more diverse population allows those texts to speak in new ways.  More benches in the study hall means more commentary, more chidushim (insights), and ultimately an expansion and enhancement of Torah.  Artists like Hanan who are actively engaged in creating new commentaries on our people’s most ancient texts, demonstrate the continued relevance these texts have to our contemporary lives and the unlimited (and often untapped) creative potential that exists within them.

The dispute over the exact numbers of benches added (was it 400 or 700?) suggests that this beit midrash can accommodate an almost infinite number of seats.  Once it is opened up, there is a place for everyone.  Likewise, Hanan Hachol’s work reflects an opening of the beit midrash to all who wish to enter.  It does so in two ways.

First, Hanan’s own experience of having had a beit midrash open to him was the catalyst for this entire body of work.  Together with a group of filmmakers and video artists gathering once a month at the Skirball Center for Adult Jewish Learning to study the Haggadah together, Hanan entered into the language of Jewish thought and liturgy.  Like so many others before him, Hanan found there a language that spoke to his soul and could be expressed through his art.  He produced a powerfully understated animated film elucidating the deeper meaning behind maror, the bitter herb whose consumption is central to the Passover Seder.  That film, as would be the case for others he would later create in this genre, artfully combined humor and depth, lightness and darkness.  Presented as a dialogue between himself and his father, what revealed itself was an internal dialogue of the artist and perhaps of each of us.

Next, through his work, Hanan himself becomes a sort of Eleazar ben Azaria for others – inviting them to join him in his unfolding beit midrash of moving images and compelling dialogue. His animated films have the effect of removing the guard at the door and granting permission for all to enter into deep and rich conversations on topics such as love and fear, forgiveness and faith, envy and gratitude.

The appointment of Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaria also represented a more general openness toward dissent and an embrace of the exchange of ideas.  Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaria are emblematic of two distinct modes of conversation.  For Rabban Gamliel in this passage, the job of leadership to squash dissent.  Earlier in the story, the unkind response of Rabban Gamliel toward Rabbi Joshua, with whom he disagrees, serves as the catalyst for Rabban Gamliel’s push from power. For Eleazar ben Azaria, the demand of the people that alternative views be respected and listened to is what created the moment that allowed for his ascendency to power.

While Rabban Gamliel’s criteria for admission was inappropriately exclusive — that one’s inside needed to match their outside – it nonetheless does seem to be an apt description of the artist whose work we celebrate in this catalogue, Hanan Harchol.  The external effect of his visual work and its accompanying writing is reflective of internal values that ground his character and his work.  Hanan’s passion for his art, his sensitivity to the human condition, his openness to being moved and transformed by Jewish teachings, and his search for wisdom and insight comes from the deepest core of his being.  I feel truly privileged to have had an opportunity to work together, and for the beit midrash experience we shared to have launched him on this path.

The origin of this project of Hanan’s is the Haggadah, as mentioned above.  Perhaps the most well-known mention of Rabbi Eleazar ben Azaria is from the Mishnah (Berachot 1:5), recalling the young age at which he assumed his position.  It is cited, in part, in the Haggadah’s narrative section where Eleazar ben Azaria stated, “I am like a man of seventy…”