Menschlichkeit is one of those meaningful Yiddish words that have no English equivalent. It’s a pity, because it embodies a concept born of a thousand years of eastern European Jewish experience.
The closest definition would be “an honourable person of good character who behaves with common decency.” Cicero’s term “humanitas” was translated as menschlichkeit in German and expanded in Yiddish to encompass values first promoted in the Torah and the Hebrew prophets. Rabbi Neil Kurshan characterizes it as “responsibility fused with compassion, a sense that one’s own personal needs and desires are limited by the needs and desires of other people. A mensch acts with self-restraint and humility, always sensitive to the feelings and thoughts of others.”
To best understand the profound concept expressed in the word, we must turn to our sources. In “Ethics of the Fathers,” Rabbi Hillel said: “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” As the Jewish Chronicle suggested, “for man, read mensch,” meaning that when no one is behaving with integrity, we must step up and do the right thing.
In the Talmud (Taanit 22a), the prophet Elijah and Rabbi Beroka are in the marketplace when Elijah points and says: “Those two have a place in the world to come.” Rabbi Beroka approaches the two and discovers that they are jesters (clowns). They tell him that they “cheer up the depressed” and when they see people quarreling, they strive to make peace. A jester would not usually be perceived as the typical mensch, but the point of the story about Elijah and the jesters is to demonstrate that anyone can be a mensch if he or she makes the world a better place.
The examples of Hillel and Elijah demonstrate the values embodied in the mensch and strongly endorse them to the point of the greatest reward, eternal life, suggesting that these values are as much spiritual as practical.
The examples of Hillel and Elijah demonstrate the values embodied in the mensch and strongly endorse them to the point of the greatest reward, eternal life, suggesting that these values are as much spiritual as practical.
The Hebrew prophets consistently condemned hypocrisy in the form of punctilious religious ritual — offering sacrifices in the Temple — and egregious behaviour in society. Like the Talmudic rabbis, who lived many years later, they emphasised the great importance of what Yiddish calls menschlichkeit. Micah’s declaration (6:6-8) is perhaps one of the best known: “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God”; Amos (5:15) taught that one should “hate evil, love good and establish justice in the gate”; Zechariah (7:9-10) preached that we must “execute true justice, deal loyally and compassionately with one another.”
The implication of the prophets’ injunctions is that, when one is compassionate, just, loyal, kind and decent, one is doing God’s bidding in the world. It’s as if the prophets and the rabbis of the Talmud were saying, millennia before Yiddish existed, “Zey a mensch,” “Be a mensch!” I once saw a poster that captured the essence of what the rabbis and prophets were expressing: frumkeit (observance) without menschlichkeit is not Yiddishkeit (what it means to be Jewish).
This consistent focus on human values explains Hillel’s famous response to someone who taunts him, asking him to explain the Torah while standing on one foot. Hillel said: “What is hateful to you, do not do to others. All the rest is commentary. Now, go and study.” Hillel makes Jewish ritual observance conditional on how we are to treat one another, how we behave in society. He does not dismiss observance or Jewish law. Indeed, his last words are “go and study.” But it is clear that one’s character and behaviour must precede, or at least co-exist, with any relationship with the Divine. The Torah is a covenant between us and God but it is also one between me and you. Hillel was said (Eruvin 13b) to have practiced what he preached: He taught his students his rival’s views before his own.
There are six Nobel Prizes awarded for everything from physics to literature. Why not one for what is most important in this broken world?
If there had been a Nobel Prize then, Hillel would have won it. That’s what we need today, a Nobel Prize for menschlichkeit. There are six Nobel Prizes awarded for everything from physics to literature. Why not one for what is most important in this broken world, menschlichkeit?
This ancient teaching is relevant in modern times. In a speech at Columbia University in 1946, immediately after World War Two, the French writer Albert Camus warned his audience: “Inside every nation, and the world at large, mistrust, resentment, greed and the race for power are manufacturing a dark, desperate universe in which each man is condemned to live.” It was a frightful and ominous view, justified by what the world had just experienced.
Our sages, millennia ago, forcefully and repeatedly stressed menschlichkeit. They understood something fundamental and crucial for a functioning society: Torah values are not merely aspirational, ideals to keep in mind or ignore at will. They are essential. The alternative is moral extinction.
We can do better. How about that Nobel Prize for menschlichkeit?
Dr. Paul Socken is Distinguished Professor Emeritus and founder of the Jewish Studies program at the University of Waterloo.
