Between Passover and Shavuot, as nature awakens to life, Jewish history reminds us of the terrible silence that fell upon the study halls of Rabbi Akiva. Twenty-four thousand students—the future bearers of Torah tradition—vanished in a short period of time. The chilling reason handed down to us was not a biological plague or an external enemy, but a deep spiritual failure: “because they did not treat one another with respect” (Yevamot 62b).
The Elder of Slabodka teaches us a radical insight into the human soul: dignity is not a social luxury; it is life-force itself. “If one were to take all dignity from a person—they would die.” A person who does not feel “seen” loses the inner will to exist. Rabbi Akiva’s students did not merely fail in manners; they “killed” one another through their indifference, and in the end paid for it with their own lives.
A moving glimpse of this mechanism of life and death appears in the following story:”Rav Kahana said to the Sages: Didn’t the incident involving one of the students of Rabbi Akiva who became sick transpire in that manner? In that case, the Sages did not enter to visit him, and Rabbi Akiva entered to visit him and instructed his students to care for him. And since they swept and sprinkled water on the dirt floor before the sick student, he recovered. The student said to Rabbi Akiva: My teacher, you revived me. Rabbi Akiva went out and taught: With regard to anyone who does not visit the ill, it is as though he is spilling blood, as it could be that the sick person has no one to care for him. If there are no visitors, no one will know his situation and therefore no one will come to his aid”. (Nedarim, 40a).
While his colleagues were immersed in intricate Torah debates, the student lay forgotten, alone in his bed. Loneliness within a community of learners is the harshest form of exclusion.
Only when Rabbi Akiva himself entered—“ swept and sprinkled water on the dirt floor ,” a simple act of care and cleaning that restored the student’s lost hope—did the sick man rise and declare: “My teacher, you have revived me!” Rabbi Akiva did not bring a miracle cure; he brought care. He honored not only the floor but the student himself. His authority repaired the social exclusion created by his students.
Nachmanides (Ramban) summarizes: “From here we learn that visiting the sick is in order to honor them, to tend to their needs, to provide what is necessary for their illness, that they may find comfort among their companions, and also to direct one’s mind to compassion and pray on their behalf.”
“Comfort” (nachat ruach) echoes the prayer of those in the study hall: “May it be Your will… that I not err in a matter of halakhah and that my colleagues rejoice in me” (Mishnah, Berakhot 4:2). The central fear in the study hall is shame and lack of respect from one’s peers. When one’s entire world is the study hall, the absence of comfort creates existential exclusion.
In these days, as Israeli society grapples with the wounds of October 7th, these ideas take on renewed urgency. The trauma and post-trauma experienced by civilians and soldiers are injuries to both the soul and to dignity. The sense of abandonment by state institutions in moments of crisis is the “death” that Rabbi Akiva sought to prevent. In the broader society, the sovereign state is the “Rabbi Akiva” of our time. A strong and equitable healthcare system is the practical expression of human dignity within the democratic covenant.
Parashat Behar and the Shabbat for Social Justice, of the Forum for Judaism and Social Justice are dedicated this year to health and mental health. In the portion we read: “If your kin, being in straits, come under your authority, and are held by you as though resident aliens, let them live by your side:” (Leviticus 25:35). The Midrash explains: “‘Happy is the one who considers the poor; in a day of trouble the Lord will deliver him’ (Psalms 41:2)… Rav Huna said: this refers to one who visits the sick” (Vayikra Rabbah 34:1).
We must uphold the sick and those wounded in spirit so that they may live among us, both physically and emotionally, through embrace and inclusion. The way to sustain every isolated or disconnected patient, including the stranger and the resident, is to ensure a strong healthcare system. Long waiting times for appointments are harmful. Services available only at great distance harm.
No person is second-class. Alongside the blessed work of civil society organizations, there is a need to strengthen the state itself so that it provides equal and worthy support to all; not from a place of charity, but from a place of deep human recognition and acceptance of human dignity simply by virtue of being human.
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Rabbi Kobi Weiss is the organizational rabbi of Rabbis for Human Rights and leads its weekly Beit Midrash.
The Elder of Slabodka teaches us a radical insight into the human soul: dignity is not a social luxury; it is life-force itself. “If one were to take all dignity from a person—they would die.” A person who does not feel “seen” loses the inner will to exist. Rabbi Akiva’s students did not merely fail in manners; they “killed” one another through their indifference, and in the end paid for it with their own lives.
A moving glimpse of this mechanism of life and death appears in the following story:”Rav Kahana said to the Sages: Didn’t the incident involving one of the students of Rabbi Akiva who became sick transpire in that manner? In that case, the Sages did not enter to visit him, and Rabbi Akiva entered to visit him and instructed his students to care for him. And since they swept and sprinkled water on the dirt floor before the sick student, he recovered. The student said to Rabbi Akiva: My teacher, you revived me. Rabbi Akiva went out and taught: With regard to anyone who does not visit the ill, it is as though he is spilling blood, as it could be that the sick person has no one to care for him. If there are no visitors, no one will know his situation and therefore no one will come to his aid”. (Nedarim, 40a).
While his colleagues were immersed in intricate Torah debates, the student lay forgotten, alone in his bed. Loneliness within a community of learners is the harshest form of exclusion.
Only when Rabbi Akiva himself entered—“ swept and sprinkled water on the dirt floor ,” a simple act of care and cleaning that restored the student’s lost hope—did the sick man rise and declare: “My teacher, you have revived me!” Rabbi Akiva did not bring a miracle cure; he brought care. He honored not only the floor but the student himself. His authority repaired the social exclusion created by his students.
Nachmanides (Ramban) summarizes: “From here we learn that visiting the sick is in order to honor them, to tend to their needs, to provide what is necessary for their illness, that they may find comfort among their companions, and also to direct one’s mind to compassion and pray on their behalf.”
“Comfort” (nachat ruach) echoes the prayer of those in the study hall: “May it be Your will… that I not err in a matter of halakhah and that my colleagues rejoice in me” (Mishnah, Berakhot 4:2). The central fear in the study hall is shame and lack of respect from one’s peers. When one’s entire world is the study hall, the absence of comfort creates existential exclusion.
In these days, as Israeli society grapples with the wounds of October 7th, these ideas take on renewed urgency. The trauma and post-trauma experienced by civilians and soldiers are injuries to both the soul and to dignity. The sense of abandonment by state institutions in moments of crisis is the “death” that Rabbi Akiva sought to prevent. In the broader society, the sovereign state is the “Rabbi Akiva” of our time. A strong and equitable healthcare system is the practical expression of human dignity within the democratic covenant.
Parashat Behar and the Shabbat for Social Justice, of the Forum for Judaism and Social Justice are dedicated this year to health and mental health. In the portion we read: “If your kin, being in straits, come under your authority, and are held by you as though resident aliens, let them live by your side:” (Leviticus 25:35). The Midrash explains: “‘Happy is the one who considers the poor; in a day of trouble the Lord will deliver him’ (Psalms 41:2)… Rav Huna said: this refers to one who visits the sick” (Vayikra Rabbah 34:1).
We must uphold the sick and those wounded in spirit so that they may live among us, both physically and emotionally, through embrace and inclusion. The way to sustain every isolated or disconnected patient, including the stranger and the resident, is to ensure a strong healthcare system. Long waiting times for appointments are harmful. Services available only at great distance harm.
No person is second-class. Alongside the blessed work of civil society organizations, there is a need to strengthen the state itself so that it provides equal and worthy support to all; not from a place of charity, but from a place of deep human recognition and acceptance of human dignity simply by virtue of being human.
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Rabbi Kobi Weiss is the organizational rabbi of Rabbis for Human Rights and leads its weekly Beit Midrash.