Several months ago, I came across an interesting biography of Maimonides (Rambam). It is entitled Maimonides: His Life and World, and the author’s name is Joel Kraemer.

I learned many facts about Rambam’s life, relationships, travels, political involvements, and far-reaching leadership activities.

I credit the author for giving me an appreciation of Rambam’s struggle to surmount extreme challenges in a wide variety of circumstances.

But somehow, my own assessment of Rambam’s greatness is based upon another aspect of his career.

I refer to the superb quality of his written works. His authoritativeness is astounding, his decisiveness is convincing, and his clarity is exemplary.

What is most fascinating to me is that despite all these talents, many Talmud scholars, especially in Yeshiva circles, find passages in his works that seem to contradict each other. Much ink has been spilled in efforts to reconcile these contradictions.

It is one of those alleged contradictions that I propose to address in the next several paragraphs.

I must begin with a passage in this week’s Torah portion, Naso (Numbers 6:1-21). The gist of these verses reads as follows: “… When a man or woman takes a special vow, the vow of a nazir, to separate him or herself to the Lord, he must separate from wine and strong drink… nor may he drink any juice made with grapes, nor eat fresh grapes or raisins. No razor shall touch his head… He must let the locks of his hair grow long. He must not come near a dead body, even for his father or mother or brother or sister… He is holy to the Lord.”

This is the role of a nazir, an individual who is moved to commit himself to these excessive restrictions. The Talmud records differences of opinion as to whether such a commitment is noble and praiseworthy, or uncalled for and even sinful.

Rambam unequivocally, and vehemently, sides with the latter view. He writes: “Lest one think that since envy, lust, pride and similar faults are all paths to evil, and drive one out of this world, I will remove myself to the opposite extreme to the extent that I will neither eat meat nor drink wine, I will remain celibate, I will not dwell in a luxurious abode, I will not wear fine clothing but rather sackcloth and coarse wool, and similar abstentions, as is the custom of Christian clergy; let him know that this ascetism is itself the path to evil and is prohibited. One who goes astray in this manner is called a sinner!” (Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Deot 3:1).

There are those who find a source in Rambam’s works that seem to contradict the above forceful statement. They point to this passage: “A person who takes vows to improve himself and control his bad habits is correct and praiseworthy. For example, if he tends toward gluttony and vows to avoid meat for a year or two, or one who drinks excessively and commits himself to stay away from wine for a while, or refrain from inebriating beverages forever… this kind of self-discipline is akin to divine worship and is commendable…” Maimonides. Mishneh Torah, Vows 13:23).

I ask you, dear reader, whether you believe that these two lucid and powerful selections are contradictory to each other. Personally, I think not! The motivations of the two individuals described by Rambam are very different from each other. The subject of the former passage is motivated by a search for a spiritual experience. Rambam advises him that ascetism and self-torture are not the way to divine worship and certainly do not bring one closer to the Almighty.

On the other hand, the subjects of the second passage are a man or woman who are struggling trying to heal themselves physically and mentally. They are trying to overcome an addiction, an unhealthy habit. Such a vow, if necessary to achieve self-betterment, is a sign of health and deserves our admiration.

I would like to conclude with a poem by Yosef Tzvi Rimon, the grandfather of a very prominent contemporary rabbi and esteemed colleague of mine who bears his grandfather’s name. I am indebted to a memorable leader of the Religious Zionist movement and author of A Lille Bit of Light (Me’at Min Ha’Or), the late Hanan Porat, for highlighting this poem in his essay on this week’s Torah reading.

The poem reads, in the Hebrew original:

פאר ראשי, ואמר לאלוהי:

לא אבוא עוד בהרים,

לא אעלה על שיאיהם

בקש הדך שמה.

מערות-סתרים לא אחקר

בקש את פעמיך,

כי שפכת הוד גם על שדות קרובים,

על כל עץ פורח.

אין הוד בלי הודך.

עד מה אשכן בהרים,

אגור בציה-

ואתה חמדת כל שביל,

ועל כל שביל אתה!…

In my admittedly inadequate translation, the poem reads:

I will shear the long hair of my crown,

So beautiful upon my head.

I will say instead

to my God:

I will no longer wander among mountains,

Nor climb up to their peaks

To seek Your echoes there.

I will not search hidden caves

To seek Your footsteps,

For You have poured Your glory upon nearby fields,

Upon every blossoming tree.

There is no glory without Your glory.

Until when must I dwell in the hills,

Or reside in the wilderness—

For You cherish all paths equally,

And upon all paths are You to be found.