Four to a Cubit

Sunday, 7 Cheshvan 5787
From "MiShulchan Shlomo" · Issue 300 · Parshat Noach

Yaniv ZadokFrom the heart, for learning and for action

Inspired by the holy writings "MiShulchan Shlomo" (Issue 300, Parshat Noach) by our master and teacher the Yanuka, the Gaon Rabbi Shlomo Yehuda shlit"a, a hidden mystery of our generation.

Friday at midday, and suddenly it turns out three more people are coming. The table is already full, the chairs have run out, and someone brings the stool in from the balcony. Elbows touch, the plates are crowded together, and the salad passes from hand to hand over everyone's heads.

Or an office built for eight, with twelve people working in it. Or a class of thirty-five children, where each one is looking for someone to see them.

And in crowded places like these, a quiet question comes up, one most of us know from the inside: is there room here for me too?

📏 Four to every cubit

In the Talmud, in Tractate Eruvin, Rabbi Yochanan remembers the days when he studied with Rabbi Oshaya: "When we were studying Torah with Rabbi Oshaya, we would sit four, four to a cubit." A cubit is about half a meter. In other words: four students on half a meter of bench. Shoulder to shoulder, almost on top of each other.

And right after that, the Talmud brings similar words in the name of Rabbi, about his own teacher: there they sat six to a cubit. And Rashi explains there what created such crowding: "for we would draw close to hear from his mouth, and press against one another."

The crowding did not come from a lack of space. It came from desire. Each one wanted to be a little closer, to hear one more word.

And on that same page, Rabbi Yochanan tells something else. Rabbi Oshaya had twelve students, and Rabbi Yochanan sat among them for eighteen days, and he says: "I learned the heart of each and every one, and the wisdom of each and every one."

To me, this is the most beautiful detail. A crowded bench, students pressed together, and still not one of them was swallowed up by the crowd. The crowding did not erase the person. It brought them closer.

🪑 Crowded does not mean there is no room

There are two kinds of crowding. There is the kind where everyone guards their elbows, counts how much space the neighbor took, and feels that one more person will come at their expense. And there is the crowding of people who came together because they wanted to be close.

The centimeters on the bench are the same in both. What changes is the heart of the one sitting on it.

And this is true of everyday crowding, too. A small apartment, three children in one room, a line for the shower in the morning. You can see only the squeeze in it. And you can also see in it what Rabbi Yochanan saw: people sitting close, because they belong to each other.

This, it seems to me, is how Rabbi Yochanan can be understood. He is not complaining about the crowding; he tells of it with longing. Room is not just centimeters. It is the feeling that someone is glad I am here.

🍽️ The stool from the balcony

Let's go back to the Friday table. Whoever sits on the stool, in the corner, next to the kitchen door, knows exactly where they are sitting. Even if no one meant it that way.

And sometimes one small thing is enough to turn the corner into a place: someone who moves their chair over a little and says, "Come, sit here, there's room."

It doesn't take a bigger table. It takes attention. Seeing who arrived last, who doesn't know anyone, and who is still holding their plate in their hand, looking for somewhere to put it down.

🏢 In the team meeting too

I work a great deal with management teams and with staff, and there the crowding is not always physical. Sometimes everyone sits in a spacious room, and still someone feels there is no room for them. The new employee, the one who came from another department, the one whose voice is quieter.

A manager who knows "the heart of each and every one" knows who thinks fast and who thinks deep, who needs what, and who needs to be addressed by name. They don't add room in the room. They add room in the conversation.

And sometimes it is very simple: open a meeting with a short round, where everyone says one sentence. Two minutes, and everyone in the room has already been heard once. And whoever has spoken once finds it easier to speak a second time.

🏫 And in the classroom

Parents know this too. A child comes home and says: "Nobody wanted to sit next to me." Thirty-five children in the class, and it seems to him there is no room for him.

You can tell him about Rabbi Oshaya's students. Four on half a meter of bench, and every one of them was seen.

And you can also gently ask him: is there someone else in the class who might feel like you? Sometimes the shortest way to find a place is to make room for someone else.

🙋 When I am the one looking for room

And sometimes we are not the ones moving the chair, but the ones standing with a plate in hand. Arriving at a new community, a new job, the table of a family that doesn't yet quite feel like ours.

There is something to learn from Rabbi Oshaya's bench for this, too. The students there did not wait for someone to clear a roomy spot for them. They drew close, because they wanted to hear. Sometimes the room opens up precisely when we draw a little closer: ask a question, offer to help clear the table, sit down next to someone and introduce ourselves.

And whoever remembers how it feels to stand off to the side knows, afterward, how to spot very quickly the one who is standing there now.

🌿 One more on the bench

We are used to thinking of room as a limited resource. One more inside, less for everyone else. But on Rabbi Oshaya's bench it worked the other way around. Everyone who joined brought with them another heart and more wisdom, and Rabbi Yochanan learned from all of them.

The bench did not grow. What grew was the heart of those sitting on it.

At a table with an open heart, there is always room for one more.

So my question this week: who is near you, still waiting for someone to tell them "there's room"?

Have a good and blessed day 🌹