Timeless Torah

The land east of the Jordan was ideally suited for pasture. Since the tribes of Reuven and Gad possessed vast herds, they approached Moses for permission to settle there rather than cross into Israel. Initially furious, Moses asked, “Shall your fellow countrymen go to war while you sit here?”
No, they answered. They had no wish to exempt themselves from battle. Indeed they promised to lead the charge and, “Not return home until every Israelite had received his inheritance.” So a public pledge to this effect was sworn to and Moses agreed that, “When the land is conquered...you shall be neki’im-vindicated before G-d and Israel.”
This rule of “veheyisem neki’im,” means it’s not enough to do what is right in the eyes of G-d. One must also be innocent before man. How did this ethic translate into Jewish law? When appropriations were made from the Temple treasury, the person entering the chamber did not wear any clothes, shoes, or even an amulet in which coins could be hidden. If he subsequently became poor or rich, people would then not be able to say it was because he misappropriated Temple funds. Not only must there be no wrongdoing; there must be no suspicion of wrongdoing. (Shekalim, Mishnah)
Similarly, two families famous for their role in Temple life went to great lengths to alleviate any doubt that they had abused their rank. The Garmu family, expert in preparing the showbread, “Were held in high esteem because fine bread was never found in their children’s homes.” Likewise the Avtinas family, skilled in making the incense made sure that, “Never did a woman of their family go forth perfumed.” These precautions were enacted in case people should say, “They make use of Temple bread or incense for themselves.”
These concerns became the basis of two halachic principles. The first, known as chashad-suspicion, forbade certain acts, permissible in themselves, on the grounds that they might lead to distrust. Thus the Rabbis ruled that if a house had doors on two different streets, Chanukah candles should be lit at both, so that a passer-by seeing only one side, should not think the household had not fulfiled the mitzvah.
A related principle, maris ayin-appearance, banned milk-like substitutes (before they became common), to be used at a fleishig (meat) meal, on the grounds that people might think that milk itself could be used. Allowing such permitted actions lent themselves to misinterpretation.
These two rules, though they seem similar, are opposites. Chashad represents the possibility that people might think you have done something forbidden and think badly of you. Maris ayin is when others know that you are not the sort of person to do something ‘un-kosher’, thus they draw mistaken conclusions that something illegal is acceptable.
This concern over appearances seems strange. Surely what matters is what G-d knows, not what people think. What is more, it is forbidden to think ill of others and, “One who does suspect the innocent is punished.” Why then, if the onus is on the observer to, “judge a person in the scale of merits,” should we, the observed, be charged with the duty of acting above suspicion? Obviously, we are not allowed to rely on the charitable opinion of others.
Indeed, Rashi makes this exact point: If Moses left his tent early; people said he had had a row with his wife. If he left late, they said he was devising evil plots. Even Moses, completely devoted to the people, was plagued by doubting cynics. Indeed, throughout his lifetime he was troubled by the challenge, “You shall be innocent in the eyes of G-d and Israel,” recognizing that it was far easier to fulfill the first half of the command than the second.
Yet there is a profound idea embedded in the concept of, “You shall be innocent.” The Talmudic sage Rava was scathing of those who stood in the presence of a Torah scroll but not in the presence of a Torah sage. To be a Jew is to be summoned to become a living Torah. People learn how to behave not only from books, but from others. For that reason, Rabbi Akiva used to follow Rabbi Yehoshua to see how he conducted himself in private, saying ‘This too is part of Torah, and I need to learn.’ These twin principles mean that we should see ourselves as role-models (and be above chashad-suspicion), and that our conduct should be unambiguous (not open to maris ayin-misinterpretation).
This applies to all, not just Rabbis. We are not allowed to say, “I have done nothing wrong. To the contrary, the other fellow, by harboring doubts, is the sinner.” To be sure, he is. But that does not relieve us of our responsibility.
This brings us back to where we began. Reuven and Gad requested the land east of the Jordan. Moses granted their request on condition. Years later, after keeping their end of the bargain, they were ready to return to their families. Ironically, suspicion was again aroused, this time for a different reason; they had built an altar in their territory. The other tribes thought that they were constructing their own place of worship. Their mistrust was unfounded. The altar was not a break-away, but a replica that testified they too were Israelites: a safeguard against the possibility that one day, generations later, the tribes living in Israel proper might declare those who lived on the other side, to be foreigners.
Suspicion is intensely destructive. Judaism confronted the problem from both directions. One the one hand it commanded us not to harbor suspicions, but to give others the benefit of the doubt. It also bade each of us to refrain from that which merely ‘appears’ unseemly.
Being innocent before G-d is one thing; being innocent before our neighbor is another, and far more difficult. Yet that is the challenge; not because we seek their approval (that is pandering), but because we are each expected to be a living Torah.