Being an academic means you have achieved something. There’s no doubt that by becoming a proper professor, you have spent years of your life living as a student in the throes of higher education, that you have written and presented countless papers, and that you have worked a great deal to accomplish your intellectual goals. And there is certainly truth to the idea that not everyone can achieve these feats, that not every person has the will nor the desire to become a great leading thinker one day. In short, the accomplishments of academics are many, and credit should be given where it is due. However, I should like to think that the caricature we have of the pompous academic, with only his (or her) proud belly preceding his equally protrusive ego, is but a whim, that our professors do not behave this way. Yet I am occasionally at a loss when I hear certain professors speak arrogantly. I had the odd experience of even hearing a professor (a rabbi, no less) send his former class (myself a former student in said class) a biography of the professor himself, primarily focusing on his vast academic achievements. Ultimately, I don’t believe that even the greatest person should feel entitled to be self-centered; therefore, it is most discouraging to hear Jewish professors in particular speaking in an egotistical fashion.

The first time we see the word “ענוה”, humility, in Tanach is in צפניה 2:3: “בקשו צדק בקשו ענוה אולי תסתרו ביום אף ה’”—“Seek justice, seek humility! Maybe you will be hidden on the day of God’s wrath!” Interestingly enough, one should note the fascinating ambiguity in the text. Is the verse saying that if we are just and humble, we will be rewarded with hiddenness on the day when we might have otherwise been destroyed? Or, does the פסוק mean that due to our justice and humility, we will have created a “hidden” space for ourselves, thereby creating our own refuge on a day of judgment? It is interesting food for thought, and perhaps the answer is both, that humility is an effort rewarded both externally by the Divine as well as internally by our own subsequent wellbeing. Either way, צפניה’s words cannot be overlooked; the need for humility is tantamount to that of justice, and the reward is vast.

Another appearance of “ענוה” is in משלי 18:12: “לפני שבר יגבה לב איש ולפני כבוד ענוה”—“Before brokenness/destruction, the heart of man grows (swells in pride) and before honor, there is humility.” Again, for brief literary analysis, it is interesting that the first half of the verse discusses a physical action on the part of man’s heart, namely it’s growing with pride; yet in the verse’s second half, the result of being before honor is humility- not man’s shrinking or man’s stealing away as a hermit, but simply humility itself, a static place of contentment and moderation. The nuance in this text is that, while צפניה comes to teach us the ultimate reward for our humility, the writer of משלי comes to teach us the experience of humility, the human condition in a state of being humble. There is no expansion of the “heart,” no sense of pride or ability to conquer and win in the face of brokenness, when it is so easy to think you can rule over the nothingness that surrounds you. Yet the stillness that accompanies the presence of greatness, the inner contentment by acknowledging your limitations, is to be sought.

These are just two examples of ענוה’s appearance in Jewish literature, but they are pretty unequivocal. We are left as students often wondering why certain professors choose to be so arrogant. Don’t we believe, and hasn’t it been proven true, that the more you learn, the more you realize you don’t know? Even the smartest professor or the greatest leader must acknowledge their many limitations; as humans, we are limited by definition. I would hope that professors would realize that the best kinds of teachers are those who can simultaneously be students, the teachers who listen to their students to learn from them, not only to respond with simple pat answers. It is true that, as stated earlier, professors have worked very hard to reach their pedestal; however, many people work equally as hard to achieve all sorts of goals in life, professional and otherwise, without coming across as egomaniacal.