The Ideal of Simplicity in Rabbi Nachman of Breslov: The Origins and Meaning of “The Clever Man and the Simple Man”

Abstract

This article reexamines one of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov’s central tales, “The Clever Man and the Simple Man,” through three intertwined foundations that shaped its composition: the Hasidic valorization of the sincere simple person, the story of the Sockmaker in Shivhei ha-Besht, and the myth of Enoch the Shoemaker who became the angel Metatron. While previous scholarship has interpreted the tale primarily as an internal spiritual struggle between intellect and faith, this study argues that the deeper architecture of the story is rooted in these narrative and mythic traditions, which Rabbi Nachman reshapes in order to formulate a new ideal of simplicity. The article demonstrates that the Simple Man—far from the naïve or ignorant figure of folkloric tradition—embodies conscious simplicity, characterized by integrity, inner contentment, and an unmediated orientation toward reality. The analysis further shows how Rabbi Nachman develops the Hasidic tradition that transforms the Enoch myth from a model of mystical theurgy into a paradigm of sanctifying ordinary life through wholehearted presence and trust. In its final section, the article situates the tale within Rabbi Nachman’s broader struggle against the emerging modern spirit. It argues that the story offers a unique understanding of the dangers inherent in Enlightenment and modernity: the root of heresy lies not in intellectual inquiry or philosophical doubt, but in a modern way of life defined by restlessness, dissatisfaction, and a destabilized existential orientation. From this perspective, Rabbi Nachman presents the figure of the Simple Man as the path by which a person “walks with God,” and as a profound response to the spiritual challenges posed by modernity and secularization.

1. Introduction

At the end of winter 1809, Rabbi Nachman told the tale of “The Clever Man and the Simple Man” (Mark 2014, pp. 275–84). This tale is one of the thirteen stories that his student, Rabbi Nathan Sternhartz, included in the book, Sippurei Ma’asiyot [Tales of Rabbi Nachman], transcribed and published after Rabbi Nachman’s death (Mark 2014, p. 64). Joseph Weiss (Weiss 1958, p. 365), and following him Dan (Dan 1975, p. 172), view the story as depicting the struggle “between pure faith and intellectual religion” (Dan 1975, pp. 172–73), and they note that essentially this is a struggle within Rabbi Nachman’s own soul, who, despite his yearning for simplicity, often found himself in the position of the Clever Man (Piekarz 1995, p. 22). Similarly, Mendel Piekarz sees the story as dealing with the struggle between simple faith and inquisitiveness and skepticism (Band and Dan 1978, p. 310). Band adds that Rabbi Nachman’s criticism in this story is directed toward the figure of the intellectual and, more generally, toward the secular, sophisticated wisdom of urban life (Band and Dan 1978, p. 310).

In the same vein, Green (2022) writes that the experience of the absence of God, or the inability of man to experience Him, is a central experience in the believer’s life, and these doubts concerning faith and skepticism are the main subject of the story, which comes to emphasize the idea of simplicity and its reward (Band and Dan 1978, p. 243). Green, like Weiss and Dan, believes that “the Clever Man, the Messenger, and the Simple Man who appear in this story are merely different sides of Rabbi Nachman’s own torn and tormented spirit” (Band and Dan 1978, p. 241). Mark points out that the contrast between the Clever Man and the Simple Man and the choice of simplicity is not as straightforward as it seems at first glance, since the Simple Man, in the end, also attains wisdom (Mark 2003, p. 110, n. 122). Ora Wiskind-Elper also sees the struggle between disbelief and faith, with their deep characteristics, as the center of the story (Wiskind-Elper 1998, pp. 35–36). The Clever Man’s wisdom leads him to nihilism, while the Simple Man’s way of life is identified by her with quietism. According to Wiskind-Elper, the only way to overcome the sense of meaninglessness that the Clever Man arrives at is the leap of faith, which requires adopting the existential lightness of the Simple Man (Wiskind-Elper 1998, p. 177). Malkiel (2005) deeply analyzes the existential-philosophical positions represented by the story’s heroes—the Clever Man represents the existential stance that negates any positive statement about reality and places the negating ‘nothingness’ at its center. This stance leads to an inability to surrender to reality and establishes an attitude of alienation toward it. The Simple Man, by contrast, represents a life centered on trust in reality as it is revealed to man, and the willingness to respond to it and be with it in a ‘face-to-face’ relationship.

Marianne Schleicher (2007, pp. 316–55) believes that the central question of the story is: What is the right way for the continuity of Jewish tradition? While the Simple Man represents the way of innocent faith, the Clever Man represents the rational way in which doubt and relativity are central. The end of the story discusses how those who have fallen into the depths of enlightenment and heresy can be returned to the way of tradition. The path that Rabbi Nachman sets for his followers in the story, according to Schleicher, being the way of simple faith, will help the tsaddik (a righteous person, represented by the Ba’al Shem in the story) to lift up those who have fallen.

Regarding the sources of the story and its methods of composition, Piekarz believes that, unlike tales saturated with symbols from the worlds of Kabbalah and Hasidism and dealing with the theme of exile and redemption, this is a story about wisdom versus simplicity and its moral is apparent (Piekarz 1995, p. 81). Similarly, according to Mark, it is hard to see this story as mythological in nature (Mark 2014, pp. 66, 69).

Band points to the story’s connection to the popular theme in folk literature of wisdom and folly as a prototypical pair of opposites (Band and Dan 1978, pp. 141, 309; Malkiel 2005, pp. 102–3). Such stories from the corpus of folk tales known to Rabbi Nachman, according to Band, influenced the shaping of the story. Wiskind-Elper finds in the story the Lurianic paradigm1 of the shattering of the vessels and the sparks of holiness revealed within a world of downfall and brokenness. She states that this theme characterizes all Rabbi Nachman’s Tales from Ancient Times (Wiskind-Elper 1998, pp. 47–48, 142). According to Roskies, the figure of the Simple Man extends even to the figures of the Simple Man in tradition—Jacob, described as “a simple man dwelling in tents;” Job, described as “simple and upright, fearing God and shunning evil” (Roskies 2002, pp. 86–87); and the simple one among the Four Sons in the Passover Haggadah.

This article will attempt, in its first part, to trace the origins of the story. Its second part will point out the significant connections between the figure of the Simple Man and the myth of Enoch, who became the archangel Metatron, thereby indicating the presence of the mythic aspect in the story as a significant and fundamental factor in its shaping, hidden beneath its prosaic character. The third part of the article will address the unique meaning of simplicity as presented by Rabbi Nachman in the story through the figure of the Simple Man, and the story’s place within the campaign that Rabbi Nachman waged against ‘wisdom’ as a modern phenomenon.

2. The Origins of the Story

It seems the story extends three narrative and conceptual traditions that serve as its cornerstones on which Rabbi Nachman elaborates:

• The theme centering on the merit of the simple and honest person, which has a central place in Hasidism, both in its theoretical writings and tales.
• The Tale of the Sockmaker from Shivhei HaBa’al Shem Tov (“In Praise of the Ba’al Shem Tov”).
• The myth of Enoch, the Shoemaker.

Upon these three traditions, Rabbi Nachman adds a fourth and decisive leg in shaping the tale: his conception of simplicity as a choice of faith in the face of the dangers of wisdom. This position ultimately determined the way Rabbi Nachman adapted and repurposed early traditions for his own storytelling.

2.1. The Theme of the Simple Person in Hasidic Storytelling

The figure of the simple person and the emphasis on his virtues is a prevalent theme in Hasidic storytelling (Nigal 2002, pp. 235–42; Har-Shefi 2022, pp. 27–48; Mor Mallah 2024, pp. 29–114). Although most of the well-known stories dealing with the virtue of the simple person were published after Rabbi Nachman’s time, during what Dan called the ‘Lemberg period’ of Hasidic storytelling (Dan 1975, pp. 189–65), the exact date of their oral origins is unknown (Gries 1992; Har-Shefi 2021, pp. 166–71; Reiser and Mayse 2020, pp. 1–34);2 since the roots of this theme are already present at the beginning of the movement, it can be determined that, beyond the specific date of any given story’s emergence, they reflect a fundamental theme within it. This is not surprising in light of the deep connections between this theme and several of the main pillars of the movement’s worldview (Har-Shefi 2022, pp. 27–48), such as the immanent principle (“the whole earth is full of His glory”), the emphasis on devotion and prayer as substitutes for Torah study and, in connection with this, the general emphasis on the service of the heart—“The Merciful One desires the heart” (Hendler 2022, pp. 636–54).

We can already find early imprints of this theme in Hasidism in the first book in which Hasidic stories were printed—Keter Shem Tov (Nigal 2002, pp. 245–46), as well as in the first Hasidic storybook—Shivhei HaBa’al Shem Tov. In Shivhei HaBa’al Shem Tov. it is told, for example, of the Ba’al Shem Tov’s rebuke of a preacher for his admonitions against the simple people. The Ba’al Shem Tov claims that his admonitions arouse accusations and instead, paints for him the prayer of a simple person who was busy all day with matters of the market, “and does not even know what he is saying, and even so, the Seraphim and Ophanim were shaken by it” (Rubinstein 1991, pp. 235–36). The tradition opening the Testament of the Ba’al Shem Tov (Tsava’at HaRivash, Gries 1989, pp. 149–230; Gries 2015, p. 67) also emphasizes the value of simple and pure service:

Rabbi Yisrael Baal Shem, peace be upon him, taught us to be

To be wholehearted in the service of the Divine, a pure service and the main thing is not to forget the Commandments (of Sinai). And it is of prime importance to study each day a measure of Musar, whether a small or large section.

And to see that one is constantly cleaving to positive traits and upright action and never to leave any day bereft of doing mitzvot, be they minor or major. And refer to the teaching “be as careful (Zahir) with a minor commandment and with a major commandment.” The meaning of “careful” is as the verse, “the enlightened will shine.” This means, that one’s soul wil glow and shine from a minor mitzva as much as a major mitzva, because the Merciful One desires the heart.”

(Ba’al Shem Tov 2020, p. 9)

This passage emphasizes the simple person’s service and instructs every man to focus on it and not to aspire to great and lofty matters. If we pay attention, the opening and closing of the passage stress these elements as the main focus of a person’s work—the opening with the command “to be simple in his service of the Blessed One, a complete service,” and the conclusion with their justification: “for the Merciful One desires the heart.” The emphasis on simple service and the shifting of weight from study and esoteric, elitist service of God to pure service and a pure heart opens the way to seeing the virtue of the simple person, who, by these criteria, is certainly not inferior to those considered people of higher status and perhaps even has an advantage over them.

Another early tradition appearing in Keter Shem Tov tells of the simple prayer of an ‘ignoramus’ that is accepted above:

In the days of the Ba’al Shem Tov, a drought once occurred. He observed a man reciting the verse: “And He will shut up the heavens that there be no rain” (Deuteronomy 11:17), yet he did not rebuke him, for he perceived that the man’s prayer was accepted in the heavens. After the rain had arrived, people called the man and asked him: “What did you mean when you recited that verse, ‘And He will shut up the heavens that there be no rain’?” He replied: “The explanation of the verse is: ‘And He will shut up’—meaning, squeeze the heavens—’that there be no rain’ up above, because all the rain will descend down below.” (A supporting reference notes that the Aramaic translation [Targum] for ‘and I pressed’ in Genesis 40:11 uses a similar word).

(Aharon of Apta 2004, p. 234)

In this narrative, the prayer’s acceptance arises precisely from its character as the utterance of an unlearned individual—the very error that reveals ignorance simultaneously testifies to its authenticity and sincerity. This error thus functions as a mark of genuine devotion, signifying its departure from mechanical or rote Recitation.

This book also brings a homily that tries to explain, by way of a parable, the value of simplicity:

The simple person is like a field sown with seed that ‘drinks water from the rain of heaven’ (Deuteronomy 11:11) and ‘yields its produce’ (Zechariah 8:12). The learned scholar, by contrast, is like an irrigated field, which its owner waters, and its yield depends upon him. Just as an artist distinguished in painting attains mastery by depicting a field and its produce as they truly are according to the natural order that the Creator has set within it, so too the excellence of all artistry lies in its correspondence to nature. The more closely an artist’s depiction accords with nature, the greater his mastery. So it is with the simple person and the student of Torah: the latter is like an irrigated field and it may be that its yield surpasses that of an ordinary field. Yet the real beauty and truth God that has instilled in nature is found much more in the plain field that ‘drinks water from the rain of heaven’ than in the irrigated field.

(Aharon of Apta 2004, Additions, 158, p. 365)

In contrast to the Torah scholar, the simple person in this homily reflects the primal quality of creation, in which ‘the beauty of nature’ and truth are far more present than in things shaped by human hands.

If we trace the early roots of this theme, these stories continue the tales in the rabbinic literature (Chazal: our sages of blessed memory) in which a simple person is at the center, revealed as a person of great virtue. Many of these stories are told in the context of rain, when the merit of the simple person is revealed by rain falling for his sake.3 Furthermore, in most of the stories, these figures are chosen by preference of their deeds or prayer over those of the sages and communal leaders.4

If we examine the relationship between the Hasidic stories concerning this theme and these earlier stories, we should note that, in contrast to the Hasidic treatment, where the emphasis is usually on pure and innocent prayer, in the rabbinic story, it is not prayer that is emphasized but rather the special deed for which the prayer is answered.

One place in which we can find the emphasis on the motif of prayer in the early narrative traditions of this theme is in the story of the shepherd’s prayer in Sefer Hasidim (Judah Ben Samuel 1924, sct 5–6, p. 6). There, in accordance with the teaching of Ashkenazi Hasidism, we already encounter an emphasis on prayer itself as pure and simple (Yassif 1994, pp. 416–17).5

If we return to Rabbi Nachman’s story, although there is no doubt that it belongs to and continues this theme, when we examine the character of the Simple Man, we will notice the gap between him and the depiction of the simple man that emerges both from Hasidic storytelling and from the earlier sources of the theme in rabbinic literature and in Sefer Hasidim. The prevalent depiction of the simple man usually portrays an ignorant person, distant from the worlds of study and intellect, who does not know how to read or at least cannot pray properly; against this background, the focus is on his pure heart and intention from which he acts or prays.6 Dov Noy formulates the basic structure of stories of this type as follows:

The miracle worker (the bringer of rain) is portrayed as an exceptional figure, a representative of a social minority—a peasant or a simple, naive shepherd, to the point of ignorance and lack of learning; humble, modest, withdrawn, and often regarded as eccentric, arousing wonder among his community and surroundings. [...] If we examine the qualities of the miracle worker, we find that they derive from his innocence. Even where this innocence—meaning purity of heart and intention—is only hinted at, it nevertheless serves as the source of his power. Precisely because of this innocence, the pious miracle worker is utterly unaware of his wondrous gift, ‘the key of rain,’ that has been entrusted to him.

(Noy 1961, p. 34)7

In Rabbi Nachman’s story, however, we are not dealing with a Torah scholar, but we are also not dealing with a peasant or a simple shepherd who does not know how to read or cannot pray. Furthermore, contrary to the common type of simpleton found in these stories, characterized by unawareness of his own innocence, the Simple Man in Rabbi Nachman’s story is well aware of it and even chooses it (Mark 2003, p. 110, n. 122; Sagi 2012, pp. 257–59). Above all, the story does not tell, as is customary in this narrative tradition, about a particular act of the simpleton done with pure intention and which brings about a miracle; rather, it is the entire way of life of the Simple Man that is presented as a model.

Most stories about simpletons do not call on us to learn from or imitate their ways and lifestyle, except for this point of pure and clean intention. Rabbi Nachman, by contrast, sets up as an ideal the character of the Simple Man and his entire way of life. In addition, and relatedly, it seems that the Simple Man’s innocence is not expressed in pure intention but in contentment8 with his actions and in joy in his portion, which are emphasized throughout the story and stand at the center of the contrast with the Clever Man.

2.2. The Sockmaker

If we search within this narrative theme for a story closer to Rabbi Nachman’s, it seems that the story about the Sockmaker from Shivhei HaBa’al Shem Tov is the true prototype from which Rabbi Nachman drew the figure of the Simple Man and the ideal of simplicity he sets in his story:

I heard the following from Rabbi Meir of Anipoli: In that same town, there lived a craftsman known as the Shipovol (‘the felt-sockmaker’), who made felt socks. He would pray regularly in the synagogue both summer and winter; even when there were not ten men present, he would pray alone. One day, while the Ba’al Shem Tov was in that town, he was smoking his pipe before prayer and looking out the window when he saw this craftsman walking to the synagogue with his tallit (prayer shawl) and tefillin (phylacteries) in hand. He said to his host, “Go out and see who that man is who just passed by carrying a tallit and tefillin.” The host went out, looked, and reported, “It’s just a certain craftsman going to the synagogue.” The Ba’al Shem Tov said, “Call him to come to me.” The host replied, “I know he’s crazy and certainly won’t want to come.” The Ba’al Shem Tov remained silent. After the morning prayer service, he sent for the craftsman, asking him to bring four pairs of felt socks. The man came, bringing the socks with him. The Ba’al Shem Tov asked, “How much for a pair of these socks?” The man answered, “One and a half guldens per pair.” The Ba’al Shem Tov said, “Perhaps one gulden for a pair?” The man did not reply. The Ba’al Shem Tov instructed someone else to negotiate the price with him and he asked, “Would you perhaps sell them for less than one and a half?” The craftsman answered, “Had I wanted to sell them for less, I would have said so the first time.” The Ba’al Shem Tov paid him the full price for the four pairs of socks. Then he asked, “How do you make them?” He replied, “I practice my craft.” “And how do you conduct your life?” He answered, “I make no fewer than forty or fifty pairs at a time. I put them all at once into a large tub of hot water that I have and I tread on them until they are properly felted.” “And how do you sell them?” “I do not leave my house. The shopkeepers come to my home and buy from me. They also bring me the wool they have purchased on my behalf and I give them a profit for their trouble. Even to His Honor [the Ba’al Shem Tov] I did not come except out of respect. I leave my house only to go to the synagogue: if there is a minyan (a quorum of ten men needed for Jewish communal prayers), I pray with the congregation; if there is no minyan, I pray alone at home.” The Ba’al Shem Tov asked, “And when you need to marry off your children, what do you do?” He replied, “God helps me directly through my craft and I marry off my children.” The Ba’al Shem Tov asked, “When you rise at dawn, what do you do?” “I make felt socks then too.” “And how do you recite Tehillim (Psalms)?” “Whatever I am able to say by heart, I say.”

The Ba’al Shem Tov said of him that he is the foundation of the synagogue until the coming of the Redeemer, speedily in our days, Amen. And from this, we see the virtue of one who enjoys the fruit of his own honest labor.

(Rubinstein 1991, pp. 158–59)

If we examine the hero of the story, we will notice that here there is a departure from the common theme of the simple man surveyed in the previous section, for the emphasis here is not on pure intention in his prayer or a particular act, but mainly on his measure of truth. The hero’s picture, as it emerges in the story, paints a life centered on doing the right thing because it is right, clean from ulterior motives, and with deep intentionality toward it.

Unlike the standard type of simpletons’ stories, we do not find here the unawareness that characterizes most stories of the simple man, like the simpleton who errs in his prayer, an error attesting to the purity of his intention. On the contrary, there is full awareness of the value of the act he performs, together with a (conscious) rejection of all external judgment and evaluation.

This is emphasized in the shaping of the story in that the Ba’al Shem Tov’s first question is not about prayer or even about the way he does his work, but is an attempt to negotiate over the price:

The Ba’al Shem Tov asked, “How much for a pair of these socks?” The man answered, “One and a half guldens per pair.” The Ba’al Shem Tov said, “Perhaps one gulden for a pair?”

The story is crafted so that the Ba’al Shem Tov’s questions are the means by which the reader can appreciate the hero’s virtue. Therefore, what is the purpose of these questions? It seems that the Sockmaker’s insistence on the price he first stated, and his refusal to budge from it by even a hair’s breadth, points to his full intentionality toward the true value of things (as he sees it) and his refusal to accept an external gaze and relative market value.

Thus, the hero’s virtue in this story is expressed in his complete orientation toward his actions and the absolute value he assigns them without regard to the external, relative gaze of society. Ecclesiastes describes the human condition: “God made man upright, but they have sought out many inventions,” (Ecclesiastes 7:29) and it seems that this is an apt description of what the Ba’al Shem Tov saw in the Sockmaker—someone who succeeds in maintaining the original and upright nature and remains clean from the many calculations that people seek.

This also emerges from the continuation of the story, dealing with the religious practice of the Sockmaker, which is performed with full and pure intentionality toward what needs to be done, without turning attention to outward occurrences: “I only ever leave my house for synagogue. If there is a minyan, I pray with the congregation; if not, I pray alone at home.”.

This trait is further emphasized by the fact that in the eyes of society—the people who seek ’many calculations’—the man is regarded as mad (“I know he’s crazy”).

Additionally, the story’s structure highlights that the Ba’al Shem Tov’s deep impression does not derive from a specific act of the Sockmaker, but from the entirety of his life, revealed through these questions. His answers portray a person who lives his life in loyalty to his actions and the truth in them, without regard for society’s gaze, and who performs his work with faith and uprightness out of full internal recognition of its value. That is, the emphasis here is not on the prayer that accompanies the craft, nor is it the prayer that elevates his work to the level of ‘work in physicality’; rather, the story depicts a character who is exemplary in his way of life and whose holiness, which makes him “the foundation of the synagogue until the coming of the Redeemer,” lies in his intentionality and the way he lives his life.

Thus, against the common theme of the simpleton, this story offers a new and different perspective on the value of simplicity, shifting the emphasis from pure and innocent internal intention as expressed in a specific act to the upright and clean way in which the hero lives his whole life, and to his loyalty to the primal and upright nature of his creation without seeking many calculations.9

The Connection of the Simple Man to the Sockmaker

If we return to Rabbi Nachman’s story and examine the connection between the Simple Man and the Sockmaker,10 here too we find a craftsman engaged in shoemaking, whose most prominent and emphasized trait in the story is his complete focus on his craft and recognition of its intrinsic value, without needing external judgment and without regard for it. For example, this trait is emphasized in the Simple Man’s initial presentation in the story:

When he had finished a shoe—and probably the shoe had three corners because he wasn’t able to perform his craft totally well—he would take the shoe in his hand and praise it highly and he had enormous delight from it. And he would say, “My wife, what a beauty and what a niceness this little shoe is! What a sweetness this little shoe is! What a honey, what a sugary little shoe this is!” She would ask him, “If that is so, why do other shoemakers take three gulden for a pair of shoes and you take only a half thaler (that is, one and a half gulden)?” He replied, “What’s that to me? That’s the other person’s affair and this is my affair. And besides, why do we have to talk about other people.

(Nachman of Breslov 2015, 48)

Unlike the version in Shivhei HaBa’al Shem Tov where matters are summarized in brief, laconic questions and answers,11 in Rabbi Nachman’s story, it is evident that the literary design is expressed in the fully developed scene of the Simple Man delighting in the shoe and the dialogue he conducts with his wife, but the character traits of the Simple Man in this scene are identical to those of the Sockmaker.

This quality is highlighted as the central axis of the story through its sharp contrast with the figure of the Clever Man, whose most prominent attributes are chronic discontent with every craft he learns, with his occupation, and with his life in general, as well as the associated inability to value any of these things from within. For the Clever Man, the worth of everything is determined solely by the external gaze—society’s gaze, which is bound up with perpetual sidelong glances and constant comparison.12 Thus, everything he encounters in life, even life itself, acquires only relative value that is entirely dependent on society and lacks any intrinsic value. This is perhaps most evident in his decision regarding what, even for him, the ‘goal’ is according to the story—the decision to marry. “If I get married here, who will know what becomes of me? I will return to my home so that people can see what I have become.”

Moreover, just as the story of the Sockmaker stresses that he never leaves his house except to go to the synagogue13 (and even to the Ba’al Shem Tov, he came only out of respect), the Simple Man likewise never leaves his town or his place until he is summoned by the king. In the literary shaping of the story, this trait is sharpened through contrast with the Clever Man, who—together with his outward-oriented, comparative gaze and his inner lack of contentment with his own actions—is characterized by restless mobility and an inability to bind himself to any particular place. Both of these qualities stand out in the following passage:

The chacham became a discerning person [bar havanah] (in other words, a smart and understanding person); he didn’t want to apply himself to such a common trade so he decided he would travel the world and look and see what he should do. And he was going around in the marketplace and he saw a large wagon with four horses in harness speeding through. He called out to the merchants, “Where are you from?” They answered him, “From Warsaw.” “Where are you going?” “To Warsaw.” He asked them, “Maybe you need a helper?” […] When they arrived in Warsaw, since he was astute, he decided, “Since I am already in Warsaw, why should I remain with these merchants? Maybe here there is a better place than them; let me go search.” And he walked around in the marketplace and began to inquire and ask regarding the men who had brought him, and whether here there is a better place than them. They answered him that these people (who had brought him there) are honest people and it’s good to be with them, but on account of this it’s very difficult to be with them since their dealing and trading is in very distant places. […] Afterwards he concluded, “Even though I have such a trade in hand, nonetheless I will not content myself with it, for today this is distinguished; maybe at another time some other thing will be considered important”—and went ahead and placed himself with a gem cutter. And on account of his cleverness, he acquired this skill in a short time as well—in a quarter year.

(Nachman of Breslov 2015, 46)

Another similarity between the Sockmaker and the Simple Man is that both are labeled by society as mad (for the Sockmaker, “The owner of the house said to him, ‘I know he’s crazy’” and for the Simple Man, “And people would mock him and satisfy their urge to ridicule him, for he seemed like a madman (Mark 2014, p. 278).”14

Thus, the central trait shared by both the Sockmaker and the Simple Man is that they value their craft (the socks and shoes they make) and live their lives in general, according to their true worth in their own eyes, rejecting relative value and the judgmental gaze of conventional society. For both, intentionality toward the thing itself and its true value, as opposed to its relative place in the hierarchical system, is highlighted as a rare trait against the background of common social reality.15

Another interesting connection between the two stories can be found in the price at which they sell their wares. The Sockmaker insists on selling his socks for one and a half gold coins (gulden), no more and no less, despite the Ba’al Shem Tov’s attempts to bargain. Similarly, the Simple Man sells his shoes for precisely one and a half gold coins, even though other shoemakers sell them at a higher price.

Thus, although Rabbi Nachman calls his hero ‘The Simple Man,’ the nature of his simplicity differs radically from the conventional type of the simpleton. Instead, it signals an alternative ideal of simplicity that is remarkably close to the distinctive traits of the Sockmaker. Both stories present the simple, wholesome person as an exemplary figure and model to emulate, but both offer a new paradigm that overturns the traditional stereotype.

2.3. Enoch the Shoemaker

The additional tradition that I want to point out as included in the story of Rabbi Nachman is the myth of Enoch the Shoemaker. The connection between the craft of shoemaking and the mythological figure of Enoch appears for the first time in the book Me’irat Einayim by Rabbi Isaac ben Samuel of Acre, from the 13th–14th centuries, who brings a tradition apparently originating in Ashkenazi Hasidism (Idel 2008, p. 109).

And I asked my teacher, Rabbi Judah (Yehudah) HeHasid, the preacher of Ashkenaz, what was so special about Enoch that he merited all of this, for the matter of Elijah is known, but Enoch—why? He related to me on the authority of tradition that Enoch was a shoemaker and with every stitch he made with his awl in the leather, he would bless with a whole heart and full intention for the sake of God, drawing down a blessing to the emanated Metatron, and he never forgot even a single stitch, always doing so until, out of great love, he was no more, for God took him, and he merited to be called Metatron, and his stature is exceedingly great.

(Isaac ben Samuel of Acre 1984, vol. 2, p. 47)16

This depiction of Enoch as a shoemaker becomes prominent in the Kabbalah of Safed and subsequently, and more conspicuously, in Hasidism (Idel 2008, p. 119), where, as Idel notes, “The story of Enoch the Shoemaker recurs more often than in all previous Jewish mystical literature combined.” Following these remarks, Yoav Elstein (Elstein 1998, pp. 117–23) and other scholars after him (Kauffman 2009, pp. 275–77; Margolin 2005, pp. 238–41) have pointed to the connection of the story of the Sockmaker and the myth of Enoch. According to them, the story is a variation of this tradition and is unique in that it realizes it in the reality of everyday life (Elstein 1998, pp. 122–23; Margolin 2005, pp. 239–40; Kauffman 2009, p. 276).17 As Kauffman emphasizes, this connection is found not only in the fact that, as with Enoch, the story is told of a shoemaker considered a man of spiritual stature, but also in the framing of the story, which begins with the Ba’al Shem Tov’s shock upon merely seeing the craftsman walking in the street and ends with the statement marking him as “the foundation of the synagogue until the coming of the Redeemer.”.

Kauffman even expands on Elstein’s words and argues that the Sockmaker is a prototype for a broader connection innovated by Hasidism between Enoch (the Shoemaker) and simple craftsmen who serve God through their craft and thereby become people of stature: “The theme of Enoch the Shoemaker, which circulated in Jewish tradition before Hasidism in various guises, opened in Hasidism the way for an entire ‘guild’ of craftsmen, regarded as unique individuals, as models for total service of God through action in this world” (Kauffman 2009, pp. 275–76).

But it should be noted that if this connection is indeed correct, we are not only dealing with the realization of the tradition of Enoch the Shoemaker in real life, as Elstein and Kauffman say, but with a shift in the interpretation of the tradition and a further level built upon it. For in the homily given by Rabbi Jacob Joseph of Pollonoye in the name of the Ba’al Shem Tov, it is said:

Our sages, of blessed memory, said Enoch was a shoemaker and with every stitch, he would unite the Holy One, Blessed be He, and His Shechinah (dwelling). I heard from my teacher an interpretation of the verse (Ecclesiastes 9:10), “Whatever your hand finds to do, do with your strength, for there is no work or calculation… in Sheol (abode of the dead),” as follows: Thought is called Ein Sof, (the Infinite, the Tetragrammaton, Y-H-V-H, in its transcendent aspect), whereas action is called Adonai (the divine name immanent in the created world). When one joins action to thought at the very moment of performing the action, this is called the unification of the Holy One, blessed be He, and His Shechinah. This is the meaning of “Whatever your hand finds to do, do with all your strength” —that is, since thought is called ḥochmah (wisdom), which is koaḥ mah (the power of What-is), you must perform the action with all your strength—meaning with thought—in order to unite the two, thereby effecting the unification of the Holy One, blessed be He, and His Shechinah. For “there is no action nor reckoning in Sheol” —the word ein (there is not/none) operates on both the upper and lower planes. In other words: if you do not believe this and you doubt it, then indeed there will be “no action nor reckoning” in Sheol, etc.

(Jacob Joseph of Polonnoye [1781] 1969, Va-Yera 20a)18

Idel (2008, p. 120) points to the innovation found in the Ba’al Shem Tov’s words compared to the Kabbalistic tradition of Enoch, which is created by placing the verse from Ecclesiastes, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do,” in connection to Enoch’s action. According to Idel, the Ba’al Shem Tov’s homily expands the domain of sanctification from Enoch’s particular case to a mode of action that encompasses every kind of human activity. A further innovation in his words is that the unification he speaks of is not in its common meaning—the theurgic act of connecting Tiferet (compassion) and Malchut (sovereignty/nobility)—but in connecting the world of action to the world of thought and the Ein Sof. (See Margolin 2005, pp. 234–39).

Yet, despite the innovation of the Ba’al Shem Tov’s homily compared to the earlier tradition, it still deals with unification as a mystical, esoteric, contemplative, and theurgic act, “linking the physical action of the lower world through the thought, which is ‘your might,’ to the spiritual upper world.” This is also evident from Rabbi Joseph’s interpretation of the Ba’al Shem Tov’s words about Enoch, in accordance with the model of man as a ladder standing on the earth and its top reaching heaven, “He does a physical, earthly act and at its head directs his thought upwards to connect the action with the thought, whereby unification is made above,” (See Margolin 2005, p. 238). so that the meaning of the unification is in connecting the thought upwards while acting.

The Sockmaker, by contrast, does not direct his thought upwards during the act19 and his uniqueness, according to the story, lies in the uprightness and purity with which he lives his life and performs his craft, and in his ability to be oriented toward them and to be present in them fully without regard for the external gaze. If we use Rabbi Joseph’s language, the unification performed by the Sockmaker, as the realization of Enoch’s figure, is not in connecting his thought upwards during the physical act but in the ‘physical, earthly act’ itself, in that his very life becomes holy. In the context of the Enoch tradition, one can even say that the Ba’al Shem Tov, seeing the Sockmaker walking beneath his window, sees a person who, in his way of life and craft, “walks with God.”

Thus, the Sockmaker, as the realization of the Enoch tradition, brings about a deeper transformation in the meaning of unification, to one that occurs in the physical world itself.

2.3.1. Enoch Is the Simple Man

If we now examine the relationship of the story of the Clever Man and the Simple Man to this tradition, it seems not coincidental that Rabbi Nachman chose to cast the Simple Man specifically as a shoemaker. Moreover, as we have seen in the close connection between the Simple Man and the story of the Sockmaker, with clear hints associating him with this tradition, it seems that in Rabbi Nachman’s story, the connection to Enoch is even closer. Unlike the Sockmaker, who indeed makes footwear but is not strictly a shoemaker, the Simple Man is literally a shoemaker.

Furthermore, when Rabbi Nachman describes the Simple Man’s craft, the connection between the words he chooses and Rabbi Isaac of Acre’s description of Enoch is evident. Thus, Rabbi Nachman describes the Simple Man, “Only at the time of the work, when he would pierce with the awl and insert and withdraw the thick thread of the stitching, as is the way of cobblers,” and in the words of Rabbi Isaac of Acre, “And with every piercing he made with the awl in the leather” (Isaac ben Samuel of Acre 1984, vol. 2, p. 47).

Another significant connection can be found in the Simple Man’s being summoned to the king. For, just as Enoch in the Enoch–Metatron tradition is called to stand and serve before God and becomes the chief minister of the heavenly hosts by virtue of his pure work and his walking with God, so too in Rabbi Nachman’s story, the Simple Man is summoned, by virtue of his innocence and uprightness (“for he saw that he conducted himself with great uprightness and truth, without any injustice or deceit”), to serve as a minister of the king, and subsequently is even placed at the head of his ministers: “And the king appointed him to be minister over all the ministers, and commanded that a special place be prepared for him, where he would have his residence, and commanded that fine and splendid walls be built for him as was fitting, and he gave him a written decree of this appointment, that he should be minister as aforesaid.”

Thus, it seems that the figure of the Simple Man in Rabbi Nachman’s story was fashioned in connection with the Enoch tradition, and there is a close link between the shoemaker, the simple servant of God who is called to the king and set at the head of his ministers, and Enoch the Shoemaker, who is taken up to God and becomes Metatron, the minister of the divine face, chief over the celestial ministers. While at first glance the connection may appear somewhat blurred due to the addition of the character of the Clever Man, which draws the eye instead to the drama between the two contrasting personalities, once the figure of the Simple Man and his experiences are isolated, the connection stands out.

2.3.2. The ‘Unifications’ of the Simple Man

As we have seen, the figure of Enoch the Shoemaker is dominant in Hasidic literature and Rabbi Nachman continues this tradition, which begins with the Ba’al Shem Tov’s homily as transmitted in the book of Rabbi Jacob Joseph. Yet, following the story of the Sockmaker, the unification of deed and thought identified with the infinite, as discussed in the homily, is, according to Rabbi Nachman’s story, not achieved through contemplative meditation so far removed from the Simple Man’s character, but through an act performed out of a sense of fullness and completeness.

The Simple Man’s complete focus on his craft and on his life as they are—his turning the gaze inward from the external, relative, and false value in the eyes of society to the inner and absolute value of the thing itself—this is what realizes the ‘unification.’

The scene in the story that best describes this is the one in which, in the simple piece of bread he eats, the Simple Man tastes all foods; in the water he drinks, all drinks; and in the pelts he and his wife share, all clothing (See also Nachman of Breslov 1990, II:1, 8).

The sufficiency in what he has, and the focusing of consciousness upon it without turning outward, open the gaze to the infinite fullness present in it—thus, the infinite is present in the finite, and the finite is illuminated by the light of the absolute. In contrast, the Clever Man’s most prominent trait is the inability to be present in what is, to be satisfied with it, and instead always to turn his gaze outward and measure things by their external value.

Through the character of the Simple Man, Rabbi Nachman thus reinterprets the essence of simplicity in a way that is new and different from the traditional understanding, and at the same time, gives new meaning to the Enoch myth and the ‘unification’ he accomplishes, for which he ascends and becomes Metatron.

3. Full Light and Diminished Light—Contentment in the Teachings of Rabbi Nachman

To fully understand the model of simplicity that Rabbi Nachman presents in the story, as a continuation and realization of the Enoch myth, I will briefly examine the central teachings of Rabbi Nachman regarding the theme of contentment and the joy found in what one has, a trait that, as we have seen, defines the Simple Man’s way of life.

In Likutei Moharan 54, Rabbi Nachman sets the attribute of contentment in opposition to lack of contentment as the main distinction between the righteous and the wicked:

Contentment corresponds to “You have wrapped Yourself in light as in a cloak.” This is the aspect of light that is full. But the wicked, who have no contentment, in the aspect of “but the belly of the wicked [always] lacks,” for them the me’orot (light) is lacking, corresponding to (Proverbs 3:33), “The me’eirat (curse) of God is on the house of the wicked.” The righteous, however, who do possess the quality of contentment, in the aspect of “A righteous man eats to satiate himself,” for them the light is full. This is in the aspect of (Genesis 1:4), “The Lord saw that the light was good”—“good” is nothing other than the righteous person, as it is said, “Say of the righteous man that he is good” (Isaiah 3:10).

(Nachman of Breslov 1990, p. 54)

The semantic field that Rabbi Nachman weaves around lack of contentment includes the terms: lack, defective light, curse. The field of contentment, by contrast, contains full light, satiety, and goodness.

Elsewhere, Rabbi Nachman identifies lack of contentment as the deep problem inherent in the pursuit of money and its accumulation:

And thus [the Psalmist] concluded, “but I will trust in You,” which is the opposite of greed. For someone who is steeped in the desire for money does not trust in God. He serves all idolatry. Rather, “I will trust in You”—that You can provide me with my livelihood in an easy way. I will rejoice in my lot and not become steeped in greed.

(Nachman of Breslov 1990, 23:5)20

Thus, contentment with what one has, the feeling of fullness and existence and joy in the existent, are identified with trust in God; whereas worry and a constant sense of lack are identified with the craving for money, which Rabbi Nachman sees as the absolute antithesis of trust and faith. Since money consists entirely of being a signifier, for Rabbi Nachman, it serves as the ultimate representative of the field opposed to orientation toward being and contentment in it. A person oriented toward money is the opposite of a person oriented toward actual reality (such as the Sockmaker and the Simple Man). Presence in reality and contentment with it are replaced by constant pursuit, a pursuit whose very object, money, is not real but only a signifier and essentially ‘nothing.’

In one of his parables, Rabbi Nachman identifies this pursuit with the essence of the evil inclination (yetzer hara):

The Evil Urge is like a prankster running through a crowd showing his tightly-closed hand. No one knows what he is holding. He goes up to each one and asks, “What do you suppose I have in my hand?”

Each one imagines that the closed hand contains just what he desires most. They all hurry and run after the prankster. Then, when he has tricked them all into following him, he opens his hand. It is completely empty.

The same is true of the Evil Urge. He fools the world, tricking it into following him. All men think that his hand contains what they desire. In the end, he opens his hand. There is nothing in it and no desire is ever fulfilled.

Worldly pleasures are like sunbeams in a dark room. They may actually seem solid, but he who tries to grasp a sunbeam finds nothing in his hand. The same is true of all worldly desires.

(Nachman of Breslov 1973, pp. 111–12)

In another passage in Likutei Moharan 23, Rabbi Nachman sees the inability to dwell in the real and living, and its replacement by the pursuit of money, as an exchange of plenitude for lack, a lack he identifies with sadness, death, and idolatry:

Therefore, those who are steeped in [the desire for] money—the greater his wealth, the greater his worries, sadness and melancholy. This is because his money and wealth are in the category of “with great sorrow, you will eat,” which is sadness, melancholy, darkened faces, death, as above. So the more money and wealth he has, the more he feels sadness, melancholy, and worry. For his money is from the aspect of sadness, melancholy, etc.

This is what our Sages taught: One who increases his possessions increases his worry (Avot 2:7). For he certainly increases worry and sadness because of an increase in possessions and wealth. For the possessions which he owns are themselves the aspect of sadness. Therefore, the more they increase, the more the sadness and worry increase, as above.

Thus money and wealth shorten and consume a person’s days and life. For there is nothing that saps one’s vitality like worry and sadness, as competent doctors know. And the money and wealth add worry and sadness, as explained. Thus he diminishes and consumes his life, for he is bound to the countenance of the Other Side, “other gods,” darkness—which corresponds to death, the reverse of “the light of the Living King’s countenance,” as explained. Therefore, the money kills him. For it is in the category of death, which is sadness, etc. For all this is the desire for money, as above.

(Nachman of Breslov 1990, 23:5)

Thus, the field that Rabbi Nachman weaves around lack of contentment and the pursuit of money includes sadness, melancholy, darkened countenance, the Other Side, idolatry, the shortening of life, and ultimately death.

On the opposite side stands, as noted, the one who is content and happy with what he has. Such a person does not live in the field of lack and death, but lives real life to the full—“in the light of the King’s countenance there is life” (Proverbs 16:15).

If we return to the story of the Clever Man and the Simple Man, this field that Rabbi Nachman constructs in his teachings around the attribute of contentment is precisely the field that comes to life in the figure of the Simple Man, who is indeed finally summoned to the king and lives in his light.

Another unmistakable narrative expression of the ideal of contentment can be found in the figure of the Deaf Beggar in the “Tale of the Seven Beggars”:

You think that I am deaf. I am not deaf at all, except that the whole world does not matter to me whatever so that I should hear their lacking. For each and every voice in the world is only about needs, since everybody screams about his deficit, that is, what he hasn’t got; and even all the world’s celebrations are all exclusively about deficits, as someone rejoices over what he didn’t have whereas now he has what he didn’t have. But the entire world doesn’t come across me at all, that I should hear their deficit, for I live such a good life that it hasn’t any lack at all.

(Nachman of Breslov 2015, p. 106)

The Deaf Beggar’s uniqueness is that, in contrast to the rest of the world, whose gaze is focused on lack, his is focused on the fullness of being. Note that here too, contentment and the sense of fullness, at the end of the cited passage, are identified with good life. Further, in close parallel to the description of the Simple Man’s eating and clothing, also in this story, the good life of the Deaf Beggar is evident in that he eats bread and drinks water with complete contentment and no craving for anything beyond them, and, like the Simple Man, in the Deaf Beggar’s bread and water, all tastes can be found:

And I have an attestation about this, that I live a good life, from the Land of Wealth. And his good life was: he ate bread and drank water. […] I took my bread and my water and gave it to them. They felt in my bread and water all the tastes (and all the smells etc.) and everything became corrected that had been ruined for them (that is, the taste, appearance and smell).

(Nachman of Breslov 2015, p. 107)

Even the Simple Man’s confrontation with mockery and its presentation as the opposite of his attribute of truth,21 finds a parallel in this story, for the damage of the country that the Deaf Beggar repairs is expressed precisely in the laughter and mockery with which it is filled:

I went with the emissaries, arrived at the country, and entered a city. I saw people coming and one of them saying a vartel [a word of mockery], and then more people came up, until a small crowd was formed and they said vartlach [wisecracks] and they laughed.

(Nachman of Breslov 2015, p. 108)

In this respect, Rabbi Nachman understands simplicity as a pure connection to reality and as trusting its straight and simple course, in opposition to mockery whose essence is the subversion and cynical negation of these things (see extensively in Malkiel 2005). Indeed, later in the story of the Deaf Beggar, the distortion of justice is added to the mockery that fills the land, and the Beggar’s conclusion from these two phenomena is that “there is no truth there.”22

Another similarity between the two stories is that, like the Simple Man who is considered crazy by society, so too is the gardener in the tale of the Deaf Beggar, who represents the tsaddik (righteous man) and the man of truth within the corrupted country:

Maybe the insane one is the gardener after all? For there is an insane man going about who keeps saying that he is the gardener, and everyone holds him to be insane, and stones are thrown at him and he is driven away—but maybe he is in fact the true gardener?

(Nachman of Breslov 2015, pp. 108–9)

3.1. “There Is No Truth There”—Simplicity and the Attribute of Truth

The connection between simplicity—whose essence, according to Rabbi Nachman, lies in contentment and focus on what is (the existent)—and the attribute of truth receives analytical expression in Likutei Moharan 47, which also contains several other significant links to our story. Rabbi Nachman opens the discourse with a homily on the verse, “You shall eat and be satisfied and bless the name of the Lord your God” (Joel 2:26), contrasting the attribute of the righteous, which is contentment and satisfaction, with the lack of contentment and the desire for food that represent poverty. The principal concern of the discourse, however, is to point out the bond between contentment and the attribute of truth:

Then You Will Eat and Be Satiated, etc.—Someone steeped in the desire for eating is certainly far from the truth, and he is certainly beset by judgments. This is a sign of poverty as well.

(Nachman of Breslov 1990, 47)

At the root of this connection appears to lie the understanding that satisfaction and contentment arise from complete orientation toward the existent—toward the reality that stands before a person and toward his life exactly as it is. A person who is oriented toward these is oriented toward truth:

Then you will eat and be satiated—That is to say, whatever you eat, whether much or little, you will be satiated. You will not be steeped in the desire for eating, and so you will be in a state of a show of favor, nourished by the Attribute of Truth.

(Nachman of Breslov 1990, 47)

Lack of contentment and lust, by contrast, arise from the inability to be satisfied with the existent and with what is present before a person. Instead, the gaze is turned outward, expressed both in measuring things according to their external, relative value and in the constant desire for what lies beyond them. A life that is not oriented toward the existent and the present, but always desires what is not, is far from truth.

In Likutei Moharan 23 as well, which, as mentioned, discusses the craving for money as opposed to contentment with the existent, the attribute of truth is emphasized:

But those who conduct their business matters faithfully are attached to the light of the countenance of holiness. For there is no faith without truth, as is brought in the Zohar (III, 198b): “That is justice; that is faith.” {And it is concluded there: “It is called faith only when attached to truth.” Thus faith comes essentially through truth.} And truth is the Light of the Face, as is known. This is what our Sages said, “And he graced the city’s countenance” (Genesis 33:18)—one says he struck a coin for them and one says that he established bathhouses for them (Shabbat 33b). These are one and the same, they do not disagree. This is because Yaakov is the personification of truth, as in (Micah 7:20), “Give truth to Yaakov.” He also corresponds to the Light of the Face. And as soon as he arrived [in Shechem], faith was rectified.

This is the meaning of “he struck a coin.” He rectified the desire for money. And when he rectified greed, the blemish of idolatry was also rectified. And this is the meaning of “he established bathhouses for them.” As it is written (Exodus 2:5), “The daughter of Pharaoh went down to bathe.” Our Sages expound that she went to cleanse herself from the idolatry of her father’s house (Megillah 13a). This is the meaning of “And he graced the city’s countenance.” Specifically ‘countenance,’ the countenance of the Other Side, which is a coin—namely, the desire for money.

(Nachman of Breslov 1990, 23, 1)

On the basis of the rabbinic midrash that Jacob, upon arriving in Shechem, institutes coinage for the city (b. Shabbat 33b), Rabbi Nachman portrays Jacob—who is called ‘a pure man’ (Genesis 25:27)23 and who, in the kabbalistic system, represents the attribute of truth—as one who, immediately upon arriving in Shechem, rectifies the craving for money (identified with idolatry) and thereby rectifies faith.

Thus, Rabbi Nachman connects the domain of contentment with the existent to the attribute of truth, and not only this but, similar to the story of the Clever Man and the Simple Man, he locates faith not in a person’s system of beliefs and opinions but in his relation to reality and in his mode of acting within it (see extensively in Bar-Lev 2017).

The person who is oriented toward reality, who trusts in it (‘without mockery’), who is content with it and is not caught up in pursuit or the craving for money, is a person living according to the attribute of truth, whose life is full and illuminated by the light of the King’s countenance—this is a life of faith and the opposite is also true.

This identity between contentment and orientation toward the existent on the one hand, and the attribute of truth on the other, is most evident, as we have seen, in the story of the Sockmaker. In the story of the Clever Man and the Simple Man, the scene that most strikingly highlights it is the depiction of the Simple Man’s ascent to the king’s ministry and his appointment as prime minister, which begins with his being chosen to replace the governor who was found guilty of corruption, precisely because of his simplicity, which is identified with truth and uprightness:

The king made up his mind: it’s good if a simple person would be governor, that is, a tam, for a simple man would conduct the country with truth and justice, since he doesn’t know any cleverness or inventions.

(Nachman of Breslov 2015, p. 51)

Even later, this very quality finds favor in the king’s eyes and, together with recognition of the Simple Man’s wisdom, leads to his appointment as chief minister, “and the king was very well pleased, for the king saw that he leads justly and with great honesty, without any wrongdoing and completely without falseness” (Nachman of Breslov 2015, p. 52).

Thus, being ‘clever’ is presented as something that can disconnect a person from direct, primordial contact with reality and the truth within it,24 whereas simplicity is one with it. The Simple Man looks at reality with a pure, directed gaze that does not deviate or scatter, and therefore sees the truth in it in a simple way. Indeed, it is the Simple Man’s innocence that enables him to govern the country in truth and uprightness, “He made no use at all of his wisdom, but conducted himself with his simplicity exactly as before and governed the country with simplicity, in truth and uprightness, and no wrongdoing was found in him.”

This quality of a pure gaze upon reality, and thus the ability to see its truth, stands out especially in the way Rabbi Nachman describes how the Simple Man renders judgment:

And for the management of a state, one needs no great intellect nor special knowledge, just uprightness and temimut. When two people came before him for judgment, he would say, “You are clear and you are liable,” purely according to his temimut and his truthfulness, without any deceit or falseness. And thus, he led everything with truth.

(Nachman of Breslov 2015, p. 52)

In the continuation of Likutei Moharan 47, Rabbi Nachman sees the connections between contentment, wealth, and truth, and their belonging to the domain of life, as the special virtue of the Land of Israel, which is represented by eating bread there with a feeling of wealth. He describes this with an image that strongly recalls the Simple Man’s eating:

The Land of Israel also receives essentially through the aspect of Yaakov, as is written (Genesis 37:1), “Yaakov lived in the Land.” This is why it is called “land of the living,” for tefillin are called life, as is written (Isaiah 38:16), “O God, [with these things] on them, they live.”

And this is its praise: “[It is a land] where you will not eat your bread in deprivation (Deuteronomy 8:9).” For, sometimes, a person eats bread due to poverty and not because of a lack of desire for other delectables. On the contrary, if he had other foods, he would not eat only bread. Thus, this is the Land of Israel’s praise: You will not eat bread due to poverty, but because the desire for eating has been broken and eliminated. For [the Land of Israel] receives an illumination and an influx of bounty from the aspect of tefillin/Yaakov/truth, from which wealth stems. Thus it is that his eating only bread has nothing to do with poverty but with the breaking of the desire for eating.

3.2. Poverty and Shame

In contrast to the inner wealth that arises from contentment, Rabbi Nachman describes, in Likutei Moharan 47, the deficient existence as leading to shame and humiliation:

He will also come to ridicule and shame, as is written (Psalms 12:9), “K’RooM (that which is exalted) is degraded by the sons of man.” Once a person has to come on to human beings, his face changes like a K’RooM (Berachot 6b).

In the context of the discourse, it seems that Rabbi Nachman interprets the rabbinic phrase, “becomes dependent on creatures” as dependence on the external gaze and on society, whoever is dependent on them has shame and disgrace constantly at his door.

Another rabbinic passage employed by Rabbi Nahman speaks of one who treats the tefillin with contempt, tefillin that, according to Rabbi Nahman (following the kabbalistic tradition), represent the attribute of Truth (midat ha’emet):

Our Sages also taught: “Your life will hang in the balance” [Deuteronomy 28:66] —this refers to someone who hangs up his tefillin [Berachot 24a]; alternatively—this is someone who has to purchase grain from the market [Menachot 103b]. In other words, poverty results from a blemish of the tefillin, a blemish of truth.

(Nachman of Breslov 1990, 47)

Buying grain in the market symbolizes the poverty of the person who is not content with what he has but lifts his eyes outward. The exact quotation is not found in the words of the Sages, but Rabbi Nachman evidently had in mind the Talmudic passage in Menahot that interprets the curse, “And your life shall hang in doubt before you” [Deuteronomy 28:66] as referring to one who has no personal source of sustenance and therefore must buy grain for the entire year,25 or alternatively must buy his bread from the baker.26 In this way, the Sages interpret the curse as revolving around one whose life is not in his own hands but hangs in doubt before him. By joining these two rabbinic interpretations of “your life shall hang in doubt before you,” Rabbi Nachman creates an identity between one who “hangs up his tefillin”—that is, defects the attribute of truth—and lack of contentment.

If we return to the story, the connection between these sources, as Rabbi Nachman interprets them, and the Clever Man and the Simple Man, is clear. The Simple Man, whose fullness of life stands before him and who is fully content without looking outward or needing the eyes of society, lives according to the attribute of truth and merits a life that is full and rich.27

In contrast, the Clever Man is portrayed as one whose life always hangs in doubt before him: he abandons his primary, autonomous sources of sustenance (his parents’ home, his town, his faith) and, like one who buys his grain in the market or from the baker, exists in perpetual lack of contentment and searching. He is never satisfied and distances himself from the truth of reality. In the end, in contrast to the Simple Man who also attains external wealth, he is left with nothing and, in accordance with Rabbi Nachman’s words in Likutei Moharan 47, with shame as well:

Thus they were out in the world and traveled until they ran out of what they had. They began by selling one horse and then the other until they had sold everything, until they had to go on foot. And constantly, they kept examining the world and kept finding that the world is in error. And they became foot-going beggars and they were already not at all distinguished, for by now, people paid no attention at all to such beggars.

If we summarize the parallel examination of the teachings and the stories, the model of the simple person and craftsman, which Rabbi Nachman erects on the continuum of the Enoch theme and in continuation of the story of the Sockmaker, emphasizes orientation toward the existent and the attribute of contentment. These are what he seeks to impart as a life of faith and a life lived “in the light of the King’s countenance.” This way of life stands in opposition to a life of lack of contentment and pursuit, which belongs to the domain of the sitra achra (the Other Side), idolatry, and death. In relation to the Enoch myth, this is the path that Rabbi Nachman sees in his generation as the way “to walk with God.”

4. The Spirits of Modernity

To complete the picture, it is impossible to ignore that the story belongs to the campaign that Rabbi Nachman waged against the Haskalah (Jewish Enlightenment) and ‘philosophy.’ (see Weiss 1974, pp. 132–33; Piekarz 1995, pp. 47–49; Green 2022, pp. 237–81; Mark 2003, pp. 257–80). It is no accident that the Clever Man’s wisdom ultimately leads him to deny the very existence of the king (See Miron 2024, pp. 127–31), while in opposition, Rabbi Nachman places the Simple Man’s simplicity and his simple faith. What, then, did Rabbi Nachman see in establishing precisely the ideal of simplicity, as it is interpreted in this tale as contentment and joy in the existent, at the center of a story whose core is the struggle against a wisdom that leads to heresy?

In light of our analysis, it becomes clear that the tale possesses a distinctive statement that is unique even with respect to this domain. In contrast to the more familiar and widespread stance in Rabbi Nachman’s teachings toward wisdom and philosophy in which the danger he perceives in them lies in the casting of doubt upon faith and its replacement by a causal–rational system. This leads to denial of providence and miracles, and to the abandonment of faith in God in favor of the lawfulness of nature. Thus, for example, in Likutei Moharan II:4, the struggle between the ‘forehead of will’ and the ‘forehead of the serpent’ is described:

But when Divine Will is concealed and people presume that there is determinism, God forbid—as if everything is governed by the laws of nature, God forbid—fear of Heaven has no application. This is because there is no reward and punishment, God forbid, since everything is determined by nature’s dictates, God forbid. It follows that fear of Heaven is mainly the result of the revelation of Divine Will—<that everything is governed solely by God’s Will>.

[…]

The ‘wild animals’ that claw at and tear apart their prey. These are the deterministic scientists who demonstrate through their erroneous ideologies that everything is caused by the laws of nature, as if there is no Divine Will <whatsoever>, God forbid. Even the awesome miraculous signs that God has performed on our behalf, they associate with nature. These scientists are like wild animals; they prey upon many of our fellow Jews, who mistakenly follow them and think like them, as if [it were true that] everything is determined by the dictates of nature, God forbid.

(Nachman of Breslov 1990, vol. 2, 4)28

Also, in Sichot HaRan 32, one of the central places where Rabbi Nachman rejects investigation, the call is to “Strengthen yourself in faith, completely avoiding all speculation. Do not engage in philosophy, but believe in G-d with innocent faith […] You must carefully remove all speculation from your heart.” (Nachman of Breslov 1973, p. 133)29

Against this widespread stance, the perception that emerges from the tale of the Clever Man and the Simple Man is surprising: it sees the root of the Clever Man’s heresy and the loss of faith as lying not in investigation or in the system of beliefs and opinions at all, but in a way of life (See Bar-Lev 2017) characterized by lack of contentment with the existent and by perpetual pursuit. It is this way of life that, according to the tale, ultimately brings about the denial of the king’s existence. Throughout the entire process of the Clever Man’s development in the story, he is not portrayed as a philosopher or as someone for whom philosophy occupies a significant place in his world. As Malchiel writes of the Simple Man, words that apply equally to the Clever Man, “In general, it does not appear that God, or aspiration toward the exalted, occupies a meaningful place in his life and in his existential stance” (Malkiel 2005, p. 101).

And yet, he is repeatedly called a philosopher in the tale and all his deliberations, even when they concern choosing a lifelong profession, are described as carried out by means of ‘his philosophy.’ It seems that here too, Rabbi Nachman evaluates philosophy not as an engagement with beliefs and opinions and as a source of questions about faith and the positing of alternative options (as emerges from the teachings), but primarily as a way of life and as a mode of thought and action.

This innovation in understanding the roots of heresy is sharpened by the fact that in its final stages, the Clever Man’s wisdom arrives at precisely the same mode of thought described in the teachings—casting doubt on everything that lies beyond empirical experience and rational understanding.

In a description full of irony, Rabbi Nachman depicts the Clever Man encountering a reality that any person of sound mind would recognize as supernatural, while he insists on a rational perception of it, thus attributing his summoning by the devil to his brother who wishes to play a trick on him.30 Later, when he is sunk in mud and filth and tormented by demonic forces, he attributes it to wicked human beings as in the piercing question Rabbi Nachman places in the Simple Man’s mouth, “You still hold fast to your wisdom and do not believe in anything (Nachman of Breslov 2015, p. 55)?”

Yet despite the identical outcome, in terms of the cause that brings about heresy and the loss of faith—and conversely, the path one must cling to in order to preserve faith—the tale presents an alternative picture that is fundamentally different.

Furthermore, the conception of wisdom and investigation in the tale is distinguished by the fact that their consequences do not remain confined to the realm of beliefs and opinions; instead, a highly significant link is forged between denial of the king, which symbolizes departure from faith, and the loss of grip on reality altogether. The Clever Man, who places no trust in simple reality, who rejects the beliefs of the masses and denies everything lacking empirical grounding, ends up without home, without property, and ultimately without any foothold in the world whatsoever; he is finally hurled into demonic realms.31 Ironically, even when he is inside them, he remains detached and fails to recognize the reality in which he finds himself.

Thus, alongside the rationalism and belief in deterministic laws of nature that are generally perceived in Rabbi Nachman’s teachings as the chief causes of the loss of faith, in the story of the Clever Man and the Simple Man, Rabbi Nachman emphasizes the way of life of lack of contentment and perpetual pursuit as the central cause. This move shifts the battlefield from the realm of beliefs and opinions to the realm of way of life, a realm whose mode of conduct, according to what emerges from the tale, is what leads to the loss of faith and, conversely, to retaining it.

In this respect, the tale of the Clever Man and the Simple Man does not stand alone; it appears that this is the prevailing spirit in the tales as a whole: the essence of preserving faith does not take place in the realm of beliefs and opinions, just as departure from faith is not primarily the result of difficulties or the adoption of a scientific–rationalist mode of thought. From the tales, it emerges that both the problem and the profound response to it lie in the realm of way of life and existential disposition.32

One can even think that the recognition of the profound formative power that a mode of being exerts on a person’s path and faith took shape in Rabbi Nachman’s thought at a relatively late stage, and consequently found its clearest expression in the tales that he composed toward the end of his life. One may even suggest that this recognition itself was among the factors that led Rabbi Nachman to turn toward the genre of the tale—stories (See Har-Shefi 2022, pp. 82–105). marked by their engagement with existential and universal themes and, by their very nature, by the centrality they accord to lived experience.

At the same time, it is important to emphasize that even in this later period, Rabbi Nachman did not abandon the line present in his teachings concerning the significant influence of philosophical inquiry and intellectual questioning on faith.

In this regard, it seems that the Clever Man, in his way of life and in his existential disposition, embodies the spirit of modernism and its dangers as Rabbi Nachman perceived them33. The self-evident grip on inherited tradition in all its senses—place of residence, occupation, system of beliefs—weakens and is replaced by the ideal of the autonomous, self-creating individual who manages his life individually and out of free choice. The wide world full of possibilities begins to open before the people of the era and it joins the processes of the rise of the ‘I’ and the removal of the shackles of tradition. The autonomous ‘I’ is no longer willing to believe and surrender to what was handed down to him merely because it was handed down and it is caught up in a restless, ceaseless search for the best possible option that will grant him happiness.34 This is the existential disposition brought by modernity and it is this disposition that, according to what emerges from the tale, will ultimately lead even to the denial of the king’s existence.

Understanding the denial of the king in the tale of the Clever Man and the Simple Man as rooted in an existential disposition also explains why it does not end there and why the tale continues to describe total uprooting from life in general. In this sense, one may say that faith or lack of faith in the king are merely a symptom of a way of life: one characterized by connection to the existent versus one disconnected from it. Thus, the tale indicates that the struggle over faith and Rabbi Nachman’s war against the ‘investigations’ are not merely a struggle over beliefs and opinions, but over trust itself in reality and in life.35

Returning to the figure of the Simple Man and his connection to Enoch the Shoemaker, it seems that in the face of the challenges of the era, Rabbi Nachman deliberately places a figure whose life centers on trust in reality, contentment with it, and joy in it as an example of the man of faith who walks with God and who represents in his person the entire field of faith. In simplicity, in this sense as contentment and joy in the existent, Rabbi Nachman saw the profound response to the dangers inherent in the spirit of modernity. Against the constant pursuit that is characterized by uprooting from life and whose end is disappointment and sadness, and in terms of faith—heresy—Rabbi Nachman sets simplicity, which reconnects the human being to the existent in which he finds life and in which he even tastes the infinite. In this way, Rabbi Nachman sought to direct his listeners to life in the light of the king’s countenance as opposed to life in the growing shadow of modernity, represented by the Clever Man.

5. Conclusions

This article has examined the sources of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov’s story, “The Clever Man and the Simple Man,” and has identified three traditions underlying the shaping of the Simple Man’s figure. Primarily, the story belongs to the theme of the simple man, who is present in Hasidic thought and narrative from its inception, and is itself rooted in ancient sources of this theme. Yet, while belonging to this theme, Rabbi Nachman’s tale effects a significant shift in the character and meaning of temimut (simplicity), and in this regard, the article pointed to the story of the Sockmaker in the praises of the Ba’al Shem Tov as the mediating link between the traditional theme and Rabbi Nachman’s tale.

Additionally, the article pointed to the mythic foundation that underlies what appears to be a prosaic tale, for in Rabbi Nachman’s story, and here too in continuation of the Sockmaker story and with even greater emphasis, the mythological figure of Enoch-Metatron, is woven into the fabric of the theme of simplicity through the unique channel that portrayed him as a shoemaker. In this way, Rabbi Nachman also joins the engagement with the figure of Enoch in Hasidic homiletical and theoretical literature, but he expands and interprets the theme as applying to simple people who live according to the attribute of contentment and joy in the existent.

Upon these three traditions, Rabbi Nachman shapes the figure of the Simple Man and the tale as a whole as part of the campaign he consecrated against the spirits of modernity, rationalism, and heresy. It even appears that this was the motivation underlying the unique shaping of simplicity in the tale so that it would present a model of faith in the face of the profound danger he identified in modernity. In this respect, the article also highlighted the tale’s uniqueness in relation to the teachings: it sees the danger in the new spirit and the root of the heresy it carries not in the realm of beliefs and opinions (casting of doubt, rational investigation, and absolute faith in causality and the laws of nature), but in the way of life and the existential attitude that characterize modernism.