Akdamot – 2007

 Rabbi Michael Abraham

A. Introduction

The transgression of idolatry is one of the three cardinal sins for which one must give up one’s life. As it is described in Scripture and by the Sages, idolatry is generally also bound up with human and moral depravity, including adultery and murder in addition to the transgression of idolatry itself.

It is therefore no wonder that Jewish law treats idolaters with severity and instructs us to adopt an attitude of absolute rejection toward them. There are many laws directed toward gentiles, such as the rule that one need not return their lost property. According to some opinions, the prohibition “You shall not murder” does not apply to them (and certainly there is no death penalty for this). Likewise, one may not save their lives, at least where this involves desecrating the Sabbath; and even on weekdays one lowers them into a pit and does not raise them out. There are many more such laws indicating that they are regarded as creatures not entirely within the category of “human being” (in the vein of “You are called man, and they are not called man,” or “their flesh is like the flesh of donkeys,” and the like).

In our time, many feel that the situation is different. It does not seem that the gentiles of today (at least most of them) deserve such treatment, and therefore various proposals arise to modify these laws that concern them.[1] Among other things, in these contexts one often encounters the words of the Meiri, who in a good many places innovated a fundamentally different mode of relating to the Christians of his time, who were, in his words, bound by the ways of religion.

To the best of my understanding, many discussions of gentiles are marked by a misunderstanding regarding the essence of the Meiri’s principal innovation, and therefore applications of his position sometimes appear quite shaky. In this article I would like to discuss the Meiri’s unique position, clarify his primary innovation, and examine the halakhic implications that emerge from it, down to the present day. The discussion is based to a considerable extent on Professor Jacob Katz’s article, “Religious Tolerance in the Method of Rabbi Menahem ha-Meiri in Jewish Law and Philosophy” (hereafter: Katz), which also appears in his book Jewish Law and Kabbalah.[2] It seems that Katz too erred in this same way, and therefore, in my humble opinion, some of the conclusions of his study also suffer from a lack of precision.

The Meiri’s words are of great principled importance, even beyond the question of attitudes toward gentiles. They constitute a paradigm for legitimate change in Jewish law, and one may derive from them several guiding lines for this broader and highly current issue as well. It is interesting to note that Rabbi H.D. Halevi,[3] in an article that likewise deals with the Meiri’s innovation, devotes the end of his remarks at length to the question of changes in Jewish law. Evidently the Meiri’s innovation creates a sense of difficulty (and, as it were, a scent of “reform”), even among the decisors who study and interpret him.

In the course of this discussion I shall try to illustrate, through the topic of attitudes toward gentiles, the lines that ought to characterize a legitimate change (which perhaps cannot even be considered a change at all) in Jewish law. In order to sharpen that aspect, I shall preface the discussion with a brief a priori analysis (only as much as is needed for what follows) of the subject of changes in Jewish law.

B. On Changes in Jewish Law[4]

Demands for changes in Jewish law may arise because of a change in circumstances and reality, or because of a change in values. Here I wish to address an argument belonging to the first type (I doubt whether the second type is possible at all, but this is not the place to elaborate). Such demands arise in many contexts: the status of women, the attitude toward external wisdom and various occupations, the attitude toward gentiles, and the like.

Logic

Typical arguments raised in these contexts are based on the following pattern:

Premise A: The words of the Sages were stated with respect to the reality of their own time.

Premise B: The reality in our time is different.

Conclusion: Therefore the halakhic conclusions of the Sages should be changed in order to adapt them to our time.

For example, with respect to the disqualification of women from testimony, one might argue as follows: the disqualification of women from testimony was stated regarding the women known to the Sages, who were not involved in daily life and did not possess even minimal education. Today the situation has changed, since women are involved in every sphere of life, and they are no less educated than men (and sometimes more so). Therefore this law should be changed and women should be permitted to testify.

It should be noted that this pattern is not “reformist” in character at all. It is a legitimate halakhic argument, of the kind used by quite a few decisors in every generation. Moreover, it is doubtful whether this even counts as a change in Jewish law in the essential sense of the concept “change.” The argument actually assumes that the Sages themselves would have related differently to the reality of our time, had they encountered it. Hence there is no deviation here from their path.

The point I wish to emphasize here is that this pattern of argument, taken by itself, is not logically valid. Such a pattern contains an additional implicit premise of crucial importance, and this too must be brought to light and discussed: in order for the conclusion really to follow from the premises, one must assume that the law under discussion actually depends on those parameters that have changed. For example, in the argument regarding women, one must add the premise that their disqualification from testimony stemmed from their lack of education or their lack of social involvement. Without this additional premise, the conclusion does not follow from the premises, and the argument is void.

Therefore a valid pattern for legitimate change in Jewish law should be this:

Premise A: The words of the Sages were stated with respect to the reality they knew in their time.

Premise B: The law under discussion depends on parameters X, Y, Z, which were true in their time. If those parameters change, the halakhic attitude must change as well.

Premise C: Those specific parameters have in fact changed in our day.

Conclusion: In our day, the halakhic attitude must be changed.

It should be stressed that premises A and C are factual in nature. Their assessment is fundamentally empirical. Premise B, however, is halakhic in character. To examine it one must study the sources of Jewish law, and there is no possibility of grounding it in any empirical observation.

This would seem to explain why arguments in favor of change so often ignore this important addition. While premises A and C can be proved relatively easily by observing the facts, premise B—being halakhic in character—is usually very difficult to prove. For example, it is very hard to arrive, through study of the halakhic sources, at a clear conclusion regarding the reason women are disqualified from testimony: is it because of lack of education, or because they are not socially involved, and the like, or is it simply a scriptural decree, a matter without a reason?

Sociology

Here I would like to present an illuminating example that I once heard from a friend,[5] which helps define different modes of relating to tradition and to change within it. A group of people dressed in light clothing is walking through a desert. The journey has continued for generations, and their ancestors too walked this way dressed in the same kind of clothing. Thus their manner of dress is a tradition handed down from their ancestors, and they feel committed to it. At a certain point they approach the edge of the desert, and the weather begins to turn cold. At this stage the group splits into two. The first group upholds literal conservatism. These people argue that they are unwilling to depart from the tradition of their ancestors, and therefore they will remain dressed in light clothing despite the change in weather. Just as their ancestors walked in summer clothes, so will they. Some would call them “fundamentalists.” A second group upholds midrashic conservatism. These people say: we too continue faithfully in the tradition of our ancestors, and therefore we shall change our clothing to winter clothes. Just as they wore clothing suited to the weather, so shall we. They interpret their ancestral practice (that wearing summer clothes stemmed from a desire to adapt to the weather), and they apply that interpretation (something like the “reason of the verse”).

Which of the two groups is truly continuing the way of its ancestors? On the face of it, both are. The difference between them is not in conservatism itself, that is, in commitment to tradition. The difference lies only in the interpretation they give to the tradition in their possession. One group holds that the tradition instructs them to wear light clothing, and that is what they must continue (that is, they interpret the tradition literally). Their companions, by contrast, hold that the tradition instructs them to wear clothing suited to the weather (this is an interpretive, midrashic reading), and that is precisely what they continue, with the same devotion. Both are complete conservatives.

It is important to note that this difference concerns precisely the same hidden premise whose existence we pointed out in the previous subsection. These two groups disagree about the interpretation of the tradition they have received (and in our example: whether women are disqualified from testimony because of lack of education, or because of some other hidden reason). One group clings to the literal reading and the other to the interpretive one.[6] The possibility of “conservative” change by means of the argument-pattern presented above stems from a midrashic conservatism, according to which a change in circumstances can bring about a normative change. But here the additional premise is required, linking the law in question to the changed circumstances. This is the interpretive move that underlies the demand for change (and in our example: that walking in summer clothes is indeed connected to the parameter that has changed, namely the weather). Literal conservatives will say that this is a categorical command (“a scriptural decree”), and therefore it must be fulfilled as written. In any case, to establish a conservative argument for change, we necessarily require an interpretive move. There is no conservative change without interpretation at its foundation. That interpretive move is the hidden premise to which we referred above.

Now, in addition to these two groups, there are two other groups that will not enter this discussion at all. The third group is the group of unbelievers. They will say that they assign no weight to tradition, and therefore, even though this may constitute a departure from tradition, they change their clothing to winter clothes.

A fourth group is the reformists. They will say that tradition has its proper place and certainly carries some weight, but it is not an absolute value. There are additional considerations that may override the instructions of tradition, such as adaptation to the weather. For them, unlike the unbelievers, changing one’s clothing is not fully permitted but only overridden by stronger considerations. The application of these two approaches to the example of women’s disqualification from testimony is self-evident.

Attitudes toward Jewish law in our time are shaped through arguments belonging to all four of these types. At first glance one might identify sociological groupings within Judaism according to these categories. In broad strokes one could divide them as follows: Haredism (= literal conservatism), modern Orthodoxy (= midrashic conservatism), Reform Judaism, and secularity. This is, of course, a superficial and overly general identification, since some of these groups use arguments of several types (in different proportions. Those proportions are apparently what define each group’s particular shade, and therefore there are far more than four groups on the Jewish map). For our purposes, therefore, the proposed classification is a classification of arguments, not of the arguers.

As for our discussion, we may summarize as follows: assuming that halakhic Judaism belongs to the category of midrashic conservatism, change in Jewish law is indeed possible (if we should even call it change, for as we have seen, this is full preservation of tradition according to an “interpretive” reading). But such change must be based on proof of all three premises that underlie the argument-pattern presented above. The halakhic premise that we added to the two factual premises is the interpretive “midrash” of the tradition, which, as we have seen, is essential in order to establish the validity of the argument for change.

Jewish Law

Among the medieval authorities and halakhic decisors we find several laws concerning attitudes toward gentiles (and laws generally) that changed because circumstances changed. The change may be a change in the character of the gentiles, or a change in the situation of Jews and in their relation to gentiles. An example of the second type is the transition to isolated Jewish communities whose principal commerce was with the gentiles around them. In the period of the Mishnah and Talmud, the Jewish people were concentrated in places where most interaction was with Jews. In such a situation it was possible to impose restrictions on relations with a gentile. But when there are not many Jews nearby, we find ourselves dependent on trade with gentiles.

An example of such an argument is found in Tosafot on Avodah Zarah 15a, s.v. “Imor,” where they discuss selling a large animal to a gentile. Such a sale is forbidden by the Mishnah, but in the time of Tosafot Jews customarily sold their animals to gentiles. Tosafot explain there that today there are not many Jews living together, and therefore what is an animal-owner to do if he cannot find a Jew to whom to sell it? He will lose all his property. Therefore the Geonim in the Diaspora permitted the matter (and see there the halakhic conclusion that one may not be a horse-dealer with gentiles; only if one bought it for oneself may one sell it to a gentile, so as not to lose one’s property).

It should be noted that this is a rabbinic law. It seems that in a Torah-level law it would be much harder to permit such a thing, although examples of this too may be found in Professor Haym Soloveitchik’s book Jewish Law, Economy, and Self-Image.[7] Here the permission seems to be based on need rather than on a substantive change in the circumstances, but there is room to view even this permission as based on an argument pattern similar (though not identical) to the one presented above: the Sages enacted the decree in a situation where Jews lived together and could make a living from one another. That situation changed, and now Jews are dispersed, and without commerce with gentiles there is no reasonable possibility of earning a livelihood. Conclusion: the Sages themselves would not have forbidden commerce with gentiles under such circumstances. And indeed, Tosafot later in their remarks bring proof that in such a situation the decree was never made. The difference between this argument and the full and valid pattern presented above is the absence of the interpretive “midrash.” On its face, there is no basis here for the claim that where there is need the Sages did not decree, since the decree is not based on any specific empirical circumstance. The claim here is that under difficult circumstances there is room to be lenient even without an interpretive move. This is a leniency grounded in need, not in conservative interpretation.[8]

A similar example appears in Tosafot on Bava Metzia 70b, s.v. “Tashikh,” concerning interest charged to a gentile; see there.

C. The Meiri’s Method Regarding Attitudes toward the Gentile: Katz’s Interpretation

The Meiri’s Words: Representative Sources

The Meiri’s statements are found in his novellae, Beit HaBechirah, to Bava Kamma 37b, 113b; Gittin 62; Pesahim 21b; Yoma 84b; Bava Metzia 27a; and especially in many places in his commentary to tractate Avodah Zarah (2a, 6b, 15b, 20a, 22a, 26, 57a, and many other parallels, some of which are cited by Katz). In all these places he repeats his claim that various laws concerning gentiles were stated only regarding the gentiles of the Sages’ time, but the gentiles of his own time were bound by the norms of religion, and therefore those laws do not apply to them. It should be noted that this concerns both rabbinic laws and Torah-level laws.

For example, one instance among many: in Bava Kamma 113b he writes:

It follows that even with regard to idolaters and those who are not bound by the ways of religion, it is forbidden to rob them. And if a Jew has been sold to one of them, it is forbidden to leave him in his hands without redemption. Likewise, it is forbidden to withhold repayment of a loan owed to him. Nevertheless, a person is not required to go searching for his lost item in order to return it to him; indeed, even one who has found his lost property is not obligated to return it, for finding constitutes a partial acquisition, and returning it is an act of piety, and we are not bound to act piously toward one who has no religion. Similarly, if he errs on his own, not because of one’s scheming or exertion, there is no obligation to correct it. Nevertheless, if one becomes aware of it, one must in any case return it. And so too with lost property: wherever delay would cause a desecration of the divine name, one returns it.[9]

But any people who are bound by the ways of religion and worship God in some manner, even though their faith is far from ours, are not included in this. Rather, for these matters they are like full Israelites: with respect to lost property, with respect to error, and with respect to all other such matters, without any distinction.

The changes determined by the Meiri concern an absolute prohibition on robbing a gentile; the obligation to return lost property to a gentile; the prohibition on withholding repayment of a loan owed to a gentile (Beit HaBechirah, Bava Kamma 113b; 33b); the permission to give gifts to a gentile (Beit HaBechirah, Avodah Zarah, p. 46)[10]; renting a house to a gentile (ibid., p. 48); handing animals over to them (ibid., p. 53); trading with them on their festival day (ibid., p. 28); and more.

Katz’s Interpretation

In many of these contexts there are also other medieval authorities who found grounds for leniency in their own day (see the sources in Katz), but the general principle is absent from their words. One always finds a qualified permission from which it is desirable to refrain wherever possible, and it is presented as an after-the-fact justification for a custom that arose in practice because of distress and was already in place. Usually the permission is supported by additional subsidiary considerations, and it is never stated as an all-encompassing general principle valid from the outset. None of this is found in the Meiri. Katz sees in all these features the aspects that distinguish the Meiri’s innovation, leading us to understand that in his case this is a principled novelty that entirely and decisively removes these laws from application to the gentiles of his time.

1. The conceptualization and generality of the permission. He coins a phrase that distinguishes between gentiles who are “bound by the ways and norms of religion” and gentiles who are not, and he repeats it consistently in dozens of places. The Meiri also does not suffice with the assertion that they are not idolaters; he also describes them positively.
2. The decisiveness and singularity of the permission. The Meiri permits this consistently in several places and laws throughout the Talmud. He does not address one specific law in which popular practice had already been lenient, and he generally does not present his claim as a defense of an existing custom, but as the correct and proper law from the outset. It seems that he establishes a principle with implications that may also be applied in matters where no permissive custom had developed. If so, all these laws are permitted here on the basis of one foundation—an overarching and binding principle, in the Meiri’s view.

For comparison, Tosafot on Avodah Zarah 2a, s.v. “Asur,” describe a custom permitting commerce on gentiles’ festival days. They attempted to justify this on the ground that there is a concern for hostility (and so too the Yere’im 129a), and they rejected that. In the end they determine that in their day Christians do not worship idolatry. The implication is that they mean Christians who bring things to their monks and priests, not for idolatry but only for their own enjoyment (from which it appears that only because of this personal enjoyment is it permitted, while in principle Christianity is idolatry). And indeed, the medieval authorities who relied on Tosafot’s answers generally added that a scrupulous person should be stringent in this matter, and they relied on these answers only in order to justify existing practice after the fact. So it is written regarding trade on their festival day in Tosafot there, in the Yere’im there, in Nachmanides on Avodah Zarah 13a, and elsewhere.

By contrast, the Meiri at the beginning of tractate Avodah Zarah[11] rejects all these answers and says they are entirely unnecessary. He remains faithful to his principled determination that Christians are bound by the ways of religion, and therefore none of these prohibitions applies to them at all. In conclusion he writes there (s.v. “Yesh”) that in his day no one is careful regarding commercial dealings with a gentile, even on their festival day—“not Gaon, not rabbi, not sage, not student, not pious person, and not one who makes himself pious.” It appears that he accepts this from the outset, as a clear determination, and not merely as an after-the-fact permission.

3. The consistency of the permission. In other places in the Talmud as well (especially in tractate Avodah Zarah)[12], where all the medieval authorities seek out various special permissions with respect to that same place and passage, the Meiri consistently relies on his general permission.

An example may be found in the matter of the prohibition of robbing a gentile (which the Sages dispute in Bava Kamma 113b). Some ruled that it is forbidden, and some wrote that it is forbidden because of desecration of the divine name. The Meiri requires none of this. In his view the entire dispute concerns only the ancient nations that were not bound by religion. In his time, however, according to all opinions it is forbidden to rob a gentile exactly as it is forbidden to rob a Jew (see the quotation above).

Katz concludes from this that the Meiri developed here a general thesis (the principle of removal), and in his view it must be applied consistently; there is not even any point in being stringent where that is possible. The gentiles of his time quite clearly do not belong within these prohibitions and permissions, whether Torah-level or rabbinic.

In the second part of his article, Katz notes that none of these decisors drew the necessary conclusions regarding the status of Christianity as idolatry. In discussions of the status of objects of worship and the permissibility of commerce involving them, the decisors take for granted that these are idolatrous objects, and therefore even if they find some permission, it is only on a local basis, and the permission is highly tentative.

Yet, as he notes there, astonishingly enough, on this issue the Meiri joins the prohibiting camp. Although he generally uses past tense (speaking of forms of worship that prevailed in ancient times), nowhere does he explicitly apply his sweeping permission when it comes to Christian ritual objects.

This is especially striking with regard to ritual objects not mentioned in the Talmud at all, such as candles, bread, and priests’ vestments. It is impossible to explain the prohibition of such objects on the ground that they are connected to ancient nations. These are objects taken from the Christian world familiar to the Meiri in his own surroundings. It is quite clear that he is trying to evade his own permission when it comes to ritual objects. Here, suddenly, he too speaks of the need for a scrupulous person to be stringent, just as the other medieval authorities do in the other contexts. The permission, even if granted, is hesitant.

Let us sharpen the difficulty further. The Meiri’s earlier permissions, which we described above, necessarily rest on an interpretive move. In order to permit giving a gift to a gentile, it would not have been enough for the Meiri to argue that the gentiles of his day were not idolaters. He would also have had to argue the “midrash” (in the terms of chapter B above), namely that these prohibitions are based on the gentiles’ not being bound by the norms of religion, and since the gentiles of his day were so bound, the prohibition no longer applies. By contrast, permitting ritual objects is not a substantive change in a standing law. Here one does not even require an interpretive move of halakhic change. The prohibition on deriving benefit from ritual objects of idolatry is a Torah prohibition. Clearly, it is relevant only to objects used for idolatry. Therefore, if Christianity in his day was not regarded by him as idolatry, then such a prohibition never existed in the first place regarding Christian ritual objects. Here no interpretive move is needed at all, and therefore we would expect the Meiri to permit ritual objects more readily than the other prohibitions. But that is not the case.

At this point Katz finds it appropriate to slip into psychologizing explanations. He explains this by the Meiri’s need to rely on permissions already practiced in his time, and not to innovate other permissions that were not yet practiced. He further suggests that the Meiri felt a repugnance (psychological, not halakhic—for halakhically he determined absolutely that Christianity is not idolatry) toward a lenient attitude to the ritual objects of another religion.

Katz is generally careful to analyze Jewish law through internal halakhic considerations, and not to offer contextual explanations (that is, psychological and sociological explanations based on influences, needs, inhibitions, and the like).[13] But at this point he returns to the practice of many scholars and explains the Meiri solely in psychologistic terms.

Between Academy and Study Hall: Different Planes of Explanation

This explanation may indeed be correct, for no human being is free of psychological and other influences. But in the study hall such an explanation is unacceptable. In the study hall, every halakhic position is examined in the crucible of halakhic analysis and explained in halakhic terms. Influences, needs, and inhibitions cannot be components of a halakhic explanation, but perhaps only of an academic-contextual one.[14]

When a decisor asks himself what the law is regarding Christian ritual objects, he cannot argue that the Meiri spoke out of repugnance; rather, he must formulate a position that provides an adequate interpretive framework for all of the Meiri’s statements. He must understand why the Meiri did not permit deriving benefit from Christian ritual objects despite his principled method. Of course, if one succeeds in finding an internal halakhic explanation for the Meiri’s consideration, then the need to resort to psychologistic and contextual explanations disappears automatically.[15]

The Main Difficulties in Katz’s Interpretation of the Meiri

As we have seen, Katz, like many others, interprets the focus of the Meiri’s innovation as the claim that the Christianity of his time was not idolatry. But this interpretation is highly problematic, for several reasons:

1. As Katz himself notes, the Meiri does not use his principled foundation in order to permit deriving benefit from Christian ritual objects.
2. The Meiri makes no comment at all about the fact that in this he inclines away from Maimonides’ path. Usually the Meiri is a pronounced Maimonidean, and we would have expected him at least to remark that on this issue he disagrees entirely with Maimonides.
3. As far as I know, the Meiri nowhere explicitly writes that the Christianity of his day is not idolatry. The expression he uses is that they are bound by the norms of religion. He distinguishes them from the ancient idolaters, who were not bound by such norms. This expression sounds like a statement that they possess proper human conduct, but it is not necessarily connected to the question whether they transgress the halakhic prohibitions of idolatry.
4. Many of the laws discussed in the various passages where the Meiri applies his principle are not connected to idolatry (unlike the prohibition regarding ritual objects, which is clearly a prohibition concerning objects of idolatry, and precisely there the Meiri does not remove the prohibition sweepingly).[16] The prohibition on giving a gift to a gentile (derived from “do not show them favor”) is, in its plain sense, not a prohibition directed specifically at idolaters. The same is true of the permission to rob a gentile, or to withhold repayment of his loan, and the like. If the Meiri’s innovation was indeed that the Christianity of his time is not included in the category of idolatry, then this would not have been a sufficient basis to permit these prohibitions in relation to it, since they also apply to gentiles who are not idolaters.

It should be noted that most halakhic discussions of the question of the status of Christians focus mainly on whether Christianity falls under the category of idolatry or not (whether a gentile is commanded regarding association, and the like).[17] Presumably this is also the basis on which those who cite the Meiri’s words on this matter learned to understand him.[18] But, as stated, this interpretation of the Meiri’s words does not seem plausible.

D. An Alternative Proposal: ‘Enlightened Idolatry’

Our Proposal for Explaining the Meiri’s Method

The conclusion called for by all that has been said thus far is that the Meiri does not mean to say that Christianity is not idolatry. Rather, he means that modern Christianity (that is, in his time), unlike the ancient idolatrous religions (and those that still existed in his time “at the ends”), is indeed a mistaken religion, but this does not place its believers outside the bounds of religious civility—that is, the framework of proper human and moral conduct.

Maimonides, in his Commentary on the Mishnah to Bava Kamma 37b—which, of course, is also cited in the Meiri’s novellae there—writes as follows:

Do not be astonished at this matter, and do not let it trouble you, just as it does not trouble you that animals are slaughtered even though they have not sinned. For one who lacks human moral qualities is not truly included in the category of man; rather, the purpose of his existence is for the sake of man.

Maimonides explains that idolaters, because of the corruption of their character traits, are not worthy of being treated as human beings; therefore the law was made lenient in judging them under the stricter rule. The Meiri follows him there, but takes one step further and argues that if there are idolaters who are not corrupt in their character, these laws will not apply to them. The principal application of this conclusion is to the Christianity of his time, which does not fall under these categories, and therefore, in his view, these laws are void with respect to it. But there is no reason whatsoever to assume that Christianity—even that of the Meiri’s own time—did not appear to him to be idolatry.

The Meiri makes a similar claim in several places:

That is to say, this was said of idolaters, who were not bound by the ways of religion; on the contrary, every transgression and every abomination was pleasing in their eyes. And the chief of the philosophers already said: “Kill the one who has no religion.” But anyone who worships God, even if he is not within our religion, is certainly not subject to this rule, Heaven forbid (Avodah Zarah 26a, s.v. “Ha-goyim”).

Let us bring one more quotation from another central source, where the Meiri writes as follows:

And it has already been explained that these matters were stated only regarding those periods when those nations were idolaters, and were defiled in their deeds and ugly in their character traits, as in the verse said concerning some of them: “You shall not do as the practice of the land of Egypt where you dwelt, nor as the practice of the land of Canaan, etc.” But other nations, who are bound by the ways of religion and are free of these vile character traits—and indeed punish such behavior—there is no doubt that these matters have no place with respect to them at all, as we have explained.

And we have repeated this often in our writings, so that you will not need the many forced answers you find in the novellae and in Tosafot unnecessarily (Avodah Zarah 26b).

The Meiri repeatedly emphasizes here that this is a principled innovation, and that it renders unnecessary all the local answers proposed by Tosafot and other commentators. But in the two sources cited here (as in many others) one can see clearly that he makes his innovation depend on the change that the gentiles underwent in the correction of their moral character, not in their beliefs or their religious worship.

Katz himself (before note 55 in his article) notes that the Meiri expresses no particular appreciation for the Christians’ beliefs or for the theoretical side of Christianity, not even for what it shares with Judaism. He focuses on his appreciation of its practical and behavioral tendency.

We should also note that there is something suggestive in the conjunction that appears in the quotation we brought above from Bava Kamma 113b, where the Meiri writes: It follows that even with regard to idolaters and those who are not bound by the ways of religion, it is forbidden to rob them. If this reading is precise, it seems that the Meiri is saying explicitly that these are two different categories: (1) idolaters; (2) those who are not idolaters and yet are not bound by the ways of religion. Our claim here is that the Meiri held that this distinction works in both directions: just as there are people who are not idolaters but are corrupt in their character, so too there are idolaters whose character is refined.

If so, the Meiri’s innovation does not lie in defining these nations as idolaters, but in his moral evaluation of them, and consequently in the moral attitude toward them. He is not arguing that the Christianity of his time was not idolatry, but that it was ‘enlightened idolatry’. The Meiri is in effect challenging the automatic linkage that we make between idolatry and moral corruption. He argues that this link was true of the idolaters of the ancient Near East (as described in Scripture) and in the time of the Sages, whose worship was bound up with adultery, bloodshed, and human sacrifice.[19] But in the Meiri’s time, in his view, the situation had changed. Although their religions were still mistaken, their conduct was bounded by religious norms, and therefore one must change one’s attitude toward them.

In other words: the Meiri is not speaking in his remarks about the concept “idolatry,” but about the concept “gentile.”[20] In his view, Christians are not included in the halakhic category of “gentile” relevant here, but he does not claim that they are not included in the category of “idolaters.” Of course, they are indeed considered gentiles with respect to the prohibition of intermarriage, ordinary social relations, and the like, as the Meiri himself notes in his novellae to Avodah Zarah 26a (p. 59). After repeating there his innovation, as is his regular practice, he writes:

Nevertheless, with respect to concerns involving Sabbath prohibitions and prohibitions of foods and drinks—such as libation wine and ordinary gentile wine—and other prohibitions similar to these, whether those forbidden for consumption or those decreed because of concern for intermarriage, all nations are the same in this regard, except for the prohibition of deriving benefit from ordinary gentile wine according to most commentators, as will be explained in its place in this tractate (Avodah Zarah 64b).

Immediately thereafter he again establishes there that this is a general and binding principle, a principle valid from the outset:

From now on, let these matters be settled in your mind, and we shall not need to restate them in every single instance; rather, you should discern in which cases they are to be explained as referring to the ancient nations and in which they refer to all nations in general. Understand this and know it.

Resolving the Difficulties

According to our explanation, all the difficulties raised above disappear. The Meiri nowhere determines that Christianity is not idolatry, simply because he is not in fact making that claim. Therefore he also refrains from permitting their ritual objects (except through local and qualified permissions, like the other medieval authorities). He likewise makes no comment that he is departing from Maimonides’ path, because in truth he did not depart from it. The reverse is true: as we saw in Bava Kamma 37b, the Meiri follows Maimonides’ argument precisely, grounding attitudes toward gentiles in their moral level rather than in their being idolaters.

Now it also ceases to be difficult why the Meiri carries out his revolution even with respect to prohibitions that concern gentiles in general, and not only idolaters. As we have seen, his claim concerns the category “gentile” and not the category “idolater.” The category “gentile” to which all these prohibitions were addressed means a person corrupt in character, not necessarily an idolater. On the contrary: in contexts of idolatry there is indeed no revolution, and therefore the Meiri holds that Christian ritual objects remain forbidden.

A Comment on Katz’s Conclusion: Does the Meiri’s Position Have a Philosophical Source?

Katz devotes the second half of his article to a discussion that grounds the Meiri’s unusual position in philosophical principles, which connect moral character to belief and reason, and place reason and belief at the center.

But in my humble opinion the entire foundation of this discussion rests on an error. Katz’s discussion is conducted in light of his mistaken interpretation, according to which the Meiri regarded Christianity as a worship that is not alien. He attributes this to the Meiri’s positive attitude toward other religions (this too, in his view, contrary to Maimonides). In order to explain this, Katz argues that according to the Meiri, the attitude toward idolatry is not merely on the technical-halakhic-formal plane, but as an intellectual idea. Other religions that are refined in their deeds and in their theoretical-conceptual layer cannot be idolatry.

But in light of our argument, that the heart of the Meiri’s innovation does not concern the question whether Christianity is idolatry, there is no need for such a discussion.[21] Consequently, the connection Katz sees between the development of Jewish law and the philosophical ideas found in its infrastructure (which seems to be the main aim and conclusion of his article) is not necessarily present at the foundation of this issue. Thus one can describe the development of the Meiri’s halakhic approach in purely halakhic terms, and the traditional yeshiva-style explanation is entirely sufficient. There is no need to resort to academic psychologism.

Precedents for This Understanding of the Meiri

There are several precedents for the interpretation proposed here of the Meiri’s view, although most of them combine it with the claim that Christianity is not idolatry, and in all of them the distinctions are not sharp. Still, I shall cite several examples in support of my argument.

Rabbi Kook writes:

The main point follows the view of the Meiri: all peoples who are bound by proper norms of conduct between one person and another are already considered like resident aliens with respect to all human obligations (Iggerot HaRe’iyah, letter 89).

Rabbi Shlomo Aviner follows him, and indeed explicitly makes the distinction we are proposing:

The Meiri mentions in several places that the Christians of his time do not fall within the category of idolaters. More than that: at times they do not even fall within the category of gentiles.[22]

Rabbi H.D. Halevi[23] oscillates between these two poles in the Meiri’s words. On the one hand he discusses the question whether Christians are idolaters, and on the other hand their moral and human level and the obligations that derive from it. In most places he formulates himself in ways from which I found it difficult to infer what he means, and it seems that he himself did not arrive at a clear position on the matter.

A clear example of such a formulation is found in the words of Rabbi Moshe Rivkes (author of Be’er HaGolah) on the Shulhan Arukh, Hoshen Mishpat, sec. 266, cited by Rabbi H.D. Halevi on p. 77:

And from what Maimonides wrote—that the reason is because one thereby strengthens the hands of the wicked of the world—it seems to me that he held that Rav said this in Sanhedrin only regarding gentiles who worship stars and constellations, and not regarding the gentiles of our time, who acknowledge the Creator of the world and whose norms include returning lost property.

He infers that Maimonides grounds the prohibition on returning lost property in the fact that one who returns their loss thereby supports the wicked of the world, which implies that the matter depends on wickedness and not on idolatry. He therefore concludes that the prohibition does not apply to the gentiles of his own time. It is not clear whether the formulation “idolaters of the present time” is merely habitual language (with “gentile” intended and not literally “idolater”), or whether he really means, as we have argued, to define them as “enlightened” idolaters. Similar ambiguity can be seen in his remarks on the Shulhan Arukh, Hoshen Mishpat, sec. 425, regarding idolaters whom one does not raise from a pit:

The Sages said this only about the gentiles of their time, who worshiped stars and constellations and did not believe in the Exodus from Egypt or in the creation of the world anew. But these gentiles among whom we, the Jewish people, live under their protection and are scattered, believe in creation, in the Exodus from Egypt, and in the fundamentals of religion, and all their intention is directed to the Maker of heaven and earth, as the decisors wrote and as the Rema brought in Orah Hayyim sec. 126 in his gloss … we are obligated to pray for their welfare.

It should be noted that here the criteria are distinctly religious and not moral, whereas in the previous passage he grounded his words in belief in the Creator of the world and in the norm of returning lost property.

In any event, these discussions (which appear in additional medieval authorities as well, as cited by Rabbi H.D. Halevi there) do not express an overall and systematic conception like that of the Meiri, and sometimes there is even room to see in them apologetics prompted by fear of the evil eye, as Katz noted.

Additional Indications: The Existence of the Conservative ‘Midrash’

If our argument is sound, the Meiri’s intention is to innovate that the Christians of his day were enlightened idolaters, and therefore quite a few laws do not apply to them (or are removed from them).

Now, if the Meiri’s intention had merely been to claim that they are not idolaters, that alone would have sufficed to establish his thesis of removal: if these laws refer to idolaters, then it would be enough to say that the Christians of his day were not such people, and therefore the laws do not refer to them.

But according to our understanding of his method, the Meiri’s pattern of argument for change would appear, on the face of it, to be invalid. What is missing here is the conservative “midrash,” or the proof of premise B, the one of halakhic character. As we saw, to establish a thesis of this kind it is not enough to show that the character of gentiles and their moral and human conduct changed (premise C). In addition, one must show that the laws in question actually depend on the very parameters that changed (premise B). In our examples, the Meiri would have had to show that the prohibitions of returning lost property or giving a gift, and the like, derive from the gentiles’ moral level, and not from the mere fact that they are idolaters. This is a halakhic thesis whose proof requires examination and grounding in halakhic terms.

I will not enter here into the question of proving this thesis, which would need to be done separately for each of the laws under discussion. Even if it seems that the prohibition on returning lost property to a gentile derives from his inferior moral level, that does not show that withholding repayment of his loan, or renting him a house or an animal, has the same basis. In each of the laws that calls for change one must show that its foundation is the defective moral level of gentiles, and not the transgressions of idolatry that they commit.

In most places the Meiri does not deal with such an interpretive move at all, and it seems that he assumes it as self-evident. Apparently this is an intuitive premise which, in his view, does not require justification from the sources. It may be that in fact he could not prove it from the sources, and therefore both interpretations were equally admissible; in such a case he allowed himself to adopt the interpretation that seemed more plausible to him on the level of reasoning.[24] In the next subsection we shall see that this situation is not unusual. It is the symptomatic situation in which the approach of midrashic conservatism appears.

There are a few places where he seems aware of this additional premise. For example, in the passage of Bava Kamma 113 he explicitly argues that returning lost property is a pious mode of conduct, and we are not obligated in such piety toward one who does not conduct himself piously. That is, he needs the claim that the prohibition concerns moral qualities and not the transgression of idolatry.

Likewise, in the Avodah Zarah 26b passage cited above, he brings from “the chief of the philosophers”: “Kill the one who has no religion.” If the claim were halakhic and concerned idolaters, the words of the chief of the philosophers would be irrelevant. It appears that he is trying to prove a moral-human claim and not a religious one.

In Avodah Zarah 6b he proves that there is no prohibition on trading with them even on their festival day, since their worship today does not extend to sacrificial offerings. This clearly implies that he relates to them as idolaters, but that this is a diluted form of idolatry (see below).

Likewise, at the beginning of tractate Avodah Zarah he goes on at length to prove that trade and commerce with them do not amount to acknowledging their worship, and that they do not use the merchandise for sacrificial offering; therefore the conditions of the prohibition are not met (see there, s.v. “Yesh ba-devarim”).

In the passage of Bava Kamma 37b, Maimonides himself proves that the laws of torts do not apply with respect to one who does not fall within the category of human, from the permission to slaughter animals that have not sinned, and from the philosophical argument that one who lacks human character traits is not within the category of human.

Along the same lines, the Meiri brings two proofs that recur in several places:

In the passage on 26a, near the end of the page, he compares refined nations to a resident alien, and proves from there that these Torah laws are not directed at every gentile as such, for a resident alien too is a gentile. From this the Meiri proves that these laws are directed toward wicked gentiles, and hence his conclusion. The same is true in the passage on 20a, at the beginning of the page, regarding permitting their residence among us. If these laws were directed only toward idolaters, there would have been no room at all to prove anything from the resident alien. The Meiri proves from the resident alien itself his interpretive move that these laws do not refer to idolaters as such, but to gentiles whose character is not morally refined.

In Bava Kamma 37b he proves from the midrash that appears in the Gemara there (38a) that the prohibition of robbery was permitted only because gentiles did not accept the Seven Noahide commandments, from which it follows that this does not reflect an essential attitude toward every gentile. From this, it seems, he infers that the law for those who are bound by the ways of religion and civility is different.

The Absence of the Conservative ‘Midrash’

We have seen that the Meiri argues that one must change one’s attitude toward the Christian gentiles of his time because of a change in their moral behavior. Assuming that the Meiri represents a conservative position, the conclusion is that he is a “midrashic” and not a “literal” conservative, for a literal conservative would not call for changing the halakhic attitude even if the circumstances changed. The main problem with this thesis about the Meiri is that we would expect a midrashic conservative to present an interpretation that serves as the basis of his claim (that is, to prove premise B above). The Meiri should have proved that the laws in question are indeed based on the gentiles’ moral behavior and not on their being idolaters. But such an interpretation appears nowhere in the Meiri’s writings. Does this not undermine the very thesis that I have presented here?

This important point returns us to the theoretical models presented in the introduction. What, in fact, could the Meiri have done in order to establish his position? On the face of it, he should have cited a source—from Scripture or from the literature of the Sages—proving that these prohibitions stem from the gentiles’ moral corruption. But if such a clear source actually existed, every conservative of any kind would have agreed with the Meiri’s claim. For if there were a clear source that these prohibitions refer only to corrupt gentiles, then the literal conservative too would have ruled exactly as the Meiri did. That is precisely the outcome dictated by fidelity to the sources in their plain sense.

The conclusion that follows is that the distinction between the two kinds of conservatism arises precisely when there is no clear canonical source proving the innovative thesis—when there is no proof for the conservative interpretation. In such a situation the interpreter must decide how to proceed: the literal conservative continues to act as he has until now, and would not take the change of circumstances into account. The midrashic conservative, by contrast, allows himself in such a situation to act according to his own understanding. He interprets the prohibitions as grounded in the gentiles’ moral corruption, despite the absence of a clear source to that effect (of course, only when there is no source to the contrary). It is precisely here that the “midrashic” character of his conservatism is expressed.

If so, the situation in which the demanded change is not grounded in an explicit source is not merely “possible” for the midrashic conservative, as I argued above. It is the only situation in which the difference between him and the literal conservative comes into being. The conservative interpretation is nothing other than a consideration grounded in reasoning without a source, which claims that the factual infrastructure of a given law is X, and therefore, following the change in that factual infrastructure, the law in question must be altered. The absence of a clear source for the conservative interpretation is a condition of its being “midrash”; otherwise it would be a literal interpretation and not a midrash, and such a literal procedure is valid even according to the literal conservative.

Intermediate Degrees: Attenuated Idolatry

Until now we have presented the two sides in a highly dichotomous manner: one possibility was that the Meiri held that Christians are not idolaters, and the second possibility was that he held they are “enlightened” idolaters. There are several indications that he intended a model mediating between these two theses: Christianity is a moderate form of idolatry. By this I mean that, besides the moral improvement, the Christians’ transgression of idolatry is not like that of the ancient nations or those at “the ends.” Therefore the Meiri’s principle of removal has two horns: they are human and moral, and they are not idolaters in the full sense.

This point requires distinction and sharpening, and this is not the place for a detailed discussion. I shall cite only a few passages from the Meiri from which it seems that this is indeed his method.

1. In his novellae to Avodah Zarah 6b (s.v. “Le-mattah”), he writes regarding trade with them on their festival day:

Certainly, the reason appears to be that these matters were said only in their time, when idolatrous worship extended to sacrifice and acts of devotion … and they worshiped the host of heaven—the sun, the moon, the constellations, wood, and stone…

It seems that he is not claiming that Christians are not idolaters, but that their idolatry is not as extreme as it once was (or as it is at “the ends”). On the other hand, it should be noted that his criteria here do not concern civility and morality, but the essence of worship and belief. On the face of it, the claim is that this is attenuated idolatry.

But we must remember that the discussion here concerns trade on their festival day, and not a law such as returning lost property and the like. Therefore it is reasonable that here the argument must refer to the nature of their worship, and not only to their moral and human level.

2. In his novellae to Avodah Zarah 57a the Meiri discusses the status of Ishmaelites with respect to wine libation and ordinary gentile wine. He brings Maimonides’ view, according to which they are not idolaters, and therefore only prohibitions grounded in concern for intermarriage apply to them, not prohibitions of idolatry. He then cites in the name of “some of the Geonim” that they lowered them one degree beyond other nations:

What is forbidden for benefit with other nations is permitted for benefit with these, though forbidden for drinking. And what with other nations is permitted for benefit—such as wine touched unintentionally by a gentile—is permitted even for drinking.

There is here an intermediate level between idolaters and mere prohibitions of intermarriage. If so, Muslims are something like a form of attenuated idolatry. And he cites something similar there in the name of the Geonim regarding the nations of the present time.

It should be noted that here there may be a practical implication to the different conceptions we are considering regarding the principle of removal: if the leniency toward gentiles stems from their “enlightenment,” then there may be Muslims toward whom such an attitude is not justified. But if it depends on the definition of attenuated idolatry, then Islam is certainly not blatant idolatry, if it is idolatry at all.[25]

3. In his novellae to Avodah Zarah 26a the Meiri discusses medical treatment and haircutting by gentiles, and he writes there as follows:

For all of these refer to the ancient nations, who were not bound by the ways of religion and were deeply attached and devoted to the worship of idols, stars, and talismans. All of these and the like are the essence of idolatry, as has been explained.

It seems that his distinction here is between worship that depends on talismans and stars, and idolatry of the Trinity, which is a more abstract and refined idea, even though it too is idolatry. Here too, the criterion for distinction is not morality or human level, but the nature of the worship.

4. The expression that appears in the quotation from the Meiri’s novellae to Bava Kamma 113 cited above can also be understood this way:

But any people who are bound by the ways of religion and worship divinity in some fashion, even though their faith is far from ours, are not included in this.

There is a statement here that there is a problem in their belief, and yet they are worshippers of divinity in some fashion. Admittedly, one need not understand this as an expression meaning attenuated idolatry; perhaps it refers here to heresy that is not idolatry.[26]

It is therefore no wonder that Rabbi H.D. Halevi and the author of Be’er HaGolah, along with other sages, employed ambiguous formulations regarding Christians, from which it is difficult to infer a clear position in one of the two directions we have set out here.

E. Saving a Gentile on the Sabbath

Let us conclude with a contemporary halakhic implication of the Meiri’s position regarding the question of saving a gentile on the Sabbath. This question reverberates in our world as an extremely difficult moral issue.[27] According to Jewish law, it is forbidden to desecrate the Sabbath (at least through Torah prohibitions) in order to save the life of a gentile. The moral intuition on this matter is very difficult, but it would seem, on the face of it, that there is no principled and substantive halakhic avenue that would permit it. In practice, decisors do permit desecrating the Sabbath in order to save a gentile, since failure to do so may arouse hostility at various levels and even real danger to Jewish lives throughout the world (whether because of riots resulting from outrage at such an approach, or because gentile doctors would not be willing to extend aid to Jewish patients).

Additional technical halakhic solutions are also raised in this context, but the basic feeling remains difficult: how are we to understand that Jewish law could contain such a devaluation of human life?

The Meiri’s words provide the only possibility of solving this difficulty on the substantive level (and not merely on the practical one): these rulings too were said about the gentiles of old, who did not fall within the category of human because of their corrupt character traits (if there is a commandment to lower them into a pit, certainly there would be no permission to desecrate the Sabbath in order to save them). But the “enlightened” gentiles around us—their lives are not cheap, and Jewish law permits us (and apparently even obligates us) to desecrate the Sabbath in order to save them.

In most discussions of the question of saving gentile life on the Sabbath, this possibility is not presented. There is a passing reference to it in Rabbi Shlomo Aviner’s article and a broader treatment in Rabbi Gershoni’s article.[28] We shall discuss it briefly here.

The Meiri in Yoma

It turns out that the Meiri himself, in the passage in Yoma 84b, writes these words (s.v. “Piku’ah Nefesh”):

In a courtyard containing Jews and idolaters with them, we are not commanded to desecrate the Sabbath on their behalf, since they have no religion at all.

From his words it sounds as though with gentiles who do have religion, the law may be different. Now Rabbi Gershoni cites a somewhat different version of the Meiri’s text, in which the point is more explicit:

In cases of saving life, we do not follow the majority. How so? A courtyard containing Jews together with the ancient worshipers of stars and constellations—we are not commanded to desecrate the Sabbath on their behalf, since they have no religion at all, and do not even care about the obligations of human society…

Rabbi Gershoni concludes from this: it is explicit in the Meiri’s words that for nations that have religion, are bound by the ways of religion, and worship God in some fashion, even though their faith is far from ours and they are not ancient pagans, we are commanded to desecrate the Sabbath on their behalf, and this is included in the rule that one is commanded to sustain the resident alien.

It should be noted that the permission presented here is not based on hostility or the ways of peace and the like, but is a permission from the outset. With respect to such gentiles, there is no prohibition at all against desecrating the Sabbath, and perhaps there is even an obligation to do so (as Rabbi Gershoni argues, that we are commanded to desecrate the Sabbath on their behalf).

‘Desecrate One Sabbath for Him so That He May Keep Many Sabbaths’

The fundamental difficulty with such a position regarding the laws of saving life is that the basis of the permission (and obligation) to desecrate the Sabbath in order to save a life, as it is brought in the Gemara in Yoma there and by many decisors, is the consideration “Desecrate one Sabbath for him so that he may keep many Sabbaths.” Quite a number of decisors derive conclusions from this regarding life-saving where the rescue will not lead to future Sabbath observance (such as an apostate Jew, very brief life expectancy, and the like).

True, in the passage in Yoma 85b this source appears to be set aside, but closer examination shows that the Gemara only adds to it another source from exposition: “and live by them”—and not that one should die through them, since from the consideration of “Desecrate one Sabbath for him” one cannot derive the permission to desecrate the Sabbath in a doubtful case of danger to life. Proof of this is the Gemara in Shabbat 151b, which brings that source in practice as the basis for saving the life of a day-old infant (because in the future he will keep many Sabbaths).

If so, there is room for the conclusion to remain with the source of “Desecrate one Sabbath for him,” and several decisors indeed hold this way.[29] What is the Meiri’s opinion on this issue? It turns out that he specifically accepts this reason in practice, and he brings it in the Yoma passage (s.v. “Avodah u-Milah”) along with the other reasons. Below we shall see that he probably even regards it as the primary reason.

One of the important ramifications of the dispute regarding the reasons for the permission is whether it is permitted (or required) to desecrate the Sabbath in order to save someone’s very brief life expectancy: if the basis of the permission is the value of human life, then this could apply even to very short-term life. But if the basis of the permission is “so that he may keep many Sabbaths,” then here it is not reasonable that the rescued person, for that short time, will come to “keep many Sabbaths.” Another ramification is saving a person who does not observe the Sabbath (an apostate, a “captured child,” a gentile, and the like).

Now the Meiri himself has a surprising and unique position regarding saving very brief life expectancy (in his novellae to Yoma, on the fifth Mishnah, 85a, s.v. “Amar HaMeiri”):

Even if it has become clear that he cannot live even one hour, for in that hour he may repent in his heart and confess.

The very difficulty he raises (why desecrate the Sabbath in order to save a very brief life expectancy) indicates that he understood the primary reason to be “so that he may keep many Sabbaths.” Therefore he struggles to understand the basis for the permission to desecrate the Sabbath for the sake of very brief life, since many Sabbaths will not be kept here. And this is indeed how the decisors explain his view (see the Bi’ur Halakhah and the Tzitz Eliezer). But they go on to explain his words here by saying that, in his view, “keeping many Sabbaths” does not mean specifically Sabbath observance, but the fulfillment of commandments in general. We desecrate one Sabbath so that the rescued person may fulfill many commandments. That is why he says here that even in a single moment the person can pray, repent, and confess, and therefore one may desecrate the Sabbath in order to enable him to fulfill those commandments.

If so, the Meiri can continue consistently in our case as well. True, in his view the primary reason is “so that he may keep many Sabbaths,” and then it would seem difficult why one may save a gentile who is bound by the norms of the nations, since he will not observe the Sabbath (indeed, he is forbidden to do so). The answer is that the Meiri himself teaches us that the matter is not specifically about Sabbaths, but about whatever commandments apply.[30] And a gentile too—especially one who is bound by such norms—has many commandments to fulfill, and therefore there is no obstacle to permitting Sabbath desecration in order to save him. The picture that emerges is that the Meiri holds that Sabbath desecration is not meant to enable Sabbath observance in the narrow sense, but to enable a person to fulfill his obligation in his world.

On this basis a plausible conclusion follows: if the Holy One, blessed be He, created gentiles too in His world, it stands to reason that He also assigns them a role in the world and imposes commandments upon them. Therefore one may desecrate the Sabbath also in order to save their lives, thereby enabling them to fulfill their obligations (the Seven Noahide commandments), even without Sabbath observance (which is forbidden to them). For precisely this reason one also saves the resident alien, for he fulfills the seven commandments with which he is charged.[31] From this it is proved directly that the permission does not depend specifically on Sabbath observance, exactly like the proof we saw above in the Meiri regarding the other commandments.[32]

[1]       In my view, a glaring example may be found in Rabbi Binyamin Lau’s article, “Ha-Rosh Rosenthal on Saving a Gentile on the Sabbath,” Akdamot, 13 (Nisan 5763), pp. 7–32. See also my response, “Scholar and Covenantal Partner,” Akdamot, 14 (Tevet 5764), pp. 257–264.

[2]       Jacob Katz, Jewish Law and Kabbalah: Studies in the History of the Religion of Israel, Its Strata and Its Social Affinities, Jerusalem 1984.

[3]       Rabbi H.D. Halevi, “The Ways of Peace in the Relationship Between Jews and Non-Jews,” Tehumin, 9, 1988, pp. 71–81.

[4]       This subject is discussed at length in my book (the third in the quartet “Two Carts and a Hot-Air Balloon”), Man Like Grass, which is currently being edited. There the topic is discussed from a broader philosophical perspective, and change in Jewish law appears as a particular example of changes in normative systems generally.

[5]       My thanks to my friend Amnon Levav for the example. He used it in order to present the first two groups (the conservative ones), even though he himself clearly belongs to the third.

[6]       In truth, many would say that precisely the second group is the literalist one and the first is not. This dispute recalls the debates conducted in recent years regarding the relation between literal interpretation and interpretive exposition (whether plain meaning consists only of linguistic considerations, or whether reasoning also takes part in determining plain meaning, even at the expense of fit to the verbal sense—in the spirit of “better to force the language than the reasoning”).

[7]       Haym Soloveitchik, Jewish Law, Economy, and Self-Image, Jerusalem 2005.

[8]       Sometimes it is claimed that need caused decisors to interpret the halakhic sources differently from what was accepted, or from what seemed to them to be the straightforward interpretation. But this would seem to be intellectual dishonesty, and therefore an illegitimate way of changing Jewish law. A decisor is supposed to rule according to his best understanding of the sources under the circumstances at hand. Interpretation is not supposed to be influenced (consciously) by needs, except perhaps in a case of doubt (and even that requires clarification, but that is not our topic here).

If a need arises, the decisor may see it as a motivation to sit down and labor over the issue, searching for a valid halakhic mechanism for change—that is, a persuasive basis for a different interpretation of the sources. But need by itself cannot serve as a basis for interpretation. Of course, sometimes unconsciously a need may influence the decisor’s way of seeing, and he will adopt the different interpretation innocently, because it really seems true to him. Here the influence of needs enters only indirectly, and that is certainly a possible scenario. See my response in Akdamot 14 (above, note 1), and also my book That Which Is and That Which Is Not, Tam Publishing, Kfar Hasidim 2006. See there, Part Six, chapter 3.

[9]       It should be noted that the Meiri here is lenient even with regard to gentiles who are not bound by norms of civility. See a similar position in his novellae to Avodah Zarah 26a, s.v. “Hogim,” and what Rabbi Sofer notes in note 9 of his edition there, that this is a unique view among all the medieval authorities.

[10] The references are to page numbers in the book Beit HaBechirah by the Meiri, ed. Rabbi A. Sofer, Jerusalem 1944.

[11] And later as well; see Katz (above, note 2), notes 21, 22.

[12] Ibid., notes 23–27.

[13]      This methodology is explicit in Katz. He is careful to point out that Tosafot on Avodah Zarah 15a also bring proof for their words, and explain that need alone is not enough to justify a halakhic change.

[14]      See my article “Between Research and ‘Iyyun’: A Hermeneutics of Canonical Texts,” Akdamot, 9 (Tammuz 5760), pp. 161–179, and my response to Rabbi Benny Lau (above, note 1).

[15]      In my book That Which Is and That Which Is Not (especially in Part Four), I detailed many and varied possibilities in which several explanations (on different conceptual planes) of the same phenomenon can be valid simultaneously. In Part Six there are demonstrations similar to the present one.

[16]      See a general discussion of this in the Talmudic Encyclopedia, entry “Gentile.”

[17]      See on this, among other places, the following sources (and the references there): Rabbi Isaac Herzog, “The Rights of Minorities According to Jewish Law,” Tehumin, 2, pp. 174–179; Rabbi Yehudah Gershoni, “Minorities and Their Rights in the State of Israel,” Tehumin, 2, pp. 187–189; Dror Pixler and Gil Nadel, “Are Christians in Our Day Idolaters?”, Tehumin, 22, pp. 68–78; Rabbi Shlomo Aviner, “Judaism’s Attitude toward the Christian World,” Tehumin, 8, 1987, pp. 368–375. See also Rabbi Elisha Aviner’s article, “The Status of the Ishmaelites in the State of Israel,” in the same volume, pp. 337–362. See also Iggerot HaRe’iyah, part 1, p. 99.

[18]      See, for example, Rabbi H.D. Halevi’s article (above, note 3), and in a somewhat different version: Amihai Berholz (ed.), Derekh Eretz, Religion and State, Jerusalem 2002, pp. 147–158. In that article, however, it seems that he understood the Meiri as we do here, though this requires further examination.

[19]      In quite a few places he adds that even in his own day there are “idolaters at the ends” (that is, in distant places) who are still not so restrained. See his novellae to Avodah Zarah 2a, 6b, 20a, 57a, and elsewhere. See Katz’s discussion near notes 68–70 in his article, where he compares this to the idolaters mentioned by Maimonides (the Sabian sect).

[20]      It should be noted that this is also how the matter is presented in ordinary usage in the Talmudic Encyclopedia, entry “Gentile” (see especially near notes 28–33), though without sharpening this point.

[21]      This development certainly reflects openness and courage on the part of a decisor, but not necessarily any concrete philosophical positions.

[22]      Rabbi Shlomo Aviner (above, note 16).

[23]      Rabbi H.D. Halevi in his article (above, note 3), which reappears with small changes in the book Derekh Eretz, Religion and State (above, note 17), as noted there. See also his responsa Aseh Lekha Rav, part 9, p. 61.

[24]      See my article “Autonomy and Authority in Halakhic Rulings,” Meisharim, 1 (5762).

[25]      With respect to Islam, see also Rabbi Elisha Aviner’s article (above, note 16).

[26]      This is what emerges from the words of all the decisors who addressed the question whether a Noahide is commanded regarding association. Their claim that Christianity is not idolatry because belief in association is not forbidden to gentiles necessarily speaks of a mistaken belief (for association is certainly not factually true), and yet they are not included in the category of idolaters.

[27]      See on this Rabbi Binyamin Lau’s article in Akdamot 13 (above, note 1), and my response in issue 14, and much more.

[28]      Above, note 16.

[29]      See on this Bi’ur Halakhah, sec. 329, law 4, s.v. “Ela lefi sha’ah”; Tzitz Eliezer, part 5, Ramat Rahel, chapter 28. Clarification: that is how this edition is listed in the Responsa Project. Presumably that is the place of publication or composition.

[30]      This also provides an answer to the strong question of the Hatam Sofer in his novellae to Ketubot 15b (s.v. “Amar R. Pedat le-ha’akhilo nevelot”), regarding an infant found in a city half of whose residents are Jews and half gentiles, whose status is therefore doubtful—perhaps Jew, perhaps gentile. The Hatam Sofer asks how it is possible to rule that one desecrates the Sabbath to save him because of that doubt, when in practice he is forbidden to keep the Sabbath (because of the doubt, since a gentile may not keep the Sabbath), and therefore he will not keep many Sabbaths. According to the Meiri, the answer is simple: we save him in order that he fulfill other commandments. When the Gemara mentions Sabbath observance, it is not specifically about the Sabbath.

[31]      See Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Sabbath 2:12, and the decisors (for example, Yesodei Yeshurun [by R. Gedaliah Felder], Jerusalem 2000, section on the laws of the Sabbath, p. 200).

[32]      A question may arise here: what about a gentile who is bound by civility, but he does not believe in the Holy One, blessed be He, and is therefore removed from the fulfillment of commandments (see my article “On Causing a Secular Jew to Sin,” Tzohar, 25, Spring 2006, pp. 9–20). On the face of it, here the rescue will lead to no commandment at all, but at most to good deeds by a good person. Is there permission to desecrate the Sabbath in order to save such a person? It turns out that the law would depend on the law of desecrating the Sabbath in order to save a Jew who does not believe (for example, a “captured child”). One might hold that the rescue is intended to enable him to fulfill his obligation, even though he is not yet aware of it. If he chooses not to make use of that possibility, his problem is with his Creator; but we are commanded to desecrate the Sabbath to save him. But according to this, one must then consider why not to save even a wicked gentile or an ancient idolater in order to enable him to fulfill his obligation. This can be explained in several ways, but this is not the place to elaborate.