On Repentance 2

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Last time I talked about two mechanisms of repentance, two tracks of repentance. One track is the technical track of repentance, which is made up of four halakhic / of Jewish law stages: abandoning the sin, regret, resolve for the future, and confession, and it works on each and every sin. If you do the procedure, then the sin is repaired — I don’t know what to call it — erased. And essential repentance is basically this inner reversal that says I’m a different person from what I was, and since that’s so, I no longer need to be judged for what the previous person did. I’ve essentially turned over, become someone else, and I argued that essential repentance can be done without all the halakhic / of Jewish law requirements we’re used to in the laws of repentance — what I mentioned before: regret, abandonment, resolve for the future, and confession. The moment a person has undergone this inner reversal, he is a penitent. I brought two proofs for this. One of them was from the story of Elazar ben Dordaya, that there is one who acquires his world in a single hour, without going through every sin he committed in his life and applying to each one this mechanism of four stages. And the second proof was from the Talmud / Talmudic text regarding “Behold, you are betrothed to me on condition that I am completely righteous,” where even though he’s wicked, we take the betrothal seriously because perhaps he repented. So you see that repentance can, in a short time, transform a person’s status. And I started with Maimonides and said that these are basically two ways to explain why repentance helps in a place where doing commandments doesn’t help. During the Ten Days of Repentance I’m not going back to that; that was just the starting point for me, the goal wasn’t to reconcile Maimonides, as I said. We saw in the Maharal that he makes a distinction between two attributes of the Holy One, blessed be He, among the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy — two attributes of the Holy One, blessed be He. One attribute is “The Lord, the Lord” — “I am the Lord before he sins, and I am the Lord after he sins and repents” — that’s the first attribute responsible for repentance. And the last attribute is “and He clears, but does not completely clear.” And the Maharal asks why two attributes are needed for repentance, and he says that “The Lord, the Lord” is repentance for all sins, while “He clears” is repentance for some sins. And I said it doesn’t make sense for this to be a quantitative difference, because otherwise you could just activate the repentance of “He clears” a few times and get the repentance of “The Lord, the Lord.” There’s no reason, it doesn’t seem like you need a different divine attribute to be responsible for repentance for some of the sins. Therefore what I argued is that if I do repentance in an essential way, then by definition it is done for all sins. There’s no repentance for only a certain part. Let’s say we take regret, which is one particular part of the repentance process. If I regret, fully and deeply, the fact that I sorted on a certain Sabbath, okay? Then obviously I’m not regretting the sorting itself. I regret the fact that I did something against the command of the Holy One, blessed be He, against Jewish law. Therefore the fact that it was sorting and not standing on one foot isn’t really important. What matters is simply that this is what the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded. And real regret is not regret that says, too bad I sorted — I could have read a good book instead — but too bad I sorted because I should not have acted against God’s will. Now if someone regrets the fact that he acted against God’s will, then by definition that is full regret. What difference is there between acting against God’s will by sorting on the Sabbath, or acting against God’s will in charity, or honoring parents, or eating something non-kosher? The transgression in itself doesn’t change anything in this way. What matters is that it was against God’s will. Therefore complete regret, full regret, what I earlier called the inner upheaval, by definition works on all the commandments — or all the sins.

[Speaker B] Where does Maimonides get these four stages from at all? I mean, what is that?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s Saadia Gaon. Saadia Gaon, I think, is the first who counted them.

[Speaker B] But is that basically logical reasoning, or is it something that has an anchor in the Sages?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t remember right now whether he brings sources for it from the Sages, I don’t know, I don’t know. But I assume sources can be brought, I believe so. I don’t know, I don’t remember at the moment. I’ll check. I think it’s Saadia Gaon. So that’s regarding full repentance. By contrast, technical repentance has to be done for each and every sin. If I have a sin and I want to erase it, and I didn’t do the full repentance — I didn’t succeed, or couldn’t, or didn’t feel like it, or I don’t know exactly what — I did some kind of repentance only on some technical level, then here it says: it atones for those who repent and does not atone for those who do not repent, as the Talmud / Talmudic text there says. And then the question comes up: what’s the novelty? Obviously — I mean, of course it atones for those who repent. What I wanted to argue is that when “and He clears, but does not completely clear” — then the Talmud / Talmudic text says it atones for those who repent and does not atone for those who do not repent — the meaning is: it atones for you for the sins on which you repented, and not for the sins on which you did not repent. And the idea is that this really is technical repentance. And the novelty is that even it can atone for those sins on which you activated this mechanism, but that is conditional on activating the mechanism for each one of those sins. By contrast, full repentance isn’t conditional on anything. There are no requirements, as I said before. You changed. And therefore the difference between repentance for all sins and repentance for some sins is really the question of the depth of repentance. So when I mentioned that I’m presenting these two processes or two forms of repentance as two poles that exclude one another, two alternatives — the truth is that we’re dealing with some sort of spectrum. Because let’s take what I described earlier: basically I do the small repentance, the technical one. And I focus on the element of regret within that process, but now I keep making that regret deeper and deeper and more and more fundamental, until I reach truly full regret. The more I get closer to the root point — yes, complete regret — that in effect spreads across all the sins I’ve committed. It stops being regret over one specific sin, like I said before. So really it’s like that common example people give: you open a small angle, and at a great distance it opens wide. The angular distance is the same, but the physical distance grows as you move farther away. So here too, the more deeply you deepen the regret, the more it spreads over more sins, or over a greater portion of your flaws. And therefore there’s really a spectrum of levels of repentance between completely technical repentance — which in fact isn’t even really regret at all, but just lip-service regret or something like that. Again, that’s hypothetical, I don’t think anyone is actually

[Speaker C] Is lip-service regret valid?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So I’m saying, that’s a hypothetical limit. I don’t know whether it has meaning, or whether there is even anyone who regrets only outwardly and doesn’t have a drop of regret inside, just saying the words of regret. I don’t know if that has value. I don’t know if anyone does that. I’m only saying that, as a hypothetical limit, this whole spectrum lies between two poles. One pole is complete regret all the way, and the other pole is regret that is completely technical. Of course, a normal person is somewhere in the middle. But these two hypothetical poles are represented by the two divine names that open and close the list — “The Lord, the Lord” and “He clears.” And of course the whole continuum of states lies between them; it’s some combination of those two poles.

[Speaker B] Why is this only about sins? Why not say, for example, adding to Torah study, to charity, to I don’t know what, to…?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because repentance in its basic definition, before all the expansions they made to it, and Rabbi Kook and all those things — repentance is about sins. “That the sinner should return…” Maimonides opens the Laws of Repentance: “There is one commandment, and it is that the sinner should return from his sin and confess.” You repent from a sin; you don’t repent from something else. Now yes, the concept of repentance was expanded — Orot HaTeshuvah and various more modern works. But even before the modern works, it was of course expanded beyond that; it was expanded into a concept of improvement. But the concept of repentance in its original source isn’t that. In its original source, repentance is repentance for sin; it’s a way of repairing defects. You can say that if I’m not in the ideal state, that too can be seen as some kind of flaw, and insofar as I improve, fine — but that’s an expansion of the concept of repentance, I think. What do you say?

[Speaker C] Well, I said that if we follow the halakhic decisors who hold that every person is obligated to devote all his powers to the service of God, like Duties of the Heart, then by definition every moment you didn’t study Torah is also a sin.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, yes, but that’s called a sin. Isn’t it a sin? Which positive commandment did I neglect, or which prohibition did I violate?

[Speaker C] Neglecting Torah study — if, say, for one minute you didn’t study Torah — according to some views, that’s an offense.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, fine. Fine. So maybe. Fine. But on the principled level, repentance is still the repair of a defect, of a sin. It may be that everything is sins, that everything is sins, but… certainly. That’s the definition.

[Speaker D] Why is neglecting a positive commandment not a sin? What? Neglecting a positive commandment is a sin. Obviously — what do you mean?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If you don’t put on tefillin, obviously. What do you mean? Certainly, in a positive commandment. A positive commandment can still be discussed, but a positive commandment for sure. In the distinctions of atonement too, they deal both with sin and with neglect of a positive commandment. In any case, the claim is that when I speak about these two poles, they’re really hypothetical boundaries, with a whole spectrum running between them — how close you are to essential repentance, to technical repentance. But I’ll continue dealing with these two poles because I think it clarifies the picture more. It’s like Brisker conceptual analysis. I’ve said more than once that in the method, in yeshiva-style conceptual learning, usually they present two possibilities, either this or that, some inquiry between two possibilities that exclude one another. Usually that’s not how it is. Usually it’s a spectrum. Usually in the topic these possibilities work together. For example, with damage caused by one’s property — I think we once discussed this — the obligation to pay when my property caused damage: is it because of my negligence in guarding it, or because the very fact that my property caused damage obligates me to pay? All the later authorities (Acharonim) talk about this. Obviously it’s both. Meaning, yes, the question is exactly how to combine them, but it’s both. So what, does that mean the inquiry has no value? It does have value. There are people who leave, or belittle, or abandon the classic yeshiva learning method, the Brisker method, because they think it’s a little childish to imagine that there are two possibilities here and they exclude one another, and practical differences, and everything is so sharp and so well built and so beautiful. It never actually works that way. But that’s a mistake. It’s a mistake because methodologically it is right to go through that stage. First you need to clarify very well the two possibilities as if they’re dichotomous and mutually exclusive. Once you understand each one separately really well, then you can also understand how they combine together. The thesis and the antithesis have to be understood היטב? — thoroughly — each on its own, and only then can you make a proper synthesis. So here too, I think we need to clarify the two poles well, while it is obvious that in the end there is some combination, in varying proportions, of these two poles. So I’ll continue as though we’re dealing here with two mutually exclusive possibilities, two alternatives. In the course of things last time, I mentioned Ramchal in Mesillat Yesharim and the question of Kovetz Shiurim on him, where he says that repentance is a special kindness, and the question is why is it kindness? After all, a righteous person who rebelled lost his merits, so apparently that’s strict justice. And we discussed that great repentance is strict justice and small repentance is a kindness in that it is accepted. Now the question is what — and here I move to this point about kindness. Beyond what Ramchal writes there, that the Holy One, blessed be He, did us a special kindness in giving us repentance or in accepting repentance, in the plain sense it doesn’t look like there is any repentance that is really strict justice. Meaning, the formulations are usually formulations that say repentance goes beyond the ordinary framework. Why should it? What you did, you did, and it can’t be fixed. It doesn’t seem that if you turn yourself over then it can be fixed, but if you do something technical then it can’t be fixed. The usual expressions, the usual discussions, don’t distinguish between these two tracks. Somehow it seems that everything is really some kind of kindness. And I want to clarify here that in fact that’s true. Meaning, there is a special kindness in small repentance, and there is a special kindness in great repentance. Up to now I described it as if small repentance is kindness, because you’re basically doing something technical — why should the Holy One, blessed be He, accept that as a repair for the damage you caused? But great repentance is really strict justice. What do you mean? If I truly repented, if I really have now become someone else, then why should the Holy One, blessed be He, punish me for what I did in the previous phase? As Maimonides writes, “and I am not that same person.” Meaning, I’m already a different person. Think about it — if someone who hurt you came to you, and let’s say you had some ability to see what was in his heart — usually we can’t see what’s in a person’s heart, but suppose we could — and we saw that he truly and sincerely regretted it, that he went through a genuine process and had really changed completely, meaning that he fully regretted it — wouldn’t we accept his request for forgiveness?

[Speaker E] Because he already… If he damaged him — if he damaged him? The damage is in the world. What difference does it make?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But the damage is in the world. Fine, so I forgive him. What’s the problem? Okay, yes, he hurt me, so I was hurt, and now I…

[Speaker E] No, but let him fix it. Even in repentance, if the damage between one person and another still exists, then it won’t help him.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Until he appeases the other person. And when he appeases the other person, then yes, it helps.

[Speaker E] Right, because repentance is with respect to the sinner, not with respect to the world. It repairs the person, not the world.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, and here I sin against the Holy One, blessed be He, so let Him respond to me in the same way that a person responds to me when I ask forgiveness from him. I would expect Him to forgive me if I truly am no longer the same person. At least even if the damage remains in the world, but I’m no longer the person responsible for it. I changed, truly changed. I really am a different person. I’m not claiming the damage disappeared. I’m claiming that to place the responsibility on me — that’s no longer… why? Why? I truly am a different person and I really changed. Not biologically a different person, of course,

[Speaker F] But why should he bear responsibility for something?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because he changed, he completely regretted it. Why should he bear responsibility? He really changed and he’s no longer the person who sinned. No, again, in a metaphorical sense, of course. It’s the same person, but he’s no longer there. That’s no longer him. But in the end, he did it, so—

[Speaker D] he has to bear it.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why? Why should he bear it? Bear responsibility for the consequences? What does responsibility for consequences mean? In order to fix the consequences? If the responsibility is to fix the consequences, I understand. But plainly we’re talking about guilt and punishment that he will receive, not about fixing the consequences. As for fixing the consequences — return the stolen object, I don’t know, do whatever can be fixed. If you killed someone, no repentance will help; he won’t come back to life. In the plain sense, when repentance is accepted, it doesn’t mean that the consequences are physically repaired. It means that I am cleansed from the implications of the consequences. I think I mentioned this: the Talmud / Talmudic text in Yoma says that with repentance out of love, intentional sins become merits, and with repentance out of fear, intentional sins become unwitting sins. But there is no repentance that erases what was done. There is no such thing. What was done was done. All you can do is color it in a milder shade. You can turn it from intentional sin into an unwitting one, or from intentional sin into a merit, but you can’t make it disappear from the world. Because what was done was done — there’s nothing to do. So in that sense I’m saying: fine, let the Holy One, blessed be He, color it for me in the appropriate color after I have truly repented.

[Speaker B] Maybe it’s like a person who breaks your car window, and let’s say you know now that he completely regrets it and you know that he really…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Obviously I’ll ask him to pay.

[Speaker B] Right, so still you ask him to pay?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course. Payment I’ll ask for, so that he repairs my car. But if he can’t pay right now, would I insist that he be punished? Not in order to repair my

[Speaker B] glass. I’m asking him to fix something. So it’s the same thing here — the Holy One, blessed be He, asks from you at least the minimal repair that you owe.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But of course He’ll ask me for repair. That’s not what we’re discussing. Even if I repented, they’ll always ask me for repair. Return the theft? What will you repair?

[Speaker B] Obviously.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But in most things you can’t repair.

[Speaker B] So the repair is in intention—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Spiritually. It’s repair on the spiritual level, that the Holy One, blessed be He, forgives me, that the Holy One, blessed be He, clears it away. Let Him clear it; I already regretted it. If there’s something incumbent on me, obviously I don’t expect that to be waived. I’ll go and repair what I did; there’s nothing to be done. But I’m not talking on that plane. I’m talking on the plane of the accounting opposite me — sins and commandments. Now here — so that’s why I say that in this sense, with essential repentance, I would expect this not to be a special kindness. By rights, it should be forgiven after true repentance. But there’s something else here that I think nonetheless sheds additional light on this whole issue of kindness in repentance. In Shaarei Teshuvah by Rabbeinu Yonah, at the beginning of the book, he writes as follows: “Know that when the sinner delays returning from his sin, his punishment becomes very heavy each day, for he knows that wrath has gone forth against him, and he has a refuge to flee there — and that refuge is repentance — yet he remains in his rebellion, and persists in his evil, while it is in his hand to go out from the upheaval, and he does not fear the anger and wrath.” Meaning, they give him the possibility of repenting and he does not repent, therefore his evil is great. It reminds me of the cheerful settlement period, the mid-1970s. I was in the yeshiva high school, and all the guys ran off, of course, to the settlements. But there were a few suckers, these nerdy types, who stayed in the yeshiva because they were afraid of Rabbi Yogel. And Rabbi Yogel came there and got angry at them: everyone’s going, and you’re staying here? They dug you some tunnel and you’re staying here? “And our Rabbis, of blessed memory, gave a parable on this matter: to a band of robbers whom the king captured and imprisoned. And they dug a tunnel, broke through, and escaped, but one of them remained. The prison warden came and saw the tunnel had been dug, and that man was still imprisoned, and he struck him with his staff.” Exactly like Rabbi Yogel. The prison warden, who was supposed to be angry that they escaped, says to him: what, are you an idiot? They dug you a tunnel, everyone got out, and you stayed here? “He said to him: hard day! Wasn’t a tunnel dug before you? And how did you not hurry to escape for your life?” Basically, I think the point of this parable is to sharpen a bit more the point that the kindness the Holy One, blessed be He, did for us when He gave us the process of repentance is that He dug this tunnel for us. Now notice what that means. There’s an interesting nuance in this parable, I think, because usually we understand that the kindness done for us around repentance is that repentance is accepted — that the Holy One, blessed be He, accepts repentance even though we sinned and the sin was done. What can you do? You can’t erase history. Nevertheless the Holy One, blessed be He, is willing to accept repentance. The kindness is that repentance is accepted. Regarding essential repentance, that really isn’t kindness; it is strict justice. The fact that it is accepted — that’s how it should be. But there is another kindness, and that is the kindness that such a process exists at all, that repentance is possible at all. Not that if I do it, it is accepted — that’s the simple kindness. And that kindness exists in small repentance — there it’s kindness. In essential repentance it is strict justice. If I really did it, I truly am a different person, then my repentance should be accepted by rights. But the very fact that repentance can be done, that this tunnel exists, that they dug this tunnel for me — that’s a kindness that exists also in great repentance, and maybe especially in great repentance. Because in principle it shouldn’t have been so. So the fact that there is a tunnel is itself kindness, whereas if I manage to escape when there is a tunnel — once there is a tunnel, obviously I can escape. But how is there a tunnel? How can it be that there is any mechanism at all through which repentance can be done? Not that it is accepted.

[Speaker B] How can there be a mechanism through which one can sin? So one cancels the other out. What do you mean? He’s the one who put us in a situation where we can sin, so here He kind of put us in a kind of debt.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Let’s say I partially accept the comment. Let’s leave it for a moment until I spell things out more, and then maybe we’ll come back to it. Basically — one moment before I continue, because I always forget at the end. Next Thursday I won’t be here. So I need to set another time for the lecture. I’m just afraid I’ll forget, so sorry for stopping for a second. Now the question is when to do it — I didn’t bring my phone. The question is whether to do it at the beginning of next week or at the beginning of the week after. Meaning, on Sunday, say — I think I can do that — or the following Sunday. The following Sunday seems closer, I think, but I don’t know. Is there any preference? If there’s no preference, I’ll just send an email announcement, okay? But there isn’t any special issue here. In any case, I’m telling you now that next Thursday I won’t be here; I won’t be בארץ? — in the country. Fine. So what I said, basically, is that in small repentance, the kindness is that it is accepted. In great repentance, the fact that it is accepted is not kindness — it is strict justice. But in great repentance too there is kindness, and that is the very fact that it can be done at all.

[Speaker D] You’re saying that it’s possible to do it technically — possible to do it? Yes.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. In a moment I’ll explain. Maimonides, in chapter 2, halakhah 1, writes as follows: “What is complete repentance? It is when the same matter through which he sinned comes to his hand, and it is possible for him to do it, and he separates and does not do it because of repentance — not out of fear, and not because of weakness of strength. Rather, only because of repentance he does not do it.” That’s what is called complete repentance. How so? “For example, if he had relations with a woman in a forbidden way, and after some time he is secluded with her, and he still loves her, and is physically capable, and is in the same place where he sinned” — the circumstances are similar circumstances — “and he separates and does not transgress, this is a complete penitent.” By the way, there’s a dispute about this among the commentators on Maimonides, whether it is permitted or maybe even necessary to do this deliberately: to place myself in the same test I failed last time, in order to see that I truly am a penitent, that I can withstand this test.

[Speaker C] But is there not a prohibition here? What? He’s describing a case here where you’re violating a prohibition, because seclusion itself is forbidden.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] True, even if so, even if it involves a prohibition.

[Speaker C] The Sefat Emet—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Sefat Emet, take a look. Sefat Emet talks about this. Check Maimonides Frankel; I’m sure he brings it on this halakhah. Chapter 2, halakhah 1. Look in the index of Maimonides Frankel — he’ll refer you to that Sefat Emet. I remember there’s such a Sefat Emet, and there are other commentators who want to argue that one may commit transgressions in the process of repentance. In order to complete the process of repentance, it is permitted to commit transgressions — meaning, to enter situations that are forbidden under normal circumstances. “And this is what Solomon said: ‘Remember your Creator in the days of your youth’” — meaning, while you’re still in the state in which you also sinned. There’s no great wisdom in repenting when you’re already old and in any case no longer interested in doing it. “And if he repented only in his old age, at a time when he can no longer do what he once did, even though this is not superior repentance, it is effective for him and he is a penitent.”

[Speaker C] “Even though this is not superior repentance, it is effective for him”?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It is not an ideal repentance, but it is effective for him, and he is a penitent. Even if he sinned all his life and repented on the day of his death—because here this “A” here, there’s some “A” here, but that’s apparently a reference to the Hagahot Maimoniyot—and died in his repentance, all his sins are forgiven. As it says: “Before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars are darkened, and the clouds return after the rain,” which is the day of death. From this we learn that if he remembered his Creator and repented before he died, he is forgiven. My general claim, by the way, is that chapter 2 of Maimonides is dealing with full repentance, complete repentance. That’s why he says: what is complete repentance? And that’s the point. And in fact, Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner writes in Pachad Yitzchak on Purim—he says there, he brings there—we sing, we say, “A person is obligated to become intoxicated on Purim until he does not know the difference between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordechai’”—the Talmud, the songs, the Talmud. It reminds me: in Yoreh De’ah 242, I think, it brings there that a person is obligated to honor his father more than the father of his father. I think the Shakh writes, I think it’s the Shakh—Degul Mervavah maybe—writes there, and refers to Rashi on “and he offered sacrifices to the God of his father Isaac,” in the portion of Vayigash. So the Taz asks there: what do you mean, Rashi? That’s a midrash. Why are you bringing me Rashi as a source? There’s a midrash.

[Speaker C] People

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] know Rashi better than they know the midrash. So just like “a person is obligated to become intoxicated” is Talmud, but it’s also songs, so that’s where people know it from. In any case, Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner asks: what’s the idea? After all, it should be the opposite—you’re supposed to distinguish between “cursed is Haman” and “blessed is Mordechai,” not blur the difference between them, not equate them. So he explains there: the Mishnah in tractate Yoma speaks about the two goats, and it says that ideally—it’s not indispensable, but ideally—they need to be equal in height, in weight, in value; that is, they should be as identical as possible. He asks why. Why do they need to be identical? What’s the point of that? So he says that the point is that when you cast lots to determine which goat goes to God and which goat goes to Azazel, you need to distinguish between them only in that sense: this one goes to God and this one goes to Azazel. And in order to draw that distinction sharply, you need to blur all the other differences that aren’t relevant. That one is more expensive, that one is fatter, that one is more handsome—in value, in height, in weight they have to be as identical as possible, so that the only difference between them will stand out sharply, so that you won’t attribute the difference between them to side issues, to unimportant matters. So he says the same thing here: you need to blur the difference between “cursed is Haman” and “blessed is Mordechai” except for the fact that this one is cursed and this one is blessed. And you should picture them in your mind as though they are identical. Not that one is an Amalekite wicked person from birth and the other is righteous from the womb—on the contrary, that’s an educational mistake to present it that way. You need to blur them: this one chose good and that one chose evil. That’s what he says. The deeper the equality, the deeper the distinction. There are people who draw them for children and so on—draw them the same way. In children’s books—which maybe he even mentions there, I don’t remember—that in children’s books they draw Esau as some kind of wicked man with a disgusting face, exactly, yes, exactly.

[Speaker C] And Jacob as some kind of angel.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s an educational mistake. Meaning, you need to draw them exactly the same, only this one chose good and that one chose evil—that’s the whole idea. The goats are of course some kind of simulation that we make in order to illustrate for ourselves the matter of choosing good and evil. Now, goats don’t choose; we cast lots. But that lot is… it’s a parable for human choice. See how far you can go. You can go all the way inward if you choose good, and you can go all the way to the scapegoat there, corresponding to the goats and all the famous Nachmanideses. What? In any case they went down there. In any case he went down; in the end we always die. The only question is how we die. So therefore, basically, this whole thing comes to tell you, or to illustrate for you, this matter of choice. And choice depends only on what you choose, not on the circumstances, not on how you look, not on your talents, and not on anything surrounding that. Blur all of that. In the end, everything depends on the question of what you choose. And that’s the point. So to the extent that the point there is that what matters is really—yes—so what Maimonides says is: you need to be in the same situation, the same age, the same circumstances, everything the same. And what’s the difference? The previous time, when you were in exactly the same situation, the same age, the same setting, you sinned. And now you are in the same situation, the same age, the same setting, and you do not sin. So it’s clear that what caused you not to sin was the repentance you did, and not fear, and not other circumstances, and not that you had less desire, and not all kinds of side factors. Meaning, the more you blur the irrelevant differences, the more you sharpen the difference on which you need to focus. And about this Maimonides writes there in law 4 later in the chapter: “Among the ways of repentance is that the penitent should constantly cry out before God with weeping and supplication, and give charity according to his means, and distance himself greatly from the thing in which he sinned, and change his name, as if to say: I am someone else and not the same person who committed those acts; and change all his deeds for the good and to the straight path; and exile himself from his place, for exile atones for sin because it causes him to be subdued and humble and lowly of spirit.” Meaning, basically the point is that you really need to become someone else. Now, what does “someone else” mean? You have the same parents, you’re the same person in the ordinary sense—it’s a metaphor. But you need to be different in the relevant sense. What is the relevant sense? In what you choose. Meaning, in the fact that you repented. And that’s the point. Everything else is unimportant. The fact that you repented—you are different. You need to be different. Yes, for example, someone who lent with interest—so it’s written in the halakhic authorities that his repentance is that he not lend with interest even to a gentile. Meaning, you need to distance yourself greatly at exactly that point, to change the point at which you fell. That is what needs to change. Okay, so basically the point is that this chapter, chapter 2 of Maimonides, is actually talking about the great repentance in which a person changes. Not the technical repentance in which you perform some sort of technical mechanism in order to repair a sin, but you change. Meaning, something happens—you undergo some kind of substantive process. What happens in that repentance? There is something to be said here, but to say that a person changes—that’s a very problematic claim. We’re very used to it, and it’s a very problematic claim. Because now I’m shifting a bit to a philosophical or logical remark. I’ll maybe present it by way of an example. Let’s say—yes, I’ll start as in physics—I’ll start with a point donkey. Meaning, if there is a person who has only one principle in his world. That’s it. He’s a man of one principle. That principle is: maximum World to Come, minimum Gehenna. Maximum reward, minimum punishment. Okay? That is the principle guiding him. The man is careful with a minor commandment as with a major one, he gets up for vatikin every morning, he never stops learning for a moment, he’s a righteous foundation of the world—but everything is for maximum reward, minimum punishment. Now, I’ve done this simulation a few times already. I told people: suppose I am this person—come and try to convince me to serve for its own sake.

[Speaker B] Why did you adopt that principle? What? Why did you adopt the principle of maximum reward? What made you adopt it?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Simply because I’m… right. I want maximum reward and minimum punishment. I don’t want to suffer, I want to enjoy. I don’t know.

[Speaker B] You can convince yourself

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] to serve for its own sake, and then you’ll get more reward.

[Speaker B] Spiritual reward.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, so what is spiritual reward? Then I’m working for spiritual reward. Yes, you understand that it’s impossible, right? It’s impossible. Because the only way—if I’m a person of one principle—if I have several principles, then you can show that this principle contradicts my other principles. I made a miscalculation. Okay? But that’s why I started with the example of a person of one principle. In order to persuade a person, you have to assume the principles he accepts, right? And then try to bring him to certain conclusions. But if you assume this principle that I accept—namely, that one works for maximum reward and minimum punishment—then to convince me to serve for its own sake? After all, you have to use my principle to convince me, not your own concepts. With your concepts you won’t convince me.

[Speaker B] Yes, but there is always some sort of meta-principle here that made you adopt the principle. Meaning, why do you want…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, that’s your earlier remark. I’ll get to it—that is a remark.

[Speaker C] No, but why assume that persuasion is the only way to change? Maybe a change of principles won’t come from persuasion at all

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] but from something else?

[Speaker C] Like what? After the fact, something internal, from an experience, from something like that. Then it happens on its own.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’ll get to that in a moment.

[Speaker C] It doesn’t happen on its own; it happens from something broader,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] not in an orderly cognitive process, meaning…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, that’s what I call “on its own.” In a moment—I’ll come back to that in just a second. There’s some… this reminds me of a story about Adam HaKohen. There are a few amusing stories about Adam HaKohen, one of the militant maskilim. They said about him that he wanted to repent on his deathbed only in order to refute the saying of the Sages that even the wicked, at the entrance of Gehenna, do not repent. And that’s about the same thing as convincing someone who works for reward to work for its own sake by telling him that if you work for its own sake you’ll get more reward. And that’s the… So you can’t. Why can’t you really convince me? Because in order to address me, you have to assume the system accepted by me. You can’t come to me with a system accepted by you, because then the whole discussion can’t even begin. You have to plant the anchor in my system and from there go out and try to bring me to the desired conclusion. Yes, that reminds me now of something else: there’s the story of the turkey prince from Rabbi Nachman. Yes, we talked about that once too, I don’t remember when. There are two difficulties in that story, one resolving the other. Do you know the story, right? Familiar? Does everyone know it? Familiar? No? Then say so if not. Fine, I’ll tell it briefly. The king’s son went mad, the householder went mad, went under the table, took off his clothes, and started pecking crumbs off the floor, announcing that he was a turkey. He was no longer a human being, he was a turkey, and therefore he didn’t need to wear clothes and he ate grains from the floor. The king didn’t know what to do, his sages couldn’t cure him, until a certain wise man came and said, I’ll cure the boy. Fine, what does he do? He takes off his clothes, goes under the table, and starts gathering grains together with the prince under the table. The prince looks at him and asks him, tell me, what are you doing here? I’m a turkey, I want to eat some grains, I’m hungry. He says to him, very good, peace be upon you. After some time they feel more comfortable with each other, and he says to him: listen, truth be told… what? The truth is that turkeys can also wear pants and nothing happens, right? That doesn’t deprive us of being turkeys. He says to him, true, right, putting on pants, that doesn’t… Then is a shirt disqualifying? Is it indispensable? He says no, a shirt also works. And then sitting on a chair, eating with knife and fork, starting to behave like human beings—and he brought him back to proper behavior, and they lived happily ever after. Now, there are two difficulties in the story. The simple difficulty is of course at the end. He wasn’t cured. Meaning, that wasn’t really a cure, right? That’s what in psychology is called a behaviorist cure. Meaning, it corrects his behavior, but in his soul he remains ill. You see the connection to that person who works for reward—so he’ll work for its own sake because that’s how you get the most reward. Meaning, you brought him to the right behavior but you didn’t really fix the foundation. That’s one difficulty. The second difficulty, which caught my eye after I struggled with the first one, is at the beginning of the story: when he goes under the table, why does the prince ask him what he’s doing there? What, he doesn’t understand that there are other turkeys in the world? What, only you are a turkey? It’s obvious that he understood this was a human being. But if he understands that this thing is a human being, then he understands that he too is a human being. So what stories is he telling? After all, what troubled you there was: what is one born of woman doing among us, right? What is a person doing there? This is turkey territory. Meaning, he understands that someone who looks like that and behaves like that is a human being, so about himself too he understands that. So he actually is not… The first question is that he wasn’t cured. The second question is that he was never sick. And these questions answer one another. Because a human being is in fact a complex creature. A person who is truly sick down to the root, who has really lost all his healthy points—you’ll never succeed in curing him. An illness that can be cured is only an illness in which there is some point inside where you still understand what is right.

[Speaker D] You would simply… something can be built on.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, exactly. Around it you build all kinds of things and theories and all kinds of matters like that, but that’s the outside. Inside—if we can reach that point inside you, where you are still healthy—then from there perhaps everything can be rebuilt. Yes, basically the job of a psychologist is not to reprogram you. The psychologist helps you get out of the state you’re in—he’s supposed to help you; usually that doesn’t happen, but he’s supposed to help you get out of the state you’re in. But you will come out of it, not that he’ll pull you out by the hair of your head. Rather, he’ll help you—he’ll help you get to that point where suddenly you’ll be able to grasp something real, and then slowly rebuild. If there is no such point, no psychologist will help. He would simply have to create you anew. A psychologist cannot create a person. He can only help you—perhaps, I say again, that’s what they at least claim to do—help a person somehow expand the healthy point that still remains in him and remove the sick wrappings. So therefore, it’s true that the person wasn’t really sick—he was sick, but he wasn’t sick all the way. Meaning, inside there was some healthy point. He actually understood that this is a human being; it’s not a turkey. But he wanted to sin, and he has no strength—that’s the parable—for human conduct, to do commandments, to behave properly, so he builds himself a theory. And the theory is that he is a turkey. Maybe not at all—who knows—maybe I really am a turkey. Yes, all kinds of skeptical questions like that often come up this way. Maybe I’m a turkey? Do you have proof that I’m not? I’m a turkey with two legs too, so what? It’s fine. And maybe they’re all two-legged, turkeys? Two legs or four? Two probably, right? Doesn’t matter. In any case, yes, so who says not? Now he builds himself a theory. What?

[Speaker C] What? Too many rich turkeys with two hands.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Two hands? Doesn’t matter, but two—two limbs. At least limbs, if you know the expression. In any case, so the theory that a person builds inside himself—he understands that it isn’t true. But he can’t sin while standing in front of a mirror that tells him, listen, what are you doing here? What you’re doing isn’t right. So he blurs it; he builds himself some theory that hides him from himself. It blurs things; he builds himself the theory that he’s a turkey. Now deep down he understands that it isn’t true. But since a person is a complex creature, he manages to live inside this theory that he built for himself. I think from experience you also know from your own lives that we build ourselves some theory because it’s convenient for us to do something. And really, who says it isn’t true? And slowly we enter into it… until someone comes and bluntly confronts us with the fact that we’re talking nonsense, and that can suddenly awaken us and make us understand that we just built a theory here. I’m now reminded of something else—a parenthesis within a parenthesis. I was once in the Gush, and I didn’t learn anything. So the guys said to me: listen, you’re doing a year and a half instead of three years in the army because you committed to studying; what you’re doing here isn’t right. I told them, who cares? I told them. Does the Chief of Staff care about my learning in the slightest? I don’t owe the head of the yeshiva anything; I’m not serving in the army for him. So what’s the problem? There’s no problem, who is harmed by this? Now I assume—I don’t know, I don’t remember if there was someone there—I don’t think there was someone who really held a mirror up to me, but inside I understood that it was an excuse, that it was a weak theory. Okay? But I really argued with the guys quite seriously. In the end I left the yeshiva because all the same they apparently managed to convince me that it wasn’t right. But somehow I lived inside that theory, and little by little I became convinced that in fact it was completely logical, very logical, yes? Besides the fact that it wasn’t true, it had no other disadvantage at all. Meaning, it was completely logical. Right? Like what Michio Kaku writes about quantum theory—that the theory is so idiotic, there’s just one problem with it: it’s completely true. Meaning, I’ve never encountered such a stupid theory in my life. Japanese physicist? Yes, yes. So I return to the turkey prince: you build yourself some theory that you are a turkey because basically what you really want is to eat grains under the table—that is what you really want. Now what does the wise man do? Deep inside you know you’re not a turkey, but what? You live, you imprison yourself inside your own theory because you want to get the practical results, to allow yourself to behave not as one really ought to behave. So what does he do? He gives you behaviorist treatment. Meaning, he takes you, according to your own position, to behave like a human being. Come, see. Your theory—let’s go with your theory—but what? So what does it mean that because of this you can’t sit by a table and eat with knife and fork? Why not? What, is that forbidden to a turkey? I have no answer for him. I simply don’t want to do it, but I have no answer for him. My theory doesn’t answer. That is the wise man. He takes my theory on my own terms, and works with me on my own terms, and brings me to different practical results. Practical results that are, in fact, proper behavior. That’s the behaviorist cure. But why can behaviorism work in principle? Because once I arrive at the correct result, I no longer have a reason to build the theory. Because the whole reason I built the theory was only to justify the behavior required by that theory. Now if someone takes me and does not give me the bonus that this theory I built gives me—meaning, he shows me that even that won’t save me—then it breaks on its own. Meaning, there’s no point in holding on to this theory anymore. So of course I’ll give up the theory. And therefore, in the end, he really was cured. Truly cured. Because once he no longer has a reason to hold on to that theory—after all, inside he knows it isn’t true—he built it in order to justify it. That’s Maimonides in the laws of divorce, yes, and also in the laws of offerings. In the laws of offerings it’s about choice, I think, I don’t remember. Namely, “we compel him until he says ‘I want to.’” This mystical Maimonides, yes, where you beat him because inside he really wants to serve God. It sounds like some very strange explanation, not at all suited to Maimonides, this mystical explanation. There is nothing mystical here. It is completely sound psychology. Nothing mystical at all. It’s as plain as can be. And no excuses are needed here. It’s simply obvious that this is how it is. What is happening, for example, when you see one of these recalcitrant husbands who refuse to give a get? I had one such case—one of mine became famous, a student of mine in kollel, he had a doctorate in physics, who became famous some time ago. What? He ran away. And now he’s come back; I don’t know exactly where he is now, in prison or something, I don’t know exactly. A character. I also tried to talk to him; his wife approached me. In short, I haven’t met many get-refusers, but I understand the phenomenon. I also spoke a little with people there; I once encountered it a bit, and with him I encountered it directly. He’s God-fearing, wants to serve God, he’s committed to the commandments. He’s seriously God-fearing. Meaning, he learned seriously, one of the most serious students I had. But here he was completely stuck. The religious court told him: listen, you have to divorce her, you are making her miserable, there is no point, she won’t come back to you anyway, you won’t gain anything. It didn’t help. Now he built for himself a theory: what do you mean, she doesn’t deserve it, she just wants it for no reason, and I’ll force her and it will be very good for both of them and everything will be wonderful. You can’t penetrate it. You can’t penetrate it. He built himself that theory and explains to himself, what do you mean, of course this is fine. You say it isn’t fine? It’s completely fine. So what if the religious court tells him, Jewish law tells him, everyone tells him—it changes nothing. You won’t convince him. And we’re talking about someone who really is God-fearing, as far as at least I can judge in all other areas. Why? Because he built himself a theory because in the end he wanted to take revenge on her. He wanted to take revenge on her. He had such an impulse. Now you can’t just take revenge. That’s not a proper act; it’s against Jewish law. So what do you do? You build a theory that this is what is right. And that this is what the Holy One, blessed be He, also wants in such a situation. And I’m talking about a get-refuser who is a religious man, a man committed to the commandments.

[Speaker B] Does he convince himself?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, yes, he convinces himself, he lives it, he puts himself into that theory because, you know, he has such a strong desire for revenge that he already loses the point. Deep down he probably knows it isn’t right, but he is often fighting against himself too in such a situation. And the theory is his way of fighting against himself, and he entrenches himself in the theory, and in the end it really appears perfectly logical to him. True, inside I feel something problematic about it, but after all I’m a man of logic—he has a doctorate in physics, I said he’s a logician—so everything is terribly logical. You’ll never convince him in a million years. So what do we say to him? Maimonides says to him: look, we’ll beat you until your soul nearly departs, and you will say “I want to,” even though you won’t really mean it. Right? And then it’s a coerced get, and the woman is still a married woman, and I’m going to marry her off. And I will permit her, I the religious court, yes? I will marry her off, I will remarry her even though she’s a married woman and this is a coerced get.

[Speaker B] It’s like a double mistake, one mistake on top of another. What? That he’s making a double mistake—on the one hand he built a false theory, and on top of that

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] he makes another mistake in that he sort of has the… No, he thinks it’s a coerced get and apparently he’s right. It would be a coerced get because what? Because I’m beating him and he says “I want to.” He doesn’t really want to. After all, if he doesn’t really want to, then it’s a coerced get. So he says to him, correct, it’s a coerced get—but that doesn’t help you at all. You won’t get the result. I will marry her off and she will have another partner, she will build a family, children, and a coerced get—it’s all on me, no problem. I’ll take the transgression on myself. And I’ll beat you until you say “I want to.” And when you say “I want to,” I’m not interested in the fact that inwardly you’re screaming that you don’t want to. I’ll marry her off. What happens in such a situation? What happens in such a situation is that the person understands: it won’t work for you. I’ll beat you until she marries. The theory will evaporate. He himself will understand that there is no point in building that theory, because the whole reason you built the theory was so that it would enable you to do what your impulse really wants to do. If you won’t be able to achieve the result, then the theory will evaporate on its own. This is Maimonides’ behaviorist cure. And I think that is exactly what Maimonides means there. By the way, this has a major practical implication. What happens, for example, if the person is not committed to the commandments? A person who is not—what—an atheist? He does not keep the commandments, is not committed to the commandments, does not want to fulfill God’s will. No mysticism will help here. You can’t compel him to give a get; it’s a coerced get. You can’t. It won’t help—whether he says “I want to” or doesn’t say “I want to,” it changes nothing. That’s the point. If you understand that there is something mystical here, that inside every Jew…

[Speaker E] Even if he’s not committed to the commandments, the religious court still creates a situation in which he no longer has the possibility of taking revenge on her completely.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Correct, but he didn’t build a theory—he really wants to take revenge on her. He isn’t committed to the commandments.

[Speaker E] But now the religious court has found a trick to prevent him.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, it’s not a trick—you are permitting a married woman to the public. What do you mean, a trick? You’re creating mamzerut. No, in the previous case I tell him: this won’t help you at all, but in the end I am not permitting a married woman, because she is actually divorced. Because in the end he really does want to—the theory evaporated. But the person who is not committed to the commandments wants revenge, and that’s all; it’s not a theory. He will continue to want revenge afterward as well, so it won’t help if afterward I tell him, listen, nothing will help you, because it won’t evaporate. For him it isn’t a theory—it is really what he wants. Only a person committed to Jewish law, when they tell him: look, Jewish law says you are forbidden to do this, and in principle he is committed to Jewish law—but what? His impulse builds theories for him: no, no, here all the judges are mistaken, the whole world is mistaken, only I am right. I know that here, in this situation, the Holy One, blessed be He, is pleased with what I’m doing. Everyone else is mistaken. And every get-refuser will tell you this—that’s what I think, that’s my impression at least. Okay? So about that Maimonides says: if you beat him until he says “I want to,” you really solved the problem. It’s not a game. But in a place where, if you understand it as mysticism, that inside every Jew there is some desire to do what the Holy One, blessed be He, says—that’s how people usually understand Maimonides—then you can beat even an atheist, because he is a Jew and inside him there is some deep inner point, I don’t know, I don’t understand these things at all, but yes, that is really what he wants, and therefore if he says “I want to,” then it’s fine. There’s no such thing. That’s not what Maimonides means. Maimonides means something entirely real. A person who truly is committed to Torah and commandments. A person who is not committed—it won’t help, you can’t compel him to give a get. This process of coercion won’t help.

[Speaker B] But there were also heretics in their time. Were there also secular people in their time?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, not real ones.

[Speaker C] Suppose a pathological case, and if you kill him then in any case his wife becomes permitted.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “They are lowered and not raised”—the snakes will already take care of him.

[Speaker C] “Lowered and not raised” is only if he can’t do it openly, but if he can kill him openly…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then let him actually kill him. In any case, we’ll take care of the problem of his wife’s agunah status by more radical means. Why did I bring this example? Because what happens is that you cannot deal with a person except on his own terms. You need to take him on his own terms and say: okay, according to your method, you’re fine, and I take you to a result that you want to avoid, and then in the end the theory will evaporate. But I have to begin on your terms. But all this can be done only if deep down there is a point at which he holds the correct theory, except that around it the impulses built some substitute theory for him, and that is what I can try to dissolve, or penetrate through to the real place, and somehow dissolve the wrappings, the garments. But where there is a problem inside, then nothing will help. Now I return to the process of repentance and serving for its own sake.

[Speaker C] Maybe it can also work in reverse? Meaning, maybe just as Maimonides describes it, that because of the impulse a person comes to build himself a theory that obligates him even if, say, at the inner point he doesn’t believe in it—then as an advantage maybe one could say that someone whose inner principle is that he has no desire to do the commandment, or what we want him to come to—if because of some external pressure he goes out and does the commandments, then from that he may come to build himself a theory that he believes in the commandments here and this…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But that would be a fictitious theory, so what would that help me? Inside he doesn’t really want it.

[Speaker C] What’s inside him—but the question is to what level we want what

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] his most authentic self is, what he really believes. I’ll sharpen that in a moment, in a moment.

[Speaker C] And maybe at some stage it also seeps all the way in?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t know, meaning. So that’s the point I now want to talk about a bit. Look, there is—when I bring these examples, it’s so that you see that there is basically some logical problem when we talk about turning a person around, a reversal of a person’s values. Let’s put it this way: I’ll now explain it to you through an article. There are quite a few articles on what is called weakness of the will. It’s a popular topic in analytic philosophy. One of the well-known articles is by Donald Davidson, an excellent American analytic philosopher. One of the articles on this subject, one of the foundational articles on this subject, is his article. Basically he presents things like this. He says, overall, first assumption: if a person thinks something is the right thing to do, then that is probably also what he will want to do. Right? If that is what is right, then that is what he wants to do. Second assumption: if a person wants to do something, then absent other obstacles, that is also what he will in fact do. Okay? Third assumption: there is such a thing as weakness of the will. Weakness of the will means that I did something I didn’t really want to do. In the religious context that is called sin; in the context of dieting it is called eating something fattening when in fact I didn’t want to do it, and afterward I immediately regret it. When I regret it, what am I really saying to myself? I was weak. And really I wanted not to eat, but my impulse overcame me and I ate. Whether in prohibition, or in dieting, or in many things—places where we want to do something but don’t stand by it, or want not to do something and don’t manage and do it anyway—that is what is called weakness of the will. Now Donald Davidson says: these three assumptions do not fit together. Because if you adopt the first two assumptions, then the third one cannot be true. Because if what I think is right is what I want, and what I want is what I do, then how can there be weakness of the will? Weakness of the will means that I do something that I don’t think is right.

[Speaker E] And this is something active, if

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] we don’t want it rationally.

[Speaker E] We don’t want it rationally, in things we don’t want. At that point when you did it, then at that point, that second, I didn’t want to. So it’s not an active desire; it didn’t operate.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, so

[Speaker E] that means that what you did was

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] what you wanted at that point.

[Speaker E] No, at that second I didn’t want to.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So you didn’t want to. No, it’s not only about what I want. Wanting is an active thing; I’m not constantly wanting. Suppose you ate something while on a diet, you ate something fattening. Did you want to eat it? No, that’s not really the point at all; that’s entirely on the biological level. It’s on the biological level. If that’s the case, then I have no control over it? That’s what I’m asking. Right, if I have no control over it then it’s… if I have no control over it then I’m coerced. It’s completely under control. It’s under control; at that moment it’s under control. Without control, then I’m coerced, as if some flood swept over me. So then I’m coerced—so what am I repenting for? That’s already an excellent question, and that’s the other side of the same question. No, because I think the whole religious symbolic language of repentance can be translated very nicely into psychology. So you’re saying there really is no repentance. Repair, reprogramming. What is psychology? Meaning that yes, I work on my consciousness so that I’ll look back in perspective at what I did, and I’ll cope with it, and my future will look different. In light of that, I’ll… I’ll have, I’ll gather strength. You’re saying there is no such thing as a sin that isn’t coercion. That’s what you’re claiming. I’m saying there’s no such thing—yes, certainly. I think the Talmud says this, that a person does not sin unless a spirit of folly enters him. And a spirit of folly—isn’t that coercion? I think it is. If a spirit of folly is coercion, then there’s no need to repent for anything. Certainly it’s coercion. Coercion—I’m compelled. Repentance at its root fixes nothing except that. But for coercion you don’t need to repent. For a sin I committed under coercion I don’t need to repent. This kind of coercion that comes from outside and that kind that comes from inside—what difference does it make where the compulsion comes from? From my biological layer? So what? What difference does it make where the compulsion comes from? It certainly makes a difference, as long as I’m compelled to it. Because a substantial part of the halakhic model is to fight my biology. Even though my biology pushes me toward something, I don’t do it. So I do have control—make up your mind. Do I have control or don’t I have control? So wait, the latter half. At that point when I acted, biology took the reins into its hands—did I have control over it or not? I could have, if I had… I could have. Okay, so I do have control over it. Then why did I do it if I had control? Because I decided not to, because that’s what I wanted. No, because at that point in time the decision in the layers of consciousness is very, very high up. It seems obvious to me that in the structure of consciousness, the will is located very, very high up relative to the biological drives. It’s above them. Suppose I accept that—maybe for the sake of the discussion I’ll accept it. Still, you have control, so fight. You didn’t fight, so you decided not to fight; repent for that. Or maybe I simply didn’t decide—most people aren’t in that place. But do you have control or not? I’m asking again: if you don’t have control then you’re coerced; if you do have control then it’s your decision. So the fact is that most people, most of the time, are not completely in control. What does “not completely” mean? Is there control—could they have avoided it or not? They can be in control, but they don’t activate the mechanism of control that they have. So the fact that they didn’t activate the mechanism of control—that itself is a decision. No, it’s not a decision; it’s surrender to impulses. And there’s no such thing as surrender to impulses; surrender is a decision to surrender. I think most of the things we do are biological, not conscious. So I’m saying: if that’s true, then for everything we do there’s no need to repent, because it’s all coercion. All sins are coercion. You can’t execute anyone, you can’t flog anyone, you can’t do anything to anyone, because it’s all coercion. Because it really is coercion. His evil inclination clothed him. So why isn’t “his evil inclination clothed him” an exemption? Excellent question. Okay, so again, you can say that you disagree with the halakhic view, but that is not the halakhic view. You’re basically a determinist, in a certain sense. In a certain sense I am a determinist. Yes, okay, so in this discussion I’m assuming the opposite assumption, meaning I’m assuming a non-deterministic assumption. But I’m saying there really is a problem here, and the problem is that the concept of weakness of will contains an internal contradiction. If this is what I wanted—if I didn’t want it, then why did I do it? After all, if I did it, then apparently that’s what I wanted. So you’ll say, okay, I wanted to be healthy, but I also wanted to eat something tasty. Fine, so practically, in the final analysis, the desire to eat something tasty was stronger than the desire to be healthy. So practically, in the final analysis, what you did is what you wanted. There’s no escaping that. If it hadn’t been your strongest desire, you wouldn’t have done it. So in the end, that is what you want. So what does it mean to change that? What does it mean to repent? After all, that really is what you wanted. Except that now you’re constructing things differently. Now suddenly you want to be healthy more than you want to eat something tasty—at least until, of course, the next tasty thing is placed in front of your eyes. But meanwhile, after you eat, you always regret it. Okay, now you’re already full, you enjoyed it, the thing is already gone, and now you regret it. So what? Now you have a different scale of values. So that’s not repentance. It’s just that then you had that scale of values, and now you have a different scale of values. You didn’t change anything. What? You didn’t change—it changed on its own. It changed on its own; you changed nothing. It just happened by itself. Earlier I felt this way, and now I feel that way. More than that—even this new change, in another moment that tasty thing will appear before me again, and once again it’ll be the same thing. If so, then you didn’t really repent, because the moment you stand before that same thing… What I’m saying is: so what does it mean to repent? To repent means to change my basic set of values. When I say “values,” for me that also includes the desire to eat something tasty—what I mean is the set of basic desires. Values are only part of our desires, and the hierarchy among them, what is more important than what. Right? So if I sinned, then in the final analysis something is flawed in my basic assumptions. Because if not, then how—what happened along the way? If something happened along the way because it malfunctioned, like I spoke about there with the indic, then I’m coerced. Then it happened; it wasn’t my decision. If it was my decision, then it’s a product of the things I believe in. So there’s something wrong in my foundational values. So what does it mean for me to change myself? Who is the one changing, and who is the one being changed? If I already want to change myself, then I’ve already changed, because I’m already in a state where I understand that those values are not correct. So there’s nothing for me to change—I’m already there. But then what happened is that this change occurred on its own; I didn’t do it. To say that I change myself is a meaningless sentence. What does it mean to repent? What does it mean to change a set of basic values? There’s no such thing. It’s simply—it’s inconceivable. When you think about it and try to give a proper account, it’s just inconceivable. Either it happens on its own, or it doesn’t happen at all. Because if it happens in an orderly way, in an intentional way, in a way where I initiate a change in myself—the “I” that initiates is not the “I” that is changed. I’m playing here with two hats, after all: I change myself, so I am the changer and I am also the changed. The changing “I” is already there, because otherwise why does it want to change to that set of values? It already believes in them. So then what is there to change? Then I’m already there. More than that—not only am I already there, but how did it happen that I’m there? It happened on its own; not that I changed, but that I caused change. Because if I caused change, then I’ll go back and ask about that change itself—how did it happen? There’s something very problematic here. Meaning, repentance—essential repentance—how can such a thing even be done? The truth is that I’m not entirely sure, not entirely sure to what extent I have a good answer to this issue, but maybe there is something that can at least soften the difficulty a bit. I’m constantly debating whether this answers the difficulty or doesn’t answer it. Not long ago someone asked me this on the website. My claim is basically that beyond the set of values by which I choose, I also have to decide how much energy I invest in that choice. How much force I exert in order to realize my values. Meaning, many times I believe in the right values, but when there are obstacles, I don’t muster enough energy or enough strength to succeed in overcoming them. And therefore I fail. Now, the responsibility is my responsibility, always. It’s my responsibility; I can always overcome. What do I mean by “always”? There are cases where I can’t overcome, but then I bear no responsibility. That’s an irresistible impulse, or situations over which I have no control. I’m talking about normal situations. In normal situations, my claim is that I simply chose not to choose. I chose not to choose, and therefore the responsibility is mine. But I didn’t choose to eat pork; rather, I chose not to choose, and therefore the urges that led me to eat pork succeeded in doing so. Now, not to choose is of course a spectrum. Not choosing strongly enough—that’s what “not choosing” means. What’s the difference between that and the “I didn’t choose to choose” that you gave earlier? No, that’s what I’m saying. I’ll explain. I think I’ll tell you where my point of hesitation is. I think this solves the problem of weakness of will in this sense, because what is my problem with weakness of will? If you ate pork, that means that’s what you wanted, right? So if that’s what you wanted, then what are you repenting for? That’s what you want. And if you’ve already decided to repent, then you’ve already done it—you already don’t want it. You don’t need to do anything. There’s something here that is not under your control; there is no process of repentance that is an intentional process. My claim is not that. Rather, I really did not want to eat pork. But on the other hand, I also didn’t want to invest energy in realizing my choices. Maybe in an extreme formulation one could even say: I didn’t even know that in the end it would lead to my eating pork. I decided to enter a lax state like that, a state in which my urges would manage to overcome me because I wasn’t strong enough. That is what I’m guilty of. In the end there is always some fault of mine, otherwise it wouldn’t have been a sin. But on the other hand, you can’t ask me: if you didn’t want to eat pork, then why did you eat it? After all, if you ate it, that means that’s what you wanted. I don’t agree with that. Meaning, it’s close to what you said earlier, but without removing responsibility from me. I do—there is responsibility on me, because in fact I could have decided to struggle. Because if I couldn’t have decided to struggle, but was dragged into it, then I have nothing to repent for; I’m coerced. It’s like “his evil inclination clothed him.” But I’m saying, the point—the difficulty of weakness of will, which says if you didn’t want to eat pork, then why did you eat it? The answer is: I didn’t want to eat pork, but it is true that I was weak enough in the sense of how much energy to invest in the struggle. If I had known that I would end up eating pork, maybe I would even have overcome it; rather, I concealed that from myself. And then in fact I didn’t invest enough energy, and that is my failure and I am responsible for it. That is a sin; for that one must repent. But it is not true that I ate pork because I wanted to eat pork. No—I already then did not want to eat pork. Now one can also add that there are things you can do not at the moment of temptation. Meaning, you can—I don’t know—go to some withdrawal workshop, I don’t know, study, do guided imagery, all kinds of things. I think that’s part of the issue of how to accumulate the energy needed to overcome. Because in those workshops they won’t show me why it is forbidden to eat pork; rather, in those workshops they’ll enable me—if I think it is forbidden to eat pork—how to stand by that. No, it’s from the very choice to go to the workshop or to take action. I’m saying, but that is a choice to choose. It’s still on the plane of choosing to choose, not of the choice itself. Yes, but it happens at a moment when you don’t have that irresistible impulse; it happens at a moment when you’re relatively balanced. So that’s technical advice, but it still fits within the map I drew. It’s just advice that says: if you really want not to fail next time, but to have enough energy, work on it before the impulse begins. Go to a withdrawal workshop, whatever. Fine, you’re just offering practical advice on how to do it, but still the scheme is the same scheme. And the scheme is that I fail, I eat pork even though I really did not want to eat pork. My values are not to eat pork. On the other hand, I’m not coerced; that’s the game I have to play. Meaning, I’m not coerced. I have responsibility for what I did. But what I did was not decide to eat pork; rather, I decided not to exert enough energy to overcome the urge that led me to eat pork, and for that I am responsible. And is this a level of choice within coercion? Yes, it’s connected; it’s a level of choice within coercion. And within the window Rabbi Dessler talks about, that mechanism exists there; below and above it, it does not exist. Let’s just try to explain in one word what Rabbi Dessler is. The point of choice. Rabbi Dessler says that a person has a place where he chooses. Above that place he does not choose, because he is already at such a level that he does not even consider committing that transgression. Say, it doesn’t seem to me that there is anyone here in the room right now debating whether to murder someone in cold blood. We are above the point of choice there; we’re simply not there. And there are places where we are below the point of choice. We are so accustomed to a certain thing, so immersed in it, that we don’t really choose there. There is a certain window in which choice takes place. The Sefat Emet says that within this window there is another dynamic. The choice is not whether to eat the pork or not; the choice is how much effort to invest in not eating it. And that effort is limited. We have a certain amount of willpower that we can activate at a given moment, and if the impulse was stronger than the amount of willpower we activated, then in the end we ate the pork. So on the one hand we are coerced, because we didn’t have enough power; on the other hand we are responsible, because we could have activated a bit more willpower and we didn’t do it. That is the fine point where responsibility and coercion meet.