Conceptual Analysis – Lesson 3

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, no Jewish law wasn’t decided here, because when Jewish law was decided there also wasn’t a Sanhedrin in Babylonia in that period, so it’s not clear what exactly counts as issuing a halakhic ruling there. For us today, you can maybe look in the Shulchan Arukh or in Maimonides or something like that, but for them the dispute was still standing; no Jewish law had been decided there. Okay. In any case, the Ritva says that some infer from the passage here that if I hold that a certain act is permitted, then I may cause someone else to stumble in it even if he is a Torah scholar and he holds that this act is forbidden. I’m allowed to make him stumble. That’s what you see here in the Talmudic text. True, in the end Rav Huna and Rav Hisda explained that from their standpoint this wasn’t an prohibition at all, but the Ritva’s inference, or the inference of those “some say,” comes from the stage when Rav Nahman still didn’t know that. Rav Nahman himself set out from the assumption, from the starting point, that from their perspective this was forbidden. Afterward he clarified it with them and understood that that wasn’t the case. How did he allow himself, at the first stage, to cause them to stumble when from his perspective—or at least as he understood it—they were, according to their own view, violating a prohibition? So the inference is not from what he actually did, because in practice he didn’t cause them to stumble in a prohibition at all. The inference is from what he allowed himself to do before he made the clarification. Okay? That’s what he says here. And it seems to me, the Ritva continues, specifically here because the prohibition was evident to his fellow, and if he held it was forbidden, he would not eat. Here in the sukkah, after all, each one can look upward and check, see that the roofing is visible and there are no decorations interposing between you and the sukkah roofing. Therefore I really don’t need to tell them anything; let them look up, see, and make their own decisions, and if he held it was forbidden, he would not eat. So only for that reason did Rav Nahman allow himself to seat them under those decorations, because in fact they could see everything; nothing here was hidden, everything was out in the open before them. And therefore he isn’t considered to have caused them to stumble. But where it is not evident to his fellow, no. In a place where the other person doesn’t know that we’re dealing with a situation that according to him—the person being caused to stumble—yes, according to him this thing is forbidden, there I’m forbidden to cause him to stumble. I’m allowed to cause him to stumble only where he knows all the facts. If he decides to violate the prohibition, then he violates a prohibition according to his own view. And we say there—the Ritva’s proof that there really is such a distinction between when the prohibition is evident and when it is not evident—and we say there, this is a Talmudic text in Chullin: “Far be it from the descendants of Abba bar Abba to feed him something that he does not hold by.” In the chapter Kol HaBasar in Chullin. And so my teacher, the Rabbi, may his light shine, instructed me—yes, that’s probably the Ra’ah or Nachmanides; he has two rabbis, I think “my teacher, the Rabbi, may his light shine” is the Ra’ah for the Ritva; Nachmanides he cites by name. In any case, here he adds—someone asked earlier whether Jewish law had been decided—he says: however, where Jewish law had been decided not in accordance with him, then it is forbidden both for himself and for others. Meaning, if Jewish law had been decided not like Rav Nahman, then he himself would be forbidden even to sit in such a place, and all the more so to cause someone else to stumble, because Jewish law was decided not like him. As I have proven elsewhere, as we wrote—that is, he proved it in other places. For our purposes, the Ritva’s words are seemingly puzzling, because on the one hand he adopts the claim he is responding to, the proof from our passage that one may cause someone else to stumble in a prohibition if that other person thinks it is forbidden, even if that other person thinks it is forbidden, so long as I, the one causing the stumbling, think it is permitted. Now the Ritva comes and says: yes, but that’s only where all the information is visible before the person being caused to stumble and he can make his own decisions. So in what sense is it proven here from the passage that one is allowed to do anything? Obviously that’s permitted, because seemingly I didn’t cause any stumbling at all. The other side of the coin—and this isn’t true—we saw in the passage in tractate Avodah Zarah, what we mentioned. What I mentioned earlier: even where the other person knows all the facts and decides to commit a transgression intentionally, still if I helped him, I violated the prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block.” So in fact the Ritva’s whole distinction is just wrong. What difference does it make whether it is evident to them and they decide to violate a prohibition according to their own view? I, who caused them to stumble in this, still violated the prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block.” So really the question is this: decide. Is there a prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block” even where the other person thinks it’s forbidden but according to me it is permitted, as in this case—is there such a prohibition in that situation? Then it should exist whether the facts are visible to everyone or not. Because in the framework of the prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block” there’s no difference between a blind person and a sighted one, or between inadvertent and intentional, right? As we saw earlier. So what difference does it make whether the prohibition is evident or not evident? So what will you say? That in a situation where the other person holds it is forbidden, but I think it is permitted, there is no prohibition in causing him to stumble; there is no “do not place a stumbling block” here. But if so, then what difference does it make whether it is visible or not visible? Again, then it should be permitted whether the facts are visible to them or not, because there is no prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block” here. So this distinction of the Ritva is unclear. Decide. Is there “do not place a stumbling block” in such a situation? If so, what difference does it make that they know the facts? The prohibition exists even when you intentionally decide to commit a transgression. Is there no “do not place a stumbling block” in such a situation? If not, then again it doesn’t matter whether the facts are visible or not. There is no prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block,” so even if the facts are not visible it should be permitted. So where exactly does this distinction enter here, between a situation where the facts are visible and one where the facts are not visible? So the Ritva’s words here need explanation. By the way, the source for this distinction is Rashi in that same passage in Chullin on page 110. Rashi there says this explicitly. There are some disputes among the medieval authorities (Rishonim), but that’s Rashi’s position there. And by the way, there too it is indeed brought that the Ra’ah says this; the Ra’ah writes it there. And that is what the Ritva brings here: “and so my teacher, the Rabbi, may his light shine, instructed me”—that is the ruling of the Ra’ah from there. Okay, so these are basically the Ritva’s words. Seemingly they are unclear; they need explanation. Here I want to—okay, now this is the question. Now I want to do a small analysis, a small conceptual analysis, that will clarify the picture. Basically the question we are dealing with here is the question of causing a person to stumble in a prohibition that is a prohibition according to his own view. According to my own view I think it is permitted—am I allowed to cause someone else to stumble in this thing that I think is permitted if according to the one stumbling it is forbidden? Okay? That is basically the question. What is really standing behind this halakhic question, apparently—at least my instinct says so—is that the question of halakhic pluralism comes up here. Because if there is a halakhic truth—yes? The debate over halakhic pluralism has two sides: monism versus pluralism. Halakhic monism means there is one halakhic truth. Okay? Halakhic pluralism means that there are multiple halakhic truths, or there can be multiple halakhic truths. Okay? The debate is basically over how to read the Talmudic statement that “these and those are the words of the living God.” Does it mean that both sides are right, that there is a multiplicity of halakhic truths? Or does it mean that one side is right, but the other side too is “the words of the living God” in some sense? Okay? Those are two ways of reading that Talmudic text. So: monism versus pluralism. Let’s try to think, and here again I’m returning to what I talked about when I spoke about authority. Suppose I asked a person and said to him: tell me, is Jewish law pluralistic or monistic? Meaning, does Jewish law believe in the possibility of several correct answers in a given situation, or does it believe in one halakhic truth for every given situation? Usually when you ask that question, you get answers taken from all kinds of thought literature, from authors’ introductions to responsa or to various commentaries on the Talmudic text—texts I would call philosophical or publicistic, introductions and the like. But as is usually considered true, from such texts it is hard to extract an unequivocal conclusion. People who write such texts are not really committed to the halakhic precision that one is committed to when dealing with Jewish law. There is the famous introduction of the Pnei Yehoshua, where he tells there that there was an earthquake in his city, the house collapsed, and he found himself trapped under the ruins. I think he was there for two days or something, a very long time under the ruins, and he lost there, I think, his daughter, maybe also his wife, I don’t remember anymore—his daughter for sure. And while he was trapped there he vowed that if the Holy One, blessed be He, would save him, he would no longer deal with aggadic literature. Meaning, he would skip the aggadic passages. He’s my rabbi—I do the same thing too, even without being trapped under earthquake rubble. Why? Because in aggadic passages people are not careful to say things precisely; they say nice lines, in our language. Meaning, in halakhic passages a person is committed—he checks proofs, he is precise in wording, he does not let himself off the hook, he does not cut corners. When you deal with aggadic literature, you say general things, things that sound nice, some quick-and-dirty stuff, some clever sayings, and you’re not careful about precision. And therefore indeed, look in Pnei Yehoshua’s commentary: this man doesn’t let anything go. When you learn a page with Pnei Yehoshua, you see every statement of Rashi, every statement of Tosafot, the initial assumption, the conclusion, difficulties, calculations in the Talmudic text itself—he lets nothing go. When you get to a piece of aggadah, nothing. You won’t find a commentary of Pnei Yehoshua there; you’ll meet him again when you get past the aggadah into the next halakhic passage. He really does not comment. Meaning, there is something about non-halakhic texts where he simply is not careful about precision. I’ll maybe give you an example. We talked about authority in Jewish law and in aggadic literature and so on. One example I’m fond of in this context is the Maharshal. The Maharshal writes in his introduction, and in fact says this also in his commentary to the Talmudic text, that he is not really bound by the medieval authorities (Rishonim) and that he will decide disputes among the Rishonim based on proofs; he does not see the Rishonim as authoritative in such matters. He says more than that: even a dispute among Amoraim or Tannaim he will decide based on proofs—which nobody does. Meaning, almost nobody. Suppose there is a dispute among Amoraim that wasn’t decided in the Talmudic text, or a dispute among Tannaim. Usually what do we say? We say: fine, this one holds this way and that one holds that way; we try to explain each view, but it would never occur to us to bring a proof in favor of one side and decide accordingly in that dispute because we have a proof. On the contrary: once we find a Talmudic text that serves as proof in favor of Rabbi Yehuda, say, and against—I don’t know—Rav and Shmuel, no matter, against Rav and in favor of Shmuel, that will be a difficulty. How can that be? Rav is contradicted by the Mishnah! And then we’ll find some move to explain how Rav understood that Mishnah. According to the Maharshal—what are you talking about? If you have a Mishnah against Rav and for Shmuel, excellent; that is the proof that Jewish law follows Shmuel against Rav. That’s it. I don’t know what kind of general lectures they gave in the Maharshal’s yeshiva. He empties all the lectures of content. Every good general lecture starts with a difficulty on some Amora from a Mishnah; from there you have to explain that Mishnah differently according to his view, and you build your whole structure and in that way resolve everything. The Maharshal says: forget it, there’s nothing to resolve. You have a difficulty on Rav? Excellent, that means Jewish law follows Shmuel. Everything is fine, finished. I brought a proof, that’s all. And if you get into his head—the question is, if there is a proof against Rav from the Mishnah there, why didn’t the Talmudic text bring it? The Talmudic text should have brought that Mishnah as a proof against Rav and in favor of Shmuel. These are always difficulties we ask when learning in-depth analysis; these are everyday questions. We see there is a proof from a Mishnah against Rav, and before we resolve the Mishnah we ask: wait a second, why didn’t the Talmudic text bring this proof? That implies not only that there is a resolution, but that the resolution is obvious, because otherwise the Talmudic text would have brought that proof and also bothered to resolve it. In other words, it is a proof not only that there is a resolution, but that the resolution is simple, because otherwise the Talmudic text would not have neglected to discuss that Mishnah when clarifying the dispute between Rav and Shmuel. The Maharshal says: what are you talking about? I have proofs. I will bring proofs from a Mishnah or a baraita or whatever, or from logic, no matter—I don’t know exactly what he means—I will bring proofs against Rav and for Shmuel and decide disputes among Tannaim; disputes among Amoraim he will decide by proofs. Okay. Now that’s one set—there are several statements of the Maharshal. Now, anyone who has seen a bit of the Maharshal’s responsa—he has responsa too—and in responsa you deal with practical questions of Jewish law, you will not see a trace of that bold autonomous stance of the Maharshal. His responsa are built like everyone else’s responsa: he analyzes the methods of the medieval authorities (Rishonim), disagrees with one, agrees with another, discusses them—but for him the Rishonim are sources of authority. He deals with them, rules on their basis; he does not behave according to the recommendations he so lightly tosses out in his introductions or even in Yam Shel Shlomo, which is a commentary to the Talmud, because even that is not really a halakhic text. He discusses halakhic passages, interprets them, and even rules a bit there, but it is not an answer to a practical question presented to him, as in responsa. In other words, there is a difference between something you write in an introduction to a book, or even in a commentary to the Talmudic text—a commentary that is not directly practical Jewish law—and a halakhic ruling you give in responsa for a case that came before you. So someone who reads the Maharshal in those sources could get the impression that you can do whatever you want. But when you see the responsa, you basically see a person who deals with the words of the Rishonim like any other later authority (Acharonim). There’s no difference there; I was not impressed that there is some very big difference in the Maharshal’s attitude toward the Rishonim compared to other Acharonim and how they relate to the Rishonim. In other words, there is a difference: when you deal with practical halakhic passages, you are very careful, very precise, you formulate things exactly, you check what the practical implications are, you resolve contradictions. When you say some aggadic line, or in a text that is not halakhic, you say something that seems nice to you, brilliant, interesting, and you move on; you don’t really check all the way whether it works or not, what the initial assumption is and what the conclusion is, whether it fits with parallel passages, whether it resolves contradictions, and all kinds of things like that. The level of commitment of interpreters in the aggadic realm is much lower. Okay. Therefore I, in my smallness, even when I have some question that is not quite a halakhic question, like tolerance or pluralism—a meta-halakhic question—I think it is much more correct to look for its resolution or determination in texts that are halakhic texts, and not in non-halakhic, publicistic, aggadic, philosophical texts, whatever they may be. Take for example Avi Sagi’s book called “These and Those,” and in that book he devotes himself to this question—tolerance versus pluralism, monism versus halakhic pluralism, the various interpretations of this Talmudic text, “these and those are the words of the living God”—and all the texts you will find there are all texts of the philosophical type: introductions and things like that. There is not a line there that uses a halakhic passage to resolve this question of whether Jewish law is tolerant or pluralistic or monistic or whatever. And in truth you really have to think. Because to find a discussion in philosophical texts, you can identify where exactly the author deals with the question of pluralism and halakhic truth; you can see that they are really dealing with it. But when you look for a halakhic passage through which to try to decide this meta-halakhic question, you have to think: where do you even look? It won’t be a text dealing with tolerance and pluralism; it will be a text asking a halakhic question and answering it or discussing it. Now you have to think carefully: what halakhic question could serve as a basis—a basis with an ayin, yes—for clarifying this question of tolerance, pluralism, monism, and the like? When you think about it a bit, you see that it is exactly this passage. This passage in tractate Sukkah that we learned earlier is exactly the passage. Why? Because basically there is an obvious halakhic practical implication of the dispute between monism and pluralism—a seemingly meta-halakhic dispute, but I am looking for a practical halakhic implication of that dispute. What will the practical implication be? Exactly this case. I think it is permitted to sit in the sukkah under decorations that are four handbreadths away; someone else thinks it is forbidden. The question is whether I am allowed to cause him to stumble and seat him there under the decorations.

[Speaker D] Mazal tov, Ruth, we have a birthday. I really, really loved the video you sent.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So I ask myself whether I am allowed to cause the other person to stumble in this act that according to me is permitted and according to him is forbidden. Seemingly that is a very direct practical implication between monists and pluralists, and what is most beautiful here is that here pluralism leads to stringency. Usually pluralism is perceived as a more lenient halakhic stance; here it is the opposite. Here whoever is a pluralist will have to be stricter. Why? Because if I am a monist, then according to me this is permitted—that’s exactly the language of the Ritva, right? According to me this is permitted—so from my standpoint it is a permitted act. Why should I care that he thinks it is forbidden? When I cause him to stumble, according to me I am causing him to stumble in a permitted act. And after all there is one halakhic truth; I am a monist. So why should I care that he thinks it is forbidden? He is mistaken. I’m not absolutely certain, but according to the best of my knowledge and the inquiry I made, in my opinion it is permitted. Since a judge has only what his eyes see, if that is the inquiry I made and I reached a clear conclusion that it is permitted, there is no reason to forbid me from causing someone else to stumble in this act. If I am a monist, then I am allowed to cause him to stumble. Because according to me this act is a permitted act, and I do not care that he is mistaken and thinks it is forbidden. I am a monist. There is no multiplicity of truths. Rabbi, maybe… can’t hear?

[Speaker B] Sorry, Rabbi, maybe in this case Rav Nahman later asked them, “Have you retracted?” Maybe it wasn’t in the style of a question, but rather he wanted to clarify, and he was happy that they had retracted their position?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, but the Ritva asks what happened before that, before he asked. How did he seat them there?

[Speaker B] He wanted to check whether they had in fact retracted or not? After all, they know everything.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Everything is clear here. So ask them without seating them there. Ask first, and when you get an answer, then decide whether to seat them or not. First you seat them; first we act and afterward raise the difficulty. Meaning, first ask and then decide whether to seat them or not. That is exactly what the Ritva is asking. Therefore the Ritva is careful: he says, I am asking the question at Rav Nahman’s initial assumption, not after it had already become clear to him, after he asked the question. How did he do this in the first place? So the monist basically—I’ll come back to it—the monist basically has no problem here; he is allowed to cause the other person to stumble because there is no stumbling here. According to me this is a permitted act. The pluralist will have to hold that it is forbidden. Because the pluralist holds that there is a multiplicity of truths: from his standpoint it is forbidden, from my standpoint it is permitted. Now I cannot cause him to stumble in an act that he himself considers forbidden, because Jewish law for him is determined according to what he holds, and I agree with that too, because after all I am a pluralist. So I as a pluralist am supposed not to cause him to stumble in this act, because from his standpoint it is a prohibition. So it turns out that this case is exactly the halakhic practical implication through which one can clarify Avi Sagi’s question, the question whether Jewish law is monistic or pluralistic. The practical implication will be here. We have to check whether it is allowed to do such a thing. If it is allowed, then Jewish law is monistic. If it is forbidden, then Jewish law is pluralistic. So what comes out? The Ritva cites those “some say” who show that here it is allowed. Why is it allowed? Because Rav Nahman too is fit to rule, and he came to the conclusion that this is a permitted act. And therefore he did not cause them to stumble in a prohibition. Seemingly what those “some say” are conveying, or the position reflected in their words, is monism. The meta-halakhic position is clearly monism. The big question is how—what I asked at the beginning, and that is why I am doing this whole analysis—the big question is: what does the Ritva mean? Because the Ritva says: I agree with them, but with a qualification. Only when the prohibition is visible and evident also to the one being caused to stumble. But if the prohibition is not visible, then no. That I do not understand, as I asked earlier. Because if the Ritva is speaking from a monistic position, then a monistic position means that in such a situation there is no prohibition of causing stumbling. Because according to me the act is permitted; I am not causing them to stumble in a prohibition; and I am a monist, there is one halakhic truth. And what I conclude is, from my standpoint, the halakhic truth. Therefore there is no problem causing them to stumble. So if that is so, what difference does it make whether the prohibition is evident to them or not? There is no “do not place a stumbling block” in such a case. So what will you say? No, the Ritva threw out the baby with the bathwater; really this is not monism but pluralism. That also does not work. Because if the Ritva were a pluralist, or if he thought Jewish law was pluralistic, that would mean there is a prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block” here. But if there is such a prohibition here, then again it makes no difference whether the problem is visible or not visible. There is a prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block,” so even if the other person acts intentionally, there is a prohibition of causing him to stumble. So why should I care that the prohibition is evident? Even if the prohibition is evident, there should still be a prohibition against causing him to stumble. So that means that after the Ritva qualifies those “some say,” saying that the permission they inferred from the Talmudic text is only when the halakhic problem is evident, now things are no longer clear. There is some statement here that fits neither monism nor pluralism. Because according to monism it should be permitted in every case, whether the problem is visible or not. And according to pluralism it should be forbidden in every case, regardless of whether the problem is visible or not. How do we understand this? So here is what is beautiful in this matter: I think this Ritva is really litmus paper for a position that is not monistic as I described earlier and not pluralistic either. There is a third possibility. There is a third possibility. Seemingly, what other possibility is there? Either you are a monist or a pluralist. There is a third possibility. It is not exactly a third, but monism divides into two sub-approaches within monism. There is a monistic approach that says there is one halakhic truth, and if according to me it is permitted to sit under such decorations, then that is the Jewish law. I do not care that you think it is forbidden. That is ordinary monism, plain and simple. There is what may be called tolerant monism. Tolerant monism means: although I think this thing is permitted, I am tolerant toward your position, which differs from mine, and you think it is forbidden. Notice: this is not pluralism. Pluralism means that we are both right. I am talking about something else. I am talking about tolerant monism. Tolerant monism means: I think I am right and you are wrong, but I still contain or relate with tolerance in some sense to your position even though in my opinion it is mistaken. Not as though it were mistaken—the pluralist sees your position as correct just like his own. The monist says: if I am right, then you are wrong; there is one halakhic truth. But I have some obligation to make room for your position or in some sense to affirm your position. Therefore this is tolerant monism. I’ll try to explain it a bit more, and this really brings us into the conceptual analysis of the different stances a person can have toward views different from his own, toward conceptions different from his own. A person can have a monistic stance, a pluralistic stance, and now I have defined a tolerant stance. What is this tolerant stance? Maybe before that I’ll explain why this tolerant stance is also called for. After all, the Talmudic text that starts the whole story says: “These and those are the words of the living God, and the Jewish law follows the House of Hillel.” That means that on the one hand the Talmudic text conveys a pluralistic message—“these and those are the words of the living God,” both are right. But on the other hand immediately afterward it determines: “the Jewish law follows the House of Hillel,” so there is monism, there is one halakhic truth. How are these two things reconciled? One possibility is to say: really there is halakhic pluralism, everyone is right; we just have to issue a halakhic ruling not because the truth is with the House of Hillel, but because we need to decide so that we can live together, so that there will be some uniformity in our conduct. So we rule like the House of Hillel, but not because the truth is really with them; truth is multiple, there is a multiplicity of truths. “Plural” means multiplicity, yes? Pluralism means there is a multiplicity of halakhic truths, but somehow Jewish law still has to be decided in order to synchronize our conduct, so we decide like the House of Hillel. That is one possibility. A second possibility: no. In terms of halakhic truths there is one halakhic truth; that is monism. Therefore the Jewish law follows the House of Hillel because they are right, because the truth is with them. So what then does “these and those are the words of the living God” mean? It means that the position of the House of Shammai is also legitimate. It is not correct; it is mistaken, but it is a legitimate mistake. There is an illegitimate mistake and there is a legitimate mistake. And the position of the House of Shammai is a legitimate mistake. In that sense it is called “the words of the living God.” What does “legitimate mistake” mean? For example, if there are disagreements among Torah scholars in the Talmudic text—as the Ritva himself says, Rav Huna and Rav Hisda were certainly fit to rule, and Rav Nahman too was fit to rule. Nobody here is talking nonsense. None of them is some child or ignoramus who does not know what he is saying. It is clear that both present a position that is well grounded, each according to his own approach. That does not mean both are right. There is only one halakhic truth, but this is a serious position. And if it is a serious position, and the other person is fit to rule, I am supposed to respect the fact that he thinks differently from me—not because he is as right as I am; I am not a pluralist—but because I am supposed to respect his autonomy.

[Speaker B] But if I’m supposed to respect his autonomy, then why did I put him under the invalid sukkah-roofing? I should have given him the option of sitting under regular roofing—to respect his autonomy.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You understand that I’m just now coming to answer exactly that, so just a moment, let me get there. I’ve only set up the concepts on the board.

[Speaker C] And it’s still permitted—you can decide whether to be tolerant or not—but there isn’t something here that you’re obligated to.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, no, no, no. You are obligated. I am asking now what Jewish law obligates you to do. How Jewish law understands itself.

[Speaker C] It obligates you to be tolerant?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] To be pluralistic or to be tolerant, yes? That’s the question. There is a halakhic directive. That halakhic directive tells me either to be pluralistic or to be tolerant or to be monistic. And I am asking what Jewish law commands me. What does it tell me to be? It doesn’t leave this to—it’s not a matter of mood. This is a halakhic directive. And now I am asking what that means. Look. What does tolerance mean? If I really am a monist—if I am a pluralist, let’s pause for a moment and look at the concept of tolerance. This is the conceptual analysis. Let’s look for a moment at the concept of tolerance. What does tolerance mean? Tolerance means that despite the fact that I respect your position, I disagree with it. Seemingly that is exactly pluralism. But on second thought it is obviously not true. It is the opposite of pluralism, the complete opposite of pluralism. Because if I am a pluralist, then you are right just like I am. There is no room for tolerance. Tolerance exists only where I have something against what you are saying, and nevertheless I treat you tolerantly, contain you—we’ll soon see exactly what that means. But that is only where I think I am right and you are wrong. If I am a pluralist and think you are right just like I am, there is no question of tolerance here. Tolerance is something where I somehow need to overcome my desire to stop you or not to recognize your position—to overcome that and be tolerant. Whereas if I am a pluralist, there is nothing to overcome. I think you are right just like I am. There is no one halakhic truth, or there are many halakhic truths; it doesn’t matter. So here the question of tolerance does not arise. The question of tolerance can arise only for monists. Only a monist can be tolerant. A pluralist cannot be tolerant. Now I ask: fine, but if I am a monist—that is, I think I am right and you are wrong—then why be tolerant? So here several possibilities can be raised. I’m not going to go through the whole move now; I’ve done it before too, and I also have stories around this issue. But I’ll do it briefly. What I want to say is that tolerance is necessarily based on respecting the autonomy of the other. That is the basis of the value of tolerance. In other words, I think you are wrong. I am not a pluralist; I am a monist. If I came to the conclusion that it is permitted to sit under these decorations, then whoever thinks it is forbidden to sit there is mistaken, because I am a monist. But since you are a Torah scholar and you made your own judgment and I think you erred—that’s not right—but I am supposed to respect your judgment and leave you the decisions about what you will do. Not because you are right—you are wrong. In my view you are wrong, and I am not supposed to take your conceptions into account. I am not a pluralist; I am a monist. But I am supposed to respect your right, and perhaps even your duty, to make decisions for yourself. That is the meaning of tolerance. What does that mean in practice? Let’s go back to the Ritva. It means exactly what the Ritva says. If I am tolerant, then it means this. First of all, I am a monist. Since I am a monist, in a situation like this there is no “do not place a stumbling block.” There isn’t. Because I think it is permitted, and the fact that you think it is forbidden is your problem. There is one halakhic truth, and I think this is permitted. I’m not supposed to take other opinions into account; I am a monist. But I am supposed to respect your autonomy to make a mistake. And in my view this is a mistake. But you are the ones who are supposed to decide what you do. Therefore, says the Ritva, true, there is no “do not place a stumbling block” here because Rav Nahman is a Torah scholar and he reached that conclusion, and the Ritva says we are monists. Jewish law is monistic, and therefore Rav Nahman is not supposed to take Rav Huna’s and Rav Hisda’s opinions into account. He reached the conclusion that this is permitted, so from his standpoint it is permitted. That is the one halakhic truth that exists, to the best of his judgment, and a judge has only what his eyes see. He is not supposed to worry that he might be wrong, to worry that perhaps they are right. That is not the basis for tolerance either—that would be hidden pluralism. Rather, something else. He is supposed to give them the possibility to decide for themselves, even if they decide mistakenly or decide to commit a transgression. You are supposed to respect their autonomy. But how can you respect their autonomy? By leaving the problematic circumstances visible. If they see that there are problematic circumstances here, then of course they make a decision. And if they make the decision to commit a transgression, that is their decision, their right, no problem according to them. According to me it is not a transgression at all, so there is no problem. But if they themselves decide to make themselves stumble in something that according to them is a transgression—that is their decision, no problem. If they decide not to eat there, of course I will respect that too. And since the circumstances are visible, they can look and see that the decorations are four handbreadths away from the sukkah roofing; I left the decision to them. In such a situation there is no problem seating them there; let them make their decision. Because after all there is no “do not place a stumbling block” here; I am a monist. Is there “do not place a stumbling block,” and it does not matter whether he acts intentionally or inadvertently? There is such a prohibition even if the other person acts intentionally and makes decisions for himself. The Ritva says yes, but I am a monist, so there is no “do not place a stumbling block” here. The duty to reveal the problem to them does not stem from the laws of “do not place a stumbling block”; it stems from the laws of tolerance. It is forbidden to cause a person to stumble in something that is a prohibition according to his own view not because I am causing him to stumble in a prohibition—I am not a pluralist; according to me it is not a prohibition, I am a monist. It is forbidden to me because I have taken from him the right to make decisions about his own mode of conduct. A person has to decide how he himself conducts his life; no one else should decide for me, even if he will make mistaken decisions. And that is the difference. Therefore the Ritva points out that this is putting a stumbling block before the sighted, not before the blind—placing a stumbling block, sorry, before the sighted and not before the blind. Because Rav Nahman and Rav Huna—Rav Hisda and Rav Huna—are Torah scholars and they make decisions, so Rav Nahman can rely on them to make their own judgment; they are not just doing something foolish. They are doing something that in my view is mistaken, but it is not foolish; it is grounded according to their understanding. In such a situation I have an obligation to leave the decision to them. If I were to hide the fact that there are decorations here and that the sukkah is invalid, that would be wrong of me, even though according to me there is no prohibition here. But I prevented them from making decisions about their own way. If, however, this whole thing is visible, and they see that the decorations are separated from the sukkah roofing, then they will make their own decisions; all the facts are before them; I hid nothing from them. And since there is no “do not place a stumbling block” here, and there is no takeover of their conduct either—I am leaving it to them to decide how to conduct themselves—then everything is fine. In my opinion, this is the only way to understand the Ritva.

[Speaker E] Rabbi, if I hid the decorations and they don’t know there is here—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] On—

[Speaker E] what prohibition did I violate?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s a meta-halakhic prohibition. Maybe it is an extension of “do not place a stumbling block,” I don’t know. It could be that the Ritva would say that this too is called “do not place a stumbling block”—causing a person to stumble in a prohibition according to his own view when he doesn’t know. Basically harming his autonomy, not causing him to make a mistake—that too may be “do not place a stumbling block.” Or perhaps he sees it as a rabbinic prohibition, or a prohibition based on reasoning, or some other kind of meta-halakhic prohibition, a moral prohibition—I don’t know. He doesn’t specify here, so I don’t know. Okay?

[Speaker B] So that’s why it was difficult for him afterward, that’s why he asked afterward, “Have you retracted from your position?” Meaning now that everything is visible and known, the question still stands in its place.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because you made decisions, and it is obvious—they are not wicked people—so Rav Nahman can understand that they are not going to decide to violate a Torah-level prohibition just like that. When the facts are visible, they are visible. So in such a situation now they decided to eat. Now Rav Nahman asks and really wants to clarify: what happened here? Did you retract? Do you no longer hold that view? And then they say: no, no, we are agents engaged in a commandment. Okay.

[Speaker F] It comes out that according to this, in the two answers he is answering two different questions. Because in the first answer he is answering the question of “do not place a stumbling block” and of “do not place a stumbling block” before the blind; and in the answer he is now proposing, this is—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The two distinctions combine; really both of them have to be maintained. This is one explanation; it’s not two explanations.

[Speaker F] No, because now according to what the Rabbi is saying now, regarding “do not place a stumbling block,” it’s simple—he doesn’t even need to explain it. Not like what he said in the earlier answer.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, it’s the same answer; it’s not two answers. There is an answer: there is what those “some say” say, namely that we see from the Talmudic text here that there is no “do not place a stumbling block” in such a situation. The Ritva accepts that; he doesn’t disagree with it. He only says: but that is only where the problematic circumstances are visible. He is simply adding that. But even those “some say” mean the same thing; he does not disagree with them. He only clarifies his position. Everything they said is only because here the circumstances were visible. But if the circumstances had not been visible, they would not have said this.

[Speaker F] It’s just that the “some say” is like the introduction to the monistic approach, that…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, the “some say” is the monistic approach. The Ritva says: true, but even within monism there is a tolerant dimension. You have to respect the autonomy of the other. That means giving him the possibility to decide. How is that done? When the problems are visible, he makes the decisions himself. So this is tolerant monism. Monism is the first part, and tolerance is the qualification the Ritva adds. Okay? But it’s not two answers; it’s one explanation. Here in the Talmudic text we see, says the Ritva, that Jewish law is tolerant monism. We have decided the philosophical question from the Talmudic text here. And Rashi in Chullin too—it’s the same thing. Basically they decide the meta-halakhic philosophical question of tolerance versus pluralism not through study of, I don’t know, Mesillat Yesharim or books of thought of this or that kind, or introductions to responsa or to commentaries on the Talmudic text, but from… halakhic ruling. Jewish law itself tells us—or the Talmudic text itself—we have halakhic proof that Jewish law advocates tolerant monism. And this situation is a wonderful situation because it is litmus paper for distinguishing among three meta-halakhic approaches. There is pluralism, monism, and tolerant monism. Each of the three approaches will give a different answer about what should be done in this situation, and therefore this situation is litmus paper. Once I see what Jewish law rules in this situation, that decides the meta-halakhic question for me. If I am a non-tolerant monist, an ordinary monist, then this should be permitted whether I revealed it to them or not, whether it is evident or not. If I am a pluralist, if Jewish law is pluralistic, this should be forbidden whether I revealed it to them or not.

[Speaker C] If Jewish law is tolerant monism, then it’s permitted, but only if I revealed it to them. It’s obvious that part of the sukkah did not have those decorations there. That’s obvious. Why? It’s obvious, it has to be, because otherwise he wouldn’t have let them enter the sukkah at all, because then they would have no place to move and no place to sit.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, they can go outside the sukkah and not eat at his place. What do you mean?

[Speaker C] Simply not be there.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, they decide in every case. They can tell him, listen, are you willing to take down these decorations here, even though it may be a case of “you shall make” and not something already made, to remove the decorations and then the sukkah is invalid first, and then you remove the decorations and thereby validate it, so that’s a major question. Anyway, this halakhic situation is basically a laboratory that gives me a sharp practical difference, a halakhic one—not conceptual statements, slogans, declarations like “Jewish law is tolerant,” “it’s pluralistic,” “it recognizes different opinions,” and all kinds of people giving speeches. Here we have a simple halakhic practical difference. We decide it the way we decide halakhic questions. And here the proof is that if I combine the Talmudic passage in Hullin with the passage here, what comes out is ordinary monism or tolerant monism. Not pluralism—there’s no hint of that in the Talmudic passage. The Talmudic passage doesn’t say this has to be visible. The fact is that it probably was visible, because decorations are something visible, but it doesn’t say in the Talmudic passage that the permission to seat them there is limited only to cases where the problem is visible. That’s the Ritva’s addition. But the Ritva claims that this is proven from the passage in Hullin. The combination is based on what Rashi explains in the passage in Hullin, although even there there may be room to argue. But combining the passage in Hullin with the passage in Sukkah leads us only to tolerant monism, precisely. Not ordinary monism, not pluralism—tolerant monism. We’ve decided the meta-halakhic question.

[Speaker B] But what—what does the passage in Hullin say? Maybe tell me in a few words what you said.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] About the passage discussing eating fish that absorbed the taste of meat with kutah, yes, with milk, on 111b there—the Ritva points to that passage. So the Talmudic passage says there that Shmuel fed Rav such kutah even though Rav held it was forbidden. Sorry, he fed Rav. And then he wanted to feed Rabbi Elazar, who was Rav’s student, and Rabbi Elazar didn’t want to eat. So Shmuel says to him: your teacher Rav ate, and you won’t eat? He is the father of the stringent position, and he ate, and you won’t eat? So Rabbi Elazar was indeed surprised, and he went to ask Rav what had happened there. So Rav says: far be it from Abba bar Abba to eat such a thing. Clearly Shmuel—that is Abba bar Abba—Shmuel certainly would not have caused me to stumble in such a matter. So Rashi explains there that he did not cause me to stumble because here you don’t know that there is a meat taste mixed with milk. They’re speaking there about a professional taster, and the question is whether the taste is discernible or not discernible; the whole discussion there is one of nullification. So if the taste was not discernible, then he would have had to tell me, and he didn’t tell me. That’s how Rashi explains it there, and therefore it’s impossible that Shmuel gave me something like that to eat. In short, Rav said the incident never happened. The later authorities discuss this.

[Speaker B] And therefore from that also—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Here the Ritva—

[Speaker B] —also says that they saw the decorations, that it was really visible; it’s not like there, where he didn’t tell me and I didn’t know.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Correct, that’s exactly what the Ritva says. Therefore the combination of the two Talmudic passages necessarily leads to tolerant monism, because in that passage it comes out forbidden, and in this passage it comes out permitted. What’s the distinction? The distinction is that in that passage the prohibition is not visible, and in this passage the prohibition is visible. That’s what the Ritva says. And then there is basically a resolution here to this discussion. So what do we learn from this for our purposes?

[Speaker E] Rabbi, why not say that the Talmudic passages disagree? Meaning, the Ritva says that this is…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, you can say that. That’s why I’m saying: even in the passage in Hullin itself, not everyone accepts Rashi’s interpretation. But at least according to how the Ritva understood it, he understood that this is the interpretation of the passage in Hullin, and the reconciliation of that passage with the passage in Sukkah is because here it’s visible and there it wasn’t visible.

[Speaker E] Meaning that according to the Ritva there is such a thing as tolerant monism?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Correct. Not just that there is such a thing. According to the Ritva, Jewish law is tolerant monism, yes.

[Speaker E] But it could be that there are other approaches that learned—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —differently and would say that it’s not so, correct, yes. And then you have to understand how they explain the passage in Sukkah, you have to examine them—maybe they think the passages disagree. And as I said, the way of the Sephardic sages is more to speak about disagreeing passages, whereas the Ashkenazic Tosafists do make the Talmud into a ball—they prefer not to create disputes between passages but to resolve difficulties like the Tosafists. The Maharshal already writes about this, yes, that the Tosafists make the Talmud into a ball, while the Sephardic sages do create disputes between passages. Anyway, by the way, he claims there that the Ashkenazic sages were greater than Maimonides and all the Sephardic sages. He writes that there in the same place. There are some very interesting comments there. He builds a hierarchy there among the halakhic decisors, among the great medieval authorities. He speaks about Rabbeinu Tam, who was greater than all of them, and Ri, and Maimonides is somewhere down below beneath the Tosafists; he ranks them there. Anyway, for our purposes, what I’m trying to show here is, first, the first lesson is that it’s worthwhile deciding even meta-halakhic questions, or even conceptual ones, if possible, through a halakhic passage. It seems to me much sharper, much clearer, much more precise, instead of talking in all kinds of slogans that you can see in introductions of various sorts: of course all opinions are beloved before the Holy One, blessed be He, and you don’t know what to do with such a thing. What does it mean that they are beloved before the Holy One, blessed be He? Are they all right? Is one right and the rest is tolerance? Define your terms. “All are beloved, all are clear, both these and those are the words of the living God.” Give me a definition. There are no definitions—you won’t find definitions. But here too, in Jewish law there are no definitions; in Jewish law there are halakhic rulings. But when I do the conceptual analysis of what tolerance is, what pluralism is, and what monism is, I’m actually revealing that underlying this Jewish law there clearly sits a position of tolerant monism. The conceptual analysis helped me here use a halakhic passage to decide a meta-halakhic question that apparently we would have gone off looking for in the writings of the Maharal or who knows where, in all kinds of other vague books. So this is the next example of conceptual analysis. Actually, it took me much longer than I thought, so instead of continuing to the next example, I’ll still spell out the conceptual analysis a bit more because there’s no point—I’m not going to get to the next example anyway. This issue of monism and tolerance—I said I have a bit of a line of thought on this, I spoke about it in the past. The penny dropped for me once when I was traveling—when I lived in Yeruham, we lived there in the Haredi community. And there was a group of kollel students there who used to travel to Midreshet Sde Boker. There was a new synagogue that had been established there, and they would go there to pray afternoon and evening services every day and give some lesson between the two services. The initiative came from two traditional Jews who lived there in the Midrasha; there wasn’t a single religious person there. Midreshet Sde Boker is a settlement like that—Midreshet Sde Boker is not an institution, it’s an entire town around the institution. So there was no religious person there at all. There were two traditional Jews there—the farm manager and the doctor, I think, were both traditional—and they wanted this, so they launched such an initiative: they brought people for afternoon and evening prayers and a lesson in between. At some point the people who lived there—the whole group, all faculty people from Ben-Gurion University—became terribly alarmed that the religious people were going to settle here and take over and close our streets and heaven help us what will happen here. They set up an association, went to the press, and waged an all-out war there against this whole thing, this project of afternoon and evening prayers with a lesson in the middle. After this had gone on for some time, the kollel students from the community asked me to go speak with their committee, the people from the Midrasha. So I got there—there was no one to talk to. They came to issue an ultimatum: leave, we don’t want you bringing us to repentance, and we don’t want you preaching to us, and all sorts of things like that. There was no one to talk to. After two or three weeks, there was an approach from the rest of the people there—not the action committee—that they wanted to meet and talk. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but such an approach came. We went again one evening, and I spoke with a broad group—there were some twenty people there—and we discussed the matter. And then they said—their basic claim was: look, we don’t come to persuade you to be secular, not to light Sabbath candles, I don’t know, things like that, to drive on the Sabbath; so you shouldn’t come here to persuade us or spread Torah here and so on. So I asked them: and why indeed don’t you come to persuade me not to light Sabbath candles, or to drive, or whatever you think? And then all kinds of answers started coming as to why they don’t come. It was a real question, not mockery—I was really trying to convey to them a point that only got sharper for me during the discussion. That was the first time this distinction really crystallized for me. So all kinds of answers came. The first answer was: because anyway we won’t succeed; after all, you won’t be convinced, you fanatical religious people won’t be convinced. We’re fanatics, while they’re the ones not willing to hear what people come to try to say to them, and we’re the fanatics who won’t be persuaded. So I said to them: fine, but if you think you won’t succeed in persuading us, then it’s no great virtue that you don’t come. You don’t deserve moral credit or credit for your tolerance; you’re simply not wasting your time. You understand that even if you came it wouldn’t help you at all, so you don’t come. So do you have a claim against me for coming? Maybe I think there is hope that it will have an effect on you. So that’s why I come. What is the meaning of this claim, that we don’t come to you, so why do you come to us? Then there was another claim: well, we won’t come because we don’t want you to do the same thing to us. So I said to them: good, so again that’s an interested move. You don’t come because you’re worried, because you have certain practical interests. So again, you don’t deserve moral credit for your tolerance; you don’t come because you’re afraid. So here I am coming, and I’m not afraid. On what basis do you say that because you don’t come to me, I shouldn’t come to you? In short, and so on. They also said, it won’t help anyway. Another answer: what do I care, do your nonsense, do what you want—what do we care, we’re pluralists. So that’s a different statement. Pluralists means you’re as right as we are. “Do your nonsense” means you’re not right, but what do I care, your mistake doesn’t harm anything—two different claims. A lot of claims came up there; I’m only bringing four or five here as examples. And to both of them I told them, of course, the same answer. If you don’t come because you don’t care that I’m mistaken, then what kind of argument is that? I care that you’re mistaken, that’s why I come to you. So once again, the fact that you don’t come to me—is that grounds for demanding that I not come to you? Why? I care about you; you don’t care about me. Is that a virtue? On the contrary, I deserve the moral credit. I care about you; I want you not to do mistaken things. Or alternatively, the pluralism claim—as if, fine, each river in its own course, each person his own path, the righteous shall live by his faith. Yes, everyone knows how to quote all kinds of things and everything is fine. So I said to them: fine, if you’re pluralists and you think I’m as right as you are, then again it’s no great virtue that you don’t come. Why should you come? You think I’m as right as you are. But I’m a monist—I think I’m right and you’re wrong—so of course I want to come persuade you not to do that. Again, there’s no basis for comparison between your not coming to me and deriving from that a demand that I also not come to you, or seeing some flaw in the fact that I come to you. And at a certain point the penny dropped for me that I had rejected all their arguments in the same way. Yes, every argument they raised I basically rejected in the same way; it had already become automatic. Then I tried to think—wait, after all I do believe in the value of tolerance; I also believe in the value of tolerance. I told them that—look, I’m a great believer in the value of tolerance. And then I began to think: wait, so what does tolerance mean? I mean, what does it mean to be tolerant? To be tolerant means to think that you are mistaken and nevertheless to allow you to behave as you think. But why? If I think you’re mistaken, then why should I allow you to make those mistakes? So all the explanations they presented there were possible explanations. Because I’m a pluralist, because it won’t help, because you’ll do it back to me, because your mistake doesn’t do harm, or all the examples—yes, all explanations of that kind. But all these explanations don’t hold water, because tolerance is a value. Someone who is tolerant deserves credit for his behavior; he is acting properly, right? Someone who believes in the value of tolerance believes that tolerant behavior has value—you deserve credit for behaving tolerantly. Now all those considerations are considerations that explain why there is no logic in going and forcing, or trying to persuade, someone to behave differently. So the mere fact that you don’t go and try to persuade or force earns you no moral credit, because you’re simply not wasting your time. What could be the justification for tolerant behavior? After all, if I think I’m right and you’re wrong, I’m not a pluralist, I’m a monist. And I think your mistake is harmful, because if it isn’t harmful, there’s no point in coming, so obviously not coming is not tolerance. It’s not harmful—do what you want. Rather, I think your mistake is harmful. More than that: if I’m afraid that you’ll do something to me and therefore I don’t come, that’s also not tolerance. Meaning, I’m also not afraid of you. And besides, I also don’t know—in short, all the arguments collapse. So then why really not go? Or why really not force? The only answer possible is what I told you earlier: respect for the other’s autonomy. What’s the difference between this explanation and all the previous explanations? All the previous explanations are self-interested explanations. There’s no point in going because it won’t produce results, because I don’t feel like it, because I don’t care about you—none of that earns you moral credit. But respect for the other’s autonomy is a value. Someone who acts out of that value deserves credit; he is acting morally, in a value-driven way. He deserves credit for such a thing. Therefore the only explanation for tolerance is only when it comes against a monistic background: I think I’m right and you’re wrong, and there is no real reason to stop me from coming and even forcing you, let’s say, and nevertheless I don’t come to force you. Why? Because I believe in your right to make decisions about yourself, to respect your autonomy. That is basically the value of tolerance. Therefore the conceptual analysis of the value of tolerance shows that tolerance can rest only on a monistic basis. Even though in the annual themes of the Ministry of Education—tolerance pluralism tolerance pluralism tolerance pluralism year after year—more or less, you’ll discover that in the year of tolerance and also in the year of pluralism they study the same thing. Basically every year it’s the same thing; there’s no difference between the different years. Because tolerance and pluralism are the same thing: respect the other, be polite, be righteous, behave nicely, all kinds of things of that sort, all kinds of nonsense like that. In short, be polite and don’t listen—that’s the basic principle. And what I’m saying is no: I’m in favor of tolerance and against pluralism. I think pluralism is not true and is also harmful. Because pluralism means that you have no reason to listen to me and I have no reason to listen to you, because we’re all right and there’s no truth, so why listen? I won’t learn anything from you, I’ll never change my position, and you’ll never change yours. I’m against pluralism and I’m also against politeness. I’m in favor of fighting. I’m in favor of fighting and going at each other, with cynicism and whatever you want. But present arguments—just present them cynically if you want. I have no problem; go after me, curse me, do whatever you want, but present arguments that try to persuade me that you’re right and I’m wrong. And I’ll also present arguments, and let’s fight. But let’s fight out of listening, not just fight for the sake of fighting. Because that’s worth nothing—that’s pluralism, fighting for the sake of fighting. Tolerance means listening in order to draw conclusions: either you’re right or I’m right, and I want to draw conclusions. So today I got an approach from some organization founded by a friend of mine called the Ahavta organization. They want to increase love and fellowship among all parts of society—I can’t hear these slogans anymore. So they wanted me to join some council there, some body, some board, I don’t know exactly what. I still don’t know what to do with it because he’s my friend. But I want to explain to them that I want to participate in the hatred wing. I want to increase hatred among the different parts of the people in order to stir up arguments and awaken discussions and awaken wars. Because it’s very important to me that there be wars, because today there are no wars. No one listens to the other, no one raises arguments, only irrelevant things. They only mock; they don’t present arguments in a cynical or mocking way, but simply mock, period. There’s no discourse at all. So in my view what needs treatment is discourse, not love. Love doesn’t interest me; what needs treatment is discourse. You want to clarify disagreements? Then let’s listen. Raise arguments, I’ll raise arguments, and let’s talk. Let’s fight. Good, so those are a few words in praise of tolerance and in condemnation of pluralism. I’ll stop here. Is there someone who wants to—Rabbi?

[Speaker E] Yes. How does the rebellious elder fit with this approach? Seemingly we would need—it’s exactly the opposite of the Sanhedrin.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The Sanhedrin is something else. The Sanhedrin has authority.

[Speaker E] But the Sanhedrin itself also, we would think, should be obligated to show tolerance.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, absolutely not. That’s what the Ritva himself writes at the end of the paragraph: if the Jewish law has been ruled, then even Rav Nahman himself is forbidden to sit in such a sukkah, and certainly to cause others to stumble. When the Sanhedrin sits and issues a halakhic ruling—people dream that when there is a Sanhedrin, then there will be halakhic uniformity and everyone will do the same thing. In my view that’s a nightmare. I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s the role of the Sanhedrin. The role of the Sanhedrin is to see in which questions it is important to achieve uniformity. There are questions in which uniformity must be achieved because otherwise it will be impossible to live together. There they will decide and also force everyone to behave according to their decision. But there are many questions where what’s the problem if everyone behaves as he thinks? And there the Sanhedrin really should not decide; on the contrary, there is even value in not deciding. A decision is only after the fact. A decision is only where there is no choice, because people need to be synchronized so they can live together. Therefore, when a Sanhedrin is established, I hope it will act according to this tolerant policy in that sense. Not that it will be tolerant toward someone who defies its rulings—it should not be tolerant toward him. It should be tolerant in formulating the rulings themselves. When it gives rulings, it should know what to close off and where to allow several paths.

[Speaker E] It will determine the red line of where tolerance ends. Exactly.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] One of the differences—and I wrote this also in articles—one of the differences between tolerance and pluralism is that tolerance has a boundary, and pluralism has no boundary.

[Speaker G] Maybe the Rabbi expects there not to be judicial activism מצד the Sanhedrin?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t think those terms of judicial activism are relevant.

[Speaker G] No, I meant that the Sanhedrin would not enter every nook and cranny, also in aspects of personal values—that’s what I meant.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But that’s not what is called judicial activism. The Sanhedrin can adopt judicial activism in the sense that it can enter areas that fundamentally are not entrusted to Jewish law, but if it sees that there is a problem there, then it should enter and determine what needs to be done. In that sense it will indeed be activist. In the sense of not making a decision where one need not be made—that’s true, I think that really is what it should do.

[Speaker G] But that sounds to me like a gray area that would be very hard to decide. What? I mean, it would be a very gray area that would basically change from generation to generation.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So what’s the problem? Let it change from generation to generation—what’s the problem?

[Speaker G] No, I mean that there could be situations where there would be—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —simply representation of extreme people who could just pull in problematic directions. Right. Not for nothing do I think that today there is no Sanhedrin, and they also won’t succeed in establishing one, because people today do not understand what a Sanhedrin is supposed to do.

[Speaker G] Including the rabbis, in my opinion. They don’t understand what a Sanhedrin is supposed to do. In my opinion, this is what the Sanhedrin should do, and not decide all the open questions. Meaning that we’ll find here many—as the Rabbi says—it sounds as if there will be many layers of custom that need to be left open.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Either custom or—again,

[Speaker G] Custom in the sense of behavior too.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There is customary Jewish law, and there is custom that is not halakhic.

[Speaker G] Right, I mean more custom in the sense of just behavior.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If I hold like this, then I’ll act like this; if you hold otherwise, then you’ll act otherwise. That’s not custom in the sense of customs; those are laws. I, for example, have decorations hanging beneath the sukkah, okay? So the Sanhedrin can leave the question open. Rav Nahman sat in the sukkah with the decorations, and Rav Huna and Rav Hisda did not sit there—what’s the problem? But that’s not custom. Rav Nahman holds that this is permitted according to Jewish law, and Rav Huna and Rav Hisda hold that this is a halakhic prohibition. It’s just that they have a dispute in Jewish law; it’s not custom.

[Speaker G] But others will tell you, others will tell you that at that point in time it really was what’s called—let’s put it this way—that the Sanhedrin decided not to intervene, or what’s called the sages of that generation decided not to intervene, but in the next generation they cut it off, someone came to cut it off.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In the next generation they’ll cut it off, and in the generation after that they’ll open it up again—everything according to the situation. What’s the problem? That’s why there is a Sanhedrin, to make decisions.

[Speaker G] I haven’t seen that many times they opened things back up; usually they close them going forward.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Which decisions of the Sanhedrin have you seen? Send it to me on a matchbox.

[Speaker G] No, no, obviously not the Sanhedrin, but I’m speaking mainly about—because we live in an exilic Jewish law, and we live with more and more closure from generation to generation.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In exilic Jewish law, in the current situation, no one can close anything even if he wants to; there is no authority. There are people who think there is authority, but there isn’t.

[Speaker G] That’s true, there isn’t real authority, but somehow people accept upon themselves some kind of virtual authority.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Correct. That’s part of what I said earlier: that’s why no Sanhedrin arises, because people do not understand what a Sanhedrin is, including the rabbis who are supposed to sit on it, in my opinion.

[Speaker E] Rabbi, but how can tolerance apply toward someone who is not qualified? Because from the whole passage we studied, it applies toward someone who is qualified.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Obviously. That’s what the Ritva also notes. Since Rav Huna and Rav Hisda are qualified, fit to give rulings. Tolerance toward the ignorant is nonsense. An ignoramus—you’re not supposed to let him behave as he thinks, because he’s just not thinking.

[Speaker E] So just in a debate between religious and secular people, obviously the religious person will say the secular person is not qualified.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m against tolerance. There was—there was a group from the Hartman Institute that came regarding the Kinneret Covenant; Yair, Yisrael Harel, coordinated it. They came to Yeruham and asked to hear me on this matter. So I told them that they couldn’t get me to sign the Kinneret Covenant even with a tractor. In my life I will not sign a covenant of tolerance with secular people. I’m only willing to sign with a secular person who sits with me, hears an entire seminar from me, listens attentively, and examines his position. If in the end he’s not convinced, I’ll sign a covenant of tolerance with him. And likewise, of course, I’ll hear him too—I claim this is symmetrical—but both sides need to hear each other to the end. Then I’m prepared to respect your decision. After you know the arguments, have thought about them, and made a reasoned and grounded decision different from mine, that I will fully respect. But covenants like the Kinneret Covenant are permission for ignorance, a license for ignorance. Leave us alone, respect us as we are, we don’t want to examine your arguments, we don’t know anything, and we’ve decided to behave this way. That’s not called deciding; that’s nonsense. It’s like Einstein not behaving tolerantly toward a child who claims that the theory of relativity is wrong. You’re babbling; you understand nothing about the subject. So what does it mean to say I respect an opinion? In order to respect an opinion, it has to be an opinion. I’m not willing to respect someone who has no opinion.

[Speaker E] Because today in discourse about tolerance they always say, respect every opinion. Obviously.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m against tolerance. Again, what does it mean, against tolerance? I don’t think it’s right to coerce, but I am absolutely in favor of fighting for things worth fighting for, trying to persuade, not taking things out of public discourse, yes? On levels, of course, not violent and nothing like that, and even in my view religious coercion in the legal sense I oppose. But that’s not because of tolerance; it’s because it isn’t effective. I’m in favor of persuasion, not compulsion, because compulsion is worthless. But persuasion—the discussion in Sde Boker was precisely that: why are you coming to persuade us? So I said, what do you mean, why am I coming to persuade us? Because I think you’re mistaken; I want to set you straight about your mistake. Okay, okay. Good, have a peaceful Sabbath, thank you very much.

[Speaker B] Peaceful Sabbath, thank you very much.