The Thought of Halakha – 5783 – Lesson 13

Table of Contents

• From authority to dispute and normative duality
• Ethics of the Fathers as a historical axis of transmission versus creation
• The end of prophecy and the role of human wisdom
• Shimon HaTzaddik, Alexander the Great, and “the beauty of Japheth shall dwell in the tents of Shem”
• The beginning of dispute: from the “two Yoseis” to Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai
• “It is not in heaven” as a turning point: the oven of Akhnai
• The removal of Rabban Gamliel and the revolution at Yavneh
• Reconciliation, Rabban Gamliel’s return, and rotational leadership
• The power of the stories, excommunication, and the need to prevent the Torah’s disintegration

Summary

General Overview

The lecture moves from the topic of authority to the topic of dispute, and describes the process by which dispute emerged and its significance through a historical picture of the transition from a Torah handed down as a chain of transmission to a Torah created by human beings. The Mishnah in Ethics of the Fathers is portrayed as a process in which, at first, there is an anonymous “received and transmitted”; with Shimon HaTzaddik, sayings of Torah begin to be attributed to a particular individual; and after Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai, the chain breaks and disperses among many students. This process is tied to the cessation of prophecy and to the encounter with Greek wisdom, which provides tools of logic and forms of thought that make possible a “Torah of give-and-take.” At Yavneh, a sharp revolution takes place, revealed in the stories of the oven of Akhnai and the removal of Rabban Gamliel, and it is described as an ideological confrontation between a Torah of tradition and authority and a human Torah of reasoning, decision, and majority rule.

From authority to dispute and normative duality

The previous topic is defined as dealing with the authority of the Talmud and the authorities after it, the Sanhedrin, autonomy in halakhic ruling, and the Maharal on the rulings of the earlier sages, alongside the concept of “normative duality” as commitment to two normative systems simultaneously. The new lecture seeks to understand how dispute came into being and how one relates to it, and what the meaning of decision is, in direct connection to the question of authority and the power to obligate. The approach presented states that where there is no formal authority, there is no obligation to accept something a person does not agree with, and the decision depends on what seems correct and reasonable—unless there is an orderly mechanism of Sanhedrin, voting, and following the majority.

Ethics of the Fathers as a historical axis of transmission versus creation

The Mishnah in Ethics of the Fathers is depicted as a long chain of “received and transmitted” from the Torah at Sinai to the Men of the Great Assembly, and after “six hundred years of silence” there appears a turning point at which “they said three things.” Shimon HaTzaddik, “from the remnants of the Men of the Great Assembly,” is presented as the first to whom words of Torah are attributed as a concrete individual, rather than as an anonymous body, and this attribution is described as a novelty in which Torah begins to appear as something created by human beings. Later, the pairs already present a fixed pattern of “this one said” and “that one said,” but after that there appears a sequence in which figures like Rabban Gamliel, Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel, Rabbi, and Rabban Gamliel the son of Rabbi are presented as “said” without “received,” and then the text returns chronologically to note that Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai “received from Hillel and Shammai.” The chronological picture proposed is that up to Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai there is still “received,” and from him onward there is no longer “transmission” but only sayings, and the move to five students marks a dispersal from which point onward the Torah is described as human creation rather than as a narrow channel of transmission.

The end of prophecy and the role of human wisdom

The central connection is that up to the Men of the Great Assembly there is prophecy in Israel, and therefore there is a direct connection to God and no need for that same form of human creation of Torah. Shimon HaTzaddik already stands after the last prophets—“Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi”—and therefore it is precisely with him that a process begins in which Torah is created within a person, because prophecy has ceased and the system is required to “stand on its own feet.” Human wisdom is described as the tool that compensates for the disappearance of prophecy and makes possible order, classification, solving difficulties, and making decisions through systematic thinking. The comparison to Plato’s dialogues is presented as a generic similarity to the give-and-take of the Talmud, with some reservation about the historicity of stories of meetings between prophets and philosophers.

Shimon HaTzaddik, Alexander the Great, and “the beauty of Japheth shall dwell in the tents of Shem”

The rabbinic legend about Shimon HaTzaddik and Alexander the Great is read as an intentional story that is not historical, because “it’s simply not the same period,” and therefore the choice of Shimon HaTzaddik in particular points to an intellectual message. The story is presented as claiming that the encounter with Greek culture—an “enlightened” imperialism with a cultural aim—created a cultural struggle and not only a national one, and this is the background to the phenomenon of Hellenization and the sense of an alternative threat. Later, the position of Rabban Gamliel is cited that it is permitted to translate only into Greek, because “the beauty of Japheth shall dwell in the tents of Shem,” and the explanation given is that the Greek influence is not only language but also a “form of thought,” and tools of logic and reason that are absorbed into the Oral Torah. Shimon HaTzaddik is described as the one who marks the beginning of the Oral Torah in the sense of a Torah created by man out of the encounter with “human wisdom,” and the statement “the image of this man would go before me and make me victorious in all my wars” is read as a teleological statement in which Alexander’s conquests happen “for his sake,” in order to enable the emergence of the Oral Torah.

The beginning of dispute: from the “two Yoseis” to Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai

A Jerusalem Talmud tradition and Rashi in tractate Hagigah are cited, according to which the dispute of the “two Yoseis” about laying hands on a sacrifice on a Jewish holiday was “the first dispute in the Oral Torah,” and it is placed in the time of the “Greek conflict.” The explanation is that meaningful dispute arises when the transition from tradition to a conception of Torah based on logic and opinion creates a situation in which there is no simple way to decide by saying “so-and-so said,” because “I think otherwise,” and therefore dispute becomes structural. Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai are described as the stage at which not just a local dispute appears, but two schools with hundreds of disputes and with the danger of the Torah and the people falling apart, to the point of a Jerusalem Talmud description of violence. The story in tractate Eruvin about the heavenly voice—“these and those are both the words of the living God, but Jewish law follows Beit Hillel”—is explained as a solution to a dead end in which the argument is not only about Jewish law but about the very criterion of majority: whether “you count feet or count heads,” and therefore there is no way to decide by the usual rules of Jewish law themselves.

“It is not in heaven” as a turning point: the oven of Akhnai

The oven of Akhnai in Bava Metzia 59 is presented as a sharp confrontation between Rabbi Eliezer the Great and Rabbi Yehoshua, when Rabbi Eliezer gives “every answer in the world” but is not accepted, and tries to prove his position by means of miracles and a “heavenly voice.” Rabbi Yehoshua replies, “It is not in heaven,” and grounds the decision in “incline after the majority,” while rejecting mystical proofs and demanding reasons. Rabbi Eliezer is described as the peak of tradition, “a plastered cistern that loses not a drop,” one who “never said anything he did not hear from his teacher,” and therefore his type of proof is understood as transmission of sources and authority, whereas the camp opposite him demands persuasion on the merits and not an ad hominem appeal to righteousness or heavenly support. The excommunication of Rabbi Eliezer is explained as a ruling against refusal to accept the “rules of the game” of Torah as give-and-take and majority decision, and not as a technical reaction to error in one particular halakhic ruling.

The removal of Rabban Gamliel and the revolution at Yavneh

In Berakhot 28, the confrontation is described around the question of whether the evening prayer is optional or obligatory, in which Rabban Gamliel imposes authority, humiliates Rabbi Yehoshua by making him stand, and the public decides, “Come, let us remove him,” and deposes the Nasi even though there is no traditional “procedure” for doing so. The choice of Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah for the presidency is explained by the fact that he is “wise, rich, and a tenth-generation descendant of Ezra,” and at the same time “they removed the doorkeeper,” because Rabban Gamliel had declared, “Any student whose inside is not like his outside may not enter the study hall.” The removal of the doorkeeper and the admission of the masses are interpreted as a transition from a person-dependent model and tradition to a model in which the argument is what matters, and therefore inner moral integrity is not a condition of entry, and additions of “four hundred” or “seven hundred” benches are described. “Testimonies were taught on that day” is explained as bringing halakhot that had not been decided during the period of clashing tradition and deciding them through discussion and voting, and the statement “wherever we say ‘on that day,’ that is the day in question” creates a direct link to the motif of “that day” also in the story of the oven of Akhnai.

Reconciliation, Rabban Gamliel’s return, and rotational leadership

The story in Berakhot presents Rabban Gamliel as one who does not keep himself away from the study hall after his removal, but participates as a sage among others, and even loses an argument to Rabbi Yehoshua on the matter of an Ammonite convert, after which “they immediately permitted him to enter the congregation.” Later, Rabban Gamliel goes to reconcile with Rabbi Yehoshua, recognizes his economic condition from the “blackened walls of his house,” and hears the criticism, “Woe to the generation whose leader you are,” because he does not know the suffering of Torah scholars. The reconciliation becomes possible “for the sake of my father’s honor,” and afterward it is decided to restore Rabban Gamliel to the presidency without removing Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, because “one elevates in holiness and does not lower,” and a division is established of “three Sabbaths” for Rabban Gamliel and “one Sabbath” for Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah. The result is a shared leadership that explains the expression “Whose Sabbath was it? It was the Sabbath of Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah,” and the broader connection to the cluster of passages scattered throughout the Talmud from that generation.

The power of the stories, excommunication, and the need to prevent the Torah’s disintegration

The aggadic continuation in Bava Metzia describes the heavenly and midrashic reaction as well, including “My children have defeated Me,” the burning of the pure items that Rabbi Eliezer had declared pure, and the force of his anger, which brings natural disasters, so that “every place Rabbi Eliezer set his eyes on was burned.” The danger attributed to dispute without a mechanism of decision is described as a state that leads to war and disintegration, and therefore the transition to a Torah of give-and-take is presented as the way to ensure that “disputes not proliferate in Israel.” Rabban Gamliel on the ship justifies his actions: “I did not do it for my own honor… but for Your honor… so that disputes would not proliferate in Israel,” and this position portrays acceptance of the new rules as an ideological concession meant to save the system. The framework of the lecture concludes with the claim that the generation after Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai is the point of decision at which the Torah finally moves from a model of transmission to a model of give-and-take, and this is the source of the Talmud and Mishnah as they are known after the revolution of Yavneh.

Okay, last time we finished the topic of authority. And I talked a bit about autonomy in halakhic ruling, about the authority of the Talmud, authority after the Talmud, the Sanhedrin, and so on. The Maharal on the rulings of the early authorities, autonomy in halakhic ruling, a historical picture, normative duality—we also talked about all kinds of things like that last semester. And I want to—what is normative duality? Being committed to two normative systems in parallel. And now I want to deal with the topic of dispute. And first I want to talk about how dispute came into being, and then about its meaning, or really how to relate to it. What is the meaning of dispute, what is the meaning of decision—of course this connects to the things we’ve discussed until now. So I’ll start, maybe, with the way dispute came into being, and on the way I’d like to focus on what happened in the first generation of the Tannaim in Yavneh, when I’m speaking now about the history of the emergence of dispute. Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Eliezer, the Oven of Akhnai, bans, excommunications, the removal of Rabban Gamliel and his replacement by Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, a whole collection of things scattered throughout the Talmud. There’s some in Berakhot, there are two places in Sanhedrin, there’s Bava Metzia, but the feeling is that there’s something there—it happened, first of all, with the same people, from the same generation, and it seems there’s a connection among all these passages, even though each one appears somewhere else. There’s also one in Chagigah, I think. So I want to take a bit of a look at these passages, but from a historical angle, in order to show that there really is something shared there. These are different faces of the same big argument that broke out in that period, at that time. Could it be that it happened because the sages of Yavneh—basically this is what happened after the Second Temple was destroyed, so all the authority vis-à-vis the previous hierarchy, such as the Temple and the sacrifices, disappeared? Yes, but there was also a Sanhedrin in Yavneh. The Sanhedrin was exiled to Yavneh. There was a Sanhedrin there. Exiled, yes, but there’s also an issue here of creation, let’s call it a kind of creation of a new religion. Why? Why? There’s a Sanhedrin, the people who were in the previous Sanhedrin simply went into exile to Yavneh, the same people. What? There’s a creation here of a new way of life after the whole previous way of life disappeared—how do you survive in that way? I wouldn’t hang it specifically on the destruction, because I don’t see why that should affect it. The very same people, there was complete continuity, the Sanhedrin was exiled, okay. A little less authority because there’s no Chamber of Hewn Stone, so capital cases—it’s not clear you can judge them, fine—but in terms of the halakhic tradition itself, it doesn’t look that way. And in any case it starts a bit earlier; it intensifies very much in that period, but it starts a bit earlier. So I’m going to try to suggest some coherent picture of what happened there, and it gives a good picture of the different passages we find in the Talmud. Who pushed first? Who pushed first? No—how did it happen, why “pushed first”? We’re not looking for guilty parties. I want to see how this whole business happened, how it appeared, what the process was. By the way, it’s very relevant to our own time as well. I’ll start, maybe, with an interesting phenomenon in the Mishnah in tractate Avot. Long live technology, it’ll arrange things for us—maybe with an iPad… I’m not sure, but let’s see. Fine, maybe they’ll tell us about the Sorbonne, maybe—not sure semikhah is the best thing in the world. Anyway, in the Mishnah in tractate Avot, it starts—can you see, yes? It starts: “Moses received the Torah from Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua, and Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets, and the prophets transmitted it to the Men of the Great Assembly. They said three things: be deliberate in judgment, raise up many disciples, and make a fence around the Torah.” Now notice: the Great Assembly—just to place ourselves on the historical timeline, yes? The giving of the Torah. A little after the Exodus from Egypt, right? In the first year after the Exodus, and then there are forty years in the wilderness, something like four hundred years of the First Temple, then the exile after the First Temple, another seventy years. The Great Assembly, the remnants of the Great Assembly—after all, Shimon HaTzaddik was from the remnants of the Great Assembly—this is Mishnah 2, that’s already within the Second Temple period, pretty deep into the Second Temple period, actually, okay? So that means that basically about six hundred years have passed: “Moses received the Torah from Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua, Joshua to the elders, elders to the prophets, prophets transmitted it to the Men of the Great Assembly.” After six hundred years, suddenly someone says something. Six hundred years of silence. This one transmits to that one, this one transmits to that one, this one transmits to that one—boom: “they said three things.” The Great Assembly, yes? They said three things: be deliberate in judgment, raise up many disciples, and make a fence around the Torah. Mishnah 2: “Shimon HaTzaddik was from the remnants of the Great Assembly. He would say: the world stands on three things—on Torah, on the service, and on acts of kindness.” He too said three things, just as the whole Great Assembly said three things. The guys are starting to chatter. At first everybody was silent. Then the Great Assembly, all together, managed to say three things; Shimon HaTzaddik by himself said three things, okay? After him they really start going wild, okay? “Antigonus of Sokho received from Shimon HaTzaddik. He would say: do not be like servants who serve the master for the sake of receiving a reward, rather be…” and so on. “Yose ben Yo’ezer of Tzereidah and Yose ben Yochanan of Jerusalem”—what is that, Mishnah 4? That’s the beginning of the pairs, right? “The pairs received from them.” Yose ben Yo’ezer says this, Yose ben Yochanan of Jerusalem says that, “let your house be open wide.” “Yehoshua ben Perachyah and Nittai the Arbelite,” the next pair, “received from them.” He would say this, he would say that. “Yehudah ben Tabbai and Shimon ben Shetach,” the third pair, “received from them.” This one said this and that one said that. “Shemayah and Avtalyon,” the fourth pair, “received from them.” Again each one said what he said. “Hillel and Shammai received from them.” That’s the fifth and last pair, Hillel and Shammai. Hillel said this and Shammai said that. “He would say,” “he would say,” yes? Hillel really talked us to death. Three mishnayot. Mishnah 15: “Shammai says: make your Torah fixed, say little and do much, and receive every person with a pleasant countenance.” Mishnah 16, almost the end of the chapter: “Rabban Gamliel says: make for yourself a teacher, remove yourself from doubt, and do not tithe by estimation too often.” Who is Rabban Gamliel? He didn’t receive. All the previous people received. This one received from that one and then said such-and-such. That one received from him and said such-and-such. This pair received from that pair and each said such-and-such. Rabban Gamliel didn’t receive from anyone. Apparently straight from the Holy One, blessed be He, passing messages straight to us from the Holy One, blessed be He. Didn’t receive anything. It doesn’t say so, right? “His son Shimon says”—even he didn’t receive from his father, it’s not described that he received from his father. I assume he did learn from his father, but no, it’s not described that he received. He said all kinds of things—the golden age, so to speak. “Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel says: the world stands on three things”—that’s probably Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel II. There’s Rabban Gamliel, Rabban Shimon, Rabban Gamliel, Rabban Shimon alternating there until you get to Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi. “He says: on three things…” and with that the chapter ends. Okay, now we move to chapter 2. “Rabbi says”—that same dynasty, Rabban Gamliel, Rabban Shimon, Rabbi says—again, he didn’t receive from anyone. “Rabban Gamliel the son of Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi”—that’s the son of Rabbi, okay?—“would say” all sorts of things as well. “Be careful with the authorities,” “he would say,” and so on. He too apparently said a lot of things. “He would also say”; “he also saw a skull floating,” “he would say.” Suddenly now we’re back—Mishnah 8: “Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai received from Hillel and Shammai.” Again “received.” All those before didn’t receive. He did receive from Hillel and Shammai, but that’s it. That’s the last flutter of “received.” Meaning there’s one more who received. By the way, notice chronologically he’s much earlier than Rabbi. We’ve gone backward. Okay? “Received from Hillel and Shammai”—basically he received from the pairs, from the last pair, pair zero, so to speak, pair—however you want to call it. And then he had five disciples, yes? Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai had five disciples. It doesn’t say “received and transmitted,” but he had disciples. Maybe we can understand that they learned from him, yes? His disciples: Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah, Rabbi Yose HaKohen, Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel, Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh. “He would enumerate their praises.” Yes, he talks about them—not that they received from him. It’s worth remembering those names. “He said to them: go out and see which is the straight path,” and that’s where it ends. “They said three things.” Who said? Various people said all sorts of things, it doesn’t matter—the business advances. It completely disperses. From here on out the whole thing disperses; it’s not even one-to-one anymore, it’s five disciples, and those disciples already pass it on further, the whole thing spreads out. Meaning something happened in the transition between Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai and his five disciples. Something happened there. Also between Hillel and Shammai. No, no—because, no, you have to notice that the order of composition in the Mishnah is not the historical order. Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai received from Hillel and Shammai. In fact, that should have appeared in the previous chapter, and Rabbi and Rabban Gamliel and all those people should appear afterward. That’s why it flashes up here that Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai received, but chronologically it’s continuous. Up to Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai—received. From there onward nobody “received,” they only “said.” Chronologically. In the Mishnah it’s presented in a somewhat mixed-up way. Meaning it brings some generations who didn’t receive, then it goes back to Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai who did receive, and then he has five disciples and it already launches onward—there’s no more “received,” no—even the chain itself broadens; it’s no longer teacher to student, or two to two at most, but it’s already spreading out and each one says this and this and that’s it, the business spread out. So there are a few interesting points here. First of all, the first one to say words of Torah is Shimon HaTzaddik, who was from the remnants of the Great Assembly. That’s the first time there are words of Torah attributed to a person. There aren’t any before him. Up to him, maybe they said things—the Men of the Great Assembly also said three things—but that’s still the Men of the Great Assembly. Maybe they got it from their teachers; maybe they didn’t really say it at all, I don’t know. They conveyed to us three things; I don’t know whether they created it or received it, whatever—but it’s still not attributed to a concrete individual. Shimon HaTzaddik, who was from the remnants of the Great Assembly—here words of Torah start being attributed to a person. And that in itself is an innovation. Suddenly words of Torah are attributed to a person? Torah is supposed to be given to us from the Holy One, blessed be He—what do you mean, “Shimon HaTzaddik said”? Er hot gezogt—so what if he said it? I said various things too, so what? Somehow what you have here is a presentation of Torah, you could say, of a new kind. Torah that is created by human beings. Up to there: “Moses received Torah from Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua”; Joshua received from Moses and transmitted it to the elders; the elders received and transmitted to the Men of the Great Assembly; the Men of the Great Assembly transmitted; transmitted; the pairs transmitted, up to Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, and that’s it, finished. There’s no more “transmitted.” So there’s a process here, like this: there’s a process of anonymous transmission. Shimon HaTzaddik is still inside the process of receiving and transmitting, yes? This relay race—but he’s already beginning to say things of his own too. Besides the fact that he received and transmitted, there are also things that he apparently created himself, right? And after Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai there is no more transmission. All the things are basically things created by—of course it’s not really like that, but that’s how the Mishnah describes it. There’s some kind of process of transition of Torah from Torah that is transmitted at Sinai like a hollow pipe, teacher to student or pair to pair or something like that. At Shimon HaTzaddik, words of Torah begin to emerge a bit, and after Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai there is no more transmission; Torah begins to be created below, and that’s it. Whatever transmission reached them reached them, but what is said from there onward is already creation produced by human beings. And that’s an interesting process, and it seems to be going in one direction. Torah comes down from heaven, and little by little it begins to be created by human beings. Okay? I just wanted to say one more thing, yes? It’s very interesting that the prophets transmitted to the Men of the Great Assembly. That means that the Men of the Great Assembly receive from the prophets—let’s call them true or not true, that’s a different discussion—who received a direct connection from God; He gives them things directly, like this and like that. Right, because up to the Men of the Great Assembly there was prophecy in Israel. So all these people—Moses, Joshua, the elders—they’re all prophets, basically. So there’s also no need to say things, because there’s a direct connection to God. Now the last Men of the Great Assembly receive from prophets, but since then, that’s it, there’s no more. Right, exactly. This process is definitely connected to the cessation of prophecy—exactly, that’s what I now want to talk about a little. Maybe I also have a question related to the issue of transmission: what about the priests? I mean, the priests are the ones in the Temple, they’re the ones who were, let’s say, the teachers of the people of Israel. The sages mentioned here were not necessarily priests; most of them were not priests. Yes, no—I’m saying there are the prophets and there are also the priests in the Temple, and also other people who studied Torah in those generations. But the prominent figures who transmitted Torah onward are described here, and they are not necessarily priests. So they’re prophets, not priests? There were prophets in the early generations up to Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai—in fact up to Shimon HaTzaddik; from then onward there are no prophets anymore. After all, the last prophets ended with… with the Men of the Great Assembly—Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi. The last prophets were in the Great Assembly. Shimon HaTzaddik was from the remnants of the Great Assembly—there there is already no prophecy. And therefore it’s not accidental that with Shimon HaTzaddik Torah begins to be produced in a human being, because prophecy ended. Up to there, basically, you could talk to a prophet, and by the way I’m not at all sure that the rule that “a prophet is not permitted from now on to introduce anything new”—that is, “it is not in heaven”—I’m not at all sure that it actually existed then. Although of course from the anachronistic perspective of the Sages, everything we know today existed from the creation of the world onward. But historically, in reality, I’m not sure that’s true. Okay? I’ll say more than that. There’s a famous story about Shimon HaTzaddik in the Talmud, that Alexander the Great came to the Land of Israel and to Jerusalem, and Shimon HaTzaddik goes out at the head of the sages of Israel to greet him. When Alexander the Great sees him, he gets off his horse and kneels. His officers ask him—his soldiers—what’s with you and this Jew? So he says: “The likeness of this man would go before me and make me victorious in all my wars.” Meaning this man basically paved the way for me. I won because he went before me, he paved the way. Okay, I assume this never happened, but never mind—it’s a rabbinic legend, and you have to understand what they want to say. How do I know it never happened? Because it’s simply not the same period. Alexander the Great and Shimon HaTzaddik simply were not in the same period; they could not have met even if they wanted to, unless he raised him by necromancy. I once saw someone say there were two Shimon HaTzaddiks, all kinds of funny theses like that—well, apparently that’s not true. It’s an aggadah. But fine, that’s no accusation—aggadah is a genre by means of which messages are conveyed. That’s okay, I’m not accusing the Sages of lying. That’s how you convey messages: you create a story. But notice, once a story is an aggadah it teaches much more than a true story, because with a true story they tell you whatever happened happened; you don’t invent the story. Now you can learn something from it, I assume—that’s why they tell it—but a story that you construct is a story whose very essence is that every detail in it is supposed to serve the purpose you want to teach, because after all, you’re building it, you can do whatever you want, right? A practical story tells what happened, and the untrue story actually teaches more than a true story. And then there you need to understand why they chose specifically Shimon HaTzaddik. Let them choose some sage who also lived in the days of Alexander. Why not? Okay? What is there about Shimon HaTzaddik? But the gap in years between them isn’t all that huge, right? No, no—they couldn’t have met. That’s enough for them not to have met. First of all, Shimon HaTzaddik goes at the head of the sages of Israel. Meaning he goes in front, he is the leader. That’s why “the sages of Israel”—meaning there’s something about him indicating that he’s not just another one of the Men of the Great Assembly, but the elite of the Great Assembly. And in every generation there was some leader who would go out at the head of the sages. So take the generation of Alexander the Great and put there the leader who existed at that time, who goes out at the head of the sages of Israel—what’s the problem? If you’re inventing a story, you can invent whatever story you want; at least invent it in an authentic way. Put it on some sage who could have met Alexander the Great, not on someone who couldn’t have met him. And if you chose Shimon HaTzaddik, that means there’s something you want to say about Shimon HaTzaddik. This isn’t just a meeting between Israel and Alexander the Great, but Shimon HaTzaddik and Alexander the Great. Yes, it’s a bit like—there’s a Raavad cited in Sefer HaMikhtam, where he writes that the Mishnah in Berakhot in chapter 9 says, “They instituted that one should greet his fellow in the Name,” the Name of God. Later they canceled it, never mind. Who are “they instituted”? Simply speaking, it means Boaz, as it says: “And Boaz said to the reapers, ‘The Lord be with you.’” Yes? So simply speaking in the Mishnah, that’s how the commentators explain it: it means the court of Boaz; Boaz was a court in that generation—Ibzan is Boaz. But the Raavad cited in Sefer HaMikhtam claims it was the court of the Hasmoneans, the house of the Hasmoneans. Which is much later than that. The Hasmonean house is the middle of the Second Temple period. Yes, Boaz is before the First Temple, before Ruth the Moabite—mother of the mother of King David. So where did he get the Hasmonean house from? There’s so little hint of it in the Mishnah. So clearly if he chose the Hasmonean house when there isn’t even a hint that that’s so, he probably understood that this is an enactment suited to the Hasmonean house. Meaning, for Boaz it doesn’t have to fit; it’s simply a fact that he instituted it if you interpret it as Boaz. But if you make up something that has no basis in the text itself, apparently you understand that this enactment fits the Hasmonean house exactly—and that’s true, you can show why it fits. The Hasmonean house were people who tried to bring the Name of God into every place. Even into documents. Yes, into documents exactly, and other places as well. Fine, the Americans took it from there. What? Fine, the Americans took all this from there. In any case, so the claim—I’m returning to our topic—is: why did they really choose Shimon HaTzaddik to go out toward Alexander? So the claim is: the confrontation that arose—of course generations later it’s already the Diadochi, not Alexander the Great himself—between Antiochus, so to speak, the Hasmoneans and Antiochus and so on, this confrontation started with Alexander. Because Alexander, unlike many other conquerors—he’s maybe a bit like Napoleon, not exactly, but unlike many other conquerors—Alexander was an enlightened emperor or colonialist. He had a goal not only of accumulating power, but also of spreading a certain type of culture, a certain way of thinking. Yes, that’s clear, after all he himself studied under Aristotle; Aristotle was his teacher under Philip of Macedon, okay? His father brought Aristotle to be his teacher. And when he went out, he tried to impose or, if you like, instill Greek culture in all places. And therefore his goal was not just empire and power and that’s it, as perhaps often happens, but he also had a cultural goal. And by the way, that’s why this struggle arose here, because this wasn’t just some forceful national takeover; there was really a cultural struggle here. Okay, we won’t get into Hanukkah, but just so we understand the background. Now, after the struggle with the Hasmoneans, the Sages say—the Talmud in Megillah says—that it is forbidden to translate the Torah into any language, and Rabban Gamliel says Greek is permitted. Why? “May the beauty of Japheth dwell in the tents of Shem.” Specifically Greek is permitted, because in Greek there is something that can contribute to us; it isn’t just some other random language. Meaning, you see—and there are other indications of this as well—that the Sages, and the Jewish people in general when they saw the Greeks, understood that there was something there. This wasn’t just a war against savages. There was something there which on the one hand threatened us because it was an alternative, it wasn’t just some stupidity, and on the other hand apparently there was something to learn from it, something to derive from there. Therefore, “May the beauty of Japheth dwell in the tents of Shem.” After the battle was over already, we’re speaking about Tannaim now: “May the beauty of Japheth dwell in the tents of Shem.” After we’re done and there’s no more war with the Greeks, now we can use what we learned from them. You see all the arguments of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah with the philosophers in Greece, and various other references of the Sages showing that they understood the Greeks as some sort of alternative. This wasn’t just a forceful national war and that’s it. There was some kind of alternative here; that’s also why it was so threatening. Because why—why was it only in the war against the Greeks that people became Hellenizers? We don’t find people becoming Romanizers, Babylonianizers, Assyrianizers. Assyria, Babylonia, Romans existed—but in the historical record that remains to us, only Hellenizers are discussed. Meaning they don’t speak about a phenomenon of Assyrianizers or Egyptianizers. Why not? Because with Greece there really was an alternative culture here, and people were drawn to it because it was something substantial; it wasn’t just playacting. Then what happens is: “May the beauty of Japheth dwell in the tents of Shem” means that the Oral Torah uses, among other things, tools we received from the Greeks. Without the Greeks, it wouldn’t have happened—or at least not in the same way. Something in that encounter with the Greeks was somehow absorbed by us, digested by us in some sense, and the Oral Torah, which is basically a Torah of rational give-and-take, is nourished by what we received from the Greeks. Therefore, “May the beauty of Japheth dwell in the tents of Shem.” In the end, after we finished the war and tried to reject the cultural influence, there are still principles, forms of thought, logic, that we received from there and that we use. Without that, the Oral Torah would not look the way it looks today, and we got that from them. So “May the beauty of Japheth dwell in the tents of Shem” is not just language or style of expression—it’s a way of thinking. There is something we received from there, and I think it starts with Shimon HaTzaddik. Shimon HaTzaddik basically marks the beginning of the Oral Torah, Torah that is created by man. Shimon HaTzaddik is the first person whose words of Torah are attributed to him by name, okay. Rabbi, can I ask a question? One second. This is created in his encounter with Alexander the Great. Because his encounter—again, the encounter that never happened, but the description by the Sages that he met Alexander the Great—comes to tell us that the Oral Torah, Torah created by human beings, begins in the encounter with human wisdom. As opposed to the tradition we receive from above, from the Holy One, blessed be He, to us, there is some kind of feedback there, a human wisdom in that encounter. Between the tradition and human thought, the Oral Torah is created. And for that you need the encounter with Alexander the Great in order to produce Shimon HaTzaddik. If you like, what Alexander the Great says—that “the likeness of this man went before me and was victorious in all my wars”—is basically a teleological statement. A statement that I actually carried out all my conquests not thanks to him, but for him. Meaning, so that he would meet me, receive from me the tools I have to give, and succeed in producing—beginning—the Oral Torah. So it’s a double meaning. Not only did he supposedly help me win, heavenly assistance or whatever you want to call it, but also it’s not that he helped me; rather, I carried out the conquests for him. He is the purpose of my conquests. Okay, so as a result of what we’re learning, questions come up. So the first question I’ll ask is about the Great Assembly, because it seems that they too said three things. Meaning this was a process that existed in the background, and Shimon HaTzaddik is the person who suddenly represents the—that is, suddenly a specific person appears there. I’m saying: the very fact that the Great Assembly also said three things—so is that something that always existed and intensified, or was it really… I assume yes, I’m sure earlier sages also created some words of Torah here and there. The Mishnah’s description comes to sharpen this process, so it places the spotlight there on the central notches on the timeline. Shimon HaTzaddik was a central notch, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai is a central notch, but obviously this process is continuous. It didn’t happen out of nowhere all at once. But there are notches where you can see it happening. These are basically stages. Yes, exactly. There’s something that made some significant change along that axis, where you can see that this process is always happening, but there it ripened into the next stage, and here it ripened into the stage after that, and so on. It’s happening all the time until suddenly you realize you’re already somewhere else. So yes. So I have another question. So as a result, the Torah—I’d say the Torah—the human response with the human intellectual tools we took from the Greeks or whoever, to the tradition and the Written Torah, and the Oral Torah we had—what is the relation between the Oral Torah before and the Oral Torah after? We’ll get to that in a minute. We’ll get to that? Yes. If I understood correctly, then basically the things said from then on are not purely based on the Torah given to us at Sinai by the Holy One, blessed be He; they are also based on external wisdom? Correct. Interpretation. Sometimes the wisdom is only a tool for interpreting the Torah. But with that tool you interpret the Torah. But sometimes not. “Why do I need a verse? It’s logical.” Sometimes the wisdom itself enters into Jewish law. So my question here is: why should such a thing come and obligate us? Who said it obligates? If you don’t think like he does, maybe it doesn’t obligate you. I talked a bit about concepts of authority in previous classes, so I said that there are places where there is formal authority, and in all places where there is no Sanhedrin—and the Talmud later on—in every place where there is no formal authority, you are not obligated to accept something you don’t agree with. All the medieval authorities, the later authorities, everything—you don’t have to accept anything. Whatever you don’t agree with, don’t accept. So in practice, what is supposed to guide us? What you decide, what seems reasonable to you. Not just arbitrarily what you decide—what seems right to you. And therefore there are disputes: to you it seems one way, and to someone else it seems another way; there are disputes. And you can’t decide disputes if you’re not really in a Sanhedrin with some orderly process to reach an agreed decision—voting, following the majority, and so on. If that doesn’t happen, then indeed there is no authority. Because in the Torah itself, taken literally, our obligations are minimal, and the Oral Torah is some sort of interpretation or exposition that comes out of the Written Torah, together with a few other things passed on to us orally in parallel—what is called a law given to Moses at Sinai. Yes, but many things in the Oral Torah are also clear decisions that have no source at all, or it is very hard to connect the dots. Regarding everything, you have room to decide whether you accept it or not. If you don’t agree with a rabbinic exposition in principle, then you can think of a different exposition. It’s true that the Sages in that case have formal authority—not because they’re right but like the Knesset. I spoke about that, so I won’t go back to it here. In the Knesset I’m supposed to obey the laws it sets not because it’s right, but because it’s the Knesset, that’s all. But if it’s someone else, then no—I don’t have to accept it if I don’t agree. So the question is whether the encounter with Greek wisdom resulted from the cessation of prophecy? Yes, it was connected to the cessation of prophecy, and maybe it’s good you asked because I didn’t sharpen this enough: the encounter with human wisdom gave us the tool that would compensate us for the disappearance of prophecy. Meaning, up to that stage we managed without human wisdom. Why? If we didn’t manage, if we didn’t know what to do, we asked the prophet. The prophet tells us what’s going on, everything is fine. At a certain stage there is no more prophecy, and then we begin to stand on our own feet. Now, okay, you need tools, you need to develop tools: how do we make decisions, what do we do? Here you already need logic, you already need philosophy, you need to see how one thinks, how one organizes, how one classifies, how one resolves difficulties, systematic forms of thought—and that indeed was something that could also be learned from Greece. I’ll just add that when I read Plato’s dialogues, at some stage it starts to feel familiar. When I think about it, I remember that basically it reminds me of the Talmud, only this is in translation, and they translated it into Hebrew for me, and it looks more like conversation and not just a text in Aramaic. Could be, I don’t know. Plato of course—it’s Socrates, not Plato. But no, clearly, I didn’t say Socrates is the source. Socrates is the literary figure, but Plato writes the dialogues in a Socratic form. I didn’t say that Socrates is the source of the dialogues. But the dialogical genre itself, the very fact that you ask people what they think, this Socratic give-and-take—that’s Socratic. And in that Socratic quality you can perhaps see some connection to the give-and-take of the Talmud. Maybe, I don’t know. There are all kinds of legends about influences—you know, that Jeremiah met Plato, I don’t remember whether it was Aristotle, whether that works chronologically or not, Aristotle—how exactly did he manage to meet him? I don’t know. All kinds of funny legends like that, so there are all kinds of such things. Maybe they really stem from the similarity people found between the two contexts, I don’t know. Of course I don’t believe those stories on the historical level. But he must have been in Alexandria… What? I don’t think he knew Alexandria or Rome. Anyway, so to our matter: we talked about the station of Shimon HaTzaddik, and the next station is Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai. Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai stops the process of transmission. Now notice where he is located historically. He is located historically after Hillel and Shammai—wow—close to the destruction of the Temple, right, exactly: the destruction of the Second Temple is Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, who goes out of the city and asks, “Give me Yavneh and its sages.” This is immediately after the destruction of the Temple and the exile of the Sanhedrin to Yavneh. This is basically in the era of the Houses—Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai. Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai is a disciple of both of them, both Hillel and Shammai. But after that there is the era of the Houses—Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai continues a bit afterward as well. Scholars say it lasted something like a hundred, a hundred and fifty years. Meaning, it extends beyond Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai in Yavneh; Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai is mainly in Yavneh. And the disciples of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai are basically Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh, Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Eliezer the Great, who is Rabban Gamliel’s brother-in-law. The generation after them is already Rabbi Akiva, who learned from Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah and Rabbi Eliezer. The first generation of—basically the first generation of Yavneh is Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai; some say first, I don’t know. Second generation—some say he’s the first, never mind—these are the disciples of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai: Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehoshua, okay? And Rabbi Eliezer. Okay. The third generation is Rabbi Akiva, who is their disciple; Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, the revolution of Yavneh—you can already see how this connects to the Talmudic passages I mentioned earlier. In any case, the whole business begins to happen in Yavneh. In Yavneh, transmission ends. Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai received from Hillel and Shammai, but that’s it. In Yavneh there is no transmission. In Yavneh it is already Torah of human beings. It is no longer Torah transmitted from above, from Sinai, from teacher to student, but Torah created by human beings. There is no longer any dimension of transmission at all. Not just that “he would also say” besides the fact that he received and transmitted—here it’s only “he says,” without “received and transmitted.” That’s it, that’s what… Presumably everyone studied from a teacher… Always—I’ll get there, I’ll get there, I’ll moderate that. For now I just want to sketch it in broad lines, of course exaggerated, just to sharpen the process. Afterward I’ll moderate it, okay? So this is basically the expression of the process in Pirkei Avot. Now I want to—we went a bit into Shimon HaTzaddik. Let’s go more into Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai. What happens there? Hillel and Shammai, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, Beit Hillel, Beit Shammai—and this will bring us to the Oven of Akhnai and all those controversies, which of course are the next two generations after Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai. The disciples of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai and their disciples. That is Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Akiva, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah. Okay. So, in the second generation of the Tannaim, yes, after Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, who is the first generation—in the second generation of the Tannaim there is a revolution. A very big revolution in the world of Torah. And this revolution is documented in several Talmudic passages, several different passages, all of which are characterized by strong colors. These are very powerful, very difficult stories. Things explode there; there are revolutions. They depose the Nasi, replace him, then bring him back. They excommunicate Rabbi Eliezer; Rabbi Eliezer in Lod, yes—they excommunicate him in the Oven of Akhnai. All these stories involve the same sages, in the same period, in the same place, in Yavneh. Okay? What happened there? So I want to claim that basically all these things are expressions of the same issue. I’ll begin with the Talmud in Bava Metzia with the Oven of Akhnai. In the Oven of Akhnai in Bava Metzia 59b, a very dramatic event is described there: a dispute regarding the impurity of an oven. An oven made of segments—what happens there? Is it now dismantled, not left dismantled, does it contract impurity, does it not contract impurity? Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Eliezer disagreed about this—Rabbi Eliezer the Great. Okay? Now regarding Rabbi Eliezer the Great it says, the Talmud says—do they excommunicate a person? We’ll see in a moment. The oven this way, the oven that way. Exactly, that’s exactly what I’m going to talk about. It was taught: “On that day Rabbi Eliezer brought every argument in the world, and they did not accept them from him. He said to them: if the Jewish law is in accordance with me, let this carob tree prove it. Let the stream of water prove it. Let the walls of the study hall prove it.” In the end they accepted none of it. A heavenly voice went forth and said: “Why are you contending with my son Eliezer, seeing that the Jewish law accords with him in every place?” Rabbi Yehoshua stood on his feet and said: “It is not in heaven.” “We do not pay attention to a heavenly voice, for You already wrote at Mount Sinai”—who is “You wrote”? The Holy One, blessed be He. He is speaking to the Holy One, blessed be He, not to Rabbi Eliezer. A heavenly voice comes out, the Holy One, blessed be He, says: what do you want from Eliezer? The Jewish law accords with him everywhere. So Yehoshua, Rabbi Yehoshua, turns to Him, not to Rabbi Eliezer: wait, wait—what did You write in the Torah? “It is not in heaven.” Why are You getting involved here at all? What business is this of Yours? Yes? By the way, it says there in the Talmud: what business is it of Yours? When the walls of the study hall incline, Rabbi Yehoshua says: “Torah scholars are contending here in Jewish law, and what are you doing sticking your heads in among mountains?” What are you playing at here? To whom is he speaking? To the walls of the study hall? He is speaking to the Holy One, blessed be He. We are arguing Jewish law here—this is not Your business, You stay outside. Don’t perform miracles for us here, go do miracles in Abu Dhabi… not here. We are talking Jewish law here; there are arguments, we are talking in arguments. We do not accept mysticism. “We do not pay attention to a heavenly voice, for You already wrote at Mount Sinai in the Torah: ‘Incline after the majority.’” What was going on there, actually? In practice—and then of course afterward they excommunicate Rabbi Eliezer, because he didn’t agree to accept the ruling; they excommunicate Rabbi Eliezer. In a parallel story they depose Rabban Gamliel; afterward Rabban Gamliel, yes, who abuses Rabbi Yehoshua, then they bring Rabban Gamliel back—he repented. There’s something there. Now the two of them are brothers-in-law, Rabbi Eliezer and Rabban Gamliel are two brothers-in-law. You have to notice that. What do you mean, two brothers-in-law? They married sisters? Rabban Gamliel’s sister was married to Rabbi Eliezer—Imma Shalom. So Imma Shalom… yes, may the uplift of the world be through peace treaties—she signed the most peace treaties ever. Imma Shalom was the sister of, and wife of, the people who made the most wars in the world—Imma Shalom. Anyway, so to our matter: Rabbi Eliezer the Great basically resorts—they didn’t accept his proofs, so he resorts to mystical proofs: walls of the study hall, the stream of water, until an actual heavenly voice comes out; the Holy One, blessed be He Himself intervenes. Nothing helps him. What is the story there? By the way, the story begins: “It was taught: on that day Rabbi Eliezer brought every argument.” Interesting expression. I once saw this in Professor Harel Fish from Tel Aviv University; he commented on it. He has a book called Da’at Chokhmah, where he draws a parallel between philosophy of science and the book of Ecclesiastes. And he made… he noted this point. The Talmud in Berakhot—we’ll get to it in a moment—tells that they deposed Rabban Gamliel from his leadership and installed Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah in his place. And the Talmud says that “on that day they deposed Rabban Gamliel and benches were added in the study hall,” and so on. Everywhere it says “on that day,” it means that day—hahu yoma hava. In every place you find the words “on that day,” it means that day on which they deposed Rabban Gamliel. That is what the Talmud says there in Berakhot. And here it begins: “It was taught: on that day Rabbi Eliezer brought every argument.” This too happened on that day, meaning it doesn’t have to mean, of course, a calendar day of twenty-four hours, but it means the same sequence of events, the same period, and the same move. What is the meaning of this? So, “on that day,” for example—the Talmud says, for example, “on that day” also the entire tractate Eduyot was taught. The Talmud there in Berakhot: “on that day the entire tractate Eduyot was taught.” What is tractate Eduyot? It’s the only tractate that has no topic. It has no topic; it doesn’t deal with any one subject. It’s a collection of testimonies about various laws. What characterizes them? These are laws they didn’t know how to decide until Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah rose in place of Rabban Gamliel, and they brought all the laws they had not managed to decide and they decided them by vote, through discussion and vote. And thus tractate Eduyot was taught, and it was taught on that day. Okay? Now one of the laws in tractate Eduyot is, of course, the segmented oven. A segmented oven—in other words, the Oven of Akhnai—is one of the laws in tractate Eduyot that was taught on that day when they deposed Rabban Gamliel and placed Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah in his stead. This is another strengthening of what I said here—that “on that day” with the Oven of Akhnai is that same day on which they deposed Rabban Gamliel and put Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah in his place. Now what is the meaning of this whole matter? Rabbi Eliezer the Great is described in the Talmud in a number of places as the peak of tradition. He never said anything he did not hear from his teacher. He was “a plastered cistern that loses not a drop.” Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai testifies about him: “a plastered cistern that loses not a drop.” Meaning he held all the Torah of his teachers within him. Basically the man who held the whole Torah, the father of tradition, is Rabbi Eliezer the Great. He never said anything he did not hear from his teacher ever—yes, we talked about that—a plastered cistern and so on. There is more; you can see this in additional places. This is his most prominent defining characteristic; we’ll also see it later in tractate Chagigah. Now they have a dispute over the Oven of Akhnai, and he brings them all sorts of proofs, and they don’t accept them. He says: listen, but I contain all the Torah of my teachers, I’m telling you this is the Jewish law, it was transmitted to Moses at Sinai. What do we care? Convince us it’s right. It doesn’t seem reasonable to us. Bring us proofs. He can’t manage. So he brings them mystical proofs. They tell him: “It is not in heaven.” Only proofs. What is the meaning of this? Rabbi Yehoshua, who was the head of the opposition against Rabbi Eliezer, is basically the man who represents the concept of Torah of give-and-take, human Torah. We spoke about the process; in a moment we’ll connect it to the first process. Torah of human beings. Convince me it’s right; if it emerges from rational arguments, then that is the Jewish law. Rabbi Eliezer is a traditionalist. He says: I’m telling you this is what I received from my teachers, and my teachers from their teachers, back to Moses our teacher, back to the Holy One, blessed be He. What is there to debate here with all kinds of reasons this way and reasons that way? This is the Jewish law. Whether you agree or not, understand or not understand—what does it matter? This is what the Holy One, blessed be He, said. They did not agree to accept this. Until you convince us, we won’t agree. Now because they argued against him and voted against him, that the Jewish law is not in accordance with him, they excommunicated him. Why? Because of the Oven of Akhnai? There were no shortage of halakhic arguments. Because he did not accept the principle of Torah of give-and-take and that the majority decides. After you tried to convince us and brought proofs, don’t wave at me—not the Holy One, blessed be He, not mysticism, not anything. You didn’t convince us; the Jewish law is not like you. We believe you, everything is fine. You didn’t convince us; the Jewish law is not like you. Remember the Maharal I brought in the previous class? I brought him. The Maharal says it is preferable to rule according to one’s reasoning than to rule from books. Because you need to rule according to what you think is correct, even if in truth it’s a mistake. But if you think it’s correct, there is an obligation to act autonomously. Okay? That’s exactly what the argument there was. Between Torah of tradition and Torah of give-and-take. Between Torah from above and Torah of human beings. Written Torah, so to speak—not necessarily written, but Torah that comes from the Holy One, blessed be He, as opposed to Oral Torah. As opposed to Torah created by human beings. That was the confrontation. Now what is basically the background? The background basically says yes—Rabbi Eliezer testifies about himself: “If all the seas were ink and all the reeds pens and all human beings scribes, they would not suffice to write what I have read and repeated.” Yes, that’s in several places. Rabbi Eliezer is tradition incarnate. So all the arguments he brought there were not logical arguments. Right, but rather sources. I received this from that teacher, and that teacher also said this—and what we find today in the literature, yes, and also… No, no—that was the issue. The issue was that they were unwilling to accept that kind of argument. By the way, why did Rabbi Eliezer bring mystical proofs? Because he had to prove that he was righteous. And they told him: we know you’re righteous, but that’s ad hominem. Ad hominem deals with the person. We are discussing the issue itself, not the person. Bring me proofs that you are right, don’t bring me proofs that you are righteous. I’m not interested in the fact that you’re righteous; convince me that you’re right. They raised issue-based arguments, and he showed them that even the Holy One, blessed be He, agrees with him—with ad hominem arguments, yes—in the debate. Even Einstein thinks like me, yes, that’s the claim. So someone says: okay, explain to me why you’re right and why you and Einstein are right—why do I care that Einstein agrees with you? That was basically the argument here. Yes, and in fact you can see here some kind of issue of prophecy, that basically Rabbi Eliezer ben Azariah says—I’m revealing here also what is in heaven, yes. Exactly, he is revealing here prophecy as well, so in a sense he is resorting to what the prophets did—for the prophets, without miracles, nothing worked; no one believed them. Bring me a miracle, then I can accept that miracle. So he has to bring miracles to prove his claim. They say that with all due respect, the time of prophecy, the time of Torah from God, has ended. That’s it, our time has come—the time of human beings. We are running the show here. Historically, how were disputes created? There is a Rashi in tractate Chagigah, and really a Jerusalem Talmud, who says that the dispute of the two Yoses regarding laying hands on a sacrifice on a holiday—that is the first dispute in the Oral Torah. And that was in the time of the conflict with the Greeks, that is, the middle of the Second Temple period. The first dispute in the Oral Torah. Now it’s not likely that sages had never disagreed until then; certainly Jews can’t all always have agreed on the same thing. But still, the description is that until then there was no significant dispute, or alternatively there was dispute and they somehow managed with it—they found the relevant tradition, they regulated it. Once you move to opinions, a dispute emerges that there is no way to decide. Even if you tell me that so-and-so said, so what? I think otherwise. If you decide disputes on the basis of precedents—so-and-so said, such-and-such said—no problem; tell me who said what, and we’ll decide the matter. But if you base it on opinions, dispute arises. Like law today, right? Based on precedents. There too, yes, in the legal world there are similar arguments, yes. So dispute arises when—this is basically one of the pairs, the two Yoses, I don’t remember which of the two—that’s the first dispute. Why? Because there we are already in the era of Torah of human beings, Torah of human beings that is already beginning to be based on reason and not only on tradition. Reason—everyone has a different reason; dispute is created. And by the way, when does that happen? In the time of the conflict with the Greeks. Why? Because in the time of the conflict with the Greeks—“conflict” meaning the conquest, the Greek conquest—that is already the era of intellect; we are already learning human reason from them; Torah is created by us—boom, dispute is created. So the Greeks darkened the eyes of Israel, as if Torah disappeared from us. Suddenly arguments begin; there is no longer an agreed Torah. That is how disputes are created. What happened with Hillel and Shammai, the fifth pair? In the fifth pair, the Jerusalem Talmud says that Hillel and Shammai would kill one another. There was no way to decide the dispute; they simply entered into a power struggle—reminds one of other periods, yes. They entered into a forceful struggle because there was no agreed way to decide the dispute. But what I remember is that there are several sources: on the one hand, some say they loved one another, married one another, and this is Hillel and Shammai, while their students who came later are the ones who really started. No, I’m not going into those details right now. There are contradictory sources and I’m not sure how to reconcile them; that’s one possibility, maybe. In any case, because this is Hillel and Shammai themselves—well, they loved one another and married one another. How many did they marry? There were two people. I don’t think it’s speaking of two individuals. Never mind, but there is also this description of war, and I don’t care right now exactly when it begins. This is with Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai. What is the meaning of that war? Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai is the first time in the Jewish people that there arises not only a dispute on a specific subject, but two schools that have hundreds of disputes in Jewish law. And these are basically two forms of thought, each of which is of course varied—it’s not just one principle in dispute. But two study halls, each of which suddenly creates a whole Torah of its own, that is different from the Torah of the other study hall, and there is no way to decide, because it’s no longer the same study hall. We are using different forms of thought, as with methods of exposition: the expositions of Rabbi Akiva, the expositions of Rabbi Yishmael—these are different methods of exposition, not the same methods. We are arguing about how to expound; these are simply two different methods of exposition. There’s no point talking to one another. The fear was that the Torah was breaking apart, the Jewish people were breaking apart. There was no way to connect the two sides. So they went to war—which, again, I’m not sure means they literally killed one another, or whether it’s a literary description—but still, clearly that description says something. It says there was a forceful struggle there. They stopped arguing and started fighting. Because the concern—and it was a real concern—was that this whole thing was falling apart. There would no longer be Torah. Everyone would do whatever came into his head, whatever he thought. There would be a hundred thousand systems; everyone would do what he wanted. Nothing would remain of it; the whole thing would fall apart—both the people and the Torah. Where do we see this? The Talmud in Eruvin says that for two and a half years Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed, yes? And they couldn’t decide, until a heavenly voice went forth and said—not “it is not in heaven,” not “it is not in heaven”—rather: “These and those are both the words of the living God, but the Jewish law is in accordance with Beit Hillel.” The Talmud explains why the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel: because they were kindly and humble and they placed the words of Beit Shammai before their own. What is the meaning of this? For years Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed—of course much more than two and a half years, I don’t know what they’re talking about there, but it was much more than two and a half years—and Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai disagreed. Fine, what’s the problem? Why didn’t they vote and follow the majority? “Incline after the majority”—what’s the problem? Yes, a few generations later Rabbi Yehoshua says to Rabbi Eliezer, “incline after the majority,” “it is not in heaven.” Right? There’s a logic here that each of them is right. What? But a logic that each of them is right—if Beit Hillel were more moderate, they were smaller. So vote. And there are votes, no? When there’s an argument there are votes; if there’s no argument there’s no need for votes. And in a vote you follow the majority. We are in a period where, although a beginning of Torah based on human reason is already emerging, tradition is still quite strong in Israel. So what? They did not accept the principle of “incline after the majority.” That is a principle that became institutionalized later; they did not accept it there. Now, one possible explanation is a more moderate explanation. Tosafot brings a Talmud in Yevamot, a few pages earlier in Eruvin 6a; our passage is Eruvin 13b. He brings a Talmud in Yevamot where the Talmud says that Beit Shammai were sharper. They were more acute than Beit Hillel. Now, according to this, everyone agreed that one follows the majority. Fine. But the question is: majority of what? Majority of people or majority of wisdom? Do you count feet or do you count heads? What do you count? Beit Hillel had more feet; Beit Shammai had more heads. And Beit Shammai say: we follow the majority of wisdom, not the majority of people. Why should I care if there are a hundred thousand people? So what? Why should it matter to me if there are a hundred thousand ignoramuses? Or as the Sefer HaChinukh writes—yes—even if there are ignoramuses as many as those who left Egypt, they cannot decide against one Torah scholar in a court. Obviously you do not follow the majority in court if there is one person who is more learned than the majority. Then you follow him. That is what the Chinukh says; not everyone agrees, but that is the view of the Chinukh and other medieval and later authorities. The claim of Beit Shammai is: we follow the majority, no problem—but the quality majority, the majority of wisdom; we do not count feet. Beit Hillel say: no, we count people; the majority of people is what determines. You understand that when there is an argument like this, there is no way to decide it. What will you do? Hold a vote? They’ll disagree even about that vote—whether the determining majority is the quality majority or the quantitative majority. There is no way to decide that. Now, Tosafot asks: how could they follow the heavenly voice? “It is not in heaven”—the Oven of Akhnai—“it is not in heaven.” So how could the heavenly voice decide that the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel? Tosafot gives three answers, all of them strained. The correct answer, of course, is none of the three. The correct and simple answer is that “it is not in heaven” means that if you have a way to decide on the halakhic level, according to the rules of Jewish law, according to the logic of Jewish law, then you do not go to prophecies and heavenly voices from heaven. But if you’re stuck within the rules of Jewish law, then what will you follow if not heaven? What will you do? We’re stuck. Now of course in that case you follow the heavenly voice. That’s the simple explanation; you don’t need any elaborate answers. “It is not in heaven” applies when you have halakhic reasons, as in the Oven of Akhnai; there “it is not in heaven” was said. And there is majority against minority, so you vote and that’s all. But here the argument is over the question of which majority counts. How are you going to vote on that? Beit Shammai will vote that we follow the quality majority. This dispute is the same dispute. There’s no way out of it. In a place where you have no alternative within the rules of Jewish law, then obviously you don’t say “it is not in heaven.” So the heavenly voice came out precisely to save us from the impasse that exists within the rules of Jewish law. When we say “it is not in heaven,” that is when we have an option within the rules of Jewish law and a heavenly voice comes, and we say no, we don’t pay attention to a heavenly voice, it is not in heaven. For that we have rules of Jewish law. But if the rules of Jewish law are stuck, that’s why a heavenly voice comes out—to save us from that impasse. Therefore they followed the heavenly voice there. What does this basically mean? That the disputes of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel were stuck for years. They could not decide. And therefore more and more disputes arose between the schools, and therefore there are so many disputes between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. Earlier disputes existed, but they were decided. They voted, I don’t know, in the end they decided. With Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai, for the first time two study halls consolidated and created two different Torahs, and the dialogue was lost. It was impossible to decide. There would be two religions, two Torahs, two Israels, two this and two that, and little by little this could of course, like a fractal, become four, eight, sixteen—however many peoples, Torahs, and so on. That was the fear. Now, in the meantime, before the heavenly voice came out, they didn’t know what to do, so they got all the way to war. Because there was no other way. If you have no way to argue, what do you do? You move to violence. Right? That is basically… there is nothing else to do. Therefore the heavenly voice came out. The heavenly voice came out in order to stop this and to provide some alternative by which they could continue together through some agreed means of decision. And it said that the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel. So it’s interesting—did it also establish that one follows the majority of feet and not the majority of heads? That would seem difficult for all the later decisors who say that in court one follows the majority of wisdom and not the majority of people. Apparently the heavenly voice said otherwise. That is not correct, because the Talmud there explained that the reason one follows Beit Hillel is because they were gentle and humble, and they put Beit Shammai’s words before their own. And on that Rabbi Yosef Karo explains in Kelalei HaGemara: by putting Beit Shammai’s words before your own, you reach a more correct decision. Even though you are less sharp than Beit Shammai—Beit Shammai were more acute. But since Beit Hillel carefully weighed Beit Shammai’s arguments before establishing their own law, then they were probably right, and therefore the Jewish law was decided in accordance with them. That doesn’t teach that the Jewish law follows not the majority of sages but the minority of sages, or the majority of fools; rather it teaches that even if there is a majority of less wise people, if they seriously consider the position of the sages before they formulate their own position, they will get further. A dwarf standing on the shoulders of giants? Something like a dwarf on the shoulders of a giant. Right, something like that. You could also explain it another way and say that perhaps the heavenly voice decided for Beit Hillel because it said: look, Beit Shammai may be very wise, the very best, but the practices and the Jewish law you issue may not suit the conduct of the simple person, the simple child. Maybe—that’s an explanation. But that’s not what the Talmud says. The Talmud explains why the law was decided like Beit Hillel: because they were gentle and humble and they put Beit Shammai’s words before their own. Exactly—they’re more moderate, the things they say can perhaps be accepted more broadly. No, they put Beit Shammai’s words before their own. Not because they were polite, not because they were pleasant, lenient—by the way, there are laws in which Beit Hillel are stringent. True, but that points to a more moderate mode of thought that can gain broader agreement in the people. I don’t see why. I don’t see why. It’s more correct because you put the words of… There are those who want to argue—we’ll discuss this—those who think that Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai were equally right, pluralists who think there are several true halakhic positions; there isn’t only one right one. So they say: then why was the law decided like Beit Hillel? It’s not because the truth is with them, because there is no single truth. Rather what? A reward for good behavior. Because they behaved nicely, were polite, took Beit Shammai into consideration and so forth—so let’s gain an educational profit in a case where both sides are right. So deciding the law is not determining who is right, but rather: let’s gain an educational profit and decide like Beit Hillel. But Rabbi Yosef Karo, whom I mentioned earlier, does not go that way. He is a monist, not a pluralist. He claims there is one truth, one halakhic truth. And he claims that the fact that they put Beit Shammai’s words before their own is a substantive criterion, an issue-based one. It is not a reward for good behavior. Because they put Beit Shammai’s words before their own, there is a higher probability that they are right. That is his claim. In short, for our purposes—but we’ll get to that later when we talk about halakhic pluralism and monism. Right now I’m talking about the question of the emergence of dispute. So basically Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel—the dispute that began with the second pair, the two Yoses, I don’t remember if it was the second or whatever—ripened with Hillel. Or their students, after the fifth pair, okay, and there it already reached catastrophe. There was a very big break. And this happens precisely in the first generation of Yavneh. Hillel and Shammai are the last pair. Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai is their disciple. The disciples of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai—that’s the crisis we’re talking about here. Meaning this is the peak of the period of the Houses, of Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai. Therefore you suddenly understand that this confrontation between Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Eliezer—of Rabbi Eliezer the Talmud says “he is of Shammai,” shamuti hu. Shamuti—there is a dispute among the medieval authorities whether that means excommunicated, because they excommunicated him—shamta means excommunication—or “of Shammai,” meaning from Beit Shammai. Okay? There is a dispute among the medieval authorities how to understand this expression that Rabbi Eliezer “is shamuti.” In any case it is apparently related to the dispute of Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai. Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai learned from both of them. Somehow he passed that to his disciples; his disciples apparently somehow split. And this dispute remained there. Now, Rabbi Eliezer wanted to decide all disputes by way of tradition. Yes—I’ll tell you what the truth is; leave me alone with all your pilpul and your reasons. And his colleagues did not agree to accept that. Because they argued that a dispute has to be decided by “it is not in heaven.” The dispute has to be decided. And indeed “it is not in heaven” is what was decided in the Oven of Akhnai; that is what came out. A heavenly voice came out—it’s ironically complex, yes? No, that’s not what came out there. The heavenly voice came out in the opposite direction, against them. The heavenly voice came out against them and then they said “it is not in heaven,” they rejected the heavenly voice. The solution of the heavenly voice had in fact been the solution that decided the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. They say no, no—we don’t need a heavenly voice. We will decide this by reason, by give-and-take. And the Torah of give-and-take replaces the Torah of tradition. Where else does this happen? In the parallel Talmudic passage in Berakhot. The Talmud says—I’m forgetting to share both on Zoom and with you here, this kind of coordination is beyond me. Fine. The Talmud in Berakhot 28a: “The Sages taught: There was an incident involving a student who came before Rabbi Yehoshua. He said to him: Is the evening prayer optional or obligatory? This student is Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai,” the Talmud says afterward. He’s a student of Rabbi Akiva, so he’s like a grandson of Rabbi Yehoshua, meaning a student of a student of Rabbi Yehoshua. He said to him: Is the evening prayer optional or obligatory? He said to him: Optional. He came before Rabban Gamliel and said to him: Is the evening prayer optional or obligatory? He said to him: Obligatory.” Yes, that was their dispute. He said to him: But didn’t Rabbi Yehoshua tell me it’s optional? He said to him: Wait until the shield-bearers enter the study hall. The shield-bearers entered, the questioner stood and asked: Is the evening prayer optional or obligatory? Rabban Gamliel said to him: Obligatory. He waited until they’d express their view. He announced his own view—the Nasi of the Sanhedrin, yes? Rabban Gamliel said to the Sages: Is there anyone who disputes this matter? Is there anyone here who disagrees? Rabbi Yehoshua was sitting there. Yes? Is there anyone here who disagrees with what I’m saying? You can understand what’s happening there. Rabban Gamliel is standing there and saying: is there anyone here who disagrees with what I’m saying? Rabbi Yehoshua is sitting there not knowing what to do. Rabbi Yehoshua said to him: No. He said to him: no, no, nobody disagrees with you, everything is fine. He said to him: But didn’t they say in your name that it’s optional? Why are you feeding me nonsense? Yes. He said to him: Yehoshua, stand on your feet and let them testify against you. Rabbi Yehoshua stood on his feet and said: If I were alive and he were dead, the living could contradict the dead. But now that I am alive and he is alive, how can the living contradict the living? Yes, you’re right, I disagreed with you. There is a living witness here; I can’t argue with him. I said what I said because I was afraid or because I was being polite, but I did disagree with you. Yes. Or in another language, there’s authority here—I think such and such… No, no, no, he didn’t say that. No. He said the living can’t contradict the living. The witness who testified that I disagreed with you is right. I disagreed with you; I didn’t tell the truth before. Then it says: Rabban Gamliel was sitting and lecturing, and Rabbi Yehoshua was standing on his feet. He made him stand, really, like in school. And you—stand, stay standing in the corner while we are learning here in the study hall. Until all the people murmured and said to Chutzpit the interpreter: Stop. He stopped translating what Rabban Gamliel was saying, and stood still. The beginning of the revolt against Rabban Gamliel. Look what he does to a Torah scholar like Rabbi Yehoshua who dares to disagree with him. Okay? They said: How long are we going to let him torment Rabbi Yehoshua and continue as usual under Rabban Gamliel? Last year on Rosh Hashanah he tormented him too—yes, over Yom Kippur that fell on his reckoning on Shabbat, that same story, also Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehoshua. In Bekhorot, in the incident of Rabbi Tzadok, he tormented him. Here too he tormented him. Come, let us remove him. Let’s remove him from office, depose him. This is an amazing event—to depose the Nasi of the Sanhedrin. There is no such procedure in Jewish law, none. It simply does not exist. In Jewish law, as we discussed when we talked about authority, the authority of the Sanhedrin and of the ordained sages comes from above, not from below. The Holy One, blessed be He, ordained Moses; Moses ordained Joshua; ordained person ordains ordained person, yes, and they appoint the Sanhedrin; the Sanhedrin appointed the next Sanhedrin. There is no such thing as a rebellion. There are no democratic elections. People don’t decide who the Nasi is or who is ordained—no. It all comes from above. But for example prophecy had already ceased. Prophecy had ceased, but the law of ordination is a halakhic law. And the Sages say: very nice—by the way, very relevant to our own time—the question is how far you follow the rules. The Sages say: very nice, there is no halakhic mechanism like this, so we will invent one now. We will remove Rabban Gamliel from office, depose him. Okay? Did that happen after or before Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah and the prime minister? I don’t know. It happened somehow in parallel; it’s another aspect of the same story. Remember, Rabbi Eliezer and Rabban Gamliel are brothers-in-law; they are the elders of the group. Rabbi Yehoshua is also of that age, but they are the elders of the group. Rabbi Akiva is already the next generation. Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah was “like a man of seventy years,” yes—eighteen years old and young. Okay? These are already the next generations. Rabbi Yehoshua was their contemporary, and he disputed both Rabban Gamliel and—Rabbi Yehoshua is the same dissenter. Rabbi Yehoshua stands here against Rabban Gamliel; in the Oven of Akhnai it’s Rabbi Yehoshua against Rabbi Eliezer, who are both brothers-in-law. And both of them, of course, are very authoritative, very demanding that the truth be with them, not allowing anyone to disagree with them. You see the worldview—the worldview of these two brothers-in-law—a worldview that is authoritarian, traditional, tradition-bound, yes, while Rabbi Yehoshua represents the worldview of give-and-take, human intellect, reason, persuasion, and at the end voting if persuasion fails. Then the Talmud says: whom shall we appoint? Who will go tell Rabban Gamliel he has been deposed? Shall we appoint Rabbi Yehoshua? Send Yehoshua? He was the greatest among them, a miracle-worker. No, Rabbi Yehoshua can’t be the one to tell him he’s deposed; after all this is happening because of the injury to Rabbi Yehoshua. Shall we appoint Rabbi Akiva? Let Rabbi Akiva go? But perhaps he will punish him, since he has no ancestral merit. He was the son of converts; he has no ancestral merit, and Rabban Gamliel will punish him. Rather, let us appoint Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, for he is wise and wealthy and a tenth-generation descendant of Ezra. Fine; he has lineage, wisdom, wealth—in short, a Jew with status in every respect. The ideal candidate, yes, exactly. Fine. They came and said to him: Is it agreeable to the master to become head of the academy? Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, are you willing to become head of the yeshivah in place of Rabban Gamliel? He said to them: I will go and consult the members of my household. Yes, I’ll consult my wife. He went and consulted his wife. She said to him: perhaps they’ll depose you too? Yes, never mind, they’ll depose you too just as they deposed Rabban Gamliel. In short, they have a discussion there; in the end he accepts. “Behold I am like a man of seventy years and not seventy years old”—he is in fact eighteen, he was worried because his hair was black; his hair turned white, never mind, all the famous stories. It was taught: “On that day they removed the guard at the door, and permission was granted to the students to enter.” What is the meaning of this? When they removed Rabban Gamliel from office and put Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah in his place, they removed the guard at the entrance. Meaning Rabban Gamliel had posted a guard. Okay? They removed him, and all the students could enter. Rabban Gamliel did not allow students to enter freely. Okay? Why? “For Rabban Gamliel would announce and say: any student whose inside is not like his outside shall not enter the study hall.” Why not? Why did Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah agree that every student may enter whether his inside is like his outside or not, while Rabban Gamliel insisted? Because Rabban Gamliel was of the same view as Rabbi Eliezer. After all, if we’re really talking about give-and-take, then bring your arguments, we’ll listen, we’ll accept or not accept—if you convinced us, good; if you didn’t convince us, not good. Why do I care who you are? Be an utter villain. If you’re giving me transmissions in someone else’s name and thereby deciding Jewish law, then if you’re a liar you’ll invent things for me. You’ll say to me: who said this? This—Moses our teacher himself said it. So you can’t rely on him; you need him to be the same inside and outside, to have good character traits, to be righteous. Remember Rabbi Eliezer, who came to prove he was righteous so that they would accept from him? Right? That is what his brother-in-law Rabban Gamliel wanted—the same thing. Therefore he really placed a guard at the entrance to the study hall: anyone whose inside is not like his outside does not enter. What happens when Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah rises? He removes the guard. Why should I care about the guard? We have now moved to a Torah of give-and-take. State your reasons. Why do I care whether your inside is like your outside or not? State your reasons. Either we’ll be persuaded or we won’t. That’s all. Everything works according to the issue itself, not the person. Right? You see that this is exactly the same argument as with Rabbi Eliezer in the Oven of Akhnai—exactly the same argument. And the same revolution. Rabbi Eliezer is removed—he was the elder of the group, or a kind of greatest Torah scholar imaginable—and Rabban Gamliel, the Nasi of the Sanhedrin, is also removed. The two brothers-in-law basically wanted to seize this whole thing and preserve the traditionalist conception. And the revolution—the younger revolutionaries, Rabbi Yehoshua among their age group and the younger students—throw both of them out. They stage a revolution in Yavneh. The Talmud says: “On that day how many benches were added!” Many benches were added in the study hall because all sorts of students entered whose inside was not like their outside. Rabbi Yochanan said: Abba Yosef ben Dostai and the Rabbis disagreed about this. One said four hundred benches were added, and one said seven hundred benches were added. A huge number of students came in—four hundred, seven hundred benches, okay? All these people Rabban Gamliel had refused to let enter; they remained outside and didn’t study Torah because their inside was not like their outside. “Rabban Gamliel became distressed.” Rabban Gamliel suffered distress of mind. He said: look how many people I left outside. He hadn’t even noticed how many people were outside because of his criterion that anyone whose inside was not like his outside should not enter. He just set the criterion and taught inside; the guard stopped all the people outside. He didn’t see what he had wrought. Suddenly he sees what he had wrought. So he says: perhaps, Heaven forbid, I withheld Torah from Israel. Maybe I really acted improperly? Thoughts of regret began in Rabban Gamliel. “They showed him in a dream”—never mind, everything is fine, they told him everything is fine. Then the Talmud says: “But that was not so; it was only to put his mind at ease.” In truth, what Rabban Gamliel did was indeed not right. It was taught: Eduyot was taught on that day. As I explained earlier. Why? Because in the period of Rabban Gamliel, when everything was traditions, once two traditions clash, what do you do? Nothing. There’s nothing to do, right? Because we are not discussing who is right based on issue-based considerations; it’s all traditions. Now there are two contradictory traditions—what are you going to do? Many laws remained undecided. When Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah replaced Rabban Gamliel, the entire tractate Eduyot was taught on that day. They brought all the laws they had not managed to decide—again, not one literal day, but that same period, yes? The entire tractate Eduyot is laws that had not been decided and were decided after Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah arrived, because now it was possible to decide disputes. They bring reasons, if they don’t agree, they vote and follow the majority. Okay? Yes. There’s a story whose end is that Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah is pushed aside before he goes and rules—is he here in place of Rabban Gamliel? The Talmud—what is this? A retinue of two hundred attendants so that Rabban Gamliel won’t identify him specifically. No, so what does that mean? I mean, on the one hand we have Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Eliezer against Rabbi Yehoshua, and specifically here the confrontation is between Rabbi Eliezer and Rabban Gamliel—Rabban Gamliel repented. In a moment we’ll see: he crossed over to the other camp. Yes. After they deposed him he continued to come to the study hall—one second, one second, you’ll see. “It was taught: Eduyot was taught on that day, and wherever we say ‘on that day,’ it was that day.” What I said before, okay? Another hint linking it to the Oven of Akhnai. “And there was no law pending in the study hall that they did not explain”—“explain” here means decide. That is tractate Eduyot. “And even Rabban Gamliel did not refrain from coming to the study hall for even one hour.” You asked: Rabban Gamliel remained there. They deposed him from being Nasi; he sat down on the bench of one of the sages and participated in the discussion like an ordinary person. You see that for him too this was a matter of principle. It wasn’t just a pursuit of power for its own sake. He really thought this way. He really thought—as did Rabbi Eliezer; clearly this was principled—that if he tells you the sources and the traditions, that’s everything. Why are you arguing with me about reason? That was his true conception. Once his colleagues opposed him, he accepted the ruling. He sat there as one of the people. “As we learned: On that day Yehudah the Ammonite convert came before them in the study hall. He said to them: Am I allowed to enter the congregation? ‘An Ammonite or Moabite shall not enter the congregation of the Lord.’ May I? A convert from Ammon—may he enter the congregation? Rabban Gamliel said to him: You are forbidden to enter the congregation. Rabbi Yehoshua said to him: You are permitted to enter the congregation.” Rabbi Yehoshua, of course. Rabban Gamliel said to him: But has it not already been stated, ‘An Ammonite or Moabite shall not enter the congregation of the Lord’? You see? He didn’t tell him Moses our teacher said otherwise. He brings a verse; he has a proof. The verse says this. Rabbi Yehoshua said to him: But are Ammon and Moab still sitting in their place? Sennacherib king of Assyria already came and mixed up all the nations, as it is said, ‘I have removed the boundaries of peoples, and have plundered their treasures, and have brought down inhabitants like a mighty man,’ and anyone who separates is presumed to come from the majority. Rabban Gamliel said to him: But has it not already been stated, ‘And afterward I will restore the captivity of the children of Ammon’? Rabbi Yehoshua said to him: But has it not already been stated, ‘And I will restore the captivity of My people Israel’?” And so on. Immediately they permitted him to enter the congregation. Rabbi Yehoshua prevailed against Rabban Gamliel. And Rabban Gamliel accepted it too, because he sat there as one of the sages, not as the Nasi. Everything was fine. Next passage—this is an illuminating story. Rabban Gamliel said: Since this is what happened—ah, since this is what happened—“I will go and appease Rabbi Yehoshua.” I’ll go and reconcile with Rabbi Yehoshua; apparently I didn’t act properly. Amazing. When he got to his house, he saw that the walls of his house were blackened—sooty walls—one benefits and the other doesn’t lose. The beams of his house were black; he was a charcoal-maker, yes. He said to him: From the walls of your house it is evident that you are a charcoal-maker. Rabbi Yehoshua said to him: Woe to the generation whose leader you are. Rabbi Yehoshua said to him: You are the Nasi? You are a disaster for the people, that you were the Nasi. Why? Because you do not know the suffering of Torah scholars, how they make a living and how they are sustained. Just as we saw that he did not know that four hundred or seven hundred Torah scholars were sitting outside and unable to enter the study hall because he had given instructions to the guard not to let in anyone whose inside was not like his outside. And then suddenly he saw what had happened there; he had not known it. It’s like Oscar Wilde’s “The Happy Prince.” All his life he didn’t know, and afterward as a statue he sees everything that goes on outside. You understand this—Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah does not let him off, doesn’t give him any breaks. Then he says to him: He said to him, I submit to you; forgive me. Rabban Gamliel says: you’re right, I ask forgiveness. He didn’t pay attention to him. He said to him: Do it for the honor of my father. He was appeased. They said: Who will go and tell the sages? Who will tell the sages that Rabbi Yehoshua has been reconciled with Rabban Gamliel? A certain launderer said to them: I’ll go. Rabbi Yehoshua sent to the study hall: whoever wears the garment should wear the garment, and whoever does not wear the garment should not say to whoever wears the garment, take off your garment and I’ll wear it, and so on. In short, the discussion there was about restoring Rabban Gamliel to his office. He repented; he can be restored to be Nasi. He understood that now there needs to be a Torah of give-and-take and not a Torah of tradition, and then he can be brought back as Nasi. In short, they restored him as Nasi. Then the Talmud says: yes, so now what should we do—restore him in place of Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah? We elevate in matters of holiness and do not lower. You do not lower Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah after he has become Nasi. Shall one lecture one week and the other the next week? That would cause jealousy. Rather, Rabban Gamliel should lecture three weeks and Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah one week. Rabban Gamliel returns to being head of the academy for three weeks, and Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah for one week. Rejoice—week by week. Three weeks, one week. In any event, Rabban Gamliel was older and the original Nasi, but they leave Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah also as Nasi one week out of four. All of this is in Berakhot 27b–28a. “And that is what the master said”—and we will see this further on—“whose Sabbath was it? It was the Sabbath of Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah.” It is known in the Talmud in several places—we’ll see one of those passages in Chagigah—that when someone came from Yavneh they asked him: whose week was it? Was it the week of Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah or the week of Rabban Gamliel? You see there was a rotation between them. And the Talmud concludes: “And that student was Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai.” The student who started this whole complicated episode, who said that Rabbi Yehoshua disagreed with Rabban Gamliel—that was Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. In any case, now that the whole matter has been resolved, you can say his name too. Before that it would be slander, but after everything is settled, you can also say his name. What do we see from here? Exactly a parallel story to the Oven of Akhnai, with the same confrontation. And this is an ideological confrontation; it isn’t only power, interests, or honor. It is a real confrontation. How is Torah to be built? Should Torah be built on tradition, or should Torah be built on give-and-take and voting if one does not reach common ground? That was the whole discussion. Two generations after Hillel and Shammai, meaning in the middle of the period of the Houses, where they basically killed each other because there was no way to decide. Fine? And here the Talmud basically says: okay, then a Torah of tradition no longer works. Traditions have already multiplied; there is one tradition like this, one tradition like that, and we have no way to decide. The whole tractate Eduyot remained open. Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai are stuck with one another; they have no way to deliberate. We’re shutting down the shop and changing the key. From now on, Torah becomes a Torah of give-and-take, not a Torah of tradition. And now you can decide tractate Eduyot. Now you can decide the dispute between Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehoshua. Now you can close all the disputes; even if people don’t agree, they vote and the majority decides. Everything is fine. In a Torah of human beings, there are ways to decide. In a Torah of tradition, as long as the tradition is preserved and there are no slipups and everything is fine, no problem. Once dispute begins, we have no way to handle dispute. We get to the point of killing each other. So a revolution has to be made, rules have to be given, the rules changed. Otherwise this whole thing cannot be handled. And this is basically what the Talmud says here, and it parallels the Talmud in Bava Metzia. Maybe one more sentence about the Talmud in Bava Metzia. We saw the first part of the Talmud there, the dispute over the oven with Rabbi Eliezer, where Rabbi Natan said to Elijah, “incline after the majority,” “we do not pay attention to a heavenly voice,” and so on. Rabbi Natan met Elijah and said to him: What did the Holy One, blessed be He, do at that moment? What did the Holy One, blessed be He, do at that time when they paid no attention to all His ideas? Elijah said to him: He smiled and said, “My children have defeated Me, My children have defeated Me.” Of course, how do they know what the Holy One, blessed be He, did? This is an aggadah that comes to say that this is perfectly fine; apparently it’s acceptable to the Holy One, blessed be He, too. Okay? “They said: On that day they brought all the pure things that Rabbi Eliezer had declared pure and burned them in fire.” Does that remind you of anything? “All the pure things that Rabbi Eliezer had declared pure, they burned in fire.” Rabbi Eliezer said the oven was pure. They said absolutely not—it is impure, and they burned those pure items in fire because they were impure. Rabbi Eliezer said they were pure. Exactly like the laws they brought in the whole tractate Eduyot after they deposed Rabban Gamliel—this is really parallel to those stories. The laws they had not been able to decide—they decided them all; they brought them all and decided them after they deposed Rabban Gamliel. Here too, the same thing. All the laws Rabbi Eliezer had imposed on us by virtue of his traditionalist authority—once they removed him, excommunicated him, they changed all the laws to what the Sages truly thought was right, what the majority determined. Okay? “And they took a vote regarding him and blessed him”—that is, they excommunicated him. Why did they excommunicate him? Not because he was mistaken about the oven, but because he did not accept the rules of the game. Because he was leading to a situation in which Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel would murder one another. If you don’t accept a Torah of give-and-take, and insist on a Torah of tradition, then all the people remain outside the study hall in the case of Rabban Gamliel, and in the case of Rabbi Eliezer it leads to killing. You have no way to deliberate, to make decisions, to close disputes. Therefore they excommunicated him. Because unlike Rabban Gamliel, who repented and accepted the new rules of the game, Rabbi Eliezer did not. He remained excommunicated until the end of his life, and until the end of his life he said: you are mistaken. Torah should be according to tradition, not according to give-and-take. We will see this in the Talmud in Chagigah, we’ll see it later—not today, probably. And then “they blessed him”—they said, who will go and notify him? Rabbi Akiva said to them: I will go. Lest someone unworthy go and notify him, and it turns out he destroys the whole world. That’s because of his holiness, yes? He could… So Rabban Gamliel… Rabbi Akiva was sufficiently great to notify him. We’ll later see Rabbi Akiva’s special relationship with Rabbi Eliezer, even while he was still under excommunication. Later he was the one who came to him most; the others didn’t come to him. What did Rabbi Akiva do? He wore black, wrapped himself in black, and sat before him at a distance of four cubits. Rabbi Eliezer said to him: Akiva, what is different today from other days? He said to him: My teacher, it seems to me your colleagues are keeping away from you. As if he were excommunicated. He too tore his garments and removed his shoes and slipped down and sat upon the ground; his eyes flowed with tears. Rabbi Eliezer. He didn’t necessarily accept the judgment; he was angry. Okay? “The world was smitten: one-third of the olives, one-third of the wheat, one-third of the barley.” Because of Rabbi Eliezer’s anguish, the Holy One, blessed be He, destroyed part of the world. Okay? And some say even dough in a woman’s hand soured. It was taught: “Great was the wrath on that day, for wherever Rabbi Eliezer cast his eyes it burned.” And even Rabban Gamliel was traveling by ship—apparently as someone said earlier. Yes, “even Rabban Gamliel was traveling by ship, and a wave arose to drown him,” also from the anger of Rabbi Eliezer, yes. He said: It seems to me this is only because of Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus. And note: Rabban Gamliel was his brother-in-law and his ally, from the same camp. So this is already after Rabban Gamliel repented; now he belongs to the other camp. So when Rabbi Eliezer is angry at the other camp, he also tries to drown Rabban Gamliel. So the Talmud says: He stood on his feet and said: Master of the Universe, it is revealed and known before You that I did this not for my honor and not for the honor of my father’s house, but for Your honor—we saw that this was all a matter of principle, that he understood he had been wrong and changed. He didn’t do it out of lust for power. “But for Your honor, so that disputes not proliferate in Israel.” Why—what does that mean? The meaning is: so that this kind of dispute should not proliferate, and therefore I yielded to them so that there wouldn’t be dispute. I accepted the idea of a Torah of give-and-take; I gave up the ideology of a Torah of tradition so that disputes would not proliferate in Israel, so that it would be possible to decide disputes. Not because I resolved this one dispute, about the oven, or that specific point. Rather, I gave up my ideology of a Torah of tradition and accepted the ideology of a Torah of give-and-take, because otherwise the disputes would have been perpetuated and impossible to decide. Then the Talmud says: “The sea rested from its fury.” The Holy One, blessed be He, protected him, yes. “Imma Shalom, the wife of Rabbi Eliezer”—yes, Imma Shalom is Rabbi Eliezer’s wife—“was the sister of Rabban Gamliel. From that incident onward she would not allow Rabbi Eliezer to fall on his face.” She didn’t let Rabbi Eliezer recite supplication. She knew that if he did, if he fell on his face and she wouldn’t see what he was saying, if she didn’t cover his mouth, he would finish off Rabban Gamliel, her brother. Okay? So she did not allow him to fall on his face to the ground. Okay? “From that incident onward she would not allow him,” and so on. “That day was the new moon…” okay, in short, that whole story. So the point is that you can see the intensity of the stories in both places, and the links—you can’t ignore the fact that they are aspects of the same story, that is clear. And this whole process here, if I go back to Pirkei Avot, is exactly the generation after Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, namely Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Eliezer, where Torah definitively passes from a Torah of tradition to a Torah of give-and-take. And from then onward it is already a Torah of give-and-take. That’s the Talmud we know. The Mishnah—the sages of the Mishnah begin from these sages; this is the second generation of Yavneh. That is basically all the sages of the Mishnah. The pairs hardly appear in the Mishnah. In fact, this is what is called Tannaim. Tannaim are not everyone who appears in the Mishnah. Tannaim are only those who were in Yavneh, from Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai onward, or from Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Eliezer onward. Not all the sages of the Mishnah are called Tannaim. So these stories basically develop what we saw in brief, in concentrated form, in Pirkei Avot. That’s why in Pirkei Avot, with Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, he was the last one who received and transmitted, because that was a Torah of tradition and it ended there. And Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai had five disciples; two of them were traditionalists, Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Eliezer, and two of them were not. And you can’t say that his disciples received from him. That’s it—there was already no more receiving there. From there on there was already a dispute: is Torah a Torah of tradition or a Torah of give-and-take? And that dispute ended here, on that day in Yavneh. Okay? Okay, let’s stop here. I’ll continue next time; we’re not done yet, but that’s enough for now.