For the Perplexed of the Generation – Lesson 1
This transcript was produced automatically using artificial intelligence. There may be inaccuracies in the transcribed content and in speaker identification.
🔗 Link to the original lecture
🔗 Link to the transcript on Sofer.AI
Table of Contents
- [0:00] Printing the book and distributing it
- [2:18] Presenting the goal and the methodology
- [4:07] Historical background on Rav Kook
- [8:05] The concept of greatness and important figures
- [11:48] Censorship and copyright in Torah
- [12:52] Halakhic discussion of intellectual property
- [21:35] The forged Jerusalem Talmud case and authority
- [30:22] Summary and beginning chapter 3
- [31:35] Rav Kook’s interpretation of the midrash in Berakhot
- [32:58] Torah scholars increase peace in the world
- [35:07] The question of lying for the sake of peace
- [36:19] Three approaches to halakhic truth
- [45:28] Building and the expression “Do not read ‘your children’ but ‘your builders’”
- [48:25] The relationship between plain meaning and interpretation according to Henshke
- [56:38] Censorship and the publications of Rav Kook
Summary
General overview
The speaker arranges for the purchase of a printed book instead of private printouts and asks participants to read in advance so the class can focus on discussion rather than reading word by word. He states that he is not an expert in Rav Kook’s thought and that his aim is to study the issues the book raises more than to present a comprehensive survey of all of Rav Kook’s writings. He then gives a short biographical background on Rav Kook and presents him as a multidisciplinary figure who raises a renewed question about what it means to be “great in Israel” and about the status of studying subjects of faith and thought. From there he moves into criticism of censorship of Rav Kook’s writings, raises questions about copyright in Torah novellae and about public authority to censor, and argues that censorship rests on a problematic assumption of automatic acceptance of authority. He cites a passage from Olat Re’iyah to ground Rav Kook’s view that true peace is built from a multiplicity of methods and opinions, and that specifically contradictions create a structure of complete truth. He concludes that Rav Kook himself and his followers embody multiple facets, and that it is wrong to castrate that into uniformity.
Organizing purchase of the book and the format of the classes
The speaker says that the source he received online allowed use but asked that the printouts not be distributed, and meanwhile it became clear that a printed book had been published, so it is more convenient and efficient to buy it. He offers that his son can buy copies in Merkaz for anyone who wants one at the price of thirty-five shekels, and asks Yitzhak Goldenberg to coordinate the sign-up. He asks participants to read ahead so the class can be a conversation and discussion with selected passages, rather than a class of reading and explaining every word.
The speaker’s position regarding Rav Kook’s thought and the goal of the learning
The speaker declares that he is not an expert in Rav Kook’s teachings and is not even “close to them” in many respects, so he is not offering an authoritative position based on broad familiarity with Rav Kook’s writings. He defines the book as a trigger for studying topics such as free choice, providence, forms of thought, and attitudes toward other religions, and aims to examine what the view assumes and what other views existed or could exist. He says the book is a means, a framework for a series of classes rather than an end in itself, and that he does not intend to engage in systematic harmonization between parallel sources in Rav Kook.
Biography of Rav Kook and his historical place
The speaker says that Rav Kook was born in 1865, and at age 23 became rabbi of the town of Zeimel, and after about ten years rabbi in Boisk. He recounts that in Boisk Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman studied with him after returning there from Volozhin, and that later they came to be seen as holding polarized positions regarding Zionism, with conflicting testimonies about Rabbi Elchanan’s attitude toward him and harsh statements attributed to him. He describes how Rav Kook was invited to Jaffa in 1904, traveled to Europe and got stuck there during World War I, stayed in Switzerland, and afterward was invited to London for a short period on condition that he return to the Land when possible. He says that when he returned to the Land, he established the Chief Rabbinate, became rabbi of Jerusalem, and was the first Chief Rabbi of the Land of Israel.
The studied book as an early work and its style
The speaker says that the book is from the Boisk period and is therefore early, and that there is a process in which Rav Kook’s early writings are published later. He prefers to study this book because it is written in a more systematic and orderly way, chapter by chapter, whereas the later books are harder for him both to understand and to identify with.
The figure of Rav Kook, multidisciplinarity, and the question of “great in Israel”
The speaker describes Rav Kook as a figure with no single “outstanding feature” because he was so multifaceted in fields and in modes of thought, including Kabbalah, thought, liturgical poetry, literature, and Jewish law, and presents him as a rare polymath in recent generations. He compares him historically to Rabbi Soloveitchik as another prominent figure, but notes that in his opinion the breadth of Rav Kook’s fields was wider, especially in Kabbalah. He argues that such figures present a different model of “great in Israel” beyond the narrower traditional yeshiva-world model of “great in Torah,” because they had standing in areas not considered Torah in the narrow sense. He connects this to a question he intends to address later: the status of studying topics like free choice, providence, and relations to other religions, whether that counts as Torah study, how important it is relative to Jewish law, and why people engaged in it or avoided it in different generations.
Censorship, copyright, and Torah novellae
The speaker says that a practice of censorship has taken root in the Haredi world, and to some extent also as a relatively new phenomenon in modern religiosity, and he sees it as an expression of underlying assumptions that need examination. He notes that some halakhic decisors argue that there is no copyright over Torah novellae, because Torah belongs to everyone and the person is merely a “conduit” through whom the novelty appears for the public good, even if the person is involved in creating it, and therefore there is no relation of ownership as there is in general literature. He argues that once the material has already come to others, censorship and suppression become problematic also because if it belongs to the public, it is unclear who appointed a private individual to be “the public’s agent” to decide what may be distributed, and only some authorized public representation could perhaps decide that. He raises the possibility that in areas of esoteric Torah there is a tradition of concealment, “things revealed only to the modest,” but even there he portrays the decision as one trapped within a model of public decision rather than the private owner of a manuscript.
Authority, attributing a statement to a great figure, and the forged Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim
The speaker cites the Magen Avraham’s statement that one may say something in the name of a great person ki heikhi delikablu minei—so that it will be accepted from him—and explains that the permission assumes there is no automatic acceptance even when something is heard in the name of a great person; rather, there is checking and judgment, and only the “willingness to listen seriously” changes. As an example he brings the forgery of a “Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim” at the beginning of the 20th century, and explains that the problem there is especially severe because the Talmud has binding authority that is not optional, and therefore attributing private innovations to a text with binding authority is illegitimate. He concludes that excessive admiration for Rav Kook may create a dangerous assumption that everything written by him is automatically binding, and he rejects that assumption, arguing that a person may accept or not accept, and no collective “amen” is required.
Censorship as a mechanism of uniformity and the printers’ introduction
The speaker argues that censorship leads to uniformity and erases exceptions out of fear of varied interpretations. He quotes the printers’ language in the introduction: “From the notebook it appears that it was written as part of the Re’iyah’s tendency to draw the errant close to the lights of faith,” and Rav Kook’s letter to the Aderet in which he describes storms of bad opinions, the need for the great figures of Israel to delve deeply into the foundations of ideas in order to answer the “disgrace of the mockers,” and the comparison to Maimonides, who used philosophy “when the generations were drawn after philosophy.” He quotes the printers’ language: “In a number of places the words in the manuscript require a broad explanation from the furnace of the world, and with God’s help they will be printed when their explanation is completed,” and interprets this as a declaration that sections are being hidden until they can be wrapped in an obligatory commentary. He identifies here a conception of publication as conditional on the “correct” interpretation so that no one “gets confused,” and presents this as an entry point into a deeper question about attitudes toward multiplicity of opinions.
“Torah scholars increase peace in the world” and peace as multiplicity of methods
The speaker cites Olat Re’iyah on the homily that concludes tractates: “Torah scholars increase peace in the world,” and presents Rav Kook’s interpretation that “there are those who err and think that world peace will be built only through one uniform character in opinions and traits,” whereas in fact the multiplicity of sides and methods is what builds peace. He says that according to Rav Kook, “true peace cannot come into the world except specifically through the value of an increase of peace,” in which “all the sides and all the methods will be seen,” and it will become clear that all of them have a place, “each according to its value, place, and matter.” He presents the perceived tension between truth and peace and the possibility of “changing for the sake of peace,” and argues that Rav Kook’s passage reverses the picture, so that peace is not a compromise at the expense of truth but the higher truth that contains multiplicity.
These and those, harmonism, and building truth out of contradictions
The speaker mentions Avi Sagi’s book These and Those with its division into monism, pluralism, and harmonism, and identifies Rav Kook and the Maharal with harmonism, in which partial truths coalesce into a complete truth. He interprets the passage in Gittin about the concubine at Giv’ah as an explanation of the expression “These and those are the words of the living God” through the combination “he found a fly and did not object, he found a hair and objected” as a cumulative effect that gathers different parts of truth together. He quotes “Do not read ‘your children’ but ‘your builders’” and develops the metaphor of a building whose completeness is formed by gathering different parts, and combines it with Rabbi Isser Zalman’s explanation of the labor of building on the Sabbath as creating a structure by assembling parts, to illustrate the idea of composition. He argues that “Love truth and peace” means that a truth that tramples other views is not truth, and that the wholeness of Torah is created by containing all sides, even if Jewish law is ultimately decided one way.
The example of plain meaning and interpretation: “an eye for an eye” and the need for ambiguous language
The speaker gives an example from an article by Henshke about the relationship between plain meaning and interpretation and argues that both remain present in Jewish law in a way that creates a synthesis. He explains the dispute over whether payment for “an eye for an eye” is the value of the injured person’s eye or the value of the damager’s eye, and presents the possibility that the plain meaning requires taking out the damager’s eye while the interpretive tradition replaces this with money, so that the combination creates a complex halakhic result. He cites the Vilna Gaon, the Minchat Shai, and Rabbi Menashe of Ilya, who explain that the Torah intentionally writes verses in “crooked” language so as to allow a double interpretation from which the synthesis emerges, and that this is why it was not simply written as “money for an eye.” He uses the example to show how an apparent contradiction builds a fuller understanding, and how “with this wisdom builds her house.”
Criticism of publishing Rav Kook’s writings in a censoring way and the connection to multiplicity of faces
The speaker argues that there is a sense of “castration” when a book by Rav Kook is published in a way that contradicts a central principle in his thought: multiplicity of methods and peace built from multiplicity. He rejects arguments that early versus late works or changes in opinion justify concealment, and argues that one can publish with notes presenting contradictions or developments instead of deleting. He notes that the material is already circulating in a file sent by email or found online, and presents this as a condition that weakens even further the rationale for concealment.
Rav Kook’s students, multiple streams, and eclectic writing
The speaker says he has heard that Rav Kook had three main students: Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda, the Nazir, and Rabbi Charlap, and each led in a different direction, to the point that the Nazir is “found today only in universities,” while others are identified with Merkaz HaRav or with other continuities. He adds that to some degree there is also reference to Rav Kook within Haredi circles as “their rabbi” at various levels. He cites a statement by Rav Kook in a eulogy for Tzachov about the contradiction between “Rabbi Eliezer never said anything he had not heard from his teacher” and “he said things no ear had ever heard,” and interprets it to mean that there are things a listener hears from his teacher that no other ear heard, and sometimes even the speaker himself did not understand that they were included in his words. He portrays Rav Kook’s writing as eclectic, full of fragments and semi-poetic passages and signs of contradiction, and argues that it allows for radically different constructions, each seeing itself as his continuation. He mentions that the Nazir asked Rav Kook whether “there is a system,” and Rav Kook answered “there is,” but “he did not write it,” and appointed the Nazir to write it, and he presents this as testimony to the tension between a flowing spring and an ordered system.
Systematic thought, casuistry, and the relation to the Talmud and introductions
The speaker argues that there is deep value in writing that is not nominalistic and rule-based but casuistic and case-based, and explains that the Talmud is built that way intentionally in order to impart an intuition and analytic ability for a complex reality that does not fit into a rigid set of rules. He argues that systematicity is “the business of the commentator,” and that “introductions are for experts, not beginners,” because a beginner cannot critique abstract principles without experience and understanding from the material itself.
Summary of the conception of peace and truth and its implications for studying Rav Kook
The speaker concludes that for Rav Kook, peace is expressed both externally in the multiplicity of opinions among people and internally in the multiplicity of sides within the person himself, with each side contributing to the full picture. He says that instead of turning truth into a “truth of neighbors” that separates between sides, one should see how different angles join into a full vision, even if the law of contradiction remains at the level of formulation and the interpreter defines the points of view. He returns to the point that the studied book is more systematic and therefore more comfortable for him, and asks for monthly payment for participation and for purchase of the book for those interested.
“Do not fear, My servant Jacob” and a sequence of encouraging verses
The text includes a sequence of verses in alphabetical style repeating “Do not fear, My servant Jacob” with different combinations, from “The Lord said to Jacob: Do not fear, My servant Jacob” to “You shall give truth to Jacob: Do not fear, My servant Jacob.”
Sabbath of Return: repentance from fear and repentance from love
The speaker opens with the portion of Vayelekh, the Sabbath of Return, and defines the Ten Days of Repentance as the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. He quotes the Talmud in Yoma 86: “Great is repentance, for it reaches up to the Throne of Glory,” and brings the distinction between repentance from fear and repentance from love. He says that with repentance from fear, “intentional sins become like unwitting sins,” whereas with repentance from love, “intentional sins become like merits,” and explains that the transformation results from the person harnessing the desires, drive, and energy that were previously invested in the wrong places to the service of God מתוך love of God. He argues that the deep change creates a situation in which precisely the falls pushed the person to a higher attachment, and therefore the sins themselves are transformed into merits. He concludes with the call “Return, O Israel, to the Lord your God” as a return to the root, and from that “everything is turned to the good,” and blesses the audience with “May you be sealed for good, and Sabbath peace.”
Full Transcript
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What I had online was the pirated edition that I print from every time, so we do have permission to do that, but he asked me that if I print it, I should keep the printouts with me so that all kinds of things don’t start circulating and so on. And since meanwhile it became clear to me that a book has come out—
[Speaker B] Published. Online in any case, yes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, online I don’t know if there’s some site you can access, I don’t know, I didn’t check. Maybe it came by email, I don’t—
[Speaker B] know.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, okay. In any case, I think it’s also much more convenient in many respects to use the printed book, and therefore if any of you wants it, it seems to me much more efficient than starting every time to print a few pages. A book—I can, my son studies in Merkaz, so he can buy it for anyone who wants one, and this book cost me thirty-five shekels. So if anyone is interested, let me know, I can arrange it with him, he’ll bring it next time, I’ll be able to bring it. It seems to me that will be more efficient if we want. I’d also like, as much as possible, for you to read a little ahead. There’s no point in sitting and reading every word in this book and explaining it; I don’t like that format of classes. So I’d be glad if it were possible to read it in advance—I’ll of course say what to read—and then we can talk a bit about the things, maybe read a passage here, a passage there, but not start reading every word and explaining it. That format seems to me much more efficient if we have some orderly book. In short, anyone who wants—maybe Yitzhak, are you willing to coordinate this? Anyone who wants should sign up with Yitzhak Rosenberg, and I’ll arrange the purchase. Good. A few points before I get into the opening or the introduction—my introduction, not the introduction here, okay. A few Torah-level disclosures. First of all, I’m not an expert in Rav Kook’s thought and teachings, and in many respects I’m also not really close to it. So if someone expects to get here some kind of authoritative and learned position based on broad familiarity with Rav Kook’s writings, I won’t be able to provide that. I simply don’t have that knowledge or that mastery. My goal is simply to learn this book as it is. I also think that a more general familiarity often doesn’t always add much, because then the question becomes how you reconcile the parallel sources, and many times the range of possibilities there is so large that I’m not sure how much they really add. So that’s just a comment I’m making; everyone can decide what they think about it. So my goal in practice is simply to study the topics that the book raises—not even really the book itself so much as the topics it raises, with the book serving as a kind of trigger. That is, it will raise the issues, of course we’ll see what he says, but I’ll want to talk around them a bit, to see what the implications are—again, not implications in the sense of how this fits other sources in Rav Kook, but what this view means, what it assumes, what other views there were or could have been—and to try to study the topics under discussion here through the book. In that sense the book is more a means than an end, but it deals with enough interesting issues that it’s worth using as the framework for this series of classes. Fine, that’s in general.
If I move more into the opening, a few words that still can’t really be avoided. Rav Kook was born in 1865. Altogether he was earlier than many people think—that is, he was definitely of the age of some of the great figures of the generation before the Holocaust, who somehow seem—I don’t know—to me at least, earlier than him. And even though he was around here among us and was in the Land, that definitely makes him seem like something later. But certainly he was born in 1865. At age 23 he was already rabbi of the town of Zeimel—I hope I’m pronouncing that correctly—and after something like another ten years he was rabbi of Boisk. And in Boisk, a couple of anecdotes: Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman was from Boisk. He was a yeshiva student in Volozhin, and when he returned home to Boisk, he studied with Rav Kook. And of course in later periods they came to occupy fairly polarized positions with regard to Zionism and what was happening around them. What exactly Rabbi Elchanan’s attitude toward Rav Kook was is not entirely clear, and I’m also not sure it’s entirely important, but opinions are divided on that issue. There are all kinds of stories that he organized mass prayers when Rav Kook fell ill toward the end of his life, and on the other hand there are very, very harsh statements of his against Rav Kook—or slanderous talk, or desecration of the Name—but it was quite clearly directed at Rav Kook. He belonged to the very extreme and militant wing of Haredi Judaism. So that’s an anecdote.
In the end, after he was rabbi in Boisk for another nine years, I think ten years, he immigrated to Jaffa in 1904. He was rabbi there for a certain period. Before World War I he traveled to Europe and got stuck there during the war, couldn’t return, in Switzerland, and then afterward during the war they invited him to London to serve there as rabbi. He was there a year or two or something like that, some short period. He stipulated with them in advance that the moment he could return, he would return to the Land. When he returned to the Land, he in effect established the Chief Rabbinate, was rabbi of Jerusalem, established the Chief Rabbinate, and became the first Chief Rabbi of the Land of Israel.
This book, as I said earlier, is a book from the Boisk period, an early book of his. One of the reasons I thought it more suitable for me to study is precisely because, as I said earlier, I’m not an expert, and his later books are written in a style that is harder for me. Harder for me—I don’t know—both to understand and to identify with or connect to. So this book, which is written in a somewhat more systematic and orderly fashion, chapter by chapter, seems easier, at least for me, to deal with. There’s some kind of delay process with Rav Kook. That is, what was written first comes out last. His early writings, for some reason, are actually published later. I don’t know exactly why, but that’s the situation. So this book is from the early period.
As for Rav Kook himself, I don’t want to go on at length, I think people generally know him, but really it’s impossible to ignore this special figure. The most prominent thing about him was that there was no one prominent thing. Meaning, he was multifaceted in terms of fields, in terms of modes of engagement. A man of Kabbalah, thought, liturgical poetry, poetry, literature, Jewish law of course. In short, really a polymath, and I don’t know if there was anyone else like that at all, certainly not in the recent period. We sometimes compare him to the last 200 years, 150 years. Rabbi Soloveitchik might also fit perhaps to some extent into such definitions, though I think on a much smaller scale—not in greatness, more or less, but in scope. As far as I know, for example, he didn’t deal with Kabbalah. And there are areas where Rav Kook seems somehow to have put his hand to more directions. There are many differences between them, and all kinds of studies have been written about that, which I have no intention right now of getting into here. But really these are two figures who historically stand out very, very sharply against the landscape.
And the point, it seems to me one of the main points that comes up when looking at figures like these, is that when you start thinking a little about who is called great in Israel, what is required of someone who is great in Israel, it seems to me they present a somewhat different figure from traditional greatness. Not because they weren’t Torah scholars, but because of what else they were—all kinds of things they were that in the traditional sense were not so highly valued, it seems to me, certainly not in recent generations. Maybe once people were impressed by someone who was a thinker; today I think that is less demanded. But as a great Torah figure, they presented a different kind of figure. A person who has a hand and foot in all sorts of areas that are not considered Torah in the narrow sense, in the accepted sense in the yeshiva world, say, or in traditional conceptions. I’ll get into that a bit next time, because next time I really want to address the question of the status of the subjects this book deals with. Subjects like heresy, providence, ways of thinking, relations to other religions, a whole range that I also wrote on the announcement sheet. And the question is: what exactly is the status of these subjects? Is this Torah study? Is it not Torah study? Is it important? Is it not important? Is it more important than Jewish law? Less important than Jewish law? Why did people engage in it? Why did they not engage in it? Various things of that sort, which definitely seem to me tied at the core to this question of who a great person is. Who is called a great Jew, as distinct perhaps from a Torah scholar, which receives a somewhat narrower meaning. But a great person in Israel is a concept that can at least be interpreted more broadly. Not everyone agrees that it should be interpreted more broadly, but it seems to me it certainly can be, and these two figures, I think, provide such an example.
Good. I actually want to begin this topic from the supposedly more political or anecdotal side of the matter—that is, censorship, what I started with earlier. Because I think it captures something very fundamental here, and that’s actually what I wanted to speak about today. So as I said, I don’t know, for some reason some practice has taken root in the Haredi world—there it’s an older practice—but in more modern religiosity, let’s call it, this is a relatively new phenomenon: censorship of manuscripts or books. But for some reason it’s a common practice in certain places. And this practice expresses several assumptions, or several conceptions, that I wanted perhaps to talk about.
First of all, the question whether one is even allowed to do such a thing. By allowed I don’t mean in some abstract sense, but in a much more concrete sense. Regarding copyright, a number of halakhic decisors have discussed the question whether there is such a thing as copyright over Torah novellae. And there are halakhic decisors—not all—who argue that there isn’t. There is no such thing. The Torah belongs to everyone. Someone who innovated a novelty in Torah is essentially some kind of conduit through which that novelty was revealed, and it belongs to the public, to the collective, to whoever wants it. In that sense this is something unique. And I’m not even talking about those who don’t recognize copyright at all. I’m talking about those who do accept the concept that a creator has rights over his creation, but they say that with Torah novellae this doesn’t exist. It doesn’t exist because the person is basically perceived here as a conduit—a conduit not necessarily in the sense that he didn’t do it, but that he was a means through which this thing was created. Sometimes conduit has a connotation of: really I didn’t affect anything, it just flowed through me. That’s not what I mean. I mean that he was some kind of instrument in the hands of providence, or I don’t know in whose hands, to bring this angle, this innovation, into the world. And since that is so, it no longer belongs to him. Even though he did participate in creating it. I don’t think people argue that a person does not participate in creating a Torah innovation. This simplistic view of tradition as something just passed on, where he merely transmits what he received from his teachers—if that were the case, the question would never arise. It’s obvious that we’re talking there about something new, something different, something that doesn’t exist elsewhere. So apparently he himself is involved in creating the thing, and nevertheless they say he has no right over it.
And once you have no right over it—if I return to the question of censorship—then I’m not sure to what extent people are allowed—of course the person himself may choose not to publish something he doesn’t want to publish; after all he’s the conduit, he can decide what comes out of that conduit. But it seems that once it passes to other people, the feeling at least—I don’t know how well I can ground this halakhically—but the feeling is that it becomes more problematic. Because once it has already gone out and been written, and the person no longer says anything about it, he is no longer among us, then that thing belongs to the public. And once it belongs to the public, I don’t think anyone is permitted to censor and hide parts of it from the public, and so on. I’m not even yet talking about moral aspects and teleological aspects in the sense of where this leads and what kinds of problems this can cause; I mean now in a more concrete sense. Sorry?
[Speaker B] Can’t you say that if it belongs to the public, then maybe the public can also decide—whatever the public decides?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But the one sitting there at—
[Speaker B] The one sitting there at the printing press—is he the public?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Meaning, what? Who appointed him to be the public’s agent for this matter? I don’t think he was appointed in any way. If the public as a whole were to decide in some sense, maybe yes, I don’t know whether it’s a public function or not.
[Speaker B] No, it’s just—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] an explanation, I didn’t need—
[Speaker B] And what if we say the person is active regarding his property?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If he has a right—if he has a property right in a Torah work—then that means that the heir or the rights-holder is the owner. And once he is the owner, he can take part of it and give whatever he wants. And of course this isn’t taking in the narrow physical sense, but taking the way one takes information. That’s how you take information. You don’t take information with your hands and put it in your pocket. You cover it up and don’t let it get out. That’s called taking the information.
[Speaker B] What’s the difference between what we called a conduit and every case of a person doing something? No—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s why I’m saying, what do you mean, a conduit?
[Speaker B] No, I’m saying conduit—as though everything is from Heaven.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, that’s exactly why I’m saying: the conduit here isn’t meant to express the slightest metaphysics. The conduit here is meant to express a conception—a conception of what the matter means. If we see people as some kind of means for revealing different facets of Torah for the public good, then in that sense they are only a conduit. No, I’m not describing the process of creation of the thing or the process by which it comes into being, but rather what the relation is between the person and what he created. The relation between the person and what he created is not a property relation. It is not a relation of ownership. Rather he is simply perceived as some kind of cog in the machine that produces more branches of Torah. But the Torah, once it is created, belongs to the public—which is not the case with literature or works of another kind.
[Speaker B] Maybe esoteric Torah is an exception?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Here maybe one can begin to talk about a public decision. Maybe. Although even there there wasn’t a meeting of some committee of rabbis that decided to cover up a thing that the Ancient One had revealed—“the Ancient One covered it”—the opposite? What? The reverse. No, they covered it. I’m only saying that there, although there wasn’t some committee that made the decision, one could still say that, say, the great figures of Israel thought this was the proper thing to do. Fine, so perhaps that’s legitimate. That really connects to what was said earlier, that perhaps since it belongs to the public, the public can also decide what to disseminate publicly and what not. The authorized representatives, in some sense.
[Speaker B] There are things that are revealed only to the modest, and things like that, here and there.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, that is indeed a decision, but it’s a decision that ought to be made by some institution. Right now I’m relating to this as though it were a legal question. Yes? Even though it also reflects a moral problem, I’m relating to it as a legal question. In the legal sense, it should be determined by the representatives of the owner of the thing. And if the owner is the public, then perhaps the representatives of the public can do that—but not a private individual who happens to have the manuscript in his possession. Or not happens to.
Good, beyond that, there’s another assumption implicit in this censorship, and this—I think I’ve already mentioned more than once—the Magen Avraham brings in section 156 there, that catch-all section of the Magen Avraham. There he puts all the laws that didn’t fit elsewhere in the Shulchan Arukh, so later he shoved them all in there in section 156 of the Shulchan Arukh. He includes all kinds of interesting laws there, and one of them is that a person is allowed to say something in the name of a great man, ki heikhi delikablu minei, a Talmudic passage. Meaning, I can say something of my own and say that a great man said it so that they will accept it from him.
[Speaker B] Not if it isn’t true.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You think it’s true? Then it isn’t true. If it isn’t true, then don’t say it at all, even not in the name of a great man. The assumption is that you think that this—ah, no, it’s not true that the great man said it. Yes, of course. That’s beyond the point. What’s the problem? Right. So what exactly is the claim there? Maybe more in terms of the implications, not necessarily in terms of the previous discussion, I’m not sure. But what assumption is implicit at the basis of this strange law?
[Speaker B] It’s a really strange law.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I think that, in a kind of reverse logic, what this law assumes is that when I hear a halakhah in the name of a great person, I do not automatically accept it. Because if I did automatically accept it, it would be inconceivable that such a thing could be permitted. That is, any beginner of a learner would tell me some idea that for some reason he thought up in his overheated brain and say that actually the greatest of the halakhic decisors said it—you can each now decide who the greatest decisor is for you—and by that he would automatically cause me to desecrate the Sabbath or, I don’t know, eat carcasses or whatever it may be. Such a thing cannot be. It cannot be that such a thing is permitted. So what must be the case? Clearly the assumption is the opposite. The reason they allowed doing this is that the assumption is that even if I hear it in the name of a great person, I do not automatically accept it. I need to check, see, yes, no, consult Torah scholars, someone competent—but the matter requires examination. So if that’s the case, then why should the person say it in the name of the great man at all, if in any case I’m not accepting it even when he says it in the name of a great man? So what’s the whole point of the exercise?
[Speaker B] Exactly—so that I’ll be willing to listen.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Meaning, a person feels no one is listening to him, and he says something that seems very sensible to him, but no one listens, they dismiss him, he’s not a significant figure. So what does he say? Well, actually this was said by Rabbi Moshe Feinstein. A great person. If so, one should think, stop, check it, see, weigh it—again, not automatically accept it, but yes, treat it seriously. It seems to me that’s what is written there.
One of the examples that I think illustrates this was sometime in the early 20th century, when there was some forgery of the Jerusalem Talmud—a Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim. There is no Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim, but someone forged a Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim, wrote his novellae on Kodashim in a kind of Jerusalem-Talmud Aramaic, and they put out some manuscript supposedly of the Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim and published it. And everyone came out against it—how could this be—and there were discussions about whether it was forged or not forged, and in the end they decided it was forged. With the Jerusalem Talmud logo? No, no, not the event itself—the legends around the event. There was the Rogatchover, for example, who argued that in every chapter there appears some sage who had not appeared in the previous chapters of the Jerusalem Talmud, and that’s how he argued it was forged. Never mind, there are various myths surrounding the matter. In any case, the question is: what exactly did that rabbi do? What’s the problem? All in all he said his novellae in the name of a great person. That’s okay, no? You can do that. What’s the problem?
[Speaker B] There’s a difference in status. What? Status has a path beyond content. Meaning, when I have an old manuscript and we supposedly found it in Naples, then it immediately gets validity.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. I think that’s precisely the illustration. Something written in the Talmud—we don’t check and decide whether yes or no. The Talmud has some kind of status such that if it’s written there, then that is the Jewish law.
[Speaker B] Here it’s from the side of notes—something transmitted orally or things like that, a manuscript. It’s collected. Ah, so it’s the opposite—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But there he says the words of a great person in his name, if—
[Speaker B] he’s collecting.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, right, so that’s why I’m saying—but there it’s the opposite situation. There, if the person hadn’t written that it was compiled, we would have thought that things said by others were said by him. And here it’s the opposite situation. There’s the famous Hatam Sofer, right, who told his students: you can say my ideas in your own name, just don’t say your ideas in my name. In any case, so what exactly is the difference? Why, in the Jerusalem Talmud, with the forgery of the Jerusalem Talmud, is it really a different situation? Because with forging the Jerusalem Talmud there is status. The Talmud has status. Once it has a status that really obligates me to accept it simply because it appears there, then of course such a thing is forbidden. The whole permission to say something in the name of a great person is only with respect to someone who does not automatically obligate me even if he said it. Okay? Why am I saying all this in the first place? Because there’s a certain feeling that the degree of admiration for Rav Kook causes people to think that if something is written in a book then automatically everyone will say amen. And in a certain sense that’s very dangerous, because there are things that perhaps are not to be understood literally, and people will or won’t understand them that way. Okay, so if I see them and I think I don’t accept it, then I don’t accept it. And if someone else thinks he does accept it, then he accepts it. So what? Meaning, there isn’t this assumption that everything that appears in his writings must automatically be accepted, must be correct and acceptable, and of course everyone will say amen after him. Again, that’s some assumption that is a bit problematic, and it also connects to things I’ll want to discuss. In the end, this censorship leads—now, I spoke about two aspects of it. The third aspect is of course that it leads to a kind of uniformity. It is afraid of different interpretations or different positions, and its goal is basically to ensure that there will be some kind of uniformity. And if there is something that seems a bit exceptional, or that people might interpret differently, or something like that, then they delete it so that everything will be—let me read to you, for example, their golden language in the introduction to the book. There, in delicate language, they explain why, right? The publishers. They explain there why exactly, or what they did—read carefully, if you look closely. So it says: “From the notebook it appears that it was written as part of the Rav’s tendency to bring those who err closer to the path of faith.” That’s what they always used to say about the Guide for the Perplexed too—that here too there are problematic things, so they explained: no, it’s for the perplexed, it’s not really—one shouldn’t take it too seriously. “And as he explained in his letter to the Aderet, Rav Kook: In the course of my words I found it proper to call the attention of his honor, the gaon, our master, etc., for for some time now I have set my mind to see what Israel will do concerning the storm of evil opinions that are spreading and expanding, because of our many sins. And my heart speaks within me, and in my thoughts a fire burns: Is there, God forbid, no hope for Israel in this? In this we find that in every generation when words of hostility increased against the Torah of the blessed God and the foundations of faith, the great ones of Israel arose and stood in the breach with words of reason, and returned the shame of their revilers upon themselves. And in our generation, because of our many sins, those who hate God have raised their heads and no one says anything. And I saw that the root of the evil, that no one stands in the breach, is because the great ones of the generation, may they live, have refrained from delving deeply into the foundations of belief. Therefore they do not have much to say in this area, and they cannot answer the enemies in the gate. And in truth, in earlier generations there was no proper need for this, and therefore their custom was just.” Meaning, they were right not to deal with this, because there was no need; there weren’t the stormy winds that exist today—once there weren’t. That itself is an interesting assumption, but that’s our topic for the next class. Is dealing with these matters really only meant to silence all kinds of doubters and people who err, or do these matters have some intrinsic value—and to what extent? To what extent is such a thing really called Torah study, engaging in these topics, and what is its status in that respect? “Therefore, in my humble opinion, it is fitting to strive to expand books written in the general way of preserving Torah and commandment in a spirit of knowledge and understanding, and it is proper to use anything that draws the heart according to the times, for this is the work of God, and the verse says, ‘This is my God and I will glorify Him’—beautify yourself before Him. Thus Maimonides, of blessed memory, when philosophical ideas were drawing the heart, made of them a safeguard for the Torah of the blessed God. Even though in the course of time the whole foundation of Greek philosophy was nullified, and the word of our God shall stand forever, nevertheless in his time he saved many souls.” Yes, that is in general a very amusing point—the attitude toward Greek philosophy, which was once so, so charged. It seems to me that today the only place in the world where Greek philosophy is studied is in yeshivot. And that’s very amusing. “Like the contribution of Maimonides and the other sages of the Middle Ages.” In any case, further on—this is the quote from Rav Kook—and as a result the publishers here basically write that since this material is intended to answer those who err, and so on, accordingly “the chapters of the collection must be understood in their depth, for the ways of God are upright; the righteous walk in them,” and so on. And one must not make a mistake; one must understand deeply. Fine, “understand deeply” is always nice. But then later they write: “All this holy labor was done with holy trembling and rejoicing with trembling, with deliberation, seriousness, and the sanctity of responsibility, as is fitting when clarifying the acquisition of a righteous man, to give weight to the spirit. In several places, the words in the manuscript require broad explanation from the furnace of the world, and with God’s help they will be printed when their explanation is completed.” That’s the subtle hint. Meaning, there are passages in this book that of course require broad explanation—or in other words, they may be interpreted in a way that is uncomfortable for them—and therefore they will be printed in due time, “when their explanation is completed.” I don’t know exactly when that due time will come, but it will come sometime—not by them but by others. But there is basically a declaration here that there are things we will not release into the world until we wrap them in commentary that explains to everyone what they are supposed to think about them.
[Speaker B] And this is complete—passages from his words, from the words of Rav Kook. What? Passages from his words, from the words of Rav Kook? Do you understand? The whole idea that they only bring what’s needed and in the way it’s needed—they based specifically on something they brought from Rav Kook, who also—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Supposedly would approve of it, that not… yes, but this quotation merely says that these matters are intended to answer questioners, those who err, and the perplexed. That still doesn’t mean that… what? But it attributes great value to it—that’s fine.
[Speaker B] No, that’s perfectly fine, okay.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If it’s fine, then it’s fine, and if not, then not. Now let’s look inside. No, it really isn’t written—there is this little sentence in the introduction that basically says there are some omissions.
[Speaker B] Meaning, you won’t see the source, no—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There, for example, there is a missing chapter—you won’t see that it’s missing. The next chapter just comes right after it.
[Speaker B] Whoever knows some—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In any case, the claim is that this book can be interpreted in a problematic way, and therefore it must either be hidden away or published only after being carefully wrapped in the correct commentary, so that no one gets confused. And here perhaps we enter a bit more into the heart of the matter. Maybe in order to understand this, here I’m bringing a passage—I probably printed too few, and maybe there won’t be enough for everyone. Maybe two people can share if necessary. Bring more books if needed. Okay, so this is a passage from Olat Re’iyah, Rav Kook’s commentary on the prayer book, and there he discusses the midrash in tractate Berakhot. Interestingly, this midrash concludes—people who study Daf Yomi know this; people in yeshivot, who could know? Finishing five tractates is more or less three lifetimes. But this midrash actually concludes five tractates. At the end of five different tractates this midrash appears: Berakhot, Yevamot, Nazir, Keritot, and Tamid. “Rabbi Elazar said in the name of Rabbi Hanina: Torah scholars increase peace in the world, as it is said: ‘And all your children shall be taught of the Lord, and great shall be the peace of your children.’ Do not read ‘your children’ but ‘your builders.’ ‘Great peace have those who love Your Torah, and they have no stumbling block.’ ‘May there be peace within your walls, tranquility within your palaces.’ ‘For the sake of my brothers and companions, I shall speak peace concerning you.’ ‘For the sake of the house of the Lord our God, I will seek your good.’ ‘The Lord will give strength to His people; the Lord will bless His people with peace.’ We shall return to you.” Fine, familiar to everyone. There is basically a claim here that Torah scholars increase peace in the world, and we once discussed this on some Sabbath afternoon: lots of terrorist organizations increase peace in the world—you have to sign peace agreements anew every time, so they increase peace in the world. In any case, after bringing this exposition, they bring a whole series of verses in all of which peace is mentioned in one way or another. It’s not entirely clear why this series is necessary, what exactly it is saying, what all these verses have in common. And Rav Kook, in the prayer book, in his commentary on the prayer book, addresses this passage and writes as follows: “There are those who err and think that world peace will be built only by means of one uniform character in opinions and traits. Therefore, when they see Torah scholars investigating wisdom and Torah knowledge, and through this inquiry the sides and methods multiply, they think that by this they are causing dispute and the opposite of peace. But in truth this is not so, for true peace cannot come to the world except specifically through the value of abundant peace. The abundance of peace is that all sides and all methods be seen, and it be clarified how all of them have a place, each according to its value, place, and matter.” Rav Kook’s claim here is basically the following: usually we understand there to be two values, truth and peace, which are to a great extent in conflict. People of truth are generally people around whom there are many quarrels. That seems to me to be an observation that is more or less correct. Meaning, people of truth are hard to live with. Tough people, blunt people—if yes, then yes; if no, then no. They are not willing to round off corners; they fight for what is theirs. That has positive sides and less positive sides, but it seems to me to be true. And what are people of peace? They are people willing to compromise, willing to round off corners a little; they are easier to live with. Beyond the issue of personality, these values themselves often seem contradictory, or at least in conflict—maybe not essentially contradictory, but often in conflict. Should one lie for the sake of peace? After all, one of the things for which one is permitted to alter the truth is for the sake of peace. Meaning that peace dictates, or requires, in order to preserve it, falsehood; it requires a deviation from truth. To smooth things over—yes, “the bride is beautiful and gracious,” so that the bride will rejoice, tell her what she wants to hear. So ostensibly these two values are in conflict, in contradiction. And the question is—there’s an article by Rabbi Sherlo in one of the early issues of Tzohar—what takes precedence? He discusses several dilemmas: what really takes precedence, truth or peace? I’m not sure one can really make some sweeping determination like that, but as far as I remember he discusses it from a conflict-based perspective, that there is some contradiction here and we have to choose, because one cannot live on both planes. And it seems to me that this passage of Rav Kook is basically saying that this is not true. The greatest truth is in fact the truth that issues in peace among opposing opinions. Peace among opposing opinions is not compromise. Regarding “these and those are the words of the living God,” there are several approaches. There is a book by Avi Sagi called These and Those, and there he basically presents three basic approaches to the concept of halakhic truth. One approach is monism. Monism means there is one truth. Pluralism is a multiplicity of truths. And harmonism—which is of course Rav Kook, the Maharal—harmonism means that the collection of truths, each of them partial, join together and create the whole truth. Meaning, each one grasps only a part. In truth, this is almost explicit in the Talmud—the Talmud in Gittin. The Talmud brings the rule “these and those are the words of the living God” in two places, in Eruvin and in Gittin. The only place where it is explained is in Gittin: what is the meaning of “these and those are the words of the living God”? And in the passage in Gittin, the dispute is brought regarding the concubine in Gibeah: why was he angry with her—did he find a fly in his food, or did he find a hair? Rabbi Yonatan says one thing, Rabbi Evyatar—sorry—says another, and then Elijah meets Rabbi Evyatar. Rabbi Evyatar asks him: what is the Holy One, blessed be He, saying and doing? Which of course, in the sugya of the concubine in Gibeah—what else? And what does he say? He says: “My son Yonatan says thus, and My son Evyatar says thus”—that’s what the Holy One, blessed be He, says. So Rabbi Evyatar asks him: God forbid, is there doubt before Heaven? What, is the Holy One, blessed be He, uncertain—does He also not know whether he found a fly or a hair? So he says to him: “These and those are the words of the living God”: he found a fly and was not upset; he found a hair and was upset. The advantage of this sugya, though aggadic and not halakhic, is that it explains what the phrase “these and those are the words of the living God” means. It does not merely suffice with saying it; it says: you say he found a hair and was upset, you say he found a fly and was upset—and what is the truth? He found a fly and was not upset; he found a hair and was upset. Now, when you look there in the flow of the passage, you can understand it in two ways. You might understand: he found a fly and was not upset, so the one who said “fly” was right; he found a hair and was upset, so the one who said “hair” was right. But anyone who reads the flow of the sugya sees that this cannot be correct, because this sugya is brought as support for the fact that Rabbi Evyatar is a great man, that Heaven agreed with him, that the Holy One, blessed be He, agreed with him—and then they bring this story to show that Rabbi Evyatar was the one who said “fly” and not the one who said “hair.” So surely the conclusion placed in the mouth of the Holy One, blessed be He, is not one that agrees with Rabbi Evyatar, if that is how you read it. So what is the reading? The reading is different. What does it mean: he found a fly and was not upset; he found a hair and was upset? It means this was a cumulative effect. Meaning, he found a fly and was not upset, and then he also found a hair, and these two reasons together are what created the anger. So what does that mean? That each one grasped part of the situation, one angle of the situation, and the full truth is basically the sum of all the partial truths. That is what he calls harmonism there. Meaning, together they all create some sort of harmony, and the complete truth is the combination of all the partial truths. You can also say they all erred; you can put it that way too—it doesn’t matter. Each one is somewhat right and somewhat wrong, while the overall truth is the combination of all the other truths. That is what Rav Kook means here as well in this passage. Rav Kook is basically saying that peace and truth are not contradictory values. Peace is the higher truth. Peace is the truth at the point where all positions come together and create a whole structure in which each one is present—not that one is rejected and the other remains, but that all are present there. Then one really grasps—or at least comes closer to grasping—the structure in its fullness. There are one hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing pure and one hundred and fifty reasons to declare it impure. Clearly all three hundred are correct reasons. The question of how to weigh them is another matter, something one can argue about, but all three hundred are correct reasons. And if someone wants to understand the full picture, he needs to consider all of them. “Incline your ear to hear,” as the Talmud in Hagigah says: incline your ear to hear the words of those who declare pure, the words of those who declare impure, the words of those who forbid, the words of those who permit, yes. In the end one needs to hear them all in order truly to understand the sugya. They would not choose for the Sanhedrin someone who did not know how to state one hundred and fifty reasons that the creeping thing is pure. Because he must also be aware of the reasons that in the end will not be accepted as Jewish law, or did not prevail over the other reasons, or were weighted less heavily. Why? Because they too are part of the picture. In a different situation it could be that they would be the stronger ones, and the other reasons would be weighted less. So what Rav Kook is saying here is that the concept of peace does not mean living side by side and compromising, each one giving up his own view. On the contrary—clash. Clash, but understand that all this clashing, in the end, on its two sides or many sides, is what creates the full structure. The Talmud in Berakhot says that there are three things that if a person sees them in a dream he should anticipate peace: one of them is a river, one is a pot, and one is a bird. And the pot is known in the name of the Vilna Gaon. The Vilna Gaon says: what is the peace of a pot? Why does a pot symbolize peace? Because there is fire underneath and water inside. We heat water, right? So there is water inside the pot, and we place it on the fire, so the pot separates between the fire and the water. That is ostensibly neighborly peace, in the language of the Rogatchover, right? The two rivals or opponents dwell next to each other and cannot fight—the fire and the water. But clearly that does not exhaust the picture. Because in the end the goal is to heat the water. It’s not that… to separate them so that each one lives in its own place and everything is fine. Rather, the fire heats the water, and thus through the interaction—perhaps somewhat moderated—between them, we manage to produce something better than if we had simply put them together and nothing would have come of it. So that is what the Vilna Gaon says about the peace of a pot. And Rav Kook too, it seems to me here, when he speaks of peace in this sense, means the peace of a pot. A kind of peace that is harmony. And therefore, when one looks at peace in this way, peace does not contradict truth—on the contrary. One who strives for truth is the one who will reach peace. Because if I do not strive for truth, then I’ll give in to him and he’ll give in to me, and in the end there will be nothing. I won’t fight for the claim that it was a fly and he won’t fight for the claim that it was a hair, and in the end nothing will remain. The full picture is created when I fight for what I think and he fights for what he thinks, but all of us understand that we are part of the matter, that each of us grasps some part, and only the Holy One, blessed be He, can truly hold the full picture. “And indeed, even the matters that seem superfluous”—that’s the second passage—“or contradictory, will be seen, when the truth of wisdom is revealed in all its sides, that only through gathering all the parts and all the details and all the opinions that appear different and all the distinct disciplines—specifically through them will the light of truth and justice be seen, and knowledge of God, His awe and His love, and the light of the Torah of truth.” Here the emphasis is of course on truth. He began with peace, and in the end through that truth will be seen. Because truth is not putting each one separately—sorry, peace is not putting each one separately and creating peace at the expense of truth. Rather no: each one, in an imperialistic way, fights for his own, such that all these opposite, contradictory, clashing things in the end—yes, in Kabbalah refinement always comes through the striking of lights into vessels. The lights have to strike the vessels, and that is how they refine them. So the interaction between opposites is what marks a kind of wholeness. Peace comes from the word whole. And whole means containing all the components. “Therefore Torah scholars increase peace, because in that they expand, clarify, and give birth to new words of wisdom, from different facets, in which there is multiplicity and division of matters, thereby they increase peace, and increase peace. As it is said: ‘And all your children shall be taught of the Lord.’ For all will recognize that all of them, even those who appear opposite in their paths and methods, are all taught of the Lord, and in each of them there is an aspect through which the knowledge of God and the light of His truth will be revealed.” And in the end all of them are needed. All are needed, because if one facet is missing, that means the divine truth is not revealed in full. It is not peace that is lacking; peace is not what is damaged—rather the truth is damaged. “And great shall be the peace of your children”—that is the continuation of the midrash—he did not say “the peace of your children shall be great,” which would indicate the image of one large body, in which case the words would fit that imagined notion that peace requires specifically uniform things. Yes, “the whole earth was of one language and uniform words,” the generation of the dispersion of course, about which the Netziv speaks—there was some aspiration there to unify opinions in the generation of the Tower of Babel—that peace requires specifically unified things in equal ideas, which in truth diminishes the power of wisdom and the expansion of understanding. For the light of knowledge must emerge on all its sides, to all the faces of light that it contains. But the multiplicity is ‘great shall be the peace of your children’—it does not say ‘great is the peace of your children’ but ‘abundant is the peace of your children.’ ‘Do not read your children but your builders,’ for the multiplicity is the abundant peace of your builders.” Now he continues—what does “do not read your children but your builders” mean? Because a building is built from different parts. You know that Rabbi Isser Zalman writes this too, both in Even HaEzel and in some article about the definition of the labor of building on the Sabbath. What is the definition of the labor of building on the Sabbath? It is obvious that one who makes cheese is liable because of building, right? Why—what is the connection between making cheese and building? On the other hand, one who builds a tent is also liable because of building. What is the relation between one who makes cheese and one who makes a tent? What connects them? So his claim is that in truth there is no connection, no connection. Rather, building on a Torah level—the primary category of building—is someone who creates a space, a structure, by gathering parts together. How does one create a structure? You place bricks one on top of another, and this whole aggregate creates some structure, some space. That is the primary category of building on the Sabbath. Now if I create only the space but not by gathering parts together—which is exactly building a tent, right?—then that is a derivative of building. A derivative is also a Torah prohibition, right? It’s not like the primary category, but it’s a derivative. Why is it a derivative? It resembles the primary category, sufficiently resembling it to be prohibited on a Torah level. That is building a tent. And what is making cheese, one who makes cheese? There you do not create a space, but you do gather parts together—the other side that exists in the primary category. So each of the two sides of the primary category basically becomes a derivative. Therefore, if you looked for a connection between those two things, you would find no connection at all. The connection is that they share a common primary category, which combines those two aspects together. That is called building. Therefore it seems that the metaphor of a building is very significant here, even in the halakhic sense. Building is ultimately gathering parts. You take different parts, each with a different function, and this whole aggregate is what creates the structure you want. If you do not have all the different kinds of parts you need, you will not succeed in creating the whole structure. Therefore he says, “Do not read your children but your builders,” because a building is built from different parts. “And the truth of the light of the world will be built from different sides and from different methods, for these and those are the words of the living God”—which relates to what we said earlier—“from different paths of service and guidance and education, each one grasping its place and its value, and no talent or perfection is to be lost.” We must not let any talent or any perfection go to ruin, even if we do not agree with it, because in every thing there is something that is also meant to contribute to the full structure—“rather to expand it and to find its source. And if you see a contradiction from one concept to another, by this wisdom will build her house.” And perhaps that even echoes the opposite of building, namely dismantling—if you see a contradiction from one concept to another, by this wisdom will build her house. How do you build a better understanding? By creating two possibilities that contradict one another and trying to understand how the combination of the two together creates a whole structure. Let me give you just one example—an example dear to me too, which I already encountered in an article by Hanegbi, who is now a professor at Bar-Ilan. He was a nineteen-year-old yeshiva student when he wrote it, and he tried to explain the relationship between the plain meaning and midrashic interpretation. He says that the relationship between plain meaning and midrashic interpretation is basically two interpretations that both stand side by side—an approach that exists elsewhere too—but his claim is that both remain in Jewish law. When we say, for example, “an eye for an eye” means monetary compensation, the usual conception is that the midrashic interpretation—that it means money—remains in Jewish law, while the plain meaning, “an eye for an eye,” is perhaps the idea, that really it would have been appropriate to take an eye, and then all kinds of explanations of that type. But in the end the midrashic interpretation is the law, not the plain meaning. That is usually the understanding. He says no—the plain meaning and the midrashic interpretation both remain in Jewish law. How does that work? “An eye for an eye” is a good example, though there are others, but I’ll illustrate it with this one. Regarding “an eye for an eye” there is a tannaitic dispute. Does “an eye for an eye” mean I pay money—that is, the value of the injured person’s eye or the value of the injurer’s eye? Do I pay how much his eye is worth or how much my eye is worth? There is an appraiser who can determine how much an eye is worth; that isn’t important right now. And different people’s eyes are worth different amounts. So the question is how much one must pay—the eye of the injured party or the eye of the injurer. There is an opinion that what one pays is the eye of the injurer. It is not ruled that way in Jewish law, yes, but there is an opinion that one pays the value of the injurer’s eye. What is the logic of paying the value of the injurer’s eye? That he pays for the injurer’s eye? What?
[Speaker B] But why pay the value of the injurer?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So what if he intended to?
[Speaker B] Why pay the value of the injurer’s eye?
[Speaker C] A ransom for the eye.
[Speaker B] If—
[Speaker C] if you have—
[Speaker B] an eye that’s worth a ransom for his eye, if there is—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] if you have a small eye, it’s worth less. The claim is that there is some joining here of plain meaning and midrashic interpretation. Notice. The plain meaning tells us “an eye for an eye,” meaning that one should remove the injurer’s eye in exchange for the eye he removed from the injured party. What does the midrashic interpretation say? True, one should have, but we do not remove an eye; instead we take money. But in place of what? In place of the eye that should have been taken from me. Meaning, when I take the plain meaning and the midrashic interpretation together, a different law emerges. If I took only the plain meaning, I would remove an eye. If I took only the midrashic interpretation, I would pay the value of his eye, as Tzvi just said—a compensation to him. The plain meaning and the midrashic interpretation together, which ostensibly contradict each other, create a structure that is actually the correct halakhic structure. The combination of the two—this is exactly an example of synthesis, of harmony between two opposites. No, according to one opinion. It’s an example. Also according to the second opinion, as Aharon says. He brings there an implication even according to the second opinion. The claim is that the plain meaning and the midrashic interpretation are ostensibly opposed, but when you take both of these sides together, that is what creates the complete structure. The Vilna Gaon writes this too about various midrashic interpretations. The Vilna Gaon explains why the verses are written crookedly. After all, that’s the basic question regarding midrashic interpretation. Even if you explain to me that “an eye for an eye” means monetary compensation because there are certain constraints, because this verse contradicts other verses, and the most plausible explanation, if I take into account not only the language of the verse but a broader context, is that it means money—you could perhaps explain it that way. But then why isn’t it written that way? What, doesn’t the Holy One, blessed be He, know how to write “money for an eye”? These interpretations that always explain the midrashic interpretation as the global plain meaning, not the local one—there are such interpretations that see the midrashic interpretation as the global plain meaning. Meaning, it is the plain meaning when I look not only at this verse but at the whole Torah, and then I have to resolve contradictions or see how exactly to reconcile things, and that is how I arrive at the midrashic interpretation. These approaches explain why I choose the midrashic interpretation rather than the plain meaning. But they still do not explain why the Holy One, blessed be He, wrote it crookedly. Why didn’t He just write it plainly here, so that I wouldn’t need all kinds of tricks? Let Him write “money for an eye,” and that’s it. “He shall pay his fellow in place of his eye.” You find formulations like that in the Torah; there is no problem writing such a thing. Why wasn’t it written that way? So the Vilna Gaon explains—Menachem Mendel, his student, brings this in the introduction to his book on the masorah—that the verse is intentionally written crookedly because it could not have been written any other way. Because if you had written it in the form of “he shall pay money instead of”—he doesn’t write this about this verse; he brings it from an aggadic midrash, but I’m applying it to the example we discussed earlier—if you had written “money for an eye,” what would we have said? The value of the injured party’s eye, right? If you had written “an eye for an eye” with no interpretations, we would have learned it literally, and then we would have understood that the injurer’s eye must be removed. But the Torah wants neither this nor that. So it has to write a formulation that does not fully fit the plain meaning, but also does not fully fit the midrashic interpretation, so that it has a double interpretability. So that it can be interpreted this way and that way, and then when I take both of those interpretations together I arrive at the correct law.
[Speaker C] So that he pays the value of the eye.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, fine, I’m just saying—so they wrote it that way. Why they didn’t write it explicitly, I don’t know.
[Speaker C] He shall pay, he shall pay, he shall pay.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Maybe the style of concentration, it doesn’t matter. The Torah has “he shall surely pay” regarding kindling a fire.
[Speaker C] “He shall pay, he shall pay”—remove an eye for his eye.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] We’ll find it there. Again, I’m not going to arrive at a full explanation of biblical style, but this much is clear. I can’t say what the considerations were, but I think that here at least one can understand why it is not written straightforwardly. Why is this written in a form that is not logical? And no interpretation of the midrashic interpretation gives you that. Because all those who explain that the midrashic interpretation is so compelling because the plain meaning contradicts various other places—they still do not explain why it wasn’t written differently. And the Vilna Gaon gives an explanation here that I think is very beautiful. He illustrates it there with some aggadic midrash: the Torah is forced to write a verse in somewhat ambiguous language that can be interpreted in two directions. Then you take those two directions and make a synthesis out of them. That is really the only way to achieve that result. The truth is there is even an answer—actually a nice answer—for why it didn’t say explicitly “the value of the injurer’s eye.” I think that is also how they explain why it is like this. If they had written “the value of the injurer’s eye,” you would have said: what? what kind of logic is that? But here they tell you why: because the plain meaning tells you to remove the injurer’s eye, and the midrashic interpretation tells you not to remove the eye but instead to take money. So from that you understand why it is the eye of the injurer, and that closes the whole process for you exactly—how this whole mechanism works. Why is it really built this way? Fine, but that’s what we said. Yes, so in the end the claim is that a building is constructed from a collection of bricks, from gathering the parts. That is the building, and that is also the concept of peace, and that is also the concept of truth in Rav Kook. Meaning, the concept of peace and the concept of truth converge rather than collide. What?
[Speaker B] Is that the meaning of “love truth and peace”?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “Love truth and peace,” exactly—both together, not that sometimes this and sometimes that, and do what you can. No. Peace and truth means that they surely go together. Make such a peace, make such a truth, that it will also be peace. Because a truth that tramples the other opinion and leaves only your opinion is also not truth—not only is it not peace, it is not truth. After all, it is obvious that not all the truth is with you. What—did Beit Shammai speak nonsense? Beit Shammai too said meaningful things, even if the Jewish law is not ruled in accordance with them. So a complete Torah is a Torah that contains all sides. Afterwards one still has to arrive at the bottom-line ruling.
[Speaker B] Yes, the attributes through which the world was created—truth, justice, and peace, yes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “Cast truth to the ground.”
[Speaker B] That the world endured mainly because of peace.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Those are Kotzker sayings, you know, that’s not—
[Speaker B] No, the midrash, the midrash.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But the Kotzker says that against truth there is no world—that’s what the Kotzker says. Fine. In any case, I return—this passage of Rav Kook, why am I bringing it here? Because it seems to me—again, let’s return for a moment to the point of censorship, although to me it seems only the point of departure—there is some sense here of a kind of castration of the Jew whom we are trying to learn from. They publish a book of Rav Kook in a way that seems to me to contradict a very basic principle in his thought. A principle that says: fine, this will be interpreted differently; so there will be those who interpret it this way and those who interpret it that way. Not everyone will go with your interpretation. So what happened? What’s the problem? Why must everything be monochromatic? What? He didn’t publish anything himself. Things like these he did not publish at all.
[Speaker B] He gave to Rav—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, these things he did not publish at all, all these notebooks he did not publish at all.
[Speaker B] What? Maybe he chose not to publish?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t know whether he chose not to publish. You know that in those days it wasn’t so much a matter of choosing whether to publish or not. You didn’t manage to publish because either you had no money, or you couldn’t manage it, or the printing house got stuck somewhere—I don’t know where. It’s not like today when you send a file over the internet and tell them to print it.
[Speaker B] Maybe this was for Rav Kook’s honor?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Huh? I think his honor is that people should see his words, interpret them, discuss them, and reach whatever conclusions they reach—that is a greater honor for him.
[Speaker B] Could it be that over the years, between the earlier and later notebooks, he developed the interpretation?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, fine, very good—so what’s the problem? But let me see that. Let me see that originally it was such-and-such—
[Speaker B] he said—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] and at first he thought this, and afterwards—
[Speaker B] But the natural tendency is to see Rav Kook as one thing, and if he says something it will be interpreted over the years as something else.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, one has to overcome the natural tendency. Write it at the beginning, write a note at the bottom. You know what? You’re bringing it to the printing house? Write a note below: “And this contradicts Rav Kook’s words elsewhere, and in my opinion the explanation is such-and-such.” That is completely legitimate.
[Speaker B] Maybe the verse was written over years?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, of course things change. What—among other things, doesn’t earlier and later change? Everyone changes. Fine, no problem. It seems to me… what?
[Speaker B] What? What? What?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] They say the file exists; I received it by email, I don’t know.
[Speaker B] But this file—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? I’m not… I also can’t tell you about the file, I think. Although, you know, it’s like ownerless property washed up by the sea—if it’s accessible on the internet to everyone, then I really don’t know. What did you say within twenty seconds? Huh? Surely it doesn’t say “delete this”? Delete this! Certainly delete this! They simply sent it over the internet. Fine. Now, why am I prefacing all this—not only in order to take a shot at these guys, although that too seems to me a worthy goal—but because I think there is a more fundamental point here. Look, I once heard from someone that Rav Kook had three main disciples: Rav Tzvi Yehuda, the Nazir, and Rav Harlap. And each of these disciples was something else. If Rav Tzvi Yehuda is what today you might associate with… what shall I say… Har Hamor, Merkaz HaRav, that camp; the Nazir, it seems to me, is found today only in the universities. And Rav Harlap is a somewhat more… what shall I call it… even Haredi-Zionist or secular-Zionist. Somehow that combines together. For example, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein—sorry, Rav Amital—always said he was a disciple of Rav Kook through Rav Harlap on one side. On the other hand there is also the actually Haredi camp today—Rav Elyashiv or Shlomo Zalman Auerbach—who also in one way or another relate to Rav Kook as their rabbi, to some degree or another. I don’t know to what extent, because of course there are ideologies and politics here. But it is clear that there is something there, some sort of relation to him on their part too. But they of course belong to the more Harlap-like wing, let’s call it the more genuinely Haredi wing of his continuers. And it seems to me that this is really a very interesting phenomenon: from one Jew come three different streams, and each of them feels that it is basically his disciple in one way or another. And what that basically means—there is another beautiful statement of Rav Kook. He writes it in his eulogy for the Hafetz Hayyim, and he writes there—roughly in his words, I think—when he died, that the Talmud says that Rabbi Eliezer never said anything he had not heard from his teacher, never in his life said something he had not heard from his teacher. But on the other hand it says that he said things no ear had ever heard. How can that be? It means there are things in what he heard from his teacher that no other ear ever heard. Meaning, yes, “like a hammer that shatters a rock,” things split in different ways according to the listener. Sometimes I think even more than that: sometimes even the speaker did not hear the end of his own words. It’s not only that other listeners’ ears did not hear it; even the speaker did not understand that it was contained in his words. There is no doubt there are such things, and yet it really is there. Meaning, the listener truly succeeds in finding something in his teacher, or in the source from which he learns, that no other ear heard. But he knows—it came from there. Meaning, from his perspective he understood it from the words he heard and from the things he read. And basically what that means is that this teaching or this thought is sufficiently—I don’t know—multifaceted on the one hand, eclectic, yes, random and unsystematic, on the other hand, such that one can build on it structures that are utterly different. And all of them somehow think they are building his structure, or at least continuing to build his structure. There is something here that really seems essential to Rav Kook, and that is indeed this matter of multiplicity of facets, what I spoke about earlier. This multiplicity of facets stems from—and his writing is like this too—a kind of eclectic writing, a collection of semi-poetic passages, many contradictions between the passages, in short a very, very unsystematic affair. And I think there is really a certain feeling here that we are dealing with a person who could not fit the things that poured out of him—yes, that he brought forth from within himself—into some systematic and ordered doctrine. It just didn’t fit, simply no; there is no rigid system of rules that can arrange everything he feels.
[Speaker B] And it seems to me that this is—what? And it seems to me that the Nazir writes in his introduction that when he asked—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Rav Kook whether there is a system, he told him: there is. There is a system, but he did not write it.
[Speaker B] He appointed the Nazir, who wrote Orot HaKodesh.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, there are all kinds of cruel jokes, nasty jokes, about various rebbes whose attendant would read them the notes people brought them, the notes with the blessing or whatever. So the nasty jokes say that here too. He appointed someone else, he appointed someone else because apparently he really wasn’t capable of doing it. He wasn’t capable of doing it—not because I’m talking right now about a lack of ability. Fine, he could supervise the editing; he read what the Nazir Rabbi wrote and says amen to it, but he didn’t do it himself. I think that when you read it, you can see that. There’s no need here to go off into speculations. The man was unsystematic; he was like a bubbling spring, lots of contradictions, lots of things. Now, those contradictions—it could be that they can be reconciled; all kinds of people make quite a living reconciling those contradictions.
[Speaker B] If his method is that everything has a place,
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] then you can’t make a system out of it. Exactly, and that’s why I don’t—well, you can make a system out of it, but really it’s like the Torah itself: why didn’t it write one hundred percent of the law? It wrote this and that, and you make the compromise already. There are two different sides here, and I need to sharpen for you that these are two different sides. We once talked about free choice, so I said that there is a certain advantage in someone who chooses evil over someone who doesn’t choose at all, because at least he chooses—he’s not a nobody, at least he chooses something. On the other hand, clearly there’s also a worse side to him: he’s wicked, and the other one is fine, he’s just a nobody. But from that standpoint, of course the wicked person is worse; on the other hand, he chooses, so he is better in terms of the realization of his human capacities, right? So is he better or worse? There’s an aspect in which he’s better and an aspect in which he’s worse. So in a certain passage, when Rav Kook speaks about choice, he’ll say that he’s better. Not that I know such passages; I’m just giving it as an example. And in a place where he talks about the importance of doing good deeds, he’ll say that he’s worse. And these and those are both the words of the living God, because both are really true, each from its own angle. But to create from this rulebooks for those who come afterward—that’s something else. And he himself worked in a very intuitive way, and the type of material and the type of his way of thinking probably could not be fitted into some rigid patterns, like, say, Rabbi Soloveitchik; he is much more analytical, much more systematic, much more likely to put things into patterns. And in this respect it seems to me that Rav Kook very much continues things that are much broader. The Talmud too is built in a form that is, to a certain extent, similar to this. That greatly troubles the modern learner: why doesn’t the Talmud work in an orderly way? Tell me what the basic principle is, what follows from it. You bring me a case—an ox gored a cow, or her fetus was found at her side—and now start arguing about what is written here, what principle is here, whether it is like this or like that, medieval authorities (Rishonim) and later authorities (Acharonim). Say, fine, what’s the problem? Write: someone who has property and it gored, he did such-and-such, he has to pay such-and-such. Don’t bring examples; talk in terms of principles. What’s called a casuistic method versus a nominalist method, or a rule-based method. The Talmud deliberately works in a casuistic way.
[Speaker B] And I think that’s deliberate, because reality—you can look at the Talmud as being structured out of the understanding that what was brought there was always a collection of discussions over hundreds of years from different study halls, and it never claimed to be
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] the mind of one person. Yes, but those study halls too could have formulated themselves in the form of clear rules. They also didn’t do that—not only in the sense of contradictions between study halls. Just the very mode of formulation is not—there is no legal rule there anywhere. The legal rule is always formulated by medieval authorities (Rishonim) or later authorities (Acharonim).
[Speaker B] For example, there is an ability to penetrate many layers of understanding, of what there is here.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? That’s what I’m saying. I’m not saying it as criticism. On the contrary. I’m saying there is something there that you manage to grasp in a casuistic way that is much stronger than the formalistic form. Once you set a framework—after all, every rule has lots of exceptions. So if you give the rules, people will become fixated on the rules and issue incorrect halakhic rulings. If you let people understand how the thing works, to get a feel for it, then they’ll rule better, they’ll rule more correctly, because reality is very complicated. To force reality into some rigid set of rules—that’s impossible. So what do you do? Let’s take cases, sample them, look, discuss them, understand how to analyze such things, and teach you how to do it correctly. Like a child learning a language: you don’t tell him beged kefet at the beginning of a word and nesa, nesa’u, and so on. What do you do tell him? You start speaking to him, and he understands from that how the thing works. It’s very difficult to present these things systematically. Systematicity is the interpreter’s business. That’s why, by the way, I always think introductions are for experts, not for beginners. It’s no accident that in yeshivot and nowhere else do they begin learning the Talmud with an introduction.
[Speaker B] Because an introduction—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] is always written after the book is already finished. Exactly. And I think introductions in general, in scientific fields and every other field, are for experts and not for beginners. After the expert understands how the thing works, you can give him some introduction to explain the meaning of the matter. He can argue with you—he’s already an expert too. But it gives some kind of meaning, it illuminates something. When someone is just starting and starts talking about principles, he’ll buy them like a pig in a poke; he has no ability to criticize them, to understand what they mean. So therefore there is something in this eclecticism and in this casuistic writing that captures a much deeper point than systematic, principled, logical thought that starts from a few axioms and builds an orderly structure out of them. Okay, so in the end, if I summarize for a moment, this multiplicity of shades, or this peace, this peace and truth that Rav Kook talks about, comes to expression in two contexts. The first context is different positions among different people, where each has a place; there’s no need to trample one another, no need to fight each other. To argue is perfectly fine; Torah scholars increase peace in the world by arguing, that’s not terrible. It’s not terrible. Someone to whom something matters argues about it; that’s perfectly fine. Someone to whom nothing matters argues about nothing. So they argue about it, and in the end all this diversity, this whole mosaic, really creates the—the full truth. That is in the external sense. But with Rav Kook it seems there is also some inner meaning to it. The inner meaning is the multiplicity of shades within himself, not set against other positions. Within himself he contained all kinds of things that lived in some kind of peace with one another, without beginning to define this is here and that is there—which is basically to turn truth into the truth of neighbors: you’re here and you’re there. No, there are things that are somehow true together in some sense. Now, that’s not really true together; the law of non-contradiction is always true. But then the interpreter will come and say: this is from this angle and that is from that angle. “He found and objected,” and “he did not object”—from what standpoint did he find and object? There are two different angles that together create the full picture. Therefore, in this sense it seems to me that peace finds expression in him internally as well, not only externally. And the last point is that in this book, relatively speaking, as I said at the beginning, the writing is actually a bit more systematic and orderly, and therefore maybe it isn’t such a representative sample of Rav Kook’s writings, but at least for me it’s easier, so we’ll start with it.
[Speaker D] I wanted to ask—we ask each participant for thirty shekels a month. And we ask you to pay. And for those interested in books, then it’s thirty-five shekels per book, for anyone interested. Five—not thirty shekels.
[Speaker B] Okay, it’s preferable to pay for three, six months. How long is it? A year. Fine, I’ll give you everything before half a year. How much do you charge per semester? Last year it wasn’t like that.
[Speaker D] From the beginning of the semester. A lot of people have already paid.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive—
[Speaker D] forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins
[Speaker B] may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] forgive, our offspring—
[Speaker B] and our money may He multiply like the sand, and like the stars at night.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, our offspring—
[Speaker B] and our money may He multiply—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins—
[Speaker B] may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, our offspring—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] and our money may He multiply like the sand, and like the stars at night.
[Speaker B] He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive,
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] our offspring and our money may He multiply like the sand, and like the stars at night.
[Speaker B] He who distinguishes between holy—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] and ordinary, our sins may He—
[Speaker B] forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night.
[Speaker B] He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive,
[Speaker B] our offspring and our money may He multiply like the sand, and like the stars at night.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary,
[Speaker B] our sins may He forgive, our offspring—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] and our money may He multiply like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He—
[Speaker B] forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. He who distinguishes between holy and ordinary, our sins may He forgive, and may He multiply our offspring and our money like the sand, and like the stars at night. Today we’ll begin the topic of the soul’s descent into this world. It is written in the holy books that before the soul descends, it stands beneath the Throne of Glory. It delights in the radiance of the Divine Presence. That is a world that is entirely good, a world that is entirely spiritual. And then the Holy One, blessed be He, says to it: Go down into this world. The soul weeps; it does not want to descend. It asks: Why should I go down to a place of darkness? To a place of husks? To a place of trials? And the answer is that דווקא here, in this lower world, one can reach levels that the soul cannot reach when it is above. Here there is the work of sifting and refining. Here there is the possibility of turning darkness into light. When the soul is above, it enjoys, but it does not create. In order to be a partner in the act of Creation, the soul must descend into a body. The body is what holds it back, but it is also the vessel. Without this vessel, the light cannot be revealed in reality. And this is the secret of descent for the sake of ascent. All the difficulties we go through, all the obstacles, are really stages on the ladder. Every trial that a person withstands raises his soul to a higher place than it was in before the descent. Therefore a person must not despair when he feels the darkness of the world. On the contrary, the darkness is the sign that there is a great light here that needs to be revealed. We are here on a mission. Every single one of us received a portion in this world in order to repair it. And this is done through the Torah and the commandments. When we fulfill a commandment in this world, we connect the upper realms with the lower realms. We bring the Divine Presence down below. And that is the whole purpose of creation: a dwelling place in the lower realms.