Torah Study – Lesson 5
This transcript was produced automatically using artificial intelligence. There may be inaccuracies in the transcribed content and in speaker identification.
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Table of Contents
- [0:01] Introduction to the common denominator and the two mechanisms
- [1:04] The question of one’s stone, knife, and load (case C)
- [2:15] The comparison between theories X/Y and Z
- [6:39] The case of one who spits and one who winnows
- [12:11] Elimination in the theory of the common denominator
- [13:11] Refutations of the common denominator
- [16:03] Examples from the Talmud — Ketubot and one who injures
- [22:02] Summary of a fortiori reasoning and the common denominator
Summary
General Overview
The text presents the mechanism of the common denominator as an inference that prefers one simple theory over several more complex explanations, compares it to scientific generalization, and contrasts it with an opposite mechanism of “conceptual construction,” in which unique characteristics from two domains are combined to create a new obligation. It then discusses the passage in Ketubot 32b and Makkot 4 concerning a common denominator between one who injures and conspiring witnesses, together with the refutation “for they contain a stringent aspect,” and develops an explanation that distinguishes between factual refutations and halakhic / of Jewish law refutations. From this emerges the question of what the purpose of Torah study is: whether Torah is the halakhic ruling and analysis is only a means toward it, or whether the theoretical learning itself is the goal and the laws are practical implications used to test the theory—along with an encounter with criticism attributed to Rabbi Ovadia, and with the limits of decision-making in Brisker-style learning.
The common denominator, elimination, and Ockham’s razor
The common denominator is built from two source cases, A and B, each of which has its own unique stringent feature, X and Y, and both of which share a common stringent feature Z; from them one learns about a third case, C. The structure works like this: one raises the possibility that the obligation in each source case stems from its unique characteristic, rejects that by saying “let the other prove it,” and returns to the shared denominator: “and the law returns; this case is not like that case, and that case is not like this case; the common denominator between them…” from which C too becomes obligated. The text sets out two theories for explaining the obligation to pay: either each source case obligates for a different reason (X or Y), or Z alone is the obligating factor—and the preference for Z relies on Ockham’s razor, as a preference for the simpler theory. The text argues that the very formula “the common denominator between them is that their way is to cause damage, and responsibility for guarding them is upon you, and when they cause damage, the damager is obligated to pay compensation for damage from the best of his land” means adopting the assumption that the factor behind the law is one shared parameter, not a collection of separate specific reasons.
Scientific generalization as a model for the common denominator, and Rabbi Chaim at the beginning of Chagigah
The text compares the common denominator to the structure of scientific and everyday generalization: from one example (a black raven in Israel), one raises a possible refutation that this may be due to local conditions (heat), then adds another example (a black raven in Lapland), which creates a refutation against a different local explanation (cold and lack of vegetation). The inference arrives at a simpler common denominator—the property of “being a raven”—and thus produces the generalization that all ravens are black, even though one could always give a separate explanation for each case; that would simply be a more complex theory. The text attributes to Rabbi Chaim at the beginning of Chagigah the idea that there can always be a specific explanation that blocks a general law, but the preference remains with the simpler explanation that gathers the phenomena under one factor, and emphasizes that an experimental implication can refute the theory when a case appears that has Z but the law does not apply.
Conceptual construction: one who spits, one who winnows, and one who throws as the inverse model of the common denominator
The text presents an example from the Jerusalem Talmud: “one who spits is liable משום זורה,” translated as “one who spits is liable because of winnowing,” and brings the bewilderment of the medieval authorities (Rishonim) about the connection between one who spits and one who winnows, while Menasheh of Ilya, a student of the Vilna Gaon (as cited in the Mishnah Berurah), argues that one should not emend the text to read “throws,” but should understand the obligation as specifically grounded in “winnowing.” The text explains that in the categories of labor on the Sabbath, unlike the primary categories of damages, we generally do not find derivative cases learned from two primary categories by means of a common denominator, and therefore Menasheh of Ilya’s suggestion appears unusual. It describes an attempt to construct a “common denominator” between throwing and winnowing: throwing incurs liability even without separation, and winnowing incurs liability even when the wind assists—therefore, one who spits, whose saliva is carried by the wind, should be liable. But the text argues that “it looks like a common denominator, but it isn’t,” because there is no single shared characteristic that creates the obligation. It defines the move as “synthesis” rather than “analysis”: you do not remove X and Y in order to remain with Z, but rather combine the X of throwing (transferring in the public domain as an inferior kind of carrying out) with the Y of winnowing (the assistance of the wind does not exempt), and create from them a new concept that incurs liability. Therefore this is “conceptual construction,” which is the opposite of a common denominator.
Refutations of the common denominator: external and internal, and the rule that one does not obligate in doubt
The text formulates two ways to refute a common denominator: an external refutation, in which one brings a case D that has Z but is not obligated; and an internal refutation, in which one discovers an additional stringent property W that exists in both source cases but not in C, so that one can claim that W, not Z, is what obligates. It argues that when it is unclear what the obligating factor is, one does not impose liability out of doubt, because “you need a reason in order to obligate.” The text cites Rabbi Chaim in Bava Kamma 3 with the principle that when there is an essential doubt in the interpretation of Scripture, “it is always to be lenient… it’s not even a doubt, it’s definitely not,” because if Scripture had wanted to say it, it would have said it; and it distinguishes between an essential doubt and an incidental lack of understanding on the part of the learner.
Ketubot 32b and Makkot 4a: the common denominator of one who injures and conspiring witnesses, and the refutation “for they contain a stringent aspect”
The text quotes the language of the passage in Ketubot 32b regarding Ulla: “wherever there is money and lashes, he pays money and does not receive lashes,” the attempt to derive this from one who injures another, and the rejection “for he is liable for five kinds of payment,” then the attempt to derive it from conspiring witnesses and the rejection “for they do not require prior warning,” and finally the derivation “from both of them” by means of a common denominator. It emphasizes the difficulty that the Talmud’s refutation—“what of the common denominator between them, for they contain a stringent aspect”—seems to undermine the very mechanism of the common denominator, and Tosafot asks: “for everything can be refuted either by a stringent aspect or by a lenient aspect.” The text notes that the Ritva in Makkot 4b brings four approaches among the medieval authorities (Rishonim) to resolve this, but “none of them is convincing,” and quotes Rabbi Meidan’s parable that “when there are twenty-two explanations, that means none of them is convincing.”
The distinction between factual and halakhic / of Jewish law refutations, and explaining the refutation of a stringent aspect
The text divides refutations into two types: refutations based on real-world properties of the source case (“what about a pit, whose very creation is for damage,” “what about fire, whose way is to move and damage”), as opposed to refutations based on halakhic / of Jewish law rules governing the source case (“what about a pit, which is exempt regarding vessels,” and similarly “liable for five kinds of payment,” “they do not require prior warning”). It argues that the refutation of a “stringent aspect” appears only when one is dealing with halakhic / of Jewish law stringencies, because a halakhic / of Jewish law stringency serves as an indication of a hidden factual stringency that caused the Torah to establish that special law. Based on this, it explains that the possibility that both source cases share one factual stringency, expressed in each of them through a different halakhic / of Jewish law stringency, is enough to refute the derivation from the common denominator, because in a refutation it is enough to raise a possibility; one need not prove that the law is wrong. The text emphasizes “the asymmetry between proof and refutation” and compares it to mathematics, where a refutation shows that the conclusion does not follow from the premises even if it might still be true for some other reason, and presents this as a dispute among tannaim as to whether one may refute by means of a “stringent aspect” refutation.
What is Torah: halakhic ruling versus theoretical learning, Rabbi Ovadia, and the difficulty of deciding in conceptual analysis
The text concludes that it has moved from “yeshiva-style conceptual investigations” to the logic of the common denominator and Ockham’s razor in order to show that the Talmud itself contains tools of analysis and synthesis, and from there the question arises: “what exactly is the purpose of study? Or what is Torah?” It presents a criticism attributed to Rabbi Ovadia, that “all the pilpul of the yeshivot is neglect of Torah,” and that for him Torah is “the halakhic conclusion” and “to establish the sugya according to Jewish law,” whereas in the yeshiva world the assumption is that the principles uncovered by analysis are the Torah, and the laws are practical implications used to test the theory. It describes a natural Brisker difficulty in reaching decisions, because one can construct equally strong explanations for the Rashba and for Maimonides, and it connects this to the tendency “to go stringently” out of a doubt that is not merely lack of knowledge but a clash between two positive sides, in analogy to “two against two” conflicting testimonies and the Ritva’s comments there. The text tells a story about Rabbi Chaim and Yitzchak Elchanan in which Rabbi Chaim is asked to answer “only yes or no, without reasons,” because for every reason one can bring counter-reasons, and it raises the notion of “halakhic intuition” as a decision-making mechanism attributed to great halakhic decisors, together with the claim that in practice the unlearned masses determine who the “great ones of the generation” are. It qualifies this by saying there is no disparagement of Rabbi Ovadia here, and states that he possessed greatness and immense knowledge, but “did not engage in conceptual analysis… ideologically he did not believe in it,” and it concludes by presenting the parallel in the scientific world between those who see theory as a means for prediction and those who see facts as a means for deciding between theories, linking this to the distinction “between an engineer and a scientist” and to the goal “to know what the world is, how the world is built… how the Holy One, blessed be He, works.”
Continuation: moving beyond forced interpretations
The text states that in light of the analyses that were made, the question now arises whether the conceptual structure is only a means for knowing what to do, or whether the goal is to reach the structure itself, and announces that the next stage will be a discussion of forced interpretations in order to demonstrate this point and then return to the question of the purpose of study.
Full Transcript
[Speaker A] We spoke
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Last time about the common denominator. I ended with the common denominator, and I tried to show that in fact there are two different mechanisms here, and to some extent they’re opposite. For the common denominator I gave an example in Bava Kamma about one’s stone, knife, and load that he placed on top of the roof, and they fell in a normal wind and caused damage; we learn that from the common denominator of fire and pit. And we saw there that the general structure of the common denominator is that we have two source cases, A and B, and each one has a unique characteristic. Let’s say A has characteristic X, B has characteristic Y, and both of them have characteristic Z, a shared characteristic. X, Y, and Z are all stringent characteristics. And now I want to ask what happens with C. Let’s say pit and fire are A and B; in both of them one is liable to pay if they caused damage. Now I want to know what happens with one’s stone, knife, and load that fell from the roof in a normal wind—that’s C. So I say: I begin learning from A, and then I say: what about A, since it has the special characteristic X, maybe that’s what causes the liability to pay? Then you’ll say not so for C. So B will prove it, because B does not have characteristic X and nevertheless one is liable to pay there. So then you say yes, but what about B, since it has another characteristic, characteristic Y—say, in a pit, that its very creation is for damage, or in fire, that its way is to move and damage. So maybe that’s why. So the Talmud says: therefore maybe in B it’s because of characteristic Y. And then the Talmud says: and the law returns; this case is not like that case, and that case is not like this case—the common denominator between them is that both have Z, and since that is so, then C as well, which also has Z, must pay. I’m deliberately not getting into the cases themselves, only outlining the scheme, because I want the scheme to stay in our heads. In fact, we said that there are two ways to understand why in A and B one is liable to pay—why the two damagers, A and B, are liable to pay. You could say that in A it’s because of X, and in B it’s because of Y; and then the result would be that in C, which has neither X nor Y, there would be no liability to pay, because you need either X or Y. Another possibility is to say that what creates liability to pay is Z, which is shared by both A and B. If that’s our theory, then C, which also has Z, will also be liable. In other words, the difference between the two theories comes out in C: is C liable to pay or not? We prefer the theory that Z is what creates the payment obligation. And why? So we talked about Ockham’s razor: we prefer the simpler theory. In other words, the theory that either X creates liability to pay or Y creates liability to pay is more complicated than saying that there is one parameter, Z, which creates liability to pay. Therefore we prefer the simpler theory, and we say that C is also liable to pay. I said that this is really the same structure as scientific generalization, or the kind of thing we do in daily life. Every generalization is basically built this way. I say, you know what, I see one black raven in Israel, so I say fine, from here I’ll learn that every other raven is black. And then I say, okay, but maybe in Israel it’s hot, so perhaps here the ravens are black because it’s hot; Israel has a special characteristic of heat. I see another raven in Lapland, and there too—I don’t know if there are ravens there—but there too it’s black. So Lapland proves it. No, Lapland has some other characteristic, because there there’s no joy because of the ice, so it’s black, or I don’t know, there’s no joy. So I say: and the law returns; this case is not like that case, and that case is not like this case. The ravens in the Land of Israel and in Lapland are black, which means that apparently neither the cold causes it nor the heat causes it, because the fact is that ravens both here and there are black. So what causes it? The properties of the raven—its being a raven. If so, then all ravens are black. Every scientific generalization is built this way—gravity, whatever you want. Every scientific generalization: we take several examples and from them infer a general law. And there can always be the possibility—I mentioned Rabbi Chaim at the beginning of Chagigah—that there will be a specific explanation for each of the examples, and therefore you can’t derive a general law from them. But the theory that gives a specific explanation for each example is a more complex theory. We prefer the simpler theory. Remember the sign of “floating,” that it goes out by itself and moves right and left.
[Speaker D] You need a common denominator for all the events? It has to be—so now any other event that has Z will also be liable.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, if Z is the cause, then anywhere there is Z.
[Speaker E] Right, that’s exactly the practical implication. You do an experiment with someone else, and if he has Z—no, that’s exactly what I’m saying.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That we adopt the simpler theory, that the common denominator is the cause. If you don’t adopt that, then there is no common denominator. Fine. I’m telling you: an author who says “the common denominator between them”—the very fact
[Speaker E] that he says that, doesn’t that prove that he’s adopting—that he means the simpler theory?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Well, that’s exactly what I’m saying. The common denominator is built on our preferring the simpler theory.
[Speaker F] And we say: the common denominator between them is that their way is to cause damage, and the responsibility for guarding them is upon you, and when they damage, the damager is obligated to pay compensation for damage from the best of his land. What we are actually saying here is that we prefer the theory that the common denominator causes this law, and not the theory that the special characteristics of a pit or of fire cause it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s exactly the point. That’s the justification for setting up the common denominator. The common denominator basically says that every halakhic / of Jewish law phenomenon has one cause. That’s really the assumption. In other words, if a halakhic / of Jewish law phenomenon—say, the obligation to pay for one’s property that caused damage—appears in several contexts, the assumption is that in all those contexts there is one factor that is responsible for the payment obligation.
[Speaker A] That’s basically the assumption. So then the question is: why didn’t the Talmud just state that directly instead of giving us two examples from which to infer it?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So we talked about that. Maybe I’ll come back to it later as well. We talked about it once when I spoke about rules and particulars. I said then that I think the Talmud believes more in a casuistic approach—that is, working through examples rather than through rules. But I’ll get back to that later, today or next time, again from a somewhat different angle. Okay, so that was the common denominator. And in contrast to that I brought what I called conceptual construction. I spoke, for example, about one who spits in the public domain—the Jerusalem Talmud: one who spits is liable—so the medieval authorities (Rishonim) are astonished: liable because of winnowing? “One who spits is liable because of winnowing.” So everyone is astonished: what connection is there between one who spits and one who winnows? Someone spits in the public domain—what brings that into Jewish law? One who spits on the Sabbath is liable because of winnowing. Winnowing is a labor of separation. If you throw chaff together with kernels into the air, the wind carries away the chaff and drops the kernels. So what does that have to do with spitting? Menasheh of Ilya, a student of the Vilna Gaon—the Mishnah Berurah cites him—wants to argue that there’s a textual issue here, and people emend it to “liable because of throwing,” meaning that when you spit four cubits in the public domain on the Sabbath, you are liable because of throwing. But he says you don’t need to emend the text. One who spits is liable because of winnowing, not because of throwing. And in the background—as I mentioned before, right?—I said that with the primary categories of labor on the Sabbath, unlike the primary categories of damages, we do not find a common denominator. We don’t. There is no derivative labor learned from two primary labors. Unlike damages, where there are several such derivatives, and on page 2 there at least four examples are brought. Why—that’s not entirely clear to me. At one point I thought maybe it’s because there are many primary categories. Once there are many primary categories, the resolution is finer. So they cover more of the derivatives. Meaning, if there are four primary categories of damages that cover the whole area, then each one has a larger space for which it is responsible, so there may be—maybe there’s more chance that there will be a derivative that doesn’t fall exactly under this one or that one, but is split between the two. Maybe, I don’t know; that’s a technical explanation. In any case, one example I do know of a common denominator in the Sabbath labors is the case of one who spits, according to Menasheh of Ilya. What does that mean? He is basically saying that this is a common denominator of throwing and winnowing together. What does that mean? At first glance it really is a common denominator. What am I saying? I’m saying one who spits is liable because of winnowing. Winnowing? What are you talking about? Winnowing is a case where you separate the chaff from the kernels. When you spit, you’re just spitting. You’re not doing anything significant, you’re not separating anything—so how can you learn it from winnowing? So I say: throwing proves it. Throwing proves it, because when I throw in the public domain, I’m also not separating anything, I’m not doing anything—yet one is still liable. But fine—what about throwing, where it is done by one’s own force? After all, when I throw something, my force is invested in the object and that’s why it flies, right? But in spitting we’re talking about a case where the wind takes it, not that the spit itself propels it four cubits; rather, the wind carries it four cubits. So you can’t learn it from throwing. So I say: winnowing proves it, because in winnowing I do the work with the help of the wind, and nevertheless one is liable. And the law returns, and therefore winnowing and throwing together teach us about one who spits. But that’s not true. What is the common characteristic between them? Ah, exactly—there is no common characteristic here. It looks like a common denominator, but it isn’t. What is the common characteristic of throwing and winnowing? No common characteristic at all. We construct spitting precisely from the unique characteristics of—throw out Z here, take X plus Y, produce something that has X plus Y, and that is what will be liable. How does it work? I say this: one who spits is, in essence, actually throwing. You are basically transferring something four cubits in the public domain. So you are essentially liable because of throwing. Except what? I have a certain refutation. What’s the refutation? That the wind helps me. Unlike throwing, where my own force carries the object four cubits. So winnowing proves otherwise. Because in winnowing we see that the labor of winnowing—even though the wind helps—does not exempt me. Right? So from here we learn that in spitting too it does not. So winnowing resolves a certain side issue for me, but in the end one who spits is liable because of throwing. So what does that mean? There is no common denominator between winnowing and throwing. Nothing at all is shared by them. Rather, there is something unique about winnowing—that the wind helps. There is something unique about throwing—sorry—that it is a weak kind of labor, like carrying out. You don’t really do anything; there’s no significant result. You transfer something from place to place. I take something that has no significant result, together with the help of the wind, and from this I create a new labor for which one is also liable. That is one who spits. Spitting means doing something that transfers something from place to place with the help of the wind. So I took specifically the unique characteristic of winnowing, the unique characteristic of throwing, joined them together, and created spitting. This is not a common denominator; it is the opposite of a common denominator. The common denominator is analysis. Meaning, I carry out analysis, I put X and Y aside and keep Z. Right? This is synthesis. I take X from here and Y from there, join them together, and produce a new damager. Okay. There are a few more examples of this; maybe we’ll do that sometime, not now. Basically I called this conceptual construction. Meaning, I build concepts by taking some part and structuring it into another part, and together I create a new concept. It’s somewhat similar to a common denominator, but it isn’t. Okay, for now I’m setting that aside. Now I just want to finish the matter of the common denominator before we move on. So in fact the common denominator is built on elimination. I have A and B. Each one has a special characteristic and also a characteristic common to both of them, Z. And I do elimination: I say X clearly is not the cause, because the fact is that B also has this law even though it doesn’t have X. Y also is not the cause, because the fact is that A also has the law. Right? So that also isn’t the cause. So if X and Y are not the causes, then apparently Z is the cause. Right? That’s elimination. Maybe either X or Y is the cause? I say no—that’s too complicated a theory; I prefer the simpler theory. So in fact every law has one reason. The assumption is that there is one reason. Now the Talmud in Ketubot 32 and also in Makkot 4 brings a common denominator. There it’s something else, but it has the same structure. But there a very strange refutation of the common denominator arises. How do you refute a common denominator? Before I get into the Talmud, how do you refute a common denominator? Let’s say someone—what does that mean?
[Speaker G] That it has that and yet it doesn’t happen? That it has the—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That it has that and yet it doesn’t happen—that’s one possibility. But there’s also a refutation from within it. Meaning, there’s an external refutation—I can bring, say, D, because I have A and B and from them I learn C. I’ll bring D, which also has Z and yet is not liable to pay. That would be a refutation, right? It would show that Z is not what creates the liability to pay. But there’s another kind of refutation. Let’s say I don’t have D. I want a refutation through the properties of A, B, and C. You can formulate such a refutation too. How do you do it? Anyone know? If I find a characteristic shared by A and B that does not exist in C—W. A and B have a shared characteristic, a stringency of course, not a leniency; a leniency won’t help—a stringency, meaning something that pushes toward the law that one must pay, and C does not have it. Why is that a refutation? Because I say: fine, maybe what is responsible is precisely W and not Z. So you can’t know that in C too one would be liable to pay. Right? So in fact the refutation can be external—by bringing another damager—or internal—by pointing to a characteristic of A and B that exists only in them and not in C, and therefore it too is a candidate for creating the payment obligation.
[Speaker H] If we do that, aren’t we saying there’s a doubt of liability? We say there’s no liability here. Yes. There’s no proof. Once there’s no proof—if there’s no proof, then if there’s no proof the way this is understood, why do they say for example—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You need a reason in order to obligate; you don’t need a reason in order to exempt.
[Speaker H] No, because if there’s a doubt of liability—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, it’s not a doubt of liability. There’s a doubt whether there is something here that obligates. If there’s doubt whether there is something obligating here, then you don’t obligate.
[Speaker H] I don’t know whether one is liable here or not liable here, because I don’t know what the cause is. So there’s a doubt whether—if the cause really is this cause or W is the cause. And now because of doubt you want to obligate me?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because of doubt you want to obligate me? On the basis of doubt, we do not obligate.
[Speaker H] We do not obligate, but if I seize, for example—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, so here it already becomes a question of what kind of doubt it is. There’s Rabbi Chaim in Bava Kamma on page 3, where the verse says: “And Zedekiah son of Chenaanah made for himself horns of iron.” There, regarding the damager of horn, there’s—I think—the Rashba and Rabbi Chaim there, or rather Baruch Ber cites it in the name of Rabbi Chaim, I think in the name of Rabbi Shimon—that when there is a doubt in the interpretation of Scripture, the rule is that it is definitely not so. Because if Scripture had wanted to tell me that, it would have said so. Meaning, if it leaves it in doubt in an essential way—not because I don’t know, but essentially, there is one side like this and one side like that—that means Scripture does not want that. Because if it wanted that, it would have said it. And therefore whenever I am in doubt regarding what Scripture says, it is always to be lenient. Even if it is Torah-level / of biblical origin. Meaning, it is not even a doubt—it is definitely not. Okay. In any event, okay—so this is what we would expect as a refutation: that there is a shared characteristic between the two source cases. Now let’s look at the Talmud. The Talmud in Ketubot 32 says as follows: “Apparently Ulla holds that wherever there is money and lashes, he pays money and does not receive lashes.” Yes—when there is money and lashes, he pays money and is not lashed. Fine? “From where does Ulla know this?” From where does Ulla know that whenever there is monetary liability and lashes, one only pays and is not lashed? “He learns it from one who injures his fellow.” Just as one who injures his fellow—where there is money and lashes—he pays money and is not lashed, so too everywhere there is money and lashes, he pays money and is not lashed. So he learns it from one who injures. The Talmud says: what about one who injures his fellow, since he is liable for five kinds of payment? I’m skipping a line here to save us from getting tangled up, okay? I’m giving you only the scheme. “What about one who injures his fellow, since he is liable for five kinds of payment”—meaning, he has a special stringency, he is liable for five kinds of payment, so you cannot learn from him. Maybe that’s something unique. Rather, he learns it from conspiring witnesses. So one who injures doesn’t work. So they learn it from conspiring witnesses. Just as conspiring witnesses, where there is money and lashes, he pays money and is not lashed—yes, lashes for “you shall not bear false witness”—so too everywhere there is money and lashes, he pays money and is not lashed. So they learn it from conspiring witnesses. And conspiring witnesses don’t have liability for five kinds of payment, so that can teach it. The Talmud says: what about conspiring witnesses, since they do not require prior warning? Conspiring witnesses are punished even without prior warning, and therefore they can prove—therefore they cannot prove it, because they have their own special stringent characteristic. There’s no prior warning for one who injures?
[Speaker F] What? There’s no prior warning for one who injures?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course there is. Why not?
[Speaker F] If I’m walking down the street and accidentally hit someone, do I pay him everything?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But you’re not liable for lashes there, only for money.
[Speaker F] But for lashes—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In order to prove it, you need a situation where you would be liable both for money and for lashes. A person who causes damage is liable—meaning, a person is always forewarned, a person who causes damage is liable even under compulsion; it is clear that for the obligation of payment you would have had it even without prior warning. Rather, he learns it from both of them. So he learns from both—from one who injures and from conspiring witnesses. “What is the common denominator between them? That where there is money and lashes, he pays money and is not lashed. So too everywhere there is money and lashes, he pays money and is not lashed.” So one who injures and—yes, this is the hocus-pocus of the common denominator. Meaning, each one separately cannot teach it, but the two of them together can. Okay? Now the Talmud comes with some new card: “What about the common denominator between them, for they contain a stringent aspect?” What is that? Meaning, conspiring witnesses and one who injures cannot teach me. Why? Because in each of them there is a stringent aspect. In this one there is X, and in that one there is Y. So how can you know it about C, which has neither X nor Y? So Tosafot asks here on the spot, “for they contain a stringent aspect”—
[Speaker C] Can someone
[Speaker F] explain here what the stringent aspect means?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean? We wanted to learn from one who injures; we said one who injures is liable for five kinds of payment. Fine, so let’s learn from conspiring witnesses. Conspiring witnesses don’t require prior warning. Each one has its own unique stringency. Now we learn from both of them.
[Speaker F] So what if there’s a stringent aspect?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In each one, it could be that the reason one pays and is not lashed is because they contain a stringent aspect.
[Speaker F] But you did that in Bava Kamma too. In the common denominator—that’s exactly the difficulty. Not a difficulty—it’s the answer I’m trying to give, because you brought the difficulty saying that supposedly we refuted the common denominator. But in Bava Kamma you counted four that are the common denominator, not one. Meaning, you didn’t refute it. Why don’t you simply need here too—money and mark it, the tanna taught two over it. Fine, these two—they’re one plus one, so say here too one plus one, I need lashes and this, and there has to be some special aspect. Isn’t every common denominator like this?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Give me one common denominator that would withstand such a refutation. One. Fine? There isn’t one. There never will be.
[Speaker F] No, here you find another common denominator.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m saying there is another common denominator.
[Speaker F] A common denominator such that I can interpret what you called until now as though there’s also another stringent aspect—it’s another one of the—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, and it’s different in each one. So what? Then it’s not equal. It’s equal only in that it is stringent. But every common denominator has a stringent aspect. Everything can be refuted by saying that both sides have stringent aspects. It’s always stringent. A has X and B has Y, so both have a stringent aspect. Every common denominator I can refute by saying: what about both of them, A and B, for they contain a stringent aspect? And the whole idea of the common denominator is that I do not make such a refutation. But the Talmud did. That’s the whole point. That’s why I said that yes, in principle there can be a theory according to which in A one is liable to pay because it has X, and in B one is liable to pay because it has Y. That basically means each one has a stringent aspect, and therefore they are liable to pay, so don’t infer it about C.
[Speaker E] You’re saying that’s more complicated.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. What are we saying? The less complex theory is preferable. If I have a simple theory, I prefer it. That’s what Tosafot asks here: “This is difficult, for if so, we would never learn from a common denominator anywhere, because everything can be refuted either by a stringent aspect or by a lenient aspect.” If you’re learning a stringency, then a stringent aspect; if you’re learning a leniency, then a lenient aspect. Okay, so how can you have such a common denominator? The Ritva in Makkot 4b goes into this at length and brings four approaches among the medieval authorities (Rishonim) to resolve this issue. I have to say, none of them is convincing. I’ll tell you what—in my opinion there is a simple explanation here, and it’s clear to me that it’s the correct explanation.
[Speaker A] There are four? Yes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And that means that even when there are four, you don’t always have to be convinced. I once quoted something I heard from Rabbi Meidan—whom I mentioned once before—who said that he knows twenty-two explanations for why we read the Scroll of Ruth on Shavuot, but he knows only one explanation for why we read the Scroll of Esther on Purim. When there are twenty-two explanations, that means none of them is convincing. So I’ll tell you what: in my opinion there is a simple explanation here. I said before that there are—one can raise two types of refu—actually I didn’t say that yet, so I’ll say it now. You can raise two kinds of refutations, both against an a fortiori argument and against a common denominator. In all these forms of derivation there are two kinds of refutations. There is a refutation that points to a characteristic of the source case. There is some special feature, some special stringency of the source case: what about a pit, whose very creation is for damage; what about fire, whose way is to move and damage. These are characteristics of the pit and the fire here, of the source cases. There are refutations that point to laws in the source cases, not to characteristics. What about a pit, since it is exempt with respect to vessels; or that it is liable even in the public domain; or all kinds of things like that. That is not a characteristic of the pit. It’s a law about a pit, right? It’s a halakhic / of Jewish law characteristic, not a factual characteristic of a pit. These are two kinds of refutations. Both arise in the contexts of the common denominator and also in the contexts of a fortiori reasoning in many places. Sometimes there’s this kind of refutation, sometimes that kind. There is a big difference between them. In all the places where you will find this—and there are at least three or four passages where you’ll find the refutation of a stringent aspect—it is a dispute among tannaim whether one may refute by means of a stringent aspect. But in all the passages where you find a stringent-aspect refutation, it is always dealing with halakhic / of Jewish law refutations, not factual refutations. For example, here it says: what about one who injures, since he is liable for five kinds of payment. They don’t say: why is one who injures more stringent? Because one who injures beats up another person. That’s a characteristic of the injurer himself. Here we’re talking about laws, not facts. “What about one who injures, since he is liable for five kinds of payment,” or “what about conspiring witnesses, since they do not require prior warning.” That too is a law; it is not a real-world characteristic of conspiring witnesses. You might have said: what about witnesses, since they ruin the whole judicial system. That’s a factual characteristic, not a halakhic / of Jewish law characteristic. Meaning, there is a special stringency in conspiring witnesses who lie in court—they don’t let the court function. Here one could have said: that’s very severe, so we have to be stringent with them. Fine. But the Talmud here brings a halakhic / of Jewish law characteristic, not a factual one. Why is that important? Because the halakhic / of Jewish law characteristics—the factual characteristics are really the actual refutation. Right? When I bring a halakhic / of Jewish law characteristic: what about conspiring witnesses, since they do not require prior warning? So what? Why really don’t they require prior warning? The Torah established that they do not require prior warning. That means that apparently there is something very severe about them because of which the Torah says: even without prior warning I will punish them. What is that severe thing? That severe thing is a factual characteristic; it is not a halakhic / of Jewish law characteristic, right? There is something about conspiring witnesses that is very severe, and because of that the Torah established for them the rule that no prior warning is needed, or that one who injures has to pay five kinds of payment, or something like that. In other words, when I bring a halakhic / of Jewish law refutation, it is an indication of the existence of a factual refutation. If I find a factual refutation, I bring it directly. But sometimes, when I see that there is a special halakhic / of Jewish law stringency, that is really an indication that there is some special factual stringency here. If I have two source cases—one who injures and conspiring witnesses—and in each of them there is a halakhic / of Jewish law stringency. Right? In one who injures, that he is liable for five kinds of payment; and in conspiring witnesses, that they do not require prior warning. Now I say that this halakhic / of Jewish law stringency is an indication that there is some factual stringency in them, but that factual stringency may be one and the same. It could be that there is one and the same factual stringency.
[Speaker E] But it could be what? But it could be, yes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] We don’t know that this is the Jewish law. It’s enough to raise a possibility. We don’t know that this is what it is. For a refutation, it’s enough to raise a possibility. It’s always like that in a refutation. That’s basically what you asked earlier, right? He says: even after the refutation, there’s still one possibility this way and one possibility that way—that’s enough. There is an asymmetry between proof and refutation, by the way, even in mathematics. A refutation does not prove that the theorem is false; it proves that it does not follow from the premises. It may still be true, but it doesn’t follow from the premises. In other words, when you refute an a fortiori argument, you are basically saying the proof is not valid. Maybe the law is true; let’s look elsewhere. But the proof is not valid. The question remains open. That is called a refutation. Okay, so here too, what am I saying? I am now going to offer you an alternative theory which is no less simple, with one common denominator, one factor that causes this law—and there you are—and the derivation about C no longer follows. It could be that in A and B there is one factual characteristic, which is expressed in A through one kind of stringency—that one is liable for five kinds of payment—and in B it is expressed halakhically / in Jewish law through another law—that no prior warning is required. But in fact these halakhic / of Jewish law characteristics are indications that there is some factual characteristic here that is the stringent one. Now, it may be one single characteristic; I don’t know. As long as I don’t know what it is, I don’t know. And therefore, this is a refutation.
[Speaker E] He’s saying that in any two laws where each of them has its own halakhic / of Jewish law stringency, you can’t learn by a common denominator. In principle, yes. In principle, yes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] According to that tannaitic view—yes, it’s a dispute among tannaim—correct. And check it: all the passages where the Talmud raises the refutation of a stringent aspect are passages like this, where the characteristics in question are halakhic / of Jewish law characteristics. Nowhere that the characteristics are factual characteristics does this issue of a stringent-aspect refutation come up. And what about fire? In fire the characteristics are factual. Or in a pit, that its very creation is for damage—that’s not a law about a pit, like the law that a pit is exempt regarding vessels. It’s a question of what a pit is. A pit is something whose very creation is for damage. On the contrary, that is a classic case of a factual characteristic. Therefore there the issue of a stringent-aspect refutation really does not arise.
[Speaker F] There are several strange things about this. For example, when I determine that a pit’s very creation is for damage, I chose that as its stringent aspect.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I chose it by reasoning, by reasoning, obviously.
[Speaker F] So if I’m capable, out of a thousand potential things, of determining that this is the stringent aspect here, there may be other things too. It’s enough that there’s one stringent aspect; I don’t care if there are other aspects that are lenient. I said, for a refutation it’s enough to raise doubt. I’m saying here: when I say there’s a stringency in each one—conspiring witnesses and one who injures—I don’t know what it is, and therefore it might even be the same thing. Don’t the Sages usually conclude that if they don’t find something, it doesn’t exist? No, because here there’s already a fact. After all, you’re already willing to assume that such a stringency exists, because the fact is that there is a stringent law
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] both in one who injures and in conspiring witnesses.
[Speaker F] After all, you just now listed a stringency for each one, and everyone here can throw out ten stringencies.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, if you can just throw out ten stringencies, then why would he need to make a refutation? No. What does that mean, that anyone can throw out ten stringencies? No, if there is a stringency, then it refutes the common denominator; that’s how it works. What do you mean?
[Speaker F] No, that’s not what I meant. With conspiring witnesses, you could say it from reason alone, I think, because they come to corrupt the justice system, so they have some special severity, or they don’t require prior warning. And there are other things too: they can incur the death penalty even though they only spoke, which we don’t see elsewhere. Okay, meaning, I know how to point to a candidate.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It could be a candidate, maybe yes and maybe no. It could be that there’s something else there that the Sages didn’t think was the more severe feature in conspiring witnesses. You’re right that if there is a place where there is a common denominator according to what I’m suggesting—what I’m saying is that to refute an analogy, it’s enough to raise a doubt. That’s the whole point.
[Speaker G] Exactly like a double doubt in a certain sense, no? Why? Because here you’re coming to obligate, and if you go up two levels, like with a double doubt, it’s like two levels. Here too, here too, you’re going up two levels, kind of.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why is it two levels? Either there is a shared stringency or the stringencies are separate. If the stringencies are separate, then you can obligate. If the stringency is shared, then you can’t. Why is that a double doubt?
[Speaker G] It’s like you’re introducing another doubt on top of the basic doubt you already have.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, I have one doubt. Why two?
[Speaker G] It’s the opposite, because—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I have one doubt. There is a derivation, and now I have a doubt about the derivation—maybe yes, maybe no. I’m saying one doubt is enough for me not to derive.
[Speaker G] No, you also have a doubt at the beginning; you’re still not sure. It’s the same doubt, there isn’t another one. No, afterward you bring something that could be— the doubt is this: is there something else that is—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —like that, or not.
[Speaker G] That’s the doubt. There isn’t another doubt here.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There’s one question, and on that question I remain in doubt. There could be one theory, and there could be another theory. But I’m saying one doubt is enough so that we don’t derive. That’s what I said earlier in the name of Rabbi Chaim, yes—that a doubt in the interpretation of the Torah is always treated leniently, because in order to obligate, you need a source.
[Speaker H] But sometimes there’s an unresolved Talmudic question, and it’s a Torah-level doubt. What does Rabbi Chaim say about that, always?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m saying: in principle this sounds very logical. It goes beyond what Rabbi Chaim says. It sounds logical because in a place where there’s an unresolved question—even regarding the interpretation of the Torah—that’s where the Torah itself gives rise to possibilities in both directions, perhaps. In a place where I don’t know what it says, that means it didn’t say it. Because if it wanted to say it, it should have said it. It could be that if there’s a place where I hesitate because maybe I didn’t understand correctly, then maybe that really would be an ordinary doubt, because the Torah did speak and maybe I’m not smart enough to understand what it said. But here it’s not an essential doubt, not because I’m not smart enough. There’s one side and there’s another side. So if the Torah wants to say something, then let it say it clearly. Why didn’t it say it? I once mentioned—I don’t even remember what I mentioned—that I heard in the name of the previous Rebbe of Sanz that if the Shulchan Arukh had written that one may break challah on the Sabbath, he still wouldn’t do it because it must be forbidden. Meaning, the default assumption is that everything is forbidden unless we find permission. Of course, halakhically that’s not true. The situation is the opposite. Everything is permitted unless there is a source forbidding it. In other words, to prohibit something you need a source; you don’t need a source to permit it. Everything is permitted unless the Torah forbade it. To forbid something, you need a source. The moment I have a doubtful source, that’s not a source. So it’s permitted. Fine. Okay, I want to move now to the next stage. But let’s first see what we’ve actually done so far. I spoke about yeshiva-style conceptual inquiries, about the logic of yeshiva-style analysis. From there we got to Ockham’s razor, and I demonstrated it through the common denominator and presumptions based on three repetitions and all those examples, to show that already in the Talmud itself there is, in effect, a kind of yeshiva-style thinking—generalizing thinking, thinking that works with logical tools of analysis and synthesis. And that in turn raises the question: what exactly is the purpose of learning? Or more broadly: what is Torah? Now this is a broader question. Yes, and the Brisker mode of learning raises it very powerfully. Rabbi Ovadia would always say that all the pilpul in the yeshivot is wasting Torah study. It’s literally forbidden to do on the Sabbath because it’s selecting—separating one idea from another idea. Someone once told me he wrote that seriously. I haven’t seen it inside. I find it hard to believe, but that’s what someone once told me. In any case, it’s clear he didn’t like it. That’s obvious. He says it’s not really Torah study. It’s these logical games. A kind of meta-halakhic, legal, logical game. That’s not Torah study. His basic assumption is that Torah is really the practical halakhic conclusion. And all the entertainment around it, the explanations and all that—maybe they’re an instrument for reaching the practical conclusion. Here usually not, because usually we remain—you know, like the story about Rabbi Chaim, I think I mentioned it—Rabbi Chaim and Rabbi Yitzchak Elchanan. A halakhic question came up, so he sent him the question and said: answer me only yes or no, without reasons. Because if you bring a reason, for every reason of yours I’ll bring three reasons for the other side. So just tell me yes or no. And I think that story really captures something. You have to remember that Rabbi Chaim was the rabbi of Brisk; he was paid a salary to issue rulings. You have to remember that in the Brisker yeshiva world it’s very hard to decide. And therefore it’s no wonder they don’t decide, and instead always go stringently. It’s not an accident that Briskers go stringent. Briskers go stringent because they’re incapable of deciding between the possibilities. Someone with very strong analytical ability can explain the Rashba wonderfully, and he can also explain Maimonides wonderfully. Each one becomes a magnificent structure. Each one, on its own assumptions, is excellent, explains all the passages, answers all the difficulties—everything is wonderful. Then you switch to Maimonides’ glasses, and again everything is wonderful. So now you have to decide: who’s right? The Rashba or Maimonides? According to whom does Jewish law follow? I don’t know. So someone with very sophisticated logical tools usually can’t decide. By the way, that’s one of the diseases of modern learning: it can’t decide, because we are so skilled in logical thinking. Logically, we can explain every opinion. Any opinion—I can present you with an excellent explanation of why it makes great sense. But in the end, if you want to decide, then you have to determine who makes more sense, or who makes sense and who doesn’t.
[Speaker E] The argument is always about the assumptions, not about the logical structure.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? The argument is always about the assumptions, not about the logical structure. Yes, but when you test it against, say, the Talmud, it isn’t really built as a logical structure. You decide by saying, from here there’s a difficulty from the Talmud. I say: everything the medieval authorities say is difficult from the Talmud, and therefore I rule this way. I’ll now bring you five answers for why there’s no difficulty at all from the Talmud—because we are more logically skilled than the medieval authorities. Okay? We have better logical abilities. So that actually neutralizes our ability to decide. That’s why, naturally—and I spoke about this in the first lecture, when I discussed the input of Torah—Brisker yeshiva learning focuses on understanding the topic and the medieval authorities, and less on issuing practical rulings. They don’t engage in practical halakhic rulings. But it’s not because—often the message, the slogan, is something like, “We are too small, we don’t know.” That’s nonsense. In every generation, each generation was considered smaller than the previous one, at least that’s how it’s viewed. Okay, so what? Even so, in every generation they decided. They don’t decide not because they are small, but because they are unable to decide. You can’t decide. You give a wonderful explanation for this view, a wonderful explanation for that view, and you’ve lost the ability to decide.
[Speaker A] You can’t decide, so everyone will take whatever seems right to him.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Maybe stringently? No, why stringently? Why not leniently? The moment it’s a doubt, maybe they’re both right? You’re in doubt; with a Torah-level doubt, you go stringent.
[Speaker A] They can’t both be right—one of them is.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, from my perspective they’re both right—I don’t know. What can I do? I have a doubt. No, the truth is that one is right, but I have an excellent explanation for this and an excellent explanation for that, so I’m in doubt. A Torah-level doubt goes stringently. I’ll say more than that: in a doubt of this sort, even a rabbinic-level doubt goes stringently. Because here I have strong grounds for each of the possibilities; it’s not just that I don’t know. If I just don’t know, then go leniently. Here I know that this is correct and I know that this is correct, from the standpoint of my conceptual grasp. It’s like two witnesses against two witnesses. Even there, already in the Talmud itself, there’s a dispute whether two against two is treated as a Torah-level doubt or a rabbinic-level doubt. What does that mean? In two against two, not following the Torah-level doubt rules means not following the prior presumption. When there are two witnesses against two witnesses, you don’t follow a presumption. Why not? Because if there are two witnesses against two witnesses, this isn’t a doubt where you follow a presumption; it’s certainty in this direction and certainty in that direction. When there is certainty in both directions, that’s not the law of doubts. Both positively obligate you. So you have to go stringent in any case. And that’s according to everyone, for example. There are other examples too. Some want to say this regarding any legal doubt—that in a legal doubt there is no double doubt. Because a legal doubt is not really a doubt, since you have two real sides. It’s not like a case where I simply don’t know. If I have a piece of meat, and I don’t know whether it’s pork or beef, I don’t have two sides—I simply don’t know. So that’s a doubt. But if I have two positive sides, one leading me here and one leading me there, that’s a different situation. In any case, that raises the question: what is Torah? Rabbi Ovadia claimed, and his students and his whole study hall claim, that Torah is the halakhic ruling. The discussion and analysis are done only in order to arrive at the halakhic ruling in the end—to derive the passage in accordance with practical Jewish law. In the yeshiva conception, beyond the limitations—which I’ve discussed quite a bit in previous times, especially the first time—there is some implicit assumption, and maybe sometimes they don’t say it, but really I think it’s very explicit to anyone familiar with what goes on: no, that’s not correct. Torah is the principles that are uncovered in conceptual analysis. The cases, or the laws, are practical ramifications. In other words, you need there to be a ruling, there need to be cases, because that’s the scientific experiment you’re conducting. That’s the practical ramification through which you test the theory. But the goal is the theory. The goal is not the law. For Rabbi Ovadia, even if the theory exists—and he dealt less with meta-halakhic or conceptual theories—but even if it exists, it is a means to reach the bottom line, the practical halakhic ruling. In the yeshiva world, the assumption is the opposite. The assumption is that halakhic study, or the laws, are only a means to sort out the correct theory. I bring a practical ramification to test whether the theory you’re proposing is correct or whether it collapses. What interests me is the theory.
[Speaker E] But there’s a problem here. If, as you said, you have the conceptual tools, then in most cases you reach a situation where you can’t arrive at the correct theory—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —the correct one, so—
[Speaker E] So how do you issue a halakhic ruling?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So we have a limitation—what can you do? But that is still the goal. How do you issue a halakhic ruling? You send the question to Rabbi Yitzchak Elchanan. What’s the problem?
[Speaker E] But how does he issue a halakhic ruling?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Who? He himself? Yes. He’s not a conceptual analyst. What do you mean? He has intuitive power. He says: forbidden, permitted. If you asked him for reasons, he’d give ten reasons for this—it’s like alternative medicine. In alternative medicine, you go to some witch doctor and he tells you there are meridian lines and energies, holy water or not holy water, with some drops or without some drops. So how do you decide that one person is qualified to issue halakhic rulings and another isn’t? He has halakhic intuition. Some people have better intuition, some less.
[Speaker E] Yes, yes. But how would you know what good intuition is? You, as an ordinary person, can’t examine good intuition. Because every intuition can be explained. Right. Right, so you rely on the ignoramuses who checked. To this day we know that the ignoramuses determine who the great rabbis of the generation are.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, really. Who determines who the great rabbis—today there’s an ideology around this whole matter.
[Speaker E] Of “go forth in the footsteps of the flock”—the people know.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. Why do they do that? Because the scholars can’t determine who the great rabbis of the generation are. For the scholars, everyone is a great rabbi of the generation to the same extent; you can’t decide. The “great rabbis of the generation” are those whom the ignoramuses think are the great rabbis of the generation. Like “the elder of the kabbalists,” like that—it’s always whoever the journalists crown.
[Speaker H] But you already find cases like the wayward and rebellious son—things that never happened and never will happen, and it’s only “expound and receive reward.” There’s an issue of theory there. Right.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’ll get to clarifying those things; we’ll also get to the wayward and rebellious son within this framework, but later. I think—that’s a good point. It’s one of the better arguments against Rabbi Ovadia.
[Speaker F] I’m a little surprised by the way you describe Rabbi Ovadia. It seems to me that he actually used very, very sophisticated tools to reach halakhic rulings, by means of enormous knowledge. Not meta-halakhic tools.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I disagree. He had enormous knowledge; he used considerations of ruling. He did not use considerations of conceptual analysis. Absolutely not. And that was Rabbi Ovadia’s side—and again, without belittling him at all. I think he was a giant. No, really. In contrast to what people used to say in Bnei Brak—when I was in Bnei Brak everyone mocked him: “what a donkey carrying books.” I was appalled. That man was a world-class genius. Fine. But his style of learning was not like that. He did not engage in conceptual analysis. The man held things in an amazingly orderly way—if that’s what you’re talking about, it’s incredible. And as for “a donkey carrying books”—you need to be a donkey. No, really. His ability was very impressive. But it’s true: he was not a conceptual analyst. He did not engage in—ideologically, he was not a conceptual analyst. He did not engage in that kind of learning; he did not believe in it. Okay? That’s something else. We saw such an orderly harmonization that without understanding it couldn’t happen, you know—it’s not… The Chazon Ish never engaged in this. Right, he also was not a conceptual analyst in the yeshiva sense. Right? Obviously not. Same with the Sema. I never got along with the Sema. The Sema is a ba’al habayit. You can’t understand what he wants. But when you get older, you understand that these guys have something to offer. Anyway, what I’m saying is that all this raises, all the more so, the question: what is Torah? Is Torah the collection of practical halakhic conclusions, or is Torah the conceptual analysis that underlies—or hopefully underlies—the practical halakhic conclusions? The yeshiva world assumes that the goal of Torah study is actually the theory. The conceptual analysis uncovers the Torah. When I ask now, what does it mean to study the topic of damages? What is Torah study? Is it to know in every case who is liable and who is exempt? That’s what Rabbi Ovadia would say: to know in every case who is liable and who is exempt, to know what the halakhic ruling is. And the conceptual analyst—I’m not talking right now about the method for reaching the bottom line, there too there are differences—I’m first of all talking about what we want to reach. The yeshiva analyst says no: who is liable and who is exempt in every topic is only the practical ramification. What interests me is whether what creates the monetary obligation here is one’s damaging property or negligence in guarding it. That is Torah. Torah is the idea that underlies the halakhic rulings, while the halakhic determinations are the tools by which I measure things. It’s like in scientific research. There too there can be an argument. There will be people who say that the goal of scientific knowledge is to know what will happen in every situation. Give me some laboratory situation, or a situation in the world, whatever it is, and I’ll tell you what will happen. That means I know physics. I know everything that happens. And that’s an absurd conception. It’s simply not true. Even if I did know that—say I knew it from Elijah the Prophet—would I be a great scientist? No. Elijah would tell me what will happen in every case. No problem. I know what will happen in every case, truly. It will happen. If Elijah said so, it will happen.
[Speaker F] Okay, that’s the difference between an engineer and a scientist.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. I was just about to get to that. So there are those who say that scientific theory is a means to arrive at scientific facts, but in the end the goal is to reach the facts. Others say—and I belong to that camp, as you could already tell—that of course not. The facts are only a means for determining which theory is correct. I test the theory against facts as potential falsifiers—Popper and all those things. That’s the way I use facts to test theory. In the end, my goal is to know the theory. Now, as you rightly said, I really do think that’s the difference between an engineer and a scientist. A scientist ultimately strives to know the correct theory, and for him the experiment or the specific scientific fact is a means of sorting theories, of doing elimination.
[Speaker F] That doesn’t complete the sentence. Why do I need the theory? Isn’t it in order to predict the result of the next situation? No?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course not. To know what the world is, how the world is built, how the Holy One, blessed be He, operates. Yes. And in order to complete the sentence—it’s a contradiction in terms. Why are you saying I’m not completing the sentence? I am completing it.
[Speaker F] No, for me it’s very clear—I’m an engineer. No, I know that I’m looking for a theory.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Now I’ll ask you—complete the sentence for me. Why is it good to know the bottom line?
[Speaker F] I need it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So what? Why is it good to know it? Ask a halakhic decisor. Why is it good to know? Why do you need to deal with it at all? There’s no halakhic decisor; you need practical guidance. You have a question—ask a halakhic decisor. What’s the problem? Because it’s obvious to you that one needs to know. Give me a bottom line—there’s no line below it. That’s why it’s the bottom line.
[Speaker F] I need it in order to act at home. My daughter just made some omelet at home.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then that’s just to know what to do—ask a halakhic decisor.
[Speaker F] Ask a halakhic decisor.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And for every little beep you need to learn? What? Colleges in the yeshiva? Why? To do it at home? You don’t do it at home. After all, Maimonides already did the work. That’s not true. But I’m saying—even assuming it were true, still, by definition there is no line beneath the bottom line; that’s why it’s at the bottom. I will never complete the sentence by saying, “I do this thing for X,” and then when asked, “And why is X good?” I’ll answer, “Just because—I think it’s good.”
[Speaker F] Because I need it. I want the will of God so as not to violate it. It’s simple.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The problem is that there too I can ask you: and why do you want the will of God? I also want the will of God. The will of God is to know what underlies the Jewish law. That too is the will of God. I can complete the sentence that way. It won’t help. In the end, you answer me this way, and I answer you that way, because when we reach basic values, that’s what each of us understands.
[Speaker C] Yes. I think the answer you gave about methodology goes in the same analytical direction, but still what mattered most was that you reach the bottom line.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, wait, I’ll get to that. I’ll get to that. Yes.
[Speaker A] There’s another question: what does it mean, the question “what is Torah”? Maybe Torah is both this and that.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Shlomo, you drew a good lesson from the discussion about conceptual inquiries. Why are we assuming it has to be either A or B? Sometimes it’s both. Like we saw in Pnei Yehoshua. Yes. In any case, I’ll bring evidence later when I discuss it. Right now this is just as a bridge to the next part. We’re going to deal with this, and I’ll bring explicit proofs for it.
[Speaker A] The facts get in the way.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, right, exactly—facts really do get in the way. I’m telling you from experience. Facts are such an annoying thing, because every time you have a good theory, along comes some fact and wrecks it. It can drive you crazy. So I always—in Jewish law too it drove me crazy. I had a wonderful halakhic theory, and along came some Rashba that you can’t get around—strange things. So what, now because of that I have to change the whole marvelous theory I arrived at? With all due respect, who cares about facts?
[Speaker A] Are you talking about Oslo, by any chance?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no—in Jewish law I’m talking. Copenhagen. Anyway, this debate, just as it exists in the scientific world—the question whether the goal is the theory and the facts are only a means to test the theory—also exists in the halakhic world. I’ll get to it later, but I’m only saying that in light of what we’ve seen until now, it really raises this question. Because we see that all these analyses ultimately uncover some meta-theories—X, Y, Z. What the conceptual analysis is really doing is showing us what theoretical structure lies behind the laws. And that raises the question: is this conceptual structure, without which apparently we can’t fully analyze Jewish law, only a means to know what to do, or not? Is the goal actually to get to that structure, as in the scientific world? And that is what I want to focus on from now on. So the next step I’m going to take is to start dealing with forced interpretations. I’ll try, through forced interpretation, to show the point I’ve been making here, and then I’ll come back to this question itself and try to bring evidence in both directions. Really, let’s get into evidence that I think tries to decide against Rabbi Ovadia. Okay? So we’ll start with forced interpretations, where a forced interpretation—everyone knows, I think we can simply stop here now.